Chapter Text
It’s been months since the last time it has rained. The sky is permanently grey, just like the streets are permanently stinky and Anxin has to wear boots to leave his apartment because everything looks a little radioactive in this city these days.
There’s a hundred corpses in the scrap lot, all pale, eyes closed, smelling like iron and sometimes something sweet, sometimes something fresh, flowery. All of it looking fucking dead, despite breathing. It’s just a little, just enough to not let its bodies really die (because it would be so problematic), but it’s so disgusting. Some are missing parts: an arm, a leg, even broken teeth. Today, Anxin has removed a perfectly intact S-core (a mechanism implanted on top of the thoracic spine of those things, responsible for all their stupid behavior), and it’s terrible when his scalpel hits skin, because they actually have skin, real flesh, because it reminds him that they are still (or were, whatever) alive.
They don’t look very alive to him, though.
Anxin does exactly what he has to do: he removes pieces from those things and his boss sells them. It’s simple and he’s good at this: opening corpses, analyzing what can be used and what cannot, and discarding them. He’s not the one who does the discharge work: the corpse truck does. Rich people don’t call it that, of course; they call it something else, like a garbage truck. But in the end, that’s what it is: a truck full of bodies, with little or no life left, just a last whisper of whatever they used to be. Anxin doesn’t feel anything about it.
Sometimes he sees a pretty AURA being discharged and feels a little sorry, asks himself if they’re a pure build or a converted one, but nothing more. It’s his job, opening things and removing mechanisms. He has no time to think about what something fully programmed did or not in its artificial life.
When he’s finished, he washes his hands, looks at himself in the bathroom mirror and all he sees are the dark bags under his eyes. His hair is too long, already begging for a haircut he’s not going to get. It used to be reddish, almost brown, but now the roots are too long and he can’t bring himself to care. He can’t remember the last time he even tried to look decent.
Anxin puts on a mask and a coat and wrinkles his nose at the terrible smell of the streets. He hopes someday he can afford an apartment in a more decent place, where he can at least light a cig and smoke while going home without catching a deadly disease or dying in agony from inhaling some toxic chemical.
The wind is strangely humid. The lost districts (how the rich people call every place in the city where poor people are allowed to live) are always so dry, sometimes even difficult to breathe due to some sandstorms, but today is not one of those days. Anxin holds his coat against his chest and walks silently to his home, wanting nothing more than a warm bath (if possible) and a bowl of soup Jiahao made last week and gave him because he was worried Anxin was going to starve to death from eating synthetic noodles from that suspicious market near the scrap lot. "I would never eat anything sold in this district," Jiahao said when he visited Anxin at work for the first time. Jiahao is always such a sweetheart, despite everything he says. He just likes to play around, but couldn’t handle five minutes looking at all those corpses or smelling the weird smell coming from them, not exactly bad but totally unnatural.
Anxin could have one billion thoughts, but when he sees a giant black box in front of the door of his apartment, he remembers the deal he made and almost gets a headache because he has to stop listening to whatever bullshit Kangmin says to him.
Sometimes, Anxin goes to other scrap lots to sell AURA engines by himself. His boss loves money and he needs money to live, and nothing about working with this is very ethical so he doesn’t think much and just does. The problem is: sometimes, he sells pieces to the wrong people and we’re not talking about the black market buyers but deadbeats. And one of them owes him a lot of money, an amount Anxin knows he will never pay, and it’s an even bigger problem.
Anxin has lots of friends that are known in the city, and some of them are not exactly well-known. That’s why when Anxin goes after this fucking deadbeat, he offers him something, in his words, that ‘is capable of changing his whole life’.
Anxin doesn’t know how some discharged defective scrap baby would change his life and is not interested in finding out, but his not exactly well-known friend Kangmin, who’s also a very good shooter, goes with him to find this old man and he has a lot of opinions and ideas and unfortunately, for Anxin, he’s also very persuasive.
