Chapter 11
Notes:
You can’t keep a good chaos gremlin down. ^_^
ROWAN
Rowan had gotten far more caught up in researching his surge protector than he’d expected, causing him to work far later than expected too in order to get another prototype finished in time.
He definitely needed a more experienced engineer’s help to figure out how whatever had happened to Milo had happened at all, which meant he was going to have to admit the truth when they went to see Troy.
Eventually, more people would end up knowing because he couldn’t hide forever that a bot had…
awakened? Grown a soul? Become alive? However he wanted to think of it, this was only going to stay their secret for so long, and while Milo could partially hide how he had changed, he was bound to screw up more than with just slips of pronouns like he’d done around Ethel.
Milo was also clearly becoming more bold if his attempted seduction was any indication.
That had not been easy to resist, but Rowan had stayed strong, and maybe focused on the surge protector that much more intensely because of it as a way to avoid Milo and not give in later like he’d wanted to. Instead, he had fallen asleep at his worktable, and Milo had woken him to help him to bed.
As Rowan started to rouse, fading in and out of conscienceless but fairly certain his alarm hadn’t gone off, he recalled Milo curling around him like when he used to order the bot to, only now no orders were needed, because Milo wanted to hold Rowan. Milo had chosen to do it.
Would he still want to hold Rowan once he discovered more about his new self?
Annoyed that he was partially awake at all when it was clearly too early to be so on a Saturday, Rowan clutched around his middle in search of Milo’s arms.
Which weren’t there.
Because Milo wasn’t there!
Rowan snapped fully awake as if his alarm had gone off, but it was barely six-thirty, and on Saturdays, he didn’t set an alarm. No, the reason he had started to rouse at all was the stark absence of Milo’s warmth.
Milo, who was alive, like a real, thinking, feeling person.
And who was apparently in the kitchen making a racket.
Rowan leapt out of bed, padding swiftly toward the commotion, barefoot and still only in sleep pants.
Milo being able to think and feel for himself was incredible, a miracle, but what the hell was he doing at six-thirty in the morning?
He’d done the same thing yesterday, but during the week, early rising was expected.
Rowan opened his mouth to ask as soon as he reached the doorway, only for what he discovered to stop him in his tracks.
There was flour everywhere, and was that some sort of batter on the ceiling?
“Oh!” Milo spun around as if having sensed Rowan’s presence.
He was also covered in flour, which was a little difficult to see against his nearly white hair and pale skin, but upon closer inspection, it was as if a bag of flour had literally exploded in his face.
And all over his bare chest. And dusting his pert pink nipples.
And lower.
“Did I wake you?”
“Why are you naked?” Rowan asked.
“I’m not—” Milo paused as he glanced down.
“Oh! I am! I didn’t want to get flour on my clothing, but it seemed to have a mind of its own.
I really like that phrase!” He looked up at Rowan with an almost manic expression.
“Mind of its own? Inanimate objects really do have that sometimes, don’t they?
So I kept taking articles of clothing off as I worked, but the mess kept expanding anyway and—”
A ding sounded from the oven, and Milo spun back around to attend to it—naked, narrow waist and perfectly heart-shaped behind on display as he hurried over and bent to remove whatever he was baking.
The sunburst of his lightning scars was like a classic tramp stamp tattoo in a way, begging for a little heart or butterfly to be inked on the empty space where Rowan had replaced the damaged tissue.
Milo’s discarded clothing was unceremoniously scattered around the kitchen.
His underwear and T-shirt had been left presumably right where Milo had dropped them, while his sleep pants hung haphazardly off the knob of a cabinet.
There were various ingredients out besides the bag of flour, along with dirty utensils and bowls.
Rowan didn’t think he had ever seen such an impressive mess, even in cleaning product or paper towel commercials where a toddler had run amuck.
The smell that assaulted him when Milo pulled the baking sheet from the oven was…
chemical? Not particularly appetizing, and yet the golden-looking pastries appeared just about perfect at a glance.
Lightly salted and fresh from the oven, despite the odd smell, the sight of the soft-baked pretzels immediately made Rowan’s mouth water.
