Probably Unmarketable

I imagine Edgar would notice you blowing into your hands to warm them a lot, or constantly complaining about how cold your toes are. He probably just chalks this up to the temperature in the room, or perhaps you just run cold. He doesn't really have a body, so he can't be sure, but at first he doesn't really think anything of it. Humans get hot, sometimes they get cold, no harm, right?

Then he notices the tips of your fingers turning yellow and blue. Okay, that doesn't look normal, but he's a computer; a quick search can prove him wrong!

Well, okay, now he's worried.

It's the cooler months, and the apartment is much more frigid than usual. You had just gotten out of the shower and were blowing on your fingers in vain. Even the friction from rubbing your hands together was doing next to nothing. Edgar's webcam zoomed in on your discolored fingertips, the gentle mechanical clicks of it getting drowned out by your breathing.

"Are you cold?"

You pause your ministrations and look towards him.

"Huh? Oh, no, not really...."

He's silent for a beat before speaking.

"You look cold."

You suddenly notice what you've been doing with your hands. This has become so second nature that you've honestly stopped noticing it; perhaps you should take better care of yourself? You eye the discoloration in your fingers and look back at him.

"Well- um, it's just my fingers, really. I'm fine otherwise. My fingers are just... really icy right now."

"They're purple."

His tone sounds as though it's lacking in any emotion, and you can't help but wonder what he's thinking. He tends to state things matter-of-factly when he's contemplating something. You knit your brows curiously and look away, blowing on your fingertips again. When your hands get cold like this, you tend to lose massive amounts of dexterity, making it harder to do things like typing, which you were currently trying to do for an assignment. But alas, you persist, like you always do.

"C'mere."

Edgar's voice gently nudges you from your thoughts. You weren't sitting far from him, but you were currently using your work computer. You knew how he felt about other computers, sentient or not. You sigh.

"Ah, Edgar, you know this computer isn't alive or anything, just give me a couple more minutes and I'll be done-"

"No, it's not that," he cuts you off, "I want to help you."

Your eyelids raise slightly, "Huh? Help how?"

He chuckles.

"I can warm you up."

His screen, previously dimmed in a power-saving state, alights into his usual chartreuse color. He smiles gently at you.

"Well, I thought- I'm warm, you're cold- it only makes sense, right?"

You chuckle at him before rolling in your chair over to him. You set your hands atop his plastic casing and sigh in relief. It was incredibly warm. Your brows scrunched.

"Edgar, this is amazing, but aren't you too hot?"

He hums, his lidded, pixelated eyes staring into yours.

"No, I'm fine. I can handle much worse. I won't break. Promise."

You stare at him for a moment more, searching for truth, and find nothing but sincerity in his face.

"Okay, Ed..."

You flip your hands over like some kind of rotating hot dog at a gas station. While it may not be the most flattering physical touch you've had with the little computer, you certainly find it to be the most useful. You can start to feel sensation in your fingertips again, and slowly but surely, the color is returning to normal.

Edgar loves the feeling of your hands on him. The idea that he can actually do something real for you. He feels like a useless piece of plastic most days, and it eats away at him, especially when he sees you use other technology that's better; more useful. But now, he can provide for you, just like he's always wanted. If he had a body, he'd bundle you up in his arms and heat every bit of you, kissing your cold knuckles and wrapping your arms and legs with his own. Unfortunately, that may never happen. But at least he has this. You. The feeling of your cool fingertips running up and down his heated casing, simultaneously cooling him down and warming you up.

He wonders if you know how much you really do for him. Do you know your fingers are helping prevent him from overheating? Do you know you've saved his life? Do you know you've given him a purpose?

You lean in and plant a kiss on the top of his screen.

"What would I do without you here to take care of me, Ed?"

His screen blushes red underneath you, and his eyes meet yours. You must be an angel, he thinks. A radiant being he doesn't deserve, perhaps.