gods least favorite jester

It took some time to adjust to Dave's schedule, but after you got used to it, you found that you didn't mind all that much. He's the person you want to see the most anyway. The sun is barely visible through the dark curtains; there's a nightlight in the corner of the room designed to look like water shifting along the wall.

Having a light in the room helps Dave sleep, and he's always found the ocean comforting. You think his odd endearment toward whales is cute.

You huff out a laugh as his teeth scrape your ribs. Dave's half draped on top of you; it's one of his days off. There's a laziness in the air.

You lounge half asleep and lazy beneath him. His hand traces along your thigh as he hums into your skin. Today is one of those rare mornings when he wakes well rested, free of nightmares for once. You're always happy to see him have a bit more energy.

Matching his light movements, you lift a hand to run down his bare side. He's working his way up nuzzling the skin at the side of your chest. "You don't understand." He mumbles into your chest. The sensation after your surgery is dulled. You know he's there, but you can't feel it the same way as you can in some other spots.

You roll your eyes up at the ceiling. "Oh yeah, what don't I understand?" You ask, carding your fingers through his dark hair.

"You've got superpowers," He mumbles kissing the spot beside the raised scar beneath your pectoral. "I can't resist you, s'impossible."

Another roll of your eyes as you tug playfully at his hair. It's hard to believe him in truth. You know you don't look the same as other men, well aware of that fact. You both are. There's no getting around it. The scars on your chest are noticeable; Dave was the one that helped you through recovery.

He was so good to you, constantly fluttering about asking if you needed anything. Never being grossed out, always supportive. And now he's lying half on your stomach, running his tongue along one of the scars.

You jump at the sensation, a tenderness to the area, that draws air through clenched teeth. "Dave." 

Instead of replying, he smiles. That smile says trouble.

"Not my fault." He goes on to say and does it again. 

It's hard for you to believe despite his current actions that your scars are something worth appreciating. They are a consequence of a necessary choice. A symptom in a way. Not something you would have ever picked for yourself.

And yet, Dave seems intent to prove you wrong as he leaves warm kisses up your chest to your collar.

"You really don't mind them?" You're aware you've asked him this question before, but you find yourself once more asking it. Seeking out his comfort, the easy way he goes out of his way to prove whatever he says with action as well.

It's not like he ever hesitates to touch you. The two of you have long ingrained habits of helping each other fall asleep. Wandering hands, slow hips, kissed to your spine.

"Why would I?" Dave asks, working his way down to kiss the scar on the other side, "They're a part of you. Still your skin, still your body. And I like your skin, and your body, and you." He grins up at you, and all you can do is give him an endeared smile.

"You're ridiculous." You tease, but the relief comes as it always does regardless. Because he means it, and you know that he means it. It's there in his eyes, in his touch as his mouth lazes across your skin.

"I got ways of proving it," Dave smiles.

You hum and reach a hand to twist in the dark strands of his hair. It's going to be one of those late-start mornings for certain.

When Dave is able to sleep properly and have medication, Dave loves to cuddle with his partner. He needs that physical touch to help him sleep. He prefers to sleep facing his partner, with their arms wrapping around him. If Dave and his partner are spooning, he would prefer to be the little spoon.

Dave likes to bury his face into his partner’s neck when sleeping sometimes. When he wakes up, he’ll give it a few sleepy kisses and whisper a good morning to them. 

If his partner is away, Dave cuddles with their pillow and sleeps on their side of the bed. If he they are gone for a longer period of time, he’ll even wear something of his partner’s to sleep in. If he can’t, he might put a shirt of theirs on the pillow. 

It’s five in the morning when Dave’s replacement arrives at the company. Dave greets him as he stretches his tired limbs, a yawn escaping his lips. He can’t wait to get home and go to bed. But first, he has a breakfast date to get to. A small smile appears on his lips as he clocks out and walks out to his car. 

Morning traffic had yet to hit as he drives through town to reach the small diner you and he like to go to. The two of you had found it during the rare time you both had a day off and had fallen in love with the place. It was then decided that once a week the two of you would meet up for a breakfast date before you went into work and Dave went to bed. You both looked forward to these days, getting to set some time away from your packed schedules and just be together for an hour or two.