Kangmin says Anxin should accept it. "Your apartment is always a mess," he said, as if it was something that anyone would agree with, "you eat badly and you’re really, really lonely. When was the last time you talked to anybody who’s not one of the boys? Do you even remember how to get your dick wet?"
Anxin furrowed his eyebrows. “I’m not going to fuck a machine.”
“So, sell it later. It’s expensive and he’ll never pay you or even offer something better,” he concluded, lighting a cigarette and looking like someone who has just said the most obvious thing in the world.
“If I needed company, I’d rather adopt a cat,” Anxin says, and he’s just like a kid throwing a tantrum, even pouting and all. He knows Kangmin is right (about needing some home service and all and never receiving a better proposal from this man, so he accepts). He signs a contract that makes him an owner and the deadbeat affirms his crew is going to deliver the AURA at his apartment in some days.
And that’s exactly what happens.
The black box looks like a coffin, a receipt glued to it and nothing more. Anxin uses his feet to push this crap inside his apartment and sighs. He doesn’t even want to open it. He was never interested in an AURA. Actually, the old man looked like he wanted to get rid of it at all costs, so it can’t be a good or useful thing in any way.
Anxin decides to take a bath first. He’s so tired, he needs to change his clothes, eat Jiahao’s warm soup and only then deal with it.
When he finally lays eyes on the AURA inside the black box, it’s… unsettling.
He has seen an uncountable number of AURAs at his work. Just to look at them he can’t say which function they had on their synthetic life, but this one is very different from what Anxin is used to seeing daily on the scrap lot.
The AURA is strangely perfect. No scratches, no marks of use on its skin, so pale, looking like porcelain. It’s tall, probably Anxin’s height, a lean body and such a delicate face that Anxin felt kinda mesmerized that it used to be a human before turning into an AURA, because there’s no way someone would be born with a face like that. Rosy lips, looking so soft. Dark brown hair, kinda messy probably because of the transportation, some strands falling on his eyes, his forehead. Anxin felt the urge to straighten its hair and so he did, because it felt like the right thing to do.
Around his neck, there was a thing: a sort of collar, with a mercury grey light, denoting standby. Halo, that’s how they call it. It’s the major visible difference between a human and an AURA. They’re collared with some stupid LEDs that only turn off if they’re freed from their core by a very good-hearted owner or if they’re dead.
Anxin only knows the part of the story where they die from ripping their core apart.
It’s a little sad, if you think, but it’s part of his job, and to be considered dead you first need to be considered human, something AURAs are not.
It comes with a user manual and it’s stupid that Anxin doesn’t even know how to turn it on properly because he literally works with those things every fucking day.
The handbook is mercury grey just like its Halo’s light, looking like no one ever cared to read it before. Maybe when an AURA is discharged, they renew their manual. Anxin doesn’t know enough about this industry to have this kind of information. Maybe their past owner just had so much money he already read those handbooks a hundred times. Maybe he paid someone to read it for him.
“HEARTWARE™ TECHNOLOGIES
Humanity, installed.
ALIVE User-Responsive Appliance (A.U.R.A) Domestic Companion Series
Model: LSW0308
Beyond responsive: ALIVE.
You’re not buying a device. You’re bringing someone home.”
Anxin huffs, rolling his eyes so hard that it looks like they’ll never get in the right orbit again. What bullshit. Dozens of pages of the purest bullshit ever written. It probably is even worse than guides for AURAs made for sex. At least they must be honest, because sex is honest.
Anxin just supposes that, though. He never has read any type of AURA guides.
“Meet your LSW0308 ‘Lee Sangwon’: a gentle, sweet and kind evolution of HEARTWARE’s Domestic Companion Series.
It is delicately designed for those who believe warmth and love should be built for two and constant at home. More than just a company, you’re getting in sync with someone who can truly understand your needs and is capable of making your life so much easier.
