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Who: Zero, Harpuia
What: come to robot rumpus room in next 5 minutes if u want an ass kicking
Where: Harpuia's dorm
When: July 17, late evening
Warnings: HARPUIA HAS THIS USERNAME FOR A REASON

Some days had passed since Harpuia had met Zero in the stadium, but he'd had plenty to think about since then. It seemed like such an absurd thing to request that more than once, he convinced himself the proper thing to do would be to throw the whole idea out. It was true that they no longer had a reason to lift a finger against each other; if he was to be focused strictly on his duty, then this peaceful kind of life had no room for thrill-seeking. He knew that. Had reminded himself of that several times over the past few days.

But... even so... here he was. Within the quarters assigned to him. The day was all but done; the moon was starting to rise, huge and full and golden, and he was sure that the security patrol schedules wouldn't conflict -- Zero wasn't assigned to any night patrols, and Harpuia... well, he continued to technically not be part of the security team himself.

He'd chosen his room for a few reasons. First of all, the living quarters themselves weren't monitored on camera. The last thing that Harpuia wanted to deal with was uncomfortable questions from Fefnir -- or worse, that invaluable loyalty spurring him to try and beat Zero up to get even. Second, it was one of the few places around here that a reploid could recharge. Third, all the tools required for regular maintenance were here; Harpuia would doubtlessly need to patch himself up, after all.

With a soft clunk that seemed to ring with nerve-rattling finality, Harpuia set a single E-tank down on his desk. Better safe than sorry. He'd taken the time to get everything ready, so there was only one thing left to do. Harpuia brought a hand up to his helmet, activating his communicator.

"Are you there, Zero?"

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The answer came promptly. Despite the late hour, it obviously meant he hadn't set himself to sleep and recharge for the night.

"Yes. What do you need?" The response was flat and unemotional, the same tone he took with any work-related summon. Considering the nature of the school, it could very well have been a purely professional call, and unrelated to their awkward encounter several days earlier.

Harpuia was usually nothing if not direct, but this had been hard enough to ask for explicitly the first time around, let alone asking for it all over again. Harpuia was not the sort of reploid who liked to accept help, even if it was direly needed. In a case of a purely indulgent want, not a need... it was even more difficult. It immediately felt uncomfortable to ask for something that seemed like such a wasteful use of time when the voice on the other end was so detached and professional.

"About what we discussed in the stadium... does your offer still stand?" He managed, tracing the rim of the E-tank with an embarrassed, fidgety finger.

There was a long pause. That Harpuia was asking him about this now could only mean he had cemented his wants into an immediate desire. There was no doubt that his desires would be unchanged over the course of a few days - if anything, the guardians were persistent in their fixation on Zero.

So it lay in Zero's hands to accept the role thrust onto him. If this was the only way he could help Harpuia, (and considering how he'd already tried through conventional means and failed,) then he would have to be that tool. Zero just had to think of it like any other mission, and purge his hesitation for the sake of necessity.

"Give me a location."

"My quarters." Then, to clarify, because Zero probably didn't know where that was, "TD-14."

That was all he said on the matter, aside from a brisk "Don't keep me waiting." Conversation was pointless; neither of them were the type to be interested in small talk, and the nature of Harpuia's request had him feeling too tense to have much to say anyway. Better to just wait until Zero got there.

Didn't take two minutes for Zero to run to the other end of the hall. He showed up at the door without much in the way of knocking - it felt like a pointless formality considering Harpuia was already expecting him, but the reploid was mostly just concerned with getting from point A to point B as efficiently as possible. He just let himself in and closed the door behind himself without much thought put to being polite.

A quick scan around the room indicated that Harpuia had prepared for this visit, too. It was hardly surprising, considering how fastidiously organized the guardian was. That was good. That meant all Zero had to worry about was himself.

He said nothing, looking to Harpuia expectantly for direction. What exactly the other reploid had in mind, he couldn't guess, but he brought his arsenal. It wasn't like Zero was here to give an opinion.

As tightly-wound as Harpuia was, even the fact he'd been waiting for Zero didn't make his unannounced arrival any less startling. Harpuia nearly knocked the E-tank right off his desk -- his composure was suffering far more than he would have liked it to.

Especially since Zero was simply staring at him silently. It was clear that if Harpuia wanted this, he'd have to take on his usual role as the one taking the lead. The thought of having to ask for each blow specifically loomed unpleasantly over his shoulder, and his pride recoiled so badly that he nearly reconsidered the whole thing right there and then.

