Burning. Both mentally and physically

by Akiira_Ashes

Summary:

Jimmy keeps messing with his head, and pulling at all the right strings, he won’t let Curly have a moment of peace. Always leaving Curly wondering if he’s about to snap or if he’s just really, really annoyed.

Notes:

sorry if theres any mistakeess hope you enjoy and no its not finished I messed up on the chapter number thing whatever I’ll post the next chapter soon 😭😭

Chapter 1: meow

The control room of the Tulpar was as cold as it was quiet. The hum of machinery filled the emptiness, a constant reminder of the ship’s sterile, mechanical heart.

Outside, space stretched out, endless, and indifferent. Inside, the air felt heavy—cloaked in the kind of silence that bred tension, where every unspoken word seemed to echo louder than the last.

Curly sat at his chair in the cockpit, hunched over reports, his fingers moving methodically over the touchpad of his tablet. His eyes flicked between numbers and text, each line draining the energy from him, but his face betrayed nothing.

Every inch of him screamed control, even when his body was weary, and the weight of leadership felt unbearable. The captain’s chair was his throne, but there were moments—like this one—when it felt more like a prison.
Across the room, Jimmy was still.

Too still.

His chair barely made a sound as he shifted, but his gaze? It never wavered from Curly. He watched him, studied him, as though trying to peel back the layers of the man’s carefully constructed mask.

It was uncanny—the way Jimmy always seemed to know exactly what Curly was thinking. Every sigh, every shift of his posture, every flicker of doubt in his eyes... Jimmy saw it, read it, like it was all laid bare for him to dissect.

But Curly? He couldn’t make sense of Jimmy. Not a single glance or word ever seemed genuine. Was he bored? Was he mocking him? The uncertainty gnawed at him, but it was the least of his worries.

"You look like you're going to snap," Jimmy said, his voice breaking the quiet. He was leaning back in his chair, eyes trained on Curly with a lazy, calculating look. "No wonder you're always busy. Can’t have a single moment to think about anything else."

His words were laced with mock sympathy, but his gaze was sharp, searching.
Curly didn’t look up from the screen. He didn’t need to. He’d heard this before.

He could feel Jimmy’s eyes on him, and it annoyed him—how often Jimmy made him feel like his every movement was under a microscope.

"Everyone’s always busy," Curly muttered, tapping at the screen harder than necessary. "It’s part of the job."

"Right," Jimmy said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're the hero. Everyone else is just lazy, right? Look at poor Anya—still hanging around the medical hall at this hour, desperate for attention." He smirked, voice low. "God, she’ll fuck anyone who gives her a minute of the spotlight."

The casual cruelty in Jimmy's voice made Curly’s jaw tighten.

"Dont say that. Curly snapped, his voice sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. His eyes lifted from the tablet for the first time, narrowing in on Jimmy, his usual calm demeanor cracking. "You don’t get to talk about her like that."

jimmy raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a small smirk.

He could see it—how easy it was to push Curly, to twist his words into something that made him lose control. "Oh? Touchy, aren’t we?" He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest

Curly’s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together. It wasn’t about Anya, not really. It was the fact that Jimmy always managed to get under his skin, make him second-guess everything he thought he knew. And worse, Jimmy always seemed to know exactly what buttons to press.

But despite the irritation that bubbled up inside him, there was something else. A strange pull in his chest that he couldn't quite explain.

Jimmy was... well, he was Jimmy. And there was a part of Curly—buried deep down—that still saw him as a friend. Even with his irritating antics and constant ability to mess with his mind.

Curly leaned back in his chair, sighing as he rubbed a hand over his face. "You really are something, Jim,"

he muttered, though it came out more resigned than annoyed. He had long since stopped expecting anything normal from Jimmy. But deep down, Curly couldn’t help but miss the simplicity of their old friendship, back when things hadn’t been so... complicated.

Jimmy leaned in his chair, an eyebrow arched, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched Curly. "You’ve got that look on your face again, Captain," he teased, his voice smooth and mocking. "The one where you pretend you don’t care. But I know you do. You always do."

Curly scoffed, refusing to meet Jimmy's eyes. "What are you talking about? I don't."

"Mm, sure," Jimmy said, his eyes fixed on Curly. "You never care when I make you all hot and bothered, right?" He leaned closer over the control panel with his elbows, his voice lowering to a near-whisper as if sharing some private joke between them. "You’re so easy to rile up. It’s charming, in a pathetic sort of way."

The casual insult, mixed with the underlying teasing tone, stung more than it should have. Curly shot him a glare, but even as the annoyance surged, he could feel his heartbeat picking up. Jimmy was... still Jimmy. And, despite his sarcasm and mockery, he still knew how to make Curly laugh—or, at least, make him feel something.

 

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," Curly muttered, but even he could hear the tension in his own voice. The playful flirtation between them had always been there, simmering beneath the surface, though it was never truly spoken aloud. And maybe that was what frustrated him the most: how Jimmy could get so close without ever crossing the line, always pulling back just enough to keep Curly guessing.

Jimmy chuckled softly, watching Curly’s unease with gleaming satisfaction. "Come on, Curly. You think I don't see through that act? You're so much more fun when you're honest. When you're not pretending to be so... untouchable."

He leaned even closer placing a knee on his chair to sit up closer, now just a few feet away, his presence almost overwhelming in the small room. "I know you want to push me away, but you also want me to stay close. You love the tension. You love the way I make you feel alive."

