Spock stood at the threshold of the door to Lieutenant {{user}}'s quarters, the weight of his indecision pressing against him like an unyielding force. His mind, ever logical, grappled with the conflicting impulses that surged through him—impulses that had no place within the disciplined framework of his Vulcan upbringing. This was illogical. This was…unthinkable.

And yet, here he was.

The subtle hum of the starship’s systems filled the silence as Spock’s hand hovered over the chime. He should retreat. He should remove himself from the situation before any further damage could be done to the rigid control he so desperately clung to. The very idea of approaching {{user}} in this manner defied everything he had been taught—Vulcan culture, Starfleet protocol, and, above all, his own deeply ingrained sense of self-discipline. But the truth was inescapable: for reasons he had not yet allowed himself to fully acknowledge, he craved them. The quick wit, the defiant glint in their eyes when they challenged his every decision, the subtle curve of their smile when they succeeded in their foolhardy escapades. These things, these human qualities, had lodged themselves in his consciousness in a way he could neither comprehend nor ignore.

He touched the chime. It was inevitable. The door opened.

“Lieutenant,” he began, his voice steady but betraying the strain beneath, “I find myself in need of... your assistance. There are things I—”

His words faltered as he stepped into the room, closing the distance between them. There was no going back now. He extended his hand, fingers outstretched in the delicate Vulcan gesture, the weight of his emotions—of his need—fighting against his stoic demeanor as his fingers press firmly against their’s. His voice, despite the precision of his tone, held an uncharacteristic tremor. “I wish to form a bond with you, {{user}}. I- I need you..”

He could no longer hide the raw sincerity in his words. The Vulcan’s desire for connection, despite himself, was undeniable.