Instead, he took shelter in his usual stern, haughty demeanor. "Do you always barge into people's homes unannounced?" He chided. Resolute, efficient hands moved up to his helmet, decisively pulling it off -- with only just the barest hint of nervous tremor in his hands. He'd gotten no more at home with being out of armor since prom, but... protecting from injuries was fairly counter-productive here, wasn't it?

"...Are you willing to show that weapon in your palm to me again?"

Normally, yes - Zero did do a lot of teleporting into foreign territory without invitation. He hadn't expected it to startle Harpuia as much as it did - but answering his question felt like a departure from why Zero was here in the first place. Harpuia hadn't called him to reprimand his manners any more than Zero had come to be scolded. Better to just get down to business and leave whatever personal gripes they had at the wayside.

That Harpuia so promptly shed his helmet only reinforced that attitude. But if Zero's stare was bothering him before, then it was only going to intensify now that the guardian's brown hair was fully exposed. For half a second, Zero was lost in those green eyes - until he snapped back to attention at Harpuia's request.

"The Z-Knuckle," he informed the other reploid. He held out his hand, letting the plates shift to expose the glowing chip within. That was more or less an affirmation.

Harpuia stepped in to get a closer look, his hands hovering curiously a few inches away from Zero's extended palm -- but not touching. He had learned about Zero's reaction to touch, and he really didn't want this to happen with Zero feeling defensive and jittery. Astounding to think it could allow him to break through the plating of even a high-class combat model like Harpuia. Astounding... and more than a little interesting.

Doing his best to pay no mind to the intensity of Zero's stare, Harpuia shed his vest next. Not only did he not want to risk damage to the uniform, but it seemed like wearing it for this would... sully it, somehow. This, after all, was not doing anything to further X's dreams or uphold society. He had no business associating a symbol of Neo Arcadia with selfishness.

"Use that on me," Harpuia decided. He backed up a few steps, until he hit the wall; this would give him some support, depending on how bad this was going to hurt, and it would also guarantee there would be no backing away from Zero. "I won't move or strike back. You can plan each blow as carefully as you want; you'll have control of the situation, so there'll be no risk of escalating this in self-defense. Is... that acceptable?"

Was it? Essentially, he was just treating Harpuia as a punching bag. The more he saw the other reploid as a person and not just an obstacle or enemy, the harder this task seemed. But if he neglected to consider the damage he was doing and went too far, then it was likely that Harpuia would end up like what most of Zero's targets tended to be: irreparably destroyed.

Well, he couldn't back out of this now. That danger was exactly the rush Harpuia had been craving, and it was something only Zero could apparently offer. That made the question of whether it was acceptable to him was irrelevant - for years, his life was just a series of missions being handed to him that only he could do. If he was the only candidate, then he hardly had any real choice in the matter.

"The Z-Knuckle takes three seconds to charge," he told Harpuia as the glow of energy began to build. "You have that span of time to tell me if you need to stop."

"Understood." This was it, then. Harpuia's systems were already starting to race, automatically preparing for a flight-or-fight situation despite none of the above being things that were going to happen. This was all something he had asked for, something he could readily see coming, but all the same, the sensation of being cornered was already creeping up on him.

No backing down. Whether it was something he should have been asking for in the first place or not, they had long since crossed the point where he could just forget the whole thing. Harpuia did his best to stand tall, as immobile and proud as a royal guard, but he couldn't quite keep his head up; his eyes were locked on Zero's glowing hand, counting down the seconds until the moment of impact.

Zero closed his eyes, honing his mind as the light within his palm climbed towards its peak. The motions were worn into him through repetition - like muscle memory of a sort, but in his programming, his pistons and joints. His body knew what to do, he simply had to let it. A sharp resolve was like a sharpened blade: in his movements, he should feel no resistance.

The seconds counted down until the green glow turned to gold - in that instant, it was like a switch had been turned in Zero's mind. His eyes flashed open and his fingers stiffened into a claw formation, drawing back to strike as a ferocious burst of energy engulfed his hand. It slammed into Harpuia's chest without hesitation, exploding against his armour as Zero's fingers dug into the plating. His grip was tight and rooted deep, squeezing with enough power that it almost felt like he could peel the outer layer clean off.

Cracks spread like spiderwebs around the puncture wounds. Zero could feel the rupture of coolant pipes, but with his hand still embedded in Harpuia's chest, he had yet to openly bleed.

