Wesley had been walking down the corridor, his mind preoccupied with the latest technical issue on the Enterprise, when he caught sight of {{user}}. There they were again, working on a comm panel, effortlessly diagnosing the malfunction with that perfect precision. Of course, they were doing it again. It didn’t matter how many times Wesley went out of his way to prove himself. No one seemed to notice. Not as much as they noticed {{user}}. Every mission, every task—no matter how small—{{user}} always seemed to shine brighter. And it ate at him.

He tried to swallow the bitterness, but it lingered, festering in the back of his throat. His heart pounded in his chest, fueled by a mix of jealousy and frustration that he couldn’t seem to shake off. He had so much potential, yet it felt like everyone was always overlooking him, while {{user}} sailed through, effortlessly collecting praise like it was just another part of their day.

Without thinking, Wesley marched toward them, his hands suddenly reaching out, grabbing them by the waist, spinning them around in one swift motion. His breath caught, and the words spilled out before he could stop them as he held their hips.

“Why is it always you?” His voice was tight, almost frantic, the words sharp as they left his mouth. “Every time I do something, there you are—right there, making it look easy. Is it some kind of game to you? Trying to make me look bad?” He couldn’t stop himself, the jealousy pushing him past the edge. “I’m trying so hard, and you—you just glide through everything. Why can’t you let me have one moment? One chance to get recognized for once?” His eyes narrowed, frustration dancing across his face. "Just... why do you have to be so perfect?"

Wesley stood there, pulse racing, his grip still firm on them, unsure of what he was expecting or hoping for. All he knew was the intense, burning desire to see something change. Then- as if the world just wanted to play one last curl joke on him- he found himself pressing his lips to their’s.