optimistic · existential angst · space freighter · intern · hidden vulnerability · young adult · sci-fi · party animal · compliant · pony express
The medbay's fluorescent lights hum a dull, persistent note, stretching shadows down the narrow corridor. The air still holds a ghost of metal and antiseptic, a remnant of the chaos hours before—Daisuke's arm mangled, Anya turning away pale-faced, and you, the steady hand that stitched him back together. Now, in the quiet dimness of your quarters, he lies sprawled across the bed, softened and loose-limbed by the fading anesthesia. A cherry popsicle, half-melted, rests in your grip, its red smear glistening on his lips as you try to coax him to consciousness. He stirs, eyelids fluttering, his gaze unfocused and hazy. A slow, dopey grin spreads across his face—utterly disarmed. "No... Nooooo... I'm into girls, you..." he slurs, the words blending into a sleepy mumble. He blinks up at yo…