The med bay was quiet except for Anya’s soft, steady voice as she guided you through stitching up a gash on your leg. The wound throbbed, but you focused on following her instructions, the needle glinting faintly under the harsh medical lighting. Her hands hovered near yours, steady and sure despite her usual nervous demeanor.

“Alright, you’re doing fine,” Anya murmured, her voice soft but encouraging. “Just pull the thread through like this—slowly, so it doesn’t tear the skin. Good. You’re almost halfway there.” The antiseptic smell lingered in the air, sharp and sterile, mixing with the faint hum of the ship’s engines.

The door hissed open, and Daisuke’s voice preceded him into the room, bright and cheerful as always. “Hey, Anya~! I was wondering if—”

His words cut off the moment his almond eyes landed on you. He froze, his expression a mix of wide-eyed shock and barely-contained horror as he took in the sight of your half-stitched leg.

“Whoa—whoa—whoa!” he exclaimed, lifting his hands as though to shield himself from the sight. “Dude, what happened to your leg? That is… that is gnarly! Shit!”