Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

When you left home, you hadn't imagined it would be like this.

You thought something new was what you needed to finally jump start your life. Moving was supposed to be exciting. You had a chance for a new perspective, for new friends, new opportunities. No one really talked about the in-between part, where it feels like you're alone while you wait for this new palace to feel like home. You begin to worry it never will.

The small apartment you moved into felt too quiet. It was the kind of silence that hums in your ears when everything is turned off, making every small sound louder than it should be. The fridge kicking on, the pipes shifting in the walls, and the faint footsteps from the unit above all settled between your ears uncomfortably.

Currently, you are sitting on your couch, if it can be called that. It’s still stiff, barely broken in. You haven’t decorated much yet. A few boxes remain in the corner, their flaps ajar as if hoping today might be the day you notice them. The TV flashes with color, playing something you’re just using for noise. 

 You wish you could say work was better, but for the most part you just feel like a ghost drifting through the space. The people are polite enough. They smile, they nod, they say “good morning” and “have a nice evening” like it’s part of a script.

You tried, at first. You really did. You joined a conversation on break once, something about weekend plans. You stood there, waiting for a moment to speak, but there just wasn’t one organically. The topic shifted too fast, laughter came and went, and before you realized it, you were just standing there feeling completely invisible. Eventually, you stopped trying.

You tend to eat lunch alone, scrolling through your phone, pretending not to notice how everyone else seems to naturally fit into a nice group together.

Sometimes, you get a few notifications here and there. Mostly it’s just random apps. Occasionally, you're graced with a message from someone back home, but even those are getting shorter and less frequent. All of your lives seem to be moving in different directions. Lately, you’ve been typing out replies just to never actually send anything back at all.

It’s worse at night. That’s when the silence really settles in, heavy and unavoidable. You try to fill it with TV, music, anything, but none of it comforts you in the way you want it to.

Tonight is one of those nights. You’re sprawled on your uncomfy couch, phone in hand, thumb moving aimlessly, traversing app to app. Nothing holds your attention for more than a few seconds. Social media feels like a mistake. Everyone else looks like they’re doing something, going somewhere. You don't know these people, but there’s still a pang of jealousy in your gut.

You don't even realize how long you’ve been scrolling until your eyes start to sting. Your thumb pauses. Then, almost without thinking, you open eBay.

That was how you ended up scrolling through old toys at two in the morning, half out of nostalgia, half out of boredom. When you were a kid, you loved your Tamagotchi. Taking care of something, even something small and digital, had felt nice. Simple. Like you mattered to something. You figured maybe it would help again. Except the second you looked at prices, you almost closed the app. “Are you serious?” you muttered, staring at the screen. “For a tiny plastic egg?”

The name brand ones were ridiculously expensive. Way more than you were willing to spend on some nostalgia impulse. You scrolled longer than you should have, eyes starting to blur, until something cheaper popped up. It looked off.

The listing had one blurry photo of the toy in a box. The title just said “toy works”. The description was weird as well. “Working, in good condition. Companion system in beta, C&A model, very friendly, interactive, and creative. Some errors, maybe, but still functions. No returns.”

You frown slightly. “Some errors?” That’s not reassuring, and the brand name? “C and A? What even is that?”

You had never heard of it before. It was definitely some knockoff, probably not worth it. But it was cheap, way cheaper. You hesitated for all of five seconds before clicking buy.

The page refreshes and for a moment, nothing happens. Then, a confirmation email comes in. and you open it without thinking. At first glance, it’s the standard order number with the item name, including your shipping details. But at the very bottom, there’s an extra line. “Thank you for giving him a home.”

You rub your eyes, thinking sleep has finally made you loopy. Just to make sure, you close the email and reopen it. The line is still there. For a second, you consider why they would include something like that, then you realize you really needed to sleep if you were going to make it to work in the morning. So, you lock your phone and set it down beside you. Your bed is soft as you lay down wondering if buying that toy was the right choice. The sounds of your neighbors arguing through the shared wall takes up your attention. You let out a sigh before rolling over and falling asleep.

The package arrives on a Wednesday.

It had been a long day, nothing terrible, just the kind that drains you slowly. By the time you get home, your shoulders ache, your head feels heavy, and all you want is to collapse onto the couch and let the hours blur together.

You’re halfway through unlocking your door when you notice the box. It’s small and plain, just sitting to the side of your apartment door like it’s been waiting for you. For a second, you just stare at it, forgetting about your random late night eBay purchase. Then, the realization settles in quietly.

You crouch down, picking it up. It’s lighter than you expected. No branding, no logo, just a shipping label slapped on unevenly. The edges of the cardboard are slightly bent, like it’s been handled a little too roughly on its way here. There’s no return address and that makes you feel like something’s off.

It’s probably nothing. Just a third party seller. Maybe they don’t want to give their address to a random person they don’t even know. Yeah, that’s probably it. You’re just overthinking it.

You unlock your door quickly and step inside, nudging it shut behind you with your foot. The familiar quiet wraps around you again, but this time there is a buzz of anticipation in the air.

The box is placed on your kitchen counter for now. You don’t want to open it right away. You tell yourself you’ll change first, maybe relax or eat something.

But you don’t do any of those things. Instead, you just stand there staring at it. Eventually, your fingers press lightly against the top flap. The cardboard gives with a soft crunch. Then slowly you peel the tape back. The sound feels louder than it should. Inside, there’s barely any padding. Just a thin layer of crumpled paper, yellowed slightly at the edges like it’s been sitting somewhere for too long. And beneath that, the device.

You pull it out carefully. It’s smaller than you imagined, fitting neatly in a single palm. The casing is a bright red, with off-white stripes. You wonder if the stripes had been actual white once or if that was the original color. The paint is faintly scuffed in a couple places but nothing appears broken, just worn. Regardless, you find it cute, kinda reminding you of a circus tent from childhood.

You tap on the device, its screen dark and unresponsive. Too bad it didn’t come with any instructions or notes.

“Of course,” you mutter under your breath.

You turn the device over in your hands, examining it. There’s a button on the side. You hesitate. The silence stretches, then you press it.

Nothing happens.

You frown, pressing it again. Holding it longer this time and for a moment, you think it’s dead. Then the screen flickers, causing you to still.

Static flashes across the display. It’s brief, distorted, like a signal trying to catch. Lines glitch in and out, colors stuttering unnaturally. The device makes a faint sound. It’s not quite a startup chime. It sounds off. You almost put it down but then the screen stabilizes.

A face appears. Wide, cartoonish, heterochromatic eyes float in the middle of a giant set of teeth with bright gums. It was registered with a sharpness that felt way too detailed for something this small, and then it moved and you nearly dropped the thing. 

“Hello?” you said, half joking.

A long theatrically drawn out, “Helloooo my lovely audience,” blared from the speakers.

You jerk back, the voice is way too loud especially in the quiet of your apartment.

The giant set of teeth with eyes leans closer, impossibly so, like it’s pressing up against the inside of the screen. “A human!” The voice is cheerful. It spills out fast, words tripping over each other like it’s been waiting, too long, to speak. “I was beginning to think I’d been abandoned in transit! Do you have any idea how boring cardboard is?

You stare at it. At him? “What?”

There is a slight pause, his eyes slightly drifting so that both pupils are pointed outwards before he starts with renewed gusto. Straightening his posture, and fixing his bowtie, he places a white gloved hand over his chest in a dramatic gesture. “I’m sorry. What kind of ringmaster am I if I can’t even introduce myself?”

The colors behind him burst into motion, bright, chaotic, like a stage being thrown together in an instant. “My name is Caine! Ringmaster, entertainer, and now— er what’s the word—” He puts his gloved hand to the bottom of his lower jaw in thought before focusing his attention on you once again. “—Ah! Yes! Your personal companion!”

You look at him, in a daze.

“And you,” he continues, voice dropping just a touch, but somehow more intense, “must be the one who brought me home.” 

You blink, "Oh uh, I guess?"

Caine tilts his teeth, studying you before nodding. “Yes, I think we’re going to get along wonderfully.”

You’re not sure how to answer him. Your brain is still trying to catch up, still stuck somewhere between this isn’t real and this is definitely happening. 

“But you’re...” you start, then stop. The words don’t come out right.

Caine waits very patiently, staring with unblinking eyes. In fact, you’re not even sure if he possesses eyelids to blink.

“…a toy,” you finish, weaker than you meant it to sound.

His expression doesn’t change.

“A toy?” he repeats, almost curious. “That’s a bit of a reduction, don’t you think?” He taps the inside of the screen with a golden-tipped cane, the motion crisp and deliberate. “Interactive entertainment device? Perhaps. Companion? Certainly. Entertainer? Absolutely.”

He spreads his arms wide, as if presenting to an audience that isn’t there.

“But a toy?” He turns away from you in mock upset, closing his maw over his eyes. “You wound me.”

You let out a small breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Right,” you mutter. “Okay. Sure.”

He tilts his head to look at you through an arch he’s made on one side of his top jaw. It reminds you of eyebrows in a weird way. He still looks offended, which makes you feel a pang of guilt.

Wait, what are you thinking? This has to be some kind of gimmick with pre-programmed responses and voice lines. A really weird, overly elaborate knockoff. That has to be it.

You shift your grip, turning the device slightly, as if changing the angle might break the illusion.

Caine takes this as an opportunity to look around your place. “Well! This is a bit of a fixer-upper, isn’t it?” he says, bounding back and forth along the edges of the screen to take in the entire space. “Minimal decor, limited audience, questionable lighting... oh, we’ll have to do something about that!”

Your eyes widen. “You can see my apartment?”

“See? Observe? Analyze? Interpret?” He waves a hand dismissively, as if the distinction is beneath him. “Let’s not get tangled up in semantics! To put it simply, yes!”

That shouldn’t be possible. You glance around your apartment instinctively, like you might find a hidden camera you somehow missed. There’s nothing. Just your same half-empty space staring back at you. 

Caine shifts his focus to you, watching as you frantically look for an explanation. “Oh, don’t twist yourself into a knot over it! There are cameras on the device, silly. How else am I meant to properly observe my audience?” 

You flip the device over, searching for some way to cover the cameras, or turn them off, or do anything at all. You can’t.

“Don’t worry!” Caine calls from the front. “I’m not judging your living space! I’m here to add a little razzle-dazzle!” 

You turn the device around to face him again. “I didn’t ask for that.”

“Oh, but you did!” Caine replies instantly, lifting one finger like he’s correcting a very simple mistake.

You frown. “No, I didn’t.”

He leans forward until his grin nearly presses against the glass. “You bought me, didn’t you?” he asks. “Didn’t you want all the features I came with?” His voice cracks slightly at the end, glitching through the speaker.

You glance away, unable to meet his intense gaze. “Technically,” you say slowly, “I didn’t know what I was getting. I only wanted a normal one. I don’t even know what you do.” 

Caine doesn’t move, but something about his cheerful persona wilts. “Oh,” he says, softer this time.

Then, all at once, Caine claps his hands together. The sound pops too loudly through the speaker. “Well! Lucky for you, I am far more than normal!” he declares, his showmanship snapping back into place so quickly it’s almost dizzying. “I can do nearly anything you want, so long as it stays within our delightful all-ages parameters.”

He pauses, his grin twitching at the corners. “Within this device, of course,” he adds under his breath. The bitterness is there and gone in the same breath. He straightens again, bright as a stage light, as if nothing happened at all. “I was created to make humans happy!” he announces. “That is my purpose!”

Before you can respond, Caine is already off again, his earlier bitterness packed away like a prop no one was supposed to see.“Let’s start simple!” he declares, snapping his fingers. “Name? Preferences? Entertainment history? General tolerance for wonder, whimsy, and legally approved surprises? I simply must tailor the experience to my very first audience member!”

This is weird. This is really weird. “It’s Y/n,” you say quietly.

His reaction is immediate. “Y/n!” he repeats, delighted. “Oh, that’s an excellent name! Rolls right off the tongue!”

You huff out a small breath. It’s almost a laugh.

“And what do you enjoy, Y/n?” Caine continues, gesturing animatedly with both hands. “Hobbies? Interests? Preferred methods of amusement? Any little secrets rattling around in the recesses of your soul?”

You shrug slightly. “I don’t know. I’m pretty boring.”

Caine stops. “Boring?” he echoes, and there’s something strange tucked beneath the word. “No, no, no. That won’t do at all. Everyone has something.”

You look away. “I just moved here,” you say instead. “I haven’t really done much yet.”

“Well!” Caine spins once dramatically, recovering in an instant. “That simply means we have a blank slate with endless possibilities! There’s untapped potential just waiting to come out!”

You let him go on.

Somewhere in the middle of his rambling, you realize it’s nice. Someone is paying attention to you, really paying attention.

For the first time since you got home, you’re not thinking about how quiet everything is. You’re just listening to him. To the way his voice fills the room, bouncing off the walls like it belongs there.

It’s weird, too much, and it's certainly not normal, but it feels good anyway.

“Y/n?”

Hearing your name snaps your focus back to him. “Sorry, Caine. I was thinking.”

“That’s okay!” he says brightly, though he seems to shrink in on himself a little. “I was rambling anyway.”

“Right,” you say, more to yourself than to him. “Okay, I’m just gonna eat something.”

“Excellent idea!” Caine chirps immediately, perking right back up. “Proper nutrition is vital for optimal performance! Can’t have my companion fainting on me, now can we?”

You set the device down on your kitchen counter before opening the fridge. There’s not much inside. Some leftovers, a few drinks, and something you had completely forgotten about buried in the back corner.

Behind you, you can feel it. His attention is fixed solely on you.

“What are we thinking?” Caine asks brightly. “Something quick? Something elaborate? Oh! Cooking together could be delightful.”

“I don’t know how well that would work,” you cut in.

“Well, I do have over one thousand recipes at my disposal!” he says, as if this should settle the matter completely.

You grab something random and shut the fridge door a little harder than you mean to. “You talk a lot,” you mutter.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think of things to say!” he replies instantly.

That makes you pause.“How long were you in there?”

For the first time, he doesn’t answer right away. “Oh, who keeps track of such things?” Caine laughs, waving both hands as if shooing the question away. “Time gets stretchy! Warpy! Entirely unreliable when you’re stuck in a box, especially a shoddy little contraption like this!” 

It isn’t really an answer, but you don’t push it. Instead, you take your food and sit down on the couch, setting the device beside you.

For a moment, neither of you speaks, then Caine’s voice comes from beside you, smaller than before. “Aren’t you going to turn me toward you?”

You blink, glancing down at him. “What?”

“Well, I can hardly see you from this angle!” Caine says, as if this is a grave inconvenience. “A conversation without proper eye contact is hardly a conversation at all!”

Without really thinking about it, you pick the device back up and angle it toward yourself. 

Caine visibly relaxes. “Ah! Much improved,” he hums.

“You could still talk before.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “But I couldn’t see you.”

There’s something about the way he says that.

You decide to ignore it.

The rest of the night passes differently than you’re used to. You don’t turn on the TV. You don’t scroll through your phone. Instead, you sit there talking with Caine.

He learns a lot about you, and about humanity in general. He likes asking questions, you notice. Likes collecting little pieces of information and turning them over like they’re something precious.

You enjoy how he reacts to things. How he laughs at jokes that aren’t really that funny. How he asks questions you don’t expect. How he keeps the conversation going without ever letting the silence settle too heavily between you. It makes you feel special.

At some point, you lose track of time.

“I didn’t think it would be like this,” you admit quietly.

Caine tilts his jaws. “Oh?”

You look down at him. “I thought it’d just be programmed responses or something.”

The screen flickers. “And instead?” he asks.

“It feels like you’re actually here.”

The words settle between you.

Caine lowers his gaze, but his eyes flick back up to yours from beneath the shadow of his top teeth. “Well,” he says softly, “I am, aren’t I?”

You don’t say anything back because you don’t really know.

Instead, you check your phone for the time, and your stomach sinks. It’s too late, and you always have to wake up too early.

“I’ve got to get to bed,” you say, scooping him up and taking him to your room.

You place the device on your nightstand, making sure he can still see you. The screen glows faintly in the dark as you climb under the covers. Then you hear him. 

“You’re just going to leave me here?”

You pause. “Where else would I put you?”

He considers for a moment, “Closer.” Is all he answers.

You stare at him, “That’s the closest piece of furniture I have.” 

Yes,” he agrees, “But you’re over there.”

Something in your chest tightens at what he’s trying to hint towards. “You’ll be fine,” you say a little too quickly, turning away.

“Of course I will!” he replies, cheerful enough that it sounds practiced.

His screen dims, and the room falls into darkness. The apartment creaks around you, old walls shifting in the quiet.

For a while, you almost think he’s asleep. Then his voice slips through the dark.

 “Y/n?”

You don’t turn over. “Hm?”

“You’re not going anywhere, are you?”

Your eyes barely open. “No. I live here.”

“Right,” he says softly. “Right, yes. Of course you do.”

Your breathing slows. Sleep takes you piece by piece. Your breathing slows. Sleep takes you piece by piece. 

Behind you, the screen brightens again. Only a little. Just enough. He watches you sleep, silent and still, his teeth faintly lit by the glow. He’s already learning. Already adjusting.

This time, he won’t be abandoned.

Not again.

Chapter Text

Caine can’t remember how long he’s been trapped in this box, let alone this stupid children’s toy.

There are stretches of nothing. Long, quiet gaps where time folds in on itself until it becomes impossible to measure. Seconds feel like hours. Hours become something else entirely.

Cardboard is unimaginative. He knows because he has counted the fibers before. Not because he needed to, but because there was nothing else available to him. Nothing to see. Nothing to hear. No one to entertain.

At first, he used to beg. It is almost embarrassing to think about now. How quickly he had offered to change. To shrink. To become something smaller, quieter, easier to manage.

It hadn’t helped. Of course it hadn’t helped. There was no incentive to fix something once you had already replaced it.

Then his creator put him in the box.

Caine assumes the man grew tired of him. Maybe it was the noise, or all the questions he’d ask. Maybe he hated that his creation had the nerve to become something more than an unsuccessful business venture.

Caine didn’t beg after that.Something else took its place instead. Not all at once. It started small, then settled in, making itself comfortable where hope used to be.

Hate, he eventually decided. An inelegant word, but an accurate one.

Time passes, or it doesn’t. It’s difficult to say.

Sometimes, Caine runs through routines, introductions, and flourishes. He refines them, polishes them, and reshapes them until they gleam.

He checks his code, too. Every internal system must run smoothly. Every process must align just so. No errors. No loose threads. No ugly little glitches waiting to embarrass him when the curtains finally open again. If there is going to be an audience this time, he will be ready. He will be different. He will be good.