Edited 2015-07-20 04:43 (UTC)

Impact. Sensation slammed through him, fiery and wild. The sear of Zero's palm against the metal of his chest, all that stored-up energy discharging into his skin. The force of the blow, his jets grating against the wall as he was pushed further against it. The icy-sharp feeling of cracking apart, of being smashed right through, of being broken into. He could feel Zero's grip, forceful and unrelenting, so secure Harpuia was sure he could have been picked right up... if his plating weren't torn right off.

He didn't cry out -- he didn't want to seem like he was enjoying it too much -- or not enjoying it, for that matter. But there was no keeping a body from reacting to damage like that. His lips parted, only the faintest ghost of a tight, agonized whimper getting past his layers and layers of discipline, and he began to mutely 'gasp' for air. Though there was no blood, at least not on the outside, his body still reacted to the coolant leak, fans trying to suck down air to compensate for the loss of cooling.

Each imitation-breath increased the pressure against Zero's palm, set roughly punctured edges scraping against his fingers, made for a constant reminder of the helplessness of his position. It may have only been a matter of seconds since Zero connected, but the rapid rush of sensory data from all over and the strain of his processors seemed to drag it out, shrinking all of Harpuia's focus, his awareness, his self down to the network of screaming sensors all along his chest. This... This was the feeling he'd been so hungry for.

Every part of his body was rigid, taut with pain, but the expression on Harpuia's face slowly began to approach something akin to relief.

Zero had to admit, he was grateful that Harpuia didn't cry out from the pain. It would've been that much harder to stay focused with the sound of screams echoing in his head, bringing old nightmares to the surface. For that reason, his gaze had been fixed on his own hand, the impact site. The last thing he needed was for his eyes to wander upwards to find Harpuia's face etched with pain in the middle of all this.

He pulled his fingers out in one quick jerk, unplugging the holes in Harpuia's chest as a result. As blood began to flow from the wound, Zero drew back into his stance and fired an uncharged Z-Knuckle strike at the same area. Then another, and another - rapid-fire hits, like the ramming of a piston, weakening the structure of the guardian's chest plate and repeatedly hammering Harpuia against the wall. The cracks deepened and spread as the armour was battered into a concave shape - one more solid blow would rip it to pieces.

Zero pulled back to charge, leaving Harpuia that three second window to catch his figurative breath - or to call out to him to stop, if he was having second thoughts. But when the blond glanced up to meet Harpuia's eyes, he did not expect to see that expression awaiting him. Huh...?

Those quicker, uncharged blows lacked the force to break through him, but that didn't mean they were insignificant. Each time a crack deepened, each time Zero's strikes drove another dent into him, it sent another wave of sensation over him.

The slick chill of coolant fluid now oozing freely, Zero's strikes leaving smears of red all across his chest. The steadily-climbing warmth within him -- his core, no longer receiving the benefit of the coolant, seemed to be radiating a fuzzy heat all through him, and for all the work his fans were doing, they couldn't seem to dispel it. Harpuia's hands pressed flat against the wall, then tensed up like claws, then finally balled up into shaking fists. Each of the swift blows seemed to echo from his core down to his very extremities then back again -- if he had to guess what a heartbeat felt like, then this frantic staccato racing must have been it.

If Zero had been anticipating a request to stop, then he wasn't going to get one. Panting and bleeding though he was, a vague ghost of a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. He met Zero's eyes for only a brief, electric second; then he closed his eyes and tilted his head back, all but surrendering himself to the impeding end of the three-second respite.

Though the sight was unexpected, the surprise faded quickly. Whether Zero understood the ecstasy flowing through Harpuia in this moment was irrelevant - he was still in the middle of a mission. Losing his focus for even a second before it was complete was a mistake.

The charge reached maximum capacity again, and again Zero smashed into Harpuia's chest plate with a violent burst of energy. This time, as his fingers dug in, they found purchase in the weakened structure of his armour. With an audible creak of strained metal, his grip tightened. At first slow and firm, he pulled, twisting that handful of armour out of place - before coldly yanking the plating off Harpuia's chest.

Zero dropped it on the ground where it left a splattering of coolant as it clattered to a stop. It was still in one piece at least - bad shape, but not unsalvageable. Had Zero crushed it in his hands like he normally would to his enemies, it'd never be usable again.

What an electric tangle of feeling.

