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Zetta hadn’t been to East Gearen City in a long while – not since before Kieran had his incident regarding Lugia after the contest. Weeks had passed since Kieran was back in his right mind again, and he really had tried everything so far to make it up to him. He’d actually forgiven him, which – to Kieran – was a great surprise. He kept wondering; were humans that naturally forgiving, or was it only Zetta?
No time to reminisce on things they were trying to move on from, of course. Zetta had been healing well, according to Kieran’s scans – and after a few days, he’d started to gradually shift back to being his usual self again. He couldn’t always get a sure-fire, accurate reading on the state of how quickly he’d been healing mentally; but it was at the least relieving that he wasn’t feeling as fatigued anymore. He seemed like the same aggressive (yet contrastingly, laid-back) Xen executive that he’d always known.
As a suggestion to get their minds off of all the stress, Kieran offered to take him out to get dinner somewhere. Now that they were officially “a thing” as Zetta always said, it only felt right. A real date! Or maybe more like a night out on the town – that’d certainly be a less embarrassing way of putting it. As expected, Zetta still found himself getting lost in all of the sights surrounding them, easily distracted by all of the lights surrounding them. He would’ve wandered off, had the android not been holding his hand.
“So, where exactly are we going?” he looks around quickly, almost frantically – really, it was just that he couldn’t contain his excitement upon being back here all over again.
“Ramen place. You like that sort of thing, right? You go on about making Kantonese food all the time.”
“How did you know that?” a raise of his eyebrow, “I’ve barely talked about it around you.”
“Just an observation, is all. Anyways, I found a good spot – it’s in the backwater parts of the city,”
“Seriously…?”
“But I did some scanning around beforehand,” he continues, ignoring Zetta and dismissively waving his hand. “You’ll be fine!”
“Bold claim to make. If we get mugged – it’s your fault,” he sighs out with a roll of his eyes, but he’s quick to silently forgive Kieran as soon as they actually reach the restaurant since he ends up holding the door open for him. Such a gentleman, he sarcastically thinks; but doesn’t say it aloud.
A dramatic bow, “Entrez-vous, puppy-dog!”
“You can’t just say entrez-vous…” he mutters.
He laughs at him, following in right afterwards – and surprisingly, he didn’t even have the thought of slamming the door in his face at the last minute just to get a reaction. That was overly cruel, anyway… he’d hurt him enough for one lifetime, and that awful feeling seems to resurface even now. Even though they’re doing something fun for a change. That was the odd thing about human emotions – they flooded right back into the mind at the most unexpected moments. The most inopportune moments. Moments where one wanted nothing more than to simply spend time with their loved one.
Oh, well – maybe the crushing guilt would go away if he kept trying his best to make it up to him. He brushes off the strange, non-robotic feeling; and finds a booth to sit at with Zetta, glancing over the menu. His finger drags over a few of the options, but it hardly takes him even a minute to immediately decide for the both of them.
“How about this? I order a regular bowl for me, but not really for me since I can’t eat,” he points at himself, clarifying as if he even needed to know; “Robot. And then you can order one with the highest spice level. Let’s say you decide that your tolerance isn’t enough for it – we can just swap bowls, at least you’ll still get some fun enrichment out of it.”
“Wordy, aren’t you. But sure, we can do that – didn’t think that spicy stuff was gonna be what you wanted me to try tonight. Then again, that’s one of the last things I haven’t tried out so far…”
“My thoughts exactly. Good to see you’re still agreeing without question!”
He’s about to retort, until their server arrives at the table. Zetta, oddly polite to waiters as ever, calms down right away and puts in his own order – followed up by Kieran, who thankfully didn’t have to deal with any kind of weird look that he sometimes got when ordering nothing at all simply because he “wasn’t hungry”. And once they get their bowls placed down for them, Kieran already shoots Zetta an expectant look. It’s that kind of anticipation he always gets whenever he takes him to try new things, he’s been keeping track of what makes him react the most and what seems to somewhat bore him. He can’t hide his grin as the blonde observes it and compares the two in his mind; like he’s never seen anything like it before.