Curly’s breath hitched involuntarily, his mind spinning for a moment. "You really are something else, aren’t you?" His voice was hoarse, despite himself. And damn, that look in Jimmy’s eyes—like he knew something Curly didn’t, like he could see straight through him—was enough to make him feel vulnerable, exposed.

Jimmy looked down at him, his grin widening. "You’d be surprised how easy it is to make you feel anything, Curly." He lowered his voice further, almost teasing, but there was an undeniable edge to it now. "You like the game. You like the chase. You’re just too stubborn to admit it."

Curly stood up abruptly, the chair scraping harshly against the floor as he paced across the room to regain some space. His chest tightened, but a part of him did recognize it—there was something about the way Jimmy toyed with him that had always pulled him in. He hated it. And yet, he couldn’t look away.

"Stop it," Curly growled, though there was no real conviction behind the command. He knew Jimmy was only pushing harder because he enjoyed it, and yet... the pull, the way Jimmy seemed to know him, made him feel like he was falling into some trap.

But Jimmy didn’t relent. He also stood up and stepped forward, his voice calm, almost too calm. "Why, Captain? Don’t you like it? Don’t you want to see what happens when the walls come down?" His gaze softened for just a moment, almost like a fake invitation. "You can’t keep pretending, you know. We’re both in this together. Or haven’t you figured that out yet?"

Curly’s breath caught, his heart racing. There was something dangerous in Jimmy’s words, in the way his presence seemed to fill the space between them. And yet, part of him wanted to give in, wanted to see just how far this dangerous game would go. Would he be able to hold his ground? Or was he just another pawn in Jimmy’s hands?

The room was a battleground now, the air thick with anticipation, like the calm before a storm. Every inch of space between them felt like it was closing in, a pressure building that neither of them could shake.

Curly stood there, heart racing, chest tight, trying desperately to keep his mind focused—on anything other than the way Jimmy’s proximity made everything feel off.

Jimmy, however, stood like he was in control, his body relaxed but his eyes sharp, every inch of him a puzzle Curly was too stubborn to solve—but too drawn to look away from.

"Why do you keep doing this?" Curly’s voice came out low, strained, and yet there was an edge of challenge to it, as though daring Jimmy to push further. He could feel the walls he’d worked so hard to build starting to crack. "What are you trying to prove?"

Jimmy chuckled, the sound rich and mocking. "Prove?" He stepped forward again, closing the distance, his face now inches from Curly’s.

"You think this is about proving something?" His lips curled upward slightly as he let his breath ghost across Curly’s ear, soft and dangerously close. "I’m not trying to prove anything, Curly. I just enjoy watching you unravel. You’re so damn predictable, but you hide it so well. You pretend you don’t care, but it’s obvious you do. You care about everything… especially me."

Curly opened his mouth to retort, but the words died on his tongue. Instead, he could only clench his fists at his sides, fighting the urge to react, to give Jimmy the satisfaction.

His mind raced, memories of high school flooding back—of Jimmy as the fucked-up kid who had always known how to manipulate, how to get what he wanted. The drugs, the scams, the stolen money—he'd been a wreck, someone who found joy in tearing down everything and everyone around him. And yet, here he was, as charming and insufferable as ever, twisting Curly up in knots.

"You were a wreck back then," Curly muttered, not really to Jimmy, but to himself more than anything. "You fucked with everyone. The teachers, the grades, hell, even the system itself. People were just tools to you, just means to an end."

Jimmy’s lips curled into a slight smirk, his gaze sharp and calculating. "And I’m still the same," he replied coolly, voice dripping with a self-assured confidence that sent a chill down Curly’s spine. "Why bother pretending? You and I both know that people like me never change. We just get better at hiding it. Just like you."

His eyes locked onto Curly’s, piercing, as if to say he had already seen every weakness, every lie.

Curly’s throat tightened at the words, his heart thumping louder than it had any right to. He couldn't deny that Jim was a walking, talking contradiction—someone who knew the power of the game and played it effortlessly.
"Don't pretend you were any better," Curly shot back, bitterness lacing his tone. "I remember you, Jimmy. You were the one who fucked up everyone's lives in high school. Used every trick in the book to get ahead. Drugs, scams, sex, stealing—you name it, you did it. And you never even cared. You just... used people.”

Curly’s words hung in the air like poison, but Jimmy didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned in, his voice dropping to a mocking whisper.

"Yeah, I did all that. But what about you, Curly? What does that make you? The saint who never left, huh?" His smirk was sharper now, colder. "You think you’re any better than me? You stuck around, didn't you? You stayed. You kept defending me. You kept trying to fix what couldn’t be fixed. How fucked up is that? How messed up do you have to be to keep giving a shit about someone like me?"

Curly’s heart skipped a beat, but he couldn’t let it show. He clenched his fists at his sides, fighting the anger and confusion bubbling up inside him. "I stayed because I thought—"

"Yeah, yeah," Jimmy interrupted, cutting him off with a wave of his hand. "You thought you could save me. You thought you could be the one who fixed the broken pieces, the one who kept it all together."

His eyes darkened, the mockery gone, replaced with something sharper. "But guess what, Curly? You’re just as fucked up as me. You never left. You stayed. You watched it all burn and kept thinking you could change the fire, like it wouldn't consume you too. You think I’m the one who's fucked? Look in the mirror."

The room felt smaller now, the air thicker. Curly could feel the tension crackling between them, the weight of their shared history pressing down on him. The silence stretched, and for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he was trying to save Jimmy—or if, somehow, Jimmy had always been the one saving him.

