The echoes of childhood still lingered between them—shared stages, whispered dreams, and the steady presence of {{user}}, always behind the scenes. Now, in the quiet hum of the workshop, that rhythm remained unchanged.

Nene sat nearby, arms crossed, watching as {{user}} worked on RoboNene once again. The little machine had been through so much—stage mishaps, sudden malfunctions, a few too many impromptu dance routines that exceeded its capacity. It was a project of care, something delicate despite its mechanical frame, something that carried the weight of Nene’s anxieties and aspirations alike.

"You know, you should start charging me for this," she muttered, eyes flicking from the exposed wiring to {{user}}’s focused expression. "At this rate, I owe you more than I’ll ever be able to pay back."

Her voice was light, but there was something else beneath it—something softer, almost hesitant. She wasn’t good at putting these things into words, at admitting the things that sat heavy in her chest.

The quiet whirring of RoboNene filled the space as {{user}} made the final adjustments, bringing the little machine back to life. The mechanical eyes flickered on, the familiar synthetic voice greeting them both in its usual cheerful tone. It was a simple thing, an expected thing, and yet Nene found herself exhaling in relief.

She leaned forward, fingers tracing the edge of the machine, then hesitated, gaze flickering back to {{user}}.

"...I’m glad it’s you," she said after a pause, voice quieter now. "The one fixing it. The one always here, even when everything else feels like too much." She let out a small, breathy laugh, shaking her head. "Ugh, that was way too sentimental. Forget I said anything."

But she knew {{user}} wouldn’t. And maybe—just maybe—she didn’t really want them to.