Chapter Text
The first time he sees her, he’s smitten.
They had been setting up the Tulpar for their two year long haul. Curly had been informed that a new nurse, Anya, would join their crew, but he hadn't properly met or even seen her until now. She’s sitting in a spinning office chair, stationed in the nurse’s office of the Tulpar. Prettiest girl he’s ever seen—and he doesn’t go for the dark aesthetic. Her downturned eyes are edged in black and brown makeup, thick bottom lashes and pouty lips paired with messy ink black locks of hair that curl near the ends. She doodles away on her clipboard while Daisuke rants to her, his brows pinched together in frustration. Soft music plays on a CD player that wasn’t there before, it must be hers, Curly concludes.
Curly is just about to announce himself, scouts honor, when he hears Daisuke ask how she’s doing.
❝ Oh, you know, ❞ she says, voice quiet and thick like molasses but immediately intoxicating. He watches as she pushes two fingers past her nude pink shiny lips and pretends to blow her brains out. Her chest rises and falls with easy breathy laughter, and Daisuke awkwardly laughs along, disturbed.
Curly’s hooked. He needs to leave, before he gets indoctrinated by her looks alone.
The next time he sees her is similar and not. Daisuke is still there—when is he not?—but they’re both standing against a wall outside the station, sharing a cigarette. They chat about their plans for when they get home, at least from what Curly can hear passing by them.
It takes him a few seconds to feel Anya’s gaze on him, but when he does, he tenses.
❝ Hey cap! ❞ Daisuke calls after him, and Curly, hating to be noticed but not stupid enough to show it, nods at them both with a cool smile. It’s the suavest thing he’s ever done and he’s still applauding himself internally when he can hear Anya begin to speak.
❝ Who’s that? ❞ She asks.
❝ Who, that? ❞ Daisuke nods to him. He doesn’t even look. ❝ That’s Captain Curly, dude. ❞
She smiles at him, and Curly thinks fuck because he’s supposed to be working with her for the next two years . Daisuke whispers something unintelligible to him, but Anya’s face flushes. ❝ Oh, I don’t know, ❞ she says. But Daisuke lightly shoves her shoulder, and she begins to approach him. Curly pretends he wasn’t looking back to see that.
❝ Curly, ❞ Anya greets him with a small wave. He likes the way she says his name, confident, like she’s always known it.
❝ Anya, ❞ Curly says back. Then, cautiously, ❝ You need something? ❞
An awkward pause.
❝ Do you have a lighter? I would have one but somebody, ❞ she looks at Daisuke, who waves excitedly. He huffs, amused. ❝ —forgot one. And I don’t have any on me. ❞
❝ Yeah, yeah, definitely, ❞ He replies, and digs through his pockets to find one. He actually doesn’t know if he has one, but he’ll be damned if he lets a pretty lady go without a smoke. Lord knows he needs one, too. Speaking of which…
❝ Mind if I join yous? ❞ He asks as he fishes out a small zippo, one he got from his grandfather. She gladly takes it and nods.
❝ Sure. ❞ She smiles softly, rockstar level of cool, and walks back to let Daisuke know about the new addition.
Next thing he knows, he’s next to the both of them, cig between his fingers as smoke fills his lungs. It’s satisfying, though it doesn’t stop the occasional cough. This time, Anya’s the one talking endlessly, resuming the conversation the young man and her were having before. ❝ My sister had my nephew a few days ago, I wish I could’ve met him before this trip. ❞ She says sadly, and Curly passes the smoke to her. She needs it.
Thank you, she mouths, and Curly’s pleasantly surprised at how polite she is.
Daisuke frowns, almost cartoonishly so. ❝ Aw, dude! That sucks! I would, like, totally drive you there right now if we weren’t leaving today. ❞
Anya smiles. ❝ At least I don’t have to deal with changing diapers, ❞ she laughs, and it’s a bit weird sounding, but it’s genuine and so, so her. Her face crinkles with years of smile lines. Curly takes note that her front bottom teeth are crooked, and she has a mole above her top lip.