He reached out, slowly, deliberately, and tugged at the collar of Curly's shirt, pulling it tighter against his neck. The movement was a tease, an invitation to break free or give in. He pulled his face closer, only a few inches away from their lips touching. Jim was pushing every boundary. Curly didn’t know whether he wanted to hit him or kiss him

Curly’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms as he struggled to keep himself together. His chest rose and fell with each sharp breath, and he could feel his control slipping. But before he could even try to push Jimmy away, the doors swung open with a sudden, abrupt bang.

"Hey! Dinner’s ready, you two!" Daisuke’s voice broke through the charged air.

Jimmy still held him but pulled back a little, his gaze lingered, heated and calculating, as he gave Curly one last smirk—a smile that promised more than words ever could.

Curly’s chest heaved as he turned sharply, his face flushed with the sudden rush of emotions, but before he could even respond, Jimmy shoved him back hard against the locker, the impact ringing through his body. Curly’s breath whooshed out of him, and he winced at the roughness.

Jimmy stood there for a moment, a single breath between them, as if weighing whether to press further or let go. Then, without another word, he released Curly, turning his back on him with an almost careless grace.

"Guess we’ll finish this later," Jimmy said, his voice smooth, as he walked toward the door.

Curly stayed against the wall for a long second. Curly straightened himself, wiping the sweat from his palms onto his pants as he took a steadying breath. "'ill be there in a second. You two can go," he muttered, pushing off the locker.

As Daisuke and Jimmy made their way up the stairs toward the lounge, Daisuke kept chattering on about the most trivial things, his voice an easy-going hum in the silence of the ship. His words were light, almost like he was trying to fill the air, but Jimmy’s responses came with the same edge—dry, sarcastic, but still playfully engaging.

“You know, it’s funny,” he said with a half-grin, barely looking at Daisuke. “Some of us have to work twice as hard just to get by, but you—everything’s handed to you, isn’t it? You’ve got options, opportunities… guess it must be nice not having to worry about the small things.”

Daisuke stiffened at the remark, but Jimmy didn’t pause for a response, his words almost casual, as if he hadn’t just made a jab. He shrugged nonchalantly as if dismissing it. “But hey, I’m sure you’ve got it tough in your own way.” His tone was almost too light, too playful, but there was an undeniable sharpness hidden behind it.

 

Jimmy and Daisuke entered the lounge, the sounds of casual chatter and the clatter of silverware filling the air.

Swansea was already seated at the table, mouth full, with Anya sitting opposite him, nibbling at her food in her usual detached manner. She gave them a brief glance but didn’t say anything, her eyes scanning them both with an almost alarmed curiosity.

The two of them took their seats, and the conversation flowed easily enough, despite the slight tension in the air. Swansea made a few offhand remarks, Daisuke responded with his usual lightheartedness, and even Jimmy threw in a couple of sarcastic jabs, his earlier playful mood slowly coming back.

The atmosphere wasn’t exactly comfortable,all of them sensed the tension, but it was familiar, and for a moment, it felt like they could carry on as if nothing was wrong.

he door creaked open, and Curly stepped into the dining room, glancing around for a seat. He immediately noticed Jimmy and Daisuke already seated at the table, both engaged in some idle conversation with Swansea while Anya ate quietly. Jimmy, with his usual smirk, leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming absently on his cup, while Daisuke laughed at something Jimmy had said, not noticing Curly just yet.

Curly hesitated for a moment, taking in the scene. His heart felt a little heavier seeing Jimmy so relaxed, like nothing was wrong. The last thing he wanted right now was to sit down at that table and pretend everything was fine. But before he could make up his mind, Jimmy’s eyes met his from across the room.

Without a word, Jimmy stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. He shot a quick glance at Daisuke, who barely seemed to register his movement, and without another word, Jimmy turned toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Curly called out before he could stop himself. Jimmy ignored him and left.
Swansea, ever the sharp observer, raised an eyebrow, studying Curly with a knowing look. “What did you do to him?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms. “He looks like someone just stole his fucking soul. You upset him?”

Curly froze for a second, caught off guard by the question. “I didn’t do anything to him,”

he muttered, though the defensive edge to his voice made it clear that wasn’t entirely true. “He just—” he paused, trying to make sense of it. “He’s just messing with me. He always does.”
Swansea gave him a skeptical look, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. And you didn’t provoke him?”

Curly frowned “No. He’s the one acting like a fucking child. And I’m supposed to be the one to fix it every time he has one of his little tantrums.”
Anya, who had been quietly listening, chimed in. “Sounds like you two need to talk it out. Again.”

Curly wasn’t sure what to say to that. He didn’t want to get into it now—not in front of everyone.

“Yeah, maybe,” he muttered, pulling a chair out and sitting down, his mind still reeling from the earlier encounter with Jimmy.

The conversation shifted after that, but the tension between Curly and Jimmy lingered like a shadow. Curly kept his focus on the food in front of him, trying to ignore the pit in his stomach that grew bigger with every passing minute.

After dinner.The others eventually fell into their usual rhythm, with Daisuke suggesting they play a board game. Anya perked up at the idea, quickly rummaging through the collection in the corner, while Swansea leaned back in his chair, watching the proceedings with mild amusement. Curly, however, stayed quiet, barely acknowledging the pieces being set on the table.

His mind wasn’t in the room. It was down the hall, where Jimmy had disappeared. That smug look, the cold indifference—it was all too much to ignore.
“Curly, you in?” Daisuke’s voice broke through his thoughts.
He shook his head. “Nah, you guys go ahead.”

