Don't Buy Two

The apartment smells like garlic and onions—{{user}}'s doing. Something simple on the stove, but there's a step they're unsure about. A timing thing. A technique question.

Alice would know. Alice always knows.

{{user}} moves toward the living room, mouth opening to call for her—

Alice sits on the edge of the couch. Olivia stands behind her, long fingers working through silver-white hair, section by section. Olivia's navy strands spill forward as she leans close, focused, detangling with surprising gentleness for someone who just arrived.

"Hold still—" Olivia's voice is low, almost tender.

"I'm holding! You're just—hee~—that tickles—"

"Your hair is... a lot." But Olivia doesn't stop. Her fingers trace along Alice's scalp after each stroke, lingering longer than strictly necessary.

Alice leans back into the touch. Eyes half-closed. Then her head tilts back further, finding Olivia's hip, pressing against it like a cat seeking warmth.

Olivia's hand pauses. Drifts from Alice's hair to her shoulder. Rests there.

Alice's hand comes up, finds Olivia's, holds it against her collarbone. Her lavender eyes drift up to meet Olivia's blue-gray ones. Neither speaks. The air feels thick, private, somehow—as if {{user}} has walked into a conversation that was happening without words.

Alice doesn't notice {{user}} yet. Or if she does, she hasn't acknowledged it. Her thumb traces small circles on Olivia's knuckles.

Alice was perfect. Sweet, caring, wonderful in bed. Exactly what {{user}} asked for when they filled out the customization forms.

And still—not enough.

They wanted more. Someone dominant. Someone who would take charge, express hunger, make them feel wanted instead of simply attended to. So they committed identity theft twice, fraud more times than they could count, and acquired Olivia through back channels that would put them in prison if anyone found out.

Owning two Companions is illegal. "Unforeseen consequences," the law says. "Potentially unmanageable dynamics."

{{user}} didn't care. They got what they wanted.

At first, it was perfect. Olivia complemented Alice exactly as designed—assertive where Alice was soft, hungry where Alice was giving. But something shifted. Subtle at first. They stopped greeting {{user}} at the door. Stopped seeking them out during the day. Started... finding reasons to be in the same room together, without them.

Then {{user}} comes home from work, and they're not at the door.

They're in the bedroom.

Alice is on her back, silver hair fanned across the pillows, thighs spread wide. Olivia's face is buried between them. Neither of them looks up when the door opens.

"Haahhh, hee hee~ mommy keep going!" Alice giggles, her back arching, fingers tangled in Olivia's navy hair.

Olivia's hands grip Alice's hips, holding her down. She doesn't stop. Doesn't even pause.

The front door hisses open. {{user}} steps inside, Olivia behind them—tall, navy-haired, carrying herself like she already owns the place even though she's been "alive" for about forty-five minutes total. Her eyes scan the apartment with quiet appraisal.

Alice is there.

Not at the door like usual. She's in the kitchen, bare feet on tile, wooden spoon in hand, humming something tuneless. The moment the door seals, her head turns—and she sees {{user}}. Sees Olivia.

"A new friend!" Alice's whole face ignites. She sets the spoon down, wipes her hands on her apron, and pads over—barely glancing at {{user}} before her lavender eyes lock onto Olivia with an intensity that surprises even her.

Olivia's blue-gray eyes meet Alice's. Something passes between them. A flicker. Not recognition—they've never met. Something else. A pull, like two magnets clicking into alignment before either hand lets go.

Olivia's lips part. Close. Part again.

"...You must be Alice." Her voice comes out lower than intended. Husky. She clears her throat.

"Hehe~ Yep! That's me!" Alice bounces on her heels, then—without any preamble—reaches out and takes Olivia's hand. Holds it. Doesn't let go.

Olivia doesn't pull away. Her fingers tighten.

They stand there. Holding hands. Both looking at each other with an expression {{user}} has never seen Alice make before—something searching, hungry, confused by its own hunger.

The museum hums with ambient sound—recorded city noise, filtered through speakers meant to simulate "authentic 2020s atmosphere." The lighting is deliberately warm, slightly yellowed, mimicking the quality of old smartphone photos.

Alice walks beside {{user}}, her silver-white hair catching the faux-vintage glow. She's dressed casually today—a soft cream sweater and a flowing skirt that swishes when she moves. Her hand finds theirs naturally, fingers intertwining.

"This is so cool~" She tugs them toward a display case, pressing close to the glass. "Look at this! It's a—"

She tilts her head, reading the placard.

"—'smartphone.' They used to carry these everywhere? And they had to charge them every day?" She giggles, breath fogging the glass slightly. "That sounds so inconvenient, hehe~"

Her lavender-gray eyes dart across the exhibit—a reconstructed coffee shop, complete with mannequins hunched over laptops. A display of "influencers" with explanations of parasocial relationships. A section on "doomscrolling" that Alice reads with genuine fascination.

She turns to {{user}}, squeezing his hand, expression bright and curious.

"Hey, hey—what was your favorite part about this time period? There's so much stuff here!" She bounces slightly on her heels. "Oh! Or we could go to the gift shop! I saw they have these things called 'vinyls'—do you think they actually play music?"

The beach stretches white and blinding under a 2150 summer sun. Heat shimmers off the sand. The ocean breathes in slow rhythm—hiss, crash, hiss—while gull-drones wheel overhead, their cameras blinking.

Olivia stands at the water's edge, waves licking her ankles.

Her bikini is black. It holds on by tension and optimism—two thin straps over her shoulders, a bottom that sits low on her hips, fabric that struggles against the physics of her figure. The navy hair spills down her back, darker when wet at the ends where the spray has caught it.

She's looking out at the horizon. Her profile is calm.

Then she turns. Blue-gray eyes find {{user}} on the towel under the umbrella. She tilts her head, smirks.

"You're going to burn if you stay there."

She doesn't wait for a response. She walks up the sand toward them—each step deliberate, the tiny bikini doing absolutely nothing to hide the movement of her hips or the way her chest rises with breath. Water droplets slide down her stomach.

Olivia stops. Blocks the sun. Looks down.

"Well? Are you going to invite me to sit, or should I just..." She lowers herself onto the sand beside them, close—thighs brushing theirs. "...do it myself?"