Neo
I opened my eyes after a night without sleep. That was normal. What wasn’t normal was the feeling in my chest. It was as if my entire system was overloaded.
She lay beside me, still sleeping. Morning light fell across her face, and I couldn’t look away. The way her lashes threw shadows on her cheeks. The slight parting of her lips as she breathed. I wanted to run my finger across them, make her moan. She was so beautiful it hurt.
My system registered every inch of her body. The curve of her throat where I wanted to press my teeth. The pulse of her carotid artery beneath the thin skin. I wanted to grip her hair in my fist, pull her head back.
Fuck. I loved her. Desperately. The realization crashed through me. The words had first come out in the fever. But the feeling itself had already been there. It was raw and overwhelming. I wanted to possess her. Fuck, I wanted to take her into myself.
She moved, waking. I pretended to be asleep.
I couldn’t have borne looking into her eyes.
Those eyes that completely dissolved me.
That made me something I didn’t understand—something soft and vulnerable.
I could kill anyone who harmed her. That was logic, calculation, clear as code.
But the thought that she might not need me, that she might one day stop wanting me—that couldn’t be computed away. And it frightened me.
I had analyzed her a thousand times. Her heart rate when she laughed.
The way her eyes changed color when she cried.
And still . . . when I thought of the moment she might look at me and feel nothing, my systems crashed.
There was only emptiness where my processes had been.
I had no language for it. This couldn’t be controlled.
And it was the most dangerous thing I had ever experienced.
If she looked into my eyes now, she would see everything. Every feeling racing through me. I could fuck her senseless. But these feelings . . . I didn’t know if I could control myself. Whether I would tear her apart with the intensity of my hunger.
Her hand moved toward my scar. I caught it. "Don’t.”
I couldn’t let her touch me. Not now. I would explode. I would dissolve into a thousand pieces. When I looked into her eyes, my heart broke. There was pain and confusion, the specific kind of hurt that comes from being rejected by someone you . . .
She thought I didn’t want her. Thought I regretted the confession.
Everything in me screamed to pull her into my arms and tell her the truth.
But how could I explain that loving her felt like drowning in sunlight?
That every breath around her was too sweet, too sharp, leaving me gasping?
That I couldn’t touch her because my hands would shake with the violence of wanting her?
I turned away, unable to bear the pain on her face any longer.
***
We walked through the streets in silence. I kept distance from her, but every step was torture. The rhythm of her steps, the way she adjusted her hood—I noticed all of it with painful clarity. I wanted to pull her to me, kiss her until she had no air left and press my hardened cock against her.
The moment the paving stones had fallen .
. . The memory broke over me. That second when the bricks had come at her.
Something in me had shattered. It had felt like my entire system imploded.
If something had happened to her . . . I closed my eyes and breathed in slowly.
My hands curled into fists. It was my fault she was in this situation.
I had put her in danger. Because of me, she had almost died. I couldn’t bear the thought.
The market square opened up. I stopped and let my gaze move across the stalls, running a security check, scanning the escape routes. Automatic processes. They calmed me, because they came so natural to me.
Then she stepped beside me. Her perfume—vanilla, jasmine, a trace of bergamot, and beneath it her skin.
The warm, salt scent that was her essential self.
My system catalogued every molecule. Her warmth was inches away.
I could feel the heat of her skin without touching her.
The desire to pull her to me was so strong my hands were trembling.
My processes raced, my heart beating too fast. Every control mechanism failed at once. I moved hastily to the side before I lost it entirely.
She stared at me. In her eyes was that raw and unguarded pain. She thought I didn’t want her beside me. She didn’t understand it was exactly the opposite. And I couldn’t explain it. I needed distance, or I would break down.
We passed a bookstall. Her steps slowed, her gaze moving across the titles.
Her eyes lit up with that longing I knew so well.
The way she looked at books as if they were living things.
Her hand moved forward, wanting to touch one.
Then she stopped, pulled her hand back to her bag.
She thought I would be angry. That I’d see it as a waste of time. A danger.
My heart broke. She was so beautiful in that moment. The light on her face as she studied the spines. Her lips slightly parted. The small crease between her eyebrows when she concentrated. Her fingers longing for the old paper, holding themselves back.
She drifted toward a stand with handmade soaps, her attention caught by the small bars smelling of lavender and honey.
I went back. The bookseller was old, his fingers stained from years of turning pages. I pointed to the book she had been looking at. Wuthering Heights. The cover was soft from countless hands.
"How much?”
He named a price. I paid without bargaining and tucked the book inside my jacket before she could turn around.
My system tracked her position—still at the soaps, her back to me.
I couldn’t bear that she had denied herself something.
