Chương 12: 07.Earned Your Stripes 07-1

The end of FTL transit was never a romantic affair. No starlight paving the way. No cinematic transitions. No poetic sense of we have crossed light and time. Just an inertial lurch that made your stomach and soul both want to disembark early—plus Warehouse 6A's upper bunk frame slamming directly into my skull. Thud.

"Fuck." I shot up from the blanket clutching my forehead. My first thought wasn't are we there yet but is Alvin's bed actively trying to assassinate the lower bunk. The culprit's half-asleep voice drifted down from above.

"Mm... what happened... enemy contact?"

"Yes," I said through gritted teeth, hand pressed to my forehead.

"Your bunk contacted my frontal lobe. Direct hit confirmed." Alvin peered over the edge, hair looking like it had been through three FTL cycles in a washing machine.

"Oh, you're up." I glared.

"I'm not up. I survived a furniture assassination attempt."

"Shows it has good front-line instincts."

"One more word and I'll retire both of you permanently." Warehouse 6A's lights were still on half-power—sickly amber strips that made everyone look like hungover corpses. Reis was half-sitting on his bunk trying to light a cigarette until Han Xi's flat voice cut across: "No smoking in quarters before docking." He pocketed the lighter with visible resentment. Lin Wei was already awake, leaning against her bunk post, brushing her hair.

When she saw me emerge from the blanket, her gaze stopped on my face for two full seconds. Then her mouth curved upward. Slowly. Knowingly.... Oh no. I knew that expression too well. Not good morning, roommate. More like I may have found something extremely worth discussing. Fuck. Had I talked in my sleep? I cleared my throat reflexively and looked down for my boots, affecting complete disinterest.

"What." Lin Wei flipped her hair, tone light.

"Nothing."

"Your 'nothing' sounds full of something."

"Does it?"

"Yes." She smiled without answering immediately, then added with deliberate implication: "You seem to be in a good mood today." My hand stopped mid-movement.

"What?"

"Really?" Alvin stretched from above, voice still sleep-rough.

"I'd say she looks more like someone who dreamed something unbroadcastable." My head snapped up.

"Say that again."

"Wow, big reaction." Alvin was suddenly fully alert, leaning over the rail with the expression of someone who'd just found the armory keys.

"Wait—don't tell me there's actually something?" Reis joined in at his usual unhurried pace while pulling on boots: "Told you last night when she buried herself in that blanket, something was off." My eye twitched. Great. So none of you were actually unconscious. You all had enough spare processing power to monitor my sleeping arrangements.

"I was sleeping."

"Sure." Lin Wei's smile deepened.

"And your ears went red in your sleep too?"

"FTL runs hot."

"You used that excuse yesterday." Alvin clutched his chest theatrically.

"She's not even updating her cover story. That's guilt so deep she's abandoned maintenance." I took a slow breath. Right. These people were exactly like this. The moment they caught a whiff of gossip, they swarmed like battlefield scavengers. The more you reacted, the happier they got. The more you explained, the more convinced they became. The correct response was— I put on my boots without expression.

"Last night I almost killed all of you. Nothing else happened." Alvin patted the rail, grinning insufferably.

"Right, right, almost killed us, and almost—" I whipped my unfolded towel straight at his face.

"Shut up!" Alvin yelped and ducked. The towel connected with a sharp slap. Reis cracked up immediately. Lin Wei gave up all pretense, shoulders shaking against the bunk post. Even Han Xi paused mid-hair-tie, glancing at me with flat, assessing eyes. No mockery in that look. More like clinical confirmation. Then she opened her mouth and delivered surgical precision:"So you almost did." Warehouse 6A went completely silent for one beat. So did I. Not because I couldn't argue.

Because that sentence was too direct, too accurate—like taking a scalpel straight to the half-second I'd been refusing to replay. My entire system locked up. Fuck. You barely speak all day. Why does every word you choose go straight for the artery? Alvin launched upright on his bunk.

"Holy shit! Really?!"

"No," I said instantly.

"You answered too fast. Probability of 'no' just dropped eighty percent."

