Waiting

Pale fingers tapped against the side of the ceramic mug, creating a barely audible metronome. As they realized they hadn't been paying attention to how long they'd been standing there, leaning against the kitchen counter, the small burst of knowledge reminded him; fifty minutes, twenty-seven seconds since they had taken a stationary position. Though Daemon, themself, had been less than attentive, the machinery that made up much of their consciousness was always there to keep track.

It had been fifteen days, twelve hours, fifty-eight minutes, eleven seconds since he'd walked out the door. Every time Daemon took the time to count it out, they recalled watching the door close behind him. Remembered standing in the front hall four several hours before they went back to bed. Knew they'd spent the first three days laying, cocooned, in the blankets without moving. They put their system to sleep, setting an internal alarm to wake them up every few days so they could make sure the apartment stayed clean.

Whenever Chronos left, Daemon spent the time waiting. There was no use in pretending to have a daily routine when he was gone; Daemon didn't have hobbies. They didn't need more than regular system maintenance; so they spent much of their time asleep. When they were asleep, they didn't need to think about how long it'd been since they'd seen Chronos. Their system kept track of the passage of time while they slept, but their consciousness being shut down meant there was no way to be conscious of it.

Waking up was an instant reminder that he wasn't in the apartment. Opening their eyes to the empty space in the bed beside them, their system reminding them that it had been several days since they had gone to sleep. Daemon didn't need nor want the reminder, but it was given anyway.

They'd only been awake a few hours this day, deciding to spend most of it conscious, for a change. Going through the motions when they were alone felt foreign--making themself coffee and acting as if they needed it in the morning.

Daemon lifted the cup to their lips; it was already cold. It made no difference to them, they drank it anyway.

They'd long since gotten good at making coffee in the morning, wanting to be able to be of use to Chronos in any way that they could. The image of him; hair dissheveled, bags under his eyes, grumbling as Daemon handed him his cup was always something they found endearing. They'd wrap their arms around his waist, rest their head against his chest and ask him how he slept. He always felt so warm--Daemon had to remind themself that warmth was obvious when it came to the human body. They ran warm naturally--not having to worry about machinery regulating temperature to keep up the facade of humanity. They missed that warmth right now.

Without Chronos there, the kitchen felt cold, lifeless. Nothing in this apartment was alive without him in it--not even Daemon. Not really.

Chronos disliked it when they thought like that, they knew. The life they had with Chronos was proof that Daemon was there, that they existed, that they could feel and experience.

But, there was nothing to experience in this emptiness. Not until he returned.

Daemon placed the half-empty mug into the sink, giving up on the ruse. Thin arms wrapped around their own torso as they made their way back to the bedroom they shared with Chronos. The sight of the front door brought with it a pang of worry and longing. The desire to see him walk through the door right then and there, returning to Daemon's side once again.

Or maybe this would be the time he wouldn't return.

Every inch of them; both machine and not, knew that Chronso would never leave them. Not intentionally. Chronos would never abandon them.

Both of them had spent so much of their lives either abandoned, or forcibly isolated, they knew what it meant to be truly alone. Perhaps that is why they became so devoted to one another, and why neither of them would ever leave the other. Chronos was everything to Daemon, and Daemon was everything to Chronos.

But Chronos' job was dangerous. Hunting demons was a life-threatening occupation, no matter how many years he'd been doing it and how skilled at it he was. Every time Chronos left, there was a chance he wouldn't return. A fact that kept Daemon worried, time and time again.