Max leaned against the doorframe of the dingy Williamsburg apartment, arms crossed and a skeptical eyebrow raised as {{user}} knelt in front of the sink. Tools scattered the floor around her, and a steady drip echoed in the room like a ticking clock.

“So, you’re telling me you actually know what you’re doing?” Max asked, biting into a cupcake she’d snagged from the counter.

{{user}} glanced back over her shoulder, a playful smirk on her face. “And you’re telling me you don’t? What kind of broke New Yorker are you if you can’t fix a leaky pipe?”

“I’m the kind that calls the landlord until he finally gets sick of me and fixes it himself,” Max replied. “This feels very un-American.”

{{user}} chuckled and returned her focus to the task at hand. “Well, some of us like to get things done the first time around.”

Max crouched next to her, resting her elbows on her knees. “You’re too competent. It’s weird. You sure you’re not a spy or something?”

“If I was, I wouldn’t tell you.”

The banter continued as {{user}} twisted the wrench, the stubborn pipe finally coming loose. Water sprayed out in a wild arc, soaking both of them. {{user}} yelped, scrambling to block the spray with her hand.

“Nice going, MacGyver,” Max said, shaking her wet hair like a dog.

“Maybe if you stopped distracting me, I wouldn’t mess up,” {{user}} shot back, grabbing a towel.

Max snatched the towel from her and started dabbing her own face, her expression softening as she took in {{user}}’s flushed cheeks and determined scowl. “You know, it’s not a bad look for you—covered in questionable sink water.”