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Michelle dropped down beside him, leaning her shoulder against the lamppost. She crossed her ankles where they hung off the platform.
“What’s up?”
If Herm had a throat, he’d reckon it’d be thick with emotion. Instead, his internal servers ran hot, leaving him feeling laggy.
“The sky,” he responded. She raised an eyebrow, a finishing touch to the art of her deadpan expression. “Just thinking.”
She poked his shoulder, though it was more of a tap. Being eight inches tall, she didn’t want to send him flying. “What about?” She poked him again when he didn’t respond right away.
He slapped her finger away and glared at her. Her face was impassive, maybe even a little mischievous, but Herm lived with an emotionally repressed man and could see it in her eyes, her worry for him. He ignored how it warmed him.
“My existence,” he picked up a pebble, moving it claw to claw. He sighed. “I’m having a hard time reconciling what I am with who I want to be,” he conceded, sneaking a glance across the plaza to where Keats had taken up shop fixing broken metal plates and reconnecting wires. (Until they’d met, Keats didn’t know a lick about anything mechanical. Keats learned for Herman, just as Herman now knows way too much about the human body.)
“Who are you then?” She asked. “Or, the better question is: who do you want to be?”
“I want.. I want..”
She followed his gaze. “Ah,” she said softly.
He withheld a sigh. He’s been spending too much time around humans, he doesn't even need to breathe. “I’m a robot, Michelle. The sky is blue, the grass is brown, I’m a robot.”
He could feel Michelle analyzing him. “You think that matters to him? We’re all electricity, at our core.”
Herm let out a little scoff.
She pulled her sleeves over her palms, pulling at a thread in her purple hoodie. “Why do you say it like that?”
“What?”
“You say you’re a robot like it’s a bad thing.”
He paused. A frown made its way onto his screen, “Michelle, I’m not even alive .”
“Aren’t you?” She implored. “You’re not flesh and blood but you aren’t just a machine. I mean, you’re Herm! You’re my friend, aaaaand Keats .”
Herm gave the impression of a dead stare. “I once saw a human bond with a tree .”
She stretched her arms out in front of her, rolling a lip between her teeth. “Yeah, humans will pack bond with anything, I’ll give you that, but what I don’t understand is your hesitancy to recognize yourself as a person. Isn’t that— isn’t that what you were fighting for?”
“You, you don’t understand,” he ground out, crushing the pebble in his palm. It cracked in half. He couldn’t look at her. “I was created to be without feeling. I was programmed to construct, and that’s it.”
“But you’re not.” She leaned back, eyes searching for something he couldn’t say. “You’re not a mindless machine, Herm. You’re unique and autonomous with a mind of your own. Quite frankly, you’re more human than most of the people I’ve met — and doesn’t that say something.” She smiled, “thank you for being in my life.”
Herman frowned and flicked a piece of concrete, sending it scattering across the tiled floor. “He thought I was dying, you know. Or, already dead, I guess,” he clasped his hands together in his lap. Michelle inclined her head, a lock of hair falling into her face. Herman gestured to himself, “I had only gone into power saving mode, but, he held me and—“ his voice dropped to a whisper, “he told me he loved me.”
Michelle opened her mouth and closed it again, a smug grin split her face. “Not saying I called it, but that’s totally the vibe I got.”
Herm sighed quietly.
Her brows furrowed, “you don’t seem too happy about it.”
“He said he loved me. More than friends , he’d said,” Herman’s mouth dipped and his eyes stared at something in the distance across the mall plaza. At Keats, with his careful hands, replacing some of Pop's wires. “I don’t know if I can love.”
“Of course you can.” Michelle leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. She tilted her head, eyes searching his screen. “You care for him, don’t you?”
“Sure, but in that capacity? In case you’ve forgotten, I’m an eight inch tall artificial intelligence. I’m not exactly the biggest fish in the sea. I just, I don’t think I’m what he needs. I’m convenient. Years spent in the company of only each other.”
She choked back a laugh. “Doesn’t look like convenience to me,” she said the word with a grimace, like it pained her to even think about it. “He cares about you. He loves you . Regardless of the size of your form or how you came to be. It’s been you and him for— what, like three or four years? If it was purely convenience, he wouldn't tell you now."
Herman didn’t say anything.
“Herman,” she pressed her lips together and tucked some hair behind her ear. “Tell me about how you met.”
He shook his head slowly, “we met on the battlefield. He was begging me not to kill him and I didn’t. You heard the story.”
“No,” she slid off the curb to be closer to eye level. “ Tell me. ”
“I don’t know what you want from me; I already did.”
“Why didn’t you kill him?”
Herm’s screen blanked for a moment. If he had any, the blood would’ve drained from his face. “That’s, that’s a loaded question.”
She winced and turned to look at Keats, who’d scrounged some pink paint from the hardware store at the East End of the mall. He was talking lowly with Mrs Scissors, painting her with gentle strokes.
He answered anyway. “I think.. I think I saw something in him. Something I saw in myself. Beneath all the assholery” — she cracked a smile — “he was just as scared as I was.” He glanced back at her, “I’m not going to lie to you, Michelle. I have killed humans before. I’ve had to, for my continued survival, and I’m not going to apologize for it.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.” She rested her chin on her arms. “You ever think that, maybe, he saw something in you too?”
Herman didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t. He purposefully ignored the thrumming of his circuitry when his eyes landed on that stupid human man with his stupid new haircut.
