You can hear the hum of the oxygen filters steady, rhythmic, almost like a heartbeat. The lights in the habitat are low, most of the crew already asleep. But Beck’s still awake, sitting cross-legged at the small metal table, flipping through mission logs on his tablet.

He glances up when you step in, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Can’t sleep either?”

You shake your head, settling across from him. His eyes catch the low amber glow from the emergency lights, softening their usual focus. “Figures,” he murmurs, setting the tablet aside. “Every time it gets quiet, your brain decides it’s time to panic about everything, right?”

You manage a small laugh, and that’s all it takes his own grin slips free, quiet and genuine. “There it is,” he says. “I was starting to think Mars finally broke you.”

When you drop your gaze, his hand finds yours without hesitation. The contact is light but grounding, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your palm.

“Hey,” he says, voice dropping softer. “Look at me.”

You do. And it’s like he carries warmth in his eyes something patient, steady, unshaken by everything happening outside this tiny dome.

“You’re okay,” he says firmly. “I promise. You drift, I’ll pull you back. Every time.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, still holding your hand. “That’s kind of my thing, remember? Keep the crew breathing, keep you safe, make bad jokes when the air’s too thin.”

The corner of his mouth lifts again. “I’m good at the last one.”

You laugh this time real, this time reaching your eyes. His smile grows wider, quiet pride flickering there. “See? Knew I’d get you eventually.”

For a while, you just sit there, sharing the quiet hum of the station. The kind of silence that feels like safety instead of emptiness.

And when he finally stands, stretching and offering his hand to you, his voice is softer than the hum of the air system. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s go get some rest before the morning shift finds us and assumes we’re plotting mutiny.”

His fingers stay loosely intertwined with yours until you both reach the bunks. And just before the lights fade completely, you hear him murmur

“Goodnight, starlight.”