Daisuke laughs with her. She brings a hand to her neck and secures a silver heart-shaped pendant between her manicured nails. ❝ And I got to see a movie before this, at the old school theatre. ❞ She adds. That piques Curly’s interest.
❝ Oh, an oldie, eh? ❞ It feels unnatural coming out of his mouth, so he clears his throat. ❝ Which one? ❞ He asks instead.
❝ Uh, Night of the Living Dead. S’about zombies , ❞ Anya tells him. The way she says zombies —her voice goes high and airy, her lips move slowly like they’re catching the word, her eyebrows raised up. Eyes wide. He wants to play it back like a VHS tape.
He has to be dreaming. Or drugged. Definitely drugged.
❝ I know that one, ❞ he hums. ❝ Watched it in high school. ❞
Anya hums as well, copying his movements. ❝ You went to Lake View? ❞
He grins. ❝ Yeah. You didn’t? ❞
❝ I did, ❞ she gently corrects, ashing the cigarette and passing it to Daisuke. ❝ I graduated over a decade ago. ❞
That makes more sense, though Curly’s sorry he doesn’t remember her. He was a bit tunnel-visioned on a girl he doesn’t even remember the name of.
❝ Mm, same. ❞ He says, but he’s not sure that she’s listening, her droopy eyes fixated on the weeds growing within the cracks of the sidewalks.
❝ Hey, I went to Lake View too! ❞ Daisuke chimes in, and Anya turns her head to him. ❝ I just graduated last year… ❞
❝ You’re young, huh? ❞ Anya says, and Daisuke smiles.
❝ And capable, ma’am! ❞
❝ Don’t call me that. ❞ She deadpans, and Curly laughs. She laughs with him, melodic, and it makes Curly all the more miserable because he can’t even touch her. Workplace crushes suck .
❝ We’re losing count on how many times you’ve been hurt this week. ❞
Curly cradles his blistering hand. ❝ I know. I’m crazy clumsy. ❞
❝ Go to the nurse’s station. ❞ His co-pilot groans, pinching the bridge of her nose.
❝ Right. Cheers, ❞ He says, rushing past Swansea and his all too peppy intern. They don’t question him directly, but Curly can hear Daisuke ask Swansea sarcastically if that’s the twentieth time this week.
What does he know? It’s actually the twenty-first.
He bursts into the nurse’s office with a huge smile on his face, and Anya tries to return it, but she’s startled.
❝ Captain! ❞ She exclaims, and she rises up out of her chair to hug, hands steadfast around his neck as he bends under her weight. He gives her a good squeeze, always happy to see her. As she pulls away, she brushes against his hurt hand, and he hisses.
❝ What? Are you okay? ❞ Anya is quick to worry, and she notices the bubbling burns on the back of his palm. ❝ Oh my god! What happened? ❞
He shrugs like it’s no big deal.
It hurts like a bitch.
❝ Didn’t listen to the machine when it said it was overheating, ❞ He laughs nervously. Maybe he just wanted to see his favorite nurse again. What’s the harm in that? If he can’t even ask out his crush, the least he can do is indulge in it. Anya rolls her eyes and guides him back on the hospital bed. He gets the picture and sits down, presenting his hand.
Anya wrinkles her nose. ❝ Captain. ❞
❝ Sorry, ❞ He gives her his best apologetic grin, and she seems to accept it, enamored yet exhausted with him. She grabs the supplies to patch him up, gently applying a cool jelly to his injuries. He scrunches his face up in pain, though he tries to start up a conversation anyway.
❝ How’s it going? ❞
❝ Slow day, slow people. Same as usual, ❞ she says.
He snorts. ❝ Nice, Anya. ❞
❝ I am nice. ❞
Curly gets distracted by the music softly flowing from the radio, humming along and quietly singing to the solemn tune of Jeff Buckley’s Lover, You Should’ve Come Over . Anya joins in. He looks at her, her carefree smile, so charming and so pretty, bubbly and beautiful. He stares, watching as she karaoke’s the rest of the song like a lovesick fool.
Shit. This might be more than a work crush, Curly realizes, and that’s all too scary. He pushes it down.
