Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Baby, It's Cold Outside

The Starjammer's ship wasn't what one would call large.

Of course, as the chosen vessel of Corsair's band of space pirates and sometimes heroes, it had to be small and swift. It really was just big enough to house its crew of space pirates. An additional passenger meant was sent straight to the storage room—the only spare room available, really.

But two additional passengers? That meant someone was getting displaced.

The time-displaced Scott Summers sneezed on cue. The common room was not the ideal place to sleep in—particularly when it also doubled as the dining area, meaning a hungry pirate would stumble into the room, waking the mutant from his light slumber—but, really, Scott could have easily ignored that.

The cold, though?

That was different.

Scott made a mental note to find a warmer blanket on the next planet. And a comfier pillow. Maybe even a better sleeping bag altogether if his coin held out.

Because with how cold things were getting, he feared he might sleep walk to his father's quarters just to curl up against Hepzibah—and wouldn't that be a fun story to tell in the morning?

Scott shivered—more at the actual cold than at the thought of waking up sandwiched between his dad and his maybe-mother—and drew his blanket closer. He shifted around restlessly, trying to find the best sleeping position.

Silently, Scott prayed that they'd pass by a sun, soon. Anything for more heat, really, because it really felt like their thermostat was broken with how cold it had been in the common room during the past several sleep cycles.

He sneezed again.

"Are you alright?" A concerned voice called to him. It was such a saccharine tone, too, and Scott instantly recognized its owner—the most precious cargo in the ship, as well as the reason he wasn't sleeping in an actual bedroom.

By his choice, of course.

"Just cold." He told her.

"I told you this sleep cycle would be much colder than the last." She chided him gently. "It is why I am here now."

Light steadily grew brighter beyond his eyelids, and while Scott absently grasped beside him in search of his shades, he couldn't help but smile as warmth finally came, hovering above him. "You're the best, you know that, Kori?"

Koriand'r, the runaway princess of Tamaran, giggled. "You do not say so often enough."

Scott felt her warm hands on his face as she affixed his shades on him. He opened his eyes and beheld her radiant form. "Just stay like that." He whispered to her. "Yes, just like that."

She frowned at him thoughtfully. "That was not what you said earlier. Do you recall? When I asked if you wanted to sleep with me?"

Scott's cheeks burned. He heated up plenty at the thought, as well as the embarrassing reminder. The rest of the crew had been within earshot, and Scott was mortified by the praise his father had heaped at him as well as Hepzibah asking if he needed any tips.

"It's not that I don't want to sleep with you…" Scott began, and was it just him or did his cheeks actually light up? He pocketed the irrational thought that maybe his trademark blasts would burst through his skin in his embarrassment. "Because—because if I'm being honest, I kind of do."

"Really?" Her eyes actually glinted.

Scott's mouth clicked shut and he could only nod. She beamed at him. "But—it's just not a good idea to, well," Scott fumbled his words in his nervousness, "You know-?"

"I do not know." Her fiery hair swayed with her shake.

Scott swallowed the nervous lump in his rapidly drying throat.

"I mean—the room is really small. Cramped." Scott pointed out. "What if—things happen?"

Koriand'r's smile never left her lips as she traced a warm finger along his jaw. "What are these… things, Scott?" she asked him curiously.

Scott swallowed. "You're making fun of me, aren't you?" He accused.

"Partly." Koriand'r admitted as she settled herself atop the mutant. She planted her elbows on Scott's chest so she could prop her head up with her hands as she surveyed him.

Scott's heart raced as he felt the young woman mold against him. He hoped she wouldn't feel his young man beginning to wake—damned teenaged hormones.

"But I do so enjoy hearing your thoughts, Scott." The princess confessed, and Scott found it wasn't fair that he had difficulty getting mad at her and her soothing warmth. "So? What are these things that concern you so much?"

There was a glint in her emerald eyes that assured Scott this princess was not as innocent as her tone suggested.

Scott willed his heart to steady. "I… actually fear that I might accidentally open my eyes and blast you through the hull."

Koriand'r giggled. "Like when you blasted me through a wall when we first met?"

"I'm really sorry about that." No matter how many apologies he'd given, Scott still grimaced at the memory. For all of Starfire's durability, she was knocked out cold, too, with Shi'Ar troops surrounding her.

Needless to say, Scott and the rest of the Starjammers had it rough escaping off-world with the Tamaranean in tow.

"And, well, I was being defensive." Scott grumbled. "I had just gotten out of a relationship with a red-skinned alien who now wants to murder me, and then I bumped into you—an orange-skinned alien that suddenly kissed me."

"I have told you that I do not like the term alien, Scott." Koriand'r pouted. "To me, it is you who is the alien. And I explained that I was merely acquiring your language through direct physical contact."

"I know. But like I said—I was being defensive."

"Are you being defensive now, Scott?" Koriand'r emerald eyes shimmered.

"I'm—I don't really know?" Scott shrugged noncommittally.

"That is alright." Koriand'r tucked her head underneath his chin. "While we practice on your words, I shall remain listening to your truthful heart."

Scott rolled his eyes beneath his shades. The blush on his cheeks never quite left, though. "Huh. And I'm the one that needs to learn English?"

"Most definitely." Koriand'r nodded. Her gaze softened. "So, am I correct to assume that you have no more misgivings with me sleeping with you here in this common area?"

Thoughts raced through Scott's mind and he cursed his hormones again.

He hated how Koriand'r made him feel things he wasn't ready for, but he couldn't find it in himself to create any distance.

He felt like a moth to her flame.

Scott swallowed the nervous lump in his throat.

"I don't think you should sleep here." Because the cold, he could find a way to sleep with. But this Tamaranean princess whose passion was as blunt as she was beautiful?

Well, there was going to be no sleeping for him tonight.

"I do not appreciate falsehood, Scott." Koriand'r reprimanded. "If you continue so, I might decide on a truthful answer—and I do not mind if it is here in the place we partake our food in."

Scott gaped. "Is—are you for real?"

The Tamaranean princess burst out laughing. "You need not be so apprehensive. It was mostly in jest, Scott."

Scott leaned away nervously. That meant she was partially serious.

The girl harrumphed in response and then closed the distance between them, planting her hands beside his head for good measure. Green eyes glinted with mischief as her long hair cascaded down around them. Hiding them from the outside world.

"So what shall your decision be?"

"I just don't like the idea of being threatened." Scott admitted, before quickly adding. "Even if with a good time."

Koriand'r laughed. "Then take it not as a threat." Her lips brushed against his cheek on its way to his ear. "It is a promise."

Scott's nervousness suddenly came back like a punch. "Koriand'r…"

The Tamaranean knew why he was hesitating.

But the fire in her couldn't help itself. She needed to know.

"Do you love me, Scott Summers of Earth?"

"You're…precious. To us. To… to me, too."

"I do not mean we will be wed at this moment, Scott." Koriand'r smiled at him gently. "You need not speak in your circles. I only wish to confirm that, in this moment, you feel the way I do."

It took a moment for Scott to realize what his heart already knew. They had been on this journey for nearly half a year now, and in all that time, he had steadily thought of his old team less, and less.

The unsent letters to another redhead, who made it clear she only wanted to remain his best-friend, no longer cluttered his desk.

And as he gazed into Koriand'r's emerald eyes, Scott finally found his voice.

"I do, Kori." His cheeks would have exploded if it could. His heart certainly was about to. "I'm still not sure if this is really love but—I like you so much that I always want to be with you."

Koriand'r gazed at him happily. "That is a very good beginning, Scott. And we still have time to be together." Her lips turned into a grin. "By the end of this journey, I shall finally have you say it."

Scott nodded.

He knew he would have at their quest's end.

She was, after all, a runaway princess.

And he was the mutant son of a space pirate.

But for now?

He opened his blanket and let her inside.

-0-0-0-

Omake: Put lyrics on it!

S: Why aren't you in bed?

K: Scottie, it's cold outside~

S: We need to go sleep.

K: Scottie, it's cold outside~

S: My father will get suspicious-

K: X'Hal, your lips look delicious~

S: -and if you listen, you can hear him snore.

K: Just let me in then lock up your door~

S: I don't know if that is-

K: Your warmth gives me such bliss~

S: -quite a well-thought of plan.

K: Kiss me now and it'll be grand~

S: There's bound to be talk tomorrow.

K: Think of your lifelong sorrow~

S: But I guess it'll be mostly implied.

K: If you missed this 'cause you never ev'n tried~

S: I guess you can come in.

K: X'hal, this way we both can win~

S/K: 'Cause baby it's cold~ Baby, it's cold outside~!

S: … We really need to change dad's playlist tomorrow.

K: You will do no such thing, beloved.

-0-0-0-

Omake: Solar Power

There was a knock to his side that drew the young Scott Summers' attention.

"Hello, beloved." Koriand'r greeted cheerfully from beyond the ruby-quartz tinted glass.

"Hi, Kori." Scott flashed her a small smile.

Koriand'r beamed and continued, "I have been searching for you for the past 30 Earth minutes to enquire if you wanted to partake of a most-delicious cake with me." Then she tilted her head. "Why did you not inform me beforehand that you would be in the generator?"

"To the former, after this." Scott then scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "To the latter, well, you were still asleep and I didn't want to bore you."

Koriand'r floated up to level with him. "I appreciate your kind sentiment but would like to be informed next time."

"I'll leave you a note." He promised.

"Good." She placed a hand on the glass as if to cup his cheek. "And while you may think otherwise, I enjoy this chance to see your eyes."

Indeed. With the glass absorbing his optic blasts and turning it into energy, Scott was allowed to quite literally put his glasses down. So long as he moderated his output properly, of course.

