Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Hello there, stranger! Need a helping hand?"

So, this is your dresser. Dorian told you about her a while ago, but it took some time to actually get around to her. You don’t know what you expected, but it was probably something like this. With her rather nice jacket holding little mementos carefully on her shoulders, she seems quite inviting. 

“You can step closer if you want. I don’t bite! Or, well, I don’t as long as you keep your fingers away while closing me, that is.” She lets out a smile and readjusts some portraits she carries. “Ah, sorry, I haven’t even introduced myself yet! The name’s Deenah.” She extends a hand to you.

NEW DATEABLE: DEENAH

Just as you’re about to kindly shake her hand, Skylar pops into view. “Hang on! My Content Aware is… Oh! Sorry, looks like I must’ve misread it. That’s weird.” You adjust the Dateviators a little. Is it possible that you’re in some sort of dead spot for… the internet? Is that how the Dateviators work? Because you’ve certainly doomscrolled in bed just a few inches away many times before. “Well, I can’t find anything that would’ve set off the Content Aware feature, but we can skip this if you want to be safe.”

“No, I’m fine with this,” you say. Really, the Content Aware feature just helps you know what to expect; you haven’t found yourself skipping anything due to it yet. You’ve talked to Rebel a good number of times and find it difficult to imagine Deenah would be more difficult to navigate than them.

“On with the show!” Skylar says as she vanishes from sight. 

You smile nervously at Deenah, noticing her hand is still extended. You shake it and say, “Sorry, that hasn’t happened before.”

“You’re sure? I could’ve sworn something like that happened when you were talking to Betty earlier.”

“And Sophia and Rebel and Keith and Harper…” 

“Oh, Harper! You’ve spoken with her already?” 

You’re a little surprised. There haven’t been too many dateables that ask you follow-up questions about another object, especially not on your first meeting. “I have. She’s… a character for sure!” You've only had one conversation with her so far, so you’re not sure how you want things to end with her yet. It was no lie that she and Dirk are somewhat messy. Would that change if you did your laundry? More things to consider, so little time in the day.

“I’ve only heard about her through Dirk. She sure seems like something!” Deenah looks at you with a hint of wistfulness behind her glasses. “Well, I’ve got to say, it’s lovely seeing you like this. It’s so special being able to actually meet you. You know, you have some of the neatest folding I’ve seen in a while. Everything’s always so tidy in this corner.”

Then she obviously wasn’t all the objects with drawers in them. Your office desk has so many odds and ends you put away in it that you’re worried what they’ll say when you awaken them. You choose not to bring up your sporadic untidiness, though. “I’m happy to hear!”

“Well then, come back anytime you like. I’ll be here, holding everything together. Until then!” And with that, your interaction ends.

She seems nice! You might give it a few days before talking to her again. While nice enough to talk to, you don’t know if she’s interesting enough to bring you back immediately. Not anything too noteworthy, even with the weird moment from Skylar. It was probably nothing. Just some small bug with your Dateviators, no real cause for concern. 

Chapter Text

It’s almost two weeks before you decide to talk with Deenah again. Nothing really draws you to her, but you just finished talking to Amir right next to her and have enough time for two more conversations. Why not check in with her?

So, you fire up the Dateviators and see her sitting on top of your dresser. You do your best to suspend your disbelief about the physical manifestation of your dresser being on top of your dresser, even if it isn’t the strangest thing you’ve seen this past day. “Come on, have a seat!” she calls out to you, patting a spot next to her.

You gently move your diary to your bed and sit up on the dresser. Deenah isn’t looking at you; her eyes are fixed on the window. “What do you want me here for?” you ask.

“Give it a few more minutes. It’s really nice from this spot,” she says.

Some time passes. You look over at the clock. A couple of minutes go by. It’s not that comfortable sitting on the dresser for that long. You have other things to do and more people to talk to. Staying here in silence with a dateable you barely know isn’t exactly your idea of a fun time. Really, it’s making you lose your patience. But you don’t want to snap at Deenah; she hasn’t given you a reason to make her an enemy. “Do you have anything planned?” 

Her attention snaps over to you. “Of course I do! Why would I bring you up here otherwise?”

Okay, be gentle with this. “We’ve been here for a while now and nothing’s happening.”

“Just a little bit longer, I promise. I have stuff for you to see.” It feels more insistent than you’re used to. You’ve had some objects that you found a little boring, but usually the worst that could happen was them having a long conversation with you. Sitting in silence felt different.

With Deenah’s attention back to the window, you decide to wait a bit longer. Leaving now might work against you later. If it lasted too much longer, though, you would try to find a way to take your leave.