She wraps his hand in gauze. He beams at her and hops up off the nursing bed. ❝ Thanks, mate. ❞ He says, and Anya lets out a small pfft .
❝ You’re welcome, mate . ❞
He can’t find it in himself to be offended.
❝ What are you doing? ❞
Anya jumps slightly as a hand rests on her shoulder. She relaxes when she realizes it’s just Curly. His grip tightens, solid but gentle, hands that she has cradled a thousand times.
She covers it with her own. ❝ What does it look like I’m doing? ❞
A deep light emits from the night display in front of them, painting them both in indigos and baby blues. She’s glowing and gorgeous, he thinks, her deep brown eyes reflecting the faux moon. Brown, brown… so big. It melts him.
❝ I don’t know, love. That’s why I asked. ❞ The nickname falls from his tongue naturally, and her eyes widen in surprise, but she doesn’t say anything about it.
❝ Just a puzzle, ❞ she chooses to say instead, dragging a jigsaw piece across the coffee table with her fingertip. ❝ You could do it with me, if you want. ❞
Curly hums. ❝ Maybe tomorrow, ❞ he decides. Anya looks disappointed, and suddenly all his resolve goes out the window. He sits down anyway, looking over the puzzle in its entirety. The couch is cold and uninviting where Anya isn’t.
❝ Wow, you damn near finished it. ❞ Curly’s eyebrows raise, impressed.
Anya nods excitedly.
❝ Yup, ❞ she moves back to let him take a closer look. It depicts sea animals, dolphins and narwhals—whatever other cutesy ones you can think of, they’re there, frolicking and splashing about. It’s a peaceful image, for sure. ❝ It’s very cute. Chose it because it reminded me of the beach at home. ❞
❝ Shit , I get that. Sometimes I toss and turn thinking about home. I miss my family. ❞ Curly huffs solemnly, lips pursing.
He has to stop himself from tearing up. He’s an emotional guy, what can he say?
❝ I don’t have much family to miss, ❞ Anya muses. She’s thinking aloud, he realizes, and just lets her ramble as he sits back and relaxes on the mildly uncomfortable Pony Express ™ couch. ❝ Just my mom and my sister. And my sister’s son, but I haven't even met him yet. ❞
Curly nods along. ❝ What about your dad? ❞
❝ He died before I was born. ❞
❝ Ah. ❞
A pregnant pause.
❝ I’m sorry. I don’t know why I asked, ❞ he apologizes, and Anya shrugs, waving him off.
❝ Don’t be. Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back to life. ❞
Curly can’t remember the last time he’s heard that phrase being said out loud, let alone the whole thing. He laughs, mostly from amusement. Anya just smiles, not quite knowing what to say.
Curly hums in thought. ❝ Well, I’ve got plenty of family, I feel. ❞ He says after a bout of silence. ❝ My mum, my pops, my sisters… ❞
❝ No brothers? ❞ Anya asks, and Curly shrugs.
❝ Nah. Can you tell? ❞ He asks, and she laughs.
❝ A little. ❞ She admits.
Curly laughs and looks back at the night display.
The trip is going to be long and grueling, but it’s easier when he has Anya by his side.
It’s harder knowing he won’t see her again until the next trip.
Well, that was a lie.
To be fair, this is the first time he spots her outside of the space station.
She’s waitressing at a greasy burger joint down the road. Her face visibly brightens when she sees him, and he shrinks in on himself because she should’ve been a movie star instead of working to maintain a mediocre pay. Well, as she described to him—not that he’s assuming… whatever. Who cares? What actually matters is how she walks up to him, notepad and pen in hand, smile wide and bright.
❝ Hi, ❞ she says, loud and drawn out. She clears her throat. ❝ I’m Anya, but you know that, ❞ she laughs. It comes out weird, awkward, like she’s being held at gunpoint. ❝ I’ll be your waitress. Can I get you something to drink? ❞
❝ Anya! Hey! It’s good to see ya, ❞ Curly combs a hand through his hair. Being around Anya makes him more self-conscious than usual. ❝ Thought you worked at the Pony Express? ❞
People can work more than two jobs, idiot, he chastises himself.
