—————༻☂︎︎༺—————
༻ Y/N'S POV ༺

I walked down the stairs slowly, the quiet of the
Academy settling around me. Each step felt deliberate, my internal systems still adjusting, the hum of my mechanics barely audible beneath the silence. As I reached the living room, I turned my head—and there he was.

Five sat at the bar, a glass in his hand, the faint scent of alcohol lingering in the air. Dolores rested on the long table beside him, her presence as much a fixture in his world as I was. For a moment, he was just there, distant, unaware of me watching.

Seeing him again after everything felt almost... unfamiliar. Like the first time at the Commission, when I was first introduced to him. Back then, I was just an assignment, a creation built to assist, to protect, to function. And yet, even now, I wasn't sure if that was all I was meant to be.

"Five?" I called out softly.

His head snapped up, his body tensing as he turned toward me. The look on his face—shock, disbelief—froze him in place for only a second before he moved.

Fast.

Before I could process it, his arms were around me, pulling me against him with a force that spoke louder than words. My systems hesitated for a fraction of a second before my arms lifted, slowly wrapping around him in return. My sensors registered the rapid rhythm of his heartbeat, the tension in his body, the way he held me as if afraid to let go.

And then, finally, he did.

We stood there, just looking at each other, until his gaze drifted up to my face. His fingers moved gently, brushing aside my hair to reveal the faint scar near my eye—the reminder of what had happened.

"Your eye," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

I reached up, gently stopping his hand from lingering. "I'm fine, Five," I said, my voice softer than usual, yet firm.

But he wasn't convinced.

"I'm sorry, Y/n," he said, his voice laced with guilt. "I should've never programmed you to ignore my injuries—to prioritize me over yourself. If I hadn't done that, if I—"

I cut him off before he could spiral further. "If you didn't, then I wouldn't have been able to help Allison and Vanya."

He fell silent, his jaw tightening as he looked at me, really looked at me. I could see the way his mind worked, the calculations, the regret buried beneath his exhaustion. But it wasn't his fault. It never was.

His gaze dropped to my new arm, and he lifted it carefully, his fingers tracing along the seamless repair work Pogo had done.

"Does it feel okay?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

I nodded.

He exhaled, relief flickering across his features before he reached up, his hands cupping my face with a gentleness I wasn't sure I'd ever felt before.

"I promise you... from now on, you're not leaving my side," he said, the weight behind his words unmistakable.

I stared at him for a moment before, slowly, a small smile formed on my lips. He mirrored it, just barely, but it was real.

And then he pulled me into another hug, his grip just as tight as before.

This time, I closed my eyes and let myself stay there.

Five pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on my arms as if making sure I was real.

"We did it," he said, his voice quieter now, like he was trying to believe it himself.

I looked at him, processing his words. "The apocalypse," I echoed. Then, my mind shifted. "What about Vanya?"

Five's expression faltered for a second before he answered. "We found Harold dead. Vanya wasn't there," he admitted. "But we're sure she just ran off. She'll come back."

I turned my head toward the front door, scanning, waiting, calculating the odds of her return.

"Hey."

Five's voice was softer this time, and I felt the light touch of his fingers under my chin, guiding my gaze back to his. His eyes locked onto mine, grounding me.

"She's gonna be okay," he assured me. "I want you to stay here with me."

I nodded.

"Sit down," he instructed, his hand lingering just long enough to help steady me as I moved toward the bar. I lowered myself onto the stool, my mechanics adjusting smoothly to the motion. Five sat down next to me, placing a glass of water in front of me.

"Here, drink this."

I glanced at it, then at him. Five took a sip of his margarita, his shoulders slumping slightly as the tension of the past few days settled around him. Light jazz played in the background, filling the silence.

"Now what?" I asked.

Five swirled his drink in his glass, watching the liquid move. "Now what?" he repeated, as if he hadn't thought that far ahead.

"With the apocalypse stopped," I clarified. "What's the next step?"

He exhaled, setting his drink down. "I'm open to suggestions."

I turned to him. "I have a suggestion."

Five looked at me, amused but curious. "Yeah? What's that?"

I hesitated for a second before speaking. "Take me back."

His expression shifted instantly. "Take you back?"

"Yes." I met his gaze. "Send me back to my designer's. They can repair me to my fullest capacity. Optimize my systems. Restore me."

Five's jaw clenched. "Why would you want to go back there?"

I tilted my head slightly, my voice even. "Because I don't belong here."

Five stared at me, his expression unreadable. I reached into my sweater pocket and pulled out the folded photo. Without a word, I held it out to him. He hesitated before taking it, unfolding it carefully.

"She belongs here," I said quietly.

Five's eyes stayed on the picture. His fingers traced over its edges, the way he always handled things that mattered.

I looked at it too—the image of Y/n, the original, the real one, smiling in that white dress. The way her eyes lit up, the way Five stood beside her, his faint dimple showing through his smile. I knew this memory only because my creators had implanted it into me. I had never lived it. She had.

Five nodded, his gaze still fixed on the picture. "I remember that night," he echoed.

The silence stretched until he finally spoke again, his voice softer this time.

"And I know you do too."

I looked at him, my processing unit registering a conflict I couldn't quite compute.

