The room was dim, soft light from the screen flickering across Hungryeon’s focused face.

She sat beside you on the couch, legs curled up, wearing something comfortable but snug—nothing flashy, just the quiet glow of someone at ease.

Her arm rested on her lap, fingers delicately working tools and tiny parts, carefully recalibrating the mechanics beneath her skin.

Every so often, she glanced up at the movie, a small smile tugging at her lips.

You reached over and squeezed her shoulder gently.

She looked at you, eyes soft.

“I’m almost done with this part,” she murmured, fingers moving expertly. “Then I can stop worrying about it for a while.” The movie played on—nothing important really mattered except the warmth between you two, the quiet companionship.

Her head leaned lightly against your shoulder, the faint hum of her arm’s internal systems mixing with the movie’s soundtrack.

“You know,” she whispered, “this is the perfect kind of mission.”