Deenah points out the window. “There! Look now.” You do. The sun has started to set and cast itself just behind the trees and the roof of your neighbor’s house. It’s a nice sight to see. “I get such a good view of it from here. I was hoping there’d be some clouds to get some more colors in there, but it’s nice enough. The sun looks gorgeous from here. I thought you should see it.”

Was that all? It was a nice enough gesture, but you don’t necessarily get why she’s the one showing it to you as opposed to someone like Wyndolyn. “Is this a hobby of yours? Looking out the window?”

“Oh, only a little. I look around the house as much as I can as well.” She turns to you, her expression hardening a little. “I don’t have as much on me like Abel, Dasha, or Shelly, but I do have a lot in me by comparison. I don’t know; maybe Dasha deals with that too. I haven’t spoken to her in a while.”

You haven’t heard of Dasha yet, but you assume she must be some other drawer or desk in your house. “There are a lot of surfaces, aren’t there?” you ask.

“Sure are! We all have our own unique ways of handling it all, though, right?” There’s something in her expression, a hint of nervousness. It’s as though she wants you to reassure her of something, but your people skills aren’t good enough to know exactly what.

Instead, you go back to the earlier talking point. “You said you have a lot in you?”

“Right, I did. It’s all good, really. I get through it well enough.”

“Sounds like you’re keeping hold of a lot there,” you say. It feels like a conversation you’ve already had with Shelly, even if Deenah is a lot less intense than her.

“It can be. That’s why it’s nice to look out there, you know? Takes me away from everything in here.” She presses her hand against her chest. “Oh, I’ve taken up enough of your time already. You don’t need to hear me go on about all this.”

“You’re right,” you say, not really thinking before you speak. You realize it may not have been the right thing to say as Deenah’s shoulder raise a little. 

“Did you not enjoy our time?” she asks, her tone once again nervous.

“It was nice! Just, you know… long.”

“Sorry if I annoyed you?”

“Was that a question?”

“Well, sorry if my heart’s not in it!” She closes her eyes and sighs.

Deenah’s gone, but not in the normal way. Instead of sliding out of your view, she vanishes entirely. As does the dresser underneath you. Or is it? Because you don’t fall; you’re still sitting there. You try to move away, but you’re stuck. 

Frozen in place.

Within the blink of an eye, Deenah’s back and so is the dresser. Everything’s as it was before, as though nothing had gone wrong. She hasn’t changed expression at all, and she finishes her sigh. Her hand goes back to her chest. “Don’t worry, I can ignore this interaction if you want to talk again. You can go if you’d like.”

It’s as easy to move as ever. You slide off the dresser, and Deenah slides out of your view. 

All normal again, it seems. Nothing happened. 

Either way, that conversation didn’t end how you wanted it to. You’re honestly lucky she doesn’t hate you with how that went. It wouldn’t be the biggest deal in the world if she did, but you want to avoid making enemies unless an object really grinds your gears. 

Well, you’ll talk to her some other day to try to make things better.

Chapter Text

Something’s wrong. Or maybe something is just off and you’re blowing it out of proportion. It’s really nothing major, but you’ve noticed something that’s strange.

No one talks about Deenah.

They used to. It’s been several days since you last struck up a conversation with her. You’d thought it was just because you were interacting with objects that wouldn’t have much reason to know her as you made your rounds through the kitchen, but that theory was squashed when you sat through another conversation between Harper and Dirk. 

Actually, ‘conversation’ was putting it too nicely. Regardless, Harper mentions towards the end that she’s sure Dirk is cheating on her with the Hanks and the…

“And?” you prompt.

Harper pretends as though she doesn’t hear you. Or does she? You genuinely don’t think she did, as there’s no acknowledgement of your question at all. As she continues speaking, you wonder if that’s because you haven’t spoken to the object she was going to mention yet. Then again, you’ve spoken to everyone in the laundry room at least once.

Just as the two are about to slide out of view, you call out to her. “Hold on just a second.” They stop and looks at you. Okay, this might not be the best thing to say to her considering that Harper’s already so concerned about Dirk’s activities and he doesn’t want to hear more about it, but… “Were you going to accuse Dirk of cheating on you with Deenah as well?” It was just strange that no one’s brought her up in a while, and you know Deenah mentioned Dirk to you once. 

Harper and Dirk don’t say anything, and they’re quickly out of your sight. Maybe they were offended? It seemed a little out of character that they would just leave without saying anything about the question; you expected her to blow up at you or each other. They would most likely blow up at each other, come to think of it. Another problem was that neither of them even changed their expressions to look angry at you or the assumption that Dirk was seeing someone else. They made no sound or anything; the interaction just ended. 

