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It wasn’t often that anyone saw Sol wearing something other than his uniform— his turtleneck and coveralls, gloves, the whole nine yards. Even though he could’ve worn anything he wanted, for the most part— most of his crew leads did, after all— he always wore the same thing most of the crew did. If anyone had asked him about it, he’d say something along the lines of “Well, I’m not better than any of you. No need to separate us by what we wear.” And he did believe that, really, but there were other reasons too.
A month or so into their excursions on the new planet, Gunther found himself overwhelmed with the ADS system. For some reason, it had stopped working correctly, and wasn’t shooting at all, despite the fact that it was still utilizing its threat detection system. He and Sol spent some time brainstorming about it, and decided that it’d be best if they just worked together on taking it apart and reverse-engineering the thing. Unfortunately, that meant spending hours on end in the ADS room, which wouldn’t be a problem if the room didn’t run so hot. All the computing systems and machinery in there, plus the energy required to power the lasers, made the room one of the hottest on the ship, second only to the reactor. All of that to say: the two of them were suffering .
Part of the reason Gunther wore such loose, thin clothing was because of the heat in that room, given it was where he worked most of the time. He had coveralls, but he only wore them if he had to be around the higher-ups, like the board. They were the only ones who gave a shit.
“How are you still wearing those?” Gunther asks, wiping the sweat from his brow. “You run cold or somethin’?” He sits back on his calves, getting his weight off his knees and relaxing for a moment.
“Well, kind of. But not that cold.” Sol says, and shrugs. “I dunno. Wasn’t thinking about it, really, but… it is hot as hell in here.” Gunther raises an eyebrow and Sol shuts down the remark with a look, before he even opens his mouth. He reaches up to his zipper and starts to undo his coveralls, shrugging them off his shoulders. “Don’t get too excited,” he teases, not looking at Gunther when he says it.
“I’ll behave,” Gunther teases back. Sol pushes his coveralls down to his waist, tying the sleeves there so it stays put. He rolls his shoulders back, and mumbles something about his bad joints— he’s only a year or two older than Gunther, but he’s always talking about his knees or his back.
It’s in that moment that Gunther realizes a few things. One, he’s not sure he’s ever seen Sol without his coveralls. Two, Sol’s arms are more toned than he expected— not like his own, or Mark’s, but still impressive enough that he forces himself not to stare. (Or maybe that’s for another reason. He’ll unpack that later.) Three, Sol’s arms are covered in tattoos. Not in a packed tattoo sleeve, like some of the guys he used to work with, but with deliberately placed stars and lines. It’s full of constellations, like a map of the night sky. He does let himself stare at those.
“What? Like what you see?” Sol jokes, crossing his arms over his chest. It’s a very Gunther thing to say, not like himself, but when it’s just the two of them, he’s more willing to play into it. Gunther smirks and moves closer to the captain.
“Maybe,” he jokes back, but then reaches towards Sol. “I didn’t know you were tatted.” His hand hovers over Sol’s arm, silently asking permission to touch. Sol nods, but seems a little more tense— “You sure?” He nods again, and Gunther runs a finger tentatively over one of the lines connecting stars.
“I got them when I was in college,” Sol chuckles. “Back when being in space was more of a dream than an actual goal.” He shifts how he’s sitting and rests his arm on his knee so it’s more comfortable for both of them. “I had the important people in my life draw these stars. I drew some of them, my family drew some, my friends drew some… it was kinda dumb. But I like them.”
“That’s real sweet, Sol.” Gunther looks back up to meet the captain’s eyes and smiles. He can’t tell if Sol is blushing or if it’s the red lighting in the room. “Little pieces of the people you love… or somethin’ like that.” Sol leans back on his other arm and chuckles awkwardly. He doesn’t like having this much attention on him, even when it’s just one person, but Gunther knows he deserves it, so he keeps giving it to him anyway.
“It’s not that special,” Sol brushes it off, and Gunther tells him to shut up. They sit there quietly after that, Gunther gently tracing the constellations scattered over Sol’s skin, Sol relaxing into it. It’s soft, and intimate, and it makes the captain feel like he can be a little more vulnerable around his ADS lead.
And sure, it takes a little longer than it should for them to fix the system. But no one else has to know that.