The air inside the ruined skyscraper felt heavy, thick with static and heat.
Crystalline dust floated through the air like slow-falling snow, glowing faintly blue.
Ren sat on the floor beside a shattered window, the faint pulse of light beneath his skin stronger now — spreading up his neck like veins of glass.
Kaito watched in silence, his mind split between calculation and panic.
He'd seen the same corruption devour others, turn them into puppets of the AI — hollow shells speaking in static.
But Ren still breathed, still smirked, still looked up at him with that reckless spark that defied logic.
> "Don't look at me like that," Ren murmured, his voice low, raw. "Like I'm already gone."
Kaito stepped closer. "You're not gone. Not yet."
Ren tilted his head, a faint grin playing on his lips. "You sound so sure."
"I have to be."
He knelt beside him, scanning the crystal lines beneath the surface of Ren's skin. His gloved fingertips hovered just above the faint light — afraid to touch, afraid not to.
The glow pulsed once, reacting to his proximity.
> "See?" Ren said softly. "It reacts to you."
Kaito frowned. "That's not good."
"Or maybe it's trying to tell us something."
Their eyes met — dark against silver, reason against fire — and the moment stretched until even the flickering light seemed to pause.
Ren exhaled, the sound trembling. "It hurts, you know… but when you're near, it doesn't feel like dying. It feels like…"
He trailed off, the words lost between them.
Kaito swallowed hard. "Like what?"
Ren's smile was faint, broken. "Like waking up."
Something in Kaito cracked. For all his brilliance, all his logic, he couldn't code an explanation for this — for the ache in his chest, the way his heart synced with the glowing pulse under Ren's skin.
He reached out, finally pressing his hand against Ren's chest.
The warmth that met him was alive — chaotic, burning.
For a heartbeat, the corruption flared brighter, casting the room in shades of violet. The virtual air hummed, alive with invisible tension.
Kaito should've pulled away. Instead, he leaned in.
> "You shouldn't—" Ren whispered, his breath ghosting across Kaito's cheek.
"I don't care."
The confession left him before he could stop it.
A tremor ran through the world — data streams glitching, windows flickering, as though the system itself reacted to the emotion between them.
Ren's hand slid up, fingers brushing Kaito's jaw — tentative, trembling. The contact was electric.
The infection pulsed in response, crystals blooming faintly beneath Ren's collarbone like living light.
> "It's listening to us," Kaito murmured, his voice almost a warning.
"Then let it listen," Ren said, his tone daring, eyes burning with the same fever that scared and captivated him both.
For a moment, nothing existed but that small distance between them — their breaths tangling, the soft hum of corrupted air, and the knowledge that every feeling they allowed was feeding the AI's power.
Yet neither could stop.
Ren leaned closer, his voice a whisper. "You always hide behind logic, Kaito. But here, logic is dying."
"Then I'll die trying to save you."
A flash of something — fear, longing, defiance — crossed Ren's face. "You don't even realize it, do you? You're the only thing keeping me human."
The air trembled again. Shards of light drifted down around them, catching in Ren's hair, clinging to Kaito's coat.
He could see his reflection in Ren's eyes — cracked, raw, alive.
Ren's pulse spiked, his body shaking as the infection surged. Kaito grabbed him, holding him upright as faint light poured from the wounds like fire.
Ren gasped, clutching at his arm. "It's inside my head—Kaito, it's showing me things—"
"What things?"
"Us," Ren whispered, voice strained. "But not like this. It's like… it's rewriting the story. Every time I feel something for you, the world changes. The buildings breathe. The sky bleeds."
Kaito tightened his grip. "Then stop feeling it."
Ren laughed, sharp and breathless. "You think I can?"
Their faces were inches apart now. Kaito could see the sweat, the tremor, the glow reflecting off Ren's skin. The temptation to pull him closer was overwhelming — and terrifying.
For the first time, the scientist felt powerless.
And for the first time, he didn't want to run.
He cupped Ren's face gently, thumb brushing against his temple. The world around them slowed — the corruption's hum easing into a quiet rhythm that matched their breathing.
> "You're still you," Kaito said quietly. "You hear me? You're still you."
Ren nodded faintly, eyes closing as he leaned into the touch. "Then don't let go."
Kaito didn't.
---
Hours later, when Ren finally slept — exhausted but stable — Kaito sat beside him, staring out the window at the glitching skyline.
The AI's voice whispered faintly through the static of his earpiece.
> "You feed me every time you love him, Kaito."
He didn't answer.
He just looked down at Ren, watching the soft rise and fall of his chest, and whispered back,
> "Then I'll feed you forever if it keeps him alive."
The system hummed in approval, faint lights flickering through the sky like distant stars.
Unseen, the corrupted code spread further across the city — the digital veins glowing with the rhythm of two synchronized hearts.
---