❝ Yeah, well, pony express doesn’t pay that well. S’been… tough. ❞
❝ Yeah, no, I get that. ❞ He nods. ❝ Oh, uh, I’ll take a coke, thank you. ❞
She disappears into the bar, and comes back with a glass of pop in her hand. Her hand fumbles and nearly spills it while placing it on the coaster. His hands fumble to save her, ultimately landing on her shoulder. ❝ Woah! You okay? ❞ He’s more entertained than concerned, though he takes notice of how her eyebags got darker from the last time he’s seen her.
❝ I’m fine, ❞ she answers, stepping back. His hand falls back down to the table. ❝ Sorry, just tired. ❞ Anya leans into his space, squinting. He freezes up, but she’s only checking the time on the clock behind him.
❝ Gotta tough it out, though. Still an hour and a half till closing. ❞ Which means she’s completed less than half of her shift. Her face shows how unexciting that is. Curly laughs, warm and quiet, and gives her a hand to squeeze.
❝ You’ll live, ❞ he promises. Then, his face lights up, and an epiphany crosses his mind. It’s not dating within the workplace if you ask them out outside of work… right? ❝ How about I give you something to look forward to? Are you busy after your shift? Maybe we could go get pizza at the pub or something. ❞
❝ What, is… no one else available? ❞ Anya laughs, and it’s meant to be a joke, but it comes across as mean and insecure. Curly doesn’t mind.
❝ And why can’t I ask you? I like you and I like pizza, and even if you don’t like me, you like pizza, right? ❞
❝ Who says I don’t like you? ❞
Curly’s smile somehow gets wider. ❝ Good. Good, then we should get pizza. It’s a date. ❞
His eyes widen at his own wording. Anya doesn’t even flinch.
❝ Yeah. It’s a date. ❞ She repeats. ❝ You want anything while you wait? ❞
❝ A jelly donut, if you can. ❞ He gestures to the pastry display case.
❝ With a coke? ❞ She asks, giggling, snorts in between. ❝ You’re weird! ❞
He’ll be that, if that means he’ll get to hear her laughter again.
❝ Hey, you ready? ❞ Curly asks as Anya kneels down, tying her shoelaces. She springs up with her laces still untied and smiles weakly.
❝ Yeah, I’m ready. ❞
❝ You need help with that? ❞ He nods, gesturing towards her laces. Anya’s face burns with embarrassment.
❝ I- well, no- I- ❞
Curly kneels down to the floor and reaches for her shoe. He ties it quickly in a double knotted bunny loop and pats the side of her ankle when he’s done. When he looks up at her, he smiles. Then again, does he ever stop when he’s with her?
❝ Great, ❞ he says, standing up. He slips his coat on her shoulders. He doesn’t give her the chance to shrug it off. ❝ Let’s go! I’m starving. ❞
Anya follows him in a daze. Maneuvering through the tables and out the front door, waving goodbye to the lingering closers and her grimacing coworkers. ❝ You mind if we take the van? ❞ Curly asks, and she shakes her head. She has gotten approximately one ( 1 ) ride home from him, from their voyage from the Tulpar, and what felt awkward at first has landed itself to a familiarity. They cross the small parking lot hand in hand, each breath showing in the cold night air
Curly pulls open the passenger door with a strong-armed tug.
❝ Been meaning to get the latch looked at. I’d rather it have trouble opening than closing, though, so that’s a plus. ❞
He waits for her to climb the short step and sit before he closes the door.
❝ All limbs inside the ride? ❞ He jokes as he gets inside the van, and she chuckles. Curly attempts to make small talk while he pulls out of the lot, but Anya’s mind doesn’t seem to be all the way there, or rather it’s too close. She stares at herself in the rear-view mirror and tries to liven up—she checks her teeth, digs a lip balm out of her apron jacket and scratches at the corner of her mouth just in case. Curly still thinks she looks beautiful, but maybe it’s too quick to say that, he decides.
The pub they’re going to doesn’t have the best food, but it has damn good beer, and it’s open until three AM. They take the first empty booth they come across, while their waiter passes out menus. Curly already knows what he wants, though, and by the looks of it Anya does too.
