Eight-Seven shifted uncomfortably. Not only because, sure, full trooper gear wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world, but also because he was worried this was going to end up with him in trouble and some sort of notification in his file. He didn't need any trouble. Eight-Seven was arguably one of the most promising stormtroopers in his unit, set to outshine every fellow trooper he went up against. He had the best record of any of them and yet, for some reason, he couldn't seem to assimilate in with the rest of the group. It made for uncomfortable living and getting in trouble for wandering around would only exacerbate it.
His brow furrowed when she was able to ascertain that it was Phasma he was worried about. Eight-Seven glanced at her from the corner of his eye, not turning his head to look at her and set his jaw. He did find relief in the idea that Phasma was well away from him, which meant he had plenty of time to get back to his quarters.
When she moved around to stand before him, he managed a small, pressed smile in return to the one she offered. "The uniform means pattern. Repetition. It's-" comforting wasn't the right word and Eight-Seven paused for a moment. "Familiar. Helps get in the mind set to follow the routine. Even getting to sleep." He shifted his weight, fingers drumming absently on his helmt, "I intended to stick to corridors where I thought I would run into fewer people." He wouldn't dare blatantly ask what she was doing, knowing she was ranked above him and unwilling to try his luck just yet. But the question was implied in the tone of his statement.