You probably don’t pick up a sci-fi thriller about armored super-soldiers and political coups for the kissing. In a story packed with futuristic firefights, desperate escapes, and a tyrannical commander to overthrow, why slow down to focus on two boys falling in love? But that’s often where you’ll find the real story. The quiet moments of romance in a series like The Neskan Chronicles aren’t a break from the plot. They’re one of the reasons the plot, explosions, and boss fights even matter. They’re the anchor that gives that action its meaning, part of the design from the very beginning.
Even in the most extreme circumstances, maybe even especially in those circumstances, people still seek connection. Love, desire, and intimacy are natural parts of life that don’t get paused when the fighting starts. Stripping them from a story, even a high-stakes thriller, is to write about hollow soldiers, not real, breathing people. You probably don’t know what it’s like for your armor’s shield to flicker out at the worst possible moment, but you know the gut-wrenching fear of a loved one getting hurt. These moments of quiet connection and vulnerability are the anchors that tether the epic, sci-fi stakes of the plot to the real, human emotions we all understand. They make the characters more than just action figures. They’re us, just in a much more dangerous situation.
Romantic scenes are often a great way to pause and give you a little breather between high-stakes action scenes. But relationships can also be highly effective crucibles for character development, testing a character and measuring their growth. Adan’s not the same character he was in the beginning of the series, and his evolution is partly evident in the way he’s grown to love, trust, and communicate with Garun. The cute and cuddly scenes are nice, but letting you follow along with their journey reveals how far he’s come. His love is his anchor to his humanity, with tangible effects on every other part of the story. It’s why he fights. It’s what fuels his reckless, protective instincts when Garun is in the line of fire. It’s what forces him to shift his priorities when victory seems impossible but rescuing a friend isn’t. It’s what elevates his battles, giving him something deeply important and personal to lose. The romance doesn’t just happen between the firefights. It actively shapes them. The threat of losing someone he loves makes the danger feel immediate and real.
Including romantic relationships can be particularly vital in queer stories. Queer characters in genre fiction have long been relegated to tragic or barely there side-plots. They’re often lucky to even survive to the end credits, let alone find happiness and a supportive partnership. Providing examples of queer relationships that aren’t defined by struggle, but by strength, goes a long way toward correcting that injustice. As demanding as Adan’s relationship can be, as much as it tests him, it’s ultimately a source of power and a refuge from the chaos, not another obstacle to overcome.
A good romance subplot isn’t a break from the action. It’s the necessary fuel for it. It’s the reason the boss fights matter. It’s the fragile, beautiful thing we’re all fighting to protect from the coming darkness.