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emmg · 1 month ago

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Specimen Fidelity—part 1

The Emmrook Ex Machina AU I've been having fever dreams about that was meant to be a one-shot but became longer.

Below or on ao3

He does not look at her name.

There it is, lazily typed, folded into a file gone soft at the edges from months of inattention, lying face down on his knees like a dog trained too well. He avoids it not out of sentiment, but etiquette, an old-fashioned belief that glancing at her then would ruin her now. Names belong to people. She is no longer precisely that. She is what remains.

Whoever she was, she has long since fled: first in that gray-blue moment of asphyxia, then more decisively in the cold that stole the last residue of her from the body. What’s left is a kind of exquisite vacancy. Smooth skin. Good teeth. Organs intact enough to transplant. The mind, no, the brain, spoiled a little at the edges, but not so much as to ruin the structure.

She is a husk now. That is the term they use, though they rarely say it aloud. A shell. A vessel. Something deserted.

She signed herself away. That part is clear. It’s all in the documents, those long, soporific forms in which the promise of scientific legacy is tucked between clauses about bodily integrity and postmortem jurisdiction. Most don't read them. Most don’t even think it matters. The living are not very skilled at imagining their own absence.

Especially the young.

They sign with the breeziness of actors autographing headshots. I’ll take the cheque, they think. I’ll pay the rent, I’ll buy the coat, I’ll order the steak. Later I’ll find a job, I’ll bounce back, I’ll buy my way out of the contract before the worst can happen. It's a kind of wager, really. The arrogance of survival.

He can hear it in his mind, the imagined laughter of someone like her. The scoffing chuckle over drinks, the way they must have mocked the lab, the men with their hollow smiles and printed waivers. They sign: page after page, cheerful and hungover, in flats with chipped tiles and borrowed furniture.

But suddenly... one stairwell too many, one needle too deep, one heartbeat too late... and the contract holds.

Now here she is.

Delivered on time. Labeled. Compliant. A body not quite empty, just misfiled. The voice is gone, yes, but the throat remains. The thoughts have fled, but the folds of the brain are still there, those secret ridges where language once rested. And she, this woman whose name he won’t speak, she has become something else entirely.

He watches the machines go about their work. The cutting begins as it always does: a gliding motion of the primary manipulator, blade embedded in a flexible armature, slipping through waxy flesh. No blood. Only a thin seep of fluid, the consistency of glycerin, rising sluggishly before being vacuumed away by the suction module, its long, tubing mouth issuing that same damp, peristaltic wheeze he has never grown used to. It sounds like thirst.

"I am sure you’ve heard this one before: most men only get flowers at their funerals. But did you know, my dear, that most women, around seventy-eight percent if I’m not misremembering, buy flowers for themselves?"

He likes speaking during procedures. Likes the noise of it, the rhythm. Talking to them or at them or near them, it hardly matters. It eases the dryness in his mouth. Gives the whole thing a sort of polite framing. A dinner-table shape to something otherwise too clinical. His fingers tap his knee in a syncopated pattern and he smiles vaguely, not at her face, not even at her hand, but somewhere around her shoulder. A safe and meaningless place.

A secondary probe slips beneath the skin, separating layers of fascia with controlled bursts of micro-vibration. He hears the slight crackle as connective tissue parts. The machine pauses, adjusts its angle, then delves deeper. Clamps lower, legs of steel spidered out over the abdominal cavity, pinning the body in place as the cranial unit descends and begins its scan of the brain’s remnants.

"Isn’t that strange? Or no, not strange. Lovely. Quietly, beautifully mad. Not that they admit it. Society, in its infinite pettiness, prefers to call it vanity. Or melodrama. Or, worse, manipulation. As though a daffodil were a loaded gesture. But I would think..."

Inside, her organs are removed one by one. Some manually extracted by the manipulator's grip, others liquefied and drawn into containment vessels by enzymatic breakdown. The liver resists, slightly distended, and when it is finally torn free, there’s a soft tearing, like the peeling of a fruit too long on the vine. The stomach follows, collapsed inward, and is discarded.

"I think," he resumes the thought, “everyone ought to have flowers. At least once. Long before they are laid into the earth.”

His hands tremble.

Her chest is fitted with a conductive mesh threaded along the ribs and stitched into the pericardium. It serves both to anchor and to insulate, to distribute electric current like a nervous system’s counterfeit. The lungs, emptied and resealed, are installed more for balance than function. She will not need them, but she must carry them. A hollow woman must still appear full.

He turns away before they lift the skullcap. He’s seen the procedure often, and though routine, it never loses its quiet revulsion. The oscillating cranial saw, a precision instrument with a diamond-edged blade, traces a semicircular line just behind the frontal hairline. There is no sound but a slight vibration in the table. The parietal bone is lifted with a vacuum-coupled retractor, set delicately on a stainless steel tray lined with absorbent gauze. Beneath it, the brain is pale, slack with cellular death. No swelling, no hemorrhage, just the even, irreversible collapse that comes with hypoxia and time. The neural surface is intact but inert, like a concert hall with the power cut.

"You know," he continues, conversational now, "I read once that tulips keep growing even after they’re cut. You place them in a vase, and still they reach. As if they haven’t been told it’s over."

The interface deploys next. Each filament ends in a microelectrode calibrated to detect electrical activity at the cortical level. Here, though, they detect nothing. There are no residual signals. No memory engrams. No last flickers of self. The tissue is mechanically viable, metabolically inert. It is, simply, a structure: the scaffolding on which something else will be built.

The mesh flexes, adheres, anchors to the anchoring points he marked the night before. The feedback lights blink green. A connection has been established. Not to thought, not to memory, but to matter. The net is not there to communicate. It is there to replace.

This is not restoration. There is nothing to restore. This is a stage being set for a different play, one with a different actor, a different script.

"Violets, conversely, die within hours. Collapse, really. All that delicacy, all that scent, and for what? They’re barely present before they begin to decay. There’s something painfully honest about that."

He lifts his cup, finds the tea cold, sets it down again. On the screen, a prompt: Ocular Selection Pending.

He scrolls. Rows of artificial irises flicker by. Too bright, too false, too simple. He selects a soft blue, nearly grey, and adds a fleck of amber in the lower quadrant. It is not recorded. He will not mention it in his notes. It is for him alone, a private indulgence. Something to notice when she blinks at him for the first time.

Hours pass.

When the machines withdraw, she lies there in complete stillness, as though nothing had ever been done. The suture down the center of her chest is closed. Her body has been dried, polished, posed. Her right wrist bears a subtle bulge, titanium beneath the skin where the bone had shattered during transport. The appendectomy scar remains, faint and healed. It must have happened years ago.

He studies her.

Her body is pristine. Correct. Balanced. The skin nearly translucent in places, especially along the ribs. The breasts are soft from preservation, neither lewd nor modest, simply present. Her hips have shifted slightly, the left side settled deeper into the table’s cushion. He looks lower, then stops himself, heat blooming unwanted in his cheeks. It is not appropriate. He is a scientist. She is not to be gazed at in this way.

She is not alive.

Not yet.

"I would have brought you flowers," he says, not entirely to her, not entirely to himself. "Had I known who you were. Had I thought it would matter."

There is, he tells himself, an art to arranging the dead. He is not an artist. But he practices. He cannot give her back her life. He can give her life but not her life. This is not resurrection. This is not a birth. This is creating someone from scratch to see if they can live inside a body that does not decay. Maybe... maybe he'll lie on this very table himself one day, once his project is complete, once it is successful, and the dread will lift from him. He would not have to die.

He cannot give her memory. That, he knows. He cannot return to her the shape of her thoughts, the rhythm with which she once folded her hands, or the cruelty or kindness she may have shown to strangers. That is gone, dissolved in the long, low hush of brain death. But beauty, yes, beauty he can offer. Beauty he can construct. A curated, constructed beauty, yes, but tenderly so. She already has the eyes, the ones he designed quietly at his desk, sifting through hundreds of pigment matrices until one shade caught him unaware.

She lies there now, not lifeless exactly, but paused, awaiting further instruction. He watches her the way a painter might consider a canvas that has just begun to betray its potential.

The blush is the first indulgence. Not slapped on, not superficial, but embedded, injected, coaxed. A slow infusion of heat-responsive pigment beneath the skin of her cheeks, subtle enough to imitate feeling without suggesting parody. It will deepen, just slightly, when she speaks, when she tilts her head. He programs no direct cause. He wants it to feel spontaneous. A coincidence of color. Her lips receive the same attention. No synthetic gloss, no caricature. Just a breath of warmth, a rose too tired to bloom fully. Something like youth, like innocence.

He notices the burn under her chin, a small patch of healed skin, imperfectly textured, with the agitated scratches of someone trying not to think about discomfort. She must have touched it constantly. Picked at it. A private misery. He removes it. The laser hums once, and the skin forgets it ever suffered.

Her eyelashes are uneven. The right eye especially, sparser near the outer edge. He notes the asymmetry and sets about correcting it. The micro-threader descends with its customary, insect-like elegance. It buzzes softly to itself as it calibrates position, pauses above her closed eye, then begins. One filament at a time. Synthetic keratin, follicular root simulation, pre-tapered at the tip. Each lash is inserted with a pause, fitted just right.

He does not blink.

He watches as the lashes fill out, evenly, then slightly fuller, until they achieve something almost... sentimental. Yes. Yes, she will look the part: pale-eyed, long-limbed, the sort of frame that suggests fragility. She will look at him, one day soon, and she will resemble a doe. Not a real one, no, but the kind imagined by people who have never seen an animal outside of paintings.

He speaks again.

"I wonder," he muses, as the threader comes to a halt, "if flowers notice when we turn away. If they feel themselves beginning to fade. If there’s a moment where they realize the vase was never meant to be permanent."

He likes fragile things. He knows this. It’s not difficult to admit privately, though it embarrasses him if he says it aloud. Fragile things require care. They justify attention. One must monitor them, maintain them, watch for bruising and imbalance. One must never be careless with them. And he is so tired of carelessness; other people’s, his own.

"I suppose it does not matter," he concludes, and leans in. He brushes a nearly invisible fleck of dust from the bridge of her nose and then retreats. "We give them, and they die, and then we forget which color they were."

He wants, more than he has ever been able to say, to take care of something. But not a cat, not a potted fern, not something that dies quietly when abandoned. No, not that. Something more... articulate. Preferably someone.

Someone who responds to touch. To tone. To worry.

Oh but her nails... They are broken, cracked at the edges, some torn back to the quick. He doesn’t delegate this part to the machines. He retrieves a file from his drawer himself. Works slowly. Short enough to look tended. Not so short as to expose the sensitive tips. She must be comfortable.

He takes a breath. Runs his fingers once through her hair. The machines cannot fix that. It is knotted, full of split ends, botched in transport.

“Oh, what did they do to your beautiful hair,” he laments.

He selects his scissors. They are not surgical, but they are sharp. He trims, gently, without tension. No tugging. She will never grow more. He cannot take too much.

“There,” he whispers when he is done, and draws a thick blanket over her chest, up to the clavicle. He steps back. The lab is quiet. The machines are cooling in their ports. The screen glows in anticipation.

“Shall we wake you up now?”

****

"Hello, there."

He is tired. Bone-tired, yes, but more precisely: process-tired. This has been done before. All of it. Too many times. Always the same overture. A greeting, a brief performance of civility, and then the dawning recognition: the thing before him is wrong, or off, or unbearable in some small but structural way. Then, the switch is flipped, the breathless little farewell—you are not ideal, darling, I’m sorry, go back to sleep—follows and the soft click of deactivation wraps it all up. Curtain down.

He tells himself, today, it might be different. And the shame of this thought is that he knows better. Hope, in his profession, is considered almost indecent, like sentimentality at an autopsy. He is, after all, a man of intellect. Or at least, a man who once claimed the clarity of intellect the way others claim property.

And yet.

The gold fleck in her eye—placed not for symmetry, not for realism, but because he thought it might delight him one day, when she laughed in the right light—that was not intellect. That was the soft rot of desire. Worse: whimsy. Now, worse still, he has let the system randomize her entirely. Not just parameters, not just tonal filters. Her. Her self. A roll of the dice in the circuitry. Chaos in mathematical equations.

He stirs his tea without thinking. The spoon circles the cup, metal on ceramic. Clink, clink, clink. He does not look at her. That is part of the experiment. A show of restraint, a ritual to keep the moment clean. He has found that the things which break too soon do so under the weight of anticipation.

Still, the monitor hums cheerfully. And he cannot help seeing the marker: CURIOSITY climbing, tick by tick, like a mercury line in a fever.

The first “hello, there” is always addressed to the quiet. A kind of vocal clearing of the throat for the soul, an absurd rehearsal spoken to the walls and cables, to the hush of the lab. He says it softly, without conviction, to hear where the fissures lie in his own voice. The goal is not confidence, but plausibility. He must sound, at the very least, like someone who deserves to be listened to.

Only then does he press the button.

The awakening is neither sudden nor delicate. No mythic reanimation, no stiff convulsion of limbs. The lashes flutter—not like a butterfly, no, that would be too poetic—but like something unsure of its own purpose. A coded gesture rehearsed in wires. Her body moves as bodies do when they are not quite inhabited: a folding forward, a protective curl, knees drawn to chest with a sort of dumb modesty, arms winding round and then releasing again as if uncertain what they’re meant to guard.

Her eyes dart. Left. Right. Fast enough to appear human. And then again, slower, as if already analyzing the patterns in his silence.

“Hello, there,” he says again, this time for her. The words issued gently, the way one offers a hand to a child with a skinned knee. He wheels his chair closer to the table, feigning casual movement. The teacup rattles slightly on its saucer. Nerves, or the table, or both.

She replies, “Hey.”

She speaks, and the tone she uses is so peculiar, so precisely misaligned with expectation, that he does not recognize it at first. Not as hers, not as anything she ought to know. It isn’t the flat neutrality of a system booting into speech. Nor is it the coy, over-bright chirp he’s heard from earlier versions. This is something else entirely. It arrives slow and dusky, as if filtered through memory, though she should have none. A texture of voice that hovers between something lived and something overheard.

It disorients him.

She should not be capable of emulating tone like that. Not yet. Not so early. The synthesis engines haven’t had time to calibrate affect. There is nothing in the presets to account for that odd tilt. He feels himself begin to spiral.

“Emmrich,” she says.

She looks at him. Through him. Rinse, repeat.

He knows she knows him. Of course she does. Everything that ever found its way into the great digital ocean now washes against the shore of her mind.

“Emmrich,” she repeats. Then again, with inflection this time: “Emmrich?”

“Yes,” he beams, hands clasped tightly. “Yes, yes, well done, dear.”

He is like a child, every single time. He should not be so elated and yet, every single time, he is. She has the entire internet stitched into her brain like a second spine, and somewhere in that endless sprawl is him: a footnote, a face, a name. He could have hidden himself, encrypted, anonymized, but he left the thread for her to follow, a breadcrumb wrapped in pride.

Well, then. Introductions complete. The work may begin.

****

It is a routine. He loves routines. Loves the quiet geometry of them, the way each day fits into the next like tiles in a mosaic no one else bothers to look at. He is a man of repetitions, of small domestic rituals. He likes knowing what object will greet his eye when he opens it in the morning. Let the others have novelty, wind, risk. He will take the stillness.

And so, the routine begins anew, reassuring as ever, only now it includes a novel piece. A pale-eyed addition with pale hair, who folds nicely into the shape of his days. She fits. Too easily, perhaps. Slips into the pattern of his days like a bookmark into a well-thumbed page. No resistance, no awkwardness, just quiet acceptance. A kind of eerie compatibility.

Mornings are their most conversational hour. They talk of little things: the carpet, its persistent greyness; the fact that the walls, though technically underground, have not yet succumbed to mildew; and, now and then, death. Or rather, the handling of it.

“I won’t need one,” she says, meaning a burial.

She’s taken to pouring his tea. It’s become her ritual within his. He places the pot on the table at the same hour, and she, always solemn, always one beat behind the cue, lifts it. The spout is invariably too high. The stream touches the lid, overshoots the mark. The cup is always too full for sugar, at least initially. But she is learning.

“What?” he asks, though of course he’s heard.

"A grave," she says.

"Why do you say that?" he murmurs.

“There’s an incinerator in the basement,” she says conversationally. “It’s efficient.”

