Kay's friendships/relationships throughout Rise!
Kay definitely started off on the wrong foot in the friendship department for a whole season 😭
But thankfully it gets better!
Relationship Chart by @/kittpunk144 and inspiration by @/angellustrates
hii been awhile!! sorry i've been busy a lot lately but now that i can catch a break maybe i will be able to post a bit
also im so so happy about the reactions of my last drawing!! like im still shocked?? so many people reblogged and subscribed like??? thank u so much everyone!! i really cant describe how happy it makes me
anyway i havent been able to draw much for myself but i've been drawing in my sketchbook for the last 3 days so here some stuff!
i had already shown the drawings on colored paper here but since that i've glued them and drew in every blank space there was lol
did the same here
it just a bit uhm darker
and now a page dedicated to ekko!! shes been on my mind lately and i love making outfit for her lol
anyway thats it for the sketchbook at lesst for now
i did make a new that i will post probably later or tomorrow, and though i usually dont show my school work i think i will still make a post with the ones i like the most
anywayy sorry for all rambling, i hope i'll be able to post more soon
Summary: Rex gets a call which sets a plan into motion...
Word Count: 3,500 of 71,000
Warnings: Some very MILD angst & self doubt
The Friend Date Masterlist | Masterlist | Next
Rex stood before the mirror, his skin still warm from the shower, droplets of water tracing down his broad, tanned chest. The room was thick with the steamy warmth, the air heavy with the lingering scent of soap and dampness. The faint hum of the exhaust vent in the ship’s fresher barely cut through the stillness. His hands were steady, but his mind was anything but.
With a soft hiss, he ran his fingers over his jawline, the rough, stubbled texture against his skin a sharp contrast to the smoothness of his damp fingertips. His eyes lingered on his reflection for a moment. The buzzed blonde hair, wet and clinging to his scalp, the dark brown eyes that stared back at him, almost empty, were lost in thought. He reached for the razor. The metal handle felt cool, almost soothing, as it slipped easily into his grip. The weight of it was familiar, reassuring, but something about the stillness of the moment left him feeling oddly distant.
He’d performed this ritual countless times during the war. The feeling of facial hair scraping against the inside of his helmet, digging into his skin under the harsh weight of the bucket, was an uncomfortable sensation he couldn’t stand. It gnawed at him like a constant itch, impossible to ignore. There was something about the coarse bristles beneath the helmet that made his skin crawl. He’d made a promise to himself early on—he would never allow it. The moment he could, the razor would come out, cutting through the stubble with the precision that gave him a small sense of control in an otherwise chaotic world.
It wasn’t just the discomfort of unshaven skin under armor that bothered him. It was the idea of losing control over something so simple. He preferred to be clean-cut, neat, and sharp—an anomaly among his brothers, many of whom had little concern for their appearance, letting their beards grow wild and untamed. But Rex had always felt that maintaining order, even in the smallest of ways, kept his mind clear, his focus sharp. It was a rhythm he understood, a form of discipline amid the chaos of battle.
The quiet lulls of war, the rare moments when the gunfire and shouts faded into silence, had always been filled with the rhythmic scrape of the razor against his face. Each swipe was a small, grounding gesture. The sound was oddly melodic in its simplicity, the kind of steady noise that filled the void when nothing else seemed to. In those fleeting moments, as the blade moved across his skin, it felt like he was carving out a fragment of peace for himself—if only for a few minutes.
He lifted the razor, bringing it to the right side of his face, and the first stroke was a low, almost meditative sound—the sharp scrap of metal against the coarse stubble, a subtle whoosh as the blade moved with practiced ease. His face tightened, the skin tugging slightly as the blade followed the natural curve of his jaw, dragging over the coarse, dark stubble that had accumulated there overnight. He could feel the drag of the razor as it cut through the whiskers, leaving a path of smooth skin in its wake. The soft friction vibrated through his fingertips, a sensation that was oddly satisfying in its precision.
Kriff, I need to focus.
But it was impossible. The thoughts kept spiraling, relentless, just as the razor kept gliding against his skin, its edge catching the light and reflecting it briefly as it passed. Another swipe, and he was closer to his chin. His grip on the razor tightened as he pulled it upward, the metal brushing harshly against his jawline, but it felt necessary, like an anchor to the ground he couldn’t quite hold on to.
Why did I do it?
