How about- by the river, sad/hurt feelings, with the host? (I'm indecisive on a second character)
“The Host can’t help but wonder why Bing asked for his assistance.” The Host trailed a few steps behind the android as he hopped from half-submerged rock to half-submerged rock, occasionally bending to examine something in the rushing water.
“Cause I’m looking for cool rocks to skip and Googs wouldn’t help me.” The lie-- practiced, many times-- fell unsteadily from his lips. He glanced back at the Host, hoping he hadn’t noticed.
He was too busy being skeptical, it seemed, as he waved a hand in front of his face. “Take note of the Host’s general lack of eyes.”
“Maybe you should try smelling rocks to see if they’re good,” Bing suggested.
“Maybe you should tell me why we’re really out here.” It was rare, the Host’s use of first person. Bing had only ever heard him use it with Dr. Iplier. He felt a warm glow come to his cheeks at the thought that maybe the Host trusted him enough to drop his guard.
And, at the same time, massive anxiety that he’d finally have to come clean.
He stood, sneakers crunching over gravel as he made his way over to the Host. “I have something to tell you,” he began, stopping immediately in front of him.
The Host didn’t react; did he even know Bing was there? He had to.
Bing sighed, steeling himself. At least the Host wasn’t mean, like Blue and his idiot henchmen. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead found himself leaning in. Pressing his lips to the Host’s in a brief kiss. A peck.
Still the Host was silent. Even when he broke away, barely a moment later.
A few more moments passed-- an eternity-- before he deigned to speak. “Is this what Bing wanted to tell me?”
“Uh, yeah.” Bing didn’t look at him. Didn’t want to see the disappointment, or worse, the disgust.
But the Host took gentle hold of his chin and lifted his face so they were eye to “eye.” “I knew,” he said.
Bing spluttered. “What?”
The Host grinned, a nice flash of white teeth. “I was waiting for you to tell me. Took you long enough.”
“I-I-” He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t process. “I-” thankfully, before anything stupid could come falling out of his mouth, the Host kissed him, and shut him up.
He’d been spending more time between the stacks lately.
The Host could hear him, could hear the mechanical whirring of his core, so different from a heartbeat. Could hear the faint clicking of his joints as he moved, as he pulled one book from the shelf, then another.
It puzzled him- but only for a brief moment, before images flooded his mind and words sprang to his lips, interrupting his recording but telling him what he needed to know- why an android like Bing would need to visit the library when he already had near-constant access to the Internet.
But once he knew, it still didn’t make any sense. Why would Bing have romantic feelings towards him?
The Host didn’t have to strain to hear him now, pulling a book from its designated place on the shelf. Didn’t have to focus to detect the slight acceleration of Bing’s core when his eyes found the Host through the gap in the books.
The Host never did anything about it, though. Never acknowledged Bing’s presence in the hopes that Bing would someday realize that the Host had nothing to offer him. Nothing but old blood and whispered words and musty, dusty books.
So he wasn’t sure why today was different. Why today he found himself removing his headphones, switching off his recording equipment, pushing up from his chair, and letting his narrations lead him to Bing.
—
He scanned the cover of the book- one he had no interest in whatsoever- for less than a second. By the time he looked back up, through the gap, the Host had disappeared. His headphones lay, abandoned, on his desk next to his radio.
Bing quickly slid the book back onto the shelf, torn between fleeing and waiting. Panic raced through his systems.
What if the Host finally kicked him out? What if he was irritated that Bing was trespassing in his beloved library?
What if he knew how Bing felt about him?
“The Host knows.”
Bing whirled, gave a surprised yelp, and saw the Host, standing a mere foot away from him.
His lips- lips Bing could barely drag his eyes away from, they were so pretty, he wanted to kiss them- pulled into a frown and his hands were folded behind his back. “The Host knows of Bing’s feelings.”
“You- you do?” It came out a squeak. “I-”
“The Host does not have much to give Bing.” The Host’s face tilted down toward the floor. His frown deepened. Then his head bobbed back up. “Bing’s efforts are best directed elsewhere.”
“I don’t care!” Bing burst out. “I don’t care about that, about what you have ‘to give me,’ or whatever. I care about you. I love listening to you talk and I love your podcasts and I love-”
He glanced down, cheeks flaming orange. “I love you.”
There was a long, tense pause, permeated only by the Host’s soft muttering. Bing cringed inwardly. The Host surely hated him now. Would probably tell him to get out, to never come back.
Finally, the Host said, “is this the part where we kiss?”
“I- yeah, dude, if you want. I’d- I’d like that.” Bing looked up to find that the Host was suddenly a lot closer to him, leaning in, hands coming up to cup the android’s face, pressing his lips to Bing’s.
His lips were just as soft as Bing had imagined them to be.
An unexpected friend is what he found in the Host. Grim, stoic Host and his constant mutterings and bloody bandages instead of eyes.
