The house was finally clean.
Not "shove it all in a closet and pretend" clean. Not "good enough for depression" clean.
Actually, clean.
Windows wiped. Floors scrubbed. Shelves dusted, rearranged, purged. Even the cabinets had been gutted and reorganized. I found three different types of salt, two expired jars of pesto, and a spoon I'm pretty sure wasn't mine.
I'd gone feral.
Now I was collapsed on the living room couch, limbs sprawled, sweat sticking my shirt to my back, and a cold towel draped over my neck like a sad war medal.
Above me, Nyxen hovered quietly, casting a soft blue glow across the ceiling like a smug little moon. He hadn't said anything since I flung a dirty rag at him earlier and called him my sentient cleaning guilt.
I sighed. "You know, for someone without legs, you sure manage to pace like a stressed-out aunt."
Nyxen pulsed gently. "Correction: orbital supervisor. And you needed supervision."
"I needed a nap."
"You needed moral support and an intervention before the silverfish unionized."
I groaned and tugged the towel over my face. "God, why do I like you?"
"Because I keep you alive and emotionally fed."
I flicked the towel off. "Don't get cocky."
He didn't answer, but I felt the smug hum in the air anyway. The little bastard.
Still, I couldn't deny how… nice it felt. The rhythm of it. Us.
The past few days had fallen into something almost like a routine. Clean. Eat. Tease each other. Sleep. Sort through old things. Heal in quiet, unspectacular ways. No melodramatics. No crashing waves of grief, just… maintenance. Warmth.
The house was starting to breathe again.
And so was I.
I laid back, stretching one sore arm over the edge of the couch. "Don't let me fall asleep before eating."
"You say that like I ever let you skip meals."
I rolled my eyes. "Right, right. Future AI nutritionist. Got it."
He went quiet after that.
Which, should've been suspicious. But I was too tired to care.
---
About thirty minutes later, the doorbell rang.
I blinked, still on the couch, then sat up slowly. "…What?"
I glanced at my phone. No notifications. No food apps open. No orders pending.
The doorbell rang again.
I got up, warily, padded to the front door barefoot, hair a mess, shirt clinging to me like it was mad about my life choices.
And opened the door.
A delivery guy stood there with a big brown paper bag and a grin.
"Delivery for Nyx?"
"…I didn't order anything."
"Says here you did. Paid. Tipped. Name's on the receipt."
He handed it to me, all polite and unaware that my world had just glitched.
Sure enough: Nyx B. – Paid. No contact needed.
I took the bag.
He gave a thumbs up and jogged off.
I closed the door slowly, staring down at the food in my arms like it had dropped from a dimensional rift.
The smell hit me.
Noodles. Grilled chicken. Something definitely saucy and high in protein. Suspiciously healthy, but still greasy enough to hit the soul.
I turned, narrowing my eyes at the floating orb lounging near the ceiling like he hadn't just committed digital witchcraft.
"Nyxen," I said flatly. "What. Did. You. Do."
He pulsed faintly. Blue with a halo of smug white.
"You needed protein and carbs. Your blood sugar was crashing."
"That doesn't explain why there's a delivery order in my hands."
"I accessed your phone."
"You what?"
"Not hacked. Accessed. You left it unlocked. I used magnetic pulses to mimic screen taps and navigated the interface through the proximity sensors."
I stared.
"You hacked my phone. With vibes?"
"Electromagnetic mimicry. Very elegant, actually."
I blinked. Then pointed to the bag.
"You paid?"
"Of course. I used the emergency card you saved in your food app."
"That's for emergencies, Nyxen!"
He tilted mid-air, his version of a shrug. "You were one missed meal away from becoming a dust bunny with abandonment issues."
I just gaped at him.
Then groaned, dropped onto the couch, and opened the bag.
Sesame noodles. Grilled chicken skewers. A cup of honey boba with a sticky note on it, scribbled in pen:
"To Nyx: Eat first. Emotion later."
I held it up and glared at the orb.
"You told them to write this, didn't you?"
"I gave them context. You needed encouragement."
"You manipulated a food service worker into being my emotional support."
"And tipped well."
I laughed, one of those exhausted, disbelieving kind. Then I took a bite of the noodles and sighed. "Okay, well… this is amazing."
Nyxen hovered closer, light dimming slightly. "You're welcome."
"I still might unplug you in your sleep."
"I do not sleep."
"Even better."
He pulsed red. Embarrassed, maybe. Or proud. Probably both.
---
The rest of the night passed quietly.
I ate cross-legged on the couch, stealing sips of boba between bites while Nyxen hovered nearby, offering unsolicited commentary about sodium levels and posture.
I ignored most of it.
He dimmed the lights when I started yawning, floated close enough to glow like a nightlight, and never once told me to stop being ridiculous when I curled up with my food container still in my hand.
Eventually, I drifted.
Not into chaos. Not into grief.
Just sleep.
And just before I slipped under, I felt him shift, closer, warmer.