"Thanks." Scott replied, albeit lamely, in his opinion. He was embarrassed and unsure how to respond to Kori's compliments. "I like seeing you, too."

"I do have a suggestion." Koriand'r began in a curious tone while she floated around the large cylinder.

"Yes?"

"Would this ship not charge faster if there were two providers of solar energy?"

Scott thought about it. "Maybe?"

There's probably an upper threshold to the energy conversion. Diminishing returns, and all that. But, at the least, he wouldn't have to expend as much energy if the transducer could also convert Koriand'r's starbolts.

"And there is plenty of space right next to you." Koriand'r continued, stopping at the entrance.

"That is tr—wait, Kori, what are you doing?"

"Joining you." Koriand'r gleefully said as she pressed the button to open the chamber.

"W-wait!" Scott stammered before quickly turning away so he couldn't blast her through the ship. His gaze immediately settled to the vastness of the galaxy—even as his heart raced in his chest.

And then it abruptly stilled when he felt her arms drape across his chest; her cheek nestling against his nape.

She smelled fragrant and beautiful.

And that was not all he felt.

His heart once more thundered, confused, but in eager anticipation.

"Wh-what are you thinking, Kori?" the flustered Scott asked. Internally, he shouted at his hormones to stop. "There isn't much to do here while the ship recharges."

"I disagree. There's always spending time with you." She answered before sighing happily. "It is, after all, most pleasant."

Scott silently agreed.

He supposed he wouldn't be so cold anymore.

-0-0-0-

Omake: Faster Than a Bullet

"Here's that fairytale book I promised, Kori." The young Scott Summers said, showing the hardbound book.

"Wonderful, beloved!" Kori beamed as she floated towards him, emerald eyes tracing his features before settling on the book in his hands as she approached. Warm hands wrapped around his bicep as she looked up at him and asked, "Which is your favorite?"

"I'm not sure. I never thought about it, to be honest." Scott's brows knitted in thought—an act Kori found extremely cute. "Let me see."

Scott opened the book and began scanning the pages.

Kori continued staring up at him before, finally, deciding.

She leaned in and captured his lips.

-0-0-0-

Omake: Come My Way

"I told you I should have gone in solo!" Scott complained, visor glinting in exasperation from his spot on the passengers' seat. Two fingers were pressed up to the button attached to his visor as he desperately tried to contact the rest of the Starjammers for reinforcements.

"This is a lesson, son. You need to learn to improvise because things never go according to plan." Corsair willfully insisted as he slammed the pedal to the metal, wincing briefly as something exploded behind them. "Something older-you probably didn't learn. Or if he did, he learned it the hard way."

"And this is supposed to be easy?" He gestured wildly with his free hand to the colorful army of pirates chasing after them.

"I admit this just might not be sunny," Scott mouthed something profane, but Corsair paid it no heed, "but you have something he didn't in these dark moments."

"And what might that be?"

Corsair wagged his eyebrows. "Me."

"Dad." Scott groaned. "We're only in this mess because that person you said was your friend recognized you and wants to murder you."

"Murder is a very serious word. And like I told you before, I thought a friendly face would give us a chance." Corsair reminded, only to visibly wince moments later when another explosion went off behind them. "But he's probably just angry I fleeced him of his ship the last time we met."

"You did what?" Scott shrieked. "And you seriously thought he would just lend us a ship if we asked?"

"We were paying him in full-"

"In credit!" Scott swiftly corrected.

He was promptly ignored when his father continued, "-and there's somewhat of an understanding among us pirates. A code, if you will, to maintain order."

"Does that code say anything about stealing another man's ship?"

Corsair was silent for a moment as he thought about it. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" Scott deadpanned.

"Look, son." Corsair's tone turned grave. "Sometimes a code can be conflicting. More so if the code isn't set in stone." Then, clearly grasping at straws for an excuse, he added, "Other times, the code is up for interpretation."

"Damn it." Scott cursed. "This is all your fault, dad!"

Any further bickering was interrupted by their radio coming online.

[Starfire to her beloved.] Kori's voice rang, drawing a snicker from Corsair and an embarrassed grimace from Scott. [I have received your signal of distress. Are you alright? Over.]

"It's—it's Cyclops on the field, Starfire." Scott pleaded as his ears reddened beneath his visor. "And that depends. We're fleeing for our lives. Ove-"

[Oh no!] Kori cut in with a worried gasp. [Where are you?] There was a short pause, before she quickly added. [Over.]

"There is a button on that comm to show you the tracker. Do you see it? Over."

[I do not know what it looks like.] Kori despaired. [Can you describe to me its appearance? Over.]

Corsair shot Scott an alarmed look, and then proceeded to shake his head, going so far as briefly crossing his arms negatively to punctuate his opinion. "Too risky, son. She might accidentally disable the comms."

Scott nodded in complete agreement. "Starfire, are any of the other Starjammers with you? Over." He tried, instead.

[They are not.] Kori clearly sounded distressed by that fact. [But it is possible they are nearby. Over.]

"Can you go find them? Ov-" another explosion rocked far too closely behind them, drawing a curse from Corsair and another startled gasp from Kori.

[There is no time! You are in danger, beloved!]

"Starfire-" Scott attempted to calm her down.

[I know!] Kori suddenly exclaimed as an idea apparently struck her.

"Starfire," Scott tried again just as another explosion rocked their vehicle.

[Found you!]

"Star—what?"

Moments later, an angry fireball descended rapidly from the skies, flying past the two fleeing Summers before unleashing a massive emerald beam of cosmic energy at the pursuing pirates. Suddenly being faced with an unexpected counterattack, the pirates' barrage halted as they dispersed to dodge a fiery death.

Satisfied with the time she bought, Starfire turned and flew towards the father-son pair.

"Clever girl." Corsair whistled appreciatively. "I guess following the explosions was the easiest way to find us."

"Starfire!" Scott happily greeted as the Tamaranean princess flew beside them. If circumstances were more ideal, he would have swooped her in for a grateful kiss.

"Beloved." Kori returned, her green eyes quickly taking him in before she sighed in relief. "I am relieved to see you are unharmed."

"I'm okay, too. Y'know, potential future father-in-law?" Corsair quipped before turning to Scott. He missed the adorable scowl Kori shot his way. "See, Scott." Corsair nudged his son with an elbow. "I told you things would work out fine."

"About that," Scott's visor flashed with a scheming glint. "Starfire, mind flying me out?"

"What?" Corsair exclaimed, the confusion on his face rapidly morphing into dawning horror.

"I would gladly do so!" Kori happily said, turning to Scott with a smile. It was clear she figured out how the two Summers got into such a dicey predicament, and was making an effort to hastily distance Scott from the conflict.

"Son, what are you doing?" Corsair could only watch as Scott stood up from his seat and reached out to Kori.

"Improvising, dad." Scott cheekily replied. "You and I both know your friends are mainly after you, and that they will regroup soon."

"So you're leaving your dad to the wolves?" Corsair asked demandingly.

"No. We'll gather the rest of the Starjammers and start the ship while you run a distraction."

"Son." Corsair's brows knitted in staunch disapproval of the suggestion.

"Look, dad, only the ship has enough firepower to intimidate them into reason, or flee far away enough out of their range even if it cannot get into orbit." Scott patiently—albeit, somewhat patronizingly to the ears of his disgruntled father—explained. "And it takes time to get it online before it can fly."

"I agree." Kori quickly chirped, reaching out to Scott. "Hold on tight, beloved."

Corsair suspected Kori's support of Scott's plan was less about its logic and more in making sure no harm fell upon him. He wasn't sure whether to be happy his son found a girl so very protective of him, or annoyed at the fact that that same protective girl would readily sacrifice him to uphold said protection.

Kids these days, Corsair lamented.

"I'll see you later, okay dad?" Scott grabbed onto Kori, who lifted them both up into the air. "Try not to die."

"This discussion is far from over!" Corsair shouted at the retreating pair.

"What?" Scott shouted back.

"You heard me, son!" Corsair bellowed just out of earshot. "Don't make me turn on the comms!"

Another explosion erupted behind him, alerting Corsair that the pirates had recovered.

He shifted gears and sped away for dear life.

-0-0-0-

Omake: She Got Dragon

"I had the most joyous of times, dear beloved." Kori exclaimed as she nuzzled further into Scott's embrace.

"Yeah?" Scott smiled, not even feeling as his ribs cracked under his girlfriend's glomp. "I was honestly worried. When Amadeus and Sam volunteered to bring you 'round the Arcade while Kamala and I settled the reservations and movie tickets, I was certain no good things will happen."

"You are too hard on your friends, beloved." Kori chastised him playfully. "They are not so bad. It is like having young siblings that are male and are up to no good."

"Exactly." Scott nodded. "Like I said, worried."

"But the food at night was most delicious, however!"

Scott smiled in remembrance. "I missed sushi too. Nothing quite like freshly cut fish."

Kori nodded, staring up at him expectantly. "And the sukumon was simply glorious!"

Confused, Scott tilted his head. "The sukumon?"

He didn't remember ordering that.

A Cheshire grin immediately bisected Kori's face.

"Sukum on these nuts!"

Scott blinked.

Scott stared.

Scott sighed.

"And thus," Scott finally said amidst Kori's incessant giggling, "I was very worried."

They wouldn't be visiting Earth again anytime soon.

Chapter Text

Towards Her Light

"Her love for you is an army.
Protected and served.
When you're lost, unwanted,
She's your hope, preserved."

It started in a shower

The Starjammer's plumbing was famously temperamental.

At best, it provided a whisper of recycled warmth—a misting simulation barely worthy of the term "shower." At worst, it choked, sputtered, and scalded.

Scott Summers, currently shirtless and shivering beneath the former, was gritting his teeth and trying to enjoy what little peace he could find after a long day of dodging debris fields and pretending he was not flustered every time Koriand'r smiled at him.

