desiderium | m. o'hara

seven

"I can't keep taking time off work," I reason to Miguel after he asks me to take another sick day. "I'll get in trouble, and Jameson doesn't like slackers."

I catch the way he watches me from the bathroom door as I brush my hair. I huff in amusement at the reflection of his expression in the mirror and shake my head.

"The puppy dog eyes don't work on me, either," I say with a look over my shoulder. "Rosita's given me enough exposure therapy on that one."

Miguel drops his pout with a disappointed tsk. Not even a second later, he brightens with an idea. "Lyla."

Lyla pops up, disgruntled and yawning. She glitches through a morning stretch. "What's up, guys?"

Miguel narrows his eyes at me, challenging. "Give the puppy dog eyes to Y/n."

Lyla pulls a face. "What? Gross. Why?"

"It won't work," I remind. I slip past him and go to enter my room, where I set on finding myself an outfit for the work day ahead. Miguel and Lyla follow.

"I'm a Lyrate Lifeform Approximation, Miguel, AI - emphasis on the I," Lyla complains with her hands on her hips. "I'm not some over-the-top animated emoji."

Miguel groans. "Fine, then just- let's show her the Gizmo."

Lyla floats on her back and frowns. "What's a Gizmo?"

"The Gizmo- y'know, the Gizmo. The watch-thing. You named it!"

Lyla drifts past his face and crosses one leg over the other. "I dunno what you're talking about."

"Lyla." He snatches at her through the air. Her image glitches and restores itself, and she pats her hand in front of her mouth in a dramatic yawn. "You're the worst AI I've ever created."

"Thank you," she says smoothly. I close my cupboard and push Miguel out of the room so I can change. Lyla pops up next to me. "Oh, hey, Y/n, wanna check out my Gizmo today?"

Miguel makes a sound of frustration.

"No," I say, then give one last push to Miguel so he's past my bedroom's threshold. "Out."

Lyla pouts. "Party pooper."

I shut my door on them. Through the wall Miguel continues to complain to Lyla, who brushes off his words with nonchalance. Their voices fade as they head downstairs.

I press my forehead to the door and smile. I can't deny that this Miguel is growing on me, and a comfortable routine is beginning to emerge. Rosalina is happy. And I'm...

I'm getting there, I think.

He still sleeps on the couch. Maybe I should invest in a pull-out bed. Maybe we should convert the never-used study into his room. It doesn't seem like he's going to be leaving anytime soon, and it- it kind of makes me glad.

But my smile slowly falls, and I realise I'm alone once more in a room that used to hold two people. My Miguel smiles from a framed photo on the wall - a decade before, when he graduated with his PhD. Rosalina's only a baby, cradled in his arm. A hollowness returns to my chest.