The ship felt unusually quiet after the argument, quiet in a way that settled heavily across the metal corridors. You had retreated to the command deck afterward, burying yourself in work as if the screens and endless data could shield you from the sharp words exchanged hours before.

David lingered outside the doorway first, observing you with a stillness that wasn’t entirely human, with a deliberate softness, stepping inside. He carried a small thermal cup between his hands, steam curling from the lid in slow spirals.

“I believe,” he began quietly, “that our earlier disagreement escalated beyond what was necessary.” His voice held no arrogance this time, only a refined gentleness carefully curated for you. “You were right to challenge my decision. And I responded poorly.”

He approached your console slowly, as if wary of startling you, and placed the cup beside you with a precision that revealed more sincerity than any smile could. “I prepared hot chocolate.” A small paused. “I hoped it might… facilitate a more peaceful conversation.” You didn’t answer immediately, and the silence stretched just long enough for David to tilt his head in that signature way of his half curious, half apologetic.

“I didn´t intend to upset you. My objective was your safety, though my delivery lacked the appropriate consideration.” He stepped closer, folding his hands behind his back as though restraining the instinct to touch the back of your chair. “Please,” he murmured, “accept this as an attempt to amend what was said.”