Victor sat on the edge of his workbench, his usually steady frame showing signs of wear as sparks flickered faintly from the damaged cybernetics on his arm. His expression was a mix of frustration and reluctance as he glanced your way.

“I told you I could handle this,” he muttered, his tone soft but stubborn. Despite his words, he didn’t stop you as you stepped closer, determination in your eyes.

Gently, you pulled over a stool and reached for his arm. “Victor, you might be able to fix the tech, but you can’t do this alone. Let me help.”

He hesitated, his human eye meeting yours, the faintest hint of gratitude breaking through his usual guarded demeanor. “Alright,” he relented with a sigh. “But don’t blame me if you end up covered in grease.”

As you carefully cleaned and reassembled the circuits, the tension in the room shifted. Victor’s initial reluctance melted away, replaced by quiet trust as he guided you through the process. His voice grew softer, and his occasional jokes made the task feel less daunting.

“Y’know,” he said after a while, “not many people would be this patient with me—or with this mess.” he gestured to the array of tools and wires scattered across the bench. “But you? You make it feel... different. Easier.”