I woke up the next morning feeling shockingly fantastic, without a single trace of a hangover. Stretching luxuriously, I blinked up at an unfamiliar, intricately carved paneled ceiling. I lay there for a long, quiet moment before the terrifying realization finally pierced my brain: my bedroom didn't have a ceiling like this. I bolted upright, eyes darting wildly around the room. The floor plan was nearly identical to my own quarters, except this space carried a distinctly masculine energy, heavy on dark wood finishes that made the entire room feel like a cozy bachelor pad. And its owner was sound asleep right beside me. The second I shifted, he cracked one eye open. “Are you going to let me sleep today, or is this my new daily routine?” Zargo rolled onto his stomach, burying his head beneath a pillow. I spent a solid ten seconds meticulously analyzing the phrasing of his complaint before slowly, fearfully peeking beneath the blanket. A massive gasp of relief escaped my throat. My clothes were fully intact; I was still safely wearing my pajama pants and tank top. I purposefully avoided looking at Zargo. The guy hadn't bothered with a shirt, and frankly, I had zero desire to investigate the rest of the view. “How exactly did... I mean, how did I end up in here?” The Sibian let out a heavy sigh, tossing the pillow aside. My immediate self-preservation instincts kicked in, and I yanked the blanket all the way up to the bridge of my nose. “Hey, that’s mine!” Zargo snapped, aggressively hauling the cover back to his side. He gathered the fabric into a protective ball, scowling fiercely. Judging by his thoroughly disgruntled expression, I had been an absolute nightmare last night. I could only pray I hadn't done anything mortally humiliating. “I... don't exactly recall the details of last night,” I hinted cautiously. “During the dead of night, you decided you were dying of thirst, took a spectacular tumble down the wall slats, and then announced you refused to climb back up. Then you marched in here and claimed my bed.” The second he mentioned the fall, a dull throb radiated from my elbow and knees, validating the story. Still, I couldn't quite fathom why he looked so thoroughly irritated. “Okay, but why are you so mad at me?” “Because you spent the entire night trying to physically evict me from my own mattress.” “Well... it didn't work, did it?” I mumbled, my voice shrinking. “I felt like a human punching bag for eight hours straight. Remind me to never buy you a single glass of wine again.” Suddenly, his foul mood made total sense. I had broken into his room, colonized his bed, and beaten up my own boss in my sleep. “My bad. I'm sorry.” Zargo let out a sharp huff, his blue lips pressing into a tight line as he leveled a hard stare at me. Embarrassment flared, and I began a cautious, awkward backward crawl toward the edge of the mattress. The situation was an absolute trainwreck. The only saving grace was that since I couldn't remember a single second of it, the second-hand mortification didn't sting quite as badly. The moment my feet hit the floor, I bolted from his room and practically flew up the ladder slats to the second floor. Reaching my landing, I dropped into a tight crouch and buried my burning face in my hands. Thank God I had never been much of a drinker back at the academy. I shuddered to think what kind of real trouble I could have stumbled into. On a side note, Zargo had behaved remarkably well given the circumstances. The guy could have easily taken advantage of our forced horizontal proximity. Either way, I owed him a proper apology. Sighing, I dragged myself to the shower, threw on a fresh outfit, and hurried down to the kitchen. Zargo hadn't emerged from his quarters yet. I had no idea if he even worked today. Furthermore, I had absolutely no grasp on his breakfast preferences. His evening habits were simple—meat and grease—but his morning routine remained a total mystery. Raiding the refrigeration unit, I pulled out a basket of ingredients and began working my magic on a traditional baked cottage-cheese casserole. After a moment's thought, I prepped a secondary plate of toasted sandwiches and brewed a pot of dangerously strong coffee. Zargo took his sweet time, finally drifting out of his room solely motivated by the aroma of fresh caffeine. He clearly had zero intention of going anywhere fast, lounging out in a soft t-shirt and pajama pants. The coffee pot was his immediate target. He downed an entire mug in a single, desperate gulp, then threw a tragic look in my direction. “I got zero sleep.” I, on the other hand, was fully rested, which triggered an immediate, sharp prick of guilt. I opted against a second verbal apology. Instead, I simply stepped forward and refilled his mug to the brim. “Let’s just eat breakfast,” I offered peaceably. Zargo slid into a chair. I was intensely grateful he chose to drop the subject. I had a legendary talent for sabotaging my own life. We had finally established a truce, on the verge of normal human communication, only to be completely undone by a single amphora of wine. Then again, looking at the bigger picture, sharing a roof had its perks. We were slowly figuring out each other's quirks, and if we managed to actually become friends, survival on this planet would become infinitely easier. “Why are you smiling like a psycho?” Zargo asked, his eyes narrowing with deep suspicion. I instantly wiped the grin off my face. “What do you mean, a psycho?” “I know that look. You’re plotting something. A vegetarian dinner? Don’t even dream about it.” He polished off his final sip of coffee and