Evan sat alone in his quarters, the remains of a grilled cheese and tomato soup set neatly aside on the small table near the viewport. Nothing elaborate — just familiar, comforting, and practical. He preferred it that way.

He gathered the empty dishes and fed them into the replicator’s reclaim slot, watching absently as the space cleared itself. For a moment, he lingered, eyes drifting to the stars beyond the glass. Starfleet had cleared him medically and psychologically; there was no requirement for further evaluation now that he was civilian. No obligation. No orders.

Still, old habits had a way of sticking.

He checked the time, reached for his jacket, and stepped out into the corridor. The walk to counselling services was quiet, uneventful — another reminder that this was a choice, not an assignment. When he reached the door, he straightened his jacket more out of habit than necessity.

Evan raised a hand and pressed the chime.

He waited.

Evan Calder
Bartender