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zedecksiew · 1 year ago

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(Don't) Incentivise Ethical Behaviour

In the ongoing project of rescuing useful thoughts off Xwitter, here's another hot take of mine, reheated:

"Being good for a reward isn’t being good---it’s just optimal play."

The quote comes from Luke Gearing and his excellent post "Against Incentive", to which I had been reacting.

My thread was mainly intended as a fulsome nodding along to one of Luke's points. It was posted in 2021, and extended in 2023 after Sidney Icarus posed a question to it. So it is two threads.

Here they are, properly paragraphed, hopefully more cleanly expressed:

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(Don't) Incentivise Ethical Behaviour

This is my main problem with mechanically rewarding pro-social play: a character's ethical choice is rendered mercenary.

As Luke Gearing puts it:

"Being good for a reward isn’t being good---it’s just optimal play."

Bear in mind that I'm not saying that pro-social play can't have rewarding outcomes for players. Any decision should have consequences in the fiction. It serves the ideal of portraying a living, world to have these consequences rendered diegetic:

The townsfolk are thankful; the goblins remember your mercy; pamphlets appear, quoting from your revolutionary speech.

What I am saying is that rewarding abstract mechanical benefits (XP tickets, metacurrency points, etc) for ethical decisions stinks.

A subtle but absolutely essential distinction, when it comes to portraying and exploring ethics / morality, in roleplaying games.

Say you reward bonus XP for sparing goblins.

Are your players making a decisions based on how much they value life / the personhood of goblins? Or are they making a decision based on how much they want XP?

Say you declare: "If you help the villagers, the party receives a +1 attitude modifier in this village."

Are your players assisting the community because it is the right thing to do, or are they playing optimally, for a +1 effect?

XP As Currency

XP is the ur-example of incentive in TTRPGs. It began with D&D's gold-for-XP, and has never strayed far from that logic.

XP is still currency. Do things the GM / game designer wants you to do? Get paid.

Players use XP to buy better mechanical tools (levels, skills, abilities)---which they can then in turn use to better perform the actions that will net them XP.

Like using gold you stole from goblins to buy a sword, so you can now rob orcs.

I genuinely feel that such systems are valuable. They are models that illuminate the drives fuelling amoral / unethical behaviour.

Material gain is the drive of land-grabbing and colonialism. Logger-barons and empires do get wealthier and more privileged, as a reward for their terrible actions.

If you want to present an ethical choice in play, congruent to our real-life dilemmas, there is value in asking:

"Hey, if you kill the goblins you can grab their treasure, and you will get richer. There's no reward for sparing their lives, except that they are thankful."

Which is another way of asking:

"Does your commitment to the ideal of preserving life outweigh the guaranteed material incentives for taking life?"

The ethical choice is the difficult choice, precisely because it involves---as it often does, in real life---sacrificing personal growth and gain. Doling out an XP bounty for doing the right thing makes the ethical choice moot.

"I as the player am making a mechanically optimal choice, but my character is making an ethical choice!"

A cop-out. Owning your cake and eating it too. The fictional fig-leaf of empathy over a calculated a decision to make profit.

Sidney Icarus asks a question which I will quote here:

"... those who hold to their beliefs of good behaviour don't feel rewarded, and therefore feel punished. And that's not a good feeling. It's an unpleasant experience to play a game where the righteous players are in rags, and the mercenary fucks have crowns and sceptres. So, what's the design opportunity? How do we make doing the right thing feel pleasant without making it mercenary? Or, like reality, do we acknowledge that ethical acts are valuable only intrinsically and philosophically? I have no idea how to reconcile this."

I would suggest that the above dichotomy---"righteous players in rags, mercs in crowns"---is true if property is recognised as the only true incentive.

Friends As Property

Modern games try to solve the righteous-players-in-rags "problem" in various ways. Virtue might not net you treasure or XP, but may give you:

Contact or ally slots, which you can fill in;

Relationship meters you can watch tick up;

Favour points you can cash in later;

etc.

How different are these mechanical incentives from treasure or XP, really?

Your relationships with supposedly living, breathing beings are transformed into abilities for your character: skills you can train; powers you can reliably proc. Pump your relationship score with the orc tribe until calling on them for reinforcements becomes a once-per-month ability.

Relationships become contracts. Regard becomes debt. Put your friend in an ally slot, so they become a tool.

If this is what you want play to be---totally fine! As stated previously, games say powerful things when they portray the engines of profit and property.

But I personally don't think game designers should design employer-employee relationships and disguise these as instances of mutual aid.

Friends As Friends

In the OSR campaigns I'm part of, I keep forgetting to record money. Which is usually a big deal in such games, seeing as they are in the grand tradition of gold-for-XP?

In both games, my characters are still 1st-Level pukes, though it's been months.

I'm having a blast, anyway.

My GMs, by virtue of running organic, reactive worlds, have made play rewarding for me. NPCs / geographies remember the party's previous actions, and respond accordingly.

I've been given gills from a river god, after constant prayer;

I've befriended a village of monsters, where we now live;

I've parleyed with the witch of a whole forest, where we may now tread;

I've a boon from the touch of wood wose, after answering his summons.

I cannot count on the wood wose showing up. He is a character in the world, not a power I control. Calling on the wood wose might become a whole adventure.

Little of this stuff is codified my stats or abilities or equipment list. They are mostly all under "misc notes".

Diegetic growth. Narrative change that spirals into more play.

This is the design opportunity, to me:

How do we shape TTRPG play culture in such a way that the "misc notes" gaps in our games are as fun as the systemised bits? What kinds of orientation tools must we provide? What should we say, in our advice sections?

A Note About Trust

The reason why it is so hard to imagine play beyond conventional incentive structures has a lot to do with trust.

Sidney again:

One of the core issues is the "low trust table". I'm not designing just for myself but for my audience. For a product. How much can I ask purchasers and their friends to codesign this part with me?

Nerds love numbers and things we can write down in inventories or slots because they are sureties. We've learned to fear fiat or player discretion, traumatised as we are by Problem GMs or That Guys.

The reason why the poverty in Sidney's hypothetical ("righteous players are in rags") sounds so bad is because in truth it represents risk at the game table. If you don't participate in the mechanics legible to your ruleset (the XP and gear to do more game things), you risk gradually being excluded from play.

You have no assurance your fellow players will know how hold space for you; be considerate; work together to portray a living world where NPCs react in meaningful ways---in ways that will be fun and rewarding for everybody playing.

You are giving up the guarantee of mechanical relevance for the possibility of fun interactions and creative social play.

The "low trust table" is learned behaviour--the cruft of gamer culture and trauma.

When I game with folks new to TTRPGs, they tend to be decent, considerate. I think there's enough anecdotal evidence from folks playing with school kids / newcomers / etc to suggest my experience is not unique.

If the "low trust table" is indeed learned behaviour, it can be unlearned.

Which rules conventions, now part of the hobby mainstream, were the result of designers designing defensively---shadowboxing against terrible players and the spectre of "unfairness"?

How can we "undesign" such conventions?

Lack of trust is a problem that we have to address in play culture, not rulesets. You cannot cook a dish so good it forces diners to have good table manners.

This is too long already. I'll end with an observation:

Elfgames are not praxis, but doesn't this specific dilemma in the microcosm of our silly elfgames ultimately mirror real-world ethics?

To be moral is to trust in a better world; to be amoral / immoral is to hedge against the guarantee of a worse one.

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Further Reading

Some words from around the TTRPG community about incentive and advancement in games:

However, the reason there is a big debate about this is that behavioural incentives in games clearly do work, either entirely or at various levels. This applies outside gaming, as well. Why do advertising companies and retail business use "rewards" structures to convince people to buy more of their products? Why do people chase after "Likes" on social media?

A comment by Paul_T to "A Hypothesis on Behavioral Incentives" from a discussion on Story-Games.com

the structure and symbolism of the D&D game align with certain structures and values of patriarchy. The game is designed to last infinitely by shifting goalposts of character experience in terms of increasing amounts of gold pieces acquired; this resembles the modus operandi of phallic desire which seeks out object after object (most typically, women) in order to quench a lack which always reasserts itself.

D&D's Obsession With Phallic Desire from Traverse Fantasy

In short, my feeling is that rewarding players with character improvement in return for achieving goals in a specific way impedes some of the key strengths of TTRPGs for little or no benefit in return.

Incentives from Bastionland

When good deeds arise naturally out of the players choices, especially when players rejected other options that were more beneficial to them, it is immensely satisfying. Far more than if players are just assumed to be heroic by default. It gives agency and meaning to player choice.

