For a moment, I don't recognize my surroundings. The butter-yellow walls are much lower than I remember—apart from the fact that they used to be a dusty blue colour. The window is also smaller and seems to have moved from the wall beside my bed to the one the headboard rested against. The coin drops, and I realise this isn't my bed.

It all comes back. My mom cracked. I cracked. I packed my stuff and moved out. I'm in another city.

Sitting up, I let myself slowly come to terms with my new life. Well, old life actually. Except here, I won't have to crumble under unnecessary pressure. No more dodging parents or sneaking out either—if last night's encounter has anything to do with it.

Most of my stuff is still in my suitcase, apart from my suit, which is currently sticking out of my backpack. Hurriedly, I take it out and stuff it at the back of my closet, piling a bunch of folded towels in front. Kobby doesn't seem like the type to snoop around in my room, but I'm not going to risk it. People are never as they appear anyway, something I relate all too well to.

I take a warm shower which helps soothe my aching muscles; it feels amazing after the rough night I had. The bathroom is smaller than the one at home. In fact, everything in this house is. The rooms, the closets, the kitchen. But I'll take a slightly smaller house to an enormous complex any day if it allows me to think in peace.

Once done, I get dressed, using the chance to arrange my clothes in the closet and slowly move in. I fill the top of the dresser with products in the same manner I arranged them in my previous room. I take time to admire my work, even though I know it's definitely not going to look this good again—give it a couple of days.

Kobby is in the kitchen when I finally step out. Just like yesterday, he's cooking something.

My back rests against the wall and I peer at his form as he moves around the kitchen, his head bouncing in time to whatever music that is blasting out of the headphones positioned on it. He moves almost gracefully, checking the food, packing up a laptop back, going back to lie out a plate—it's all coordinated and calculated.

"One minute---but stop five seconds to the countdown. The beep thing is annoying as hell, don't do it," I hear him say.

I would have assumed he was talking to someone, but considering he's not holding a phone, a Bluetooth device, or any other communication tool, I consider the possibility that my new roommate is insane.

I, too, consider that my sanity is on the verge of being thrown off when the hum of the microwave starts, almost as if on cue. Did he just talk to a freaking microwave?

Obviously, I wait to see if he only spoke to machines for the fun of it or if it had a grounded reason. I find out it does as soon as the humming comes to a stop—five seconds away from hitting zero. Without him touching it, because he's all the way across the kitchen now, looking through the refrigerator. Well, I'll be damned.

I rub my eyes. Once. Twice. I'm not hallucinating, this is happening, this is real. Is Kobby some sort of mutant too?

Disbelief floods me as my limbs cause my body to surge, my mind still a little slow to process things.

"Oh, you're awake?" He asks, looking at me for a moment before his eyes skim the contents of his fridge again.

"Yes," I respond. My hands grip the edge of the marble counter, lower back pressed to it. Usually, microwaves are my forte because I can channel the radiation that they operate on. With my roommate's, however, I can't. The waves his device emits is the lowest level I've ever felt even as I close my eyes and try to concentrate.

"Do you---you want anything to eat?" Kobby asks. He is standing at his full height now, holding a cup filled with what I assume is coffee. He takes out the food he popped in the microwave—a cheesy omelet.

I'm not hungry, but I nod anyway. It'll give me a chance to find out if this microwave really did as it was told.

"I want one of those."

He hands me a mug which he cracks two eggs in. He lifts an eyebrow, signalling if it's enough. He carries on with adding milk, salt and pepper after I nod again, whisking them together.

"Do you want any vegetables?"

I shake my head this time, telling him not to bother. Then I lay down my thoughts.

"You told the microwave what to do, and it obeyed you," I state.

Kobby's brown eyes widen when he spots me staring at him. His Adam's apple dips and resurfaces underneath his dark skin as he swallows, almost choking on his own spit. "Uh, yes. I... the microwave---it's---" he fumbles, eyes looking anywhere and everywhere but at me. It's after a deep breath, that he is able to string a full sentence. "It's voice activated."

I can usually tell when a person lies to me, it doesn't take much effort and I don't even have to use my powers in the process. I just have to watch, observe. People don't make eye contact when they lie. However, it's hard to attribute that trait to him since he's never held my gaze for more than a couple of seconds. His hands also stay limp at his sides—no scratching, no tugging on fingers, no biting on nails. Absolutely no form of fidgeting.

Making my way over, I ask, "Voice activated, huh?"

He nods with a ghost of a smile.

Leaning forward with my elbows on the counter, I bend towards the electronic device. It's the weirdest thing talking to a machine, but if he can do it, so can I.

"Hey there, weird microwave, I have something I want you to cook for me. Two minutes would be enough, yeah?" My question is directed at Kobby who doesn't realize I'm talking to him till I've already taken the mug out of his hand.

Blinking as if out of a trance, he says, "One is enough."

"Okay, one minute then."

The batter goes in and I shut the microwave door. And I wait. Of course, nothing happens. Of course, I'm going insane. Of course, Kobby assures me that I'm alright, his microwave oven really is voice activated.

His voice.