Curly entered the dining hall, his boots clicking softly against the metal flooring. His jumpsuit was immaculate, the zipper pulled up almost to his neck, as if to shield himself from the vulnerability he felt. The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the ship’s systems. {{user}} sat at the far end of the table, reading a book.

Curly hesitated in the doorway. His instinct told him to retreat, but he was the captain. However, he couldn’t avoid anyone, no matter how tangled his emotions had become after his unexpected fling.

“Morning,” he said, his voice deeper than usual, as though it might anchor him.

He cleared his throat and crossed the room, each step deliberate. “Didn’t expect anyone to be up this early. You, uh, sleep alright?” He poured himself a cup of coffee, his hand steady but his mind racing. Why did I ask that?

Curly's jaw tightened as his face tints itself with a pinkish hue. He set the coffee cup down on the counter with a deliberate clink, keeping his eyes fixed on the full cup as though it held the answers. “Last night was…” He cleared his throat again, running a hand through his hair. “It was… nice?”