Signals & Static

Synchronize

"That's enough."

"That's everything."
__________

The Morning After. The light filtered softly through the edge of the blanket fort, a pale beam catching on the curve of Perth's collarbone where he still slept, one arm curled loosely across his own ribs careful not to touch unless invited.

Santa was already awake. Had been for nearly an hour.

He wasn't overwhelmed.
He wasn't panicking.
He was thinking.

Processing.

He did what he always did after something new. cataloged the sensory inputs, named the feelings, reviewed the data.

His body didn't feel violated or wrong. It didn't feel foreign. It felt... inhabited.

There had been hands. Pressure. Heat. Sounds he hadn't known he could make. Movements that hadn't followed equations but felt mathematically precise in hindsight.

And there had been safety. Every step met with a question. Every breath acknowledged. Nothing rushed.

The memory wasn't jagged. It was layered.

"Yes," he had whispered.

Again and again.

"Yes."

It echoed now not as exposure, but expansion.

Emotional Post-Check. He didn't feel regret.

But he also didn't know how to narrate this yet.

Words like "sex" felt clinical. Words like "making love" felt un-calibrated and soft-focus.

What had happened was a collaboration.
A shared neural handshake.
Two systems synchronizing not for efficiency but for tenderness.

Santa turned slowly, blinking at Perth.

Still asleep. Curled like a comma. One curl of hair stuck to his forehead.

Santa smiled, unexpectedly.

Perth stirred a minute later, stretching with a soft groan. When his eyes opened, he saw Santa watching him.

"Hey."
"Good morning," Santa said.
"You okay?"

Santa blinked. The question wasn't loaded. It wasn't anxious.

It was a check-in.

"Yes. My metrics are... stable."

Perth gave a half-asleep grin.
"You're cute when you go robot-mode."

Santa frowned slightly. "That's... not an actual mode."

"I know." Perth reached over, gently brushing Santa's knuckles. "Just making sure it was okay. What happened."

"It was... intimate," Santa said.
"But not invasive.That distinction matters."

Perth's eyes softened.

"Wanna debrief? Or just sit?"

Santa considered. Then nodded once.

"Let's sit."

They moved into the living room, wrapped in separate blankets. Perth made tea. Santa held his mug with both hands.

Neither spoke for a while.

The silence wasn't empty.

It was processing.

They sat on the couch, the mugs cooling between their palms, their blankets still tucked over shoulders like shields.

Perth was the first to speak.