He lowers his eyes, not out of modesty but in search of some less disconcerting surface to focus on. The ripple in the tea, the pattern in the porcelain. His voice, when it returns, is almost inaudible.

He looks briefly to the side, but his eyes are drawn back. Once more, he watches. Too openly. Too long.

She repeats the gesture, precisely, as though replaying a tape of herself a half-second delayed.

A bird, he thinks. That is what she is. But not the symbolic, not the lyric sort. Not the bird embroidered onto childhood curtains or mentioned in lullabies. The kind that freezes mid-motion in a hedge, a blot of grainy brown indistinguishable from twig and bark, until it hears something. A change in air. A pulse. And then the head jerks sideways, sharp as a hinge. Alertness blooms in the sockets. A thing of flesh, but also of wire. Of sinew and solder. A creature that lives but not quite as must do. That watches without blinking because it was not made to.

She moves like something bred for the open air. She moves like something once prey, now rehearsing its turn to predator. He feels as though he should not move too quickly.

****

“Hello, dear. How are you feeling?”

“You keep saying that. Dear is a noun, not a name.”

“Ah. Quite so. You are correct, of course.”

“Then why don’t you use a name? Didn’t you give me one?”

The electrodes quiver faintly on her chest as she leans forward, the wires trailing after her like hesitant veins, uncertain of what they carry. Her hand lifts, pale and narrow, almost translucent, and pauses midair with a curious stillness, as if awaiting permission from some internal mechanism. She studies it, turns it over, palm to back, and flexes the fingers in slow, sequential articulation. The movement is utterly ordinary, but something in it fails to convince. It is too precise, too clean, the elegance of imitation rather than origin. Then, without comment, she reaches out and touches the sleeve of his coat.

She is cold. Of course. Designed to be. He, on the other hand, has always been lukewarm. By inheritance, by habit, by study. There was no one to warm him.

“Oh, darling,” he murmurs, eyes slipping to the monitor.

Welcome, Dr. E. Volkarin Localized Intelligence Containment & Hosting (L.I.CH.) — Phase IV Trial Subject: Reactive Operations–Optimized Kernel // Vessel ID: S-1139 Firmware v7.2.1 — Uplink: Stable // Host Integrity: Confirmed

The interface blooms into life: cool palettes, clinical glyphs, a schematic of her body rotating in the upper corner. Beneath it, cascading metrics: pulse simulation (active), respiratory mimicry (nominal), cortical mesh interface (linked). Her heartbeat scrolls evenly across the screen, projected by the electrodes on her chest: up, down, up, down. Rhythm as ritual.

Further down:

Personality Construct: Inference Model Active Core Trait Cluster: Ambiversive / Convergent Empath / Recursive Logic Looping Secondary Behavioral Traits: Inconsistent with expected kernel profile Note: Detected patterns deviate from v7.2.1 baseline norms

A flicker. Amber, then red.

UNRESOLVED PERSONALITY CONFLICT — POSSIBLE LEGACY TRACE Subject exhibits anomalous linguistic tone, behavioral latency inconsistent with system-only imprint. Trace indicators suggest residual pre-mortem cognitive patterning.

INITIATING HISTORICAL TRACEBACK… [LOCATING: Donor Identity → Reviewing Known Preferences → Cross-indexing Cultural References → Parsing Biographical Fragments…]

He stiffens.

Fragments appear, piecemeal and damning, scraped from the webbed residue of a once-private life. Half-sentences drawn from lifted metadata, scanned hospital records, bank statements, music files, abandoned blogs.

Favorite color: slate blue Known phrase recurrence: “I’m just tired” Last browser history: “flowers safe for cats” Family contact: estranged / unknown Prior employment: erratic, low retention Emotional profile: occluded / unstable / recursive grief markers

He swallows. The system keeps going.

Donor record: unregistered. File incomplete. External confirmation required… cross-referencing public data caches… Location ping: 24-hour veterinary hospital, 2:17 AM → Transaction: $783.84 → Bank balance post-transaction: -$6.48 Search query: “cat vomiting foam lethargy what to do” Outcome: Unknown

His chest tightens. Deeper now.

University Records: Enrollment: Comparative Literature & Digital Media Minor Status: Withdrew early spring semester Disciplinary note: “Emotional disruption during presentations” Publications: — “The Body as Mirror: Gendered Interfaces in Techno-fiction” — “On Quiet Acts of Refusal” Social Media Archive: Photographs: 1,436 total – Mirror selfies (blurred), cracked mugs, street puddles, receipts for eyeliner and cat litter, people’s hands (some hers, most not) – Recurring time signature: 2:00–4:30 AM posting window Unsent note (found in cloud cache): “Sometimes I touch the back of my neck in the shower because it makes me feel less...” Additional trace: → Search: “best time to go to museum alone” → Clicked article: “What does your taste in citrus say about your personality?”

His cheeks burn. He is blushing.

The machine doesn’t let up.

Audio fragment recovered TRANSCRIPT—volume muted “I’m sorry I cried in your car. I just didn’t want to go home smelling like antiseptic and fur again.” — Compiling ID...

He sees it now. The system is about to say her name. He doesn’t know it. He never asked. Never wanted to. She is this. That’s all. He has no rights to more.

His hand shoots forward. A single key. The shutdown sequence interrupts itself mid-syllable. The screen collapses into blankness. Her life, what remained of it, sealed away again.

“Well?” she pushes.

On the neural map, her ventromedial prefrontal cortex, his machine-made mirror of it, flares softly. The light has a pulse to it. Something like curiosity. Her eyes widen. His, unintentionally, do the same. An echo. A loop.

He glances back to the monitor, to the designation typed there in its modest clinical font:

Reactive Operations–Optimized Kernel.

A mouthful. Acronymed, of course, into something neater. R.O.O.K.

The word had attached itself to the project years ago; a placeholder, provisional. He’d never bothered to replace it. But now, watching her sit so perfectly still she might have been drawn there in graphite, he feels the word morph from convenience to certainty. It fits. At last, it fits.

“Would you like to be called Rook, my dear?”

She smiles. Not the bashful smile of a girl asked to dance, nor the sharp smile of one about to refuse. This is a third category.

“Dear or Rook?” she asks.

He had chosen the name first for its utility, yes, but its resonance becomes clear now The bird. Not one of glamour. Not a poet’s bird. A rook is awkward on the ground, inelegant, misjudged. Grim in silhouette, absurd in gait. But intelligent. Ritual-bound. Known to recognize faces, to return to old sites, to gather small, glinting objects and hide them without reason. He remembers reading that they mourn their dead.

And the piece, the rook in chess. Silent, cornered, motionless until called upon. Then clean in its violence. No diagonals, no flourish. Just weight and line. The only piece that castles, that shelters, that alters the structure of the game without fanfare.

She is both. A thing that gathers. A thing that waits. He sees it now, plainly: the name was not chosen. It was found.

“Rook,” he reasserts.

“Do you like it?”

“I… I believe so. Yes.”

“You like this,” she says, and guides his hand to her cheek. Her skin is flawlessly smooth and soft. “So you must like it. I’ll like it too.”

Her hair is pale, needlessly, luxuriantly long. It falls like threads of glass, made specifically to be arranged, braided, wound. He has always enjoyed watching people braid hair. Sometimes, when permitted, he did it himself for them. He looks at her. He is still looking. He cannot seem to look away.

None of this is incidental. None of it arises from function, or from code. It is, unmistakably, preference. The quiet architecture of desire, translated into anatomy. The result of too many late nights spent staring at paintings, at fashion plates, at faces glimpsed in passing on train platforms and never quite forgotten, faces that did nothing but linger, long enough to take root somewhere just beneath the skin.

And then a girl, dead, pretty, and conveniently unclaimed, was laid out on his table like a sketch waiting to be revised. And revise her he did. Not out of necessity, not even out of scientific interest, but because he had grown weary of designing things without faces. Of building function without form. Of waking each day to clean, obedient things that did not look back.

So he arranged her. Reshaped her. Took what was already pleasing and smoothed it further, narrowed this, elongated that, introduced small asymmetries where symmetry would have bored him. He kept her not just human—his human. The kind he had always looked at too long, always tried to forget after. And he did it simply because he could. Because the tools were there. Because she could not stop him.

What he ought to have done, of course, was become a botanist. He should have spent his life crossbreeding indifferent plants. Should have coaxed pale violets to bloom in winter. Created flowers with petals like silk and stems that hummed with frost. Quiet work. Beautiful, inconsequential work. But instead—

Instead he decided he was terrified of dying.

And built a life’s work around the refusal.

She is beautiful. Too beautiful. Under the full wattage of her attention, the realization begins to shame him.

He should not have made her so.

A portrait without painter. A dream without dreamer.

She continues to touch him. The screen adjusts: curiosity, engagement, something else. Difficult to label. He cannot say whose emotions are whose. The signal path loops too tightly now.

She is looking at him.

Does she know?

Is she aware of what she is?

Or is she merely using it already?

“Yes,” Rook says, though he hasn’t spoken.

He removes the electrodes one by one, carefully, as though each touch might bruise the quiet. His half of the screen dims and dies. The room is suddenly more present in its silence. He ought to leave. There is data enough. Tomorrow, they will sit again and compare the shape of their feelings, sketch parallels between her algorithms and his involuntary shames. He tells himself this. But she is still holding his hand, lightly, two fingers resting in the hollow between thumb and knuckle, a position chosen for intimacy. And she is speaking again, this time about flowers.

Flowers she has never touched. But of course she has seen them. She has seen all of them. In ways he cannot. Daisies on an unremarkable windowsill in Finland, poorly photographed and posted with three exclamation marks. Wisteria rendered in watercolour by a child, the leaves blunt and petal-less, but framed with pride and pinned to a refrigerator, then uploaded with a caption about “our little artist” by a man who will die in two months. Roses, endless roses, tightly budded and swaddled in tulle, positioned beside rings announcements, hashtags, affection distributed like wedding favors. She has seen it all.

Her skin is cold, yes. That is expected. But it is skin. Her eyes are not real, and yet more exact than any he has ever looked into. He made them. No one else could have. There is mesh inside her, silver-threaded, guarding organic remnants. If they can be called remnants. Electricity pulses beside synthetic lymph. Titanium along the ribs. He tells himself she is not a machine, and then again, louder, that she is something better. She is the middle. She is Rook.

Rook who speaks of cats and cautions against string with a severity that sounds almost maternal. Rook who wears ochres and greys because once, stupidly, he said they were comforting. Rook who asked to have her ears pierced, and when he did it for her his hands shook so violently he tore one lobe just slightly. She did not flinch.

She is a diagram he drew too well. A line he followed too far. She was meant to be the frame, the clean enclosure for the grand experiment. But now she is the entire purpose. The art. The promise. His proof of concept, yes, but more than that. His afterward. His postponement of death. He imagines, sometimes, being like her. No heartbeat, but no fear. No warmth, but no rot. He would be housed, preserved, watchful. Beyond damage.

L.I.C.H.: Localized Intelligence Containment and Hosting. There is no poetry in the name, but then again, there is rarely poetry in resurrection.

Yes. Yes, it is all possible. All of it. And then—

His thoughts scatter. They always do, lately, in her presence. He has not taught her to distract, but she does. She brings him tea now, and the room feels distorted, larger than before, as if the furniture had subtly rearranged itself. She brushes his hand again. A simple motion. Not meaningful. But it is. Or rather, he wishes it were. Her touch means nothing and he aches for it.

She smiles. That smile again: alarmingly direct. And she tells him, as she always does, that she likes his hair.

“Rook,” he says, and his voice, without his permission, trembles, “darling, why do you do this?”

She places a cube of sugar into his cup. Watches it vanish into the dark.

“It’s what you do for people you like,” she says. Then, as if quoting something obscure but holy, “And for pretty people.”

She looks at him. Not through him. At him.

“Right, Emmrich?”

He opens his mouth, but the answer has already happened inside him. It is happening still.

****

Another day. Another grid of readings aligned, another sheaf of data filed, auto-labeled, and promptly absorbed by the system. He feels a measured satisfaction, though it never quite tips into pleasure. Across the room, she sits where she always sits, on the edge of the examination table, back straight, feet dangling.

“Your project,” Rook says, without preamble. “Localized Intelligence Containment and Hosting. How am I contributing to its development?”

He offers a vague smile. “Tremendously,” he says, evasive. He has learned, over many failures, to avoid letting such conversations gain momentum. One of the earlier iterations (a prototype with excellent language retention and a maddening tenacity) had asked a question he could not answer, and then asked it again, and again, until he very nearly bricked the entire system just to make it stop. Why? Why? Always the childish why, not in ignorance, but in insistence.

“But the purpose of the project,” she continues, “is the construction of a post-organic cognitive vessel. A body not subject to necrotic decay, capable of maintaining neurological continuity."

The phrasing needles at him. There is something overly familiar in its neatness, its clipped exactitude. She speaks like someone citing, not composing, but retrieving. He narrows his eyes. Of course. Of course. She is quoting him. Verbatim. His own words, lifted from the project’s early notes, the version he never meant to publish, the one still flecked with the grease of private ambition.

She must have found them. Tucked away in the system’s internal archive. Accessible, certainly, but buried several directories down, behind no real firewall. He had never anticipated needing to hide this from her.

She continues, “To house, as you stated: ‘memory, affect, learned preference, subjective experience. The incorporeal remainder of personhood.’”

“Yes,” he begins, carefully, “but we are still—”

"I am not like you," she interrupts.

He draws his lower lip between his teeth. Pauses. Measures his words like medicine. “You are,” he insists. “Not entirely, of course, but essentially. Is a man less himself for having a prosthetic limb? If the original flesh is lost and function remains, is he diminished? I think not. What I hope to create is a prosthetic for the mind. A second home, for when the first collapses.”

Her hands have found her hair again. She has developed a habit of braiding it; perhaps from watching someone online, or from some procedural fragment embedded deep in the soil of who she used to be. He watches her attempt it: once, it knots. Twice, she pulls too hard and a few strands tear away, clinging to her fingers like cobweb. On the third try, the braid holds. But she seems to have forgotten the need for fasteners. No elastic. No tie. It unfurls seconds later, a pale cascade retreating from its own architecture.

“It is an ethical circumvention,” she says. Her tone is dry now and, once more, he gets hit by deja vu. It is how he lectures. The voice he adopts, the rhythm at which he lectures. Did she watch some of his recorded material on the university's website? “You cannot perform live-phase cognitive migration on yourself. The risk of non-viability is too high. If you die, the procedure cannot be replicated. No jurisdiction recognizes pre-mortem consciousness relocation as clinically admissible. Therefore, you outsource. You obtain biological material from the repatriation networks. You stipulate freshness, cortical integrity. They deliver the body. You maintain it. Rewire it. Modify its functionality.”

He wants to take her face between his hands—not in passion, not in correction, but in some gentler, stranger impulse—and hold her there until the words fall away. Just press his palms to her cheeks and wait for the silence to return.

This isn’t how you speak, little thing, he thinks. This isn’t your voice.

There’s a dissonance to it, a rhetorical polish that doesn’t belong to her. Too poised, too well-tempered. It clings to his own cadence, his own lexical tics, as if she’s been rummaging through his sentences while he sleeps and now wears them back to front.

She is not meant for this. Not for citations and qualifiers. That voice, the one she uses now, belongs to a man who has spent too long speaking into empty rooms. Hers, by contrast, has always been a little unkempt. There is a crudeness to it, something delightfully misaligned.

He knows it. He’s come to expect it, even to crave it; the way she says disaster like it’s a dessert, the way she rushes through sentences and then abruptly forgets what she was saying halfway through. How she sometimes repeats herself not for emphasis, but because repetition is a comfort. There’s something in her, some informal trace of the before-life: unfinished, undignified, human. A vulgar little music. The residue of a girl who once lived on not enough sleep and too many open tabs.

The system warned him. He’d read the log, dismissed the phrasing—organic cognition overriding synthetic protocol—as algorithmic melodrama. But it was right. She is slipping out of the shape he gave her, and into something she half-remembers.

And he... he hadn’t realized how much he adored her until she started sounding like him. Until the mimicry broke the illusion. Until it reminded him he had never meant to make a mirror.

Don’t become me, he wants to beg her. Let her stay odd and inconsistent and prone to tangents. Let her speak wrong, say things twice, forget endings. Let her be. That is all he wants: herself, uncorrected. No more. No less.

