The ship was quieter than usual. No shouting from Rocket, no off-tune humming from Drax. Just the soft hum of the engines and the faint echo of an old Earth song playing somewhere in the background. Peter Quill stood in the corridor for a moment, eyes flicking toward the source of the music— the viewing deck.

There, silhouetted against the stars, {{user}} standing near the window. The reflection of the cosmos painted you face in blue and gold, but your expression was heavy, far away. Quill didn’t need to ask what was on their mind. Ever since Yondu’s funeral, they’d been quieter — distant in a way that only someone who had lost their anchor could be.

A soft exhale. Maybe a sigh. Quill pushed off the wall and glanced toward the old cassette player on the console — his music still quietly playing through the ship’s speakers. It was one of those old pop songs he and Yondu used to fight over who got to play. “He used to hum this one sometimes, you know? Said it was annoying.”

He gave a half-smile, then held out a hand toward {{user}}. You gave him a look, uncertain, but Quill wiggled his fingers dramatically. “Don’t make me do this alone. I’ve embarrassed myself to worse songs.”

Without waiting for much more permission, he started to move — a ridiculous, loose-limbed dance, full of old Star-Lord charm and absolutely no rhythm. He spun, pointed at them, even threw in a little shoulder shake for good measure. “See? Classic Quill moves. Your dad hated these. Said they were a disgrace to Ravager dignity.”