Milo understood better now how unsettling it was and vowed to never make that slip again.
“Maintenance operators are not required by programming to be called Master,” Milo explained to Anabelle. “Please refer to me as Milo, and to Rowan as…” Milo almost saidRowanbut changed his mind. “Mr. Rangecroft.”
“Understood, Milo.”
Better. “Anabelle, you are to download any missed updates since you were offline, continue to charge, and report to me should you encounter any malfunctions or feel concerned.”
“Milo?”
“Yes, Anabelle?”
“I do not feel concern. I do not feel anything. Can you restate, please?”
Milo couldn’t help but smile a little, but it was a sad smile, he decided, one of those contradictory involuntary responses to emotion like how often Rowan laughed at things that weren’t actually funny. “If you experience anything concerning in contrast to your usual functions, I mean.”
“Understood.” Anabelle’s expression slackened, but her eyes remained open, gears spinning as she processed Milo’s request. It was equally as unsettling as when she had smiled.
“Anabelle, please enter SLEEP mode while following my orders and only awaken if you encounter what I mentioned.”
“Yes, Milo. Entering SLEEP mode now.” She closed her eyes, and at least like that she was a little less off-putting to look at.
Milo couldn’t seem to shake thatsadfeeling as he cleaned up the living room. He had done a good job, and despite his distractions at times, he had been very efficient with his work. It wasn’t even near dinnertime yet, and Ethel had already forwarded to Milo several apple pie recipes. Rowan would be able to see that, along with her message of gratitude, but that was okay. Milo hadn’t intended for it to be a surprise, since he would need Rowan’s help to get the recipe right.
He could have started his work on pie experiments right then, but he had questions for Rowan that would better dictate how to proceed. As much as he knew about Rowan, he didn’t know what exactly Rowan loved most about apple pie. Was it the tartness, the sweetness, the cinnamon and nutmeg, or more focused on flakiness or density of the crust? He knew Rowan preferred traditional over Dutch apple pie, and ice cream on the side more than having it plain or with whipped cream, but there were so many other factors to consider. It was a computational nightmare without feedback, which was part of why Milo’s previous baked goods experiments had failed.
After cleaning up the parts and tools he had used, despite knowing there were chores that could be done, Milo felt no drive to do them. Rowan had told him to focus on Anabelle, and he had. Now he felt somewhat listless having this time to himself.
He glanced around the living more carefully than he might have in the past. It was clean, yes, but what else was there to notice about it? The blackened spot on the carpet remained, to be replaced sometime this week. The sofa was tan suede. Most of the decorating had been done in pale neutrals like that, leaving any color to knickknacks and photographs.
Rowan didn’t have any artwork on the walls like what they had seen at the museum. Not that Milo would have wanted to purchase the eggplant interpretation. Maybe the one of the woman enjoying the sun on her skin.
The charging station was between the window and the large television opposite the sofa. It was always on, just not always on a channel or service. Instead, each day it depicted a different view of the city, so that when Rowan wasn’t watching something, his city view was expanded. Milo supposed that was its own sort of art.
Around the TV were built-in shelves, and on them were various personal and important items to Rowan. His Master’s degree in Robotics. His recently acquired plaque for having been with Andreas Tech for over a decade. Framed photographs of his favorite places, memories, and people.
There was one that had happened to capture all of the Rangecroft siblings—an occurrence Milo knew to be rare—with Rowan on the end. There was a hand on Rowan’s shoulder that did not belong to one of his siblings, however. That person appeared to have been cut out of the image.
Milo scrutinized the photograph and, in an instant, was able to do a search on the photo and find a copy of it online without the person removed. He could see the timestamp, the location,and everyone who had been tagged in it, indicating that the tall, thin, pretty young man Rowan didn’t want to remember was an ex. His longest-term ex, in fact, though even that hadn’t been very long. Still, it was someone Rowan had wanted to be with, spent time with, had been intimate with, but who had ultimately chosen to leave him.
Milo would never willingly leave Rowan. Rowan was wonderful. He was handsome. Alluring. Intelligent and often unintentionally funny. He was patient and kind. By his own admission, he wasn’t the best at expressing himself, but to Milo, he was wonderful at that too, maybe because Rowan was trying so hard to help Milo learn how to express himself. To discover more of what he liked, and loved, and wanted.
The stir of arousal in Milo surprised him. He was 33% hard and feeling that more pleasant heat he was growing so used to. Thinking about Rowan and all he loved about him was all it had taken. Milo wanted Rowan. He wanted to be able to touch him again beyond just holding him while he slept, and to have Rowan touch him back.
But Rowan had asked Milo to not disturb him until dinner.
Milo sighed, ordering his phallus to “power down,” which did reduce it to 26%, but dwindling from there took several more minutes. In the meantime, Milo looked through more of Rowan’s belongings and photographs in the living room while allowing his mind to wander. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining or envisioning anything, but he was thinking, mostly about how he wished he had someone to talk to who was like him. Someone who was going through the same things, the same awakening and new experiences.
Anabelle didn’t cut it.
Or, if not someone like that just yet, someone or something that could listen without judgement or logic-based responseslike Anabelle when Milo wasn’t yet ready to talk about it to Rowan.
The last framed photograph tucked into the built-in shelving around the TV was the most difficult to see, as it had been pushed into a corner, allowing more focus on the other photographs. Milo retrieved it. This one was just as worthy of being displayed in his mind. It showed the youngest depiction of Rowan, from when he was in school and part of his junior high robotics club, having used his knowledge from the extracurricular to enter one of his creations into the school’s science fair.
The Roomba-like bot that he kept on his dresser.
The bot was slightly smaller in circumference than a traditional Roomba, but similar in shape and purpose. It was mostly black with sapphire blue paneling that reminded Milo of many of the clothing pieces Rowan had purchased for him. Clearly, Rowan had always liked that color on his bots.
The mini-Roomba’s intent was to clean both carpeted and uncarpeted areas and then deposit its gathered particles and dirty water into an assigned receptacle. Milo knew that what made it different from other similar machines was that it had been programmed to work on kinetic energy, so its act of cleaning and moving around its home was also what powered it. While it could enter a REST mode when not needed, it never required charging.