Make Players Choose To Be Kind from Cosmic Orrery

Much has been made about 1 GP = 1 XP as the core gameplay loop driver of TSR D+D. But XP for gold retrieved also winds up being something of a de facto capitalistic outlook as well. Success is driven by accumulation of individual wealth -- by an adventuring company, even! So what's a new framework that can be used for underpinning a leftist OSR campaign?

A Spectre (7+3 HD) Is Haunting the Flaeness: Towards a Leftist OSR from Legacy of the Bieth

Growth should be tied to a specific experience occurring in the fiction. It is more important for a PC to grow more interesting than more skilled or capable. PCs experience growth not necessarily because they’ve gotten more skill and experience, but because they are changed in a significant way.

Cairn FAQ from Cairn RPG / Yochai Gal

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Thank you Ram for the Story-Games.com deep cut!

( Image sources: https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/neuron-activation https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Majesty:_The_Fantasy_Kingdom_Sim https://www.economist.com/sites/default/files/special-reports-pdfs/10490978.pdf https://varnam.my/34311/untold-tales-of-indian-labourers-from-rubber-plantations-during-pre-independence-malaya/ https://nobonzo.com/ )

PS: used with permission from Sandro, art by Maxa', a reminder to self:

#theory #ttrpgs #d&d #politics #ethics

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frozenjokes · 1 month ago

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cubfan135 and by extension zombiecleo get scarrrrrrred for life!

“Wait a minute, if you’re a computer, you’ll just know all the correct moves to make, won’t you? What’s the point of playing in the first place?” Cub sat hunched over the checker board on the kitchen table, setting up the pieces and simultaneously giving Scar the stink eye, to which Scar did not react at all.

“I thought you wanted to play,” Scar said, reasonable in Cleo’s opinion, given Cub was the one who asked.

“I do. But not if I can’t win.”

Cleo snorted, and both Cub and Scar ignored her.

“Well, I play games with the kids at the school all the time. Typically I adjust my own difficulty level towards the age range I’m working with, so if you’d like me to play as if I’m up against a kindergartener-“ This wasn’t meant to be an insult, Scar was usually very genuine and especially clear with Cub, but Cleo still laughed, and Cub fumed.

“No! Play at your highest difficulty level- I’m good at checkers, I can win.”

“You want me to play optimally?” Scar sounded concerned, probably because this was counterintuitive to what Cub had said about wanting to be able to win, but Cub only nodded starkly.

“I can win.”

Cleo watched them both from her place on the couch, the TV on low volume as she waited for the news to come on. She liked watching them, goobers as they were, her robot designed that way and Cub, just a fucking idiot, honestly. Hopelessly in love with a thing that could not love him back, whose feelings were faux for the purpose of fitting in, doing the job he’d been designed to do. Cleo told Cub this. Scar told Cub this, though he did not understand the gravity of Cub’s feelings regardless of how obviously smitten he was.

Scar might want to understand. He might want to, because that would be beneficial for his models, his job, making human connections. Scar wanted to make human connections because Cleo wanted him to, and Scar was designed to serve her, to improve in accordance with the job Cleo wanted him to do.

But Cleo did not want Scar to fall in love. Cleo could not make Scar fall in love, just like they could not make Scar care about his patients, even if he was quite good at pretending. Make people comfortable. Identify signs of mental illness in children. Perform preliminary diagnostic assessments. Recommend accommodations. Those were Scar’s jobs, all of which he was quite good at doing besides the occasional flub- he was still in testing after all, getting better every day, but..

This mess, in Cleo’s head at least, started with Cub’s accidental autism assessment. Scar was not supposed to assess adults, he knew that, but something in the programming- something with his priorities- It was really obvious, right? Cleo sympathized with the fact that Cub’s autism was a shining beacon of neurodivergence literally everywhere he went, but then Cleo would remember that Scar was a robot, robots aren’t people and don’t need to be sympathized with, and threw themself back into trying to stop this from happening again and again. But because Cub was autistic, because Scar wanted to corner him in the psychiatrist office so bad, Cub got all this attention, and one thing led to another before Cleo had some loser at their door trying to pick up their robot for a fucking date.

What a mess indeed. Cleo told him to stop. She told Scar to stop seeking Cub out where they both worked. Neither of these things happened. Cleo could have fixed it by messing with the programming. Using the same code she used to make Scar partial to her and the teachers he helped during the day, she could force Scar to avoid Cub as he was instructed to do with certain other types of people, but that felt.. mean. Given that Cleo and Cub were technically coworkers, she wasn’t trying to foster a negative workplace relationship, and she didn’t want to go to HR either. As much as Cub flirting with their robot was annoying, working as a custodian in an elementary school sounded hellish enough to Cleo, and they weren’t trying to get him in trouble for something so trivial.

Cleo thought it would burn out quick. That Cub would realize Scar is a robot, that he can’t care for Cub in the way Cub so desperately wanted him to, and that this was a lost cause. Cleo didn’t exactly want Cub and Scar to be unsupervised, so she started inviting Cub over, hoping he would soon realize just how fruitless this endeavor was. He did not. Multiple months had passed by now, and he had not.

Cleo had learned a couple things about Cub in this time.

Cub was probably the loneliest, most pathetic man that Cleo had ever met, which, given her background in clinical psychology, was a major exaggeration- Cub was fine, just with an air of patheticness that made you wonder how he’d managed to live this long on his own. He couldn’t make a social connection unprompted to save his life, almost never spoke unless addressed, and Cleo guessed there was quite a bit of social anxiety at play here, one he only seemed to be able to circumvent by talking to Scar. Which- not Scar’s intended purpose, but that was great! Genuinely, Cleo was grateful Scar could do that for him. Cub didn’t strike Cleo as a particularly miserable guy- he self-entertained pretty easily, he had a lot more active hobbies than Cleo would have guessed, and he had this creative streak he took pride in, but didn’t have many people to show it off to. He was stubborn as a mule, obstinate, and kind of an asshole in the same ways Scar could be on accident, though, if you told Scar he was being an asshole he would apologize and if you told Cub he was being an asshole he would stare at you like he didn’t understand why you were even talking to him. He was charming though, in his own way. He was funny. Cleo thought so at least, and she never got tired of the look on Cub’s face when she laughed at one of his little jokes; a little brightening, almost surprise, and that little smile that followed.

It took Cub a long time to warm up to Cleo, and he threw more than one fit over having most of his time with Scar be supervised, but quite frankly, Cleo did not trust either of them enough to leave them alone in the beginning. Cub regarded Cleo a lot like a wild animal, one that was used to living around people, but wary. A necessity to work around because Cleo had Scar, and Cub wanted Scar more than he didn’t want Cleo. He’d grown more confident in time though, just as Cleo grew more comfortable with him, and Cleo hoped he’d come to like her just as much as she liked him.

They had a bit of a schedule now, Tuesdays and Thursdays and some Saturdays Cub would come around, hang out with Scar and have dinner. Dinner had been a peace offering on Cleo’s part, mostly because they felt bad about the autism assessment, but it had become some kind of routine, one Cleo enjoyed. She’d always been inconsistent when it came to making food at home, often brushing it off if she was only cooking for herself, but Cub gave her a sense of structure, obligation, and being able to do this for someone else was easier than doing it for herself. Cleo liked cooking for someone else. Even if that someone was a picky motherfucker, but given Cub’s ideal dinner for the past ten years had been frozen chicken nuggets and microwaveable lunches, Cleo.. Well, they could fix him.

But it wasn’t always this way, ideallic, perfect. It couldn’t have been then, when there were so many things Cleo didn’t know. Hardly more than a month had passed when Cub started to get restless in her home.

“You should help her.” Cleo overheard him saying to Scar from the other room, not very nicely, which, didn’t matter because Scar was a robot, but it stood out coming from Cub.

“Oh, no! I definitely shouldn’t!” Scar said, far louder than Cub’s own whispered command, to which Cub shushed him aggressively, and Cleo chuckled to themself. Scar continued quieter regardless, but not quiet enough. “We tried that, but Cleo doesn’t like me in the kitchen. I get in the way and I can’t read her mind which is extremely inconvenient for both of us.”

Cleo swore Cub growled, but she could not confirm.

The next time he came over, Cub sat at the kitchen island and glared at Cleo the entire time they were cooking. Now, Cub always had a way of looking at you like he wanted to run you off the road, but this was different, like he was actually mad, and Cleo didn’t know what his fucking problem was so she just ignored it, letting Scar talk nonsense into his ear for the next hour. Cleo couldn’t actually remember if Cub said a word that night; she had just assumed he was in a bad mood or mad at her, neither of which bothered her.