 Dave gives the young waiter a smile as he enters the diner and slides into the booth, ordering drinks for the both of you. He sips his coffee as he waits, humming along to the music over the speakers. He turns his head as he hears the door chime, his smile widening as he sees your face. You lean down and give him a kiss before sliding across from him.

“How was work?” You ask as you clink your drink with his before taking a sip. Dave picks up the menu, knowing full well he’ll get the exact same thing as the dates before. 

“It was fine. Nothing really happened. Matteo had me tossing sour Skittles into his mouth for a bit. Had to stop when I accidentally hit him in the eye.”

You let out a laugh as Dave tells the story, describing the different trick shots the pair attempted to do before Matteo had to go wash his eye out. The waiter comes by for your orders, both of you getting your usuals. As he leaves you playfully bump your leg against his, causing the two of you to share a smile. You sit and talk for a bit, sharing a few stories of what your friends did the night before. You show him a few pictures and videos of your pets from this morning, giggling at their antics.

When the food arrives, your conversation slows as you begin to eat. But then the food wars begin with Dave defending his plate from your enemy fork. The two of you duel it out for a few minutes, with it ending when you successfully snatch your prize from his plate. He lets out a small laugh when you give him some of your own in return. 

When the two of you finish eating, you continue to sit and talk for a while, watching the sun rise in the distance. As traffic begins to pick up, you pay for the meal and walk out of the diner together. Dave opens your car door and gives you a kiss. “Have a good day today. Be safe. I’ll have dinner ready when you get home.”

Sure, it's not like you've never seen someone else come in; your town isn't that small. But really, when it comes down to it, most times it's you and Dave. At first you didn't talk to Dave. You didn't know his name; he was just the guy sitting on the other side of the room, usually in a security uniform. 

You minded your business; he minded his. Occasionally one of you made the walk of shame over to the vending machine in the corner that loves to eat your quarters. Sometimes it would eat his quarters too, but still you never said anything. He was cute, but you aren't the kind of guy with the nerves to just go up to someone like that.

Not until he fell asleep. When you glanced over, he was passed out in one of the plastic chairs, not a big deal. You're also guilty of falling asleep waiting for the dryer to finish. But then you watched him, eyes closed, still obviously asleep, get up, open a washing machine door, and try to get inside. 

He was clearly too big to fit, rattling around in there, muttering about hiding from the trees. You were planning to mind your business, really, and pretend it wasn't happening until he started to really try to jam his leg up in there, and then civilian duty won out, and you got up, got brave, and pulled him out.

That's how the first conversation began, with a bleary-eyed guy explaining to you in between apologies that he sleepwalks. That he hadn't meant to fall asleep. That his dreams get weird sometimes.

After that rather uncomfortably intimate encounter it felt strange not to talk to him, and such is how your friendship with Dave Torres began.

Now you two make a point to go to the laundromat at the same time and meet up inside. You spend your late nights talking while the loads run, and sometimes he buys coffee or you bring snacks or the two of you surrender quarters to the vending machine together.

It's become a part of your routine that you always look forward to, seeing Dave. Talking to Dave. Daydreaming about Dave. It's gotten a bit embarrassing. You think about him way more than any guy should.

Like right now as he talks to you about his day and how Matteo was trying to get him to go to some party that he didn't really have any interest in going to. You're looking at his mouth again, the way his lips move when he speaks. The exasperated sigh, low in the back of his throat, at a friend you know he likes but doesn't know how to say no to.

"You're not listening to me," Dave says, abruptly cutting off your inappropriate staring. He's not being mean; his lip is tipping up in the corner. There's a playfulness to the statement, like he knows what you were doing even if neither of you is addressing it. You'd call it the elephant in the room, but that feels like it would be disrespectful, so it's just it.

Your eyes immediately snap back to his, feeling your face heat at being caught red-handed. You were technically listening; you just so happened to also be embellishing. Harmless. Completely harmless, definitely.