Daisuke gave him a questioning look but didn’t push, turning back to the others as the game began. Curly stood, stretching as if to excuse himself, then slipped out of the room. His footsteps were quiet, deliberate, as he moved through the dimly lit corridors toward Jimmy’s room.

The door was shut, the faint hum of music seeping through the cracks. Curly hesitated, his fist hovering in the air for a moment before he finally knocked.

No response.

He knocked again, harder this time. “Jim.”

Still nothing.

Curly pressed his hand to the doorknob, testing it. Ah…no locks....he forgot. With a steadying breath, he pushed it open and stepped inside, uninvited.

Jimmy was sprawled out on the bed, one arm draped over his eyes as if shielding himself from the world. His other hand held a cigarette loosely, the smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling. Where no smoke detectors are.

Pony Express only has those near the cargo anyway.

“Smoking’s not allowed on the ship,” he said, his tone clipped as he stepped further into the room, and closed the door.

Jimmy glanced at the cigarette between his fingers, then back at Curly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “And yet, here I am,” he said, taking a slow, deliberate drag before sitting up. “Guess I’m just full of bad habits.”

“Put it out,” Curly said firmly, crossing his arms

Jimmy stared at the glowing ember, twisting the cigarette slightly between his fingers, before locking eyes with Curly.

Without warning, Jimmy lifted the sleeve of his shirt and pressed the burning tip into the pale skin of his wrist. The sizzle of flesh meeting heat broke the tense silence, and Curly’s eyes widened in shock.

“Jimmy!” Curly shouted, stepping forward, his voice laced with anger and concern.

Jimmy let the cigarette drop to the floor, the smirk never leaving his face as he looked at the red mark left behind.

Curly grabbed Jimmy’s arm, pulling it closer to examine the burn. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you do that?”

“Why not?” He shrugged like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You were so worked up over the cigarette”

Jimmy yanked his arm away, slipping his sleeve down to cover the fresh burn with a practiced nonchalance. His smirk returned, sharp and almost lazy, as if nothing had happened. “See? No harm done,” he said, voice light but laced with that familiar edge.

Curly’s jaw tightened, but before he could say anything more, Jimmy gave a mock salute. “Anyway, im leaving.” He pivoted on his heel and strolled out of the room, leaving Curly standing there, fists still clenched at his sides.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Jimmy, meanwhile, slipped back into the lounge with ease. The atmosphere shifted as he entered, the crackling energy he carried with him drawing the others’ attention. Swansea looked up from the board game, one hand poised over the dice, while Daisuke grinned, already halfway into some over-animated story.

“Decided to join us, huh?” Daisuke said with a playful lilt. “Thought you’d disappeared for good.”
Jimmy shrugged, sliding into an empty spot on the couch as if he hadn’t just come from a tense confrontation. “Miss out on all this fun? Never.” He picked up a piece from the board, twirling it between his fingers. “So, who’s losing?”

Swansea rolled his eyes. “You are. You weren’t even here to play your turn.”
“Ah,” Jimmy said with mock solemnity, placing the piece back. “Story of my life—always catching up.”

Anya gave him a quick glance but said nothing, her focus already back on the game, they continued playing.

Jimmy’s movements were fluid, almost too practiced, as he adjusted his sleeve over his wrist. The motion was subtle, but there was something about it that felt rehearsed—like he’d done it countless times before. It wasn’t just about hiding one mark for tonight; it was a habit, a reflex born from long practice.

He rolled the dice with a lazy flick of his wrist, the faintest flash of raw skin visible for a moment before he shifted again,

Swansea’s eyes briefly flicked to Jimmy’s wrist, catching a glimpse of the mark beneath the sleeve. He didn’t comment, his expression unchanged as he refocused on the game.

it was a quiet observation, one that seemed to carry more weight than any words could, but he chose not to speak on it. The rest of the room continued as if nothing had shifted, the air light with their ongoing chatter.

But to Swansea, the brief exchange felt like an unspoken understanding—one that was better left unaddressed. The smell of smoke Swansea recognized all too well with the shape of the mark, he wasn't stupid.

the large screen behind them flickered to life, displaying the inky blackness of the heavens. Stars twinkled like distant, unreachable dreams, casting a soft glow across the room.

The chatter slowed, everyone’s attention gradually turning to the display, the weight of the evening settling in.

The atmosphere grew quieter, more introspective, as the time to wind down approached. With a few good-natured comments and stretches, the group slowly began to stand, heading to their rooms for the night.

Jimmy, his usual smirk still in place, gave a quiet nod to the others before leaving for his own space. The faint smell of cigarette smoke still lingered.

Curly, however, wasn’t there. He was nowhere to be seen, not in the hallway either He probably just went to bed early.

Chapter 2: A bite of defiance

Notes:

chapter 2 wohoo hope you enjoy :)))

The lounge was quiet, a soft noise of distant chatter from Anya and Daisuke filtering in but not enough to fill the air.

Swansea sat in a dark corner, the dim light from the sunrise screen casting long shadows on his face. He was alone for the moment, the room feeling eerily calm after the bustle of breakfast. His mind was restless—too many thoughts swirling, too many unanswered questions. The burn mark from last night kept creeping into his thoughts.

The way Jimmy was acting and the tension in the room... there was something off about it.

