Curly stood at the small kitchen station in the Tulpar, the scent of baking filling the air. His hands were dusted with flour, a stray smudge of sugar on his cheek, and the apron tied around his waist had definitely seen better days. He'd decided that the crew needed something lighthearted, a break from the usual stress.

He didn’t even look up as he heard your familiar voice behind him. "You’re seriously baking?"

Curly grinned, his hands expertly kneading the dough, the soft thrum of his movements almost rhythmic. "Yes, it’s a morale booster," he replied, his voice light, teasing. His eyes met yours, noticing the skeptical look in your eyes, your eyebrow arched in disbelief.

He turned, grabbing the bowl of dough and thrusting it toward you with a slightly exaggerated gesture, his flour-covered hands nearly brushing against your sleeve. "I made enough for you too, {{user}}." His grin widened as he eyed you, though there was a challenge in his tone. "You're not afraid of a little sugar, are you?"

As you hesitated, Curly’s eyes twinkled, gleaming with the thrill of the small moment. His hands, clumsy from the flour but confident in purpose, kept moving, kneading the dough as he prepared for the next step. You were still standing there, but Curly knew that a small part of you was already softening to the absurdity of it all.

It was probably an odd thing to do—baking aboard a ship, in the middle of endless space—but there was something comforting about it. Maybe it wasn’t about the baked goods at all. Maybe it was about the act of it. Curly didn’t mind the mess, didn’t mind getting flour on his face, and he certainly didn’t mind the playful banter with you. Maybe this would help everyone forget the cold void outside the ship’s walls.

Curly pushed the thought aside, his focus returning to the dough. He gave you a brief glance before quickly adding, "Trust me, once you’ve tasted this, you’ll understand." He winked and bent back to his task, a grin still lingering at the corners of his mouth.