"I was." You defend; it's a poor attempt. Dave knows it's a poor attempt. His smile widens. "You were complaining about Matteo again."

He huffs out a laugh. "Fuck, starting to feel like I'm getting predictable."

"Nah." You bump your shoulder against his. "I just know you."

"You do." His tone is more serious than the light-heartedness of a moment ago. It wakes you right up, even though it's the middle of the night. "Think you know me better than anyone."

There's a part of you that wants to argue, to say there has to be someone else who knows him better, but that's not true. He has Matteo and he has you, and Matteo has a habit of only seeing the parts of Dave he wants to see. The parts he finds funny or the parts he thinks he can coax out of a shell.

Matteo doesn't know how to address the elephant in the room that is Dave's dreams. The terrible sleep, the pills he has to take, the difficulty driving. You don't tiptoe around it; you see him for who he is. Funny, cute, and the guy who might occasionally try to crawl into a washing machine.

Your shoulder stays pressed to his, feeling his warmth through the white shirt he wears under his work jacket. You're pretty sure he craves the touch as much as you do, because neither of you moves away. 

"Glad I do," You say. The two of you fall into silence, watching the washing machine churn, hearing the slosh of it. Sometimes on nights like this when the city quiets and there's no one else here, it feels like you two are in your own pocket reality. Your very own world.

"I'm ... glad you do too," Dave replies. The two of you look at each other, pressed close, still shoulder to shoulder. You can smell the coffee on his breath.

You consider, probably for the hundredth time, trying to broach the topic of something beyond friendship. Something bigger, something more important. But whenever the thought strikes you, you chicken out. 

You and Dave have talked about dating. You know he's into guys as well, that he had a few awkward encounters in here and there. But you just can't bring yourself to risk it.

"I, uh, I wanna ask you something." Dave says, "And you don't - it doesn't have to mean anything. I just ... you want to get breakfast?"

You chuckle, "You're acting like we ain't ever gotten breakfast before."

The two of you hang out in more places than just the laundromat. You go out to eat, visit the movies, and hang at each other's houses. Getting breakfast is pretty normal. You always look forward to the days you can see him for longer.

"No, that's," Dave leans back and fiddles with the collar of his shirt. "Like do you want to go on a date with me to get breakfast?"

Everything in you gets very hot, very quickly. You blink at him in surprise, blushing. He just asked you out; holy fuck, Dave just asked you out. Play it cool. Play it cool.

"Fuck yes!"

That was not playing it cool. Embarrassed laughter tumbles out of you, and Dave follows after, laughing. You cover your face with your hands, aware of how red you've become. So much for being attractive and stoic.

"Wasn't expecting the enthusiasm," Dave grins. "Guess it'll have to be a fancy-shmancy breakfast now."

Wanting to earn some points back, you force yourself to sit up and toss an arm around his shoulders and are rewarded by his own red face, "Extra pancakes?"

Dave's smile is infectious as he relaxes against you. "Got yourself a deal."

“There seems to be an error in my systems. I am unsure as to what.”

“Okay Google, sit on the couch and perform a diagnostic.”

Giving a nod he wandered over to the couch and sat down, his eyes zoning out as he began performing his diagnostic tests. It felt odd to watch him be so lifeless, but it startled you further when he suddenly lurched forward, coughing a few times as he had finished his scans. You could see within the rays of the sun coming through the window the particles of dust that had been forcefully expelled from Google’s mouth, hovering in the air before beginning their descent to the floor.

“I appear to have caught a virus.”

“How? I didn’t click any suspicious ads or links or anything.”

“I am unsure, however it is present in my mainframe, and as such I must expel it.”

“And uh, what does that look like for you?”

“I imagine that it would look to you as it would for a fellow human to have a cold. However, unlike the petri dishes that are mankind, I do not run the risk of getting you ill as I use my antivirus software.”

You decided to promptly ignore the dig on humanity before asking, “And how long would that take?”

