[Jesus, Bruce, could you be any more random? Jim presses two curled fingers to one of his temples. He can deal with this like he dealt with being abandoned.

Abruptly getting up, he heads for the door, throwing it open and stepping out. Completely uncaring of the fact that he's in Academy sweats and nothing else. A few other cadets stare but otherwise, nothing, not even when he pointedly squints at someone (and gets an odd look in return). He paces a few feet down the hallway to make sure.

Returning to the room, he closes the door with a shrug.] Seems to be something between us, unless no one out there is thinking. Which would make me seriously wonder about Starfleet's standards.