"Shut your mouth right now and I'll let the remaining twenty survive." Lin Wei was laughing hard enough to threaten her eyeliner.

"Wait, let me reconstruct this. Yesterday before the FTL alert, you and the documentation officer were in the corridor—""No."

"—the atmosphere was—""No."

"—you were very close—""No."

"—and you came back with red ears—""Wound inflammation." Reis, from his bunk, with devastating credibility: "Your ears are red right now." My hand flew up to cover them. Halfway there I realized—fuck, walked straight into it. The bay erupted. Alvin was slapping the mattress.

"She covered them! She actually covered them! That's not testimony anymore, that's physical evidence!" Lin Wei bent double laughing.

"Oh my god, even she can—""Don't call me that!"

"What should we call you then?" Alvin gasped.

"Miss Almost-Kiss?" I grabbed the pressure patch box from my headboard and hurled it.

"You have a genuine death wish today." He'd learned from experience—ducked fast, letting it bounce off the rail with a crack. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. Yurik had said nothing this entire time. He'd just sat there putting on his boots, existing like a breathing wall, watching Warehouse 6A's collective IQ plummet. Only now did he contribute two words with perfect timing:"Almost is worse."... You too? I turned and stared.

"Whose side are you on?" Yurik looked at me.

"The audience." Perfect. Six people in Warehouse 6A, and not one worth trusting with my retirement. Han Xi finished her hair tie, voice undisturbed: "You rolled over six times last night." I stared at her.

"Weren't you sleeping?"

"I slept." Perfectly calm.

"But every time you rolled, I woke up." Lin Wei immediately followed: "See? That wasn't just rib pain." Alvin supplied intelligence from above: "And she pulled the blanket over her head. That's either crying or thinking about someone." I smiled thinly.

"Third option: planning to suffocate myself so I wouldn't have to wake up with you people." Reis nodded.

"That I believe."

"Right?"

"But you still didn't deny 'someone.'"... Right. I'd miscalculated. The most dangerous element here wasn't Alvin. It was Warehouse 6A operating as a coordinated fire team. I stood, grabbed my jacket, and selected avoidance as the mature adult solution.

"I'm going to wash my face." Alvin's hand shot up.

"I'll come—""You stay here."

"Why?"

"Because I'll drown you in the sink as a facial treatment."

"That's not fair!"

"My life rarely is." I was at the door when Lin Wei called behind me.

"Hey, Hoshino." I turned back, expression not generous.

"What." She leaned against the bunk post, smile still there, but her eyes had shifted slightly from pure entertainment. Not sympathy—more like the understanding that comes from shared experience, wicked but not malicious.

"Almost kissing someone, compared to actually doing it—" She paused deliberately. The whole bay went quiet. I knew this wouldn't end well. Sure enough, she smiled and drove the blade home: "—usually keeps you up longer." Warehouse 6A detonated. Alvin nearly fell off his bunk. Reis bit his unlit cigarette crooked. Even Han Xi's mouth visibly moved. I stood in the doorway, genuinely calculating how many forms I'd need to file to vent the entire compartment to space. Fuck. She was completely right.

That was the most infuriating part. If it had actually happened, I'd just be mildly annoyed by now. But almost—almost was exactly enough to make my brain loop it all night. Almost was enough that just having it mentioned made my heart do something embarrassing and involuntary. Pathetic. This unresolved state was worse than taking a glancing hit from an Imperial secondary battery. I forced a smile and delivered the only threat with remaining dignity.

"Excellent." I looked at the room full of oxygen-deprived idiots.

"Starting today, Warehouse 6A bathhouse priority drops from twenty minutes to ten." The laughter stopped dead. Alvin was first to howl.

"That's retaliation!"

"Yes."

"How can you be like this!"

"I've always been like this." Reis raised a hand.

"That's excessive collateral damage."

"You should've considered consequences before laughing." Lin Wei was still smiling but raised both hands in surrender.

"Okay, okay, dropping it." Han Xi looked at me.

"Fifteen minutes." I turned.

"What?"