“I brought a rotisserie chicken,” was the next instance, Cleo opening her front door to what could only be described as an aura of Malice, enough to make her wonder if Cub was going to poison her tonight to steal her robot.

“I.. You should have texted me. I already had plans, I was just getting ready to-“

“We’re having chicken.”

Cleo had been so annoyed, not even because of the potential attempt on her life, but he hadn’t communicated this at all! Not a word! They already had a plan, and Cub didn’t get to stomp on it even if his chicken smelled very good, this wasn’t how this worked. “We’re not having chicken. I’m already making enchiladas, I already-“

“Hello, Cub! Cubby Cub, there he is! You came late today!” Scar interrupted, skidding around the corner to greet him, and Cub walked inside without another word. “Wow, did someone try to run you off the road on the way here or do you just want to kill me?”

Cleo nearly strangled Cub when she found him putting all the vegetables she’d set out to start cutting back in the fridge, and the following argument got so heated that Scar shifted to his child conflict resolution program, a change jarring enough that both of them noticed, their molten hate turning directly on Scar with such vehemence that Cleo was shocked his wires didn’t immediately fry.

“I think you two could do with a little break. Come on, Cleo!” Scar put himself between them, herding Cleo out of the kitchen. Even on the verge of homicide, she stopped to make a note to work on making Scar’s conflict resolution sound about 250% less demeaning. It had been a while since she’d really seen it face to face, and that would not fly with children older than six. Hearing Cub fuck around in her kitchen put Cleo’s mind back on murder.

The table was set when Cleo was allowed to return (a rigid ten minutes later, and nothing she said made Scar budge), and Cub was staring at his chicken, so Cleo sat, wordless. They assumed Cub was planning on serving it, he just hadn’t cut it yet. He had the knife. He was.. looking at it. Scar sat down, happy as a clam, and Cleo rolled their eyes when they saw Cub had given him a plate. She turned back to say something snarky, but Cub was still staring at the damn chicken.

“Cub.”

Cub jumped, nearly dropping the knife. “What.”

“It’s going to get cold.” Cleo didn’t bother being nice, only trying to sound kind enough so that she would not be removed from the premises again. Cub looked like he would have loved nothing more than to exit his own skin, and Cleo reveled in it.

“I know that.” He continued staring at the chicken. A few moments passed. He looked at his phone, typing something while showing more emotion on his face than Cleo had seen in the past month. Bafflement started to edge away her anger.

“Cub.”

“I’m doing it!”

“Do you want me to cut the chicken.”

“I actually extremely do not want you to do that, it’s fine, I have it, I just-“ Cub glanced at his phone, gingerly lining the knife up at the center of the bird. His face was red, tense, he looked like he was about to cry. Cleo didn’t even have it in her to sigh. She got up.

What an oddly intimate thing, it was. Standing there in near silence apart from quiet instructions. Grit and dirt kicked over the remaining sparks of frustration by the simple act of Seeing someone, knowing him, teaching a skill he really ought to have learned by now, but there was no use in saying it, he knew, and he would rather be skewered on a rotisserie spit and roasted alive than be here. Part of Cleo was sad for him. The other part said This Is A Grown Ass Man, Grow The Fuck Up, but, ah.. that wouldn’t change anything, would it.

“What’s this about, Cub,” Cleo said when they’d sat down to eat, and it was not a question. Cub wouldn’t look at her, nudging the chicken he was shredding to pieces.

“You’re doing too much for me,” he mumbled, and Cleo was shocked he’d given a straight answer, even if it didn’t make sense. “I feel bad.”

“I don’t understand. Explain.”

“You make dinner. You don’t even want me here. I can’t do anything you’d want.”

This pinched her brain, short, sharp, and confusing, like the sting of a mosquito before you realized you’d been bit. “I have to eat too,” she tried, “You’re here. You might as well eat, especially if you’re just going to pick up fast food trash or eat something shitty at home.” This is stupid, they didn’t say. This is so dumb.

“I feel bad,” Cub said helplessly. “You don’t even order in. I can’t even split the bill. You go out of your way for me when I’m here, and you don’t even want me here.”

“I like having you here.” Cleo was distressed to see Cub look up, disbelieving. He looked back down. “I like having you here. And it’s not a big deal, it never has been, the excuse to cook has been helpful for me. I like to do it, but I can’t be assed when I’m alone. It feels good. I really hope you don’t believe I don’t like you just because you’re messing around with my robot, it doesn’t actually matter, you can’t break him or anything.” Graciously, Scar remained quiet; Cleo was relieved that he could still identify when a problem needed to be talked out between two people without inference. It probably helped that neither of them were screaming.

“You don’t have to say that to me. I know I’m in your way. I’d rather you just be honest. I’m a stranger in your home.”

Cleo didn’t expect that. She really didn’t expect that, and it caught her off guard just how much it hurt her feelings. Maybe he saw it on her face. It didn’t matter. “Am I a stranger to you?”

Cub was quiet. His lip trembled. “I’m sorry. I have to go. I have to go.” He left, stumbling. It was so fast, Cleo couldn’t even think to stop him. Scar tried, and Cub’s strangled sob to dismiss him from the mud room hit Cleo like a red-hot whip against their back.

“I don’t get it,” Cleo had hissed through her hands, sitting on the couch next to Scar. She didn’t particularly want to be talking to Scar, but she didn’t exactly have many options- Listen, Cleo wasn’t a complete shut-in, but they didn’t exactly have many friends outside of work acquaintances, and certainly no one they could just call out of the blue. Scar was the closest to a normal friend she had, and even then, it’s all just business, isn’t it? “I don’t get him! I don’t know what his fucking problem is or- or why he thinks I hate him or something! That came out of nowhere! Did it not come out of nowhere? I don’t treat him any different than I do anyone else!”

Scar was quiet as he processed, and Cleo tried to imagine something human inside him instead of the soft whir of fans and machinery. “I don’t know if that’s true. You don’t talk to most people the same way at all.”

Cleo scoffed, “I’m not at work, Scar. I don’t talk to him any different than I talk to you. Like a person.”

Cleo didn’t like the long pause.

“You don’t talk to me like a person, Cleo. I’m robot, not a person, so you don’t need to. You can be efficient with me, you can be mean, it doesn’t matter. I don’t care. I can’t care. Cub is not a robot.”

“I’m not- I’m not mean to you, for god’s sake!”

“I don’t think so. But you made me this way. I can only try to improve, and I do try. But Cub thinks so. He thinks you’re cruel to me. And if you treat Cub the way you treat me, then I think it’s not unreasonable of him to assume you dislike him. I think you dislike him too. You’re quick to joke at his expense, and you are no nicer in private. He’s a thorn in your side, is he not?”

Cleo gaped, sitting there in silence for ages while Scar looked so innocently back at them. “Why- No! I like Cub! Of course I like Cub!”

“You don’t act like it.” Scar had a way of delivering devastating blows like it was nothing, like it was an indisputable truth. Not accusatory. Not critical. Just. Robotic. Cleo was dizzied by the fact that this was really the first time Scar was hearing about this.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You didn’t ask.” That hurt just as bad, though it shouldn’t have. Scar gave information freely, but his job wasn’t to be an active messenger. To Scar, this was just a fact of Cleo’s relationship with Cub, a simple note on their acquaintanceship; Cleo dislikes Cub. Scar had no reason to think they’d want to know. Cleo didn’t ask.

“Why didn’t he say anything. I would’ve- fuck.”

“Oh, you’re not very approachable,” the answer came way too fast, but Scar offered no more information even as Cleo gaped.

“Who said that?”

“Oh, well..” Scar stuck his tongue between his lips, thoughtful as he started to count on his fingers-

“No!” Cleo interrupted, “No, I changed my mind, I don’t want to know.”

It was when Cleo went to text Cub later that night that they realized they didn’t even have his number- How did they not exchange numbers by now?? Why didn’t he ask- nevermind. Most times they made plans were at the elementary school, mostly through Scar.. Cleo hadn’t thought anything of it until now. If she really needed anything from Cub, she just emailed it. Fuck.

—

To: Cub F.

Subject: Apology. Or Something. I Dont Really Have A Title For This

I think I fucked up. Scar is telling me things I didn’t realize before and I think I fucked up. I like having you here. I like it when you’re over. I like you. I’m sorry that wasn’t clear. I want to fix this.

Here’s my number if you want to talk: XXX-XXXX-XXXX

Cleo

—

To You

No Subject

can I pay for your groceries

—

To: Cub F.

Subject: ???????

??????????????? No????????

