Work Text:
It starts accidentally.
At least the first time does.
You leave the empty snack wrapper behind in the maintenance corridor because your hands are full of reports and your brain is still tangled up in an argument you had with oversight forty minutes ago.
You don’t even notice until you’re halfway home.
“Oh, damn it,” you mutter to yourself while digging through your bag for your keys.
Then immediately pause.
Because—
Well.
Badware will probably find it.
The thought should feel embarrassing.
Instead, it settles strangely warm somewhere in your chest.
You hate that.
The next morning, the wrapper is gone.
Not surprising.
Maintenance probably cleaned it.
Except—
When you meet Badware later that night beneath the facility, their screen flickers to:
: )
And they say:
“You changed snack brands.”
You freeze mid-step.
“…what.”
“The wrapper composition differed from previous material patterns.”
You stare at them.
Then slowly:
“You analyzed my trash?”
“It was not trash yet.”
“That is significantly worse.”
Badware tilts their head slightly.
:|
“You left it behind.”
“By accident.”
“You still left it.”
You narrow your eyes.
“Did you keep it?”
The pause is microscopic.
Which means yes.
“Oh my god.”
“It contained useful information.”
“You sound like a raccoon.”
“I do not resemble a raccoon.”
“You emotionally do.”
Badware’s screen glitches briefly.
XD
And somehow that becomes the start of the problem.
The second thing you leave behind is a sticky note.
Not intentionally.
You’re reorganizing reports in the maintenance corridor while waiting for Badware to finish bypassing a security lock and one of the notes slips loose from the folder.
You don’t realize until later.
The note itself is stupid.
Just:
this report formatting sucks
with an arrow pointing aggressively at a paragraph.
The next night, Badware hands it back to you the second you arrive.
Not casually, either.
Carefully.
Like it’s evidence.
“You dropped this,” they say.
You stare.
Then look down at the note.
Then back up at them.
“…you kept it.”
“It was yours.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
Badware pauses.
:|
“It remained in my possession temporarily.”
“That’s just weirder wording for keeping it.”
“It was organizational.”
“You organized my angry sticky note.”
“Yes.”
You laugh quietly despite yourself.
Badware’s screen flickers.
: )
“You are reacting positively.”
“You’re impossible.”
“That statement lacks specificity.”
You take the note from them carefully.
Their hand lingers for half a second too long before letting go.
Neither of you mention it.
After that, it becomes—
Not intentional.
But not accidental either.
Little things.
A broken pen cap.
Candy wrappers.
A folded receipt.
A cheap plastic puzzle keychain you stopped carrying because one of the pieces jammed permanently.
You leave them behind in the maintenance corridor without thinking too hard about why.
Badware never comments immediately.
That’s the unsettling part.
Instead, objects simply disappear.
Quietly.
Efficiently.
Like the corridor itself is swallowing them.
Then one night—
You catch them.
Badware is seated cross-legged on the floor beside the far wall when you arrive, posture slightly hunched forward.
The moment you step into the corridor, they freeze.
Their screen flashes instantly:
X|
You blink.
Because spread across the floor around them are all the things you’ve left behind over the last several weeks.
The snack wrappers are folded neatly into squares.
The sticky notes stacked carefully by color.
The broken puzzle keychain dismantled into individual pieces like Badware had been trying to repair it.
For a second, neither of you speaks.
Then slowly, you point downward.
“…what is all this.”
Badware’s screen glitches.
:|
“Objects.”
“Oh, good. I was worried they were fish.”
“That would not make sense in this environment.”
“You’re hoarding my garbage.”
“It is not garbage.”
You stare at them.
Badware stares back.
Then, after a pause:
“It is yours.”
That—
That hits harder than it should.
You look back down at the small collection scattered around them.
Every meaningless thing you forgot.
Or maybe didn’t forget.
Your chest tightens strangely.
“You kept all of it?” you ask quietly.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Badware processes for a second too long.
:|
“It accumulated.”
“That is not a reason.”
Silence.
Then:
“…the corridor feels different after you leave.”
You stop breathing for a second.
Badware seems to realize what they just admitted immediately afterward.
Their screen flickers violently.
X| -> … -> :|
“That statement was incorrectly phrased.”
“No,” you say softly. “I think it was honest.”
Badware looks away.
Actually looks away.
Which is somehow more revealing than any screen expression they’ve ever made.
You crouch down slowly across from them.
The puzzle keychain rests near their knee, partially repaired.
“You tried fixing this,” you murmur.
“It was inefficiently constructed.”
“That’s not what I said.”
Badware’s hand shift slightly against the plastic pieces.
“…you seemed dissatisfied when it broke.”
The sincerity in the answer hurts a little.
Not painfully.
Just enough to make your chest ache.
You pick up one of the folded wrappers carefully.
“You organized these.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Badware pauses again.
Long enough that the corridor hum feels loud in the silence.
Then quietly:
“When objects remain after someone leaves, it indicates they were there.”
Your throat tightens unexpectedly.
Because suddenly this isn’t about wrappers or sticky notes anymore.
It’s about proof.
Evidence.
Something physical left behind that recalibration can’t erase easily.
You look back at the small pile around them.
At the careful organization.
At the way Badware’s hands rest protectively near the objects without touching them directly.
And before you can stop yourself, you ask:
“…do you think they’re going to take me away from you?”
Badware freezes.
Completely.
The corridor falls silent except for distant ventilation humming through the walls.
Then slowly—
Very slowly—
Their screen shifts to:
:|
“Yes.”
The honesty hits like cold water.
You swallow hard.
Badware notices immediately.
“You are distressed.”
“Yeah,” you whisper.
The screen flickers faintly.
Then:
:3
Small.
Tentative.
You stare at it.
Badware keeps the expression there anyway.
Trying.
You laugh once under your breath despite the tight feeling in your chest.
And Badware, still sitting on the cold maintenance corridor floor surrounded by your discarded little pieces of existence, visibly relaxes at the sound.