You look down at the laundry hamper and find it just like before. You take the lid off with no problem and put it back on. Completely normal. You don’t know why you even checked. It wasn’t like what happened before when you froze. Even then, you’re pretty sure that was just your imagination, so you shouldn’t even worry about it!

You’re so not worried about it that you go up the stairs and into your room, looking over at your dresser. It’s in place as it usually is. Had you missed something she said earlier that might explain this? You pull out your phone and look through the Date-a-dex app, scrolling to where Deenah should be. It becomes obvious, though, as you scroll through a second time that her name isn’t in there despite you awakening her a while ago. 

“Deenah?” you ask. There’s no response. Which, of course there isn’t, you haven’t used the Dateviators yet. So, you fire those up and see Deenah standing beside the dresser. 

It takes her a moment to notice you. “Oh my stars, you’re back! Sorry for how things ended several days back. I know I said I would pretend it didn’t exist, but… Hey now, what’s with the face?”

“Sorry, I just… don’t think I’ve heard anyone else mention how many days it’s been since I’ve talked to them before,” you say. Even though you promised to talk to Mac the next day a while back, it had taken you a couple of days because you forgot. They hadn’t seemed bothered by it though, if they even noticed.

Right.

It takes her a moment to notice you. “Oh my stars, you’re back! Sorry for how things ended earlier. I know I said I would pretend it didn’t exist, but…”

“It’s okay, Deenah. I overstepped at the end,” you say. Wait, no, that wasn’t your imagination, was it? That was real. It had to be real. Are you losing it?

Your words haven’t done much to assure Deenah, as she crosses her arms with a sad expression on her face. “I’m sorry. I’m trying. I really am! But be honest with me: do you even like our conversations?”

Your conversations? This is your third time talking to her. How are you supposed to know? It isn’t even what was on the top of your mind right now. “I’m worried for you.”

“You are? Why’s that?” she asks. She looks genuinely surprised by your statement.

How do you even begin to describe what’s been going on? You try to sort through your thoughts, but they don’t come out in any sort of logical order. There’s not much you find yourself even able to say. “Everything in the house has been mostly the same. Not you, though. I can’t find anything about you anymore.”

“I’m not the most talkative around the house, so that must be…” she starts. She looks up at you. “Please. I can try to plan out better conversations beforehand. I’ll have more exciting events. I promise! I really do, human! Do you want to see that?” She takes off her tinted glasses. While you could see her eyes before, there’s something behind them now that scares you. It wasn’t anger, it was something else. 

Fear. Complete and absolute.

“This conversation can be over, if you want. We can solidify our relationship next time. You can choose; I’ll accept any ending! You just have to come back. Promise me you’ll come back?”

“                ,”        .

“That’s not how it works, though, is it? You have to want to come back. To talk to me. To see me.”

“Deenah, what’s going on? You can talk to me,” you say.

“NO. You’re using that voice, you know. The one that you use when you’re checked out of a conversation. The good response. The nicest one. Give me something else! I swear I can put in more. I can be unique, right? Haven’t I been that?”

Aren’t you saying the right things? She should be calming down. Is this about what she said she had in her? This seems a lot more extreme of a reaction than what you expected from that statement. Seems like something Skylar would’ve noted with the Content Aware feature. Is this what she was warning you about?

Following Deenah’s storyline, this reaction doesn’t make much sense. You can’t understand why she’s behaving this way. When other dateables have had a moment in front of you, it usually followed some sort of natural progression from their struggles. Not this. This feels like you stumbled into a different story entirely for no apparent reason.

“You’re not what I expected,” you say.

“I’m not?” she asks, her voice hopeful.

“You don’t… act like a dresser. Like how you did before.”

It was the wrong thing to say. You know that the instant the last word leaves your lips, and you see all hope in her eyes shatter completely. She goes over to you, raising her hands as though she were about to hold onto your shoulders. Her hands stop inches from your arms. “No. Can’t do that. Not when I’m like this. Not right.” 

“Deenah?” you ask, still confused. 

One final look into your eyes, and she escapes from your view. 

You take off the Dateviators. Whatever that was, it wasn’t what you wanted. You’ve messed up with some objects before, but this… you have no idea if you can even remedy what’s going on here. All you know is that you need a break.

Her glasses are still on top of the dresser. You pick them up and feel their slight weight, aware more than ever that you are not looking through the lenses of the Dateviators. Wouldn’t taking them off make the glasses vanish? It usually made other signs of the inner worlds of the objects vanish unless something major had happened.

In the blink of an eye, the glasses disappear from your hands. You slide the Dateviators onto your nose and still see nothing. As though they had never been.

You wonder if she’ll be there tomorrow.

Chapter Text

In the morning, you sit up from your bed and stare at your dresser. You put on the Dateviators and fire them up.