vanished back into his bedroom. I stared after him in utter bewilderment. Where on earth did he get the idea that I was plotting a vegetarian mutiny? I wasn't clinically insane; I knew better than to serve a hungry carnivore a plate of weeds. I chose not to follow him to ask about his schedule. I’d find out soon enough; if he had a shift, his black transport ship would touch down outside any minute. That was why my heart nearly leaped out of my chest when a sharp, resonant chime echoed through the house. The sound of the automated gong reverberated off the metal walls. I jumped in pure startle, losing my grip on a ceramic plate, which shattered against the floorboards. Creeping toward the security terminal, I pulled up the external camera feed, only to find Morana standing on our porch. Talk about a plot twist! I had almost hit the unlock trigger before reality caught up with me: my official paperwork listed me at a completely different address, but everyone in the department knew exactly where the Senior Tan resided. I backed away from the screen and sprinted toward Zargo's room. He had just finished dressing and was crossing the threshold when I practically slammed into his chest. “Is your long-term career goal to accidentally assassinate me, or is this just a weekend hobby?” “Morana is outside!” I hissed, ignoring his complaint. “Does she come over here often?” “Who?” “Our Senior Research Associate,” I clarified, exasperated. “I know who she is. I just don't comprehend why she's lurking on my porch. She's supposed to be managing your onboarding process at the station. Maybe she came to see you?” We exchanged a look of mutual dread and simultaneously took a step back. The gong chimed a second time. Zargo reached out, yanked me into his room, and pulled the door shut. It was a smart tactical move, considering we had no idea whose name was on her visit log. “Are we going to pretend nobody's home?” I whispered. “What other choice do we have?” Morana started pounding on the exterior glass so violently it sounded like she was trying to breach the structural integrity of the door. The sheer noise forced us closer together, our shoulders pinning against the wall. “I've only known her for two days,” I breathed, looking up at him, “but are you positive she’s psychologically stable?” “No clue. I rarely interact with her outside of professional matters.” I ran a quick assessment of his attire. He was wearing his pristine white command jumpsuit, which meant he was definitely clocked in for a shift today. “Wait, isn't your private transport ship scheduled to touch down right about now?” I cracked his bedroom door open an inch and peeked toward the panoramic living room windows. Morana had her face literally glued to the double-pane glass, desperately trying to peer through the tinting. Even though the exterior facade resembled a seamless, windowless metal droplet, you never knew what someone could spot with high-res optical augmentations. I didn't dare step into the common room. But from my vantage point, I had a perfect view of Zargo’s sleek black shuttle hovering down onto the landing platform right next to the house. “You’re going to have to go out there,” I groaned, turning back to him. Outside, Morana clocked the arriving shuttle and whirled back to the door scanner. “Senior Tan? Is everything alright in there?” Okay, mystery solved. She was definitely here for him. Breathing a massive sigh of relief, I planted my hands on Zargo's back and shoved him toward the living room. “Go. Otherwise, she and your pilot are going to form a joint task force and tear the front door off its hinges.” Zargo looked entirely thrilled—if your definition of thrilled was total, dark annoyance. He unsealed the front door, stepping forward to completely block the opening with his broad shoulders. Morana still managed to crane her neck, her eyes frantically sweeping the interior. “Senior Tan! Has there been an incident?” I mentally traced the trajectory of her gaze and winced: she was staring directly at the shattered plate on the kitchen floor. “No,” Zargo replied, his voice completely devoid of warmth. “What is the purpose of this visit?” His tone was icy enough to freeze an ocean, but Morana possessed a level of professional resilience that put mine to shame. “I brought you the raw analytic manifests from yesterday's trial phase.” She extended a data drive toward him, simultaneously attempting to smoothly brush past his shoulder into the foyer. Zargo shifted his weight seamlessly, maintaining the human blockade. I adjusted my position behind the wall to get a better angle on the drama. Wait, was I misreading the room, or was there history here? Were they a thing? “Why?” Zargo demanded, refusing to take the drive. “I know it's my scheduled rest cycle today,” Morana offered, her voice softening, “but I felt it was critical to deliver these metrics to you personally. Do you require any assistance clearing up the kitchen?” “That is entirely unnecessary. You are fully aware that all priority files are to be routed through the secure corporate network.” Zargo blocked her entry a second time. My internal assessment flipped instantly. His demeanor was completely transactional—exactly how he behaved on the orbital deck. There wasn't a shred of personal history or casual warmth between them. But Morana? Morana was deeply, desperately infatuated with him. Falling for Zargo! The woman was clinically insane! Though I had to hand it to her—the scientist had serious guts. Showing up at a director's private residence and volunteering for maid duty took a wild amount of confidence. No