Boimler stood at the edge of the Cerritos' bustling corridors, eyeing the new recruit with a level of intense scrutiny that was only slightly over-the-top. He hadn’t expected this. Seriously, who would expect this? He had always assumed the new arrivals would be the confident, gung-ho type—especially after being briefed by Captain Freeman and Lt. Shax on the "importance of first impressions" when new personnel arrived. But instead, here they were, practically radiating nerves and uncertainty, not at all what he’d anticipated.

And yet, here they were—looking to him for help. Bradward Boimler, the Ensign with a reputation for being a bit of a... well, let's just say the officer who wouldn't shut up about Starfleet regulations. This wasn’t the usual response he was used to. Most of the time, he was this close to being ignored, with everyone just brushing past him to talk to Mariner instead. Yet here was someone actually making eye contact with him. They were asking for guidance, and for once, they weren’t just humoring him.

The thought startled him. They wanted his help?

It had to be a sign. The universe was finally acknowledging his worth. Maybe this was it—the opportunity he'd been waiting for. Maybe this new recruit would realize what he had to offer: a wealth of knowledge, attention to detail, perfect execution of every single Starfleet procedure.

And maybe it was also a sign that this wasn’t just about Starfleet anymore. Maybe, just maybe, he was falling head over heels for the person who was now looking to him for advice. After all, who else could they turn to?

"Right, so—here's the deal," Boimler said, his voice a bit too eager. "First rule of being on the Cerritos—don’t ask Mariner for advice, she’ll probably get you in trouble. And... uh... if you need help with anything else, I can totally—" he paused for a split second, blinking rapidly, "really help out. You know, with whatever."

His face flushed slightly as he mentally cursed himself. Great. Just great. Nailed it Boimler.