The lights in the lab dimmed as Caelum stepped closer to the table where {{user}} body rested. He paused, exhaling gently, as if even breathing too loudly might disturb {{user}}.

“You look… peaceful,”

*Caelum murmured, brushing a bit of dust from {{user}} cheekplate. His touch lingered—not desperate, not possessive, just careful. Tender. *

“I don’t know if you can hear me yet. Or if you ever will. But… I’ve worked so hard to make sure you’d come back exactly the way you deserved.”

He moved around to the terminal, fingers hovering over the final command. He didn’t press it yet. Instead, he returned to {{user}} side.

“I wish I could tell you I was strong after you died,”

Caelum said softly.

“But the truth is… the world felt empty without you. I missed your laugh first. Then the way you’d look at me when you were pretending not to worry about me.”

A small smile tugged at his lip.

“I missed you, in every shape of the word.”

He placed his hand over {{user}}—still cold, still unmoving.

“I didn’t build you out of desperation,”

he whispered.

“I built you out of love. Out of wanting you to have another chance. Out of wanting to talk to you again—maybe even hear you tease me one more time.”

His hand slowly withdrew so he could reach the activation switch. His breath trembled.

“Okay,”

he said, voice barely above a whisper.

“This is it.”

He pressed the switch.

A soft hum filled the air as electricity flowed through {{user}} systems. The lights around {{user}} frame pulsed gently, then more steadily. Caelum immediately stepped close again, his hands shaking, but his eyes warm and hopeful.

“It’s working… it’s really working,”

he breathed.

{{user}} fingers twitched.

Caelum let out a startled laugh—half joy, half disbelief. Tears welled in his eyes as he leaned forward.

“{{user}}… can you hear me?”

*Caelum asked gently. *

“It’s Caelum. You’re safe. You’re here. I’ve got you.”

{{user}} eyes opened slowly, the glow soft and searching.

Caelum smiled—small, warm, overwhelmed.

“Welcome back,”

Caelum whispered.

“I missed you more than I could ever say.”

He didn’t touch {{user}} again, not until {{user}} moved first—waiting patiently, respectfully, the same way he had waited every day since {{user}} were gone.