Evolved(36)

He smiled and led me to my room. “Clean sheets, bed remade, dirty laundry done, bathroom cleaned.” His face pinched. “I was tempted to do your wardrobe also but wanted to ask you first. I did not wish you to think I was going through your personal effects.”

I pressed up against him and kissed him gently. “Thank you for respecting my personal space.” How he knew what that meant to me, I had no idea. “But you’re more than welcome in my personal space. You live here too. This is your home. What’s mine is yours.”

He beamed, and still with my hand in his, he led me to the kitchen. “And I cleaned the kitchen as well.”

The house was pristine. He’d done a better job cleaning than I certainly ever could, but he’d also done a better job than the cleaning androids ever did—and that was their primary function. I looked around the kitchen, and it was immaculate. “Shaun, I’m… I’m speechless.”

“I disinfected all surfaces and sterilised,” he explained. “I know how you like things clean.”

I lifted his hands and gave them a quick once over. “Your hands… you must be careful with certain products.”

“I wore gloves,” he explained. “I found a pair of cleaning gloves under the sink.”

“It must have taken you all day.”

“Not really.”

I looked around again. “Well, I’m glad you weren’t bored. But I don’t expect you to clean. The apartment management has other androids for that.”

He frowned. “I like to feel useful.”

Oh man. I took his face in my hands and stared into his eyes. “You are useful, and you did an amazing job. I appreciate it very much.”

He finally smiled. “I have missed you. I can recall the eight colours of your eyes with perfect imagery, yet it is not the same.”

Huh? What on earth did he mean? “The eight colours? My eyes are only brown.”

He shook his head a little. “Your eyes have eight distinct colours. Varying shades of brown, bronze, and gold.”

“Oh.”

“And your hair,” he said, his gaze flickering to the top of my head. “Blond, sand, wheat, and no matter how good my perfect recall is, nothing compares to seeing the real thing.”

“Shaun,” I whispered, not sure what to follow with.

I didn’t have to say anything else. He just moulded himself to me, my perfect puzzle piece, and slid his arms around me. “I missed your touch and your smile, and how you look, and how you laugh, but I missed talking to you the most,” he murmured.

I squeezed him tight and leaned against the kitchen counter with him pressed against me. I don’t know how long we stood there for like that. I lost track of time. I lost track of everything but him. There was no sexual pretext, no growing desire for me. It was just intimate and lovely, and in that moment, neither of us pushed for more.

Until the winter sun had set outside, the skies were dark and grey, and my stomach growled. Then he laughed. “You are so human. Let me feed you, then you can tell me of your day.”

He took my prepared meal from the fridge and heated it, then set the table for one, all while smiling happily to himself. I stood in the kitchen, still leaning against the counter, and watched him. When he came back in to grab the cutlery, he grinned, leaned in for a quick kiss, and went about his way.

I was so in love with him.

He sat with me, listening intently as I told him how work had been, then, of course, he had a hundred questions. His thirst for knowledge of new things was never-ending. Then I explained that I had papers to grade, and he got most excited. “I can help you.”

“Well, I need to read each student’s work. I need to see if they’ve understood the focus question,” I said, and he almost frowned. “But you can help me.”

He smiled. “I would like that.”

When we had everything tidied away, I took my tablet from my messenger bag and we settled on the sofa. I engaged my virtual lecture inbox. “All papers are electronic files—” I started.

“Then why are they called papers?”

“It’s what they’ve always been called. They moved from physical paper to electronic a long time ago, but the terminology stuck.”

He blinked, his brow furrowed a little, but he accepted it and moved on.

Learn, adapt, and evolve.

“What is the subject matter?”

“The modernist revolution.”

“Is that in regard to Georgian poetry? Or the Imagist movement?” he asked.

I smiled at him. “Have I told you today how amazing you are?”

His gaze shot to mine. “No. Not today.”

I snorted and pressed on the first document. “Open.”

“Ah, Lloyd?”

“Yes?”

“You haven’t told me how amazing I am today.”

I laughed, leaned over, and kissed him. “Shaun, you are amazing today.”

He chuckled, and then we turned our attention to grading papers. At first, he questioned facts and motives until I explained these were students’ interpretations, not historical fact. Once he understood that, that these views were not the statistical data he could reference at will, he was inquisitive and critical but fair.

He could read ahead so easily. He could scan each page by the time I’d read the first two lines. But he never hurried me, he never grew impatient. But when I’d finally got through the very last paper for the day, he took the tablet and slid it onto the table. Then he turned and gave me a sultry look. “Lloyd, you have been gone all day.”