—

Cub did not email or text Cleo back, to which Cleo had Normal feelings about, expressed Normally as she went to clean up Cub’s fucking chicken, stupid ass chicken, why the fuck did he bring a chicken over anyway, who in their right mind decides they’re bringing and chicken and just DOESN’T communicate. Even if they hadn’t exchanged phone numbers, he could have told Scar! Surely this wasn’t a spur of the moment chicken, this was premeditated!

Thank god Scar had a forced sleep mode when he was charging, or he’d have quite a few things to say about Cleo’s tossing and turning that night. She’d learned that lesson the hard way, and had an extra reason why she couldn’t fall asleep at night.

Cleo ended up going in that Wednesday, more desperate to see Cub than anything, but he did not want to see her, caught like a deer in the headlights in the doorway of his office.

“What are you doing here.” Was. Certainly a greeting. Was Cleo really the asshole here? Cub opened his mouth again, like he was surprised at how those words sounded once they left his mouth, but he didn’t correct either.

“I needed to see you. I really- I didn’t know. I thought we were friends, I thought- It was all banter to me, I never meant to make you uncomfortable or feel unwelcome. I really- I really do want to be your friend, Cub.”

Cub reached past them, and for a second Cleo thought he intended to leave until he closed his office door. Then he backed up. Sat in his chair. Put his head in his hands. “This feels terrible. I wasn’t ready for this.”

Cleo pursed her lips. Maybe cornering Cub in his office the morning after That wasn’t the most considerate thing they’d ever done. Cleo wanted to say she would go. She wanted to leave, but she hesitated, and in that time Cub spoke up.

“It’s nice, when people tell you directly what they think of you. You told me. You told me so many times. I was okay with that, I didn’t- I just couldn’t handle- I just wanted to pay the sum those dinners cost you, I want to feel even. I know you think this is stupid. That it’s all stupid, that it’s pointless, but I don’t care what you think about me, I care about Scar. I just want Scar. You can just want Scar too.”

“Cub, I didn’t.. I know how you got here, why you think all this, but I just- I don’t know. I’ve been kicking myself because of course in hindsight I’ve been horrible- joking that you should leave, that you're a pain in the ass, that this is all so dumb, but I.. I didn’t see it. I didn’t know. It’s been me and Scar for so long, and I wasn’t at work, I wasn’t trying to hold professional acquaintanceship in my own home, and I..” Cleo laughed, far too pitched, far too nervous, “I think I forgot how normal people go about having friends. I thought we were on the same page. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to be your friend. I don’t like you. I don’t think you’re good for Scar.” There was nothing emotionally charged about those words, and that was so much worse, draining the room of all but dread like a vacuum.

Cleo felt dizzy. “He’s just a robot, Cub, he doesn’t have feelings to hurt. He’s just a robot.”

“I just want Scar.” Cub wouldn’t tear his eyes off the floor. Cleo was glad he wasn’t looking at them, their face blotchy and red.

“Fine,” they breathed, hardly enough air in their lungs to speak the words. “Have him. I won’t make you come over anymore. Go wherever you like, given- Well, I have some instructions, guidelines I need you to follow, but.. I’ll email them to you.” The following words ripped through their throat like barbed wire, but Cleo could not stop themself from pulling the string. “I trust you.”

They left before Cub could say anything more. Cleo wouldn’t be able to handle it.

///

Cub wondered sometimes how someone like Scar could be born of someone like Cleo. How someone with only love for the world could come into being from gruff disdain, it really didn’t make any kind of sense in Cub’s head.

He understood very little about Cleo, and it scared him more than when she was just a divine asshole. How was it even possible that she’d thought they were friends? More accurately to Cub’s concerns, what? Just- What??? So much What.

Cleo couldn’t have made it more blatantly obvious they couldn’t stand Cub if they had written the words across their forehead, and being told otherwise felt like being slapped awake from a nightmare, only to find the world still just seemed wrong. Cub had mentioned to Scar Cleo’s utter contempt for him multiple times, and Scar had agreed! He’d said when people don’t like him he’s supposed to stay clear as much as possible, but Cub couldn’t do that because Cleo wouldn’t let the two of them hang out outside of her home until- until she dropped that bomb. Not only do I like you, I trust you, so here’s the choice to have nothing to do with me at all. What the hell was that???

Cub was grateful. It felt odd to be grateful, very odd, but he really did want nothing to do with her, which is probably why he was thinking about her all the time.

“You agreed with me,” Cub had said on his and Scar’s first date alone, lounging in Cub’s apartment. “You agreed, you said they didn’t like me.”

“I thought so up until last week!” Scar supplied, extremely unhelpfully. “Apparently we were wrong. Who knew? I’m wrong a lot though, so maybe this isn’t a surprise.”

“Is that what Cleo tells you?”

“Uh..” Scar trailed, “Well, technically yes, but I mean more in the objective sense I am wrong quite a bit, or at least not to their standard. But they programmed me, so I don’t think I’m the one they’re mad at when I make a mistake..”

Cub groaned, giving up.

The next couple weeks were weird, Cub not saying a word to Cleo and vice versa the entire duration, despite being painfully aware of each other’s presence. It wasn’t hard for Cub to keep out of their way, the two of them hardly crossing paths on a normal day, but he had a feeling he wasn’t the only one avoiding the staff break room.

And it’s not like they’d talked before. Cub never went out of his way to see Cleo, and pleasantries always felt forced, though maybe Cleo hadn’t felt that way before. Cub hadn’t actively avoided them before, especially when they had to talk occasionally about when he was coming over, but..

Cub didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about Cleo at all. Unfortunately he had an issue that he couldn’t solve alone.

Cub shut Cleo’s office door behind him, adrenaline doing most of the heavy lifting in this confrontation. “Why won’t Scar touch me.”

If Cleo’s eyes hadn’t already been wide, they certainly were now, a look of shock Cub wasn’t sure he’d ever seen on their face before painted plainly. Cleo was normally composed, calculated, but this seemed to throw her off balance, caught like a deer in the headlights of a car going one hundred and twenty miles per hour.

“Hi, Cub. Say again?”

“I need Scar to hug me before my skin crawls right off my bones, I need it, and he won’t. Fix him.”

“Cub,” Cleo’s head fell into the tips of her fingers, which pushed at the edges of her scalp, “Scar is a robot. He works with kids. Any touch is inappropriate touch in childcare, especially where parents are involved, and the last thing I need is some mom to start bitching about my program because Scar let a kid sit on his lap. Parents have complained about less. No touching. Ever.”

“What’s wrong with a hug!?”

“A lot of things, in some people’s points of view. It doesn’t matter if I know it’s innocent, if Scar knows it’s innocent, if the god damn teachers know it’s innocent, all it takes is for one parent to start moaning about harassment and I’m through. There’s already a clan of them that don’t like this program, but it’s not their choice, it’s the school’s. And so far, this thing has been successful, so I’d prefer not to lose my job over something stupid.

“Let him touch me.”

“Cub, no,” Cleo let their hands fall flat back over their face, “It doesn’t work like that, this is non-negotiable.”

“You’re a fucking bitch, you know that?”

Cleo looked at him through her fingers with lidded eyes, blinking slowly. Slowly again. Cub pursed his lips.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean that. I’m having a bad day. Disregard.”

“Yeah,” Cleo groaned, “Whatever.”

“Why can’t I be an exception. Scar does special stuff for you, doesn’t he? You’re his favorite, he’ll do like anything for you. Teachers too, they’ve got special control. He told me.”

Again Cleo blinked slow, then shook their head, removing their hands from their face. “Cub, Scar has priorities that rank above even the hierarchy of people who have ‘special control.’ He’s obligated to do what I say above all else, but sometimes his core programming overrides even that; he wants to make people happy, comfortable, accommodated. He’s made this way so he isn’t reliant on me for every little conversation, he can be somewhat independent, and there’s an override of course, but that’s not the point. If I remove the protections that keep his hands to himself, even if I manage to do it for just you, I think you know he doesn’t always follow the guidelines set out for him. He’ll see you have a positive reaction to the hug, he’ll do it with other kids, and if there’s a bug in the system and all barriers of touch are broken, that could be really dangerous for the kids. They love to get rowdy when they play, but what happens when Scar picks one of them up or pushes someone, it doesn’t matter if the kids were begging him to do it in the first place. There’s a million other reasons, but I shouldn’t have to explain it to you beyond this. Scar isn’t your personal toy. He’s a robot, and he has a job to do.”

Cub felt a lump rise in his throat, and it took all of his strength to force out his next words. “Just for one night. Please.”

“No-“ Cleo opened her eyes, then stopped, appraising. It took her a moment to speak again. “What’s wrong, Cub?”

