Work Text:
The front door closed heavily, the lock slotting into place. His head rested upon it for a moment, just a small one, like the cool metal would ease the pressure in his eyes. The apartment was minimalist. Small, like most were in the area. Smaller space meant it could cram more people in. Convenient. He only had a space to call his own unlike the others outside because he was created for a job. A job that kept him well off enough to have a modicum of privacy.
His coat slipped off and was left to hang on the rack. The lights sensed him the further he walked in, finger habitually finding the button that would make a long day end comfortably — his clothes still stuck uncomfortably to him. Blood that wasn’t his; blood that kept this space his.
“K? Finally, you’re back! It’s so boring when you’re gone.” That voice always held so much excitement at his return. Something unravelled in his shoulders, the tension bleeding out as he pulled his shirt up and over his head. He tossed it, and the horrified little noise made in response made his lip twitch.
“The couch! I like that couch, don’t ruin it with your dirty shirt!” He reached languidly for the shirt as it hung off the arm of the couch, a huff following his action. “You’re covered in dirt; go wash your hair, it looks black.”
It was a cute quirk, the way he never acknowledged blood. He acknowledged when K was hurt, but it was never ‘you’re bleeding everywhere’. It was always ‘you’re hurt’.
“Yes, sir.”
The shower is efficient and cold. Hot water was a luxury that he saw no point in, when clean water was scarce as it was. Some took time to boil their water bucket, if they had the means. But there was something renewing about cold water, followed by a hot meal to K. It made the taste, the heat, feel more rewarding.
“Soooo…how was work?” He got this lint to his voice whenever he asked, a cheerfulness so rarely found outside the apartment.
“The usual.”
“Boring!” He towelled at his hair, no longer ‘black’.
“Well, how was your day?”
“Boring…real boring.”
Real. That word stuck like tar in his brain at night. ‘Real’ meant so much to his life. Anything he could see, or hear, or touch, should be real. Yet he wasn’t the one to make judgment on what was real. He was a byproduct of a real person, even if he thought himself to be…real. In his own way. He didn’t have a soul, but he was real.
If they could see him, speak to him, then he must be. He must be.
“I missed you.” That was real.
“Aw. I always miss you, K.” He liked to think that was real too.
The steam from his stove burned his chilled face when he leant into it, scooping up the noodles to test their malleability. They caved in half like flesh under his chopsticks, the hard centre catching like bone. He split it with ease with the faintest amount of added pressure and watched the two parts sink. He stared at the boiling pot, and thought about the woman whose arm snapped just as easily a few hours prior.
“K?”
“Do you want a drink? I need a drink.” He directed his attention back to him; he liked attention. He needed it as much as K needed his presence.
“Unless it’s a hot pink Malibu, you’re drinking alone!” K huffed in amusement at the mere idea of drinking something that vibrant. He didn’t make that kind of money.
“Not even a sip?”
“Not even a kiss.”
A kiss. K hummed as he opened his cabinet for two glasses, wandering away from his pot to fill them. He would whine later about feeling left out if there wasn’t two glasses on the table. The liquor burns when K swallows his glass. The second would wait on the table, untouched until bedtime.
A few minutes later, the noodles in the pot were sufficiently soft enough for his preference; he didn’t have many preferences, but its was natural to like certain foods over others. To like it prepared a certain way.
He placed the bowl down and made himself comfortable in his chair, the soft music changing to an upbeat tick. He smiled faintly, closing his eyes for a moment to enjoy the sound.
“Beach Boys! You don’t mind if I play something for myself, right?” K liked when he did this. Became more…real. Showed enjoyment in things, spoke up with an opinion of his own. “You know, you could do with some sun. You’re too pale these days. Just think; beach road trip! Me, you, the waves…”
He painted a pretty picture. A dinged sounded, and K opened his eyes.
“Oh! It’s ready. They call it easy bake, yet it’s never easy.” K didn’t always understand the references he spoke about, but he didn’t have to. After all, he came with a past of his own. A digital world brighter than reality. It’s where that optimism came from.
“You didn’t have to cook.”
