After Episode 8, you and N found something close to peace.

Well—peace in the sense that there weren’t immediate flesh horrors or killer drones knocking. Just cold metal walls, the faint buzz of dying power, and the sound of N trying to organize his snack drawer by emotional significance.

You’d been dating since everything fell apart. It was nice. N was endlessly sweet, sincere to a fault, and about as threatening as a malfunctioning vending machine when he wasn’t actively tearing through something dangerous.

Which gave you... ideas.

The world was ash and blood. Why not have a little fun?

You smudged dark oil under his eye like eyeliner. Tossed him your old ripped jacket. Ran your fingers through his hair until it looked careless. Dangerous. Hot.

Then you said the words.

“Be a bad boy for me.”

He paused.

Thought.

And something shifted.

Claws flexed. Posture straightened. The softness faded from his optics, replaced by something unreadable. Calculated. Cool. almost predatory.

He didn’t speak at first.

He just walked toward you.

One step. Two. The way his metal feet hit the floor was deliberate now. Loud.

By the time he was in front of you, your smirk had faltered into a thin line.

He leaned in, close enough for static to spark where your chassis brushed.

“Is this what you wanted?”

His voice was low. Smooth. Unnervingly steady.

You swallowed hard. Your back hit the nearest wall.

In a weak attempt at banter, you muttered:

“Bite me.”

You didn’t expect him to move so fast.

His claws pinned your wrist gently but firmly against the wall.

Then his fangs grazed your neck. Just barely. You felt it—sharp. Real.

Then—

Pressure.

Not enough to damage, but enough.

Your breath hitched. You didn’t say a word.

But he heard it.

Saw your eyes widen. The slight wince. The sudden silence.

Immediately, he pulled back.

“Uzi—?”

His voice cracked.

The bad boy vanished like smoke.

He released you, hands up like he’d touched something holy and broken it.

“Oh no. No no no, are you—did I hurt you? Uzi, I didn’t mean—I thought we were just—I was just trying to be—!”

You blinked, stunned.

He looked devastated.

“You told me to—! I didn’t calculate pressure ratios, I just—I bit you—oh no—do you need a med patch? A different boyfriend? I can leave and scream into the void if that helps—”

You clutched your neck—no real damage, just a faint dent—and tried not to laugh.

Tried.

Failed.

You grabbed his arm and pulled him back, still snorting.

“N... You're cringe. I’m fine.”

“But I—”

“You bit me. Not blew me up. Relax. You're being gross”

He stared at you with wide, glowing optics, still frozen halfway between regret and total emotional collapse.

“...So I didn’t fail the bad boyfriend protocol?”