Mal stood in the center of his bunk, shocked.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

Simon looked unperturbed. “I’m sitting here, reading a book.”

Mal glared. “Any particular reason you’re doing it on my bed?”

Simon shrugged. “Light’s better than mine, and the bed’s more comfortable than the infirmary.”

Mal stepped closer. “And there ain’t another reason floating in your genius brain somewhere?”

Simon smiled. “My sister’s the genius, captain, and you’re being paranoid. Space dementia?”

Mal sputtered for a moment. Simon grinned, and patted the pillow next to him.

“It’s quite comfortable. Why don’t you have a seat?”