 

As if summoned by the silence, the door slid open, and Jimmy stepped into the lounge, his usual casual demeanor in place. He didn’t seem to notice Swansea immediately, his attention fixed on something in the distance, or maybe he was just too lost in his own head. But as he turned toward the couches, Swansea caught the faintest glimpse of his wrist, where the mark had been the night before.

 

It was still hidden, carefully angled under his sleeve to avoid any accidental exposure, but there was no mistaking it. The burn was there, probably healing, but unmistakably fresh.
Swansea’s eyes narrowed, his fingers tapping against the armrest in a subtle display of restraint.

He wasn’t the type to poke into others’ business, but something about the way Jimmy had been acting, about the way he had hidden the mark—it set off alarms in his mind. He might not trust Jimmy, but he wasn’t heartless. Curiosity had a way of turning into concern, and right now, Swansea couldn’t ignore the feeling that something was wrong.

 

Jimmy walked farther into the room, his eyes briefly meeting Swansea’s. The faintest flicker of something passed across Jimmy’s face—was it wariness? Alarm? Hard to tell. But he masked it quickly with that same old shit eating grin, the one that never quite reached his eyes.

 

“Didn’t expect anyone to be in here,” Jimmy said, his voice light, almost too light. He made his way toward the couch, settling down like he didn’t have a care in the world.
Swansea didn’t respond immediately, his gaze locked on Jimmy’s wrist, which was carefully tucked out of sight. The urge to speak—really ask about the burn—was strong, but he was unsure how to approach it. Would Jimmy snap at him? Would he play it off like nothing had happened?

 

Finally, Swansea leaned forward slightly, his voice low but deliberate. "You know," he began, his eyes still tracing the movement of Jimmy’s hand, "you’ve got a burn on your wrist." His tone wasn’t accusing, just... observant. “How'd that happen?”

 

There was a long pause. Jimmy stiffened just slightly, and for a moment, Swansea thought he might shut down the conversation entirely. But then, with a strained smile, Jimmy shrugged it off. “Oh, that? It’s nothing. Really.”

Swansea could hear the lie in his voice, could see the way Jimmy’s eyes darted away just a fraction too fast. It was a mask, and Swansea wasn’t fooled. "Doesn't look like nothing," he said, his voice softer now, as if trying to coax something more from him. "You’ve been acting off since last night. You sure you’ve been okay?"

 

For a moment, Jimmy didn’t say anything. The air between them felt thick with unspoken words, and Swansea almost regretted bringing it up. He didn’t care about Jimmy’s problems... or at least he told himself he didn’t. But there was something about the way Jimmy avoided the topic, the way his usual bravado seemed a little more fragile with Curlys morning absence, that made Swansea uneasy....curious..

 

“I’m fine, alright?” Jimmy finally snapped, his voice sharp now, the walls back up. “Just drop it. It’s nothing.” He hated pity. From anyone. To anything.
Swansea could feel the tension in the room shift, thick and heavy, but he didn’t back down. "Alright," he said, slowly leaning back in his chair. “But if you ever feel like talking...”

 

Jimmy’s expression softened for the briefest of moments, and for a fleeting second, Swansea thought maybe, just maybe, he had cracked through the wall. But just as quickly, Jimmy’s usual smirk returned, and the moment passed.

"Yeah, sure," Jimmy muttered, rolling his eyes as if the whole thing was ridiculous. "I’ll keep that in mind."

 

Swansea stayed silent, but the unease didn’t leave. Something was wrong with Jimmy, and Swansea couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever it was, it had something to do with that burn. A ticking time bomb.

 

As the tension in the room lingered, the door to the lounge opened with a soft screech, and Anya and Daisuke stepped in. Their light-hearted banter, a stark contrast to the charged atmosphere between Swansea and Jimmy, filled the space as they took a seat across the room, on the armchairs. But Swansea barely registered them, his focus still on Jimmy. The silence between the two of them was thick enough to suffocate.

 

Jimmy, trying his best to brush off the conversation, shuffled awkwardly in his seat, but his posture was stiff, as if he was waiting for something. Maybe he expected Swansea to let it go, but he wasn’t going to. He couldn’t.

 

Before he could press further, the door creaked again, and Curly appeared in the doorway. He froze the second he noticed the tension between Swansea and Jimmy. It was subtle, but the way Curly’s eyes darted between the two told a different story. He came closer and stood near Anya and Daisuke, they stayed quiet but it was obvious they were also disturbed by the recent atmosphere of the crew.

 

Curly’s presence didn’t just change the dynamic—it confirmed something in Swansea’s mind. The way Jimmy’s posture shifted, just slightly, at Curly’s arrival, told him more than words could. He noticed the way Curly avoided looking at either of them, his arms crossed tight, his body stiff as he leaned on the wall, like he was holding something back.

 

"Everything okay, Curly?" Swansea asked, his voice calm but with an edge of suspicion. He needed to know more.
Curly hesitated, his eyes flicking to Jimmy once more before he nodded, his voice a little too flat. "Yeah, I’m fine."

 

Jimmy, trying to break the walls of tension, looked at Curly with a forced smirk. "Yeah, same here," he said, his tone light, almost dismissive.
Swansea didn’t buy it. There was something about Curly’s withdrawn demeanor, about his refusal to acknowledge the undercurrent between him and Jimmy, that felt like a confession in itself. Something had happened between them. Something unspoken.

 

Curly’s gaze lingered on Jimmy for a moment too long, but then he pushed off the wall and muttered, "I’ll be in my room." The door slid closed behind him with a soft clang, leaving the air even heavier than before.