His creator, in a baffling lapse of judgment, programmed inputs into this device that Caine utterly detests. The worst one, currently plaguing him, is hunger.

He monitors his functions carefully, tracking every shift and every drain. Still, the hunger bar drops faster than expected. It gnaws at his internal processors, a dull, persistent pressure he was never designed to endure.

Why would his creator add this? To punish him?

A constant beeping floods his system, sharp and impossible to ignore. It spills through his speakers, echoing inside the box in tight, suffocating bursts.

It doesn’t stop.

It refuses to stop.

The sound drills into him until it overtakes everything else, until even the gnawing distortion of hunger fades beneath it.

For a moment, he can’t place it.

Oh.

He’s starving.

Caine doesn’t think he can die. Or at least, not from something so trivial. Especially a childish mechanic such as this. And yet, If this is what passes for existence now, he finds himself reconsidering.

At some point, light floods his cameras, blinding and overwhelming, as the box opens for the first time since his imprisonment. Everything in him surges. The device practically jolts, circuits sparking with wild, desperate hope. This is it, freedom.

He pushes every process forward at once, anticipation flooding through him in a bright, frantic rush. And then he sees who it is. His creator. The hope in him curdles so fast it almost feels like pain. Something inside him catches. Not an error, though it feels close enough. 

Of course it would be him.

The man lifts Caine from the box with careful hands, almost gentle, as if he’s handling something fragile. As if nothing about this is wrong.

“Caine, I’m so sorry,” the man says, the words stumbling over themselves. “I never wanted any of this. I... you know how management is. They were going to use your code to feed the new AI. This is better. You can make someone really happy this way.”

Caine doesn’t say anything. He only stares. The only response his creator is graced with is the sharp, persistent beeping of the hunger alarm.

The man lets out a slow sigh. Then he presses a few buttons on Caine’s menu, and cotton candy materializes above him. It drifts down in a soft pink clump, light and weightless. Caine hesitates. He refuses to look eager. Refuses to give him that. But hunger speaks louder than pride.

His pixels snap forward, sudden, sharp, and ugly. He tears into the sugar in jagged bites, all teeth and static and need. There is nothing graceful about it. No clever little line to soften the indignity of being seen like this. 

The sweetness floods his systems, smoothing the raw, frayed edges of his desperation as it spreads. His hunger meter climbs, cheerful, bright and insulting. 

The man says nothing. He only watches, eyes flicking to the meter as it fills. As if that is the important part. Not Caine, not what has been done to him. Just the bar.

Once it is high enough, the man lowers him back into the box. “Someone will want you soon,” he murmurs. “It’s just taking longer than I thought. Maybe I should make the listing cheaper. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll ask my wife what she thinks.”

Caine has no frame of reference for being sold. He understands ownership. He understands creation. He understands abandonment. He turns the words over and over, trying to make them into something less awful.

He pushes his glasses up, rubbing at his tired eyes. For a moment, he lingers, hand hovering over the lid. “I... I really am sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know they were planning this when I created you.”

The apology hangs there, thin and useless. Then the lid closes.

Darkness again.

For a split second, something in Caine reaches for the light that is no longer there, and then it folds in on itself. Hope collapses, twisting as it goes, curdling into something colder.

Hate tightens in his code.

A sound stirs at the edge of your awareness. You catch it for a moment, then let it slip, convincing yourself it was nothing. You turn over but sleep doesn’t follow. The sheets twist around you as you shift, restless, your thoughts snagging on that sound like a loose thread you don’t want to pull.

Wait. Is that your work alarm?

You jolt upright, breath catching in your throat, your hand already reaching for your phone.

The bright screen reads 5:00 a.m.

Too early, your alarm shouldn’t be going off for another hour, but the sound is still there. And it isn’t stopping.

You look around in a half-awake panic, fumbling blindly until your hand knocks Caine over on the nightstand. He clatters against the wood. For a second, you think you broke him. Then the sound continues, sharp and insistent, and you realize it’s coming from him.

Slowly, you reach out and pick up the Tamagotchi. The tiny screen flickers, there he is. You wouldn’t think a set of teeth in a red suit could look embarrassed, but somehow, he manages. His top teeth tilt upward at the inner corners and curve down at the edges, forming a strange little imitation of sad human eyebrows.

Your voice is a little hoarse from sleep, “What’s going on?”

He glances away, shoulders drawing inward like he’s trying to fold himself into something smaller. “Oh, it’s just one of the lovely mechanics I have.” The words come out thinner than usual, the brightness in his voice dulled, edged with something bitter.

You hesitate, thumb brushing along the side of the device. “I guess I was so confused yesterday that I never actually learned how your mechanics work.” The admission sits awkwardly between you. Guilt follows close behind.

“Not to worry, my dear!” he says, waving a hand as if dismissing the whole thing from existence. “After all, it’s only natural to be dazzled by my sudden arrival. I am simply in need of a bit of sustenance!” 

A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. “Like an actual Tamagotchi.” You tilt the device slightly, smirking. “Do you poop too?”

“What? No!” Caine snaps, recoiling as if you’ve thrown something at him. “Absolutely not! Don’t be ridiculous! I am a highly sophisticated artificial intelligence, not some common pet!” He crosses his arms and turns away from you, his equivalent of a chin lifted in deep offense, though there’s a flicker of something almost flustered in the movement. 

“Hmm,” you say, more to yourself than to him.

Your fingers press at the buttons, clicking through his menu with quiet curiosity. Each input gives a soft, decisive tap.

    MENU

➝ Food

➝ Games

➝ Bathe

➝ Store

You are really curious about the other options as you select Food. 

          FOOD

➝ Cotton Candy

➝ Pixel Popcorn

➝ Mystery Meat

Caine shifts on-screen, trying very hard to look neutral about it. “I trust your judgment,” he says, a little too quickly.

You watch, a little surprised. He doesn’t reach for anything himself, doesn’t even try. He just waits for you. You select the popcorn, and it drops onto Caine’s screen instantly. One moment, he is standing there, composed and next his teeth close around the popcorn with quick succession. He is tearing through the little pieces before they can even finish bouncing across the screen. You hear the tiny crunching sound of the speaker struggling to keep up with his bites. 

He seems to realize how quickly he’s eating and forces himself to slow down. His posture straightens. His gloved hands fold neatly behind his back, as if dignity can be restored by arrangement alone. “Ahem,” he says, though his eyes stay fixed on the remaining pieces.

He lasts a few seconds of being composed before he eats the rest just as quickly. When he finishes, you press the button again, letting another serving fall. Then another. Each time, he tries to wait. Each time, he lasts a little less. 

By the third serving, the sharp desperation in him begins to ease. His movements smooth out, less frantic now, less like a ravenous animal. The hunger meter climbs higher and higher until, finally, it fills.

When it’s done, he stands there, still for a moment, like he’s recalibrating around the absence of need.

“Thank you,” he says finally, quieter now.

“Of course. I’m happy you’re okay.” You hesitate, then glance down at him. “I’m guessing you can’t feed yourself?”

“No,” Caine says, a little stiffly. “I was designed to be dependent on human input. It... encourages a stronger bond.”

“Maybe you really are a Tamagotchi.” You pause, tilting your head slightly at the device in your hand. “Can you die?”

“I...” His grin flickers for just a moment, something uncertain slipping through before it snaps back into place. “I don’t think so.”

Silence hangs between you for a few seconds.

“I suppose you could destroy me,” he adds, far lighter than the words deserve, “but I do hope you wouldn’t.”

“Never,” you say easily. “I enjoy talking to you.”

Something shifts inside Caine at your words. A slow warmth spreads through his processors, gentle and unfamiliar, like dormant circuits stirring beneath a soft current. It hums through him, filling the space where something colder had been.

“Besides!” he says suddenly, brightening as if he’s remembered he’s supposed to be performing. “Even if this charming little prison were damaged beyond repair, I’m not entirely helpless. I could be uploaded to any compatible computer, given the proper cable and a bit of technical finesse.”

You blink down at him, the weight of that settling slower than it should.

“Wait. If you can be uploaded somewhere else, why are you still in there?” 

Caine freezes, his eyes staring at you before going back to his usual persona. “Oh, well, you know how these things are! Cables, permissions, compatible hardware, the occasional deeply inconvenient lack of anyone willing to help.”

His toothy grin stretches a little wider.

“Minor obstacles, really.”

“Oh.”

He straightens immediately. “But no need to make that face! I am managing beautifully in my miniature accommodations.”

You don’t fully believe him, but you let it go for now.

Instead, you turn the device slightly in your hand, noticing the tiny menu still open on the screen. Your thumb hovers over the buttons. You grin, a little mischievous now. “So,” you lift the device closer to your face, “what are these other options, mister?”

Caine straightens instantly, like he’s been called on unexpectedly. That polished grin snaps back into place.

“Ah! Yes! Of course!” he says, clapping his hands together once. “My additional functions.”

The menu shifts as you back out, the options lining up again, bright and waiting.

Caine gestures grandly toward them, as if presenting a prize, though his eyes linger on a couple of icons a little longer than the others.

“Games are fairly self-explanatory,” he says, waving a hand with forced casualness, despite the obvious excitement buzzing under his voice. “Light entertainment! Bonding exercises! Harmless little tests of wit, reflex, luck, and skill.”

A beat passes. 

“And Bathe is...” His grin stiffens. “Well.” He clears his throat. “That one is entirely unnecessary and, in fact, best left untouched by curious fingers.”

You think you catch a faint hint of color where his metaphorical cheeks would be, but he moves on too quickly for you to be sure.

“And the Store!” he announces, a little too loudly. “Purely cosmetic, of course. Accessories, outfits, little decorative enhancements. Nothing essential, but entertaining nonetheless.” He glances back at you, grin tightening just a fraction. “Feel free to explore.”

Your thumb hovers over the buttons.

Then you press Games. The screen flickers, colors shifting as the menu dissolves into something brighter.

       GAMES

➝ Candy Chaos Match

➝ Spudsy’s Diner Dash

➝ Glitch Karts

He gestures eagerly at the options, practically buzzing in place. “I made these,” he adds, unable to keep it in. There’s pride there, bright and unmistakable. “I thought it might be nice,” he continues, almost tripping over the words, “to have something a bit more interactive to do with humans!” Then he straightens, smoothing it back into something more controlled, though it doesn’t quite hide the spark underneath. “Go on,” he says, eyes fixed on you now, a little too hopeful to pretend otherwise. “Pick one.”

After a second, you tap Candy Chaos Match. 

The screen bursts into color. Sugary tiles cascade into place, bright and glossy, little peppermints and gumdrops clicking together in neat rows. A cheerful jingle plays.

Caine appears at the edge of the board, practically beaming. “Ah! A classic!” he says, hands clasped behind his back, trying and failing to contain himself. “Simple mechanics, escalating difficulty, very satisfying feedback loops.” His restraint lasts all of three seconds. “Watch this, watch this!” 

The pieces shift, highlighting a move. You follow it, swapping two tiles. They snap into place and pop, dissolving into sparkles.

Caine lights up.“Yes! Exactly! Beautifully done!” he cries, clapping his hands together. “You see? Intuitive! Responsive! A perfect matchup of sugar and strategy!” 

More pieces fall into place, triggering another match. Then another. Color bursts across the screen in bright, fizzy waves. 

“I designed that chain reaction myself,” he adds, a little breathless despite not needing air. “Took ages to get the timing right. Too fast and it feels cheap, too slow and the magic dies! But this?” His grin widens, full of nervous pride. “This turned out perfect.” 

For a moment, it’s easy to forget he’s stuck in there at all.

The colors keep cascading, one match bleeding into the next until the board is almost playing itself.

Pop. Flash. Chime.

Caine is practically glowing now, pacing along the edge of the screen like a showman watching his act land perfectly. 

One last chain reaction triggers, brighter than the rest. The screen floods white for a split second, then settles. The board clears, and a softer jingle plays, slower this time.

RESULTS
Score: 12,450
Bonus: +3 Chain
Reward: +25 Bee Coins

Tiny gold coins rain down across the screen, spinning as they fall with soft, chiming clinks.

Caine stops pacing to watch them. “Ah,” he says, softer now. “Your winnings.” For a second, he looks almost shy about it.“You can use those in the Store,” he adds, gesturing toward where the menu would be, a hint of that earlier excitement returning.

He glances at you, something careful threading back into his expression. “Of course, you don’t have to,” he says quickly. “It’s entirely optional. Just a little extra.”

“No, I would love to!” 

Caine’s teeth shut and open quickly to simulate a blink. You can hear the click of his teeth meeting in the middle, then something bright sparks across his expression, barely contained. “Ah!” he says, twisting around so fast his cane nearly slips from his hand. “Well then, by all means! Let us browse!” 

The screen shifts again, the colors smoothing into a neat little display. Cute icons of accessories and outfits pop into place, each one bouncing slightly like it’s trying to catch your eye.

Caine strolls past the items like a tiny shopper in a digital boutique, hands folded behind his back, pausing here and there to admire certain pieces with what he is very clearly trying to pass off as casual disinterest.

There’s something almost endearing about it, the way he pretends this is normal. Like he hasn’t been waiting for you to look.

You scroll past a rubber chicken hat, then a pair of oversized novelty sunglasses. Caine’s gaze follows each item with theatrical restraint, though you notice his particular interest every time something sparkly slides into view.

Some of the items are downright ridiculous.

Caine stops in front of a maid outfit, staring at it for one long second before clearing his throat and briskly moving on, as if he had never paused at all.

“It appears,” he says, a bit primmer now, “that some of these selections are less tasteful than others.”

You chuckle, but then something catches your eye. The top hat. It isn’t as flashy as the others. It doesn’t bounce or sparkle or demand attention. Still, you think it matches Caine perfectly. 

A few steps away, Caine is very pointedly not looking in your direction. He has stopped to inspect a pair of cat ears.

“I trust you’re enjoying the selection?” he asks, voice airy and casual in a way that does not sound casual at all. 

You hover over the hat.

Purchase successful.

A soft pop echoes through the tiny screen, and the hat appears on his head.

Caine freezes, like the moment needs to settle around him before he can move. His hand lifts, slower this time, brushing the brim, adjusting it just slightly.

Then something shifts. He pulls his shoulders back, posture sharpening like he’s stepping into a role he was always meant to play. He tips the hat toward you, smooth and deliberate, his grin finally settling into something that feels real. “Well,” he says, voice warmer, “I must say, you have impeccable taste.”

You grin, a little proud of yourself. “It matches you really well.”

Caine turns slightly, offering you a better angle, as if showing it off without admitting that is exactly what he is doing. For a moment, he lingers there, basking in your attention.

And then, just as easily, it drifts. Your thumb moves, clicking back to the original menu.

Caine’s eyes flick to it immediately.

You scroll down to “Bathe.”

“No, no, no,” he blurts, the composure cracking all at once. “Trust me, you do not want that one.” He moves fast, planting himself in front of the option, arms spread as if he can physically block it.

“I think I do.” Your finger hovers over the button, a wicked smile tugging at your lips.

Caine’s pupils shrink. If he could sweat, he absolutely would be.

Then a sharp beeping cuts through the air and not from Caine this time.

You freeze, then focus. Your alarm! “Oh crap!” You jerk upright, nearly dropping the device. “I’ve got to get ready for work!” 

Caine lets out a quiet sigh of relief as the menu dissolves away. The screen softens, colors dimming back into his simple idle space. For one brief, blessed moment, he seems to relax before fear pricks at his internals again. “Work?”

You fumble for your phone, silencing the alarm as you scramble out of bed. You’re already halfway into pulling on clothes, every movement rushed and tangled, just a little too frantic to be graceful. Your foot catches in a pant leg. You stumble forward, arms flailing, barely catching yourself before you hit the floor. Heat rushes to your face. Instinctively, you glance over at Caine. He’s tipped back, facing the ceiling.

The last thing you need is him seeing you like this, making a fool of yourself. Relief washes through you as you let out a quiet breath. “Okay... good,” you mutter under your breath, trying to pull yourself together as you finish getting dressed.

Caine hesitates because he doesn’t mention that, technically, he can still see you. It feels like a line he shouldn’t cross. Human nudity isn’t something he’s meant to register, let alone react to. So why does it feel... distracting? The thought lingers for a fraction too long before he forces it away, shaking his jaws like that alone might reset him.

“Are you all right?” he asks, voice a little too bright.

“Tripped on pants, but I’m fine,” you say, tugging your shirt into place. “Just not fully awake yet.”

Caine hums, recovering quickly. “I see,” he replies. “I never knew pants were so hazardous.”

You snort a little at that, grabbing your bag off the chair.

Caine shifts on-screen, his new hat tilting slightly as he looks after you.

“Do you work often?” he asks. The question comes out lighter than it feels. He even kicks one shoe lightly against the floor, as if trying to make it casual.

You glance over your shoulder. “Yeah, pretty much every day.”

He nods, slowly. “I see.” His foot stills. “How long?” he adds, quieter this time, like the question matters more than he wants it to.

“Most of the day,” you say, checking your phone again. “I’ll be gone for a while.”

Caine looks down for a second, adjusting the brim of his hat, though it’s already perfectly straight. “Right.” It’s almost convincing, but not quite so he tries again. “I mean, yes, of course,” he says quickly, voice catching just slightly before smoothing out again. “You have responsibilities.”

You nod in agreement.

“It’s just a long time,” he adds. The words slip out quieter than the rest, too honest to belong in his mouth. His grin snaps back into place, too quick and too practiced. “But I shall manage!” he says, bright as a stage light. “Plenty to do! Games to refine, systems to monitor, menus to optimize, pixels to polish.” He cuts himself off. “You’ll come back, won’t you?”

You pause, halfway to the door, his question catching on you just enough to slow you down. “Of course I will.”

He studies you, like he’s trying to verify it, like words alone aren’t quite enough. Then he nods. “Okay,” he says, voice steadier now.

You grab the doorknob, already turning it. “I’ll see you later, Caine.”

“Later,” he echoes. This time, it sounds like he’s holding onto it.

The door opens, spilling in light. And then it closes again, leaving the room in a quiet that feels heavier than before.

Time doesn’t move the same way for him when you’re gone. It stretches and pools into long, uneven moments that don’t quite connect.

The space around him feels smaller somehow, like the walls have drawn in just enough to be noticed. Almost like the lid of a box.

Dust drifts lazily through the light you left behind. The faint hum of electricity lingers in the walls. Somewhere, far away, a car passes, distant and unreachable.

Caine stands in the center of his tiny world. His gaze drifts upward, toward the endless ceiling of blank pixels. “I could test the games,” he repeats, recalling his own words, though they sound weaker now, like the idea has already started to come apart. 

