The interior of the spaceship hummed softly as it soared through the emptiness between worlds, a brief moment of stillness after the dark revelations on the planet's surface. The stars streaked past like silver rain outside the windows, but inside, the chaos of emotions lingered like an awkward perfume.
Atama sat cross-legged on the floor near the navigation panel, deeply engaged in consuming what looked like an overstuffed alien burrito. "Ugh, this one's got tangy blackhole mustard… fire," he mumbled, his mouth full, completely unfazed by the atmosphere.
Seko was sprawled out on a bench in the corner, one arm hanging off the side, eyes half-lidded. The fever had settled into a dull ache, but the memory of Madala Sujay left a sharper burn. He stared at the ceiling, silent for now, until something in the room shifted his attention.
Violet was leaning on one elbow across from Kiyomi, his lavender eyes locked onto her with that too-serious, too-pretty expression that made it difficult to tell if he was seducing or interrogating. His posture screamed romantic novel cover, while Kiyomi was stiff as a board, pretending very, very hard to be deep in thought—but her slightly reddening cheeks gave her away.
Atama's eyes didn't leave his burrito. "You're like those cringe college couples," he said, deadpan, mid-bite. "You know the ones. Cry together in the library and hold hands over bad poetry."
Seko, surprising even himself, cracked a dry smirk and raised his hand like a fake dramatic actor. "You are so beautiful," he declared in an over-the-top romantic tone, "that it breezes… so that the air could kiss you."
Kiyomi let out a mortified gasp. Violet blinked, confused for half a second—until Atama joined in, pitch rising to a cartoonishly high mock-feminine tone. "Aww stawwwp~ This is not the time~" he chimed, fluttering his fingers and blinking exaggeratedly, channeling Kiyomi's voice like a mischievous parrot.
The room burst into a short chorus of laughter—genuine, rare, and much needed.
Even Seko couldn't hide his smile this time, covering his face with his forearm. Kiyomi groaned and pulled her hood over her head, mumbling something incomprehensible about boys and dumb jokes, though the smile she tried to hide gave her away.
Violet raised a hand solemnly, as if to make a vow. "I shall stop… until the next star system."
"I give him twenty minutes," Atama muttered, already chewing on the next burrito.
Seko, still reclined but with a groggy grunt, slowly sat up and held out his hand. "Give me a burrito, Atama. If I'm gonna have a breakdown, I'd rather do it with flavor."
Atama, who was already juggling his fifth wrapper like it was an ancient scroll, tossed one toward Seko without looking. "Catch, emo prince."
Seko caught it lazily, peeling it open as the warm aroma filled the cabin. The taste barely mattered—it was grounding.
Kiyomi, who had been silent for a while, finally gathered the courage to speak, her voice a touch hesitant. "So… about that Sujay—"
But the other three spoke in eerie unison, heads half-turned toward her like synchronized ghosts:
"You can't frame the questions you want to?"
Kiyomi froze mid-sentence, blinking as though she'd been caught in a spell. Violet gave a soft, apologetic shrug, Seko just nodded faintly, and Atama, of course, took the lead with his mouth still half-full.
"Yeah," he said, licking sauce off his thumb. "About that Sujay… even the questions don't exist. Not the right ones, anyway." He leaned back, looking at the ceiling with his usual lazy smirk turned solemn for once. "Answers are too complex for questions to even exist."
A strange hush followed, not of silence, but of thought. The kind of weight that sits on your chest, not your shoulders.
Seko stared down at his half-eaten burrito, his eyes unfocused. "He's not something you ask about," he said quietly. "He's something you feel—like a splinter in reality."
Violet folded his arms, leaning against the wall. "Or like something inside you suddenly isn't yours anymore."
Kiyomi lowered her head slightly, the knot of questions tangling further instead of loosening.
Atama sighed, leaned back, and muttered, "Yeah… That's why I keep snacks. They keep me grounded. The universe is nuts."
"If the Universe were truly nuts-", Kiyomi asks "Would you eat it?"
Kiyomi blinked at the immediate responses, mildly stunned by how quickly the others jumped in like it was the most philosophical thing she had ever said.
Violet, ever ready with a flirt, leaned just slightly forward. "If they were made by you, definitely," he said, the corner of his lips lifting like he just dropped a pickup line disguised as cosmic logic.
Atama didn't even pause. "Hell yeah… with sauce, of course," he chimed, shoving another bite of burrito in his mouth like he'd been preparing this answer for years. "Maybe spicy dimension drizzle, or that sweet-time paradox glaze."
Kiyomi laughed—light and brief, covering half her face with her hand out of shyness, though the blush in her cheeks betrayed her. "I was being silly…"
Seko, however, sat in his corner, chewing slowly with his face blank. He didn't look at them. Didn't laugh. Didn't even twitch. It was as if the whole conversation was happening several light-years away from where his thoughts were currently orbiting.
"Really?" he muttered under his breath. "You people talk about cosmic evil and then jump to nut metaphors."
Atama grinned. "Balance, bro. Can't go full gloom all the time. Even the void needs snacks."
"Especially the void," Violet added with a wink toward Kiyomi.
Kiyomi rolled her eyes—but she smiled too, quietly grateful for the weirdness of this dysfunctional, ridiculous crew.
"Did you just bro-zone me?" Seko asked, sitting up slightly from his reclined position, his tone dry but with a strange hint of something beneath—uncertainty? Hope?
Kiyomi, not missing a beat, shot back with a sly smirk. "Thought you didn't care."
Seko froze for half a second. Then, completely out of character, his expression cracked—just a little. A faint pink spread across his cheeks. "I-I just asked," he muttered, eyes darting away like he regretted opening his mouth.
Across from them, Violet arched a suspicious eyebrow, narrowing his lavender eyes as he leaned forward just slightly. "Wait…" he said, voice layered with skepticism and faux disbelief. "Did you just blush, Seko?"
Seko didn't respond. He turned away farther, practically burying his face in the wall of the ship like he was meditating—or hiding from the entire world.
Atama, who had been mid-bite in yet another burrito, pointed at him with the tortilla. "Man's finally acting his age. Congratulations. Emotional development unlocked."
Kiyomi giggled behind her hand, then looked at Seko again—this time with softer eyes. Violet was still studying him, head tilted. "Interesting…" he whispered.
Seko groaned into his sleeve. "I should've stayed dead inside."