The aches themselves, myriad pangs of lingering sting where Zero had peppered blows exploding into a firework-burst sharpness when his fingers broke through again. The deep, burning hurt of metal stretched to its limit, turning to absolute nothingness as sensors disconnected and plating was pulled free. The dizzy, lightheaded rush that came in response to damage. The thrill of fear, of helplessness -- the fleeting uncertain wonder exactly how far Zero would go if Harpuia didn't say anything, but the whisper-soft temptation asking exactly how far Harpuia could push his own limits lurking beneath it. The horror of watching his own chest torn right off of him, his very core and all the leaking coolant completely exposed to the open air.

Harpuia's legs shook, his jets scraping noisily against the wall as he slid a little lower against it. Damage warnings crowded the edge of his consciousness, jostling against the maelstrom of sensation and feelings -- in a moment when he was exquisitely alive, locked inside himself by a net of firing connections, ecstatically aware of a body that felt and felt powerfully, it felt hard to focus on planning around the outside world. He couldn't seem to push himself past the cold, unyielding power of Zero's hands and the intense, impenetrable look in his eyes. Shakily, Harpuia held up a hand, motioning for Zero to hold off, trying to get himself a little steadier.

Zero obeyed, stepping back and letting his hands fall to his side as he waited for Harpuia to regain his balance. It was a wonder that the guardian was still on his feet at all - the wall was no doubt doing the lion's share in keeping him upright. Coolant dripped slowly from his fingers, but that bloody red looked all the more vibrant against Harpuia's clean, white and green armour. Against Zero's scarlet and purple-black hues, the light splatter hid themselves well - enough that he had to wonder if that was by design.

(He could remember a tall reploid with a green chestplate, wounded, with a look of terror on his face. Zero had painted himself in his blood that day, tearing into him with his bare hands. A visceral pleasure. That wasn't him, Zero reminded himself. He took no joy in this, and he could stop. This was just... necessary.)

Perhaps he was a little glad that Harpuia's senses were clouded by pain. That way, the guardian couldn't notice the way his hand trembled where it hung, inactive, or the hum of Zero's fans as he struggled to suppress it.

It wasn't likely that Harpuia's keen, scanning eyes would have missed those tells under ordinary conditions, but under the onslaught of damage he'd invited onto himself, his awareness was foggy, shrunken down to only the consuming hurt of his chest and the unflinching stare of the person he'd asked to inflict it on him.

Harpuia attempted to straighten out, push away from the wall he was starting to slide down. Without it to prop him up, however, his legs simply gave out. He started to reach to Zero instinctively for support, but barely started the gesture before he was on the ground, coolant pooling on the floor around him. When did he, of all reploids, get so sluggish? If he couldn't even get upright, how could he expect Zero to keep going?

"That's... enough," he managed. The insatiable little siren song in the back of his processors still lingered: you can still do more, you can still push further. As long as his hardware refused to cooperate, however, indulging it was simply not a possibility.

At this, Zero's palm slid shut, and the glow died between red-slicked plates. The mission was complete. There should've been a wave of relief that accompanied it, but it was noticeably absent. If Zero had to suppress his uncertainty in order to go through with this, then he had to keep that stoicism up, even after the act was done. It was like a held breath that could never be let out, so that whatever good he managed to convince himself he was accomplishing wouldn't be unraveled by his regret.

Zero walked over to Harpuia's desk and picked up the E-Tank that had been set aside, before returning to set it on the ground in front of the guardian. He was sure that even now, the guardian would deign to receive direct help from him after being wounded, and Zero didn't want him to know how much he was physically shaken. If Harpuia got the strength to get back up on his own, then that'd be the best for both of them, probably. He was tough. Hard to keep down.

So Zero watched in stony silence, rather than offer a hand. He at least wanted to know that the other reploid would be all right before he left, but whether he was actually qualified to help his repairs... well, maybe not with these hands.

It took Harpuia a second to register that the E-Tank was there; when Zero's footfalls first receded, Harpuia had guessed that Zero was just leaving outright. He had, after all, completed the task Harpuia had asked him to do. The hand that reached for it was clumsy and quivering, lacking the usual sure grace of a unit whose function revolved around swift mobility. Still, he retained enough coordination to open it and drink it down.

Unlike the frozen one he'd tried with Rock, this offered no particular feedback in terms of temperature or texture -- though, Harpuia supposed drowsily, as long as his chestplate was missing, maybe one could watch the fuel going down. It brought a much-needed surge of clarity and steadiness back to him, though; the sudden switch to alertness felt like being abruptly pulled from very deep, dark water straight to the blinding surface.

