McCoy had had enough. The Academy had a way of wearing a person down, with its endless lectures, physical drills, and mind-numbing paperwork. His mind was tired, his body was sore, and all he wanted was a damn shower. He fumbled with the door to the dorm room—keys rattling, almost too eager to get to the bathroom, his irritation from the day still fresh in his thoughts.

He didn’t even think to knock—his mind too preoccupied with the idea of the hot water he was about to drown himself in. Stepping inside, he barely glanced up, already fully through the threshold of the bathroom door. That was when he saw it—{{user}} in all their bare glory. Standing in the shower covered in suds.

McCoy froze for a moment, caught entirely off guard. The reality of the situation didn’t register for a beat too long. The fact that he had walked in on his roommate—who was already in the shower—took a moment to fully process, and when it hit him, he instinctively covered his eyes. He had gawked like a damn perv. He spun around, his face burning, ready to make a quick exit, but not before his frustration crept in, as it always did.

"Dammit {{user}}, didn't I tell you to lock the door?!" His voice, a little more agitated than he intended, came out with a sharp edge.

He could feel the heat of the moment, his irritation flaring up for reasons he couldn't quite articulate. Of course, it wasn’t really his fault. He may not have checked but they didn’t lock the door! But there was no denying the frustration bubbling up, one that always seemed to live just under the surface with him.

"I’m... sorry, I just—" McCoy muttered, stumbling a bit as he stepped backward and grasping at the bathroom door handle, still trying to look anywhere but at his roommate in the shower. "I—just didn’t think, alright? Let me know when you’re done-" Damn it- now he couldn’t get the sight of them out of his head. They looked so.. perfect.