Chapter Text
Most of the facility sleeps, lights dimmed to a soft violet.
Boy pads past the lab, barefoot and silent, telling himself he’s just getting water. Not checking if Kirsh’s still awake. Definitely not. He definitely wasn't doing that the past few weeks.
Through the glass wall, the synthetic is still at his station, stands a few meters away, calibrating a diagnostic interface.
Of course he’s still working. Of course he doesn’t need rest. He should know by now.
Boy slows anyway. There’s a tug in his chest. Familiar, infuriating. He should keep walking. Instead, he lingers, watching the subtle movements of Kirsh’s hands, the faint glow across his jawline, the perfect stillness when he pauses to think. It’s not his fault Kirsh’s movements are weirdly precise, almost graceful. Not his fault his eyes catch the light like that.
He tells himself he’ll move in three seconds. Then five. Then–
“Your observation time is unusually prolonged, sir.”
Boy jolts. “What?”
Kirsh said without even glancing up. “Staring.” he clarifies, adjusting a dial, the hum of equipment filling the air. “Most people call it staring.”
Boy opened his mouth, shut it, and moved closer, peering at the project laid out before him. “I wasn’t staring,” heat creeping up his neck. “You were just- moving weird.”
“Moving weird.” Kirsh repeats, amusement barely veiled. He finally looks up. “That’s a new critique. Should I log it?”
Boy splutters, torn between outrage and the urge to laugh. “You really think you’re clever, don’t you?”
Kirsh tilts his head slightly, as if considering it. “Statistically speaking, I am.”
After a beat of silence, Kavalier took a step, avoiding the synthetic's eyes. “You know,” he murmured, “I’ve been thinking about that whole ‘wants and needs’ thing you went on about yesterday.”
Kirsh looks up, his expressions remains neutral. “I’m flattered to have occupied your thoughts, sir.”
“Don’t be. It annoyed me.” He frowned. “You talk about people like they’re test cases, like they’re made of data. But tell me this... can you want anything?”
Kirsh's expressions barely shifts. “Wanting,” he said at last, “ is a human concept tied to deprivation. I cannot lack, therefore I cannot want.”
“That’s depressing.”
“It’s logical.”
“That’s exactly what’s wrong with you,” He murmurs pointing at him. “You always flatten everything down until it’s neat and boring. You don’t feel anything about it.”
Kirsh regarded him with faint amusement. “Would you prefer I were irrational? Emotional?”
“I’d prefer you didn’t sound like a self-help book.”
“That would require you to stop providing such instructive examples.” Kirsh countered smoothly.
Boy’s mouth fell open. “Shut up. That's not the point.”
“It often isn’t.” Kirsh clarified, unfazed. “You asked if I could want. The answer is no. But I can choose. That is the difference between programming and preference.”
He blinked. “So you’re saying you choose to drive me insane?”
Kirsh smiled, slow and deliberate. “I choose to interact. Insanity appears to be a side effect.”
He folds his arms like he’s trying to reclaim the upper hand. “You know, maybe you don’t need to understand everything. Maybe that’s your problem- you just keep dissecting things until they stop meaning anything.”
Kirsh doesn’t flinch. He studies Boy with that small, unreadable smile. “Meaning is subjective. For humans, especially.”
Kavalier groaned and dragged a hand through his hair. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘smug synth’
Kirsh pretended not to hear. Instead, he returned to his data, voice mild again. “You’re unusually animated this evening, sir. Fatigue usually dulls your tone. Did you forget to take your medication again?”
Boy threw a test tube at him. “No I didn't, now can you stop with the interrogation.”
Kirsh caught the tube effortlessly. “Observation.” he corrected.
Boy sighed, pretending to focus on something else. “You know what’s funny? You always act like you understand people, but you don’t get it at all.”
Kirsh’s tone softened just enough to sound curious. “Then enlighten me.”
“It’s not about logic,” Boy murmured quietly. “Sometimes people want things that make no sense.”
Boy realized his mistake the moment the words left his mouth. It had sounded abstract in his head, but once it hung in the air -too quiet, too honest- he felt exposed.
Kirsh’s gaze lifted slowly to him again. “I see.” the tone was calm, but the pause between the words was too deliberate, like a computer parsing meaning. “And you consider yourself among those ‘people,’ sir?”
