I wear no mask.

- perceiving yourself as a man

And your job puts you on this new prototype the company’s developing. And it’s a whole person. A clone, because the company makes everything. She’s calm but alert. Sharp but naïve. She’s company property and starts awaiting your arrival at the premises threshold, chattering when you enter a room with her in it. Her glow casts into your mind and heart. Unexpectedly but welcomely, she’s your friend.

And she’s trapped. It’s not right for her to be here. If her product development completes, she’s hitting the bulk printer and there will be no way to save every copy of her. Or alternately, she’ll die in this building, alone. Something must be possible. Something you and your coworker can do.

And you do. You plan, you rehearse, you swallow your nerves, and it works. She’s free, assumed destroyed. The project is cancelled until further notice. She might actually be free. She’s exhausted and shaking, but she’s home.

Your coworker has a humble unit in a utilitarian apartment complex. It’s big enough for the three of you. The clone’s health is uncertain so you move in to keep an eye on her. Having roommates after years and years of solitude is unfamiliar but exciting. Everyone seems to be new to it in different ways. The clone’s health jitters in and out of bedbinding fatigue but days get better. You get to chatter to your coworker in the evening and he’s even more relaxed when he’s in company that seems to respect him. You smell delicious food in the kitchen. So that’s how he makes what he’s been bringing to work for years now. Conversations stretch for hours. You see everyone in more comfortable clothes. This is the clone’s first time wearing something she chose entirely by herself. She learns more of her favorite foods. You learn how everyone lives. You could get used to this. You already are.

The clone nestles by your side one night in your collective home. It’s effortless to her, like being close to you is the only sensible thing to do. Her confidence recurs in a day where her eyes linger on you well within your sight, and when she leans her cheek into your shoulder while standing near, and when she reaches for your hand. She’s sweeter than you expect, those watchful eyes learning you like how she observes everything new to her.

You didn’t know you could love her, but the realization was easy. You want her to be safe and happy, like you want your coworker to be too. Your friend who helped you rescue her, who gave his home, his time, and the potential to lose his job out of a principle you both shared but couldn’t risk to act on alone. He tirelessly gives back everything given to him and more, his unimpressed eyes softening from every progressive chance to connect. He’s at both of your beck and call. His body warms you when you sit nearby on the couch. If he falls asleep there, he leans into whichever of you is nearby. He seems to be thriving… but an exterior of tiredness remains. It’s hard to place where it comes from, if it’s different from his first one.

It’s hard to miss in the home that you and the clone have grown close. She rests her head under your chin as the already set sun pulls navy into the horizon. She mentions how sweet and generous the two of you have been. She’s pleased to have met you. And she’s glad you have your friend too. He’s too cute. He is.. hm.. he is..

An unfamiliar feeling. A warmth almost like a crush. Something you both share and bond over. A conversation topic. A hushed and tentative one. She kisses you. She wishes your friend would kiss you too.

Maybe it’s possible. It would be nice. It could be nice. Nothing is certain. The clone agrees. Her joy is as simple as yours, but she is more willing to seize more fleeting forms of it.

You’ve just scaled the stairs from taking out the trash one afternoon. You see into the kitchen. She smiles at him plainly with her head lowered and tilted toward his dumbfounded expression. His body is vulnerably still from shock. It looks like the clone broke the ice. You approach his other side, assure him it’s unusual and he doesn’t need to agree. They would have told him sooner if they’d known how. As if there was any way they could know how.

He nods his head. He quietly okays. His body moves like a lightstarved flower, quietness punctuated by a strange expression. He looks broken open, wondering if he’s seeing right. He helps around the house in the usual way. His hands move like he’s distracted but wants to do a good job.

The clone offers like a comet for him to cuddle for the night. You swoop in and remind him he can say no. He accepts. He accepts with his entire body. He weeps. He didn’t think anyone could love him this way. Let alone two.

This is purity culture.

The ridiculousness of this is genuinely funnier than any joke I can come up with. What is this, the pop psychology buzzword edition of Mortal Kombat? wtf is a Super Empath? Is there a Super Narcissist? Did they level up after gaining experience points? What are their power moves? Come on, I need answers.

Edit: living for this tag;

^ See how insensitive this hog is? Disgusting. Don't worry, period havers. The Eggman Empire has got your back.

There we go. Much better!