Touch

Part 24

Jeremy's dreams had been getting a little more... intense, suddenly. Most of it was uncomfortable and nightmarish, a chaotic mishmash of memories of high school, the intense, crushing loneliness of it all. The Squip, back in its original form, needling its way through what little self-confidence he had. The overwhelming helplessness as he lost complete control. The guilt. There was Cho, covered in blood. Ryoshi, trying to complete the work, the work, the work.

The worst was watching the Squip die.

He'd wake up in a panic, half-asleep and fumbling to get up, afraid that it'd be gone, that the worst had happened, that he was alone. But it was still there, every time, gently urging Jeremy back to sleep.

I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere.

And, slowly, Jeremy would relax, curled in close, sated by the Squip's constant presence, the voice in his ear, a ghostly hand curling up and down his back. Distantly he'd hear it whisper apologies for the misery it'd put him through, put everyone around them through, but he was too sleepy to respond how he'd like.

I forgive you. I care about you.

He hoped it knew. It probably knew.

Sometimes the dreams were better. Good, even. Great. Vague dreams of the Squip, together in bed, touching, pressed together, teeth against skin, solid, hot, real. He looked forward to those dreams, a lot, probably more than was reasonable. The Squip never acknowledged them, not since that one time before, and he didn't know whether that was a blessing or a curse. It was nice enough to indulge him in other ways, though. It was true to its word; it had thought about Jeremy's little suggestion that they have a repeat of the day before, maybe more than once. It agreed on the condition that Jeremy did twice as much schoolwork that he typically did right after. How the hell could he say no?

So Jeremy wasn't actually deprived of anything, and he liked to think he wasn't a desperate, horny teenager anymore. There wasn't anything wrong with asking for sexual favors from the super quantum unit intel processor in his head, because they were dating, right? He could be satisfied with that. And this was part of why he was so surprised when the Squip, to his extreme embarrassment, abruptly became self-aware in the middle of one of his dreams.

The Squip had been on top of him, grinding down between his legs, Jeremy's hand fisted in its hair, their mouths pressed together-- And suddenly the Squip was gone, pulling itself away and standing on the other side of the nondescript, dreamlike room they were in. He sat up quickly, aware of the sudden chill of the Squip's absence and a nagging sensation that something was decidedly off about the situation.

"I'm sorry." Jeremy didn't know why exactly he was apologizing, just that he felt like he needed to. The Squip had its back turned to him, watching its hands, lifting them up over its head to flex and unflex its fists. He apologized again, more insistently, afraid that it was upset somehow and was purposefully ignoring him. It finally paused, dropping its arms, and turned to face him.

"You don't need to apologize, Jeremy. You're dreaming." It stated this so matter-of-factly that he couldn't believe he didn't realize it earlier.

Oh, right, yes. He was dreaming. He was asleep right now. This wasn't real.

Weird.

"Wait, what are you doing here?" The Squip looked oddly amused by the question.

"You were dreaming about me, and then pulled the real me into it. I have to say you surprised me. I didn't think it would happen again."

"Again?"

"Yes, you've done this before."

"Oh yeah." Except, before, he hadn't been dreaming about dry humping the god damned Squip. He felt so flustered now that Jeremy couldn't do much else except look at the ground. The Squip quietly stepped over and squatted down in front of him, trying to meet his eyes.