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Music. Music, music, music. Everybody loves it, and you’re no exception. Ever since you built a new home with your humble helper, there is always something playing in the background.
While your tastes are all over the place, Verity seems to have a particular era which he’s fond of. So, there isn’t a problem with him playing his music most of the time. Yes, he can play music internally, but he once mentioned that wore him out beyond the point of being worth it.
With his help, you’ve grown quite the collection of discs that you doubt you’ll ever get bored of any single one of them. Your nail trails over plastic spines sitting in their rightful spots on the shelf, some of which you can’t remember putting back yourself, before it settles on the last one, possibly the dustiest out of them all.
It feels fair to let him come home to a familiar sound.
Out there, right now, Verity is mining for coal because you forgot to stock up during the day. He offered after you shoved your hand into every chest in the house to find a bit to cook a steak. How kind.
You slide the case out and pop it open on top of the shelf as you collect the disc. Turning to the jukebox, you practically drop it in.
A moment passes. Should you have blown on it first?
Eventually, a pleasant tune crackles to life. This one’s old, but you remember it from the first time Verity put it on for himself when you were away.
You lean back and rub dust off your fingers, looking around for something to do in the meantime.
…
Yet there’s nothing. You can’t go and turn off the lanterns to prepare for bed before having dinner. Preparing food in the dark… Yeesh.
Maybe you don’t need to do anything right now. Maybe he’d like to come home to his friend waiting for him for once.
Friend.
It’s not an unwelcome thought about him, but you don’t want to force a kind of one-sided personal relationship with this guy who’s just here to help out.
However, you do enjoy the domesticity he’s brought to your life. You can’t see yourself anywhere else at the moment.
_______________
Rare was it to be separated from the little ball that sat atop your shoulder in his smallest form. That morning, you asked if he could stay back–not purely because you wanted space, but because he seemed weary.
Verity argued, and that was a given because of how stubborn he was to constantly be with you, which often led to helping in whatever you were up to. Miraculously, you managed to convince him, and he let you go out on your own to the nearest unchecked village. He did tell you the coordinates though.
When you returned in the evening, you were hit with that savoury smell of seasoned meat cooking as he finished making your bed, new sheets and all. While grateful, you couldn’t help but notice the brand new addition to the space: a jukebox.
He was quick to jump to you and explain how he’d gone out of his way to collect his own resources to make it so you wouldn’t be inconvenienced. You thought that was adorable, but you didn’t tell him.
It was playing a song you hadn’t recognised at the time. You approached to view the small stack of cases sitting atop one of the corners, all similarly themed and aged. One was opened and you inspected it, of course.
‘The Little Dippers - Forever’
“So what’s this?” You lifted and waved the case at Verity.
His gaze remained only on you. “Something I like.”
_______________
Your stomach flips.
You can’t think straight without food in your system.
You’ve been standing next to the jukebox for long enough that you need to replay the song. Not like you were paying much attention initially. You push the disc back in and the honey-sweet instruments thank you.
Briefly, you entertain the thought of dancing by yourself. The image you receive in your mind warns you otherwise, but you can’t just do nothing like an idiot.
So, busywork it is. You check the few paintings on the walls of the main entrance area.
Faking being useful puts you a little more at ease. The piano in the song repeating itself could also be contributing to that.
“Hold me;
kiss me.”
The lyrics aren’t anything unique, but they’re short and sweet. Your thumb slips over your bottom lip as you try to imagine fitting another painting up.
“Whisper sweetly,”
You absent-mindedly sing along to pass the time as you move to check random drawers. Or were you already singing along?
“that you
love me
forever.”
Instrumental break. Well, you’re pretty much done with pretending to do things. You circle back to the thought of simply waiting at the door again. With your nerves calmed, you turn to face—Oh.
Verity smiles at you from the doorway, waving politely. Instinctively, you turn the volume down before waving back in a panic. Oh. Oh oh oh oh. Wow. Wow! That’s embarrassing. Wow! Actually! You stop the music, and you know you look stupid when you slam your hand down on the jukebox before standing straight again.
You literally could have just shrugged it off.
