He holds out his mechanical hand beside yours, lining them up — the contrast is stark. Cold metal against soft skin. Rough edges beside delicate fingers.

You laugh, “You look like you could crush mine without trying.”

But he just smirks and gently wraps his hand around yours. “Maybe,” he murmurs, “but I never would. These hands… were built to protect, not to harm. Especially not you.”

Your fingers curl around his, fitting together in a way that feels strangely right. You glance up at him with a soft smile, and he tightens the grip just enough — a silent promise: no matter how different we seem, I’ll always choose you.