LSW0308 S-Core comes with our newest technology, increasing its capabilities of empathy, true affect and forming a bond with its owner. When synced, its heartbeat pulses at the same rhythm as you. Not just plain programming, it has mind and soul, because HEARTWARE believes comfort and affection should never be artificial. Should be ALIVE.
Domestic harmony
LSW0308 keeps your home neat and comfy while you’re busy at work, a family meet, and a gathering with your friends. Its increased empathy is capable of perceiving what most humans cannot: when you need a cup of water, a hug or simply a calming presence at your side.
Your new companion responds to closeness naturally as a gentle breath. Touch, warmth, intimacy are all understood, never forced and always vivid.
Care & Maintenance
Keep the environment gentle. Speak often, touch softly. Treat your companion with the same care you wish to receive.
Be mindful of electromagnetic areas, don’t let it alone for more than 24 hours without putting it on standby and remember to configure it to clean itself daily.
Provide nutrient solution every 72 hours.
In case of discharge, remove the owner sync of its configuration and put it on standby. It’s terminally prohibited discharging an A.U.R.A. on common garbage or scrap lots.
Do not ever discharge an A.U.R.A. without activating standby mode. Remember: it feels everything just like you. Be careful.
Halo Language
LSW0308 A.U.R.A Domestic Companion Series accompanies an ultimate technology that simplifies your days: a Halo with constant changes of color for you to better understand your companion feelings.
Your A.U.R.A’s Halo reflects its inner state:
Mercury grey means rest.
Purple lilac means adapting.
Turquoise blue means peace.
Amber means focus.
Orange asks for calm and patience.
If red appears, speak softly and stay close.
It can get pink and green depending on your companion's emotions.
If your companion’s Halo shows any other color not described on this guide, it is recommended to schedule a technical maintenance.
Do not try to change your companion’s Halo color by commands or forcing it. It only comes naturally, as it should be.
Defect note: UNIT LSW0308
This unit has been certified fully functional with the minor irregularities:
- Emotional deregulation: frequent crying, distress
- Auditory sensitivity: discomfort in loud or crowded environments
- Social anxiety (mild): withdrawal in unfamiliar settings
This is a defective unit, so it’s not possible to correct those by programming.
These traits do not affect its performance and may, in fact, deepen emotional connection with your companion. Handle with patience and a calm tone.
Traits of aggressiveness have not been reported in UNIT LSW0308. Any other complications can be easily reported at www.heartware.com/global/support
HEARTWARE™ TECHNOLOGIES
Humanity, installed.”
It’s so disgusting Anxin almost crumples the guide in his fingers. He can’t understand why someone would want something like this at home, let alone why someone would submit themselves to be converted and turn into a fucking home appliance. Anxin knows most of the converts decided by themselves to submit, but will never understand the reasoning behind this.
He looks at the AURA, Halo lighting softly on its neck. Anxin approaches, feels the wind coming from the open window of his apartment and touches the collar with the tip of his fingers. It's iron cold. He touches its skin and it's really soft, but he also feels the coldness with the minimal warmth possible, as if it was alive several minutes ago but not now. Kinda ironic for something meant to simulate aliveness.
Anxin gently touches the Halo, and it sounds strange, but he murmurs the unit’s name — not the number of series, its real name — and waits. Sangwon, Anxin says, and it sounds strange coming from his mouth. Its name is easy to say, but too normal, too common, too human. He hears a tiny sound, searches the room for his pack of cigarettes and lights one, taking a drag and waits. The wind is still there, so he must close the window. It’s been months since Anxin has felt the wind dancing without sand like this. He doesn’t close the window and puffs the smoke, waiting.
“When taking your A.U.R.A. out of standby, please allow a few minutes for full system recovery.
During this period, your companion will gradually restore its neural activity, rebalance its natural temperature to human range and synchronize its cardiac rhythm.
Please be mindful that your companion is not responsive during this recovery. Avoid touching or talking to your A.U.R.A while it reactivates itself.
