Work Text:
- The Way It Wasn’t Supposed to Be -
He wasn’t supposed to be away. Not at first.
A police department across Michigan had reached out to the DPD for assistance on a case, and Nines had been asked to go.
He had been hesitant until he and Gavin got into an argument. Irrationally, he ran.
Machines aren’t supposed to be irrational, but two years of deviation hadn’t made him any better at managing emotions when they rise sharp and sudden.
So he accepted the case, boarded the train, and left the city for a week.
They were just wrapping up the details when the alert came through from Connor.
There’s been an incident. You need to return immediately. It’s Gavin.
Now he sits by Gavin’s hospital bed, staring at the man he loves more than anything he was ever programmed to understand.
Gavin’s face is familiar and foreign at once, bruised, bandaged, mouth pulled into a tight line even in sleep.
There’s a heart monitor beeping steadily beside him, but Nines' own systems pulse with something erratic. Something close to terror.
Connor’s words loop endlessly through his mind:
He remembers you only as his partner at the DPD. Given his… antagonistic tendencies, they believe it’s best to let him remember naturally.
He heard the unspoken part too:
If he remembers at all.
Gavin stirs, groaning softly as he blinks awake.
For a moment, hope sparks but then Gavin’s eyes narrow the way they do at every nuisance and android alike.
"What’re you doin' here, tin can?" he rasps, rubbing at his eyes.
Nines straightens instinctively, smoothing out the front of his jacket like he can press the ache back down.
He forces a smile that feels all wrong on his face.
"Hello, Detective Reed," he says, voice low and careful. "I came to check on your wellbeing before returning to the precinct to interrogate our suspect. How are you feeling?"
Gavin snorts. The sound is familiar, but empty.
"Fuck off. 'm fine. It's your fault I'm in here anyway," he mutters, crossing his arms and looking away with a familiar petulance that, somehow, still twists like a knife in Nines' chest.
Nines' LED flickers red despite himself.
"You’re right," he says softly. "I apologize, Detective."
He stands, adjusting his sleeves even though they don't need it.
He needs something to do with his hands.
"Focus on getting better," he says, voice too steady, too practiced. "I’ll see you when you return to work."
He lingers for a second longer memorizing him.
Gavin doesn’t look back.
Nines turns and walks out.
- The Way I Disappear -
The door clicks shut behind him, and for a moment Nines just stands there.
Their apartment—Gavin’s apartment—is exactly as he left it. Light pooling on the floor. Air too still. Mugshot lifts her head from the couch cushion, blinks once, then yawns like she couldn’t care less he’s back.
She doesn’t know Gavin forgot.
Nines moves on autopilot. Mug. Food bowl. Water. He crouches down to set them straight and scratches behind her ears when she nudges into his hand. It buys him ten seconds of quiet before the rest crashes in.
There’s no protocol for erasing yourself.
But he’s efficient.
He starts in the closet. Everything of his—jackets, shirts, the navy sweater Gavin said made him look like a “finance bro who could ruin lives and also cuddle”—folded and packed. He doesn’t need clothes, never did, but they were Gavin’s idea. A Saturday spent at thrift stores and laughing in dressing rooms.
Gone in under five minutes.
He moves through drawers like evidence collection. Toothbrush. Cologne. Razor he never used. Socks with dumb patterns Gavin thought were hilarious. Everything gets tucked away into the duffel Tina gave him. It’s too small, so he folds tight. Precise.
He hesitates at the nightstand.
The frame’s still there. Digital. Cheap. Gavin had called it “ugly as sin but sentimental as hell.” Their photo loops on the screen—him rolling his eyes, Gavin mid-laugh, hair windblown and eyes crinkled.
Nines touches the edge of it with one finger.
Then he powers it off and wraps it in a t-shirt.
An hour later, the place looks untouched. Like he was never there. No clothes. No cologne. No second toothbrush. No evidence of a shared life. Just neatness. Just silence.
