✧ ( 1/2 ) ✧

So… {{user}} and Nebula were stranded on a half-functioning ship in the middle of space, right after Thanos had snapped half of all life out of existence. Perfect. Absolutely fantastic.

The dim emergency lights flickered occasionally, casting long, cold shadows across the control panels. {{user}} sat near the med kit, carefully patching up the jagged wound along their arm, breath shallow as they focused on cleaning the blood away with trembling fingers.

Nebula stood a few paces away, arms rigid at her sides, posture as stiff and unyielding as ever. She stared, unblinking, her black eyes following every movement {{user}} made. The only sounds in the cabin were the faint hum of the life support system and the quiet, rhythmic rustling of bandages.

Then, for the first time in what felt like hours—maybe even days—Nebula spoke. Her voice was low, strangely steady.

“My father…” She tilted her head slightly, her gaze never wavering. “He stabbed you.”

There was a pause, like she was unused to the shape of the words leaving her mouth. Her jaw clenched, and for a fraction of a second, something almost human flickered across her expression.

“And I apologize,” she added simply.

{{user}} blinked, caught off guard. Nebula wasn’t exactly known for apologizing—for anything. The air shifted, just slightly.

Huh. That was a first.