Whumpee wants to be good so deeply, wants to get the pats on the head, the praise, the safety that comes with being good.
But here, they couldnât figure out what good was.
Theyâd stay awake all night, cleaning in practiced silence, till the entire apartment was immaculate, but all they got was a worried look and encouragement to sleep, to ârestâ.
Why? What benefit did their master get from them sleeping or resting? Sleeping was a necessary delay, they knew that well enough, but resting? Theyâd never had so little to do that there was time to waste resting.
Of course, it wasnât up to them, even if they didnât understand, it was their job to obey. So, here they were. âRestingâ.
They even thought they were doing that wrong, with how master kept glancing at them out of the corner of their eyes. Sitting criss cross on the floor, perfectly still. Resting.
(Honey must be the name master had picked for them, though it seemed like they werenât sure if they wanted to call them Honey or Buddy, but that was okay, they figured out to respond to both.)
(Master didnât want to be called master, or sir, or anything, so it made all of their sentences sound choppy and clipped, like a mouth with a missing tooth.)
âHow about you come sit over here on the couch?â
Their heart sank. They must have done something wrong if Master wanted them within arms reach. Or they were expected to mess something up, and would need to be corrected often.
Carefully, they stood, and sat on the couch, trying to figure out what it was that theyâd done wrong. Were they slouching? They sat extra straight, just in case. Had they been making a face? They made sure their expression was exact, placid and pleasant. What else could it be?
âYou can slouch you know, itâs just us here.â Their tone was light, almost playful, but he knew better. Heâd learned already, he knew how to win this game. He looked towards them, carefully avoiding eye contact, then looked forward again. Acknowledge, but donât lapse. It was a test, to see if heâd break the rules without being told to. It had caught him thousands of times before, but not anymore.
But when Master only sighed slightly, it didnât feel like heâd won.
Did they want him to mess up? Were they looking for a reason to punish him? They truly didnât need a reason, surely, butâŚ
It was good, right, that they would only punish him if he did wrong, even if they wanted to otherwise? But then, how long before they grew frustrated, and the impending punishment would be so much worse.
All of those thoughts happened in seconds, and boiled down to a single question. Should he slouch?
On one hand, he should, it would give them what they wanted and it would be better than waiting for a worse fate down the road. On the other hand,,, Even the idea of being hit or scolded made his chest tighten up painfully.
Selfishly, he stayed still, heart beating in his throat.
He wanted to be good so bad, he hadnât figured anyone out yet here and it was going on two weeks. And they seemed so much nicer than the others, he hadnât be punished even the few times heâd slipped, why now?
âHoneyâŚâ their voice was so soft, and so was the gentle hand on his shoulder, but he flinched anyway, âyou really can relax, itâs okay.â
His mouth was so dry he almost changed his mind, but he figured one way or another, heâd have to do this eventually.
âDo I have permission?â
At least if he got hit for asking, it would give them what they wanted. He braced for the worst but all that came was-
âDo I have permission to relax?â
âOf course? Yes, yes, you have permission to relax, please do.â There was something in their voice, almost like relief, but he wasnât sure. It wasnât that exactly, and that certainly made no sense anyway.
