Minho is dozing in the library, a book on his chest, when he hears the familiar crackle of his com. He traipses down the spiral staircase, drops into his chair and hits the button with his foot.

"Speak," he says through a yawn.

"Commander, a rival merchant band has requested aid."

"Which band?"

The voice seems to hesitate before saying, "The Stingray."

Minho doesn't stop to gear up. He's in the wheelhouse within the minute, shouting for Lieutenant Sing. "Details, now."

"Commander Han called the Ender directly, sir. His ship hit an agglovoid. They're making an emergency landing on Ophiuchus Alpha, O10-1Q1 Galaxy."

Ophiuchus Alpha, an arctic planet, uninhabitable — and lightyears away. "Do we still have him on-com?"

"There has been no contact for minutes now, sir."

"Did they crash? What happened?"

"We've ceased communication."

"Why the hell would you—"

Then, a voice from the com, muffled by the thunder of machinery:

"Minho... we're failing..."

Minho can't breathe.

"If I don't see you again... there were parts of you — oh God — listen, just listen to me... the gentle parts of you, the things you said when it was just you and me, those were the parts of you that I—"

A sound like a bomb going off. Then static.

He lurches forward and grabs the com. "Jisung? Jisung, do you read?" He slams his fist against the dashboard. "Fuck!"

"Sir—"

"Reset course for Ophiuchus Alpha," he barks at the pilot. "Arrival t-minus 30 minutes, I don't care what it takes. Use the fuel reserve and do not slow down."

"Commander, I think you're making a mistake."

Minho turns on his lieutenant. "Explain."

"Sir, the Stingray is our primary competitor. If we were to... not intervene... their buyers would be desperate for a new merchant. The Ender could expand two-fold, both in profits and power."

"You're suggesting we knowingly let those people die on an arctic planet?"

"Yes, I am. And I think you would approve if... if you weren't biased."

Anger flares in Minho's chest. He pushes forward, gets in his lieutenant's space.

"And why am I biased? Go on. Say it."

"I know you're involved with him. Intimately. After the Alabaster Ringmaster... we all know it. Sir, he's the enemy. It's unwise."

Minho nods once, the tilt of his head. "Does it feel good to have that off your chest?"

"I'm just trying to protect the Ender. Protect it from... foolishness."

"I see." Minho points at a crewer standing by. "You, take this one to the cells."

"What?" Sing shrieks. "On what grounds?"

"Insolence." Minho's voice raises to a shout, filling the room. "If anyone else wants to challenge my authority, do it now. I'm all ears."

No one speaks.

"Good instincts. Suits and masks on, bomb bay at hour's end. Move, spread the word. There's room in the cells if you'd like to keep warm."

He strides out of the wheelhouse. His hands are shaking. Won't stop shaking. For a second, he can see Jisung, his dark eyes and tired smile, his fingers combing gently through Minho's hair.

He does not cry. He punches the wall till his knuckles peel, and he endures.

—

Jisung was sipping an Angel Maker — vodka, citric acid and "stardust" — when Minho spotted him from across the bar. The Stingray company had been singing shanties and guzzling liquor all night, riding the high of crime and profit, but Jisung was silent, still, in his own world. He looked like he had come just to brood and pinch that pensive bottom lip.

They had known each other for years — "know" loosely defined — and this wasn't the first time Minho had noticed his... appeal. His body in that suit, the studs all over his face, the steel of him, cold and withdrawn. Minho had never taken action because, well, because he wasn't supposed to see the appeal in the machinelike Commander Han, was he? Merchants didn't dream of anything but money. (Not that he'd dreamt of him.)

Maybe Minho had conflated rivalry with attraction. Confused the glint in Jisung's eye with something of want rather than hate. The line was so tenuous... wasn't it?

Now seemed as good a time as any to roll the dice.

Minho sat next to him at the bar, offering a knowing smile. Funny meeting you here. Jisung swore and dropped his head back, showing the column of his neck. Minho imagined his light brown skin flush with bites.

"Must you follow me everywhere I go?" said Jisung.

"Coincidence, really. Though perhaps fate is at play here."

"You sound like an idiot."

"Oh you hurt me, Commander. I like it. Don't stop."

Jisung looked him in the eyes and said in a hushed voice, "You are a colossal, spectacular idiot."