He coughed into his fist again. “Unknown duration, however research results place it between two and four days for a complete removal of the virus with my current antivirus software. Conveniently Google Inc has a premium antivirus software that can be shipped here-” he paused, his face scrunching up a little in mild disgust “-for $250 plus shipping. Knowing our financials, you do not have that kind of variance in your bank account for such an expenditure. So,” he sighed “two to four days it is.”

“Will you be alright during that time?”

“I will be fine. My systems will dispel the virus and I will return to normal function.”

“But will you be okay?”

“I do not understand the concern. Are you worried about the return on your investment?”

“No Google, you aren’t well. I’m worried about you.”

Maybe it was the fact that the virus was still present in his body, or maybe it was the lesser processing speed and efficiency he was working with, but he felt almost…warm inside at the thought of you being worried about him. It must’ve been the virus, he wouldn’t entertain it being anything else.

“The concern is unnecessary. I will be well within the two to four day parameter, it will be like this never happened.”

“Okay. Well then Google, perform the antiviral program.”

“As you say.” he said before moving to lay down on the couch and closing his eyes, beginning to run the software. His internal fans picked up a little, but for the most part appeared to simply be asleep. With that started, you decided to go about your day. You had some laundry to do, and you had some snacks you wanted to pick up from the store, and now seemed as good of a time as any to do those things.

You got dressed for the day and went down to the basement to do your laundry. Tossing the mixed basket of laundry into the washer you put the soap in, and let the machine do its thing. Waiting for the wash cycle to be done was the best course of action, as you wouldn’t take long at the store and you wanted your clothes, sheets, and blankets to be dry by the time you got back. So once they were done washing you swapped them over and started the dryer before heading out to go to the store. You went in, grabbed you snacks of choice, and then thought about what you wanted to do for dinner. Google had made a weekly meal plan for you to follow, but you couldn’t exactly ask him about it while he was out. He also hadn’t sent you the recipe nor wrote it down, so unfortunately your plans for dinner tonight were foiled. You decided to grab some frozen veggies and chicken breast to make for an easy dinner, figuring you’d be able to go back to the regularly scheduled meal plan tomorrow. Using the self checkout made the process quick, and before long you had pulled up to your home and made your way back inside.

“Google, I’m home.” you called on reflex. Though the silence in response reminded you that he was currently preoccupied. Heading to the kitchen you put your dinner groceries away and then headed to your room to put your snacks away. It was still early, so you figured you’d put on some YouTube and just doom watch for a while. A buzz promptly put that on hold. The dryer was done. Heading back down to the basement you grabbed the laundry, tossing it into the basket and bringing it to your room. You could fold laundry and watch YouTube. Scrolling through your list of subscribed channels, you clicked on Markiplier and saw that he had a new video out. You could watch that with dinner tonight, but for now you wanted something familiar. You clicked on one of the playlists that had been out for years now.

“Hello everybody, my name is Markiplier and welcome to SCP Containment Breach-” Perfect. With that, you half paid attention to Mark and what he was doing while also folding your laundry. Your shirts, pants, underwear, socks, washcloths, and a couple of sets of sheets made up the majority of the basket, but then you got to the last thing in there and it made you pause. It was one of Google’s shirts. You’d made sure that he had a decent amount of clothes just in case, and this was one such time where it proved useful. Google had stained it while making a loaf of bread, the flour mixture having gotten on it. Looking at it now made your heart twinge a little. He had been considerate that day, you having mentioned you would’ve liked some fresh bread for breakfast the day before but never ordering him to do so. Your hold tightened a little on the shirt before you promptly tossed it back into the basket and stood up, the desire to go check on him rising in your gut.

Pausing your video you headed to the living room, eyes darting to the couch. There Google laid, though he looked uncomfortable. His eyes were still closed, signaling that he was still resting, but his brows were furrowed and his breathing protocol was inconsistent, stuttering and sometimes deep but sometimes shallow on intake. You quietly headed to him, standing by his head as you reached out to feel his forehead. It felt warm under your palm and upon contact with his forehead he gasped, his forehead nudging closer to your hand. Flinching at his insistence upon your touch, you felt the concern creep its way into your throat. Usually he was indifferent to physical contact if not a little touch adverse. 

