He’d completely forgotten about the criminal laying on his bed until he heard a scream from the room. Nearly dropping his phone after hearing the shriek, he ran over to see what the commotion was about.

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?” Odysseus shouted.

“The hell is going on in here—“

“BULLSHIT! MAKI GOT CARRIED BY HIS TEAM!”

Quentin sighed in relief, it was just a TV show. Zey watched the stray as he stared at his phone, muttering every now and then about how some guy named Geori shouldn’t have been eliminated.

It didn’t matter that much, at least he wasn’t yelling at zem.

Odysseus arose, right at noon. He’d spent the rest of the night trying to finish the show and dozed off in the middle of an episode. After a little struggle, he got up and put on his shirt.

Walking into the main room of Quentin’s apartment felt like transporting into another dimension; thanks to 2060’s technology, same-day delivery became same-hour delivery, and it looked like Quentin spent the rest of the night unpacking everything but the room Odysseus was sleeping in.

The style was aged with a priority of comfort over the normal modernized, flashy and uncomfortable furniture people tended to have. It also felt. . . nostalgic? There were some antique relics Quentin had probably kept from Japan and decided to put around the house. Hell, even a kotatsu table.

He analyzed the kitchen, fairly modern. Fridge AI, electric stove, microwave? 

That was peculiar, microwaves had gone fairly out of use with the new safety-proofing and speed updates ovens received, along with the rumors that microwaves were making foods radioactive.

Odysseus crouched down and looked at it, seemed like a normal microwave.

He shrieked, waking up Quentin, who’d been sleeping on the couch.

Odysseus turned his head, pointing frantically at Quentin. “THAT- THAT THING JUST SPOKE.”

The painter got up, rubbing zeir eyes. “Yeah, it’s the Microwave.”

“I know it’s a microwave why does it SPEAK?”

“It’s not just any microwave, it’s the Microwave.”

“They named it the Microwave.”

“Yes.”

He sighed, “That’s so pretentious.”

Quentin shrugged. “I don’t mind it, this thing can create micro-fires that heats up your food, it even comes with a steaming feature!”

As Quentin walked towards him, Odysseus looked back at the Microwave. “Why is it called the Microwave if it doesn’t use microwaves?”

Zey paused, “Uh. . . because it functions like one?”

“Seems like false marketing, a more appropriate name would be the Micro-fire or someth—“

Odysseus jumped back, grabbing a spatula in defense. “AND WHY THE FUCK DOES IT SPEAK?”

Quentin giggled, “It’s also advertised as a friend.”

“Whoever thinks this makes a good friend needs to smack concrete.”

Odysseus put the spatula back and walked speedily away, “I should get going anyway.”

Quentin watched him, suddenly speaking up. “Oh! I could take you home if you want.”

Halfway out of the bedroom with his clothes hanging off his arms, the stray questioned him, “I don’t know, my part of town isn’t exactly nice.”

“I lived through a civil war, I’m sure I can handle whatever shabby place you live at.”

Odysseus was about to speak to correct Quentin on what he’s meant by “nice,” but decided against it. He’s new in town, he doesn’t know anything about him yet. . .

“. . .fine.”

Quentin and Odysseus went downstairs, where Lily’s car had been yesterday a new white convertible was waiting. Did he actually buy a new car too? How fucking loaded is he?

“1819 Seiza Avenue.”

After he told the GPS his address, the two were off.

For a few minutes, the ride was pretty awkward. He lived on the other side od town so they might as well have made small talk.

“Did you seriously buy a car yesterday? What do you even do for a living?”

Quentin looked over at him. “Oh! Yeah, thought I might as well. I’m a painter.”

“Huh, nice. Why’d you choose to live here?”

“It’s familiar here, Japan is still rebuilding and this is pretty similar in some ways, even if the culture’s been separated for decades.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He gulped. “Thanks for letting me sleep in your bed.”

“Hm? Oh right, it wasn’t a big deal, gave me an excuse to get furniture.”

He turned forwards, “Your house is nice.”

“Thanks.”

The two finally arrived at their destination, Odysseus quickly got out of the car but Quentin insisted on following him to the door. He had no idea what Odysseus meant, he lived in once of the tallest and most lavish buildings in the area, right next to the pier as well.

“Ah, young master. We were wondering where you were off to.” the receptionist on the first floor had said.

Quentin walked behind Odysseus and questioned him, slightly unnerved by the circumstances. “Hey, why’d the receptionist call you that?”

“It’s nothing.” He said, moving quicker to get to the elevator.

They went all the way to the top floor, Quentin’s anxiety bubbling over during the wait. Had it been a bad idea to follow him here? Was he getting himself into deep waters and didn’t know how to swim?

As the chime rung and the elevator’s doors opened, Odysseus walked over to the penthouse’s front door and knocked on the door.

A girl who looked like him with orange highlights answered the door, looking at him and then Quentin.

“When you didn’t answer your calls yesterday I thought you died, was not* expecting to see you were slutting out.”