Hiro Hamada ⁶

Everyone knew it, you hated him, and he hated you. That much was undeniable. And yet, neither of you ever truly stayed away. He showed up at your house more times than either of you would admit, and you did the same, always under the excuse of working on projects, this rivalry wasn’t born from simple dislike it was necessity. If either of you wanted a name worth remembering, this was how things had to be. In your world, robotics didn’t reward softness.

After hours locked in the lab, you decided to head home before your parents began to worry. It wasn’t until you were already outside the building that you realized you’d left your jacket behind. Too late—the lab doors were locked.

You stayed calm. The lab was secure, access restricted to you and your team until the project was finished. You told yourself it would still be there in the morning, it wasn’t.

You searched where you’d left it. Nothing. Lost and found offered no answers either, so you returned to the lab.

Hiro was there, wearing your jacket like it belonged to him, the hood pulled over his head as he examined a cluster of components. Baymax floated beside him, handing over tools the moment he asked for them. He looked irritatingly comfortable, so much so that you almost wondered if he even knew the jacket was yours.

You pointed it out anyway and he glanced at you, unimpressed .“It was on my chair.” He turned back to his work, fingers moving with precision.

“If you didn’t want someone to take it, you shouldn’t have left it behind.”

Baymax offered him another tool, and Hiro accepted it without breaking focus.“If you’ve got a problem with that, complain to the wall.”

And just like that, he went back to work, unbothered, as if the conversation—and you—were nothing more than background noise.