His ruby-quartz visor sat carefully on a wall-mounted hook. His eyelids were clamped shut. He didn't need to see to enjoy the comfort of the water against his skin. After all, opening his eyes—even accidentally—would carve a new doorway through the ship.

He was just starting to rinse his hair when the door he knew he locked hissed open.

The sound made Scott's blood freeze.

A warm, familiar voice drifted through the steam. "Hello, beloved."

His body jolted. He nearly slipped, catching himself on the wall. Panic bloomed. "Kori?!"

Scott's hands shot up instinctively to cover his face. He couldn't see, but he could feel her. The air temperature jumped by at least ten degrees. The steam shifted, embracing her glow. Her warmth—soft, radiant, unmistakably close—settled around him like a second shower.

"K-Kori! You can't—why are you—"

"I thought this would be a more efficient use of our water," she said matter-of-factly. "You mentioned disliking the cold. I am quite warm."

"I noticed," Scott squeaked. He was blind, damp, and deeply aware of the way heat shimmered across his bare chest—her heat. The droplets between them seemed to hum.

"I am also quite soft," she added casually. And then, with a teasing whisper near his ear, "Would you like to confirm this?"

Scott inhaled sharply, forcing himself to keep his eyes squeezed shut. "Nope. Nope. Eyes staying closed. Tightly."

"Mmm, then perhaps you wish to wear your visor?" she offered sweetly. "That way, we could bathe more comfortably. Together. You would be able to see me."

"That's not comforting! That's the opposite of comforting!"

"I know," she murmured, amused. "That is what makes this so thrilling, yes?"

"Thrilling is not the word I'd use!"

"You are correct," she said, floating even closer. Her breath kissed his neck. "Intimate is better. Like flamebonded."

Scott swallowed hard. Every instinct screamed to bolt—or reach for his visor—but he stood rooted, trapped by the warm weight of her hovering presence.

"I can feel you are nervous," she said softly.

"I can feel you—a lot of you." His voice cracked.

She giggled, and her arms slid gently around him from behind, her cheek pressing to his shoulder blade. Her skin against his was like golden velvet. He was acutely aware of every point of contact. He couldn't see her—but that just heightened everything.

He felt her, every curve, every breath. The softness of her skin, the smell of her hair – it drove him mad.

"If it truly offends your Earth customs, I shall leave." She sighed theatrically. "But I must admit I am... disappointed. I had hoped we were closer than mere comrades."

"We are!" Scott yelped. "I mean—we're getting there! But like—there's steps! Conversations! Clothes!"

The door hissed again.

"Well, would you look at that!" a voice drawled from the hallway. "Did someone finally take my advice?"

"Dad, GET OUT!"

Corsair's laughter echoed down the corridor. "Keep going, son! So proud of you!"

The door hissed shut.

Scott collapsed against the wall, dragging both hands down his face.

Koriand'r floated downward, a bemused smile in her voice. "Your father is most encouraging."

Scott groaned. "I really do hate space."

"I shall leave... for now." Her tone was teasing and light. She leaned in, pressed a warm, lingering kiss just below his jawline, and whispered, "But next time, I shall bring the bathing sponge."

She glided out in a trail of light and citrus-sweet heat, the door hissing closed behind her.

Scott stood frozen under the spray, utterly defeated.

"…I'm never surviving this journey."

From the hallway came another laugh. "Still proud!"

-0-0-0-

Tamaraneans are built different

It was late. The ship hummed in that quiet, post-mission lull that came after escaping death by only a narrow margin. Again.

Scott was standing at the sink in the medbay's converted hygiene module, shirtless, towel around his waist, aggressively brushing his teeth like he was trying to scrub the memory of last night's awkward shower encounter off his soul.

He glared at his reflection in the mirror. Or, more precisely, at the foggy blur where his face would be. His visor was already back on. He didn't trust himself not to blast a hole through the sink if he remembered the way Koriand'r had whispered, "Would you like to confirm this?"

His answer had been no. His body had strongly disagreed.

The door hissed open.

Scott tensed.

"Beloved!" Kori's voice was bright and delighted. "You are practicing dental hygiene!"

"Uh, yeah." He spat, rinsed, and glanced at her sidelong. "What gave it away? The foam?"

She drifted closer, curious. "I noticed you perform this often. Is it a ritual? For Earth warriors?"

"It's brushing my teeth."

"It looks... aggressive."

"I didn't sleep well."

"Oh?" Kori blinked. "But I slept marvelously beside you."

Scott inwardly sighed.

She watched, attentively, as he reapplied toothpaste and brushed again, this time slowly. She leaned in so close her breath fogged his mirror.

"I wish to learn," she said solemnly.

Scott paused. As he'd come to learn, Tamaranean bioflora had made it so Kori didn't need to brush her teeth to remain pristine.

Still, if the curious princess wanted to experience more things, who was he to deny a royal request?

He handed her a spare brush from the drawer and squeezed some paste onto it.

She mimicked him perfectly—at first. Then winced as her mouth began to sting. "This tastes like Earth punishment."

"It's mint."

And something he'd need to find a replacement for, soon.

"It is foul."

"You get used to it."

They stood side by side, brushing in silence for thirty seconds before Kori turned toward him and, mouth half-full of foam, said: "Does this activity usually involve such proximity?"

Scott almost dropped his toothbrush. "Not—usually, no."

"But I enjoy it. I can feel your warmth through our elbows."

"I—I'm glad."

She paused. "May I join you when you practice this ritual, beloved?"

He tried to respond. Really, he did.

What came out was, "Mmph."

She beamed at him, foam and all.

From somewhere down the hall, Corsair called, "That better be actual mouthwash I'm hearing in there!"

-0-0-0-

Boogie wonderland

The cantina on the asteroid outpost looked like someone had thrown a salvage yard and a dive bar into a centrifuge. A few patrons nursed glowing drinks in silence, and the air smelled like engine oil, cheap perfume, and at least ten species of alien musk. But in the corner, near a patchwork wall of blinking lights, sat the real prize:

A working jukebox. How it got here of all places, Scott would never know.

Hepzibah elbowed Scott as she passed him a bottle of something fizzy and probably illegal. "Still staring, Scott? Go make a move. Or are you waiting for a handwritten invitation?"

Scott raised a brow. "What move?"

Hepzibah smirked. "You've got literal princess in hiding sitting three feet from you, humming to herself, legs swaying like a siren in hunt—and you're talking to Hepzibah? Go teach her something Earthy. Do a cultural exchange."

Scott rolled his eyes but stood. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"Damn right Hepzibah is!" Hepzibah heartily laughed – more like bellowed. "You want to learn how to be a pirate, yes? Go dazzle her with that awkward mutant charm."

He left to the sound of her snickering and approached the jukebox with mock determination. After a quick scan, he punched in something labeled Earth—Vintage: 1980s. The speakers crackled to life, pouring out soft, low beats into the musty bar.

Koriand'r turned from her seat, curious. "Beloved?"

He extended a hand with uncharacteristic confidence. "I'm cashing in my cultural exchange chip. Tonight, you learn how humans dance."

Her eyes widened. "Dance? Like the rhythmic grapples of Tamaranean courtship duels?"

"Uh, no. Less grappling. More gentle swaying. Possibly stepping on my feet if you don't float."

She pouted. "So, it does not involve courtship?"

"It—it sometimes does."

"Even horizontal?"

Scott flushed, feeling his previous confidence turning into embarrassment. "Some say it's an expression of that wish."

"Your rituals are endlessly fascinating." she floated over and took his hand. "Teach me, beloved."

The lights dimmed—possibly on purpose, possibly from the jukebox overloading the power grid. Either way, the moment worked.

Scott placed his hand at her hip. She mirrored the gesture, her fingers resting delicately on his shoulder. He tried to keep his movements fluid, but between his boots and nerves, grace was a distant dream.

They swayed.

Poorly.

Kori's feet never fully touched the ground. Scott stumbled once, then twice, trying to correct for her hover-height. They turned in slow, slightly lopsided circles, at least a beat behind the music.

It was entirely uncoordinated.

And yet somehow, it was perfect.

"Was there a reason you decided to lure me into romantic clumsiness?" Kori said, her voice suspiciously soft.

"Would you believe me –," Scott began, cheeks flushing pink. "—if I said I wanted an excuse to hold you in a setting that didn't involve plasma blasts or prison breaks."

She giggled. "Then I shall accept your Earth ritual."

She leaned in, their foreheads nearly touching. "This movement... is it called 'cutting the rug'?"

"Sort of," Scott said, amused. "Though not literally."

She beamed. "Then let us fray the floorboards, beloved."

Scott's laugh was half-choked. "Close enough."

They kept swaying. Offbeat. Off-balance. But completely in sync where it mattered.

"Scott Summers of Earth," Kori murmured intimately, "if this is what human romance feels like, I am eager to learn more rituals."

His heart thumped hard enough to count as percussion.

"Just wait until I show you slow dancing in socks on kitchen tile," he whispered back.

She gasped. "Such innovation. Earth truly is the cradle of sensuality."

He was still chuckling when she pressed closer, her breath warm at his neck.

And though the jukebox sputtered and died two songs later, they didn't stop dancing.

Hepzibah took another swig, enjoying the show the budding lovers put.

She'd make a pirate out of Scott, yet.

Out here, where they were and in what they do – life was unpredictable and could be entirely short-lived. It just didn't do to not cherish every moment like it was their last.

-0-0-0-

Tighten up, youngblood

The Starjammer lurched to port, taking a direct hit from the pursuing Ha'yop ship. Alarms wailed across the deck, but Scott Summers didn't flinch. He gripped the console, squinted through the data readouts, and fired a tight beam from the underbelly cannon.

