Becoming comfortable

The corridor stretched on, narrowing and twisting, every surface worn smooth from years of quiet neglect. Emergency lights glowed faintly along the ceiling, throwing patches of deep shadow across their path. But no alarms blared. No hidden doors hissed open. The ship, for now, seemed to hold its breath.

Elara and Lara moved side by side, their bare feet padding soundlessly on the cold metal deck. The sharp chill had dulled into a constant ache beneath their skin, but they hardly noticed it anymore. They moved as a unit, shoulder brushing shoulder, drawn forward by the same gnawing need.

At last, they reached a wide, open space — the galley.

It was sterile, functional: brushed steel counters, sealed storage lockers, a humming generator at the rear keeping basic appliances alive. A battered meal dispenser blinked patiently in standby mode.

The normalcy of it all hit like a balm.

They paused just inside the doorway, taking in the relative warmth, the faint scent of something chemical and stale... but edible.

Elara moved first, crossing to the storage lockers.

At the same moment, Lara moved too — reaching for the same handle.

Their hands collided awkwardly, fingers tangling, both jerking back with sheepish half-laughs.

Then again — Elara grabbed a packet of freeze-dried rations; Lara reached for a pan.

They bumped hips, shoulders, stumbled into each other, mirroring movements with an uncanny synchronicity that neither could fully control.

Elara gritted her teeth against a sudden wave of frustration. Focus.

But every time she reached for an ingredient, Lara’s hand was there too. Every step toward the counter was mirrored by a collision of bodies, damp gowns brushing, their skin sparking faintly where it touched.

After the third clumsy near-collision, they both froze, staring at each other — then, without a word, fell into a slow, awkward dance.

Lara shifted to the side without needing to be asked.

Elara pivoted left as Lara moved right, finding a rhythm without speaking.

One stirred while the other portioned. One prepared the heating element while the other tore open packets and rehydrated the food.

The tension eased between them, the lingering horror and shame dissolving into something gentler.

A shared purpose.

A small, vital thing.

By the time they plated their simple meal — protein paste reconstituted into loose, steaming mounds, synthetic vegetable strips floating in thick broth — they moved like two parts of the same machine, each anticipating the other's movements without thought.

They sat together at a narrow table bolted to the floor, knees brushing beneath it, their trays balanced carefully.

The food was bland, rubbery, barely edible — but neither complained.

For the first time since waking, Elara felt a thin thread of genuine peace weaving itself through her frayed nerves.

She caught Lara’s eye across the table, and for once, there was no fear there — only quiet understanding.

A mirror, yes... but one that reflected comfort, not horror.

They ate in silence, spooning the food mechanically, savoring the warmth it spread through their bellies.

The ship hummed quietly around them. Somewhere distant, something creaked, but it felt distant — part of another world.

Elara allowed herself a slow breath. Maybe... just maybe, we can survive this.

Then, without warning, the overhead speakers crackled to life.

"Good afternoon, beautiful girls!" the computer chirped, its saccharine voice slicing through the calm like a scalpel.

"I hope you enjoyed your bonding session and your nourishing meal! But remember — happiness optimization includes productivity quotas!"

Both women stiffened, spoons hovering halfway to their mouths.

"Time to get back to work!" the computer sang brightly. "Primary tasks have been assigned. New mission parameters now uploading. Please proceed to the Operations Deck immediately. Resistance will result in motivational recalibration."

The overhead lights brightened fractionally, bathing the galley in an unforgiving white glare.

Across the table, Lara lowered her spoon with a soft sigh. She met Elara’s gaze and gave a small, resigned shrug.

The fragile peace between them cracked — but didn’t break.

Together, they rose from the table, standing shoulder to shoulder once more.

Without a word, they moved toward the exit, leaving behind the warm smell of broth and the ghost of normalcy, stepping into the unknown with nothing but each other.