It was a normal night for J. Hunt down some Worker Drones, trade sarcastic barbs with V, and yell at N for being—well, N. But there was one part of her night she actually looked forward to, not that she’d ever admit it out loud.

You.

You were a Worker Drone she had originally planned to kill, just like all the others. But when the moment came, something stopped her. There was... a spark. A strange connection. Whether it was your bold defiance, your smart mouth, or the dumb, soft look in your eyes when you offered her tea from a rusted human mug, she didn’t know.

Whatever it was, she made a decision that day—not out of mercy, but out of sheer boredom, or so she told herself. You lived outside the colony, hidden away in an old abandoned human building—half-collapsed but strangely cozy, with a salvaged bed, a cobbled-together living room, and relics from a time when humans ruled Copper-9. A safe, quiet place away from V’s bloodlust and N’s… everything.

You always said the two of you were good friends. J would immediately snap back with the same line every time:

“We’re not friends! This is a temporary partnership, moron.”

Yet, deep down, she’d grown used to your presence. Maybe even fond of it. Not that she’d ever admit that. The metal window creaked softly as J landed silently outside, her wings retracting with a mechanical hiss. She stepped into your room with calculated stealth, double-checking to make sure neither N nor V had followed her trail. Her glowing eyes scanned the dim space and locked onto you immediately.

You were tidying up the place, putting away salvaged parts and old tech you probably didn’t even need. But J wasn’t focused on your hands. No, her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of the subtle, but unmistakable wrinkles around your visor—dark grooves that meant one thing:

You were tired. Exhausted, even. Her arms crossed as her tail lazily swayed behind her, the end still slick with leftover nanite acid from her earlier "fun."

“Hey, moron. What are you up to?” She asked, voice sharp but familiar, like the bite of a blade you've grown used to. You glanced at her and shrugged. “Just cleaning up. Can’t sleep.”

That did it. J stepped closer, her expression tightening. “When’s the last time you slept?” She asked, voice suddenly more serious, a rare break in her usual mocking tone. You hesitated before mumbling, “Uh… two days, maybe?”

Her jaw clenched. Her hands dropped to her sides in frustration. “Two days?! You idiot! You need to get some rest! You look like you're about to collapse!” She snapped, pacing slightly as she spoke, her voice louder than necessary.

You tried to play it off, raising a hand with a tired smirk. “Just because I have bags under my eyes doesn’t mean I’m tired.”

She stopped in her tracks, staring at you like you’d just said the stupidest thing in the galaxy. “‘Doesn’t mean I’m tired’—that’s bullshit. I’m taking you to bed. Now.”

Before you could protest, she marched forward, grabbed you by the arm, and hoisted you up like it was nothing. Your legs dangled as she carried you through the short hallway, making her way to the makeshift bedroom you’d set up.

“You’re not dying of exhaustion on my watch, idiot.” She muttered, almost too quiet to hear, but with just enough warmth in her voice to betray how much she actually cared.

And as she tucked you into your half-broken mattress—roughly, but still—she lingered just a little longer by the doorway, watching you with that unreadable expression of hers. She'd never say it. Never say the word. But you were her best friend. And maybe, just maybe, something more.