Work Text:
Your reflection looks sad.
That’s the first thing you notice when you look up from the sink in the employee restroom. The area underneath your eyes is a dark, shiny color, your lips are chapped, and there's a scab forming from your constant picking and gnawing.
Water drips down the bridge of your nose, hitting your lips. Your tongue licks the excess off, eyes still boring into the image of yourself. Your eyes glance at your mirrored-chest, and you feel sick.
You swallow and look away.
You’re beginning to hate mirrors. Every time you look, there’s too much and too little all at once. Sometimes you wish you could tear yourself apart and rearrange limbs and skin in a way that was beautiful and perfect— and you.
The reflection is a reminder of the impossibility of that dream. It also reaffirms all the feelings of wrongness trapped beneath muscles and fat.
Some days are easy. This morning was fine, and the sudden shift makes you feel guilty, as if you could have changed this outcome somehow.
Something is missing in you. You’re sure of it. It feels familiar, depressingly safe even— to believe it.
You throw water on your face once more and wipe off the droplets with your shirt. When you exit the bathroom, you don’t bother to tuck it in.
The roaring noise of the Pizza Plex greets you. Children scream and parents whine as you pass the hall, making your way back to your station at the daycare. You’re only mildly grateful when you push the doors open to see the attendant is busy with a horde of children.
Eclipse is kind.
They are patient when they should not have to be.
It’s been about a year since you started. Eclipse has promised you a birthday cake on your official one-year date. It is the only type of cake they are allowed to request.
You check your emails in the spare time you had before the children go down for rest.
Phishing scam.
Phishing scam.
Email about ignoring other competitor companies.
Email with an employee discount for 50 cent off a liter of soda.
Phishing scam.
You barely read any emails that came through on a good day. Today, your eyes just glaze over the words. At some point, you just start deleting things without even reading the subject line.
The jingle of bells tears your eyes from the screen. Pitch blackness meets your vision suddenly, making you blink and rub at your face.
“When did the lights go out?” you wonder.
Eclipse leans an elbow against the opposite side of the desk. “The little tots are all down and out. Did you enjoy your break earlier, Dearest?”
Within a few seconds, you’re able to see their outline– shapes and lines, but little less. Then those shapes and lines blend until you see their smile.
Your heart sinks as you slump down. “I guess. It's just…” you sigh, cutting yourself off. You cover your eyes in your arms before looking up at them again.
You look pathetic. At least this time it’s on purpose.
Their unmoving faceplate tilts. LED eyes scan your features methodically.
Then something makes an audible click. “Oh, oh dear. Why didn’t you say so?” They shuffle to the side of the desk and open their arms. “C’mere, let’s take a look at you.”
You’re up and meeting them at the edge of the desk before they even finish speaking. Their arms embrace you and whisk you away to a plump, firm floor mat a few feet away from the kids.
They sit behind you and force your head down on his lap. You know this scenario. Doctor Eclipse will fix what’s going on.
“Your heart rate is elevated,” they say with an audible smirk– despite the lack of facial expression.
Your chest feels light and a little huff of laughter leaves your nose as you roll your eyes. In the attempt to shield your blushing face, you turn away.
They don’t like that.
Eclipse gently moves your face back to looking up at them. “Tsk-Tsk. No, no. Such an unruly patient,” they scold. “I’ll be adding that to your patient notes.”
Your eyes roll again as you reach up and cup their cheek. Your thumb rubs against the hard plastic of their faceplate. You don’t mean to get lost in their eyes, but do so anyway. It's the little pixels in them that distract you. The reds and yellows that create different hues are pretty. You mindlessly try to count each teeny-tiny little bulb.
They speak, “Seems you have a little dysfunction going on.”
“Oh?” you lower your arm, resting your hands on your abdomen.
“Yep! Rii~ight here,” they tap the center of your forehead. “Only surgery can cure it, and– Oh, darn. I don’t have my tools on me today.” They shake their head in faux disappointment. “But I do have medicine that will help treat the symptoms.”
You can't help the smirk that spreads to your lips. “Does my insurance cover it?”
They smile and brush their finger behind your ear. “It’s on me,” they whisper. They lean down, planting their static smile across your forehead. You close your eyes and let them pressure of their kiss melt through your body. It remains there for several seconds until— “Mwah~ ! All better.”
“All better,” you repeat.
They are kind and patient as ever. You think it’s undeserved, but ultimately sink into their hold again. You allow yourself the selfish moment of indulgence.
“Dearest, I love you. I will continue to love you. I’ll be here every step of the way through your journey,” they promise. “Don't go giving up, Dearest. I’m excited to see who you turn out to be,” They lean down again and rock gently from side-to-side. A tune begins to hum slowly from their chassis.
You close your eyes.
Eclipse strokes your hair, and it feels like love