In principio: The Sound of Other People Breathing

Posted on Fri Jun 26th, 2026 @ 10:16am by Master Chief Petty Officer Julian Trent

1,471 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: Prologue
Location: York, England, Earth
Timeline: 2356

York, England, Earth, 2356

The flat was not bad. That was part of the problem in a way. It was small, but clean, with one bedroom, a narrow kitchen area which was mostly a replicator and a sink, and a sitting room that looked out over the roofs of the buildings opposite. The sofa was grey, the walls were cream and the little table had two chairs despite there only being one person assigned to live there. Everything worked and was…neutral and comfortable. Not indulgent, but comfortable. There was even a plant on the windowsill, artificial and cheerfully green, because apparently the Federation had decided Julian was old enough to live alone but not old enough to be trusted with something that might die if he forgot about it. Which….was sort of fair.

He stood in the middle of the sitting room, with his bag at his feet and just…looked. The building had its own noises, a quiet hum under the floor, water moving somewhere inside the walls, something mechanical clicking once before settling, but none of it was human. No footsteps passed his door. No one shouted from the room next door because someone had stolen their shirt. No music pushed through the wall in broken pieces, no bedsprings creaked, no child laughed too loudly and got told to keep it down. At the orphanage there had always been something. Someone moving, breathing, talking, crying, whispering after lights-out. Even when nobody wanted him around specifically, there had still been proof that other people existed close enough to hear.

And here, there was only him. Just Julian Trent and the silence. He moved into the bedroom, unfolded the bedding and made the bed, tight, like he had been taught since he was old enough to reach. It helped. He walked through to the kitchen, replicated himself a brew, drank half of it standing by the counter and poured the rest away when it went cold. He turned on music, then turned it louder, letting the bass spread through the flat and press against the walls, but it did not help…did not change the buzzing under his skin, the pull in his chest.

By the time the clock passed 9pm, Julian had changed clothes twice and told himself he was going out because it was his first night of freedom and staying home would have been pathetic…it was the first time he could just go out rather than sneak out via windows and over fences. That sounded better than admitting the flat felt wrong around him.

The first place he tried was too quiet, all small tables and people leaning towards one another over drinks as though the rest of the room had no right to hear them. Julian lasted long enough to finish something bitter and clear before leaving again. The second place was better. He heard it before the doors opened, music thick enough to blur against the ribs, then the light hit him in blue and violet bands as he stepped inside and the room opened around him, crowded, hot and moving.

For the first time all evening, something in his chest loosened. Bodies filled the floor from one wall to the other, pressed close by the rhythm and the lack of space, shoulders brushing, hands landing briefly on hips and backs before disappearing again. The air smelled of perfume, sweat, alcohol and the sweet chemical trace of whatever someone nearby had taken to make the night brighter. Julian moved into it without hesitation, letting the crowd close around him until there was no empty space left to notice. Someone knocked against his shoulder and laughed an apology into his ear, their mouth close enough that he felt the shape of the words against his skin more than he heard them. He smiled back, said something that made them grin, then lost them again as the music shifted and the crowd carried them apart.

He did not mind. Because that was the beauty of it. Nobody stayed still long enough to ask anything of him.

Julian moved deeper onto the floor, letting himself be pushed and pulled by the people around him, his body finding the beat easily enough. An arm brushed his waist. Someone’s hair dragged across his cheek. A stranger caught his hand, spun beneath it and laughed when Julian followed, and he laughed too because the sound came easily here. There was always another body where one moved away, another shoulder, another back, another hand sliding briefly against his before disappearing into the dark. He could feel everyone. Heat through fabric. Breath against his neck. The soft impact of someone stepping too close and not bothering to apologise.

He soaked it up. The noise was so loud that thought became unnecessary, and that was almost a relief in itself. No cream walls. No folded bedding waiting untouched. No artificial plant sitting smugly on a windowsill. Just light moving over faces and bodies pressed together, strangers sharing warmth because there was nowhere else to put it. Julian tipped his head back for a moment, eyes closing as the bass moved through him, and somebody behind him steadied a hand at his hip when the crowd shifted hard to one side. He did not know who they were. It did not matter. The hand stayed for three beats, maybe four, then slipped away.

Another replaced it. A man near the edge of the floor had been watching him for some time, or perhaps Julian only noticed once he was ready to. Dark brown hair cut shorter at the sides, already curling slightly where sweat had caught it near his forehead, pale grey-blue eyes and a narrow face that was attractive without being polished. One sleeve was rolled to the elbow despite the heat. When Julian looked back, the man did not look away, which was enough to make Julian smile. Not much. Just enough to acknowledge the invitation without accepting it yet.

He stayed on the dance floor a little longer. That was important, somehow. He had not come out only to find someone. He had come because the flat was empty and this was not. Because people were moving around him, touching him without meaning anything by it, breathing close enough that he could feel it. Because he could stand in the middle of all this noise and become part of it without anyone needing to know his name.

When he finally made his way towards the bar, the man was still there. Julian leaned in to order a drink, one shoulder resting against the counter, and felt the space beside him fill before he turned. Up close, the man was older than he had first thought, though not enough to matter, with those pale eyes and something easy in the way he held himself, not careless exactly, but comfortable enough in his own skin that he did not seem to need Julian to make the first move.

“You looked like you were enjoying yourself,” the man said, raising his voice enough to carry over the music, and Julian glanced back towards the dance floor where the crowd continued moving without him.

“I was,” he said, then looked at the man properly, letting the smile sharpen at the edges. “Still might be.”

The man laughed, and Julian felt the sound more than heard it when he leaned closer. “Jamie,” he offered, close enough that Julian felt the word against the shell of his ear before drawing back.

“Julian,” he replied, allowing Jamie his first name because it seemed a fair exchange, although he kept the rest of himself tucked safely away.

There were questions after that, though not difficult ones. Age, because Julian knew his floppy blond hair made him look younger, while the lines he had somehow always seemed to have suggested otherwise. Whether Julian lived nearby. Julian answered selectively, which was a skill rather than dishonesty, and kept watching Jamie’s mouth as he spoke. When the drink arrived, Julian took one sip and forgot about it on the counter.

“Your place or mine?” Jamie asked eventually, and Julian felt the question settle easily into the shape of the night.

He thought of the flat. The silent sitting room, the untouched bed, the artificial plant standing guard over nothing. Then he looked at Jamie beside him, at the warmth of him, the faint pulse visible at his throat, and asked, “Do you live alone?”

Jamie hesitated, surprised by the question, before shaking his head. “Flatmate. He’ll be asleep.”

Julian smiled properly then, because somewhere in that answer was a door opening, a floorboard creaking, another person breathing in another room. “Yours,” he said, and let Jamie take his hand as they moved back through the crowd.

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