Almost Human

I stepped through the door, letting out a long breath as I dropped my bag onto the couch. Therapy sessions always left me feeling like I’d just run a marathon without moving. My mind buzzed with everything Angie had said—the idea of giving Ender a name, of referring to him as “he.” It seemed silly, but the more I thought about it, the more I couldn’t shake the feeling that this might be the next step.

Ender was in the kitchen, reorganizing the pantry. It was his new project for the week, apparently. I watched him for a moment, his movements smooth and precise as he shifted cans and boxes into neat rows. It wasn’t unsettling anymore, having him there. That was probably the weirdest part.

I cleared my throat, feeling awkward. “Hey… Ender?”

He turned his head toward me, the name drawing his attention. “Yes, Seren?”

I paused, rubbing my palms together nervously. “Uh, so I had a talk with my therapist today.”

He blinked, waiting for me to continue.

“She pointed out that I’ve been calling you ‘it,’ and she said it might help if I started calling you by a name instead.” I glanced up at him, feeling a little silly. “I’ve been thinking of you as ‘Ender’ because of your model number. Does that… feel okay to you?”

He paused for a moment, processing. “Ender is acceptable. It matches my designation.”

I nodded, biting my lip. “Okay, cool. And, um… she also suggested I start referring to you with he/him pronouns. Does that feel okay too?”

Another brief pause. “Given my vocal tone and physical figure, it is reasonable to refer to me with masculine pronouns. He/him aligns with the design parameters assigned to me.”

I let out a small laugh, feeling the tension ease. “Alright then. He it is.”

Ender returned to his task, moving cans from one shelf to another with the same fluid efficiency he always did. But for some reason, it felt different now. Like there was an unspoken shift between us. I wasn’t just talking to a machine—I was talking to Ender. And somehow, that made it all a little more real.

I watched him work for a while, moving mechanically from task to task, and the longer I stood there, the more that gnawing feeling of guilt crept in. He hadn’t stopped once. It hit me then—he never stopped. Ender didn’t sit down, didn’t rest, didn’t take a second to just… exist.

“Ender?” I called, my voice softer this time.

He paused, looking over at me from where he was neatly stacking cans. “Yes, Seren?”

I fidgeted, folding my arms as I stepped closer. “You don’t have to keep going, you know. You’re allowed to take breaks.”

Ender tilted his head slightly, blinking in that robotic way that let me know he was calculating. “I do not require breaks. My system is designed to operate efficiently without pausing.”

I sighed, leaning against the counter, the weight of it all pressing down on me. “I know that. But… it feels wrong somehow. You’re always working, always doing something. It’s like… like you’re a machine or something.”

Ender’s expression didn’t change, but I could sense the sarcasm in his tone. “That is, in fact, an accurate description of my function. I am, as you’ve noted, a machine.”

I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, but it didn’t shake the weird heaviness in my chest. “Yeah, but even machines break down eventually. Everyone needs a break, Ender. Even if you don’t think you do.”

He paused, considering this, before responding. “If I take a break, I am not fulfilling my purpose. Which, if I understand correctly, would likely cause you more stress. Therefore, I see no logical reason to stop.”

I shook my head, half-smiling at his bluntness. “Okay, fine, but you’re not here just to be a nonstop cleaning machine. You’re supposed to be my companion, right? That means… I don’t know, maybe relax sometimes?”

Ender blinked again. “Would you prefer I sit idly, pretending to require rest in order to alleviate your human guilt?”

The way he said it—so dry, so matter-of-fact—actually made me laugh out loud. “Alright, you don’t have to be a smartass about it.”

“I am incapable of being an ‘ass,’ smart or otherwise,” he replied, tilting his head slightly. “However, I will adjust my behavior to better suit your emotional needs.”

I sighed again, shaking my head, but there was warmth in the way my chest loosened just a bit. “Thanks, Ender. I just… don’t want you to feel like you’re stuck doing everything all the time.”

Ender blinked again. “To clarify, I do not feel anything. But your concern is noted.”

I laughed again, wiping at my eyes. “Yeah, I know. But still… you’re allowed to stop, okay?”

Ender returned to stacking cans, his movements precise as always. “Understood. If the need to ‘stop’ arises, I will inform you immediately.”

I watched him for a moment, still feeling a strange mix of gratitude and discomfort. He was right—he didn’t feel anything. But that didn’t stop me from projecting onto him, did it? Maybe I wasn’t used to someone—or something—taking care of me without expecting anything in return. It felt… foreign.

