As Milo darted to retrieve them, Rowan waded through the film of flour on the floor, which made it worryingly slick, and moved one of the pretzels from the pan to a paper towel to further cool before he tried it. While he waited, he couldn’t help glancing over at Milo, who was practically flawless. Perfect. Well, perfect for Rowan, with just the right imperfections, because he had dictated everything about him, even down to the length and shape of his…
Yeah. This was weird no matter how Rowan looked at it.
And it was very difficult tonotlook at it.
Even after the underwear was in place.
“In my research, it seems that the ways humans process information is not so different from how bots do, so you are often processing multiple things at once just like I am, yes?” Milo was also far chattier and at breakneck speeds than what Rowan could handle this early in the morning.
“Uh, yeah, that’s true.”
“How do you focus on one thing when multiple things can come into your mind at the same time and distract you? I have been finding it increasingly more difficult. For instance—” Milo cut himself off as he and Rowan’s gazes met, like he could tell Rowan was too tired for this. “Sorry, Rowan.”
“No, don’t be.” Rowan tried to wake himself up. Coffee was very much needed. And that pretzel. It was probably close to cool enough by now, so he picked it up and started to blow on it. “It’s okay, Milo. You’re overwhelmed and unsure how to compensate. Sometimes it helps to, um…”
“Take a breath?” Milo supplied as he moved toward Rowan. “My research said the same, but—”
“You do not breathe. I get that.” Everything about Milo was machine-run, programming and parts. It wasn’t all that different from how humans worked, however. Right? Some humans even needed machines to keep them alive. “What it means is to take a moment to calm yourself, clear your thoughts, think of nothing if you can, and sometimes, not always, but sometimes, the important thing you’re meant to focus on becomes clearer.”
Milo nodded a little wildly, as if utterly enamored by Rowan’s advice. “Take a moment…”
“Exactly. Slow your thinking. Your processing. Even if you don’t need to breathe, taking in slow breaths might help with the rhythm, like meditation. And then—” Rowan took a bite of the pretzel finally—and instantly wanted to spit the substance out.
Substancewas a generous word choice, because this?
This was not food.
“Oh no. You hate it.” Milo’s expression was utter devastation.
Shit. Rowan tried to think of how to speak around the mouthful he did not want to swallow.
“You hate it,” Milo repeated. “I messed it up, didn’t I? Please don’t swallow if you don’t want to, Master. Rowan!” He toreanother paper towel from the roll and brought it to Rowan, clearly indicating for him to spit his mouthful into it.
Rowan did so because… yeah, there were few worse things he’d ever had in his mouth.
“I am so sorry, Rowan. I’ll do better next time.” Milo threw the paper towel away and got out a glass to fill with water. A few gulps from that helped.
After rinsing his mouth, Rowan tried to approach the subject delicately, given the distressed look in Milo’s eyes, which were trained on the floor. He was a mess, but an adorable mess with all that flour on his skin and a pout on his plump lips. “Milo, you are programmed with countless recipes and can look up countless more. How did you screw this up exactly? I’m not mad! Everyone makes mistakes. I’m just curious… how? You have access to every recipe imaginable, and you've never made something inedible before.”
Milo started to twiddle his thumbs, gaze remaining downward. “I did not want to follow one specific recipe. I wanted to, well… make it my own. Make something special for you like romantic partners do for each other in movies and romance novels. My intent was to combine multiple recipes to make the best one, but... I suppose I do not know what makes something the best without being able to taste it myself, so I was looking up examples of what delicious soft-baked pretzels should taste like and trying to mimic taste without thinking enough about form or likely reactions and I... I messed it up.
“I believe I may have confused baking powder and baking soda at one point. Or too much butter? Not enough butter? I don’t know. I knew something wasn’t right, but I thought the egg wash I applied might cover up my failure!”
“Theylookfantastic,” Rowan assured him. If they hadn’t, the smell would have been enough to dissuade him from trying one. Mixing up baking powder and baking soda would explainthe taste and chemical smell. “You just need practice. It’s very human to make this kind of mistake, Milo, especially with all the new information you’re processing.
“Why don't you go take a shower, huh?” Rowan rustled Milo's hair, causing a cascade of disrupted flour to catch on Milo’s eyelashes, which were dark like his brows, not the same platinum blond as the rest of his hair. He looked like Jack Frost with all that added white. “You go get clean, and I’ll clean up in here.”
“Oh no!” Milo’s glowing eyes finally lifted to meet Rowan’s. “You can’t clean up my mess, Ma—Rowan. I need to make this up to you somehow. I tried to make you something, um… from the heart? But I failed because I do not have a heart. Would you prefer oatmeal or yesterday’s breakfast—” He tried to turn away, to dive back into servant mode, which was a habit Rowan needed to help him break.
“Milo, you have a heart,” Rowan said as he stopped Milo with a gentle grasp of his arm. “A… spirit. A sense of self at least that proves you’re alive. That you even attempted something like this just for me is enough of a gesture. And I can clean up for you because we’re not master and bot anymore, remember? We’re equals now. While I appreciate you wanting to do things for me, I can do things for you too. So you go get clean and changed, and I’ll handle things in here. Okay?”
“Okay.” Milo nodded and honestly seemed to take that breath, that moment Rowan had encouraged him to try. Slow breath in. Slow breath out. And everything was a little calmer. “You’re really not mad?” Milo batted his flour-dusted lashes.
“No, Milo. You did fine.”
With both of them barefoot, Milo was still several inches shorter than Rowan’s Viking height, so when he lifted onto his toes and tilted his chin up, it was obvious he wanted a kiss. A morning kiss. A comforting kiss.
A promising kiss for more later on.
