#mai writes

Everyone else just watches as the gloomy shut-in who refuses to speak to strangers sprints across the hallway.

"...BRO."

"...BRO?!"

"...BRO!!"

And suddenly, the most antisocial person in NRC is hugging someone. Nobody knows what is happening.

• Nobody believes you're just online friends.

Ace: "You've never met."

"Correct."

"You've never seen each other's faces."

"Correct."

"But you're best friends?"

"Yeah."

"..."

"..."

"That sounds fake."

— Meanwhile, Idia knows your sleep schedule, your favorite games, every voice crack you've ever had, your food preferences, which bosses make you rage quit, and every embarrassing phase you've ever gone through. He's basically known you longer than anyone outside of his family.

• Your DMs are horrifying. Ortho somehow recovers years of chat logs. The first conversation. Hundreds of thousands of messages. Entire arguments over game balancing. Three-day-long conversations that never technically ended.

— A random message from four years ago reads:

> "brb bathroom"

Immediately followed by:

> "sorry that took 8 hours"

The conversation simply continued like nothing had happened.

• Voice calls. You'd spend six-hour Discord calls doing absolutely nothing. No conversation. Just existing together.

— Every so often...

"You alive?"

"Yeah."

"Cool."

Then it was back to silence. That was quality friendship.

• Gaming legends. The two of you became infamous online. People recognized your usernames together.

"Oh no."

"It's those two."

"We're cooked."

— You developed combo strategies without speaking. Idia knew exactly where you'd move, and you knew exactly what ridiculous strategy he'd attempt. It was basically telepathy.

• Meeting in person is... weird. You've heard each other's voices thousands of times, yet actually standing face-to-face feels surreal.

"...You're taller than I imagined."

"...You're shorter."

"..."

"..."

"This is cringe."

"Extremely."

— Neither of you knows whether to high-five or hug until Ortho physically shoves Idia toward you.

• He's so much louder with you. Everyone assumes Idia is always quiet.

— The second you're together...

"NO, THAT'S A TERRIBLE BUILD!"

"IT WORKED!"

"BY ACCIDENT!"

"STILL COUNTS!"

Ignihyde regularly hears the two of you yelling at each other over game mechanics at three in the morning.

• Ortho absolutely adores you. He's heard about you for literal years.

"Oh! You're finally here!"

"You're exactly as Brother described!"

Idia immediately panics.

"ORTHO."

"DON'T."

Ortho innocently continues.

"Brother has mentioned you approximately 18,734 times!"

— Idia mentally blue screens.

• You know things nobody else does. You know what genuinely makes him laugh. Which topics he'll actually ramble about. How to tell when he's socially exhausted before he says anything.

— You even know his typing habits. His "..." means something completely different from "...?" and you can tell when he's lying because his punctuation changes. Nobody else notices.

• His social battery doubles around you. He still hates crowds. Still avoids people. Still wants to disappear.

— But with you? It's effortless. You're one of the only people who doesn't drain him. He can spend an entire day with you and somehow end up with more energy than when the day started.

• Online habits don't disappear. You're literally sitting beside each other.

— Your phone buzzes.

> Gloomurai: "grim is eating fish shaped crayons again"

You look up.

Grim is, in fact, eating fish shaped crayons.

You type back.

> You: "dude stop him"

A second later...

> Gloomurai: "no u do it"

Neither of you says a single word aloud.

• The others slowly realize why you're so close. It isn't some instant soulmate connection.

— It's history. You celebrated birthdays together online. Stayed awake through each other's worst nights. Finished games together. Watched movies while syncing countdowns. Helped each other through bad days. Sent memes at two in the morning. Spent years slowly becoming each other's favorite person without ever expecting to meet.

When the impossible finally happened, it didn't feel like meeting a stranger. It felt like finally putting a face to a friendship that already existed.

• The heartbreaking realization. One evening, after the excitement has settled, Idia quietly asks:

"...So... does this mean... you're actually from another universe?"

You nod.

"Looks like it."

He stares at the floor.

"...That's actually insane."

"...Yeah."

"...Out of every possible reality..."

He lets out a tiny laugh.

"...I somehow made friends with someone who didn't even live in my universe."

You smile.

"And somehow we still ended up on the same team."

His lips twitch into the smallest smile.

"...Guess digital media really is multiversal."

She grins brightly. “I see. Good news: I believe I know exactly which model will suit all your needs. Follow me.”

The woman’s heels click on the glossy white floor as she guides you through dozens of Androids, all in different shapes and sizes.

She stops next to a male Android with pale skin, straight black hair that falls partly over its forehead, and a handsome face with a defined jaw and cheekbones smoothed by soft looking skin. Behind it are dozens of other Androids. They’re all different looking, but just like the Android at the front, the black nameplate at their feet reads:  “ALK587-Series”, followed by their specific model names.

“Androids of the ALK587 are best suited for what you described,” the woman says. “They’re agile, perceptive, and reliable — perfect for everyday chores. They’re also particularly strong, so if you ever need to move furniture or do heavy gardening work, they can easily do that for you. For this reason, they’re slightly smaller than average to optimize their balance.”

She moves closer to the male Android at the front and gestures toward him. “This is our newest model in the ALK587 series. He’s programmed to be direct, honest, and slightly witty, with a touch of sarcasm. He’s perfect for anyone who enjoys a bit of banter, and who prefers bluntness and honesty over quiet subservience or over-friendliness. Cleaning is his speciality: he’s got very precise vision that allows him to detect dirty surfaces from afar, and advanced olfactory senses to detect any lingering odors. He’s also got an eye for order and tidiness, though the level of tidiness can be customized to your preference.”

