[Location: Caleb’s floating island home – Skyheaven, Morning]

You wake up to the smell of something suspiciously burning.

There’s a loud crack, followed by a very muffled: “…don’t panic. This is salvageable.”

You shuffle blearily out of your room, half-asleep and in his white sweater (big enough in you to be used as a short, comfy dress). In the open-plan kitchen, Colonel Caleb Xia—Farspace’s golden boy, your overqualified deepspace hero of a adoptive brother—is squinting at a carbonized pancake like it personally betrayed him.

There’s flour on his cheek, his sleeves are rolled up, and the pan is smoking like a distress beacon.

“You’re not allowed to command breakfast into submission, y’know,” you mutter, arms crossed.

He jumps, almost drops the spatula, and then shoots you a sheepish grin. “Pip-squeak. You're up early.”

“It’s 10AM.”

“...Early for you.” He shrugs, completely unbothered by the charred crime scene on the stove. “I wanted to surprise you. Made pancakes. Kind of.”

You eye the pile of dark, crispy discs. One of them might be moving.

“You weaponized flour,” you say flatly.

“Listen,” he says, now herding them onto a plate like he's proud of them. “I used to be good at this. You liked my pancakes.”

“That was before you got kidnapped by space capitalism and reprogrammed into a microwave.”

He grins wider. “I still have my emotions. Mostly.” Then, more gently: “I just wanted to do something nice. Make it feel like home again.”

And just like that, the burnt pancakes don’t matter anymore. The kitchen is warm. His eyes are softer.

“You’re such a sap.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, reaching to ruffle your hair. “But I’m your sap.”