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"He loved you," they say, thumb tracing the carefully constructed indentations in your palm; your hands are synthetic and unreal just as the rest of you is, but their touch is still impactive and your fingers work nearly the same as everyone else’s. Kamukura’s touch is similar in the way that it’s cold and sometimes rough, but the nature of their hands is different as they exist naturally and at times radiate a warmth yours will never know.
You may appear similar to them with your newly constructed human figure, but Kamukura is the antithesis of your entire existence. They stand before you made of flesh and blood– a person crafted to hold unlimited potential and a person made to be more machine than human. You had been constructed to fit the opposite mold: a machine to mimic humanity and to grasp human concepts, yet even in a tangible form, a machine you remain and are reminded of each day that you fail you breathe.
They are human yet claim otherwise, and for that you think that maybe Kamukura Izuru is not as smart as they believe themself to be. You are the machine, and sometimes you yearn to be capable of their humanity.
Romantic love is a concept that you know should lay far beyond your reach. You were built for one thing and one thing alone and yet when they state three words as fact, you immediately know that you felt the same. Carefully, your hands enclose on theirs and you give a gentle squeeze.
They know Hinata’s emotions, but do not share them. Not in this regard.
Their demeanor is softer with you than it is with anyone else, and though their words remain blunt and their misanthropic ideology as stagnant as it has always been, their tone never touches malicious with you and for that you know that while they may not feel as Hinata did, his impact on them is still influential. Kamukura moves closer to you, giving you a subtle look that you know means they’re asking for approval. As rough in words as they may be, they’re polite when it matters– always polite. You vaguely recall hearing that they’d been conditioned to be by their teachers and caretakers at the school that began the end, but you quickly brush away such thoughts for they are sadder than they are relevant at this point in time. You match Kamukura’s move forward as if in consent, recognizing what comes next.
They drop your hands, instead moving one arm across your waist and carefully pull you forward as though you were constructed from glass instead of metal and wires.
Slowly, you move your arms to hook under their own as the palms of your hands rest on their shoulder blades and your head leans into their chest just as theirs dips down to rest atop yours.
Kamukura is not Hinata, and yet they are. Kamukura does not share Hinata’s near-unfaltering determination or the hopeful demeanor you’d last seen him with when he and the others decided to see their futures straight-on with their heads held high; they do not share his compassion or naturally empathetic nature or that awkward yet oddly charming smile he’d offer when unsure of himself or just plain uncomfortable. And yet Kamukura feels like Hinata had when you’d fallen against his chest, and they radiate the same warmth and have the same eyes despite the colors being complementary. The person that awoke from the simulation is both Hinata and not, yet you’d rather just believe the latter.
You know they do not care for you– know that they act upon instinct and on what simply feels right for they’ve nothing else now that their previous purpose has been ripped from them. Occasionally you attempt to pretend otherwise and manage to convince yourself that Hinata is not truly gone, and that he simply sleeps within Kamukura’s subconscious ready to be awoken at just the right point in time if only you could just discover when that was.
You can feel the rhythmic beat of their heart against your hard frame and a feeling of sad nostalgia passes through you momentarily; again the memory of falling against Hinata’s figure resurfaces for what seems like the thousandth time. Your eyes flutter closed only for a second as you ignore the truth before you and instead focus on the familiarity of being held by someone you once trusted with your life. It’s a simple enough feat to recognize the subtle shift in stance from Kamukura as they position themself in a way that makes it easier to guide you backwards towards a bed all too familiar to you, and while they do not grow tired as people without the strength of one fabricated to achieve inhuman perfection do, there lay the persistent itch of boredom beneath their skin that can never be completely sated and so constant movement is necessary. You indulge them in their inconsistent ways, always moving just as they do whenever they take steps back and move swiftly in order to lay down with their arm still wrapped around your waist. They lay upon one of your arms that is still hooked around their back, but being the man-made construct that you are, you do not feel the pain one usually would; only the heavy weight of their body that cannot leave even a dent without the intent to is what you’re capable of feeling and that alone is not enough to spur you to move.
They are not truly Hinata Hajime, you repeat to yourself again. Long ago you had believed differently- that Hinata had a choice and could simply pave his own path to a future you believed you could foresee, but nowadays you brush it off as just another thing you'd been naive about. Kamukura is hardened like the cement you sometimes feel as though you were constructed with and are as cold internally as you are externally, while you associate Hinata with nothing but warmth and optimism even when he may not have felt the same of himself. He held more humanity atop his shoulders than Kamukura ever could even when the virus constructed to doom them all was held within their fingertips, even when they had initially been made to serve as a reflection of everything society should be and would want to be. You know that they will never share the same sense of love or loyalty Hinata had, and will never see you in the same radiating light you in turn saw him in. The same experiences may be shared within a mind and memories may be easily accessible, but never will they be cherished or regarded as even relatively important when Kamukura does not see significance in something so sentimental. They are not him and he is not them, nor will they ever be again.
But as you curl up against their chest in the dark and they breathe out a sound that seems close enough to a sigh of content, you know that at the very least you make each other feel the closest to human that you’ll ever be able to.
And if you manage to stop believing that Hinata will come back, maybe you can start believing that this is as good enough as it will get.