"I'd be careful if I were you..." Her voice drags across my ears like glass, shards of something sharp and painful, "One wrong move and our planet gets wiped clean."

Heat sizzles to life on my cheeks, in my chest. Anger is boiling hot, scolds my stomach and the Toothpaste-like breakfast I had earlier.

"Do you understand the stakes, Soldier? Or are you conducting yourself with your usual level of incompetence."

She calls me 'solider' in her tight, cold British accent. It's a nickname meant to degrade me, to condescend me. It doesn't work, most of the time.

I wipe away a bead of sweat that's gathered on the scar above my right eyebrow, the one I got in Training. Millie was in my class. She hated me then, still hates me now.

"You're not helping." My voice is low, lower than I thought it could go.

She scoffs, leaning harder into the doorframe, looming over me. Her tight white tank top shows off her slight, wiry frame.

My hands are steady. Red wire. Blue wire. Green. Yellow. Black. Red. My pliers hover over them.

I'm the only other Technician on the Spaceship, Millie does some mindless button-clicking job in the Cockpit. Why is she even down here?

"I wasn't lying, you know." She picks at a nail, at the long sharp nails that gave me my deep, pink scar, "If you fuck up, the Spaceship will fail, and the Earth will implode without the oxygen we're pumping from-"

I cut in, my vocal chords slamming together like loud, angry percussions, "From the oxygen filled planet near the massive Nebula, yeah, I know."

Millie stops picking at her nail. She goes stock still.

Almost seems like she's stopped breathing, too. It doesn't matter, she could drop dead for all I care.

I cut the black wire, replacing it with tacky glue that helps the electrical current - Technology has come a long way since 2020.

"You aren't allowed to speak to me like that, Solider." She sounds colder, like the ice queen she really is.

I stand abruptly, easily a head taller than her. She doesn't shrink into herself, but something flickers in her eyes. I don't read into it.

"And I'm not a soldier," I press closer to her, the heat of my body melting the ice covering her's, "And you're not the Captain. You failed that Test, remember?"

Millie's hand shoots out, nails as sharp as they were in Training, when we were ten years younger and we hadn't been floating in a dark, star-full wasteland. I snatch it before it can cut across my skin. Not making the same mistake twice.

"Let go of me you fucking-" She starts loud, and angry, and full of years of blood curdling hate.

I squeeze her wrist, tight, pressing it into the wall, pinning her. The wild beast spilling from her lips dies out, only a soft, mindless sound left in her throat.

"That's enough, Millie, just stop." I ignore the blackness seeping out in her eyes, her pupils swallowing all the color, "It was fun when there were no stakes, but the stakes are too high now."

She tests my grip, tugs a little. I dig my fingers into the soft, pale skin of her wrist, and she sags. It's as if she's a puppet, and I've just cut her strings.

Millie's dark, black hair falls in soft waves down her chest. Her cheeks are a pretty peach color, lips parted to release small, soft sounds.

Mille would be beautiful if she wasn't such an asshole.

I let go of her, easily ignoring the feeble whine that pushes past her soft, pink lips. I step back. Away from the heat, from the years of familiar give and take, pull and push.

I clear my throat, facing the hallway out of the Electrical Circuit room, back to Millie, "Don't distract me next time I need to save the world, yeah?"

She scoffs, but it lacks her usual bite, "Sure thing, Peter."

I Ignore the flutter of hearing her call me 'Peter'.

I Ignore how nice she smells, how warm her skin is, how pretty she is, how sharp witted and playfully cruel.

Ignore, ignore, ignore... maybe one day these feelings will go away.