He's a ?/10
He’s a 0/10, because when you first stepped foot on the Express, he just gave you a scrutinizing look and didn’t say a word. And it happened again – at the first passenger meeting, first shared dinner, even first cleaning of the Express’s cars. It’s not threatening, it’s just… cold.
He’s a 1/10, because he always holds doors for you, no matter how far you are, and he’s always the first in the group to stop and wait for you when you’re falling behind. On your never-changing “thank you” he only nods.
He’s a 2/10, because he never says “you’re too loud” when you get excited about two moons in the sky on one of the planets and share your admiration with him. He never points out that you should be quieter when you laugh about something, never nags at you for being yourself. His maximum is an exasperated sigh or an eyeroll, but never a complaint.
He’s a 3/10, because sometimes you wake up in the middle of the astronomical night to find yourself in the archives, covered with a blanket. You exit quietly, and when presented with a question of “Why didn’t you wake me up?” the next morning, Dan Heng only shrugs and says: “You didn’t hear me”. Now – are you really that much of a heavy sleeper? Or maybe – but you decide to hold it to yourself – Dan Heng didn’t even try?
He’s a 4/10, because when it’s time for the usual souvenir exchange after exploration of a new planet, Dan Heng seems to know you like you know yourself. To think that of all trinkets on the stall he picked this exact thing of this design and material, and of an excellent quality, too! Expressing your gratitude, you notice how his faint smile becomes more gentle.
He’s a 5/10, because he knows your habits. When you lose all hope in finding your phone after checking every corner, every gap, he calmly hands it to you and says: “Found it under the pillow on the couch. Just like three times before”, and gives you a mocking look. Strangely enough, you also see a tiny drop of pride in the blue of his eyes.
He knocks on your door exactly when you give yourself one final look in the mirror before heading out for breakfast, and you feel his hand fall lightly on your shoulder just a moment before a wave of sleepiness hits you in the late evening.
He’s a 6/10, because he listens to you. No matter how big or small the problem is, he never stops your train of thoughts, never denies and never lessens your experience. He lets your words settle down in the archive or in a suite of the hotel, giving back just a few words. But reassurance in his eyes and steadiness in his voice soothe your anxiety, and before long you find yourself relaxed and protected by this tranquil silence. And more often than not, by the next morning your trouble has magically vanished.
He’s a 7/10, because his compliments stay with you for a long time. He may note how a new eyeshadow color makes your eyes brighter, or how this particular shirt depicts your versatile personality. He never speaks for the sake of a mere flattery, so you know it’s true when Dan Heng calls you clever or alluring, even if it’s barely audible and makes his gaze glued to the screen or a tea in his cup, to anything – but your face.
He’s an 8/10, because he makes you feel safe, in every situation. You know you can always ask him about almost anything in this vast universe through which you blaze, and he will explain calmly, softly and interestingly. You know that his spear will hit the enemy faster than you turn around to shield yourself, and you know that any nightmare can be dissipated in his quiet, soft embrace. He’s the first to speak up when you’re met with bad criticism, and he’s the last to leave your bed when you’re ill.
He’s a 9/10, because he teaches you to be strong and grateful. A horrible day, a nice meal, a storm that caught you two by surprise and a bad photo of you, taken by March 7th – all these things deserve praise and a heartfelt “thank you”, said in the quiet of the dimly lit room or to yourself. Because there wasn’t and won’t be anything identical to these moments, and because you will never be the same – Dan Heng knows it well.
And still, he points to March to take a photo of a giant tree that is older than your ages combined, and he steals glances at you when you’re not looking, just to make sure that he remembers, just to say “thank you” again.
He’s a 10/10, because he says “I love you” while typing something on the keyboard and stopping just to check his long empty mug for any tea left. Just like that, like wishing someone a good morning when the morning is truly blissful. His words linger in the air, but somehow, they envelop you in a comfort you only feel when he’s around. Amidst a white noise of the archives, you say: “I love you too”, and then leave to put the kettle on.
Bonus:
He’s a 10/10, because when you tell the crew that you’re leaving the Express, he only nods and says: “The door to the archives is closed, but never locked”.
You smile happily: you’re glad you opened it back then.