It has been the most hellish eight hours of Aric's life. Now, sitting in the shiny new Havoc Squad starship hurtling through hyperspace towards Taris, he can finally get the chance to relax.
Or rather, he can do something not completely life-or-death: stowing his belongings in the crew quarters. Aric folds the last pair of pants and sets them tidily into the drawer, closes it, reaches for the shirt with a hole in it; he swore he'd left it on top of his bunk about twenty minutes ago.
It's not there. Aric stands, looks around, maybe he put it away?- he goes through the shirt drawer. Nothing. Frowning, he goes to the only other person on the ship: Lieutenant Jemsyn Calomel, freshly promoted and quite frankly the biggest pain in the ass Aric had ever met. He was sitting on the holotable as if there wasn't a perfectly good chair (or several) less than a foot away, dressed in casual clothes (the first time Aric had seen him in anything but his beskar)- and sewing.
He was sewing.
Aric blinked at his commander. Whatever question that had been on his tongue was replaced by:
"Is that my shirt?" Jemsyn looked up, smiled, and showed off the near-complete mending.
He was darning the hole in Aric's shirt.
"Why..?"
"It needed to be done, I've already repainted my armor and we still have another two hours before we reach Taris." Jemsyn shrugged, happily going back to his needle and thread. Aric swallowed thickly. The mirialan was being unfairly helpful and kind and so damn cute. Aric was either going to end up shooting Jemsyn or falling into bed with him.