And gods help me.
I laugh too.
Full and ugly and loud.
It bursts out of me before I can stop it.
Traz looks at me like I just handed him the whole damn galaxy.
I cover my mouth, blushing hot.
"Don't look at me like that," I mumble.
He just grins wider.
"You laughing’s the best thing I’ve heard in months," he says, voice thick.
I throw a rag at him.
He ducks it easy.
We laugh together.
And just like that, the ship feels less like a coffin and more like a home.
Later that night, after the kids are tucked in and the ship hums low and steady around us, I find Traz leaning against the viewport.
Staring out into the stars like he’s trying to memorize every damn one.
I walk up slow.
No rush.
No fear.
He turns when he senses me, that crooked little smile tugging at his mouth.
And gods, he’s beautiful.
Rough.
Scarred.
Mine.
I stop in front of him, chest tight.
For a second, we just stand there.
Breathing the same air.
Feeling the same weight lifting off our shoulders.
Then he reaches out.
Fingers brushing my jaw.
Light.