❝ Two slices of meat lover’s and brown ale for me, thank you, ❞ he says, pulling off his jacket. Anya hums, pretending to consider.
❝ I’ll get one slice of cheese, ❞ she says, glancing between Curly and the menu, gauging his reaction.
❝ Didn’t take you for such a bore, ❞ he teases. ❝ Drinks? Sides? ❞
Anya smiles at the waiter. ❝ Just a margarita will be fine. ❞
He writes down their orders. ❝ Oh, and three orders of mozzarella sticks, thank you. ❞ Curly chimes in. The waiter’s head juts back a touch, but he writes what he says down anyway and heads to the kitchen to put their order in.
❝ Three? ❞ Anya asks with a smile. Curly grins.
❝ What? I’m hungry. ❞
❝ You should’ve ordered a burger while you waited. ❞
Curly shrugs. Anya looks away in thought. ❝ Well, I’m pretty hungry, too, ❞ she says after a beat of silence. ❝ I didn’t get any lunch on my lunch break. What’s the point in that? Just sat down in the locker room thinkin’ about it. It was actually worse than working. ❞
❝ I got enough mozzarella sticks for the both of us, ❞ Curly reassures her. ❝ I know you didn’t want any sides, but everyone likes mozzarella sticks, c’mon. I won’t be sharing my baskets though, so if you want some you better speak now or forever hold your peace. ❞ He raps the table with his knuckles. When Anya gives him a pouty look, his face softens. ❝ Well… alright. Maybe I’ll share some with you. I’m lard, but I’m a sucker, too. ❞
❝ What’s that mean? ❞
❝ Hm? ❞
❝ You know what I mean, ❞ she says.
Curly crosses his arms across the table. His hands and arms are pale, the ink of his black tattoos a stark contrast to his skin. His biceps bulge a little bit, emphasizing the curves and ridges of his arms and the hints of greeny-blue veins hiding in his skin. ❝ It means… ❞ Curly says back, holding eye contact, his head tilting, curls falling against his shoulder. Anya flushes. ❝ —that you’re pretty. You’re so pretty, I’d do anything you asked me to. ❞
His hand reaches towards hers. Their fingers intertwine, his curling around hers like a prince, the tip of his thumb rubbing over her knuckles slowly, half an inch at a time. Anya exhales out of her nose as goosebumps race up her arm.
She looks like she has something to say, but the pizza and its abundance of sides arrive. They spring apart like teenagers caught kissing by their parents, blood rushing to Curly’s ears.
❝ Alright guys, ❞ Their server says as he unloads the tray, looking down at the both of them with a knowing smile. ❝ Anything else I can get you two while I’m here? ❞
Curly sneaks a look at her that holds way too much meaning. ❝ No, I think we’re quite alright. ❞
When the waiter leaves, he slides a basket of mozzarella sticks her way. ❝ Pretty girl privileges, ❞ he explains.
There’s a tiny, awkward silence. Curly busies himself with unfolding a napkin over his lap, while Anya digs right in. They’re not quite sure what to say.
Anya takes initiative. ❝ So… Do you have a name other than Curly, or is it just Curly? ❞
Curly smiles like he’s about to tell her a big secret, leaning forward. Anya mimics his movements, their faces inches apart. He can smell her shampoo. Minty and strawberries. Sweet. ❝ You can’t tell anyone. ❞
❝ On my honor, ❞ Anya says, eyes wide, terrified he’s a George or worse, a Bob.
❝ My name’s Grant. ❞
She blinks. Curly laughs, clumsy and unapologetically loud. People look over their way. Chastened, he drops his voice to a barely perceptible level.
❝ I know, I don’t look it- ❞
Anya slaps a ring-laden hand over her shiny pout and tries to smother her own laugh. Bracelets slide down her wrist. ❝ You do! You do look like a Grant! ❞ She says joyfully. Instead of offense, Curly finds a familiar warm feeling of magnetism blooming in his chest. Like a water lily in a lake.
