Pairing : Johnny Silverhand x GN!Reader
Warning(s) : Non sexual nudity but nothing descript, maybe OOC Johnny Silverhand, PTSD episode
Word Count : 1537
Masterlist
Johnny was dirty. V had told you as much. Dirt caked his arms and spotted his face. He had countless scratches caked with dried blood all over. Smelled of cigarettes and booze and piss and whatever else he’d been around before he’d died. He was filthy, in short.
You thought it’d get better when Johnny got his body back. Maybe he’d have the desire to stay clean.
He didn’t. That wasn’t to say he brushed off showering, it just never seemed to be at the forefront of his mind. After gigs, covered in blood that wasn’t his and sweat that was definitely his, he often ate, maybe had a couple drinks with you and V before deciding he wanted to wash off.
And god forbid you try to drag him to the bathroom before he decides he wants to go. Even with you chromed out, Johnny somehow managed to give you a run for your money.
The only times Johnny let you help him wash was if he was hurt. Or if he was struggling. It didn’t happen often but, on occasion, something would happen that would catch Johnny off guard and he’d get stuck in his first life.
Those were the times where he’d let you pull him to the bathroom with you, all mellowed out, not all quite there. Today was one of those days.
You don’t remember much of the gig after Johnny freaked out, too preoccupied in getting it over with to get home. He was silent in the car. It always unnerved you. Johnny liked to talk, liked the sound of his voice. He’d comment on whatever was playing on the radio, hum along to ones he knew and actually liked and critic ones he didn’t like. As much as he annoys you most of the time, you hate his silence more.
You shed your jacket as you step inside the apartment you shared with Johnny and V. Kerry visited on occasion but it seemed it was empty today. Good.
Johnny doesn’t move much as you work his jacket off and let it join yours on the floor. He’s shaking, chest heaving slightly as he watches you. You reach out to brush a bit of hair from his face and he flinches. You drop your hand back down to take his. He lets you.
The explosion that had gone off had covered him in debris and grime, adding to the blood and dirt he’d already acquired. You can see a bit of blood seeping from a cut on his forehead and make a note to grab the first aid kit after you wash off.
He lets you pull him to the bathroom, watches you start the bath. As it warms up, you gather a wash cloth and V’s soap. Johnny liked to use V’s a lot. You’re sure he’d appreciate it now even if he’d never say it aloud.
You turn to Johnny and he lets you undress him. His shirt sticks to him with sweat and blood and you do your best to work it off without irritating his skin. Once you’ve got it off, you toss it on the floor behind you and work his belt off, followed by his pants and then his underwear. Then your clothes join the pile behind you.
Johnny stays quiet as you help him into the bath but you can see him relax ever so slightly as the warmth of the water seeps into his skin.
“Lean forward a bit,” you tell him. You try not to soften your voice too much. He never liked it when you babied him and these pamper sessions were no different. “Let me in behind you.”
He does so without complaint. You slide in behind him and ease him back to lean against you. He goes but turns his head away from you. You expected it.
Johnny stays turned away as you soak the washcloth. Stays turned away as you begin to wipe the dirt off his chest with as much care as you can.
The cloth is soft against your hand even soaking wet and you can only hope it’s the same softness against Johnny’s skin.
His chest wasn’t awful. Protected by his shirt, he just had some stray clumps of mud and sweat. It didn’t take long to clean at all.
His arms were a lot worse. They took some actual scrubbing to get all of the big chunks off. The chrome arm will need some extra attention out of the bath no matter how much scrubbing you do. All the little crevices are too small for you to get your fingers into.
Johnny knows that even before you tell him. He doesn’t argue about it, doesn’t tell you he can do it himself or anything. He grunts his acknowledgment and shifts forward so you can wash his back.
You get to his face after you wash his legs. One hand keeps his face turned towards you while the other carefully dabs away the dirt and blood. Johnny’s eyes are closed and his breathing has smoothed out. Good signs.
He winces when you touch the cut on his forehead and you whisper an apology that has him grumbling. You ignore it; he doesn’t try to pull away. The cut doesn’t look deep at all, which is a relief. You’d still make sure to clean it with alcohol just as a precaution.
His eyes flutter when you pull the washcloth away and then those pretty brown eyes are looking up at you. “Gonna wash my hair too?” He asks. He tries for his usual cadence, gruff and brash, but his voice is still just a bit too weak for that so you have to bite back a smile.
“I am,” you say instead, reaching for the soap you’d grabbed earlier. “Long as you don’t gripe about how hard I pull it.”
Johnny huffs but sits up so you can actually get to his hair. His shoulders hunch forward at the first pass of your hands through the mess of his hair but he gradually relaxes as you work the knots out.
