AfroSayin

You make it to the bathroom, don't even bother turning on the main lights, flicking on only the nightlight that you keep in the outlet under the mirror. Your friend doesn't like it when some rooms are dark, and others are brightly lit. Could cause rapid changes, or a possible Eclipse. You find the toliet paper and bunch it up easy enough with what illumination you have.

Winter was such a pain sometimes. You were prone to nosebleeds when the air was so dry like this. You should look into getting a humidifier or something.

A few scrunched up balls of toliet paper shoved up your nose later, the blood isn't showing any sign of stopping, and a pile of bloody tissue is collecting into a pile by the sink. You sigh, head light. That's gonna be annoying to clean up, as well as the rest of the stains. You also made the mistake of wiping your phone onto your shirt without thinking about it before. THAT was going to be one nasty stain to get rid of, if you can even salvage it.

On the sixth tissue ball, you hear the front door open. You'd call out if it wasn't for the sneeze you felt rising, and for the sake of now spewing blood and snot all over your bathroom mirror, you put your effort into holding it back.

The door shuts, clicks and locks. A few padded footsteps for some paces, then stop. There's a quiet pause as the sneeze subsides, and then the sudden sound of hurried movement through the house, walking quickly over your own path-

The door to the bathroom that was cracked open is swung completly outwards, an ridged animatronic grips the doorhandle with a tightens that almost cracks it.

Moon's smile is strained, eyes as wide as the times nightmares only bring forth, and shrunken pupils scan before they find you.

A heartbeat passes (and you probably look stupid, tissued-up and stuffy nosed) as the robot blinks, the tension in his form lessens, and gaze softens.

You talk stuffy and dry. "What? What's wrong?"

Pupils, no longer small, fall down to where blood drips off your chin and onto the bathroom mat. "Don't bleed on my carpet."

"YOUR carpet?" You scoff, and it comes out a bit choked. The last thing you wanted was blood traveling down your sinuses and down your throat. "Excuse you! My house! My Carpet!"

"Laundry mess." He talks low again, and it sounds like teasing. Whatever strain that was in his fave prior has melted away, and the robot leaves the door open as he steps forwards. A hand comes to you without permission, fingers gripping your jaw and positioning your head towards him for a better look.

Moon doesn't tut at you, but his expression spells the idea. "You're doing it wrong."

You've half a mind to sneeze on HIM just to get your space back, and to be annoying on purpose, but the hand on your jaw slides against your skin to the back of your neck, and you feel fingers wrap around there, a few running up into your hair. Your head is promptly pushed to face downwards, another tissue is brought to your nose as you feel the blood rush.

"Look down. Not up." Moon speaks. Whatever argument you have is muffled by tissue and trying to breathe now that you've been flipped a bit. He presses the tissue to your nostirils, blood soaking through to his fingertips. "Drain it. Breathe through your mouth."

"Yeah, okay, Doc." You talk, a bit breathy because yeah maybe he had a point there. It's a gross feeling, and it feels awkward, but the blood flow starts to lessen after a minute, and it's nice not having to keep trying from swallowing anything in the sinuses. "Did you have fun with Gramps?"

Moon makes a small sound of aknowledgment. He does not move his hands from your face or the back of your head.

You talk to fill the silence. "Whattya guys do, anyway?" Raising your hands, you try to replace his own. "I can do this part myself, by the way."

He does not let you, that is, until the tissue needs replacing and has no choice but to pull away the old one. "Magic tricks."

"Magic tricks?"

"He wanted to learn." A quick hand replaces the space of your own with a new tissue. You give up, letting your arms fall to your side. Moon is attentive when it comes to your face, and low-lidded as he wipes the blood stain on your upper lip. "Be still."

You stick out your tongue. He pushes it back in with his thumb. "I said, be still."

"Whatever." It's a bit demeaning, this act. It also feels nice to be cared for in such a gentle manner. Maybe it's his programming, but you know it's just what they like to do. Still, he's slow in movements, and you glance back to the mess you've made on the sink. "Does the blood not bother you anymore?"

Maybe not the best thing to say, and you realize that instantly after it leaves your mouth. Moon's movements pause, if only for a moment. "No."

"I can clean up the blood."

"It's okay."

"And the mess in the living room."

"It's fine."

"I can do this part too, you know, if you're still-"

A tighter grip around your face, Moon's smile thins into annoyance. "Stop. Moving."

Fine, sure. You raise your hands up into the air as a mockery of surrender as he runs a rag underneath the sink water and dabs it in places where blood traveled and you did not see. Your faces is scrubbed clean (ratherly harshly, and probably thanks to your commentary) along with your neck and collarbone. He doesn't bother with the stains on your shirt or shirt collar and you take that as inward confirmation that this shirt was done for.

So you stand in the process, eyes closed and thinking about what to make for dinner as the animatronic does his work. Finally after a good five minutes of silence, he lets you go. Opening your eyes, Moon steps back, looking you over once more. The blooded rag is tossed into the garbage bin instead of the laundry basket, and he turns from you to gather the tissue paper on the sink and dump those in the trash as well. "Shirt."

"Yeah, yeah I know, I know." You're pulling the shirt off before he even finished the sentence, running a thick part, unstained part under the water before exiting the bathroom. Might as well use it to clean up the rest if you can't salvage the clothing.

Luckily for you, the stains on the floor and wall come off with some hard scrubbing and some cleaner you keep under the kitchen sink. You've tossed the ruined shirt into the trash as Moon exits the bathroom, presummably finished cleaning in there, and make eye contact in the hallway.

He looks normal, almost default as red eyes and white pupils look over your rather disheviled, shirtless form. But your gaze glances down to his hands, twitchy, stuffed inside of the sweatpants you scored for them at a thrift store, and you know better.

You sniff with a clear sinus this time. "I'm all better now."

Moon's faceplate turns to an sharp angle.

"How do you feel?" You test the waters. The dark of the hallway feels warm, the glow of his unwavering gaze feels warmer. "Moon-?"

"Fine." He cuts you off. The animatronic walks up to you, a hand raised, it comes to your face, his own unchanging. A warm palm presses against your cheek, to your neck, against your pulse.

Double checking. It's all it is. Double checking.

"Fine." He repeats, and his palm drops. "Go sit."

You wish you could read his expression. Sometimes you can't. The animatronic turns his back and you do the same to the living room, finding your phone on the coffee table where you've left it. You're screen is still-mid spot where the mobile game left you, so you save your place.

A moment later, a shirt is thrown over your head, and crinckly package tossed in your lap. Lifting up the frabic, some basic crackers are in front of you. The weight on the sofa shifts as Moon plops down as you're pulling on the shirt, his own form criss-crossing.

It is better not to push. Not unless you wanted to trigger an unwanted, stressful change. "Wanna see this game I'm playing? You take care of digital little cats."

His head tilts again, this time more of curisoity than something else. You crawl into the lap waiting for you, pulling up the game and positioning the screen so he could watch. No words are said, but comfortability is had, and the two of you settle. Silence is broken only by the sound of the buttons clicking and game music playing.