Boy’s throat went dry. “That’s not what I meant.”
“What kind of want defies your logic?”
Boy busied himself with rearranging the tools that didn’t need rearranging. “Drop it.”
“I could.” Kirsh stated. “But that would be unlike me.”
“Kirsh.”
“Boy.”
The sound of his name in that soft, even voice made Boy look up sharply. Kirsh’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes; sharp, precise- were fixed on him with unnerving focus.
“You display physiological signs of discomfort,” Kirsh continued quietly. “Avoidance of eye contact. Defensive tone.”
Kavalier forced a laugh that came out more like a scoff. “Congratulations, you’re a walking lie detector.”
“And yet,” Kirsh declared. “You are lying.”
Boy froze. For a moment, neither of them moved. The quiet hum of the lab filled the space between them.
Synthetic tilted his head slightly, voice lowering still calm, but edged with something new. “If this is about me, you can simply say so.”
Boy’s heart stuttered. He could feel his face heating. “What?” he scoffed. “You really think everything's about you Kirsh.”
Kirsh didn’t blink. “I didn’t. You did.”
Boy groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “You always do this! You twist everything.”
“Not everything.” Kirsh replied. “Just the things you try to hide.”
The silence that followed was thick. Boy hated how aware he was of every tiny sound -the measured rhythm of Kirsh’s voice, the quiet stillness of him standing there, waiting. Finally, Boy muttered, “You wouldn’t understand anyway.”
Kirsh’s tone softened, not mockingly this time, but almost curious. “Try me.”
Boy’s jaw tightened. “You can’t understand wanting something you can’t have. You said it yourself, you don’t lack anything.”
Kirsh considered that, faint light catching his eyes. “Perhaps I don’t lack.” he declared, “But I can recognize when you do.”
Boy looked up at him -really looked- and for a moment, there was no data between them. Just a boy who wanted something impossible, and a synthetic trying to define the shape of it.
He hated that look. It meant Kirsh was thinking about him again. And the worst part? He didn’t hate it as much as he wish he did.
“I don't lack anything, I don't feel anything about humans. I'm not like them. They're predictable. Boring. I don't even notice them half the time.”
Kirsh's nodded once, expression unreadable. “You do not appear affected by any human, that is correct.”
“Exactly.” Boy said a little too quickly. “So there. Case closed.”
Kirsh didn’t answer for a moment he just observed. The way his gaze lingered said he’d already collected enough to confirm a hypothesis. Kirsh took a measured step closer, head tilted slightly, his eyes flicking over Boy's face. “Except for one anomaly.”
Boy froze, his heart hammering “What?”
“There is one instance.” Kirsh continued calmly, tone almost casual. “Your responses are notably different... towards someone unhuman.”
He blinked at him then laughed, that short awkward kind of laugh that comes out when he's cornered. “Yeah? Well that someone likes to piss me off, so excuse me if my body responds differently.”
Kirsh’s mouth curved faintly. “I see. Emotional provocation, then.”
“It’s called irritation,” Boy shot back, leaning forward. “Ever heard of it?”
“I have,” His voice perfectly smooth. “However, the symptoms you exhibit are inconsistent with anger. Elevated heart rate, facial flushing, avoidance of eye contact–”
Boy threw up his hands. “Oh my god, are you cataloguing my face now?”
“Observation is part of my function.” Kirsh declared. “Besides, your expressions are quite informative.”
“Stop observing me!” He snapped, pacing. “You do that thing where you look at me like I’m some kind of experiment again.”
Kirsh's lips curled barely a smile, more a mechanical acknowledgment of humor. “I was under the impression you enjoyed attention, sir.”
Boy stopped mid-pace, glaring. “You're doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”
“That thing where you act like you’re not teasing me, but you are.”
Kirsh tilts his head, the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes. “If I were teasing, you’d know.”
Boy’s pulse jumped again. For once, he didn’t have a comeback.
He scoffs, though the sound’s a little too shaky. “Yeah. Right.”
He doesn’t move. The quiet stretches between them again- thick, alive. He doesn't admit it –he won't– but he does enjoy this particular attention. Maybe a little too much.
Maybe he just wants something that doesn't make sense.