The razor moved again, smooth, cutting cleanly through the stubble with a comforting rhythm. The sensation was nearly meditative, the blade doing its work without resistance. But his mind, like the rough patches of stubble, refused to be tamed. It wandered. A flash of memory, a sudden jolt of confusion—Mae’s voice, tired, and frustrated. Her words, how she’d sounded when she called. The razor scraped across his skin once more, and his grip faltered for a split second as he processed the memory.
It hadn’t taken long—no time at all, really—for everything to slip from his hands. One moment, he was knee-deep in the details of his work, coordinating messages, tracking leads, trying to keep everything from falling apart—and the next, he was standing here, shaving in the middle of what should’ve been a packed day. The razor slid easily along the curve of his chin, but his thoughts resisted. Dropping everything... for something so frivolous? Something so unnecessary.
The blade scraped again, a sharp sound in the quiet, slicing through his concentration with a precision that felt almost invasive. His eyes darkened slightly in the mirror, as if searching for an answer that was lost somewhere in the reflection staring back at him.
But that voice, the way Mae had said his name… it had cracked something open inside him. Something vulnerable. Something real. And damn it, he hadn’t been able to resist it.
Get your head in the game, Rex.
The razor caught again, this time on a patch of stubborn stubble just under his lower lip. He hissed through his teeth, the tiny sting jolting him back into his body. A sharp tug. Another slight burn. He breathed through it, refusing to let the discomfort distract him further, but it didn't matter. His mind was already somewhere else, slipping away like the razor on his skin.
Frivolous. Yeah, that’s the word for it.
But that didn’t explain what had happened earlier. Mae had sounded so damn dejected, like something had just broken her. There had been a note of need in her voice. She wasn’t just asking for help; she was truly just venting. But that vexation she felt pushed something within him.
Another stroke. The razor moved upward, catching the grain of his upper lip, and the blade made an almost satisfying snick as it sliced through. The tug was firm, pulling against the stubble in a way that reminded him of the tension between them.
You could’ve just turned a blind eye…
He could’ve walked away. Could’ve stayed focused, ignored the call, and convinced himself it didn’t matter. It was just another mission, another task in a sea of distractions. But something—someone—had drawn him in. The pull was undeniable, a magnetic force he couldn’t ignore. And then there was the memory of his recent flight, the solitude of the fresher, alone with his thoughts. The guilt. The shame. It was almost suffocating. But under that weight, there was something else—a quiet, hidden pleasure, too subtle to be dismissed, too real to forget.
He’d fantasized about her.
Rex knew he had crossed a line. There was no denying it. He had stepped into a territory that wasn’t his to claim. But his impulsive, relentless mind had acted faster than his better judgment. He had allowed himself to be swept up, chasing an impulse that was more instinct than reason. Now, here he was—on a ship, alone, half-dressed, and standing in the fresher, shaving his face as if nothing had changed. His plan had been clear: stay distant, remain aloof, avoid getting tangled up in this situation. Yet, in the blink of an eye, his carefully constructed boundaries had flown out the airlock.
The moment she’d called him, wanting to vent about the mess that had been forced upon her—a group date with a man who’d been far less than enthusiastic about her presence—his carefully laid plans shattered. He could’ve dismissed it, could’ve convinced himself that it wasn’t his problem, but he hadn’t. Instead, he found himself moving, dropping everything, as if her distress had become his mission to fix.
It wasn’t just the situation that bothered him; it was the man. Any man would’ve put him on edge, made him feel like he needed to stake a claim, to protect her from whatever bullshit he assumed would follow. But Crosshair? The sniper, with his sharp eyes and even sharper edge, made his blood boil in ways Rex couldn’t explain. For all of Crosshair’s few redeeming qualities, there was something about him—something about the way he moved through the world with that cold indifference—that made Rex see red. And now, knowing that Crosshair, the recently single man, was cozying up to someone Rex held dear, made his stomach twist in a knot of jealousy he wasn’t used to feeling.
What if she started seeing him in a different light? What if the distance Rex had worked so hard to maintain, the cold walls he’d built between himself and those around him, were eroded by a quiet word, a glance, or a touch? Crosshair had the proximity, the ease with which he could slip into Mae’s life. That blend of quiet confidence, sardonic humor, and natural swagger—it was enough to make anyone take notice.
And then there was the complicating factor of Tech, Crosshair’s brother, already close to Mae. It was a dangerous combination, and Rex knew it. He could see the pieces aligning in ways that made him feel sick to his stomach—like the stars themselves had conspired to form a picture of what he didn’t want to see. What if Mae began to grow closer to Crosshair? What if she started looking at him in a way that Rex couldn’t bear?