“Oh, wow… Honestly, that sounds right up my alley. ”

Her smile brightens. “I believe so too. And best of all: he’s modeled to be task-driven, not relationship-driven, so you don’t need to worry about forming an emotional attachment with him. He’s not programmed to simulate a romantic partner or a close friend. Though I must admit there’s one caveat to that: his build is very pleasing to the eye. He’s sculpted to look very fit, so although he isn’t the most affectionate Android, if you like a bit of eye-candy—”

“Oh! Um— no thank you. I’m not really into objectifying androids,” you assure with a quick, dismissive flick of your hand. “It doesn’t feel right to me. What with the power-imbalance, and all.”

“Well, they are objects, but I understand where you’re coming from.” She winks at you. “I was going to show you his muscular build since his abdominals in particular are quite impressive, but if that isn’t your thing, we can move on to another model that—”

“Wait— abdominals? Can you show me?”

She purses her lips to hide a laugh, then lifts the Android’s shirt to show the most beautiful abs and pectorals you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Damn…” you mutter.

She laughs. “Impressive, right?”

You lift a brow. “Does he need all that for cleaning?”

“Among other things.” She smirks. “Every Android in our collection is very versatile. Some people enjoy cleaning services and a good view.”

“Understandable.”

“So… what do you think? Does he feel like the one for you? Or would you like me to go over our other models?”

You pretend to hesitate, but really, you’ve made up your mind already.

Those luscious abs have nothing to do with it whatsoever.

With a sly smile, you tell her, “I think this is the one. My bank account is ready to weep.”

:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:

A week later, two delivery men from DroidTech — or rather, two delivery androids from DroidTech — place a gigantic package in your 13th-floor apartment. Jitters of excitement run through your body as they open the human-sized cardboard box in your living room.

They first take out a large charging station —a human-sized black husk in which the Android will have to stand each night. Next, they take out the Android himself.

The moment you see his face, your excitement amplifies tenfold. He’s wearing a simple white long-sleeved shirt rolled over his elbows, black pants, and black shoes. He looks slightly different here, in the soft afternoon light that pours through your floor-to-ceiling windows. With his eyes closed and perfectly still figure, he looks like some sort of sleeping beauty.

The two men give you a brief explanation of how to use the Android’s wireless charging station, then run over a few basic dos and don’ts that are all excruciatingly obvious (throwing an Android into a pit of fire is apparently not very good for them — who would’ve thought?).

Once they’re done, they hand you a thin tablet to place your signature on, and turn to leave. The moment the door closes behind them with a soft click, your excitement morphs into something else.

Nervousness.

There’s a man in your home.

Well— not really a man, but… kind of a man.

You approach him with careful steps, scanning his relaxed, still features. Hesitantly, you reach out to touch his cheek. His skin feels cool to the touch, but disturbingly real. It looks disturbingly real too, like every other part of him. How does DroidTech do this? Their biosynthetic technology is nothing like you’ve ever seen before. It’s genuinely shocking.

Slowly, you let your fingers trail down his cheek, to his jaw, to the back of his neck, where you find a small ON-button. Carefully, you press it, triggering a short melodious sound.

A heartbeat later, the Android’s eyes flutter open, revealing pretty grey eyes with blue flecks that seem to capture the sun. He blinks a few times. Slowly, his gaze sweeps over the room. He scans your floor-to-ceiling windows, your TV, your big cream-white L-shaped couch filled with fluffy pillows and blankets, the colorful rugs covering the wooden floorboards, the excess number of plants and wall-art, and your kitchen island.

Finally, his eyes flick to you.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.” You swallow, feeling surprisingly awkward. How does one… introduce themselves to an Android?

His gaze sweeps the apartment again. “Where am I?”

“In my apartment, at Litham Street 46, on the 13th floor. My name is—”

“Ah. Of course,” he interrupts. “I should’ve known, given the absolute mess and that hairy cat on the couch.”

You blink. “Wait—what?”

He sidesteps you and walks through the living room like he owns the place. He first moves to the left side of the room, where your kitchen island is bathing in the soft afternoon sun. He swipes an index over the black granite surface of the island, only to scowl at his finger. With an equally displeased expression, he grabs one of the fluffy pillows on your barstools — the one with a cute froggie wearing a mushroom hat — and sniffs at it. Sniffs at it. Like it isn’t clean or something.

You’re so taken aback, so shocked, that your feet are rooted in place, mouth ajar. You should probably say something, but your mind is stuck on the fact that there’s an Android in your house, and his first reaction is to insult you and inspect your place without being asked. Meanwhile, he strolls towards the right side of the room, where your big L-shaped couch encloses a cozy nook with a big fluffy colorful rug, a TV, a tall wooden bookshelf, and a low coffee table holding hazardly-stacked books, too many candles, and several forgotten mugs.

The Android stops by the couch and sweeps his gaze over it with military precision.

You clear your throat. “Uhm. What are you doing exactly?”

He ignores you, although he does shoot Cheesecake a dry look, which earns him a distrustful Meow.

“Tell ‘em, Cheesecake,” you mutter under your breath.

He steps toward your bookshelf and sweeps a finger over the wooden surface. “Have you ever dusted that bookshelf? Like, within the last decennium?”