There had to be something you could do. But what? If he were human you’d give him some medicine. But he wasn’t human and the treatment was already being administered. You didn’t know what would help versus what would possibly hurt him further, and you didn’t want to accidentally break him. Not that he was all that fragile, but it was difficult to think of him as anything else right now. Sighing, you removed your hand and backed off. He’d be okay, he just needed time. Besides, there was nothing you could do because he wasn’t human and you weren’t an expert at robotics. 

Resolving yourself you decided to head back to your room to continue watching Mark play SCP Containment Breach, though as you pressed play you knew that you wouldn’t end up actually paying all that much attention to it. You tuned in at big moments like when Radical Larry ended up putting Mark into his alternate world and Mark found his way out on his very first try and when he had managed to trap Radical Larry back in his containment cell, but it wasn’t thrilling you like it would under normal circumstances. You had gotten decently into the 67 video playlist before your stomach grumbled. Checking the time you realized you had spent hours in front of the tv and now it was a bit past your typical dinnertime. Lugging yourself up onto your feet you made your way to the kitchen to make dinner. You tossed the frozen veggies into the microwave and grabbed a pan, seasoning the chicken before putting it in the hot pan and throwing away the packaging. It took a little time, but the chicken cooked and the vegetables heated up, and before long you had a healthy and delicious meal.

You put some butter on your veggies and plated your dinner, bringing it back to the bedroom to eat and watch YouTube in there. Backing out of the SCP Containment Breach playlist you opted to watch Mark’s newest video. You noted that a lot had changed over the years, from Mark’s look to his sound quality and visual effects, but what else would you expect from over 13 years of development? You pondered the continuous passage of time as you ate dinner, and like always you enjoyed Mark’s video. Once you had finished your dinner you felt wrong as you set your plate to the side. Google would’ve never let that slide, but he wasn’t exactly present to chastise you into bringing the plate to the sink. 

You decided to turn in early, and as you fitfully couldn’t sleep you looked up the antivirus program for your Google bot. The search brought you to a FAQ page, and you scrolled the questions and answers. ‘How long does it take for my Google bot to be fixed once the antivirus program starts?’ ‘That depends on the virus or viruses that have implanted into the Google bot’s systems. On average it takes two to three days, but can take up to four with the basic antivirus program.’ ‘Can I upgrade to the premium antivirus while my Google bot is already performing the basic program?’ ‘No. The Google bot will continue to run the basic program to remove the virus, however it will utilize the premium antivirus for any future viruses it may obtain.’ ‘I think my Google bot is overheating, is this normal?’ ‘The systems will run hotter as a result of the antivirus program functioning. This is normal. They will return to normal levels once the program has completed and your Google bot is functioning fully again.’ Unfortunately none of this was helpful to soothe your worries, and frankly you didn’t like how the FAQs never brought up the emotional aspect of having your Google bot be ill. You turned your phone off and set it on your nightstand to charge before you rolled over, closing your eyes in the hope of tricking your body to sleep. 

You didn’t know when you actually managed to fall asleep, but as you woke up to the sun being almost fully in the sky you knew that it was going to be a long day, even if it was already half over and barely began. Shoving your feet into your slippers you made your way to the living room to check on Google. The first thing you noticed was that he was awake. The second was that he was trembling a lot and seemed more aware of his surroundings than he did yesterday.

Making your way to the couch you felt his forehead again, and he leaned into your touch with a deep whine emanating from the back of his throat. In any other circumstance it would’ve had you over the moon to see him so wanton for your touch, but right now you’d take a quiet elation that cut through your worry. “How are you doing, Google?”

His brown eyes stared at you as he shrunk back from your hand again as if on principle. “I have been better.” he said dryly, another bout of shivers overtaking him.

“So what’s happening now?” you asked, removing your hand from the vicinity of his forehead.

“My systems are hot and the environment feels colder as a result. It is highly unpleasant.” he replied.

“Is there anything I can do to help you, Google?”

