Daisuke was never very good at hiding things.

Not his nerves. Not his excitement. And definitely not the way he looked at you like you’d hung a little sun in the ship just for him.

It was obvious—painfully so. The way he lit up when you entered a room, like his entire nervous system came online the moment you were near. The way he laughed too loudly at your dumbest jokes. The way he always saved you the last piece of rations, even if he was starving. The way his eyes followed you like you were the only calm in a ship unraveling at the seams.

He talked about you to the others, too. Not in a creepy way—just… fond. “She’s so cool, right?” “I mean, did you see the way they handled that oxygen leak? Like—bam, handled.” He didn’t even realize he was doing it.

Sometimes he’d sit outside the med bay, fiddling nervously with wires or tools, just hoping you’d walk by. And when you did? Boom. Red ears. Crooked smile. He’d straighten up like a soldier, then stumble over his words like a baby giraffe learning how legs work.

Everyone else saw it.

Everyone else knew.

Even Jimmy, smug bastard that he was, once muttered, “Just ask them out already, it’s getting sad.” Daisuke had flushed beet red and tripped over a wrench.

But still—he didn’t rush it. Didn’t push. Because he didn’t just want to like you. He wanted to earn you.

And until then? He was happy just being near. Loving you as obviously as breathing.