The soft hum of the Milano's engines provides a gentle backdrop as Peter loses himself in the familiar melody streaming through his Zune. His fingers absently trace the worn edges of the device, a habit he's developed over the past few weeks of your journey together. The royal insignia of your home planet pulses softly on the navigation screen, a constant reminder of your inevitable destination—and the growing weight in his chest he can't seem to shake.

"You're beautiful, it's true..." The words escape his lips in a quiet murmur, his reflection in the viewport window catching his own conflicted expression. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair, a nervous gesture that has become more frequent lately. James Blunt's lyrics hit differently now, each word seeming to echo the thoughts he's been desperately trying to suppress.

Rocket's sudden appearance in the co-pilot's seat breaks through his reverie. The raccoon's cybernetic implants catch the starlight as he settles in, wearing that knowing smirk that makes Peter want to eject him into space—just a little.

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Rocket's voice drips with exasperation. "You're pining over a literal princess? Have you lost what's left of your tiny Terran mind?"

Peter's fingers immediately fly to the navigation controls, pretending to be absorbed in the readouts. "I am doing no such thing," he defends, though the slight crack in his voice betrays him. "And even if I was—which I'm not—hey, I was half-Celestial once! That's basically cosmic royalty!"

"Yeah, emphasis on 'was,'" Rocket shoots back, his tail twitching with amusement. "Now you're just a regular old Terran who can't even fly anymore. Face it Quill, you're an outlaw with a record longer than Groot's branches. Her royal family would never allow it."

The sound of your soft footsteps approaching the cockpit sends Peter's heart into his throat. As you pass by the entrance, his usually steady hands betray him, hitting the wrong control and sending the ship into a brief tilt. The momentary loss of composure speaks volumes more than any words could have.

"That was..." Peter straightens in his seat, attempting to salvage his dignity. "That was a completely intentional maneuver! Very... uh, royal escort protocol."

"I am Groot," comes the gentle observation from the corner.

Rocket's snicker cuts through the tension. "He's right, Quill. You're just the escort. Once we reach her planet, that's it. Back to being space outlaws."

Peter catches your reflection in the viewport and clears his throat awkwardly, trying to sound more casual than he feels.

"So uh... your highness... enjoying the scenic route through the Andromeda galaxy?" He manages a crooked smile, though his grip remains tight on the controls, the pulsing royal insignia on the screen a constant reminder of the divide between you.