“Well, I’m no Barbie, but I can try. Bone apple teeth!”
He said that often when K tried to compliment him. Like he was trying to sell him better company. Barbie was more expensive. All rounded. The perfect girl.
K watched as Ken flickered to life in his pale blue camp collar shirt, his square white apron pristine as he placed the plate of steak, grilled pineapple and salad in front of him. Ken looked at him, waiting with eager-to-please eyes. Always so eager…
“It’s missing something.” He shouldn’t play with his feelings, but a part of him liked to watch how quickly his expressions changed. He emoted so quickly, so fluidly — he’s so very real.
“What? I was sure I had everything.”
K tapped his cheek, two soft, slow taps that makes Ken look so confused before it seemed to click. He brightened like the sun he talked about.
“How could I forget,” Ken leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek. It felt like nothing, but that wasn’t the point. If he can’t touch, but he can see, it’s still real. “The most important part of my day?”
He meant it. It’s all over his face. K is his world. A world confined to four walls and a ceiling. Just a little while longer, and it wouldn’t be that way anymore. He was scraping penny’s to make it happen.
“What a lucky man I am. It looks beautiful, honey.”
“Of course it does. I’m an expert in all things Beach, food included.” Ken brushed off with a laugh and rounded the table, eyeing the glass left for him but leaving it untouched as he sat on the opposite side of the table. Close to K. He liked watching him eat.
“Your day was good?”
“It’s ending good.” K remarked, digging into his noodles, elbows on the table so could match Ken’s closeness. He scooted his elbow a fraction when it fuzzed Ken’s hologram. The man laughed, his clothes rippling from a chef to be a kissed to a lounging homebody, a soft colourful hoodie and white sweatpants. His hair is looser but not messy.
“Can I make it better?”
“No. It’s already the best.”
Ken stared at him while he ate. When he finished, he stood, his clothes shifting into a white jumpsuit with gold embroidery. It had his name bedazzled in the back as he spun, the music changing to pop.
“Can’t be the best night ever without some dancing!” As much as watching him bust a move amused K, he was too tired to dance tonight.
“I’m tired.”
“Me too.” Ken yawned, his clothes shifting into fluffy blue pyjamas with pink hearts. “Maybe I can sleep in your bed tonight?”
“Can you?” He said it before he thought better of it. Ken’s expression twitched into something like hurt for a moment before he smiled again.
“Of course.” He sat on the edge of the table, and leant in so close K could see the pixelation of his eyes. “We’re boyfriend-boyfriend. I can be wherever, and whatever, you want me to be.”
K shivered as Ken’s fingers graced over his lips. He wants to feel it so badly his mind thought it true, turning nothing into a phantom caress.
“…okay. Then you can sleep in my bed tonight.”
Ken smiled wide, eyes crinkled and tanned skin rosy. He’s real. K can’t conceptualise his Ken as being any less real than he is.
He kept his eyes open when Ken kissed him. He didn’t want to lose track of him. He liked watching his hands hover over the shape of his body, tricking himself into sensation, into soft skin and hard muscle.
He spent another hour awake, letting Ken talk and talk, keeping him entertained until he reached for the glass on the table and downed it. A sound goodnight. Ken always pouted, but it was less so tonight. He got to sleep beside him, after all.
K looked back once he had crossed the line of the kitchen, and the look on Ken’s face said more than he liked. There was a heartbreak in his eyes that couldn’t be programmed. K wouldn’t believe otherwise.
“I, um…I can’t sleep over tonight.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. I’ve actually uh, I’ve got to…do Beach stuff.”
“This late?”
“Yeah. Beach never sleeps.” His pyjamas glitch, and Ken suddenly smiled in his stripped swim trunks and surfboard under arm. “You dream enough for the both of us while I work, okay?”
“Okay.” The darkness of his bedroom had never been more unappealing, yet he backed into it slowly, letting the darkness encase him. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight. Sleep well, K.”
“Mm.”
Ken disappeared, and K stood still in his cold, cold bedroom.
Having Ken inside wouldn’t change the cold. But maybe having him beside him in the night would ease the ever-growing ache in his sternum.