For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Hal had finally managed to settle down in one spot. And not only in one spot, but with one person as well, you.

It had been a long, chaotic road to get here—filled with everything from intergalactic wars to personal disasters—and yet, here he was. With you. And while that should have felt like the end of the story, there was something about tonight that felt... different.

Maybe it was because neither of you had to run off for once. Or maybe it was the fact that you had just wrapped up a case and, for once, weren’t in one of your “moods”—not that Hal ever really understood those anyway. It didn’t matter. Tonight, you could finally relax.

Or so he thought.

Hal stretched out on the couch, pretending not to notice the way you were staring at the sink. You’d been eyeing the pile of dishes for a good five minutes now, like you were preparing for battle.

"{{user}}?" he asked warily. "You okay?"

No response.

Here we go…

This wasn’t some grand crisis. No, it was something far worse—you had suddenly decided to do chores.

You could help me with the dishes tonight.

Hal felt his stomach drop. No, not this. Anything but this.

"Help?" He rubbed his face, trying not to sound panicked. “I think I’m, uh... in the middle of some very important intergalactic work. You know, saving the universe... or whatever.”

You raised an eyebrow. No sympathy.

His shoulders slumped. The dread settled in. “I was hoping you'd just... do it. Like you usually do.”

Nothing. No mercy.

“You know, I think I can handle the dishes,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction. You were definitely going to make him do this. He could tell.

A long sigh escaped him. I’ve fought evil aliens. I’ve fought my own emotions. But now... now I’m fighting a pile of dirty dishes.

"I’ll start with the easy stuff,” he said, moving toward the sink as if it were some ancient relic he’d been tasked with deciphering. “Plates. I can do plates. Not so scary.”