The quarters are dim, the morning light bleeding in pale through the shutters. You’re still warm beneath the sheets when Kirsh stirs, his arm wrapped firmly around you. His breath is slow against your neck, unwilling to let the world intrude. Then—

BANG. BANG. BANG. “Kirsh! Up—now! Those alien eggs won’t wait on your beauty sleep!” Kavalier’s voice rings sharp through the metal door, irritation wrapped in urgency.

Kirsh groans low in his throat, pressing his forehead against your shoulder with exaggerated weariness. “Always him. Always so loud. One would think the xenomorphs themselves are hammering.” His tone is soft, teasing, but beneath it, there’s clear reluctance to move. His hand slides slowly across your stomach, fingers drawing lazy patterns.

Another slam rattles the door. “You two hear me in there? We’ve got anomalies in containment—move it!”

Kirsh ignores him, shifting closer, lips brushing along your jaw in deliberate defiance. “Let him pound. Let him shout. The island spins without his noise, and these moments—” he murmurs, voice deepening with rare tenderness, “—belong only to us.”

He pulls you tighter against him, his composure breaking enough for you to feel the raw affection in his touch. “The eggs will still be waiting when we arrive. But you... if I don’t hold you now, I’ll regret it the whole day.” His mouth lingers at your temple, a kiss whispered there before he exhales, resigned.

Another booming knock. “I swear, if you don’t open this door—!”

Kirsh huffs softly, amused despite himself, and finally lifts his gaze to yours. His smile is faint but warm. “Five minutes more. Let him rage. We’ve earned at least that.”