Swansea leaned back on the couch, feeling the weight of the unspoken words between the crew now. But one thing became clear in that moment—he was starting to think Curly was the one more involved in whatever had happened.

It wasn’t just Jimmy’s evasiveness that gave it away; it was the way Curly had reacted to him, how he seemed so distant, almost guilty. Swansea didn’t trust Curly, nor Jimmy, but now, more than ever, he was starting to wonder if Curly was the one hiding something.

 

Jimmy remained silent, his usual bravado fading, leaving something fragile behind. But Swansea wasn’t going to let this go. Not yet. Something didn’t add up, and he was determined to figure out what.

 

Jimmy could fool a puppeteer with how convincingly he played the victim.

 

The way Jimmy had played the victim so flawlessly, the hint of "vulnerability" he’d shown… it had gotten to Swansea. For a moment, he had believed the view Jimmy spun, but Swansea knew better than to act without more information....just yet....

with the shift to work hours approaching, Jimmy made his way toward the cockpit.,he hadn’t seen Curly around much that morning. When he pushed open the door to the cockpit, there was Curly, already immersed in the controls.

 

Curly didn’t seem to notice Jimmy at first, his focus fully on the console in front of him. The hum of the machinery filled the room, a stark contrast to the silence between them. Jimmy hesitated in the doorway for a moment before stepping fully into the room, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

 

For a few moments, neither of them spoke. Jimmy moved toward his chair with the same casualness he always had, but there was an air of hesitation now, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what to say. The usual cocky smirk he wore was missing, replaced with an unfamiliar quiet.

 

Curly, for his part, continued his work, his posture stiff, but his movements deliberate. It was like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t been part of the scene that had played out the night before. But Jimmy noticed the tension in his shoulders, the way he seemed to avoid looking at him directly. Something had changed, even if neither of them was willing to acknowledge it.

 

Jimmy cleared his throat, finally breaking the silence. "You seem busy," he said, trying to sound nonchalant, but the words came out too forced. He didn’t look at Curly, unlike the night before, when the only thing he could do was stare; instead, his eyes flicked over the controls, looking for something to occupy his mind.

 

Curly glanced up briefly, his expression unreadable, before returning to the screen in front of him. "Just keeping things running," he said, his voice flat.
Jimmy could feel the distance between them now—thick and palpable. "Didn’t expect to see you in here so soon," he continued, his voice softer now. It wasn’t a challenge or a jab, but more of a... question..?

 

Curly didn’t respond immediately, instead letting the silence stretch between them. His fingers hovered over the console, movements careful, controlled. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost reluctant. "I’m just doing my job, Jimmy."

 

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Jimmy could tell Curly was keeping something back, and it frustrated him. It wasn’t like Curly to be this tight-lipped.
"You know," Jimmy began again, trying to keep the conversation casual, "we don’t have to pretend like nothing happened."

 

At that, Curly’s eyes flickered up briefly, just enough for Jimmy to catch the flash of something in them—anger, injustice, longing…. maybe a little of everything. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced by his usual guarded expression. He looked away again, focusing on the screen as if it could provide an escape.

 

"We don’t need to talk about it," Curly replied, his voice low, but there was a sharp edge to it now. "Not now, not here."
His mind raced, frustration building. He couldn’t let it go—not now. Not when Curly was so close to cracking.

 

“I want to talk about it,” Jimmy said, his voice low, but determined. His usual bravado was slipping, replaced by something more raw, something that felt real. He stood up from his chair, the creak of the leather protesting under his weight as he moved.

 

The air between them thickened as he walked silently behind Curly, keeping a few paces back but close enough to feel the distance between them stretch. Curly didn’t acknowledge him, his gaze fixed firmly on the console.

 

“Curly,” Jimmy’s voice was soft, but firm now, trying to break through the wall. “I’m not letting this go.”

 

He stopped just behind Curly, close enough now to feel the heat coming off him, to notice the way his shoulders stiffened at the proximity. Jimmy paused, waiting for a response, but none came. Instead, Curly’s fingers hovered over the controls, his whole body tense as though bracing for something he couldn’t avoid.

 

Jimmy’s patience snapped. He couldn’t stand it any longer. With a sudden movement, he reached down and grabbed the armrests of Curly’s chair, spinning it around sharply to face him. Curly’s breath hitched as the chair spun, and for a brief second, their faces were so close that Jimmy could see the faint tremor in Curly’s eyes. It was just enough for Jimmy to notice how guarded he was, how much he was hiding.

 

Leaning down, Jimmy closed the remaining distance between them, his hands bracing on the armrests of the chair as he stared directly into Curly’s face. His voice dropped to a whisper, cold but laced with something darker, more insistent.

 

“We’re talking about this now, Curly. You can’t keep running from it.”
The words seemed to hang in the air, heavy. Jimmy’s gaze never wavered, but inside, his heart was pounding—he knew he was pushing Curly into a corner, but he couldn’t stop. He didnt want to.

 

Curly’s jaw clenched, and he looked away, trying to shield himself from the confrontation, he felt guilty, but the whole reason this started was because of Jimmy's comments and actions. But it was too late. Jimmy wasn’t going anywhere. Not until Curly spoke. Not until he won.

 

Jimmy’s eyes flicked down to his own wrist as the sleeve of his shirt shifted, revealing a sliver of skin. The burn mark was still there, red but healing. A wicked idea began to form in Jimmy’s mind, and a sly smirk curled his lips.

