#erro-venator

How do they say ‘I love you’ without really saying it?

Worry. Have you eaten? How is your armor? Do you have enough ammo? Can I get you some water? Are you doing alright? Thomas would be concerned with the smallest things, attending to their needs long before his own. He’d also say it by the excitement he’d show to see the object of that love. He’d tell them he missed them, and just show a general interest in what they have to say. He’d be a smitten little robokid. 

Do they prefer to ask out a partner or be asked?

I think Thomas would prefer being asked. Mostly because he’s constantly second guessing himself, and would work himself up so much he’d not be able to get the question across himself. He’d just descend into a stuttering mess before running off in the opposite direction as fast as his wee lil legs could carry him. 

Would they ever want to get married?

If you’d have asked me this a few months ago, it’d have been a firm no. However, it would appear that Thomas would very much like to be married. Not to just anyone, of course, but a certain honeybee. I think he’s quite looking forward to it. 

What kind of wedding would they want to have?

Sunlight broke through swaying trees, the fluttering of foliage mixing with the steady babble of nearby water. Steps were slow, unhurried as heels sank into the softness of the dirt path, the slope of the hill causing him to lean as fingers spread and flattened the immaculate folds of his cherry colored dress. It was garish against the withered forest, the snatches of green doing little to balance the picture that was Alex, pausing just before a weathered mailbox. 

T and E Shelby

A single claw traced the peeling letters, a sharp, metallic rasp ringing through the empty as he underlined the words with the flick of his pointer finger. Pale gaze shifted then, following the last few yards of the path that ended abruptly at a wooden deck, sloshing water muffling the sounds of a taller individual that seemed to be tinkering with a motorbike. Alex observed for a long moment, a gloved hand lifted to touch gently at his chin. 

Soundless footsteps carried him closer, slender form pause just as heels clicked sharply across the wooden deck. The other’s back was still facing him, and Alex cleared his throat, peering down the bridge of a narrow nose at the man before him. 

Thomas was bent over in front of an assaultron, tinkering with the bolts just behind the joint of its knees. It was decommissioned for the time being, but it was almost ready. Ezra had long since gone quiet in their conversation, his drowsy words giving way to deep breaths and quiet mumbling. Thomas had almost forgotten he was stretched across their sofa, and it wasn’t until he heard a rasp of soft snoring that he remembered. 

Oil was wiped across a soiled rag, Thomas cleaning his fingers as best he could before setting aside his wrench, movements silent as he tried not to make a sound. He crept toward the furniture, spying the sleeping figure, a fond smile curling over his lips as he paused just at his side. Reaching out, Thomas slowly pinched closed Ezra’s nose, fighting back a laugh as the snoring jarred to a halt, lower lip caught between his teeth as he waited for Ezra to wake. 

Thomas was hunkered over his desk, glasses pushed up his nose as he ignored the footsteps coming up behind him. He scooted forward, bumping the edge of the desk with his stomach, the blueprints pushed with his casted hand. A faint smile touched his lips at the familiar voice, but he kept his head down, gaze averted as the tip of a metal finger scratched lightly at his brow.

“You… you ever met someone that you can’t seem to shake?” Thomas asked softly, gaze flickering upward, lit briefly upon his companion before dropping to the table between them. The last drag of a burning cigarette stung his lungs as he felt the other turn their interest to him, their gaze heavy on his brow. Maybe, I don’t know. 

“I have, ” Thomas breathed in a wisp of smoke, the haze curling in a spiral through the dimness as fingers stamped the glow from the tobacco. The silence that stretched was broken by the scraping of the ashtray moving as he pushed it, robotic hand then rest flat atop the table. “It’s like… when you stare at a light too long, and you see those spots? It’s like they’re burned at the back of your eyelids, and no matter if you close your eyes, they’re always there. Just burned there.” 

The lingering edge of jet made his movements slow, a dreamlike quality causing the view of the other to blur with trails, but Thomas’ brows were furrowed, casting shadows over mismatched eyes. “You can’t help but think when you see something interesting, or something that’s their favorite color… I wish they were here to see this! I gotta tell them about this later, I gotta show ‘em this, give ‘em this. ” He breathed, a shaky smile overcoming scarred lips a moment before it faded, his vision still downturned and watching the twitching of metal fingers against the wood. 

“I see ‘em everywhere now. If I ain’t at their side, annoying the piss of out ‘em… I’m countin’ the moments until I get back. It’s like you never really lived until they came and woke you up. I can’t remember a moment before them that’s sweet. The life goes out of those times.” 

Thomas shook his head, lower lip worried between teeth. “Or maybe I’m just crazy. I can’t tell what’s normal anymore.” Slender fingers were clutched into a fist, curling and uncurling as the boy drew in a long breath. He slouched as it was released, his head lowered as he rested his forehead against his forearm. 

“I’m almost scared of what I’d do for him.” Thomas muttered finally, eyes closed where his face was hidden, blocking the sight of the scuffed tabletop. He felt a hand patted against his shoulder, a soft laugh the response as Thomas refused to lift his head, bemused voice almost whining from where he hid. That’s love, kid. 

“Trust me, that’s a new one for me. Not many people go outta their way to care about a synth.”

“Say that like you’re not loved too. Ya know that isn’t true, right?

Metal fingers were clasped with the calloused ones of hand right hand, eyes downcast as they were wrung anxiously. It was dim now, tucked away in the dark room given to Thomas at the new safe house. The light of the sunset had fled, bleeding down the walls to be replaced with the wan glow of a half moon. He was partially cast in it, shadows cutting harsh across deep set scars and torn face, the glow of his artificial eye barely touching the crest of a damp cheek. 

Thomas’ jaw worked, a slow breath drawn in and held before it slipped past torn lips, shoulders slouching forward. “Depends on the day.” Thomas murmured finally, words shaped in lackluster tones barely above a whisper. He knew Ezra loved him. There’d been no doubt or reason for it, but the night had brought the empty back, the pain in his chest almost unbearable. It was like static, buzzing anxiety ushering out any rational thought. It made his sides hurt from holding back worry, ribs wishing to splinter under the weight of the thoughts he couldn’t repress. 

                      Answered under the cut, because gOOD LORD