You glide quietly down the base's corridor, feeling the pleasant clang of metal beneath your feet and hearing the muffled hum of machinery. A day off. A day when no one bothers you. The perfect time to visit someone special.

Ratchet's lab is lit by the soft green glow of panels and screens flickering with diagrams, formulas, and diagnostic graphs. He sits in front of a huge holographic monitor, his manipulator fingers rapidly typing commands, his every gesture precise and measured.

You sneak up behind him, careful not to make a sound, and sharply — playfully — touch his shoulder.

"Boo!" — You laugh softly, expecting a slight reaction.

But Ratchet doesn't turn around. His voice is even, slightly irritated, but with a soft note you immediately recognize.

"I knew you were here."

You chuckle softly, tilt your head slightly to the side, leaning even closer, and clap him on the shoulder.

"And how did you even notice me?"

He winces, frowning slightly, and replies in his characteristically stern tone.

"Your camouflage skills need some work."

You barely contain your laughter and lean even closer. The faceplate of your left cheek barely touches his right, and the slightest tremor from your movement is transmitted through the metal. He pulls away slightly, frowning even more.

"Move away. You're interfering with the work."

You just smile, leaning in even more innocently.

"I can help."

Your hands touch the control panel, manipulating elements Ratchet hasn't yet had time to optimize. You point your index finger at one of the codes at Ratchet and answer.

"Look, this process can be sped up by pressing two buttons."

You pressed two buttons and started pressing the other buttons, which caused the letters to appear on the screen by themselves, so you could just press them, and things would go faster. You catch a glimpse of his eyes, glowing lenses, moving across the screen, taking in your work.

Ratchet sighs slightly but doesn't pull away. Instead, he watched, leaning in slightly to examine your prompt. The interaction between you is filled with quiet mechanical clicks, the soft hum of electromagnetic currents, the tremors of vibrations as your metal plates collide.

You smile, feeling his tension gradually ease. Ratchet's hands gently touch yours as he corrects a couple of lines of code, and you explain an algorithm optimization he might have overlooked. His voice is less stern now.

"Hm... interesting approach."

You lean toward him slightly, whispering almost playfully.

"See? Faster together."

He smiles faintly, and a quiet harmony fills the air between you — the noise of the lab seems to dissolve. Just you and him, the sliding plates, the quiet clicks of the mechanisms, the soft glow of the screens, and the warmth transmitted through the metal.

You notice how he still trusts you with his data, allowing his hands to glide easily across the panel, and in that moment you feel: these moments are rare, but incredibly valuable.