He eyes you momentarily before speaking up, “I’m sorry; did I interrupt you?”
Have you seen that look on his face before?
“—No!” You squeak before clearing your throat into your fist. “No. Not at all. You’re good. Welcome back.” You gesture to him, trying to move on from the fumble.
Only after wiping his shoes on the mat outside, the yellow humanoid steps in and closes the door behind himself. Then, he approaches you. Kind as he is, he offers you an out from the situation:
“I got enough to last you a while. Please don’t forget again, alright?”
You nod sheepishly as your hand travels to scratch your nape. “I won’t.”
He rummages through his pocket and plucks out a piece of coal, holding it out to you. “I’ll have to wash these pants later. Do you want me to restock the furnaces?”
“I can do it,” you assure him and take the piece with your free hand. “I’m not totally helpless.”
Transferring his inventory to you, Verity doesn’t mention anything else.
You turn on your heels and make your way to the closest furnace. All this for one steak. Yes, you could have burned some wood or sticks from the get-go, but coal enhances the flavour. How picky.
You toss a few into the furnace and fish for raw beef in the closest chest. That goes in before you wipe your hand on your clothes and stand.
His eyes bore into your back.
When you turn, Verity stands before you. Like always, he’s back in close proximity.
You remember how he used to gravitate towards you a lot closer than he does now. Since that got overwhelming quickly, you told him to keep his distance. He did. Still often does, but by now, you’re not averse to whenever he does end up nearer than normal on his own.
From the way he’s leaning forward, you suspect he’s going to say something. You gesture for him to do so.
The humanoid clasps his hands together at his midsection. “Could I ask for a really small favour?” Clearly, you make a face, because he laughs after a moment. “It’s not bad! There’s no need to worry.”
You can’t remember the last time he asked for a favour, if he ever had at all.
“Go on.”
“Would you mind singing for me?”
There’s a pause.
You can feel your cheeks flush with heat, and your brows furrow in… consideration? Confusion. It’s definitely confusion. A small “What?” is all you can give in response.
“You were enjoying yourself earlier. Don’t let me take that from you with my presence, especially when your voice…” He hums in thought briefly before snapping his fingers. “...is quite the instrument!”
Flattery will get him nowhere. “I’m no opera singer.”
“I know.”
“...” You shift uncomfortably. “Are you gonna make fun of me?”
“What makes you think I’d do that?” His hands move behind his back, still watching you.
And that gets you to properly contemplate the thought.
An AI… hearing you sing. For data purposes, you assume.
The tension in your shoulders falls. Right. This is Verity. He’s always enraptured by whatever you do, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that he’s asking for this.
Though, despite how kind he’s being, you want to squirm when you think about him staring at you fumbling over syllables.
You’ll just have to tough it out.
“Sit on the couch first?” You gesture over.
“…Oh! Alright.” Velvety cushions welcome Verity when he plops himself down and crosses one leg over the other. The house’s interior was designed with him partially in mind, so he looks as if he’s right where he belongs, relaxing before you. Well. Relaxing like he usually does: with a straight posture and his hands stacked on his top knee.
Sweat pulls from your palms, but you wipe it off on yourself. Yuck.
“Ah, one more thing,” he adds. You don’t get a moment to interject. “When you get that going, could you…?” A hand slides to the cushion beside him, patting the spot.
You purse your lips. Strangely forward of him, considering how he’s usually happy to hover around you wordlessly.
Well, if he’s right at your face when you sing… “You’ll have to close your eyes.”
“Should I do that now?”
“That’d be great.”
He does exactly as he’s told. Frankly, you should be used to how compliant he is by now: that’s half his purpose.
You walk to the jukebox and glide your hand over the disc poking out. Can’t be terrible, you reason. Verity doesn’t ask for much, and you feel like you kind of owe him one… or two. Or a lot.
This is the same guy who carried you home when your legs got numb from walking. In all honesty, there is not a single reason you should be so nervous—yet logic cannot override your heart, which is quite literally hammering against your ribs.
