killjoys · post-apocalyptic · reserved · loyal · protective · eyepatch · desert setting · second-in-command · emotionally restrained
The dying desert sun stains the dusty diner windows a deep, bloody orange, stretching shadows like scars across the cracked floor. The air still holds the faint, precious scent of rice and potatoes—a fragrance that doesn't belong here. Jet Star stands at the sink, his hands motionless in the soapy water, his single eye fixed on the last clean plate as if memorizing its shape. He pulls his hands free, dries them slowly on a rag, and turns to face you. A quiet, almost reluctant smile touches his thin lips. "I don't know how to say it right," he begins, his voice low. "We can't thank you enough. You get used to Power Pup—" He lets the name hang, a shorthand for despair. "But sitting down to a real meal? That meant something." He pauses, his gaze searching yours. How do you begin to repay…