Heartcoded

David and Python

The days stretch into weeks, each one pulling you further from the shadows you'd been trapped in. It isn't sudden, nor is it easy, but it's steady. David moves with quiet care, never pushing, never demanding, only offering a constant, stabilizing presence. And slowly, you let him back in. The tension between you doesn't disappear, but it no longer feels suffocating.

One afternoon, as you clear your plate from lunch, an idea strikes. "Maybe we should get back to saving Apollo," you say. "Poor guy's been waiting for months now."

David looks up from where he's tidying the counter, a flicker of warmth in his eyes. "He's been asleep. He doesn't know we've been neglecting him," he replies, the faintest trace of humor in his tone. "But I agree. It would be nice to continue."

"I'll go get it ready if you want, " you say.

David nods. "I'll join you as soon as I finish."

You make your way to the simulation room, a place you haven't stepped into since your birthday. The memory of painting the universe with David drifts through your mind, stirring something between nostalgia and longing. As you settle cross-legged on the ground to prepare the dome, you wonder if it's time to let yourself enjoy his gifts again.

You've grown more comfortable around him since that night, but the guilt hasn't fully left you. It wells when your eyes meet his, when you eat the meals he prepares, and most of all, in those moments when desire creeps in and your thoughts turn to him instead of your husband. Shame follows, sharp at first but growing duller with time. It can't drown out the memory of how it felt to kiss him, to be held in his arms. Not just cared for, but seen.

You still want him. And each day, that shame fades a little more, replaced by the deeper, undeniable need to let yourself accept the affection he offers. Don't you deserve to feel something again? As much as you try to cling to the memory of your husband, you realize it's out of obligation, not love.

You did love your husband. You still do, in a way. But David feels like so much more. The longer you deny it, the more it feels like you're only hurting yourself—and David, who shouldn't be able to hurt and yet somehow does.

You are jolted from your thoughts when David enters the room and crouches beside you, taking the glasses you offer.

"Ready to rescue another god?" he asks.

"As long as you don't tell him how long I procrastinated on saving him," you say.

"Promise," David says seriously, to which you smile. "Begin simulation."

—

The simulation fades in, surrounding you with the crisp, cool air of Mount Parnassus. The sky stretches in brilliant blue, broken only by wisps of cloud clinging to the rugged peaks. Below, the slope spills into olive groves, and far beyond them the Gulf of Corinth shimmers, a deep azure expanse stretching to the horizon.

The air hums with life: the rustle of leaves, the faint trickle of a hidden spring, and the cry of a hawk. Cypress trees tower above you, their dark silhouettes contrasting against bursts of wildflowers clinging to the rocks.

"I'd forgotten how beautiful this is," you say, searching the sky for the source of the bird call.

David gestures to where a slate-gray hawk with copper streaks and sharp yellow eyes watches you from a crag.

"That's a Eurasian Sparrowhawk," he says. "Common around here."

The hawk caws again and takes off. You walk on, the path winding gently upward as you move closer to the Sanctuary of Apollo. Marble columns stand tall at the entrance, while the sound of prayers carries on the wind.