You use the detachable shower head to wash the soap from his hair. It runs almost pitch black and you grimace as it joins the already murky bath water. So, you help Johnny stand and turn your bath into a shower. You do another round of shampoo in Johnny’s hair and wait for the water to run clear before working in the conditioner.
His breathing has steadied out enough that you could’ve mistaken him as asleep if you didn’t know any better. You quickly wash off as well before shutting the water off and stepping out.
Johnny stands in the shower until you grab his arm to help him out. He doesn’t say anything and expects you to know exactly what he wants. And maybe you do to an extent.
You pat dry him and squeeze out the excess water from his hair and then you have to drag him to the bed so you can dress him. He sits on the edge, slouched but content, much more relaxed than he’d been.
He watches you gather two sets of clothes for the two of you and watches you dress yourself before you get him dressed. Just something simple - a tshirt and sweats. Johnny never wanted anything else.
After grabbing the first aid kit, you clean and bandage the cut on his forehead before sitting next to him to get all the dirt out of his chrome arm.
The two of you sit in relative silence as you work out the nasty shit in the crevices of his arm. Johnny watches you. Not critically. You’re one of the few people he trusts with his arm. If you’d look at him, and if he’d let you, you’d say they were soft. V really had rubbed off on him a lot more than any of you thought.
It takes about twenty minutes for you to clean Johnny’s arm. Johnny doesn’t complain once, which has to be a new record for him.
You stretch your arms above your head when you finish and move to stand up, maybe get something to eat or drink. You don’t get very far before Johnny grabs you and wrestles you back down onto the bed. For a second, you think his goal is sex. It wouldn’t be out of the ballpark for Johnny after the events of the day. Take back some control in whatever way he can.
Your head hits the pillows and a head hits your chest. It takes you a second to realize your rocker wasn’t looking for sex and just.. wanted to be held. Johnny’s got his cheek squished against your chest right over where your heart beats and his arms wrapped around your torso.
Once you regain your bearings, you run one hand through Johnny’s hair and watch his eyes close and a ghost of a smile come to his lips with the action.
The apartment is quiet. You can faintly hear the hustle and bustle of Night City down below over Johnny’s steady breathing. Though his breathing tapers off into quiet snoring before long and you’re left thinking about the fact that Johnny Silverhand just consciously fell asleep on top of you for the first time.
just watched an interview with james ortiz (rocky’s puppeteer) where he’s like “they were torturing ryan gosling for this movie. it was killing him. he was developing isolation sickness in real life from being the only actor on set for 6 months. i needed to be there for him even when rocky wasn’t in frame to serve as his guiding light and the sole thread tethering him to the concept of love. i was kneeling at the altar” and what
What do you mean “chat” is now referring to ChatGPT and not twitch chat? What? What? What the fuck? No?
When I address chat I am speaking to a presumed Greek chorus of real human people shitposting on their lunch break, not a machine that devours lakes to covert electricity into slop.
I learned today that Sylus was left-hand and I immediately thought of the historical and cultural meaning attached to left-handedness (left-handed people were prejudiced against throughout history and left-handedness was associated with evil and the Devil) and I thought that considering his myths and lore, him being left-handed made a lot of sense and was very fitting.
(Thanks to eviestevieoppar on reddit and stvrs.xavier on tiktok for pointing it out)
synopsis: how he reacts when you call them by their full name in front of other people
character/s: xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus, caleb x f!reader (separate)
warning/s: none!
note/s: my favorite one has to be zayne and sylus' im ngl i had so much fun writing this
xavier:
you should’ve known that dating the notorious quiet, handsome man in the association would be an open invitation for your coworkers to pry and get answers for the questions they always had but never dared to ask.
how could they? whenever they talk to xavier, he replies with one-word answers, worse, sometimes he just stares as if the question was the stupidest thing he has ever heard. and honestly, that idea wasn’t far-fetched.
having you as his partner and girlfriend only solidified the association’s curiosity about xavier.
“i don’t think he’d care.” simone mutters as she bites another mini sandwich from the snack display.
tara shakes her head as if trying to convince her to change her mind. “he can’t not care! right?” she turns to you as you tilt your head in confusion, not catching majority of the conversation, too caught up in a mini staring contest that you and xavier had from across the room.
“what?”
“how do you think xavier would react to being called by his name.” you furrow your brows at tara’s question, not exactly getting it.
“nothing? it’s his name…” “no, not his name but his name-name.”
in all honesty, tara lost you. but you urged her to explain that couples usually dislike it when they’re called by their given names rather than a pet name.
and now that you’ve thought about it, you didn’t think that you’ve ever called xavier by his real name.
with tara’s devilish grin, you almost felt bad for wanting to test it out, after all, no better time than the present, right?
