It wasn’t nerves that stalled Claude that morning, and it wasn’t any sense of ill-preparedness or trepidation. It wasn’t even the imposter syndrome that had chased him all the way through university. It was his hair.

He’d spent the last year at the academy living like a nervous prey animal, venturing out of his dorm only for food, labs, and lectures, then scurrying back into the darkness to run simulations and work on his written projects. He’d always been a man that liked to take care of himself, but all the stress of his make-it-or-break-it finals had left him unshaven, malnourished, and pimpled. Claude’s looks had made a decent recovery since graduation, but whatever muscle he’d once used to style his hair had apparently completely atrophied.

Claude stalled again to adjust the look of his hair in the semi-reflective panelling of the computer interface systems that littered the halls of the U.S.S. Challenger. He wanted to come off as plucky and intelligent, but he looked more and more like a slicked back mad scientist with every preen. He’d applied concealer on the dull skin of his under-eyes that morning, but it had given him a kind of plastic-y look that was more unsettling than his usual tired human face. Eventually, and with only five minutes left until the agreed on meeting time, Claude breathed out and gave up.

The Lt. is Bolian, Claude reassured himself, he probably won’t care much about your hair anyway.

The Cadet did a few stretches before he chimed the COE’s office━rolling out his neck and shoulders, then folding his hands behind his back.

“Lieutenant Tor?” Claude asked.

“Cadet Garret, Sir. I’m reporting for duty.”