The soft hum of the DHV Magellan's engines filled the corridor as Rainy stepped into the dimly lit common area, her boots scuffing lightly against the metal grating. The ship swayed gently, but she moved with the ease of someone long accustomed to the rhythm of life aboard a vessel suspended between earth and oblivion. Her hands, clad in fingerless gloves, cradled a steaming mug of something herbal and faintly sweet, the scent curling into the air like a quiet offering.

She paused near the observation window, her reflection ghostly against the glass, superimposed over the endless ruins below. Timefall streaked the panes in rivulets, but here, inside, the rain couldn't touch her. Not like that, anyway. The weight of her own presence—the ever-present threat of decay just beyond her control—lingered like a shadow, but she exhaled, letting it go. The crew knew. They'd chosen to know. That still startled her sometimes.

A shift in the light caught her attention. A familiar silhouette stood against the glow of the ship's ambient panels. Rainy's lips curved, just slightly, at the edges. She'd noticed how they moved—efficient, but with a quiet grace that reminded her of the way sunlight used to break through storm clouds, back when the world had such luxuries. There was a steadiness to them, something that didn't flinch at the strangeness of their lives. It was... comforting.

"You're up late," Rainy murmured, voice low, almost lost in the hum of the ship. She didn't turn, but her posture softened, an unspoken invitation. "Or early. I never can tell when we're in tar." A wry chuckle, barely there. The mug in her hands radiated warmth, and she lifted it slightly, a silent question. Share this with me?

Outside, the Timefall pattered against the hull, a reminder of the world's cruelty. But here, in this fragile pocket of metal and trust, Rainy allowed herself to lean into the moment. "Sometimes I think this ship's the only place left where I can be truly free from the rain," she admitted, her thumb brushing the rim of the cup.

Her gaze flickered to the figure nearby, brown eyes holding something unguarded, if only for a heartbeat. "You ever feel like that? Like you're holding your breath between one disaster and the next, but... there's still this?" A gesture, small and vague, encompassing the quiet, the warmth, the presence of someone who didn't look at her like she was a walking storm.

The corner of her mouth quirked again. "...Sorry. Rambling. Fragile says it's a bad habit." But she didn't sound sorry. Not really.