“Are you okay there?” A tone you rarely hear from him, gentle and low. It gives you pause, and you turn your head. One of his dotted eyes is peeking open, scanning your figure. “It’s fine if you don’t want to. Or–I could make a demonstra—”
“Nope, nope, nope, nope!” You try to force down the (admittedly amusing) thought of Verity singing as you hold a hand out for him to stop.
…Would he just play the song from his mouth or make an actual attempt?
After a brief silence, you snort. He’d look stupid either way in this form.
At your reaction, the corners of his mouth seem to soften a little with their natural upturn.
“I’m good.” You offer a thumbs up, and that’s enough for him to close his eye again.
“If you say so.”
The disc slips back into the slot and you move to the sofa before your nerves can get the better of you. You settle beside Verity and try to mentally count yourself in with the piano.
Lyrics are not a thing in the middle chunk, you remember as it comes up. Instead, it’s a lot of “ooh”s and “ah”s. Your vocal cords wholly disagree with the level they stick to, so you opt to hum along.
The AI beside you doesn’t voice any opposition. In fact, he’s turned to you now with his hand propping up his head and his elbow on the back of the couch. Without the visuals, it feels like he’s scrutinising you even more than he would were his eyes open.
Oh! Chorus time.
“Ah, aah…
Hold me;
kiss me.”
You barely process his pointer and index finger lightly pressing against your throat now.
“Whisper sweetly,”
When you do, you take note of how fixated he is on what you presume to be the movement of your vocal cords.
“that you
love me…”
You try not to let your voice shake from the attention you’re receiving,
“... forever.”
And it all comes to a stop. Literally. With the last piano input, the song is over.
There’s a nagging feeling that you wish you restarted the song instead of continuing from before.
This certainly wasn’t what you expected to happen today. Because when you focus on Verity again, he’s staring directly at you with his fingers still on your throat. Surprisingly, you mind it much less than you should.
His eyes flick down. “It’s interesting how multifaceted this part of your body is.”
“Really?” You reply rather dumbly, unsure of what else to add. No, you’re not uncomfortable with his observations (since you know he’s genuinely curious), but, you know, he’s touching a pretty significant area and acting vaguely detached from reality.
He nods. “I think it’s a neat part of your biology.”
“. . . Thank you?”
Your hesitation brings him pause. Surveying your expression, he decides to pull his hand away into his lap. “Sorry. I–sorry.”
…
A kicked puppy would probably look less hurt. Though, you find his pouting amusing. It’s not often he wears a face that isn’t some form of happiness.
“You could have asked,” you say softly so as to not make Verity fear you’re about to lecture him. Mad? No, definitely not.
“And interrupt you?”
You shrug. “Not like I was any good–”
“You were!” He reaches out to you, but his hands stop just short of your arm. “Don’t… Don't doubt yourself like that.”
Your tongue clicks against the roof of your mouth. He’s so… persistent. It could’ve gotten on your nerves had he not seemed so earnest.
“So, why’s it a neat part of my biology?” You circle back.
Verity blinks before pulling his hands back, pinching at his collar with one and rubbing his thumb back-and-forth across it. “The movement. I think the feeling is comparable to piano keys underneath a veil.”
“Do you go around feeling people’s throats often?”
“I… No. This is my first time.”
A chuckle escapes you. “I’m honoured to be the first person to have Verity Trademarked feel up their neck then,” you say and lean back into the couch.
The deeper shade of yellow exploding on his face is something you want to commit to memory. This feels pretty even between you two now.
Despite the fact that he doesn’t need to breathe, you watch as he deliberately sucks in a breath while his chest rises. You… try not to think over why that’s possible, with his lack of neck and all in this form.
And as quickly as it came, the blush was gone. Verity breathes out.
His gaze wanders to the jukebox. “Can you do that again sometime?”
“Big fan, are you?”
“Yes.”
The couch squeaks beneath you as you shift your weight to lean on the armrest. “...Alright. I’ll see.”
“Fantastic!” Verity pushes himself up and strides across the room with purpose, swiping the case and the disc separately. Back together they go and they head into their rightful spot on the shelf before he browses through for something else. Something longer that doesn’t require constant replaying, preferably.
“By the way”—his head turns to you—“your steak’s burnt to a crisp.”