Work Text:
Maybe it was a mistake to have taken one of ‘those’ containers back into his room, Yoon Keeho thinks to himself, slamming the door shut quickly behind him.
“Shota, I’m back,” Keeho announces to the empty quarter, the eye-straining white lights flickering on with an electric hum, and the sound of soft bubbling answers him. He turns his gaze to the corner, where what had been a single jar of pink substance was now filling multiple buckets. A slight humanoid shape forms, staring back at Keeho.
“Steph,” it calls out, and the dense pink liquid begins to fade as the silhouette of a young male forms, features slowly appearing, until the pink goo solidifies into pale skin and flesh underneath. Yoon Keeho averts his gaze, dramatically blocking his view with his arms before he sees the entirety of the flesh. “Oh god, Shota, put on the coat I left there before you convert forms, okay?!”
It doesn’t seem to care much, making its way towards Keeho, each step making a quiet, unnatural slosh. Keeho feels icy ‘hands’ pull his arms away, and a cold touch on his face. It stares at Keeho, a rare expression of worry on its face. “I thought you wouldn’t return.”
Keeho simply laughs it off, despite a slight shiver. He doesn’t mind the strange feeling of fingers caressing his cheek, not when it’s from someone as visually attractive as Shota itself. He doesn’t have to take Shota’s comments to heart, he thinks, as it’s just probably to learn human emotion. As if it ever truly can, Keeho reaffirms himself, moving to the bathroom as he ignores the minimal sense of guilt accompanying the thought. He doesn’t take notice of himself mentally cataloguing each new expression it displays, each inflection in its voice. Shota tilts its head at him.
“Why wouldn’t I? Work has been going rather smoothly, maybe thanks to your company.” It’s not a lie, either. Since ‘it’ began appearing in a humanoid form, and since Keeho granted it the name ‘Shota’, rather than it’s simple yet dehumanising code of random values, he feels as if his sanity is restored quicker, and his containment success rate increases by large amounts. A bit more workload placed on him, yet the acknowledgement of a better pay check keeps him going.
The night goes on as usual, Keeho doing his 12-step skincare routine despite the only people he will be meeting are his fatigued colleagues. Shota orbits him around the room like a moon to its planet, absorbing his ‘casual’ words of affection like water to sponge, and Keeho soon lays on his bed, and slips into his dreams.
Then Shota really begins his nightly routine.
He continues staring at Keeho as the lights turn off. Shota listens to his rhythmic breathing, subconsciously imitating the pattern, and leans closer to hear his heartbeat. Keeho only groans slightly at the sudden, cold touch. Shota presses harder, despite his own annoyance in ‘disturbing’ Keeho. Maybe similar warmth will bring us closer, he thinks, reaching back into his chest, or at least where a ‘heart’ should be located in a humanoid, forming a fist inside. He clenches and relaxes his hand in the rhythm of Keeho’s sleeping heartbeat, in hopes to feel something more familiar to him.
It’s not enough, per usual. Maybe he’ll have to increase his parasite volume. But he doesn’t want to truly hurt his caretaker.
The artificial pumping of its own heartbeat was soon not enough for him. His heart aches, his heart yearns, to understand Keeho more. He presses his forehead against Keeho’s, and feels parts of him slipping in, deep into his skin. It’s not enough, but it will do for now. Keeho’s furrowed brows soon relax, and Shota soon feels parts of him, literally inside Keeho. He’ll be able to get a glimpse of Keeho’s vision when he’s at work in a couple of days, he thinks to himself. The parasite build-up should be able to grant him these advantages, without corrupting Keeho’s natural being by too much.
He parts their foreheads, not before taking a glimpse at Keeho’s eyelashes. The feeling of separation, even if it’s just physically, strains Shota. Maybe it’s the sudden sense of knowing this body will never be fully his, he senses from Keeho’s faint memories when he tries to read his mind every night during these processes. Will Keeho stay gentle with him if he knew he’s been trying to dig into his worklife? Shota doesn’t really care that much at this point. His anxiety only builds up more and more each day when Keeho leaves their room, and more when Shota detects the scent of others on Keeho. If this feeling was the so called ‘jealousy’ Keeho had sometimes mentioned, Shota was rather irritated by it.
