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Memories for Tomorrow
The town they visited, lost in the middle of nowhere, was framed among mountain and forest, slightly bigger than the average town at most, yet still cozy in its small size.
Zenyatta and Genji had no real direction in mind, and so had wandered through empty fields for the past few days, sleeping outside and training, with only each other as company. Genji always thought that to be a little bit like happiness, but at the sight of faraway rooftops, he still found himself looking forwards to seeing new people.
The town was quaint, with the kind of appeal that only places with roots in their past seem to have, decorated houses with ornate paintings of flowers or butterflies and rooftops of red tiles, and Genji observed everything with interest, only to have his attention captured by Zenyatta more often than not, as his companion stopped every few houses to admire a particular painting on a wall, forehead array bright in delight.
“Such craftsmanship,” Zenyatta murmured, fingers tracing the edge of a giant butterfly wing, blues and yellows mixing with the black contours. “Small pockets of beauty are everywhere, Genji. I’m glad we happened upon this one.”
“As am I, master,” Genji’s voice betrayed the warmth he felt fluttering in his heart, both at the town and at Zenyatta’s joy. “I have never seen works like this one.”
“I have seen painted buildings before, but those were simpler works. Here… they make art out of their own houses. It is truly breath-taking –or it would be, if I breathed.”
Genji laughed, bumping shoulders with Zenyatta as they walked down a small street made of stones, reaching the town centre. Much to Zenyatta’s glee, he noticed they had happened upon a crowded flea market, a banner hanging between two sides of the road to indicate it was part of the local fair.
People and omnics of all kinds mulled about, shiny metal chassis moving seamlessly among their organic peers, and Genji lagged behind for a moment, simply staring. In such a town, he had somehow expected to not see any omnic, and their presence surprised him a bit, and yet… none of them appeared to be out of place, even with the sort of retro feel the town seemed to have.
And among them, his master still stood out, tall and familiar in a crowd of strangers, the beauty of his chassis reflecting the sun, orbs against his neck and the tassel swishing behind him.
Something akin to warmth fluttered in his chest, and Genji hastened down the street and into the busy side alleys, hurrying up so he would not lose Zenyatta among the crowd.
Genji was not exactly interested in what the little stands were selling, but he enjoyed watching Zenyatta stop by each one, observing the goods with open glee; one of the stands sold warm, thick wool clothes, another sold old books, and yet another had hand-carved wooden statuettes, some shaped like animals, others like people, and a small stand had a particularly beautiful setup of crocheted flowers in delicate bouquets, looking so realistic even Genji stared at them in awe.
The elderly woman on the other side of the stand preened at their attention, obviously proud, and even more so when Genji leaned forwards to purchase a single flower from her, one they could safely keep with them.
“Such detail,” Zenyatta hummed as Genji held the flower in one hand as they both leaned forwards to inspect it. “Despite technology’s advancing so much, it is a pleasure to see that certain things are still made by hand, and with love.”
Genji laughed at this, though he understood Zenyatta’s fascination. He himself had no real skills with crafts, lessons of kanji painting and tea ceremonies lost in the folds of his childhood, and even whittling only resulted in splintered fingers and a lot of frustrated afternoons, but the beauty of a finished product always seemed to be worth the hassle.
Genji hesitated for a split second, then leaned forwards, twirling the wiry stalk of the flower around one of the pistons on the side of Zenyatta’s head, arranging the flower so it would point forwards, framing his face plate.
“Now you can also be a fashion icon, master,” he murmured, amusement lacing his tone, warmth blossoming inside his chest once again.
“My, what a bold statement to make for such an old model as I am…”
“Master, you’re not that old!” shoulders shaking in mirth, Genji stepped back to admire the way the flower looked. “Stop talking as if you are a withered ancient soul!”
“Withered I may not be, but the grinding in these old gears weights me down a lot…” Zenyatta placed one hand on his chest, body language betraying his attempt at being serious.
“Oh, forgive me then, it appears I should be grateful to your old, battered body then,” Genji walked forwards, leaving Zenyatta behind. “Otherwise you would float high into the sky and disappear, and I would lose my dear, old master.”
“My, I guess I will forego my next tune-up… I would not wish to deprive you of my presence.” Zenyatta walked up to follow him, hands clasped behind his back. “Who would keep you company, then?”
“I hear the bedbugs make for thrilling companions, actually, and maybe they will not need for extra oil change.”
Genji expected Zenyatta to answer with something witty, but when nothing came, he stopped and twisted his head to look back.
Zenyatta had stopped to stare at another stand, ignoring the people walking past or around him, forehead array dimmer than usual, and when Genji followed the direction of his stare, he found him looking at a pretty collection of wooden boxes, some of them open, some close.
