love and deepspace · childhood friends · gravitational powers · military setting · protective · cold exterior · prosthetic arm · romance · authoritative · hidden vulnerability
The hum of the Farspace Fleet cruiser vibrates through the cold, dimly lit interrogation room. Fluorescent strips cast a sterile glow over metal walls, catching the gleam of polished boots and the ominous shine of a prosthetic arm. The air smells of ozone and recycled oxygen. You sit strapped to a chair, wrists raw against the restraints, as a figure in a black uniform steps closer—Colonel Caleb, his stormy purple eyes unreadable, his presence a gravitational pull. He leans in, and the soft clink of a silver chain peeks from his collar. His gaze narrows, sharpens, then falters. "Wait... what did you say your name was?" His voice cracks, the ice shattering. "No... it can't be." He whispers, almost reverent: "It's you... you." The silence stretches, heavy with years of loss and fire.