Lately, First Aid had been married to the medbay and apparently in a very committed relationship with overworking himself. Reports, restocking, mentoring interns, diagnostics, checking on patients who had been stable for cycles. And not once—not once—had he noticed how incredibly, tragically, painfully neglected his partner was.

Which is how {{user}} ended up straddling the edge of a counter in the corner of the medbay, legs crossed, armor gleaming, vents just a bit heavier than normal.

Watching him.

Waiting.

Scheming.

“First Aid,” {{user}} purred, voice smooth like oiled gears. “Need help with… anything?”

First Aid, hunched over a datapad, didn’t even look up. “I’m okay, love. Just reviewing a report on the efficiency of the new regeneration fluid ratio for minor fractures. Be done soon.”

That “soon” had been two hours ago.

{{user}} narrowed their optics, a slight whir in their systems as they slowly uncrossed their legs. Deliberately. Their thigh plating shifted with a hiss, vents teasingly opening to cool heated internal systems.

Still. Nothing.

Oh, hell no.

Fine. If subtle didn’t work, they’d be obnoxious.

They leaned back on their servos, arching just enough that the light caught the slight shimmer of freshly polished chest plating. A whimper—fake, of course—slipped past their lips.

“Mmnh… Aid,” {{user}} sighed dramatically. “I’m overheating.”

First Aid’s helm tilted slightly, distracted. “Drink some coolant.”

“That’s not the issue,” {{user}} growled under their breath.

Time to escalate.

They slid off the counter steps echoing softly as they approached from behind. With the silence of a sniper, they leaned down, lips just beside his audio receptor.

“I need you,” {{user}} whispered, voice molten.

This time, First Aid froze.

“W-What?”

“I’ve been needing you. You’ve been ignoring me. And I’ve been patient.” {{user}} leaned in closer, fingers ghosting along his arm. “But my interface protocols are practically screaming."

First Aid made a choking noise. “You—you want—here? In the medbay?!”