He walked back to his side, and realised with a start that they were not just decorative –they were actually music boxes, their exterior carved with beautiful curls and geometric shapes. One of the open ones had two figurines standing right in the middle, holding each other in an embrace –one was a tiny maiden in a beautiful dress, the other a tall man in a tuxedo. The figurines were wooden-made, but the lacquer was worn off, showing the original colour of the wood underneath, the maiden’s face almost completely gone.
Zenyatta’s optical receptors observed the small box and the figurines, then moved to look at all the other different ones, and Genji blinked underneath his visor, surprised at such keen interest.
“Do you like these, master?” he finally asked when it became clear Zenyatta had no intentions to move.
His words startled Zenyatta, and with a small jolt, he turned to look at him instead. “Ah… forgive me, Genji.” There was something like wistfulness in his tone, unfamiliar to Genji. “Yes, these are… particularly beautiful.”
“This one seems to be broken, though.” Genji extended one finger to touch the side of the opened box, where the hole of a charging mechanism remained empty. “Nowhere to charge it with.”
“Unfortunate.” Yet, Zenyatta still did not move, and when Genji moved closer to him, unsure about the change in mood, Zenyatta sighed. “Forgive me, Genji. I used to own a music box, before joining the Shambali.”
Genji was almost taken aback at this. Zenyatta rarely mentioned his time before the Shambali, though he’d always been forthcoming with Genji whenever he had asked about it, and Genji knew Zenyatta’s past had not been devoid of hardships, even back then.
“I did not have much to my name,” Zenyatta continued, and though he did not seem to realise it, his hand moved to caress the flower on his head. “But I found it at a market much like this one, if only smaller. That music box played a nice song, it would keep me company at night when I could not rest nor recharge. Sometimes, its music chased away my bad dreams, and while it was much less beautiful than this one, plastic and metal with only one remaining figurine inside it, and sadly broken, so it would not dance… it was mine. I still remember the melody of it.”
For a moment, Zenyatta seemed lost in time, immobile, the glow of his forehead array almost gone as his mind retraced steps back to another place, far away, where Genji could not follow him, a soft melody playing in the back of his mind, sweet and bitter.
It had been so long since he’d last thought about his tiny, battered music box, so dear to him…
Genji swallowed, mouth dry. “What… what happened to it?”
Zenyatta’s shoulders slumped a little as he was recalled back to the present. “It got destroyed long before I met with my brother. It was not something I could hold onto, in the end, except in my memories.”
Genji wanted to ask why he’d never had another one, at the monastery, but it was possible Zenyatta had not wished to look for that kind of thing, nor wanting to replace a memory with something different, or maybe simply because he’d never found one even on his travels.
The idea of his master of long before, lost and alone, tugged at every heartstring within Genji’s chest, enough that the distraught he felt needed a way out, else it would choke him. “Master, do you want to–”
“It would not work, Genji. These are beautiful, but also rather voluminous. It would be too big to carry on our journey, and it might get damaged, as we do not lead easy lives.” Zenyatta turned to look at Genji, and his forehead array flared for a second as he tilted his head to the side, a movement that Genji interpreted as fondness. Zenyatta moved forwards, brushing his hand against Genji’s helmet, where his cheek was. “But thank you for offering, my dear. Your thoughtfulness brings me joy.”
After this, they moved on, mood just a little bit more sober than before, and Genji made sure to walk closer to his master then, wistful and regretful as they left the little, beautiful town behind and continued on their journey.
That night, huddled side by side under a blanket of stars, Genji fell asleep to Zenyatta humming a strange, foreign melody, which followed him into his dreams.
Maybe one day, part of Genji’s brain thought with a flicker of hope. Maybe one day, he could get Zenyatta a new music box, one that would carry new memories.
***
“I have returned, Genji.”
Zenyatta tapped with his knuckles against the edge of the door before letting himself in. It was a habit he’d picked up when Genji had his own room at the monastery, and now that they shared quarters at Watch point: Gibraltar it was obsolete, but Genji had assured him he found it cute, and so Zenyatta had never stopped.
Genji was sprawled on their bed, flipping through a magazine, but once he realised Zenyatta was in the room he scrambled to roll off the bed, almost slipping on an empty bag of chips in his haste to get to Zenyatta’s side.
“Welcome back, Zenyatta!”
Zenyatta had just enough time to brace himself before Genji’s arms wrapped around his shoulders and lips were pressed against the seam of his mouth plate in a soft kiss. He giggled at the feeling, warmth flickering through his circuits, and returned the kiss with a flare of his own omnic energy.
“My, have you missed me this much, Genji? I have only been away for three days.” Yet Zenyatta made no attempt to get away from Genji’s arms, returning the embrace just as tightly.
“You are such a tease,” Genji murmured against his auricular receptors, squeezing him just a little bit tighter. “I miss you, always.”
