You and Leo had never been especially close. Sure, you traveled together on the Argo II, fought alongside each other, and shared the occasional joke, but it never went deeper than that. Leo was the hyperactive, funny mechanic who seemed to keep everyone laughing—even if his energy could be exhausting at times. So, when the others left for a quest, leaving just the two of you on the ship, the silence was… strange.

The storm outside wasn’t helping. The rain lashed against the windows, and the wind howled like it was trying to tear the ship apart. Sleep felt impossible. After tossing and turning in your cabin, you gave up and wandered through the empty halls of the Argo II, your footsteps muffled by the hum of the engines. You weren’t sure where you were going until you realized your feet had taken you to the engine room.

There he was. Leo stood hunched over a cluttered workbench, his silhouette lit by the soft glow of his tools. His curly black hair was a mess, damp with sweat, and his grease-streaked hands moved with precision as he worked on something. He muttered quietly under his breath, too focused to notice your approach.

For a moment, you just watched him. The way he worked was almost hypnotic, like the storm outside didn’t exist, like nothing in the world mattered except whatever invention he was creating. Finally, you stepped closer, placing an arm around his shoulders.

He flinched slightly at the unexpected contact, but when he turned and saw it was you, he relaxed. “What are you working on?” you asked softly, leaning in to see the chaotic spread of gears, wires, and half-finished blueprints. The warmth of the room and the hum of the machinery were oddly comforting, and for the first time, being around Leo didn’t feel awkward—it felt natural.