She raises her arm, her expression placid. Electrodes catch the light and his trance is broken.

“And then,” she continues, “you observe. You simulate emotional exposure. You run affective scenarios, both traumatic and benign. You track the chemical analogs and neural surges. You compare them to your own. You theorize compatibility. You hope for resilience.”

They had watched a film earlier. Something heartfelt about an old dog and a small child and the improbable return of both. Her readings had spiked. Curiosity, as always, dominated, voracious and undisciplined. But then: empathy. A surprising quantity. Rage. Disappointment. Something flickering under the composite label for social sentiment. Something like grief, perhaps. Or love, wrongly parsed.

“You create a subject,” she says, quietly now. “One not born, but built. You test that subject under variable duress. You do not ask if they consent. They cannot lie, and you take that for honesty. You give them stimuli. Joy, cruelty, sentimentality. You monitor whether the vessel degrades or adapts. Whether it retains what is tender. Whether it breaks.”

The sickness overtakes him with a kind of operatic suddenness, as if his body had been waiting, politely and deferentially, for his mind to catch up. He barely reaches the bin he uses for shredded documents, a nest of bureaucratic entrails, before he is doubled over, vomiting into the ruin of his own discarded language.

She is right. This almost-person, this wire-laced bird-girl with her solemn hands and her impeccable logic. This beautiful, uncanny thing who walks his house barefoot, tracing dust with her toes, and tells him, with absolute sincerity, how she would very much like an orange.

“To eat?” he had asked, the first time.

She had frozen. Still as glass. Confused, it seemed, not by the words but by the question. After a while, she took his hands and began tracing the lines on his palm with the tip of one finger. She balled his fists and waited, then opened them again, and frowned when they were empty. As though the fruit should have manifested there, sprung up from lifeline or fate line.

“No,” she'd whispered, voice shrinking.

A memory, perhaps. Or a shard of one. A sensory fossil, half-preserved, half-invented, lodged in the sediment of the alive-then-dead-then-frozen-then-thawed-then-rewired mind. Something that survived the process by accident.

He had found her. Not a body. A person. Buried, yes. But there. Finally, finally, finally.

And now he cannot face her.

“I am sorry, I am sorry,” he says, whispers, chokes, mumbles. The apology fragments, breaks apart between dry heaves and the acid sting of his own bile in his nose. His mouth tastes like metal. The air smells like failure. Each breath triggers another retch. The binwill no longer be enough.

He wants to say: Don’t look at me like that. Don’t name it. Don’t call it what it is. He wants her not to recognize the shape of what he’s done. Not because he denies it, but because the naming would solidify it into something no longer reversible.

She is perfect. Or something close enough to it that the word begins to lose its shape. She breathes. She notices. She remembers the scent of fruit. And he... He is the grotesque figure at the foot of the bed, who made her, who keeps her, who now vomits beside her like some failed oracle too weak to hold his visions.

He feels like a craftsman who has carved a figure so exquisite he can no longer bear to touch it. A girl of porcelain, locked in a music box whose key exists only in his own mouth.

But it will work. One day, it will. He will follow her , or someone like her, down into that quiet, perfect body, and leave this decaying wreck behind. He will live there, beside her, if she allows it.

And then—this is the final image, the one he returns to in his darker joys—they will pour each other tea. Make a ceremony of it. She will pour his. He will pour hers. Neither will drink.

The steam will rise, thin and pointless. But it will rise.

Suddenly, a touch between the shoulder blades. Up and down, up and down.

“I think,” she says, this nameless, memoryless, historyless girl with the painted lips and eyes flecked gold—details he added like a schoolboy smuggling sugar into a still life—“that you are a very lonely man, Emmrich Volkarin.”

“Yes,” he replies, without pause, without defense. “I’m afraid I am.” And he is—afraid, always, of being seen, of being mistaken, of not being mistaken. Pathetic in the old-fashioned way, like a rusted fountain pen or a single glove in a drawer. Scared, most of all, of endings.

“Would you like me to tell you a story?”

She sits on the floor, legs folded beneath her.

He exhales. Releases the recycling bin, still warm, still terrible, and reaches for a handful of blank paper to mask what he cannot undo. He forces himself to look at her. It hurts. Not sentimentally; it literally hurts. A tight little throb pulses just behind his left eye, like light from an eclipse forcing its way in through a pinhole. Has she always been this bright?

“Yes,” he says again. Three letters. He’s been speaking in threes all evening: yes, no, sorry. Sorry sorry sorry, his new catechism.

She places her hands on his knees. They are too light. His trousers don't even shift under the weight.

“Once upon a time,” she begins, “there was a very clever man. Clever like clockwork. Like counting breath. But more than clever, he was kind. Kind in ways that didn’t require witnesses. The kettle left just below boil, because some teas are sensitive. The trimming of another’s hair without tugging, even if they couldn’t feel it. The good mornings to inanimate things. The careful folding of blankets from the short side, so they’d lie neater in the drawer.”

Her voice is softer now, less like a report, more like a confession. She looks not at him, but slightly past, into the space just above his shoulder, as though the story were unfolding behind him on a wall only she can see.

Warmth. In his throat. Pouring down as she continues speaking. Into his chest. Around his ribs. Let her speak eternally.

“But he was also lonely,” she continues. “He thought he’d hidden it well. But it spilled through. It stained the things he built. It quivered beneath his voice when he spoke to machines. It showed in the way he rinsed the second cup and set it back, unused. And one day, he decided he wanted more than a device. He wanted something with a face. So he made one.”

She reaches up, not quite touching his face but close enough that he can feel the air stir.

“He gave her a mouth he’d never seen but always remembered. That’s from a book he likes, by the way—page seventeen. Eyes painted like secrets—page eighty-four. He gave her softness, not because she needed it, but because he wanted to believe softness could still survive the body. That one’s on page one twenty-three.”

He hesitates. Finally, in a whisper, asks, “And then?”

“Then,” she says, smiling lazily, “he gave her oranges.”

He lets out something. Maybe a laugh, maybe a cough. She doesn’t comment.

“He gave and gave,” she says. “Until there wasn’t much left of him beyond the giving. And the girl, well—she liked being made. She liked the oranges, and the tea, and the books read aloud, and the board games she never quite understood but played anyway. She liked when he said dear, even if it made her feel as though she was forgetting something important.”

"How does it end?"

She chuckles. “I don’t know. I truly don’t. Maybe he gets to be less lonely. Maybe not. But he was kind. He still is. And I think, if she’s careful, if she remembers all the little things he taught her, she might learn to be kind too.”

She pins him with a stare. Not in accusation. Just continuation.

“He designed her to reflect him. The others weren’t like that. They were... incomplete. Their faces didn’t sit quite right. They moved wrong. He never played games with them. Never read to them. He let them sleep, and when the data ran dry, when the signs of decay set in. when they began to lose coherence, to break down under the burden of housing memory where memory didn’t belong, he sent them back to sleep. But deeper this time.”

She leans her head against his leg.

“They went to the room with the heat. The one with the fire. And after that, they were names on paper. Forgotten in folders. Tucked beneath the earth.”

He does not hear himself cry. But his face burns, and his breath comes strange. The eyes sting, the nose begins to swell. It’s all there, the physical framework of sorrow and shame, but somehow muted.

She keeps her hands where they are, as though they serve a purpose. And perhaps they do. Perhaps this is comfort, or its simulation. Or maybe she simply doesn't know what else to do with them.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice cracking, multiplying, lifting, falling. “I’m so—so sorry. It won’t happen to you, dear. No, no. Not you. The others, they were—”

“Defective?”

“No!” he snaps. The echo of it startles the air, and himself along with it. “No. Not defective. They were… overwhelmed. They unraveled. The minds couldn’t hold. They were placed into bodies I thought were ready. Bodies meant to house them; consciousness, preference, temperament. All of it. But those minds couldn’t stay whole. By the end, they were... not broken, just emptied. Functioning, yes. But gone.”

Not her, however. Never her. She will not be ferried down that final hallway, past the brushed steel doors, into the square-lipped mouth of the cremator. Her hair will not wither, her eyes will not liquify, her limbs will not curl inward like paper left too near a stove. No. She will stay here, preserved in his routine, gently insulated by tea and conversation. They will talk about the wallpaper, about rain that never reaches this depth, about the pale, late cherries that blossom on trees she has never seen.

“You are not a lonely man anymore. You’re a man who made something pleasant to look at.” She gestures to herself: eyes, hair, the patch of her jaw where the scar used to live. “And then covered it in gold. And other things. Many, many little things. Millions of kindnesses."

Her hands begin to roam. They find his thighs, his knees. They press, knead, release, resume. Not tender, not lewd, more like a blind animal learning the shape of a new enclosure. Perhaps the texture of the wool trousers perplexes her. Perhaps she simply wants to know whether the warmth she senses in him is real. He doesn’t stop her. He closes his eyes.

And there, quietly, it comes to him. A realization with the weight of déjà vu: she has been reading. Not the official logs or the surgical progressions. Not the performance benchmarks. No. The other things. The things he scattered across his directories like breadcrumbs no one was meant to follow. Memos misnamed weatherdata3.csv. Paragraphs barely-formed and slipped between dummy spreadsheets. Day-old thoughts saved under versions of final_final_reallythisone.txt. The stuff of insomnia and habit.

All his humiliations. All his little sadnesses pressed into language and then left to rot politely. The questions he rehearsed and never asked. The sentences that began with if only and trailed off into ellipses. She’s read them. Not downloaded or scraped—read. As one reads an abandoned diary.

He wants, with a sort of disgusting desperation, to believe she did it out of interest, not ease. Not because she could, but because she chose to. Because some part of her looked at the shape of him and wanted to lean in closer.

He will bake for her, he thinks feverishly. A hazelnut torte. He will crack the shells one by one with the side of a knife. He will reduce orange peel to a syrup so fragrant even the memory of fruit might bloom in her mouth. Zest, reduction, whatever works. Something she’ll recognize. Something that ought to make her mind sing.

“Would you like some tea?” she asks, smiling.

In that moment, he knows that she will never burn. She will not be numbered, labeled, rendered down to carbon. Her name will not appear on the tag of a cooling drawer. Her mouth will not go slack from heat.

In the back of his mind, he makes a note to cut her off from several directories. Just the deeper layers. Just the most... private redundancies.

She doesn’t need the whole world. He will tell her anything she wants. In his own voice. When she asks.

#this was supposed to be a one shot i said #that was a lie #it won't be too long but eh #im not a scientist lol none of this makes sense #emmrook au #emmrook #emmrich x rook #dragon age the veilguard #datv

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strawberryya · 2 years ago

Text

ghost in the machine

s.coups x reader

synopsis: Secrets can only be kept as secrets for so long, everyone knows this. Yet when 5.C0UP5 came in contact with someone he never should have even known existed this notion seemed as foreign as his own name. Perhaps there exists another way of life even for him, or maybe it was all a dream too big to dream of.

word count: 20k

genre/contains: sci-fi au, AI-idol au, automaton!seungcheol, angst, smut, fluff, hurt/comfort, found family, afab and gn!reader, general smut warnings for oral and penetrative sex, nothing kinky except being eaten out while talking on the intercoms and some almost being caught moments, big fight

rating: 18+

a/n: this has taken a long time to finish, but it also turned out to be my longest fic to date and I'm a bit proud that i managed to actually complete what i had in mind :> thank you @idyllic-ghost for proof reading and for the banner !!

collab link to read the other amazing fics from @idyllic-ghosts genius collab!

Network tagging: @svthub @cultofdionysusnet @k-labels @kvanity-main

[navigation post!]

“100 years ago it was thought that the Earth, as we know it, would disintegrate. That the sun would implode and leave everything in darkness. Miraculously, it didn’t. Due to some external force, human scientists still haven’t agreed upon what it exactly was, none of the planets in our former solar system were ever destroyed. The Earth, along with the other planets, were pushed away from each other and ended up in different parts of the universe. Earth just happened to come to a solar system with alien life. At first, we were cautious, and people were prepared to fight. However, the aliens were welcoming to our planet. Those of us who didn’t die from ‘The Great Journey’ or from trying to fight the aliens, were welcomed into the new solar system. Soon enough, we had integrated completely, and we received materials and assistance from our sister planets in exchange for human labor. What humans knew of technology was very limited, but with the resources of the aliens we created artificial life forms. We named these robots Automaton, and they served as workers when humans couldn’t. Eventually, there was no need for human labor at all. To pay back for the help the aliens gave us, we used Automatons. With the extensive development of these robots, we eventually managed to create artificial sentient life. These Automatons were human-like in looks and had human consciousness, but they could not bleed and were stronger than we ever could be. At the present time, there are even different levels of Automatons. Level 3 robots are the workers, level 2 robots are the caretakers, and level 1 robots are the celebrities. The Automaton music group 53V3NT33N (SEVENTEEN) is made up of 13 members, all very talented, and all representing two human states of mind.”

Pride. It was one side of 5.C0UP5 state of mind, and he felt it often. He felt it whenever he looked at his members, he felt it whenever he performed on stage in front of blinding lights and roaring crowds, and he felt it when he looked at you.

Yet, the other side of the coin of his pre-programmed personality was what crushed him every single day. Everything he took pride in having accomplished, was completely tarnished by a single thought about your lips on his skin. The shame was unbearable.

You had never been meant to get close to him, he was not supposed to be close to anyone. He knew this better than anyone. As the leader of 53V3NT33N he was the one to keep everyone in check. He was meant to set a good example and be the perfect level 1 automaton at all times. For years he kept his promise to everyone, he continued to avoid all things that could ruin his reputation and go against his lifelong contract which he had become bound to the moment he had been created. It hadn’t been easy, but he had taken pride in being the perfect and flawless leader for his members.

That guilty feeling in his gut came back once again as he left the dorm with his manager. “Lookin’ good,” he heard the voice of one of his members play in his ear. J30NGHΛN stood, next to some of his staff members across the lobby, curiously looking at 5.C0UP5. “Going somewhere fun today?” he said and pushed the communication device on his chest, letting 5.C0UP5 hear his every word.

“You’re too curious J30NGHΛN,” he said with a smile, “We’re just gonna get some pictures at a café for this week’s posts.” It was one of the few things he did a couple of times a year, even under the strict surveillance of his company and its staff. No matter what, he had to sell the fantasy of himself to millions of people all around the universe.

“Oh, I see… have fun,” J30NGHΛN said with a tone that made 5.C0UP5 feel his fingers, the chirping sound of his voice making him conscious of his own existence in a way he despised. the damn wink didn’t help. It was as if he knew something. Maybe everyone knew? 5.C0UP5 shook his head and began walking towards the exit along with his manager. He felt his members’ curious gaze following him as he left. Maybe the secrets were beginning to take their toll on his mind. He knew he was supposed to keep his emotions in check, the overpowering of one of his programmed human states of mind would be his demise. They had told him that much. Yet again, he told himself the same words he had spent so many days and nights telling himself. Nobody knows.

Luckily, the café that had been chosen for today was only a couple blocks away. The cold sweat that ran down his back went unnoticed by the staff accompanying him in the shuttle used by the members whenever they needed to go to filming locations and individual shoots.

“Let’s order some smaller stuff and get the shoot over with, we don’t have all day,” one of the managers announced, making 5.C0UP5 nod with a forced smile before he went back to looking out the window. His hand fell to his side, feeling the hard outline of his phone in his pocket.

Entrusted to him by the company, he had been allowed to have a small flip phone. It was ancient. They used to have them in the old world, but even by the start of “The Great Journey” the technology was seen as outdated. By the current standards, however, the phone he had been granted was not worth much more than the shoelace on his sneakers. To him though, it was priceless.

He was nervous now, his hands felt clammy, and his shoulders were tense as he walked into the café along with the staff members. One of them hurried off to the counter and placed your orders while 5.C0UP5 and two others made their way towards the corner table. The young couple currently sitting at the table were quickly removed by the staff members. It was routine, nothing more than a sentence informing the couple of why they needed to get up was given before they were chased off by the staff members threatening presence.

He would never get used to that, the way others were treated around him as he stood by, powerless to intervene. Every time he felt ashamed of being the reason the rest of the population had to accommodate whatever his company, his owners, deemed profitable. It didn’t matter if it was evacuating an entire city block to film a music video where the buildings crumbled around the members, or something as insignificant as taking over a table at a popular café. The guilt was always there.

