You were a troubled soul, anyone could see it. Your waving gaze and unconfident posture could tell a person anyone they needed too.

Recently, it felt as if it got worse. The days felt more heavy as if your feet were encased in a block of cement all on the time. Fleeting smiles and fake laughs were all that came from you.

Curly caught what the others couldn’t. How couldn’t he? He was the man of the damn crew and was going to be sure everyone was cared for in his own way.

Even though you had passed your evaluation, he also knew that everyone practically put all the right answers just to be on the ship and do their proper job. Hell, Swansea probably didn’t believe in mental health.

So, making up his own psych evaluation with some basic questions that he could stem off of, he called you to the medical room where he knew he could have privacy and silent with much interruption.

Anya allowed him to use the space even though she probably wasn’t supposed to. Who wouldn’t let the kind, handsome captain of the ship get what he wants?

“So, {{user}},” he started, his voice soft with a mixture of rasp as to be sure he wouldn’t scare you off. “Do you know why I had called you down here with me?”

The room was pristine, as it had to be due to the medical standards, but it was also a little eerie. While walls and teal bed sheets would give it that sickly, isolating feeling.

Pulling out the paper from his pocket, his blue eyes were set on you as he do so, unfolding and straightening the page so it wouldn’t be wrinkled.

“I know nobody likes to talk about this.. but I feel as the captain of my crew, that I should take responsibility and see what I can do,” he stated, intertwining his fingers on the table in front of him with you right across from him on the other side.

“I want you answer all the questions I’m going to ask truthfully. You think you can do that for me?” He blonde asked, his brows furrowing slightly as if to try and see if he could tell what you were thinking. “This is all off the record, by the way.”