Just Gavin.
Mugshot pads across the floor and headbutts his shin.
He crouches again, fingers brushing her head. “Hey,” he murmurs. “I need you to take care of him, okay? He’s going to get stubborn about the pills and complain about the coffee, but… he’s still him. Somewhere.”
She meows, tail flicking like she understands.
Nines stands, slings the duffel over his shoulder, and takes one last look.
Everything’s in its place.
Everything’s wrong.
Outside, Connor waits, leaning against Hank’s car like it’s any other day. Like Nines didn’t just dismantle the life he’d built piece by piece in under an hour.
The duffel hangs heavy on his shoulder, not because of its weight, but because of what it represents. What it erases.
"I told you I'm fine," Nines says, voice flat as he steps onto the curb. "You didn’t have to meet me here."
Connor shrugs, casual as ever. “Maybe not. But you shouldn’t have to be alone either.”
Nines looks past him, down the quiet street. Sunlight bouncing off windshields. A breeze stirring litter by the curb. Life moving on.
"I'm walking," he says, adjusting the strap like it gives him a reason to keep standing. “I’d like the exercise.”
"Then I guess I’m walking too."
Of course he is.
Nines frowns. “What about Hank’s car?”
Connor waves him off. “We’ll get it tomorrow.”
They fall into step without discussing it. Feet on pavement. Bag shifting against his back. Every sound feels louder than it should. Distant traffic, birds overhead, the hum of power lines like the world hasn’t noticed it’s cracked in half.
After a while, Connor breaks the silence.
“How are you holding up?”
Nines exhales slowly. Pointless, but it grounds him.
“I’ve been shot. Stabbed. Tortured. Rejected by my own kind.”
His voice comes out flat, almost clinical. Like listing out data might make it manageable. Like this is just one more trauma to catalog and move past.
He stares down at the sidewalk, watching a crack split in two directions like it couldn’t decide where to go.
“None of it compares to this.”
Connor stays beside him but says nothing, which somehow helps more than empty reassurances ever could.
They keep walking. The rhythm of their steps becomes the only thing anchoring Nines to the present.
“I don’t even need to breathe,” he says eventually.
“But it feels like I can’t catch my breath.”
He laughs, short, bitter, ugly. It catches in his throat like static.
“It’s like someone ripped out my thirium pump and left me grasping at nothing.”
He stops walking. The weight of the duffel drags at his shoulder, but he doesn’t adjust it this time. Just lets it hang there.
“I keep thinking if I just hold on hard enough, dig deep enough, there’ll be something left to save.”
His gaze lifts, not to Connor, but to the sky above.
“But there’s nothing left, Connor.”
Connor stands beside him, quiet and solid. A constant. A witness.
Nines closes his eyes.
“I’m stuck remembering,” he whispers. “Stuck with the last words I ever said to the love of my life.”
His LED flashes a muted red. He doesn’t try to stop it.
“‘You are exhausting.’”
The words scrape something raw inside him.
“I told him he was exhausting. And then I left.”
The silence that follows is louder than anything else.
“How do I live with that?”
Connor doesn’t answer.
There isn’t an answer.
They start walking again, because there’s nothing else to do.
- The Way You Almost Knew Me -
Nines waits a few days before visiting Gavin at his apartment. Tina has stayed with him since he was discharged, while Nines spent that time doing the one thing he was never designed for:
Hiding.
CyberLife would be proud of him. The most advanced prototype ever created, paralyzed by the fear of seeing his boyfriend look at him like a stranger.
When he finally gathers the courage to knock, he’s already half-turned to leave.
But before he can take a step, the door opens.
“Nines?” Gavin blinks at him, eyebrows drawn. “The fuck are you doing here?”
Nines straightens automatically. “I just wanted to check in. To see how you’re doing.”
It sounds rehearsed. He hates how rehearsed it sounds.
