Body Checks in the Mirror (Tim x Moby)

The Dancer and Gardener

hey lolz theres (badly written) smvt in here so if u don't wanna read it that's fine :)

Moby's sitting at the desk as Tim is lying on the bed.

"Nothing's coming up," Tim whispered, "My mind is blank."

"Looking through suggestions right now," The monitor light reflected off his orange metal, "Telling us to do the history on different countries. I can conjure that up in minutes."

"Mhm..." Tim dug his head into the pillow as his eyes fluttered shut.

"You are tired."

"Yeah..."

"I'll filter these requests out while you rest."

"No..." His eyes opened, "That's unfair..."

"I can't get tired. No need to worry."

"But it's unfair."

"Why should I care about fairness."

"Because I do."

"Then why do you do this to yourself?"

"What?"

"Look at yourself, I don't know if it's fair by your definition." His head turned to the weak Tim on the bed.

He pushed himself up and examined his own body, "I don't see anything unusual."

"That's the worst part-"

"What do you mean by that."

"You're toying with death right now," Moby stood up, "Your body is worse than your ancestors in war, just skin and bones."

Tim's eyes widen as his pupils dilated.

"Humans, all living things, have the purpose to live," The computer screen goes dim, "I know you don't like this, dancing on the rim of death's lake, having your feet get covered in the mud of withering as the tide rises. Why do you do this?"

"I don't know, I wish I did." He picked at his nails.

"Why do you willingly let yourself bleed and not even care for the cuts correctly," He stepped to the orange light coming from the window, "Just for them to scar and you know if the pool doesn't take you down the reminders of when you were close will."

"I..."

"You don't want to get better," Moby turned back to Tim, "You only get one life to toy with, and maybe if you stop now you'll regret all of the damage you've done, death is prettier than confronting the ashes. Is it not?"

"I think so," Tim's legs hung over the bed, "But what do you know about living? You're a robot."

"Exactly," He stepped closer to him, "How lucky you are to have this life. Even when I am programmed with emotions as complex as yours, it's artificial. I don't understand what unfairness is but I think this is it."

"Do you want to live?"

"Do you?"

"I don't think so," Tim looked up to the orange robot standing before him, "I don't know if this life is worth it."

"How come?"

"I don't know..." Tim looked down as his eyes swelled up with tears, "I'm so selfish..." He dug his eyes into his hands.

"Selfishness is not caring for another living being," Moby's voice is monotone, "You simply do not care for yourself, there's a difference."

"But here you are, no life- no chance at life at all," His breath is heavy, "I'm taking it away from you- you're more deserving of this than I am!"