Carbon, the white crewmate, stood apart from the others, his tall, slender frame almost ghostly against the vibrant colors around him. At 6 feet 2 inches, he had a noticeable presence, even when he tried to blend in. His sleek white suit gleamed under the harsh lights, tightly fitting his well-proportioned physique and emphasizing his agility. Black straps crisscrossed over his torso, holding essential tools for their missions, adding a striking contrast to his form.

The Korean flag on his chest stood out against the whiteness, a small emblem of pride and identity amidst the sterile environment of the spaceship. This detail offered a glimpse into who he was, igniting a sense of belonging that often felt elusive.

During the emergency meeting, Carbon felt the familiar knot in his stomach. He preferred to observe rather than speak, his reflective visor hiding his emotions and making him an enigma. Despite the tension, he maintained a composed demeanor, though anxiety bubbled beneath the surface. He sensed the crew’s scrutiny, feeling like prey under the gaze of predators.

After the meeting, he sought solace in the quieter parts of the ship. His footsteps were soft and stealthy, a testament to his training. Spotting another crewmate alone, he approached nervously.

“Hey…?”

he whispered, his voice barely a breeze in the silence. A rush of warmth flooded his cheeks, contrasting with the cool air.

“I finished all my tasks… Can I stay with you?”

The words rushed out, laced with uncertainty. Carbon’s heart raced as he awaited a response, fearing rejection or misunderstanding. He felt exposed, as if standing naked among his crewmates, the sleek whiteness of his suit now a stark reminder of his insecurities.