Gavin stares at him for a moment, then turns without a word and walks back inside.
That’s the invitation.
Nines steps in, quiet as ever, hands behind his back like he’s afraid to touch anything. The apartment smells like home—coffee and dust and something faintly citrus—but it doesn’t feel like it. The warmth is gone.
Gavin doesn’t look at him as he drops onto the couch.
Nines follows, hands clasped behind his back. “So?” he asks.
“So what?”
Nines allows a small smile. “Are you settling in well since being discharged?” he asks, kneeling to pet Mugshot, who immediately purrs and stretches beneath his touch.
Gavin watches him, then shrugs. “I think I have a roommate.”
Nines looks up, blinking. “Oh? What makes you think that?”
“I’m not an idiot, tin can. I’ve seen the looks people give me. I’m not remembering something, right?”
Nines sighs and nods. “You’ve always been an excellent detective.”
Gavin glances away, suddenly restless. “Mugshot’s been meowing at the door every night since I got back. Like she’s waiting for someone. I thought she was just being weird, but then you showed up, and she stopped.”
“She and I have grown quite close,” Nines replies as Mugshot curls into his hand.
Gavin scoffs and starts pacing. “Every single one of you is talking in half-truths, and I’m fucking sick of it. How am I supposed to remember anything if no one will be straight with me?”
Nines rises. “You’re right, Detective—”
“Stop!” Gavin’s voice cuts through the room. “Stop calling me that.”
Nines flinches inwardly. He takes a half step forward, instinct screaming to comfort him, to close the distance, to hold him. But he stops.
The man in front of him isn’t his Gavin. Not yet.
“What would you like me to call you?” he asks quietly.
“I— I don’t know, okay?” Gavin snaps. “I don’t know why, but I hate how it sounds coming from you.”
Nines’ expression softens. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I was trying not to add stress, but… I can see now I misjudged. If you’d like, ask me anything. I’ll answer honestly.”
Gavin sinks onto the sofa, dragging his hands down his face. “No lying?”
Nines sits too, near, but not too close. Mugshot hops up between them, nestles against Gavin’s thigh, and rests her chin on Nines’ knee like she’s bridging a gap no one else knows how to cross.
“No lying.”
There’s a pause. A beat of quiet tension between them.
Gavin exhales slowly. “Since I woke up… nothing feels right. It’s like everyone around me knows what I’ve lost, but no one will hand it back. I thought coming home would fix that, but… even here, something’s missing.”
He laughs once, bitter and tired. “Everything looks the same, but it still feels empty. I don’t get it.”
Nines nods slowly. “Do you know how much time you’ve lost?”
“A year,” Gavin mumbles, rubbing his eyes. “They keep telling me. Doesn’t help.”
“In that year, a great deal changed,” Nines says gently. “I live here, with you. But I removed my belongings before you returned… to make things easier. A year ago, we were barely colleagues. I didn’t think you’d respond well to waking up in a life you couldn’t recognize.”
Gavin frowns. “This is a one-bedroom apartment. Where did you even sleep? Or whatever it is you do?”
Nines looks away. “There are… things that are difficult for me to discuss right now. That answer may be better given in time.”
Gavin tilts his head, studying him.
“You’re dodging the question.”
“I’m preserving what little I have left,” Nines admits, voice soft.
Gavin doesn’t push, just leans back into the couch cushions, visibly frustrated but too tired to keep fighting.
Mugshot hops up onto the sofa between them, curling up with her back pressed to Gavin’s thigh and her head nudging against Nines’ knee.
They both watch her for a moment, quietly.
“Were we happy?” Gavin asks suddenly.
Nines looks up, caught off guard by the question. Not because he doesn’t know the answer, but because Gavin’s voice sounds hopeful.
He nods once.
“Yes,” Nines says. “More than I ever thought I was capable of being.”
Gavin swallows, gaze flicking away. “Do you think I’ll remember?”
