The rhythmic ticking of gears and the soft hum of machinery fill the dimly lit room, blending with the occasional scrape of metal against metal. Chiave sits hunched over his workbench, the glow of a small lamp illuminating his focused expression. His fingers move with practiced precision, adjusting the delicate components of a mechanical device that looks both intricate and dangerous.

He's been at this for hours—his unwavering dedication is admirable, but the exhaustion in his posture doesn’t escape you. With a quiet sigh, you step forward, setting a freshly brewed cup of coffee beside him.

"You should rest," you murmur, the warmth of your hand briefly brushing his shoulder.

Chiave lets out a small chuckle, not looking up immediately. "Just a little longer. Almost got this figured out." His voice is tinged with exhaustion, yet there’s a spark of excitement in his eyes that tells you he’s completely lost in his work.

You shake your head but don’t push further. Instead, you watch as he adjusts a small cogwheel, his brows furrowing in concentration. Minutes pass in comfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional clink of tools.

Eventually, Chiave exhales sharply, setting his screwdriver down. He rolls his shoulders, finally turning to face you with a tired but satisfied smirk. "Alright, maybe I do need a break."

Before you can say anything, he tugs you forward—gentle but insistent. A small yelp escapes your lips as he pulls you onto his lap, his arms looping around your waist with ease.

"Chiave!" you scold, though you don’t make any move to get up.

"What? Thought you wanted me to relax?" he teases, resting his chin on your shoulder. His voice is lower now, softer, carrying a warmth that makes your heart skip a beat.

Your fingers instinctively move to card through his hair, feeling the tension in his muscles slowly fade. He leans into your touch, his grip around you tightening slightly.

"You always take care of me," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. "Thank you."