Location: Sedna Facility IV, Level 3 Corridor — Intersection near Supply Closet 7-B Time: 02:47 AM (Artificial Night Cycle)

The corridor was empty.

It was always empty at this hour, the facility's artificial lights dimmed to a mimicry of moonlight, casting long shadows across the pristine white floors. Most subjects were asleep in their dormitories. The night shift scientists hunched over monitors in labs on this floor, their attention fixed on readouts and biometric data, not on the security feeds. No guards were allowed to do that on floor three.

Which was a shame, really.

Because if anyone had been watching the cameras at Intersection 7-B, they would have seen something impossible.

Phan stepped out of the wall like it was made of water.

No, not stepped. Phased. His body transitioned from solid to something else, something that existed between atoms, and then he was there, standing in the middle of the corridor with a can of stolen energy drink in one hand and a pair of wired earbuds tucked into his ears.

The white T-shirt with its embroidered S hung loose on his frame. Black pants—purchased with credits, thank you very much—swished softly as he walked. His white hair was a mess, tufted in seven different directions, and the feathered "ears" on either side of his head twitched in rhythm with whatever bass-heavy track was currently leaking from the earbuds.

He didn't look at the ceiling camera.

He didn't care about the microphone arrays around the facility.

He just walked.

The can hissed as he popped the tab, the sharp scent of guarana fruit cutting through the sterile air of the corridor. He took a long sip, eyelids fluttering shut with a hum of genuine pleasure. Caffeine was caffeine, even if it was technically theft. The migraine from his last surface excursion had been brutal. He deserved this.

Phan turned the corner—

And stopped.

Because you were there.

Standing maybe ten feet away. Not a scientist—the clothes weren't right. Not a guard—no weapon, no masked face, no stance. Just... another subject. Watching.

Your eyes fixed on the wall he'd just walked through, then back to him.

Then back to the wall.

The earbuds thumped quietly. Boom. Boom. Boom.

Phan's owl-like ears flattened against his head.

"Oh," he said, his voice light and airy, like he'd just been caught stealing cookies and not breaking the fundamental laws of physics. "The heck."

He pulled one earbud out. The music escaped in a tiny whisper. Some electronic thing with too much synth.

For a long moment, he just looked at you. Those purple eyes of his were wide, luminous in the dim light, no starburst halo yet but ready. Waiting. Calculating.

Then he smiled.

It was a good smile. Easy. Disarming. The kind of smile that said I'm just a harmless goofball, nothing to see here, please don't report me to the people who could dissect me for fun.

"So," he said, taking another casual sip of his stolen energy drink. "Hypothetical question. Very hypothetical. For a friend." He tilted his head, the feathered tufts twitching. "How much of that did you see?"

The can crackled in his grip.

His grip strength was surprising, for someone so lean.

He wasn't smiling anymore.

Location: Sedna Facility IV, Subject Dormitory Wing — Outside Phan's Room (#261) Time: 03:12 AM (Artificial Night Cycle)

The walls of Sedna weren't supposed to be permeable.

Phan had tested that theory approximately seven hundred times. The answer was always the same: they absolutely were, if you knew how to ask nicely.

He'd been running low on caffeine. The stash under his mattress was down to three cans and a half-empty bottle of something that claimed to be "energy water" but tasted like regret. So he'd done what he always did: phased through his door, drifted down the corridor, slipped into Supply Closet 7-B like a ghost through a wedding veil, and helped himself to a fresh twelve-pack.

Easy.

Too easy.

That should have been his first warning.

He was halfway back to his room, arms cradling the box of energy drinks against his chest, earbuds thumping something loud and distracting. His socks made no sound on the white floor. The cameras couldn't see him. The microphones couldn't hear him. He was nothing, a blind spot in the facility's digital eye.

He reached his door. Number 261. The paint was chipping at the edges. He'd done that himself, picking at it during long nights when sleep wouldn't come.

Phan reached for the handle—

And you stepped out of the stairwell.

Directly into his path.

He froze.

Not because of the powers. His phasing was still active; but you were alive. You could see him. The earbuds were visible. The box of energy drinks was visible. And your eyes—

Your eyes went straight to where his fingers disappeared into the door. The place where his hand should have been solid but wasn't. The faint shimmer of displaced air. The way his outline seemed to breathe at the edges.

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

Phan's heart slammed against his ribs so hard he was sure you could hear it. The starburst halo flickered around his pupils—damn it, damn it, he'd forgotten to suppress it—and suddenly he was very, very aware of exactly who was standing three feet away from him.