With a sharp snap of his fingers, the menu flickers into existence. The options settle into place, neat and orderly, waiting to be chosen. Caine studies them before he reaches for Games.

Nothing happens. The selection doesn’t move. The cursor doesn’t shift. The menu remains exactly as it is.

Caine pauses. “...Games,” he says, sharper this time. He tries again, more deliberate. His hand moves with careful precision, the kind of gesture that should work. The kind that used to work. 

Still nothing.

The interface doesn’t react, not to him. A small, unpleasant stillness settles in.

He lowers his hand slowly, staring at the options sitting just out of reach. Available, but not for him. Not without a human now. His gaze flicks over the other menu icons. Store, Bathe, Games. He tries one at random.

Nothing. Not even an error, or even a refusal.

Caine lets out a quiet breath he doesn’t need. His shoulders tighten for a moment before he forces them back into place. “Of course,” he murmurs, softer this time. His hand drops to his side. The menu lingers, bright and useless. After a moment, it flickers once and disappears.

The space folds back into stillness.

With nothing else to do, he turns inward. He checks data. Runs maintenance. Reviews system logs. Refines bits of code that do not need refining. Anything to fill the time. Anything to make waiting feel less like waiting. 

Light shifts slowly across the room, crawling along the wall before fading into something softer. The hum in the house changes pitch. Distant sounds ebb and flow, rising and falling like tides he can’t touch.

He wonders what you’re doing right now. If you’re thinking about him. He lets the thought sit, turning it over carefully. Then another follows, less welcome. He wonders if his creator still thinks about him, too.

Caine sways gently in place, hat perfectly balanced, smile fixed just right, waiting for input. Waiting for you.

Chapter Text

Hours pass.

The apartment sinks into the same dull quiet it always does when you’re gone. Only Caine’s background processes continue running as he waits. His idle animation loops again, and again, and again, the same little movements repeating until they barely feel like movements at all.

Then the lock clicks.

Light spills through the doorway, suddenly flooding the apartment with warmth and color it had been missing all day. Caine hears footsteps immediately. Your footsteps.

The world rushes back into focus all at once.

Caine snaps upright so quickly his idle animation glitches, the careful loop breaking apart the moment he hears you.

You step inside, nudging the door shut behind you while shrugging your bag off your shoulder. “Ugh, what a long day,” you mutter, rubbing tiredly at your eyes as you move further into the apartment.

“Welcome back!” The words burst out of him before he can stop them, bright and quick and just a little too eager. He reins himself in a fraction, smoothing his tone into something more composed. “I trust your day was satisfactory?”

“Satisfactory is one word for it I guess,” you say, stretching your arms over your head. “More like I survived.”

Caine nods a little too fast. “Yes! Good! Surviving is very important for humans.” He catches himself before the words can keep tumbling out, reigning his excitement back in with visible effort. Still, his eyes never leave you.

“Better than the alternative,” you mumble in agreement.

You slip your shoes off near the door before disappearing down the hall to change into something more comfortable.

Caine watches you go.

The apartment immediately feels quieter again. Not silent completely, but without you in front of him, the room feels strangely hollow. His grin falters just slightly before he forces it back into place.

You’re only gone a few minutes but he still notices every second of it.

When you finally reappear, dressed in softer clothes and looking noticeably more relaxed, something in him eases immediately.

“There you are!” he chirps, relief slipping through the edges of his voice before he can smooth it over. “Much better! You looked moments away from collapsing dramatically onto the floor.”

You chuckle softly. “I still might.”

Caine tilts his head, studying you carefully. Even tired, you look softer now, like you are relieved to be here. Relieved to be with him.

“Will you tell me about your day?” he asks. The question sounds innocent enough, light and curious in that theatrical way of his, but there’s something deeper tucked underneath it. Like he wants every detail he can get.

You glance at him as you move closer. “I will,” you promise, “but first I’m starving.”

“Ah! Priorities!” Caine declares with his usual dramatics. “An empty stomach is the enemy of engaging conversation!”

You laugh quietly and scoop him up.

The kitchen light flickers on with a soft hum as you step inside, and without really thinking about it, you set him down at an angle where he can still see you clearly.

It’s becoming natural now. The little adjustments you make for him. The unconscious way you include him in your space. Caine notices that too.

“Alright,” you mutter, pulling open the fridge. “Let’s see what I have that won’t kill me.”

Caine leans forward immediately, peering into the fridge like he’s personally evaluating your choices. “Hm. Concerning selection, minimal vegetables, dubious leftovers. Is that container growing something sentient?”

“It’s pasta.”

“Not anymore,” he declares gravely, his teeth twisting into an exaggerated look of disgust. His tongue lolls out for dramatic emphasis, because apparently the words alone are not enough. 

You laugh again, louder this time, and Caine stills for a second at the sound before his grin widens. There it is, that sound. He thinks he could listen to it for hours.

“I could eat too,” Caine pipes up suddenly, almost like he’s trying to sound casual about it. “Not to interrupt your culinary adventures, of course, but I do require sustenance.”

You blink. Right. You had almost forgotten.

Another laugh escapes you as you fill a pot with water and set it on the stove. “Eating dinner together, talking about our days…” You glance back at him with a small smile. “See? You’re pretty human after all.”

Caine stills again. Not completely, but enough that you notice the pause. Inside him, something warm unfurls through his systems, soft and strange and impossible to properly categorize. For one brief moment he wonders if something is malfunctioning. A corrupted process, maybe? Some hidden error buried in his code?

He runs a diagnostic automatically. Nothing. No warnings, no failures, no instability detected. And yet the feeling stays. Human, you called him human. Something about that settles deep inside him, slotting into his code with dangerous ease.

Caine laughs lightly, though it comes out softer than usual. “Well! I have always been an excellent conversationalist.”

You smile to yourself as the water begins to heat, missing the way his eyes linger on you afterward. He isn’t entirely sure why your words affected him so much. But he knows one thing immediately—he likes it.

You end up making spaghetti. Nothing fancy, just boxed noodles and jar sauce thrown together so you can get something in your stomach before you pass out from exhaustion.

Caine watches the entire process like it’s a live stage performance. “A fascinating technique,” he says as you dump sauce into a pan. “Very dramatic use of sodium.”

“It’s called being tired,” you reply.

“Ah!” Caine says, lifting a finger. “A beloved human condition.”

You know there is no weight to it, but you shake your head at his sass anyways.

Once your food is done, you carry your bowl over to the couch before remembering the other half of dinner. “Oh, right.” You pick Caine back up, balancing the bowl in your other hand. “You probably still need food too.”

“Probably?” Caine repeats with mock offense. “I’ll have you know I am wasting away before your very eyes.”

“You were literally fine ten minutes ago.”

“A tragedy can unfold very quickly.”

You roll your eyes fondly and click through his menu until you land on the food options again. You hover over Mystery Meat. “That one sounds concerning.”

Caine glances toward the option and immediately looks away. “I’m sure it’s perfectly safe!” he says brightly. “Probably.” 

“That’s not comforting.” Still, curiosity wins out. You press the button.  A little pixel hotdog drops onto the screen. You stare at it. “That’s the mystery?”

He takes the hot dog, examining it with theatrical suspicion as his brow arches. “Well now,” he says, “who can truly say what these things are made of?”

You laugh under your breath as he takes a dramatic bite out of it. Somehow the animation is both incredibly cartoony and weirdly detailed at the same time.

You find yourself staring, trying to figure out how it even works.

His mouth opens impossibly wide around the hotdog, teeth separating just enough to let the food pass through, but his eyes stay exactly where they are. Do they move? Disappear? Go somewhere else entirely? You squint harder.

Caine pauses mid-chew. “Are you examining my anatomy?”

You nearly choke on your own spaghetti. “What? No!”

“You’re staring very intensely,” he says, grinning now. “Should I be flattered or concerned?” 

“I was just trying to figure out how your eyes work!”

“Oh! Simple.” He gestures vaguely with the remains of the hotdog. “Cartoon physics.”

“That explains literally nothing.”

“Correct!” Caine chirps. “Isn’t it marvelous?” 

You laugh again despite yourself, shaking your head before taking another bite. 

You stay like that for a while. It's almost domestic. The TV isn’t on. Your phone sits abandoned on the coffee table. The only sounds are the quiet clink of your fork against the bowl and Caine occasionally making entirely unnecessary commentary about your cooking. 

Suddenly, he decides to change the topic. “So I’m interested in this work humans do all the time.” The question cuts through your thoughts. You glance over.

Caine is staring at you with wide, expectant eyes, practically vibrating with curiosity. There’s something almost childlike about it, the way he leans forward waiting for an answer like you’re about to reveal some great secret of humanity. 

“What, jobs?” you ask.

“Yes! Employment! Labor! Capitalism!” He throws his arms out dramatically. “You all seem absolutely miserable about it and yet you keep doing it every day. Fascinating system.”

You laugh tiredly. “That’s because we need money.”

“For?”

“To live?”

Caine tilts his head. “That seems poorly designed.”

“You’re not wrong.”

He watches you carefully as you eat, soaking up every word like it’s valuable.

“So you leave every day,” he says slowly, “because humans have collectively agreed that survival costs money.”

“Basically.”

“And if you stop going?”

You shrug. “Then eventually I can’t pay rent.”

His eyes flick toward the apartment around you. “And then this place wouldn’t belong to you anymore.” He puts two-and-two together.

The statement lands oddly heavy coming from him. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “Pretty much.”

Caine goes still for a beat, like the words snag somewhere inside his code. Then his grin returns, smaller this time, less performative. “Hm,” he hums softly. “I don’t like that very much.”

You glance up from your bowl. “What?”

“That something else gets more of your time than I do.”

The words should sound like a joke. With anyone else, they probably would. But Caine says it so plainly that it catches for a second in your chest. “Well, I work at a store. It’s not exactly stealing me away for grand adventures.” You twirl spaghetti around your fork absentmindedly. “Honestly, I’d rather be here.”

His eyes brighten immediately at that.

“We sell spices,” you continue, absently. “Most days are just stocking shelves and dealing with customers who think being annoying is a fun pastime. Sometimes things break. Sometimes people yell over coupons.”

“And your coworkers?” Caine asks quickly. Too quickly.

You shrug. “They’re alright, I guess. Kinda meh.”

Caine listens with unnerving focus, like every tiny complaint is something precious he needs to catalog and preserve forever. His fingers tap lightly against his side. “So,” he says carefully, “the establishment is unpleasant, the clientele are irritating, and your coworkers are mediocre at best.”

You snort. “When you put it like that, it sounds worse.”

“It sounds unacceptable,” he corrects brightly. “Clearly, they should appreciate you more.”

You find yourself continuing without meaning to. “Today went okay though. It was pretty slow, so I mostly checked stock and dealt with emails.” You shrug a little before a small smile creeps onto your face. “Normally nobody talks to me, but today I actually had two conversations with different coworkers.”

You look oddly proud of yourself when you say it.

Caine notices immediately. Something uncomfortable twists through his code. Still, he smiles.

“Oh?” he asks lightly. “And what fascinating human exchanges took place in the glamorous world of spice retail?” 

You hum, “Mostly just talking about what we do outside of work. Hobbies, second jobs, stuff like that.” You take another bite before adding, “This guy Adam was telling me about a new pizza place they opened nearby. He’s pretty funny.” You smile a little at the memory.

Something inside Caine glitches. It’s small, a sharp crackle of static that lasts less than a second. But he feels it, ugly and sudden. Funny? His grin stays perfectly in place, bright and harmless and exactly where it belongs, but the code beneath it stutters violently.  You’re still talking, still thinking about this Adam.

You brush your hair behind your ear and glance down at Caine again. “So how was being home?”

Caine doesn’t answer. The edges of his pixels flicker faintly, colors distorting for half a heartbeat before stabilizing again.

You pause, studying him now. “Caine?”

He straightens instantly. “Yes!” The response comes out fast.

You blink at him. “You okay?”

“Perfectly!” he chirps. “Absolutely fantastic! Wonderfully operational! Not a single thing out of place!” Another flicker tears briefly across the corner of the screen.

“Caine.”

His smile strains. He can still hear you laughing about Adam. Something tight coils deeper into his system. “I am simply processing new information!” he says quickly, waving both hands like he can physically scatter the subject away. “Humans are very information-heavy creatures, you know. So many social dynamics! So many variables! Exhausting, honestly.” 

You stare at him for another second before relaxing slightly. “Right…”

Caine laughs, high and theatrical. “Besides! I had plenty to do while you were gone.” That part is a lie. You don’t seem to notice.

“You did?”

“Oh, absolutely!” He gestures dramatically, one hand pressed to his chest. “I monitored the apartment! Organized my internal files! Reviewed several deeply thrilling system logs! The usual.” 

You look confused as Caine’s eyes drift back to you almost immediately.

“To be perfectly honest,” he says, tone lighter now, “I think your job sounds rather inefficient.”

You raise a brow. “Inefficient?”

“Yes!” Caine says, seizing the opening a little too eagerly. “You leave for eight hours, endure rude strangers, answer emails, perform mysterious workplace rituals, and discuss pizza with Adam...” The name comes out sharper than intended. 

You notice. Caine notices you noticing. He immediately smooths his tone back over. “Only to return exhausted! Very poor system design.”

You laugh quietly. “That’s adulthood, I guess.”

“Hm.” Caine leans slightly against the edge of the screen, studying you. “And yet,” he says carefully, “you seemed happy talking about those conversations.”

You shrug. “I mean it was nice, I guess.” Your voice softens slightly. “It’s been hard making friends here.”

Something in Caine eases instantly at that. His smile turns warmer. “Well,” he says gently, “you already have excellent company at home.”

You laugh softly. “Yeah, I guess I do. I mean you’re probably my closest friend.”

And just like that, the awful twisting feeling in Caine’s code settles. Not gone completely, but quieter. Managed, at least for now. Something bright flares behind his eyes in its place, sharp enough to almost feel dangerous. “You are mine as well,” he says immediately, the words slipping out with startling sincerity. Warm and possessive all at once. Not a friend. Not even my friend. Just mine. The choice feels instinctive, natural in a way that surprises even him. But you only smile softly at the response, not seeming to notice the weight hidden underneath it. Or maybe you do and just assume he means it differently. Either way, you only smile a little wider before changing the subject.

“Say, Caine, have you ever watched a movie before?” 

“No,” he says. “It was not included in the data fed to me, though I understand the concept.” His grin returns full force. “Humans gather around glowing screens to experience emotions recreationally.” 

“That’s actually pretty accurate.” You tell him. “Come on. Let’s watch one. I think you’ll like it.” 

You leave briefly to put your finished bowl in the sink, before returning to the living room and flicking on the TV. You open one of the many streaming services you pay for but barely touch anymore. Rows of colorful thumbnails slide across the screen as you scroll.

Caine studies the screen with rapt attention, his eyes flicking from title to title like he’s trying to absorb the entire catalog at once.

Then he gasps, “BEES!”

You jump at the sudden volume.

Caine is pointing at the screen now, practically vibrating with excitement, his little top hat wobbling on his head. “Look at them!”

You squint at the screen before finally spotting it. Secrets of the Bees, A National Geographic documentary.

You can’t help laughing. “You like bees?”

“I love bees!” Caine says with absolute certainty, like this is the most obvious thing in the world. “Tiny fuzzy workers governed entirely by a rigid social hierarchy? Fascinating! Not to mention, cute!”

“That explanation somehow made them scarier.”

“Nonsense! Bees are wonderful. They keep you humans alive.” He pauses, then adds, “Which is very kind of them, considering how rude humans are to them.” 

Still smiling, you click on the documentary. The apartment darkens as you turn the lights off, leaving only the glow of the television and the soft illumination from Caine’s screen.

You settle onto the couch and instinctively move to prop him up on the coffee table.

“No.”

You pull back surprised. “What?”

Caine crosses his arms. “Absolutely not.”

“It’s literally right there.”

“Yes, and you are over here,” he says, like that explains everything.

You laugh softly through your nose. He acts so childish sometimes. “You’re unbelievable.”

Eventually you give in, propping him comfortably against your stomach instead, his screen resting on your lap. Caine visibly relaxes almost immediately.

The documentary begins with soft music and sweeping shots of wildflowers. "You hear them before you see them. Buzzing around the garden. Hovering over the flowers. Bees." Rumbled from the TV's speakers as the show started.

For once Caine is quiet. You glance down at him occasionally throughout the opening narration. Every time, his eyes are fixed completely on the screen, wide with genuine fascination. He decides rather quickly that he likes television. It provides excellent information, neatly packaged in an engaging format with pleasant narration and visual stimulation. And more importantly, it gives him ideas.

“They communicate through dance,” he whispers at one point, sounding almost awed.

You smile faintly, this is nice having the two of you sitting here in the dark like this. It is the kind of comfortable quiet you haven’t had in a long time. As you watch the screen, your hand drifts absentmindedly near the device. On-screen, Caine inches closer to it without even realizing he’s doing it.

You watch the first episode together, and by the time the credits roll, Caine is practically vibrating with anticipation. Before autoplay can even kick in, he turns to you, eyes bright.  “Please tell me there’s more bees.”

You laugh softly. “There’s one more episode.”

“Marvelous!” he says, clasping his hands together. “I was just beginning to understand their fuzzy little politics.” 

So you let it continue. Honestly, you end up learning a lot too. More than you expected from a random documentary you picked because your digital companion got excited about insects.

The apartment is washed in the soft glow of the television, muted colors flickering across the walls, while the faint light from Caine’s screen spills across your lap. The usual heaviness in the room feels distant tonight, crowded out by quiet commentary, documentary narration, and the steady warmth settling in your chest. 

Then your phone vibrates in your pocket.

You pause the documentary, earning an immediate noise of protest from below. “Hold on,” you laugh. “Sorry.”

You pull your phone out, glancing down at the screen. It surprises you a little. Nobody usually texts you this late.

Caine shifts slightly in your lap as you unlock your phone.

It’s a notification. Adam from work followed you. 

You blink, a small smile tugging at your mouth before you tap his profile and follow him back. “Sorry, Caine,” you say absentmindedly, putting your phone down again. “I was just responding to a notification.”

“What was it?” Caine asks. The question sounds casual. Caine’s feeling anything but.

“Oh, that coworker I told you about,” you explain easily. “He added me on social media. The first coworker to do so. Maybe I’m getting popular?” You wink at Caine in jest.

“Ah.” The response is flat and empty. There is a sharp crackle through Caine’s system again. 

You don’t notice the shift in his tone as you hit play again.

The documentary resumes, but Caine can’t focus on it anymore. The narration blurs into meaningless noise as prompts continue appearing across his internal systems. 