"Make it fifteen." Her tone was the same she'd use for ceasefire negotiations.

"Those two don't deserve your full twenty minutes of anger." Alvin protested from inside: "Why are we suddenly collateral damage outside of 'those two'?!" Reis replied flatly: "Because you laughed loudest." Internal fracturing had begun. Civilization truly was built on mutual betrayal. I accepted Han Xi's off-ramp with a snort.

"Fine." I pulled the door open.

"Fifteen minutes." Alvin immediately pressed his hands together.

"Long live Queen Hoshino." I didn't look back.

"Say that again and it drops to eight."

"... Sorry." When FTL transit fully completed, the ship-wide broadcast finally shifted to something less resembling a death announcement.

"This vessel has arrived at transit port airspace. All personnel stand by in sections. Supply and transfer sequences will open by unit designation." Warehouse 6A went quiet for a moment. Not because anyone had developed manners. Because everyone knew: reaching port meant something was ending. Some people disembarked. Some rotated in. Some transferred. Some, with worse luck, never returned to this bay. That was the front line. Yesterday you were fighting over sink access with someone.

Today they might be on another ship fighting for their life. I stood at the door, hand still on the handle, and suddenly thought—if Warehouse 6A hadn't turned my almost-kissing-David into a collective spectator sport this morning, I'd probably be quietly replaying it alone right now.... Damn. Being humiliated by these people was embarrassing, but it kept me from stewing in my own head. That was the most annoying and most useful thing about communal living. No privacy.

But also no space to quietly destroy yourself in isolation. I was processing that thought when someone stopped in the corridor outside.

"Hoshino." I looked up. Every drop of blood in my body took a half-second leave of absence. David stood at the far end of the corridor. Clean administrative uniform. Data pad under his arm. Expression normal. Posture normal. The problem was that I was entirely abnormal. Because the moment he appeared, the residents of Warehouse 6A demonstrated olfactory capabilities exceeding military-grade detection equipment. Alvin inhaled sharply. Lin Wei made a drawn-out sound. Reis provided a lazy whistle.

Han Xi said nothing, but I suspected she was already graphing my ear temperature curve. Fuck. Not now. I hadn't even finished crawling out from under their last tribunal. David clearly sensed something was off. His gaze swept past me into the bay and paused for half a second. I knew exactly what that half-second was. Did I come at a bad time. And Alvin was absolutely not going to let it pass.

"Morning, documentation officer," he called, grinning like he'd discovered a new universe. I snapped around immediately.

"Shut up." David stood in the corridor, gaze landing on my face with careful restraint.

"Am I—""Yes," I cut him off instantly.

"Your timing is catastrophic." Alvin was dying of laughter behind me. Lin Wei, with apparent goodwill, added: "I disagree. I think his timing is perfect." I genuinely wanted to die. Not metaphorically—the find an airlock and seal myself in variety. David apparently read the situation, but unlike most people, he didn't awkwardly retreat. He just stood there, composed.

"Transit port transfer sequence just opened," he said.

"I came to tell you the Joint Operations Command shuttle moved up twenty minutes." Oh. Official business. Good. At least that gave me something to grab onto. I seized the lifeline immediately.

"Understood. I'll head over." David nodded. Then paused. Just that one pause. Alvin's soul began vibrating audibly. I didn't need to turn around. Sure enough, with complete disregard for self-preservation: "Should you two finish what you didn't finish yesterday before she goes?" The corridor went silent. I froze completely. David stopped. Reis nearly bit through his cigarette. Lin Wei grabbed her bunk for support. Han Xi finally pressed two fingers to her temple, probably calculating cleanup logistics.

I turned around slowly.

"Al. vin." He retracted immediately.

"Just a suggestion!"

"Start choosing your memorial photo."

"You can't blame me—everyone's curious—" I was done listening. Human patience had limits, and mine ran below specification. I was about to physically remove him from the top bunk when David gave a very quiet cough. I turned back. He was looking at me, and behind his lenses there was something—faint, brief, unmistakably— Amusement. Are you serious. You too? David pressed it back down almost immediately, voice returning to complete professionalism as if nothing had happened.

