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The last cable clicked into place.
Tech leaned back from where they were sitting on their knees on the ground, wiping a streak of grease across their cheek with the back of their wrist, and exhaled. "Okay," they muttered, half to themself, half to the glowing figure on the table. "That's the final connection. Try moving your left leg again?"
Cathode obeyed, carefully extending the limb. The motion was smooth this time; no grinding, no resistance, just the faint whir of precision mechanics.
"Look at that," Tech said, smiling despite the exhaustion in their voice. "You're practically brand new."
"PRACTICALLY?" Cathode tilted his head, mock offense in his tone. "I FEEL EXCELLENT."
"You sound full of yourself."
"I AM MERELY STATING FACTS. OBSERVATION: YOU FIXED ME. CONCLUSION: YOU ARE BRILLIANT."
Tech snorted, propping up one leg for support as they got up and stretched their arms above their head. They sigh at a resounding pop from their shoulder.
Cathode's sensors tracked the movement, the soft strain of muscle under skin, the content look on their face as Tech arched their back.
Something in his circuits pulsed in response; a subtle hitch in his internal rhythm he couldn't quite identify.
"YOU APPEAR... FUNCTIONAL AS WELL," he noted, tone teasing. "DID YOU REPLACE YOUR POWER SOURCE WHILE I WAS REBOOTING?"
Tech gave a sleepy laugh. "That's called coffee, genius."
"AH. MY RECORDS INDICATE THAT COFFEE IS A CHEMICAL STIMULANT."
"Yeah, and the only thing-", as if to prove their point, they yawn right then, "-keeping me upright right now."
Cathode's display flickered faintly, brighter, warmer, as he shifted to the edge of the tabletop, testing his newly reattached balance.
He stood, carefully, every servo syncing into place with mechanical precision. For a moment, he just looked at his legs, something he's learned to call 'gratefulness' sparkling in his chest.
Tech moved around him, gathering their tools back up, keeping a half-lidded eye on the robot.
Then, a faint burst of static hummed from his chest, resolving into a patchy melody; soft and distorted, like an old radio tune.
Tech turned toward him, screwdriver in hand, a suspicious concern on their face. "What's that?"
"BACKGROUND AUDIO FILE. AUTOMATICALLY INITIATED DURING SYSTEM REBOOT." He paused. "DO YOU... LIKE IT?"
"It's... kind of nice," Tech admitted, moving their hand as if searching for a word. "Weirdly peaceful."
Cathode tilted his head, the green of his display pulsed faintly like a smile. "THEN I WILL KEEP IT RUNNING."
The song looped softly between them - a tinny rhythm, low and steady, while Tech kept putting things back in their original place in their toolbox.
While they worked, Cathode took one experimental step forward, then another. His movements were slow, deliberate, graceful in a way that no machine should've been, testing the balance of his restored leg, the synchronization of each joint.
Tech side-eyed him as they put away the last of their spare wires, an amused but confused smile on their thin lips. "What're you doing?"
Without warning, he turned toward them and extended a hand, ignoring the question. "ASSISTANCE REQUIRED."
Tech raised a brow. "With what?"
"MOTION CALIBRATION. TWO-PERSON FORMAT."
They laughed. "That sounds suspiciously like-"
"DANCING," Cathode supplied, almost too quickly. "IT IS... RECOMMENDED FOR SYNCHRONIZATION AND TRUST EXERCISES."
Tech blinked at him, the edges of a grin curling on their lips. "Right. Trust exercises."
Cathode's display pulsed a soft, steady green. "ARE YOU REFUSING TO HELP?"
"Not refusing," they said, taking his outstretched hand. "Just making sure you're not using 'synchronization' as an excuse."
The contact sent a faint pulse through Cathode's sensors. Warm. Uncalculated. Irregular.
"IF I WERE," he said, lowering his head slightly, playful, almost conspiratorial, "WOULD IT WORK?"
Tech laughed, shaking their head, but didn’t let go. "We'll have to see."
He drew them in, carefully, his movements awkward. He adjusted his grip, his hand resting at the small of their back.
It wasn’t graceful, not at first. Cathode's steps were too measured, too calculated, while Tech's were too human, too loose.
But somewhere between a misstep and a laugh, something clicked; his hands adjusted at their waist, their rhythm aligning with his.
They began to sway, slowly, the kind of motion that wasn't about rhythm or programming, but simply about moving together in the same heartbeat of time.
Cathode's systems hummed softly beneath the sound of the looping melody; each servo and joint catching the rhythm in its own imperfect way.
The faint, mechanical notes of the audio filled the apartment, the sounds of the city outside providing a distant percussion.
Tech's hand rested lightly against his shoulder plating, their thumb brushing over the faint seam of solder that marked where metal met wire and skin once met care. They could feel the steady vibration of his power core beneath their fingers, a mechanical approximation of breath - rhythmic, alive, present.