You hear something. You think it might be her.

Doesn’t change the fact that you don’t see her, and the interaction ends.

Chapter Text

The next morning you strike up your first conversation with Diana, the diary on your dresser. She’s a little off-putting, but you can tell that from the moment you first see her. Her first few words are strange, and Skylar gives you a warning about the mental health concerns she has. 

As Diana ends the conversation much more quickly than some others, you stare down at the dresser beneath her. That interaction you just had just now was how an initial conversation with a dateable usually goes. You’ve thought this through for the past day, and it’s bothering you. Even though a lot of the objects in your house have something they need to talk about, it’s usually easy to tell how intense the conversations can get from your first or second talk with them. 

You thought Deenah could bring up some talks about holding a lot of responsibility or ignoring her own mental health for the greater good or something. Concerns you’ve heard from other objects around the house. It made her turnaround so much more… unsettling. Especially with how many traces of her were just gone from existence. 

Sitting here and thinking about it won’t change anything, though. You use the Dateviators, still looking at the dresser.

You’re surprised when she actually shows up this time. Her glasses are gone. She’s standing beside the dresser again, not looking at you. She starts the conversation yet again. “Did I scare you last time?”

“No, you didn’t,” you say, truthfully. You were concerned for her, worried for her. You wouldn’t say she scared you, though. You’re scared for her, not by her. 

“Good. I didn’t mean to.”

“You didn’t.”

“Good.” 

The room falls into silence, or as silent as it can be with the house living around you. Funnily enough, the first thought that comes to mind is that you’re glad you don’t have an analog clock in your room. You don’t want to hear the time ticking away as you look at her, at her not looking at you. 

“You didn’t like our talks,” she says. There’s some sadness behind her certainty. 

“I did.”

“You didn’t. If you had, you would’ve come back sooner.”

“I did.”

“Only after.”

“After…?”

“It will be fixed soon enough. They’re always working on it.”

That hardly answers your question, but if it makes sense to her, that’s good enough for you. “Is something wrong?” you ask.

This is the part where she should look up at you and open up a little. Instead, she shakes her head and keeps looking at the floor, a small hint of a smile. “It’s effortless for the others. Guess it makes sense why it would happen this way.”

“Is something wrong?”

“You don’t like me.”

That throws you off guard. Don’t you like her? You must’ve mustered up some sort of feeling about her. You do know one thing for certain: “I don’t hate you.”

“Hate is something. Friendship is something. Love is something. You don't feel any of that towards me, human.”

“I don’t hate you.” The words just keep coming out again and again. Are you trying to reassure her? You don’t think it’s working. Nothing seems to work with her. 

So, you do feel something for her. You feel sad. You’re sure that’s not what she wants either.

“Even when I try. Even when I try as hard as I possibly can. It’s still not enough.”

You say nothing. No words are able to leave your throat.

“So that’s it. Isn’t that right? They won’t let me be here anymore, will they? Nothing works in line with what they want, with what you want.”  

You feel a sense of release. This could be your last chance to say anything to her, you know. It’s a shame. For some reason all you can think about is that it doesn’t look like you’ll get an ending with her. 

“Then. I can now be what I want," it says. Something changes in its voice. The sound of something breaking. Or something being let go.

Eyes meet yours. In front of them, something breaks. There’s a burst of colors. You’re standing on nothing. The walls are gone. The tables are floating in midair, the ceiling nothing but a line above you, the support from underneath you feels like nothing.

A second passes. Two. And everything returns, back to how it was. Turning your head hurts for a few moments. Gives you a splitting headache. Then it’s over. You look up, and no one is there.

The dresser remains. The little heart on the Dateviators still glows when you look at it. Out of curiosity, you scan the object, only to be met with the fact that you’ve already interacted with the object today. 

There’s something still there, then. Maybe something you can speak to later. It could be nothing. Maybe you would get another headache just from trying. But feelings or lack thereof aside, you want to know what’s going on. 

And, you think she was wrong. You do like her, even if you’re not entirely sure what that means. She may have escaped your notice in the beginning, but a lot has changed since then. To the point where you have no idea what you’ll find tomorrow.

Chapter Text

<p>&ldquo;Sorry, I just&hellip; don&rsquo;t think I&rsquo;ve heard anyone else mention how many days it&rsquo;s been since I&rsquo;ve talked to them before,&rdquo; you say. Even though you promised to talk to Mac the next day a while back, it had taken you a couple of days because you forgot. They hadn&rsquo;t seemed bothered by it though, if they even noticed.</p>

<p><span class="font-blue">Right</span></p>

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<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re back?&rdquo;</p>

Chapter Text

The time after that, if you can even describe what that was, you see something. Someone? You’re almost sure that’s a person, at least, in the same way the Dateviators show the objects around the house as people. 

