Work Text:
The utility room was dimly lit, cluttered with tools and parts strewn across every surface. Swansea leaned against the workbench, arms crossed, glaring at the chaos that was Daisuke. The younger man was crouched on the floor, sifting through a pile of wrenches, completely oblivious to the older man’s growing frustration.
“For Christ’s sake, kid, how many times do I have to tell you? That’s not a torque wrench! It’s an adjustable spanner!” Swansea’s voice boomed, making Daisuke jolt.
Daisuke looked up sheepishly, holding the offending tool in his hand. “Oh, uh, right. Got it! Torque wrench. Not this one.” He flashed a grin, rubbing the back of his head like it might erase the mistake.
Swansea pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long, exasperated sigh. “You’re killing me, Daisuke. Absolutely killing me. You’ve been here how long, and you still don’t know a torque wrench from a hammer?”
“I mean, to be fair, they do look kinda similar—”
“Don’t finish that sentence unless you want me to lose what’s left of my patience,” Swansea growled.
Daisuke clamped his mouth shut but couldn’t help the grin that crept onto his face. He always smiled when he was nervous. It was a reflex he couldn’t shake, even when Swansea was barking at him like a drill sergeant.
Swansea pushed off the workbench, looming over Daisuke with a gruff huff. “Alright, that’s it. If you’re gonna be this bloody useless, we’re starting from scratch. Get up.”
“Wait, what? From scratch? Like, kindergarten level?” Daisuke scrambled to his feet, looking genuinely alarmed.
“Don’t act like you’re too good for it. Now grab that marker over there.” Swansea pointed to the whiteboard on the far wall, which hadn’t been used in years. It was covered in dust, just like everything else in the room.
“What are we doing?” Daisuke asked, grabbing the marker and squinting at Swansea like he was about to get pranked.
“We’re labeling every damn tool in this shop until you can recite them in your sleep.”
“You’re joking.”
“Do I look like I’m joking, kid?” Swansea’s expression was stony, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes that Daisuke missed entirely.
With a resigned sigh, Daisuke picked up a random tool and held it up. “Alright, what’s this one, boss?”
Swansea leaned in, arms folded, and deadpanned, “That’s a screwdriver. Even a five-year-old could tell you that.”
“Oh, sure, but it’s not just a screwdriver. It’s a… uh…” Daisuke turned the tool over in his hands, searching for some kind of label.
“Phillips head,” Swansea finished for him, shaking his head. “God help me, this is going to take all day.”
The next hour was a blur of Daisuke holding up tools and Swansea rattling off their names with increasing exasperation. Occasionally, Swansea would toss in sarcastic comments like, “Yes, kid, that’s a hammer. Revolutionary discovery there,” or, “If you call that a ‘thingamajig’ one more time, I’m retiring early.”
At first, Daisuke was annoyed, grumbling under his breath about Swansea’s tone. But as they worked, he started to pick up on the older man’s rhythm. The gruffness wasn’t anger—it was just how Swansea was. And beneath the grumbling and curses, there was a steady patience. Every time Daisuke got something wrong, Swansea corrected him without hesitation, his voice firm but never cruel.
By the time they reached the last of the tools, Daisuke was actually enjoying himself. He’d even started making jokes of his own, much to Swansea’s dismay.
“Hey, Mr. Swansea, what’s this one called?” Daisuke held up a perfectly ordinary wrench.
“That’s a wrench, genius.”
“Oh, no way! A wrench? I thought it was a... uh... sprocket twister or something,” Daisuke teased, flashing his signature grin.
Swansea snorted despite himself. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
Finally, Swansea grabbed a wrench from the workbench—a well-worn, heavy tool with his initials etched into the handle. He held it out to Daisuke with a rare, almost-smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Here. Take it.”
Daisuke blinked, surprised. “Wait, seriously? This is yours, though.”
“Not anymore. Consider it your first real tool. Don’t lose it, kid.”
Daisuke took the wrench reverently, his grin softening into something genuine. “Thanks, Mr. Swansea. I won’t let you down!”
“Yeah, yeah. Just try not to blow up the shop while you’re at it,” Swansea muttered, turning back to the workbench. But as he walked away, there was a faint warmth in his tone that didn’t go unnoticed.
For the first time since he started the internship, Daisuke felt like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t entirely useless.