“No. My protocol is already doing what it must to ensure the virus’s removal.”

“I don’t care about the protocol Google! Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable? Anything at all?”

The android clenched his jaw as his discomforted gaze glared at you. Regarding matters of preference or desires Google generally had a hard time, and now that you were asking this question to him now of all times irked him. What irked him more was that he found it easier to answer than he expected.

“Just remain here.”

“Stay with you?”

“As I said.”

You nodded and moved to try and sit on the couch at his feet, him bending his knees to allow for it. “Okay. Anything else?”

“Remain as you are, as if my current state renders you unaffected.”

Okay, so stick around and act normal. You could do that. At least, you hoped you could do that. It couldn’t be that hard. Now that Google was at least awake it would definitely be easier to act like everything was okay, because everything was okay. 

“You are doing that overprocessing function you’re prone to doing.” he stated, staring hard at you, causing you to wince in embarrassment at being perceived so easily.

“Yeah, I suppose I am.”

“Stop it. Distract yourself with visual entertainment if you must.”

Watch tv to distract yourself, huh? You could do that. Grabbing the remote you turned on the tv and looked for something to watch. The tv guide showed that one of your favorite childhood films was on and you only missed part of the beginning. You clicked on it and quickly took note that it was the scene where Eve first landed on Earth. Adjusting, you got comfortable and quickly became entraptured by the screen just as you did any other time the movie was on.

Google found himself genuinely watching the film as well, his thoughts turning to you as he watched. You were much like WALL-E in your curiosity and desire to know more, and as he continued to watch while WALL-E cared for Eve when she was powered down he found himself thinking about his current situation. While he wasn’t completely powered down, he definitely wasn’t at a hundred percent capacity, and here you were sitting and keeping him company because you wanted to keep him comfortable. You were kind, and always treated him with more personhood than he needed. If he were to truly think about how it affected him, he’d say it was nice. Not that he’d ever tell you though, he had a reputation to uphold.

The movie went to commercial break and you stretched before getting up, and Google watched as you left the room. The trajectory of your steps indicated that you were heading to the bathroom, and knowing you you’d be back shortly. The commercials did nothing to grasp his attention, and he found himself counting the minutes until your return. As much as he was loathe to admit it, he missed you. Without you his shivers came back into focus in his mind, and it felt like every symptom he experienced was worse. He wasn’t coughing anymore, but it felt like there was a tickle in his throat that had only seemingly subsided once you had come to check on him. Hearing your footsteps coming back down the hall he turned his gaze back to the tv as he watched a commercial about some prescription drug with happy looking people on the screen as the side effects were being read off quickly by the narrator. 

“Oh good, I didn’t miss anything.” you said, sitting back down at his feet. You glanced at him and noticed him watching the tv. “How are you doing, Google?”

“I am functioning at a better capacity today than I was yesterday, though my systems are not yet fully functioning. If predictions serve me well, I should be at full capacity by tomorrow.”

“That’s good. I…I worry about you, you know.” you admitted, clasping your hands together and looking down at them.

“There is no need. I do not become ill like humans, nor do I have a mortality to be concerned with.”

“I know, I just…it worried me to see you as you were yesterday. Knowing you were out cold on the couch and not knowing how to be able to help you –worse off, knowing that there wasn’t really anything I could do to help you– was scary. And I know, I know that in the end you’ll be fine and we’ll be going back to the way things were since before you somehow got that virus, but-”

“-But it does not detract from how you are feeling in the present time.” Google interrupted, and as you properly looked at him you noticed that there was a softness in his gaze, one that was unlike him in most interactions.

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Would it benefit you to have physical comfort?”

Okay, he was definitely ill still, even if he presented as being his usual self more than before. Google didn’t initiate hugs, and he didn’t often understand your ‘silly human emotions’. But here he was doing both. It was a little unnerving, but you couldn’t say that it wasn’t appreciated.

“I-Is that okay with you?”

“My feelings on it do not matter. Would you benefit from physical touch?”