The thought made his chest tighten, a dull ache spreading through his ribcage. And as much as he hated that he was letting this affect him, he couldn’t help it. He hated that he’d felt so compelled to drop everything, to make multiple comms, to intervene.
He had no claim to Mae’s affections, no right to rush in and try to fix something that wasn’t his to fix. Sure, she spent hours on the comm with him, laughing, sharing things she hadn’t told anyone else. She made him feel something—something real—that he hadn’t felt in a long time. And he’d been there for her when her spirit seemed to be crumbling, offering support when she let her guard down. But at the end of the day, he had no claim to her heart.
And yet, in the quiet moments between breaths, in the space where he let his mind wander, he couldn’t stop the feeling that maybe, just maybe, he wanted that claim. More than he cared to admit.
Rex couldn’t help but feel completely pathetic for even dialing the man’s number. The moment Crosshair answered, his indifference was palpable, dripping from his voice as he coldly demanded to know why Rex was bothering him. But what really stung was the mocking snicker that followed, a bitter laugh that echoed through the line when Rex explained his dilemma. As if the situation were some kind of joke to Crosshair. And the worst part? Despite everything, Crosshair had actually agreed to help him. Not only that, but he’d done so with an unsettling sense of ease, almost as if Rex’s concerns didn’t matter at all. It was as though Crosshair’s own motivations were so pure, so untainted, that the weight of Rex’s problems was barely a blip on his radar.
Rex stood in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection for a moment before reaching for the bottle of aftershave. The cool liquid sloshed in his hand, its sharp scent hitting his nostrils before he even applied it. He hesitated for just a second—he knew the sting was coming. As he splashed it on, the burn was instant and intense, crawling across his skin like a thousand tiny needles, making him flinch despite knowing it would pass. The sharpness of it contrasted with the quiet of the room, as if his body was reacting to something far more painful than just the aftershave. He gritted his teeth through the sensation, waiting for it to subside. Once the sting faded into a tingling warmth, he wiped his hands on the towel and turned away from the mirror.
With a sigh, Rex walked over to his clothes laid out on the bed. The aftershave’s burn still lingered on his skin, but he didn’t mind—he was used to discomfort. There was always something to power through. He set to work, slipping into borrowed clothes, his mind already drifting back to the conversation with Mae.
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“It’s just so embarrassing, Rex,” she groaned, her fingers digging into her temples as she let out a frustrated sigh. Rex winced at the sight, the tension in the air almost suffocating as he silently cursed himself for being unable to do anything to ease her discomfort.
“I don’t—”
“They’re forcing him into this, Rex,” she cut him off, her voice thick with frustration. “I get it—I might not be the most desirable choice. Hell, he’s practically obsessed with Leena’s twin, and I can’t compete with that. But to force him into this, just because everyone’s afraid I’ll end up some bitter, lonely old spinster? Is that really what they think of me? Am I really that horrible?”
The question hung in the air, but before Rex could respond, she slammed her forehead down onto her desk with a defeated thud. Her curls, which had once been neatly clipped back, now bounced free, escaping their confines in a chaotic mess as the clip gave way. Rex couldn’t help but stare for a moment, the sight of her vulnerable, frustrated, and raw tugging at something deep inside him. He couldn’t fix this—he knew that—but he hated seeing her like this, so tangled in insecurities she couldn’t shake.
Rex sat there for a moment, weighing her words carefully, his concern deepening. The idea of her going on a "friend date," especially one that was clearly forced, didn’t sit right with him. He knew her well enough to see how much this was weighing on her. Finally, he spoke, his voice laced with a touch of worry.
“Is it really worth it? I mean, if he doesn’t want to be there, and everyone’s just pushing you into this... Why bother?”
Her eyes flickered up to meet his, and for a brief moment, Rex saw the exhaustion in them—the subtle tension that had been building inside her for far too long. She let out a long, tired sigh, running a hand through her hair before slumping back in her chair, clearly drained.
“I don’t know, Rex. I really don’t. It’s just… everything’s been so much lately. I get that they’re trying to help, but it feels like they’re treating me like I’m broken. Like I’m this fragile thing that can’t function unless I have someone with me. And now they’re forcing him into this, like it’s some sort of charity case.” She paused, staring at the desk in front of her, her fingers tracing the surface as if trying to ground herself. “It’s humiliating.”
Rex could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her whole body seemed to slump under the weight of it all. He could almost feel her mental state fraying, her frustration and confusion building on top of one another. He had seen her handle tough situations before, but this was different. This wasn’t about facing something external—this was about the pressure others were putting on her, and it was starting to take a toll.