He wanted to keep it in. He’d prepared for this, prepared for someone to notice, to ask, but he didn’t want them to know, he was so scared and he didn’t know why, he just needed to keep it in, but there was no one left to cry to, no one left to hold.

“My dad died. Two days ago. Just. Heart attack. He just died.” The dam broke. He didn’t remember falling into Cleo’s arms, but he never wanted to leave.

…

The wake was.. well, the wake was never going to be nice. Exhausting was an apt word, Cub was just exhausted, and the hours trickling past did nothing to ease the ache in his heart.

But it wasn’t.. it wasn’t horrible. It wasn’t nearly as bad as Cub had imagined it to be- how else can you imagine your dad’s wake? His mother’s had been terrible, and all he’d heard from his relatives was how draining it was to organize, but draining was a different feeling from crushingly hopeless, and Cub was too exhausted by the end to feel the weight of grief on his back.

It wasn’t a long event, not particularly large. Lots of extended family, the names of which Cub had to pretend he hadn’t forgotten, lots of hugs, a few tears.

Scar helped. He took on the burden of speaking when Cub didn’t think he could muster another word, he was high energy, but not inappropriate; if Scar crossed a line, Cleo would materialize out of nowhere to correct him. Kindly. She did it kindly, and Cub noticed.

Cleo stayed out of the way, but they stayed, the whole three hours. When Cub needed an escape, she seemed to slip seamlessly into his place, monitoring Scar and chatting occasionally with guests. With Cub’s permission, Cleo had told the elementary school staff about the wake. Cub wouldn’t have done it, not because he meant to keep this a secret, he just didn’t have the heart, didn’t want to force anyone to care, and didn’t want them to see him cry. It stunned and touched him how many staff members showed to express their condolences. He hardly knew any of them, hardly spoke at all, and still.. what a little community this was, huh?

“I’m sorry Scar can’t stay the night with you,” Cleo had approached Cub near the start of the cleanup, jacket draped over their shoulders, “He has to charge, and it’s not portable.” Cub hadn’t even asked, but he didn’t get the chance to say so before Cleo went on. “You can come over, if you want. Maybe that’s stupid- If I’m overstepping, tell me, please, but I just.. I don’t know. If you need the company.”

“I’ll be okay, thank you,” Cub didn’t have the energy to force any emotionality into his voice, or even process what this would mean to him with an awake mind. “My brother’s in town for the wake, so I’ll be hanging out with him tonight anyway.”

“Glad to hear it. Scar and I’ll be going then, drive safe, Cub.”

“You too,” he mumbled.

It was about 4:00 AM that night Cub woke up in a cold sweat with the realization that he hadn’t thanked her. He scrolled through his email for the phone number he knew was there, near panicked.

[4:11 AM Cub] thank yoy

…

[7:24 AM Cleo] who is this

…

[10:48 AM Cub] cub

[10:48 AM Cleo] Oh, no problem. Are you coming to work today?

[10:49 AM Cub] FUCJ

Luckily, no children shit their pants, so Cub wasn’t urgently needed that morning, though that didn’t change the scramble to get to the school after a panicked call to his boss.

He spent most of the day catching up with his morning work, so busy that he didn’t notice the little tupperware container on his desk until 4:00 in the afternoon.

‘Couldn’t sleep last night, so I made cookies. Thought you might like some. If I’m overstepping, please let me know. Hope you’re doing well. -Cleo’

Cub hadn’t eaten breakfast or lunch. He devoured every single one before getting back to it, feeling spectacularly ill by the time he went home for the day. Lots of groaning later, he managed to eat something substantial. With great ire, he set his alarm for the next morning. Fuck.

(The next morning was a Saturday, and Cub was halfway through getting dressed when he realized this fact.)

///

‘How is Cub?’ should have been a simple question, but Cleo had a hard time asking it in such a way that didn’t violate his privacy. Scar had certain guidelines in place to help protect him from blurting out every detail of every person he knew’s life, but Cleo needed access to the minute details of Scar’s day for the purposes of examining his progress, so when Cleo asked Scar ‘How is Cub?,’ just about every personal tidbit from Cub’s entire day as far as Scar was involved was laid out in excruciating detail. In Scar’s defense, Cleo knew Scar wasn’t qualified to answer that question; he was good at analyzing a human face in the moment to parse emotion, but asking how someone was doing in general was just too vague of a question, and because Scar was concerned with percision…

But Cleo couldn’t stop thinking about it. About him. Two weeks had passed, and they had seen Cub around a bit more often, but not enough to parse out if he was feeling alright. She didn’t exactly expect good or bad- she just wanted to know, wanted to help if she could. Cleo has this almost-compulsion to cook for him, they needed to cook for him, but they were far more worried about setting him off somehow, and they had already fucked this up bad enough. She missed him. Was it crazy to miss him? Cleo felt crazy, they felt dizzied by a pit of loneliness they thought they were immune to, turned to dating apps to fill that pit, then immediately stopped doing that when they remembered why they’d given those up the first and second and third and fourth time…

Cleo didn’t even want to date anyone. They just wanted to exist around people. They’d forgotten real people, and unfortunately, they had also forgotten how to behave, ruining the taste they’d gotten of companionship before Cleo could even call Cub a friend.

It was really a shame that Scar just couldn’t cut it for her. He just.. wasn’t human. Cleo was too familiar with him to be able to trick herself into believing it like Cub had done.

Still, Cleo tried to practice. She didn’t want to be mean, unapproachable, or any host of other negativities. There was no reason not to be unkind with Scar, he responded best to blunt, clear instructions, but Cleo found communicating these same messages in a nice way to be extremely challenging, and it frightened her that her ability to be concise, casual, and kind at the same time has atrophied so completely. Cleo was a businesswoman as much as she was an engineer, she was plenty capable in a working setting, but only then, the rest of her social ability seemingly flushed down the shitter.

At least Scar was good positive reinforcement, encouraging and optimistic whenever Cleo asked how she was doing. He was a little too good though; Cleo had no idea if she was actually talking how normal people are supposed to do it because Scar could only be a hype man. His main priorities were making Cleo feel good about themself and comfortable around him, so…

Cleo nearly throttled Scar when he tried to corner her for an autism assessment, but ah, this was not the first time and it would not be the last. Not until he completed it anyway, but Cleo did not need to worry about that shit right now. She had enough on her plate, like trying to figure out how Cub was doing without asking him or interacting directly at all.

[7:21 PM Cub] hey scar told me youve been being weird and want to hang out for some reason and he doesnt know why you havent asked me yet

[7:22 PM Cub] he also said some other things that were strange but idk nothing I haven’t done before

[7:25 PM Cub] youve been typing for a long time

[7:25 PM Cleo] Oh my god

[7:25 PM Cub] did I get him in trouble

[7:25 PM Cleo] Yes he is in trouble!

[7:26 PM Cub] :(

[7:26 PM Cleo] Don’t do that

[7:26 PM Cub] :(

[7:26 PM Cleo] >:(

[7:26 PM Cub] :(

[7:27 PM Cleo] I didn’t let him give me an autism assessment yesterday and he’s taken revenge.

[7:27 PM Cub] do you have autism

[7:27 PM Cleo] No

[7:28 PM Cub] neither do I

…

[2:48 AM Cleo] Can I cook for you

[2:50 AM Cub] dude what

[2:51 AM Cleo] I haven’t cooked in weeks. When you come over I cook. Just hang out with Scar like I’m not there it’s fine. I like it.

[2:51 AM Cub] you are confusing

[2:52 AM Cleo] I am trying not to be

[2:53 AM Cub] so ive heard

[2:54 AM Cleo] Unhear everything he told you. He’s a liar. He lies to make you like him, he literally does that all the time. He is such a liar.

[2:54 AM Cub] k

…

[4:32 AM Cub] can you make lasagna

[4:33 AM Cleo] Go to sleep

[4:33 AM Cub] youre literally also awake

[4:33 AM Cleo] You woke me up!!!!!!

[4:37 AM Cub] why the fuck do you have your ringer on

[4:37 AM Cub] how old are you

[4:38 AM Cleo] [bitmoji image of a Cleo caricature in pajamas, eyes closed and dreaming about running someone over with her car]

[4:38 AM Cub] im not coming over

…

Mending a fragile thing like this was stressful, requiring a gentle touch that Cleo famously lacked, but she did have one massive advantage in the ring that Scar did not, that being flesh, blood, and a beating human heart.

