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It’s a cold day in November, enough to freeze her fingertips and a great time to wear many layers, despite her nature. Rain thunders on and Cecilia’s feet tap in response. Sitting, glancing at the world through glass full of tears. Below streets are busy, cars zoom by, and stores are closed. She’s not crying, the window is, she argues. Droplets of water keep the automaton company through the anguish of gloomy weather.
Clouds hide the night sky, the moon weeps, and Cecilia’s busy fiddling her mechanical hands. The whirrs whisper, gears turn continuous, and she doesn’t have enough time. The room is dark, dim orange, and nothing. She’s alone in a void of almost pitch black, if it weren’t for divine light of outside streetlights.
The bed upstairs is too big to lie alone. It’s made for two, but there’s only one in the room.
The clock signals midnight, Cecilia sighs. Like a weight off her shoulders, she stands. Feet no longer tapping to rhythm, instead a destination, and—the closer she moves, the brighter it becomes
The door creaks, light replacing the void—leaving it to cower in edges the automaton never chased. Past the hallway, into the living room, urgency in every blink, every gesture. Only when green meets pink, does the world make sense again.
No time—no time at all. Cecilia smiles. Teary eyes match the rain, droplets kept at bay. Oh, what a horrible day for longing. “You’re here.” It’s disbelief, coming straight out of the automaton’s lips.
Familiar grin. Sickly sweet. Important.
“I’m here.”
Warmth, butterflies invite themselves in, building a home in Cecilia’s stomach. Whirring reveals what isn’t spoken, terrible, aching, and beautiful longing returned. The automaton doesn’t run, she walks. Slow strides, turn faster, until she’s face to face with Gigi.
“Why were you late?” Reason sniffles past Cecilia, the main cause of her lonely sadness.
The reason why the moon weeps.
And the clouds cry.
Gigi’s hand reaches out, hesitant—almost as though she’s afraid Cecilia might disappear. November is biting cold, freezes around the edges, but never compares to Gigi’s absence. That’s a frostbite Cecilia can’t recover from—a wound that can’t heal, no matter how hard she tries.
But Gigi’s presence... Gigi is the warmth that might finally melt it. And so she clutches warm skin, brushes her thumb over the gremlin’s palm.
She stares, searching for a sign—a future where they are entwined, two halves forever made whole. For a moment, Cecilia sees the sign: a tap. Much like the tapping of her feet or the rhythm of the rain, Gigi taps with a claw. A yellow eye stares in adoration. The tail sways, curling around the automaton, and three-digit claws play a gentle tune of apology
“I’m still mad at you.” A huff, before Cecilia wraps her arms around the gremlin. “You’re late.” Sorrow departs, and in its place, laughter comes through. Gigi laughs first, just as she always did. “You want me so bad.” Sentences spoken in a love measured by the weight of the world.
Fingerless gloved hands cup porcelain cheeks. “I got you something.” Gigi smiles, and if it’s a lie like cake, then Cecilia will leave the gremlin at the living room. Tail leaves the automaton’s side—she misses it already—but it’s made up by the press of lips on her cheek, on her forehead. Gigi’s hold is tight, in the way that speaks of ‘I want to adore you,’ and her kisses last as long as grass beneath snow.
Gigi chuckles, and from behind her back, she pulls a small object wrapped in deep indigo cloth. No flourish this time. Just offering. Quiet.
Cecilia tilts her head, mechanical fingers stilling.
“What’s that?”
Gigi doesn’t answer—not directly. Her hands unwind the fabric slowly, like peeling dusk off the sky. Inside is a glass sphere, no bigger than her palm. Within, silver flecks drift, slow and heavy, like snow trying to remember how to fall. When shaken, it glows faintly, a soft pulse like breath in winter.
A storm in a globe. A pocket of weather. Time paused in apology.
Cecilia stares. Her voice is softer now. “Is it… raining?”
Gigi finally meets her eyes. There’s that familiar grin, dulled at the edges. “It doesn’t stop when I’m gone,” she murmurs. “I thought… maybe this could hold some of it. Until I could come back.”
She places the sphere into Cecilia’s hands, claws brushing porcelain skin.
Nothing more is said—not yet. The meaning sits between them, humming.
Later, once the tea has gone cold and the window is a canvas of streetlight and fading mist, they end up on the couch. The storm in the globe rests between them, glowing faintly like a heartbeat.
Gigi’s tail has snuck its way around Cecilia again, lazy and possessive, curling like ivy around her waist. Every so often, it flicks with contentment, like it’s purring in its own way.
Cecilia is reclined, head resting against Gigi’s shoulder, whirrs quiet and smooth for once. Her fingers trace idle lines over the gremlin’s wrist, a kind of clockwork affection.
“You’re lucky I’m not petty,” Cecilia murmurs, voice half-asleep, half-smirking. “I should have made you beg.”
Gigi grins. “You’d love that.”
“Maybe,” she hums. Then adds, softer, “But I like this better.”
There’s a long silence, comfortable and slow. The kind that only exists when grief has made its peace with joy, and the two learn to sit beside each other.
Gigi’s finger taps the sphere once. “It still rains in there.”
Cecilia doesn’t look at it. She only nuzzles closer. “Let it. I’ve got the real storm right here.”
The tail tightens. The automaton’s fingers still.
Then come the kisses—Gigi presses one to Cecilia’s temple, then her jaw, then the sharp seam where metal meets soft skin. Each one deliberate. Each one saying I’m here. I’m staying.
Cecilia sighs, chest rising with motion and relief.
In that room of rainlight and held breaths, there’s no more rush. The world has quieted for them. The bed upstairs can wait.
For now, they exist in a space where warmth outweighs absence. Where a tail and a pair of mechanical hands hold onto each other like they mean it.
Where love is no longer a question.
Just an answer.