Before Rex could respond, the shrill beeping of his alarm system cut through the moment, signaling an incoming transmission on a different comm channel that demanded his immediate attention. For a brief, fleeting second, he considered ignoring it—her voice, laced with that quiet sadness, seemed more important. But the moment was slipping away, and he could feel her unease as she hurriedly tried to end the conversation.
“It’s okay,” she said quickly, her tone an odd mixture of forced cheer and reluctance. “You’re a busy guy. Certainly too busy for something so ridiculous.”
Rex opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off before he could get a word in.
“I have to get back to work anyways,” Mae continued, her words rushing out as if she were desperate to convince herself just as much as him.
“But you—” Rex started, trying to push back, to find some way to keep her from brushing it off so easily.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she rambled, her voice becoming more distant as though she were already retreating into herself, putting up a wall to protect whatever was left of her composure.
“Mae,” Rex said, his voice quieter but more insistent. His fingers pinched the center of his brow, the weight of everything pressing on him. She hadn’t even waited for him to finish before she fell back into her usual deflection.
There was a pause. She didn’t respond immediately, and Rex let out a heavy sigh, realizing that this conversation needed to go a bit deeper than the surface. His frustration gave way to a calm, but resolute tone as he spoke again.
“Mae, don’t do this. You don’t have to pretend like everything’s fine when it’s clearly not. I can hear it in your voice.” He leaned back in his chair, willing himself to stay composed, but the ache in his chest was undeniable. He couldn’t help but feel the growing distance between them, the way she was pulling away, as if bracing herself for something she couldn’t control.
There was a long silence on the other end, and for a moment, Rex wondered if she had already disconnected, retreating further into her quiet storm. Then, finally, her voice returned, softer this time, though still guarded.
“Rex, please... I just—” Mae’s voice broke, the hesitation in her words so palpable it sent a tight knot forming in Rex’s chest. She paused, as if gathering what little strength she had left, before she continued. “I don’t want to drag you into this. It’s my mess, not yours.”
Her words hit him like a hammer. Rex could feel the weight of her refusal, the unspoken plea for distance, and it gnawed at him. He knew Mae well enough to understand what she was really saying: I’m fine, don’t worry about me. But it wasn’t fine, not by a long shot. Mae had always carried the weight of her world alone, shouldering everything without a word, never allowing anyone to get too close to the chaos beneath her calm exterior. And Rex hated it.
“Mae,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, like a soft anchor in a turbulent sea. “This isn’t something you need to carry on your own.”
Her response was immediate, flat, as if she had prepared for this moment and knew exactly how to shut him out. “Rex,” she said, a touch of bitterness creeping into her tone, “it’s easy for you to say when you’re so far removed from all of this. When you’ve got everything together.”
Her words stung, but Rex knew they weren’t meant for him—they were a defense, a shield she used to protect herself from the vulnerability she feared so much.
She continued, her voice tightening, almost reluctant to continue but unable to stop. “It’s not a crime to want companionship, Rex. Not even for one night. Even if it’s... purely out of obligation. So, I’ll swallow my pride, alright? Crosshair’s been kind enough to take one for the team and put up with me. End of story.” She let out a short, shaky breath, her words slipping out faster now, a cascade of defense and self-protection. “You better get that comm—”
The transmission cut off abruptly, leaving Rex with nothing but the silence between them, and the faint echo of her last words hanging in the air. He stared at the comm for a moment, his heart sinking into his stomach. Her voice—distant, defensive, almost ashamed—had torn through him with the force of a thousand unspoken feelings. Rex knew all too well the pain she was hiding, the way she kept it buried deep, never letting anyone truly see the extent of her suffering.
And it hurt him. It hurt him more than he could explain.
She was so determined to protect him, but it wasn’t his protection she needed. It was her own.
Cursing under his breath, Rex pressed the comm button again, trying to steady the breath that felt suddenly too heavy in his lungs. He wanted to shout, to demand she stop shutting him out. But instead, he let the soft hum of the comm fill the silence, his thoughts swirling like a storm in his mind. He had seen Mae break before, even if only for a second, and every time she’d managed to piece herself back together with painful, stubborn grace.
But this time, he wasn’t about to let her put those pieces back alone.
He sighed deeply, the weight of his thoughts pressing heavily on his shoulders. With one last glance at the blank comm screen, Rex pressed the button, and Echo’s voice crackled through.
"Rex? What's going on? Need backup?"
Rex’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained calm, steady—an anchor in the storm. "Actually a favor if you’ve got a sec-”
