imagine coming home to garrus vakarian—who greets you at the door with a rubber round straight to the chest. you mark off the change to your score—garrus is still in the lead—and laugh together, his like steel sparks, and it feels right.
imagine coming home to kaidan alenko, a sweater tossed over the couch, a fire in the fireplace, a view through the picture window, low music…and kaidan power napping, since he already ate dinner. it was a long, hard day of teaching biotics and his blood sugar was crashing! it’s okay, though, cause second dinner’s on its way, and in the meantime—cuddles.
imagine coming home to liara t’soni, meditating on the balcony. you watch her for a few moments, the same wind from the open window touching both of you at the same time, and that’s it. your piece of eternity. the piece of eternity you share together. and the peace that comes with it.
imagine coming home to jack. she slams you up against the door, hisses hot curses against the side of your neck, fucks you hard and leaves a few marks that don’t know how to fade. tattoos come in all sizes, all shapes. she kisses the closest one, then heads off to the shower. you coming or not, bitch?
imagine coming home to james vega, who’s already got the cerveza on the coffee table, bottles sweating next to his feet. and when he sees you, he slides his elbow up onto the back of the couch, making a space for you. making a place for you. ‘real smooth, james,’ you say, and you drink to each other, lips against the bottle like you mean something else.
imagine coming home to steve cortez, who’s brought his work home with him again, and probably hasn’t slept in longer than you have. you rub his hands. he rubs that tired old spot in your neck. you share a hot bath. you fall asleep together, finally, and you don’t have to dream about anything.
imagine coming home to samantha traynor. she holds up that toothbrush. you ask her when she’s going to make an endorsement deal with the company already. she says, ‘i’m samantha traynor, and this is my favorite toothbrush in the galaxy.’ you know you’re worth laughing at—worth loving.
imagine coming home to tali’zorah, who just recorded the latest blasto special—you know, the musical one, with the fleet and flotilla crossover. she laughs until there’s some kind of condensation on the inside of her mask and you don’t have to take it off to know the light in her eyes is a light you’re a part of already.
imagine coming home to miranda lawson, who’s fresh out of the shower. naked, in a way she doesn’t show anybody else. comfortable, in a way she never thought she’d feel with anybody else. ‘thought i told you not to wait up,’ you say, and she replies, ‘like you ever do anything i tell you to, shepard?’ she’s right, of course. as always.
imagine coming home to javik. he doesn’t ask how was your day, but if he did—and one day, maybe he will—you’d definitely answer ‘primitive,’ before you kiss the joke away.
imagine coming home to thane krios. the light’s pale, the sun setting. you sit beside one another and the memories come in that same fractured, powerful way. instances. breaths. sunlight flooding the water. orange and red and midnight blue. joy before the darkness. fingertips brush together. together in time and place. belonging. to each other.
imagine coming home to david anderson. ‘so, kid,’ he asks, ‘how was your day?’ you tell him, and he smiles while he listens, hat off, shoulders relaxed. ‘you did good,’ he says. so that’s what it’s like to have a father.
imagine it. you have to. because mordin solus sang; thane said his goodbyes; legion waited for the answer to a question. but you? you imagine what you’re fighting for. imagine coming home, and make a goddamn choice.