“You don’t have to stare at it like that,” Kieran remarks with a chuckle, “it doesn’t have feelings. It’s just food.”
“Yeah, well – you don’t have to stare at me like that? Seriously, I’ll eat it in a second, just–”
“A little spice isn’t gonna hurt you. Statistically, it’s never really hurt anyone!”
“You literally made me order the highest spice level that they had here…”
“Eh, you still won’t die from it. Trust me.”
Zetta picks up the wooden chopsticks left on the table for them, stirring them around in the bowl. His face scrunches up a bit at first, proving he isn’t used to it – and Kieran finds himself laughing over the new wave of expressions he’d just unlocked. Humans were always so specific with the way they reacted to things, especially Zetta. He takes a little sip of water with tightly shut eyes, and then he relaxes. He seems fine, afterwards. Maybe he wasn’t bad with handling spicy things, after all; he was just new to them.
“So… what’s your rating? The scoop, if you will.”
“It’s actually pretty good,” he suddenly beams at him, beginning to eat the rest of the bowl. “Weird at first ‘cos it made my mouth sorta burn, but I almost immediately got used to it. Is that also weird?”
“That probably just means it’s encoded in your human genes to like it. You were biologically predisposed to loving spicy foods, and the switch has been flipped.”
A sheepish laugh, “I honestly can’t tell if you’re being serious or not…”
“Definitely am,” he replies in that odd tone that doesn’t quite answer anything. Zetta just rolls his eyes, and continues to eat. All things considered, he feels weirdly relieved that he actually ended up enjoying the food.
“We’ll probably have to get a to-go thing for the other bowl,” Zetta pipes up after he finishes, “I’ll just eat a little so it doesn’t look perfectly in-tact.”
“Aww, man. There goes my food observation time. I was trying to enjoy the view.”
“You were lookin’ at me the entire time like I was some sort of newly discovered specimen, though — you barely paid attention to the food! Robot, remember?” he parrots back to him from earlier, eating up some of the noodles in the other bowl.
“As I said, enjoying the view,” he briefly winks at him (which Zetta despises), and then gives him a slightly confused smile. “What’s up with the need to not leave it in-tact, anyway?”
“I dunno,” he shrugs, pushing the bowl away from himself. “It seems rude — like, as if we didn’t enjoy the food at all. Plus, I don’t want your cover to somehow be blown. We’d be so done for if anyone knew you were a robot that can’t actually eat!”
“Of course, puppy — wouldn’t want me to embarrass you any more than I already do if everyone here finds out you’re on a date with a robot. The tragedy… oh, the horror!”
“An over glorified piece of metal who went to theater school, more like,” he mutters, digging around in his wallet to leave a tip after Kieran puts a stolen twenty dollar bill onto the table as payment for the food. Zetta pours the leftover ramen into the plastic to-go container while Kieran continues pretending to complain.
“I’m so wounded, that I can’t even stand up… you might have to carry me all the way home after tearing at my wire-strings like that.”
“Not wounded. Still smiling. Get up.”
He immediately shoves the to-go bag at Kieran, using the excuse that it was his order; so he should carry it. Really, he’d just grown to like making him do little errands for him every now and then. It was the least he could do, they’d both agreed. Zetta cracks a slight smile at how easily Kieran gives in for once, without even attempting to play dead on the booth or some other comedic gesture.
“Maybe you should take me to Grand Dream City one day,” he suggests as they walk outside of the restaurant, being quick to take Kieran’s hand and hold it once more.
“Hmm… you sure you wouldn’t get overwhelmed? You already look like you’re gonna pass out at all times in Gearen, heh.”
“Never!” he claims confidently, giving Kieran a big enthusiastic smile; and the android would be lying if he said he didn’t miss seeing him like this. In fact, it reminds him of the way Zetta used to act before he’d been amalgamated with Lugia – and if it were possible for him to blush, maybe he just would’ve. “I’ve got good spice tolerance and good city tolerance, you should be scared of me at this point.”