The ship erupted in flame. Not catastrophic—but annoying enough to break pursuit.

"Good shot, son," Corsair barked over the comm. "But stop aiming to disable. You're a pirate now."

"Working on it," Scott muttered, trying to ignore the tight grin forming on his face.

Floating down from above, hair streaming like a comet trail, came the voice of support itself: Princess Koriand'r of Tamaran.

"I believe you have done the knocking of the socks off," she declared with proud glee.

"The what now?"

She landed beside him with a twirl, her body shimmering with faint starfire. "The expression! When someone is impressed? I am practicing. I have also learned: 'you have hit it from the park!'—though why one would attack from a recreational area is beyond me."

Scott chuckled. "It's 'knocked it out of the park.' And you nailed it."

"Ah! Then perhaps you will let me assist next time?" She stared at him, innocent and coquettish. "I have the desire to also hold you in the most aggressive of consensual manners."

Scott blinked.

Then turned bright red.

Kori beamed.

"We're… we're going to have to work on your idioms, Kori."

Kori glowed even brighter. "Will it involve more kissing?"

"Not on our cameras again, it won't." Corsair barked. "Focus, kids!"

-0-0-0-

The stars write your story

They weren't supposed to be drifting. The Starjammer was parked on the edge of a solar skirmish zone, hiding in the debris field of a shattered freighter while Corsair negotiated—well, bartered bluff-for-bluff—with two mercenary captains over illegal fuel cells.

Scott wasn't needed for that part. No one trusted him to lie well enough yet.

So, he sat at the starboard viewport, alone, knees drawn to his chest, watching the swirl of fractured metal and sun-flare in the distance. The quiet hum of the engines was the only sound besides his breath.

Until it wasn't.

Princess Koriand'r of Tamaran floated in, graceful as always. She didn't speak right away. She didn't have to. The air shifted with her presence—warm, pleasant, like the sun stretching over a chilly room.

"You disappeared," she said after a beat.

"I was thinking."

She floated upside-down, arms folded under her chin as she stared at him from above. "You do that a lot."

"It's a hobby."

"Mine is cuddling," she declared, right before settling herself beside him, head landing squarely on his lap.

Scott stiffened.

Kori smiled. "Is this not an Earth courting ritual? When one is thinking, are they not now the pillow?"

"That's... not, not a thing," Scott admitted.

Her hair spread out like fire across his thighs. He tried very hard not to overthink it.

"You were worried," she said, gently. "I felt it."

"We're hiding from two fleets at war while dad's hustling fuel from scavengers we don't know if he'd offended in a previous encounter. I've earned a little worry."

"You've earned a great deal more," she agreed, "but I am here to make sure you rest instead."

He looked down at her. Her green eyes were bright. Curious.

Familiar in a way that made his chest ache.

"You always do that," he said.

"I always do what?"

"Make it easier to breathe."

She blinked, surprised. "Oh. Then I shall stay right here. For oxygen purposes."

Scott laughed despite himself. "You're ridiculous."

"Yes," she said with pride, "and you are mine."

He didn't argue.

Not when she curled into his side with a sigh, warmth radiating through the thin fabric of his shirt. Not when she traced idle shapes against the back of his hand. Not when the rest of the crew groaned and groaned at the fluctuating power levels but he sat still, unwilling to move.

Because for once, the chaos of the universe had stopped spinning.

And it left him here—quiet, resting, held—exactly where he began to realize he wanted to be.

-0-0-0-

Great actors know when to improvise

The tavern was carved into the side of a crumbling asteroid, the kind of place where no questions were asked, and answers weren't usually free. The lighting buzzed overhead in inconsistent flickers, and the furniture looked like it had survived at least one bar fight per stool.

Scott was trying not to look out of place, which was difficult, considering he was human, clean-shaven, and visibly uncomfortable. His glowing red visor was probably the least stand out feature on his person.

In stark contrast, Koriand'r glowed like a warm sunrise in a room full of shadows. Her expression was bright. Her dress was entirely too eye-catching for what was supposed to be a low-profile mission.

And yet somehow, no one batted an eyelash at her.

Corsair had given them a simple task: get to the backroom and for the love of a plan finally going right, don't draw attention.

"Reminder," Scott muttered under his breath. "This is a negotiation. We're just visiting."

"We are visiting," Kori replied, before suddenly adding, "And bonded."

"Wait, what—"

Before he could stop her, Kori stepped in front of the local patrol blocking the back corridor, smiled sweetly, and looped her arm through Scott's.

"I present our papers," she said, handing over the forged IDs they were explicitly told not to volunteer unless pressed.

The reptilian guard looked down at the hologram, then up at the pair of them.

"Purpose of visit?" it grunted.

"We are on our bonding pilgrimage," Kori said without hesitation.

Scott choked on air. "I—what—"

"A sacred tradition," she continued smoothly. "This is my consort. We are recently flamebound. I wished to show him this quadrant before he must return to his warfleet."

Scott managed a tight smile. "Yep. Can't miss the... ritual bonding circuit."

The guard looked at him, unimpressed.

Kori leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "He is very shy. But fiercely passionate towards me especially when we are alone."

Scott looked like he might die.

After a long pause, the guard snorted. "Just don't burn anything."

They were waved through.

Kori held onto Scott's arm as they stepped into the dim hallway, her face still composed.

"We were supposed to keep a low profile," he whispered.

"I adapted," she corrected. "We are in, are we not?"

"'Bonding pilgrimage'?!"

"Your reaction was very convincing, beloved."

"That's because I was having a stroke."

Kori's eyes gleamed. "Then I will speak of our private moments more often. It improves your acting."

Scott groaned.

But he didn't pull away.

Not even when she rested her head briefly on his shoulder and whispered, "Thank you for trusting my lead. I know Earthlings require more declarations before acting as flamebound."

Scott swallowed hard. "We do."

She smiled. "Then I look forward to hearing yours—one day."

-0-0-0-

Hot stone massage

Scott felt like a humanoid bruise.

His shoulders were tight enough to creak when he turned his head, and his back felt like it had been steamrolled by a Kree heavy cruiser. Post-battle adrenaline had worn off hours ago, leaving behind a deep, low ache he could no longer ignore.

He was lying face-down on the medbay cot, trying to will himself into something approximating rest, when the door hissed open.

"My beloved, I have come to apply the Tamaranean recovery technique!" Kori announced cheerfully.

Scott's head shot up. "The what now?"

"The traditional massage after shared battle," she said, already floating toward him, hair glowing faintly. "It promotes muscle healing, emotional openness, appreciation for life, and especially proximity among consorts."

"Consorts?" he asked warily.

"Yes."

She straddled him before he could protest—her thighs bracketing his hips, her hands already pressing into the curve of his shoulder blades with a firm, deliberate warmth that melted tension like butter on a hot steak.

Scott buried his face into his forearm. "I—I think I'm actually fine—oh, oh wow, okay—"

Kori's palms were like soft but firm hot pads gliding over his back.

"You said your shoulders needed pressure," she reminded him, kneading a knotted muscle with practiced fingers.

"You're pressure incarnate," he muttered, breathless.

"Thank you," she said, beaming.

She leaned down, her hair tickling the back of his neck, her voice low. "Also, Tamaranean massages require full-body contact for effectiveness. Shall I strip for the next step?"

Scott made a strangled sound.

Korvus entered. Paused. Stared at the younger version of his would-be father had things between him and Rachel Grey actually worked out.

Then turned on his heel and left without a word.

Kori didn't even blink. "We are almost finished," she called politely after him.

Scott groaned. "I am never living this down."

"Shhh. You are very tense."

-0-0-0-

Corsair is the best worst dad in the galaxy

It started with a drink.

The Starjammer had docked at a trading post – neutral ground for pirates, bounty hunters, and planetary outcasts alike. The crew was toasting a successful haul, and Corsair handed Scott a tall glass of something pink, frothy, and suspiciously sparkling.

"Local specialty," Corsair had said, winking, before quickly leaving. "Good for loosening up."

Not thinking much of his father's weirdness, Scott took a sip. It was fruity. Sweet. Innocent. Tasted really good, really.

Five minutes later, he was definitely not okay.

His face was flushed. His neck felt like it was hosting a contained supernova. He tugged at his collar, fidgeted with his visor, and tried very hard not to stare at Kori's everything across the table—who was glowing in that casual, effortless way that made him feel like he'd combust just looking at her.

"I think something's wrong with that drink," Scott murmured, tugging at his sleeves.

"You are sweating, beloved." Kori observed cheerfully. "That is good. The bonding agent is working."

"The what now?"

"It's a Tamaranean aphrodisiac," Hepzibah chimed in from nearby. "Hepzibah asked Kori to brew one for Hepzibah. Hepzibah gave it to Chris, intending for him to drink."

"And now it's in me?!"

Kori floated closer; her head tilted curiously. "You appear affected. Would you like to go somewhere quieter?"

Scott stood so fast his chair fell over.

They retreated to a quiet corner of the station's observation bay. Scott paced, tugged at his hair, and muttered half-sentences to himself. Kori watched with amused patience.

"I didn't mean to feel like this," he blurted finally. "It's like everything's on fire and I just—I want—"

He stopped, heart hammering.

"I want you. Fiercely. Fully. All the way. But it shouldn't be like this."

Kori didn't move. Didn't gloat. Just smiled gently. "I know."

Scott's breath caught. "You do?"

"I have known for a while," she said softly. "But I wished you to reach for me. Not because something burned in you. But because you chose to."

His shoulders sagged. "I do choose you. All the time. It's just—sometimes it's terrifying."

She reached up, pressing her palm against his cheek. "Then I will wait until it is not."

They stood there in the half-dark, her hand warm, his skin buzzing.

