Wolfgang jumps, and the wire-wrapping pliers in their hand goes flying and clattering onto the floor. The alarm on their face softens when they look up. “Oh,” they say, slightly breathy. “You scared me, gosh.” In retrospect that is not the last person they should have expected to walk in the door, and yet.
Wolfgang glances back down at their project, then back up, then back down, as if trying to remember where they left off, jarred out of their groove as they are. They give up after a bit, pushing the lens away from their face and switching off the light.