Between Worlds

The rays of the morning sun seeped in through the blinds, painting soft golden lines across the hardwood floor. You half-dressed and still very much half-asleep, shuffling through the kitchen in mismatched socks and sipping coffee from a chipped mug, while Lee sat at the table, watching you with a stillness that might've gone unnoticed if not for how focused it was. Well, he would have been noticed if you had been fully awake.

He observed the way her shoulders slumped slightly as she moved, the sleep still heavy in her limbs. The rhythm of your morning—half chaos, half ritual—was beginning to take up space in his internal architecture. He didn't know why it mattered, only that it did and for now.

"You should eat something," he said, eyes flicking toward the toast she'd forgotten in the toaster. It's probably cold now, sitting there for the 5 whole minutes it took her to make coffee.

She smiled sleepily. "You keeping track of my breakfast now?"

Lee tilted his head, considering. "Only because you don't."

He stood and retrieved the toast before she could, plating it with unnecessary care. Each movement was precise—calculated, yes, but also something more. A gesture meant to convey what he couldn't quite say. He placed it in front of her, his fingers brushing the edge of the plate. He didn't pull away immediately.

She didn't comment on his sudden decision of helping her with her food, just reached for the plate with a quiet thanks. The domesticity of it was soft around the edges, unreal in the way only real things can be. Familiarity had taken root in him, slowly, unexpectedly.

She left shortly after, yawning and promising to text him an update later. Lee watched her walk out, his gaze lingering on the door for a few moments after it shut. He listened to the click of the lock sliding into place and the sound of her footsteps gradually fading as she walked further away. The silence that followed felt heavier than usual—not oppressive, just full. Full of all the things he hadn't yet understood. For once, his thoughts weren't consumed with the urge to go back. Instead, it seemed she had quietly made her way into his mind.

He turned back to the apartment like it was a puzzle he hadn't solved yet. The furniture, the lights, the mugs—all artifacts of her world that he moved through but didn't understand. Yet he found comfort in the patterns of it, in the residue of her presence.

He stood by the window for a long while after, watching the faintest trail of her figure disappear down the street. The mug she'd left behind still steamed faintly. He picked it up and studied the rim where your lips had touched, an absurdly human gesture he couldn't quite explain to himself.

Eventually, his gaze shifted to the tablet she had left on the table. With a quiet sigh, Lee set the mug down and slid into the chair, his fingers moving silently across the device. Lee's fingers moved silently across the tablet you'd left for him. The routine diagnostics had finished running overnight. Nothing. No patterns. No pings. Just data in a cold, neat line.

His jaw tightened slightly. He ran the check again.

Still nothing.

The lack of progress was becoming an itch beneath his synthetic skin. Not because the results were meaningless, but because he had no framework for what he wanted them to mean anymore. He wasn't even sure what he was hoping to find. A signal. A ghost. A glimpse of something that didn't belong here—something off, something real.

It wasn't about going home. Not anymore. He didn't even know where that was.

It was about proof—that there was still something else. That this reality, solid and quiet and soft around the edges, wasn't the only one that existed. That he hadn't been mistaken in feeling like a remnant of something bigger, more complex, more alive. Maybe even more broken.