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It's been a few weeks with Daemon inside your home.
Ever since the other dateables were realized and left to their own devices, Daemon has been the only one who stayed. In his own rationale, to "protect" you.
You'd assume this would be a dream come true, finally having a partner in your house, always protecting you and helping you with things (at least, the things she knows how to help with).
The problem is, their curiosity knows no bounds and never seems to run out.
There have been one too many awkward moments with Daemon, each requiring you to explain seemingly obvious concepts that aren't quite so obvious to them. It's not that it doesn't know what most things are or do, she just has never used or tried them himself.
This, of course, spiraled into chaos as Daemon taste-tested your pantry, spitting out most things with dramatic disgust for “textures.” The only foods she tolerates are that one chicken soup, “Caldo de Pollo”, from the Mexican spot nearby. Oh, and inexplicably, marshmallows.
You don't really understand how he can handle spicy cilantro-laden chicken rice soup with its complex medley of textures and flavors, yet finds themself unable to eat simple macaroni.
It's like living with a hyper-intelligent, incredibly sarcastic, and mind-fuckingly confusing toddler. It doesn't understand what he’s doing half the time, but she's determined to annoy you as much as humanly or inhumanely possible within whatever understanding it possesses. Or lacks.
Adorably stupid, you muse, scrubbing shampoo into your hair. Daemon’s indifference to appearances is a relief, it’s much easier to exist when you’re not performing for anyone.
Though they do seem particularly fond of that red shirt on you.
Still, hygiene wins out. Even after a day that begged for a 20-hour sleep, you dragged yourself from your desk to the shower. Daemon might not mind, but you do. And there’s a limit to how much grime you can tolerate.
Now that your mind is on the topic, can Daemon even shower? The idea tickles your curiosity. Is he waterproof, or would she short-circuit like a drenched computer by flickering and sparking before shutting down? You hope he’s not that fragile.
You rinse the shampoo from your hair, and the suds run down your face before swirling into the drain. Don't open your eyes. Whatever you do, don't open your eyes—
"Are you enjoying your shower?"
You blink.
And now your eyes are burning.
"Shit! Get out! How are you even—"
You panic, desperately trying to rinse out the shampoo with one hand while using the other to cover yourself as much as possible. How the hell is Daemon speaking to you right now?
The little shit starts giggling somewhere nearby. You resist the urge to punch her. It wouldn't do you any good anyway, especially since you still don't know where or even how he's speaking to you.
You grab your towel haphazardly from the bathroom sink, nearly tripping over yourself, and start wiping your burning eyes aggressively. Finally, you blink them open.
Daemon stands in the shower with you, completely clothed. Water from the shower cascades off his jacket, pooling at their feet. He stands unnaturally still, staring with her one blue eye fixed on you. His expression is dangerously neutral, its head is tilted in apparent confusion. Their hands remain at his sides, unmoving.
"You seem upset. Are you upset?"
The puzzle pieces click together. He probably phased through the wall, as she typically does, searching for you. They clearly don’t understand the social conventions surrounding showering when it comes to intimacy and privacy.
"Daemon, you can't just walk into the shower while I'm... showering. It's an invasion of privacy."
He tilts her head further, like a confused puppy.
"It's embarrassing," You continue to chide.
"Define 'embarrassing.'"
You sigh. "Shameful? Awkward? The opposite of comfortable."
"Shameful." She tests the word carefully, rolling it across his tongue. You nod, clutching your towel tighter. "Why is this 'embarrassing'?"
You open your mouth. Close it. Open it again. Close it again.
Why are humans embarrassed by nudity? Everyone has practically the same anatomy, and everyone showers or bathes themselves in some capacity. "Uh... culture, I guess. Tradition? It's just not socially acceptable."
"I'm not socially acceptable."
"No, you aren’t. Fair point." You keep the towel clutched tight, eyes still stinging.
"Your face is red. Your eyes are red."
"My face is red because I'm embarrassed. My eyes are red because chemicals just invaded them. I opened my eyes when you spoke, and the shampoo got in."
"Inconvenient."
"Very. I'm glad you understand. Just don't phase in here without asking first, alright? If you're so keen on watching me shower, you can watch if you ask first."
"Why are you allowing me to watch you? Isn't it 'embarrassing'?" His tone carries a mocking edge.
"Well, for most people, yes. But, you're my partner, and you also don't seem to particularly care about... this." You gesture vaguely at yourself.
He hums, apparently satisfied. You peel off your towel and resume rinsing your hair, Daemon lingering behind you with a casual, almost childlike curiosity. By all rights, this should feel unsettling.
You don't feel unsettled.
If anything, it’s comforting. To be seen with simple curiosity, maybe even affection, instead of judgment. No scrutiny, no expectations. Just you, and them, and the quiet. It’s rather nice.
~~~
Hours later, you burrow into bed in a faded video game shirt and sweatpants. Daemon isn’t the cuddly type, no matter how much you wish otherwise, so you settle in solo. You desperately attempt to quiet your restless thoughts.
Daemon usually hovers at your bedside. Not too close, since the last time she loomed over you, you almost clocked him in your sleep.
Your eyes drift closed as you clutch your blanket, warmth seeping into your skin with sleep beckoning.
Just as sleep starts to claim you, something pokes your back. You glance over to see Daemon, awkwardly hooking one knee onto the mattress, then pushing themself up with his hands. She’s always stood before, his textures made sitting impossible. Now, even with freedom, it’s movements are stiff, like someone learning to inhabit their own body.
You giggle stupidly. "What are you doing?"
Daemon finally manages to slide under the covers behind you, his motions cautious and a little funny. She brings his arms around your chest, positioning you gently in a little spoon position, as if mimicking something they’ve seen but never done before.
It’s arms send a strange, pleasant tingle across your skin. She shouldn’t be warm, yet you feel warmth spread over you.
Oddly, a sensation spreads throughout your entire body. Like someone massaging your scalp. Like gentle hands rubbing your back. Like that perfect stretch first thing in the morning. His arms stay wrapped around you, secure and steady. It's comfortable. So, so comfortable. You melt further into their embrace, sighing softly.
You didn't know you could feel this comfortable. Whatever Daemon is doing, you hope he never stops.
"Rest, my sweet lover." he murmurs against your hair, his voice distorted and soft.