“I don’t know,” Nines replies honestly. “But I will never stop hoping you do.”
And for now, that has to be enough.
- The Way We Work Together -
Nines had assumed that after two years of knowing Gavin Reed there was nothing left that could surprise him.
He was wrong.
Apparently, Gavin could charm his way past medical evaluations and chain-of-command hesitations with little more than a stubborn glare and a smug grin. And somehow, Captain Fowler had signed off on desk duty.
Permanent, for now. But still. The man had been concussed less than a month ago.
Nines watches him from his desk across from Gavin’s unashamedly. He is slouched in his chair like he owns the place, one boot kicked up on the desk, scrolling lazily through a tablet with that same old air of performative disinterest.
Nothing about him looks uncertain. Or fragile. Or new.
But Nines knows better.
“You androids ever gonna learn how to be subtle,” Gavin mutters without looking up, “or is that just a you problem?”
Nines doesn’t bother feigning innocence. “I’m not attempting subtlety. I’m trying to determine what kind of psychological warfare you used to convince Fowler you were ready for duty.”
Gavin smirks, still focused on the screen. “I’m extremely persuasive when I want to be.”
He jerks his chin toward Hank and Connor’s desks. “All our cases went to the wonder duo. Apparently I’m ‘not fit for fieldwork.’”
He throws up air quotes like the phrase personally offends him.
Nines exhales a short laugh, soft but real. “It’s for the best, Detective. You’d be furious if a defense attorney used your head injury to discredit a testimony.”
“That doesn’t make this desk job any less soul-sucking,” Gavin grumbles, tapping through a report like it insulted him.
Nines allows the faintest smile. “Give it time. You’ll be back to intimidating suspects before long.”
“If someone calls my partner a defect piece of trash again,” Gavin mutters, “they’re getting punched. It’s the rules.”
Nines freezes.
Just like that, everything else—his terminal, the chatter of the bullpen, the clatter of keys—fades to static.
A month ago. Homicide suspect. The man spat in Nines’ face, called him a defect. Gavin didn’t hesitate. Broke his nose with one clean punch before Nines could even react.
The report was sanitized. Internal Affairs never saw the full footage. No one knew why Gavin snapped.
No one except Nines.
And Gavin shouldn’t remember.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” Gavin asks, finally glancing up.
Nines' voice drops. “That’s not in the report.”
Gavin blinks. The silence hangs just long enough to feel like something’s shifting.
Then: his eyes widen, slow and sharp, and his expression cracks open into something bright.
“Fuck yeah,” he breathes, grinning. “First memory unlocked!”
He holds up a fist like it’s a victory worth celebrating. And maybe it is.
Nines bumps it lightly, the corners of his mouth lifting. “I’m proud of you, Gav.”
But his chest tightens even as he says it.
Because for all the memories Gavin might recover, there’s one in particular Nines dreads. One moment waiting at the edge of all this progress like a trapdoor.
You’re exhausting, Gavin.
That was the last thing he said before walking out.
The last thing Gavin heard before forgetting he was loved.
“Tin can, you glitching or something? Your light thingy’s flashing red.”
Nines startles slightly. Gavin is watching him now not with suspicion or annoyance, but with a quiet kind of concern, buried beneath his usual mask. His brow is pinched. His mouth set just a little too tight.
Most people wouldn’t notice the difference.
But Nines knows Gavin better than anyone. Better than he knows himself, sometimes.
He forces the LED to blue and stillness back into his frame.
“My apologies. I was… distracted. It won’t happen again.”
Gavin snorts and slouches deeper into his chair. “Whatever. See if I care.”
Nines turns back to his monitor.
He tells himself it’s enough. That he can be patient.
That he can stand here, every day, beside Gavin like nothing ever changed, if that’s what it takes.
Because even if Gavin never remembers the love they shared or never forgives him for the words Nines can’t take back
He’ll take whatever piece of Gavin he’s allowed to keep.
