23 August 2657

Cael isn't one for introspection. In fact, he's more prone to do the opposite, stubbornly digging his heels into the safe, familiar, ground of denial because until lately, he'd not wanted to consider himself part of the picture at all. Crash landing on a forgotten shore and an absurd plant apocalypse put some things into perspective, though, and no amount of faulty internal logic can deny the very real fact that there's one person whose side he's been at more often than not since the moment he stepped foot back on the station. He has to face this (no amount of arguing about being a civilian and evacuation plans will convince him otherwise) and it's rather comforting to not face it alone.

There's not a precise moment of clarity, so much as a dawning realization something's already settled in his chest. He's content to keep it there, keep it to himself, if that's the way things go. Whatever it takes to not lose this, since he's suffered losses before and this is one he wouldn't accept.

So as Ronan speaks about an after, about a dinner, none of it quite fully formed as a question, Cael's heart quickens and he's already said yes.

5 September 2657

Put generously, Cael's dating record is spotty—aside from the couple that formed into actual relationships, first (and occasionally second) dates are largely funny anecdotes or vague recollections. The woman who burst into tears over unripe tomatoes, the guy who said upfront he only tickled on the first date and wasn't joking, the person who tried to parkour into their hovercab so he'd ended up taking them to the clinic. Which was to say, they didn't typically go remarkably well, much less as well as this particular one had.

He's too old, too cynical, to feel this fucking giddy, but as with plenty in his life, it isn't any less true.

Making breakfast has become a ritual already. Not from this side of things, where they're waking up together and the artificial sunlight stealing in through the blinds reflects warmer, but as part of their not-a-friendship the past weeks. There hadn't been any definable motive to begin with; there isn't really a motive now so much as shared smiles, stolen kisses, and slightly burned pancakes. He's not a good enough cook to remember to flip them unless he's paying close attention, but if ever he had an excuse to take the hit to his fake Spelp reviews, this would be it.

Not that Ronan looks even close to complaining. Cael would notice, since he can't stop looking at him to a point where it's grossly ridiculous. They fall onto the couch for a while, migrate eventually back to bed, where he would be more than happy to stay, except—

"Clubbing? You are going clubbing?"

Ronan grimaces. "Must you sound so gleeful about it?"

"Yes," Cael says matter-of-factly, grinning wide. "Otherwise it's complaints about you abandoning me all the way down."

"Ugh. I loathe you."

Ronan's tone, though, doesn't remotely match the words and Cael hums, unbearably smug. "Do you though," he says, and before Ronan can pull the pillow over his own face or push it on top of Cael's, he leans in close.

19 October 2657

This part wouldn't have been easy even if they weren't dating. Cael's not a morning person, but he wakes when Ro does to see him off. Better that than waking up alone. He's bound by duty and confidentiality agreements to not say much about what happens on the Endeavor's missions, but Cael has seen the aftermath, has a good read on Ro and his tendency toward understatement because that's easier than validating and confronting his own trauma—Cael should know, it's what he's done his entire life, too, and sometimes it's more important that coping mechanisms work than anything else.

There's no good way to say goodbye. Cael's thoroughly unprepared to lose this and there aren't any words or thinking it over that'll ever make that any easier, he's pretty sure, so he steps close and wraps his arms tight around Ro one more time, pressing a kiss to his mouth, his neck, lingering there. Cael said it last night; he'll say it again anyway, pressing the words, too, into Ro's skin: "You better come back."

"I'll do my very best."

That's as much as he can promise; it's more than enough.

22 November 2657

If anyone told Cael at the beginning of the year that he'd be stealing a smoke break outside a Nova Heights apartment as a guest at a cocktail party comprised largely of ADF-friendly folk, he'd have asked what the grift was. It's not as surreal as it should be. None of these should be his people, but several of them are, however improbably, and he doesn't dislike any of the rest. Maybe that would have been some kind of warning siren if his ideals hadn't already wandered toward the ground years ago. Is he compromising himself? Probably, but not in any way he doesn't want to, that he isn't willing to risk, because he's given enough years of his life to a cause and it's never made him quite so happy as he's been these past couple months.

Conflicts of interests aren't anything he's especially adept at reconciling. He'd rather put his head firmly in the sand and avoid his problems with the vague hope they resolve themselves without his interference, which they rarely do. In this case, he's considered the worst case scenarios for himself and decided this was all worth it, whatever consequences might follow. What might happen to Ro gives Cael more pause, telling in itself, but he's selfish enough and trusts Ro enough to know he's made the same calculations.