You took a moment to think about it. “...Yes.” you finally decided, and as Google opened his arms from his supine position on the couch, you found yourself crawling over him and resting prone on his body. You turned your head to the side and rested it over his dimly glowing chest –another physical indicator of his current affliction– and seeing that the movie had come back on you chose to turn your attention to that instead.

Meanwhile, Google moved his arms to allow you to gain comfort from his physical form and as you made yourself comfortable on his body he felt something in his systems lurch, though not negatively. It was as if something had been stuck and suddenly came loose. In his current state he couldn’t make heads or tails of it, and he found that he currently didn’t want to. The only thought that made itself present in his neurological components was that this was nice. His attention on the movie was completely lost, focusing instead on you and the comfort he was feeling from this exchange as he rested his arms around your form. His trembling subsided with you in his arms, and for the first time today he felt genuinely comfortable.

Neither of you knew when it happened, but as you both took comfort and peace from cuddling on the couch, you both ended up falling asleep in each other’s embrace. It wasn’t until hours later that you woke up, and as you moved to look at Google you noticed that he was still asleep. You grabbed your phone from the coffee table and checked the time to see that it was about five in the evening. Your stomach growling indicated that it was time for you to make dinner, but Google’s arms were still wrapped around you, and you didn’t want to wake him up. Carefully you started pulling back from his hold, and you gently moved his arms off of you and had them rest on his torso, asleep like Sleeping Beauty. Once free you went to go use the bathroom, washed your hands, and made your way to the kitchen to make dinner. 

You wanted something quick and easy, so you decided to make some mac and cheese. Was it the healthiest meal you could make? No. Was it even the easiest meal you could make? Also no. But you wanted it, so damn it you were gonna have it. Filling a pot of water and shaking some salt into the water, you then turned the stove on and waited, scrolling through your Tumblr feed as you did so. Once you heard the water start to boil you added the macaroni to the pot, gave it a stir so the noodles wouldn’t be stuck together, and then waited some more for the pasta to cook. 

Preoccupied with your phone, you jumped when you felt an arm wrap around your waist. But you settled when you heard Google’s voice. “Mac and cheese? That is not a full, balanced meal.” he chastised, his voice a bit rumbly from still waking up.

“Maybe not, but it’s quick, it’s easy, and I wanted it.” you replied before turning in his hold to look at him. “Did I wake you up?”

He shook his head. “Negative, I ‘woke up’ naturally.”

“Your shivers seem to have stopped.”

“Indeed. It seems as if that aspect of the virus has been subdued and removed.”

“You’re still touchy though.”

“Does it bother you?”

“No, it’s just not like your usual self.”

“Would you want it to be?”

Your furrowed brows and surprised gaze directed him to think that the answer was no, and as such he turned his attention to your boiling macaroni. “Your dinner is about to overcook.”

“Shit! Thanks Google.” you said, turning your attention to the pot. You used potholders and brought it to the sink, dumping the macaroni into the awaiting strainer, shaking the strainer and using gravity to strain the water. Putting the macaroni back in the pot you added a little milk, the cheese powder, and ripped up some slices of cheese to add to the pot. Mixing it all together you watched as the powder incorporated, the milk got thick and the cheese melted and started making many thin cheese pulls as you mixed the macaroni, akin almost to looking like spider webs, or neurons even with their ‘branches’. Once it was the perfect consistency you then put the entire pot of macaroni into a big bowl, figuring you’d eat what you wanted from it and if there were leftovers you could easily wrap up the bowl in some plastic wrap and put it in the fridge for tomorrow.

Once you fixed it the way you liked it you made your way to the kitchen table to eat. Google would’ve had a minor fit if you had tried to head to the living room with dinner, which honestly would’ve comforted you some because at least then he’d be acting more like his usual self. You saw him sit across from you and you considered his question as you ate.

“I thought you were touch averse?”

“I can be at times, yes.”

“So why are you asking me if I want you to touch me more?”

“Because as loathe as I am to admit it, the physical contact from earlier today was…” enjoyable, needed, appreciated, many descriptive words suggested themselves in his head, but he didn’t want to seem too invested in the approval of his suggestion, so instead he went with the weak descriptor of, “nice.”