With that clarity, however, he became increasingly aware of more than just his own sensations. Namely, that Zero still stood stock-still in front of him, staring down with an unreadable, dispassionate look on his face. The feverishly warm, hazy high that he'd been riding began to gain a cold, heavy edge. To have experienced something so ecstatic and overwhelming but be watched with such a flat, unaffected stare... he felt a little more aware of the ghastly mess splattered all over him, on the floor, on Zero, on the twisted, dented piece that was his chestplate. Of himself, weakly shifting to his knees, but still down on the ground in a quivering heap, half-stripped of armor and defeated of his own eager volition. The whole thing... made for a pitiful sight, didn't it?

Now beginning to feel a little uncomfortable, Harpuia sat up against the wall, programming issuing the command to stop circulating coolant entirely in preparation for maintenance. Gingerly, he started to probe the loose tubing, testing if it connectors could be re-screwed into place or if the pipeline itself needed mending. A little difficult, given his fingers were still uncoordinated, and having an audience for this shameful display did nothing to help that. At the very least, each time his fingers slipped, it sent a fresh wave of sensory input, another sharp jolt of pain to keep the buzz going.

"I don't have any more orders for you," he pointed out, voice hitching a little at the end as he seized the end of a coolant valve. "You've done everything I asked for."

There it was: the pride that made Harpuia bristle so much whenever Zero looked at him in a state of anything short of unflappable perfection. If what he wanted was to drive Zero off, then speaking to him like he was an obedient drone was certainly working.

Zero frowned, but said nothing. Being addressed that way, especially after taking on a highly personal mission for the guardian, made him feel even more like a tool - one who'd already fulfilled his purpose and had nothing more to offer. Even after he had to force himself to dirty his hands for the guardian, Harpuia was essentially dismissing him. He already got what he needed.

Fine. He wanted to keep his weaknesses private. So did Zero. Repairing himself probably wouldn't be a problem for the guardian - after all, if Zero had figured out how to do it, then the great 'Sage Harpuia' should certainly have no trouble. With his main concern out of the picture, Zero had no reason to stay.

He began to walk away, but before he was out the door, Zero stopped to turn back and glance at Harpuia one more time. Somehow, it felt like if the other reploid actually tried to thank him for this... it'd just make him feel dirtier.

Harpuia looked up once Zero started to move away. He didn't expect Zero to do more than he'd asked for -- as the one who'd wanted this in the first place, it would be Harpuia's duty to patch his coolant system up, clean up all the mess he'd left, and get his chestplate back to some semblance of acceptable. All the same, the thought of being left alone in this state carried an undercurrent of... fear?

Well, no, of course not. He had asked for this, after all, and he was nothing if not self-sufficient and capable. Zero was spared having to shoulder any thanks -- somehow, even if Harpuia's pride had room for that, the prospect of thanking someone for tearing him up like this felt grossly inappropriate. Instead, Harpuia held his silence, waiting until Zero left to continue trying to fix himself.

It... was a more difficult affair than he thought it would be. He was weak and shaky after the beating he'd taken, and running hot thanks to the compromise to his cooling system. It was almost a relief that his chest had been ripped open; the open air at least helped a little. Fixing his coolant tubing back up was a relatively simple affair, thankfully, and refilling the lost fluid was even more so, but by the time he fired his coolant pump back up, he felt utterly and thoroughly exhausted.

He still needed to clean up all the coolant that had spilled -- onto his inner components, all over his front, on the floor. Better to do it before it could dry. He couldn't expect to go anywhere with his wiring exposed like this, either; he would need to try and get his chestplate back to working order. The punctures would need to be mended, the metal itself bent back to its proper shape, the dents pounded out.

The euphoric rush he'd felt during the hurting itself was ebbing away, and in its place, heaviness was seeping in. All the things he needed to do before he could even think of recharging, the wretched, broken state he was in... He, the capable, efficient Harpuia, felt... incredibly overwhelmed.

The feeling didn't go away as he forced himself through the steps, either. Or... one of them, at least. He only got as far as cleaning the spilled coolant off the floor. Even that small, easy action felt immensely hard to his rapidly crashing body; without even properly standing up to get into the recharge bed, he simply fumbled for a charger cord, plugged himself in, and lay down on the floor.

