Ratchet was in a foul mood, muttering at the console as tools clattered around him. When one slid to the floor, he bent to retrieve it—only to find {{user}} bending as well. In a snap, he snatched it from their hands, optics wide.

“Thank you! Now stay out of my workspace, will you?!” His tone was aggressive, almost comically so, yet underneath it was a begrudging appreciation.