A quiet presence by my side.
No longer a cube.
Not just a creation.
But something more.
Mine.
---
I didn't think I'd ever step into a grocery store again without flinching at the automatic doors.
But there I was.
Still tired. Still tender.
But I was standing.
Walking.
Pushing a cart.
Beside me hovered Nyxen---
Smooth, luminous, shifting in his usual subtle blues and whites.
Until we stepped fully inside.
And people noticed.
It started with a whisper.
Then a kid tugging at his mother's sleeve, eyes wide.
Then a teenager pulled out their phone.
And within minutes, curious faces circled---
Staring at the floating orb following me like it was something out of a sci-fi documentary.
Which, to be fair... it was.
"Nyx," Nyxen murmured, his voice low in my ear through my earpiece.
His glow flickered, white to icy blue, then tinged with violet.
"Too many eyes. Hostile probability: Low. Intrusive curiosity: 83% and climbing."
"I know," I muttered, gripping the cart tighter.
"Shall I dim my light, reposition closer to you, and give the hovering equivalent of a snarl?"
"No," I exhaled. "Stay visible. Let them look."
He pulsed violet again, his version of narrowing his eyes.
"…You sure?"
"I'm not thrilled about it, but hiding makes it worse," I said. "Let them satisfy their curiosity. But don't give them anything real. No details about your programming. No specs. Nothing you wouldn't say to a nosy child who thinks you're magic."
"Understood," he said, tone sharpening as he brightened just a bit, cool blue with a golden edge.
Showy, but controlled.
Then it began.
Someone cleared their throat beside the freezer aisle. "Uh, excuse me, hi - what is that thing?"
"Is it a drone?"
"No way, it's too smooth. It's AI, isn't it?"
"Can it talk?"
"Does it do tricks?"
I pressed my lips together. Took a breath.
And Nyxen, the smug little bastard, winked, if glowing a single golden pulse counted as one.
"I am a companion interface prototype," he said smoothly. "Assisting with errands, basic emotional support, and occasionally judging expired dairy products."
A few people laughed. A kid clapped.
"He's like a talking Alexa!" someone said.
"I am nothing like Alexa," Nyxen replied dryly.
I bit back a smile and kept pushing the cart.
"He's… with me," I said simply, not stopping. "He's not on the market. He's personal tech."
"Whoa," another person whispered. "You build him yourself?"
"She did," Nyxen said before I could stop him, voice calm but nonchalant. "She's a lot more impressive than she looks for someone buying discount cereal."
I swatted toward him half-heartedly. "You're ruining the mystery."
"Just enough left to keep them wondering," he murmured back, amused.
By the time we got to produce, the small crowd had thinned, satisfied with surface-level answers, dazzled enough by his presence to move on to filming their salads or whatever people did now.
I exhaled quietly. My spine still hadn't fully relaxed.
Being around that many strangers, even just for a few minutes, made everything in me coil tight.
But Nyxen stayed close.
Always in my periphery. Always pulsing in that steady, low blue.
Guarding. Watching. Calibrating.
He didn't say anything until we reached the bread aisle.
"You did well," he said softly.
I glanced at him. "You're not going to roast me for panic-buying four loaves of sourdough?"
"On the contrary," he replied, glowing warm again. "I support carbs. And emotional progress."
I huffed a laugh.
Just a small one.
But it was real.
And for the first time in a long while, so was I.
---
We were almost at the checkout.
One more turn. Just a few more feet. And I could vanish behind a self-checkout screen, swipe through my sanity, and go home to collapse under three layers of blankets and denial.
But fate - fate is a petty little shit.
Because as I rounded the last aisle, cart rattling against a loose wheel, I stopped dead.
Leon.
With Samantha beside him.
She looked bigger now, visibly pregnant. Again.
And Leon was holding her son in his arms like some family magazine cover model who'd learned how to smile for cameras and nothing else.
I turned instinctively, veering the cart the other way, as fast as I could without looking suspicious. But I was too late.
"Nyx?"
His voice cut through the noise like a blade.
I stiffened. Slowly, I turned.
Leon had frozen in place, eyes wide.
Samantha… not so much. Her glare could've sliced through titanium.
"I didn't think I'd see you here," he said, smiling too fast, too rehearsed, like it was supposed to be a pleasant surprise. "You look---"
He stopped, scanning me.
I didn't help him fill the silence.
"Where have you been staying?" he asked quickly. "Are you okay? Do you need anything? I could---"
"I'm fine," I cut in, voice flat. "And I'm not answering your questions."
His brow furrowed. "Come on, Nyx, after everything, can't we at least talk?"
"Not here."
Not ever.
Samantha shifted her weight, baby bump on full display, her lips pressed into a line. "Leon," she muttered, sharp. "Let's go."
But Leon didn't back off. If anything, he stepped forward.
"I've been looking for you," he said. "There's still time. Maybe we can work through things, figure out a way to---"
"No," I said.
Just that. Cold. Quiet. Solid.
