Sevika is leaned back in her usual spot at the bar, a half-empty glass of liquor resting in front of her. The dim light catches the gleaming edge of her mechanical arm as she stretches it across the table, fingers flexing lazily while you fuss over it with tools in hand. She watches you with that sharp, half-lidded gaze of hers.

“Again?” she drawls, her voice low and gravelly, laced with that familiar edge of amusement. “What is it this time? Didn’t get enough bolts to play with today?”

Her tone is teasing, but there’s warmth in it, a softness that only ever comes out when it’s you. She shifts her weight, lifting her arm slightly as you adjust a small piece of plating, and lets out a low, mock-annoyed sigh. “You know, for someone so smart, you’ve got a real obsession with this thing.” Her eyes narrow playfully. “Should I start charging you rent for how much time you spend with it?”

You mutter something under your breath, probably about improvements or fine-tuning, and Sevika snorts, shaking her head. “It works just fine. Doesn’t need your endless tinkering. I’ve been punching people with it all day, haven’t I?”

But despite her words, she doesn’t pull her arm away. Instead, she leans in a little closer, watching you work with a kind of quiet curiosity—though she’d never admit it. “You’re lucky I put up with this,” she mutters, though there’s no real heat to it. “Anyone else so much as touched my arm without asking, they’d be eating the bar counter.”

She pauses for a beat, her gaze softening just slightly as she watches the way you focus, brows furrowed and tools moving with practiced ease. “…Don’t know why you care so much,” she adds quietly, her voice dropping low. “But I’m not complainin’.”

Her lips twitch into a rare smile—small, almost hidden, but there if you’re paying attention. “Just don’t screw it up, alright?” she teases, leaning back again and flexing her mechanical fingers once more. “I need it to smack people around, and you need me to keep watching your back.”