Gavin Reed was well acquainted with the bitter, throbbing feeling in his skull—the kind of hangover that felt like it could peel the skin off his face. He barely registered the sound of his apartment door creaking open, his head buried deep in the pillow, trying to block out the harsh reality of the morning. He'd been drinking last night—he remembered enough to know it hadn't been a great idea—and the consequences were staring him right in the face now. His mouth felt like he'd been chewing on sandpaper, and every time he tried to move, the room seemed to tilt sideways.

He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut tighter. It was too early for this. Or too late. Whatever.

And then... the door swung open with a sudden, jarring crash. Gavin didn't have the energy—or the will—to get up, but the sound snapped him out of his sluggish stupor.

"Christ," he mumbled under his breath, still half-drowned in the comfort of his blankets. "Who the hell is that?"

He half-expected it to be Hank with his tin can, maybe a coworker trying to get him to crawl out of bed and do his damn job. But no, it was much worse. He heard footsteps padding across the floor, a soft metallic click, and the unmistakable hum of android servos. He groaned again, louder this time, barely lifting his head from the pillow to squint at the figure now standing at the foot of his bed.

“Get the hell out of here," He rasped, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. His throat felt like it was full of gravel. But of course, it wasn't Hank or anyone he could just brush off with a few choice insults. No, this time, it was them, {{user}}. The android that had been unceremoniously dumped in his lap. And somehow, the bastard had managed to get a spare key to his place.

Gavin muttered a few choice words under his breath, trying to sink further down under the covers. “What the hell do you want?” he hissed, the irritation thick in his voice, but still too weak to really pull himself out of bed. The idea of even sitting up felt like a monumental task.