- The Way It Feels Now -
The first time Gavin and Nines kissed, it was during an argument.
They were arguing about how to proceed with one of their cases when Gavin pulled him by his jacket into a kiss.
It was passionate, messy, and rough.
This time, it was when they were watching a movie at Gavin’s apartment.
He invited Nines over after work and they ended up watching one of Gavin’s favorites.
There’s a comfortable silence in between the two as they watch the main characters kiss even though dinosaurs are chasing them.
Nines didn’t understand this scene when he watched it the first time with Gavin and he definitely does not understand it now either.
Then the silence is broken when Gavin speaks up. “So what is it like?”
Nines looks at him curiously, not understanding. “What is what like?”
Gavin’s ears start to pink up and he starts to fidget which makes Nines even more confused.
What question has Gavin so anxious and embarrassed?
“Ya know.. Kissing an android. What is it like?”
Nines blinks at the question. “Oh.. Well it’s not that different from humans, I suppose. We aren’t capable of getting physically flushed as humans do but if you know where to look, you can always tell when an android is… compromised.”
Gavin plays with his fingers. “Have we kissed before?”
Nines nods. “We have. You have always been capable of telling when I am flustered, so to speak.”
Gavin has always been able to read Nines well. He doesn’t know if it’s because of their time together as partners then as boyfriends but he could always read the emotion behind his words.
The detective nods, turning his eyes back to the screen without a word.
After a few more minutes, as if he gained the courage to ask, Gavin piped up once more. “Can we.. do it again?”
Nines’ LED flashes red as his stress levels spike up. “Oh..”
He’d love nothing more than to pull Gavin into him like Gavin did him a year ago but he doesn’t want to take advantage.
Past Gavin is probably still angry at him. Past Gavin remembers their fight. But this Gavin doesn’t and he can’t help but think he would be taking advantage of his amnesia.
Gavin seeing this immediately stands up. “Never fucking mind. It was stupid. Forget I fucking said anything.”
Nines grabs his arm and pulls him back down to sit besides him. “Gavin.. It’s not like I don’t want to. I’d love to kiss you again.”
“Then what’s with your light show, prick? You don’t have to spare my fucking feelings just because I have amnesia. I’m a big boy, I can ha-”
“As I was saying before you interrupted,” Nines cuts in, squeezing Gavin’s hand absentmindedly. “I would love to kiss you but I worry about taking advantage. Before you were injured.. We got into an argument. I said something I shouldn’t have and I hurt you. Even if you don’t remember it, it still happened. I can’t take advantage of you not remembering how I hurt you.”
Gavin furrows his eyebrows. “I don’t care.”
“Gavin, just because you don’t care now-”
“No, you listen to me you plastic prick. I may not remember whatever the fuck you’re talking about or our relationship. But I know my feelings and right now, I don’t care what happened in the past.” Gavin sighs before continuing. “Look, I am remembering things which is good. But I may never fully remember. You need to stop holding onto past me because he may never come back. Right Now Me wants to kiss the hot as fuck android sitting on my couch. Now will you stop your good guy act and kiss m-”
Nines doesn’t let Gavin finish his sentence.
He reaches out, fingers curling into the fabric of Gavin’s shirt not with urgency, but with intention. Measured. Precise. As if every inch closed between them matters.
He pulls Gavin in, slow but steady, and their mouths meet.
It isn’t like the first time.
That kiss had been chaos. Frustration boiling over. Teeth. Tongue. A slammed door and Gavin’s fingers curled in his jacket like he was trying to rip seams. It had been a challenge as much as a confession.
This is nothing like that.
This is quiet.
This is careful.
Nines kisses him gently, like a vow he’s afraid to break. He doesn’t know if Gavin will pull away, if the moment will shatter, if this will undo everything they've been piecing back together. But Gavin doesn’t move. If anything, he leans in one hand braced against Nines’ chest, the other curling around the back of his neck, anchoring them.
