the ocean hits high tide. he can feel his ears burning, the way they always did when he knew people were talking about him, staring at him. it happens more and more these days in this tightly packed city. he can’t outrun stares and there exists in him some secret PROTOCOL to not be seen.
(he has existed unseen for ten years. before that, he doesn’t remember but something tells him he was watched, watched, watched as a child. was it the way his father always used to stare at him, even when he thought basil didn’t know?)
her staring is making his skin crawl. moths in-between his ribs flutter, insects creeping over his bones send spikes of electric chills up his spine. up and down and up and down and the burning spreads to his cheeks, over his nose, up over his eyebrows. it’s cold outside and even a little chilly in the store but a small bead of sweat blooms at his temple.
for the longest half-minute of his life he doesn’t breathe. as still as she is he is even more still, a statue for her unwavering gaze that blushing the color of poppy fields. not because he is this shy, but because something in his brain is coming undone, some knotted up thread that had been tied so neatly to keep something held together for so long.
and her stare (and her scan, unbeknownst to him) pulls the string.
when she breathes he breathes. basil hasn’t noticed the way she’s seemed to lose life and then gain it all in one swoop. his eyes were working but nothing seems to have been absorbed, as if he’s zoned out completely.
“i’m sorry, what?” his voice trembles. he doesn’t know why. he feels like a child, suddenly, and god his head aches! basil lifts a hand to hold the right side of his head, heel pushing against his temple hard where the throb pulses the hardest.
comfort. it is an instinct, a programming she cannot fight. his pain is audible in her head, a static screech of agony on chalkboard. it reverberates into her very core, her automatic heart pulsating with pain.
ezra stays still a moment, eyes watching him. he is reeling from something, reacting to the chemical that was her invasion. his system has locked her out; for all intents and purposes, he is now a human being that she cannot download. there are no codes in his bloodstream, no pockets of data behind his eyes. his thoughts are a cerebral maze nestled into brain matter wet to the touch.
she feels ROTTEN. from the inside out she aches, unclean. dangerous. is this how viruses feel? and, how was she not? INVADING his system, touching the symphony of his programming, drinking the current that kept him alive.
“i’m sorry.” she whispers, rushing towards him. her hands reach for his face, hovering, seeking permission. “i’m sorry. are you alright?” please be alright.
