The walls were still damp when the cabana unlocked itself for the robotic cleaning staff, but the boys were gone long before that. They had made the bed as best they could, which the robots were programmed to appreciate for three full seconds before stripping the sheets entirely.

Many floors away, Kane and Dean sat at a bar sipping fruity drinks, dressed in the clothes they’d scavenged from the pool floor. The shirts were bold and floral, giving the appearance of resort wear, but every seam was lined in pudgy piping. To Kane, that put this version of the future deep in the imagination of the ’80s. That explained all the buttons on the ship. And the synth music. And many of the haircuts.

“I can’t stop thinking about those space burgers,” Kane said over the din.

“I know. You’ve said so six times.”

Kane’s face burned. Since the shower he couldn’t seem to shut up, which was the opposite of his usual aloofness. He got like this when he was excited. Being with Dean felt like nothing he had ever known. The newness for Kane combined with the assuredness in Dean’s touch—it was exhilarating, a world within itself. Kane wasn’t about to shut up anytime soon.

“Last call,” said the bartender. “Docking in one hour.”

“Come on,” Kane said, pulling Dean from the bar and onto the crowded dance floor. Dean hugged his arm as they made their way to the side of a platform atop which a dancer twirled and flexed.

“Are you sure about this?” Dean said.

“Yeah, we blend in better here than at the bar.” People were watching the dancer, not the two boys off to the side.

“No,” Dean said, stiff in Kane’s arms. “I mean us. Together. Isn’t it…you know?”

Kane looked around. Whoever had dreamt this world had dreamt it full of the gays. In fact the variety of people on the dance floor, and on the ship in general, felt conspicuously queer. Grimly, Kane imagined the reality that required a reverie like this as an escape.

“We’re perfect,” he told Dean. They hugged together, trapped in the crowd’s heat, until the music ebbed into a pounding ballad. Dean pulled away.

“What’s wrong?” Kane asked.

Dean took a deep breath. “Before, on the bridge. Did you mean it when you said I was nothing?”

Kane was suddenly speechless.

Dean’s face scrunched up. “I mean to say that I can be nothing, if nothing is what you need. I’m very good at vanishing.”

Kane’s first reaction was to bundle Dean into another kiss and tell him if they survived this, they’d begin wherever they left off. But he couldn’t know that. He stopped himself from kissing Dean, because sometimes kisses break wounds open instead of closing them up.