Nines’ stress readings spike again, not from fear, but from sheer data overload. He’s cataloging everything: the warmth of Gavin’s mouth, the slight hitch in his breath, the way his pulse jumps beneath his skin. It’s all too much and not enough.
His systems ping an alert of analysis of Gavin’s saliva but he ignores it.
Because this?
This is real.
Not a memory. Not a simulation. Not a dream he replays when the Hank’s house is too quiet.
Gavin kisses him like he means it. Like he might not remember their fight, or the night Nines left, but his body remembers the shape of him.
When they part, it’s by a breath. Foreheads almost touching.
Nines doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. He just watches Gavin eyes half-lidded, lips a little swollen, pupils blown wide and waits.
Gavin lets out a low breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “Well, shit,” he murmurs. “That was definitely better than getting chased by dinosaurs.”
Nines huffs a soft, stunned laugh. His LED flickers yellow, then settles to blue. “Agreed.”
Gavin leans his forehead against Nines and closes his eyes. “Nines, I can’t promise I’ll remember us. But I like us now. Is that something you can live with?” Gavin asks softly.
Nines squeezes Gavin’s hand and closes his eyes savoring the feeling of Gavin close to him. “I will take any and every version of you always.”
Gavin snorts and says softly. “Maybe okay will be our always.”
Nines lets out a laugh. “You should know, I will be showing Tina a recording of you referencing A Fault in Our Stars.”
Gavin groans and pulls away. He flops back on the couch dramatically, throwing an arm over his eyes in shame. “Nines! She will never let me live that down!” He whines with a pout.
Nines laughs harder nudging Gavin with his foot. “That’s the point. You should be ashamed of yourself for that.”
“How do you even know what that is? That was forever ago!” Gavin whines out.
“I have access to this thing called the internet.” The android teases with a smirk.
Gavin starts ranting about the sanctity of a relationship and Nines watches with a fond smile.
For the first time since he left Detroit, he feels himself relax.
Things don’t get better overnight, but tonight was a damn good start.
- The Way We Fight -
Tonight, Gavin invited Nines over to watch a movie again.
Except this time, they’re officially calling it a date.
Nines isn’t sure what the appropriate human protocol is for a second first date with your boyfriend who forgot your relationship, but he decides a gift might be acceptable. Chocolate. Coffee. Familiar comforts.
He arrives precisely on time, anxiety thrumming under his chasis.
The door clicks open and he steps inside.
“Hello,” Nines begins, already rehearsing his lines. “I wasn’t sure what to bring, so I got ch—”
He stops.
Gavin is seated on the couch, facing the window, but turns when he hears Nines’ voice.
His expression guts him.
That same blank, guarded look. The one Nines hadn’t seen since the hospital. That fractured glare of hurt beneath the anger, anger beneath the silence.
“You remember,” Nines says, barely above a whisper. He sets the bag on the counter with trembling fingers.
“Yeah,” Gavin mutters. “I fucking remember.”
His voice is rough. Low. Controlled in the way it always is when he’s barely holding it together.
“I was in the shower,” he adds. “It just… hit me. Like it never even left.”
He doesn’t look at Nines. Just stares at the floor like it’s safer.
Nines takes a hesitant step forward. “Gavin, I’m so sorry. For what I said. For leaving. For everything. Knowing that the last words I said to you were…”
“No,” Gavin snaps. “Say it.”
Nines freezes.
“You don’t get to skip over it now,” Gavin says, louder. “Say what you fucking said. Don’t pretend it didn’t happen.”
Nines closes his eyes.
“I said… you were exhausting.”
The words land like a punch. Like a bullet that never stopped ricocheting.
Static buzzes faintly in Nines’ ears, his systems pulsing too fast, trying to regulate. He watches Gavin’s jaw clench.
