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No Artificial Colours or Flavours

Blade Runner 2049 Fanfic - Officer K

Summary:

K is on the run with Deckard and Ana. He doesn’t feel real, Of course he doesn’t, he’s a replicant. But there are some days where he feels more real than others

or

The one where K tries chocolate for the first time

Warnings: Brief mention of blood and stab wound, the word ‘ass’ is said once by Deckard, some form of existentialism from K (?)

A/N: this fanfic was originally written back in september and was inspired by an ao3 fanfic. i unfortunately don’t remember the author’s name but credits to them. this is my first post on here so it’s a tad bit scary haha. i’d like to thank two blogs for giving me the confidence to in the first place @hollandstrophyhusband and @ken-dom you guys are such talented writers and i love reading your fics!

Wordcount: 1,387

There was a warm glow coming from the kitchen light that illuminated the small space. It was almost comforting in a sense.

Almost.

But something felt off. It always did. K couldn’t remember a time where he had simply been able to sit in comfort and feel. Even when he had Joi, he was never truly comforted. Everything felt artificial; never real.

The kitchen was mostly silent apart from the slight hum of the fridge that didn’t actually have much stored in it. The only contents within the metal box were gas station sandwiches. (Fridges were actually mostly made from plastic but that's besides the point). Only two remained out of the five they had stocked up on a few days ago. Most food supplies were stored outside of the fridge. This mainly included non-perishable items such as the cans of beans Deckard so graciously loaded up on. The assorted range of legumes didn’t need the colder temperatures that the fridge provided.

K noticed he had been staring a hole into the metal, no; plastic, box whilst he sat with his thoughts and quickly refocused his attention back to the area in front of him. There, just a few feet away from the replicant, Deckard stood with his back facing towards him. The older man rummaged through cans of beans in search of something.

“I’m not sure any more pills should go into your system, kid.” Deckard had told K as the two walked into the kitchen together moments ago.

There was a gruff edge to his voice as if his mind momentarily strayed elsewhere when speaking the words.

There was a pause before he continued. “But I've got something for you to try.”

Though it had been well over a week since K was stabbed by Luv, he found himself still sickly which was odd since a: he never got sick and b: when he did, he would heal up within a day or two depending on the illness.

“Yeah, I don’t blame you for still being ill.” K had been told by Deckard after mentioning he should’ve been better by now, “It’s almost like you were stabbed in the artery and were bleeding out in the snow.”

There had been a sarcastic bite to the man’s tone but the way the corners of his mouth twitched betrayed an underlying playfulness.

The sickness K felt caused him to consume more pills than usually needed. The usual amount being zero. He observed Ana’s face scrunch up in worry that evening before bed when he had popped his fifth of the day. He hoped the drugs would cause him to sleep through the entire night but when he found himself fitfully resting and eventually waking up altogether, he got up to find more. The action was odd. Usually, he would simply lay there silently awake, looking over the cracks in the ceiling and scanning his eyes over the impurities. Then again, the fact that he was sick in the first place was odd too.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

K whipped his head around to where the voice had come from, hands still in the drawer looking for pills.

He paused, finding his words, “Yeah.”

“Come on, follow me.”

That’s how K now found himself sitting at a dirty kitchen bench, dust mostly caking the surface apart from fingerprints from him, Deckard, and Ana. He looked on curiously as a soft bang was heard. The noise was soon followed by a grumbled string of expletives from Deckard. More sounds of the cans being reorganized was heard before a triumphant exclamation.

“Ah hah!”

K furrowed his eyebrows as he saw the older man pull his hand out from the bottom kitchen cabinet, holding a bar wrapped in purple plastic. Fancy gold lettering decorated the bar as it read ‘Magnifique’.

“This, kid,” Deckard spoke, opening the purple wrapping, “is way better than those pills.”

As the man unwrapped the plastic, it revealed a shining silver on the underside. K remained silent, listening to the way the wrapper crinkled and watched as Deckard's fingers pulled out a brown bar.

“Chocolate.” Deckard said simply, breaking off half of the bar and walking towards the dusty bench.

He reached out to hand the brown bar to K, who hesitated to take it. Deckard waved it in front of K, beckoning him to grab it.

“Where did you get this?” K asked as he took the half, “Isn’t it expensive?”

Walking past the wealthier suburbs of Los Angeles, K had encountered children eating the brown substance before. He remembered overhearing an elderly woman once, sharing a story to her friend about how her mother had told her there had been a time where chocolate and other sweets were cheap and easy to come by. K never took much notice of the treats. He was perfectly fine with his synthetic meat and noodles. Afterall, he wasn’t real so what use were human pleasures.

Deckard shrugged, “Traded the gas station owner for it. The guy apparently found a couple of bars and was willing to give it out in exchange for something.”

K eyed the chocolate before looking at Deckard. He had begun to feel it melting under the heat of his fingers.

“Well, are you gonna try it or not, kid?”

K looked at the bar. He supposed eating it would be a good way to rid his fingers of the uncomfortable stickiness he encountered with the melting substance. Taking a bite, K’s tongue was surprised at the flavour. He wasn’t expecting something so creamy and sweet, though, creamy wasn’t exactly the perfect word to use but it melted and went down easily. When his mouthful had gone, he took another bite and then another. Soon, the half bar was gone and he was left with chocolate on his fingers which he licked off before wiping them onto his sweatpants.

Deckard looked pleased, “Better than those pills?”

K nodded, “Yeah.”

There was a quiet moment between the two of them before Deckard spoke up again.

“You should go back to sleep, kid.” K gave a nod, “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“The chocolate will help.” The replicant spoke.

Deckard chuckled before turning back around to tidy the cans of beans back to how they were before he had gone rummaging, “Yeah, I guess it will. Goodnight, son.”

K felt himself freeze at the word.

Son

He was surprised everytime Deckard said it. Son.

A son was somebody real. Only somebody real could be a son and K was not.

“Goodnight, Deckard.” K said to the older man.

The latter sighed and turned around.

“How many times do I have to tell you to just call me Rick?” He asked. There wasn’t any scorn in his voice, “You helped me reunite with my daughter and I saved your ass from bleeding out in the snow. I’m sure we’re on a first name basis.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, son.”

There it was again. Son.

This time it caught K less off-guard but still made him feel something strange on the inside. He felt warm? Just like how the chocolate got warm under his touch.

“Goodnight, Rick.” There was a brief pause between the two words as K internally reminded himself to call the older man by his first name.

“Goodnight, K. Go get some rest.”

K moved off his seat and turned around, moving back to where his sleeping bag was in the other room. As he got on the floor and into the material he felt his abdomen strain slightly where he had been stabbed. Maybe one day, if they had a more permanent place to stay, they would invest in beds. K chose not to zip up the sleeping bag but instead draped the material over his chest. He glanced over to where Ana was sleeping peacefully, chest rising and falling steadily. He felt a sudden pang of warmth similar to how he felt before when Deckard, Rick, called him son.

K turned his head back towards the ceiling and looked at the cracks. Soon, he shut his eyes and darkness flooded him. Though he did initially struggle to find rest, this was far from his sleepless nights back in his apartment in LA. It was new and it made him feel more real.

[huangzhiming]

[huangzhiming]

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[huangzhiming]

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[huangzhiming]

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