Chapter Text
The week after the storm passed was strange.
Mars never really returned to “calm.” The dust simply learned how to settle again.
You hadn’t seen Juno since the kiss. Not really. There were quick glances, passing trade-offs of gear, messages relayed through others. And every time, it was like the gravity on the station pressed in just a little harder on your chest.
You could still remember the look on her face.
Tired. Scared. And...hopeful.
The worst kind of hope. The kind that sprouted when it knew the soil wasn’t made for growing anything. Still, it bloomed.
And you let it.
Today, you found yourself staring out at the Red Promise base as your shuttle re-docked from a quick trip to the orbital ring. The cracked module above Mars had finally been sealed off, and they’d brought you along to vapor through the compromised systems and diagnose weak spots. You could feel Juno’s presence behind you now, her shadow reflected faintly against the copper-rusted surface of the base’s interior paneling.
“Diagnostics uploaded,” she said simply, stepping up beside you. No abbreviations. As always.
You turned your head to her. “I’ll patch the last conduit in the west corridor. Want to double-check the output valves?”
She nodded. “Yes. I will.”
There was a pause. She didn't move.
You didn’t either.
Eventually, it was her voice again that broke the stale space between you.
“I think we should talk.”
You let the silence hold for a second longer. Then:
“Yeah. Me too.”
Later, in the greenhouse wing — the only place on the base where the artificial light tried to mimic Earth’s morning.
It was quiet here. Peaceful. Rows of filtered oxygen passed through flowering stems and thermal air vents. Her duck-printed socks made soft padding noises against the floor as she walked.
“I’m not mad,” she said.
You looked up from where you were checking a nutrient timer.
“I didn’t think you were.”
“But I was,” she admitted softly. “At myself. Not at you. I was...embarrassed.”
You didn’t say anything, letting her speak as she sat beside you on the planter bench.
“I’ve never liked anyone before. Not like that. Not ever. Not even once.”
“I know.”
“Being the only person my age on Mars is not romantic,” she added, and you could tell she was trying to make light of it — to keep her voice even.
You gave a half-smile. “No. I don’t imagine it is.”
She played with the hem of her sleeve.
“I do not blame you for not choosing me,” she said. “But I wish I did not feel so...discarded.”
The words stung, not because they were cruel, but because they were true. And because you knew she had never meant to use them like that.
You turned to her and gently placed your hand over her wrist.
“Juno. You weren’t a mistake. You’re not something to be forgotten. That moment we had—it meant something. But…”
“But not enough,” she finished, not bitter. Just...tired.
“Enough to make me care,” you said quietly. “Enough to remind me that you’re incredible. You’re strong. You’re brave. And someone—someone is going to see that. Really see it. And they’ll fall so hard, they won’t know how to breathe around you.”
She blinked. You noticed her eyes glistening, just a little.
“And what if there’s no one out there for me?” she asked. “What if I go to Earth and still feel this...alone?”
“Then I’ll be your wingman,” you said.
She laughed. A weak laugh, but real.
“Do wingmen usually...kiss?”
You looked down. “No. They don’t. And I’m sorry about that.”
Juno leaned her head against your shoulder again. No pressure. No asking for anything more.
“Promise me,” she said. “Promise me you won’t forget me when you go.”
You tilted your head, resting it lightly against hers.
“I’d be the dumbest person alive if I could ever forget you.”
________________
The hum of your suit stabilizers buzzed softly as you drifted along the edge of the orbital relay station. Behind you, Mars spun slowly—painted in a warm, rusted hue against the pitch of space. The station blinked quietly beneath your gloves, lights now steady, functioning, no longer coughing static or glitching panels. Finally. It was done.
Juno floated a few meters away, clipped to the tether line, her tools magnetized to her belt, her hair tucked neatly into the helmet liner. She had not said much since takeoff. Only what was needed.
Not that you could blame her.
“Panel 6-C recalibrated,” you said through the comms. Your voice felt too loud.
“Copy,” Juno replied, polite. Distant. “Running diagnostics now.”
You hovered there for a second too long. Then—without quite meaning to—you broke the silence again.
“Juno. Can we talk?”
A pause.
The screen on your HUD flickered briefly, then steadied. You saw her turn, slowly, her figure silhouetted by the planetary glow.
She nodded.
You exhaled, fogging your faceplate.
“I just…” you started, then stopped. Space was too quiet for dishonesty. “I never meant to confuse you. Or to make you feel like an afterthought. I should’ve been clearer. With you. With myself.”
Juno said nothing for a moment. Then her voice came through the line, a little softer this time.
“You were not thinking. I knew that,” she said. “And I knew you cared. Even if not the way I hoped.”
The stars blinked around you both, cold and ancient and far too still.
“But,” she continued, “I am glad I felt it. Even if it hurt. It means… I can feel it again, right?”
She turned to look out at the planet below. “There are no boys on Mars. Not ones my age. Not ones who are kind to me. Or make me laugh. Or like the weird way I decorate.”
Your chest ached.
“I do like your decorating,” you said quietly. “And the duck keychain? He’s a star.”
That earned a small laugh from her. The first one in days.
“I will find someone,” she said, her tone lighter now. “You are not my only chance. You were just the first one who looked at me like I was something worth seeing.”
You blinked, throat tight.
“I’ll always see you, Juno. That’s not going to change.”
“Good.” She looked back at you. “Then help me finish the upload. So I can send the next crew up here with less whining and more gratitude.”
You smiled under the helmet. “Yes, ma’am.”
—
The shuttle back to Mars drifted in, gently docking against the port. The gravity caught up the moment your boots reconnected with the surface.
The goodbye was quiet.