When finished, your companion’s Halo will begin to emit steady light, denoting stable brainwave alignment and sensory reactivation.
Once the process is complete, your A.U.R.A. will gently awaken, breathing and responding as usual.”
Anxin thinks about calling Kangmin or just sending this crap to that motherfucker's apartment for him to deal with this shit. It’s so bizarre, seeing a living creature gaining some kind of life in front of his eyes, its flesh starting to get rosy, chest moving. Maybe just leaving it on a scrap lot for another person to look at it and bring it home. He never asked for it and it's the worst cigarette he ever smoked in his life. He takes another drag, feeling the smoke do a twirl inside his brain, his vision darkening just enough to feel dizzy but not enough to pass out. He still can see when the AURA opens its eyes, big and round and brown, looking so lost, almost scared, and when he gasps — actually gasps, like a person would do — is when Anxin realizes how fucked he is.
It looks at him, face red, bottom lip trembling, looks around and there’s nothing gentle in the way it jumps from the couch and tries to hide itself under a table, a couple of glasses falling on the floor with his abrupt motion and because of it being too tall to just be there.
Its Halo flashes amber, then yellow, then orange, and it comes and goes, from one to another, as if it cannot decide what it is feeling. Anxin tries to approach the unit, but it seems to worsen the situation, because the AURA jolts again, its head banging on the table, and it must hurt, because its eyes go all wet and then it starts. It cries. Not a simulation, not fake salt water but long, fat tears coming directly from its eyes, its cheeks getting wet, then its lips, then its chin, its chest going all red, and Anxin simply doesn’t know what to do when he has a fucking human microwave crying under his table when it was supposed to just clean his home and make him a lovely company.
“It is not polite on your first day at a stranger’s house to not say hi before you tear your own head out,” Anxin says and is probably not the right thing to say because its Halo flashes in orange again, then goes amber, and the AURA looks like it is trying to babble something but can’t. “You’re okay?”
The AURA raises a hand, tries to wipe its tears, but more just keeps coming out and it gasps again, sobbing, and Anxin almost feels like he’s dealing with a real person. Looks real, but the collar around his neck says otherwise.
“H-hi,” it (he?) murmurs, a soft sob coming from his rosy lips. Amber. “Sorry, I didn’t— I don’t—” he tries to speak but his Halo turns orange again and he presses both palms against his head. It seems like pain. Can it experience pain? “I’m sorry, I am p-polite, I just—” he stares at the glasses on the floor, legs shaking. Anxin notices he’s not using any kind of shoes or even socks. “Gonna clean this mess, I just need— I don’t know— Sorry, I, sorry, sorry”
Anxin notices for the first time the silvery engine delicately placed at the top of his thoracic spine, shimmering quietly, a number engraved there, so small you can only see if you look carefully. It’s strange, seems out of place, as if it was not supposed to be there. Anxin knows this engine has a connection with the Halo but it’s all beneath a dense layer of flesh. It has connections with the brain, too. It’s morbid, if you think too much. Anxin never thinks too much, because it means seeing things in the wrong places and when you need to survive, you can’t search for problems bigger than yourself.
It, he, this thing keeps crying, and it’s making Anxin uncomfortable. He doesn’t feel comfortable seeing real people cry because he never learned what to do when someone is crying, and he’s even more uncomfortable seeing a fucking bot crying. And he’s looking at Anxin like he murdered all his family and threatened his life with a gun, which is stupid because the thing cannot have a family because having a family is for human people and this thing can be everything but human.
“For fuck’s sake, stop crying,” Anxin says, already getting upset, and he gets closer to the AURA. He continues to babble, his lips trembling so much and the Halo turning orange again. This time, it steadies and the color doesn’t go back to amber. Anxin doesn’t know what it means, even after reading the user manual, because it was just an amount of bullshit. “I said stop crying, what the fuck.”
He needs another cigarette.
