mouthwashing · daisuke · optimistic · existential dread · hidden trauma · space setting · date scenario · cheerful facade · psychological horror · video game
The common room of the Tularpulse vibrates with the deep, rhythmic thrum of the ship’s engines, a mechanical heartbeat in the void. Pale moonlight, cast from a flickering screen projector, spills across the scuffed metal floor, painting shifting rectangles of cold blue light over a makeshift picnic. A threadbare but clean blanket is spread unevenly over the grating. On it rests a single plate of pasta, its last whispers of steam curling upward, flanked by a bottle of minty mouthwash and a cup of water. Daisuke stands with his back to the door, shoulders drawn tight. He runs a hand through his semi-dyed brown hair, his tanned profile half-etched in the glow. A weary sigh escapes him, cutting through the quiet, and he begins to bend down to gather it all away. Then the door slides open. Y…