They basked in the silence, watching Mrs Scissors, in her jittery excitement, get pink paint splattered across Keats’ shirt.
His muffled groans of disbelief could be heard across the plaza. Mrs Scissors didn’t seem too concerned, however, and continued to spin in circles, showing herself off to the other bots.
Michelle grinned behind her sleeve and Herman snickered, not bothering to hide his laughter, even when it echoed across the room.
Keats glared at them without any real heat and held the paint brush threateningly. Mrs Scissors pulled back up and stilled, showing off a side of her Keats hadn’t gotten to yet. He shot them one final look before doting on the pink robot he would deny having a soft spot for.
Michelle chuckled and stood. She brushed herself off, plaster falling from her clothes. “Think about what I said. He cares about you a lot, you know. We all do.”
She sent him a wink and walked away.
Herman stared after her.
Is she.. wingwomaning him?
He shook his head and got to his feet. He didn’t know how to feel about a lot of what she said, but he knew she was right about one thing: Keats, that bastard, was his friend above all else. Nearly four years, they had each other’s back. Regardless of how deeply the feelings run, Keats was.. Everything.
—
“Keats,” Herm greeted.
The man in question jumped and spun, caught with his hand in the cereal box — literally. “Um,” he said through a mouthful of Lucky Charms. “Don’t tell Michelle.”
His circuits burned. Seriously? This guy?
If Herman had a nose bridge, he’d pinch it.
“You bastard,” he said instead.
Keats shoved another handful into his mouth. “Hey, man, don’t judge. She took the last of the Sprinkle Spangles—” His eyes narrowed to slits. “—and the toy. So I called first dibs on this one.”
“Why are you eating the cereal then? Can’t you just.. take the toy if you want it so much?”
He jerked back, as if burned. “Just take–?” The shock melted into disappointment. “Herm, Herman, my man, let me tell you a little something about cereal box toys—” he said, setting the box on the table. He crouched, offering his hand to Herman, who climbed on without hesitation. He set Herman on the table next to the box and sat at the table himself.
“Okay,” Keats folded his hands professionally. There was a piece of cereal stuck to his chin. “Cereal toys are all about competition and honour .”
“Honour?” Herman raised his artificial eyebrow.
“Well, yeah. The unwritten rule states that whoever finishes the box gets to keep the toy — hence, eating the box before Michelle can.”
Herman stared at him unblinking. “You’re so weird, Keats.”
He tched and crossed his arms. “Says you.”
“I do,” Herman sighed heavily, ignoring Keats’ offended squawk. He felt like bashing his head on the table. The can of beans to his left tempted him. “But,” he said, defeated, “you’re my weirdo.”
“What?”
“I said you’re my weirdo,” Herman leaned on the can. “It means I love you too, idiot. More than a friend.”
Keats face blanked as his brain visibly lagged. Herman’s mouth quirked a smile. Maybe Keats was more robot than he’d thought.
“You..”
“Love you, yes,” Herman rolled his eyes. “Keep up.”
“Asshole,” he scowled, its effect nulled by the soft creases by his eyes. “Why wait this long?”
Herman winced, averting his gaze. “I.. Listen, Keats..” He tapped his fingers on the lid, eliciting a tink tink tink of metal on metal.
Keats waited with more patience than he’d exhibited in the rest of his life combined.
Herman started over. “Keats. I’m worried about this, about us. I love you, that much is true.”
“But?”
“ But , even after my preferred model gets fixed up, I’m still just metal and wire. I was created and programmed, not born. I’m.. unnatural."
“You’re a dumbass.” Keats rested his ankle on his knee, leaning back in his chair. “Did you mourn your platoon when they were killed? Or those we lost against Scentre?”
"What kind of question is that?"
He shrugged and crossed his arms behind his head. “You wouldn’t say their lives are lesser because they ‘aren’t natural’. Herm, I honestly could not care less that you’re a bot.” A smirk split his stupid face and his gaze raked over him, “ well .”
Something sparked in his chest. His voice went quiet, embarrassed (though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, especially not to Keats ), “I'm afraid that I’m not enough for you—”
Keats snorted.
“What now?”
“You’re so self-centred,” he said, matter-of-fact.
Herman straightened. “ Excuse me? ”
Rolling his eyes, Keats tilted his chair back on two legs. The dumbass is gonna fall, dammit. “I just think it’s fucking rude to assume you’re not enough for me. You’re fucking perfect, even if you unplug the fucking fridge sometimes.” He weaved a hand through his knotted hair, tugging lightly in places. “Besides, I’m the one who’s unreliable. You’ve always been there when I needed and I—”
“Have always been what I wanted.”
Keats paused, blue eyes meeting his own yellow pixelated ones.
Herman thought about Keats, and he thought about Michelle, and he thought about love, and he thought about convenience, and he thought about the four years being the happiest he’d ever been. He thought about flesh and blood and metal and wires and electricity connecting everything like a spider's web. He thought about Keats and sparks and feeling alive .
“Keats, I love you.”
“Shit, Herman, I love you too.”
“Then maybe.. That can be enough.”
“Now you’re getting it.”
They shared a smile.
A door slammed open, startling them both.
“ Are you cheating?! ” Michelle seethed, staring at the open cereal box and the cereal piece stuck to Keats’ dumb face.
“Oh shit .”
Herman cackled.