Once upon a time, there was a boy who wanted to fly

If Carson was honest, it was actually somehow his most interesting and most boring birthday to date. It never would have occurred to him that he'd turn eighteen on a space station of all places, but somehow whatever curious appeal that may have held was lost when the reality of how little there was to do when exploring still felt as risky as it did. But even with the persistent sense of unease he had to admit there was a certain intrigue to having any kind of milestone somewhere off in space, if only for the fact that he was sure it would have irritated the shit out of anyone back in Clover that he'd had the opportunity at all.

The later half of the morning was spent in a groggy lethargic pile of limbs, crammed into the corner of Eric's couch and fiddling with his tablet. If he had nodded off once or twice he could easily blame it on the boredom of being stuck on a space station, and it was only the occasional rustle of movement from Eric pacing the small apartment space that kept him from accidentally falling into yet another frustrated nap of misspent time.

He'd been on the verge of dozing off in the middle of watching a series of news reports on the small screen when a clatter in the kitchen startled him upright, the movement jostling and pushing a disgruntled Elvis from where he'd taken up residence across his ankles. Stretching and squinting he shook off the lingering sluggishness and wandered towards the kitchen, his eyebrow arching as he caught the sight of Eric busy at something with his prized mixer.

"Please tell me you aren't trying to bake something out of the sustenance cubes again," he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I thought that weird sustenance pie was going to kill me."