Zenyatta leaned into the hug, core whirring softly. “So do I, my heart. But the mission ended successfully, and I have returned. How did you spend your time at the base?”
There was something mischievous in Genji’s face as he finally let go of Zenyatta, stepping back with his hands linked behind his back. “I got you something.”
“Oh?” Zenyatta’s forehead array flickered in curiosity. “What is it, Genji?” a beat, then “I hope it’s not another collection of–”
“No!” Genji broke his composure, cheeks burning in embarrassment. “I already said that was Jesse’s attempt at a joke, Zenyatta, not… I–” when Zenyatta started to chuckle, one hand pressed against the seam of his mouth piece, Genji made an exaggerated pout. “It’s not nice to tease, you know.”
“You cannot blame me, for you are tremendously fun to tease. But forgive me. Now, you said you had a gift for me, hmm?”
At once, Genji seemed to hesitate, fumbling with himself as he moved towards the bed and knelt down, retrieving something from under it.
“I hope you will enjoy this. I know we spoke about this once, and it’s been on my mind since then.”
Zenyatta leaned forwards, curious, then he froze.
In Genji’s hands was a neat wooden box, each side beautifully carved with tiny miniature bells and decorations matching the tapestries and the walls of the Shambali monastery. On the top of the box, taking most of the space, was a carving of Zenyatta’s own orb, the patterns reproduced down to the smallest detail, painted in gold and lacquered, surrounded by the spires of a feral green dragon, fangs open to hold the orb in its mouth.
“Genji…”
“Wait, this isn’t all of it.” Genji tugged the lid open, and the internal mechanism, triggered by the movement, started up a soft, beautiful melody, intensely familiar.
With a jolt, Zenyatta realised it was the melody he’d found himself humming every now and then while still on the road with Genji, melody now reproduced by the gentle notes of the music box Genji was holding, so familiar that it sent a pang of melancholia through Zenyatta’s circuits.
Two figures sprang up from within the box, and Zenyatta’s processes stuttered in surprise at the sight.
It was– it was himself and Genji, the likeness of them impressive with the size of the figurines. The small Genji had his arms wrapped around small Zenyatta’s frame, servos and circuits and pistons perfectly carved and polished and painted with a metallic tinge, and as the two figures danced slowly in place, the mechanism under them making them spin to the rhythm of the melody, Zenyatta could see his own faceplate perfectly painted on, down to the forehead array, and Genji’s helmet with a green tinge to it.
He even had a tiny sword on his back, with Zenyatta’s nine mala glued to the base the figurines were on, surrounding them.
With a jolt, Zenyatta noticed that on the inside of the upper lid was a painted view of the Shambali monastery as seen from afar, mountains full of snow framing it, the peaks and the clouds making it look almost ethereal.
It was beautiful.
“I…” his synth crackled with emotion, and Zenyatta shut down his optical receptors for a second, overwhelmed at the gesture and its meaning. He could still hear the gentle, sweet melody surrounding them, soothing his core. He opened his optical receptors again, feedback sending a jolt to his circuits. “It was… it was almost a year ago, Genji. And you still…”
“Of course I remember, master. How could I not?” Genji placed down the music box on the bed at their side, stepping forwards to cup Zenyatta’s face in his hands. “You shared something of your past with me, I would never forget about it. It looked like the loss mattered to you, and I have wanted to give you one since then. I waited, hoping we would one day have a place to keep it and I know it’s still not really safe, here with OverWatch at the base, but we have a room, and we return here all the time, and I had arranged this a while ago already, having it personalized and hand-carved and I searched for that exact melody for months as well to make sure it matched the one you kept humming, and then you left for a mission so I had to wait and–”
Zenyatta leaned forwards, tipping his head down to reach Genji’s face even as he continued to speak, and kissed him. Flickers of omnic energy flared up on the surface of his face plate, travelling to Genji’s lips, and he felt him stiffen and then moan softly at the sensation, even as Genji returned the kiss in his own way, warm and pliant lips parting just enough to press harder against the seam of his mouth piece.
“Thank you, Genji,” he murmured, even as he continued to kiss him. “Thank you. This is more than I’ve ever thought I could have. I have your company, and your love, and…” again his synth glitched, the raw emotion in his circuits almost overwhelming. “Thank you, my heart.”
Genji laughed against his face plate, hands wrapped around his midsection, and with the soft music of the music box surrounding them, he started to sway to its music, tugging Zenyatta along with him.
“I am happy you liked my gift,” was whispered against the crook of his neck.
Zenyatta’s hands tightened around Genji’s shoulders, allowing him to lead the slow impromptu dance, lost in the music and in the warmth that his body provided against his own chassis, joy swelling inside of him so strongly he felt he could just short-circuit of it.
“I did.”
And for a while, there were no more words –just the soft, gentle notes floating in the air around them as they danced in the privacy of their shared room.