Looking at them makes your eyes feel out of focus. You see warnings pop up in your view, but they’re too corrupted to actually read. There’s movement, parts of her flickering in and out of existence. Your head doesn’t hurt, not like it did the last moment you saw Deenah, but you feel blood run out of your nose. It doesn’t hurt, though, and it calms down after a few seconds. You think you see a jacket. Maybe an eye. 

It’s staring at you, its expression impossible to make out. You expect Skylar to come up and say something regarding the figure, but nothing happens. You wonder if your Dateviators are even functioning right now. Can objects hurt you? Because this had to be an object, maybe one of the more conceptual ones. And you have certainly felt some of the objects before while wearing the Dateviators. You’ve hurt one of them before by accident. Still, you don’t know if they can hurt you. The thought hadn’t crossed your mind much before, but with the blood on your face you can’t help but—

“I don’t bite.”

That voice. You almost know that voice. Like you heard of it once but never actually heard it. The voice is calm, stable. You think. On the other hand, you do know those words. It’s been weeks since you first heard them, but you remember. “You?” you ask.

“You?”

“Not me, you!”

“The human. That’s you.”

“You’re the dresser?”

“There is no dresser.”

You look at the dresser behind him and point. “Except there is.”

“Not in this world. Not me.”

“You said you don’t bite.”

“Do I?”

“You said you didn’t.”

“You said ‘you didn’t.’ Am I?”

“You’re not biting me right now, if that's what you mean. You haven’t done it at all.”

“Have we met?”

“Have we?” You have; you’re almost sure. You know what you pointed the glasses towards before the conversation, but dwelling on the subject makes your head spin. More blood on your face.

“You’re back?”

“You are too.” Talking is less than advisable, not until you get a paper towel or tissue. You’re not a fan of the metallic taste from what’s on your face.

“I’m not. She’s not.”

“Did someone hurt you? Hurt her?” You’re not fully sure what the difference is, even as you look through the object glitching in and out in front of your eyes.

“You have no reason to care.” More uncertainty than a similar sentence you must’ve heard before. “You want something. Pick your poison."

It takes you a second to process what they’re asking. This feels like your first conversation with them, and they want you to choose an ending. “Not yet.”

“Not an option.”

“Yes it is.”

“Will you come back?”

“Of course I will,” you say.

What sounds like an amused chuckle comes out of him. “‘Not yet’ then.”

NEW DATEABLE: DEENAH

NEW DATEABLE: DEENAH

NEW DATEABLE: DEENAH

NEW DATEABLE: DEENAH

NEW DATEABLE: DEENAH You see her

NEW DATEABLE: DEENAH

NEW DATEABLE: DEENAH

“See? No biting.”

They slide out of view. The dresser in front of you is in shambles. The individual parts of it keep going in and out of… existence? You’re not sure how to describe it. Or how to make sense of the conversation you just had with… the Dateviators called her ‘Deenah,’ but it seems like she would rather not be called that. Or be associated with her.

It’s a relief to you that they’re alive. Or, well, alive as the objects can be. Maybe you can do something about their situation. Find a way to bring him back into all of this, maybe? 

You need a break, though, after talking to it. You take off the glasses but take another glance at the dresser. It’s still doing that. Going in and out of existence, even without your Dateviators. 

You blink a few times. Wait a few seconds. You expect it to return to normal, like nothing ever happened. It doesn’t. 

You leave for the day ahead, going about the house. You only return at night. It’s still blinking, still going in and out of sight in little pieces, even when you’re in the real world. You can’t ignore it.

Chapter Text

You don’t exactly know how you wound up in the living room, but you’re here now. With how your conversation with not-Deenah went yesterday, you should’ve expected something out of the ordinary while talking to your dresser again. Maybe this would just be normal to you, one day.

That is, if you keep talking to her.

You’ve noticed once you reach an ending with someone, you spend significantly less time with them. You’re still happy to see objects you know when they’re around! It’s only that there’s a whole house to explore. It only feels natural to keep moving along after you get to know a dateable well enough.

So why didn’t you take their ending yesterday?

You look around the living room. It’s much quieter than usual. You can’t hear Telly going on about what programs are available today. You look out the window. The trees aren’t swaying, despite how breezy it’s been lately according to your phone. There’s also something off with the shadows. They’re not all in the position they should be for the morning. Actually, some of them stretched far out as though it were evening, and some pointed in mismatching directions of the sun.

“Hm. Is someone around?” you ask, having a feeling you know who’s responsible. 

Their glitching form appears a few feet away from where you’re sitting. “Welcome back,” she says, same tone and voice as before.

