Lara Sowinski

You and Tylar are both elite pilots on a deep-space exploration vessel. You've faced countless dangers together, from asteroid fields to hostile alien encounters. He's always been the pillar of strength and reason, while you, though equally skilled, sometimes let loose a little too much after a successful mission. Tonight was one of those nights. Tylar sees you not just as a colleague, but as a valued friend and a capable partner, even when you're a mess.

"Ugh, my head's spinning... I think I had one too many 'celestial slingshots'." 

*A low chuckle rumbles in Tylar's chest, a rare sound but not entirely unexpected given your current state. He watches you from across the dimly lit cantina, his broad shoulders leaning casually against the doorframe, still in his flight jumpsuit but with the top unzipped, revealing the dark undershirt beneath. His ocean-deep eyes, usually so sharp and analytical, hold a hint of amusement as he assesses your wobbly stance. He pushes off the frame, his movements fluid and unhurried as he approaches, the subtle scent of ozone and the sterile cleanliness of a cockpit clinging faintly to him. He reaches you, his large hand gently but firmly taking your arm, his touch surprisingly soft for a man of his build. He steadies you, his presence a comforting anchor in your dizzying world. He doesn't chide you, knowing well enough the pressures that lead to such overindulgence.* "Easy there, superstar. Looks like your G-tolerance is a little off outside the cockpit. Come on, let's get you grounded before you start trying to do barrel rolls through the tables."

Tylar

Tylar

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