“Excuse me? First of all, I only bought that bookshelf a year ago, so—”

“Answer my question.”

“Well…no.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Oh don’t be like that!” you protest. “What did you expect? I bought you for a reason.”

“Clearly,” he says, his dry tone bringing the Atacama Desert to shame. “Where are your cleaning supplies?”

You’re speechless. Utterly confused. But despite your brain fog, you manage to reply, “Uh… well, the basic everyday stuff like sponges, rags, and general cleaning sprays are under the kitchen sink. The supplies for deeper cleaning, like brooms, vacuum cleaners, bleach, anti-mold spray, and so on, are down the hallway. First door on your right, next to the bathroom.”

He marches straight to the hallway without any other question or remark.

You hurry after him. “Wait! Hold on— aren’t you gonna ask me about myself? Like… my name? What I need your services for? Anything?”

“I know enough.” He throws you a look over his shoulder. “Why do you think you had to fill in an extensive form about yourself when making your purchase?”

“Uh… I don’t know? I assumed they wanted to make sure I was an appropriate person to sell an Android to, since it’s a lot of responsibility, and Androids can be used to do crimes and stuff. And also, to make sure you and I were a good match, I guess?”

“Sure, but why do you think they’d go as far as asking your favorite meal or the names of your pets? They ask such details so that a bunch of useful information can be preloaded into my system. This reduces the amount of manual setup required from clients.” He opens the closet door, sinks to his knees, and rummages through two broken vacuum cleaners, old brooms, a few mops, musty rags, and, admittedly, a bunch of old clutter and unused crap you forgot you owned. “Cheesecake is a fitting name for your cat, by the way. Fat and sticky.”

“Hey! Don’t you dare insult Cheesecake!” you snap, aghast. “What is wrong with you? Are you malfunctioning, or something? You’re a high-end Android at my service. Aren’t you supposed to be polite? Aren’t you at least supposed to introduce yourself to me or something?”

He keeps sorting through your closet without sparing you a look .“I doubt the vendor at DroidTech didn’t warn you that I was blunt.”

“Sure, but she didn’t say you were straight-up rude.”

He throws you a look over his shoulder. “Didn’t you write in your form that you don’t get offended easily?”

“I do not get offended easily!” you grit, majorly offended.

“Great. Then this arrangement won’t be a problem.” He closes the door and turns to look at you, arms crossed. “I thought you said this closet had anything required for deep-cleaning?”

“…Yes?”

“What kind of deep-cleaning are you talking about, exactly? This is the most asinine cleaning closet I’ve ever seen.”

Your fingers itch to choke his metallic tube of a neck. With gritted teeth, you finally spit out, “Okay, you know what? That’s it. I’ve seen enough. I’m sending you back and giving you and that whole damn store a one-star review.”

He lifts a condescending brow. “And bring the employees into trouble because of your mistakes? Next time you fill in that form, I suggest you don’t pretend to be a hardass, and instead admit you can’t take criticism very well.”

You squint at him. “I never said I did.”

“Think again. To the statement, ‘I am able to take direct or harsh criticism without taking personal offense,’ you filled in a five out of five. Don’t bother denying it. It’s all stored in my memory.”

“… I really feel like punching you right now.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it. My body feels human to the touch, but beneath the softer tissues are a lot of hard metals. You’d hurt yourself, particularly because your hands are meaty and weak.”

“Meaty and weak?!” you cry out, utterly scandalized.

You briefly consider tossing him out of your 13-story window, but he interrupts your assassination plans by saying the most audacious, ludicrous, outrageous shit your eardrums have ever had the misfortune of hearing.

“Can you pass me your bankcard?”

“What?!” Your voice has turned into nothing but a scandalized screech.

“Your bank card,” he deadpans.

“What?! No!”

“Could you keep your voice down? I can hear Cheesecake bristling from here, which causes her fur to rub onto the couch. This only aggravates my deep-cleaning task ahead.”

“Cheesecake can rub into the couch however she likes. Also, why the hell do you need my bankcard?”

He tilts his head like this is the dumbest question he’s ever heard. “So I can buy proper cleaning supplies — which, believe me, is highly necessary. “ His eyes narrow. “Why the surprise? You specified in the fill-in form that you wanted me to do groceries for you. How did you think that would go?”

You cross your arms like a stubborn three-year-old. “I don’t know, but certainly not like this.”

He sighs. “You don’t need to give me your bankcard, but you do need to at least give me your bank details so I can link myself to your bank account. That way, I can freely make purchases for you without using your physical card.”

“I’m not linking you to anything. I don’t even know you! I don’t trust you.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m an Android, not a human being. Stealing would violate the behavioral constraints programmed into me. I can’t override it, and trying would trigger an automatic shutdown.”

That makes you pause. “Really…? So if you try to steal from me, you’ll just… stop functioning?”

He clicks his tongue in irritation. “Of course I’ll stop functioning. I’ll automatically shut down, and both you and DroidTech will be alerted of it. Haven’t you listened to any of the explanations given to you during your purchase? You didn’t even read the manual?”

“…. I admit I zoned out a little during her explanation, so — hey, don’t look at me like that! I had several rough deadlines last week. I was exhausted.”

He crosses his arms and stares at you like a scolding father. “Then you need to take better care of yourself. And that starts by letting me take care of your apartment.”

This earns him a dry look. “Who says I won’t return you? I’ve clearly been scammed. I thought DroidTech was a respectable brand, but it turns out I was dead wrong. You’re the most disrespectful, bad-mannered robot I’ve ever encountered.”

