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Once more, I found myself in the familiar confines of the room, awash in soft hues of white and blue, illuminated by the gentle glow of machinery. The rhythmic whirring of the equipment had become the soundtrack of my daily routine, offering a semblance of normalcy amidst the hours of scrutiny. Seated beside me, my colleague idly crafted paper airplanes, a silent companion in our shared vigil.
With deliberate patience, I sifted through our findings, recognizing the futility of expecting interaction from the enigmatic entity confined within the tank. It had become apparent that waiting for a response was akin to watching paint dry. So, we adapted.
Retrieving the recorder from my lab coat pocket, I began the familiar ritual. "This is Dr. (L/N), documenting Day 8 of our observation of Subject 1138. Despite a week of study, the entity shows no signs of acknowledging its surroundings or engaging in discourse. Silence reigns supreme from our elusive Level 10 specimen." I rubbed my temples wearily as I concluded the recording, placing the device between myself and Ash, leaving room for any potential input from him later.
The next hour would be dedicated to silent observation, though Ash had initially harbored different intentions for this experiment. However, I stood firm, urging him to exercise patience alongside me until Error deemed it safe to engage with us.
It was a daring stance, one that invited skepticism from others, yet I remained resolute, anticipating eventual acceptance despite any initial reservations. To my surprise, Ash simply flashed that trademark charming smile of his, readily acquiescing to my decision. I couldn't have asked for a more supportive partner in this endeavor.
My stomach chose that moment to growl audibly, a fact not lost on Ash, or apparently, on Error, who cracked open one eye, as if sensing the disturbance. I offered a sheepish chuckle, my hand instinctively resting on my stomach. "S-Sorry, I skipped meals more than intended," I admitted.
The man's expression tightened with concern. "That's not a very healthy habit," he remarked, his disapproval evident.
"I know," I conceded, feeling the need to justify my actions. "I tend to forget when I'm too immersed in work. I do try to compensate by having a hearty breakfast, but this morning, I was running late and didn't want to delay things any further." The compulsion to explain myself in such situations was a well-practiced reflex, honed through years of striving to appear responsible in front of my parents. The desire to assert independence often elicited concerned reactions from others, as if it were somehow a negative trait. His expression mirrored that same concern, prompting me to prepare a rebuttal. However, before I could respond, Ash rose from his seat, gathering the paper airplane and crumbling it in his hand.
"I'll go grab some breakfast from the cafeteria since I'm feeling pretty hungry myself. And I'll pick something up for you too," he declared, his tone resolute.
"You don't have to," I protested, not wanting to burden him with my needs.
Ignoring my protest, he simply chuckled and pinched my cheek, catching me off guard. Heat rushed to my cheeks as he spoke, "Don't be like that. We're research partners. It's our responsibility to look out for each other when we're in a bind, right?"