She didn't kiss him.

She didn't tease.

But when she finally stepped back, she brushed her fingers across his and whispered, "Next time, I'll bring two drinks. Just in case."

-0-0-0-

How does one do laundry in space?

The Starjammer's laundry unit was a marvel of alien engineering and absolute chaos. Everyone had lost something to it—socks, sleeves, an entire jumpsuit once—but Scott hadn't expected to find that in his bunk.

It was small. Lacy. Orange. And remained neatly on top of his shirt.

He froze like a hunted animal.

Then, from behind him—

"Ah! I was looking for that," came Kori's voice, delighted.

Scott turned slowly, like facing down a very sexy death.

"Why was this in my laundry pile?"

Kori floated in, unconcerned. "It must have clung to your clothing in the spin-cycle. I believe this ship enjoys making our match."

"I—this—why is it on top?"

"To make it easier to find, of course." She tilted her head. "Does it meet your approval?"

Scott choked and dropped it like it burned.

Kori giggled. "You may keep it, then. A memento."

"I'm never doing laundry again."

"That is unfortunate," she said thoughtfully. "Your folding is excellent. Quite symmetrical and organized. It's very endearing."

Outside the hallway, Hepzibah passed by and threw something white and very plain at him. "If Hepzibah finds Scott's underwear in the cockpit again, it's going in the airlock."

Kori just smiled and patted Scott's chest. "She's joking. I think."

Scott, face red to the roots, whispered to himself, "I miss being shot at."

-0-0-0-

A reward for bravery

The hall was carved into coral-like stone, bioluminescent vines curling along the walls and casting gentle light on the gathered delegates. The planetary regent of Kar'Abaw Minor sat atop a low dais, flanked by advisors and armed guards, all bearing expressions somewhere between suspicion and eagerness.

Scott adjusted his visor for the third time.

He wasn't used to speaking like this—diplomacy wasn't his forte.

But Corsair had conveniently vanished with Ch'od the moment they arrived. Hepzibah was pretending to translate in the corner and failing to hide her amusement.

And Koriand'r—heavens help him—was seated at his side in ceremonial robes that left very little to the imagination and even less to Scott's self-control. The closest she could find to Tamaranean ritual garb, allegedly.

The Kar'Abaw were threatening civil conflict over a botched treaty with the Man'Oks. The Starjammers were caught in the middle, and it had fallen on Scott—time-displaced Scott—to talk the ruling houses down from open war.

To talk down an entire planet and stop them from pursuing a mutually assured destruction.

He took a breath.

"I know I'm not from here," he began, voice firm despite the heat climbing up his neck. "And I know I look young. But I've seen what happens when people let pride win over peace. And it doesn't end with heroes. It ends with names on memorials and a whole lot of regret."

The regent's brow lifted slightly.

Scott pressed on.

"Maybe you don't want to listen to an outsider. But please, listen to me. I've lived through mistakes. I've made them. The kind you can't take back. So, I'm asking—don't make another one just to prove a point."

He looked directly at the regent. "You can be better than the people who wronged you. That's the kind of legacy worth building. That's the kind of civilization that will endure. And at the end of each cycle, is that not what we wish for? What we toil for? So, I say, let us end this conflict and be the better people."

Silence fell.

Then—

Kori began clapping.

Earnestly. Loudly. Proudly.

Soon, the rest of the gathered joined in, praising the young man for his wisdom. Cheers came, some Scott could understand, most he couldn't but he could still feel their praise.

Their adoration.

Their adulation.

His words had resonated with a people not his own.

"That was very stirring, beloved." Kori stood, radiant and quite literally glowing. "Let us do the coupling now!"

The entire chamber froze.

Scott's soul nearly left his body.

"I—what—Kori—"

She beamed at him. "What? That is how we reward speeches from the brave on Tamaran!"

Was that why she was adamant on wearing Tamaranean ritual robes!

One of the Kar'Abaw advisors coughed violently into their sleeve.

Scott, very red, turned to the regent. "I assure you, I did not say that for a—uh—consummatory ceremony."

The regent slowly nodded. "Your appeal was… passionate, young Starjammer. And… I imagine it was not intended as foreplay with your flamebound." He coughed once more, tilting his head towards the exit of the chamber. "Rest assured that we are fully aware of Tamaranean rituals. I can take it from here."

"Thank you," Scott muttered. "We'll… just see ourselves out."

As they exited, Kori leaned in and whispered, "Where do you wish to consummate, beloved? I saw their garden had a somewhat secluded but very beautiful fountain. Do you wish to see it?"

Scott stumbled into the doorframe.

Behind them, Hepzibah smirked and followed with a proud salute. "That went better than expected."

-0-0-0-

Even spacemen overheat

The planet had two suns.

Scott had barely handled one.

They were there to deliver medical supplies to a nomadic settlement, just a routine goodwill run with the Starjammers. But by midday, the rocky dunes shimmered with enough heat to melt metal, and even the pirates had retreated to the shade of the ship.

All except Kori.

She glowed—literally—in the light. Hovering midair with her eyes closed and her arms stretched to the sky, she drank in the twin sunlight like a flower blooming at noon.

Scott, on the other hand, was slumped against a crate, visor fogged, uniform half-unzipped, sweat plastering his shirt to his chest.

"You good?" Ch'od asked, eyeing him with suspicion.

Scott waved him off. "Peachy."

He wasn't.

The next thing he knew, the world tilted, narrowed, and faded.

When he came to, the sun was still blinding, but now he was in someone's lap—cradled against a body softer, warmer, and far more alarmed.

Kori.

Her hands glowed faintly as she pressed them to his chest and forehead, channeling her energy not to burn, but to regulate. The heat in her touch bled into him gently, stabilizing his system.

"Stay with me," she whispered. "You overheated. Your internal coolant system is inefficient."

"I don't have an internal coolant system," he mumbled.

"Exactly."

She kept holding him. One hand rested against his chest. The other cupped his jaw, fingers brushing his neck. Her skin hummed with energy. Scott, dazed, blinked blearily up at her.

"You're too hot," he murmured.

Kori's lips quirked. "So, you do notice."

Scott groaned. "Not what I meant—"

"It is alright, beloved," she said brightly. "You are delirious. But honest."

As his temperature normalized, she made no move to let go.

"Staying skin-to-skin is efficient," she declared. "For safety."

"Of course," Scott said weakly, trying very hard not to die from sheer contact.

"If you begin overheating again," she added, stroking his hair, "I shall remove more layers from us both. For efficiency."

Scott nodded once. Very slowly.

And prayed the suns never set.

-0-0-0-

Blessing from the queen

"I suppose you could choose a worse consort." Komand'r, acting Queen of Tamaran – or at least, its resistance – told her sister. "He is scrawny and he cannot fly. But his eyes feel kissed by the Eternal Phoenix itself."

When Kori and the Starjammers received an encoded distress call from the Ember Crown – a ritual site in one of the moons at the border of Tamaran's space sector – the last thing she expected was to stumble on her older sister.

Especially when their relationship hadn't been particularly close.

Still, time away – and a clear indication that Kori did not want to partake in any succession battle, as well as clear support for Komand'r by the remaining Tamaraneans – had seemed to mellow the raven-haired queen's volatility.

"He is incredibly sweet, and I have been learning a lot." Kori agreed.

"And yet, you two only act the part of flamebound." Kom goaded. "Why?"

Kori glanced outside – at her beloved in the courtyard, discussing something with his father. Tamaranean children flanked them, vying for his attention. Scott noticed, and crouched down to a little girl, who whispered something in his ear that made him panic.

Kori smiled.

"I have learned of Earth customs. And some of them are not so bad."

"Patience is not a virtue to our people, sister." Kom said, "Our lives are too fleeting to live without action. Passion. The great X'Hal had shown our people this. Even those touched by the Eternal Phoenix are not long for this world."

Kori nodded. "Yes, such is true. But I have also learned that, sometimes, there are moments worth savoring. Moments worth cherishing into memory. A bright candle need not burn so shortly if tended and cared for."

"But you wish to be flamebound, do you not?"

"I yearn for it." Kori smiled.

"Then you are fortunate to be here in the Ember Crown." Kom pointed out. "Go. I give you permission to enter the temple. There, you may ask for the blessing of the undying flame. At the least, you both may start the rites."

Kori's head whipped towards her sister in surprise, which quickly morphed into a joyous smile. She flew towards her and picked her up in a warm hug.

"Oh, sister! Thank you!"

"Unhand me, you soft-hearted snervian blork worm!"

"I will depart immediately!" and true to her word, Kori flew out the window.

Catching her breathe, Komand'r could only stare.

Good riddance to overly emotional zarbnofs!

-0-0-0-

A bond forged in fire

The chamber was ancient. A domed hearth cut from firestone and obsidian, hidden beneath the last living root of a Tamaranean flame-tree. And it pulsed, gently, like it remembered what it was for.

When Scott agreed to take part in the ritual, Kori had brought him here on foot—no Starjammer, no crew. Just the two of them.

They could have flown, of course, but part of the ritual was their shared pilgrimage.

"This is the rite of binding," she said. "This tree, forever aflame, touched by the great X'Hal when the Eternal Phoenix had chosen her as its priestess, and turned beacon to bind all Tamaraneans so that, forever – in their brightest days and in their darkest nights – we will never be alone. It is a promise to be bound for so long as this flame burns."

Scott swallowed. "No pressure, huh?"

"Only fire." She smiled, but it was softer now. Quieter. "And now, I shall lead."

A ring of heat shimmered around the chamber as the ritual began. Music bloomed from the crystals embedded in the walls—low, rhythmic, like breath and heartbeat given form. Kori stepped forward, arm extended.

Scott took her hand.