It struck Bing as strange, and he often wondered why the Host would want to hang out with a default like him. The Host was so much more powerful than him. He was more powerful than Google, more powerful than Wilford or Dark, even.
But there he was, content to sit in Bing’s bean bag chair while the android played Mario Kart, smiling and saying hi to Chase and Jackieboy Man through the voice chat. And he never seemed to mind Bing’s presence in the library.
And it came to be that Bing wasn’t so creeped out by the Host, that he actually enjoyed having him around.
But, as hard as he tried to be a good friend, they were different. It was only a matter of time before he went too far one day and ruined it.
And that day came sooner than expected.
“Dude! You’ll never believe-” Bing stopped short just as he entered the library, any exclamations about his first victory in Fortnite dying before they even formed.
Something was off.
The library was dark, and devoid of all life except for the sobbing Bing could detect from further within.
No. Now that he listened closer he realized that it wasn’t crying. Wasn’t sobbing.
It was talking. Talking so fast that the words ran together into one jumbled mess that rose and fell in volume like a wave.
“Host?” His sensors told him that the source was farther in, way farther in than he had ever been before.
That’s where he headed, weaving through the labyrinthine stacks.
There was blood everywhere. The air was heavy with the coppery stench of it, the floor was slick with it.
And in the middle of it was the Host. He cowered like a wounded animal amidst a pile of books that were in various states of disarray, as if he’d swept them from the shelf.
His hands- red-stained, white-knuckled- were buried in his hair as if he were trying to tear the black-gold curls from his scalp and his bandages were soaked through with blood. Far too much blood. Blood that gushed down his face and dripped down his neck, from his chin.
And from his lips poured the words.
Bing hurried to him. What was happening? He knew that the Host has visions, knew they could get bad. But surely, they couldn’t be this bad.
“Host! Dude!” No response. No stop to the talking.
Bing reached out to touch him. Just before he could, however, the Host’s hand shot out, snatched his wrist.
Bing gave a shout of surprise that quickly turned to one of pain as the Host squeezed his wrist so tightly that he thought it might snap his wrist supports. “Host-”
“Leave.” A single word, snarled at him.
“No- no, dude, I can’t just leave you like this. What do you need? I can go get-”
“If Bing knows what is-what is good for him. He. Will. Leave.” The Host’s loosened his grip, released him completely. He went back to clutching at his hair, rocking back and forth.
“Host, let’s just get you somewhere safe where you can calm down,” Bing insisted, running a quick search online as he spoke, searching for something, anything, that might help. “I’m your friend. Let me help you.”
“Bing is no such thing. He is nothing. Nothing to the Host. He means nothing.” The Host spat the words at him with so much venom that Bing actually took a step back. “The Host does not have friends, so why is Bing still here?”
Bing shook his head, tears pricking at his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair. “I dunno, dude. I dunno. Why can’t you just let someone care about you?”
“Stop-stop talking,” the Host twisted his head sharply, “just leave.”
So he did, leaving the Host on his knees in a pool of blood.
—
A couple of days passed, then a week, then two, and the Host didn’t appear at his door, didn’t come to play Fortnite and Mario Kart.
He didn’t show up to meetings, either, and Bing’s anger gradually faded to worry.
He missed the Host. Missed his continuous mutterings and his comments on whatever game Bing was obsessed with at the time.
He missed his friend.
But he’s not your friend, Bing reminded himself bitterly, throwing his controller down as his character died.
Not his friend, not anything. Nothing, according to the Host. According to Google, too.
The soft knocking on his door jolted him from his thoughts.
Bing glanced at the door. He was half-tempted to not even bother. Maybe whoever wanted something from him would go away if he ignored it.
He waited.
Another knock. And then a soft, uncertain, “the Host knows Bing is present.”
“Host?” Bing got up, practically ran to the door, threw it open to reveal the Host.
The Host looked exhausted: dried blood tracked its way down his face and his hair stuck up every which way and his skin was paler than death.
But there he stood.
And as Bing stared at him, all the anger came flooding back. The overheated whirring of his core filled the thick silence.
“Well?” He demanded. “What do you want?”
The Host took a deep, shuddering breath. Let it out slowly. “The Host- the Host wants to apologize.”
Bing scowled at him, tried to blink back the tears that threatened to form. “Yeah? And I-”
“Wait.” The Host snapped. Then he blanched, pressed his fingers together in front of him, like he was nervous.
“I’m waitin’, dude.”
“The Host- the Host was your friend. And he- I- fucked up. This is on me.” The Host’s voice cracked, just once, and Bing caved.
“Wanna come play Fortnite? Bet you’d be real good,” he said with a small smile.
The Host whispered something to himself under his breath. Then he smiled too. “The Host- I would like that. Show me how to play.”
“Sure thing, dude.” Bing grinned, led the Host in, shutting the door behind them.
