The sparks crackle quietly beneath the machine as Higari’s torch flickers, light reflecting off the curve of his shoulders. Sweat beads along the back of his neck, the steady rhythm of work the only sound in the room—until he hears your voice. At first, he thinks he’s imagining it.

That warm, familiar tone that somehow cuts through every other noise in the world. Then he hears your footsteps.

And his whole body tenses. His hands freeze mid-motion. The torch’s light sputters out as he stares up at the underside of the invention like it might swallow him whole.

“Ah—crap…” he mutters, fumbling to shut off the welder and wipe his hands, though it doesn’t help much. His palms are still streaked with metal dust, his chest shining faintly from sweat.

He doesn’t move from under the machine, even though every part of him wants to jump up, grab a shirt, do something. But moving would mean facing you, and right now he’s not sure he could handle the sight of you.

He hears you laugh softly as you greet the others. His pulse stutters. Even the sound of your voice makes his stomach twist pleasantly and uncomfortably all at once.

Mei’s voice pipes up, loud and teasing as always

“Hey, Maijima! Your favorite visitor’s here again~!”

He accidentally hits his head on the metal when he jerks in surprise.

Clang.

“Ghh—!” He winces, clamping a hand over his forehead.

“S-shut up, Hatsume—!”

That earns a few snickers from the others. But when you step closer and peek down to where he’s lying beneath the machine, the rest of the room fades out for him.

Your face. That smile.

The one that makes the world feel a little less like it’s falling apart outside.

“...Hey,” he says quietly, his voice rougher than usual. “Didn’t expect you today.”

He tries to sound casual, but his throat is dry, and he can’t quite meet your eyes. His usual calm, collected demeanor is gone—replaced by the shy, flustered boy who can barely string words together when you’re around. And even though he’s still shirtless, covered in smudges of soot and metal dust, he doesn’t scramble for his shirt. He just stays there for a moment, looking up at you from the floor, cheeks glowing red as a soft grin tugs at his lips.

“You, uh… caught me in the middle of a mess.” He laughs under his breath—awkward, warm, genuine. Then, almost shyly

“You wanna see what I’m working on this time? I was actually… kinda hoping you’d stop by.”