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Sometimes I watch him sleep, when I can’t. Rolled onto his stomach, pillow pushed out of the way, he looks as peaceful as I’ve seen. I wonder what he dreams about. I wonder if it’s me.

I go to sit at his desk, spin in his chair, study his breadboard and multimeter. I read a few pages of the book he’s earmarked, try to learn about motor operation but get lost in the description of currents and fields. I’ve asked him before, if I can compare my kinds of networks to his.

When the sky lightens and the plant lights flick on, he comes and kisses the crown of my head. I ask him how he is; he tells me how he slept. I hide my wry smile behind the coffee he’s set out. Maybe I should think of him less as one of his systems, and more like one of mine. Air-gapped. I wonder if I’ll ever find a way in.