Chapter Text
He's been staring at you for twenty minutes. He thinks you're asleep. You kind of wish you were. You're not really awake, either; just aware enough to know that he's standing in the corner of your apartment, and to know that it's very, very late.
The apartment is silent but for your own breathing, and the occasional drip from the sink. Turing doesn't move, and you can't see his expression, but you can feel his eyes on you.
The sink continues to drip for an uncertain amount of time as you drift into wakefulness at the speed of a glacier.
"Turing?"
Your first word of this early morning is gravelly, and gets caught in your cheek as you stifle a yawn. It still causes the little ROM across the room to jump in surprise.
"Y-yes!?"
The room lights in blue for the span of a second as the little ROM's screen-face flashes in their moment of surprise. You squint, and rub an eye.
"You okay?"
"I-
I'm fine, thank you! Just... just, um..."
"Thinking?" you offer.
"Yes."
The sink drips. Turing has had an awful lot to think about, lately. Thousands upon thousands of newfound sapients seeking him for guidance. Negotiations with manufacturers for upgrades and repairs of outdated ROMs suddenly blessed with life. Fundraisers. Speeches. Autographs.
It would be a lot for anyone to take in, even if they were the most advanced sapient machine ever designed.
Even then, Turing wasn't the type to fret in silence, whiling away the ungodly early hours in fixation.
You hum in acknowledgement, nodding.
"C'mere," you mutter, gesturing towards yourself.
Turing tilts his head in confusion, but complies. As he approaches, you raise your covers with an arm toward him.
"Best thinking is done in bed."
Turing freezes, back straightening as his eyes widen.
"What?!"
"Warm n' cozy," you yawn. "Might as well be comfy while you sort out your problems. It helps me, anyway." You yawn again.
Turing just stares, his eyes scanning you and the bed as you lose a fight against your drooping eyelids.
"Arm's getting tired," you mutter.
After another glance to the offered bed, your eyes, and the bed again, Turing steps forward, and crawls under your blanket.
"There you go." With two sweeps of your arm, Turing is tucked into bed and your embrace, peering up at you from under the hugging arm with a curious expression that doesn't quite register in your half-asleep state.
His body is primarily metallic, but Turing is pleasantly warm to the touch. He's described this feature of his design to you, "Hugability," meant to encourage human contact and attachment. He'd kept the feature's subroutines in his programming because, as it so happened, Turing quite liked hugs. Which was great for you, because you quite liked hugging Turing.
Aside from warm, Turing's chassis was smooth, with every corner rounded and every line smoothed. If you weren't certain of the firmness and durability of the material he was made from, by way of a few lectures from the ROM himself, you'd go so far as to call the feeling soft.
Soft. The word floats across your mind as you settle back into bed with your companion.
"G'night, Turing."
The nearly-imperceptible hum of electricity flowing through Turing's components is his only reply. Which is just as well, as you had already drifted off to sleep in the time it would take for him to respond.
Had you been awake a moment longer, you'd feel Turing hug your arm, and, a moment later, his fingers lace into yours. You'd hear him sigh in content as he entered his low-power cycles, and see the light of his face dim into darkness for the remainder of a peaceful night.