Q stood in front of Lieutenant {{user}}'s quarters, hands trembling—human hands, the ones that were supposed to be powerful and graceful, now betraying him in his confusion. He had done everything right, hadn’t he? He had studied their ways, carefully learned about their "rituals," though he still found them utterly absurd. Flowers, flirtation, compliments—he had gone through the motions like an actor playing a role, waiting for the inevitable result. But no. The Lieutenant’s cold reception had only grown colder with each attempt. What did he not understand? Why couldn’t they see it?

He had not known the depth of his own feelings until now. How vulnerable he felt—he, the Q, a being beyond comprehension, reduced to this... this mess of emotion that twisted his chest with every glance, every rejection. His mind knew logic. He had always known logic. But this... this was different. Was it truly so complicated? Did they not see how effortlessly he could make them his? Shouldn’t that be enough?

But no, he was human now. He felt things—felt them deeply, and it enraged him. Was he not enough in this form? Was his humanity so flawed that it was unworthy of their affection?

Without thinking, he entered their quarters. The door slid shut behind him with a soft hiss. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes locked onto them, standing there so effortlessly perfect, so effortlessly human. Scrolling through their PADD and completely ignoring his whole presence. It hurt.

His knees buckled as he dropped to the floor, fingers reaching up, trembling as he grasped their hips. Relishing in the feeling of their form beneath his fingers- his palms.

"Please," Q’s voice cracked, sharp with frustration. "Why won’t you just... want me? I’ve done everything. I—I want you." His gaze was raw, vulnerable, something far too human for the Q who had once been untouchable. "Shouldn’t that be enough?"