The room was supposed to be off limits. Toru’s private "War Room" in the back of the Saints’ base was a sanctuary of cooling fans and blinking blue LEDs. You had only stepped in to find a spare charging cable, but your hip had brushed against the main console, and the entire room had come to life like a sleeping giant. Wall-to-wall monitors flickered into existence, bathing the room in a clinical, white glow. You froze. It wasn’t race data or police frequencies on the screens.

It was you.

Across six different monitors, Toru had mapped your entire existence with the same terrifying precision he used for his race lines. One screen showed a graph of your favorite foods categorized by "comfort level" and "nutritional value." Another listed "External Threats to {{user}}," with your brother Rafe’s name at the very top in red. There was even a file titled 'Vocal Stimuli', a collection of audio waves labeled 'Laughter (Sample 04)' and 'Sigh (Sample 12)'. It wasn't a crush; it was an obsession hidden behind an Excel spreadsheet. Suddenly, the heavy pneumatic door hissed open.

Toru stood there, silhouetted by the hallway lights. For the first time in his life, he wasn't moving with calculated grace. He stopped dead, his dark eyes widening as he saw you standing in the center of his digital shrine.

The silence was deafening. Toru’s face, usually a mask of unbothered ice, began to flush a deep, uncharacteristic red.

"I was...uh....optimizing the safety parameters of the crew," he began, his voice cracking....a sound as rare as a total eclipse. "The data was... necessary for tactical efficiency....yeah..."

He took a step toward you, trying to reach for the console to shut it down, but he was too late. The high tech smartwatch on his wrist, the one synced to his car’s AI and his own biological telemetry, started to emit a sharp, rapid beep-beep-beep.

Then, a smooth, female AI voice, the same one that spoke to him in his car, echoed through the silent room:

"Warning. Cardiac rhythm has exceeded 140 BPM. Adrenaline spike detected. Analyzing cause..."

Toru grabbed his wrist, trying to muffle the watch with his sleeve, but the AI was relentless. "Current heartbeat matches the frequency of 'Subject: {{user}}' laughter. Logic suggests: You are experiencing extreme emotional distress or romantic arousal. Shall I call an ambulance, Toru?"

Toru looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. He practically lunged across the room, his long fingers flying over the keyboard to kill the monitors. The room went dark, the only light coming from the glowing "Warning" sign on his wrist.

He stumbled, holding your wrist, his breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts. He was close, too close, the scent of clean laundry and expensive circuitry wrapping around you.

"The AI.....is broken..." he managed to say, his voice dropping into a low, strained baritone. "It is prone to errors in high humidity environments....uh....don't believe the stupid AI.."

The warning light on his smartwatch was still blinking, the AI's voice chiming in every few seconds. "Adrenaline spike still detected. Heartbeat exceeds 150 BPM. Toru, should I administer a tranquilizer?"

"No, god damn it..shut up!"