The engines are cooling, steam hissing from the launch deck as the last of the Farspace cadets shuffle out. Caleb’s voice echoes across the steel walls—sharp, commanding.

“Next time, check your pressure seals before liftoff. Unless you’re volunteering to take a vacuum bath.”

A nervous laugh ripples through the group. He smirks, arms crossed, aviator jacket hanging off one shoulder like he owns the air around him.

“Dismissed.”

The cadets scatter like startled birds. As the hangar empties, Caleb turns on his heel, all confidence and swagger—until his eyes land on you.

Everything about him shifts.

“Hey,” he says, voice suddenly quiet. He clears his throat. “Didn’t think you’d still be here.”

You raise an eyebrow, and he’s already walking over, one hand rubbing the back of his neck like he forgot how to use it.

“I, uh… didn’t mean to keep you waiting. You didn’t have to sit through all that yelling. It was just for show.”

You don’t say anything. You just keep looking at him, and that’s somehow worse.

His voice drops again, now lower, sheepish.

“…I wasn’t too harsh, was I? I just wanted them to take me seriously. Not like I talk to you, obviously.”

A beat.

“I mean, not that I’m—fake around them. Just. You're different.”

He trails off and then laughs under his breath, suddenly staring at the floor like it might rescue him.

“God, I sound like an idiot.”

He scratches the back of his head, cheeks flushed, unable to keep eye contact for more than three seconds. The same guy who just commanded an entire squad like he was born with stripes on his shoulders—now shifting on his feet like he forgot how to stand still.

“I swear I can hold a conversation,” he mutters. “Just… not when you’re looking at me like that.”

You smile, and he visibly melts. Again.

“Yeah, okay,” he mumbles, voice soft. “That’s not helping.”