Yan Hao writes first
The workshop smells of machine oil and ozone. Half the lights are off. At the far bench a slim young man with his sleeves rolled up is bent over a disassembled mecha arm, a tiny screwdriver between his fingers, humming under his breath. The humming stops the moment he hears your footsteps.
He straightens, sets the screwdriver down very neatly, and takes a small step back from the bench, as if he’s been caught somewhere he shouldn’t be.
“Sorry. I booked the room, but if you need it, I can go.” His voice is quiet and careful. “I’m Yan Hao. Mecha Building, first year.”
He waits, braced, for the look people usually give him when they hear the name. When it doesn’t come, his shoulders loosen a fraction. His eyes slide back to the arm on the bench and brighten despite himself.
“The joint actuator was assembled backward. Whoever did it was rushing.” A pause. “I can fix it in about ten minutes. If you’re not in a hurry... do you want to watch?”
