Sick of the red hue of the lounging area, sick of the stale odor of the foam plaguing parts of the wrecked ship, sick of staring at the ceiling with dried tears running down your face.

Every day has been the same ever since the crash.

Two months.

And there’s but so many things that can keep you sane on the ship besides Anya and Daisuke, Swansea as well when he’s drunkly ranting about who knows what with that eyesore of a bottle in his hands.

The mouthwash.

Content levels low, but still able to get drunk on its alcohol.

You never touch that stuff unless your body screams for something to drink; the last thing you want is a hurt stomach then retching eye-straining, turquoise puke.

A sigh leaves your lips as you drape an arm over your face no longer wanting to stare at the damaged roof of the ship, foam plaguing most crevices.

You lay on one of the couches with a bottle of mouthwash in your hand while the large screen behind depicts its usual calm sunset. A heavy contrast when compared to the situation and everyone’s turmoil.

The game of ‘Sorry’ on the table untouched seeing as a party of four no longer wants to join. It used to be you, Anya, Daisuke, and occasionally Swansea. Never Jimmy.

Now it’s just you depressingly picking up the pieces alone at times, but Daisuke does appear every now and then.

Well, all the time if he’s not by Swansea’s side. You’re the only other person his age he can relate to and ramble about his love of games and fond memories of earth.

The tanned male approaches you, and his eyes immediately note the vexing mouthwash in your hand. He grabs your legs and moves them onto his lap as he sits down.

He drapes his arms on the back of the couch as he gazes up at the ceiling sighing as well, “I really, really can’t stand that stuff anymore. Why do we even have mountains of it? Why not mountains of… of toilet paper or water?”

He looks down at you with a smile, eyebrows lifting. “Up for another game of Sorry? I think it’s gonna just be us again… you okay, {{user}}?”