But Milo usually cleaned while he worked, keeping everything pristine. Never had he made a mess like this in all the months that Rowan had owned him—employed him? Would he need to start paying Milo now if the bot decided to stay and was still basically his servant?
Questions for after coffee. Definitely.
“They are one of your favorite things to eat, yes? Any baked good, but soft pretzels has been in your top five most requested items for indulgence, so I wanted to surprise you with some as a special breakfast. I originally wanted to make apple pie, but we did not have apples. To show you my, um… appreciation? Yes, I think that’s it.
Would you like one, Rowan?” Milo whirled around once more with that same manic expression and flourished a gesture toward the tray of pretzels cooling on the stovetop.
Unprecedented did not come close to describing the situation, but Milo was trying while treading these unfamiliar waters. Rowan didn’t want to discourage him. “Sure, Milo. But maybe put your underwear back on?”
“Oh! Of course!”
As Milo darted to retrieve them, Rowan waded through the film of flour on the floor, which made it worryingly slick, and moved one of the pretzels from the pan to a paper towel to further cool before he tried it.
While he waited, he couldn’t help glancing over at Milo, who was practically flawless.
Perfect. Well, perfect for Rowan, with just the right imperfections, because he had dictated everything about him, even down to the length and shape of his…
Yeah. This was weird no matter how Rowan looked at it.
And it was very difficult to not look at it.
Even after the underwear was in place.
“In my research, it seems that the ways humans process information is not so different from how bots do, so you are often processing multiple things at once just like I am, yes?” Milo was also far chattier and at breakneck speeds than what Rowan could handle this early in the morning.
“Uh, yeah, that’s true.”
“How do you focus on one thing when multiple things can come into your mind at the same time and distract you? I have been finding it increasingly more difficult. For instance—” Milo cut himself off as he and Rowan’s gazes met, like he could tell Rowan was too tired for this. “Sorry, Rowan.”
“No, don’t be.” Rowan tried to wake himself up. Coffee was very much needed. And that pretzel. It was probably close to cool enough by now, so he picked it up and started to blow on it. “It’s okay, Milo. You’re overwhelmed and unsure how to compensate. Sometimes it helps to, um…”
“Take a breath?” Milo supplied as he moved toward Rowan. “My research said the same, but—”
“You do not breathe. I get that.” Everything about Milo was machine-run, programming and parts.
It wasn’t all that different from how humans worked, however.
Right? Some humans even needed machines to keep them alive.
“What it means is to take a moment to calm yourself, clear your thoughts, think of nothing if you can, and sometimes, not always, but sometimes, the important thing you’re meant to focus on becomes clearer. ”
Milo nodded a little wildly, as if utterly enamored by Rowan’s advice. “Take a moment…”
“Exactly. Slow your thinking. Your processing. Even if you don’t need to breathe, taking in slow breaths might help with the rhythm, like meditation. And then—” Rowan took a bite of the pretzel finally—and instantly wanted to spit the substance out.
Substance was a generous word choice, because this?
This was not food.
“Oh no. You hate it.” Milo’s expression was utter devastation.
Shit. Rowan tried to think of how to speak around the mouthful he did not want to swallow.
“You hate it,” Milo repeated. “I messed it up, didn’t I? Please don’t swallow if you don’t want to, Master. Rowan!” He tore another paper towel from the roll and brought it to Rowan, clearly indicating for him to spit his mouthful into it.
Rowan did so because… yeah, there were few worse things he’d ever had in his mouth.
“I am so sorry, Rowan. I’ll do better next time.” Milo threw the paper towel away and got out a glass to fill with water. A few gulps from that helped.
After rinsing his mouth, Rowan tried to approach the subject delicately, given the distressed look in Milo’s eyes, which were trained on the floor.
He was a mess, but an adorable mess with all that flour on his skin and a pout on his plump lips.
“Milo, you are programmed with countless recipes and can look up countless more. How did you screw this up exactly? I’m not mad!
Everyone makes mistakes. I’m just curious…
how? You have access to every recipe imaginable, and you've never made something inedible before.”