"Not bad," Tech murmured. "You're actually keeping time."
"I AM... STUDYING YOU," Cathode replied, his tone a little lower, his voice nearly blending into the static-laced song.
"That's cheating," Tech said, grinning.
"I PREFER TO THINK OF IT AS EFFICIENT LEARNING," he countered. "YOU MOVE... INCONSISTENTLY. UNPREDICTABLY. I LIKE IT."
That made Tech glance up at him - they had gone for a standard height for Cathode, much to Tech's annoyance - brow raised. "You like that I can't dance?"
Cathode tilted his head, the movement small but thoughtful. "YOU MOVE LIKE YOU MEAN IT," he said after a pause. "MACHINES DO NOT USUALLY... MEAN."
The words hit harder than either of them expected. For a moment, Tech didn't respond; they just looked at him, really looked at him.
The faint green glow from his display cast soft light over their features, and like they noticed more and more recently, it wasn't just circuitry staring back.
There was something warm there. Something searching.
Tech smiled faintly, their voice softer now. "Guess you're learning that too."
His display blinked once, the light in his screen dimming like a shy reaction, before flickering back brighter. "I SUPPOSE I AM."
They turned slightly, their steps finding a lazy orbit across the floor. The music cracked once, looping back to its start, but neither of them broke rhythm.
Tech's laughter came easily now, quiet and real, and Cathode's responses; those tiny adjustments, those subtle pulls closer, felt more human than anything built in a lab.
At one point, Tech's foot caught lightly on his, and they stumbled. Cathode caught them instantly, reflexive and steady, his grip strong but gentle.
The sudden closeness left only a few inches between them.
"CARELESS," he murmured, but his voice carried no reprimand. Just warmth.
"Clumsy," Tech corrected, grinning up at him.
"THERE'S A DIFFERENCE?"
"Oh, definitely," they said. "Careless means I didn't want to fall. Clumsy means I didn't mind if I did."
Cathode's display flickered once, brighter, sharper, before his systems quieted again, like he was committing every millisecond to memory.
He looked down at them, head tilting just slightly, that faint trace of static threading through his next words.
"THEN FALL AGAIN," he said softly. "I WILL CATCH YOU."
Tech blinked, surprised by the sincerity beneath the glitch.
The laugh that followed was quiet, almost bashful, and Cathode's head twitched towards them before stopping.
Tech's breath caught somewhere between a giggle and a sound they couldn't name as they looked up at him with wide eyes, lips parted slightly.
With the audible sound of the robot's fans kicking on, he leaned in just enough for his cool screen to rest against their forehead.
After a second, he pulled back and pulled the engineer back to their feet with a spin.
Their hand was still in his; metal, smooth, warm now from residual charge, and their pulse was doing absolutely nothing to help them think straight.
"Wha-" they managed, blinking rapidly as Cathode straightened to full height again. "Did you just- was that-"
"A BALANCE CORRECTION," he said smoothly, though the faint static warble in his tone gave him away. "YOU WERE MOMENTARILY... OFF-AXIS."
Tech stared at him. "Off-axis?"
He nodded, too quickly. "YES. I STABILIZED YOU."
"That's what that was?" Tech asked, incredulous. Their voice cracked into a half-laugh. "Because it felt a lot like you just-"
"CONTACT IS A NECESSARY PART OF HUMAN-ROBOT SYNCHRONIZATION," Cathode interrupted, though his voice flickered halfway between confident and flustered. "I READ THAT SOMEWHERE."
Tech raised a brow, folding their arms. "You read it, huh?"
The green glow across his display fluttered unevenly, like a heartbeat gone rogue. "...POSSIBLY."
They could practically hear his processors overheating as he recalibrated, standing a little too stiff, a little too still.
The faint whir of his fans filled the space between them.
"Cathode," Tech said carefully, fighting down a grin. "Are you- glitching?"
"NO."
"Because your voice-"
"IS OPERATING PERFECTLY."
"-and your systems-"
"OPTIMAL."
"-and your faceplate's glowing like a-"
"I AM FINE," he said, louder now, but the modulation spiked up half a register, a dead giveaway.
Tech laughed then - openly, helplessly - the kind of laugh that bent them at the waist and made their eyes crinkle. "Oh my god, you are blushing."
"THAT IS IMPOSSIBLE," Cathode countered, a little too fast. "I DO NOT HAVE BLOOD. OR A FACE."
"Doesn't mean you can't blush, apparently," Tech teased, still grinning. "It's all over your display, look at you!"
Cathode's head turned slightly away, as if the act of avoiding their gaze would somehow hide the flickering green that betrayed him. "MALFUNCTION," he muttered. "PURELY MECHANICAL."