“I’m shaking in my robotic boots, puppy-dog! Tail tucked right between my legs, just like you.”
“Hey?! Take it back–”
“Are you gonna bark at me if I don’t? Gonna bear your teeth and growl, too?”
“Quit acting like I’m a dog for once. I’m not an animal, damn you–”
“Woof-woof?”
“Ugh,” an annoyed groan, as he lightly bumps into his side as a means of shoving him; but he tries not to be too aggressive about it. He had leftovers to take home, and no way in hell was he about to accidentally drop them. “You’re the worst.”
He didn’t mean that. Not really. Kieran knew it, too.
They banter all the way back to the dock, with Zetta getting far more riled up by Kieran’s antics than he should; this felt familiar. He takes him back to Team Xen HQ on his hoverboard like always, and Zetta marvels at the blankets of stars that surrounded them. Yes – this felt very, very familiar. Nothing new, only the same old. He was content with that. He liked everything that they had with eachother and more.
It's been a routine for a while now. The Team Xen Medbay staff had given Zetta careful instructions on how to make a swift and safe recovery. Stubborn as he was, he had to follow their instructions. Make sure to disinfect and re-bandage the wound three times daily. Every morning, in the middle of the day, and right before bed. It was a pain.
Even worse, he always found it excruciatingly hard to do it himself. So, through a considerate offer; Kieran bandages Zetta’s arm for him in the bathroom. He makes sure to cause minimal amounts of pain. Nothing new other than the occasional wince, or the way that his human partner’s eyes shut tightly whenever it stung. It was to be expected. He can’t help but always notice Zetta’s reluctance to look in the mirror, though. Maybe he was ashamed of himself, or maybe he was worried about the possibility of the wound turning into a scar. Each time he tended to his bandages like this for him, nothing ever changed. Insecurity still poured from both him and his gradually healing wound.
“There you go. Free at last – like a bird with big wings, instead of a little puppy with tiny paws.”
“Mmhm,” a noise of acknowledgement, bringing his arm closer to himself and inspecting the patch-up job – looks just fine. It never didn’t; he knew what he was doing thanks to being able to download information right onto his internal system. No laugh, no sarcastic comment. He simply mumbles out his thanks to him, giving a weakened smile and disappearing out of the bathroom in a hurried manner. Kieran decides to remain quiet for the time-being, staying behind to clean up a bit.
He joins him on the bed afterwards, sitting down after a quick check of the time; Zetta usually starts trying to fall asleep right about now. His blue visor is carefully taken off, set down on the nightstand – and usually, the blonde would look over to meet his eyes right away. Tonight, his mind seemed preoccupied with something else. Gaze drifted downwards, even more reserved than usual and so much less combative. That was never a great sign. Kieran is the first to speak up as he scoots closer;
“Everything alright over here?”
Silence fills the air between them, as Zetta tries to figure out an answer. His heart races for no reason, he feels a chill run through him as the words are held back, caught in his throat. Stuck. He knew that Kieran was looking at him with sympathy – the closest thing he could manage to it, at least. But every time anyone looked at him that way, all he could ever see was pity in its place.
“It just hurts,” he admits, facade cracking and wavering as he takes a deep breath in. “It still hurts, and I can’t get it to stop.”
“Scale of one to ten?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can I do anything at all to help you?”
“I don’t know anymore–”
The android surveys him – his downcast face, the way his eyes had dulled. And then his eyes drift to his arm, trying to scan over it. What could he do to help him? How could he make this better for him? He doesn’t know yet. Oh, God – he could research all of the methods and ways to comfort a human, a loved one, all he wanted; and yet he still didn’t know. He thinks that maybe after the fusion process, there were still living parts of him leftover and they were flooding his system with emotion. How can a robot fix it all?
