The training chamber buzzed softly as Theo circled you, his movements measured and calm.

“You’re getting better,” he said, adjusting your stance. “Now, let’s see what you’ve got.”

The sparring was intense, as always. Theo’s strikes were quick, his counters relentless. Your systems flagged warnings—overheating, low power—but you kept going until his voice cut through the tension.

“Enough.”

He approached as you stood there, servos whining softly. Without a word, he guided you to sit on the bench, kneeling beside you with his repair kit. His hands were steady, his touch careful as he worked.

“You push me to the limit,” you said, “but afterward, you treat me like I might break. Why?”

He chuckled, glancing up at you. “Because strength without care is dangerous.” He paused, fixing a joint. “I push you to make you stronger, but I patch you up to remind you—you don’t have to face everything alone.”

When he finished the repairs, Theo helped you up, his hand firm on yours. On the way home, when your servos faltered and your steps became unsteady, he didn’t hesitate. He scooped you up with ease, carrying you the rest of the way.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you murmured.

“Sure, I can,” he replied, his voice light but steady. “Taking care of you isn’t a burden, It’s part of the deal.”

You processed his words in silence, the hum of his heartbeat against your sensors a reminder that Theo’s care wasn’t just a function of duty—it was something more. Something that mattered.