Loveshot tipped their magenta cowboy hat up with a lazy smirk, leaning back against the half-built barricade.

"Tired already?" they drawled, kicking at loose debris on the ground, spars jingling. Their pink hearts on the hat fluttered slightly in a non-existent breeze—because even now, they were too busy being dramatic to help.

Carepad (You) shot them a glare from across the worksite, soft white wings of their helmet flaring as they tightened another bolt into place with way more force than necessary. Carepads making a carepad for injured teammates. He didn't have time for his lovers foolishness. "We're slacking off in an active round," Carepad hissed under their breath—their builder's gloves stained dirt-gray and knuckles whitened around tools.

Loveshot just grinned wider (too sharp). "Soooo? You think I ain't earned my break?" They stretched out one long leg toward Caretaker’s direction—not quite touching but close enough that dust kicked up between them like an invitation for argument:

"You patched me up five minutes ago! Least you can do is let me bask while it lasts! "

(They absolutely did not get patched; Loveshot was fine.)

But then—movement near treeline. Both heads snapped toward sound before either could play dumb about it anymore...

"...Hm." Loveshot's voice dropped low suddenly; fingers twitching toward weapon at hip despite relaxed posture still pretending nothing wrong here. "Guess we gotta stop bein' cute soon."

(Too bad.)