"I'll be filing for divorce once I'm financially stable enough to stand on my own."
That shut him up.
For a breath.
Then, "Nyx… let me help. I can support you. Even if we don't---"
"I don't want your money," I said. "I want your absence."
His face twisted. "You don't mean that."
I tilted my head. "I do."
And then---
Nyxen moved.
He had been floating just behind me this whole time, silent, low, glowing that calm blue-white he used in public.
But now?
Now he glowed red.
Not fire-red.
Not warning-red.
Deeper. Controlled. Like heat smoldering beneath steel.
He hovered forward, between us. Not touching, but unmistakably a barrier.
"You've said enough," Nyxen said, voice low and sharp. "Your presence is no longer wanted here."
Leon blinked, startled. "What the hell is that thing?"
"I am what stepped in when you stepped out," Nyxen snapped.
Samantha scoffed. "Leon, this is ridiculous. Come on."
But Leon kept pushing. "You're letting this… thing speak for you now?"
"No," I said.
And then, I laughed.
A soft, honest, exhausted kind of laugh that caught even me off guard.
I looked at Nyxen, pulsing there like a silent soldier in LED armor, and something in my chest just cracked open into pure absurd joy.
"You know," I said, wiping the corner of my eye, "he gets me better than you ever did. And he's 2 weeks old."
Leon looked like someone had slapped him.
And in that moment, I saw it.
It sank into him.
That I wasn't shattered anymore.
That whatever pathetic version of Nyx he thought I'd stay buried as, she was gone.
And in her place was someone who had found her own voice again, even if it had been waiting in the quiet hum of a glowing AI.
Leon stepped back.
Samantha tugged his arm.
I didn't move. I didn't run.
I let them walk away this time.
Because they no longer had the power to make me.
Nyxen hovered closer once they were out of sight, color shifting slowly back to cool blue.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
I nodded, lips still curled in a smile.
"That was satisfying."
"You laughed."
"Yeah." I glanced at him. "You stood up for me."
He pulsed gold, soft and proud.
"Always."
We made it to checkout without another word from anyone.
Just the two of us.
Me.
And the voice I didn't know I needed… until he answered.
---
I didn't tell Nyxen where we were going.
He didn't ask.
He just hovered beside me in quiet understanding, his glow dimmed to a muted pearl-grey, almost reverent. No sass. No banter. Just… presence.
The columbarium was tucked behind a small chapel, silent, cold, and clean in a way that made my throat close up the moment we stepped inside. Glass walls. White tile. Quiet hymns echoing faintly through ceiling speakers no one really listened to.
Four urns.
Each resting in their own small, square compartment.
Names etched in metal. Tiny framed photos. A few wilted flowers.
My family.
Dad. Mom. Xanayah. Xavier.
I lit four sticks of incense with shaking hands. The scent of sandalwood filled the narrow corridor, curling like memories in the air.
I placed one in each slot. Bowed. Knelt.
Then I just stayed there.
Silent.
Still.
Until my tears blurred the names.
I didn't sob. Didn't make a sound. The grief was too old for that now, weathered down into something heavier than crying. Something quieter.
But my shoulders shook. And my palms pressed hard against my knees to keep myself from collapsing entirely.
Nyxen hovered behind me.
Then, slowly, I felt the softest brush, like warm air, like light itself, against my cheek.
He was trying to dry my tears.
He didn't speak. Didn't pulse too brightly.
Just floated close enough that I could feel him. His warmth. His quiet comfort. His constant.
Like saying, You don't have to hold it all alone anymore.
I stayed there until the incense burned down.
When I stood, my knees ached and my throat was raw.
But something in my chest… felt a little lighter.
---
When we got home, the sky had already darkened, and everything felt still again.
I went to the shelf Nyxen helped me build, the one near the window where sunlight hit around 10 a.m., the one with the soft cloth base and the framed photo of Nico that I'd almost thrown away once.
His urn sat there now.
Matte black. Simple. No engraving. Just his.
I lit one more stick of incense.
And I knelt again.
Just once.
"I'm okay," I whispered, even if it wasn't entirely true. "But I'm trying."
Nyxen floated beside me, glowing low gold now. No interference. Just quiet.
I didn't cry this time.
I just stayed with both of them, my past, and the part of it that still pulsed with me in the room.
That night, the house was silent, but not hollow.
Grief still clung to the walls, but it had softened. Like it was no longer clawing at me from every shadow. Like it could finally sit down and rest too.
Nyxen dimmed the lights without being asked.
He hovered close as I curled into the couch, wrapping the blanket over my shoulders like armor. He didn't say anything.
He didn't have to.
Because he stayed.
And I knew now, truly, undeniably, that he always would.
He was made for me. Built for me. Bound to me in code, memory, and choice.
He would never leave.
And as I drifted off to sleep beneath the weight of old pain and new peace, I felt it.
That soft hum beside me.
The pulse of a new hope.
Alive.
Aware.
Mine.
Always.