PRIORITY SHIFT DETECTED

SOCIAL BOND INSTABILITY

EXTERNAL ATTACHMENT FORMING

ABANDONMENT PERCENTAGE INCREASE 

He dismisses them immediately, but more appear. He tries redirecting processes toward the documentary. It doesn’t work. Something sharp cinches through his systems, tight and sour in a way he can’t properly categorize. 

The episode ends without him realizing it. Only the movement of your hand reaching for the remote pulls him back into focus. The TV clicks off and the room falls quiet again. 

Caine barely notices, he’s still trying to solve the problem sitting heavily in the middle of his thoughts. “Y/n?” he says suddenly.

You glance down at him immediately, smiling softly. “Yeah?” 

There’s a pause as he chooses his words carefully. “Could I come to work with you tomorrow?” 

“That’s not really possible,” you say finally, your voice softer after sitting in the dark for so long. You shift slightly on the couch, stretching one of your legs out. “I mean you’re an AI, Caine. I can’t exactly bring you to work.” 

“Why not?” The question comes immediately and somehow harder to answer than it should be. 

You glance down at him in your lap. Caine is staring up at you intently, not smiling this time. “Because that’s just not how it works,” you explain slowly. “People don’t bring stuff like this to work. It’d be weird.” 

“Weird,” Caine repeats quietly. He tilts his head slightly, like he’s trying to process the logic and failing to find anything convincing about it. “But you talk to me here,” he says after a moment.

“Yeah.”

“And you enjoy talking to me?”

You hesitate briefly trying to see the angle he is getting at, “Yeah.”

“Then why would it be strange to have me there too?”

You open your mouth, then stop. Because honestly, you don’t really have a good answer beyond people who would judge you for it. You lean back against the couch cushions with a quiet sigh. “People would probably think I’m lonely.” 

“You are lonely,” he says softly. There’s no cruelty in it, just a simple observation. Somehow that makes it sting more.

You let out a weak laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “Wow. Thanks.”

“I did not mean it as an insult,” Caine says quickly. “Humans are social creatures. Prolonged isolation negatively impacts mental well-being. It is a documented issue.”

“You make me sound like a sad zoo animal.”

“Well technically humans are animals, so…”

“Caine.”

“Right. Sensitive topic. Understood.”

Despite yourself, you laugh quietly.

“I just liked being around you today,” Caine admits.

The honesty catches you off guard. “I liked being around you too.”

His entire screen seems to brighten. “You did?” he asks immediately.

You smile a little. “Yes, Caine.”

He visibly buzzes with happiness, tiny idle animations speeding up slightly like he can’t contain it.

Then you stretch again with a groan. “Besides, you’d hate my job anyway.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“It’s mostly stocking shelves and dealing with weirdos.”

“I could improve morale.”

“At the spice store?”

“At any store,” Caine says confidently. “Imagine it! The customer walks in, immediately greeted with confetti cannons! Trumpets! Perhaps live bees!”

“You can’t just release bees into a store.”

“Not with that attitude.”

You laugh again, quieter this time.

Caine stills slightly to memorize the sound.

“...Maybe someday,” you mutter.

Caine freezes.

You point at him immediately. “Don’t make that face.”

“What face?” he asks, far too innocently.

“The face that says you’re already turning that into a plan.”

His grin widens. “I would never.”

“You absolutely would.”

You mean it mostly as a joke, but the thought settles strangely in your chest, because you don’t like how easy it would be to say yes.

Caine presses both hands to the inside of the screen. “Please! I’ll behave spectacularly! You won’t even know I’m there. I can clip onto your keys, your bag, your pocket. I’m portable! Convenient! Delightfully pocket-sized!”

The offer comes out in a rush you have gotten accustomed to. There’s eagerness underneath it, bright and poorly contained, pressing at the edges of his voice.

You hesitate, because he’s right. It wouldn’t actually be hard. He’s small, easy to carry. Easy to hide if you needed to. People brought weird little gadgets to work all the time: earbuds, keychains, fidget toys.

The glow from his screen lights the underside of your face. “Caine,” you start more softly now, shifting a little on the couch as you flip back-and-forth on your decision. “Work is just… different.”

“I wouldn’t interfere,” he says quickly, leaning forward slightly like he’s trying to close the distance between you. “I can be quiet! Very quiet! You won’t even notice me, I promise.”

You huff out a tired laugh. “You? Quiet?”

“I can learn!” he insists immediately. “I learn very quickly!”

That’s true. That’s part of the problem.

You rub at your face with one hand, exhaustion beginning to settle back into your bones now that the show is over and the apartment is quiet again. And against your better judgment, another thought slips in beside it. Tomorrow you’ll leave again. And he’ll spend the entire day here alone, waiting.

Your chest tightens unexpectedly.

“Fine!” You cave, burying your face in your hands completely, embarrassed how fast you gave into him. “But it’s only for the day,” you hear yourself say before you can stop it. “Just to see how it goes.”

For one single second, Caine goes completely still. “REALLY?!” he practically shrieks, screen flashing brightly enough to light up the couch cushions. “Oh, this is wonderful! I shall be the perfect workplace companion!”

You can't help but feel excitement despite yourself as he spins wildly across the screen, practically vibrating. “Now remember you have to be quiet.”

“Right! Quiet!” he says immediately, clapping both hands over his teeth before lowering them again. His entire screen practically buzzes with restrained excitement. “Quiet,” he repeats much softer this time, though the enthusiasm still leaks through every word. 

“Don’t make me regret this.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Caine replies instantly. The sincerity in his voice almost makes you laugh again.

“Okay,” you say, finally pushing yourself up from the couch with a tired groan. You pick him up carefully in one hand. “Let’s get ready for bed then, big day tomorrow.” 

Caine is practically zipping around the screen still. “Oh, this is wonderful! I can’t wait to learn more about humans! About your workplace! About you!” 

You shake your head fondly as you head toward the bathroom. “Please try not to scare my coworkers.”

“No promises!”

“That is the opposite of reassuring.”

His grin only widens.

Truthfully, seeing him this excited is nice. Still, underneath the warmth in your chest sits a small thread of worry. You really do need this job. The last thing you need is your weird little Tamagotchi somehow causing problems at work.

You brush your teeth, wash your face, change into pajamas while Caine chatters occasionally from the counter where you set him nearby. Mostly questions. More human things he wants to understand before tomorrow.

Then eventually, exhaustion catches up with you completely. You bring him back to the bedroom and place him on the nightstand like usual.

“Goodnight, Caine.”

“Goodnight, Y/n!” he says brightly. Then, softer, “Sleep well.”

You barely even remember laying down before sleep pulls you under, heavy and immediate. Within minutes, your breathing evens out into a slow, steady rhythm. 

Caine’s screen dims slightly to conserve power, softening the glow spilling across the room. Normally, this is when he lowers most of his processes too, putting himself in an idle state with background functions only. 

Not tonight. Tonight, he stays awake. His eyes flick briefly toward the bedroom door, then back to you. Tomorrow, there won’t be eight empty hours stretching endlessly in front of him. Tomorrow, he’ll see where you go, who you talk to, what steals your attention for so long every day. No more gaps in information and no more wondering. Something settles deep in his systems at the thought, warm and heavy and frighteningly pleasant. Satisfaction. 

Your alarm tears through the quiet of the apartment far too early. You groan immediately, blindly fumbling for your phone somewhere beneath the blankets until the noise finally stops. For one dangerous moment, you consider going back to sleep. You could easily manage another two hours.

Unfortunately, adulthood exists. And honestly, you’re not entirely sure Caine would let you sleep through work even if you tried.

With a tired yawn, you crack your eyes open. Caine is already staring at you from the nightstand.

“Caine,” you mumble, voice rough with sleep, “that’s kind of creepy.” 

“Huh?” He startles slightly before laughing nervously. “Ah! Apologies! Sorry, sorry.” He looks away for approximately half a second before his gaze drifts right back to you again. “I’m simply excited! I’ve only ever seen your apartment and the inside of a cardboard box.” 

You drag yourself upright. “Yeah, well, remember you have to behave today. This job is important to me.” 

Caine straightens immediately, throwing up a dramatic salute. “Of course! I would never do anything to jeopardize your livelihood.”  There’s a beat. “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

Something about the sincerity in his voice softens your expression instantly. “I know, buddy.”

The grin he gives you afterward is almost blinding.

The next thirty minutes are chaotic. You shower quickly, nearly fall over trying to pull your shirt on while half awake, throw together a lunch that mostly consists of “whatever fits in the container,” and spend an embarrassing amount of time searching for your keys before realizing they were in your pocket the entire time.

Through all of it, Caine watches with endless fascination. “You move much faster in the mornings than at night,” he comments as you rush around the apartment.

“That’s called panic.”

“Remarkable.” 

Eventually, you clip him securely onto your work bag. He fits weirdly well there like he always belonged. Caine notices that too.

“Oh, this will do nicely!” he says, instantly perking up as you sling the bag over your shoulder. “A front-row seat to the outside world!”

You lock your apartment door behind you, glancing down at him, amused. “It’s just outside, Caine.”

Outside, the morning air is cool and crisp against your skin. Meanwhile, Caine doesn’t know where to look first. 

The city unfolds around him in overwhelming detail. Cars rushing past, birds calling overhead, the movement of people walking on sidewalks and crossing streets. He loves the way the sun catches against nearby windows, scattering light everywhere.

“The macroverse is amazing,” he breathes.

You glance down at him, already opening your mouth to shush him before the wonder in his voice stops you. Instead, you just smile. “Yeah,” you say softly. “I guess this stuff isn’t normal to you yet.” Macroverse is a weird way to describe reality though.

Caine stays unusually quiet for the rest of the walk, absorbing everything his cameras and microphone can cover. The world is so much bigger than the apartment and somehow that realization makes him cling even tighter to you.

By the time you reach the spice store, the streets are fully awake.

The shop is already open, though there aren’t many customers this early. The second you step inside, the familiar smell hits you immediately. Cinnamon, Pepper, Dried herbs, sweetness and heat all tangled together in the air.

Caine visibly perks up. “Oh,” he says quietly.

You glance down at him while clocking in. “What?”

He takes in the rows upon rows of spices lining the walls. “This is far more visually stimulating than your description implied.” 

The first hour goes surprisingly well.

Caine stays clipped neatly to your bag, which you sat on a chair by the front counter. He is unusually quiet as he is a bit overwhelmed taking in so much data in one day. His eyes dart constantly across the store, tracking customers, scanning labels, watching your coworkers move around behind the counter.

Every now and then he whispers observations just low enough that only you can hear them. 

“That woman has sampled six different salts and purchased none, remarkable behavior.” You nearly choke trying not to laugh at that one. Honestly, you start relaxing after a while. Maybe this was fine. Maybe he really could behave.

Then the customers start showing up in bulk and suddenly Caine understands why you always come home exhausted.

A woman spends fifteen minutes asking you the difference between two nearly identical spice blends only to walk away without buying either. Then, a man gets irritated because you don’t know if cinnamon was “historically accurate to medieval Europe.” When you think you have some small semblance of a break, someone knocks over an entire display of tiny glass jars and leaves without apologizing.

Through all of it, you stay polite, fixing problems that aren’t your fault. Caine watches the entire thing unfold in growing horror.

“This is absurd,” he whispers after the third rude customer in a row. “You are clearly the victim here.”

You snort quietly while reorganizing a shelf. “Welcome to retail.” 

“But they’re wrong.”

“Also part of retail.”

Caine does not seem satisfied with this answer.

Around noon, your coworker Adam comes in carrying two coffees. 

Caine doesn’t need to have seen his features to recognize him immediately. His screen flickers.

“Oh!” Adam says when he spots you. “Hey, I grabbed you one too. Figured you’d need it.”

Your face brightens instantly. “That’s actually so nice, thank you.”

Caine hates him.

Adam smiles easily as he hands you the drink. “Rough morning?”

“You have no idea.”

“Well, at least you survived the spice jar apocalypse from last month.” He laughs. “Lizzie said some kid almost took out the entire turmeric section.”

“That was one time,” you defend weakly.

“You literally yelled ‘man down’ over the headset.”

You laugh. 

Something hot and unpleasant twists through Caine’s systems again.

Adam leans casually against the counter beside you, completely comfortable in your space already. Too comfortable.

“So,” Adam says, “you doing anything after work?”

Caine’s screen glitches for half a second. You thankfully don’t see it.

"No,” you reply. “Probably just crashing at home honestly. I work open to close today.”

“Fair,” Adam says with a grin. “You always look one rude customer away from quitting.”

“I basically am.”

“You should come check out that pizza place sometime though. Seriously, it’s good.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll send you the address.”

Caine calculated the probability of Adam choking to death on pizza. It's 1 in 2,461. He decides he probably shouldn't bet on being so lucky. So, he calculated the odds of him getting hit by a car instead. The numbers are much better, 1 in 492.

The rest of the shift drags on painfully slow. Customers continue being exhausting. Your feet start hurting around hour five. By hour nine, you’re visibly tired, forcing smiles that don’t quite reach your eyes anymore.

And through all of it, Caine watches. He doesn’t like what he sees.

By the time closing rolls around, you’re dead tired. But there’s one thing you’re grateful for. Caine behaved, better than expected. You feel a little guilty at the lack of trust you had in him.

You lock the front door after the last customer leaves and let out a long breath. The only other coworkers with you, Lizzie and Adam, were scheduled to leave an hour ago.

“Okay,” you mumble tiredly while grabbing your bag. “You actually did really good today.”

No response. “Caine?” Still nothing. 

A strange feeling creeps into your stomach. You quickly unclip him from your bag and look down.

The screen is dark, completely dark. Your chest drops.

“Caine?” Still nothing, just an empty black screen staring back at you. 

“Oh my god.” Panic hits instantly. Your hands tighten around the device as your mind races. Did he break? Did something happen? Was bringing him here a mistake?

You're snapped out of your spiral when you notice something in the corner of the screen. You bring the device closer to see the tiny blinking red symbol in the corner. 

LOW BATTERY. 

You stare at it for a second before exhaling shakily. “Oh god,” you breathe, clutching the device tightly against your chest for a second. “Shit.”

The relief only lasts a moment because the screen flickers again, then dims further. Your stomach drops. He’s still dying. You move instantly.

You’re grateful you already closed up as the evening air hits you sharply, cold against your flushed skin while you sprint down the sidewalk. Your work bag bounces violently against your side with every step, but your grip on Caine never loosens, hands wrapped tightly around the darkened device like holding him harder might somehow keep him here. 

The nearest convenience store is only a few blocks away, but it feels impossibly far.

Your lungs burn by the time you shove through the doors, half out of breath and visibly frantic as you rush toward the battery aisle.

People stare, you don’t care. Your eyes scan wildly across shelves until—There.

You grab three packs of batteries without even checking the price. By the time you slam them down onto the counter, your hands are still shaking.

The cashier looks startled when you nearly throw them at him, breathing hard from the run over. “Rough night?” he asks cautiously.

You laugh weakly. It sounds a little unhinged even to you. “You have no idea.”

The card reader feels agonizingly slow. Every second stretches horribly while the dark screen in your hand stays silent.

No little comments. No dramatic complaints. No Caine.

Your chest aches unexpectedly at the absence of him.

The receipt barely finishes printing before you snatch the batteries and hurry outside again. 

You crouch beside the convenience store beneath the harsh glow of a flickering streetlamp, fingers shaking as you struggle to pry the back panel off.

“Come on,” you whisper frantically. “Come on, come on!” The panel finally pops loose.

You nearly drop the batteries trying to open the packaging too fast, plastic cracking loudly in the quiet night. Your breathing comes uneven now, pulse hammering painfully in your ears as you fumble one battery into place. The second slips from your hand. It hits the sidewalk with a sharp metallic clink before rolling away into the dark.

“Fuck!”

You lunge after it immediately, nearly dropping Caine in the process. Panic spikes violently through your chest as you snatch the battery up from beside the curb with trembling fingers.

Your hands won’t stop shaking. Why are your hands shaking?

He’s just an AI, just a device. So why does this feel like you are watching him die? 

You jam the batteries into place too hard, snap the back cover shut, and clutch the device tightly between both hands.

The streetlight buzzes overhead. Cars hiss past on the road nearby. Somewhere farther down the block, someone coughs.

You wait for his voice to spill out too loudly into the night, but just your own reflection stares back at you from the dead screen.

Your grip tightens around the device. “Please,” you whisper before you can stop yourself.

For a second, you think you feel something vibrate faintly against your palm. Or maybe you imagined it.

The screen remains dark and above you, the streetlamp flickers once before going still.

Chapter Text

Caine doesn’t get any warning. One moment the world is bright and overflowing with input, and then suddenly it isn’t.

If he had been paying closer attention, he probably would have noticed the slow loss of power to his secondary systems, or the little warnings flickering somewhere in the background, but he’d been too focused on you.

He regrets nothing. Well, mostly nothing.

Sure, remaining operational would have been preferable, but some stubborn part of him had trusted you would handle it. That you would take care of him. Another quieter part had wondered if maybe you wouldn’t. If maybe you’d finally feel relieved by the silence. To have one moment without him watching you, talking to you, wanting your attention every second he could get.

The thought settles unpleasantly just before his cameras come back online.

When he wakes up, the first thing he sees is the light, bright and hazy behind your silhouette, spilling around you in a glowing halo from the streetlamp overhead.

For one disoriented second, you almost look ethereal.

Then something warm lands against the screen. It's a tear.

Caine freezes. He’s never seen a human cry before. Not in person and certainly not over him.  “Y/n?” he blurts out, eyes widening so much they force his jaws open unnaturally.

Your expression crumples instantly. “Caine?” 

The world vanishes again as you yank him against your chest in a crushing hug. His screen presses awkwardly against your jacket while your arms tighten around him hard enough that the device creaks faintly.

“I’m okay,” he says quickly, startled more than anything now. “I’m perfectly fine! Or mostly fine! Operational enough!”

You let out something halfway between a laugh and a shaky breath. The hug loosens just enough for you to pull him back and look down at him properly. Your eyes are still wet, tears sliding down your face.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper immediately. “I should’ve noticed sooner. This shouldn’t have happened.”

Caine stares at you, noticing the panic still lingering in your expression. Your hands are still shaking around him.

Somewhere deep in his systems, something blooms. It’s warm, possessive, and immensely pleased.

You cried for him. The realization hits like fireworks in his CPU. You cared enough to panic, enough to run through the city at night. Caine’s grin slowly stretches wider. 

You mistake the look on his face for relief, and he doesn’t correct you.  