Daisuke sat at the corner of the mess hall table, twirling a spork in his hand. The stale, metallic taste of rehydrated rations lingered on his tongue, and the bland beige paste on his plate didn’t do much to improve his mood. His shoulders slumped forward, the fatigue from weeks of sleepless nights and failed projects pressing down on him like a physical weight. He missed home. He missed his mom’s voice calling him to the kitchen, the aroma of simmering dashi and freshly cooked rice wafting through their tiny apartment. He missed the warmth of familiarity, a feeling that seemed increasingly out of reach.
Swansea shuffled into the mess hall, his boots scuffing the floor. He looked at Daisuke’s sorry state and frowned. The kid had been quieter than usual, his usual bumbling, nervous energy replaced by a subdued melancholy that Swansea didn’t quite know how to address.
"You gonna eat that, or you just planning to bore holes in it with your eyes?" Swansea asked, his voice gruff but not unkind.
Daisuke glanced up, startled, and gave a weak smile. "Just... not hungry, I guess."
Swansea eyed the untouched plate and sighed. “Alright, spill it. What’s eating you? And don’t give me that ‘nothing’ crap. You’ve looked like a kicked puppy all week.”
Daisuke hesitated, fiddling with the edge of his sleeve. Finally, he mumbled, "I just miss home, that’s all. The food here... it’s fine, I guess. But it’s not home."
Swansea scratched his stubbled chin, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t good at this kind of thing—feelings, heart-to-hearts, or whatever this was. But the kid looked like he was about to fall apart, and for some reason, Swansea couldn’t just leave it at that.
"Right. Well, sitting here sulking won’t fix it," Swansea said, rolling his shoulders like he was preparing for battle. "Get up."
Daisuke blinked. “Huh?”
“I said get up, kid. We’re going to the kitchen.”
The kitchen, if one could call it that, was a cramped space tucked away in the back of the ship. Its metal counters gleamed with utilitarian sterility, and the air smelled faintly of burnt toast and disinfectant. Swansea rummaged through a storage locker, pulling out an assortment of vacuum-sealed packets and freeze-dried vegetables.
"Alright," Swansea grunted, slapping the ingredients onto the counter. "You miss Japanese food? Let’s make something halfway decent. Can’t promise it’ll taste like your mom’s cooking, but it’ll be better than that slop you were pretending to eat."
Daisuke’s eyes widened. "Wait, really? You’d do that?"
Swansea shrugged. "Don’t make it weird. I just can’t stand watching you mope around like a sad little ghost. Besides," he added with a smirk, "I’m curious to see if you’re as bad at cooking as you are at everything else."
Daisuke huffed but couldn’t hide the spark of excitement in his eyes. "I’m not that bad."
"Yeah, we’ll see about that."
The first hurdle was figuring out what they could actually make with the limited supplies on board. Swansea held up a packet labeled "protein base, chicken flavor" with a dubious look.
"What the hell even is this? Chicken paste?"
"It’s probably the closest thing we have to chicken stock," Daisuke said, peering over his shoulder. "We could use it for miso soup if we had miso... which we don’t."
"Great start," Swansea muttered.
After some brainstorming and digging through the pantry, they decided on a rudimentary version of oyakodon—rice topped with chicken and egg. Of course, without fresh chicken, rice, or most of the ingredients that actually made the dish good, it was going to be a challenge.
"Alright, kid," Swansea said, handing Daisuke a dull knife and a shriveled onion. "Chop this. Try not to lose a finger."
Daisuke took the knife and onion with a determined nod, only to immediately fumble the knife, sending it clattering to the floor.
"Off to a great start," Swansea deadpanned.
The kitchen quickly descended into chaos. Daisuke struggled to cut the onion into anything resembling even pieces, his eyes watering from the fumes. Swansea, in the meantime, tried to rehydrate the freeze-dried chicken, only to end up with a soggy, unappetizing mess.
"Is it supposed to look like that?" Daisuke asked, peeking over Swansea’s shoulder.
"Shut up and stir the eggs," Swansea snapped, his cheeks faintly red.
Daisuke whisked the powdered eggs with vigor, trying to ignore the mounting pile of mishaps around them. The rehydrated rice clumped together in sad, gluey lumps. The chicken—or whatever it was—refused to brown properly in the pan. And the sauce, made from a questionable mix of soy sauce packets and something vaguely sweet labeled "syrup, generic," smelled more like motor oil than anything edible.
