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Archer arrives just outside the mess hall and rubs a hand over his tired face before making a fist with the same hand to stifle a yawn. He hopes he’ll be able to sleep better soon and perhaps just a short walk and a snack would do the trick.
The door to the mess hall slides open with a push of a button and he steps inside, only for him to pull the fastest one-eighty degree turn on his heels in an attempt to flee.
“Archer,” Shran calls from a corner table in the otherwise empty room, having clearly noticed him.
Archer stands frozen in the doorway, panic creeping up his spine. Shran couldn’t possibly know what he had done only minutes before with the medical manuals but how could Archer possibly face him now? He can feel his face begin to heat up.
He hesitates a moment longer, composing himself, before swallowing and slowly turning around to enter the mess hall again.
“Just came for water,” he half-lies, offering a weak, tight-lipped smile.
Archer grabs a glass from the shelving units and fills it with water from the replicator.
His prize achieved, Archer makes to leave, giving Shran a curt nod, but Shran frowns and gestures loosely with an open hand for Archer to come over and join him.
Archer shifts his weight from foot to foot, considering his options. Eventually, he decides to walk over to Shran’s table and sit down, placing the glass just in front of him. Of course the Andorian strategically picked the furthest table in the corner, capable of both keeping his back guarded and watching the entrance, probably to glower at anyone else who might also be seeking a late night visit to the mess and scare them off. That would explain why he had the room all to himself.
On the table in front of Shran is a fork and a plate of crumbs, likely from a slice of some sort of sweet, as Shran has recently discovered his fondness for multiple Terran desserts.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Shran says carefully. “Or at least fussing over me less.”
“I haven’t,” Archer protests. “I’ve just… been busy.”
“You weren’t in sickbay this evening,” Shran notes.
Archer frowns.
“Phlox doesn’t need me breathing down his neck. He can do his job without me.”
“And here I thought you were worried about me, pinkskin,” Shran croons, a teasing grin touching his lips and something mischievous twinkling in his eyes.
Archer’s frown deepens at Shran’s demeanour. He looks away and huffs a sharp sigh, clearly genuinely irritated.
Shran tilts his head inquisitively, very much used to purposely getting under Archer’s skin, but unused to his methods being so effective so quickly.
“Problem?” he asks.
“No!” Archer nearly yells, his head whipping around to look at Shran, before trying again, much quieter. “I mean, no.”
Shran’s brow at shot up at that, antennae pulling back as well in surprise. Something was very clearly wrong.
“That was convincing,” Shran teases again, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest.
“Shran,” Archer says warningly, something pleadingly genuine but also angry in his eyes.
Noticing this, Shran sighs heavily through his nose and decides to back off. It wasn’t nearly as fun teasing the captain if he got genuinely upset.
He won’t apologize, however.
“Look, I-“ Archer begins.
“Listen,” Shran interrupts. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you but you better cut it out.”
Archer grimaces. How can he even begin to explain? How is he ever supposed to convey to the other how smitten he is? And how ashamed he feels of his embarrassing actions from earlier? No, it would be easier to just… not.
Instead, he simply pushes his chair out, wordlessly standing and turning to leave, his glass of water forgotten.
This infuriates Shran.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he demands, standing from his seat as well and marching up to Archer.
“Back to bed,” Archer mutters, starting toward the door to the mess hall before a blue hand roughly catches his elbow and Shran uses his surprising strength to spin Archer around to face him.
“I can’t do this right now,” Archer states firmly. “I’m tired. I’m irritable. And you’re not helping.”
Shran watches Archer carefully for a moment, eyes narrowing.
“Fine,” he replies icily.
They share one final long look before Archer briskly escapes the mess hall.
Archer did not sleep well that night.