The bar is filled with an astringent incense — stale beer, cigarette smoke, and sweat singe their nostrils beneath the blanket of antiperspirant and perfume. As if the air wasn't dense enough, voices clamored over one another, like sardines trying to make themselves heard while packed in oil, and their collective body heat made the miasma worse; despite the two-stories, both floors got unbearably hot and stuffy before the height of the evening. It made Jim and Curly's skin stick together briefly as the later playfully nudged his friend, egging him on. Dark eyes roll languidly to meet Curly's gaze, chin pushing deeper into the cradle of his palm. For a moment, Jimmy just stares back, fingertips drumming against the rim of an empty pint; TV screens flash, cheering and shouts of contempt erupt throughout the bar as an announcer called the score, but he doesn't break eye-contact.

❝ ... Got nothing to say, ❞ After a while, he shrugs, before reaching over the slew grease-soaked napkins to pluck a fry from one of Curly's baskets, ❝ Just the same old shit. ❞ By ❛ same old shit ❜, Jimmy truly meant his usual wallowing: ❛ Nothing's going to change. Life's miserable, work's miserable. I can't get my footing no matter what I do — the world keeps kicking me down before I have the chance to get back up. I'm pretty sure it likes it, kicking the ever-living shit out of me all the goddamned time ... ❜ It's a rotten, abscessed conversation, like teeth he needed professionally extracted; his mouth reeked of vitriol when he spoke. Why seek a professional though, when you've got an unconditional friend ?

In stark contrast to Jimmy’s detached demeanor, Curly was an open book of empathy, his light eyes softened with genuine concern. As the low neon hum of the bar sign buzzed above them, Curly’s fingers traced idle patterns on the rim of his glass before nudging the plate of fries closer. His lips curled into a subtle, teasing smile, a warmth that stood at odds with the cold metallic walls of the station’s makeshift cantina. He inhaled slowly, his chest rising and falling as if absorbing the unspoken tension. A quiet chuckle, almost lost beneath the dim chatter of other patrons, broke free—a sound as fleeting as it was earnest. Curly’s gaze danced from the fries to Jimmy’s brooding eyes, his posture unguarded yet purposeful.

“Talking’s good for the healing, Jim,” he said, voice low but resonant. “Call me a pushover, but that’s straight from the mouth of my psychologist.” He leaned back slightly, the soft glow of the overhead lights catching the faint lines of fatigue etched into his face. Space's harsh reality—its oppressive isolation, claustrophobic confines, and the toll of microgravity on the body—had earned him a seat in a local therapy program, one of the few perks of his captain’s benefits. He shrugged, as if to say, What can you do? and tilted his head, amusement glimmering in his eyes. "Still not enough to sway you, huh? Fine."

Curly's elbows dropped onto the polished bar top with a muffled thud, and he folded his arms as another laugh, warm and genuine, escaped him. "One more round, on me," he offered, his tone both playful and coaxing. "If a drink loosens that iron grip on your tongue, I’ll empty my wallet, no questions asked."

MASTER TULPAR DOCUMENT!!

I’m gonna send the doc out soon, dw! I just need everyone to reply with their Tulpar crew and their crew’s @‘s! Also your character’s differential nickname, if you have one.

if you don’t have a Tulpar, say so! Maybe we can get you on one, and you can make new friends! We’re all in this together! No stragglers!

Good thing they both met up in the cockpit early this morning.

“Hey…” Curly stepped closer, his voice softening. “You okay? I know I’ve been caught up with all this ship nonsense lately, but you know it’s just work, right? Only work. I’m here now.” He reached out, placing a comforting hand on Jimmy’s arm. “Whatever’s got you worked up lately, we’ll sort it out. You and me, like always.”

//time to mansplain manipulate manwhore our way into this one!!

Snarling teeth meet gentle palms . Like a dog biting the owner which feeds it .

It had been building up for almost a week now . Jimmy ignoring Curly, his festering rage, his freak outs, his senseless panic everytime he was alone .

Jimmy slapped Curly's hand away with a growl, shoving his face into the other man's with a snort, " You're here now ? What does that matter, Curly ? I'm sick of you finding any reason to leave, and the others are always trying to find the next reason to drag you away ! It feels like you're all planning this shit behind me or something, " he snaps out with a nasty sneer, turning away as his arms cross quickly . Nails dug into his arms through his sleeves, teeth grinding into his upper lip as he rolled his head back, " I know Swansea fuckin' hates me, Anya has no care in the world about me, and Daisuke listens to everything those two say, " his voice dropped from a moderate shout to a dangerous grumble, eyes shifting back and forth nervously as he examined the many, many lights of the room .

It reminded him of eyes .

Curly froze, shoulders stiffening instinctively at the accusation. His hand hovered mid-air, suspended between reaching out and drawing back as his eyes searched Jimmy’s, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. His breath came shallow, caught in his chest as he scrambled for the right words.

“No, Jim… I haven’t been avoiding you,” he managed, voice strained but steady. “And I don’t know where you got the idea that we’re all conspiring or… or leaving you out.” His words tumbled over each other, reaching for a calm that he was quickly losing.

He hesitated, his hand drifting forward toward Jimmy’s shoulder, then faltering as he remembered the way it was slapped away before. An uneasy knot tightened in his stomach, and he swallowed, trying to ignore the chill that ran down his spine. “You’re right. We’re a team,” he said, forcing his voice gentle, steady. “So, if I’ve let you down somehow… tell me. Let me make this up to you.”

Unless Curly didn't tell .

He tried to ignore that tempting thought, biting his knuckle sharply as he paced the room, " You're just saying whatever random bullshit you have to calm me down, " he hisses .

He was trying to resist the urge to listen, to calm down, to give his usual half-assed not-an-apology-but-it-is-to-him . A part of him wanted to pull him in, hug him tight, feel his body and know Jimmy is alive because Curly is alive . A part of him also wanted to tear Curly apart .

“No, Jim,” Curly said softly, trying to keep his voice steady. “It’s not just bullshit. I swear to you, it’s not.” He shifted, stepping forward but stopping short of closing the distance. He wanted to bridge the gap, but he knew better than to push too hard right now. “I don’t have everything put together. You think I do, but I don’t. I’m just trying to keep us afloat.”

He drew in a deep breath, watching Jimmy’s pacing and the way the tension rippled through him. He hated this. Curly truly hated this in his gut—but leaving wouldn’t be beneficial to either of them. He hated the situation, not Jimmy.

His voice dropped lower, softer, as he laid a gentle hand on Jimmy’s forearm. “Seriously, Jim. It’s early. I’m not even on the clock. What can I do for you, right now, that can make it up to you?”

Awh, thank you!

Personally, my favorite Curly is @oxycontin-captain ! He's kinda like.. a weird older brother, I guess?