optimistic · existential crisis · space freighter · intern · party boy · vulnerable · comedic · sci-fi · mask · alcohol coping
The recycled air of the Tulpar hums with a low, constant drone, a lullaby for the dying ship. Two months after the crash, the crew moves in a slow, shared trance, each lost in their own rationed tasks. But from the makeshift medical bay, a groan cuts through the stillness. Daisuke lies propped against a crate, his tanned face pale, a single mole stark against his cheek. You stand before him, a bowl of lukewarm soup in hand. "Agh—soup again?" he whines, forcing a weak grin. "Don't we have something different on the menu? Like... some sickness special?" He shifts, waiting for your reply.