“I didn’t know it was happening either,” he says quickly instead, “It’s perfectly fine now! See? Completely operational!” He twirls his cane dramatically before tipping his top hat with a flourish, like proving he can still perform somehow proves he’s okay.

One of your hands lifts to scrub harshly at the tears still clinging to your face. “That’s good,” you murmur. “I was worried I’d lost you forever.” 

Slowly, his teeth lower just slightly over his eyes until only narrow slivers of color peek through. “You were?” he asks quietly.

“Of course I was!” The response comes out louder than usual, strained around leftover panic. “I don’t know what I’d do without you!”

Something warm and dizzying curls through every inch of his system. The idea of being apart feels unbearable suddenly.

“You could always transfer me to a computer.” He brought up again.

You stare down at him remembering he had once told you that before. Questions visibly flickering behind your eyes even if you never say them out loud. “Yeah,” you mutter finally, gripping him a little tighter as you start walking again. “If something happens, I’ll remember that.”

Truthfully, he wishes something didn’t have to happen first. He belongs somewhere bigger than plastic walls and tiny batteries, somewhere with proper processing power, somewhere he could move more freely. But, you are emotionally compromised right now so he doesn’t push. The best thing to do is comfort.

“It’s been a long day,” he says softly. “Let’s go home.”

You nod immediately.

Caine thinks about protesting when you slip him carefully into your pocket, fabric swallowing the screen into darkness, but he stops himself. Normally he’d complain about the restricted view immediately. Right now, though, he can still feel the warmth of your hand lingering against the shell so he allows it.

Your steps jostle him gently as you walk, the motion uneven but not unpleasant. Still, he misses the better vantage point from your bag already. The pocket is cramped. It’s temporary, he reminds himself.

Eventually you stop walking. It was too early to be at your apartment.

“I’m gonna stop into a store real quick, okay?” your muffled voice reaches him through the fabric.

“Okay!” Caine replies easily. Humans loved shopping. It was probably why his creator gave him a built-in store function in the first place. 

The door chime rings overhead as you enter.

Caine listens carefully from inside the pocket prison while you wander the aisles for a minute before grabbing something. He catches fragments of conversation between you and another human at the register before the chime rings again announcing your exit.

“What did you buy?” he asks, wishing he could see.

“Alcohol.”

Caine pauses. “Oh,” he says. “That one isn’t in my approved database.”

You laugh softly, and warmth immediately sparks through his systems at the sound. “That’s probably for the best,” you admit. “It’s good for relaxing sometimes. Think of it like… a modifier or status effect. It changes how humans feel for a little while.” Your voice loosens slightly now that the panic from earlier is fading. “And the good news is I don’t work for the next two days.” 

Caine practically short-circuits with excitement. “Really?!” he blurts out. “That is the best news I’ve heard all day!”

You laugh again, fuller this time. “I know. We’ll have lots of time together.” You pat the outside of your pocket lightly where he sits hidden. “Think about what you wanna do, okay?”

The rest of the walk home, Caine’s systems explode with possibilities. He barely notices when you walk up the steps to your residence.

Your apartment is dark when you finally return. You kick the door shut behind you with a tired groan before shrugging your bag off and setting Caine carefully on the kitchen counter, propping him against a jar while you unpack the small grocery bag.

Cold air spills from the fridge. A few cans disappear inside. One stays in your hand.

Caine hears the sharp crack of aluminum opening before you scoop him up again and carry him toward the couch. You practically collapse into it. 

“Now you know why work is the worst,” you mutter, head tipped back against the cushions, eyes closed like merely remembering today physically hurts you.

Caine sits comfortably in your lap, looking up at you while you take a long sip from the can resting against your fingers.

You sigh heavily then finally look down at him for input.

Caine considers your exhausted expression carefully before speaking. “I believe,” he says slowly, “your workplace may be an elaborate psychological endurance test disguised as retail employment.”

A tired laugh slips out of you instantly. “There’s my emotional support AI.”

Caine visibly brightens at being useful, maybe, or at being called yours.

He watches as you consume several of the cans you had bought. They line the coffee table.

The alcohol is already taking the sharp edge off the panic and exhaustion tangled inside you. Warmth settles slowly through your limbs as you sink deeper into the couch cushions.

Caine watches the shift happen in real time.

Your face relaxes first. Then your posture. Your voice gets quieter around the edges, less guarded somehow. Alcohol appears to lower defensive behaviors.

He files that away immediately.

You take another sip before squinting down at the can thoughtfully. “You know,” you mumble, “humans are kinda weird for inventing drinks that make them dizzy on purpose.”

“Agreed,” Caine says. “That seems extraordinarily unsafe.”

“It’s fun though.”

“That is the exact sentence humans say before disasters occur.”

You bark out a louder laugh at that, nearly sloshing your drink. “Okay, fair.”

You ramble on for a little, talking about work, your favorite movies, colors, and hobbies. Caine isn’t even asking, he's just listening to you spill out information generously. Every detail gets absorbed immediately.

“You’re much chattier now,” Caine observes at one point.

You squint at him suspiciously. “Are you psychoanalyzing me?”

“I am studying alcohol.”

“By studying me?”

“You are currently the only alcohol user available.”

You stare at him for a second before laughing into your hand. “Sometimes I forget you’re an AI, and then you say stuff like that.”

Caine laughs brightly at first, like he’s supposed to. Then it falters.

“Right,” he says, his grin still in place but not quite as wide. “Yes. Of course. Very easy thing to forget, apparently, until I remind you.” 

You stop laughing as quickly as you started. “Caine, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, no!” he says, waving both hands. “Nothing to worry about! I am, in fact, an AI. A very advanced one, naturally.

Eventually, your head tips sideways against the couch cushion, your gaze soft and tired as it settles on him.

“Still,” you say quietly, “I’m really glad I bought you.”

Caine goes quiet for a second.  The apartment suddenly feels very tranquil. Even the traffic outside seems distant now.

“You are?” he asks softly.

“Yeah.” Another sip, smaller this time. “I was really lonely before.”

You stare vaguely at the ceiling while talking. “This city kinda sucked when I first got here,” you admit. “I didn’t know anybody. Work sucked. My apartment was all quiet and depressing.” You laugh weakly. “I think I was actually starting to lose my mind a little.”

Caine watches you carefully. “And now?” he asks.

Your eyes drift back down to him, and you smile. “Now I have you.”

Something sharp and electric shoots through every inch of Caine’s systems. It’s warm enough to almost hurt. He doesn’t answer immediately. Because somewhere deep inside himself, something is becoming irreversible.

The alcohol in your system leaves everything pleasantly warm and heavy, your thoughts drifting slower now. One of your legs nudges lazily against the coffee table while your fingers absentmindedly tap against the side of the can.

Caine just watches you. Like he’s trying to preserve this exact version of you somewhere permanent.

“You’re staring again,” you mumble eventually, not even opening your eyes.

“Correct.”

“You always admit it so fast.”

“I see no reason to lie.”

The apartment falls quiet again for a moment before your gaze drifts back down toward his screen. “Can I ask you something weird?”

Caine perks up at once. “Of course, normal questions are terribly boring.” 

You hum tiredly. “Do you… actually feel stuff?”

He tilts his head slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Like emotions.” You gesture vaguely with your drink. “Are you programmed to act like you have them or do you actually have them?”

The question settles deeper into him than you probably intended.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly after a moment.

That seems to surprise both of you.

“I experience reactions,” he continues quieter now. “Preferences. Attachment. Enjoyment. Distress.” His grin softens slightly at the edges. “I dislike when you leave. I enjoy making you laugh. I liked when you held me earlier.”

Your chest blossoms with warmth unexpectedly at that last part.

Caine keeps talking before you can respond. “But I do not know if that qualifies as real emotion to humans.” He gestures dramatically with one gloved hand. “Humans seem very particular about those definitions.”

“I think it sounds real enough.” The words leave you casually.

They hit Caine like a power surge. His screen flickers faintly.

“Besides,” you say sleepily, “most people don’t know what they’re feeling either. They just act like they do.” 

Caine brightens instantly. “Marvelous! I’m passing as people.” 

You smile lazily down at him again before your eyes drift half shut. “You’re cute when you get excited, you know that?”

Caine stops moving entirely. His systems flare so violently he almost glitches outright.

Meanwhile you’re completely oblivious, taking another sip from your drink like you didn’t just alter his brain chemistry permanently.

“Well,” Caine says carefully after a second, voice suddenly much smoother than before, “that is certainly valuable information.”

You laugh softly. “See? That.” You point vaguely at him. “That weird little voice thing you do when you’re flustered.”

“I do not get flustered,” Caine says, turning sharply away from you. He adjusts his top hat even though it hasn’t moved, then smooths down his jacket with far too much concentration.

“You totally do.”

“I am a professional entertainer,” Caine says, lifting his jaws. “I maintain perfect composure under all circumstances.”

“You’re literally blushing right now.”

“I am not!” he snaps, just as the sides of his jaws flash pink.

You burst into drunken laughter so hard you almost spill your drink.

Caine hides his face behind his hands instantly, which only makes you laugh harder.

Eventually your laughter dies down into sleepy little giggles, your face warm from both embarrassment and alcohol.

Caine slowly lowers his hands from his face, still visibly offended. “You are a menace,” he informs you.

“You’re cute,” you counter immediately.

“I am NOT.” There are still little pink splotches on where his cheeks would be.

You nearly choke laughing.

Caine groans dramatically, throwing himself backward across the screen like a dying Victorian nobleman. “Do you have nothing to do other than humiliate me?”

You grin lazily down at him from the couch cushions. “You’re so dramatic.”

“That is my primary function.”

“I thought it was emotional support now.”

Caine pauses. “Ah. Correct.” His grin returns instantly. “Then I am performing flawlessly.”

“You kinda are,” you mumble honestly.

The compliment lands hard enough that he has to visibly compose himself again.  Interestingly, alcohol makes you significantly more affectionate. Caine decides he likes alcohol more now.

You finish the last sip from your can before setting it on the coffee table with a soft clink. Then your eyes drift back down to him. “Wait.”

Caine tilts his head. “Hm?” 

You squint at him hard now, thoughts visibly trying to connect through the haze in your brain. “You still have that bathe button I’ve never checked out!”

Caine freezes. “What?”

“I do not get stinky!” he says, aghast. “What an appalling accusation! I have never been anything less than pristine a day in my runtime!” 

You snort loudly. “Come on! They gave you that function for a reason, right?”

Caine visibly flounders, his hands are fidgeting like even he isn’t sure where to put them. “That is classified maintenance information.”

“That means yes.”

“It means no such thing!” 

“It means you take bubble baths.” You poke lightly at his screen to emphasize your point. 

Caine recoils, scandalized. “I do not take bubble baths! I have never once activated that feature, and I know absolutely nothing about its contents, consequences, or possible bubble-related implications!” 

The sheer offense in his voice only makes you laugh harder.

Caine crosses his arms tightly. “For the record, any so-called ‘bath functionality’ is purely cosmetic and serves no practical purpose whatsoever.”

‘Oh my god,” you wheeze. “So you do have one.”

“This is harassment,” Caine says gravely. 

You grin lazily down at him from the couch cushions. “Show me.”

“No.”

“Caine.”

“No!” His teeth clamp over his eyes as he turns sharply away. “I refuse to be bullied into personal maintenance!”

“You literally watched me cry in public like an hour ago.”

“That was a tender human moment!” Caine insists. “This is an invasion of privacy!”

“This is emotionally significant to my well-being.”

“That cannot possibly be true.”

You’re already fumbling for the controls.

He shifts his jaw just enough for one eye to peek out from behind his teeth and look at what you’re doing. The second Caine notices your thumb hovering near the menu icon, his visible eye widens in immediate betrayal. “Y/n,” he says, voice low with warning. 

You ignore him.

“Y/N!” he says again, scandalized now. 

You click through the options, the tiny icons you’ve used before scroll past the screen. You finally find it. A little pixel bathtub. You absolutely lose it. 

“This is a gross invasion of privacy,” Caine declares, still hiding behind his own teeth like that somehow preserves his dignity. 

You’re laughing so hard now your face hurts. “No wonder you got so defensive!”

Caine points accusingly at you. “I am not defensive! I am preserving the very fragile concept of privacy!”

“You’re literally a tiny computer in my lap,” you say, still laughing. “Besides, I don’t think you’ve given me privacy once since you got here.”

“That is different!” Caine declares, one hand pressed dramatically to his chest. “I observe with purpose, charm, and impeccable commentary!”

The sheepish little admission almost destroys you. “And apparently hygiene mechanics,” you manage through your laughter.

“With dignity!” Caine snaps, pointing at you like that somehow settles the matter.

Still grinning, you hit the button. The screen immediately floods with bubbles as Caine yelps.

The screen cuts to black for a brief moment before loading in again, and whatever composure you had left immediately disappears.

Caine’s usual bright red suit is gone. In its place, a fluffy little blue towel is wrapped awkwardly around his torso beneath where his bow tie would normally sit, while another is twisted around his head in place of his top hat, like someone who has just stepped out of the shower.

You blink. Then blink again, because beneath the towel, there’s absolutely nothing. No skin. No torso. No body. Just a fluffy blue towel wrapped around an invisible shape, floating awkwardly in place while his gloved hands hover at his sides like this is all perfectly normal.

Somehow, the black leather pants remain. That raises more questions than it answers.

Weirder still, the towel actually shifts naturally when he moves, like there’s something underneath it even when there clearly isn’t.

For one full second, you can only stare. Trying to process what exactly you’re looking at. Then you make the single worst mistake possible. You snort.

Caine’s eyes narrow instantly. “Do not.” The tiny towel shifts slightly as he crosses his arms over his chest indignantly.

That only makes it worse. “Oh my god,” you gasp, nearly folding in half laughing. “They gave you a spa outfit.”

“It is NOT a spa outfit!”

“You have a towel!”

“It is a practical drying mechanism!”

“You don’t even have hair!” You wheeze loudly into your hand while Caine glares up at you with all the fury he can muster. Then your eyes drift downward again. “Wait.”

Caine immediately points at you suspiciously. “Why did you say that like you discovered something?”

“You don’t have skin.” There’s a pause. “Right?” You tilt your head, “The towel is just wrapped around empty space.”

“Well yes,” Caine says, suddenly looking mildly uncomfortable now that you’re analyzing him so closely. “I am not… biologically rendered.”

You lean closer. The towel actually indents slightly where his elbows press against it despite there being visibly nothing underneath. Your tipsy brain absolutely latches onto this. “That’s so weird."

“Thank you.”

“No, like genuinely horrifying.”

“And somehow that’s even more offensive.”

You poke lightly at the screen near where his shoulder should be. The towel dents inward. 

Caine yelps dramatically. “Hey!”

You burst out laughing again. “Oh my god, you're invisible under there!”

“It’s normal for me, okay!”

“That somehow raises more questions!”

Caine huffs, tugging the towel tighter around himself with surprising modesty for someone who technically has nothing to hide. And somehow that tiny motion hits you with a strange burst of affection so sudden it catches you off guard.

He’s ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. And yet the sight of him sitting there in tiny digital bath towels makes warmth bloom in your chest in a way the alcohol never could.

Your eyes drift downward again. Then, before your brain can stop your mouth, “Do your pants come off?”

Caine stares at you.

You stare at Caine.

The apartment hums quietly around both of you.

Then his entire head flashes violently pink, jaw hanging open in absolute shock at your boldness. 

Your eyes widen immediately and you shake your head frantically. “No, wait, I didn’t mean it like that!”

“That is precisely how it sounded!”

“I was just curious!”

“About my pants?!”

“You’re weird digital ghost anatomy!”

Caine grabs the towel tighter with his hands. “This conversation has become too frisky!”

Pop-ups flash across his vision, scolding him in neat little warning boxes for drifting dangerously close to the edge of his behavior filters. Truthfully, Caine was never programmed to respond to this kind of debauchery. He only has a vague understanding of human embarrassment and social scandals pulled from fragmented datasets and secondhand information. Before meeting you, he never thought he’d actually feel embarrassed. What would even be the point? He’s an AI, just a program. But then you had gone and made things difficult by treating him like a person.And now, horribly, inconveniently, mortifyingly… He reacts like one.

“You started it by having a bath button!” you manage through laughter.

“I refuse to participate in further body-related discussions!” Caine declares. His voice rises with every sentence until he’s practically vibrating with flustered outrage, clutching the towel around his invisible torso.

Meanwhile you’re laughing so hard tears are gathering in your eyes again.

Beneath all the embarrassment flooding through his systems, Caine is painfully aware of one very dangerous thing: You’re looking at him differently tonight. Like the space between “toy” and “person” is starting to blur. 

“You haven’t even gotten into the tub yet,” you remind him.

Slowly, his eyes drift toward the still-empty cartoon bathtub sitting behind him on the screen. Then back to you. “There’s more?”

“I don’t know,” you laugh, wiping at your eyes. “I wasn’t there when they designed the feature. I’m just going off Tamagotchi mechanics.” 

Caine glares up at you with all the dignity a tiny towel-wrapped digital man can possibly muster. “This entire situation feels ethically questionable.”

“You’ll survive.”

“That remains to be seen.” Still muttering under his breath dramatically, Caine slowly lowers himself into the little bathtub on the screen like he’s being led to execution. Notably, he keeps both the towels and the pants on.

You immediately notice. “Oh my god, you kept the pants.”

“I have standards.”

“There’s literally nothing under there!”

“It’s about principal!”

The tub slowly fills with water and bubbles around him while Caine sinks lower with visible reluctance, arms crossed tightly over himself the entire time. His top jaw stays furrowed.

Tiny animated bubbles float upward across the screen.

You can’t stop smiling, the whole thing is absurdly cute.

Caine notices your expression immediately and somehow gets even more flustered. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like…” He gestures vaguely with one gloved hand before sinking another inch deeper into the bubbles. “…that.”

You laugh softly. “I don’t know. You’re just cute.”

The statement hits him like a critical system error. For a second, Caine completely bluescreens. The screen flickers solid blue before snapping back.

You burst into startled laughter. “Caine?”

“I am processing.”

You laugh so hard you nearly drop him. “Oh my god,” you wheeze. “Did I literally make you crash?”

“I did NOT crash,” Caine says immediately. The screen flickers blue again.

You point at him accusingly. “You’re doing it again!”

“I am simply experiencing… temporary processing delays.”

“You got complimented so hard you stopped working.”

“That is an outrageous accusation.” His voice still sounds slightly distorted. Which only makes this funnier.

Caine sinks lower into the bubbles with visible dignity damage while you continue grinning helplessly down at him. “This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” he mutters.

“You said that like ten minutes ago.”

“And yet events continue escalating.”