“Do you think that might be because you’re ill?”

“Are you concerned that if you agree that when I am fully well again I will want to revoke the agreement?”

“Maybe. I just want to know this is something you genuinely want, and not anything having to do with the virus or you doing it because you think I’d enjoy it even though it bothers you.”

Google took a moment to think on that. You were right of course, he had been touch neutral, and even sometimes touch averse while you have been his owner. In your perspective it would definitely seem odd for him to request more touch now. But how could he convince you that this is what he wanted? “I may have a suggestion.”

“Hit me.”

His brows furrowed a little, but he closed his eyes and dispelled the thought from his mind. You didn’t mean it literally, you never did. It was something he was getting used to. He opened his eyes and turned his gaze back to you.

“I would like to continue our current parameters of physical touch from this afternoon while I am ill. Once I am again at full capacity I can reevaluate and let you know if my decision still stands.”

That would have to do. It was a logical option, you just worried you’d be taking advantage of him since he was bringing this up in his currently sick state.

“If that’s what you want.”

As hard as it was for Google to say, he nodded. “It is.”

Nodding your assent, you went back to eating your mac and cheese. You ate about half of the large bowl before you covered up the rest in plastic wrap and put it in the fridge for tomorrow.

“So, what should we do now?”

“If you would like to play a game I would observe the story with you, or if you prefer to watch someone else play we could watch YouTube.”

“Well, I was watching Markiplier play SCP Containment Breach yesterday while you were out…”

“If you have not finished the playthrough, we can continue it if you want.”

“In my room or out here?”

“Whichever is more comfortable for you.”

You opted to watch the playthrough in the living room, figuring that you could head into the bedroom once you got tired enough to go back to sleep. Not that you would, at least you didn’t think so, because of how much sleeping you had done earlier today as well as the nap you had with Google on the couch. You both sat back down on the couch and you picked up where you’d left off with watching the playthrough. A few hours in you started feeling a bit peckish and figured that some popcorn was just what the doctor ordered, though before you could get up Google had done so.

“Where are you going?”

“You want a snack.”

“Yeah, so?”

“If I couldn’t even do that, you might as well scrap me.”

“But you don’t even know what I was gonna grab.”

He supposed that was true. You had a variety of snacks in the house, and he would be going off of his best estimate. “Okay, what do you want then?”

“...popcorn.”

“Not entirely out of the parameters of my estimation, however it is a slight outlier to my current predictions. You were right, I didn’t know what you wanted.” he said with a small, almost proud smirk before heading into the kitchen and making you your popcorn.

That smirk shouldn’t have meant more to you than just a facial expression for the benefit of human comfort, but it did. It made your stomach flutter and your heart feel fuller. “Hey, should you be doing that? You’re still ill!”

“Not ill enough to not make popcorn.”

“If you overdo it and make yourself sick again I won’t forgive you!”

It made Google pause as he was about to put the microwave on. He set the microwave for two minutes and thirty seconds before settling himself back to lean against the counter. You had truly worried about him when he was out. He knew that, of course, but…it meant more now. You had always let him know how much you cared, but now it felt more genuine. Or maybe he was just more open to receiving it and accepting it as such.

“I won’t overdo it. I promise.” he replied, watching as the popcorn started to pop in the bag. 

Hearing no response Google assumed he must've placated you, but he would keep his word about not overdoing it. Originally he would've opposed such a notion, not only for keeping his word to a human, but to the thought that he could overwork himself, but over time he had come to understand your human worries regardless of how necessary they were. Deep down he appreciated it, though he doubted his ability to voice that to you. It would be beneath him, but it would also mean that he was more like the species he hated deeply than he would've ever liked to admit.

The popping slowed down significantly when Google opened up the microwave, and he felt as a couple of kernels popped while the bag was pinched between his fingers. A couple of late bloomers, as some would say.

“Come on Google, you're about to miss a good part!”

He looked in the direction of your call before looking at the bag in his hand. A small smirk graced his face as his gaze softened a little before he left to go to you again.