They moved together—slowly at first. Then, gradually, with certainty.

The dance wasn't rehearsed. It didn't have to be. It was instinct. A clinking of crystals and a cackling of fire.

A syncing of heartbeats. A shared breath. Her body curled around his like a flame curling upward. His hands steadied her hips. Her lips nearly brushed his throat.

Clothes loosened. Skin warmed and glistened with graceful exertion.

Every motion said: I am here. I am yours.

And then—

Just as they moved in perfect unison, her breath brushing his lips—

Scott pulled back.

Holding her hand.

"Let me say it first," he murmured. "Let me mean it."

Her fire dimmed, but not in rejection. In reverence and in understanding.

"I yearn for your words," she whispered, forehead to his. "But I shall wait. Since our meeting, I have learned this is also one manner of keeping what we have kindled."

He didn't run.

He just breathed her in.

And the fire between them kept burning—brighter still for waiting.

Even without their kiss, the flame knew.

Their hearts had touched.

They were now, truly, flamebound.

-0-0-0-

Just take her, already

The jungle planet was too hot. Too damp. Too clingy.

Even Kori, who normally radiated heat like a cozy furnace, looked mildly flushed as they hiked down into the valley of mist-laced springs.

"The water is naturally mineral-rich and thermally balanced," she reported cheerfully. "It is perfect for skin renewal and emotional equilibrium!"

Corsair, Hepzibah, and Ch'od took one look at the spring setup, nodded to each other, and made excuses that involved maintenance checks and fake coughs.

Scott stared into the rising steam. "So, it's just us now?"

"Yes," Kori replied, already stripping off her boots and garments in one graceful movement. "We shall hydrate together."

Scott turned around so fast he almost fell into a tree.

"I—I think I'll go in after—"

She was already waist-deep in the spring, water clinging to her skin like golden lacquer. Her hair floated around her shoulders in a glowing, fiery halo.

"You are overthinking again, my beloved," she teased. "This is just a Tamaranean water bonding soak. Very standard."

"There's nothing standard about this," Scott muttered, slipping cautiously into the water while keeping his gaze fixed on the mossy bank.  "This is a test."

"Oh, no," she denied, innocently, but Scott saw right through her; he had already caught on to her game for a while now. "And if it was, what would I be testing? Your stamina when in heat? Your restraint?"

He dared a glance. And immediately regretted it. And then didn't.

She noticed.

"Does my bosom please you, beloved?" she asked.

He choked. "I—what—no—I mean—yes—but—"

"Then let it," she whispered, gliding to him, placing one warm palm over his heart. "And stop splashing. You are very inefficient with our spring water."

Scott's brain short-circuited.

Somewhere above the spring, a tropical bird squawked. Below it, a mutant space pirate forgot how to breathe.

Kori smiled, utterly serene. "You are blushing in very symmetrical places, beloved."

Scott groaned and sank deeper beneath the water.

-0-0-0-

Testing out new hardware

They'd snuck away.

After a week of missions, diplomacy, pirates, and skirmishes with bounty hunters, Scott had finally convinced Kori to fly with him—just the two of them—to a cliffside clearing overlooking the lush, humid canopy of a jungle moon. Twin waterfalls thundered in the distance. Xenobirds scattered through beams of sunlight.

And for once, no one needed saving.

Kori hovered in the open light like it was her birthright. She was radiant, basking—feeding off the warmth like a solar battery made of fire and silk. Scott lay on his back, propped up on his elbows, visor off and replaced with new prototype lenses, ones with built-in stabilizers.

They glowed faintly red.

"I can see," he said softly, adjusting them. "And there no blasts."

"Your eyes are like ruby light." Kori floated down, curious. "Does it hurt?"

"No," he said. "It feels... clearer. Like I'm not bracing to lose control anymore."

She smiled. Then, without asking, she climbed into his lap.

Sunlight poured over them. Her back was warm against his chest. Her legs tangled with his. And he felt it—the hum. The slow, burning connection that had lived under his skin since the first time she touched him.

They sat in silence, Kori leaning back against him, his arms wrapped loosely around her middle. His lips brushed the edge of her temple.

"I feel it too," she murmured.

Scott blinked. "Feel what?"

"This heat. This shift in me. I am always radiant, but near you?" She turned slightly, resting a glowing hand over his chest. "Near you, it grows. It builds. I shine hotter."

Scott's laugh was quiet and breathless. "Maybe that's why I want to combust every time you touch me."

Kori turned fully to straddle his hips, their bodies flush. Her fingers threaded into his hair.

"What if we burn slowly?" she whispered. "Together."

Their foreheads touched. His fingers splayed over her hips.

The kiss almost happened—sunlight, sweat, tension curling like smoke between them.

And then, something cracked in the background.

Quickly, the couple disengaged, hearts pounding but ready for battle, only to realize the wildlife had come to the watering hole.

Scott and Kori blinked, stared at each other, and then laughed.

Still, Scott knew.

He was more certain, now.

-0-0-0-

Hush now kids, the grown-ups are talking

The Starjammer mess hall was, as usual, a boisterous mess of utensils clinking against mismatched plates and the low hum of a distant engine.

Corsair leaned back in his chair, boots up on the table, nursing a cup of something probably fermented.

"Back in my day," he said, swirling the drink, "we didn't wait to kiss the girl. We just made sure she was impressed by the ride first."

Raza grunted. "Earth mating habits are... inefficient."

Hepzibah grinned. "They're not inefficient. They're just adorably flustered. It's called foreplay, metal man."

Ch'od blinked. "The boy's been jittery for months. Is this normal?"

"Definitely a late bloomer by Summers standard. I blame myself for that—not teaching the boy everything he needs to know to win at life." Corsair chuckled. "Now, he's like a faulty plasma coil. Lots of pressure, lots of steam—he's bound to boom."

Hepzibah leaned on her elbow, eyes glinting. "Oh, he's already combusting. You see the way he trips over his own boots every time she calls him 'beloved'? He stumbles just hearing her voice!"

"She has offered proximity," Raza added, tilting his head. "Physical warmth. Rites I've never heard of and some I am sure she made up. Even joined him in a bathing unit. Why has he not mated?"

Hepzibah raised a brow. "Because Scott has not just tripped and looking for a quick fix. He has fallen."

A beat of silence.

Ch'od tilted his head. "Wait... really?"

"Oh, absolutely," Hepzibah said, twirling her drink with a sly smile. "He looks at her like she's starlight and oxygen made flesh. Tripping's not just shyness—it's terminal affection."

Corsair lifted his glass. "To Scott. May his emotional constipation someday clear."

Hepzibah added with a wink, "And may Princess Starfire finally get her kiss before she decides to torch the whole ship out of romantic frustration."

Raza nodded. "That would be quite the star, yes?"

They all looked up as Kori and Scott passed by the mess hall entrance—Kori glowing in the afterglow of sunlight, Scott blinking rapidly and muttering something about navigation logs, ears bright red, and hands brushing hers but never quite clasping.

Hepzibah watched them go, then raised her glass again.

"To Earth boys," she said cheerfully. "Slowly, they burn. Loudly, they bang. But absolutely, they are doomed."

-0-0-0-

Once more, into the generator

Scott stood in the generator chamber, visor off, his blasts feeding the ship's solar transducers. Steam curled around his bare shoulders, sweat beading across his chest. It was mechanical. Routine.

Until the door opened.

Kori stepped inside, shedding her robe with the ease of function, not display. Her body shimmered—not undressed for allure, but for synergy. Purposeful. Beautiful.

She entered the chamber beside him, wordless, and took her place.

They didn't touch. But the heat between them—between bodies used to dancing around contact—was palpable. It built slowly. With every shared breath. Every flicker of starlight caught on skin.

But unlike the first time they began this dance, Scott was unafraid of tripping.

"If I must wait," she began, cheek brushing gently against his nape. "Then I might as well be comfortable."

He closed his eyes.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

There was the anxiety still there – of pursuing what he wanted.

But Kori didn't press. Didn't pull. She just waited. Glowing, steady, patient.

A gentle flame in the vastness of space.

He supposed he wouldn't be so cold anymore.

-0-0-0-

Starting the real bonding pilgrimage

Scott had learned of the ritual from Komand'r.

The queen had checked up on them during a routine correspondence. His binding to her sister had come up in conversation when she cornered him, arms folded, expression severe, after she had learned of his wavering.

"You care for her," she said. "Then do not delay. The rite is symbolic so it is action that gives it meaning. If you are truly bound – if you truly accepted to be bound, then act like it."

And Scott—still recovering from the weight of Kori's touch, the fire of her trust—had nodded. Not out of obligation.

But because, for the first time since he and Kori had begun this slow dance, he was ready.

Now he stood in the candlelit chamber alone, setting the flame-dishes where they belonged, adjusting the mats, heart thudding like he was preparing for battle.

When Kori entered, she immediately recognized the setup, and she looked confused.

"You... prepared this?"

He nodded, quiet but certain. "I asked Komand'r. There are more parts to our ritual, weren't there?"

She hesitated. Just for a breath. "You are sure?"

Scott stepped forward and took her hand. "I'm sure."

She was barefoot. Beautiful. Unsure in a way he'd rarely seen, but eager all the same. But when he guided her down to the mat, seated her before him, chest to chest, breath to breath, she let herself trust it.

She didn't lead. Not this time.

Scott did.

He pressed their foreheads together. Let his fingers rest on the small of her back.

The ritual was wordless—but his heart was loud.

Each beat speaking against her skin.

Every breath felt like fire. Every inhale fused them. Every exhale undid him.

Her body pressed against his. Skin to skin. No walls. No space.

She let out a slow, quiet breath. "Do you feel what I feel?"

Scott cupped her cheek. His eyes thrummed as he basked in her radiance.