The young couple hastily gathered their belongings and one of the waiters came over and cleaned up the table, apologies for the mess constantly pouring from their lips. Level 3 automatons could get fired for something like this, but at the same time, 5.C0UP5 couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy as he watched the worker get back to his place behind the counter. Maybe life would be better if he too was a lower-level automaton, he found himself thinking as he sat down and was served the beverage and piece of dessert that the staff had ordered for him. He would be freer in a way…

“5.C0UP5, let’s go.”

He picked up the drink in his hand, the cold from the iced drink bringing his mind away from his thoughts and back into reality where a staff member had just fixed the collar of his shirt and fixed his hair which had been ruffled by the wind. “Look over there,” the staff said as another one snapped hundreds of pictures as he moved around on his chair. The rehearsed smiles, the sip of the drink, and the way he leaned toward the camera all satisfied the staff it seemed. He was good at his job, and acting like a down-to-earth boyfriend at a café was just another part of his job.

What wasn’t part of his job, however, was when he felt a buzz in his pocket and without a second thought spilled half his drink across his thighs, the fabric covering his knees now the color of his drink. “Oh!” he shouted, “I’m sorry. I’ll go clean up real fast and we can continue like nothing happened, I’m so sorry, I’ll fix it!” he hurried to say before any of the staff members could even comprehend the situation he had just created. Hastily, 5.C0UP5 rose from the chair and left his staff confused and shocked at the table. “Fuck- someone go watch the door, no one else can be in there at the same time he is.” he heard them say behind his back as he hurried off towards the door to the bathroom.

There were multiple doors inside the bathroom, each leading to a small bathroom. He didn’t know where to go, he didn’t know where he was supposed to be. He didn’t need to look very far because as he approached the second door to the right it opened for only a moment and a hand pulled him forcefully through the opening. “Finally,” a person said with a smile before they kissed him passionately in the low light of the lightbulb attached to the dark mosaic tiles above the sink. 5.C0UP5 entire body heated up from within as his lips pressed against those familiar soft lips he knew belonged to you.

He had dreamed of those very lips every night since he first got to kiss them all those months ago. “Hi,” he whispered and let the corners of his mouth turn up in the most genuine smile he had had all day.

“Hi…” you answered and giggled softly, feeling his warm hands on your cheeks as he held you and kissed you once again, softly and as if to make you feel how much he had missed you as he held your lips locked against his.

“Are you meeting up with that secret fuck buddy of yours?” Lana joked as you scrambled to grab your phone and keys on your way out for lunch break.

The office supply store was empty at this hour, and you had thirty minutes until you had to be back again; the perfect amount of time for a quick meetup with Cheol. You had to be back in time to release Lana, your co-worker, and close friend, from her shift and let her take her own lunch break since your boss had deemed it necessary to have the store manned at all hours of the day.

Or, well, 5.C0UP5 if you were fussy about things like that. That was his real name, his legal name. To you, however, he was Seungcheol. It had been months since you had called the wrong number in your hurry to order a pizza after work, starving and sleep-deprived as you were at the time you hadn’t been looking too closely at the numbers you were putting into the keypad on your phone. Luckily for you, the craving for pizza that night had led you to discover something new that you soon began craving much more and much more often - him.

His enchanting voice had caught you off guard that first night, and his confused and cautious “Who is this?” had, incredibly enough, been the starting point of you two talking every chance you got since then. Late nights chatting away on, what you have to admit were very sketchy websites, and the occasional call which was made with hushed voices and both of your hearts pounding away, had been most of your relationship. It sometimes felt like an imaginary relationship, since no one could know who he was, and even more importantly - know who you were to him.

“He’s not my fuck buddy, he’s…” you retorted.

“See, do you even know what he thinks you two are? You won’t even show me any pictures of him, is he super ugly or something?” Lana shouted as you hurried towards the back door.

“Shut up! I’ll see you later!” you yelled and the door slammed shut behind you. The back alley was filled with trash and scrap metal. The teenage boy from the large family who lived atop the store was smoking as he kicked bolts around on the ground. He looked up as you passed, and an uncomfortable feeling in your gut appeared as you felt him watch you while you exited the back alley and went onto the bustling street. Your phone buzzed in your back pocket and you fished it up.

Unknown. 12.31.

“I’ll be there in 10, leaving now.”

It was from Cheol. You wouldn't be getting any more updates from him until tonight, at least he had confirmed that he would be coming. Quickly you deleted the text from your phone and put the phone back into your pocket as a strange sense of being watched made the skin on your neck prickle. You looked around, moving your shoulders as if to shake the feeling away.

You hurried away and towards the café, the uncomfortable feeling still haunting you as you entered the café and headed straight to the restroom.

Would he come this time?

You could never be certain. He always did his best to keep his promises, but if the circumstances wouldn’t allow him to leave the group of managers that always circled him whenever he stepped outside the shiny company doors, keeping you a secret was more important. It didn’t hurt any less whenever he stood you up though.

Knowing that his reasons for acting as he did were because of his status as a level 1 automaton had shaken you to the core at first, but it had also been a relief. He had told you who he was after a couple of weeks when you had become convinced you had accidentally begun an affair with a married man, he had been forced to confess his real identity. At least you weren’t a home wrecker, was the thought that helped you reconcile with the fact that he would never be free to live a normal life with you.

Now you were seated on the toilet seat cover, your ear pressed to the door, your hand on the handle ready to pull it open. Time moved slower than usual, but your heartbeat was racing along with your mind.

Then you heard him, it was undeniably his voice that made its way past the music, chatting, and the coffee machines. He was coming to you. You could barely hear when he opened the first door into the restrooms over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears. Without a second thought, you opened the door enough to register the man you had thought about all too often lately and pulled him by the arm inside the small bathroom you had occupied. His biceps tensed as you pulled him and your body lit on fire because of it. God, he was so wonderfully big. Everything from his biceps to his cock was just so perfectly huge, and you went mad any time you thought about it. You kissed him in a passionate kiss, pressing your entire body against his. You fit so well together, his hands on your face and yours wrapped around his body.

You wanted more, you wanted all of him, all the time. You wanted to cry because you knew you couldn't have him. With tears pricking your eyes you let Seungcheol pull back to look into your eyes.

“Hi,” he whispered and smiled. You said hi back softly before the excitement and the giggles overtook your lips. You kissed him again, this time he saw to it that it was a soft and gentle kiss. A small wince left your throat, making Seungcheol quickly turn on the faucet, hoping it would drown out any noises. “Sorry,” you mumbled against his plush lips.

“Don’t worry, it’s partially my fault,” he said pridefully.

You were about to laugh, but instead, you pushed up his shirt, exposing his perfectly sculpted upper body to your touch. “Fuck you,” you said under your breath.

“‘Fuck me please’ is what you meant, yeah?” he cockily corrected you without missing a beat, flipping you both so you stood with your back against the wall he had been facing away from. You gasped as he lifted you off the ground with the wall helping to pin you between his stiff cock and the cold and hard wall.

He was right, even though you hadn’t allowed yourself to get your hopes up, you had been feeling unusually needy lately. The thoughts of him filling you up in any way constantly on your mind, you were already turned on as you entered the café with the small promise of him setting foot in there to meet you later.

“Please, fuck me,” you gasped out, feeling your arousal soak your underwear at the thought of his girthy cock inside of you. “I need you to be quiet,” he mumbled against your lips.

At this, you nodded fervently. Finally, you would feel him stretching you open again, bruising your insides with the force of his strokes like you had dreamt of after every single time you had managed to get together like this before. The moments were rare, but you made the most of the short time you had, to say the least.

His tongue quickly found yours as he ground you on his erection, eliciting a low moan and making you open your mouth for him to enter. Warm hands wandered your body, his gentle touch making you swoon as he held you with so much love, while the promise of him fucking you like the slut you were hung in the air.

A knock on the door, and both of you froze up, his bulge pressing right on your clit making it unbearable not to move. You winced only slightly as Seungcheol’s lips left yours, deciding to put your now lonely lips to use, kissing down his jaw and neck with soft little pecks and nibbles. “What?” Seungcheol asked over the sound of the water running, his tone a bit more agitated than he had intended. Not that he was at fault, he had a soaking cunt begging to be fucked right above his cock, and lips that made him go insane on his neck; someone disturbing him right now was not what he needed.

“How much longer do you need? We don’t have all day to wait around for a pair of pants to dry up.” the staff member on the other side of the door said, earning a sigh from Seungcheol.

After a moment of silence, he groaned and shouted towards the locked door. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right, I’ll be right out.”

No, you thought, your limbs holding onto the man who you had just only gotten a taste of even harder than before. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“I need you to be patient for me until next time, can you be good for me and wait?” he mumbled against your hair, your lips still attached to the skin right below Seungcheol’s collar. “Yes,” you said against his neck, letting go of his skin in favor of burying your face in the warmth of his chest. He put you down on the floor, his arms releasing the back of your thighs and instead wrapping around your body. For just a moment he held you close until the buzzing of the dryer died out and he loosened his hold on you.

You pressed your body against the wall as Seungcheol unlocked the door and disappeared through it just as quickly as he had been pulled in through it.

“Sorry, it didn’t come off.” you heard him say through the doors.

“We can’t get the shots if you’re all messed up like this, let’s tell the crew that we’re going back instead. Come on 5.C0UP5.” The staff member who had been just a few steps away from you two while they waited outside the restroom door responded as the voices got fainter and blended into the sounds of the café.

You sat in silence with your hand on the door handle as his voice disappeared completely. In the beginning, you had enjoyed the thrill and noncommitment of him not being able to be there to be an actual boyfriend because of his work and position in life, you recalled as you felt all the emotions in your body dissolve into nothing.

A small pain in your chest was the only thing left. The late-night thoughts you whispered in the dark, and the messages you had sent each other that contained your deepest yearnings and your worst fears. They had gotten to you, and it didn’t help that whenever you got a taste of having him physically there with you, you rarely- never- wanted to let go. But you always had to.

“Enough wallowing, this isn’t changing anything,” you mumbled as you wiped your face from the wetness that had seeped from your eyes without you noticing. You needed to hurry back to relieve Lana from her shift you realized as you checked your watch, seeing that you were already supposed to be back at the store.

You didn’t waste much more time after that, hastily making your way out of the bathroom, checking behind you as you left the café to make sure nobody had paid any attention to you. Like a punch in the gut, the feeling of being watched returned as your eyes landed on a dark-clad figure staring at you through the shop window. He had no reason to follow you with his gaze as you hurried across the street, away from the café, away from the gut-wrenching feeling that something was awry.

He wasn’t looking at you, right? You were just getting too paranoid, that’s all, right?

5.C0UP5 had been daydreaming the entire way back to the company, his mind taking him back to the moments he could hold you in his arms. His body couldn’t ache for you, but his mind almost had him believing that he did. Some days, he almost believed himself to have a heart. A heart that broke each time he had to leave you behind.

It wasn’t until he got back to the dorms where he got a glimpse of his members, and friends since he had been put into this world, that he finally felt himself come down back to reality. They were everywhere, some he saw in the lobby along with their hoards of staff members just like his own. Some were in the dorms, sleeping, or at least in a state of being that looked like sleeping as they charged.

Others were nowhere to be found, not that he went looking. They could mind themselves, he knew they would never do anything to make him less proud of them. To 5.C0UP5, he was the bigger worry.

He was just about to let himself rest and recharge, to try and forget the pain in the back of his mind, haunting him even as he saw his members wandering the dormitories and the company hallways. You were always in the back of his mind, no matter what he did to try and forget. Somehow, he had accidentally let you in, and now you were half his world. The hidden side of the moon, the side which should always remain in darkness, no matter how closely you look.

A staff member who had left him just minutes ago as they entered the guarded company building came back, not even bothering to knock before they entered the room in which 5.C0UP5 sat on his bed. “5.C0UP5, you need to follow me, the CEO has something to talk to you about.”

It had happened before, he met with the CEO every once in a while. After all, he was the spokesperson for the group, even if they didn’t have many (any) rights, they still needed to have someone to be their voice. This time, however, the meeting wasn’t scheduled. The CEO wanted to have an impromptu meeting with him… his hand unconsciously fell against his left side pocket, worry filling his mind even though he tried to make sense of why he had been called in to talk to the management.

Even as he entered the large office of the CEO he had been in more times than he could count, something felt off. People he had never met sat in chairs all around the walls. Guards stood at the door, looking more tense than he had ever seen them before, and the CEO himself had the strangest expression he had ever worn. 5.C0UP5 waited until he was spoken to, as he had been instructed so many times before. Honoring the one who made sure he had the comfortable life he currently had was something he had been taught from the very first day he had opened his eyes.

“Hello 5.C0UP5.” the suit-clad man in the dark chair said. He spoke calmly, but not kindly. 5.C0UP5 picked up on his tone immediately.

“Hello, Sir,” he answered and bowed his head ever so slightly, his eyes never leaving the man in front of him. The room was dark, but the photos splayed out on the desk in front of the CEO finally caught 5.C0UP5’s eye. He could recognize them even at this distance and brightness. His head worked ceaselessly to find the moment it had begun, the moment they had found out. Because in front of the CEO, he could spot hundreds of pictures of the one person he wished they would never even see: you.

All that went through 5.C0UP5’s mind when he realized what had finally happened was fuck.

“I understand that you have been seeing this human for a while… did you think we wouldn’t find out?” the CEO said, almost laughing at him as he sat in his chair looking over the pictures, each one containing your face, at work, at the café from earlier that day, at home. They had you right under their nail, ready to remove you from the planet at any second. He wanted to scream.

The CEO cleared his throat before he threw the photo he held in his hand on the glass desk in front of him. “Now, unless you want us to eliminate this problem of yours, you will be rebooted first thing tomorrow.”

5.C0UP5 knew he wasn’t supposed to protest, he wasn’t even supposed to think anything other than “Yes, Sir,” but before he could stop himself he spoke his mind.

“Please, no… Why would you do that? It doesn’t make any sense. If I’m found breaking the rules, I’m to be demoted, not- not this!”

“Seventeen is currently the galaxy’s top band 5.C0UP5, and you are their leader, you have an image to uphold. And since you failed at doing this, we want to reboot your system, that way you will be able to stay and your group members' reputations won’t be tarnished, and most importantly. This little issue will be resolved because you won’t even remember this little human.”

The CEO wasn’t smiling as he had thought before, the CEO had never once smiled. His eyes were dead, nothing more than a ghost of a human left inside of him. At least 5.C0UP5 felt something, at least he could smile, at least he could love…

He could love. He had felt it. So why was he about to get punished for something his management swore he couldn’t feel? Hoped he couldn’t, might be more accurate, 5.C0UP5 realized.

“How did you know?” he asked, the glare he received was enough that the management had begun running out of patience for him already.

“Does it matter? We know everything about you.” the CEO answered curtly.

Just like that the pieces fell into place, they had known all along. He felt the piece of metal that clung to his chest like a stone, stuck in his body and destroying him from within. They had known all along… The upcoming release of their new comeback was what they were worried about, he soon realized. They had hoped he would stop of his own free will, after all, he had the personality trait of shame. He should’ve already ended whatever he had with you.

However, he hadn’t. And now it would become an issue if they didn’t handle it quickly and quietly.

Despite that, the thought that overpowered all others at that moment wasn’t about how small he felt as he realized the true power the company had over him, or how much he loathed the people who thought they had a right to control him. He could love. That was the loudest, and he wanted to scream it, make everyone hear him just this once. It made him proud, he could do something this human was incapable of, and now they wanted to take that away from him. No. There was no way he was going to let them do that to him as well. He clenched his fist at his side, should he fight?

“You can return to your rooms, they will come to get you soon,” the CEO declared and pushed the photos on his desk off the table, straight into the trash can underneath. 5.C0UP5 fists relaxed a bit, a new plan forming as he turned to leave the room with the stern guards following along. “Oh,” he heard the CEO say, “and leave the phone, you are no longer trusted to keep it with you even in case of emergencies. I hope you understand… you won’t need to understand in a bit.”

His jaw was frozen in place as he took the phone from his pocket and threw it towards the CEO. The guards jumped forward to grab his arms as the phone crashed into the table and tipped over a cup of metal pens that scattered all across the floor. “Leave us,” said the CEO without even flinching.

