somebody ; minsung

XIX ; dreams

A cyborg dreaming is a mind in limbo. I know I'm dreaming, but what I'm seeing isn't dreamlike. Just white noise and a grating whir. No sheep, electric or otherwise.

At least the twitching stopped long enough for me to doze off. I wake in the same position as I fell, curled up on my side. As my body unfreezes, I realize my hand is stretched out and Jisung is tracing circles on my palm. I take him in for a minute, enjoying the feeling.

Then I grab his wrist. He shrieks.

"Sorry," I laugh. "Couldn't resist."

"That was mean." But he's smiling, settling back down on the pillow. "How'd you sleep?"

"Technically fine. I think I dreamed but... not."

"Oracle made us inhibit your ability to dream. They were afraid you'd have a night terror and kill everybody in a frenzy."

"What kind of cheesy evil corporation steals dreams?"

He laughs. "At least we gave you the ability to lick your elbow."

"Really?" I twist my arm past my head and stick my tongue out. "I can't do it."

"Keep trying, you'll get it."

"Now you're just trying to make me look dumb."

"No, you look very intelligent right now."

I fight a smile, folding my arms beneath my head. "Alright, I deserved that. What about you, how'd you sleep?"

"Better than I have in a while. Yesterday was a lot in hindsight. Grand theft auto, skydiving, staying awake till, like, midnight. Sorry I kept you up so long, I guess I got carried away talking."

"No, I was probably prying with all those questions."

"It was... well, it was interesting to have a new perspective on everything. And I like talking to you."

I let myself smile, turning my eyes away. "Me too."

He pulls himself out of bed. "Jesus Christ, it's late, I'm hungry. I probably can't get breakfast myself since my face is all over the news. What do you think, should I brave the room service?"

"As long as you get coffee."

"No problem." He walks over to the menu tablet on the desk.

He suddenly goes quiet, still as a statue. The tablet drops from his hands.

"Minho," he whispers, "did you do something to the sample?"

I sit up. "The Adrantine? Why, what happened?"

He takes the petri dish from under the microscope and holds it up. Where there used to be a smooth coat of blue fluid, now there's a dry, blackened husk inside the clear plastic.

"It's rotted," he murmurs.

"That's good... isn't it? That means it worked...?"

He meets my eyes. And goes supernova, jumps around the room, spinning and punching the air. I hold my heart, relieved. His reactions haven't gotten any easier to predict.

"Oh my God, Minho!" He climbs onto the bed and jumps up and down. "Cellula putredine killed it, it fucking worked! It's happening, oh fuck — thank fucking God!" He drops to his knees, grabbing my shoulders. "We can end this! We can take Oracle down!"

"You're saying it worked perfectly? There has to be a catch."

"No catch! All future Adrantine products can be destroyed with this virus — we just have to make sure they're infected!"

I smile up at him, overwhelmed and happy. I fucking love it when he smiles. He's still clutching my shoulders, holding me close.

My hand reaches up to cup his cheek.

His smile wanes. He backs away.

"Minho..."

I take my hand back. "I'm... sorry."

"No, I should be apologizing."

"We don't have to talk about it."

"I'm sorry I've been too forward, you just... your face is his face. Every time I look at you, I wish you could remember who you are."

It hurts. I turn my eyes down. "I'm sorry I can't."

"It's not your fault. You're your own person — you don't have to force yourself to have feelings for me."

"But... what if I'm not forcing it?"

His eyes widen. "Oh."

"Sorry, never mind." I push the covers off, getting up to look busy. "We got off track. The Adrantine rotted like we wanted it to — what do we do now?"

He clears his throat. "Right. Now we ensure that all future Adrantine products are subjected to cellular stress. To do that, we have to alter Oracle's documents on the Bionic Warfare and Espionage Initiatives."

"And to do that, we have to break into Oracle, don't we?"

"Yes. You probably don't want to go back there — I don't either. We don't have to do this right away if you're not ready."

I'm not ready, I don't think I'll ever be. That building is the heart of everything bad that's happened to me. But if going back will hurt Oracle — cause even a fraction of the pain and frustration and anger that we've felt — I'm ready. I'm eager.

"No. I'm okay. Let's... end this."