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Hokma shouldn’t think of her like that.
He doesn’t truly believe that’s how he feels about her because he knows that despite every outside influence trying to model her into something else, Angela is Angela. But there are moments in those very still and banal days that the thought crosses his mind when he looks at Angela, and he sees the amber eyes of his dear mentor and the face of a long gone woman who once gave them all a dream.
It strikes him suddenly and in a very subtle way. On those days, he doesn’t act any different. Not outwardly anyway. He is used to masking his emotions with a calm demeanour. Angela doesn’t notice anything different either, so it seems to work. His voice only wavers when she catches his eye suddenly and it throws him off guard. It takes him a noticeably longer second to recover which he can’t cover up as seamlessly. Angela, thankfully, doesn’t take the action in that way. She puffs up instead and smiles at him coyly, jokingly remarking on her breathtaking charm. Hokma thinks she’s definitely picking up too many of Roland’s mannerisms as of late.
It takes his mind off of it at least, and he replies with a similar quip with practised indifference, laying his hand on her head for good measure. Angela retracts from the contact for that is one of the few acts of physical affection she is most selective about. The thought is then entirely dismissed from his mind and he resumes his quiet reading as Angela focuses on her own book.
Nothing much has changed since they officially formed a romantic relationship on the day Angela bluntly and just as characteristically, laid out her interest towards him. She had explained the care and gratitude she harboured for him to which she then reasonably assumed had evolved into an emotion going deeper than simply that. It was the sort of carelessly heartfelt confession he could imagine Ayin making and that made him immediately pause.
Hokma, after some silence, did accept though, because despite everything, he did think some part of him fancied her in that respect, and he also felt touched by her words. They both wanted to move forward with each other, since they were no longer constrained by their differences. He wanted to give it a try, and he wanted to make it up to Angela for the love she never got.
But now it seems the flitting comparisons he makes in his head appear more frequently than ever. Flabbergasted reactions from the other Librarians aside, it was a very peaceful sort of relationship. They fit each other well with their similarly quiet habits. More often than not, they just sit next to each other with a book in hand when they aren’t conversing, and that’s just how they bond.
Angela however is also naturally curious about the rules and behaviours that couples engage in. She doesn't have the full functions of a human, but her sense of touch is something she likes engaging with despite how rudimentary her extent to actually feel things is.
The time he notes that her hands are naturally warm from her running internal system henceforth causes her to thrust them into his own ones at any opportunity.
"It would be good to warm yours too," Angela justifies to him, lips curving upwards.
That bright smile reminds him of Carmen.
Hokma turns his head away and replies in barely audible agreement.
When Angela tries kissing him, earnest and sweet in her inexperienced way. Hokma tastes nothing, of course. Synthetic materials can never replicate the living, breathing warmth of an actual human. That fact would ground him were it not for the single second within a total of the five where they maintained contact that he imagined someone else within those amber eyes. When she pulls back, Angela’s expression falters. Something about Hokma’s behaviour must've given it away. He makes excuses and assures her that he is just surprised.
Hokma can't remember the details of Carmen that well anymore aside from her general appearance, but he knows Angela has the same inflection as her, though differing in their delivery as Angela doesn’t have the uniquely powerful charisma of Carmen. The other Patron Librarians never comment on it, so he doesn’t either. It’s something they’ve gotten over perhaps, and Angela has grown into owning the voice as her own too. This both reassures him and leaves the unsaid words on the tip of his tongue to sour.
In the corner of his eye, Angela has put down her book and moves closer to him. She holds Hokma’s face in her hands and examines him with a quizzical look in her eye.
“Angela?” he questions, dropping his own book onto his lap. “What are you doing?”
“I remembered something.”
She pulls on his cheeks suddenly, not so roughly that it hurts, but it does feel unusual. “Roland said this is something he occasionally does to his wife.”
“And he told you this in goodwill?”
“I asked him for pointers in these types of matters since he’s naturally experienced.”
Hokma frowns. “I am beginning to think that his advice is more aimed to provoke me.”
Angela stops immediately. “Is it uncomfortable?”
A twinge of guilt pokes at him from seeing her expression and her merely innocent intentions.
“No, it isn’t. Rather…it’s a gesture more appropriate to do to children or for things you find cute. Both of which I’m certain aren't something you’d find applicable to me.”
She’s silent for a moment until she holds the sides of his face again.
“You could still be construed as cute,” Angela decides, not relenting at all to his protestations.
If it was anyone else in the library, he may have been more reluctant and slightly embarrassed about such an assertion, but since it’s Angela and Angela is his darling inamorata, he’ll let it slide.
Angela then goes on to assure him that while Roland throws jabs at Hokma's physically older appearance, the process of ageing is an enviable human trait in itself. He grumbles that her words aren’t exactly helping with her pointing it out and she just laughs lightly. Angela goes back to her previous position next to him on the couch once she’s satisfied with teasing him and she holds her book up to her chin.
“Okay, but you’ll have to let me try other things, Benjamin,” she remarks casually.
Benjamin. It's his past self's name. Hokma doesn't mind it anymore when Angela calls him that. She switches between both names depending on her mood, and some of the other Patron Librarians occasionally refer to each other by their past names too. Though Hokma feels estranged to his former self, Angela still looks at him in the same way when he was Benjamin; curious and reliant. He was the only one who ever bothered to give her any answers, even if his ability was limited in the wider scope of the script. Benjamin was a person important to her.
Benjamin is not Hokma.
Hokma knows this.
Angela is not Carmen.
Hokma also knows this.
Ayin is no longer here and cannot impose his influence on either of them.
Hokma accepts this.
Angela keeps reminding him of the both of them despite it.
Hokma dislikes having to accept this.
Angela doesn’t deserve to be thought of as a comparison to someone else. Hokma at least used to be Benjamin. Angela is an imitation. And she’s a reminder. A reminder of his carelessness, ignoring the signs of his mentor’s continuously deteriorating state even though his silent screams rang loud in Benjamin’s ears. He ignored Ayin’s actions. And he ignored Angela’s pleading stares. He ignored it all, and he paid for it. His complicit actions now a result of so much suffering.
Angela has her face, her figure, her voice. Angela also has her hair cut short to about Ayin’s length and she has his eyes and his stubbornness and—
“Is something wrong, Benjamin?” Angela asks, noticing his frown.
“No, it’s nothing. Nothing at all…”
Hokma tilts his head back onto the couch and closes his eyes for a moment.
“Tired, then?”
“I suppose I am,” he replies with his eyes still closed.
He hears Angela shift next to him and he can feel their shoulders touch.
“You can lean on me, If you’d like,” her voice is soft as she extends this offer.
Instead of responding verbally, Hokma lays his head on her shoulder, a few strands of her hair tickling his face. Her body is still; inhumanly so. The only sounds he could hear come from his own breathing and of the pages turning from Angela’s book.
And so, Hokma just stops thinking about it again for now.