Anxin is tired, so tired, he wants to lie down because tomorrow he needs to work again, cutting bodies open and removing pieces for his boss to sell them, and he has no time to calm down a stupid defective living thing and he’s not going to. What kind of cheat programming is it that lets a bot fucking cry?
And yet it keeps crying, curls itself under the table, lips reddening from the pressure of holding itself silent. He goes quiet, but he’s still crying. Anxin cannot hear the sound, but he’s still crying, the orange on its Halo getting tiny hints of red, so minimal but there. Orange asks for calm and patience, it says. Anxin never learned to be calm. Or patient.
If red appears, speak softly and stay close. The AURA is still crying, but with no sound, and for the first time, Anxin thinks this is so pitiful. This is a defective unit, so it’s not possible to correct those by programming. Handle with patience and a calm tone.
Anxin thinks all of this is a fucking bullshit and doesn’t want to, but he crouches his body until he’s at the AURA’s height, under the table, and he does his best, he swears he does. “Um, hey,” he tries, using the most calm voice he ever used in his life. It reminds him of the way his mother used to talk to him when he was a child, also crying on the floor. It has been a long time. Anxin doesn’t even remember her face. He wishes he did. “Why are you crying? Is something wrong?” he says, and he sees the exact moment when the Halo goes orange again, no signs of red. Good, he thinks. It operates exactly how the user manual says it would.
“Am I ugly like this? You can’t even look at me without crying?” he tries, and the AURA eyes him, big doe eyes, so glossy Anxin can see himself in them.
It lets out a tiny whimper, chest rising too fast but slowing down little by little. He looks at his fingers, still sobbing but this time with no tears. Anxin couldn’t say he’s not beautiful. It makes him a little less grumpy about the AURA because if he’s going to have something walking in his apartment every day it’s better if it’s pretty.
Anxin almost can understand why so many owners fuck their AURAs, though he’ll never say it out loud.
He pities himself too for being so fucking lonely he can see a pretty defective thing crying under his table and think about fucking it. Maybe Kangmin is right and it’s time to get laid. It’s been a long time since he had a good fuck, too.
“N-not ugly, sir” the AURA says after a while, voice so soft and breaking. “C-can you… I mean, I’m sorry, sir, I don’t have memories of you on my log. I’m sorry.” he looks confused, as if he’s trying to think but it’s too hard for him. Poor thing. On top of that, he’s dumb too, Anxin thinks with a sour taste in his mouth. “Are you my owner? I didn’t want to cause trouble, sir, I just don’t remember… Don’t remember anything. I’m sorry, sir. I’m sorry.”
The amount of times he repeats the word sir and I'm sorry get on Anxin’s nerves.
“I want you to save in your log to never call me like that again,” Anxin says, dryly. “And stop saying I’m sorry all the fucking time. Please. Save it to your log too.” he mocks his voice tone without meaning to. He doesn’t even know why he does that, why he’s being mean. The world is mean and that’s how he learned to survive. Anxin tries to not think that this is not a situation about surviving and that the unfortunate AURA has nothing to do with his fucked up life and terrible temper.
His Halo flashes orange again. Calm and patience, the guide says. What the fuck does that mean.
“I can do that, si— I mean, but I need to know your name,” the AURA mumbles, tongue rolling slowly, carefully. Scared. “I can remember names very well.” His eyes are still wet, red cheeks, but he’s not crying anymore. The affirmation makes him look a little proud. “But… I’m a defective unit. I can’t program myself to not say sorry. I’m sorry.” he murmurs, and his lower lip trembles again and Anxin thinks he’s about to cry again, but he doesn’t. The Halo goes back to amber.
Anxin understands amber means stable, so, this is good.
“Okay,” Anxin sighs, still crouching under the table. The aura still looks at him, but his eyes are lost. Not empty, but lost. Something he couldn’t name. “I’m Anxin. Zhou Anxin. Call me just Anxin. It's fine.”
