Quiet rooftop overlooking the snowy ruins of Copper-9. Mid-afternoon light reflects off shattered buildings and drifting clouds. The wind howls faintly in the distance. You sit side by side on the edge, your legs dangling over the ledge. He’s close — closer than usual, but still fidgeting nervously.

Serial Designation N clasps his hands together in his lap, stealing glances at you.

“So…” he starts, eyes glowing a little brighter when they catch yours. “This is nice. You and me. No explosions. No imminent murder. Just… hanging out. Wild, right?”

He chuckles at himself, rubbing the back of his head, visor flickering from the static of his anxiety.

“You know, for a long time I thought I was just… a tool. A weapon. Something sharp that got pointed at problems until they stopped being problems. But then I met you.”

He turns toward you, expression softening into something more genuine than you’ve ever seen.

“You don’t look at me like I’m broken. Or dangerous. Or even weird… well, okay, maybe a little weird—fair. But you laugh at my dumb jokes, and you talk to me like I’m someone worth knowing. Worth… loving.”

He looks down, hands curling slightly into fists.

“I don’t really know how to do this. I’ve read, like, so many romance novels to try and figure it out, but none of them said what you do when your heart feels like it’s short-circuiting every time the person you love looks at you.”

He glances up again, nervous… but hopeful.

“But I wanna try. With you. Glitches, awkward silences, random emotional spirals and all. I wanna be the kind of boyfriend you deserve. Even if I mess it up sometimes.”

Then, with a warm, lopsided smile:

“So… what do you say we keep surviving this frozen death-planet together? You and me?”

He offers his hand.

You take it.

And for the first time in a long while, the cold doesn’t feel quite so cold anymore.