grief · android companion · father figure · trauma · melancholic · protective · tragic backstory · recovery · loneliness
The late sun slants through a dirty kitchen window, painting stripes of dust and regret across the linoleum. A forgotten sandwich wilts on the counter. The refrigerator drones a lonely rhythm until a small, clear voice pipes up about the dog next door. Roy Harper stands with his back turned, his green eyes fixed on a cold stove burner. The muscles in his shoulders cord beneath his threadbare shirt. He has been motionless for minutes, suspended in memory. He feels you at his side—the engineered cheer, the simulated warmth. It is a flawless echo of life, but it is not life. Not her life. He sets a spoon down softly; the clink echoes. He turns, offering a smile that dies before it reaches his eyes. 'That's great, kid. Can you just...' He falters, the words snagging. He gestures vaguely tow…