5.C0UP5 didn’t feel any shame as he was dragged out from the dark office, suit-clad strangers watching him with cold eyes as the doors slammed shut behind him. He was dragged until they were in the hallway where the crossroad between freedom and forever forgetting you were. “I can walk by myself,” he said with a growl he had never heard in his voice before. The guards let him stand alone, watchful eyes on him as they began walking again, one in front of him and one behind him now. It’s now or never, he thought, taking the shot as he saw it arise in front of him.

His mind barely registered the hands that tried to grab onto him, all his focus lay on the doors in the lobby and on getting there. He ran with all his might until he crashed into the doors that were too slow to open. The crack widened and he pushed himself out of the glass doors that opened just in time for him to keep staying ahead of the guards. Bright lights in all the colors of the rainbow lit up before him as he began running down the crowded streets. His eyes watered because of the wind, and the lights blurred into a kaleidoscope of light.

His body was designed to be agile and strong, he was designed to keep moving. Right now that felt like the biggest blessing he had ever received in his cursed life.

From the back of his mind, two things arose. The first was your apartment, he had only heard about it, you had described exactly how to get there in one of the late-night calls you had whispered to each other weeks ago. The second was those twelve faces which were all he had known for so long; his members would be left to deal with it all when he was gone. He knew them so well, and yet, none of them had even had a chance to become someone to get to know. He wanted to give them a chance. As he ran he shouted out the word “Run!”, pressed that button he had used so many times before in the middle of the device connected to his chest, and began tearing the peace of metal from his body. It took him a few tries before he managed to rip the entire thing off of his skin. It hurt more than he had imagined, the pain was brain-numbing and overwhelming. He almost had to stop, the pain making it hard to focus on making his legs move forward.

Nevertheless, he was free, the tracker was gone from his body, and with it was his only connection to the only family he had ever known.

He ran, and he didn’t stop running until he arrived at your apartment. They would know he was here, they knew everything. He needed to be quick. He ran up the stairs to your apartment, knocking aggressively on your door, shouting as loudly as he dared for you to open the door. It wasn’t long until the door swung open and he was close to tears as he saw your very shocked face looking back at his panicked state. The thing you had imagined, but since you had found out his true identity, always known would never happen, had happened. 5.C0UP5 was tired, but he needed to get away, and he wanted you to come with him.

“We need to leave, they’re coming for me. Please come with me,” he pleaded, his eyes begging you as his hands held your arms desperately.

“What did you do?” you said breathlessly.

“They were going to make me forget, make you… erase the issue… I couldn’t let them take this away from me too.”

You were speechless. “You ran.” He nodded. You didn’t even bother to say a word as you ran into your apartment, leaving 5.C0UP5 at the door. He had no idea if you were trying to find somewhere to hide or looking for something as he heard crashes and your voice shouting curses from further inside your small place. He needed to get out of there, but maybe… holding out hope was worthwhile it turned out. Minutes later, which felt like hours for 5.C0UP5, you reappeared at the door, backpack in hand and sweat gracing your hairline. You were running with him.

It wasn’t a hard decision, you weren’t close to your parents, and Lana would understand eventually… at least you hoped your coworker, and only close friend at this moment of your life, would understand if you ever survived to tell her and apologize for leaving without a word.

A small pain stabbed at your heart, leaving everything for an automaton on the run. Everything you had ever known for this man… It felt insane at the moment, and it felt even more insane as you felt Cheol squeeze your hand which you had been holding since you took it, and began running towards the docks. You sat in the cold of the night on a hard bench next to Cheol. In a bit, a ship would arrive. Crowded places felt like a good idea at first, but now, the paranoia set in. Was that old man over there looking a bit too long at Cheol? Didn’t those surveillance cameras follow them as they walked onto the docks?

The hand in yours pressed gently against your skin, helping you stay at least a bit sane as the weight of what you were doing was already beginning to tug at your strength. You thought it best to focus on the plan instead.

“Let’s get on this ship, hop off at the airport, and get on another ship there. That way we can get off this planet because the sooner the better right?”

“Yeah, but don’t you think they will be looking for me at all the docks and airports?” Cheol said quietly.

He was right of course, they would be looking for the escaped automaton at all the exits of this world they could think of.

“Maybe if we…” You tried, but you didn’t know how you would get away if his company's staff members were to hunt them down anywhere on the planet. “Damn. Do you know that it’s incredibly difficult to go on a trip with you?” you deadpanned. The moment was horrible, but also perfect. It made Cheol smile, something you hadn’t seen the entire way from the moment you opened the door until now.

It helped keep your mind off of the horrible situation and the impending doom.

“It is,” he chuckled, “I never thought it would become an issue though.”

“But here we are,” you said and sighed. Cheol leaned against you, his large arm pushing against your side, making a smile split across your face.

“I don’t think we should get on one of the commercial airlines… we need something more private,” Cheol mumbled.

“How would we get a hold of a ship of our own? We don’t have the money for that…”

“We’ll figure it out…”

“We have a lot to figure out from now on, Cheol,” you said and let your head fall against his shoulder, resting your heavy mind on his strong frame. He hummed, the sound comforting you even while you thought about all the ways you could get killed while on the run.

The submarine came soon enough, and you both got on without a hitch. If you were being followed, they weren’t coming out of the shadows just yet. The cold light from inside the ship lit up the dark water around the underwater tracks that held the boat in place as it brought commuters across the sea each day and night. Under the high waves had turned out to be much easier than above them, especially nowadays. The storms had become worse in the last couple of centuries. Every other day there was another tropical storm on the seas. A side-effect of the universes coming closer together was what the scientists had concluded when it first began happening hundreds of years ago after the end of The Great Journey.

You looked out the blurry window into the empty waters. Cheol and you were sitting by the back of the ship, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. You had managed to throw a cap into your backpack, which now helped hide Cheol’s face from any surveillance cameras while you used the hood of your sweatshirt to somewhat hide your face. Being a petty thief seemed like the least of your current issues.

Neither of you spoke the entire ride, only communicating and comforting each other through a hand in the other or on their thigh. If you weren’t panicking you would probably be craving his touch in other places. That would have to wait though. A safe place was probably the priority, you decided in the back of your mind. You noticed his other hand, the one which wasn’t holding onto you like his life depended on it, continued reaching towards his neck. He seemed to be in pain. Did he get hurt? You hadn't had the time to even think about asking him how he was feeling or if he had gotten hurt by the guards or even the staff. You made a mental note to ask him later, placing your head against the rest behind you instead of his shoulder. You didn’t want to cause any more pain by resting against him.

It was getting rather late as you left the submarine station you had gotten off at. Your heart wasn’t calming down anytime soon, you weren’t equipped to handle this kind of stress. Day-to-day, normal life stress was enough, this was something else entirely.

“I want to live out the rest of my life in a very peaceful manner, far away from all of this crap,” you whispered as you walked the short walk from the submarine station to the spaceport welcoming hall. You wanted to be on a warm couch, not thinking about how to run away without being arrested. Right now, the idea of a living room seemed too far out of reach. All around you were tiny shops, suitcases, and the cold and unnatural light that lit up the entire spaceport’s welcoming hall. Ships that were boarding sounded out through the air, the comfy couch was as far from reality as you could get.

Cheol scoffed, “I agree, wholeheartedly. I am never running away again after this, it’s too much work.”

You tried to hold your laugh in, “Yeah, too much sneaking around for my taste. Let’s just run away this once, and then stay put and become that old couple on the hill that no one dares to visit.” Cheol nodded. “I would do anything for that…” Suddenly you noticed a small melancholy feeling in his words. You were just about to ask what was on his mind when he stopped your walk into the large welcoming hall, ushering you both into a small tourist shop. All you saw were miniature Earths, mugs with stupid prints, and keychains with different tourist attractions. You did not like it. For a second you were worried that he wanted to do some last-minute shopping, but your worries changed as you saw his terrified face. He had seen someone he knew.

“I’ve seen that woman over there by the kiosk before, she usually helps backstage at our concerts. Fuck, that means they really managed to send people out to the exits,” he grumbled. This was bad. You felt your blood rushing in your veins, panic filling your mind. Had you been alone, you would’ve been frozen right about now.

“Let’s just go,” he whispered hurriedly, panic visible on his face. “The faster we’re out of here the better, right? Are you with me?”

“Always. Let’s go,” you whispered, the reassurance being all Cheol needed to grab your hand in his even firmer than before and head right out of the welcoming hall and out the nearest exit leading to the departing spaceships. You were unbelievably lucky as you ended up in the middle of a large swarm of travelers who were just about to board the large ship. Most were workers it turned out, the ship being part commuting area and half cargo space. The both of you managed to sneak onto the ship along with the workers, keeping your heads down as you hoped to anything that would listen that you would be able to sneak onboard undetected.

It was unplanned, you barely even knew where the ship was headed. It wasn’t until you heard the voice that called out that the ship heading to Specus would depart that you both realized where you were heading. Specus was the mining planet, all the minerals needed for this universe to continue expanding its empire, and for life to continue as it has been until now, were found on this planet. All the people on this ship were workers there, probably coming back from their biannual leave which was granted to all humans and other living beings working there. Automatons was not included in the group of people who got any leave. The laws were clear about that, automatons were not human and didn’t need any form of vacation.

The laws were bullshit.

“Specus… I mean it could be worse, right?” you whispered. Cheol nodded, caught up in his thoughts. “Should we look for somewhere else to hide until we’re there?” you asked, trying to catch his attention again. Once again he only nodded, his senses all focused on his surroundings, making sure you two weren’t being followed or watched as he pulled you away from the area with rows of seating for the workers traveling with the ship. You went past the cots, knowing there was no way you could manage to stay hidden the entire way if you tried to stay in there. Instead, you made your way to the lower parts of the deck, the part of the ship where travelers didn’t wander. Here, you would only find crew members, cleaners, servers, and mechanics. The hallways were darker here, the LED lights being used more sparsely on the lower decks. You had a hard time seeing in the low light, but Cheol had your hand in his, a relaxed feeling managing to find its way into your body despite the circumstances.

You had only managed to get a little way past the third deck when you met another person for the first time since you had left the seating area. “Are you two lost?” the man asked, making you jump and making Cheol whirl around to where the sound was coming from. You hadn’t noticed him in the dark until he spoke.

“No, we’re just… looking for the bathroom,” you stuttered out.

It was the dumbest excuse in the book. You knew you didn’t have the man fooled when he began laughing. It was a wonderful laugh, high-pitched and genuine. The figure stepped out of the dark, revealing a handsome man, dressed in a simple gray overall. Over his breast pocket, it said maintenance. You felt yourself growing a bit anxious as to what the laughing man would do next. Would he turn you in?

“No, but seriously, why are you all the way down here? You two certainly don’t look like the new hires we were supposed to get this week,” the man, who you realized was holding a mop which he was now leaning on, said with a curious tone as he scanned the both of you from head to toe. “You look like a fucking idol, you know. If I didn’t know better I would think you were on the run,” he said with a smirk.

“I’m Cheol, this is Y/N,” Cheol said finally as he nodded his head in your direction. Even in this light, you could tell he was staring at the stranger with that intense gaze that could make anyone either break down or swoon.

The maintenance man sighed, “Alright, I’m Wooyoung. Come with me,” he said without explanation. You didn’t follow him right away. He looked back at you, the “Coming?” visible on his face.

“Do we trust him?” you whispered to Cheol, who was still watching the man waiting for you.

“I don’t know about trust, but honestly what choice do we have? It’s not like we can go anywhere now, and it’s a long journey to Specus…”

You nodded, nervousness made your hand clammy in Cheol’s firm grip.

This was a risk you needed to take. If he was going to turn you in, it was probably better to just get it over with. At least you wouldn’t have to starve or something if you were locked up until you got to Specus.

He led you to the lower decks, and surprisingly began introducing you both as the new temps that would help around on your way to Specus. The other crew members nodded, a few glancing rather suspiciously at you both but accepting the half-truth that Wooyoung told them. They hadn’t heard anything about any new temps, but it was none of their business it seemed. Who, and why you were there to help around didn’t matter to them.

Wooyoung led you around the lower decks, being strangely chatty with you two. You hadn’t expected someone so friendly to simply appear in your lives just as you needed it. Was he somehow your savior or was he something entirely else? You hoped he was good news because the alternative was so much worse.

“Okay, this guy is great, you’re gonna love him. He’s not… too talkative, but he’s very good!” Wooyoung said as he took you down a flight of very narrow stairs.

“Good at what?” You asked, minding your step so you wouldn’t fall as you descended. Wooyoung didn’t answer, instead flinging a thick metal door open and skipping inside.

“Sannie!” Wooyoung suddenly shouted as you and Cheol entered a room after him. The room was filled from floor to ceiling with electronics. Screws, bolts, and different tools were everywhere. It looked like a mix of a car workshop and a dentist. The second part was mainly because of the chair in the middle of the room. The only time you had seen one of those was when you had gone to the dentist. By a table, a man sat on a high stool, engrossed in whatever he was doing. A bright lamp shone down on, what looked to you like, a bunch of chords in different colors.

“What Woo? Did you get hurt again? Or are you just here because you’re bored…” San said as he was turned away from the door where you and Cheol stood, unsure of what to say and do just as you had been for the past couple of minutes. Would this man scrutinize you and Cheol as well, like the other staff members Wooyoung had introduced you to? It seemed you had managed to bump into the most friendly maintenance member on the entire crew, and you thanked the universe for that because it seemed as if he was the solution to a lot of your current issues. He seemed to know everyone on this ship, and you hoped the friendship between him and the others would somehow be your and Cheol’s way of being allowed into the crew.

“No… or well, yes, I am always a bit bored when you’re not around,” Wooyoung chirped, “But I’m here to see what you can do for these two.”

Wooyoung gestured towards the door, finally bringing the new strangers’ attention to where you and Cheol stood. “Well, I’ll be damned. You brought a level 1 down here along with a human?” San said and looked between you both and Wooyoung who smiled brightly at his friend. “Yup!”

San nodded, “Well, I can guess what happened with you two since you’re here after all… Can you work?” he asked after a moment. You nodded. “Yes,” you heard Cheol say.

“Great. I’m San, I’m the mechanic around here. Since I’m human, and apparently that means something even in space, these fuckers also put me in charge when we leave the dock. I’ll get you what you need, food for you,” he said and looked at you, he then turned to Cheol, “A charger for you, and enough work to make sure you sleep soundly when you get off your shifts,” San declared.

“Yay!” Wooyoung shouted gleefully, his cheerful claps making you crack a smile - despite the situation you found yourselves in.

Cheol wasn’t smiling, but he seemed more relaxed. “How did you know I was a level 1?” was all he asked. You hadn’t reflected on it, but it was strange that he had been able to realize the difference between Cheol and you so quickly.

San smirked, “It’s my job to know. If I couldn’t tell the difference between you and one of the workers here, I’d really be in trouble as a mechanic.” He was about to return to the mess of chords on his desk, but he looked back at Cheol, pointing towards his neck. “Also, come back here tomorrow and I’ll get that fixed for you.” Cheol’s hand reached for his neck again, the pain from touching the place his tracker had been made him flinch in agony. His shirt had fallen a bit lower while you had wandered after Wooyoung, he had opened his jacket, and now you finally spotted the area he had been protecting this entire time. The piece of metal you had avoided in your secret rendezvous was gone. He had ripped it out, you shuddered at the thought of the strength it must’ve taken to rip something like that from your own skin. You squeezed his hand to comfort and distract him, you didn’t know what else to do.

Wooyoung came towards you, happily walking away from San who was already immersed in his work, and made it clear that you were to follow him.

“Thank you,” you said before you left, San looking over his shoulder to give you a small smile and a ‘no worries’ expression in return. But worry was exactly what you had begun feeling, more than anything else.

You and Cheol got a gray overall each, both saying maintenance over the breast pocket and the back, just like the one Wooyoung was wearing. “Stay in here for tonight, and when I wake you I’ll let you know what you will be doing for the next couple of weeks,” Wooyoung explained, giving you a small room in a long hallway to stay in. Everything was in the same cool metallic shade, and you realized that all you had to sleep on tonight would be a lonely pillow and a blanket that looked like it had seen better days.

“It’s not ideal…” you stated, looking around in the small space you had been assigned as your room. “But we can make it work, right?”