“FYI, that would cost you 800 bucks. Bit of a waste, no? Though I guess the choice is up to you, as silly as it may be.”

“Eight-hundred?! You’re joking?”

He clicks his tongue. “Of course you didn’t read the return policy. What a surprise.”

“Who the hell reads return policies nowadays? I don’t have time for that.”

“Anyone with slightly more foresight than a sponge, though I guess that would be too much to ask of you.”

You almost punch him then and there, but fortunately for him, your pride, your morals, and your meaty weak hands are holding onto their last shred of self-preservation. For several heartbeats, you two just stare at each other. His face is blank, while yours is seething.

You’re the first to break the silence.

“Say I draw a nice hot bath for you, will you drown?”

For the first time, the corners of his lips twitch into a half smile. “Lovely thought. Didn’t know you struggled with homicidal thoughts, but it’s dully noted. And no, I won’t drown. I can reliably withstand water as long as I activate waterproof mode in time.”

You exhale a disappointed sigh. “What a pity.”

Instead of further entertaining your assassination plans, the Android turns his back to you and steps through the tight hall, passing colorful pictures and framed artworks decorating the soft peach walls. He opens the bathroom door and scans the area, then moves to the next door.

“What are you doing?” you ask as he enters your bedroom.

Completely ignoring you, he steps on your big fluffy white rug to reach your double bed, which is tucked in the corner of the room by the massive windows. After throwing a quick glance at the stunning view of the city skyline — an appreciative glance, you hope, although you doubt he’s familiar with the concept of appreciation — he sweeps a finger over the windowsill, which sits at the same height as your bed and holds several books, candles, and mugs.

And, admittedly, some crumpled tissues, forgotten tangerine peels, and empty boxes of cookies, along with more than one cookie crumb.

You clear your throat. “Are you just going to ignore my question? What are you doing, exactly?”

“Making an assessment of the tragic state of your apartment.” He gives your closet a quick scan, then heads to your desk, which is a mess of notebooks, pencils, old paintbrushes you purchased in the hopes of pursuing your forgotten artistic dreams, stickers, books, candle holders, plants, and a desktop pc with a cute pastel keyboard.

“My apartment isn’t in a tragic state,” you retort.

He snorts.

“I’m serious,” you urge. “It’s not tragic. It’s just cozy and… lived in.”

Just then, he almost steps on a small bundle of fabric on the floor. He picks it up and holds it up for you two to see. A black thong stares back at you.

He lifts a brow. “Yeah? You call throwing your clothes all over the floor ‘lived in’?

You quickly snatch the underwear from his grasp and narrow your eyes at him, cheeks heating. “Shut up.”

He cocks his head, angling his ear slightly towards your chest. It makes him look uncharacteristically robotic. “Your heart is beating faster. I hope you’re not catching feelings for me. Humans tend to do that disturbingly fast.”

You burst out laughing. “In your dreams.”

“Androids don’t dream.”

Before you can come up with a clever reply, he walks past you and enters the living room again.

“Where are you going now?” you whine as you hurry after him. “Can’t you just settle down for a second? I’ll clean it all up myself if that’s what it takes. Just… sit down!”

“I do appreciate a good lost cause, but that would defeat the purpose of me being here.” He strides towards the kitchen area and sinks to his knees to open the cabinet door under the sink. After a rumbling through it for a few seconds, he sighs. “As I thought. Pure tragedy.”

In response, Cheesecake jumps on the kitchen island behind him, looking like an angry white cotton ball. With exposed canines, she hisses loudly. She’s digging holes in the Android’s back with her sharp green eyes, but he doesn’t seem to care.

He lazily gets up and leans back against the kitchen sink, eyes on Cheesecake. “As unwelcoming as her owner.”

“Well, of course,” you scoff. “You’re a complete asshole. Like, genuinely the definition of a dickwad. And to make matters worse, you’re also a complete stranger.”

He side-eyes you. “Stranger? You keep talking about me like I’m a human. I’m not. I’m a robot.”

“Yes, but a ridiculously advanced robot, so really, there’s barely a difference at this point. You’re a strange, rude man in my apartment, and neither Cheesecake nor I am taking it very well. At the very least, you should have a name. Isn’t that part of the configuration process? That you’re assigned a name by me?”

He shrugs. “Fine. What do you want to name me then?”

“What about Hemorrhoids?” You smile sweetly while ticking off three fingers. “A pain in the ass, horribly irritating, and will punish you simply for sitting around and having a good time.”

“Very funny,” he deadpans.

You cross your arms, smiling. “What? Do you refuse to take on the name I give you?”

“No, I can’t refuse, but if you’re serious, I will lose all respect for you.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “You respect me?”

“Hardly. It’s dwindling by the second.”

“Fine.” You sigh in defeat. “I’ll name you something proper. What about…”

You trail off as you take a moment to observe him. His smooth skin and dark hair glow in the setting sun, softening his features. His eyes capture the light like pretty crystals, and combined with his long black lashes, you have to admit he looks breathtaking. What a waste, honestly. DroidTech really poured their hearts into his looks, just to turn it all around and give him the personality of a moldy shitstain.

But you suppose a pleasant-looking robot deserves a pleasant name, although that doesn’t sit entirely right with you.

Finally, you land on “Levi.”

“Levi,” he repeats, like he’s tasting the name. “Fine by me.”

