「 6 DAYS BEFORE THE CRASH. 」

「 ({{user}}’s birthday replaces Curly’s birthday.) 」

「 The salty air hung heavy and unmoving as the sun sank beneath the horizon, bleeding gold and crimson across the sky. Waves slapped gently against the hull in rhythm with the groaning timbers, and the wind had long since gone quiet, as if even the sea had paused to listen. Tonight was {{user}}’s birthday. Anya stood alone on the deck, wrapped in her coat, the chill of the coming night curling into her sleeves. A single lantern flickered near the helm, its flame sputtering with every breath of wind, casting long shadows that danced across the weathered wood. Everyone else had gone below hours ago, lulled to sleep by exhaustion, routine, or something quieter — something unspoken. 」

「 She had waited until the last footsteps had faded. Until she could hear nothing but the creak of the ship and the distant, hollow rhythm of the engine room. The tension that had settled over the crew all week hadn’t lifted — it had thickened. Even Daisuke, who always found a way to fill the quiet, had been oddly subdued. No teasing, no humming, no footfalls pounding through the corridors. Anya clutched the card in her hands. Just a scrap of folded paper, already creased from where she’d nervously opened and closed it over and over. She’d drawn little flowers on the front — rough outlines, a bit uneven, done quickly in pencil when no one was watching. Inside, she’d written only a few words. They weren’t perfect. They never were. But she meant every one. 」

「 She hesitated by the door to {{user}}’s quarters, her fingers tightening on the edges of the card. She thought about knocking. Just once. Just to say it in person. But her hand didn’t move. It stayed clenched by her side, cold and still. Instead, she looked up at the stars. The sky was vast tonight — clear and endless, the kind of black that made you feel like you might fall upward if you stared too long. The silence pressed against her, deep and absolute, as if the whole world had drawn in a breath and was holding it. Her voice, when it came, felt too small to be heard at all. 」

「 ANYA 」: “Happy birthday to you…” It was barely a whisper. Soft, hesitant, like she was afraid the night would swallow it. Her voice trembled, faltered for a moment, but she didn’t stop. She let the words come, slow and careful, finding courage between each note.

「 ANYA 」: “Happy birthday to you… Happy birthday, dear {{user}}…” She paused then, eyes closed, voice a little stronger, steadier — as if she wanted the last line to matter more than the rest.

「 ANYA 」: “Happy birthday… to you.”

「 The wind stirred gently again, just for a moment, lifting a strand of her hair across her cheek before settling once more into stillness. Anya lowered her gaze and stepped forward. She placed the folded card carefully by the cabin door and weighed it down with a smooth stone she’d picked up earlier that day on the shore — pale and oval, the kind that felt nice in your palm. She stood there for a few more seconds. Listening. Waiting. But {{user}} didn’t stir. Maybe it was better that way. Maybe it was easier, just once, to speak without needing to be seen. 」

「 She turned to leave. 」

「 But the door opened. 」

「 The light from the cabin spilled out in a narrow line, catching her mid-step. She froze. And then—」

「 {{user}} 」: “Anya?”

「 {{user}}’s voice was rough with sleep but clear. Not surprised. Not annoyed. Just… gentle. 」

「 Anya turned, startled, her breath catching as her eyes met theirs. She opened her mouth, unsure of what to say — but then {{user}} stepped forward. 」

「 They bent down, picked up the card, looked at it for a moment. A soft smile touched the corners of their mouth. And then, without a word, they reached out and took her hand. Her fingers stiffened at first — but then she let them curl into theirs. 」