we depend (I depend) on you • jayvik

Jayce - Year Thirteen

Viktor, I believe this is how life is meant to be.

Every day with you is better than the last – even the bad ones, when you wake up grumpy or struggle just to sit up. It still pains me that there isn't more I can do to help you, but I know that one day, I will. You always find a way.

We wake up together. We get ready together. I remind you to take your medication, point out when you've missed a button on your vest, when your brace isn't properly latched, or when your pants are too wrinkled to wear to work... You always appreciate it, though you love to argue about what level of wrinkles is acceptable in the lab. Wrinkles do not dictate work ethic , you say. But I know you appreciate my little comments, despite your playful protests. You like to look put-together. You always have, ever since we were young. And, despite everything, you always change, no matter if it makes you late to catching the bus.

Our routines are comfortable and built upon months and months of quiet repetition. Our mornings are slow and quiet. The time when you're away at work passes even slower. I wait. I practice maneuvering around the furniture. I look over the schematics and the blueprints of our latest projects and check for errors and inconsistencies so that we are ready to tackle things head-on when you're ready. It feels like forever that you're gone, but then you come home, and suddenly, everything is wonderful again.

There's something between us, something tangible. I can feel it – pulling, stretching, strong. Real. I like to stay close when you're home, to make the pull feel even greater, as if I could reach out and grasp it. As if I could taste it.

And did you know that you hum, Viktor? When you focus, you hum. Sometimes when you shower, you hum too. And when you do the dishes. It's a soft, soothing sound, and when I hear it, I almost feel like I'm humming alongside you. I feel it down in my core. It's a pleasant feeling.

You have that effect on me, you know.

I like that. I like this .

I like the sound and the feel and the thought of you.

I would like to continue what it is that we have.

∘ ∘ ∘

You tell me one day over lunch that you're thinking of dating again. Your voice is cautious and careful, as if you're unsure how I'll take it – as if you're afraid I might disapprove. It's a valid concern. We both remember how I reacted the first time... I will never forgive myself for that.

But I could tell you'd been thinking about it for a while. You chewed on your lip when you thought I wasn't watching, and your fingers tap, tap, tapped against the table top when dinner dragged on a little too long. And I'll be the first to admit – I don't know how I feel about it. The thought of you with another man feels like a shadow passing over my face. It feels like betrayal. It feels like the darkened memory of a blanket thrown over my frame, muffling something I do my best to not name, and I dislike it viscerally.

I wasn't sure what to say. I had never had to consider it. I hoped I never would. But I want you to be happy. Above all else, I know you deserve a good life - with good people and good memories and with so much more than what is here, inside of this apartment. You deserve warmth, the feeling of another's hands upon your skin, and to feel desired by someone new.

I cannot give you that. Not yet.

So who am I to tell you no? Your life should not be dictated by your robot, Viktor...

So I tell you yes. I tell you that you should.

And you smile at me. Soft, gentle, pitiful .

You know me. It's as if I'm made of glass. But you accepted my word anyway, looking down at me as if I had given you something truly precious.