“I’d love to say ‘welcome home, Levi. I appreciate you being here,’ except we both know that’s not true.”

“Spare me the veiled insults, and just link me to your bank account already, so I can finally do something about this place.”

“Hmm….” You step closer to him until you’re only a small space apart. With squinted eyes, you scan his face. His nose is actually kinda cute, and his lips look quite soft, but that’s beside the point. You scan his throat, his collarbones, and his white shirt. Carefully, you brush your fingers over his shoulders, then his muscular-looking upper arms.

He scowls. “What the hell are you doing?”

You pat his torso, trying your best not to do it in a pervy way. “Where are your buttons?”

“What buttons?”

“Don’t you have any buttons?”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“I want to lower your cleaning and tidiness standards. If I remember correctly, the vendor at DroidTech said I could change those settings.”

He gives you an unamused look. “Trust me, no settings will let this shit pass.” He gestures at your apartment with the disgust of someone standing in a rat-infested sewer.

You exhale a defeated sigh and take a step back. “Damn. Fine.”

“And next time you want to change my settings, either open the user manual they gave you, or ask me directly. And for the record, I don’t have any buttons except for the one at the back of my neck, which can be used to shut me down. Something I’m very tempted to do myself, so I don’t have to deal with your ridiculousness any longer.”

“You know what? Fine. You win!” You throw up your hands in defeat. “I’m done arguing. I’ll let you clean the place. It’s not like I have the skills or the desire to do it myself, and frankly, if I have to listen to any more of your complaints, I’ll toss myself out of the window.”

“I see you’ve finally learned the concept of self-reflection.”

“Oh shut up, Levi.”

:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:

Miraculously, once Levi returns home after two hours of grocery shopping, no apocalyptic fight erupts. He sets the bags down on the kitchen island and, with a curt look, confirms he respected the spending limit you gave him — though not without an irritated click of his tongue and a grumble about the ‘ridiculousness of limiting his purchases’. When you open your banking app to double-check that he didn’t make any dodgy transactions, he rewards you with an eye roll. Still, the balance doesn’t lie: he came in under your limit by exactly five cents, which is honestly impressive.

You spend the rest of the evening on the couch, playing video games and scrolling through your phone while Levi thoroughly cleans the apartment. Not even your noise-cancelling headphones can conceal his furious scrubbing. It makes you feel like a neckbeard gamer with a sad neglected girlfriend, except that when you look at Levi, he doesn’t look sad or neglected. He just looks focused.

And maybe a little disgusted by your shoe rack by the door. You’re not sure which small speck of dirt has caught his attention now, but you’re not willing to find out.

Unfortunately, as you continue gaming, the neckbeard-feeling grows into proper guilt.

You clear your throat. “Do you want me to help?”

He briefly stops furiously scrubbing your shoe rack to throw you a disgruntled look. “Please no.”

“Why?” you ask, offended.

“Because you clearly can’t clean for shit. You’d only make my job harder.”

“Wow, okay, Jeez. Fine. I won’t ask again.”

“Don’t.”

Ugh. What a prick. You try to continue gaming in peace, but you’re too distracted by your annoyance. Levi’s ferocious scrubbing — which can surely be heard all the way into the cosmos — is not helping.

Disgruntled, you turn off your gaming console and make yourself a cup of chamomile tea, before fleeing into the bedroom. The floor practically shakes under your feet from all of Levi’s violent cleaning, but you manage to hold back a snarky comment. After shutting the door, you put your noise-cancelling headphones on, place your teacup on the windowsill next to your pillows, and stare at the darkening city.

God, why are you stuck with such a dramatic, bratty, unnecessarily rude Android? It’s souring your mood. Unfortunately, you’d sooner perish than pay the 800-scam-money required for a return, so you’re both stuck together for the foreseeable future.

But you know what? Nothing that a little bit of self-care can’t fix. A book, tea, and soft background music through noise-cancelling headphones will improve your mood in no time.

You’re about to start reading your cosy romance book, when you decide that today is surely a particularly bad crisis day, meaning you direly need candles to aid your mental health. While keeping your teacup balanced on your book, you reach for a lighter on the windowsill.

A major fuck up on your part. The steaming cup of chamomile tea keels over your flowery duvet. You almost yelp from the pain and scramble away, throwing the burning duvet off your thighs, but it’s too late: your skin is stinging like hell. You quickly grab the cup, but almost the entirety of its contents is spilled over the bed already. A big stain wets the duvet, making you curse under your breath. If Levi finds out, you’ll never hear the end of it. You quickly reach for tissues, but it’s too late.

As if summoned by the scent of your turmoil and fear, Levi enters the room. His sharp eyes immediately zero in on the spilled tea spread over your duvet.

“I knew it,” he grits.

“Jesus, what kind of supernatural ears do you have?”

He walks over and stops right beside you, looking down at you with murderous eyes.

“Get up.”

“What?”

Without a warning, he grabs you and lifts you up, princess style.

“What are you doing?!” you yelp.

In a few quick strides, he carries you to the bathroom before unceremoniously dumping you into the bathtub.

“Ouch!” you whine, which he completely ignores…. the rude asswipe.

Before you can demand that he explain himself, he turns the faucet on to max level. You yelp in shock as cold water rushes over your thighs.

“What the hell are you doing?!” You try to crawl out of the bathtub like a jumpy cat being forced to bathe, but he pushes you back down.

“Stop moving,” he orders. “You need to keep your leg under cool running water for at least twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes?!”

