Ivar

Posted on Sun Sep 13th, 2026 @ 3:18pm by Lieutenant Taras Mikovich
Edited on on Mon Sep 21st, 2026 @ 10:40am

1,359 words; about a 7 minute read

Taras Mikovich had always considered himself remarkably difficult to surprise.

He had spent enough time aboard merchant vessels to know that people were rarely as predictable as they believed themselves to be. He had lied to customs officials, negotiated with smugglers, talked his way out of more than one disciplinary hearing, and once convinced a Tellarite trade representative that a clerical error was actually his fault when it very much wasn't.

But the letter sitting on his desk had managed to accomplish what all of them had failed to do. It had left him almost entirely speechless, something that was not easy to do to a linguist, a Starfeet Communications Officer.

Taras stared at the data tablet for several seconds before picking it up again. He would have to brave the tempest that was surely ahead.

The message had been forwarded through via his cousin Luka. There had been no explanation beyond a brief note: Thought you should get this.

He should have known better because Luka had always possessed an uncanny ability to deliver bad news while pretending he was doing Taras a favor. It was almost always Luka that was the bearer of bad news. This was not exception to the pattern. Taras activated the message.

Lieutenant Ivar Lindström appeared on the screen. For a moment, Taras simply looked at the man's image with nostalgia. It had been years since university, but Ivar had changed remarkably little. Perhaps a little older around the eyes. Perhaps a little more serious. His hair was shorter than Taras remembered, but it was still the Ivar he knew.

Except now, Ivar wore a Starfleet uniform. That was new and different. The last they had seen one another, uniforms were not involved and career trajectories were irrelevant to what they were doing.

He had skimmed to see that Ivan was noted as being Chief Armory Officer, USS Castello. Taras almost smiled at that. Almost.

Then the message began.Ivar's voice was calm, measured, painfully sincere. He explained that he had recently become engaged. Her name was Anastasia. Taras' initial reaction was a soured face and his eyes glaring daggers at the tablet.

Taras stopped the recording. He sat back in his chair. "Of course" he muttered. A pretty name for an undoubtedly pretty girl which was ridiculous. He laughed once. It wasn't particularly amusing, but he could not help but scoff.

He poured himself a drink from the small bottle of Moldovan wine he kept tucked away in his quarters and returned to the message.

Ivar continued. He remembered their time at Novosibirsk State University. Taras remembered it too. Taras remembered it in far more intimate detail than Ivar's message alluded to.

It had started during their senior year. Ivar had been a transfer student, arriving halfway through the academic year with little interest in making friends. Taras, naturally, had taken that as a personal challenge.

Taras had invited Ivar to a party. Ivar had refused. Taras had invited him again. Ivar had refused again.

The third invitation had apparently been delivered with sufficient charm to overcome whatever resistance remained.

They had spent the evening drinking woefully inferior vodka and arguing about whether humanity's first contact with Vulcans had fundamentally changed Earth or merely accelerated changes that were already inevitable. By the end of the night, they had kissed.

Neither had mentioned it the next morning. Then it happened again. And again until it became a recurring event between the two of them, but nobody else knew. They kept their friends in the dark.

There had never been a discussion about what they were. No declarations. of feelings. There were never any promises made. No formal relationship existed. There was no contractual agreements.

Just stolen evenings, shared beds, lingering looks across crowded rooms, and the peculiar understanding that when circumstances allowed, they would find each other again.

After graduation, their careers had taken them in different directions. Taras entered the Merchant Marine. Ivar apparently found his way into Starfleet which given where Taras now aboard the USS Eventide just made things bittersweet.

Yet somehow, they kept returning to one another.

A hotel on Tellar Prime. A merchant station near Andoria. A brief overlapping shore leave on Earth. Once, improbably, aboard a civilian freighter while both were traveling through the same sector.

What they had were years of discreet rendezvous. Years of pretending that none of it meant anything. Taras had always told himself that was precisely what made it work.

There were no expectations. No complications, and no promises to continue or work towards being anything more. Yet, there was never an end in sight.

And now Ivar was telling him that it was time to stop.

Taras restarted the message.

"I've thought about writing this for a long time," Ivar said.

Taras muttered, "Apparently not long enough."

Ivar explained that he loved Anastasia. That they were building a life together. It did not make Taras feel any better about the situation. Ivar stated that he didn't regret the years he and Taras had spent together.

That, in another life, perhaps things might have been different. But they weren't. He wanted them both to move forward. He wished Taras happiness aboard the Eventide.

Then came the words Taras had been expecting since the beginning.

They should stop seeing each other. The message ended. Silence filled the quarters.

Taras remained motionless. He replayed the final minute.Then again and again.

On the fourth repetition, he abruptly shut the tablet off.

"Move on" scoffed Taras. He stood and began pacing.

This was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

He had no claim on Ivar. They had never been boyfriends. They had never called themselves lovers. They had never even agreed they were dating.

For years, Taras had proudly insisted that their arrangement was uncomplicated.

So why did it feel like someone had just taken something away from him?

He stopped beside the viewport. The stars stretched endlessly beyond the glass.

He thought of Ivar at university. The first time they had kissed. The last time they had said goodbye.

Every time afterward when one of them had looked at the other with that same familiar expression that neither had ever bothered to name.

Perhaps that was the problem.

Taras had spent years convincing himself that something didn't need a name to be real.

Now Ivar had given it a name after all.

Anastasia.

Taras swallowed. He hated her. The thought arrived suddenly and unfairly. He immediately hated himself for thinking it.

He didn't know her. For all he knew, she was wonderful, and she probably was. That made it worse.

Taras picked up the tablet again and stared at Ivar's frozen image.

"You could have told me."

His voice was quiet. "You could have just told me."

But Ivar had. That was the problem. He had told him. He had done it clearly, kindly, and with the finality of someone who had already made his decision.

Taras dropped onto the edge of his bunk.

There was a bitter irony in it.

He was about to begin an entirely new chapter of his life aboard the Eventide. New ship. New crew. New responsibilities. A chance to prove that the reckless young man from the Merchant Marine could become something more.

And the first thing he'd received was a reminder of everything he hadn't managed to leave behind.

He thought about sending a response. Something witty. Something dismissive.

Congratulations?

Or maybe something cruel enough that Ivar would understand precisely how much he'd hurt him.

Taras considered each possibility. Then he deleted the draft. For once, there was nothing clever to say.

He leaned back against the bulkhead and closed his eyes. "Goodbye, Ivar" his whispered. The words felt foreign.

He opened his eyes again and looked toward the stars. Tomorrow he would be Lieutenant Taras Mikovich, Starfleet officer, Communications Division. Tonight, he was simply a man discovering that an unnamed thing could still break his heart.

Lieutenant Taras Mikovich
Second Officer & Chief Communications Officer
USS Eventide
teal Lieutenant uniform

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