The intergalactic vehicle hummed as it cut through the dark, engines glowing a tired blue while everyone on board tried to breathe normally again. They'd seen the battlefield. They'd seen Ash floating like a corpse.
And now they were all cramped inside a narrow metal cabin, pretending that everything was fine while Ash lay slumped in one of the seats, silent, unmoving, head tilted back like he was waiting for death to shake him awake.
Spencer kept staring at him. Mark kept glancing nervously at the rift readings on the monitor. Luna sat quietly in the corner, arms crossed, boots propped up, watching the others fall apart.
A few minutes passed. Then, a crack echoed through the cabin.
Ash sat up. Very slowly. Very stiffly. His spine popped all the way from the base of his back to his neck as he opened his eyes halfway, blinking like he'd just woken from the world's worst nap. He turned his head, scanning the cabin with a tired squint.
"…Where the hell—" he muttered.
Spencer practically leaped out of his seat.
"Ash! Ash, look—don't worry. We're taking you to a hospital right now. There's one on the nearest planet—"
Ash stared at him blankly. Confused. Then annoyed. He stood up, slow but steady, glaring at Spencer like he was trying to solve a puzzle. "What part of me," He asked, voice dead serious, "looks sick or damaged to you?"
Spencer blinked. "What—? Ash, you were unconscious. We found you floating among the bodies of—"
Ash cut him off with a raised hand. "Right. Wait. What was your name again?"
The cabin went quiet.
Spencer straightened his spine. "Spencer Potts. From the Hero Association's cleanup squad."
Ash nodded slowly. "Spencer," he repeated. "Tell me… have we ever met before this moment?"
Spencer opened his mouth, "Yes, I think—"
"Nevermind," Ash said immediately, waving him off. "Important thing is: I wasn't unconscious. I was bored. And waiting for you all took so damn long that I literally fell asleep."
Spencer's face froze.
Mark lifted a hand to say something but immediately got shushed by both Ash and Spencer at the same time.
"Enough," Ash said, already walking past Spencer like he was stepping around a hallucination. "Just take me to the nearest galactic station. I don't need a hospital. I need a place to get a drink."
Mark huffed. "But protocol states—"
"Shh," Ash said.
"Shh," Spencer repeated, panicked.
Mark sank back into his seat.
A soft laugh drifted from the corner of the room.
Ash turned.
Luna sat with her legs crossed, silver hair glowing faintly in the cabin light, her smile small but real. She had that relaxed posture only someone who'd seen too much could maintain, shoulders loose, gaze sharp, humor buried under exhaustion.
Ash stared for a moment. Recognition settled into him like warmth.
"Oh," he breathed. "It's you."
Luna tilted her head. "Took you long enough. Thought you forgot me too."
Ash walked over and sat beside Luna.
He kept a small gap between them, like space itself had told him not to get too close. She didn't move away, but she didn't shift toward him either. Just… stayed. Calm. Neutral. Too neutral.
They'd worked together months ago. She was calm now too, elbows resting on her knees, watching him with quiet amusement.
He cleared his throat. "So… uh. Been a while."
Luna nodded once. "Three months."
He blinked. "…You counted?"
"I remember missions. And people," she said, shrugging. "Especially the ones who almost got me killed."
Ash snorted under his breath. "Right. Good times."
A pause settled between them. Just that strange, familiar quiet that reminded. Ash of the things he'd tried so hard not to think about.
Luna glanced at him. "You look tired."
"I'm always tired."
Another small silence. Ash looked straight ahead, pretending to be interested in the blinking lights on the dashboard, then looked back at her, then away again.
Luna raised an eyebrow. "You're staring."
"No I'm not."
"You literally are."
"I'm… observing."
"Uh-huh."
Ash scratched the back of his neck. His chest felt too tight. He hated that he could face eldritch monsters without flinching, but sitting next to her? Suddenly he didn't know where to put his hands.
Luna leaned back in her seat. "You haven't changed."
Ash laughed lightly. "Is that good or bad?"
She took a moment too long to answer. "Depends."
"On what?"
"On whether you're asking as a friend," Luna said softly, "or as the guy who confessed to me on a mission briefing table."
Ash swallowed, eyes widening a little. "…You still remember that?"
She shot him a look. "Ash. You literally froze, blurted out a love confession, and then fell off the table."
He covered his face with a groan. "God… why would you bring that up?"
"Because you look like you're pretending it didn't happen."
"I am pretending it didn't happen."
"Too bad."
Ash peeked at her through his fingers. "You rejected me."
Luna nodded. "I did."
"And friendzoned me."
"I did that too."
"And I still had to fight beside you after that."
"You survived."
"It was hell."
Luna laughed, soft, breathy, the kind of laugh that made his ribs clench.
She sighed and looked at him properly now, her voice quieter. "Ash… I didn't reject you because you were bad or annoying or anything like that."
He clenched his jaw slightly. He didn't like where this was going. But he needed it.
"Then why?" he asked, low.
"Because you were… you," she said simply. "Raw. Unhealed. Trying so hard to prove yourself that you didn't even breathe."
Ash stared at his hands.
"You looked at me like I was this… safe thing," she continued, softer. "Like if I stayed beside you, you'd stop breaking."
She paused. "And I didn't want to be someone's bandage."
The words hit him quietly.
Ash nodded slowly. "…Makes sense."
"It wasn't about not caring," she added.
He looked up at her.
Luna's eyes were gentle this time. "You're… someone I always worried about. Even now."
That did something to him, something small and sharp. He looked away again, exhaling.
They sat there together, staring at the wall, both pretending the air wasn't thick with old feelings.
Ash could feel their eyes on him the moment he stood up to leave. Spencer kept stealing glances, and Mark wasn't any better—wide-eyed, whispering things to Spencer that he absolutely thought Ash couldn't hear. Luna just tried to keep her face neutral, but even she looked like she wanted to evaporate out of the room at this point.
The doors slid open with a soft hum as the vehicle docked at the intergalactic station. Ash didn't even wait for the others to start gathering their gear—he just muttered a quick "Take care," and walked off into the bustling corridors. He didn't want to deal with more questions. Or people. Or reporters. Or anyone who thought unconscious-floating-in-space counted as a medical emergency.
He booked a VIP ticket to Earth instantly, not even glancing up at the clerk. Head down, Ash slipped through the private boarding lane like a ghost. He could already feel how drained he was—not physically, but mentally.
A few minutes later, he boarded the sleek, silent vehicle heading toward Earth. He dropped into his seat, leaned his head back, and stared at the ceiling as it dimmed into star-patterns. He muttered under his breath:
"Please… if another rift opens, let it be a big one. Something worth the headache at least."
The universe, merciful for once, stayed quiet.
No alarms. No screaming. No shimmering cracks in space vomiting hell-spawn. Just distant stars sliding by and a smooth ride all the way home.
When he finally stepped out at Earth's station, the gravity hit him like an annoying memory. He didn't even consider calling a cab—his apartment was only a twenty-minute walk away, and facing another human being right now would've pushed him over the edge.
The streets were quiet, washed in neon glow and the soft hum of sky-lanes overhead. Ash walked with his hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly slumped, feeling the exhaustion settling deep in his bones.
When he reached his building, he didn't even bother taking the elevator. He trudged up the stairs, unlocked his door, and walked straight in without turning on the lights.
He dropped face-first onto his bed.
Shoes still on. Jacket half-unzipped. Phone buzzing somewhere in his pocket.
He didn't care.
The mattress swallowed him whole, and within seconds he was out cold—finally, blissfully, away from rifts… monsters… awkward reunions… and people asking if he was dead again.