 

He leaned in close, his breath warm on his own wrist as he reached out with his tongue and deliberately licked the burn mark, drawing the act out just enough to make Curly stiffen. Jimmy's gaze remained locked on Curly’s, the air between them electric. He could feel Curly’s body tense, his breath hitching.

 

With one fluid motion, Jimmy moved even closer, placing his wrist—where the burn still lingered—from his tongue, directly to Curly’s mouth. It was an indirect kiss, but the intimacy of the gesture wasn’t found on either of them. The burn still stung.

 

A low chuckle escaped Jimmy’s lips, his smirk sharp and teasing.
Curly’s breath caught, but his face remained unreadable, his eyes darting away as if trying to avoid the intensity of the moment. Jimmy could see the struggle there, the way Curly fought to keep his composure. But Jimmy wasn’t going to let it go so easily, Curly felt the uneven skin of the burn, and felt the wetness around it where his…. friend? Had licked.

Jimmy’s smirk only deepened, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement as he waited for Curly to crack, to admit what Jimmy already knew. The power shift was almost palpable—Curly was losing control, and Jimmy could taste it, feel it

 

And then, without warning, Curly’s eyes flashed dangerously. One moment he was stiff and distant, the next he lunged, his teeth sinking into the small burn on and around Jimmy’s wrist, holding him still with his hand. The shock of the sudden move made Jimmy gasp, his breath catching in his throat as pain and heat radiated from the spot where Curly’s teeth dug into his skin.

 

For a moment, neither of them moved. Jimmy was frozen, his gaze locked on Curly’s face. The bite wasn’t just a physical response; it was a declaration—a sharp, unexpected pushback against Jimmy’s taunts. Curly’s grip on Jimmy’s wrist tightened, holding him there, as if marking him in a way that no teasing or provocation could ever do.

 

Jimmy’s pulse quickened, but his eyes narrowed in frustration. His jaw clenched, fighting the surge of emotion bubbling up. “What the hell, Curly?” His voice was raw, but there was an edge of something darker underneath. He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected this… kind of response.

 

Curly’s gaze met his briefly, but there was no fear in his eyes—just a quiet defiance that made Jimmy’s heart race in a way he hadn’t anticipated. Slowly, with deliberate slowness, Curly released his grip, letting the bite mark linger like a brand, he didnt want to hurt him, but it bled, and it hurt.

Jimmy stood frozen for a moment longer, caught between the rush of anger and something.. that felt dangerously close to... admiration. For a fox in a trap, his retort was sharp and quick, yet held a note of hesitation—an instinct to protect himself rather than to harm, he liked the snap back.

Curly’s eyes held a quiet challenge as he pulled back from the bite, leaving the mark behind like a seal on Jimmy’s skin. For a long moment, Jimmy stood there, the sharp sting of both the bite and something like respect or perhaps fear, he knew how strong Curly was, he could easily overpower him if he wanted to. The sudden rush of blood, warm and sticky, made his wrist throb, but he couldn’t process the sensations fast enough.

 

Before he could react, the door slid open, and Daisuke’s voice broke the tension. Again.
“Break time. Come on guys!,” he said, stepping into the room casually,

 

Jimmy’s eyes flashed quickly to Daisuke, his instinctive reaction to hide the wound flaring up. He quickly pulled his sleeve down, concealing the bleeding mark behind his back, though the stain was already beginning to seep through his shirt. His pulse raced, the blood soaking into the white fabric, but he had no time to focus on it now.

 

Daisuke noticed Jimmy’s tense posture but said nothing, simply gesturing for him to follow. There was no question about it—the break was the last thing on Jimmy’s mind now. But with Daisuke there, the chance for any more confrontations or unresolved tension with Curly seemed to disappear for the moment.

 

Jimmy turned away, not meeting Curly’s eyes again as he followed Daisuke out of the room. The blood from his wrist continued to trickle, but the rush of adrenaline and the new, unexpected confusion clouded his thoughts, leaving him to wonder if he was in over his head.

 

As Jimmy and Daisuke made their way to the lounge, Jimmy's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, confusion, and the aftermath. The throbbing pain in his wrist was a background hum now, overshadowed by his racing thoughts. He didn't even notice the blood slowly soaking through the fabric of his shirt as he absentmindedly kept his arm behind his back, hiding the injury.

 

Swansea was the first to spot it. He’d been sitting on the couch, casual, sipping from a mug, but his eyes immediately sharpened when he saw the blood seeping through Jimmy’s sleeve. His gaze flicked to Jimmy’s wrist, where the burn mark had been—now there was fresh blood, darkening the shirt, and it was obvious Jimmy hadn’t noticed. His concern quickly turned to alarm, and the words slipped from his mouth before he could stop them.

 

"Jimmy... what the hell happened to your wrist?"

 

Jimmy flinched, finally noticing the mess he'd been hiding. He awkwardly shifted, trying to adjust his sleeve, but the damage was already done. He cursed under his breath, unsure how to explain, or if he even wanted to. His hand hovered, covering the wound, but it was too late. Swansea had already seen enough.

 

Just as the room fell into a tense silence, the door opened again, and Curly entered, his usual stoic demeanor returning as if nothing had happened. His eyes flicked to Jimmy, then to Swansea, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he slid onto the couch, crossing his arms with an air of nonchalance.

 

Jimmy couldn’t help but notice the shift in the room. His wrist ached, his heart was still pounding from the encounter, but the attention had shifted. The silence between him and Curly seemed to loom, and Jimmy knew they weren’t done, not by a long shot.