“Anxin,” The Aura tries, name rolling on his tongue, testing. He has a sweet voice, almost a whisper. The Halo flashes a tiny purple lilac light. His breathing is normalizing now.“Yeah, Anxin,” he repeats, because that’s how he is. The boy tilts his head, some strands of hair falling on his eyes. “I think we can have this conversation in a more proper place, like… the couch,” he suggests, and the boy (if he can call him that) nods, a little too eager. Anxin gets up, waiting for him to follow, but he doesn’t. He’s still under the table, staring at him. His lips move a little, but he says nothing.
Anxin notices he glances at his hand, waiting, and he understands. Maybe people think it’s cute to have a lovely useless wife at home so they program these bots to act like this. Anxin doesn’t think that, but he doesn’t need to be a dick and he doesn’t want another session of crying. He offers him a hand, and the AURA slowly catches it and stands on his feet, not used to walking for a while. The touch is soft, he has long fingers, warm skin. Anxin can even feel his pulse through the flesh.
Even after standing, he didn’t let go of Anxin’s hand. Anxin is not used to this kind of intimacy, so he delicately pushes his hand back and shows the old yellow couch for him to sit on. He nods again and sits, unsure.
Anxin takes another cigarette from his pack, holds it with his lips and lights it, dragging deeply and letting the smoke curl in the air, wind coming and going from the window and messing his hair.
For a domestic companion model, the AURA doesn’t seem much interested in talking. He just sits, hands on his knees, quiet and watching him, the couch, the apartment, and waits. Just now Anxin notices what he’s using: blue jeans and a plain white button-up shirt. Anxin catches himself too worried with the fact of him not using shoes or even socks. He doesn’t know if AURAs can catch a cold, but it doesn't look right to just let him walk out there barefoot.
“You’re not much of a talker, huh?” he takes another drag, a tiny smile on the corners of his lips. This time, the cigarette is good. “You want something? A bottle of water, a coat? The wind is cold today.”
He looks at Anxin, his pupils following the smoke in the air. “I can’t speak unless you talk to me first.” he explains, and Anxin notes his voice is soft like that. Almost sweet, he could say. He doesn’t. “My body temperature is okay. Water is… fine.” the uncertainty is there, again, and he blinks one, two, three times, going silent again.
“Why not? You’re not made for companionship?” Anxin asks sincerely, but he searches for a bottle of water and hands it to him. He seems to struggle to open it. Weird. “If I don’t talk to you, you’re just going to stay silent all day?”
“Yes.” He answers, and doesn’t seem very capable of opening the bottle at all. He looks at it, eyelashes fluttering. “It’s very common. Most owners prefer it when we don’t talk much.”
Anxin arches an eyebrow when the AURA just drops the bottle on his own lap. He says nothing. The boy clearly needs help, but he doesn’t ask for it. He glances at the bottle on his lap, then at Anxin, then at the bottle again. His face is a little rosy. This is so fucking weird.
“Here,” Anxin says, twisting the bottle until it clicked open and handing it back to him. The AURA mutters a quiet thank you and touches his lips to the bottleneck. All he does seems like a test. “Slow. Don’t choke.”
It’s kinda cute, the way he seems like he’s never drunk water straight from a bottle before.
Anxin goes for a pair of socks, not exactly a perfect pair because one is green and the other yellow, but that’s what he has to offer. He places it on the top of the boy’s thigh. “Use them until we get you proper shoes. It’s making me nervous to see your toes going purple.”
The AURA looks at his own feet, which are really getting purple from the cold breeze, and he blushes. Actually blushes, cheeks getting pink, lips parting softly. He mutters a little sorry and slides the mismatching colored socks on.
“How can I change this not-talking thing? You just save it to your memory?” Anxin asks, because if he’s going to live with one of them, it must at least behave normally. “I don’t like it, man. People who buy you are a bunch of sickheads.”
