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Harlock settled into the hammock in the back corner of the greenhouse deck, nestled between two shelves covered with thick green plants. A greenhouse deck certainly didn't fit with the pirate aesthetic of the Arcadia, but Tochiro had been thrilled when Yama had asked for one. It was probably better than anything the Gaia Coalition could muster; Tochiro had never done anything halfway when he'd been alive, and that particular trait had carried over in spades when he'd merged with the Arcadia.
He closed his eye and breathed. The air here was fresher, cleaner than it was anywhere else on the ship, carrying with it the scent of dirt and flowers. It was...quite relaxing.
Footsteps sounded on the metal floor, walking back and forth between the rows of plants. "Hm, you're looking a bit sad. Maybe some more light? Should I move you over another row?"
Yama's voice carried from the other side of the wall of plants, soft and thoughtful as he talked to them. There was something different in his tone when he spoke to the plants as opposed to when he spoke to the crew, something gentler. Harlock liked listening to the cadence of it, liked being in the greenhouse while Yama worked, surrounded by the small miracles of growing life in the middle of space.
He didn't sleep, not exactly, but he dozed, half-listening to Yama working with the plants. There weren't any emergencies, he didn't have anywhere else to be, so he could just drift off to the sounds and smells of the greenhouse. At one point, he felt the fingers skim across his forehead, brushing his hair from his face, but he couldn't have said for certain that it wasn't his imagination.
The next time he opened his eye, the greenhouse was dim, the lights powered down for a night cycle. And on his chest there was a delicate white flower.
Harlock picked the flower up and twirled it between his fingers, watching the petals blur together as he did.
"Captain?"
He raised his head just enough to see past his boots. Yama stood near the doorway, a small smile on his face. "Are you coming to bed any time soon?"
Harlock tucked the flower into his belt and climbed out of the hammock. "I suppose. How did it go today?"
Yama's whole face brightened, and he immediately launched into an in-depth explanation of everything happening in the greenhouse, which plants he'd moved and which ones were doing well and which ones he was worried about. Harlock only understood every other word, but he didn't ask because he wanted to understand. He asked because it made Yama so obviously happy to talk about, and the light in his eyes when he talked about the greenhouse—his greenhouse—made Harlock feel warmer than he had in years.
And when they got to their room, Harlock took the flower from his belt and placed it in the beaker alongside all the others Yama had given him. Small miracles, every one.
Just like Yama.