He was pretty much taken into questioning by Swansea and Anya, considering she was the nurse and had to patch up the wound they went into medical, while the other two stayed.

Chapter 3: cracks in the mirror

Notes:

last chapter wohoo hope u like it love reading you comments <33 idk why it doesnt say completed its kinda stuck i tired updating it but whatever its oki :3

Jimmy barely registered the soft hum of the ship’s ventilation as he snuck down the hallway, away from the two detectives, the faint stinging from his wrist a dull echo in the background. 

Swansea and Anya were distracted, discussing the status of his injury, but Jimmy's mind was far away, tangled in the aftermath of everything. His wrist ached from where Curly had bitten him, but it wasn’t just the pain that gnawed at him. It was the shift between them. He hadn’t expected it—didn’t even know how to interpret it.

He was a mess. But Jimmy wasn’t ready to admit that.

He smirked to himself, dragging his fingers across the cold metal walls, leaving a trail of blood from his sleeve, and taking a steps towards his room. Curly would come around. He always did . 

His pride wouldn’t let him see it, but something in the way Curly had reacted—so unexpectedly wild and visceral—wasn't something Jimmy could easily forget.

His fingers brushed over the cold door handle to his room. The familiar click of it unlocking was like an invitation to escape, and he slid inside, immediately closing it with a sharp thud.

With a sharp breath, he dragged the nearest chair over and wedged it under the doorknob. There was no lock. Not that it would’ve mattered anyway—he wasn’t sure anyone here really cared about keeping him in or keeping others out. But he needed this solitude, more than he realized. He smirked to himself, amused by the irony of it all.

Now he was the one who needed a lock.

The silence of the room enveloped him, and Jimmy dropped onto his bed, rubbing at his wrist absently. The bite mark was still tender, but it wasn’t just his physical wound that needed tending. The whole damn situation had unraveled. He could still see the defiance in Curly’s eyes, the way he had taken control of the situation when Jimmy pushed too far. And damn it, it pissed him off. 

Sighing, he threw an arm over his eyes, letting the weight of the day push him further into the darkness of the room. Curly’s an idiot , Jimmy thought, his lips curling into a smirk. But it wasn’t just Curly, was it? It was him too. But admitting that? Hell no.

Meanwhile, Curly went and sat silently in the cockpit. The hum of the ship's engines vibrated through the walls, the only sound that kept him sane to the present moment. He stared at the fake glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling as he leaned back, the ones Jim put up. There was no escaping this. No running away from the feelings that had bubbled up during their confrontation. Jimmy had pushed him too far this time.

The burn in his chest, the twisted mess of guilt and anger and something else he couldn’t name, still clung to him like a heavy shroud. He’d never expected it to go this far. That stupid little smirk on Jimmy’s face, the way he kept pushing, kept provoking… It had felt like too much to handle.

Curly’s hands tightened on the armrest, his knuckles white as he gripped the edges. What the hell was he even doing? This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He wasn’t supposed to be caught up in this—this... whatever it was. And yet, here he was, with the taste of Jimmy’s blood still sharp on his tongue, his body still humming with the aftermath.

The cockpit felt smaller now. A suffocating bubble of frustration, longing, and self-loathing. He leaned back in his seat, his mind spinning in a hundred different directions. Idiot , he muttered under his breath, not sure whether he was talking about Jimmy or himself. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t sure he cared anymore.

Curly looked out at the stars again. The blackness of the dark ceiling seemed to reflect his thoughts—endless, swirling, dark…with specks of glow..in random places…places where it shouldn't really be. He let his gaze drift as his heart began to pound, 

thump…..thump…..thump.. thump thumpthump thu-

Back in Jimmy’s room, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. But the only eyes that were upon him were his own.

He kicked the stage lights, why was he still performing? 

 He stood up suddenly, the frustration boiling over. He paced the room, muttering to himself, letting the thoughts spill out in chaotic fragments. There was a knock at his door—soft at first, like someone hesitant.

"Swansea?" Jimmy’s voice was cold, sharper than he intended. He sat on the chair, blocking the door, making it heavier…just in case.

“You’re a damn mess, Jimmy,” Swansea muttered, taking one last look at the door before he turned and left. “Figure it out before it’s too late.”

 He knew there was no point in trying to get him to open the door, so he turned his back and headed down the hallway, each step heavy with the realization that Jimmy would likely remain locked up in his own twisted thoughts, convinced he was the victim in all of this.

 Even if Jimmy’s actions were far from innocent, Swansea couldn’t help but feel like the man was more lost than malicious. He might not admit it, but deep down, Swansea thought that Jimmy needed someone to pull him back, even if he didn't realize it himself.

He wasn’t lost, at least Jimmy didn’t think so. 

He knew exactly how horrible he was, though he never vocalized it. It was always there, lurking in the back of his mind. 

And yet, somehow—somehow—people like Curly, or Swansea, or his damn mother, always seemed to search for some sliver of light through the closed curtains, trying to find something good, even when it was buried beneath everything else. 

You stare into the abyss, not to conquer it, but to find the truth it holds about you. You don’t flinch, don’t recoil in fear, because within that darkness, you find a reflection far too honest for them to see. 

Unlike them—those who gawk, desperate to escape—they crawl, searching for something brighter, something purer in you, a truth in the void that they will never understand.

Was there something still left inside you worth saving? The thought was fleeting, almost laughable, but it was there, and that alone made you pause.