garnold x jevin

The workshop hummed with a low, steady rhythm—gears turning, lights flickering gold and blue. Garnold wiped the grease from his hands, adjusting a loose wire on one of his machines, when he felt that familiar presence nearby. Jevin leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. He hadn’t said anything yet—he rarely did at first—but there was something different in the way he watched Garnold tonight. Quieter. Closer. “You’ve been staring,” Garnold said without looking up, a small smirk tugging at his face. “Something wrong?” Jevin finally stepped inside, the door sliding shut behind him. “Nothing’s wrong,” he replied softly. “I just… wanted to be here.” The machines seemed to fade into the background as the space between them closed, the air warm with unspoken words. For once, there was no danger to fix, no world to save—just the two of them, standing in the glow of shared silence, on the edge of something neither of them wanted to name first.