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Gizmo loved.
He loved the way the sunlight bled through the windows.
He loved every individual nail and screw he found in the lab.
He also loved to make.
To participate in the act of creation.
The same way that Johnathan created him.
"Hoy, Gizmo, you need to be more careful," Johnathan scolded him, carefully stitching Gizmo's skin together for the 100th time this week, "I leave you alone for two minutes and this is what I come back to? I thought you'd be smarter."
Gizmo's face heated up and he lowered his head shamefully, avoiding Johnathan's eyes. He was right. He couldn't be trusted alone. Gizmo wondered how Johnathan would have to deal with him the next time he left the lab to teach at the local college. Would he set up cameras? Would he vigilantly watch him?
"You're a fragile thing, dear. You have to listen to me when I say you have to be more cautious around the lab." He spoke, attentively weaving thread through his wound. Well, it wasn't exactly a wound, more of a rip. Gizmo never really knew what he was anymore. Was it possible for him to even bleed?
"Sorry," Gizmo whispered. Johnathan's gaze briefly flickered up to meet Gizmo's, only to fall back down to the task at hand.
"What? Speak up, dear. I can hardly hear you."
Gizmo spoke up, a bit louder this time. "I'm.. sorry, for being this way. I'll try harder next time."
Gizmo didn't know why, but he braced himself. For what? He doesn't know. Maybe Johnathan would pop him in the mouth. Maybe he would yell at him.
But nothing happened. Johnathan didn't yell, he didn't lay a hair on Gizmo. He just smirked slightly, still diligently working on patching him up.
"I'll work with you on it later, darling, it'll be fine."
Gizmo flinched at the sudden sting that came from being pricked again, abruptly being caught off guard by Johnathan's cold hands grabbing his. He brought his hand closer, watching his blood trickle down his pinky. New. Gizmo never bled before. It was so.. warm. Strange. Unnatural. Was this what the people of Springfield went through? It sucks.
"Oh, I'm so sorry sweetheart, did that hurt?"
Gizmo couldn't even speak before Johnathan suddenly stuck the digit into his mouth, swiping his tongue over the wound and suckling on it before releasing it with a wet pop. He stared at Johnathan, visibly shaken up. He couldn't think straight, unsure of what this new feeling was. Once he realized how awkward the silence was he straightened his posture and gave his most sincere answer.
"No, it's.. it's all good."
"Good, good," Johnathan let go of his hand, standing up, "Well, it's late. We'll work on your clumsiness tomorrow morning. Don't do anything dumb while I'm sleeping. Thread doesn't grow on trees."
Gizmo shot out of his seat, stumbling behind Johnathan.
"I'll be good, I promise. No more stitches for me."
"That's what I like to hear, hun. Now go lay down, we have work to do in the morning."
Gizmo obeyed him, making his way to his room. Once he was out of Johnathan's sight, he smiled mischievously.
It was obvious this wasn't going to be the last time Gizmo had to get stitches.