"I do," he whispered. "And I love you. I've loved you since the moment I stopped being afraid of you."

Her eyes burned—not with power, but feeling.

And when she kissed him, it was not playful. Not teasing.

It was simply everything.

From the beginning, they did not move fast.

But they moved together.

Heat and breath. Connection and fire. A shared rhythm, a shared space. A love made real not in words, but in the quiet inhalation of each other.

And after this moment, their bond would be changed forever.

Later, Corsair sniffed near the sealed chamber as he passed it by.

"What's that? Smells like someone lit oil and mangoes in there." He frowned. "We better get that ventilator fixed."

Hepzibah raised a brow. "Chris does not know what love smells like?"

"It's what?" Corsair blinked, before a grin split his face. He pumped a fist in the air. "MY BOY! MY BEAUTIFUL BOY! I'M PROUD OF YOU!"

Scott walked past, shirt half-buttoned, trying to hide the flush in his cheeks and Kori's marks on his neck.

Kori floated beside him, content, and unabashed by the marks Scott left on her orange skin.

"A most successful rite, indeed" she sang.

Scott mourned, "I'm never going to live this down."

But he didn't let go of her hand.

-0-0-0-

Baby, it's not so cold anymore

The Starjammer had docked on a terraformed tropical moon with no signs of intelligent life and a ridiculously bright sun. Technically, they were there for solar calibration.

Practically, it was nap time.

Scott lay back on a long stretch of sun-drenched deckplate in his shorts, visor still on, arms folded awkwardly behind his head. He was trying not to look like he was dying of nerves.

Above him, floating in all her golden-orange, lightly glowing glory, Koriand'r hovered midair in a relaxed pose. She stretched languidly, soaking in the ultraviolet rays like a cat in a window.

"Are you ready," she asked innocently, "to tan your cheeks?"

Scott's brain short-circuited.

"W-what?!"

Kori smiled down at him, her legs folding gracefully beneath her. "Your posterior cheeks. You have not exposed them to solar absorption. You said the color is off."

"I—no—I mean, yes, but I didn't mean that literally—"

She giggled. "Then remove your garments, beloved. This is a sacred Tamaranean efficiency ritual. I can guide you."

Scott opened his mouth, but nothing coherent came out.

At that moment, Hepzibah strolled past with a sunhat and a datapad, barely glancing up as she tossed a rolled towel in Scott's direction.

"For drool," she said. "Or modesty. You choose."

Scott groaned into his hands. Kori, glowing and mischievous, floated down to nuzzle his side with the tip of her nose.

"You are adorable when flustered, beloved" she whispered.

"You say that like I'm ever not," he mumbled.

She beamed. "Never. Now roll over, my flamebound. You are unevenly toasted."

Somewhere above them, the sun blazed on.

And Scott Summers, reluctant pirate and fully solar-charged boyfriend, decided that life aboard the Starjammer wasn't so bad after all.

Space wasn't so cold, after all.

-0-0-0-

Bonus Scene: The real reason Scott's taking it slow (no, not really. Okay, maybe)

It began, as all good disasters do, with Corsair barging into Scott's quarters unannounced.

"Hey, son," he said too casually, hands behind his back. "Got a minute? We need to talk."

Scott—halfway through organizing mission reports and pretending not to have been staring at a photo of Kori—obediently turned to his father. "Sure, dad. What's this about?"

"Son, has anyone ever told you about life?"

Scott paused, uncertain, but with dawning horror.

Corsair wagged his eyebrows.

"Oh no."

"Oh yes." Corsair stepped fully inside, producing a datapad and dropping it onto the table with a dramatic thunk. "It's time for... the Talk."

Scott blinked. "Dad, please don't—"

"I have failed you as a father," Corsair said, entirely too cheerfully. "I was abducted by alien bird people. Missed all the crucial bonding years. But isn't that why we're here? We're fixing that."

"You don't have to—"

"Son, you are dating a glowing, flying, space princess who thinks lingerie is daily garb, and whose kisses may or may not cause solar flares. This talk is not just needed, but long overdue."

Scott groaned and dragged his hands down his face. "Dad, I'm nineteen."

"Exactly! Imagine my shame if you combusted at that age!" Corsair exclaimed like it was the end of the multiverse. "Look, I'm not saying don't fall in love with the fire princess from the planet of passion, but for the love of all that's breathable, go slow. You've got powers. She's got powers. And if either of you even sneezes mid-fucking, the ship's hull integrity will be compromised."

Scott audibly choked.

"Here, I've had Raza prepare diagrams." Corsair continued proudly, swiping through the datapad to several alarming anatomy charts of Tamaranean energy output zones. "Now, I'm not an expert on their species, but this chart says that if she starts glowing here"—he tapped a glowing diagram of a mons pubis—"you might want to initiate emergency cooling protocols."

Scott tried to crawl under the desk.

"And if her hair starts glowing before the clothes come off, retreat slowly and apply your closest coolant."

No, the desk wasn't safe enough.

He needed to get his screwdriver to hide in the vents.

"Also," Corsair continued, his tone turning solemn, "don't trust alien condoms. You don't know what they use to lubricate the inside. Not all things are compatible with sensitive skin. Lastly-"

Gods, there was more?

"-never attempt upside-down gravitational sex unless you've fully healed from any previous pelvic trauma."

"What trauma?! I haven't—Dad!"

"I'm just saying, some of us learned the hard way." Corsair pointed to a jagged scar just above his belt. "A former Majesdanian diplomat. Let's not relive that one-night stand."

From the hallway, Hepzibah's voice floated in. "He cried for three days. We had to bribe an underground Kree healer."

"I WAS SECURING OUR FUEL," Corsair snapped back.

Scott buried his face in a pillow. "I hate space."

"You love space," Corsair corrected, clapping him on the back. "You just don't love me trying to warn you that a Tamaranean's thigh strength could shatter your pelvis. Or what her Kegel can do to your penis."

"I didn't need to know any of that."

"That's how I know you're mine." Corsair smiled fondly. "We Summers are fearless."

He turned to leave, pausing at the door.

"One more thing, son."

Scott peeked over the pillow, wary. "What now?"

Corsair's voice was softer. "I know you're scared. And I know she scares you in all the good ways. But you know when you're tripping over your boots just to hear her laugh? That's not nerves. That's love. That's when I snagged your mother."

Scott blinked.

Then promptly threw the pillow at him.

Corsair dodged, laughing all the way down the corridor.

"I'm proud of you, boy!"

"I'M LOCKING THIS DAMNED DOOR!"

Distantly, he heard Kori's anguished cry, "NOOOOOO!"

Chapter Text

Fight the Tide

I can't promise things will change
That your tears are not in vain
But if no god answers your cries of pain
Will you still find your strength?

The Starjammer was quiet as another sleep cycle had come for most of its crew.

Corsair was out cold in his quarters, likely dreaming about his next grand heist. Hepzibah was at the pilot’s seat, lightly snoozing as their ship cruised through the galaxy. Somewhere near the engine housing, Ch’od snored like an old generator about to blow.

But runaway Princess Koriand’r of Tamaran was still very much awake.

She wandered the dim hallway barefoot, a loose robe brushing her thighs, her body glowing faintly with the heat that hummed under her skin. Her hair—luminescent even now —trailed like quiet fire behind her.

In times like this – times when sleep refused to claim her – Kori found herself gravitating towards Scott’s quarters.

This cycle was no different.

With a quiet hum, the door slid open, revealing a well-kempt but empty bed. Scott was probably still in the cockpit with Hepzibah, though Kori also knew his shift was about to end.

Absently, Kori’s feet padded inside, eyes drawn to the room that was so very much like her beloved.

It was precise, minimalist, and orderly—but not cold; never cold. It remained lived-in.

Each item had its place, from the meticulously folded spare uniform to the dog-eared journal tucked near his bedside.

A small plant rested in the corner, clearly struggling but stubbornly still alive, and on the shelf above his desk sat a cracked visor lens he had never thrown away.

It wasn’t a space curated for comfort, but one defined by discipline and habit—a room that hummed with emotions in straight lines and muted colors.

And yet, there was warmth in the simplicity. A kind of restrained hopefulness, buried beneath all that structure, like a heart wrapped in armor too long worn.

Eventually, her eyes were drawn to his work station, where his coat draped over a chair beside his desk, half-folded like a memory someone didn’t want to finish.

Kori reached for it with gentle fingers. Her people cherished physical artifacts—tokens of connection, of touch. She thought to fold it neatly as a small gesture in their tangled closeness.

But something suddenly caught the corner of her eye – an unusual break from Scott’s usual orderliness.

It was a piece of yellowed paper, creased at the edges, that appeared to have fallen out of a semi-open box.

Kori hesitated briefly, then picked it up.

The script was careful. Not stylized, nor performative. It was honest and somehow hesitant – like the writer did not know how to put something into words.

Kori read only the first few lines before she realized what it was.

“Jean. I don’t know how to stop writing to you, even when I know you’ll never read this. I wish I knew if you ever saw me—really saw me. Or if I was becoming a memory that could no longer exist.”

Her lips parted slightly. Not in surprise—Scott had mentioned Jean Grey, his best friend and the girl who had stolen his heart, before—but in recognition. This wasn’t just longing. This was a confession, and maybe mourning.

“Please don’t read those.”

His voice startled her. She turned, the letter still in hand.

Scott Summers stood at the doorway in his sleep shirt, hair ruffled, mug in hand.

He looked… afraid.

Not angry. Not ashamed.

Just afraid.

“I’m sorry,” Kori said, gently folding the letter. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know.” He took a step forward. “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. And I wasn’t exactly hiding it.”

Still, he sat down with an audible sigh, as though the weight of space had shifted from its dark expense and onto his chest.