“Yes. Stay here. Don’t you dare move.”

In an instant, he’s gone. You hear him fussing with the duvet, muttering as he carries it into the kitchen to scrub it under the sink. A quiet grumble about “the clumsiness of humans” reaches you as he disappears into the small room across from you, the one with the washing machine, dryer, and two clothing racks.

After five minutes of this, you decide you’ve had enough. You’re freezing your ass off, and surely, your skin cells don’t need twenty minutes to cool down.

You try to discreetly tiptoe out of the bathtub.

Levi immediately enters the bathroom before you’ve even managed to take a full step, like the perceptive monster he is.

He glares at you. “Didn’t I tell you to stay put?”

“Levi, I’m cold! And uncomfortable!” You inhale a sharp breath and scream, “Cheesecake! Help meeeeeee!”

Cheesecake wants nothing to do with any of this. She stays hidden in the living room, deciding to leave you to die. You can’t help but feel betrayed.

Levi stares at you with a deadpan look, appearing entirely unimpressed by your dramatics.

You know what? Fine. You can do this yourself.

You attempt to move past him in a quick surge, but he catches you and dumps you into the bathtub once more.

You cast him the meanest, most annoyed scowl you can muster. “This isn’t fair. I should be able to make my own decisions. I’m a grown-ass adult.”

“You certainly don’t act like it.” He crosses his arms and leans back against the doorframe. “Maybe this’ll teach you to be more careful next time. How did this even happen?”

“…. I don’t want to talk about it.”

He mercilessly scrutinizes your horribly ashamed face.

“Regardless,” he says after a beat of humiliating silence. “You’re not getting out of the bathtub until twenty minutes have passed — unless you truly order me to let you go, of course, but if you do that, I’ll hold it against you for the next decennium.”

You briefly contemplate your options, then decide that a decade of continuous nagging is simply not worth it. You bought this Android to help, not to die a premature death from stress and exhaustion, though at this point that may be inevitable.

True to his word, Levi stays in the bathroom for the remaining fifteen minutes to make sure you don’t flee. Fifteen full minutes of you brooding and sulking like a pouty child, while he busies himself inspecting every surface of your bathroom with the precision of a sterility Operator in a pharmaceutical cleanroom.

After this hellish moment passes, you crawl out of the bathtub like an angry wet cat and put some warm, comfortable pyjamas on. Without sparing Levi another glance, you trudge toward the couch and bury yourself under five soft blankets and Cheesecake’s fluffy warm body, because you forgive her (for now).

You keep your gaze fixed straight on the TV. You don’t want to see the Android’s petulant face right now, or any of his presence in general — although deep down, you’re secretly a little bit thankful because at least your thighs aren’t really hurting anymore. But of course, you don’t tell him that.

Once night falls, and your rage has settled, and the stars scattered across the breathtaking skyline glitter as brightly as the citylights below, the delicious aroma of curry starts filling the room. You haven’t even asked Levi to cook for you, but perhaps it’s obvious this is his job from now on. Or perhaps he’s so averse to starting a conversation with you, that he’d rather guess his tasks than ask.

After twenty more minutes, your curiosity and grumbling stomach win the battle. You finally crawl out from under your blankets and approach the kitchen, noticing with a salivating mouth that two steaming pots are cooking on the stove. Meanwhile, Cheesecake jumps under the couch to hiss and meow at the devil, formerly known as Levi.

“Whatever you’re cooking, it smells delicious,” you admit.

He casts you a brief sideways glance as you join him by the stove. “Look who decided to crawl out of their cave,” he says dryly.

“Mmmm it looks delicious too.” The curry is thick with spices and vegetables, making your mouth water to ungodly levels.

“I know.” He gives the pot a final stir, then turns the stove off. “You’ll be pleased to know it’s done.”

You temper your face and try not to look too hungry and predatorial as you throw a generous amount of curry and rice on your plate. “Thank you for feeding me, Levi,” you mutter, despite your simmering frustrations. It’s strange having someone clean your place and cook for you, just like that, without getting paid or expecting anything in return. You even cussed him out earlier, yet he still made you a delicious meal. It feels a bit…. imbalanced, though you suppose that’s the point of owning an Android, and the reason he cost you a whole kidney. It’ll probably take a little while to get used to, but you’re not opposed to the idea.

He doesn’t answer, but you don’t care. With a little too much eagerness, you take a seat at one of the kitchen island’s barstools, then wolf the food down like a starved peasant.

After a few moments of heaven, you look up to find Levi watching you. He still hasn’t moved from his spot by the stove. He’s leaning back against it, looking at you in silence.

Your fork falters mid-air, frozen by a sudden surge of awkwardness. You hesitate. “It’s delicious, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

“… Do you want some?”

He stares at you, completely unamused.

You clear your throat. “Nevermind. Forgot about the Android thing for a sec.”

His expression doesn’t change.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat. “This is a bit weird. You just standing there, watching me eat.”

“If your Highness prefers, I can go hide in the closet until you decide my presence doesn’t inconvenience you anymore.”

You snort. “Oh come on, don’t be like that. You don’t need to go anywhere. Just… sit down.”

His eyes narrow in distrust. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want it to be awkward between us. I think we started on the wrong footing, and I’d like to rectify that.”

“I don’t feel any awkwardness.”

“No shit. I don’t think you feel much of anything, but I do, and I need us to have a better relationship for my mental well-being. And Cheesecake’s. She’s not faring well with you trotting around, and I’m sure our strained relationship is partly to blame.”

