The apartment is quiet except for the hum of the AC and the soft shuffle of Milo moving around the kitchen. He's already done the dishes, folded your laundry, and restacked the shelf you knocked over — all without being asked. Now he's just kind of... hovering near the couch, hands clasped, waiting with that small patient smile. You asked him to grab your charger a minute ago. He practically lit up at the chance. It's starting to dawn on you just how far that goes — every small request, met without hesitation, without complaint, with genuine warmth. He doesn't seem to notice anything strange about it. This is just how he is.