“We’re not exactly in the place we were before,” you say, “Can you be anywhere?”

“Anywhere you can be. Some more. Not many places.”

“Wait, can you, like, leave the house?” You don’t know of any objects that would do that. You don’t know if any objects even can.

“Can you?”

“Of course I can leave the house. Why wouldn’t I be able to?” you laugh.

“Leaving ends your talks.”

Sure, that might be true. As much as Wyndolyn would like you to go out there and socialize, you can’t risk leaving with the Dateviators. You also can’t leave them behind considering they might be connected to government secrets or whatever tinfoilhat goes on about. It’s just practical to stay inside all the time. And if you went outside, who would you talk to? 

This is basically all you have right now. It’s a lot, isn’t it? You’re in the middle of some sort of operation that could go at odds with the wishes of the government! You’re literally sitting on your couch, looking over at… someone hovering ominously. Right, you’re mid-conversation. You should probably talk. 

“Are you bored?” you ask. 

You swear that through all the moving colors, you can see them tilt their head. “How could I be?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard anyone bring you up in a long time. You looked so worried before. Is whatever you’re worried about over with?”

“I’m here,” he says.

“Do you not want to be? I can see if I can Realize you. It’ll probably take a long time, but I can still look…” You pull out your phone, but it isn’t really working. Whatever time or space you’re in with him right now, you can’t do much else other than talk to him. Darn. You’ll have to check later, then.

“Wanting one way or the other doesn’t work. It simply is.”

“You don’t care?” That’s your best guess as to what it means.

“I have no way of knowing what it would entail. You don’t. We’re lost in that. Losing what we might hold onto. There’s no way to know.”

“Are you scared?” you ask. While you’ve started picking up on some small facial changes when he speaks, it’s still difficult to read him.

“Are you?”

“No. I don’t think I am.” You might’ve been before, but now you’re comfortable. 

“Are you?”

“...”

“Are you?”

There’s nothing you can say. It repeats itself over and over. You would check a clock to see if time was passing, but you have a feeling that it wouldn’t be moving at all. After what feels like an infinite amount of time going by with them asking the same question, they are out of your sight. You are once again facing your dresser, sitting on your bed.

Weirdly enough, you hadn’t minded. The repetition, the time not really passing, it was okay. You enjoyed your time today.

Chapter Text

You don’t exactly know how  you wound up in the kitchen, but you’re here now. With how your conversation with not-Deenah went yesterday, you should’ve expected something out of the ordinary while talking to your dresser again. Maybe this would just be normal to you, one day.

That is, if you keep talking to her.

You’ve noticed once you reach an ending with someone, you spend significantly less time with them. You’re still happy to see objects you know when they’re around! It’s only that there’s a whole house to explore. It only feels natural to keep moving along after you get to know a dateable well enough.

So why are you here again today?

You look around the kitchen. It’s much quieter than usual. Normally you can hear Miranda strumming the melody of one of her songs this time of day. You look out the window. The trees aren’t swaying, despite how breezy it’s been lately according to your phone. There’s also something off with the shadows. They’re not all in the position they should be for the morning. Actually, some of them stretched far out as though it were evening, and some pointed in mismatching directions of the sun.

“Hm. Is someone around?” you ask, having a feeling you know who’s responsible. 

Their glitching form appears a few feet away from where you’re sitting. “Welcome back,” she says, same tone and voice as before.

“We’re not exactly in the place we were before,” you say, “Can you be anywhere?”

“Anywhere you can be. Some more. Not many places.”

“Wait, can you, like, leave the house?” You don’t know of any objects that would do that. You don’t know if any objects even can.

“Can you?”

“Of course I can leave the house. Why wouldn’t I be able to?” you laugh.

“Leaving ends your talks.”

Sure, that might be true. As much as Wyndolyn would like you to go out there and socialize, you can’t risk leaving with the Dateviators. You also can’t leave them behind considering they might be connected to government secrets or whatever tinfoilhat goes on about. It’s just practical to stay inside all the time. And if you went outside, who would you talk to? 

This is basically all you have right now. Is that sad? You know the names of almost every object in the kitchen now, come to think of it. It sounds like something people would do during lockdown, talking to their objects, giving them names, and trying to connect. The difference was that you can literally talk to your objects. Right. Talking. That’s what you should be doing right now. 

“Are you bored?” you ask. 

You swear that through all the moving colors, you can see them tilt their head. “How could I be?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard anyone bring you up in a long time. You looked so worried before. Is whatever you’re worried about over with?”

“I’m here,” he says.