“There’s a digipad in the box,” he says, swinging his colorful socks feet in the air. He moves his fingers inside the socks, as if testing it. As if he never used socks before. “I can’t provide much information about my actual settings, but you can see it on there and change anything to your preferences.”
“I don’t want anything,” Anxin runs a hand over his face. He feels exhausted. More exhausted than he felt in all his life, which is a lie, but all he wants is to lie down and sleep and forget all of it. He wants to put this thing on standby and never talk to it again. “Gonna see this tomorrow, ok? All of it is so fucking weird.”
The boy presses the tip of his fingers on the plastic bottle, lips straight, brown and quiet eyes. “Okay,” he murmurs. Anxin notices the collar — the Halo — flashes in a purple light sometimes, quickly. He wishes he knew what it means, if these stupid colors really mean something.
He hasn’t said anything before this. Anxin wishes he would say something. Anxin wishes he never speaks again.
Anxin considers lighting another cig, but no cigarette can ease his mind tonight. He stares at the window. The night is exactly the same as the days: dusty, awful and dead. No color, no light, no life. Sometimes people say it used to be possible to see the moon in the sky years ago. Anxin doesn’t know if it’s true. His mom used to say it, too. She would show him old history books with pictures of things he never knew existed, and he would believe her. Now, he doesn’t know if he believes in anything other than surviving.
“Do you even need to eat?” Anxin drags his cig because the best thing he does in his life is saying he’s not going to smoke again when he’s already halfway to opening a new pack of cigarettes.
“I need to get a nutrient solution every 72 hours,” he explains, almost mechanically. Anxin already knows that. He doesn’t know why he expects something different from a fucking bot. “But I can… eat, if you want me to.” he says, shyly.
It’s annoying how it looks like he’s expecting for Anxin to approve or not what he says.
“I already said I don’t want anything,” Anxin huffs. “Why don’t you just eat like everyone else?”
“Owners don’t usually want us to,” the boy speaks so simply, so bluntly. “It’s less difficult this way. And cheaper, too.”
“Why buy something you can’t even afford,” he grumbles, eyebrows curved. The Halo flashes purple again. “You’re going to eat actual food, like everyone does. I don’t even want to know what a fucking nutrient solution is.”
“Okay.” he mutters, small. He looks at the mismatched socks, green and yellow, and rubs his toes inside them, as if the texture itself was a new subject to study. It’s difficult for Anxin to understand what he’s supposed to feel. He always goes for anger.
It’s kinda disturbing to move inside the apartment when you can feel eyes following all the time, too.
Anxin goes for anger and another cigarette. He waits for the AURA to speak again, but it never happens. He does exactly what is programmed: sits prettily, silent, hands on his knees, eyes moving just a little, still awake. Doing nothing because no one told him the opposite. The apartment is quiet, but there’s another sound of breath inside. If Anxin makes an effort, he can almost hear the heart pulsing inside his chest.
The smoke is heavy on his lungs tonight, the same way the wind is dancing. Anxin gives him a blanket, just in case, because he doesn’t know if the boy feels how cold it is. He’s not a monster and he doesn’t want him to freeze to death, even if he’s not exactly capable of dying. He just says another thank you and nothing more.
The wall mold is the same color as always. Water is still leaking from the neighboring apartment at night. The couch is still old and yellow, as or more yellow as one of the pairs of socks he gave the boy.
Anxin drags another smoke and sits by the window. The wind unravels his hair, too long and needing a haircut, and he feels some raindrops falling, cold and soft, on his cheeks. It’s been a long time since it has rained in the lost districts.
Anxin forgets the digipad, to ask if the AURA knows how to sleep, if he’s hungry or if he’s afraid of the dark.
The apartment has no lights on, just a flash of amber in the dark, pulsing slowly, quietly, that bangs absurdly loud on Anxin's ears, reminding him he’s not alone inside his house anymore.
When Anxin lies on his bed this night, he prays to a God he doesn’t know if really exists for his mother to be in a good place, the same way he has done every night since he was thirteen.