Chapter Text
The shrill scream of the buzzer jolted Liam from a particularly sweet dream, which involved him finally acquiring the Apple iPhone 3G (2008, mint) - a piece that had been spectacularly hard to find especially after Apple Inc. went bust in 2049.
“The fuck, Louis. Seriously!?” he yelled at no one in particular, “You have the access codes, get on the Verticator up yourself!”
“For the last time, I refuse to call it a Verticator. It moves diagonally, diagonally up to your unreasonably high apartment!” came the reply, again from nowhere in particular.
Liam had been tempted to call the voice in his apartment JARVIS 2.0, after the artificial intelligence system that 21st century comic superhero Tony Stark (alias Iron Man) had installed in his house. But that would be saying that the voice in his ceiling was intelligent, which it wasn’t because Liam had tried and failed to program it to ignore any of Louis’s wheedling, whining and puppy eyes - in fact, he swore the voice loved Louis a lot more than it did him.
The technology was new, which explained why the voice was sometimes unreliable - a 2110 model that had locked Liam out three times now after Liam yelled at it, and called in the firemen once when Liam burnt dinner. But it came pre-installed with his condominium unit, and refused to be uninstalled, arguing that he could “barely take care of himself”.
Groaning, Liam made his way to the Verticator and pressed down.
“Seriously, this is why you’re not getting laid Liam,” scoffed Louis, holding up a copy of Twilight: Breaking Dawn.
“That, is a valuable piece of 21st century American literature you are holding, Lou. Mint.”
“My point exactly.”
“Not smart, Lou, considering you want something from me.”
“Whoever said anything about that?” the shorter lad replied, all too innocently.
“You’re here at 8 in the morning, one. And two, you brought your best bargaining chip,” said Liam, gesturing at the curly-haired lad who had made himself comfortable on Liam’s couch, “Look, spill. I like Harry a lot more than I like you, but if you’re tired of him or something, I’m not taking him off your hands.”
A pet, or a petbeing, or a hydripanion (hybrid+companion geddit?) - Liam had lost track of the politically correct names the hybrid right activists had coined in recent years after governments had approved animal-human hybrids for sale and trade in 2078.
The argument was that hybrids, most carrying more than 70% of human DNA, should be accorded the same rights as humans - to marry, to get jobs, to enjoy tax exemptions (except hybrids don’t pay tax, so to get tax exemptions, they would have to qualify to pay tax first - confusing? yes.), to not to have to wear collars, to walk around in public alone etc.
But hybrids were bred to be pets that can actually clean up after themselves and talk to their human owners, say the dissenters - wouldn’t this be defeating the original purpose of breeding them in the first place? After all, if humans wanted to keep another fully-recognized, living human around, they would have children!
The way Liam saw it, it was pointless arguing either way. The people who wanted hybrids and could actually afford them never participated in the debate. Hybrids were happy being hybrids (hybripanions!) and owners (human companions!) were happy being whatever the activists wanted to call them.
So when Louis had turned 23 and moved into the snazzy new apartment up on 8th Street, he had gone straight to the neighborhood breeder’s and gotten Harry, a young British shorthair hybrid with pretty cat ears hidden in a head of curls, and green eyes that reminded him of the sea. The two had gotten on splendidly, though Liam had debated the logic of acquiring a pet that towered over you at full height. But Louis had always liked living large, so there.
If you asked Liam to define their relationship though, he was pretty sure Louis and Harry were not just owner and pet. Their relationship is... what was it the 21st century nutters had called it again?
Bestiality. Yeah. That’s the word.