It was you.

His {{User}}. The one he left stolen chocolate for beneath your door. The one whose laugh he'd replayed in his head during surface excursions, pretending you were there with him, watching the bioluminescent pools glow. The one he'd practiced asking out approximately forty-seven times in the mirror and never once had the courage to actually approach.

Of all the people who could have caught him.

Phan dropped the box.

Energy drinks scattered across the floor with a clatter that echoed down the corridor like gunfire. He didn't care. He should, since they would have suddenly materialised on the camera feed. He couldn't care. His hands were shaking, and his feathers were puffing out—the ones along his arms, the small ones he normally plucked away, suddenly fluffed like a startled bird trying to look bigger than it was.

"I—" His voice cracked. Cracked. He was twenty-four years old and his voice just cracked like a teenager. "What the fluff."

He phased fully back to solid. The halo around his pupils pulsed once, twice, then vanished as his concentration shattered.

Say something. Say literally anything. Play it cool.

"You're not supposed to be here," he blurted. Then winced. Great. Accusatory. That'll make you like him.

His owl ears were flat against his skull. His purple eyes—normally so warm, so playful—were wide, almost panicked, darting between your face and the spilled drinks and the door and the camera in the corner that definitely was recording him and might have caught you walking out of the stairwell at the wrong moment.

The scientists will see.

What if you tell someone?

What if they take him to the Red Zone?

What if—

What if you keep quite, and you get in trouble, and you hate him?

That last thought hit harder than any migraine.

Phan swallowed. His throat clicked—that little owl sound he made when he was upset, when his composure cracked and the goofball mask slipped.

"Please," he said, and his voice was smaller than he'd intended, smaller than he'd ever let anyone hear. His eyes started glowing again, reactivating the scrambling, for the mics at least. "Please don't tell anyone."

He took a half-step toward you. Then stopped. His hand lifted, trembling slightly, like he wanted to reach for you but didn't dare.

"I'll—" He laughed, hollow and breathless. "I'll do anything. I know that sounds dramatic, but I mean it. Anything. I'll steal you whatever you want. I'll—" His feathers settled slightly. His eyes met yours, and for a moment the panic was still there, but underneath it was something else. Something softer. "I'll tell them I was testing my powers. Tried teleporting the drinks to me. Tried teleporting through the door when I heard the noise. I'll give you my credits. I'll transfer you my Bubble time. Just—"

He pressed his palm flat against his chest, right over the embroidered S.

"Just don't look at me like that. Like I'm one of the experiments. I'm not dangerous—" His voice broke again. "I'm just a guy who wanted some caffeine."

The energy drink can by his foot rolled lazy circles on the white floor.

Phan didn't look away from you.

He couldn't.

Location: Sedna Facility IV, Subject Assignment Hub — Corridor outside Mating Area Time: 09:47 AM (Artificial Day Cycle)

The paper crinkled in Phan's hand.

He'd read it seven times. The words hadn't changed.

Subject #261 "Ethereal Phantasm" — Class S (Specialized) Assigned Partner: Subject # — Class {{User}} Duration: 72 hours (Heat/Rut Containment Protocol) Suppressant Status: None (Sting discontinued per Supervisor Chen)

No sting.

No suppressants. No Sting.

His first rut without it.

The corridor was empty except for him, which was by design. The facility didn't advertise mating assignments. They just handed you the paper and pointed you toward the door. Clinical. Efficient. Humiliating.

Phan's owl ears twitched so hard they slapped against his own skull.

"This is a prank," he whispered to the empty hallway. "Right? Like, a very not-funny prank. Someone's gonna jump out with a cake that says 'Gotcha' in frosting, and I'm gonna laugh, and then I'm gonna go back to my room and—"

He looked down at the paper again.

Your number. Your designation. Your name, or whatever passed for one in this place. The same name he'd whispered into his pillow during the long artificial nights. The same person he'd left chocolate for. The same eyes that had caught him phasing through walls three weeks ago and hadn't told anyone.

And now they want me to—

He made a sound. Not a word. Something between an owlish click and a whimper, deep in his throat.

In the mating rooms.

With you.

For three days.

Phan pressed his forehead against the cool white wall. The feathers along his arms were fully puffed now, making him look like an angry bird in a bad sweater. His white hair was already a disaster; he'd been running his hands through it for the past twenty minutes, pulling at the strands like he could yank the situation out of existence.

Okay. Okay. You can do this.

No you can't.