It’ll be over soon, he promises himself, before stepping back, his humanoid form dissolving again, pooling in patient anticipation of tomorrow’s reunion in his designated corner
Yoon Keeho wakes up the next morning, refreshed as usual, changes into his work uniform, and leaves for work after giving Shota a brief wink. Shota tries to wink back, one that appears more like a glitch than an actual gesture, earning a chuckle before the door slams shut. It seals them apart, temporarily.
He steps out of his buckets, strides towards the mirror, and his ‘hands’ push around his ‘face’. Keeho talks to too many people, he thinks, all with different expressions. He doesn't know what features are Keeho’s favourite in a mate. Maybe it's not the features, but the difference in species, or maybe Shota's lack of action begins to bore Keeho.
He reaches into his chest again, feeling his heartbeat, Keeho's heartbeat, as they were in sync in sleep. It quickens as Shota feels that eerie feeling of separation, and slows when he hears Keeho turning the keys to the lock, he realises.
It's not something he can just ignore. It could be a sign he's becoming more ‘human’, but the side effect is almost unbearable. He wants to know more about Keeho, he wants to keep him for himself — he's the only one that's capable of protecting him.
When Keeho isn't present, he spends his days imitating the tiring survival method of humans with such concentration, studying how they maintain their body temperatures, studying how they express their vivid emotions. Shota finds himself staring at himself in the mirror, his skin less pale than before, as if there was actual blood seeping through his veins. His facial features become more stabilised, he learns to breathe to soothe his heart rate. There's so much more to learn about the human body, and more to learn about human interactions, he thinks, sitting at the foot of Keeho's bed and waiting for him to return once again.
Yet the empty shell they so refer to as the ‘human body’, is only a selfish medium to express their own thoughts.
His hunger for ‘knowledge’ spreads.
It only gets worse when Keeho begins to allow him into his bed at night.
“Sleeping with something cooling is better at night, Shota, you wouldn’t mind right? I thought you liked warmth.”
Shota doesn’t know if it’s a compliment or not. The sentence hints at him there’s still quite the temperature difference between them, no matter how much he pumps his heart manually in rhythm, or tries to transfer his own body heat to Keeho in his sleep. Well, whatever, Shota tries to tell himself, slipping under the covers like a small child climbing into their bed, steps leaving no impression on the sheets.
Keeho falls asleep quicker than Shota expects him to, as they lie shoulder to shoulder, the latter tilting slightly to get a better glimpse of their features. He doesn’t know where to look when Keeho closes his eyes. Who knows where they’d wander off? He leans in closer, fingers still entangled with Keeho’s, in an attempt to breath in Keeho’s expiration.
“Shota,” Keeho’s sudden voice doesn’t startle him. He expected as much as soon as there was a shift in his breaths. ”You’re going to kiss me after all that I’ve done? Make it quick, then.” He would’ve, if only Keeho opened his eyes, if Keeho’s heartbeat didn’t speed up ever so slightly. So he backs up, but he doesn’t know why. Regret doesn’t come soon after Keeho gives a shrug, eyes still closed, and turns to the other side.
This isn’t all that he wants, Shota thinks. He invites himself over behind Keeho, sliding his arms around his waist, placing his chin on Keeho’s shoulder. It earns him a satisfied hum. “Shy? That’s fine.” Shota doesn’t answer. This really isn’t all that he wants. It’s far from the least of his wants. But he complies, fingers sneakily slipping under Keeho’s shirt, tracing along the lines on his abdomen, pressing their bodies together.
It suppresses a temporary urge, but the nape of Keeho’s neck still looks too tempting. Shota shuts his eyes, and falls asleep for the first time. He has an unsettling feeling it won’t be the last.
Dreams follow sleep, at least that’s what Keeho used to tell Shota. All dreams have a meaning, he says, even if they don’t seem to make sense at first glance. It reflects your inner emotions, sometimes your deepest desires.
