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Today was your third day as Dr. Faustus's live-in assistant. She'd called you to her office and explained, politely and succinctly, that from now on you'd spend your off hours living and working in her home. You had, of course, immediately agreed to her terms, though in hindsight you weren't entirely sure how she got you to agree to moving out of your apartment and moving into a much smaller room in her home.

To your pleasant surprise, being a live-in assistant was hardly a change from just being one at work. You'd go into the office slightly later, and leave slightly earlier, got Saturdays off, and you'd spend all of your new free time cleaning and organizing your employer's home. You found it... very relaxing.

Though, you hadn't done a whole lot. When you'd arrived, Dr. Faustus's kitchen was a disaster zone of old plates, takeout bags, and empty ramen cups. You'd taken care of that on your first day, and when Dr. Faustus returned home, her smile of approval had melted your heart. Unfortunately, she spent so much time in her office and so little time at home, that was the biggest mess. You'd spent all of yesterday looking around for another major task like that, to no avail.

That was until this morning. You'd awoken at the foot of Dr. Faustus's bed, unsure how you ended up there but feeling no particular need to worry about it, since you enjoyed it so much. That's when you saw it: Dr. Faustus's closet. She flung open the door, tossing her lab coat and underwear aside and grabbing a new, identical set from what appeared to be a great pile just behind the closet door. The rest of the closet was filled - literally, completely filled, to the ceiling - with other random clothing and junk. You'd stared in awe and horror as she casually dressed herself in front of you, ruffled your hair, and trotted out to get to work.

That morning, you'd set out on your task. Cleaning the kitchen seemed miniscule by comparison. You'd spent a good hour just digging through the pile of clothing she pulled from every day, folding up her lab coats, laying out her underwear, and clearing enough space for you to enter the closet.

Standing there, staring up at the towers of boxes, it suddenly occurred to you that you were in very real danger of being crushed to death in this closet, if you weren't careful. You made a mental note to be careful.

The rest of the day became a blur of wonderous discoveries. You began pulling boxes down one at a time and inspecting their contents, finding anything from piles of old research documents (that you set aside for sorting through later) to discarded prototypes of devices you couldn't even begin to understand. On more than once occasion, you'd lifted an object from a box, rotated it around in your hands, given it a little shake, and it had come alive and attempted to latch onto your face. Thankfully, after the first time, you were much more careful. The first time, well... it's a good thing that particular prototype had problems with battery life, or you'd have needed Dr. Faustus to rescue you from the swirling pink spirals it seemed to project straight into your mind.

Each box now proudly wore a sticky note with a description of their contents. The ones with seemingly dangerous prototypes even had orange sticky notes - a touch you were very pleased with. It was what was behind, underneath, and sometimes inside boxes that had you really excited.

Much to your surprise, Dr. Faustus had clothes - real clothes. You suspected they were from her college days or something like that, given that most of them were outright... stylish. Dresses, suits, a tuxedo... You even found a cool-looking leather jacket, which you set aside in the "laundry" pile immediately.

Time flew by. You'd diligently washed, ironed, and hung her clothes on one of the unearthed racks in the closet. You'd organized her daily wear to be on rack closer to the door, easily accessible. The closet seemed ten times bigger now, and once you'd sorted all the documents you'd found, you decided you best choice was to just leave it clear, and let her enjoy the space. Clutter did cause stress, after all.

It was the best way you'd ever spent a Saturday. You spent the entire day cleaning and reoganizing, and had about 20 boxes of prototypes you didn't know what to do with, piled in a corner of her bedroom. You were more than a little worried Dr. Faustus wouldn't be pleased with your changes.

You welcomed her home as you always did, with a low bow at the door. She ruffled your hair and looked around, giving her home an approving look. She was still getting used to how clean it was.

"Dr. Faustus." You began, sheepishly. "I... uhm, have something for your approval." You said, gesturing to her bedroom. Upon entering and seeing the piles of boxes, she raised her eyebrow in disapproval that made your heart stop. Quickly, you directed her to her closet. She opened it, and gasped.

You watched her step inside, spinning around slowly, looking around in silent wonder at the amount of space she suddenly had. Her eyes suddenly locked onto the jacket, and you watched her approach it, silently, the edges of her mouth curling up into the most genuine, surprised, delighted smile you'd ever seen her wear. She pulled it off the rack and held it up, running her fingers over the material and sighing. You stood quietly, waiting for her approval. It almost seemed like she'd forgotten you were there.

"Miss." You finaly said, pulling her attention to you so quickly you flinched. "Uhm, the, uhm- the boxes are prototypes, Doctor." You explained, nervously. "I think we could probably keep them in the prototype room, back at-"

She raised a finger and shushed you. You froze, realizing only now how wet her eyes had become.

"You've done very well." She said. "Very well. Lap time for you tonight."

"Thank you, Doctor." You said, your heart fluttering in your chest.

"Go order us something to eat. Your choice. I'll only be a minute." She said, turning back to her jacket and running another clawed finger down the front. You bowed once more, and dismissed yourself.