Despite the setbacks, Daisuke found himself laughing—really laughing—for the first time in days. Watching Swansea bark at the stubborn stove and mutter curses under his breath was oddly comforting.
"You’re terrible at this," Daisuke teased, a grin spreading across his face.
"Yeah, well, you’re not exactly a culinary genius either, kid," Swansea shot back, though his tone lacked its usual bite.
After what felt like an eternity, the "oyakodon" was finally ready. They plated the dish—or rather, slopped it into bowls—and sat down at the mess hall table.
Daisuke stared at his bowl, a hesitant smile tugging at his lips. "It’s... not pretty."
"Neither are you," Swansea quipped. "Now shut up and eat."
Daisuke took a tentative bite, and to his surprise, it wasn’t entirely awful. The flavors were clumsy and unbalanced, but there was a faint echo of the dish he loved so much back home.
"It’s not bad," he said, his voice soft.
Swansea grunted in acknowledgment, shoveling a forkful of food into his mouth.
For a while, they ate in silence, the hum of the ship’s engines filling the background. Then, Daisuke spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Thank you," he said, not looking up from his bowl. "For this. I know it’s silly, but... it means a lot."
Swansea paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. He wasn’t good at this—at dealing with emotions or offering comfort. But he could see the weight that Daisuke carried, the way it pressed down on him even now.
"Don’t mention it," Swansea said gruffly. After a moment, he added, "You’re not as bad as you think, kid. You just... overthink everything. Give yourself a break."
Daisuke looked up, his eyes shining with gratitude. "I’ll try."
Swansea nodded, and for the first time, he allowed himself a small, genuine smile.
The rest of the meal was spent in companionable silence, punctuated by the occasional joke or complaint about the food. By the end, Daisuke felt lighter, the ache of homesickness dulled by the simple act of sharing a meal with someone who cared—even if that someone had the emotional range of a wrench.
As they cleaned up the mess they’d made, Swansea clapped a hand on Daisuke’s shoulder.
"You’ll be alright, kid," he said, his voice gruff but reassuring. "You’re tougher than you think."
Daisuke smiled, his heart swelling with a warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time.
"Thanks, Mr. Swansea."
"Don’t push it," Swansea grumbled, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward.
In that moment, the sterile, cold confines of the ship didn’t feel quite so far from home.
The hum of the failing ship systems buzzed in Daisuke’s ears, faintly drowned out by the artificial sound of waves gently lapping against a non-existent shore. The simulated sunset projected against the common room wall cast warm, golden light over the worn couch where he sat, knees tucked to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs. He had been sitting there for hours, unmoving, staring blankly at the horizon line the projection created, willing it to make him feel something other than the gnawing ache in his chest.
He hadn’t slept in days—not properly, anyway. The exhaustion was there, a deep and crushing weight, but every time he closed his eyes, the hopelessness of their situation pulled him right back into the waking world. The ship was lost, stranded in some forgotten corner of space, and the last Pony Express ship was their only hope of rescue. If it wasn’t found, they wouldn’t be either.
Tears stung his eyes, but he didn’t let them fall. Not yet. Crying felt like giving up, and Daisuke wasn’t ready to admit how close to the end of his rope he really was.
The hiss of the door startled him, and he instinctively wiped at his face, though it was dry. Swansea entered the room, his large frame silhouetted by the dim hallway light. In one hand, he held a familiar green bottle of mouthwash—the crew’s sorry excuse for alcohol.
“Kid,” Swansea grunted, his voice low and rough. He scanned the room, then his gaze settled on Daisuke. “What the hell are you doing awake?”
Daisuke tried to smile, but it felt wrong, too forced. “Just… thinking.”
“Thinking, huh?” Swansea muttered, stepping further into the room. He plopped down on the opposite end of the couch with a sigh, stretching his legs out. The mouthwash bottle clinked as he set it on the floor. “That thinking doesn’t look like it’s doing you any good. You look like hell.”
“Thanks,” Daisuke replied, voice light but brittle. “Really needed to hear that.”
Swansea snorted, leaning back against the couch. “Seriously, though. You need to sleep. Staring at that fake-ass sunset isn’t gonna fix anything.”
“Yeah, well, the fake waves aren’t helping either,” Daisuke shot back, his grin faltering.
Swansea grunted again, the sound noncommittal. He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling. “You’re homesick.” It wasn’t a question.
The words hit harder than Daisuke expected. His throat tightened, and he looked away, swallowing against the lump that had been sitting there all night. “Yeah,” he finally admitted, voice barely audible. “I miss her. My mom.”