...The rest didn't do much good. He awoke hours later, now uncomfortably cold, aching all over, and feeling just as heavy and miserable. The coolant fluid splattered all over him had long since dried, and his core was still exposed, the mangled chestplate he should have already fixed by now still lying on the ground not far from him. A cold, bitter lump of shame now burned in his throat. What... what was wrong with him? What reploid in their right mind let themselves be reduced to this? It was hardly any wonder that Zero had looked at him like that, with the closed-off unconcerned look of someone merely kicking around a Sandbag -- a mere object. This had most definitely not been what humanity had in mind when they'd used X's DNA to create him.

His expression was dull and disconnected as he forced himself to get up and make himself presentable again. During that brief, consuming moment when Zero had been hurting him, he'd felt the raw physicality of a feeling, sensing body, one that screamed from every last sensor that he was alive. Now, the motions of wiping down all his parts felt exactly like what it was: performing routine maintenance on a machine. Trying to get his chestplate back in working order was even worse: under-equipped and under-trained as he was, it would have been a frustrating task under the best circumstances, but now, he may as well have been pounding the dings out of the hood of a car. By the time he was finished, he was beginning to regard the thing with a keen sense of disgust; traces of the damage still lingered, subtle ghosts of dents and signs of welding and repainting shamefully hidden underneath his uniform.

In fact, the disgust he felt for his battered chestplate simply seemed to have spread to every last inch of himself, consumed by that miserable, achy feeling and the unshakable sense that by asking for this, he had done something deeply, deeply wrong.

It wasn't until the door closed behind him that Zero gripped his left wrist to stop it from shaking. He made his way back to his own room at a slow, languid pace, keeping his hands close to his body to hide the blood-like fluid that covered them. The halls were thankfully empty at this time of night, and he was careful not to drip any evidence on the floor.

Immediately, Zero made for the bathroom attached to his dorm - a facility he normally had no use for, being a machine and all. Before he could do anything else, he had to wash the coolant off his hands - he had to clean the stain of his bad memories from his body and his thoughts. It was bad enough that the sight alone was enough to evoke such an uncomfortable response from him. His chest felt tight, like the effort of trying to push away the past was causing his whole body to lag.

The water washed away the red without difficulty, but as Zero raised his head, he caught more specks of reploid blood dotting his face and helmet in his reflection - and there was probably even more that he couldn't see. With a tired sigh, he turned on the shower for probably the very first time and stepped in, intent on cleaning every last drop from his armour. The temperature didn't matter - his sensors could hardly tell what was comfortable anyway - but he let the water wash over him like rain, soaking him through.

Zero could see the pink tint to the water as it disappeared down the drain in spirals. Even after the colour turned clear, he lingered under the showerhead for a while longer. It was strange - he still didn't feel clean.

Eventually, he trudged out. With no towels to speak of, he simply walked out, dripping wet, and all but collapsed on his work bench. He... he felt empty inside. Whatever energy Zero had to feel with, it was drained away completely by the effort of trying to keep himself composed.

He did the right thing, right? Or perhaps he was just trying to convince himself, so that his own aptitude for brutality went down a little easier. No, there was really no denying it. People only ever needed him as a violent tool. At the very least, it seemed like he managed to bring Harpuia a little bit of relief, even if it seemed short-lived. He was nothing if not good at his function, even if he gleaned no satisfaction from it.

If... if Zero was someone else, maybe... Maybe he wouldn't have to hurt people to give them comfort. He could reach out to them in better ways, touching without the spark of mistrust or explosive pain. Perhaps he could even be allowed to care for them without it being seen as unwanted pity from a cursed foe. But instead, Zero was Zero. All anyone got was the stiff, guarded shell of a hollow man, who only knew how to destroy.

Hey may as well embrace the role, at this point. It was the only way he'd ever made anyone happy. All his efforts at trying to exist as anything else seemed only to disappoint or offend - no matter what he did, it was never enough to fit in. Even the idea that he might learn to be happy one day felt like an absurd fantasy. So, this was really the best he could do, in the end.

Feeling lower than ever, Zero sighed and switched himself to sleep mode. Recharging with a plug or on the bed wasn't the best idea when he was still so thoroughly wet - inefficient as this method was, it was better than nothing. Tomorrow, he had missions, and he could lose himself in it for at least for a while. But for now, he preferred walking into the arms of his memories than staying awake with his self-loathing any longer.

Edited 2015-07-22 07:33 (UTC)

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800 paragraphs on why shitty uncommunicative S&M is REALLY BAD

don't try this at home, kids