"Anyway. Pack your things and come find me." I stared at him.

"... Did you just smile?"

"No."

"You did."

"You may have misread it."

"Highly doubtful." He adjusted his glasses.

"Would you like to step out? We can talk privately." Perfectly reasonable sentence. In any other context. In front of Warehouse 6A's fully weaponized audience, any sentence containing the word privately was functionally equivalent to dropping a lit match into an ammunition depot. Lin Wei lost structural integrity laughing. Reis ducked his head. From the top bunk came a sound like someone achieving enlightenment through suppressed joy. And I—my ears were completely cooked. Well done.

David finally registered, a beat late, exactly what that sentence had done to the room. His eyes paused. Then he added quickly: "... I meant about the transfer procedures." Too late. Catastrophically late. Warehouse 6A had already entered we all heard what we heard mode. I closed my eyes. Opened them. Entered something resembling battlefield calm. Fine. There was no face left to salvage. So I wouldn't bother trying. I walked forward two steps, stepped into the corridor, and pulled the door shut behind me. Bang.

The laughter and whistles from Warehouse 6A were sealed behind the door, but I could perfectly picture them pressed against it like a pack of strays eavesdropping on a soap opera finale. I took a slow breath and looked at David.

"Right," I said.

"No audience now. Say what you came to say—otherwise I'm going to commit a crime in this corridor just from breathing the ship's air." David looked at me. After half a second, he actually let out a quiet laugh. Didn't suppress it in time. I heard it. Fuck. Was he starting to find provoking me entertaining? Infuriating. And worse—after Warehouse 6A's collective ambush had left my heart in complete disarray, one laugh from him was enough to flash me straight back to that half-second last night.

This couldn't continue. Really couldn't. David finally held out the data pad.

"Transfer time, port number, and Command transit procedures." I took it, making a genuine effort to read the words.

"Mm."

"Also—" I looked up. He paused, with that particular restraint he'd been using. That pause again. Brief. Infuriating.

"The people in Warehouse 6A," he said, glancing at the door behind me, "seem considerably more enthusiastic than I'd anticipated." I kept my expression flat.

"If you'd arrived five minutes earlier, you'd have witnessed a public execution." This time he actually laughed. Not loud, but clearly.

"Are you alright?"... Damn. That question was completely unfair. Not asking whether I was injured. Not whether I was ready for transit. Asking whether I was alright—after that shame-spiral of a collective roasting that should be archived in psychological warfare training materials. My ears started warming again. Pathetic. I hugged the data pad to my chest and answered with a scowl: "No." He paused.

"Because of them?"

"Because of you." He blinked. Briefly, genuinely caught off-guard. Good. Finally your turn to short-circuit. I followed immediately: "Because you're the reason every time I picture their faces just now, I want to drop this entire ship into a gravity well." David looked at me. Then, like he'd exhaled something, or found something slightly funny, he gave a quiet sound.

"Sorry." The apology was too sincere. Sincere enough that I couldn't keep firing. I stood down for a beat, then waved it off with irritation.

"Forget it." I tapped the data pad against his direction.

"Next time you need to find me, send a message first."

"Alright."

"Don't stand at the door."

"Alright."

"And don't let Warehouse 6A see you looking at me before you look at anything else."

"... That requirement might be operationally difficult." I stopped. Processed that. Fuck. Was he saying—that he'd look at me first regardless? My brain went blank for approximately half a second. The same specific blankness as last night in the corridor. Entirely unsuitable for existing in a transit passageway. I came back swinging.

"David Rosen."

"Yes."

"You're in unusually good form today." He adjusted his glasses, tone perfectly innocent.

"I was only describing operational difficulty." I stared at him. He looked back. Then, without deciding who moved first, both of us laughed—briefly, quietly. Just a little. But that little was already more inconvenient than the entire bay's laughter had been. Because this time there was no audience. No excuse. Just the very clear knowledge that last night's almost-moment had not been a one-sided hallucination. Fuck. That was considerably more complicated than all of Warehouse 6A's dirty socks combined.