“i bet twenty that he doesn’t care.” simone wagers, you almost scolded her, if not for tara’s enthusiastic counter with a fifty.
your gaze flits towards xavier who was already approaching the three of you with two drinks in hand.
he smiles softly as he hands you the flute of champagne. you gave him a grateful smile, the words slipping out of your lips almost in a foreign way.
“thank you, Xinghui.”
you could see the way xavier’s smile twitches. he does not respond; instead, he wraps an arm around your waist.
“are you having fun, star?” you nod before turning back to your friends whose expressions differed from triumph to devastation at the immediate turnout of their bet.
“mm!” you nod, a smile on your face as you lean over to his warmth. “i was just telling simone and tara how much my Shen Xinghui treats me well.”
xavier swoons at the my but not so much what came after.
“ah. i see.” he tightens his grip around your waist before he gestures towards the open balcony, in the guise of fresh air.
you bid your friends a wave goodbye, tara looking like she was trying her hardest not to laugh and simone already counting the bills in her wallet to slap on tara’s waiting hand.
once you and xavier were on the clear, he pulls you into his arms, his face buried on the crook of your neck.
“did i do something wrong? i’m sorry.” xavier says softly against your skin, tickling you slightly.
you giggle, pulling his face away to see a pout on his lips.
“what do you mean, Xinghui?” his pout deepens.
“i don’t like that name.” “what do you mean? it’s literally your name.”
“yeah, to others, but not to you.” xavier says as he holds you tighter against him.
you conclude that it was the end of your little prank, as you explained the bet that your friends made. xavier huffs as he mumbles at the crown of your head.
“i’d rather you call me lumiere.”
“really?!”
“no.”
zayne:
when zayne told you that his parents were going to visit, it was safe to say that you spent the entire day ensuring that your home was welcoming. you and zayne spent time cleaning and redecorating your shared space.
the doorbell rings, and for a moment, you thought it was his parents who arrived an hour early, but to your surprise, it was only the deliveryman for the patisserie you ordered from.
knowing that althea and jace rarely spent time in linkon, you wanted to ensure that they could try new delicacies, so you ordered linkon’s finest macarons, and as a bonus, you bought them their favorite tea as well.
you placed it on the kitchen countertop and forgot about it, thinking that you could easily plate them once they arrived. you failed to notice the curious doctor who approached the box after you left.
althea and jace arrived right on time, you greeted them with a smile as althea hugs you, complimenting how beautiful you had grown from the last time she saw you, while you led them to the couch. zayne sat on the opposite sofa, engaging in small talk, blushing slightly as his father coos about how chubbier his cheeks are and how healthier he looks.
“i’ll prepare some tea.” you excuse yourself as you walk to the kitchen to steep the tea.
once it was finished, you put the teacups on the tray as you walked back to the living room, where they were.
“oh! zayne, could you pour out the tea? i’ll go get the dessert,” you say to your husband, who freezes for a split second.
“no need, darling,” zayne says as he makes a move to stand up. “i can get it; you should sit down. you’ve done enough,” he says, coaxing you to sit down. you shake your head, stopping him from standing up.
“it’s okay, zaynie, i’m already standing up, just sit down and catch up, i’ll be right back.” you say, giving his cheek a swift peck, hearing his mother coo at how domestic the two of you were.
you went back in the kitchen, humming slightly under your breath before it stops as you opened the box ofdesserts.
there were only six macarons left. you ordered eight.
your jaw drops at the only answer as to why two were suddenly missing. without saying anything more, you plated the remaining macarons before carrying it back.
you can see zayne’s back as you walk, slightly tense as he tries to keep up with a conversation with his father.
“Li Shen.” zayne jolts as you say his name, you can’t see his exact expression, but judging by the way althea was biting her lip in amusement and jace was already grinning, you know that he knows that he’s in trouble.
“yes, dearest?” zayne answers, his hand on the teacup as he takes a small sip, trying to act unbothered.
“why are there only six macarons?” you walked slowly, placing the plate in the middle of the coffee table and facing him, crossing your arms.
zayne blinks slowly, you can see the small gulp he took.
“perhaps the patisserie made a mistake. we can contact them after,” he says in a calm tone.
you raise a brow.
“you have crumbs at the corner of your mouth, Li Shen.” his eyes widened before he put the teacup down, wiping at his mouth, trying to get rid of the evidence, but the four of you know it was too late.
althea laughs at the display, patting her husband affectionately on the arms.
“this reminds me of when we caught our little zaynie sneaking for the cookie jar when he was young, right jace?” jace nods, a stifled laugh leaving his lips.
zayne looks down in embarrassment. you clicked your tongue softly before sitting beside him.