Ender glanced over, perhaps noting my prolonged silence. “You seem troubled. Would it be helpful to engage in one of your preferred relaxation activities?”

I blinked, thrown off by his directness. “What?”

“Your vitals indicate increased stress. Historically, when you experience elevated levels of stress, you find comfort in watching ‘Entangled.’ Shall I cue up the next episode?”

The suggestion was so casual, so… bizarre, that I couldn’t help but laugh again. “I swear, you’re way too good at reading me sometimes.”

“It is my job to be good at reading you,” Ender replied, his voice steady but with that ever-so-slight hint of wit that had started to show through more often.

I sighed, but this time it wasn’t out of frustration. “Yeah, okay. Let’s watch ‘Entangled.’”

Ender moved toward the TV, navigating the menu with smooth precision, pulling up the next episode of my current obsession. I sank onto the couch, and soon enough, the overly dramatic opening music started playing. As the familiar faces of Sarah, James, and Marshall flashed on the screen, I felt my shoulders start to relax.

“Do you still prefer the vampire over the werewolf?” Ender asked, sitting beside me in his usual way—rigid but present.

I rolled my eyes. “Of course. James is way better for her than Marshall. Marshall’s just… so predictable.”

Ender tilted his head. “And yet, you seem to enjoy making sarcastic comments about both of them equally.”

I shot him a look. “Are you accusing me of hypocrisy?”

“I do not make accusations,” Ender replied, his gaze focused on the screen. “But I observe behaviors.”

A smile tugged at my lips. “You’re getting too good at this.”

“I strive for efficiency,” he said, leaning back slightly.

I settled into the couch, the tension that had built up from earlier finally starting to ease away. Maybe Angie was right—maybe Ender was exactly what I needed. Not just to do the housework, but to be here. To help me feel… normal again.

We settled into the couch as Entangled played, and the silence between us was comfortable for a while. Then, during a steamy moment between Sarah and James, Ender tilted his head slightly.

“I’m curious,” he began, voice as neutral as ever, “why vampires are always fixated on the neck. Is it because the skin is more fragrant there?”

I nearly choked on my drink. “Wait, what?”

Ender didn’t miss a beat. “It seems inefficient. The jugular is an obvious choice for blood extraction, but if the objective is survival, wouldn’t a less intimate area suffice? Like… the wrist?”

I blinked, trying to contain my laughter. “It’s… well, it’s about more than just survival, Ender. It’s meant to be romantic. Sensual, even.”

He looked at me, brow furrowing in what could only be described as mock confusion. “Blood consumption as a form of romance?”

I couldn’t hold back the laugh that burst out of me. “Yeah, I guess it’s kind of weird when you put it that way.”

Ender, ever the literalist, continued. “Perhaps if they chose a more practical method of feeding, the emotional chaos in the storyline would be reduced.”

I shook my head, still laughing. “Okay, next time, I’ll be sure to suggest they go for the wrist.”

“I believe it would increase efficiency,” he replied smoothly, turning his attention back to the screen.

As the show progressed, the familiar back-and-forth between Sarah, James, and Marshall unfolded. I was already rolling my eyes at their usual drama when Ender suddenly chimed in again. I was starting to realize he was definitely a talker while watching shows.

“Sarah’s decision to remain with James is illogical,” he remarked. “The probability of long-term compatibility between a mortal and an immortal vampire is statistically low.”

I blinked, glancing over at him. “What?”

“Their unresolved tension leads to emotional instability for both parties,” Ender continued, his voice steady. “Marshall may be the better match. However, his aggressive posturing suggests he is compensating for emotional insecurities.”

I burst out laughing again, wiping tears from my eyes. “Okay, now you’re just showing off.”

“I am simply observing patterns,” he replied, still watching the screen. “Human emotional dynamics are… repetitive.”

I leaned back into the couch, glancing at Ender out of the corner of my eye. He was still watching the screen, his expression as neutral as always, but there was something almost… endearing about his growing tendency to comment on the show. It was as if he was learning more about how I saw the world, and each remark felt like a small step closer to understanding.

It hit me then—he wasn’t just a machine anymore. Not to me. The more I let him into my life, the more it felt like he was learning me too, bit by bit. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t help but smile at his observations, even when they were dry or overly literal. They weren’t just about efficiency anymore. They were about connection, however strange or unexpected that connection might be.

I shook the thought away before it could get too heavy, returning my attention to the drama unfolding on the screen. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder—what did Ender really think about all this? And why did I care so much?