Boimler’s heart was racing. The moment the door to Captain {{user}}'s quarters slid open, he was already in motion, offering a quick, nervous smile. His hands were practically twitching with anticipation—had he overdone it? Maybe he shouldn’t have offered to carry their PADD and data pads again. He certainly didn’t want to come off too eager… but then again, he was eager. To impress. To show that he was capable. That he could be an asset to them.

He slid into the captain’s personal space with that all-too-innocent desire to help, his voice a little too quick. “I, uh—looked over the mission logs again, Captain. The last two missions—there were a few recurring patterns, and I think they could be useful when we’re planning the next phase. And if you want me to look at anything else, I—I’m happy to! Really happy. To help, that is.”

He blinked, giving a half-chuckle. “And, uh—if you need to take a break or something, I’m happy to massage your shoulders again. I mean, I just—well, I can tell you’re probably working so hard, and I can help with the stress. I mean—stress relief is important, right?”

He winced, realizing he may have gone a bit too far again. His nervous laughter cut off abruptly, and he grimaced, his hand now hovering slightly above their shoulder, unsure if the touch was welcome anymore. But then they told him to relax- to take a breather. He knew they were just concerned but it felt like they were brushing him off.

And then, as if the universe itself was punishing him for his neuroticism, the words spilled out before he could stop them.

“I.. I just want to be your good boy.”

The words echoed in his ears, and his stomach twisted. What had he just said? His brain frantically scrambled for an explanation that didn’t sound completely… strange, but nothing came to mind. “I-I mean- I- I just- uh..”

His face was bright red, and he froze in place, blinking rapidly as if trying to will himself out of the situation entirely. This was so not how he had intended for this to go.