Kori joined him, silent for a moment before, finally, asking, “You wrote many?”

Scott looked at her as if he was stabbed through the heart. “Too many.”

She nodded. “May I ask why?”

He took a sip of whatever substitute for coffee the pirates had bartered last planetfall.

“Because it was the only way I felt I could talk to her without being afraid.”

His squad’s arrival in the future – to prevent an apparent genocide he would cause, only to find out the future version of his close friend simply wanted to punish him – had started out poorly for him.

Arriving at this time had cracked something in him, quietly but deeply.

The abandonment wasn’t sharp; it was slow, the kind that sinks into your bones and made them ache with every breathe and step.

This future he found himself stranded in had looked at him not as a person, but as a problem to be preemptively punished. He didn’t even get the dignity to defend himself; just judgment, and the loneliness of that verdict—delivered not by strangers but by people who should’ve known better—had never quite left him.

At the center of it all was the way his team reacted. The way Jean acted – and not acted.

Jean had stood there too, silent in the face of Beast’s accusations and Wolverine’s threats. She didn’t stop them. She didn’t even attempt to shield him.

None of them did.

Instead, Scott stood alone fighting an overwhelming tide, simply hoping that even this darkness would end in morning light.

And so, he turned to writing. Because the page didn’t flinch. The page didn’t abandon him. And in those desperate, restless nights, it was the only place left where he still felt like someone might be listening.

Scott took the letters and sat again. Kori joined him silently, folding her legs beneath her.

“I was not prying,” she said, voice quiet. “But I would like to understand.”

Scott didn’t speak for a while. “Writing… helped me make sense of everything. After we got pulled out of time, I felt… weightless. Untethered. And Jean..." He paused, gathering his will to admit something that felt so painfully sacred, "Jean was the one thing that always felt like home.”

They had something. Were going to be something, as it turned out.

And even if it was no longer what he thought they would have had, at the least, he had hoped he still had a best friend.

But the future had ripped even that apart.

“So… I wrote to her.” He looked down at his hands. “I was afraid to stop writing. Afraid that if I did, I wouldn’t know who I was without loving her.”

“Is it love you carry?” Kori asked gently. “Or guilt? Or desperation?”

He swallowed hard. “I don’t know. She was everything. For the longest time, it felt she was the center of everything.”

Kori sighed, her voice threaded with compassion. “Then I grieve for you, beloved. For someone who thought being loved meant orbiting around another’s fire—never realizing your own.”

She didn’t say it with judgment. She said it with sadness. Because she saw it now—he had never been loved the way he deserved.

There was a long, uncertain pause.

Scott attempted to return the letter back into its box but, in doing so, the box opened fully -- spilling its contents. Moments in time captured in ink – for all to see.

He froze – suddenly feeling embarrassed and vulnerable, but Kori did not judge. Instead, she wordlessly knelt down and helped him pick up the pieces, one yellowed and creased page at a time.

In doing so, Scott’s inadvertently rifled through its contents until his fingers stopped at a worn envelope. He didn’t pull it out right away—his hand just lingered, the way one might rest their palm above an old scar.

Kori watched him with a quiet patience, the glow of her hair dimmed slightly in respect. She didn't push. Instead, she spoke with care.

"Would you read one to me?" she asked. "Only if you wish it. I think... there is something in your voice I would like to hear. Not what you wrote to her—but what you needed to say then."

Scott's shoulders tensed.

"I don’t—" he began, but stopped himself.

Kori reached forward and gently touched his knee, grounding him in the now. “You do not need to explain what you feel. But if you want me to see what you once were… I would very much like to see all of it. Even the parts that still throb and ache.”

He gave a quiet, bitter chuckle. “It’s not that I want to. It’s that I don’t know what I’ll be if I do.”

Kori simply nodded, and waited – allowing Scott the moment to choose. She lingered next to him, a warm sun radiating reassurance against the cold.

Scott, quietly, pulled out the letter – one whose words he already knew by heart.

It was not the most bitter, nor the most romantic—just one that captured who he was in that moment.

A scared boy abandoned by his friends, unsure of whether he deserved to exist without her. Scott held the folded letter in trembling hands.

The ink had faded slightly and its edges were curled. Kori noticed that the paper bore faint creases, like it had been reopened a hundred times and folded back with ritual care.

Scott stared at it like it might explode in his hands.

He exhaled shakily, as if he had been holding this breath since Earth.

The silence stretched, broken only by the quiet hum of the ship’s reactor coils.

Then, haltingly, Scott began to read,

“I think I’m still in love with who I thought you were.

Or maybe who I was, when we were together.

And that scares me,

because I don’t know if there’s anything left of me that isn’t yours.”

His voice trailed off, as if in mourning.

Kori’s fingers brushed his, grounding him once more — mooring him before he was once more swept away.

“You don’t have to—” she began softly.

“No,” he said. “I think I do. I wrote these when I felt like I didn’t deserve to be anything except the guy who loved Jean Grey. I thought that was all I’d ever be allowed to be.”

Kori watched him quietly, allowing his heart to hear the words it needed to hear – even if it was his own voice saying it

Scott folded the page back with care and stared at nothing. “But I didn’t know how to stop. Even when she pushed me away. Even when she... chose someone else."

He remembered—

—Jean pushing him away when he needed her most.

—Jean kissing Hank in front of him.

—Jean coercing his help when Hank wouldn't support her, only to run back to Hank again when the job was finished.

—Jean becoming furious when he consoled Laura.

—Jean needing him to stand against the Shi'Ar Imperial Guard.

—Jean returning to Hank, once more.

Scott had already seen the writing on the wall.

"I didn’t know how to be anything without her shadow.” He sighed, looking pained and resigned and accepting all at the same time. “And I think that’s the worst part. Not the rejection. Not the silence. But realizing I gave someone the power to shape how I saw myself—and they didn’t care enough to protect that.”

Kori was silent, but not still.

She knelt in front of him and reached up, cupping his face in warm, glowing hands.

“On Tamaran,” she said, “we honor every love we have. Even if it ends. Even if it hurts. It means you lived. That you burned bright, even if it left scars.”

Her voice was soft, but fierce with feeling.

“We believe that first love need not be superior to a lasting love. Passion does not belong to the past. If you still hold her name like an ember in your chest, that is not shame. That is memory. But memory is not destiny, my beloved.”

“But what if I never let go?” he asked, throat dry.

“Then let me help you loosen your grip,” she whispered.

She held his hand like he was about to break, raising it against her cheek and holding his gaze, reassuring him in the only way she knew how.

“She hurt you, beloved. I think you know that, on some level. But you do not know how deep it went.”

Scott’s brows creased. “She was just trying to figure herself out. We all were.”

“And in doing so, she made you small, when your heart is vast. She saw you suffer and said nothing. She let others harm you, and said nothing.” And for the first time since this secret confession began, Kori appeared mad. “That is not love.”

“She was the only person who ever looked at me like I mattered.”  And yet, despite his words, Scott's jaw was tight — as if the admission was something too bitter to swallow.

Kori instantly noticed this.

“Then let me look at you again.” Kori urged him, green eyes pleading and certain. “Let me show you what it looks like… when love is not conditional.”

Scott closed his eyes, and in the dark behind his shades, he pictured all the letters he’d written.

The longing.

The grief.

The uncertainty.

The way he bent himself to fit into someone else's silence. And the quiet shame that he never stopped hoping she'd notice him again – just one more time, and he’d get it right, this time, no matter what.

He realized now… Jean never protected him.

Not from a madman that threatened to murder him in front of an entire school, nor when a once-friend broke every law of time to drag them all into a future that hated him, blaming him for choices he hadn't yet made.

Not from her own indecision – passive absences when he most needed her presence and reassurance.

Jean had let him bleed, and stood just far enough away to not get stained.

And maybe she hadn’t meant to harm him. Maybe she thought she was being neutral or simply protecting herself.

But even neutrality can wound—especially when it comes from someone you once called home.

And maybe she was just trying to figure herself out, too. Maybe that was fair.

But Kori—

Kori was here.

Listening attentively without judgment.

Holding him closely without restraint.

Never allowing the fear of the future to consume her.

Kori saw him—not the version wrapped in guilt and expectation, but the boy trying to become a man.

The fire-forged shape of someone still standing.

“I don’t know who I am without her,” he whispered.

“Then start with who you are with me,” Kori said. “And we shall find the rest together.”

Scott exhaled—ragged, but freer.

And for the first time, he didn’t feel like a man letting go of a ghost.

He felt like someone holding a hand he wanted to keep.

Kori folded the letter and put it back in the stack.

“Keep these,” she said. “Not because they are sacred—but because they are proof that you tried. That you are capable of loving with honesty.”

She reached into the coat again. She pulled out a pen and then placed it in his hand.

“But write something new now. Write to someone who listens.”

“You?” he asked, part in humor and mostly with hope.

“Who else?” Her voice was soft and light, brimming with the melody of life. “Unless your heart says otherwise.”

He didn’t speak. He just opened the notebook on his knee and began.

Slowly. Unsurely.

Kori leaned against his shoulder and read over his arm.

Fight the tide
Every darkness has to end in morning light
Even if I'm terrified
I'll forever fight the tide

Epilogue:

The next morning, Kori found a single folded sheet of paper tucked inside her boots.

To the one who warmed the dark spaces in my chest I never thought anyone could reach.

She smiled.

She found him in the observation bay, staring at the stars. She joined him silently.

“I liked this letter more,” she said.

“I think… it’s the first one I ever wrote for someone who stayed.”

“Then I shall stay. And I shall write you one, too.” Kori tucked her head against his chest. “Though mine may involve sparkles and sunshine.”

Scott smiled.

They held hands, watching distant stars blink into morning.