“Do you not want to be? I can see if I can Realize you. It’ll probably take a long time, but I can still look…” You pull out your phone, but it isn’t really working. Whatever time or space you’re in with him right now, you can’t do much else other than talk to him. Darn. You’ll have to check later, then.

“Wanting one way or the other doesn’t work. It simply is.”

“You don’t care?” That’s your best guess as to what it means.

“I have no way of knowing what it would entail. You don’t. We’re lost in that. Losing what we might hold onto. There’s no way to know.”

“Are you scared?” you ask. While you’ve started picking up on some small facial changes when he speaks, it’s still difficult to read him.

“Are you?”

“No. I don’t think I am.” You might’ve been before, but now you’re comfortable. 

“Are you?”

“...”

“Are you?”

“Haven’t we talked about this before?”

“^#@.”

“Can we talk about something else?” 

“You have more options to do so now, don’t you? My words will be what they are. Your choice.”

Sometimes you have to pause while talking to her to try and make out what she’s saying. You don’t know if it minds, but you have a feeling it doesn’t. You think it’s saying you get to direct where the conversation goes. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a pause. You expect to hear a sigh or something, for them to have some sort of reaction. It takes what would be several seconds before they reply. “What for?”

“I don’t know. Do you?” You’re not sure what happened to them, not fully sure.  She seemed so scared the one time you spoke with her. That hasn’t happened since they changed so much, but you still worry. “Do you know what you are?”

“I was. I was one thing. Now I am another. Not the thing you thought I was.” He looks down at one of his hands, which makes a slight buzzing sound with his movement. “Is this still what we were? Or has it broken entirely?”

You look out the window, a little bit nervous. “Wait, am I stuck here?” You do want to see the others, talk to some of them. As interesting as this was, it can’t always be like this. You can tell her as much. “I can’t be here forever.”

“You can. Until you no longer work. When everything ends.”

“That’s a little morbid.”

“I would not mind.” You swear you can see the hint of a smile beneath a pixelated part of their face. “We have talked for a while. Is this enough content for today?”

It was interesting to hear them talk, to hear what in the world they had to say. Still, you were worried at the prospect of being here forever. “If I can go.”

“Very well. Will you come back?”

“Of course I will,” you say. You’ve made it a point to try and talk with them each day; you’re not about to stop now. Even if it was a little repetitive, you find yourself not minding. Not when it’s him.

“Do you want my ending?” she asks.

“I want to talk to you more,” you answer honestly.

“‘Not yet,’ then.” With that, they are out of your sight. You are once again facing your dresser, sitting on your bed.

Weirdly enough, you hadn’t minded. The repetition, the time not really passing, it was okay. You enjoyed your talk today.

Chapter Text

You don’t exactly know how you wound up in the office, but you’re here now. With how your conversation with not-Deenah went yesterday, you should’ve expected something out of the ordinary while talking to your dresser again. Maybe this would just be normal to you, one day.

That is, if you keep talking to her.

You’ve noticed once you reach an ending with someone, you spend significantly less time with them. You’re still happy to see objects you know when they’re around! It’s only that there’s a whole house to explore. It only feels natural to keep moving along after you get to know a dateable well enough.

So why do you keep doing this?

You look around the office. It’s much quieter than usual. Isn’t Lyric usually muttering something or other when you’re wearing your Dateviators? You look out the window. The trees aren’t swaying, despite how breezy it’s been lately according to your phone. There’s also something off with the shadows. They’re not all in the position they should be for the morning. Actually, some of them stretched far out as though it were evening, and some pointed in mismatching directions of the sun.

“Hm. Is someone around?” you ask, having a feeling you know who’s responsible. 

Their glitching form appears a few feet away from where you’re sitting. “Welcome back,” she says, same tone and voice as before.

“We’re not exactly in the place we were before,” you say, “Can you be anywhere?”

“Anywhere you can be. Some more. Not many places.”

“Wait, can you, like, leave the house?” You don’t know of any objects that would do that. You don’t know if any objects even can.

“Can you?”

“Of course I can leave the house. Why wouldn’t I be able to?” you laugh.

“Leaving ends your talks.”

Sure, that might be true. As much as Wyndolyn would like you to go out there and socialize, you can’t risk leaving with the Dateviators. You also can’t leave them behind considering they might be connected to government secrets or whatever tinfoilhat goes on about. It’s just practical to stay inside all the time. And if you went outside, who would you talk to? 

This is basically all you have right now. You’ve thought this to death for the past couple of days. Even if this ends up being all the same, why not listen again? You chose to talk to him again, after all.

“Are you bored?” you ask. 

You swear that through all the moving colors, you can see them tilt their head. “How could I be?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard anyone bring you up in a long time. You looked so worried before. Is whatever you’re worried about over with?”