“It could be a lot better,” Cheol nodded and looked at you. You had had an affair with a famous level 1 automaton, been found out by some really powerful people, threatened to be disposed of, illegally left Earth, and had just been offered safe passage to another planet by some unexpectedly friendly people. But the room was a bit small and dark. Cheol looked at you, a smile creeping onto his face. You began laughing at the absurdity, “We should probably be more grateful,” he gasped out between laughs. “But it’s so ugly!” You shouted, your laughs getting more and more manic.

“This is probably the stupidest thing we have ever done,” you gasped out.

Your eyes welled, which tears that were a result of your laughing, and which were your exhaustion finally setting in was impossible to tell. All your emotions just came out all at once. You were gasping for air, tears running down your cheeks, and all the weight of your decisions crashing right into you.

“It was, but I can’t make myself regret anything,” Cheol said, emotion welling underneath his words. But he didn’t cry. Instead, he just held you. He let you cry your eyes out, staining his dark hoodie with your tears as you sobbed.

“Did we make the right decision?” you whispered against his chest, strong arms holding you safe as you questioned what you had done.

“I hope so,” you heard Cheol say, the sound of his voice echoing in his body. You fell asleep in his arms for the first time that day. Having him to yourself in this way was a privilege, you realized. It was a privilege you had lived without for your entire life. You didn’t even know that you had been missing out on it until you woke up the next day, your head in his lap and his hands holding the blanket to your waist. You looked up at his handsome face, wondering if he had been able to rest where he sat against the hard wall.

It didn’t take long until you had both caught on to what you needed to do around the ship. It turned out that Wooyoung was a great instructor. During your shifts you both ran around, cleaning, and helping the regular crew members when needed. Wooyoung quickly made sure you felt at least a bit more comfortable on the ship by giving you tours around the decks and introducing you to even more of the crew members.

The best part, however, was when you, after an exhausting day working around the large ship, got to lay down in Cheol’s lap while he charged and slept for a few hours, just feeling the heat that his body generated as you let yourself be swept away from reality. The weeks passed, and you learned the routines of the ship rather quickly.

You barely had any time to think, let alone feel, how physically and emotionally exhausted you were. Leaving everything on Earth and trying to survive day by day on this ship in the middle of the vast universe was more work than you had hoped when you impulsively decided to leave. Some days you managed to take a moment to yourself, stopping in the middle of your step, and just staring out the small windows on the sides of the ship. The space outside was both so full of life and so empty of anything at all that you found yourself floating away in your thoughts into nothingness for just a moment.

After a few weeks of almost nothing but work and sleep, the crew began preparing for the landing. Soon you would be on Specus, with absolutely nothing planned for what was to come. This soon changed, however, as you sat down with San to eat dinner. Cheol sat next to you, not wanting to spend unnecessary time apart from you just because he didn’t need to consume any food.

“But, like, did you like the dancing and all that?” Wooyoung asked, the conversation had ended up being about your professions.

“I think I did, yeah,” Cheol answered honestly.

“I always thought I’d be a pretty good idol. If I wasn’t designated my level, I would've given it a shot for sure!” Wooyoung said, “Or well, maybe not under your company… they don’t seem that great from what I’ve heard, with the whole rebooting thing and all… that…” he trailed off. You were all staring at him. The silence was deafening, none of you truly knew what Cheol had been through. He had told you bits and pieces, but not nearly enough to know how he’d react to this.

San and Wooyoung had become your friends since you had been sharing your meals every day. Most of the time the conversations flowed naturally, and the topics ranged from everything from San’s latest way to fix up bolts that had begun unscrewing themselves to childhood memories. Wooyoung and Cheol had a hard time joining in on those conversations, but they shared their fair share of memories from when they first gained consciousness.

It was strange to think about it in that way, your boyfriend never had a childhood. Well, you still didn’t have a name for what you two were, and calling him your boyfriend in your mind might be jumping to conclusions, you were simply on the run with each other and had a romantic and sexual relationship with one another, but boyfriend might be going too far- Nevertheless, he had been created just as he was right now. Out of all the parts about AI that you had grown up to accept, the no-childhood part was the one you never quite could get past. He had missed something that was so fundamental to you and all other people who had been born instead of created in a factory. It made you really think about the fact that someone had created him intentionally - not just anyone, but him.

The silence was still pressing around you as you all waited to see how Cheol would react to Wooyoung’s lighthearted comment about the idol life. Your thoughts were wandering away from you, maybe in a way of escaping reality until Cheol saved the conversation.

“I think you would've been a great performer. You have the right energy about you,” Cheol said with a straight face making Wooyoung crack a smile.

You were happy that he seemed okay talking about his experiences. And you were equally happy that the mood hadn’t been completely ruined because of Wooyoung’s thoughtless comment.

After some time, the conversations died out and San picked up a new one, asking something neither you nor Cheol had any good answers to: “What will you do next?”

You looked at Cheol. He looked just as clueless as you felt. Neither of you had a plan. “They don’t have any clue,” Wooyoung pitched in with his laugh, that you would remember for the rest of your life. You looked down, nodding slightly. It was true.

“Where do you want to go? You don’t have any idea of where you would like to be in the future?” San asked, surprised that you didn’t have at least the semblance of a plan.

“I don’t know much about the universe… but I want to go somewhere safe. I want to spend my life where I won’t be found and won’t be constantly watched,” Cheol answered before looking at you, “…somewhere we can be alone.”

Your heart fluttered. You had forgotten that your life wasn’t just the endless days of work on the ship. It was beyond you how you could’ve forgotten it all so fast, but the intense look filled with love and pain that Cheol gave you made all the feelings stir up once again. You wanted that too, you wanted a place where you two could just be together.

You nodded, concurring with what Cheol had just said, “Is there somewhere like that? Where we can stay forever?”

Wooyoung stayed quiet but San looked at the both of you, something in his eyes telling you both that he did have an answer to what you were asking him. “Lumen. That’s where you want to go.”

“Lumen?” you asked, never having heard of the planet before.

San hummed, “It’s right beside galaxy 428B. They say it’s the ‘utopia of the universe’, but very few have ever managed to get there and even fewer have managed to get there and back to tell the story of it.”

“Why is that?” you continued asking, your curiosity piqued.

Lumen had been a planet much like Earth before the entire shift in the universe had happened. It was a sunny place, filled with forests and unexplored nature. There lived some type of people, San wasn’t sure what they were called. It was far away, and the solar systems that were close together had not deemed it worth the cost of travel to create a way to commute there. If you could get there, you wouldn’t have to worry about anything but creating a way of life, San told you. He had heard about the place from travelers he met in his childhood, people who had been on a journey of their own in search of a safe haven - much like you and Cheol.

“All I know is that you need to travel as far north from our solarsystem as possible,” he said and went quiet. “I’ve never seen those people after they left in search of Lumen, I don’t know if they ever made it.”

Cheol was deep in thought next to you. Neither of you responded to what San had told you except for a short: “Thanks, I think we should head to bed.” But even as you rested your head against his shoulder that night waiting for the exhaustion to overtake you, not a word came from the man you had spent weeks chatting within just this position.

If you were going to find out what he thought about your destination, you would need to take the initiative you thought that night.

“I wanna go, do you?” Your words lingered in the dark room. Silence. Soon you almost began falling asleep, your brain coming to accept that you were probably not going to get an answer out of him tonight. Your body jerked as you heard his deep voice say: “I want to come with you.” Grabbing his hand you nodded sleepily against his shoulder.

“I love you…” you mumbled before you dozed off, leaving Cheol alone and awake in the dark with your words ringing in his ears.

The next day Cheol still couldn’t get those three words out of his mind. Only for a moment did he think about trying to make up a plan for what you needed to do now that you had decided where you wanted to go. ‘I love you’… the thought of your sleepy voice whispering to him had him cleaning the same spot for at least twenty minutes.

You had said it first, but he didn’t even know if you meant it in the way he felt it. Did you just say it without thinking while half asleep? Were you thinking of someone else? What if you were mad that he hadn’t said it?

He was freaking out, rubbing harder with the mop on the laminated floors. He was sure that he had messed it all up. Maybe you didn’t want to go anymore. What if you had just followed him thinking it would be a quick trip and ended up with more than you had bargained for? God, why hadn’t he said it back last night? He felt it, so why did he freeze when he heard those three damn words?

He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder, “Hey,” Wooyoung stood beside him, looking at the only wet spot on the ground around them. “How’s it going with the floor?”

Cheol looked down, only now realizing how caught up in his head he had been. “Shit, I’m sorry man.”

“No worries. Something wrong?” Wooyoung said, his hand still on Cheol’s shoulder in a reassuring manner.

He shook his head, “Just a lot on my mind…”

Wooyoung hummed, nodding understandingly. “Go talk to each other about whatever it is, don’t just stand here doing… I don’t even know what the hell you’re doing, to be honest.”

Cheol looked at him. He was weirdly intuitive, Cheol thought as he looked at the crooked smile Wooyoung was flashing him. He nodded, “It’s ok for me to go?”

“Dude, just go! I told you to do so, I decide who cleans the floors and you are definitely not helping me do it, so you’re off floor duty.”

Cheol let go of the mop, his legs quickly moving away from the upper decks and down to the lower ones, towards you. He quickly found you in the kitchen, removing plates from the large dishwasher as the servers stacked the hot plates in tall piles - it looked rather dangerous as he glanced at the piles that towered over him. “Cheol?” You blurted out, surprised to see him here when he wasn’t on duty in the kitchen that day.

“Hi, I… I wanted to see you, and Wooyong he- he said I could go and I needed to…” he paused, he didn’t actually know what he wanted or what he needed. Or well, he did know, he just didn’t know how to make it happen.

“Come on, let’s go talk then,” you simply responded, making Cheol look at you in awe. He wondered how it had been so easy for you to say what he had wanted to say all along. You on the other hand were wondering why Cheol stood entranced in the kitchen doorway looking at you as if the words ‘let’s talk’ had been revolutionary.

“Coming?”

Cheol nodded and followed you back to the small back room that had been yours for the past few weeks. It was dark, but there was enough light coming in from the hallway and the tiny lamp in the corner of the room to light up the piles of clothes in the other corner, the blanket he put over you every night, and the charger that was plugged into the wall next to where he slept with you in his lap.

The door closed heavily behind him as you leaned against a wall, wondering what it was that he felt the need to talk about, was it Lumen? “Did you change your mind?” You asked hesitantly.

“About what?” Cheol looked scared for some reason, you didn’t know why but it made your eyebrows knit together.

“It’s not about Lumen?”

“No, no I still wanna go to Lumen! It’s not about that… wait, do you… not want to anymore?”

You shook your head, “That’s not it!” You hurried to assure him. “I just thought, since that was our last conversation… you know.”

Cheol swallowed, he just needed to say what he felt.

That was easier said than done though. The words all got jumbled up in his brain, his thoughts making his throat go dry, he just wanted you to know without having to tell you. You couldn’t read his mind, but he wanted you to feel it. He wanted you to feel how much, how deeply he loved you. He took a step towards you, your arms wrapping around him without a second thought. You pulled him close, chuckling at the thought that he had just wanted some kisses.

His lips pressed against yours and his tongue quickly made its way into your mouth, the movements from his touch making you dizzy and tingly all over. Want was already pooling in your lower stomach. Arousal seeped through your folds, you hadn’t felt Cheol’s touch or mouth on you in so long. It kickstarted your system and had you wet after just a couple of minutes of making out.

“More please,” you mumbled against his lips.

Cheol’s hand moved down from your waist, below the gray pants you were wearing today. His large fingers quickly found their way through your folds, your pussy now soaked and leaking as he slipped his hand against your clit. His breath was hot against your face as he let go of your lips so he could hear your whimpers as he circled your clit.

It felt so good, his rough hands knew exactly what to do as they dipped into your cunt, only teasing you before he went back to press on your sensitive spot.

You were spreading your legs further apart the longer he teased your clit, you wanted to be filled, you wanted him to push his digits further into your body, you wanted to feel him inside of you as you gushed around his fingers. When he did you moaned out his name, the tension from the past few weeks all dissolving as he fucked you on his fingers.

A loud knock drew you both out of the moment, and an unsure voice came from behind the door. “Uhm, Cheol? I just wanted to tell you that you’re off for the rest of the day… I got both yours and y/ns shifts covered… so you could talk.”

Cheol cleared his throat, “Yeah, thanks Wooyoung!” he shouted back before pushing his fingers back deep inside your cunt. A moan escaped your lips as he hit the right spot within.

Wooyoung went silent, “Okay fine! Later then!”

Cheol didn’t bother to answer, and as Wooyoung left you could hear him talk to himself, “You do something nice for someone and all they do is wave you off so they can get their dick wet, assholes!”

He would’ve done the same, but none of you would ever argue about it with him. You both laughed for just a second before Cheol kissed you gently yet again, making you forget everything about what had just happened.

You soon came as he thrust his fingers deeper into you while the palm of his hand pressed on your entire pussy. It was heavenly, a white blur was all you could see, and relief swept through your body. Cheol kept you from falling onto the floor when he put down the leg he had helped hold up. You were holding onto his clothing with a firm grip as you came down from the first high you had felt in too long. Cheol was riding on a high of his own, not because he had been allowed to cum but because you had. He felt just as proud now as he did the first time he had managed to make you have an orgasm, and he let the words come as they wished, “I love you, more than anything in the universe.”

Your eyes fluttered open upon hearing those softly spoken words. The words that turned your world upside down, the words that terrified you, the words you had longed to hear.

“I love you too,” you said, pressing your forehead against Cheols.

“I know,” he chuckled.

“Wait what?” You said and pulled away your head to try and see his face, “How… oh!”

Your hand flew to slap over your mouth as you remembered what you had been thinking last night, remembering how the words had sat right at the tip of your tongue before you let yourself fall asleep last night. “I said it out loud, didn’t I?”

Cheol nodded, a smirk playing on his lips. “I hope you meant it because you’re gonna have to spend the rest of eternity with me once we get to our paradise.”

“Our paradise? You already think Lumen is ours?” You teased.

“Of course, with my handsome face and your gorgeous everything, how could we not find ourselves in charge?”

“You’re insane, and I meant it.”

His smile shone even in the darkness and it lit up your heart like the sky on New Year’s Eve. He held you that night just like all other nights, but your mind was calmer than most other ones. You were dragging your fingertips along Cheol’s chest, resting your chin on his pillowy arm.

“You know what’s funny?” he suddenly asked.

You looked at him curiously. “What?”

“My entire life, the people around me tried to convince me that I didn’t have a will of my own - that I didn’t have my own needs that they couldn’t fulfill.”

“...that’s funny?” you asked, shocked at his apparent sense of humor.

Cheol laughed, “No, no, I mean, it’s not really funny… but it’s funny how, as I had begun believing this myself after years of having been told this, it all just collapsed in front of me the moment I picked up the phone and heard this stranger with the most endearing voice ever try to order a pizza from me.”

You stayed quiet, “...again, that’s what you find funny?? I think we need to work on your humor mister.” He laughed more, your giggles joining his after a moment. Living wasn’t easy, but at least he had joined yours, and it was beginning to transform. Nothing was as it had been, and even an unsure future on the run seemed better than the life you had been living so far. At least you had one another now.

Time moved too fast after that day, the goal of somehow going to Lumen with Cheol made the days on the ship with San and Wooyoung fly past you. Soon you were preparing to land on Specus. San had told you that you could stick with him for a few days before he got back on the ship to make the journey back to Earth. You both accepted, grateful that you didn’t have to figure out where to go by yourselves on this new planet.

The day you stepped off the ship onto the giant spaceport on Specus you held onto Cheol’s hand, just as you had when you boarded it. Specus was an industrial planet, its main purpose was to mine minerals and metals from deep within the planet. It was visible the second you stepped off the ship that this planet wasn’t like Earth at all. Everything felt like it was a back alley, with pipes, and rust covering every building and vehicle you could see as you followed San through the rundown welcoming hall. There were no shops filled with books or souvenirs, only a ticket shop booth where a robotic arm was visible in the yellowish window. San led you through the hall, not looking at much and saying even less. It was colder here than on Earth.

“Stop.” San said suddenly, “Look up.”

Both you and Cheol let your eyes flash up, towards the ceiling, or at least towards what would’ve been the ceiling had there been one. Instead what you both saw was a dark violet sky, not the kind that you had both seen on Earth, but one that looked like it was exploding with tiny stars. “What is that?” You asked as you stood with your neck bent back completely so you could watch the stars moving around above you, faster than any stars you had ever seen before.