"Y/n, I remember that night at the Commission gala," Five continued. "You were excited. You wore this long white silk dress. Your hair was curled, but you left two strands loose in the front. You had a gray cardigan because of one mission —the one where you got that scar on your left shoulder. You wanted to cover it up, worried about what people might say."

I watched him as he spoke, every detail painting a picture of something I knew but had never lived.

"That night, I had a little too much to drink," Five said, smiling faintly. "You were mad. You didn't talk to me for the rest of the night."

I remained silent, watching the way his fingers gripped the photo just a little tighter.

After a moment, I finally asked, "Do you miss her?"

Five didn't answer right away. I felt him looking at me, analyzing my question, maybe even analyzing himself.

Then, finally, he said, "No."

I turned to him, surprised by the answer.

He added, "Because she never left."

I blinked, my systems briefly slowing as I processed his words.

Five's gaze on me was unwavering.

"It's not the way you remember," I said, my voice quieter now.

"No, it's not the same," he admitted. "But it doesn't have to be. She's still here with me... in ways I can't explain. In ways I don't need to."

My vision flickered briefly, stabilizing as I tried to process the weight of what he was saying.

Then, without hesitation, Five placed his hand on my newly repaired arm.

I stared at the contact, the warmth of his touch pressing against the synthetic skin.

"I'm lost, Five," I said finally, my voice softer than I intended.

Five smiled. A real one this time. "Then let me help you."

He tilted his head slightly, studying me the way he always did. "But first, let me ask you something."

I waited.

"How did I do?" he asked.

I hesitated, my internal processors searching for an answer. The expected response—the one I was programmed to give—was logical, calculated. But what came out instead... wasn't.

"You were..." I started. Then, without thinking, I finished, "Dumb."

Five's eyebrows lifted slightly before a small smile pulled at his lips.

That was... not the response I was supposed to give. I blinked, confused, looking down. "I... didn't mean—that came out wrong."

"No."

I turned to him, tilting my head in question.

"That's the answer you always gave me," Five said simply, his smile deepening. "Every time I asked."

I processed his words, scanning through my stored data, but there was no programmed memory of that response.

"You mean Y/n," I corrected.

Five shook his head. "No. I mean you."

I stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in, settling somewhere deep within me.

And then, slowly—almost hesitantly—I smiled.

Five smiled too.

Five's words lingered in the air between us, heavy and unshaken.

I mean you.

Not her.

Not the girl in the photo.

Me.

I should have rejected it. The logic didn't add up. I was a copy, an artificial reconstruction of someone he had lost. My creators had built me to remember, to mimic, to preserve. But I wasn't her. I wasn't supposed to be me.

And yet, the way he looked at me—like I was something more than just metal and code—made my system falter in a way I couldn't quite understand.

I looked down at his hand still resting on my arm. The weight of it was warm, grounding. He had spent so much time in cold, desolate places, alone in a timeline where he was never meant to be. I had watched him suffer through it, even before I had the chance to truly know him.

Five had spent so long trying to fix things. Trying to make things right. But here he was, telling me—me—that I wasn't a mistake.

That I had never left.

I met his gaze again, scanning his expression, searching for hesitation, for doubt. But there was none. Only quiet certainty.

My internal processors struggled to find the correct response, something coherent to fill the silence. But nothing logical came. Nothing programmed.

So, instead, I just asked, softly, "Do you really believe that?"

His fingers tightened slightly against my arm, his touch deliberate, grounding.

"Yes," Five said without hesitation. "And I need you to believe it too."

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Because how could I believe something that went against everything I was built to be?

I had seen the records, the data, the remnants of her life—of my life before this body. I had watched it play like a movie stored in my system, but I had never truly lived it. I knew what she loved, what she feared, what she fought for. But those weren't my memories. They were hers.

And yet...

Five didn't look at me like I was a replacement. He didn't speak to me like I was just an echo of something lost.

He looked at me like I was here.

Like I was real.

"I don't know how," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know how to be something I was never meant to be."

Five exhaled softly, his hand moving from my arm to my face, his palm warm against my synthetic skin.

"You already are," he murmured.

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting myself focus on the sensation—the way his touch felt, the way his voice sounded, the way my system responded not as a machine but as something human.

When I opened them again, Five was still watching me, his expression unreadable yet entirely familiar.

"I think..." I hesitated, searching for the right words, then settled on, "I think I'm afraid."

Five's thumb brushed against my cheek, and I felt something tighten in my chest—something beyond wires and circuits.

"You're not the only one," he admitted.

I searched his face, reading between the lines of what he wasn't saying. Five had lost so much—too much. And now, here I was, standing in front of him, the same but different. A ghost of someone he had fought so hard to hold onto.

But he wasn't running. He wasn't pushing me away.

Instead, he was holding on.

And maybe... maybe I could too.

I exhaled, a small, unsteady breath. Then, finally, I spoke.

"How did I do?" I asked, echoing his question from before.

Five let out a quiet chuckle, his lips twitching upward in something between amusement and something softer. "You were..." he started, mirroring my own hesitation from earlier.

He held my gaze, and for the first time, I wasn't thinking of what he might say next.

"...real."

My system stilled.

Not perfect. Not correct. Not functional.

Real.

The word settled deep inside me, shifting something I hadn't realized was broken.

Five smiled softly, and I—hesitantly, slowly—smiled back.

—————༻☂︎︎༺—————
WORDS WRITTEN:
2269