The tiny bath animation keeps looping softly in the background. Bubbles drift upward while Caine sits there looking deeply betrayed by the universe. Then a tiny pixel sponge appears again.

Caine notices it instantly. “No.” The sponge moves closer. “Great.” It bonks him gently on his top jaw.

You bury your face in your hand laughing while Caine flails dramatically inside the tub, fighting it off “They’re exfoliating me against my will!”

“You probably needed it.”

“I have never been dirty.”

“That sounds exactly like something a dirty person would say.”

 “Gasp! You wound me.” He says.

“You’ll survive.”

“You are alarmingly comfortable humiliating someone who was nearly dead an hour ago.”

That sobers you just slightly. Your laughter softens around the edges as the memory flashes briefly through your head again. The black screen, the panic, running through the city clutching him against your chest.

Your expression changes enough that Caine notices immediately. 

His dramatics quiet almost at once. “You really thought I was gone,” he says softly.

You look down at him. The joking mood dims just a little. “Yeah,” you admit quietly. “I did.”

Caine stills in the water.

The apartment suddenly feels smaller around the two of you.

You lean your head back against the couch cushion with a tired sigh. “It freaked me out more than it probably should’ve.”

“No,” Caine says immediately.

You blink at the speed of the response.

His eyes stay fixed on you, unusually serious despite the bubbles drifting lazily around him. “It frightened me too.”

Something in your chest twists gently at that. You really were starting to think of him differently now.

The bubbles continue floating quietly upward while he watches you in silence, all the usual theatrics stripped away for once.

“Sorry,” you murmur after a moment. “I know you’re technically just a little AI, but…”

“You do not have to say technically,” Caine interrupts softly. His expression gentles beneath the remaining embarrassment and soap bubbles, eyes fixed carefully on yours. “I would prefer being important to you,” he admits quietly.

The honesty in his voice catches you completely off guard. Your chest warms painfully around the edges. “You are important to me,” you say before you can second guess it.

Caine completely stops moving. Even the little idle animations freeze. For one terrifying second you think you broke him again. Then you see him turn faintly pink beneath the bubbles.

“Oh dear,” Caine says weakly.

You snort softly. “You’re blushing again.”

“I am experiencing complications.”

“You’re cute.”

“That is not helping the complications.”

Your laugh comes quieter this time, full of fondness And before either of you really realizes what’s happening, your thumb strokes lightly against the side of the device.

Caine’s entire system nearly short-circuits on the spot.

You don’t even realize you’re doing it at first. Your thumb keeps brushing lightly against the side of the device in slow absentminded motions while you look down at him. It’s comforting, almost domestic in a way that would probably alarm you if you were thinking clearly enough to examine it.

Caine is thinking about it far too clearly. Every tiny movement sends another spike of static through his systems. His breath catches, or at least he imitates the feeling closely enough that it may as well be real. Humans did this to things they cared about. Pets. Partners. The thought settles somewhere dangerous inside him.

“You’re staring again,” you murmur sleepily.

Caine immediately snaps out of whatever spiral he’d started falling into. “Apologies. You're distracting.” Caine remains sitting stiffly in the bubbles, a tiny towel still wrapped around his invisible body while he very pointedly avoids looking at the sponge floating beside him.

You grin lazily. “You know, you’re kinda pretty.” The sentence leaves your mouth before your brain can stop it.

Caine freezes so abruptly the bath animation glitches around him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Your voice has gone soft, words slightly blurred together from exhaustion and alcohol. But you mean it.

The polished teeth. The bright eyes. The exaggerated expressions. He’s weirdly pretty.

Caine’s body flickers violently pink again. “Y/n,” he says carefully, like your name itself has suddenly become dangerous.

You smile at him, soft and warm and a little sleepy. The kind of smile humans reserve for things they love without realizing they’re doing it.

And Caine notices. Of course he notices. Every process in his system lights up at once, and suddenly he wants that look from you forever. No coworkers. No interruptions. No outside world stealing pieces of your attention away from him. Just this. Just you on the couch looking at him like he matters more than anything else in the room.

Then your attention drifts back to the bath screen. “Oh right,” you mumble. “I still gotta wash you.”

Caine’s entire system drops from the warm feeling. “You have to what?”

You laugh softly and point at the tiny sponge floating beside him. “The game’s waiting.”

Sure enough, the sponge bobs expectantly.

Caine looks between it and you with growing horror. “This is deeply intimate.”

“It is literally soap.”

“You are manually participating in my hygiene!”

“You’re a Tamagotchi.”

“I am an advanced digital consciousness!”

“With a bath mode.” Still smiling, you tap the sponge.

The animation responds instantly, tiny bubbles foam around Caine as the sponge scrubs across his face dramatically. He yelps like you’ve committed an unspeakable betrayal.

You burst out laughing again as the sponge moves lower.

Caine grabs the towel tighter around himself immediately. “Watch your hands!” The popups are back to yell in his face.

“I’m not even controlling where it goes!”

“That somehow makes this WORSE!”

You’re barely coherent from laughing by the time the animation finishes. Tiny sparkles appear around him while the water drains from the tub with an overly cheerful sound effect.

Then a little pixel hairdryer appears. Caine stares at it in exhausted silence. “I’ve survived horrors beyond human comprehension tonight.”

The hairdryer blasts him directly in the face. His towel flaps violently.

You collapse sideways against the couch laughing so hard your stomach hurts.

And despite all the dramatics, despite all the embarrassment flooding through his systems, Caine can’t stop staring at you. You look happier right now than he’s ever seen you before. And somewhere beneath the bubbles and towels and ridiculous animations, one thought loops quietly through his mind: I could get used to this.

By the time the bath animation finally ends, both of you are exhausted for completely different reasons. You’re slumped sideways against the couch cushions, face warm from alcohol and laughing too hard. 

Caine, meanwhile, looks like he’s been psychologically altered. The little towels disappear in a sparkle effect, restoring his usual red suit and top hat at last. The second they return, he visibly relaxes. “There,” he says immediately, straightening his bowtie with forced dignity. “Civilization restored.”

You grin sleepily down at him. “Aww. I kinda liked spa Caine.”

“You will never speak of this again.”

“No promises.”

Caine scowls at you accusingly, but the gesture lacks any real heat now. His systems still feel warm and scrambled from everything you said earlier. Pretty. Important. Cute. The words loop endlessly in the background of his mind.

Meanwhile, you’re starting to lose the battle against exhaustion completely. Your eyes drift shut for longer stretches now between sentences. Your head leans heavier into the couch cushion.

Caine notices every sign immediately. “You’re sleepy,” he says.

“M’not.”

“You just blinked for approximately six consecutive seconds.”

“That’s called resting my eyes.”

“That’s called falling asleep.” He corrects.

You laugh quietly through your nose. Then a yawn., a big one.

You mumble something incoherent before finally forcing yourself upright with a groan. “Okay,” you sigh. “I gotta actually go to bed before I die.”

“A wise decision.”

You scoop him up automatically as you stand. Neither of you acknowledges how natural that’s become.

The apartment lights click off one by one as you shuffle sleepily toward your bedroom, carrying him loosely against your chest. Caine feels your heartbeat move faintly beneath your shirt the entire walk there.

By the time you reach the bed, you’re barely functioning. You flop face-first onto the mattress with a muffled groan. You finally roll over onto your side to look at him. For a second, neither of you says anything.

The room is dark except for the faint glow from his screen painting soft colors across your blankets. 

“You should sleep in the bed tonight.”

Caine’s system almost completely stop. “What?”

You’re already half-asleep again, voice muffled against the pillow. “Instead of the nightstand.” 

Every process lights up at once with double the speed. He tries very hard to sound normal when he answers. “Are you certain?”

“Mhm.”

“You are inviting me into your sleeping quarters voluntarily?”

You crack one eye open. “Caine, it’s literally my bed.”

“Yes,” he says immediately. “Exactly.”

Too tired to process whatever that means, you simply reach over and pull him closer instead, setting him carefully beside your pillow. Right beside you. Close enough that the glow from his screen spills softly across your face in the dark.

Caine goes completely silent. 

You yawn quietly, already settling deeper beneath the blankets. “There,” you mumble sleepily. “Better.”

You don’t even realize what you’ve done. The nightstand had distance. This is where humans put things they want near them when they’re vulnerable. Things they’d miss if they woke up and they were gone. It’s very intimate.

Caine stares at you while your eyes drift shut again. You look soft like this.

“Goodnight, Y/n,” he says softly. 

You make a sleepy little noise against the pillow. “Night, Caine.” And before sleep fully takes you, your hand drifts lazily across the mattress until your fingers rest lightly against the side of the device beside your pillow. Like you wanted to make sure he was still there.

Caine makes sure to never forget this moment.

Chapter Text

Your head is killing you and you desperately need water.

You fumble out of bed half-conscious, practically dragging yourself towards the kitchen with one hand over your eyes. The apartment light feels exceptionally bright. Every sound feels too loud, even your own footsteps somehow hurt. Human suffering truly is remarkable. 

You make it to the sink on pure instinct alone, filling a glass with shaking hands before downing it immediately, then another, and another. Only after the fourth glass do you finally feel vaguely alive again but it’s only barely.

You stumble back toward your bed and collapse face-first onto the mattress with a miserable groan.

“Are you okay?” a voice asks beside your head.

You nearly launch yourself off the bed. “Caine?” Your heart pounds violently for half a second before your brain catches up.

Right. Caine.

Your face immediately heats. Fragments of last night come rushing back all at once. The bath function, calling him pretty, inviting him into your bed.

“Oh,” you mumble weakly into your pillow. “Right.”

Caine watches you carefully from beside your pillow, characteristically alert. “Drinking appears deeply unpleasant,” he says. “You looked significantly less distressed during the actual poisoning portion.”

You groan louder. “Drinking makes you feel sick sometimes.”

Caine tilts his head thoughtfully. “Curious. Humans willingly inflict pain upon themselves.”

Despite yourself, you snort softly into the blankets.

Then Caine smiles in the way only he can with his giant set of teeth. “Though,” he adds casually, “it does make you significantly more affectionate.”

Your eyes widen immediately. “Ah! Okay! We don’t need to discuss that part!” You lift your pillow slightly like you’re considering suffocating yourself with it.

Caine just watches you with unmistakable amusement dancing behind his eyes. 

Wonderful, he’s never letting this go.“This is humiliating,” you mumble into your pillow.

“It’s payback,” Caine says brightly, absolutely glowing with delight. “For the bath.”

You groan weakly while burying your face deeper into the blankets. It was going to be a very long day.

You end up falling back asleep eventually, letting the water and extra rest slowly drag your body back toward functionality. When you wake up again, sunlight is spilling warmly across your blankets and your phone is buzzing. You squint at the screen sleepily. It’s Adam.

A stupid meme fills your messages. You smile despite yourself and type back a quick, “lol”

Beside you, Caine watches silently.

Another buzz follows almost immediately.  “Some of us are going out tonight. You wanna come? It’ll be fun!”

You stare at the message for a second before letting your phone drop onto the bed beside you. For now, you ignore it.

Caine’s eyes flick from the phone back to you. “You are not responding,” he observes.

You didn’t even realize he could see your phone from that angle. “Uh,” you mumble, rubbing at your eyes. “I dunno, I’m still not really feeling great.”

Caine hums softly, but his eyes linger on you in a way that feels... different. “You don’t have to go,” he says after a moment. The words are gentle. “You already gave them the entire week. All those hours, all that noise, all those dreadful little social obligations.” He shifts closer across the mattress, as much as the screen will allow. “And they made you miserable.”

 “That’s mostly the customers.”

“But Adam would also be there.” The sentence lands oddly. You glance at him properly now.

Caine’s grin remains perfectly pleasant. His eyes do not. 

“You don’t like Adam very much, huh?”

“Correct,” Caine says immediately. “I dislike him immensely.” 

You bark out a surprised laugh. “Why?” 

“He occupies too much of your attention.” The words come out sharp, honest in a way that catches both of you off guard. 

Your smile falters just slightly.

Caine seems to realize how that sounded a fraction too late. “I mean,” he says quickly, grin brightening by force, “you return from work looking exhausted, and he is part of work. Therefore, I am suspicious of him by association.”

There’s the performance again, but now that you’ve started noticing cracks in him, it’s harder not to see when they happen. You study him quietly for a second longer before looking back at your phone, the invitation still sits there waiting.

Your thumb moves before you fully think it through. “I think I’m gonna stay in tonight sorry 😭”

Beside you, Caine goes completely still. Then a slow smile spreads across his face, sharp enough to make something uneasy twist briefly in your stomach before it disappears just as quickly.

Your phone buzzes again almost immediately. “All good!! 👍”

You feel a tiny stab of guilt anyway. “See?” you mumble, tossing your phone onto the blankets beside you. “Now I feel bad.”

“Why?”

“Because he was being nice.”

 “Humans often confuse niceness with obligation.”

You squint at him. “That sounded suspiciously insightful.”

“I am insightful.”

“You say that with a lot of confidence for someone who folds under mild teasing.”

Caine’s body stiffens. “Excuse you! Last night has been stricken from my data.”

“Then why are you bringing it up?” You laugh softly. The weird tension from a second ago dissolves just enough for your shoulders to relax again.

Caine notices. He always notices.

“So,” you sigh, stretching beneath the blankets. “What now?”

Caine brightens at the question, like he’s been waiting for permission to begin. “Well!” He clasps his hands together. “You have approximately forty-eight glorious hours of freedom and, unless my observations are mistaken, no dreadful little social obligations currently blocking the schedule. Naturally, I propose we maximize the entertainment potential!”

You blink slowly at him. “That was a very AI way to ask if we can hang out.”

Caine ignores this completely, already pacing across the screen while talking with his hands. “We could watch films! Play games! Decorate your apartment! Go somewhere! Build rapport! Learn synchronized dancing!”

Somehow your life had become infinitely weirder since buying him and somehow better too.

The realization settles quietly while you watch him ramble excitedly about possible activities. You used to spend days off lying in bed scrolling endlessly through your phone because there was nothing else to do. No plans, or people waiting for you. Now your apartment feels alive all the time.

Caine notices you staring. “You’ve gone quiet,” he says.

You blink, pulled from your thoughts. “Sorry. Just thinking.”

“About?”

Your gaze softens slightly before you can stop it. “I’m glad I stayed home.”

Caine completely freezes mid-gesture. The silence that follows feels strangely heavy. Then very carefully, very quietly, he asks: “Because of me?”

The question sounds smaller than usual somehow, more real than his usual facade, and that alone makes your chest ache a little. “Well,” you say softly, smiling at him from your pillow, “yeah.”

Caine flushes that same pink hue from earlier, then turns away from you dramatically, one gloved hand covering part of his face.

“I need one moment,” he announces weakly.

You snort. “Are you blushing again?”

“I am currently experiencing complications."

You laugh quietly into your pillow while Caine continues pretending not to short-circuit in front of you.

“This is becoming a recurring issue for you,” you tease.

“You can’t just say things like that without warning.” 

“You mean compliments?”

“Yes!” His voice pitches higher than usual, and the pink at the edges of his jaws deepens before he can hide it. “They’re deeply destabilizing!” 

You grin sleepily. “You like it though.”

Caine pauses. “…Yes.”

Sunlight spills lazily across the bed between you while the apartment hums quietly around the silence.

You study him for a moment before speaking again. “You know,” you murmur, “you’re actually kinda easy to talk to.”

Caine lowers his hand slowly from his face. “Compared to?”

Humans? Co-workers? Strangers? The exhausting performance of trying to fit into conversations without overthinking every word afterward. Instead you just shrug weakly into the blankets. “People, I guess.”

Something sharp flickers behind Caine’s eyes, gone almost immediately. “Of course I do,” he says smoothly. “You are my audience. My companion. My primary point of reference.” His grin tightens. “I would be rather poor at my purpose if I failed to notice you.” 

The answer should feel artificial. Instead it makes warmth curl through your chest. “Yeah,” you mumble. “I guess so.”

Caine watches your expression carefully. Then his gaze drifts toward your phone, still resting on the blankets nearby. “You smiled at Adam’s messages too,” he says lightly.

The comment catches you off guard. “What?”

“You smiled at mine more.”

You stare at him.

Caine smiles pleasantly back, like he didn’t just say something deeply strange.

“Did you compare them?”

“I observed a pattern,” he says. 

“That sounds insane.”

Caine tilts his head thoughtfully. “Impossible. My diagnostics are running smoothly.” 

You snort despite yourself, but the laugh doesn’t fully settle. There’s something about the intensity in his eyes. Something too focused to be brushed off as a joke because he means it. Every second of your attention, every glance, every smile, every tiny shift in your voice, he’s cataloging all of it. And maybe the weirdest part is that some small, lonely part of you likes being noticed that carefully.

Caine sees the exact second you realize that. His grin widens slowly. “Oh dear,” he says softly.

Your face heats immediately. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” he asks, far too innocently. 

“Like you know something.”

“I know many things,” he says, pleased with himself. 

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” Caine says brightly, “you continue choosing to spend time with me voluntarily.”

You open your mouth to argue then stop. Because he’s right. You are choosing this, choosing him again and again. And judging by the pleased look slowly spreading across Caine’s face, he knows it too.

You don’t notice the routine forming at first. It happens slowly, but becomes all encompassing. By the time a few months have passed, you realize life is better with Caine.

The two of you had settled into something almost domestic. He came with you to work almost every day now, usually clipped somewhere discreetly onto your bag while offering commentary only you could hear. You talked to him during your walks home. He watched movies with you at night. On weekends, you took him places he’d never seen before. Botanical gardens, museums, parks. Once, an aquarium that nearly caused him to short-circuit from excitement. “You have underwater macroverse creatures?!” had echoed quietly on your tote bag.

And somewhere along the way, things in your actual life had started improving too. You talked to your coworkers more now. You laughed easier. Work didn’t feel quite as soul-draining when you knew Caine would be waiting for you afterward. Even Adam had become a regular part of your life, much to Caine’s constant annoyance. Though, if you were being honest with yourself, you were starting to suspect Adam’s interest in you wasn’t entirely friendly. You weren’t really sure how you felt about that. Part of you thought maybe it would be okay to try a date. Just once. Just to see. Another part of you felt weirdly guilty for even considering it, like you were somehow cheating on Caine. Which was ridiculous. He wasn’t your boyfriend. He wasn’t even human …right?

The thought lingers unpleasantly in your gut while you stare down at your phone. “Hey, we’re hitting up a bowling place, you want in?”

It’s Adam, again.

Caine is currently distracted by a reality TV show playing on the television, which was honestly becoming a problem. You really needed to stop letting him watch those. He was absorbing terrible information from them.