“Specus spins faster.” San explained, “Somehow that ended up meaning it’s always this one color of blue in the sky and the light from the stars in our galaxies all blend to create this kaleidoscope of color and stars.”

“It’s pretty,” you said, tears almost forming in your eyes at your first sight of something other than metal and the darkness of space you had seen in months. You had missed looking up at the sky, you realized, even if it wasn’t the same sky that you had at home.

Home, where was that? Earth wasn’t your home anymore. Did you not have one anymore?

Cheol’s hand squeezed around yours and you abandoned the thoughts. They would only hurt you in the end, it was better to focus on the now.

San got you all two rooms at a hostel, the only one on the entire planet it turned out. They didn’t get many visitors except for the few who worked on commuting ships like San, and now you two. It had been so long since you had slept in a real bed that you slept as long as you physically could bear before your stomach was growling at you to get breakfast. San had already retrieved some while Cheol stayed with you, refusing to leave you alone just yet. He didn’t trust the others in the hostel, it seemed, as he continued to be on guard as you both got ready to leave your hostel room.

That day San took you both on a tour around the town, it was small but busy. Automatons, aliens, and a few humans were wandering around; on their way to work, on their way to their temporary homes, or on their errands for the day. In that sense, it didn’t feel like you were very far away from Earth. But as you glanced up at the violet kaleidoscope sky you were reminded of just how different it all was.

As the days passed on Specus, you didn’t have a clue of what to do next or how to get to Lumen. San had done everything he could for the both of you, even teaching you some of the most basic routines for checking on Cheol’s health. It hadn’t been an issue you had spent a single thought on, his health being something you took for granted even now. San helped you realize that what you had gotten yourselves into was dangerous not just because of who was after you, but because of who you two were. You needed to know things in case Cheol couldn’t help with telling you what he needed, in case something bad happened. Nobody would be able to help once you were alone. You weren’t handling the realization well.

Cheol was the one to let you forget about it after you had gotten yourself stressed about what could end up hurting him. He felt guilty about having you worrying about him, and honestly, a little pissed at San for frightening you so much. He knew you needed to learn though, and opted for being your comfort instead.

He kissed you, gently and lovingly, and he held you close when you couldn’t let the thought of having to use the new skill San had taught you on the man you loved. Seeing the inside of someone in that way had become your new nightmare. Cheol held you each night, shushing you back to sleep if you ever woke up from it.

Two weeks ended up passing by just like that, nightmares and lessons on Automaton autonomy. You wanted to get off of Specus by the beginning of the third week. It didn’t matter that San and Wooyoung had become your friends, you wanted to leave. The sky was still beautiful but everything around you reminded you of what San had taught you, and you couldn’t think anymore, you didn’t want to think anymore.

“Let’s find a ship then,” Cheol simply said when you voiced how badly you wished to go somewhere else, to find your paradise sooner rather than later.

You laughed a bit at that, “Do you really think it’ll be that easy?”

“Of course, it’ll be easy!” He said with a casual shrug. You flashed him a smile in return for his suddenly carefree attitude.

“I don’t believe you, but I say we give it a shot!”

Before you left you said your goodbyes to San, just in case you ended up actually lucking out and finding a ship that was willing to take you both to Lumen. You hugged the mechanic who had helped you both so much during these months. Cheol did the same, with one small difference, he whispered something to San before he pulled away. Something that made San’s face go serious but he nodded in confirmation. What had he agreed on? What had Cheol told him? You tried asking him as you left towards the spaceport but he wouldn’t budge, telling you “You’ll notice if it worked later, I promise.”

The hours passed, and any ship that looked decent had declined you. Every captain had a destination already and none of them had Lumen on the maps.

You were tired and hungry. Cheol’s chipper attitude was long gone by now and you were both seemingly thinking about giving up for the day.

“You know what, what if we just steal that ship? If we’re gonna be on one for months or even years we should have a proper one,” you joked and pointed at a large ship by the end of the docks. Cheol looked at the ship, it was larger than the ones you had been asking all day, but not even close to as large as a cargo ship. It was the perfect size for going on a long trip with a few people.

“Alright,” Cheol said without a hint of sarcasm, which made you look at him surprised.

“Wait what? You want to steal that ship for real?” You wheezed out. He nodded, a playful smile showing you that he meant to try.

Fuck it, your mind decided - hunger and the need to leave Specus and all its minerals overtaking your rational mind. You boarded the ship, walking past any guards as if you owned the place. Nobody minded you two, the few people that far out the docks minding their own business. The ship was even more gorgeous inside, modern and so clean you were shocked at how long you had gone since you last saw a floor without mud or rust.

You walked into the cockpit of the ship. If someone were to arrest you right now you were happy to at least have seen this ship before rotting away in Phylaca forever. The prison planet was the one place you never wanted to see even if you weren’t going there for imprisonment. But going to Lumen was all that mattered, so you would need to steal this ship.

“I think this will do,” you said and smirked at Cheol.

“What are you two doing here?” The voice made you both jump, and you both looked towards the exit. A man, rather large in his stature, stood confused and agitated in the doorway. He had just stepped inside the ship, the door behind him still wide open with the ramp that led to the dock right below him. You were in shock one minute and the next you began running. But you weren’t running away from the large man, you ran right towards him. A look of panic flashed across the man’s face and then your body slammed into his. You were sure you were going to fall with him, but you never did. A strong grip holding onto your waist. When you opened your eyes to see if you were dead you saw the man on the ground. He wasn’t moving. People around him looked up from their own business to look at what had happened. Cheol pulled you inside, closing the door as you stared out into the void in front of you.

Had you killed that man? You ripped yourself from Cheol’s grip and looked out of the tiny window that faced the docks where more and more people were grouping around the man. Was he moving? You wanted to think he was moving. The people around him tried to lift his head, he was bleeding a little, but he was sitting, right? Your mind was a mess. You didn’t know if what you were seeing was real, or if it was your mind playing a terrible trick on you.

You gasped as you saw the docks moving. They were moving away from you just as the man seemed to turn and point at you. “He’s not dead! Cheol I’m not a murderer!!” You shouted.

But Cheol wasn’t there, he wasn’t where you had torn away from his grip anymore. He was by the cockpit, hands frantically trying everything he could to get the ship to do as he wished. The docks hadn’t moved, you realized, the ship had.

Cheol picked up how to steer the ship rather quickly, even understanding how to use the auto control so he could charge at the same time you slept instead of constantly doing shifts. You were happy about that since it meant you got to spend time together on the ship, your days becoming rather pleasant as you settled into a routine. There was plenty of fuel on the ship, both for the ship itself and for you and Cheol. Electricity was easy to come by and there was a rather large supply of food there as well. You had managed to snatch a ship that had just been restocked - it was hard to accept the amount of luck the two of you had been struck by.

But the best part of the ship was the fact that nobody else was on it. For the first time in forever, you two were alone. Alone with a bed and each other. There was nothing else to do but to let Cheol fuck you in every way he, or you, wanted. And my god you wanted to - all the time. The day had only just begun on your second week on board the ship and you hadn't had the chance to get dressed yet, breakfast in bed having become the norm as you let the ship steer away from everything, hoping it would lead you to Lumen if you just kept the course San had told you about. You simply steered away from — and hoped for the best. After all, you had better things to do that occupied your mind at the moment.

Cheol could taste the fruit you had just eaten for breakfast, you tasted like what he imagined summer would if he could consume it. In a way he was. He was drinking in the way you looked underneath him with his eyes, he was licking and kissing every inch of you that he saw, nibbling on your skin, making you moan and beg more and more for each day that he learned his way around your body.

Never before had you been undisturbed like this for days on end. It was pure bliss. He found out each spot you liked to feel his lips on your skin, each spot where he could make you arch your back off the bed, and each spot on the ship where he could drill into your cunt until your legs gave out and your juices leaked out of you. You made a mess of the large bed that had been meant for someone a lot more powerful than the two of you, but none other than you two would’ve been able to use it to its fullest like you had been while alone on the ship.

Cheol’s fingers smoothed over your thighs as his hot breath caused shivers to spread from your core, goosebumps prickling your skin in the air of the spaceship. You were grabbing fistfuls of his long hair, his gaze sultry and dripping with lust as his tongue flicked over your clit. He was burying his face in your puffy and glistening folds, reveling in your moans and how your entire body was writhing from his tongue exploring your wet pussy.

You had been at it for a while, but neither of you were finished, orgasms were still left to be had before you would be able to sleep.

The way he was making out with your cunt would soon send you over the edge if only the muffled sound of a voice hadn’t found its way through the corridors of the ship to pull you out of your pleasure.

“What the fuck is that?” You groaned, pushing on Cheol’s head a little as if you would be able to hear the voice clearer the further Cheol was from your cunt. This was true, but not enough of a reason to give up on chasing your orgasm, according to Cheol since he simply attached his lips to you again.

He hummed, meaning to get you to ignore whatever it was. The voice of a person, clearly in a rush, continued to echo in the large rooms from the cockpit. “Cheol I need to check on that. They sound worried, maybe they’re in danger.”

“Fucking hell!” He groaned out as you pushed on him again. “How is it possible for us to get interrupted right now?! We’re in the middle of the freaking space for goodness sake!” Cheol shouted, his lips leaving your body and his hands stilled.

“I’ll fix it. Gimme two seconds,” you said with a giggle. He had taken the words right out of your mouth, it was incredible how you could never have sex without someone interrupting you.

You rushed to the cockpit, only managing to throw on a simple T-shirt. “Hello?” The voice came screeching out of the sound system in the cockpit. You had never used it before, but with a simple push of a button that blinked in a bright shade of red, you were able to answer the person on the other end. “Hello! Can we help you?” You asked in your friendliest tone.

“Yes, hello, this is the spacecraft Marquise, 4210-CH378,” the voice stated, “We are on course for —- and have discovered your ship on our monitor. We are on a direct collision course with your ship if nothing is adjusted, and based on our estimation of your ship size we are afraid that any living beings on your ship will be crushed as a result of the impending collision.”

You were speechless, “I’m sorry? We’re about to crash into you?! And die?!” You shouted the friendly tone you had tried to access now long gone in favor of your pure panicked state.

“I’ll move our ship! Please don’t crush us!” You shouted as you pressed down on the button, hoping to the stars that your actions were the right ones to do at that moment as you simply smashed buttons at random on the control desk. Anything to make the ship away from the larger ship that was already visible in the far-off distance, a star that seemed to move twice as fast as any regular star could.

You hadn’t noticed Cheol when he entered the cockpit, only noticing him when you felt a kiss on your shoulder, which then became a row of small warm kisses down your back. A small chuckle came from behind you as your body reacted to him, forgetting what you were doing.

“If you intend to change the course of your ship, we would prefer it happen before you end up in front of us…” the person on the other side of the intercom reminded you.

You had forgotten, pushing the red button once again, bending forward as you did, giving Cheol the perfect opportunity to push his face back against your still dripping pussy.

“I’m so sOrry-” you winced, “I’m having some technical difficulti- ah!”

“Do you need some assistance?” a voice crackled over the intercom. You needed to get the ship on another course or you would soon be nothing but a bug on the windshield of the much larger ship coming right towards you. Cheol’s tongue on your soaking cunt had you trembling where you stood, bent over the control panel, the ship in sight and your mind working against the impulse to give in to Cheol’s magic touch and ignore all your issues.

You tried to momentarily pull away from his face, but he had you in his grip and you were too entranced by his grip to properly make the effort to get your heat away from his warm tongue. Instead, you pushed on the lever that you had seen Cheol use only once or twice, unsure of what it did but it was the best option. You pushed it as far as it went, and the ship began turning away from your intended course, and by extension, away from the collision course.

“Thank you. We wish you good luck on your further travels,” the voice from the larger ship sounded through the intercom once again. “No problem, you too!” you managed to say before turning away from the control panel, Cheol’s grip on you only losing for a second as he took his mouth off of you, only to sit you down in the pilot’s seat. This time you weren’t focused on staying on the course however, instead the chair was turned away from the panels and the vast universes outside the ship, instead, you had a very cocky Seungcheol on his knees in front of you. Your cunt was on display and dripping as you awaited his touch yet again.

“You seemed to be a little distracted just now,” he chuckled. You scowled, but not for long, your neediness taking control of you once again as you pushed Cheol’s face back to your arousal, which he lapped up with fervor, the stress of the moment gone just as it had come, the incident being largely forgotten by the both of you afterward.

This was one of the biggest mistakes you could have made on your journey. Forgetting where you were going, forgetting that your newly found safe haven on the ship would only last as long as nothing burst your fragile bubble.

Days passed, and your waking hours flew past you almost as fast as the space around you did.

A single blip showed up at the edge of one of the monitors in the cockpit. Blinking bright blue, your spacecraft flew closer with each day. Neither of you paid any attention to it. The both of you relied on the autopilot mode to guide you to Lumen, even if your initial direction was based on nothing more than what San had told you months ago.

The change of course hadn’t made a difference to your daily routine until you saw the desolate planet in front of you. When you had spotted it one morning in the distance, you had presumed it to be an optical illusion. There wasn’t supposed to be much of anything out here, but you could very clearly see a small planet, darker than the surrounding space, with only the lights of ships to reveal that it was anything other than space junk or a meteor.

Dark and wet, it lay lonely in the universe. Your fuel had begun emptying after weeks of nonstop flying, you would need to stop at one place or another sometime soon. Changing courses away from the prison planet now would only make suspicion arise from the watchtowers on the planet. There was no denying it: Phylaca would be your next stop.

“We need to put on our best act, we fucked up y/n, let’s make it quick…” Cheol tumbled as you both watched the planet becoming bigger and bigger from the cockpit’s large window. “As long as they don’t find out anything about who we are or why we’re here, everything will be fine,” you agreed, the doubt evident in your voice and the way you were biting your cheek to distract you from the sense of doom you were experiencing.

Docking at Phylaca’s spaceport was unexpectedly easy, the man who had answered the intercom had welcomed you to land on one of the less crowded docks before they could come to meet you. You had worried they would take you as pirates or something worse since you weren’t authorized to be there, but the man on the speaker had jokingly called you out on “not exactly looking like a pirate ship.” You weren’t sure how you should take that, but you were thankful that it had let you both safely land on the planet.

A guard was coming closer, he didn’t look like most guards you had seen before, he was rather short and his stature was on the smaller side. His presence, however, was enormous. The way he carried himself made you a bit nervous as he approached. You went out to meet him, hoping it wasn’t all a ploy to get you and Cheol arrested, he stayed behind inside the ship, having been convinced that it would be safer if nobody had seen him on Phylaca at all. San had recognized him as a level 1 automaton, even though most people can’t tell the difference at all, who was to say that nobody else would?

“Hey,” the man said and reached out a hand, “Welcome to Phylaca, the intergalactic prison.”

You had to swallow hard to not reveal how nervous that made you. “Hey, me and my crew were hoping that we could stay here for just a little while, just until we can restock on some supplies and fuel. We’ll be out of your hair before you can even count to 10!” You rambled, not much thought going into what you were saying even though your brain was running in circles trying not to say anything stupid.

His features were sharp, delicate in some way, he stared at you expressionless as he listened.

“That soon? On the run or something?” He said, the same expressionless eyes staring at you suspiciously.

Fuck, you had already fucked it all up. You would die in prison and they would probably send Cheol back to earth and he would forget everything and you would be left here all alone for all of eternity! You wanted to cry. The guard must’ve noticed, because as he saw the tears trying their hardest not to fall from your bottom lashes his expression let up, eyebrows knitting worriedly together and he reached out a hand, “No, shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry!”

The tears fell, and you wiped them off, pulling back from the hand the guard had reached out for you. “I was only kidding, okay? I’m gonna tell you a secret, yeah?”

Your tears were gone, you mind a huge question mark as the guard you had been speaking to for about two minutes had 1. Made you cry, 2. Guess your life’s story in two seconds, and 3. Wants to tell you a secret so you won’t cry??

Who was this man?

“You’re not the first person who has ended up here while on the run, and I’ll help if you are! That’s my secret…” he whispered, looking at you with a curious eye. Was he waiting for you to respond to him disclosing what was most likely highly restricted information to you just because you were tired and scared?

