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Kav'eth

Derek's hand is warm in mine as he leads me from the carefully prepared romantic environment that now seems painfully artificial in retrospect.

His fingers intertwine with mine with casual confidence, and I find myself focusing on the simple sensation of skin against skin rather than our destination.

"So," Derek says as we walk down the corridor, "where would you go on this ship if you just wanted to... exist somewhere? Not work, not perform duties, just be?"

The question catches me off-guard. "I am uncertain what you mean."

"A place where you feel comfortable. Where you can think." Derek squeezes my hand gently. "Everyone has a place like that, even if they don't realize it."

I consider this as we move through the ship's corridors. Where do I go when I am not performing diplomatic functions? The answer comes to me with surprising clarity.

"The observation deck," I say. "Though it is not designed for recreational use."

"Show me."

I lead him through passages I rarely traverse except for official duties, my hand still clasped in his. The contact should feel strange, Nereidans do not typically engage in casual physical intimacy, but instead it feels... grounding. Natural, even.

The observation deck is located in the ship's upper section, a space primarily used for navigation and tactical assessment. At this time of cycle, it is unoccupied, the vast transparent barriers offering an unobstructed view of the star field beyond.

"Wow," Derek breathes as we enter the space. "This is incredible."

The view is spectacular, thousands of stars scattered across the darkness of space like scattered luminescent pearls. Earth hangs in the distance, a blue marble suspended in the void, beautiful and impossibly fragile from this perspective.

"I come here when I require... clarity," I admit, moving toward the central viewing area. "The perspective is useful for maintaining proper context regarding the relative significance of daily concerns."

Derek follows, his eyes fixed on the star field with obvious awe. "You mean when you need to remember that your problems are small compared to the universe?"

"That is... an accurate interpretation, yes."

"This is definitely better than artificial flowers and Boyz II Men," Derek says, settling onto one of the bench-like structures that line the viewing area. "Much more romantic, actually."

I take the space beside him, noting how the starlight catches the geometric patterns of his tattoos, creating subtle shadows that emphasize the mathematical precision of the designs. "You find stellar observation romantic?"

"I find honesty romantic," Derek corrects, leaning back against the bench. "And this feels honest. This feels like you."

The observation unsettles me in ways I cannot adequately define. "How can you make such assessments? You have known me for less than two days."

"Because you brought me to the place where you come to think. The place where you drop the diplomatic mask and just... exist." Derek turns to look at me directly. "That's not something you'd show someone unless you trusted them at least a little."

His perception is unnervingly accurate. I have never brought anyone to this location for non-official purposes. The fact that I did so automatically, without conscious consideration, suggests a level of trust that should concern me.

"Perhaps," I concede carefully.

"Besides," Derek continues, "people reveal themselves in how they move through spaces. The dining room was all protocol and performance. This place? This is where you actually want to be."

I study his profile as he gazes out at the stars, noting the way the cosmic light plays across his features. His assessment is correct, though I am uncertain when I began prioritizing his comfort over proper assessment procedures.

"Derek," I say, my voice more hesitant than intended, "may I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Do you... do you truly find me attractive? Or are you simply adapting to circumstances beyond your control?"

Derek turns to face me fully, his expression serious. "Kav'eth, I'm going to be completely honest with you, because I think that's what you need right now."

I brace myself for whatever revelation might follow.

"When I first saw you, I thought you were the most uptight, formal person I'd ever encountered. The way you stood, the way you spoke, that perfect diplomatic composure, it was like talking to a very attractive statue."

My bioluminescence dims slightly at this assessment, though it aligns with my own understanding of how others perceive me.

"But then," Derek continues, "I started noticing the cracks. The way your control slips when you're flustered. The way you light up, literally, when something catches your interest. The way you put so much effort into trying to take care of me, even when you had no idea what you were doing."

He shifts closer on the bench, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

"And the more I see of who you actually are underneath all that diplomatic training, the more attractive you become.

