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Ever since he was young, Arnold Rimmer had only wanted one thing.
To love, and be loved.
Technically that was two things but that doesn't matter.
Throughout his life he'd watch the people around him be loved: how when they fell over, one of their parents would rush outside and patch them up, kissing it better.
When it was their birthday, they'd get gifts and hugs and cake. All he'd ever gotten was torment from his family. His family had never shown any love or affection to him. Not even an ounce.
In school people were surrounded by friends, laughing together, playing together. Rimmer was only ever surrounded by bullies, covered in bruises from them.
When they grew up, people got boyfriends and girlfriends - someone who loved them, were enamoured by them. They were looked upon with adoration. Everyone always looked at Rimmer with distain.
Never in his life (or death, for that matter) had Rimmer been loved - in any capacity. Never ever.
He built up towering walls, to protect himself. Walls no one could scale. He armed them, heavily: cannons trained to shoot anyone who dared try and get close. He can't get hurt if he doesn't let anyone close enough, right?
Stuck inside these looming walls Rimmer came to resent love. It was sickening. The sight of affection churned his stomach. Who needed love? Certainly not him, anyway. At least, that's what he tried to tell himself.
Rimmer yearned to be loved. He longed to be held, caressed - no matter how many times he told himself otherwise. He wanted so badly for someone to be his, and him to be their's. He pined for soft, late night conversations: for comforting touches after a rough day, and for a kiss as sweet as strawberries. For someone to help him escape these confining walls. For someone...
But there was no-one. In the blackest, seemingly eternal nights there was no one. After the rough days, there was no one. The nights only got longer and darker, and the days only got rougher and rougher.
Rimmer woke up. It had been another bleak and black night. His night's sleep hadn't been restful or content in the slightest, but that wasn't a rare occurance. Sometimes, he would have a refreshing night's sleep - he certainly needed one. That might be the only thing about Lister he envied: the ability to sleep soundly, like a baby.
Rolling out of bed, he was dressed with the snap of his fingers. He did his morning routine - he always did. Brushing your teeth has always been considered a menial and unhighly regarded task, but for Rimmer it restored some sense of normality. It had no physical meaning or advantage to him, a hologram, but it carried plenty of emotional reassurance. It made him still feel somewhat human.
Today, to put it simply, Rimmer could not be bothered. It was just another day within the confines of the Dwarf and emotional isolation. Nothing ever changed.
Yeah, sometimes they ran into Gelfs and Simulants and other nasty creatures but 3 million years into deep space (with the human race presumed extinct) the most humanoid thing you'll find is a fried cassette of Roland Rat. Rimmer didn't like Roland Rat.
So, you could say that what he saw when he stepped into the ship's canteen was a bit unexpected.