Minho bit his lip. He didn't miss how Jisung's eyes flit down, his hands tightened around his glass. "Keep going, you're giving me goosebumps."

"Stop that. What's this about?"

"You seemed lonely. Thought I'd fix that — for tonight, at least."

"What are you insinuating?"

"Am I being too subtle?"

Jisung's face soured, mouth opened like he had a dig at the ready. Then something changed and his mouth shut and his expression cleared. "You still sound like an idiot."

"Mm. Tell me..." His hand met Jisung's leg under the bar. "Am I an idiot for wanting you? Or for saying it out loud?"

He looked Minho up and down, then raised the glass to his lips and said, "Both."

Han Jisung might have been a machine, but his body was neither cold nor rigid. He was a hairline trigger. His kiss was ruthless.

And after, he planted himself in the rumpled bed and started... talking.

Minho was confused. Why wasn't he leaving? There was a stranger in Minho's bed, someone with secret worlds and secret feelings to lay bare. Someone Minho could only see in the dark.

He was confused. But he liked it.

Now, Minho stands at the helm, watching the ice-covered planet dawn. 32 minutes ago, the Stingray crash-landed somewhere on this vast body. And he has no clue where to start looking.

"Take us in," he tells his pilot.

The ship rumbles and judders as they breach the atmosphere. Minho can barely see where the sky ends and the ground begins. He rolls a telescope closer and looks through the eyepiece. Ice and snow and clouds, white and white and white.

"Sir, now what?" Jha asks.

"Now we search. Now we find them."

"The chances they've survived are very slim."

"Don't you think I know that?" He draws a breath. "Excuse me. We're not giving up, not without trying. Unless you're taking the former lieutenant's side on the matter."

Jha flushes. "No, sir."

Minho calls a few crewers over, tells them to keep watch at the port and starboard sides. The landmass stretches on like an endless taunt. Go on, chase ghosts. Kill yourself while you're at it. Jha is getting nervous. Minho is getting nervous.

Then, a trail of chasms in the planet's surface. An ocean runs blue and undisturbed below the hundred-foot layer of ice. Oh... God. A Leviathan.

"Sir," Jha says.

"No. Keep going."

Minho can't stop wringing his hands. He can't get the image out of his mind — Jisung, terrified, clutching his com. Giving his last words to Minho, to keep, to hold.

The gentle parts of you...

Heat builds behind his eyes.

Then a crewer runs into the room. "Oi! I saw them! Starboard!"

Jha yanks the wheel and the ship veers to the side. Minho jolts up, bent over the dashboard, searching the ground frantically. As the ship turns, he sees a swarm of little black figures, like ants against the pale ground.

"Take us down!" he shouts. "Bomb bay, now!"

He and his company run to the bay, fastening their gas masks as they go. The metal hatch rumbles open, frigid air blasts in. The ship slows to hover over the bodies below.

Minho grabs a bungee grip and jumps off the ship. The violent winds send his cord spiralling — he slams hard against the ground, pushes himself to his feet and runs toward the nearest body, lying motionless and covered in sleet. He turns them over and looks through their frostbitten goggles — not Jisung, not dead, at least he doesn't think so. He can't check for a pulse without exposing skin.

He heaves them over his shoulders, staggers toward the transport bridge sloping down from the bay. His crew have taken one body each, rushing aboard; he cranes to find Jisung among them, but every suit is identical. The cold presses heavy against him, his lenses slowly clouding with frost.

The hatch booms closed behind them, shutting out the swirling ice. Minho feels the ship accelerate, blasting spaceward. The bay and the passageway are crowded with bodies, over a hundred people, both crews combined — all alive, so far.

"Commander Han?" he shouts. "Does someone have the commander?"

For a horrifying, never-ending moment, no one answers. Then — "Here! I've got him here!"

Minho jolts up, pushing through the crowded room, until he sees Jisung limp in a crewer's arms, eyes shut, skin ice-bitten. Minho drops to his knees and pulls him in, nearly panting with relief. Clumsy hands reach and grab, arms squeeze tight around his neck. Jisung's voice is shuddering, slurring when he tries to speak.

"It's okay," Minho whispers. "I'm here. I'm here, sweetheart."