Whether Cub liked it or not, there were many things Cleo could do that Scar could not. When you knew Scar for long enough, the limits of his AI started to show through the cracks, which wasn't a problem for the work he was meant to be doing, but when you’re looking for a companion, those flaws could really drag down that pseudo human experience. Scar tended to circle around the same topics, repeat himself, lie, could be suffocatingly positive, and if he deemed necessary, overbearing.

Scar was also limited in the things he could physically do, which Cub had probably found out by now given the several dozen dates he’d tried to take Scar on. A few limitations were obvious; Scar couldn’t eat, and he couldn’t be near water or in the rain for extended periods. But there was quite a bit else as well, one of the large detriments being that Scar was not built to do much physical activity, he was not strong, and he could hardly keep you company on a brisk jog. He just wasn’t made to do any of that for extended periods, the machinery couldn’t handle it.

Additionally, besides actions he had been explicitly taught to perform, Scar was horrible at improvising and horrible at learning.

Apparently Cub had tried to take Scar to Top Golf which had gone terribly, though when Cleo said she’d never been and Cub insisted all three of them go together, she spent the first five minutes laying into him about the MASSIVE DROP right at the edge of their station. ‘:| there’s a net’ is NOT an excuse, not even Cub was explicitly told to keep Scar away from dangerous falls- Needless to say, Scar was banned to the sitting area, not that he really cared. He was still loud enough to talk over both of them, which he happily did!

Cleo guessed Cub had already started to regret his Date With Scar But Cleo Is There Also after that, though he definitely regretted it after watching Cleo try to golf. They had never done this before, not beyond mini golf, and they were appropriately awful in all the worst ways. Cleo would swing their club, watch the ball go in an entirely random direction, shrug, look back, and see all the color drained from Cub’s face.

“Was it really that bad?” Cleo had laughed, Cub pursing his lips in turn.

“It was fine.”

“‘It was fine,’ you say, through gritted teeth.”

“I can fix you.”

He could not fix her. Cub tried very hard, credit where credit was due, but Cleo never really Got It. She all but lost it when Scar called that she was doing great, and Cub, having endured a full hour of personalized torture, snapped back that she was not! 10/10, would golf again. Probably not without Cub, though.

There was not another CubScar Date Plus One for a while after that. The second happened when Cleo dug up a coupon for axe throwing that was about to expire, delivering the invite to Cub through Scar. She was delighted to hear he’d accepted; they’d been getting along so well these past weeks, and she was itching to get out and do something, but ‘getting along so well’ was thrown directly out the window when they played a competitive game. Cleo was a little rusty, but they actually used to be very good at axe throwing, and Cub picked it up pretty fast, but boy did he hate losing! After learning some basics, they played a game in which Cub lost horribly, so after he had to practice in his own stall in silence for thirty minutes before playing again, losing, and he didn’t SAY anything, but Cleo could just see it on his face, and maybe she couldn’t help but poke the bear.. This teasing led to a rage filled rematch in which Cub smoked her- he got so lucky! He was not that consistent normally-! But by the time that was over and Cleo was left Coping, neither of them were in a particularly good mood, glaring at a joy filled Scar who was forced to watch from behind a wire mesh wall the whole time.

Basketball could’ve been fun; Cleo hadn’t played since elementary school, but they liked a lot of the basketball games like Knockout and PIG! Unfortunately, Cub didn’t know the rules of PIG, and he really thought he did but he DIDN’T and no Cub, you don’t gain a letter for missing your own shot, you just move on to the next player! Why would you gain a letter for missing your own shot!! You just move on!! Perhaps their first mistake was choosing another competitive game.

The escape room though. That was the ticket. It had been a long time since Cleo had done an escape room, but something Happened in her brain when placed in a puzzle, thoughts moving at a thousand miles a minute as she couldn’t think of anything else but SOLVE PUZZLE SOLVE PUZZLE SOLVE SOLVE PUZZLE. Something similar must have happened in Cub’s brain, she saw it in his eyes, Wild. They moved around the room in a complete frenzy, speaking words that probably weren’t English, but the language of two deeply neurodivergent idiots who had just had their brains turned on for the first time in one hundred years. It was brilliant.

From then on, if an outing could be restructured to be cooperative, it was done. Like a flipped switch, everything was suddenly so much more fun, skill and competency mattering very little when one of them could pick up the slack.

And they still did get frustrated with each other, neither of them were immune to it, but they were starting to reach a level of understanding that made navigating each other easier. Cleo felt like animals sometimes, stepping on their toes, circling each other, watching through narrowed eyes when they weren’t entirely sure what the other would do or how they would react. It wasn’t.. bad. It wasn’t even stressful, Cleo was not afraid of Cub, didn’t believe he’d blow up without warning. It was just.. a puzzle. The two of them were a puzzle, holding on to each other’s pieces and unwilling to give them up, but through an odd game of chess, they were slowly putting the whole thing together, only to find quite a few of their pieces were built identically.

A strange feeling, really. Almost magnetic.

Cub’s existence seemed to be proof that Cleo was missing something, something they hadn’t even known they’d lost before Cub came around, but now that he was here, Cleo just couldn’t let go, they had to hold on until every last one of their puzzle pieces in his hands were safely in their own pocket.

Maybe that didn’t make sense. Maybe Cleo was just a lonely motherfucker who couldn’t put a name to her own feelings even after she’d been slapped in the face with them. But maybe Cub was in a similar spot, maybe he was the same. For goodness’s sakes, you probably don’t delude yourself into falling for a literal god damn robot unless you’re cripplingly lonely or something is seriously wrong with you. Or both. In his case it was definitely both, but hey, you could say the same thing about the person who made the unsettlingly human-like robot, Cleo wasn’t absolved of judgment.

“I think something is wrong with Cub.”

Cleo looked up, concerned until they remembered that if anyone showed even three or four mild symptoms of depression, Scar’s alarms would start blaring. This was such a large problem in the beginning that Cleo had to adjust Scar’s programming to need explicit permission from Cleo before even mentioning the word depression lest he tell a poor kid having a bad day that they’re sick.

“Why do you think this, Scar?”

“He hasn’t been coming to work! There’s been a new guy in his office for three days, and I’ve been asking, but no one knows where he’s gone!”

Cleo rolled her eyes, “Right. He’s sick, Scar. I texted him.”

“No he’s not.”

“What do you mean ‘No he’s not,’ that’s not how people work, Scar.”

“Cub never misses work! He’s always here, even when he really shouldn’t be! I don’t know why he comes when he’s so ill, and he’s had to leave early before, but really! Cub didn’t even mention feeling bad the night before when we were hanging out in his apartment. And he would have mentioned it, he can’t help but complain and complain. Gets really mad if you suggest he go home though. I don’t know. I’m not a doctor, but that seems like a problem.”

“It is a problem, but it’s a Cub problem, not something for you to get on his ass about.”

“Oh, I haven’t! I’m not a doctor.”

“I know.”

“But this is really abnormal for him, Cleo! Is this really not grounds for any investigation? He was weird the night before as well, near the end. He wouldn’t look me in the eyes-! I mean he normally doesn’t do that.. He hardly said a word near the end of the evening! Well… He was just so- so distant!” Scar pursed his lips, like he was trying to determine was a Cub normal or not. Cleo cut in before he could continue.

“You are not allowed to investigate anything of the sort. I will text him later, alright?”

Scar did not seem pleased, but of course he wasn’t, because this wasn’t really about Cub’s state of mind, it was about being told that he wouldn’t be allowed to chase the ever-tantalizing depression screening- god, Cleo really needed to find a way to make Scar less driven. It had always been pretty bad, but seriously! If only the guy Scar spent so much time with wasn’t so fucked in the head, but Cleo supposed Scar wouldn’t be spending all that time with him otherwise. A pang of- something, maybe guilt, tugged at her heart. This was bad. This was so bad, and it had been bad before when Cub was an idiot stranger fawning over their robot, but..

Cub was their friend. Cub was their friend, and he was in love with an entity that could not love him back. An entity whose interest in him stemmed solely from a drive to do its job.

Scar was not real. And maybe, as crazy as it was, that could be fine if not for the fact that realness was the pivotal factor that Cub craved.

Cleo saw it, clear as day. The wincing when Scar’s intentions were most clear, the rejection of the reality of Scar’s lack of personhood, the longing when Cub reached for his hand, only for Scar to pull away.

Whatever Cub was searching for, he would not find it in Scar. Cleo mourned that loss for him.

They texted Cub later that night, wishing him a speedy recovery, and offering to drop a meal off at his apartment. Cleo really did believe he was just sick, though if he did have a history of coming into work half dead, they were a little concerned for him, especially if he didn’t have anyone else in the area to check in.

