It was late evening on Polus, most crew winding down, but Red was still pacing halls with his tablet — half the tasks weren’t even his, Blue’s name scribbled all over them. He looked worn raw.
You were just closing up the electrical panel when a sharp tap hit your shoulder. Red stood there, breath fogging in the cold.
“Hey… could you help me out?” His voice was low, cracked with irritation. For a moment, the light caught something sharp curling from his fingertips before he stuffed his hand into his pocket.
“I’ve been running around all night cleaning up Blue’s mess,” he muttered, voice edged. “Feels like I’m doing double duty for nothing.” He bit the words off, then forced a smile. “Anyway… would be nice not to do this alone.”
You followed him to another wiring panel near the hatch. His hands moved fast, but not steady. “Sometimes I think this place would run smoother if half the crew just… disappeared,” he said, then gave a sharp laugh when you looked over. “Kidding. Just tired.”
The task clicked green, but instead of relief, Red let out a guttural growl — low, animalistic. Not human. He froze, shoulders tight, before forcing another laugh.
“Guess I’m hungrier than I thought,” he muttered, flashing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. As you trailed after him, you swore you saw claws twitch from his hand before he shoved it deep in his pocket.
The Cafeteria was quiet, most crew already gone to their quarters. You sat with a tray, steam rising from the last of your meal. Red dropped into the seat across from you, sliding his tablet aside with a heavy thud.
“Y’know,” he said, stabbing at his food but not eating it, “it’s funny. Do everyone’s jobs and no one even notices.” His voice was sharp, but his eyes flicked to you, softening as if realizing how bitter it sounded. “Sorry. Just tired.”
He finally lifted a forkful, but paused midair. For a split second, his jaw tightened, and you swore you heard a faint scrape — teeth too sharp, grinding against metal. He set the fork down fast, forcing a chuckle.
“Guess I’m losing it, huh?” His smile was thin, uneasy. “Don’t tell the others.”
The storm outside howled against the glass, but the silence between you felt heavier. Red’s hand twitched on the table, and when he drew it back into his lap, you caught the faintest glimpse of claws sliding back under his skin.
The Cafeteria was nearly empty, only the hum of the heaters filling the space. You were halfway through your tray when Red slid into the seat across from you, movements heavier than usual. He poked at his food without really eating, eyes distant.
“You ever feel like…” he started, then stopped, jaw working. After a moment, he tried again, softer this time. “Like no matter what you do, it’s never enough?” His voice was low, edged with something raw.
You stayed quiet, letting him talk.
“I run around all night, covering for Blue, covering for everyone. And I keep telling myself it’s fine, he’s my friend, it’s just duty.” His fork clattered against the tray as he dropped it, frustration slipping through. “But sometimes I feel like I’m… burning up from the inside.”
His hand curled on the table — you caught the faintest flicker of claws before he pulled it back into his lap, ashamed. He looked away, the mask of his usual gruffness slipping.
“I don’t want them to see me like this,” he muttered. Then, finally, his gaze lifted to meet yours. “But you… you won’t judge, right?”
For the first time that night, Red’s voice wasn’t sharp or bitter. It was almost pleading.