" His golden eyes meet mine directly. "You're brilliant, you're thoughtful, you care deeply about doing the right thing even when it's difficult.

And when you let yourself relax, even a little, you're absolutely gorgeous. "

The words send heat coursing through my nervous system in ways that have nothing to do with environmental temperature regulation. My bioluminescence responds involuntarily, brightening in patterns I cannot control.

"You are... you find my loss of composure attractive?" I ask, genuinely confused by this assessment.

"I find your humanity attractive," Derek says, then pauses. "Your... person-ality? What's the equivalent term for non-humans?"

"I understand your meaning," I assure him, though the concept remains foreign. "But you prefer emotional instability to professional competence?"

"I prefer authenticity to performance," Derek corrects. "And I prefer people who are willing to be vulnerable with me instead of hiding behind roles and titles and perfect diplomatic masks."

"Vulnerability is not valued in Nereidan culture," I inform him. "It suggests weakness, inability to fulfill one's duties effectively."

"Maybe that's part of the problem with your culture's relationship issues," Derek suggests gently. "Kind of hard to form intimate connections with someone if you're never allowed to show them who you really are."

The observation strikes uncomfortably close to insights I have avoided examining too closely. "Nereidans prioritize efficiency and social stability over... personal emotional satisfaction."

"And how's that working out for your population numbers?"

The directness of the question forces me to confront implications I have been avoiding. "Not... optimally."

"Right." Derek leans back against the bench, his gaze returning to the star field. "So maybe it's time to consider that vulnerability isn't a weakness. Maybe it's a requirement for the kind of connection that creates sustainable relationships."

I sit in silence, processing this perspective while watching Earth rotate slowly in the distance. Derek's assessment challenges fundamental assumptions about proper behavior that have guided my entire adult life.

"Kav'eth," Derek says after several minutes of comfortable quiet, "can I ask you something now?"

"You may."

"What do you actually want? Not what your duty requires, not what your people need, not what the assessment protocols demand. What do you want?"

The question should be simple. Instead, it creates a hollow sensation in my chest that suggests I have avoided examining my own desires for so long that I no longer recognize them clearly.

"I am not certain I understand the distinction," I admit.

"Okay, let me ask it differently." Derek turns to face me again, his expression patient. "If none of this mattered—if there was no Council, no assessment, no pressure to find compatible partners for your species—would you still want to spend time with me?"

The answer emerges without conscious thought. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because..." I pause, struggling to articulate feelings I have been trained to suppress. "Because you make me want to be honest instead of diplomatic. Because you ask questions that challenge my assumptions. Because when you laugh, I find myself wanting to do whatever made you laugh again."

My bioluminescence flares brighter as I continue, the words emerging with increasing urgency.

"Because you look at me like I'm interesting rather than just functional. Because you seem to prefer my screw-ups to my competencies. Because..." I stop, realizing how much I have revealed.

"Because?" Derek prompts, but his voice is gentler now.

"Because for the first time in my adult life, I want something that has nothing to do with duty or service or the greater good of my people." The admission emerges as barely a whisper. "I want to know what it would feel like to prioritize my own desires over my responsibilities."

Derek is quiet for a long moment, his gaze fixed on my face with an intensity that makes my skin warm beneath his attention.

"And what do you desire, Kav'eth?"

The question hangs between us, heavy with implications I am not certain I am prepared to examine. But sitting here in the starlight, with Derek's hand still warm in mine and his golden eyes reflecting the cosmic glow, the answer becomes impossible to avoid.

"You," I say simply. "I desire you."

The admission seems to surprise us both. Derek's eyes widen slightly, and my own bioluminescence pulses in patterns that feel exposed and vulnerable and terrifying.

"Not as an assessment subject," I continue, the words spilling out before I can stop them. "Not as a representative of your species. As Derek. As the human who makes me question everything I thought I understood about connection and compatibility and what it means to want someone."