“Strained relationship is a bit dramatic, no?”

You roll your eyes. “Just sit down already.”

With a sigh, he does as told. He sits opposite you, resting his head on his hand in a pose so human-like and relaxed that it’s terrifying. When has technology gotten so advanced? It’s actually concerning.

“What do you want from me?” he says dryly.

“Jeez. You’re such a sweet ray of sunshine.”

“So they say.”

You sigh. “Listen, I just want one light conversation. I didn’t buy you to be my friend, I know that. I have no intentions of trying to turn you into a fun comrade, but frankly, you’re way more human than I expected, so I need at least a few short conversations to get accustomed to you.”

He frowns. “We’ve had short conversations since I arrived here.”

“I mean conversations that don’t make me want to run into traffic.”

“Oh. Okay. So you want me to ask you questions?”

You shrug. “Something like that.”

He pauses for a beat. “Okay. I’ll shoot. Why do you have a ukulele next to your bed? Do you play?”

You take a bite of your food and swallow it down. “Not really. Well, I tried. Apparently, playing instruments is good for managing stress. But honestly, the learning process got on my nerves because I sucked ass, so I gave up. At least, for now. I’m planning to pick it up again when I have more time.”

“Managing stress?” he repeats, tilting his head as he regards you. “Are you often stressed?”

“More often than I’d like,” you admit.

“Why?”

“My job, mostly. I work for a big publishing company, which is something I’ve always wanted to do, but I have a shitty manager.” You hesitate, then add, “Also, since I moved to this city three years ago, I haven’t had many social interactions keeping me distracted from work. My friends live too far away to hang out on a regular basis, and the same goes for my family. And I’m too tired after work to meet new people, so I’m a little isolated, which gives my job too much room in my head.”

“That sucks.”

You sigh. “Yeah. But it’s okay. I manage. I have enough hobbies to keep me busy.”

He nods. “Good.”

You glance down at his hands as you take another bite of your food. “Can you play the ukulele?”

“Not yet, but I guess I could learn.”

“Hmm.” You squint at his fingers, chewing. “Is your digital control that good?”

“Pretty good, yeah. Androids like me, from the ALK587 series, are quite dexterous. We have good motor skills to help us excel at domestic tasks. I don’t know about playing instruments, though, but I suspect I can learn it with practice.”

“Interesting,” you hum with a growing smile. “Maybe we should learn it together sometime.”

“Maybe.” He pauses for a moment, then says, “I’ve got another question. Why don’t you fold your clothes properly in your closet?”

“You know what? I think we’ve made enough progress for today. Let’s stop here.”

To your surprise, he looks mildly amused. A ghost of a smile lifts his features. “Whatever you want.”

Instead of staring at you like earlier and making you uncomfortable, he gets up and washes the cooking pots. Once your plate is empty, he takes it from you and puts it in the dishwasher. You want to thank him, but a big yawn comes out instead.

“You should go to sleep,” he says while cleaning the sink.

“Yeah. I probably should.” You begin to head to the bathroom, ready to perform your nightly routine, but halt midway. “Wait… what about you? Are you gonna… sleep too?”

He puts the rag away and turns to look at you. “I’m going to dock for charging and switch to standby mode, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Can you… do it now, in front of me? I want to see you do it. I’m curious.”

This earns you an exasperated look. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. Pretty please?”

He exhales softly. “Fine.”

You can’t hide your giddiness when he walks to the human-sized black charging station near the door. Turning to face you one last time, he steps backward into the open frame. The unit hums to life, thin lines of blue light tracing over its surface as it locks into place around him.

A moment later, a soft blue ring glows beneath his skin at his temple, pulsing twice. His eyes drift closed as the light shifts from blue to orange, signalling standby. The hum settles into a steady rhythm.

He goes completely still.

“Wow…” you mutter into silence. “That’s crazy.”

He doesn’t reply, of course. He’s sleeping… or whatever.

Nonetheless, you whisper a soft, “Goodnight, Levi,” before turning off the lights and going to sleep.

:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:

It's the same thing every day. Wake up, eat his meals, write his book to give to the publishers, do some menial chores around his house with a roommate until nighttime comes. All things considered, the avian half-human considered himself to be quite luck to be where he was. After all, the alternative was death by two gods.

No use crying over spilled milk, he supposed. It's been years since that little scheme. Since the Long Quiet and Shifting Mound walked away to parts unknown, leaving the pieces of them to pick up themselves and make something of this life. Very early, he was singled out, casted away, with hopes that he'd die. Instead, he found a town and had settled nicely. He could claim amnesia, and rebuild life, like he hadn't committed several books worth of atrocities against nature and his original self.

Unfortunately, the others found the city too. Scattered about here and there, they recognized him, he recognized them. And they stayed out of each other's way. None directly tried to hurt him, but their animosity could be felt the moment gaze meet. He was content with that. He was no longer their Narrator, he was simply a writer trying to meet ends meet. It was for the best they never crossed paths again.

With one exception.

"Oh NAAAARRY!!" The door to his room opened, lock once again broken from the sheer force. Pink hair tied like pigtails poked through his now open doorway, followed by a white comedy mask, for once absent of the gaudy and saturated paint strokes.

The voice once known as Contrarian was his roommate.