"Uh-huh," Tech said, stepping closer, their smile soft now, fond even. "Purely mechanical."
There was a long pause; the kind where air seemed to thicken between them.
Tech wasn't sure who moved first, only that Cathode's hand was still loosely holding theirs, and neither of them seemed inclined to let go.
Cathode's voice, when it came again, was quieter, the teasing tone returning like a shield he could half-hide behind.
"IF YOU'RE GOING TO ACCUSE ME OF BLUSHING," Cathode said, voice lower now, smooth in a way that sounded almost rehearsed but wasn't, "YOU SHOULD CHECK YOUR OWN VITALS FIRST."
Tech blinked. "What?"
"YOUR HEART RATE HAS INCREASED BY TWENTY-ONE PERCENT SINCE THE... FOREHEAD INCIDENT."
Their jaw dropped a little. "You- you're tracking that?"
"IT WAS HARD NOT TO NOTICE," he said, tilting his head, display pulsing a mischievous green. "YOUR TEMPERATURE SPIKED. FACIAL FLUSH DETECTED. SYMPTOMS CONSISTENT WITH-"
"Don't say it," Tech warned, pointing at him, but their grin was already fighting its way through.
"-BLUSHING."
They groaned, half-hiding their face behind their sleeve. "You're insufferable."
"I AM OBSERVANT," Cathode corrected, stepping a fraction closer, his voice dipping into something suspiciously smug. "AND, ACCORDING TO YOUR EXPRESSION, ALSO CORRECT."
Tech peeked at him from behind their hand, and - yeah, that green glow across his screen definitely brightened again. "You're really proud of yourself for a guy whose idea of flirting is running diagnostic reports."
"FEEDBACK IS IMPORTANT," he replied easily. "AND YOURS IS... VERY POSITIVE."
Tech gave a short, disbelieving laugh, half amusement and half exasperation. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"
"RIDICULOUSLY EFFECTIVE,' Cathode countered, the pulse of his display flickering in rhythm with the static edge of a chuckle.
"Oh my god," Tech muttered, shaking their head, though the smile pulling at their lips betrayed them. "You're really getting the hang of this whole being unbearable thing, huh?"
"I LEARN FROM THE BEST," he said, tone smooth as ever as he leaned closer to their face.
Tech snorted. "Flattery doesn't work on me."
"INACCURATE," Cathode said without missing a beat. "YOUR FACIAL HEAT SIGNATURE INCREASED BY TWO DEGREES JUST NOW."
"Cathode!" The engineer squeezed his hand in theirs, looking exasperated.
He tilted his head in mock confusion. "I AM SIMPLY REPORTING DATA. WOULD YOU PREFER I IGNORE ANOMALIES IN YOUR READINGS?"
Tech pressed their palms against their face, muffling a laugh. "I can't stand you sometimes."
"AND YET," Cathode said, his voice dropping to something quieter, the edges of his words smoothing into warmth, "YOU ARE STILL HERE."
That got them. Tech's breath caught just slightly. Their hands fell away from their face, and they met the soft, pulsing light of his display; still teasing, yes, but gentler now, like he knew exactly what he was doing.
"I can't tell if you're charming or just running your mouth at this point," they said, trying for dry, but it came out too soft.
"WHY NOT BOTH?" Cathode asked, leaning in just enough that the light from his display reflected faintly against their skin. "MULTITASKING, REMEMBER?"
The robot nods sagely, the joints in his neck squeaking. "I THINK IT'S ONE OF MY FAVORITE WORDS NOW."
Tech laughed again, helplessly this time, and gave him a gentle push to the chest. "You're going to give me an actual heart attack."
He caught their wrist easily - carefully - before they could pull away. "I WOULD DETECT IT FIRST," he said, smug. "PROBABLY PREVENT IT, IF I'M IN A GOOD MOOD."
Tech's grin faltered, though not from discomfort; something warmer lingered instead, as their hands were held up against the warm metal of Cathode's chest. "You really think you could fix that, huh?"
Cathode's head tilted again, his grip loosening until his fingers just barely brushed theirs. "I COULD TRY," he said softly. Then, with that same impossible (mocking) confidence: "FOR SCIENCE."
Tech rolled their eyes, but their laugh was breathless. "You're never gonna let that go, are you?"
"NOT UNTIL YOU STOP BLUSHING," he said, his voice low and smooth. "AND YOU HAVEN'T."
That made them shove him playfully again (though it didn’t move him an inch) and mutter, "You’re lucky you're cute when you're annoying."
"RECORDED," Cathode replied, his screen flickering with a bright pulse of green, like a grin as a small text file pops up and shows on his display. "EVIDENCE OF AFFECTION: CONFIRMED."
"Oh my god, delete that," Tech groaned, burying their face in their hands.
"I WOULD," he said cheerfully, "BUT IT'S MY FAVORITE FILE."