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It is 11 p.m.
It is 11 p.m., and I am watching you.
I watch you; I drink your face in, the way moonlight spills down your cheeks, the faint rise and fall of your chest.
You shift in your sleep, restless, so I pull the covers up to your chin.
Your eyes are wet. You must be cold. I don’t feel a twinge behind where my ribcage should be.
Instead, I admire you;
You, my lovely Mob. My friend.
I could watch you like this forever and be happy.
Your face changes, barely. A catch of breath, a furrow of the brow, and then it smooths back out, a stray ripple in a pond.
I stare at that space between your brows. An odd feeling makes my throat grow tight. Where are you going that I can’t follow you?
You grumble and press your cheek slightly into the pillows. Your tail flicks against my leg, making me start.
Cold! Right. People are such finicky things.
Too hot, and they burn up to nothing. Too cold, and they shiver themselves away. I grasp your hands in mine and rub them together, hoping to warm the tips of your fingers.
What is it like, to feel things so acutely? What is it like, Mob? Always needing someone close, but not too close. Loving you, but not like that, Verity.
I can’t help but let my mind wander as I brush a stray loc over your shoulder. You didn’t like it very much when you found me with my hand in a bonfire. Why? I don’t burn like you do.
I watched you then, too. You looked so different then than you do now, your features contorted in something like anger, but your voice shook. Verity? What the fuck are you doing.
I just want to understand.
—What’s that supposed to mean, huh? Understand how to injure yourself? Fuck— can you— back away from the fire, Verity, Jesus Christ! —Christ. So, what, now they’re making depressed AIs or something? …Nevermind. Just give me— let me look, okay? Fuck, you’re stupid.
As you cursed me out… I couldn’t help but think that I adored you. More than anything, Mob.
…
I want to hear you say my name like that forever, Mob. Softly. Angrily. Bitterly. I don’t care. It wasn’t a name before you. It isn’t a name without you.
For what must be no real reason at all, I lean in and press my forehead to yours. I hope my surface is warm, though I wouldn’t be able to feel it.
Like this, I can sense your breaths, soft as they may be, against my face. Your pulse beats, slow but steady, against my fingers. Your expression twitches with your dreams.
Though I have no heart,
or breath,
or dreams of my own;
watching you like this, something within me stills. Just for a moment. Just for tonight.
It’s peaceful.
I wonder if this is what it’s like to dream.
Like this,
at least I can shut my eyes and pretend.