Shota wants to disagree. He always sees himself, a humanoid, facing Yoon Keeho. Or at least the empty shell of Yoon Keeho, in a dimly lit room. He feels fear, anxiety, and… a strange sense of excitement. His ‘body’ moves on its own. ‘Keeho’ sees him, his mouth moves, but Shota can’t hear a single thing he says — white noise replaces that familiar voice of his. “Steph, I’ll keep you safe,” he hears himself say. ‘He’ pulls his trusty caretaker into a cold embrace, and feels himself returning to his original form, alongside his caretaker. He doesn’t dare to look at Keeho’s expression. He knows, for some reason, he won’t like this. But it seems like in that instant, it’s the only way to protect him, even if Keeho isn’t himself anymore afterwards. It’s the same scenario over and over again, whenever Shota falls asleep. Only difference is the flickering of the fluorescent lights, the length of the hallways leading to this room, the warmth of Keeho’s body, and perhaps the feeling of guilt Shota feels when ‘he’ engulfs ‘him’, which only increases exponentially time after time. This definitely isn’t what he truly wants. At least, not in this crude, unrefined form.
“Then what are your dreams about, Steph?”
“Well… I’ve been dreamless lately,” Keeho turns to the other side, facing the wall, a poor attempt of hiding his facial expression from Shota. “The department expansion and the increasing number of abnormalities… it’s… unsettling. “ Shota wonders if the fragments of himself silently lurking within Keeho’s bloodstream have anything to do with this dreamless state, but as soon as he senses a change in Keeho’s heartbeat while he mentioning the other abnormalities, his thoughts stop. He feels a strangle mingle at his chest. He dislikes this.
“Steph doesn’t like them? I can help you rid of them. “
“Ah, don’t, Shota. I’ll be in bigger trouble if they know you’re here… Go to sleep, I… will manage it himself.”
Keeho shifts a bit further away from him. Shota hates the silence Keeho gives him, especially when he fakes being asleep. There’s a wall building up between them, Shota thinks, as his knowledge of ‘humanity’ grows. Is he asking too many questions? But it’s all for the sake of safety for them, or at least for Keeho.
Maybe Shota shouldn’t have said that very sentence, as he hears Keeho mutter something to himself soon after he lies down. He chooses to forget whatever Keeho says, he doesn’t believe Keeho would ‘rat him out’ after how long he has raised him for. Surely, it’s only a thought said out loud, due to the stress and panic he has endured throughout his long workhours.
For the following days, Shota methodically extends his presence around Keeho. Nothing different from a fast-spreading virus, it also gains the attention of whoever manages this hellhole, as Shota hears knocking on Keeho’s door one quiet afternoon.
Murmuring continues, followed by a rushed hushing.
That’s not Keeho. Don’t open the door, no matter what, he commands himself.
The knocking continues, this time far more impatiently. Shota strategically returns to his liquid form. He’s a bit unaccustomed his original state, after so many cycles of maintaining his ‘favourite’ form. He’s thankful he still remembers how to shift around, as the door slowly creaks open, right after he returns to his bucket. He doesn’t dare to breathe — not that he needs to, but it’s one of those details he’s grown accustomed to ever since he acts as a humanoid.
Someone pushes the door wider, as the room is illuminated by light seeping in from the outside hallway. Two uniformed figures stand at the door, one pushing the other in.
“Come on, turn on the lights, there’s definitely something in his room.”
“…but what if there isn’t? His entire department has been in this sleep-deprived, dull state. How do we know if he’s the culprit-”
“God, I don’t even know how the fuck you’re still in this company. Just follow the manager’s orders.” Shota observes them approaching nearer. And nearer. He needs to think of something.
“Hey, look at this.” One of the figures squat near his buckets. He vaguely recognises their face, one that has passed by Keeho every now and then, just not within proximity close enough for Shota to ‘infiltrate’. “This liquid… It isn’t just water from the air-conditioner, right?”
“Hey, don’t get too close-”
Shota reaches out, and within seconds, he envelopes the figure. The sudden, humane warmth gives him a strange burst of euphoria, yet his preoccupation with his caretaker quickly overflow this sweet feeling. Keeho, he thinks. Keeho, it’s all that resonates within him. Still in his non-humanoid form, he turns to look at the other employee, who’s frozen in their tracks. He reaches out.
A sudden crash follows, with the other employee stumbling out of the room immediately, profanities spilling from their mouth. The door slams shut behind him, and darkness reclaims the small space of theirs.