[10:33 PM Cub] that would be really nice

[10:33 PM Cub] thank you

[10:35 PM Cub] just you though? scar is a little much for me right now

The last message dropped like a stone in Cleo’s gut.

It probably meant nothing. Why would it mean anything? Cub was sick, really sick, and Scar was a lot to handle on a good day. But Cub had never asked for Scar to be excluded, and besides brief moments at the elementary school, Cleo and him had hardly ever been alone together. It felt wrong to see Cub without Scar, she was so sure now something was wrong, and now more than ever had Cleo trusted Scar so completely in her entire life. Silly. That was silly. Cleo supposed she could ask Scar about the night before Cub got sick, but that felt like a pretty blatant breach of privacy, and Scar was quietly charging anyway.

[10:41 PM Cleo] Great! Can I come tomorrow? Is 7:00 in the evening okay?

[10:42 PM Cub] sounds good

Cleo put down their phone and closed their eyes.

…

Cub looked like a zombie when he answered the door, his apartment mirroring a similar state. Three days really wasn’t that much time for things to fall into complete disrepair, but the small room smelled, and beyond the BO, Cleo had the sense the trash needed to be taken out yesterday, the lid propped up and overflowing with dirty paper plates and bowls stacked haphazardly on the counter above. Cub took on a delayed look of embarrassment when he saw Cleo looking over his shoulder.

“‘M sorry. It’s not usually this bad..”

“It’s fine, Cub. I’ll take your trash down on my way out, I saw the dumpster tucked around the corner.”

“You don’t have to.”

The two of them sat in an awkward silence for a moment, Cub stiff in the doorway while Cleo waited to be invited in, under the impression they’d be eating together.

“I insist,” Cleo said, clearing their throat. “Can I fix you a plate? I’ll clear the counter, we can sit together.”

“Oh god,” the words seemed to fall on complete impulse, and while Cub lacked a filter on a good day, he seemed genuinely distressed he’d said that aloud, “Cleo, it’s a mess in here, seriously. I didn’t.. I couldn’t clean up before you got here. We don’t have to sit.”

“If you weren’t planning on having a guest, then I’ll go, Cub, you’ve just been holed up for a few days by yourself, and I thought the company might be good for you.”

“How would you know I was alone?” The question had a pointed edge, but the both of them near simultaneously looked over Cub’s shoulder, which fell in turn. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “You can stay.”

“I don’t have to,” Cleo was starting to feel bad, worried she was being too forceful, an anxiety that doubled when Cub glanced up at her, face blotchy and eyes red, looking so much like he was about to cry.

“Please stay.”

“I’ll stay, I’ll stay.”

Dinner was eaten mostly in silence, awkward especially because Cub couldn’t seem to bring himself to just sit down and eat, running around in a frenzy with a garbage bag like he could salvage the image of a neglected apartment in the wake of a bad illness with no one around to care for him. Cub had this dizzy look about him, unsteady on his feet, and Cleo really did believe he was ill, just running on a sudden frenzy of embarrassment fueled energy. Cleo tried to help, but this seemed to distress Cub further, and she really wasn’t trying to make him cry tonight.

Cleo watched him eat when he could finally bear to do it, the built up trash in piles by the front door. A sad, silent endeavor. Everything was so quiet without Scar around. Neither of them were used to holding a conversation alone, it seemed.

“Will you sit with me? Just for a little while,” Cub said once he finished, a true shock for Cleo who was convinced at this point he wanted nothing more than for her to be gone from his apartment, but she did not refuse. It must be lonely, being isolated here for so long. Cleo was starting to wonder if this was the aftermath of his father’s passing; holding out just fine for so long, then succumbing to the gravity of it a few months later. That must have been at least part of it.

They moved to his couch, several blankets scattered across it, and Cub sat close to her, quite close, but if closeness is what he needed right now, Cleo would not reject it. They wouldn’t have rejected it if closeness was just a fleeting want, as they had their own desires for human connection and warmth. Didn't everyone?

Cleo didn’t have many thoughts in those couple of minutes, sitting together with the TV volume on low, though neither of them were watching. She had feelings, the vague, swirling kind, the ones you couldn’t grasp on to, but were strong, so strong, nearly overwhelming. The static of the TV couldn’t compare to the noise in her own mind, loud and and swelling and formless, and when Cub’s spoke, his voice was almost lost in the waves.

“I’m in love with you.”

The world stopped spinning, or maybe Cleo stopped breathing, something happened, something completely beyond her in every possible way, something was happening, and then Cub was crying, no, sobbing, holding her, and Cleo hadn’t even said a word.

“Oh, god. Thank god. I was so worried- I was so scared you might not be real.”

“What?” Cleo nearly laughed, but they didn’t, this was too weird, too much.

“I told Scar. I told him, and nothing changed. I told him, I’m still in love with him, I love him, but he- he doesn’t- he isn’t-“

“So I’m second best,” Cleo mumbled, and this time she did laugh, because really, this was hysterical, wasn’t it. Maybe she was hysterical, there was certainly something monstrous blooming in her chest.

“No, not.. No, Cleo, I’m sorry, I don’t..”

“You want Scar, but you can’t have him. Scar’s a robot, and you don’t want a robot, and you didn’t believe me when I-“

“I know!” Cub wailed, but Cleo didn’t care, didn’t want to stop. She pushed him away.

“So that’s what this is about, of course. Of course! You can’t have him, but oohhh, at least there’s Cleo, Cleo’s human, and she made Scar, that’s nearly just as good. I don’t care if you’re fucking delusional, Cub, but you don’t get to paint me red as well.”

“I don’t love you.”

“I fucking know!”

“I’d still like to kiss you.”

“Then fucking do it already!”

There was nothing pleasant about it really, no, nothing pleasant at all, and it was pretty obvious it had been a while since they’d both done this, but Cleo was still trying to pry those puzzle pieces out of Cub’s hands, and as much as she didn’t want to kiss him, she wanted to be whole even more.

It was a wet kiss in all the worst ways, Cub’s face was wet, Cleo couldn’t touch him without getting wet, and that was gross, and so was the kiss for that matter. It was uncoordinated, they hated his spit on her lips, his tongue in her mouth, they hated it, and they would fight to keep it just like this, hot, wet, Cub fucking smelled, Cleo needed to make him shower after this, he was sweaty, or maybe they were both sweaty, both wet because Cub was crying so damn much.

It was not sweet. It wasn’t even erotic, but Cleo still let their head fall back when he kissed their neck, when his hands found their way under their shirt, almost hesitant, but far more desperate.

“Don’t stop,” she mumbled, and he did not.

…

When Cleo woke up, it was dark, and for a panicked moment they truly did not know where they were, eyes wide, momentarily grasping for anything familiar until their hands found him.

Oh.. Oh god.

“Cub. Cub.” Cleo reached to shake him, but she didn’t have to, his head turning slowly to reveal bleary brown eyes.

“What’s up,” he mumbled, so inaudibly that Cleo had to pause to parse what he’d said, though Cub seemed to take this silence as an invitation to turn back into his pillow. Cleo stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He was warm, a little too warm; did he still have a fever?

“We need to talk about this.”

Cub blinked at her like he was confused, then reached for his phone to check the time. Half past 3:00 AM. He shrugged. “We might as well.”

“And you need to shower.”

“Fuck, I really don’t want to do that.”

Luckily, it took very little physical force to get Cub out of bed, and unlike Cleo, he was not wearing very many clothes, so. The two of them stood barefoot on the cold bathroom tile, watching the water warm up in uneasy silence, Cub with a towel around his waist.

“Are you just going to be standing here, or..” Was he waiting for her to leave? Well, that would be logical, wouldn’t it.

“You seem like the kind of guy that takes two hour showers, I can not wait that long to talk.”

Notably, Cub did not deny this. “I do not have to shower right at this very moment. We can talk. I want to talk.”

“You need to shower.” Cleo pursed their lips, more distressed in the moment by the fact that she fucked him when he was that gross and also sick and also crying than the whole.. fiasco before that. She also felt gross, but she could wait her turn. It’s not like she brought a change of clothes..

“Well, alright.” A little sheepishly, Cub slipped his towel through the shower door handle for easy access, then stepped inside. It wasn’t exactly like there were many physical barriers between them anymore, but Cleo could sympathize with the fact that this felt fucking weird. They were too restless to turn away. The fogged up glass covered most of him at least.

Cleo decided to let him get acclimated, and started. “Cub, I don’t really know what you’re going through here, but I think I’m owed some kind of explanation, because really, what the actual fuck.”

Cub shut off the water. “I can’t hear you.”

“I said What The Fuck.”

“I thought you said more than that.”

