"Normally this is a broom closet, but I just keep the broom and dustpan in the kitchen." Crow waved his arm to let the robot know he could get out of the small area. "You know, Bender," he scratched the back of his head. "I meant to ask you this earlier, but how did you know I was anxious after the phone call with Leela?"
"Aside from you yelling expletives, you were aggressively shaking your leg on the stool," Bender answered in an easygoing manner, emerging from the closet. "Even at work, I can tell you're on pins and needles. You know how many times I almost offered you some of my beer?" Crow suddenly bared his teeth and tapped his bottom lip in discomfort, leaning against the wall and slouching. He tried so hard to conceal his worries while at work, and the most stoic crewmate was able to see through him. "Is there a reason why you're on edge, or is it just general anxiety crap?" He asked seriously.
"Yes." The lemming answered quickly, not processing what he said. "I mean, there is a reason."
"Talk to me." The robot crouched to be eye level with Crow. "You listened to me when I was low, so it's only proper if I return the favor." His infrequent moments of sincerity and compassion were seldom wasted. Without taking another breath, Crow immediately began speaking.
"I feel like everyone at work hates me." Bender listened intently, eyes broadening. "I feel like their eyes are constantly on me, so I try to make zero mistakes. I get overwhelmed with a billion tasks so I can prove to them that I'm not incompetent." He shamefully avoided eye contact.
"So that explains the incident with the shipment of glass vases!" Bender said in realization. Crow nodded his head briskly.
"Isn't that sad?" Crow laughed self-deprecatingly. "They invited me to dinner and wanted to take me clubbing, yet I still feel like they don't like me."
"Well," The bending unit cleared his throat. "I can't speak for the others, but what I can tell you is that they have zero reasons to hate you."
"Really?"
"Everyone at Planet Express has botched deliveries at least once in their tenure. It's okay." Bender's voice was missing its self-righteous air; uncharacteristically warm.
"I'm assuming you're not exempt from that."
"No crap, meatbag! I've done much worse, both on the job and off." He looked at his circular feet and frowned, his motherboard heavy with guilt over the incident at the Palisades. "But they still keep me around." His eyes shifted to Crow's with a gleam of hope, keeping the fact that Crow never left his side after the fallout of the Palisades fiasco in mind. "Isn't that right?"
"Jumping off a cliff isn't the worst thing I've seen a robot do." Just seeing the edges of Crow's lips curl in delight was enough for the robot's guilt to be truly vanquished. "Thanks, Bender." With no reply, Bender aided the lemming with getting up from the ground, comfortably grabbing his forearm. "We should probably head off to bed. Lemme get changed into some pajamas and I'll be right back!" Bender watched the lemming enter the bathroom down the hallway. He heard the sink run and presumed the lemming was brushing his teeth. Two minutes later, the extraterrestrial exited the bathroom wearing a short-sleeved, peach pink pajama shirt decorated with emerald green palm trees, matching shorts, and a plush, maroon drape over his right shoulder. "I have a surprise for you!" He slowly drew out the last word excitedly.
"Did you find malt liquor somewhere in the medicine cabinet?" Bender guessed. Crow shook his head and picked up the mysterious object that was slung over his body. It was a brand new bathrobe, lined with pink silk on the inside and covered with soft, Egyptian cotton.
"Try it on." The robot gingerly nabbed the robe, looking down at the article of clothing and back at the lemming. He delicately put his arms through the sleeves and tied the belt securely around his waist.
"How do I look?" He rested his hand below his mouth and lowered his eyelids, awaiting Crow's reaction. He noticed how the alien's front pocket of his pajamas stored the cigar he had given to him earlier that night. It pleased him to picture the plucky lemming carrying it wherever he went like a lucky charm. It was even more hysterical to imagine him trying to smoke—a beginner like him would gag and cough his lungs out.
"Lemme take a couple of steps back, and…" Crow walked backward until the robot's silhouette was in view. The automaton looked suave and sophisticated, a playboy. He pictured him sitting by a crackling fireplace, swirling a round ball of ice in a glass of whiskey with a deviously foxy look on his face. To absolve himself of the shame he had imagining Bender in that scenario, he told himself that scenario was what he would likely do. He knew that he thought highly of himself and dreamed of living deliciously. "You look… you look..." His words were lost on the tip of his tongue.
"Spit it out already!" Bender groaned impatiently. "I get cranky when I'm tired."
"You look comfortable." Crow was blank-faced.
"Huh." The robot's arms were at his sides. "I was expecting you to say that I look 'stunning' or something like that." The lemming walked to the door of his bedroom and opened it slightly while Bender waltzed to the closet space right across from Crow's room.
"Am I still getting my ass handed to me?" Crow chortled, looking at him from the side.
"I changed my mind," Bender answered lazily. "Doesn't mean you're in the clear, though."
The alien snorted affably. "Goodnight, Bender." He shut the door gently and turned off the light. Bender stood in front of the door for a prolonged amount of time, unsure of what to do with his bearings. Slowly turning away, he walked past the closet space, with heavyset feet gliding on the carpet. He observed the distant, scattered cans of White Graw on the coffee table. The light above the kitchen sink left the area around it a pale yellow aura, the slivers of a bright light seen through the large window by the wall closest to the television dimming and reflecting on the metallic scraps. He approached the cans and held one, somberly observing his vague reflection. He gathered the rest of the empty cans and dumped them into the garbage.