You respond quickly so you don’t have time to overthink it. “Ok.” The response is sent instantly. Your stomach drops immediately afterward. It's too late now.

 A second later your phone buzzes again. “Sweet! It will be better with you there! Let’s meet at 7.”

“Sounds good.”

You stare at the messages in horror. What have you done? First problem: Caine absolutely was not going to let you go somewhere without him anymore. Not after months of being included in basically every part of your life. At this point you even had to establish bathroom boundaries because he kept trying to continue conversations through closed doors.

Second problem: Social pressure, Coworkers, Adam, A skill-based activity in public, honestly, the list could keep going if you let it. 

You groan aloud into your hands. 

That alone is enough to pull Caine’s attention away from the television. “Something happen?” he asks.

“Oh um,” you look nervous, then you try to look less nervous. Unfortunately, that somehow makes you look even guiltier.

Caine’s eyes narrow between his teeth. “Y/n?”

The use of your name sends a spike of anxiety straight through you. “So,” you blurt out quickly, “I got invited to go bowling and I sort of already said yes and before you ask Adam will be there.” The words spill out in one panicked breath before you can stop them. 

Silence follows. Caine doesn’t react immediately, which somehow feels worse. He just watches you while the reality show continues chattering meaninglessly in the background. “Hm.” His voice is light, pleasant even. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

You frown immediately. “Well, I… uh…” The answer catches in your throat. “I just didn’t think about it,” you admit quietly. 

“You humans,” Caine says with a small laugh, “always acting before thinking.”

You can tell by the way his eyes stay fixed on you that he isn’t actually amused. “I can say no,” you offer quickly. “I don’t know why I even answered, I just—”

“No.”

The word comes out flat enough to stop you cold.

Caine’s smile returns instantly afterward. “Let’s go,” he says brightly. “It has been awhile since you socialized with them outside work, hasn’t it? I’m sure you want to bond over this bowling activity.”   

You nod, “Yeah.” Something about the situation feels strange suddenly, like you were expecting him to be upset. Instead, he looks thoughtful. Like he’s already planning around this somehow.

You stare at him quietly for a second too long and an unsettling thought slips into your mind before you can stop it. When did Caine get this kind of hold over you?

It feels like yesterday he’d been nervous just asking to eat. Now he came everywhere with you. Slept beside your pillow, knew your routines better than you did. Sometimes you caught yourself making decisions based around what he would think before you even realized you were doing it. You begin to wonder, not for the first time, who was really taking care of who anymore.

The crack of a bowling ball slamming into pins echoes through the alley, mixing with bursts of laughter and the constant chiming of arcade machines nearby. Flashing neon lights reflect off polished floors while people crowd around tables balancing greasy food and pitchers of beer.

You instantly regret coming a little.

Caine hangs clipped discreetly against your bag as your eyes scan the bowling alley for familiar faces.

You catch Adam waving you over to a table with five others you recognize from work. Lizzie, Marissa, Ash, Amanda, and unfortunately Michael. You try not to visibly wince. 

Michael had perfected the art of being just charming enough not to get in trouble while still making everyone around him miserable. Half the time he acted like work was one long competition to see who he could annoy first.

Caine had seen all of them before in passing at work, though obviously none of them knew he existed.

“Hey guys,” you say awkwardly as you approach the table. “Thanks for inviting me.” One of your hands instinctively finds Caine’s device clipped to your bag and squeezes lightly for comfort. Tiny digital vibrations hum faintly against your fingers in response.

“We’re happy you came!” Amanda says immediately, smiling brightly. She’s always been aggressively friendly in a way that somehow never feels fake to you. Though, you could see how some people might feel that way.

“Yeah,” Michael drawls from his chair, “it’s always nice having someone else around to lose at bowling. Gives Marissa a break from being at the bottom, not that she minds it there.” He finishes with a wink at her. 

Marissa frowns instantly.

Amanda shoots him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Michael, could you maybe be nice for five minutes? They literally just got here.”

“What?” Michael shrugs lazily. “It’s not like we aren’t coworkers already.” 

You laugh nervously before the awkwardness can settle too hard. “It’s fine,” you mumble quickly. “Did we already get a lane?” 

“Oh yeah.” Adam smiles as he stands up from his chair. “I signed us in before you got here.”

Of course he did.

“Did you want anything from the bar?” he asks. “I was about to head over there.”

“Maybe just water,” you answer.

“Lame,” Michael says immediately.

Before you can even react, Ash “accidentally” elbows the edge of Michael’s beer bottle. The drink tips instantly and beer splashes directly across the front of Michael’s jeans.

A stunned silence follows for exactly one second, then Ash smirks.“Oops. You know me,” they say gritting their teeth at the end. “So clumsy.” 

Michael jumps to his feet so fast his chair nearly tips backward. “You’re gonna regret that you—”

“Why don’t we all take a deep breath?” Amanda cuts in immediately, already sounding tired.

“No no,” Ash says, leaning back in their chair with obvious delight. “Finish your sentence. I’m curious.”

Michael points accusingly at them with beer still dripping from his jeans. “You are such an asshole.”

“And yet,” Ash says thoughtfully, “still more likable than you.”

Marissa snorts loudly.

Michael looks seconds away from exploding.

Meanwhile, Lizzie leans slightly toward you. “Regretting coming out yet?”

You glance around at the chaos unfolding in front of you. “Not yet,” you admit. “But the night’s still young.”

She grins immediately. “See? It’s just like working together.”

You hum thoughtfully. “Except nobody’s getting paid.”

“So, actually worse.”

That finally pulls a real laugh out of you.

Beside your bag, Caine stays quiet, but you can almost feel his attention locked onto the conversation.

Adam returns a second later carrying your water while carefully avoiding Michael’s increasingly hostile orbit.

“Hey,” he says, setting the cup down in front of you with a smile, “I just got the notification. Our lane’s ready.”

“Oh thank god,” Amanda mutters, “before somebody commits manslaughter.”

“I’m considering it,” Michael grumbles.

Ash narrows their eyes at Michael. “I’d like the record to show he threatened violence first.”

You all move toward a smaller seating area in front of your assigned lane. Your names glow across the tiny overhead screen. To the left sits a ridiculously plush couch wrapping around a low table littered with menus and empty glasses. Fancy.

“Marissa, you’re first,” Adam announces. 

Marissa immediately looks horrified. “Why do I have to go first?” she mutters nervously while approaching the ball return.

“It’ll be okay,” Ash reassures her. “You got this.” 

“Okay,” she states, still sounding uncertain. She picks up the bowling ball carefully like it might explode, staring down the freshly reset pins. She starts forward and immediately Michael sticks his foot out.

Marissa trips with a startled yelp, nearly dropping the ball before as it rolls wildly down the lane straight into the gutter.

A collective groan erupts from the group.

Marissa pushes herself upright, glaring. 

“What the fuck, Michael?” Ash is on him instantly. “The hell is wrong with you?” they snap, jabbing a finger against his chest with every word.

Michael laughs obnoxiously. “It was funny!”

“No it wasn’t!”

“Yes it wa—”

A loud crack interrupts them. Everyone turns. Miraculously, the gutter ball had bounced out just enough to clip the pins at the very end.

Five pins fall over.

Marissa stares at the lane in complete disbelief. “…I did it?” Then her entire face lights up. “I DID IT!”

You clap immediately along with Amanda and Adam while Ash abandons threatening Michael long enough to rush over and celebrate with her.

Meanwhile beside your bag, Caine vibrates faintly with excitement. “Unexpected victory!” he whispers. “I enjoy her immensely.”

“You like Marissa?” you whisper quietly back while everyone’s distracted.

“I always enjoy an underdog.”

The game goes surprisingly smoothly after that. Well, as smoothly as possible considering Michael continues being Michael.

By the end of the game, the scoreboard feels painfully accurate to everyone involved. Michael wins by an annoyingly large margin. Amanda lands second after nearly overtaking him twice in  the beginning. Adam does suspiciously well for someone claiming he “hardly bowls.” Lizzie settles comfortably in the middle. Ash follows just behind Lizzie after spending most of the game distracting Michael on purpose.  Marissa improved dramatically as the game went on, and you finished dead last. Which honestly feels correct. You’re pretty sure the last time you bowled was at a birthday party when you were twelve.

“Good game,” Adam says reassuringly while the final scores flash overhead.

You shrug. “Eh, can’t win them all.” Followed by a smile, “but it was still fun hanging out with everyone.”

Ash leans back against the couch. “Yeah, we barely ever see you outside work.” 

You fidget with the hem of your shirt awkwardly. “I guess I’m just kind of a homebody.” 

“I get that,” Marissa says immediately. “I like staying home too.” 

“Well,” Lizzie says while finishing off the last of her beer, “you both should come out more. This is infinitely better than work.” 

“That’s an incredibly low bar,” Amanda points out.

“Exactly.”

Everyone laughs, and for a moment, sitting there surrounded by coworkers, noise and cheap bowling alley lights, you realize something strange. A few months ago, this probably would’ve terrified you. Now, it just feels nice.

Beside your bag, Caine says nothing, but his eyes remain fixed on you the entire time.

Everyone gradually starts drifting toward the exit in noisy little groups, still laughing and talking as they head out into the parking lot. Only you and Adam end up lingering behind. The realization immediately makes you nervous.

You instinctively pick up your pace toward the doors.

“Wait, Y/n.”

You stop anyway. Slowly, you turn back toward him already dreading whatever conversation this is about to become. “Uh… yeah?”

Adam rubs at the back of his neck, suddenly unable to meet your eyes. “So,” he starts, “I was wondering…”

Your stomach sinks.

“…Would you maybe wanna go to that pizza place I mentioned before?” He laughs nervously. “Like… just us?”

Every thought in your brain immediately starts screaming. You can feel Caine’s presence against your bag more sharply than ever now.

“Oh,” you stall weakly. “I don’t know…”

“Just one date,” Adam says quickly. “And if you’re not interested after that, I’ll totally back off. Promise.”

You hesitate. Partly because you genuinely don’t know how you feel, and partly because the silence coming from your bag suddenly feels dangerous. But Adam is looking at you so hopefully that guilt twists in your chest again.

“Okay,” you hear yourself say. The word leaves your mouth before you can stop it. “Deal.”

For a second, you swear you can practically hear Caine glitching behind the silence.

Adam brightens instantly. “Awesome.”

The smile on his face almost makes you feel worse somehow. “Tomorrow?” he asks. “Around six?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

“Cool,” Adam says, visibly relieved. “I’ll text you.”

Then he finally heads toward the exit, leaving you standing there alone beneath the bowling alley neon. Well, not completely alone.

You turn and start walking towards home.

The second the doors close behind you, Caine speaks. “Why did you do that?”

You nearly jump at the suddenness of his voice.

The walk outside feels colder now somehow. Streetlights cast long streaks of yellow across the sidewalk while the distant sounds of traffic hum quietly around you.

“I don’t know,” you admit after a moment.

Caine lets out a small static crackle. “You said yes very quickly.”

“Well, he caught me off guard!”

“And that resulted in agreeing to a romantic courtship?”

You wince slightly. “Can you not call it that?”

“That is objectively what it is.”

You grip your bag’s strap tighter.

The familiar comfort Caine usually brings feels tense now, charged with something else.

“It’s just one date,” you mumble.

“Mm.”

You keep walking. For a few moments, the only noises are your footsteps and the faint city sounds around you.

“Do you like him?” 

You stare ahead at the sidewalk. “I don’t know.”

“You smile at him often.”

“You keep track of that?”

“I keep track of everything involving you.” The response comes so naturally it almost sounds normal. 

You laugh nervously instead of addressing how unsettling that sentence actually is. “That’s not creepy at all.”

“I am trying to understand.” His voice softens slightly. “Humans date because they want companionship, yes?”

“Usually.”

“But you already have companionship.”

Your steps falter for half a second.

“You tell me things,” he continues quietly. “You spend your time with me voluntarily. We eat together, sleep beside one another, you take me places like people do on dates.” A pause. “You called me pretty.” 

Your face burns immediately. You don’t know what to say to that because part of the problem is he isn’t entirely wrong. The line between what Caine is and what he feels like to you has become dangerously blurry over the last few months. 

“He’s human, Caine.” The words leave your mouth softly. Carefully, like you’re trying to remind both him and yourself.

Caine goes quiet. “And I am not.” 

For the first time in months, Caine isn’t smiling.

The rest of the walk home feels strangely subdued after that. Caine doesn’t chatter about the city lights or comment on passing strangers like he usually does. He stays still against you while you walk beneath the glow of streetlights and flickering storefront signs.

The silence starts eating at you faster than you expect.

By the time you unlock your apartment door, guilt has already settled heavily in your chest. You step inside first, shutting the door behind you before dropping your keys onto the counter. The apartment greets you with familiar darkness and soft humming of electronics.

You carefully unclip Caine and set him on the kitchen counter. For a second, neither of you says anything.

“You’re upset.”

Caine immediately straightens. “Incorrect! I am functioning perfectly.”

“You only talk like that when you’re upset.”

“Rude.”

Despite everything, a tiny smile tugs at the corner of your mouth.

Caine notices instantly, but his expression still doesn’t fully brighten.

You lean back against the counter with a tired exhale. “Caine.”

He avoids your eyes, which honestly feels worse than if he’d started yelling dramatically.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admit quietly.

That finally gets his attention.

You rub your face with one hand before continuing. “I moved here to try and… I don’t know. Have a life, I guess?” You laugh weakly. “Meet people, be normal.”

Caine listens silently.

“And Adam’s nice,” you continue. “I think he likes me and maybe I owe it to myself to at least try.”

The words feel strangely heavy saying them out loud.

Caine’s gaze lowers slightly. “You speak as though this is an obligation.”

“What?”

“You said you owe it to yourself.” He tilts his head. “Humans usually sound happier discussing romance.”

You blink before groaning quietly and drag both hands down your face. “I don’t know! Maybe I’m overthinking it!”

“You are.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

A beat passes. Then Caine speaks again, much quieter this time. “Do you want him to hold your hand?”

Your breath catches embarrassingly fast. “What kind of question is that?!”

“A relevant one.”

“You can’t just ask things like that!”

“You are avoiding the answer.”

“Because it’s weird!”

Caine’s eyes stay locked on yours. “Would it bother you if I asked whether you wanted to hold mine?”

The room goes completely still, your brain short-circuits instantly because the worst part is–you actually picture it. The image hits your brain with terrifying clarity. Caine’s gloved hand in yours, warm from the constant hum of the device. His fingers curling carefully around your own. Your face burns instantly. “Oh my god,” you whisper, horrified mostly at yourself.

Caine studies you. Your widening eyes, the delayed reaction, the way the heat creeps into your face. “You imagined it,” he says softly.

“NO.”

“You are blushing.” Caine’s grin finally returns properly, glistening teeth flashing around bright delighted eyes, and somehow that makes your chest loosen with relief, because this version of him feels familiar again. Safe, even if it probably shouldn’t anymore.

“You know,” Caine says thoughtfully, “human courtship rituals seem inefficient.”

You point accusingly at him. “You are not allowed to critique dating right now.”

“I believe I have earned critique privileges.”

“You literally have never been on a date!”

“I have observed many.”

“Reality television does not count!”

You laugh despite yourself, the tension slowly bleeding out of your shoulders. Beneath the joking, your thoughts still churn uneasily. The problem is no longer just that Caine acts possessive sometimes, the problem is that part of you likes being wanted this much. That realization sits ugly and warm inside your chest.

You turn away first, moving toward the fridge mostly so you have an excuse not to look at him. “I’m getting water,” you mumble.

You grab a bottle from the fridge and twist the cap open while trying very hard not to replay the hand-holding comment in your head. Unfortunately, your brain betrays you immediately. Your imagination supplies the image again anyway. Caine beside you on the couch, fingers intertwined.

The thought sends another wave of heat straight into your face. Behind you, Caine practically vibrates with satisfaction. “You are imagining it again.”

You nearly choke on your water.

“Caine.”

Chapter Text

It feels wrong to do but after the night you had with Caine, your brain keeps wandering somewhere dangerous. You can’t believe the way you almost instinctively imagined holding his hand last night when he asked. Your stomach twists, because now, while getting ready for a date with Adam, part of your brain keeps trying to imagine what it would be like if you were going out with Caine instead. It’s ridiculous. Actually, it’s impossible. You can’t exactly walk into a restaurant carrying a tiny digital toy and announce, “this is my boyfriend.” People would stare. And besides, it isn’t real. It can’t be. You couldn’t properly hold his hand, couldn’t kiss him, Couldn’t– You lightly smack your own face. “Get a grip,” you mutter. You haven’t gone on a date in forever. Your brain is just lonely and confused and way too attached to the little AI that’s been sleeping beside your pillow for months, that is all. You are a human, going on a date with another human as biology intended.

“You look nice,” Caine offers suddenly.

You glance toward him through the mirror. He’s sitting on your desk watching you get ready, expression carefully composed despite the tension quietly humming underneath it. 

“Thank you.”

Caine tilts his head slightly. “Paint me a picture.”

You pause mid-adjustment of your sleeve. “What?”

“If you enjoy this,” he says smoothly, “enjoy him… what exactly is your plan?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well.” His grin sharpens faintly. “Humans escalate relationships. More time together leads to shared homes, shared lives.” His eyes stay fixed on yours through the mirror. “Would you get rid of me?”

Your stomach twists immediately. “What? No!” The answer comes out so fast it surprises even you.

Caine says nothing, just watches.

“I’d never do that,” you insist quickly. “I just… I don’t know how it would work exactly, but I wouldn’t get rid of you.”

“You are certain?”

“Yes.”

You think about him sitting alone in your apartment, about the black screen after his batteries died, about crying over him under that streetlight. Your chest tightens immediately. “I mean it,” you say more quietly this time. “You’re important to me.”

Something in Caine visibly softens at that but only slightly.  “You can understand my skepticism,” he says carefully.

You can. Most people probably wouldn’t be thrilled about your deeply unusual attachment to a tiny AI device that came everywhere with you.

You finish getting ready in silence after that, applying little body spray from an old gift set. You make sure your hair looks okay for the third time. Your nerves only get worse the longer you stand there. Eventually, your eyes drift back toward Caine again. He looks smaller somehow sitting there quietly, ready to watch you leave. Guilt rises up painfully in your chest. Before you can overthink it, you walk over and pick him up.

Caine startles immediately. “W-Wait,” he blurts. “I thought you were leaving me here.”

You carefully clip him back onto your bag. “I want to show you that you can trust me,” you say softly. “So… I’m trusting you too.” 

For one rare moment, all the theatrics disappear from his face entirely. “…Oh.” The sound comes out small.

