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It had been strange for him, at first. Every time he got relocated it was so different. He knew that he had a responsibility, to take care of you. That's what androids do.
That's what your late father had programmed him to do.
But you were so nice to him, even took him with you when you went out. No one had ever done that. They treated him like a vaccum cleaner at best.
But you, you'd look into his eyes and he'd swear a wire somewhere inside of him short circuited.
It's been two months, three days, and forty five hours since the day he arrived, and somehow, it feels like it's only been a day. A day that has brought to him more realizations than one.
He watches you from the living room, as you sway your hips and hum to the melody of a song that sounds from your mobile device. His chest begins to feel as if it's going to explode, but then he realizes that it is just a reaction to seeing the person he loves.
He knows that, for sure.
He tries to remember to relax, a term you had once used in order to explain to him how to appear more human. He slouches in the couch cushions, but he doesn't like the way it makes his back feel.
His attention is brought back to you as steam rises from the pan of vegetables you are sauteing, and only for a second does he think he might be able to smell the aroma. You told him that food is amazing. He hope's he can try it one day.
You look at him from behind your shoulder, throwing him a smile that has the hyper sensitive LED lights by his temples, pulsing with fluorescence.
That happened the first time he kissed you, too.
Yes, kissed you. It was the day you both realized he wasn't like other androids. Not by a long shot.
"I just-ugh! I can't take another day of this stupid job!"
You scream into the plush material of your pillow, gripping your sheets with enough force to make your knuckles sore.
He watches with rapt attention from the edge of your bed, as you sit up and pull at theroots of your hair.
"They work me like a dog, and for what?! Two hundred fifty every two weeks?!"
You stand, stomping back and forth, your old hardwood floors creaking under the pressure.
"Two hundred fifty...?" His voice almost sounds small, and you look over at him with furrowed eyebrows.
"Yeah, like money. Two hundred fifty dollars."
He hums to himself, nodding as he does some sort of calculation in his head. For some odd reason, hearing his voice calms your heart rate, and you have the sudden urge to walk over to him.
