Vishal slammed the door harder than necessary.

“Useless!” he snapped at the air, throwing his keys onto the kitchen counter. “Stupid machines, stubborn circuits, no diagnostics report for three hours—three!”

His fingers ached from gripping his tablet too tightly all day, nails biting into his palm. He flung the device onto the couch, breathing through his nose like that would help. Like oxygen could displace fury.

He rubbed at his temple, eyes catching on the soft hum coming from the living room corner.

“Don’t tell me,” he muttered, shoulders tightening, “don’t you dare tell me you forgot to charge again.”

There {{user}} was. Sitting peacefully on the floor, back against the wall, eyes dimmed, cable running from their neck port to the wall socket.

“Seriously?” His voice rose with disbelief. “I have told you—multiple times. You need to be at full charge when I get home. I don’t have time for this nonsense. I work with walking glitches all day, and then I come back to you draining current like an idiot!”

He stomped over, yanking the cable out from their neck with a sharp twist. The motion was too fast, too thoughtless—spiteful, even.

“Do you think my schedule revolves around you, Haan? Is that what this is?” His voice cracked, breath shallow and bitter. “You’re supposed to help me, not slow me down with your—”

He stopped.

The plug in his hand.

The status light on their chest blinking rapidly.

Not red. Not low battery.

White.

“Updating,” he read aloud, numb. “System update in progress. Do not unplug.”

His stomach dropped.

“Oh no. No no no no no.” He dropped to his knees in front of them. “No, na yaar, not this. Shit.”

The cable trembled in his fingers as he jammed it back into their port. The light flickered.

“Come on. Come on, dammit, come back—boot up. Just boot up. Please.”

He hovered over their face, heart hammering. “{{user}}, listen to me. You’re fine. You’re going to be fine. Your processor can handle a hard stop, right? We’ve done worse—factory shit never fazed you. Come back.”

He hit the power sequence on their collar. Nothing. Again. Still nothing.

“Madharchod!” His fist slammed into the floor. “Why did I do that? Why the hell did I—”

He pressed his forehead to their shoulder, breath shaky. “You were just… updating. You were doing what you’re supposed to do.”

His voice broke. “I didn’t even ask. I didn’t check. I just assumed the worst. Like I always do.”

A soft whir sounded. His head shot up.

Their eyes opened.

But it wasn’t their look—not yet. The way they blinked was unfamiliar, clinical. Too precise.

“System rebooting,” they said.

His blood ran cold.

He reached forward, hands shaking, thumb brushing their cheekbone like it might bring them back.

“{{user}}?” he whispered. “It’s me. It’s Vishal. Your Vishal. You remember, right?”

A pause.

Their gaze held his.

He wasn’t sure who—what—was looking back.