<SNIP>

It was rare for anyone to catch Buddy off guard—twice in one session was almost unheard of. His first instinct was to deflect, maybe throw out a joke to sidestep whatever came next. But something about Counselor Najjar disarmed him. She didn’t press, didn’t pry. She simply asked—and somehow, that made him want to answer.

“Not in my file, huh?” he echoed, leaning back in the chair. He took a breath. A memory stirred, and a slow smile crept across his face.

“My band had just finished recording our album, and we were gearing up for the release. The night it dropped, we played a concert at The Launching Pad.”

He paused to gauge her reaction. Anyone who’d spent time at the Academy knew The Launching Pad—the legendary, slightly disreputable venue where cadets ended up at least once, whether or not they remembered it afterward.

“The place was packed,” he continued, “just wall-to-wall bodies. The energy was electric. We’d just wrapped Chicken à la Rage—always a crowd-pleaser—and we slowed it down to roll into Dark Nebula of the Soul. And that’s when I saw her.”

He leaned forward, eyes locking with the counselor’s.

“She was… smokin’. But more than that. She was looking at me—you know? Not at me. Into me. Like she saw through the music, through the crowd, through everything. And I sang that whole song to her. It felt like I was performing a concert for one.”

His expression softened. He leaned back again, voice lower now, tinged with nostalgia.

“After the set, I jumped off the stage, pushed through the crowd trying to find her. Nothing. I asked around—no one knew who I was talking about. I ran outside, thinking maybe I’d catch her… but she was gone.”

“My bandmates were leaving for an after-party, giving me that ‘you okay, man?’ look. But I told them I’d catch up. I stayed at that bar until closing time, hoping she’d reappear. Never did. And I went back—almost every night that semester—hoping she’d show up. Nearly flunked my Temporal Mechanics final because of it.”

His voice quieted as he stared into some middle distance.

“I’ve never been in love,” he said flatly, the change in tone stark against the warmth of his story. “Not once. I’ve dated, sure. Thought I was in love a few times. But I don’t actually know what it feels like. I can sing about it all day long, but it’s a front. I’m just guessing.”

He chuckled again, the familiar grin returning to soften the edges.

“That in my file?”

-Ens. Cullum
Security

She listened as Buddy started to tell the story, and noted the change in his voice and mannerisms when the memory took hold of him again. It was personal and loss, even if it was only for that night. When he finished speaking, Mykl leaned toward him over her crossed legs. “Wait, you’re…” here she checked his file on a nearby PaDD. “You’re 30 and you’ve never been in love?” For a human that was practically unheard of. “No, I’m sure that isn’t in your file, but its good to know.” Every detail he revealed would help her understand him better and that was really all she wanted to do–help everyone be their best selves. “Do you have any family on the ship with you?”

Lieutenant Mykl Najjar
CNS USS Ark Angel

Buddy nearly choked on the question.
“Family? No,” he said, a bit too quickly. “And… I wouldn’t want to, honestly.”

He shifted in his seat, arms folding across his chest—not defensive, exactly, but something close.

“My parents are elderly. I’m an only child. And after what happened on Federation Day…” He trailed off for a second, lips pressed into a thin line. “I can’t imagine wanting to bring someone I love into this. Not after that.”

There was an edge to his voice now—controlled, but sharp.

“Look, I know it’s not the warm and fuzzy take, but I don’t think a starship is any place for civilians. Family or not. People think it’s noble, some grand Federation ideal—bringing everyone along for the ride. But when the shields drop and the decks start venting atmosphere, ideals don’t mean much.”

He let out a breath through his nose, the anger giving way to something softer underneath.

“I don’t ever want to be in a position where I have to choose between doing my job and protecting someone I care about. That’s not duty. That’s a distraction.”

He looked over at her, and for a moment, there was no smile, no posturing—just a raw, unguarded truth.

“So no. No family. Not here.”

-Ens. Cullum
Security Officer