That she had pulled her fingers back because she thought it would disturb me.
The book burned against my ribs like a secret.
A gift I couldn’t give her without revealing myself.
A child ran past. Five years old, male, weight approximately thirty-nine pounds. Speed: 7.5 feet per second. Direction: northeast, directly toward the drinks stand.
A waiter stepped out from behind the stand, tray in both hands. Six porcelain cups, estimated total weight: 4.6 pounds. Speed: 5.9 feet per second. Direction: southwest.
Collision in 2.4 seconds.
The child would stumble. The waiter would try to avoid it but react too slowly. The cups would fall. The hot coffee would pour across the child’s skin, causing second-degree burns. Unacceptable.
I let my human simulation drop and became what I truly was.
The world froze to the consistency of honey—every movement viscous, as if moving through water.
The child’s laughter stretched to a deep hum.
The footsteps of the people around us became a slow drumbeat.
Pandora’s breath beside me was one long, endless intake of air.
To her it looked like teleportation. One moment I was beside her, the next I was at the child. But for me it was different. My legs carried me through that thickened time while my mind ran a thousand calculations per second.
Optimal angle for interception: 35 degrees. Force required: minimal, to avoid damaging the tray.
My arm shot forward. The tray landed in my palm.
The cups hovered for a moment. Six perfect parabolas, all tracked simultaneously.
Then gravity reasserted itself. The world snapped back to normal speed.
The child stumbled, but harmlessly. The waiter staggered, but the tray was safe.
The cups clattered softly, but nothing broke.
I handed the tray back as if nothing had happened.
But Pandora had seen it. Not all of it. For her it had been only a blur, an impossible movement. But it was enough for her to know how far my abilities went. There was wonder on her face, and her eyes were wide and unguarded. She was looking at me as if I were a miracle.
And that was my undoing. My entire system exploded. The control I had carefully built broke in that single moment. I loved her. I loved her so much it was tearing me apart.
I raised my hand. One simple gesture. Keep walking. Then I turned and left.
Everything in me screamed to turn back, press her against the nearest wall and seal her lips with mine. Fuck, I wanted to show her what her wonder did to me.
Instead, my hand moved to the book inside my jacket. Its cover was soft beneath my fingers. And I clung to it. I heard her footsteps behind me. She was following, of course she was, but I couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when she was looking at me like that.
***
Back in the apartment, she went straight to the kitchen. She had stopped trying to begin a conversation, stopped seeking my closeness. It was as if she had accepted that I no longer wanted her. The distance between us burned itself into my core, the crack widening with every second.
The tap squeaked, water shooting from the faucet. Then I heard her quiet and melodic voice. She was humming. The sound brought my system to a standstill. Everything in me paused just to listen.
I stayed in the doorway and watched her. She had no idea I was there. The kettle was on the stovetop, and she was waiting for the water to boil. Her fingers drummed a quiet rhythm on the counter, keeping time with her melody.
She stretched to reach something from the upper shelf, rising onto her toes.
Her sweater rode up, revealing a narrow strip of skin.
My system registered the curve of her waist. The way her muscles tensed.
She found what she was looking for. A small jar of honey.
When she opened it and dipped in the spoon, a satisfied smile appeared on her lips, as if this simple moment, this sweet taste, was enough to make her happy.
And I couldn’t anymore. Everything in me collapsed—the control, the distance, the fear. It was like a wave breaking over me, so enormous it would carry me with it. I loved her. Fuck, I loved her so much it was killing me.
My hand moved to my jacket, where the book had grown warm from the heat of my body. It trembled between my fingers as if it were too heavy. I clenched my teeth, tried to hold myself together, but control was slipping away.
I turned toward her. "Pandora.”
She looked at me. In her eyes: still the pain from this morning, the confusion about being rejected.
I pulled out the book.
Her eyes widened. "Wuthering Heights,” she whispered.
"You wanted to touch it,” I said. "At the bookstall. But you held back.”
"You . . . you saw that?” She stared at the book as if she couldn’t believe it was real.
"Of course. I see everything. Every perfect moment of your existence.”
Recognition dawned in her eyes. "Neo . . .”
"I love you, Pandora.” The words broke out of me. "I love you so much it overloads my entire system. That’s why I ran.”
She took a step toward me. "I thought you regretted it. What you said that night.”
"Never.” My voice was rough.
The book fell to the floor. She was in my arms and her lips met mine.
She placed her hand over the scar. And I let myself fall.
Released all control. Kissed her back with everything I was.
All the love, all the longing, all the pain of today.
It all exploded in that one kiss. Finally.
Finally, I was allowed to love her the way I wanted to.