Even now, when they've had shakier days, when they've had arguments that hit different and each their own set of insecurities to contend with that threaten to chip away, Cael can't imagine a single place he'd rather be.

It'd be easy to let his thoughts slip, so his shoulder bumps against Ro's instead. Cael leans against him, is welcomed as readily with an arm wrapped around his waist, and just let's himself be in the moment.

15 December 2657

There's never been a point in Cael's life where he's really envisioned anything like retirement. Hell, he's still sometimes surprised he made it to his thirties, period, and he's never been good at planning, especially long-term—why get ahead of himself like that? But sprawled in a chair, basking in the sun, a drink in a coconut to his left and a guy he happens to be in love with to his right, he can't imagine anything better. This he wants to keep, the feeling if not the place, though he'd be quite happy to keep that, too.

Waves crash against the shore and whatever seabirds squawk as they soar about overhead. Blue meets blue in the expanse of ocean and sky, a few boats floating along in the distance. They've got this stretch of beach to themselves, tucked away as the whole island is compared to the more bustling ones Antillia has in abundant supply. The cold that had settled in his bones during the whole C.A.L. incident has thoroughly been banished, as has whatever tension had threaded through him about whether or not he was unwittingly fucking up and falling short as a boyfriend in the days leading up to finally, finally getting to leave on vacation. His gaze shifts over to where Ro lounges, eyes closed, maybe the most at ease Cael has ever seen him. It's a good look, metaphorically and literally, tanned and ocean windswept as he is.

Cael sighs—something he does often around Ro, evidently—and picks up his drink. Ro's happiness and peace feed into Cael's own, matter more to him especially right now since Ro most of all deserved this kind of break, from what Cael has pieced together of his year.

"You're staring," Ro says, the corners of his lips twitching, though his eyes remain closed.

"Can you blame me? It's a good view."

Ro looks over then, just to roll his eyes. Terrible fondness fills Cael and before Ro can accuse him of being a sap yet again, Cael tosses his towel at Ro and gets up. "I'm going in the ocean."

Catching the towel, Ro smirks, putting it aside before he folds his arms behind his head. He looks terribly good. "You're no less of a sap there than here on dry land, darling."

Cael shoots him a glare, even as it's undermined because he's leaning over to steal a kiss and the umbrella from Ro's drink to tuck into his hair. "Truly, utterly, you're the worst."

Ro hums his agreement, but pulls Cael closer while he's there, and the ocean can wait a few minutes.

22 December 2657

Despite a general belief that birthdays are meant to be celebrated, Cael gives very little thought to his own. The ones that stand out tend to be notable for bad rather than good reasons: the time he almost died in an escape pod, the time he watched someone else die, the times his parents have forgotten entirely. So he barely bothers mentioning when it is to most people anymore, doesn't make any plans, and doesn't particularly care this year where he spends it, just who he spends it with.

But it is undeniably nice that Ro insists they mark the occasion, that it not pass in the contained space of a transport vessel from one destination to another, and that they take the day to stop in Nausikaa. It isn't a place that has felt like home in ages, but it is a place he remembers feeling like home. There's a kind of nostalgia that comes with that, one that he wants to share with Ro in some form or other. So they share a plate of fries and milkshakes at the diner Cael used to eat at when his parents weren't around; he shows Ro how to position his fingers when he pulls the string of a bow taut at the archery range Cael frequented with Victoria; he tosses a sprocket into a neon fountain outside of a robotics workshop where he used to get underfoot when he wanted to learn something new to show Iliya for the next time Cael babysat.

They wander the city, too, through the park where Cael boosted more than one hoverbike and once hid several hours after he and Devi liberated the neighborhood dogs (summarized broadly as 'another place he spent his wayward youth'). Grabbing a nice dinner then going back to their hotel for the night isn't quite the idyllic beach hideaway, but his spirits run high and only heighten further with the surprise of late night cake and vodka.

Under a sky more colored by city lights than the wider universe above, on a small balcony where maybe they're about to learn the cost of hotel furniture with the way their folding chairs creak whenever Ro leans closer, Cael laughs, amused as much as he is simply happy. He isn't in the business of making wishes generally and doesn't make one now specifically, either, when he blows out the candles, but if he just gets more days like this, more weeks like this, more time, there's not a single thing he could want more.