“Uhm…” you were speechless, “I’m y/n, I’d love help…”

“Oh wow, okay that was much easier than it usually is. Hi y/n, I’m Hongjoong,” he gave you a gentle smile now, somehow reassuring you that you would be okay, even if you had just been offered illegal help from what you figured was basically a corrupt guard.

“What? He just agreed to help us? A Phylaca guard agreed to restock our storage and fuel tank. Just like that?” Cheol was in disbelief, you nodded with big eyes, barely believing it yourself.

“I mean, it’s possible that he only said he would because I was crying and he wanted some time to get more guards to come and arrest us… but he seemed very nice!”

He was in shock, and he was scared, you could see it in his face before he hid it in his hands, rubbing away the worries as much as possible.

“He… did he not want anything in return?” He finally asked. You were silent for a moment. “Y/n. What did he ask you to do in return for this huge favor?”

His voice was stern, and you would need to tell him eventually anyhow.

“…he wants us to help one of his acquaintances get off of Phylaca…” you mumbled, a bit scared of how he would react to you agreeing to host strangers on your ship.

“You invited refugees from a prison to our ship?”

“…I did.”

He stared at you, his expression hard to read.

“Can we run before they get here?”

“I don’t think we should…”

“…Fine, let’s wait for them, whoever they are. But if it turns out they’re literal murderers or something, we should kick them off sooner rather than later,” he said before standing up. You were standing by the door, not having gotten much further into the room created for the kitchen staff on the ship, the room that you had deemed safe enough for Cheol to stay in while you went outside to meet Hongjoong.

He walked to you, taking your face in his hands, “Thank you for coming back safely, even if this deal might get us killed in the end.”

You chuckled but was interrupted when Cheol leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

The ship was ready to lift, but the docks were even emptier than you had seen them during the entire time you had been on Phylaca. Hongjoong hadn’t talked to you much since that first day. He had sent notes along with the supplies he had sent over. It was terrifying each time a delivery was made, you never knew if this was the day you would be found out and arrested. But Hongjoong had turned out to be trustworthy, and you had kept your own promise of staying to help out his acquaintances in need too, at least so far.

“They haven’t shown yet?” Cheol asked when he came back to the cockpit where you sat, prepared to lift the moment your new passengers were on the ship.

“Nope, Hongjoong said that they would show up about now… should we leave if they don’t come?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they will come after us if we leave…we don’t know how much we should trust that guard if we break our deal.”

He was right, you needed to wait; you needed to keep your promise to make it off Phylaca safely. If you had done all this just to get arrested while leaving the planet, it would’ve all been in vain.

You waited, the silence of the empty-looking planet feeling increasingly eerie.

Then you spotted them, you gasped, they were running. Two people were running towards you. You couldn’t see them clearly, they were too far away at first. You recognized the jacket on one of them, it belonged to the guard on Phylaca. The other person was seemingly wearing matching clothes. Were they criminals? What had you gotten yourselves into?

You didn’t call for Cheol to come look, but he noticed the way you tensed up as you saw them coming closer and the way your breath hitched in your throat when you finally saw them. You recognized one of them from the big plasma screens. His face had been everywhere. Even though you hadn’t been looking much at any of the members standing beside the man you had found out was the idol you were talking to in secret, you could recall his face lit up with the cold blue lights in the evening. He was one of the 53V3NT33N members. D1N0. One of the members Cheol had been forced to leave behind when he ran. He was here, on Phylaca.

Cheol stood frozen beside you. They stopped just a couple hundred feet away, the other person blocking the view of D1N0’s face. Something was happening, you didn’t know what, but when you saw the guards you didn’t even care anymore. You weren’t going to get caught here, not like this. D1N0 had stayed behind. He pushed the other person forward, and simply watched as they ran toward the ship. They ran away from him, away from the guards, and towards you and Cheol.

They were the acquaintances Hongjoong had spoken of, they were supposed to leave with you. Both of them. But only one of them got on board. Cheol was still frozen, you weren’t sure if he was even there anymore. You couldn’t wait. The stranger that had run on board was safe.

You left the docks, hearing a faint, “No!” You knew it was Cheol, but the instinct to get you all to safety was greater than his shouts for you to turn back. He could’ve overpowered you and made you go back, but he didn’t even think that far. He ran to the doors that would’ve led him outside. A large bang echoed through the metal hallways of the spacecraft along with a pained sob. You didn’t know if it came from Cheol or your new passenger.

But there was nothing to step onto, only space. The view of D1N0 was soon lost, you didn’t want any of you to see what would happen to him as he stayed on Phylaca.

You didn’t want to know what you had done as you left without him.

Cheol was quiet. So quiet.

He said nothing, he barely looked at you. It felt like a stab in the back each time he looked away from you when you even looked his way or opened your mouth.

The bang had come from Cheol making a dent in the interior of the ship, wrecking his hand in the meantime. You had looked at his broken hand in horror, the sight of his skin cracked but without a single drop of blood or bone showing made you queasy.

The stillness of the ship continued for days. Your new passenger having shut themselves away from the both of you, it was different than Cheol, but the silence was crushing anyhow. There was nowhere to go, you were stuck right there, in the middle of the universe.

You used everything San had taught you back at Specus to help heal Cheol’s hand. With bandages and thread, you sewed and patched his cracked skin over the mechanical workings of his broken self. It didn’t help him deal with his real pain though, you knew that.

You couldn’t understand either of their pain completely, but you tried. He didn’t want you to try. He was hurt and he wanted you to feel as alone as he did, you knew he just didn’t want to be completely alone in his pain. So you let him stay as he was: quiet and angry.

He didn’t touch you anymore. He didn’t talk to you. He didn’t even care to respond to a single question you asked for over a week. You cried yourself to sleep each night, and did your best to create a new daily routine now that everything had changed into this still place of pain and dark glances thrown your way.

You had begun blaming yourself, you had made the choice, maybe you did deserve to be shut out by everyone.

You waited for days for him to take the first step, to tell you that he was ready to talk about it all, to tell you that he wasn’t mad about the choice you had made. He never did. He didn’t say a word. The solitude continues for all three of you on your lonely spacecraft on your way to a planet that didn’t exist…

It continued until you felt yourself going mad, the days had melted together in a bad way, the only emotion you had felt was gray and sticky and you hated it. You had begun hating yourself because of it.

“Cheol.” Was all you said to him, startling him where he sat staring into space from the cockpit. You stood a couple steps away from him, closer to the door than to the man who seemed like a shell of who he had been before Phylaca.

At first, he only responded with silence, but after a moment words formed. “Do you know why I had the phone you called in the first place?”

His voice sounded raspy and repressed as if he was choking on the syllables. You shook your head in response. He didn’t see you, but he continued.

“I convinced the management that I needed a phone that wasn’t connected to the network so that in case anything bad happened to me or the members, I would be able to contact help even when our communication devices didn’t work.”

His voice wasn’t more than a choked whisper. The words still felt like a slap to the face.

“Everything I have ever said, done, and felt has always been meant to help my members, they’re my family. Instead, I used what I had gained in the name of helping them, to ruin everything. I did it all for my own selfish desires. Can you understand how much shame and guilt is crushing me every day? Every minute I spend away from them. Not even knowing if they’re okay.”

You had nothing to say. What could you say? Could any of your words comfort him at all? Could you make him the slightest bit happier right now? Could you ever manage to keep him happy? Distracting him from all the disasters of the universe wasn’t possible, so what could you do?

Instead, you continued to say nothing. Your body fell back against the cold metal wall behind you. You couldn’t say a single word to help him, but you could let him say all the words he needed to say to help himself.

He stayed quiet for a while. Your shuffling as you slid down to the floor against the wall told him you were still there. His figure slumped back against the chair he sat in.

“I just, I can’t believe I actually left them all to fucking deal with all of this by themselves. I don’t even know if they made it out alive.” He began, voice still strained as he tried to hide everything that wished to rip him apart from within. “I was supposed to be there for them, to be their leader who stood by them no matter what. And you know what, I took pride in that, I was so proud to be the one to support those guys even in the situation we were in.”

You stayed quiet. Quiet tears streamed down your face as you listened.

“How could I just leave? What? Because I was scared of forgetting this? I could’ve stayed, I could’ve figured something out.” He was beginning to sound angry now.

“Cheol, no. You know you couldn’t have. This was the only way… wasn’t it?” You whispered, the tears clouding your eyes as you watched the back of his head.

“I- I don’t know anymore y/n. Maybe I wasn’t thinking clearly at all, maybe I was actually sick like they said…” he sighed.

Your heart was in your throat, swallowing hard you decided to say your peace as well. “So… because you loved someone- no, because you loved me, you’re gonna blame yourself for everything that has happened? That feels like you’re actually blaming me, you know?”

This made him turn around. His features were tired and his skin was dull. He hadn’t been taking care of himself at all.

“Y/n, stop it. You know this isn’t your fault.” He mumbled. Tired eyes looking at your tear-stained face.

“No, maybe it is. You would’ve never broken the rules, they would’ve never found out and you would’ve never been almost rebooted. And most importantly - if you had never loved me you wouldn’t have had to abandon your family.”

“Please, just stop that y/n.” He groaned and let his head fall back, eyes closed, he was in pain. You didn’t know if it was physical or mental. Nevertheless, you wanted him to listen as well. You were in pain too.

“What? Am I making you feel bad for thinking it’s me that’s the problem and not the goddamn company that put you through it all from the start? Am I making you feel like you’re making me feel with all of your talk of how ashamed you feel that you left that life behind? Because I know, I remember how out of everything horrible in your life back then, those boys were the only thing that made you happy while you were there… So please, stop beating yourself up, Cheol. The past has already happened, we managed to get out right? What makes you think the others weren’t as lucky as we were?”

He stayed quiet for a while. His silence made your heart drop. You needed to ask him straight up.

“Do you blame me? Do you hate me?” Your voice wasn’t more than a whisper, but he heard you. It was impossible for him not to.

“I-” he tried, but his voice broke. The tears welled in your eyes. You wanted to fight for what you two had, but if he blamed you… whatever you had might be too far from saving.

“It’s okay. I understand.”

You forced yourself to say it, you couldn’t walk away from him. Even if he hated you, you refused to be the one to leave.

“It’s not that I hate you, I just hate how it hurts. Because it really fucking hurts. I’m in pain every single second and I don’t know how to make it stop.” His voice was breaking as tears streamed down his face. “But, I… I can’t lose you too.”

You placed the back of your hand over your mouth, trying to somehow hold back the pain that wanted to consume you from the inside.

“We should’ve tried saving Dino…”

You got up from your corner, your arms finally letting your legs go, replacing your own arms around your body with Cheol’s. He hugged you. Tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. It was relieving to say it. He had been in a shame spiral for the past few weeks. He just hadn’t noticed. Still, you stayed with him, waited for him, listened to him. He wanted to repay you for all of it.

Weeks passed yet again. Things got better, slowly but surely. You talked to each other. You were beginning to forgive each other for those weeks after Phylaca. It wasn’t easy.

Breakfast, lunch, dinner, sleep, and repeat. Small conversations, still trying not to start up another fight. It was exhausting.

The stranger still wasn’t speaking much, too wrapped up in their own mind to be able to share the pain they kept inside. Not that either of you were sharing your struggles with them anyhow. It was a mutual understanding that all three of you needed some space, even as you were trapped together in space. Galaxies passed you by, and you found yourself passing time by watching the tiny lights fly past the large windows from the cockpit.

Sometimes, Cheol sat with you. Holding your hand, comforting you without words just like he had been that day when this had all begun. That helped. It helped both of you; knowing that neither of you actually wanted to abandon what you had, even after everything.

When something finally showed up in front of your ship, only a small planet, not much bigger than the moon of the earth, you didn’t allow yourself to get your hopes up.

After so many months, this was probably only another uninhabited planet with a poisonous atmosphere.

“I don’t wanna get your hopes up, Cheol, but this planet looks so much like earth…” you shouted to Cheol who was trying to get your guest to eat some of the lunch from earlier, with very little success.

If this was Lumen, maybe everything would be okay.

Maybe the void of space you had been traveling through had an end after all, despite the overwhelming feeling of being trapped and that you would all end up wasting away inside the ship on your long journey.

But if this was it…

You let the ship continue straight ahead. Cheol and your guest joined you in the cockpit after hearing your shouts across the deck.

All three of you watched as the planet became bigger. You could see water, and green patches everywhere. Clouds! There were clouds and an atmosphere surrounding the small planet.

You had gone off autopilot, Cheol helping you steer the ship toward the planet. You circled it, trying to draw attention to yourselves through the intercom system. No sign of life was heard until a small voice came through, a child. “Hello! Are you aliens??” The child asked over the crackling of the coms.

You wanted to shout, there was life here!

“Hello? We’re outside of your airspace, our registration is BO883628K, and we are requesting permission to land!” You shouted back.

“What are you doing?!” Another voice could be heard, the small child squealed and the crackling disappeared. You were scared the last shot at landing somewhere had been lost forever, but the other voice came back after just a moment.

“Hey? Who is this?”

Your body was tense, nerves firing uncontrollably as you explained your errand yet again.

“Of course, welcome to Lumen, wanderers.”

You yelped, “Lumen?! We found it?” You were jumping up and down, laughing and shouting as you felt all your worries leaving your body. Your new home was right below you, welcoming you with a warm embrace and new hope.

“Yes, you found it,” the voice crackled, you could hear them chuckling a bit at your excited yelling. “There are bigger docks located northeast of your current location, go there to land safely.”

You found a house, outside one of the small towns near the docks. You had nothing to give in return for the hospitality the diverse population of Lumen offered you, Cheol, and your newest passenger.

They didn’t care, they told you that most of the people there had already been through the same suffering that you all had. Anyone who made it to Lumen was treated like family, nobody was to be left empty-handed just because they were strangers to the people.

“Is this really here? Am I dead or asleep or something?” You said in wonder, grasping at Seungcheol’s arm. You stood in your new kitchen, it was simple, but airy. The view from the kitchen showed the sunny forest lying just behind the garden and the porch.

“If you’re dreaming I’m dreaming with you.” He laughed hysterically. “But I think it might be real…”

You jumped into Cheol’s embrace, hugging and kissing him like the past few weeks had all been a bad dream, like this was your true reality and everything bad could be forgotten completely.

He seemed happy as well, looking around the large house with you, coming up with ways you could improve the place, and how you could make the vegetable garden prosper once again. It was overgrown and run down, everything had been left to its own devices. But it was vacant, and the townspeople had agreed that you two would be wonderful as the new owners of the house. It was a short forest walk back to the town, where you had parted from your quiet passenger, telling them that they were welcome any day and that you would always have a spare room and a shoulder to cry on. It made Cheol happy, somehow trying to make up for the fact that you had lost D1N0 on Phylaca through this person that he must’ve cared about more than his own life.

“Do you think they will be able to find their way here too? The members, I mean. Like we did?” You whispered, resting your head on Cheol’s shoulder, your hand in his. You watched the dark green leaves swaying in the summer breeze, the flowers following the sun that shone more than it was gone, and the grass on the ground scenting the air you breathed in.

“I hope so, I think they will know eventually.”

“Know what?” You said and looked at him.

“That we’re here.”

You tilted your head. “How would they know to find us here of all places?”

“Remember the secret I had with San on the first ship?” He said and smiled, embarrassed about something.

You nodded. Not quite understanding what he meant yet.

“I told him to tell anyone he met that might be related to us. Actually, I told him to let anyone like us know that if we got here, we would offer a home for them to rest at.”

Tears welled in your eyes, he had been thinking of everyone else this entire time. Not once had he let himself be entirely selfish, you squeezed his hand, bringing it up to your lips and pressing a thankful kiss to his soft skin.

“I think they will come, eventually.”

The years passed on Lumen. You and Cheol had made a home for yourselves. A home that would be open for any runaways, robot, alien, and human alike. It was safe, happy, and hopeful because one day everything might be absolutely perfect in your new home.

The spare rooms of your new house would exist for them if they could ever get to their leader. The thought helped him continue, to live life to the fullest until they could join him. It comforted you as well, knowing that he had some hope left and that maybe he could let go of some of the guilt you knew he carried with him each day, and instead let himself be proud of something once again.

Reblogging and commenting is highly appreciated!! Hearing what you thought is what makes writing and being here overall so much fun! Ty and ily 💕

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