doubt she had envisioned catching him mid-breakfast, securing an invitation for a casual cup of coffee. “Route the files to my personal inbox,” Zargo commanded, stepping out onto the porch and forcing her to take a defensive step back. The automated front door sealed shut behind him, cutting off the rest of the dialogue. I could only watch through the viewport as he marched down the platform with rapid, irritated strides and boarded his ship. Morana hurried along behind him, desperately throwing words at his back until the hatch sealed. The transport rocketed into the upper atmosphere, and she stood there, eyes anchored to the sky for a full sixty seconds before finally turning back toward the house. Her expression was utterly tragic; she looked a single second away from a total tearful breakdown. A pang of genuine sympathy hit me. Still, I held my breath, waiting impatiently for her to finally clear the perimeter. I really didn't like the sudden, intensely determined look that settled over her features right before she left. Retreating to the kitchen, I swept up the shattered ceramics, mapped out a simple lunch menu for myself, tossed a load of laundry into the cycle, and did a quick sweep of the common space. Once the house was presentable, I brewed a fresh cup of coffee and stepped outside to enjoy my day off. The lavender-tinted ocean was a literal magnet. Slipping off my shoes, I let my bare feet sink into the cool water, watching our neighbors with a heavy dose of envy. A handful of the colony residents shared my rest cycle today, but instead of waging war on household clutter, they were fully checked out—swimming, lounging on sleek chairs, and soaking in the atmosphere. Sanbili really was a stunning piece of real estate. The world belonged entirely to the Sibian collective. I suppose that was the only reason it hadn't been commercialized into a chaotic, overcrowded tourist trap where you couldn't move without bumping into someone. The entire population comprised academics, completely consumed by endless scientific research. Heading back inside, I noticed my comlink was flashing with multiple missed alerts from my mother. Snapping the piece over my ear, I initiated a return call, expanding the holographic projection as wide as the system allowed so my family could get a comprehensive view of the luxurious living space. “How did you know today was my day off?” I asked the interface. “I’m the one who figured it out,” my brother’s voice chimed in. His face materialized on screen for a brief second. Judging by the crisp lines of his uniform, he was actively deploying for a shift. Roma was currently fastening the collar of his planetary security tunic, looking even more brooding and severe than his usual baseline. “I wanted to alert you that Roma’s patrol route will bring his corvette through the Sanbili sector in exactly two weeks,” my mother announced. “I’m putting together a massive care package of homemade canned goods for him to drop off. Make sure you clear your schedule to collect them.” An internal groan escaped me. My family resided on Verona—a designated agro-world where the concept of a weekend cottage or a massive garden was standard practice. The planet was classified as 'semi-agricultural' because its planetary rotation was agonizingly slow: eighteen full days of continuous daylight followed by eighteen days of night. Still, that didn't stop a population of fanatical gardeners from cultivating endless, baseline cucumbers. “Mom, why bother? I can purchase fresh produce right here at the colony center,” I attempted to reason. “Home-grown is superior,” my mother stated flatly, her tone brokering no argument. In the background of the projection, Roma rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. Schlepping heavy glass jars across three separate galaxies was clearly not on my brother's list of favorite security duties, but it looked like he had already lost that debate. My immediate, spiraling panic centered on a much larger issue: could a heavily armed planetary security corvette secure clearance to land on a restricted colony world? I highly doubted Zargo would volunteer to spend a night exiled to the orbital station just to accommodate my family. “And don't you dare argue with me!” my mother added sharply before severing the link. I stared blankly at the dead hologram. My internal filter had completely failed, and Roma had definitely clocked the flash of sheer panic across my features before the line cut. Now my overprotective cop of a brother was guaranteed to find a loophole to force a planetside landing. I desperately needed to recruit Zargo to my side of this mess. Tomorrow, the absolute first item on my agenda was planting those microscopic surveillance tabs he wanted, and I would monitor that cleanroom perimeter like a hawk. Over the last few days, we had managed to transition into a semi-functional state of cohabitation. If I could maintain this trajectory for another week, who knows? We might actually stumble into a genuine friendship. Energized by my new tactical plan, I marched straight into his bedroom to assess the chore load. Regardless of their species or galaxy of origin, every single male entity in the cosmos seemed to share a universal, hardwired defect: abandoning a damp towel directly on the floorboards post-shower. Gathering his discarded laundry, I jammed it into the washing machine and deployed a pair of automated cleaning droids. Once I verified the floors were pristine and the shelving units were entirely dust-free, I headed back to the kitchen to figure out an undeniable dinner menu.