Chotatta Make A Robot

Chotatta make a robot

A/N: Another crackfic. Felt lazy so I posted a draft.

In the cramped living room of their tiny Shibuya apartment, wires were strewn across the floor like spaghetti, tools cluttered the table, and a half-assembled robot sat slumped on the couch like it had just given up on life.

“Okay,” Chota said, hands on his hips, sweat beading on his forehead, “I told you giving it laser eyes was a bad idea.”

Tatta, grinning like a kid on a sugar high, adjusted his baseball cap and waved a soldering iron like a wand. “They weren’t real lasers, babe. They were just LEDs. Probably. Maybe.”

Chota, in his blue polo and khaki pants that screamed I work in IT and never signed up for this, glared at him. “It set the curtain on fire, Tatta.”

Tatta winced, glancing at the singed window drapes. “Okay, yeah, that was unfortunate. But! We’re learning!”

Chota pinched the bridge of his nose. “Learning how to destroy our deposit.”

Their grand plan had seemed romantic at first—Tatta came home one evening, sun-kissed and smudged with grease, and announced:” “Let’s build a robot together.” He said it with that bright, passionate energy that made Chota’s heart skip every time, and before he knew it, they were knee-deep in YouTube tutorials, wiring kits, and arguments over whose fault it was the thing kept flailing its arms like it was dancing.

“Well,” Tatta said, nudging the robot gently, “at least it can wave.”

The robot, as if on cue, sparked and made a whrrr noise before tipping forward and face-planting into the floor.

“Great,” Chota muttered. “It’s got the same balance as you after two beers.”

Tatta laughed and wrapped an arm around Chota’s waist, tugging him close. “Admit it. You had fun.”

Chota looked at the wires. The smoke-stained curtain. The robot’s blinking red “error” light.

He sighed. “…Yeah, okay. It was kinda fun.”

Tatta grinned, kissed the side of his face. “Next time: rocket legs.”

Chota pulled away just enough to look him in the eye. “I’m not going back to the ER with you again.”

“No promises.”

They both laughed, surrounded by sparks, chaos, and the slow-burning scent of melted plastic—but somehow, it still felt like a win.