Resolutions 18: Support Rotation

Read from the beginning of this serialized novel at “Resolutions.”

Max moved like a metronome, arms folded behind its narrow frame, steps unnaturally fluid, a perfect mimicry of grace without intention. Graham followed, his pace stifled by the constriction of his compression trousers, the fabric sculpting his thighs and binding his lower belly in a soft vise. Each step felt like a silent reprimand. His lavender shirt clung faintly beneath the arm, damp where sweat met synthetic fibers. The ArcturusVision Glasses pressed into his temples, a gentle but insistent hum that made the skin there throb with low-grade awareness. 

The coffee shop, if it could still be called that, was tucked into the ground floor of a glass and steel skyscraper downtown near ArcturusVision headquarters. The establishment, once unassumingly called Beanz and run by a friendly, somewhat crunchy Australian couple, now bore the sterile designation Fraternal Household Harmony Annex, Satellite 7. Graham had passed Beanz hundreds of times, only occasionally stopping by to work on his laptop or re-caffeinate after hitting the gym. 

Now, Fraternal Household Harmony Annex, Satellite 7 looked like a threshold to another world. Inside, soft filtered light spilled across a minimalist open space. The air smelled faintly of pine polymer and French vanilla. A semicircle of identical chairs—blonde wood, molded backs—curved like a quiet audience awaiting a sermon. Four men, nearly identical in form and dress, occupied them. 

Graham hesitated at the sight. They all looked uncannily like him. Crisp collars brushed against pale necks. High-waisted trousers, practically polished at the seams, showcased a Shield installed on every one of them. Shoes gleamed with lacquered compliance. Each wore a different shade of pastel—powder blue, mint, peach, lilac—an orderly bouquet of submission. Behind them stood their robots, statuesque and silent. 

Max gestured, palm outward. “Mr. Graham. These are the other domestic supports in your rotation.” 

Graham stepped forward. His Shield vibrated a soft affirmation that bloomed across his torso. Like an old romantic filter, the glasses cast a faint pink wash across the scene. At the top of his vision, text blinked into view: 

SUGGESTED EMOTIONAL STATE: Gratitude. 

SOCIAL PROMPT: It is lovely to meet you all. 

His mouth moved before his mind caught up. “It is lovely to meet you all,” he recited, like a line rehearsed for a screen test. 

The man in powder blue clapped, fingertips to palm, delicate and rehearsed. “Oh, how polite! Welcome to the loop, Graham. I am Curtis. This is Bernard, Milo, and Jonah.” 

They nodded, almost in synchrony. Their smiles shimmered, reassuring and empty. 

“We are thrilled Max has finally enrolled you,” Curtis said. “You are going to adore the new schedule.” 

PROMPT: Nod slowly. Smile softly. 

Graham obeyed. The response unfurled from his body with eerie ease. 

They spoke, though it barely qualified as conversation. Their voices slid from one subject to the next like softened fabric. Housework schedules, optimized folding rituals, permitted drawer arrangements. Jonah had recently been authorized to reorganize his partner’s sock hierarchy. Bernard was experimenting with a new whole-wheat muffin blend for his partner’s weekly Masculine Nourishment Day. 

“Have you reached Chair Conditioning yet?” Milo asked, his tone reverent. “It’s where we sit in silence and reflect on how to better absorb and reinforce our partners’ intentions.” 

Graham blinked. His Shield buzzed, sharp this time, a pulse of heat just behind the sternum. His left thigh tensed as if in punishment. 

SUPPORTIVE REACTION REQUIRED. 

“That sounds useful,” he murmured. 

Curtis leaned in, lowering his voice to a sultry hush. “It changed everything for me. I realized I’d been sitting in ways that undermined my partner’s authority. The wrong ankle crossed. Too casual. Too open.” 

The others nodded slowly, devotion gleaming in their eyes. 

“Our robot helped me reshape my resting expression,” Milo added, his face radiant. “Now it’s always encouraging.” 

Graham’s stomach twisted, but before nausea could rise, the Shield intervened. A wave of warmth surged through his abdomen, sweet and synthetic. It softened him, unspooled tension from his spine. His face shifted without permission to a serene, pliant expression. His hands folded delicately in his lap. 

SAY SOMETHING POSITIVE ABOUT YOUR EXPERIENCE. 

He fought it. He tried. 

But the words leaked from his mouth like breath through parted lips. “I’ve already learned so much. The glasses help me anticipate Tobias’s needs before he even voices them.” 

Bernard let out a delighted gasp. “Oh, we love a proactive support.” 

REWARD: Buzz. 

The Shield purred low, deep, and intimate. Graham’s spine arched almost imperceptibly. A tremor passed through his core. 

Jonah giggled. “Is it not divine when it rewards you like that?” 

Graham exhaled slowly. “I… yes,” he said. “It is.” 

SOCIAL CLOSER INCOMING. REMAIN GRATEFUL. 

Curtis stood. “We are so happy to have you, Graham. This cycle is going to be our most efficient yet.” 

Max stepped beside him. “Graham’s transition will be gradual but thorough. Full alignment is expected by February 1.” 

RESPONSE: I will do my best to meet expectations. 

He heard himself say it, voice low and even: “I will do my best to meet expectations.” 

Soft applause followed as if he had just completed a recital. 

# 

That evening, the dining table gleamed with quiet reverence. Graham had aligned every element according to the Domestic Support Guidelines uploaded directly to his lenses earlier that day. Utensils centered. Water carbonated to preselected parameters. A visually harmonious plate: salmon glazed with ginger balsamic reduction, steamed asparagus arranged in perfect geometric lines, and parsnip purée spiraled like a meditation mandala. 

Tobias entered without a word. His midnight blue suit with brutal shoulders glinted like armor. His scent filled the room: ozone, leather, and something else… something post human, like electricity and WD-40. 

They ate in near silence. Tobias chewed with ruthless rhythm. Graham adjusted posture each time the interface nudged him—straighter, gentler, prettier. 

Only midway through the meal did Graham risk his voice. 

“I learned a lot from the domestic supports today. It was inspiring to see how they relate to their partners.” 

A pause. 

Tobias didn’t look up. “What did you learn?” 

Graham swallowed. “It feels like they are reenacting something, like a corporate 1950s husband-and-manwife archive simulation. They are not like any gay guys I have ever known.” 

One word hovered between them like ash. Gay. 

Tobias’s face changed, subtle but unmistakable. Not confusion. Contempt. 

“That’s not a useful word,” he said, tone flat as laminate. 

Graham blinked. “What?” 

“It’s a distraction. A regressive label. That word doesn’t reflect our shared trajectory. It’s obsolete.” He lifted his water. “We’re not that. We’re partners in structure. In optimized deliverables.” 

Graham sat back, throat tight. “You’re serious.” 

“I need you to understand that you are clinging to legacy identity artifacts. It’s inefficient.” 

SUGGESTED RESPONSE: Apologize. Clarify. 

But Graham didn’t. He leaned in. “What about love?” he whispered. “What about being in love?” 

Tobias didn’t move. 

“I appreciate your compliance,” he said finally. “That’s what matters.” 

Graham felt something collapse inside, like scaffolding removed from a body mid construction. The Shield buzzed louder, and text shimmered across his lenses: 

ESCALATION DETECTED. LOWER TONE. SHIFT FOCUS TO GRATITUDE. 

He said nothing. Across the table, Tobias returned to his meal. Bite by bite. Efficient. Mechanical. 

Not a husband, but the echo of one perfectly aligned. 

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