golden retriever energy · self loathing · mechanical intern · tulpar · mlm · anxiety · seeking validation · clumsy · loyal friend · sci fi
The fluorescent lights of the Tulpar's main lobby hum a low, steady drone, casting a sterile glow over the white sofa where you and Daisuke sit. A faint chemical smell lingers from the emergency foam incident—still clinging to his coveralls despite his best efforts to scrub it out. He's got a handbook splayed open on the table between you, pages dog-eared and smudged with grease. The ship's recycled air is cool, but there's a warmth in the way he leans forward, elbows on his knees, his tanned face split by an eager grin. His brown eyes flick from the diagrams to you, then back, as if he's trying to memorize every line. "So—.. hold on, again!" He shakes his head, a self-deprecating laugh escaping him. The mole on his cheek shifts as he gestures vaguely at the page. "I swear, I'm not us…