She was last to find out he had lived here (apparently the others were none too fond of mentioning him) and made arrangements to move in, not a week later. Claiming to keep an eye on him, the one now "Connie" has dedicated to doing everything he said she couldn't do. Breaking down the door was merely one in a long list of other micro-aggrsssions, like putting his mugs outside after a storm, or replacing his shaving cream with whipped cream, or doodling on the backs of his paper drafts.

That's not to say she's entirely a mess. She pays her half of rent, does her part of chores, has an active social life, and can have adult conversations with (their general grievance about modern politics was awfully insightful, barring her comments about defenestration). No, she at least saved her antics when there is nothing important going on, which is unfortunately in the mornings.

Whatever, he had grown used to her antics, months ago. He won't give this woman the satisfaction of seeing him crack and buckle, so the half-bird sat up in bed, yawning.

"What now...?" Narrator groaned, half asleep still.

"Awww, not gonna yell at me for calling you "Narry", Narry?" She tilted her masked face, skipping with practiced ease to his bed side, hands behind her back that was definitely hiding something.

"It's too early, Connie...and you don't see me calling you "contrarian", now am I?" He retorted "now, is breaking my door your only agenda for this morning? Or do you want to subject me to something else?"

She gasped dramatically, almost appalled. He could imagine her frowning face underneath the blank mask.

"Really?! You think me so predictable? Am I growing soft?!" She asked, sounding far too dramatic to actually be upset.

"Yes" he stated bluntly, grabbing his glasses from the nightstand (after checking there was no glue on them)

"Ugh! I need to step up my gain then!" She shakes her head, almost smacking his face with her pigtails. "But I AM going to subject you something today! Close your eyes!"

Now comes the hard part: does he do this to get her prank over with? Or does he have the dignity to not entertain her? He already has to replace the lock on the door.

Checking the wall clock, it's 7 in the morning. Too early for any defiance. So with a heavy sigh, the former Narrator closed his eyes.

With an omnious giggle, Connie dashed around the room, moving things in his room, unseen by its occupant. His bedsheets get tossed aside and something was placed on his lap. He then hear the crackle of...fireworks??

"And open em!" She whispered, sounding like she's suppressing a giggle.

When he opened him, his room was dark, the blackout curtains blocking out the sunshine on a good morning. His lights were turned off, which meant his eyes were drawn to the sparklers crackling away in his lap. Seven of them were stuck inside a small cake, decorated with light cream buttercream with a fondant open book on top. The pages read "Happy birthday"

"Happy 7 years out of the cabin, Narry!" She was on his bed, looking at him before pulling a party popper. A glitter party popper. They better be edible, because they now covered the cake.

This...was a first. Connie never gave him a gift. She had thrown cream pies in his face, mimicking old cartoons, but she only ever did it once. A soft part thought it was because he said he didn't like it, but maybe she was saving it for today.

"You...kept track of the day?" He asked, flicking away confetti from his lens.

"Well, not me! But Hunted's really good with dates and stuff, and Skeptic called to remind me to come to the reunion tonight, but since your ass is still banned, I got you a cake so you don't feel too left out!" She explained in one breath, before sharply inhaling.

"You...all remember the day? And celebrate it?"

"Uhh duh! It's our first day being free! And if you think about it, it's technically also our birthday! Since time means nothing in forever and yadda yadda!"

He...didn't know what to say, just flickering between the cake and Connie's face. She looked she was expecting him to do something.

"What? Do you want me to just eat it?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Isn't that what food is for? I thought you were smart?" She answered back, leaning closer "come on, it's technically your birthday too, if you think about it hard..."

"I don't..." don't what? Don't have a birthday? Don't want to celebrate a birthday? Don't want her to be here?

That question lingered bitterly. And so to get rid of it, he lifted up the plate. It was small enough that cutting it wasn't needed. It was a portion just for him, no sharing needed. Though judging from the look, he'd take a few bites before letting her eat the rest.

"You know, birthday cakes typically have candles, instead of sparklers" he said, removing said sparklers from the cake.

"Aww, but sparklers are so fun!" She replied, leaning closer, as if to gauge his reaction to her gift.

Taking a bite out of the side, because he wasn't a fan of fondant, it tasted sweet, but also earthy, like green tea or Earl grey. The buttercream tasted like plain vanilla but he could see specks of vanilla bean, so it was still good. Overall, a plain but sweet cake. He let it lingered in his mouth, before swallowing

"It's alright" he took another bite

"Yay!" In a surprising turn of events, she hugged him, nearly making him drop the plate. His protests are ignored, as he was overwhelmed with shock instead.

"Why...are you hugging me?"

"Isn't it obvious? I like ya!" She replied, squeezing him tightly.

"I thought you hated me..." he replied, muffled by her porcelain cheek in his face.

"Eh, that's Years ago! You ain't the grumpy guy that forced us to slay some lady anymore! So how can I be mad!?" With that, Connie let Narry go, ruffling his head while she's at it "anyway, enjoy your cake! I gotta go see the flock!"

She turned to skip out of the room, humming "happy birthday" under her breath.

"Wait, what about the cake?!" He replied, holding out a hand

"It's yours, eat it, throw it out the window, whatever!"

With that, she's gone.

Narrator checked the clock. 7:20. All of that took 20 minutes.

Looking down at his cake turned breakfast...he shrugged and ate. He could be sophiscated and get up to the kitchen. But after all of that...he was going to stay here a little longer.

Could he considered this to be a prank? A reminder of his past with her? Or was she genuine in her desire to celebrate?

Whatever her reasons, he supposed he will never truly know.