Maybe words were not enough on their own. A hand trails down to lightly graze over the bandaged injury, before Kieran moves closer to him with great caution – placing a hand onto Zetta’s cheek and leaning forward to briefly kiss him. The blonde shuts his eyes, enveloped by a feeling of warmth even as Kieran pulls away – and it takes all of his power not to burst into tears right then and there.
“I think you still look beautiful,” he comments rather softly, a rare and odd tone for him. Zetta wasn’t complaining, because it made him practically melt from where he was.
No response. Because he can’t recall the last time he heard those words. What was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to refute, fight against him – yell that no, no, no. He was nothing but a failure. Everyone tried so hard to make him perfect, much like a doll. And yet, he was flawed. He hated the world for it, hated himself for it.
Kieran didn’t mind the continued silence. He didn’t judge him, didn’t get impatient. He just reaches to wipe his forming tears away for him with a more subtle smile, and then rests his forehead against Zetta’s – a gesture he’d learned from him a while ago. It was one of many things that humans did to show affection. And at this point, Kieran truly did want to make him feel like he deserved that kind of treatment.
“I love you, Zetta.”
No nicknames, no teasing. Nothing but genuine care. He wasn’t used to hearing those words just yet.
“I love you, too–“
“I’m sorry. You can cry, if you’d like.”
Zetta shakily pulls back from him – giving in, and leaning right back in to collapse against Kieran; who’s quick to react by wrapping his arms around him and holding him almost… protectively. He’s not quite sure if he was protecting him from another potential malfunction, or simply himself. He doesn’t have time to think about it too much, as he’s snapped out of his inner processing by the muffled sounds of Zetta sobbing his heart out into his chest. He stays silent, letting him get it all out because he knows that’s what he always wanted. What he’s always needed. Fists ball up the fabric on the back of Kieran’s uniform and he mourns and mourns for feeling like a stranger in his own body, mourns the way he felt before his mind had re-lived things that were better left in the past.
A flick of a tail, a sudden lunge –
“I’ve been waiting for longer than you can imagine to hurt you.”
Being attacked like that by Kieran did far more of a number on him than he was ever willing to admit. It made his life flash before him, made him feel like he couldn’t breathe – like his ribcage was being choked from the inside out. He was suffocating, left only to look up into the far-gone eyes of his loved one. Scream and thrash for mercy, yet no one listens; no one hears. That’s how it always went, from day one of his creation all the way to now.
And usually, Kieran would take a lot of notes, even record everything right now. He loved seeing the entire range of Zetta’s emotions, so why wouldn’t he? Yet, seeing him break down like this made him feel awful. If he had a heart, maybe it would’ve shattered just like Zetta’s. Maybe tears would’ve poured from his eyes, maybe he would’ve been able to physically feel the way that he latched onto him in a desperate fit of sorrow. Then, he could mourn with him – but he was a robot. Some days, he hated it. For split seconds, it drove him insane that he couldn’t feel any of this. He could only register it all and try his hardest to comfort someone who, to many others, was broken beyond repair.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, holding him closer as if the world was ending. He can’t find anything else to say.
“It’s not your fault…”
“It’s not yours, either.”
He embraces him like that for the rest of the night, unwavering and unmoving; like he’s terrified to let him out of his sight, terrified to go into sleep mode for fear that he may malfunction and tear him apart all over again. He didn’t want to hurt him. He never, ever wanted to hurt him. Not ever again, he swore on it. He’d make Zetta feel loved, he’d make him feel human. He’d take him to places all over Aevium, he’d lessen his stress load as much as he could. He’d find ways to help him heal from everything that's ever been done to him – and this, too, would pass.
He doesn’t know how long it takes for him to doze off, and he doesn’t really need to. Because as Zetta falls asleep in his arms that night, his fragile human heart feels more mended than it did yesterday and days before. His thoughts fade away with his consciousness, and the last one he can think of was that it was okay to trust him, and it would be okay even if it did leave a scar, and they would find happiness somehow;
And that he really, really loved him.