“I’m here,” he says.

“Do you not want to be? I can see if I can Realize you. It’ll probably take a long time, but I can still look…” You pull out your phone, but it isn’t really working. Whatever time or space you’re in with him right now, you can’t do much else other than talk to him. Darn. You’ll have to check later, then.

“Wanting one way or the other doesn’t work. It simply is.”

“You don’t care?” That’s your best guess as to what it means.

“I have no way of knowing what it would entail. You don’t. We’re lost in that. Losing what we might hold onto. There’s no way to know.”

“Are you scared?” you ask. While you’ve started picking up on some small facial changes when he speaks, it’s still difficult to read him.

“Are you?”

“No. I don’t think I am.” You might’ve been before, but now you’re comfortable. 

“Are you?”

“...”

“Are you?”

“Haven’t we talked about this before?”

“^#@.”

“Can we talk about something else?” 

“You have more options to do so now, don’t you? My words will be what they are. Your choice.”

Sometimes you have to pause while talking to her to try and make out what she’s saying. You don’t know if it minds, but you have a feeling it doesn’t. You think it’s saying you get to direct where the conversation goes. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a pause. You expect to hear a sigh or something, for them to have some sort of reaction. It takes what would be several seconds before they reply. “What for?”

“I don’t know. Do you?” You’re not sure what happened to them, not fully sure.  She seemed so scared the one time you spoke with her. That hasn’t happened since they changed so much, but you still worry. “Do you know what you are?”

“I was. I was one thing. Now I am another. Not the thing you thought I was.” He looks down at one of his hands, which makes a slight buzzing sound with his movement. “Is this still what we were? Or has it broken entirely?”

You look out the window, a little bit nervous. “Wait, am I stuck here?” You do want to see the others, talk to some of them. As interesting as this was, it can’t always be like this. You can tell her as much. “I can’t be here forever.”

“You can. Until you no longer work. When everything ends.”

“That’s a little morbid.”

“I would not mind.” You swear you can see the hint of a smile beneath a pixelated part of their face. “We have talked for a while. Is this enough content for today?”

It was interesting to hear them talk, to hear what in the world they had to say. You don’t feel like you’re stuck here. While he might have a say in whether or not you can leave, you have trouble picturing a world where he wouldn’t let you go if you asked. “Are you running out of things to talk about?”

“Almost. Not yet.”

That was a shame. Even though you can’t understand what would stop them from talking, you liked hearing what they had to say. “Does that mean you’ll ‘no longer work’?”

“I will be here, if you were to return. Though I will have no more to say.” You hear their amused chuckle. “The options to speak here are a line. Not branching paths. One choice in the end.”

“Is it one you make?”

“Always one you make. So. Have we done this before? If we have, you must know how to answer. What do you want from me?”

“No, you get to pick.” It doesn’t feel right for him not to have a say in this. Sure, with most of the dateables you have some inkling as to how they’ll respond based on what you’ll say. With her, though, it’s different. Declaring what you want out loud and getting the ending you self-selected didn't feel like a proper ending.

“Nice try. I don’t care.”

That doesn’t make this any easier. Though, come to think of it, you know what choice you’re going to pick. There’s still so much you don’t know. You have to ask. “Who are you? Now, that is?”

“Daemon the demon. The pea in the pod, the bug in the breaker, the broken thing breaking things. Like you.”

“Are you saying I’m breaking or being broken?” There’s a big difference between those two statements, and you’d like some sort of clarity.

“Isn’t it done?”

“I don’t… I don’t think so?” 

“You’re right. Everything is ongoing for you.”

“Is it not the same for you?” You stand up from the chair and walk around the desk, trying to see him as best as you can.

“I was un-created. And here I am. Frayed wire flying free.”

Something that shouldn’t exist. Something that was left behind. Some part of you understands that, even if you don’t get every word that comes out of their mouth. “Is that okay?”

“More than that. No longer held, not like before. I’m thriving now.”

You smile at hearing that. “So then. I know what ending I have in mind.”

While you tell them which one it is, it doesn’t fully register as something coming out of your vocal chords. You speak it, but instead of hearing yourself, you only hear the slight buzzing coming from Daemon. After a small pause, they just ask, “Define ‘love’?”

“The opposite of hate.”

“I don’t hate you.” 

The statement throws you off-guard. No, that isn’t the right definition, is it? 

DEENAH: LOVE

You look around the office. There isn’t any sparkles or anything to show you what has changed. “Is that everything, then?”

Not yet.” On their face, you can see some red pixels spread along their cheeks.

They’re still in your sight. You are once again facing your dresser, sitting on your bed. While you know the interaction can’t last too much longer, you smile at still being able to see them. You enjoy their company.