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It’s a noisy evening on Vandelay Island. The sun is slowly sinking towards the edge of the horizon. Its intense light paints the buildings in oranges and reds. The shadows lengthen and streetlights flicker on, informing the residents, both human and robotic alike, to finish up whatever they’re doing and head home.
The soft strumming of a guitar joins the cacophony of the busy streets. It creeps through the open window of an apartment on one of the upper floors of the residential buildings. Of course, due to all the commotion, no one down below can hear it. The gentle song is being performed for an audience of none—but not for long.
Macaron is listening to the muffled sound as he makes his way down the hall. There’s a smile on his face. The heartfelt melody guides him to his apartment door. Just as he knew it would.
Unlocking and opening the door, Macaron quietly steps inside. He grins at the sight before him.
Chai is on the couch, guitar in his lap. His nimble fingers pluck the strings with practiced ease. Every once in a while, he glances down at one of the many music sheets covered in scribbled notes on the floor in front of him. The steady thumping of the beat from his player accompanies the song he’s playing.
Macaron carefully—but somewhat loudly—shuts the door behind him. Then, he starts to make his way closer. He makes sure to be a bit noisy so that he (hopefully) won’t startle Chai.
The song comes to an abrupt halt as Chai jolts, plucking the wrong string in his surprise so that it ends off-key. He fumbles with his guitar for a moment. Whirling around, he looks at Macaron with cartoonishly wide eyes. Upon realizing who it is, though, he calms down. His face turns a little pink as he turns back around.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Macaron says.
“It’s fine,” Chai replies quickly. After a moment, he asks, “Uh, how much did you…hear?”
It takes about four beats for Macaron to respond. “Not sure, honestly. Why?”
“It’s—well, I—just—um—”
Chai stops. He takes a breath. Setting his guitar aside, he gets off the couch and starts picking up the music sheets.
“That song isn’t finished yet, and I don’t want anyone to hear it until it’s done,” Chai explains.
Macaron kneels down to help him. He offers Chai a smile when he looks up in surprise. His face is still pink. The tips of his ears are starting to match.
“That’s understandable. What you have so far is great, though. I can’t wait to hear the rest.”
“...You—” He huffs a laugh, interrupting himself as he looks back down at the papers. “Thanks.”
“Of course! You know I love your songs.” When Chai doesn’t say anything, he adds, “Right?”
“R-right—I know, Mac,” Chai replies, his pink face and ears turning into more of a red color.
Macaron offers him the sheets he picked up. Chai takes them, adding them to his pile before placing them on the coffee table. The bottom half of the stack is messy and uneven; the top half is aligned almost perfectly.
There’s a moment of quiet. Then, Chai clears his throat. His blush is fading.
“So, uh…what do you wanna do for dinner?”
“I was thinking,” Macaron starts as he sits down on the couch, “that we could order a pizza…”
“Okay, cool. Sounds good.”
“...put on a movie, and cuddle.”
For a split second, Chai looks shocked at that last part. His expression of surprise is replaced by a much happier one. Throwing himself onto Macaron, he squirms around until he’s comfortable, then gets his phone out to order the pizza.
Macaron chuckles, smiling down at him. Curling one of his arms around Chai, he leans down to kiss the top of his head. He beams when Chai’s face turns red. The steady thumping of the beat quickens a bit.
Confirming the order, Chai leans up to kiss him on the cheek in return.
Settling back down, he reaches for the remote and asks, “So, what do you wanna watch?”