“You always have been a jumpy thing,” Curly mumbled, tentatively taking his hand away from you shoulder when he had felt you flinch under his palm.

He noticed whenever you regressed, you were often anxious and unsure about yourself in a way. All he wanted to do was comfort you. He loved taking care of you and was willing to help in anyway he could.

Pulling his hand back, he placed it on his knee, watching as you scribbled in your sketchbook like you normally did when you were little.

“Lookin’ real good, {{user}},” Curly softly said, keeping his voice low and soft to be sure to not disturb the nice moment too soon. It wasn’t often that it was quiet around the ship.

“What’re you drawin’ anyways?” He asked, leaning over your shoulder slowly as if to see what you were actually drawing. Your colored pencils had started to make the drawing look more lively, more childlike.

He sighed, leaning back into the couch before leaning over, turning his body towards you to hopefully get your attention.

“How ‘bout we put that down, yeah? It’s about lunch time,” I told you, his hand coming to kind of push down the pad of papers to get you attention, noticing your weren’t looking at him like he wished you would.