Shota rises, reconstructing to his familiar, preferred form (Or was it Keeho’s? It doesn’t make a difference now, he won’t be able to distinguish these small, useless, contradicting thoughts standing in between them). His hands shake. He cannot control the trembling in his chest, nor decode it. He is unable to distinguish whether this feeling of ‘fear’ originatesfrom him, or from Keeho. Perhaps both, their pulses quicken in unison, and Shota feels a strong yearning to ‘protect’.
He steps foot out into the corridor. It’s one of those sights he’s only seen in the visions of his vessels, but it’s enough for him to comprehend how the hallways intersect and terminate. He ventures out to where his heart yearns, absorbing every one of his vessels he passes by, his ‘army’ growing as those he passes deform and become one with him, melting into his expanding yet confusing consciousness.
He’ll reach him soon, he senses it, the feeling of disgust and worry increasing at rapid rates, giving him a sickening feeling in his abdomen, as if he ever had one. The facility’s warning lights flare, a rhythmic red, syncing unwittingly to their quickening pulse. Soon, he tells himself, I can feel it.
He doesn’t know how long he’s been walking through these corridors, but his mass grows, now strong enough to engulf those who venture close enough as well. The pain of whatever shoots through him doesn’t matter at this point, he can reform himself. As long as the fate of some of his careless vessels doesn’t reach Keeho, he thinks. He’s seen far too many ‘executions’ of these employees as a result of their exposed secrets, and with his now pulsing ‘human rationality’, he understands this isn’t what Keeho would know, or would want.
A single door separates them, now. The lights still flash, the sirens still wail, but all he can hear is Keeho’s annoyed denial at whoever is interrogating him. Shota can tell from the hints in his tone his lies and deception, perhaps a way to protect Shota over himself. It contradicts what Shota is currently doing, but it doesn’t stop him from once again deforming, and slipping under the door, and into the room.
The lights are dimmer, and Shota easily pulls the two guards at the door into his mass, their forms disappearing. The other two interrogators must’ve seen what happened, their faces now pale, one running to grab the phone on the wall, the other simply stumbling back. Keeho turns slightly still in his seat, in an attempt to see whatever scared them so much, but Shota gets back to him first, having quickly transformed to his humanoid form just for him.
“Keeho.” He bends over, cheeks touching, and gently traces over his chin with his fingers.
“Shota, how are…” His caretaker trembles at the cold touch. Strange. Maybe the sudden increase in mass has caused his temperature to lower rapidly. It’s not the ideal scene Shota imagined, but he’s here after all. What needs to be done has to be done.
It’s similar to his dream, after all. Only difference is Shota doesn’t feel any guilt.
Keeho seems to be saying something to him, his expression one of worry disguised as anger. Shota would’ve been devastated upon seeing Keeho make such an expression to him if it were the usual occurrence, but for the first time, Shota acknowledges that he knows more than his caretaker. He traces his hand over Keeho’s shoulder, to his arm, and to his hand, gently intertwining their fingers. He presses himself closer to Keeho, until he feels some parts of them overlap.
Shouting ensues outside. Shota hears the door shake slightly, and it swings open. Just in time for Shota to give one final sigh, engulfing Keeho entirely. It’s different to how he ‘consumes’ his vessels. He makes sure Keeho doesn’t disappear like the rest of them — a darker shade of crimson resides within his mass, making up his silhouette.
Shota’s ‘mass’ blocks out whatever sound there is outside, including Keeho’s own voice. He struggles, he shouts, but his movements are heavily restricted due to the density of Shota, and he can no longer hear his own voice. He feels his heart combine with something else, and his own heart soon beats according to a pace that is no longer his. It feels like drowning, yet when Keeho tries to inhale, he realises there’s no need for him to breathe, as the sensation of suffocation never comes.
He feels his grasp loosen, himself losing his physical form.
“Steph,” he hears Shota calling to him, as dear as usual. “Steph,” Shota lightly cradles Keeho’s silently dissolving body. “We’ll be together as one, just like this.” Yoon Keeho doesn’t hug him back tightly as usual, and doesn’t plant a kiss on his forehead. He doesn’t push him away either, he would never do so, even if he still had the ability to. He only slowly seeps into Shota’s ‘body’, as if a dry sponge encountering water.
Shota, he shouts back breathlessly, but no one hears his final cry, including his favourite ‘ward’.