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You're his roomie and his friend, his tiny, human friend, and he should not be thinking about you the way he is right now because it's creepy and gross and probably, maybe, against some kind of law, but--
But he's frozen.
He can't move his pedes; they might as well be welded to the floor.
Because he can hear you inside, through the door of the hab, and the noises you're making would be obvious enough to tell him what you're up to by themselves and he would have just left, he'd even made to turn around just as soon as he caught wind of what was happening in there- but then he'd heard you sigh, in your breathy little voice, probably the last word he would have thought would come out of your mouth right then and it froze him on the spot.
His name. Swerve. His name.
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