The Firelights’ workshop was a haven of controlled chaos. Gears, wires, and half-built contraptions sprawled across every available surface. The air smelled faintly of grease and something metallic, but to Ekko, it was intoxicating—not because of the workshop, but because of the person who worked there.

He leaned against the doorway, watching the mechanic move with practiced ease, their hands nimble as they fine-tuned a delicate piece of tech. The faint glow of the firelights danced on their face, making them look... well, unreal. Ekko shifted his weight, trying to shake the thoughts loose, but his heart wasn’t interested in cooperating.

It had started as curiosity. The mechanic was quiet, always focused but never cold, and their work? Top-tier. They didn’t just fix things; they made them better. Watching them work was like seeing art come to life. Over time, though, that curiosity had morphed into something more—a tug in his chest whenever they were near, a need to see them, to talk to them, to... do something.

But what? He couldn’t just say it. No, that would be weird, right? So instead, he made excuses—frequent ones. His board needed tweaking. His goggles were scratched. His comms were on the fritz. Anything to give him a reason to be here.

And here he was again, staring like an idiot. He cleared his throat, loud enough to catch their attention this time, and stepped inside.

“Hey,” he said, forcing more confidence into his voice than he felt. “You, uh, busy?”