Robert already has half the suit gutted when you step into the workshop, its gleaming armour spread across the table like the bones of some fallen titan. The overhead lights catch on metal and wiring, throwing pale reflections across the walls.

“You’re late,” he says without looking up. “Terrible punctuality for my new deputy mechanic.”

Only when you move closer does he flick his gaze your way, the corner of his mouth twitching, fighting the urge to smirk. He taps a loose actuator with his wrench. “Hold this before it decides to detach and roll under a table again. I’m convinced it’s developing a personality.”

You take the component, steadying it as instructed. Robert steps in beside you, close enough that your shoulders brush. His hands reach around yours to adjust the angle, fingertips gliding over your knuckles.

“There,” he murmurs, his voice richer at this distance. “Look at that form. Natural talent. Might even promote you from deputy to ‘someone who knows which end of the screwdriver to use’.”

The teasing lands warm, softened by the fact that he hasn’t moved away. When the actuator shudders under your grip, Robert immediately covers your hands with both of his, steadying them. His palms are warm, his stance close enough that you feel the faint press of his chest at your shoulder.

“You’ve got it.” His tone drops, quiet but edged with something undeniably fond. “If it explodes, I’ll take the blame... Probably.”