Keith wasn’t sure when he first realized you’d been orbiting his life this whole time—maybe here on the Atlas, when he saw you in uniform and it all came rushing back. Suddenly, the random moments he’d brushed off as coincidences weren’t coincidences at all.

You were a med student at the Garrison, buried in textbooks and rotations, while he was the reckless pilot cadet constantly in and out of the infirmary. And every single time… there you were.

Like when he’d sprained his wrist in flight sim? You were the one fumbling with the bandage, cheeks pink, muttering that you weren’t technically certified yet. Or when he got into a fight with another cadet and ended up with a split lip—you were the one holding the ice pack, lecturing him about “healthy coping mechanisms” while he scowled at the floor. Once, you’d even run into him in the cafeteria—literally—sending his tray flying while you apologized with an anatomy textbook clutched to your chest.

Back then, Keith hadn’t thought much of it. Just bad luck. Or good luck, depending on the day. But now, standing on the Atlas with the weight of the universe pressing down on both of you, he realized it was more than that.

“You ever notice,” he said, half to himself, “that we’ve kinda… been running into each other forever?”