“Mm.” Swansea didn’t say anything for a long moment, his brows furrowed as if thinking. “The one who got you this gig, right?”
Daisuke nodded. “She thought it’d be good for me. Said it’d teach me responsibility or whatever.” He laughed weakly, the sound hollow. “I didn’t even want to come. And now—” His voice broke, and he shook his head, staring at his knees. “Now I might never see her again.”
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the simulated waves and the occasional creak of the ship. Swansea leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Write her a letter.”
Daisuke blinked, lifting his head to look at him. “What?”
“A letter,” Swansea repeated, his tone gruff but not unkind. “Put everything you’re feeling down on paper. Tell her whatever you’d say if she were here.”
“But… what’s the point?” Daisuke asked, his voice wavering. “It’s not like I can send it. I might never—”
“Doesn’t matter,” Swansea interrupted, his tone firm. “It’s not about her reading it. It’s about you getting it out. Trust me on this one, kid. Bottling it up isn’t doing you any favors.”
Daisuke hesitated, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “I don’t know if I can. It feels… stupid.”
“It’s not stupid,” Swansea said, his voice softening just slightly. “And if it helps you get even a little bit of sleep tonight, then it’s worth it.”
He pushed himself up from the couch with a grunt, reaching for the mouthwash bottle. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to it. Just think about it, yeah?”
“Wait.”
The word slipped out before Daisuke could stop it. Swansea turned back, one brow raised.
“Can you… stay?” Daisuke asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just… while I write. I don’t want to be alone right now.”
Swansea stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a heavy sigh, he sank back down onto the couch, setting the bottle on the floor again.
“Fine,” he muttered. “But don’t make me regret it.”
Daisuke nodded, a small, grateful smile tugging at his lips. He pulled a crumpled notebook from his pocket, flipping to a blank page. His pen hovered over the paper, his mind racing.
For a while, the only sound in the room was the faint scratching of pen on paper and the rhythmic hum of the ship. Swansea sat silently, arms crossed, watching the projection of the sunset with a faint scowl.
As Daisuke wrote, the words came slowly at first, halting and unsure. But soon, they began to flow, each one pulling more emotion to the surface. He wrote about how much he missed his mom, about the things he’d taken for granted back home. He wrote about the crash, about the fear and hopelessness that had taken root in his chest. And as he wrote, he realized something he hadn’t before—despite everything, he’d grown. He’d learned.
Tears blurred his vision as he continued, the pen shaking in his hand. He sniffled, trying to keep quiet, but Swansea noticed.
“Hey,” the older man said, his voice low but not unkind. “It’s okay, kid. Let it out.”
The words were all it took for Daisuke to break. He set the notebook down, covering his face with his hands as the tears came in full force. His shoulders shook, and his breath hitched, the sound raw and unrestrained.
Swansea shifted uncomfortably, clearly out of his depth. He reached out hesitantly, patting Daisuke’s shoulder in the most awkward attempt at comfort imaginable.
“There, uh… there you go,” he muttered, grimacing. “You’re doing fine, kid.”
Daisuke laughed through his tears, the sound wet and shaky. “You’re terrible at this, Mr. Swansea.”
“Yeah, well, emotions aren’t exactly my strong suit,” Swansea replied, leaning back against the couch. “But hey, at least you’re laughing now.”
The two sat in silence for a while, the weight of the moment slowly easing. Daisuke wiped his face with his sleeve, sniffling.
“Thanks,” he said softly, his voice hoarse.
Swansea shrugged. “Don’t mention it. Now, you done with that letter, or what?”
Daisuke picked up the notebook, glancing over what he’d written. “Yeah,” he said, his voice steadier now. “I think so.”
“Good.” Swansea leaned back, closing his eyes. “Now maybe you can get some damn sleep.”
Daisuke chuckled, setting the notebook aside. He shifted on the couch, leaning back and closing his eyes. The exhaustion he’d been fighting for days finally began to catch up with him.
Before he knew it, he was leaning against Swansea’s shoulder, his breathing slow and even as sleep finally claimed him.
Swansea opened one eye, glancing down at the kid. He sighed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Dumbass,” he muttered, but there was no malice in the word.
He stayed still, letting Daisuke sleep, the faint sound of simulated waves filling the room. For the first time in what felt like forever, the ship didn’t feel quite so empty.