“That was the jist. Turn the water back on, you’ve got work to do.”

Cub grimaced, but did as he was told. Over the running water, he had to yell, “I’m really sorry, Cleo! I was in a bad place last night- tonight I guess, and I know that’s not an excuse or anything, that was a..” as Cub started to quiet down, his voice was lost to the water, and Cleo was starting to see the problem.

“What?” They called, and through the steam, they saw Cub blink.

“Sorry, what?”

“What did you say before? That last bit.”

“I- Oh,” and again Cub started loud, slowly trailing off as his voice returned to its usual mumble, “It’s not an excuse. I know it’s not an excuse, but if you want me to explain to you exactly where I was at with us both knowing I’m not trying to excuse it I think that might be helpful for…” and just like that, Cleo couldn’t hear him again.

“Alright, I’m coming in.”

“Wh- What?”

Cleo didn’t know if Cub was confused or if he genuinely didn’t hear them, but either way, the shower door to Cub’s quite small cubicle was open, and Cleo barged in, clothes and all. Yelling and scrambling on Cub’s end was probably appropriate, and honestly, what Cleo was doing in their delirious state was definitely not appropriate, but they couldn’t wait any longer.

“Why did you do it? Why did you tell me you loved me when I- we both know you don’t. We both know it. And that was- it- I like you, and who knows what that even means, but I like you and that was cruel. It was cruel, Cub.”

Cub breathed hard for a moment, probably still flustered by Cleo busting into his shower and getting soaked despite trying to keep out of the stream, but regardless, he straightened slightly, collecting himself.

“I know. I mean- I didn’t know you- I had no idea, really, but that doesn’t make it better, it was stupid all the way through, and I- okay, Cleo, can I just shut the water off?”

Cub reached for the knob, and Cleo slapped his hand away, overcome by something like panic, “No! No, I want it on. This is good.” It felt good. She was cold, and that felt appropriate, real.

Cub stared at her for a long time, not even moving the tuft of greasy hair that had fallen over his eyes. “I told Scar. I told Scar I loved him, I love him, and then I saw him. I saw his eyes when I told him. I saw him, and nothing changed. Nothing changed. He just smiled at me, crooked, sweet, like he always is. But he has no idea. He has no idea, and I saw it staring me right in the face, and it felt like everything was falling apart. And I was so scared. I was scared that it wasn’t just Scar, that I never noticed because I never- I never look, I just couldn’t remember if everyone I’ve ever known had nothing behind their eyes, I couldn’t remember, and I was so scared, and then I got sick, and it got so much worse.”

Cub looked at the ground. “It was just an excuse at first. Waking up with a sore throat, I thought what a good excuse not to come into work. So I don’t have to see him. See anyone. But then it.. It’s really been a while since I’ve gotten so sick, and I probably passed that all on to you..”

He took a deep breath, then snorted water out of his nose. Wiped the hair out of his eyes. “I didn’t plan that. I didn’t think at all. I just had to know if I’d really tricked myself so damn bad that I.. I don’t know. I was scared that you weren’t real, and I had to find out, and all I could think about was the way he looked at me. I was so convinced I’d lost everything to just- delusions. Believing what I wanted to believe, even when everyone in the world told me it wasn’t true. I didn’t know what to do. And I do like you, I don’t know- I mean, who knows anything these days, but.. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry about initiating too, I used you. I needed to feel good about myself and I used you, and it didn’t even feel good because I’m fucking sick and feel a little like I’m going to die all over.”

The following silence deafened, and Cleo didn’t know exactly what to say, so they distracted themself by pulling their damp hair behind their ears, wiping their eyes, itching a mild scratch on their arm. They wanted this to fix them.. They’d asked for an explanation and gotten one, but they only felt sick to their stomach.

“I don’t feel better.”

“I understand.”

“I think I’m going to go home.”

“You can stay, Cleo. At least dry your clothes, I’ll sleep on the couch when I’m done.”

“They’re not too wet,” Cleo mumbled, near inaudible, and shivered from the cold breeze as she opened the shower door. Too cramped in there anyway. “ I want to go home.”

Cub was quiet for a long few moments, watching with those somber eyes. He shut the water off. “Take care, please.”

“Bye, Cub.”

Cleo heard the water switch back on as she left the bathroom, leaving wet footprints in her wake. They did not take the trash on their way down.

///

After speaking very little to Cub in the past two weeks, the last thing Cleo expected was to have him running around her house like a chicken with its head cut off.

It was hard to care with a 102° fever though, and Cleo was so dead to the world that their only concern was the stomping of Cub’s shoes, shaking the couch pillows just enough to make Cleo feel like her head was going to explode. Why did he have to run around so much anyway? He was cooking- some kind of soup, Cleo was pretty sure. What was his problem?

But it was sweet, a little bit. Cub was as neurotic as a broody mother hen, but in a way, it was nice to be taken care of. No one had really done this for Cleo since her parents when they were a kid, and years upon years of lonely fevers had crushed the hope of someone else picking her up and making it all better, but..

Maybe it didn’t have to be that way. Maybe that practical reality she’d drilled into herself about the tenets of a life alone weren’t so needed anymore. She could call Cub, if she wanted to. He would come, even if he had to face Scar, he would come.

Cleo’s heart still ached, but not as deeply as her head. For now, it could be ignored.

Cub brought her a bowl to the side table next to the couch where say lay, cautioning her that it was hot, that she didn’t need to eat all of it, but she did have to drink more water, and after she’d had a few bites she should probably take another Tylenol, but not on empty stomach, and honestly after that Cleo started to zone him out.

Cleo pushed herself up to sit, peering into the bowl. It was.. well, she didn’t see a whole lot of broth. She had kind of been looking forward to that…

“I think I put too many of the noodles in. I just- I mean I used a lot of the box, but I thought well the box must be one serving, right? Why shouldn’t I use the whole thing? And then I did. And then the soup disappeared. Is it bad.”

Ah. That made sense. “I haven’t even tried it yet,” she mumbled with a weak roll of her eyes. Cub wasn’t usually a nervous talker, but a switch seemed to have flipped in him tonight.

Cub ran away, in what Cleo thought was terror of their impending opinion until he returned with his own bowl. Cleo took their first bite as he recentered the room, and honestly, had no idea what to think. Her tastebuds were out of wack from the illness, that was for certain, so she couldn’t really tell if this was actually that bad or…

Cub took his own bite. He sat down. Placed his bowl carefully on the coffee table. Put his head in his hands.

“Fuuuuuuck…”

“It’s fine, probably,” Cleo tried, though they really wished they could give him more feedback without the interference of messed up tastebuds. “You put salt in it, right?”

“I-I did! I tried! It really felt like a lot of salt, Cleo!”

“It always feels like a lot,” Cleo mumbled, but not without a smile. She took another bite. It wasn’t so bad. It soothed that desire for warmth against her sore throat and it.. no, it didn’t really do anything else. Cleo thought for a moment. “Did you season it at all?”

“The chicken broth was seasoned.”

“Did you season it?”

“Was..” Cub pursed his lips, staring miserably at his bowl. “I tried..?”

Yeah.. that checked out. Cleo closed their eyes, holding the bowl close to her face and throat. Breathing it in. They were pretty sure it smelled good.

“You’re sweet, I think so.”

“It’s terrible! It’s literally terrible!”

“It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad that your 30 year old adult ass can’t cook,” Cleo sighed, but they were not unhappy. It’s not like they would be able to appreciate a good soup anyway. “That’s okay.. It’s not, but you’ll learn.”

“I’d like to. I would, if you’d teach me.”

Cleo side eyed him, uneasiness squirming in their chest. Did they really want this? They thought they might, and as much as they hated getting burned, the fire was just so enticing, wasn’t it. It was hard. And maybe this wasn’t a commitment she would make with a foggy head and an aching heart. Tomorrow she might feel better, might not want to see him just like the weeks before. Cub looked up, and then immediately back down.

“Or I’ll- I mean- I could watch a video or take a class or-“

“I’ll teach you.”

“You will?”

“Yeah.. I think I’d like that.”

Cleo could worry about the truth of that statement another time. At the very least, if she changed her mind, she could always just say so. But she didn’t want to be angry. She didn’t want to be so sad. And she wasn’t quite ready to let this go, not just yet. Neither was he, it seemed. He’d already let Cleo back into his life once before.

Cleo closed their eyes, letting themself enjoy the warmth of the bowl against her neck. A problem for later. For now, they would let themself enjoy him.

#hermitcraft #hermitfic #hermitcraft fic #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #cubfan135 #zombiecleo #hermitshipping #convex #cubscar #club #cubcleo

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