Chapter Text
The hum of engines was a familiar lullaby. You’d long since learned to ignore it, to hear the silence beneath the sound—like listening to the rhythm of your own pulse. That’s how you knew the moment the door slid open.
Without turning, you said, “You’re late.”
“And yet, still ahead of you.”
Caleb’s voice. Smooth. Smug. Infuriating.
You looked over your shoulder, catching the flash of his uniform—pristine, of course, like he hadn’t just stepped off a long-range recon mission. The three silver stars on his shoulder gleamed like he polished them with a damn toothbrush.
“Colonel,” you said evenly.
He tilted his head. “Captain.”
There it was—your dance. A game choreographed over years of sparring, testing, and one-upping each other since your first flight drills in high school. He always came just a little too close. You always pretended not to notice.
“You’re not still mad about that simulator score, are you?” he asked, strolling to your side like he owned the air between you.
“I’m mad that your crash landing somehow earned bonus points.”
“It was a creative solution.”
“It was reckless.”
Caleb flashed that too-bright smile, the one that never quite reached his eyes when he was teasing you. “And yet, I survived. You’d miss me if I didn’t.”
You rolled your eyes, but your pulse betrayed you. You’d never admit it, but he wasn’t wrong.
He stopped just short of touching your shoulder. His voice lowered, serious now. “Briefing room. 0800 hours. It’s classified. Bring your A-game.”
“I always do.”
His lips twitched. “I know.”
And then he was gone. Like always—blunt impact followed by clean exit.
You stared at the empty doorway for a long moment, knowing exactly what would happen next: a mission that would test every nerve in your body, Caleb at your side, too close for comfort, too far for clarity.
Because with Caleb, it was never just orders and duty.
It was unfinished business.
Unspoken truths.
Unresolved gravity.
You exhaled slowly, the knot in your chest tightening.
Whatever this mission was, you had a feeling it was going to change everything.
---
Twelve years ago
Aerospace Academy – Orientation Day
You weren’t nervous. Not really.
Just hyper-aware of every step, every breath, every single cadet in that sun-drenched courtyard sizing each other up like they were already on the battlefield. You adjusted your bag over your shoulder and kept your head high. You’d earned this. Top scores. Perfect evaluations. A scholarship forged from sweat and sleepless nights.
Then he showed up.
Tall. Confident. Dark brown hair tousled like he'd just walked off a magazine cover, not a transport shuttle. His stride was easy, like he didn’t even notice the crowd’s attention shifting toward him. Or maybe he did.
He stopped a few paces ahead of you, glanced over his shoulder, and caught your stare.
“You planning to follow me all day?” he asked.
Your eyebrows rose. “Please. I’m just wondering how someone that smug fit through the Academy gates.”
He blinked—and then grinned. “Interesting. Most people just stammer or flirt back.”
“Well, I’m not most people.”
“No. You’re not.” He looked at your name patch. “Y/N.”
Your jaw clenched. “It's Cadet Y/N.”
“Not forever.”
You wanted to hate the way that confidence looked on him, but you didn’t. Not really. It irritated you—because deep down, you recognized something in him. That same impossible drive. That same hunger to prove you belonged.
“You got a name?” you asked, mostly to get it over with.
“Caleb.” He offered a hand. “I’ll be the one finishing ahead of you in every class.”
You shook it firmly. “We’ll see.”
And you did. Every single week, in every class, in every simulation. You were always neck and neck—he’d edge ahead in tactical theory, you’d smoke him in flight control. He made top of the leaderboard one month; you knocked him off the next. You shared heated debates, long nights in the same study rooms, and a mutual obsession with being better than the other.
But you never hated him.
Not really.
There were moments—brief and sharp—when the competition cracked. A lingering glance when you laughed at something he said. A too-long silence after your hands brushed passing a datapad. Words unsaid in the dark, when training left you both breathless and aching, pretending exhaustion was the only thing keeping you apart.
Still, nothing happened. Neither of you dared. You couldn’t risk breaking the rhythm.
Not when it was the only thing holding you together.
---
Orbiting Command Base – Sector Echelon 5
The room was too quiet for what they’d just said.
You stared at the holo-table, its pale blue light flickering across your face as General Korr’s words echoed in your mind like a dropped comm still broadcasting on repeat.
“Undercover. Married couple. Two weeks.”
You blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
Caleb leaned forward slightly in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, voice dry as desert wind. “You heard him, Captain. We’re getting hitched.”
You didn’t rise to the bait. Barely. Your pulse had kicked up the second you walked into this briefing room and saw him already seated—back straight, in full uniform, as if he hadn’t vanished off-grid for ten days on a stealth recon. No greeting. No smile. Just a clipped nod.
Now he was smirking, and your irritation flared.
General Korr cleared his throat. “This mission requires proximity and absolute discretion. You’ll be posing as civilians on Rhea-9—a remote terraformed outpost with heavy criminal activity. Our intel asset embedded there has gone dark. We believe she’s compromised. You’re to retrieve the data she was carrying.”
You folded your arms. “Why not send in a tactical unit?”
“Too visible. This operation needs subtlety. You’ll blend in as a couple relocating for off-world mining work—planted in a small residential dome.”
Caleb lifted a brow. “So we just... play house?”
“More or less. You'll have full cover identities, communication blackout for the duration, and limited surveillance. This asset risked everything. We’re not leaving her behind.”
You nodded slowly, absorbing the weight behind the mission. This wasn’t just pretend. This was dangerous.
And they were sending you with him.
Caleb’s fingers drummed once on the edge of the table, just loud enough for you to glance at him. “Don’t worry, Captain. I’ll try not to steal the covers.”
You gave him a measured look. “Just try not to snore.”
General Korr didn’t smile—but you swore his eyes crinkled just slightly. “I trust you two can handle the... intimacy of this operation?”
Your voice didn’t flinch. “We’ve worked together before.”
Caleb chimed in, his voice softer than usual. “We’ll make it convincing.”
The general stood. “Good. You deploy in forty-eight hours. Pack light. You’ll be traveling as Rhean civilians. Flight logs will be wiped. This conversation didn’t happen.”
The moment the door sealed behind him, silence fell again—charged and tense.
You turned toward Caleb. “You really okay with this?”
He didn’t answer immediately. His eyes searched yours, and for the first time since you entered, the cocky exterior wavered. Just a flicker.
“I’ve spent years pretending I didn’t care when you walked into a room,” he said quietly. “Two weeks pretending I’m married to you? I think I can handle it.”
You opened your mouth—but no words came. Not then.
Because deep down, a part of you already knew:
This mission was going to change everything.