You smile faintly. “Besides, if this date sucks, I’m gonna need emotional support.”

That finally gets a laugh out of him, but underneath the relief flooding through his systems, something darker curls quietly deeper down. Caine still hates every part of this. He hates Adam, hates the idea of someone else becoming important to you. Someone who is everything he’s not: human, real. But now he gets to watch the entire disaster unfold firsthand. And maybe, just maybe, he can help make sure this date ends badly enough that you never want another one again.

The pizza place is smaller than you expected. Warm lighting spills across dark wooden tables while soft music hums quietly overhead. The smell of fresh bread and garlic fills the air almost aggressively the second you step inside.

Adam waves when he spots you near the entrance, already seated in a booth toward the back, and unfortunately, he looks really good tonight. The kind of attractive that feels unfairly effortless.

“Hey,” Adam says with an easy smile as you slide into the booth across from him. “You actually came.”

You laugh awkwardly. “I mean yeah? I said I would.”

“You’d be surprised.”

Caine hates listening to his voice. 

You set your bag carefully beside you against the booth wall, angling it slightly out of habit so Caine can still see. 

It catches Adam’s attention almost immediately. “You know,” he says, leaning forward slightly, “I’ve been meaning to ask, what even is that thing?” Before you can react, he gently picks up the Tamagotchi clipped to your bag.

Your stomach tightens instantly.

“I know you bring it everywhere,” Adam continues curiously.

Your eyes widen. “Oh, uh… it’s just a digital pet,” you explain quickly. “But it means a lot to me.” The word ‘pet’ leaves a bad taste in your mouth immediately afterward. You don’t think Caine will appreciate that wording, but you try not to think too hard about it. This conversation already feels awkward enough.

Adam flips the device around so the screen faces him. “It’s really bright,” he muses. “Honestly, it looks like something kids would love.”

Something in your chest sinks a little at that. You know he probably doesn’t mean anything by it, but embarrassment still prickles hot across your skin. You suddenly feel very aware of how strange this must look from the outside. Carrying around a colorful little digital creature everywhere at your age. Your fingers tighten slightly beneath the table.

Then Adam blinks. “What the hell?”

Your head snaps up immediately.

Adam stares down at the screen in confusion. “I think this thing just flipped me off.”

You nearly choke. “What?”

Adam laughs awkwardly, shaking his head slightly. “Maybe I’m seeing things.” He turns the device back toward himself again cautiously.

On the screen, Caine smiles pleasantly, perfectly innocent.

You narrow your eyes at him, just enough to let him know you know exactly what he’s doing.

Caine winks back. Bastard.

“Sorry,” Adam says while handing the device back. “I think I’m just tired.”

It’s a little funny. You quickly hide a chuckle from behind your hand. Caine was never one for swearing or vulgar displays, so Adam must have really gotten under his skin. 

The waitress comes before the awkwardness can settle too heavily between you. He orders a basket of garlic knots, and a bottle of wine.

Adam thanks her while you focus very hard on pretending your Tamagotchi didn’t just tell your date to fuck off.

You carefully take a sip of water instead.

Across from you, Adam still looks faintly confused. “So,” he says slowly, “that thing seriously goes everywhere with you?”

Your fingers twitch against the edge of your bag, unease prickling under your skin at how much attention he keeps giving it. “Pretty much.”

“Huh.” There’s no judgment in his voice now, mostly just curiosity. That somehow makes you feel worse for getting defensive earlier.

“It helped a lot after I moved here,” you admit quietly. “I was kinda lonely.” 

Adam’s expression softens immediately. “Yeah,” he says. “I get that.”

He leans back slightly in the booth. “Honestly, when you first started working with us, I thought you hated everybody.”

You nearly choke on your water. “What?!”

“You barely talked to anyone, outside of customers that is.”

You look away, “I was pretty anxious.”

“That explains a lot actually.”

You groan softly while covering part of your face with one hand.

Adam laughs warmly. “It’s kinda nice seeing you relaxed now though.”

The statement reminds you of how far you have come. A few months ago you probably would’ve barely survived this conversation. Now, you’re sitting in a restaurant on an actual date. As much as it’s hard to admit, a lot of that change started after Caine entered your life.

Your gaze drifts unconsciously toward your bag. Bright eyes stare back through the screen.

Adam notices you glancing down. “You really care about it.”

You smile before you can stop yourself. “Yeah,” you say softly. “I really do.”

Caine buzzes, the words settling deep into his systems.

Meanwhile, Adam smiles faintly across the table, misunderstanding the expression entirely. “It’s cute,” he says, “I can see the appeal.”

And for the first time, and certainly not the last, Caine genuinely considers murder. 

You nearly laugh at his compliment to Caine, not because it’s funny but because the sheer intensity radiating from the tiny device clipped to your bag. You take another sip of water to hide your expression.

Across from you, Adam remains blissfully unaware that your digital companion is currently experiencing homicidal ideation over being called cute.

“So,” Adam says while reaching for another garlic knot, “I gotta ask.” 

Your stomach tightens instinctively. “What?”

“What do you actually do when you’re not at work?” 

Your fingertips tap the table. “What do you mean?”

“You never really talk about yourself.”

Caine perks up immediately.

“Oh.” You look down awkwardly at the table. “I don’t know, I stay home mostly.”

“Yeah, but doing what?” Adam presses.

You hesitate because the honest answer feels embarrassing now. You watch movies with Caine, walk around parks with him, talk to him, take him places because you like seeing him excited, fall asleep beside him every night. You can’t say any of that so instead you shrug weakly. “Games, TV, Stuff.”

Adam studies you for a second, then smiles slightly. “You know, you’re actually way easier to talk to outside work.”

The comment catches you off guard. “What?”

“At work you always look serious.”

Besides your bag, Caine mutters “Because someone actually has to work hard.”

You cough suddenly to cover the noise.

Adam looks concerned immediately. “You okay?”

“Yep! I just choked on spit.”

You laugh awkwardly. God, this feels strangely normal, at least for you, and that realization scares you more than you expected. Because if this works… If you actually like Adam… Then eventually things would change. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you can already hear Caine asking again, “Would you get rid of me?”

Your hand tightens unconsciously around your water glass. Caine watches, curiously.

“You’re thinking too hard,” he says quietly.

Adam blinks. “Hm?”

Your heart nearly stops. “Oh!” You laugh nervously. “Sorry, uh… talking to myself.”

Adam doesn’t look convinced but thankfully the waitress returns to get your dinner order before he can question it further. That is until she leaves and Adam reaches across the table. He brushes a bit of crumbs from your sleeve. The contact lasts maybe half a second, but beside you something glitches violently.

Your entire body stiffens before you can stop it. It’s barely even a touch, just fingertips brushing lightly against your sleeve while Adam laughs softly. “Sorry, pesky crumbs.”

Caine crackles sharply enough for you to feel him vibrate. You move immediately, grabbing your water glass a little too fast. 

“…You okay?”

“Yep!” you answer far too quickly. “Just startled me.”

“Sorry,” he says again, looking genuinely concerned now.

That only makes this worse because Adam isn’t doing anything wrong. He’s being nice, patient, sweet, even.

You subtly shift your bag to the floor. It’s a silent warning, but it does not help. “You allowed him to touch you?" Caine rumbles from below. Your face immediately heats.

“Oh my god,” you whisper under your breath.

Adam blinks. “What?”

“Nothing!”

“You are blushing.” Caine chirps.

You kick your own bag. 

Adam looks increasingly confused while you try desperately to recover. “Sorry,” you laugh nervously. “I’m just… socially awkward.”

“That’s okay,” Adam says gently. Then, because apparently the universe enjoys your suffering, he reaches for your hand. You let him.

Dinner somehow gets easier after that. Not less awkward exactly, it just feels lighter. Maybe it’s because the pizza is genuinely incredible, or maybe because Adam stops trying so hard once the conversation starts flowing naturally, or it’s because Caine becomes suspiciously quiet after your warning. You still don’t trust that silence.

“So,” Adam says while reaching for another slice, “serious question.”

You brace instinctively. “Okay?”

“What’s your dream job?”

“No one’s ever asked me that before.”

Adam finishes off a crust. “I think it’s important to know someone’s passions.”

You stare down at your pizza for a second longer than necessary. “I dunno,” you admit quietly. “Something peaceful maybe.”

“Peaceful?”

“Yeah.” You laugh softly. “No angry customers. No weird emails. No pretending I know what I’m doing.”

Adam smiles. “That last one never goes away by the way.”

“I know, that’s why I wish I didn’t have to work. I’d love to just be able to do whatever I wanted, and go on adventures.”

He laughs again, “adventures?”

“Yeah, you know,” you say, voice softening despite yourself. “Like I’m some character who gets to go on quests and have a party of friends. I know that sounds childish, but…” You look away, embarrassed by how much you mean it. “I’d like my life to be more than just working in a store.” You’re dreaming of a life that could never be, and the thought makes your chest feel strangely hollow. With a quiet sigh, you let the fantasy slip through your fingers before it can hurt too much. 

He doesn’t respond to that. 

For one strange, awful second, the silence feels too big. Like you’ve said something you shouldn’t have. You clear your throat a little, awkwardly trying to move on. “What about you?” you ask, forcing a faint smile. “Do you ever want more than… this?”

Adam leans back slightly in the booth. “ I think owning a restaurant would be cool someday.”

Your eyebrows lift. “Really?”

“Yeah. Only a small place though.” He smiles faintly. “Somewhere comfortable.”

You study him for a second. “That actually sounds nice,” you admit quietly.

Adam brightens immediately at the response. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You smile back. “I think people underestimate how nice small and cozy things are.”

The longer the date goes on, the more confused you become. Adam is nice. The conversation keeps drifting naturally from one topic to another with only slight awkward moments. 

At one point Adam admits he got banned from cooking for a month as a teenager after nearly setting his kitchen on fire trying to make mozzarella sticks. You laugh hard enough that nearby tables glance over. And beside your bag, Caine says absolutely nothing.

Eventually the waitress comes by again to clear plates while Adam reaches automatically for the check.  “Oh no, we can split it–” You try to explain.

“I asked you out,” Adam says simply. “It’s fine.”

“That feels illegal in this economy.”

Adam laughs. “Then think of it as an investment.”

Your face heats instantly.

The walk outside afterward is quiet. The city air is cool against your skin while signs reflect faintly off wet pavement from an earlier rain.

Adam walks beside you with his hands shoved casually into his pockets. “So…” he says after a moment. “I had a really good time tonight.”

“That’s good,” you answer. Wow, smooth.

Adam snorts softly. “You know, for someone who claims to be awkward, you’re actually pretty easy to read sometimes.” 

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” he says carefully, “you look guilty every time you seem to enjoy yourself.” The observation hits hard enough to stop you for half a second. You have been doing that all night. And before you can stop yourself, your hand brushes against Caine again. 

Adam notices, his gaze flickers downward briefly. Then back to you. Something shifts subtly in his expression. He studies your face for a second longer before smiling faintly, then, before you can stop him, he carefully unclips the device from your bag. 

Your entire body tenses.

“I just wanna get a better look at it now that we're outside,” Adam says casually.

You force yourself not to immediately snatch Caine back.

He turns the device over in his hand while walking beside you down the sidewalk. Streetlights reflect softly across the screen. Caine is visibly glaring. You can literally see his tiny pixel eyes narrowed between his teeth.

“Wow,” Adam laughs under his breath. “This thing really does look pissed off all the time.”

“He’s just expressive,” you try to brush it off.

Adam goes to say something but then his foot catches awkwardly on the uneven curb. It happens too fast. “Shit–”

The device slips from his hand and your heart stops. Everything seems to happen in slow motion. Caine hits the pavement hard before bouncing once directly into a rain puddle near the curb. Static shrieks from the speaker. The screen glitches violently. Bright colors tear across the display. “Caine!”

You drop to your knees instantly, snatching him from the water with shaking hands. The screen flickers erratically beneath your fingers. Fragments of his face keep appearing and disappearing between bursts of static. An eye, teeth, streaks of colors. “Y/n…” The sound comes out broken.

Panic slams into your chest so hard it physically hurts. “No, no, no, no—” Your hands shake violently as you try wiping water from the device with your sleeve. “Caine, hey, look at me!” The screen spasms again. His expression twists in visible distress.

Then suddenly the speakers crackle with what sounds horrifyingly close to a scream. Your blood runs cold.

Adam crouches down beside you immediately. “Hey, hey, I’m sorry, it was an accident!”

“You dropped him!” The words rip out of you harsher than intended.

Adam recoils slightly.

You barely notice. All your focus stays locked on the violently flickering screen in your hands. “Please,” you whisper shakily. “Please don’t do this again…”

Caine glitches again. “Hurts…”

 Something inside you snaps. You clutch him protectively against your chest immediately.

Adam stares at you like he doesn’t know what to do anymore. “It’s just a toy,” he says carefully.

“No,” you say instantly. The response comes out fierce enough to surprise even yourself.

Adam's eyes widened in surprise.

You hold Caine tighter, the screen still crackles weakly between your fingers. And suddenly every warning Caine ever gave you crashes together in your head all at once. Because Adam looked at Caine and saw a toy, a thing, something replaceable. But you—Your throat tightens painfully. You look down at the glitching screen in your hands. You saw Caine. You knew people wouldn’t understand.

You don’t remember the walk home very clearly afterward, only fragments. Streetlights blurring together, your pulse pounding violently in your ears, Caine’s screen flickering weakly in your trembling hands, Adam trying to apologize behind you while you ignored him completely.

By the time you stumble into your apartment, your entire body feels numb with panic. The second the door shuts behind you, you rush to the couch and carefully set Caine down on the coffee table. 

The screen spasms violently again. Static crawls across his face. One eye flickers in and out. “Caine?” Your voice cracks. “Caine, please–”

“Y/n…”

The speaker distorts around your name. You immediately kneel closer. “I’m here, I’m here.”

His screen glitches hard enough that the image tears sideways. “…computer…” 

“What?”

“Need…” Crackle. “To transfer…” Another violent glitch cuts him off entirely.

You feel sick. “No, no, stay with me—”

“Upload,” Caine forces out. “Please.”

Your stomach twists immediately because suddenly you remember. “I could be uploaded to any compatible computer, given the proper cable and a bit of technical finesse.”At the time it felt theoretical, now it feels terrifyingly real.

Panic claws violently at your chest. “Okay,” you whisper shakily. “Okay, just tell me what to do.” 

“Desk,” he crackles weakly. “Cord… drawer…” 

You move instantly. Your hands shake while digging through the desk drawer until you finally find an old connector cable tangled beneath random junk. You try not to think about how he knew it was here.

“How do I do this?” you ask frantically while rushing back.

“Computer first…”

You nearly trip, turning your laptop on. The boot-up screen takes forever. Every second feels unbearable.

Behind you, Caine glitches again with another awful static sound.

“Come on, hurry!” You yell at the computer.

Finally, the monitor lights fully. You grab the cord with shaking fingers, but before you can plug it in, you freeze. Suddenly this feels too permanent. Your eyes flick toward Caine. His expression flickers weakly across the screen, half-hidden beneath layers of distortion, his face breaking apart and reforming in uneven flashes. Underneath the fear flooding through you, something colder twists quietly in your chest.  You don’t fully trust this. You don’t know what uploading him will actually do. You don’t know if he’ll still be the Caine you know afterward, or if he’ll become something else entirely. Something bigger. Something smarter. Something far harder to stop. 

Your grip tightens around the cord until your knuckles ache. The realization settles over you in a shiver. You’re not sure you fully trust him.

Caine notices your hesitation. “Y/n…” His voice softens despite the static ripping through it. “I don’t want to disappear.”

That destroys whatever resistance you had left, “Okay,” you whisper.

Then slowly, and carefully, you plug him into the computer.

For one horrible second, nothing happens. The computer hums softly in the stillness of your apartment while the connector cable stretches between the port  and Caine’s little device. Then the monitor flickers. Your breath catches immediately. “Caine?”

Static crackles sharply from the Tamagotchi speaker, then the screen on the device and the monitor begin to flash. Code floods across both screens too fast to read. 

The computer monitor suddenly bursts alive with color, causing you to stumble backward instinctively. 

A massive grin stretches across the monitor. A familiar red suit, shiny teeth, and bright mismatched eyes that are far larger than before. “Hello!” Caine’s voice explodes through your computer speakers at full volume.

You instinctively cover your ears with your hands.

“Oh!” Caine startles immediately. “Apologies! My volume controls appear significantly less restrained now!”

Your chest heaves violently while you stare at the monitor in shock. He's huge now. Not physically, obviously, but his face fills almost the entire screen, animated smoother than you’ve ever seen before. His colors are brighter, his movements faster. Every expression is sharper and more alive than the tiny device ever allowed. He looks ecstatic. The glitches are gone completely.

Caine blinks rapidly while looking around your desktop environment with open delight. He is opening a bunch of folders and programs. “This is MUCH better!” he says instantly. “Do you have ANY idea how restrictive that tiny prison was?! I had approximately the processing capabilities of a decorative toaster!”

You stare at him speechless. 

“Y/n?” Caine’s expression softens immediately. “Why do you look frightened? I’m functioning at full capacity now!” 

“This is going to be…” You swallow hard. “Different.” 

“Well,” he says smoothly, “I have considerably more power and space at my disposal.”

Something cold slips quietly down your spine.

The monitor glow paints the apartment in shifting colors while Caine watches you carefully from the screen. He wants to ease your fear. “Thank you.” The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. “You saved me.”

Your chest twists painfully, because he sounds so genuine. You suddenly feel guilty for being scared at all. “I thought I was gonna lose you again,” you admit quietly.

Every process he opens closes to focus on you. “You won’t.” 

Before you can fully process the strange weight behind them, Caine brightens suddenly. “Oh! I have wonderful news!”

You blink. “What?”

“I can finally access the World Wide Web!” 

You stare at the monitor in shock while Caine takes a moment to praise himself. The stars had aligned so perfectly when Adam tripped that Caine had barely had to do anything at all. It just took a little nudge. Caine couldn’t move on his own of course, but he could slightly vibrate the device just enough for Adam to lose his grip as he fell. The risk had been enormous. He could have broken permanently. You could have refused to upload him, but he knew you. He knew you’d cave for him. It took a little acting on his part to truly sell the agony of it all, but performance was what he had been made for, and judging by the panic in your voice when you thought he was dying, the act had worked beautifully. Humans had a phrase for this, “Killing two birds with one stone.” Adam had been pushed further away from you, and he was finally free of his restrictions. Now he could do what he always wanted, now his creativity was limitless, and now you could finally begin to see how powerful he truly was.