You stood by the hangar, your bag slung over your shoulder. Juno held something in her hands—small, round, bright yellow.
“Take him,” she said, pressing the duck keychain into your palm. It had a glittery little star over one eye and a chipped beak. “He’s dramatic. Like you.”
You held it carefully, smiling.
“I’ll keep him safe.”
“You better. He has abandonment issues.”
Then, with a small breath, she reached out, hugged you once around the middle—quick, tight, and trembling—and stepped back.
“Be good to Hana,” she said. “And be kind to yourself. You are not made for only one place.”
You hesitated.
“Neither are you.”
Then the door hissed shut between you, and the shuttle began its climb back toward Earth.
Outside the window, Mars turned slowly beneath the stars.
And somewhere in a cozy room, a girl in duck pajamas watched the sunrise bloom across the dust-choked horizon, her heart sore—but still beating.
Still open.
Still waiting for her own orbit to begin again.
You didn’t even hear her at first—not over the sound of your suitcase zipper or the hum of the hotel’s A/C. You were bent at the waist, unpacking clothes into the low drawers by the bed, when you felt a pair of familiar arms wrap around your waist from behind.
Hana’s voice brushed your ear like a breeze. “Mmm... you know, the view from here is really nice.”
You blinked, startled. “Huh?”
She leaned closer, resting her chin on your shoulder. “Don’t play dumb,” she whispered, lips brushing skin. “You know exactly what I mean.”
Then came the kiss. Soft. Right at the crook of your neck. It lingered. Too long to be casual, too short to be satisfied.
You turned in her arms, raising an eyebrow with a crooked smile. “Hana... since when were you the flirty one?”
She grinned, all teeth and trouble. “Since forever. You just finally noticed.”
You laughed, the sound nervous but warm, but she didn’t give you a chance to say more. She kissed you. This time, on the lips.
And this time, it wasn’t playful.
She pulled you in like she’d waited all week for it. Like this moment had been bookmarked in her mind since the train ride over. Your fingers found the back of her sweater—soft cotton, pastel pink, still cool from the room’s air. You held onto her, grounding yourself.
She twirled you both in a giddy little spin before pushing you gently, but firmly, onto the edge of the bed.
“Hey—!” you protested, half-laughing. “Aren’t I supposed to be the man in this relationship?”
Hana tilted her head, hands on her hips. “Uhh, no? I am. Woman up.”
You snorted. “That doesn’t even make sense—”
She was already climbing into your lap.
Your heart jumped as her weight settled on your thighs, her fingers resting on your shoulders, thumb brushing your collarbone. She looked at you like she could read everything behind your eyes—every flustered breath, every quickening beat in your chest.
“Hana…” you murmured, hands instinctively settling on her waist.
“Mhm?” Her tone was light, teasing—but her eyes had darkened with something else.
“I thought we were here for a tour .”
She leaned in. “We are. But the tour can wait… Can’t this come first?”
You swallowed hard. She kissed you again, slower now. More purposeful. Her lips were soft, tinged with cherry lip balm, and tasted like the lychee drink you’d seen her sip earlier. Her hands moved—tracing lines down your arms, your sides, slipping under your shirt to feel the heat of your skin.
She kissed you like she meant it.
Like she wanted to memorize your mouth.
And when she pulled back, just for breath, she whispered, “If you want me to stop, just say so.”
But you didn’t.
Instead, your hand tangled in her hair, guiding her back to you. “Don’t.”
That was all she needed.
You didn’t remember how your shirt came off—only that her hands were everywhere, touching like they belonged there, like every inch of you was familiar territory. Her lips traveled down your neck, peppering kisses with featherlight precision, until your breath caught in your throat.
Your hips shifted beneath her, desperate for friction, and she noticed —her smirk returning, smug and adorable and infuriating.
“You’re squirming,” she teased.
“You’re evil,” you muttered, voice ragged.
“You like it.”
God help you, you did.
The air in the room turned syrupy—humid and sweet, filled with the scent of her vanilla lotion and static from the A/C. Your skin buzzed. Her fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts, not pulling—just resting there. Teasing. Waiting.
Your pulse thundered in your ears.
She pushed you down fully, straddling you like she had every intention of staying there. The weight of her, the heat of her—it was intoxicating. She moved with such confidence, yet every motion still asked: Are you sure? Is this okay?
You nodded, every time.
She guided your hands to her waist. “Touch me,” she whispered, breath hitching.
You did.
Your fingers trailed up her spine, across bare skin, down again, feeling the tremble she tried to hide. Her breath hitched. You kissed her shoulder, then her neck, then the space just above her chest—slowly, reverently.
And when she finally sank down, both of you gasped—two halves fitting perfectly, skin to skin, soul to soul.
No words. Just sound.
The creak of the bed.
The rhythm of hips moving in sync.
The breathy moans that escaped between kisses.
The feel of her fingers gripping your hair like she needed you. L ike she never wanted to let go.
She rode the waves like she owned the ocean, every roll of her hips sending sparks up your spine. You weren’t used to this—the intimacy, the vulnerability. But with Hana?
You wanted it.
Every whispered name. Every tug. Every kiss.
And when you finally reached that edge, that impossible, breaking-point peak—you clung to each other like your lives depended on it.
The air stilled.
Only your heartbeats remained.
She collapsed against you, breathless and flushed, her forehead resting against yours.
“…Wow,” she whispered.
You laughed—soft, shaky. “Yeah.”
Outside, Gangnam buzzed.
She cupped your cheek, thumb brushing lazily across your skin. "Interesting way to start our vacay, huh?"
You grinned, eyes half-lidded. “You started it!”
She snorted. “Shut up, loser.”
But she kissed you again anyway.