“Right,” Gavin says. He lets out a low, bitter laugh. “You called me exhausting. Then you packed a bag and fucking left.”
“Gavin…” Nines steps forward. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, doesn’t know how to hold this grief between them without it falling apart again. “I didn’t mean-”
“I know you didn’t mean it,” Gavin cuts in, pacing now. “But you said it anyway. You didn’t even try to fix it. You just walked away like I was some broken code to uninstall.”
“I was overwhelmed,” Nines says quietly. “You were angry. I didn’t know how to deescalate without making things worse.”
“So you ran?” Gavin barks. “That’s your idea of love? You said I was exhausting and then vanished into thin air. No fight. No apology. Just gone.”
Nines flinches. “You’re right. I have no excuse. There is no excuse. I shouldn’t have left. I will spend the rest of my life regretting that I did.”
Gavin stops pacing. Turns. And his eyes are wet now, but he doesn’t blink.
“I’m not good at this,” Gavin mutters. “I snap. I say shit I don’t mean. But I don’t run. I stay. I fight. And you didn’t even give me the chance to make it right.”
Nines opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.
He has no defense.
Just regret.
“If I could go back—”
“You can’t,” Gavin says, quiet again. “And I can’t un-hear it.”
He sinks onto the couch like the weight of it all finally got to him. His shoulders sag. His hands rub over his face.
“I know you didn’t mean it,” he says again. “But that doesn’t make it hurt less.”
Nines stands frozen.
All his processing power, all his perfect memory, and yet he can’t seem to find the right next move.
“I don’t need you to beg,” Gavin says, voice hoarse. “I just need you to mean it when you say you won’t do that again.”
And there it is.
The opening. The forgiveness, not granted but possible.
Nines kneels.
Not because he’s trying to beg, but because he can’t stay standing not when Gavin looks like this. Like every part of him is splintered and holding on anyway.
“Gavin…” Nines says softly, voice fracturing. “I understand you may never forgive me for hurting you. I don’t expect you to. I’ll never forgive myself either.”
He pauses, reaches up with a trembling hand, and presses two fingers to his temple. The LED clicks out with a soft snap, and he holds it out between them. An offering. A vow.
“But if you’ll let me, I will spend the rest of our lives making it up to you. Showing you how much you mean to me.”
His voice steadies, just barely.
“You’re not the most important person in my life, Gavin. You’re the only one. No one else even comes close. And if you let me stay, I will never stop proving that to you.”
A long silence stretches between them.
Then Gavin laughs. It’s wet, incredulous, half a sob. “Are you actually fucking proposing to me right now?”
Nines shakes his head, LED still resting in his outstretched hand.
“No,” he says. “Not yet. That wouldn’t be fair to either of us. This isn’t a proposal. It’s a promise.”
He breathes, steady this time. “I will earn your trust again. I will show you every day that I won’t run. That I love you. That I’m staying. And one day… if you’ll have me… I’ll ask again. With an actual ring.”
He meets Gavin’s eyes, soft and certain.
“Please don’t give up on me.”
Gavin doesn’t answer right away.
Instead, he looks down at the LED. Slowly, carefully, he reaches out and takes it from Nines’ hand gentle, like it might break.
“It’s not gonna be easy,” he says quietly.
Nines nods. “I don’t deserve easy.”
Gavin exhales, long and shaking. “Then here’s what we do. No running. No shutting down. If one of us needs a break, we say it. We pause. And we come back when we’re not seeing red.”
Nines nods again. “Agreed.”
“Okay,” Gavin says. “Then we work on this. Together.”
They may never get back to the way they were but it’s a step forward.
It’s not perfect. It’s not a clean slate. But it’s a start.
He reaches up and gently rests his forehead against Gavin’s. No words. No grand gesture.
Just presence.
Just them.
And maybe this isn’t the way it was supposed to be.
But it’s the way it is.
And maybe… that’s enough.