Making his way to his guest room, he observed the city skyline through the window pane. He could faintly see the cherry red neon sign of his apartment building from where he stood. It was quite a walk back and he was glad that he was spending the night, for he didn't want Crow to lose sleep over his whereabouts. Lowering his head, he walked away from the window and down the hallway, the base of the robe flowing behind his legs. Entering the closet, he quietly shut the door, now enveloped in complete darkness.
Bender was unable to fall asleep, reeling in complete isolation within the space that normally brought comfort to him. The small box felt simultaneously barren and cramped, only reinforcing that he never felt more comfortable in his life than he did resting his head on Crow's lap. He kept replaying the moments where he brushed against his shoulder, desperately trying to recapture how his velvety palms felt against this hard exterior, the glances they exchanged to see if they both were paying attention to the movie, his inner machinery resounding like a white noise machine. They behaved so familiarly in one another's presence and it baffled the robot to an extreme degree. How they were so in tune was beyond him. But what he was certain of was that it thrilled him with every step they took running down the streets, never looking back, taking time away from their work life. He lounged on Crow's legs so comfortably and with an immense sense of familiarity like he and Crow were always affectionate to a degree.
Despite all the drinks and television watching, it ended for him much like the copious nights of partying and bringing a few women home for a good time: all by his lonesome. Even though he was in an area of such familiarity and security, he regarded himself as nothing but a forlorn, pitiful bending unit. He wanted to experience the feeling of being embraced again. He wanted just another minute of comfort to lull him to sleep. He couldn't comfort himself by thinking of someone that looked at him the way Crow did, because, from all the friends he had, no one but Crow looked at him in such high regard. He didn't want to leave himself sick to his stomach at the mere prospect of how he even took a glance at the lemming because he didn't want to be reminded of the answer. Then it hit him.
"Nobody's an exception, especially you!"
A feeling of nausea bubbled within him that began to fester the longer he remained still. He tried to reassure himself that if Crow was uncomfortable by what he said, he would tell him directly. He knew that he was a relatively direct person, but his common sense was chucked out the window. Surely his alien friend wasn't in a panic, terrified that his best friend was going to kill him in his sleep. Bender desperately grasped at any rational thought he had. There was no way that was the case, he thought to himself. His self assurances were futile, absolutely convinced that Crow was trembling in fear. The tight space and fluffy robe made his entire body overheat, his hands trembling and jostling around erratically. For a split second, his body convulsed before remaining eerily dormant. His memory clear, he slowly turned the doorknob, pleasantly surprised by the radio silence of the door-hinge. Without thinking twice, he gingerly opened the door to Crow's room, absolutely surprised by the contents within.
The pitch-black room was illuminated by a warm, orange light given off by a tiny desk lamp at the farthest corner. A loud fan filled the air with noise and cooled the room. The walls were lined with a repeated pattern of the Jazz cup design, streaks of turquoise and magenta behind an off white. Numerous posters of old bands such as King Crimson and Pink Floyd, which Bender only knew because Crow gushed about them during a relatively uneventful dispatch to Wormulon. He remembered that same day Crow told him that he would play a song by King Crimson, but never did. He wasn't mad, of course. He always knew that he was a bit forgetful with things and focused on one task at a time. Confessedly, he felt like he missed out on something grand and wished he reminded him earlier. Aside from the bells and whistles on the walls and potted plants by the window sill, Crow's room sported a cluttered art desk with paints, brushes, and an open-faced tablet computer. He did mention that he graduated from Mars University, but never mentioned what his major was. If it was the arts, he assumed he was incredibly shy about it. Striding past the desk, the cozy light became brighter, signaling that he reached the bedside table. On the table was a water bottle whose cap was partially screwed on, the rodent's cell phone face down and hooked up to a charger, and the cigar he let him keep. A measly cigar that Bender viewed as a symbol of coolness contained sentimental value to the alien. It made him feel special that Crow didn't toss it aside, even if he knew he was never going to smoke it. His elation was propelled by noticing the ice blue vase that stored the roses he gave to him earlier that day.
Looking to his right, he could see the green tufts of hair underneath a heavy, grey blanket at the side of the bed furthest away from him. He peered at the bed and then to the window, still seeing the smallest fragment of the Robot Arms Apartments building sign. An impulse to run away without a trace occupied his hardware, but he refused. He walked to the side of the bed Crow was sleeping on and stood there in complete silence. He was unable to see the alien's face as it became apparent he was sleeping on his abdomen and not his side. Looming over him, Bender placed his shaky, steel hand on Crow's head and gently patted it. The lemming's hair texture was brand new to him and caused his inner parts to roll. It felt soft, comparable to silk, therapeutic to his troubled soul. His metal fingers occasionally got caught on a few knots, though he made sure not to yank at them. He continued to stroke Crow's head for a couple of minutes before growing woozy. Even expressing the most minimal physical affection made him feel good. He slipped his hand off of the slumbering alien's head and walked away. Shutting the door on his way out, he reentered the closet. He shut his eyes and fell into sleep mode, hoping that what he did was enough to show Crow that he could never hurt him.
Crow opened his eyes and lifted his head, mildly disoriented. He thought he heard something, but nothing in his room looked out of place. Shrugging, he shuffled his body to grab a fluffy feather pillow that was next to him. He positioned it to lie on top of the pillow and wrapped his arms around it, tenderly shifting the weight of his torso onto it. His bed feeling more homely, Crow nuzzled the pillow, instantaneously nodding off with a tranquil grin. Maybe a cat snuck into the apartment after all. That would be the first time Bender was right about something.