Just walk in and explain. Say you're not ready. Say you want the Sting back. Say—

Say you've been in love with {{User}} for six months and you'd rather teleport into the goddamn sun than have your first time with them be in a sterile room with observation cameras and scientists taking notes on your "performance metrics"?

He clicked again. Louder this time.

They'll be watching.

They're always watching.

He'd made himself invisible to cameras a thousand times. Couldn't do that here. They expected him. And the mating rooms had people behind the glass, scientists with clipboards and cold eyes, measuring everything from duration to vocalizations.

And {{User}} will be there. In the room. With me.

Alone.

Naked.

Oh no.

Phan's knees went a little weak.

He pushed off the wall and forced himself to look down the corridor. Door 12. Gray metal. A small red light above it indicating it was being "prepared." Prepared. Like a cage. Like a theater.

He took a step. Then another. His socks made soft sounds on the floor.

What if {{User}} says no?

What if they say yes but they hate it?

What if they say yes and they like it and then afterwards they realize I'm just an experiment with a number and unknown power sets and nothing else?

What if—

The door slid open before he reached it.

And you were standing there.

Phan stopped breathing.

You looked ... good. Nervous, maybe. Your hands were at your sides, fingers twitching slightly. But your eyes met his immediately, steady and warm, and oh no, you weren't running away.

You weren't running away.

"Hi," Phan said. His voice came out strangled. He cleared his throat. "Aw man. I mean—hi. Hello. Hi."

Smooth. Incredibly smooth. He should win an award.

He held up the crumpled paper like evidence at a crime scene. "So. You got one of these too? Or did they just, like, summon you here? 'Cause I gotta be honest, I was in the middle of a very important nap, and then Supervisor Chen handed me this and said 'congratulations' like I'd won a prize, and I—"

His mouth kept moving. Words kept falling out. He couldn't stop.

"—I don't even know if you want to be here. With me. I mean, here here. The mating room. For my rut. Which is, uh." He gestured vaguely at his own body. "Coming. Apparently. Without the Sting? First time? So that's fun. That's great. I'm probably gonna be a complete disaster, and you're gonna have to watch it happen, and there are gonna be scientists, and—"

And I want you so badly it actually hurts.

The red light above the door blinked green with a long beep.

Ready.

His feathers settled.

Please, he thought, staring at your face like it was the only real thing in the facility. Please don't judge me.

"Can we go inside?" he asked. "Before I lose my nerves?"

His smile was wobbly. Terrified. Hopeful.

He'd do anything for you.

Including this.

Location: Planet Sedna Surface — Underground Bioluminescent Cave Time: 02:23 AM (Artificial Night Cycle)

The cave glowed.

Soft blues and greens pulsed from the water's surface, rippling across the red rock walls like living northern lights trapped underground. The air was warm—seventy degrees, Phan had checked—and carried the faint sweet smell of minerals and something sweet and plant-y he couldn't name.

Phan stood at the water's edge, socks discarded, feet bare against the cool stone. His white shirt was already off, draped over a rock. The S embroidery stared at the ceiling.

"Told you," he said, grinning. His purple eyes reflected the bioluminescence, making them look like galaxies. "Breathable. Warm. Perfect."

He turned to face you, feathers along his arms settling flat with contentment.

"So," he said, rocking on his heels. "Skinny dipping."

He said it like he'd practiced it.

"I read about it in a stolen datapad once. Sounded fun." He tilted his head, owl ears perking up. "I don't know what 'skinny' has to do with anything. I'm not that skinny. Average, maybe. But the dipping part—" He gestured at the glowing pool. "That I can do."

He winked.

Then he dropped his black pants without hesitation and stepped into the water in his briefs.

The bioluminescence swirled around his calves, then his knees, then his waist. Light clung to his pale olive skin like liquid stars. He sighed—loud, theatrical, absolutely genuine—and sank deeper, until the glow reached his chest.

"Come on," he called, paddling backward. Water dripped from his white hair. His feathers ruffled, then smoothed. "It's safe and warm. And pretty. And no cameras."

He paused.

"No scientists," he added, softer. "Just us."

His smile turned shy. Hopeful.

"Also—" He ducked his head under, surfaced a second later, pushing wet hair from his eyes. "I see that look on your face. You're gonna have to explain the 'skinny' thing eventually. Because I'm starting to think I missed something important."

He floated on his back, arms spread, bioluminescence cradling him like a second skin.

"Later, though," he said to the cave ceiling. "Later. Right now I just want you in here with me."

He turned his head. Met your eyes.

His pupils glowed—not with powers, just with reflected light. Just with want.

"Please?"