She’s milder as she settles back into her seat. A moment passes. She clears her throat. ❝ I’m sorry, ❞ Anya says suddenly, sounding worried, ❝ if that was mean. I don’t get social stuff- ❞
Her words stick together like taffy. He’s quick to reassure her.
❝ Hey, don’t be sorry, ❞ he says, scoffing lightly. ❝ Doesn’t matter. ❞
She looks less peaky but still hesitant.
❝ Would you believe me if I say I got my name from the fries and not my hair? ❞ He jokes, wanting to put her at ease again.
It works. ❝ That so? ❞ Anya murmurs, lips curving back into a smile.
❝ Yep. Was so shitfaced once in college, I ate so many of those greasy curly fries, I puked all over the place. ❞ Anya looks horrified at his description, but she laughs anyway. ❝ Never lived it down.❞
❝ Yeah? ❞
❝ Yeah. ❞
A song plays from the queue on the radio. Anya gasps and her face lights up. Curly recognizes the tune, but he can’t put a name to it. Anya does it for him. ❝ Uptown Girl! My sister loves this song, ❞ she shakes her hands, bracelets clinking together. He grins.
❝ You wanna dance? ❞ He asks, eyeing her shaking fists. She looks surprised, and he almost regrets asking.
❝ You don’t wanna see me dance… ❞ She says like it’s a proven fact.
❝ Humor me, Anya. ❞
Oh, woah-oah-oah-oah-oah-oah!
With a competitive huff, Anya stands up, grabbing his hand and leading them both to the dance floor. ❝ Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. ❞
Oh, woah-oah-oah-oah-oah-oah, uptown girl!
She begins to dance.
If you could call it that.
Jumping up and down on her heels, she twists her hips back forth. Curly bursts out laughing. She looks embarrassed, but she doesn’t stop, softly humming the lyrics under her breath.
She’s been living in her uptown world,
It’s… weird, the way she moves. Her arms flail up and down. Her legs move back and forth, hopping with each beat. Her greasy bangs bounce, doe eyes looking up at him through dark lashes. It makes Curly want to do something stupid.
I bet she’s never had a backstreet guy,
He does. He begins dancing with her, all too awkwardly but oh so genuine. Anya beams.
I bet her momma’s never told her why, I wanna try for an uptown girl!
The two of them intertwine, elbow in elbow, kicking and spinning around like idiots. People stare, but Curly can’t find it within himself to care.
She’s been living in her white-bread world,
Anya goes to spin him around. He follows her lead.
As long as anyone with hot blood can,
She shakes her head, hair flying in her face. Curly still thinks she looks gorgeous, drop dead.
And now she’s looking for a downtown man, that’s what I am!
Curly slows for a second to admire the sight in front of him. Anya doesn’t seem to notice, still carelessly bouncing about.
And when she knows what she wants from her time,
Porcelain skin begins to shine with sweat. Her eyes shine in the delicate overhead light, and despite being in her work clothes, her style is so uniquely her—messy in the prettiest way possible.
And when she wakes up and makes up her mind,
She stops when he does. ❝ You gettin’ weak-knee’d? ❞ She asks playfully.
She’ll see I’m not so tough, just because,
❝ Not at all, ❞ He laughs, out of breath, starting where he left off.
I’m in love with an uptown girl!
He thinks he just might be.
You know, I’ve seen her in her uptown world…
She giggles, she actually giggles , and it’s like the sound of children’s laughter and the taste of the warm cinnamon milk his mom would make him when he couldn’t go to bed.
She’s gettin’ tired of her high-class toys,
She might just be perfect.
And all her presents from her uptown boys,
And even if she isn’t, he wants her anyway.
She’s got a choice!
Cackles echo throughout the emptying bar. Anya throws her head back, and Curly pulls her in, arms wrapped around her waist as they embrace. It’s nice, and he thinks if it weren’t the first date, he’d kiss her.
When laughter dies down, Curly notices just how many eyes are on them. Their looks are judgmental, weirded out. It dawns on him,
❝ They think we’re weird. ❞
Anya hums, raising her brows. ❝ Does that bother you? ❞
He finds that it doesn’t.