“i told you the desserts were for your parents!” you whined softly as you took one of the macarons, slicing it and eating it, stabbing another bite for zayne.
he unashamedly takes it.
“i apologize, my love.” he was not sorry at all.
althea and jace only look at the two of you, amused. yet, happy that their zaynie truly found love.
you reached down absentmindedly towards zayne’s teacup, only for you to flinch.
his teacup was frozen solid.
you looked at him who avoided your gaze, before clearing his throat.
“i’d argue that the frozen teacup is your fault.” zayne says, immediately regretting it as you glared at him.
“what was that?”
“i said that you are sweeter than any macaron i have ever tried.”
sounds about right.
rafayel:
rafayel has been working on a painting for the last three hours. well, that’s how long it seemed to you because you’ve only been in his mansion for three hours. you knew he was painting for longer, given that it looked like it physically hurt him to adjust his posture.
“raf, take a break,” you say gently as you place a hand on his back.
he looks at you with a smile on his face. “in a bit, cutie! i promise. i’m about to invent a new color.” you rolled your eyes at his quip, yet let him do it, you wouldn’t have been able to pry him off anyway.
the sound of a doorbell ringing takes your attention off your boyfriend, who seems to have the idea of ignoring the sound.
“don’t worry, cutie. it’s probably thomas.” rafayel waves it off. you sighed and walked towards the door.
“you know, he wouldn’t be as overbearing if you stopped ignoring him,” you retort.
“no, cutie. he’d lock me up in his basement to keep painting if he could.”
you paid his response no mind as you opened his door, awaiting to see thomas’ brunette hair and stressed-out expression. only to be pleasantly surprised when you see the shade of rafayel’s hair greet you.
“talia! what a surprise.” you say, greeting her as your eyes flit downwards, seeing the luggage at her feet. “oh! let me carry those in, please come inside. i didn’t know you were visiting.” you hurriedly grasp her luggage, then usher her in.
talia thanks you with a smile on her face, giving you a gentle laugh as you fussed over her.
at this point, you were flustered. you did not know that rafayel’s aunt was visiting; had you known, you would’ve made a greater effort in getting rafayel to clean his own home. it was in no means ready to cater to a guest.
“ah, really?” talia asked, genuinely surprised. “i thought rafayel might’ve told you. but then again, rafayel easily forgets things.”
you smiled, nodding, still giving her your best host-like smile, while inside your head, you were already scolding your boyfriend in your mind.
“--just like how he forgot to pick me up from the airport.” “what?”
you couldn’t help but cut talia off as your eyes widened. you looked over to the painter who was still stuck in his own world, as if his only remaining family member wasn’t standing in his house.
“Qi Yu.”
rafayel freezes in his action, the paintbrush dropping from his hand for a split second before he sharply turns towards you, who looks back at him, unamused.
your arms were crossed, a glare on your face as you stared him down.
“...yes, my cutie?”
you give him an unimpressed look before raising a brow. rafayel seems to have noticed the additional presence in the room as his eyes widened. from under his breath, you could hear him mutter a curse.
he immediately straightens, ignoring the kinks in his back that screamed at him from the sudden movement, before he walks to where the two of you were, his arm rising to wrap against your waist, only for you to dodge it in an obvious way.
“cutie–”
“you didn’t tell me that talia was visiting!” you say, exasperated. “and how could you invite her here when this place is such a mess! she came all the way from varona and this is what you greet her with?”
rafayel rubs a hand behind his neck, sheepish. “i forgot.”
“really, Qi Yu. you forgot.”
rafayel flinches as you use his full name; that action spurs talia to let out a laugh at the banter.
“i have seen rafayel be summoned by his father using that name, and he does not even bat an eye, yet…” talia smirks as she interlocks her arm with yours.
“i see my nephew has a weakness.”
rafayel would’ve found a way to refute, really, he would, but his face was burning and his lips were formed into a pout as he saw you visibly soften at talia’s assurance.
“no need to worry about me, dear. i’ll make myself at home in the guest room.” talia pats your arm once before she wheels in her luggage towards the relatively tidy guest room.
when talia was gone, you looked at rafayel with a blank expression on your face.
“cutie…”
“so, let me get this straight.” you interrupt him. “you ignore me for three hours even though you invited me to your house. you forget to pick up your aunt from the airport and you forget to tell me so i can prepare to accommodate her, and now all you can say is cutie? really, Qi Yu?”
rafayel wraps his arms around you, pulling your front flush to his chest as he whines. “cutiee—” he buries his face onto your hair. “i’m sorry. please never call me that again.”
your lips twitch, secretly having fun with his reactions.
“Qi Y—” “cutiee. stooop.” rafayel whines as he nuzzles his face onto your neck. he sighs as he pulls away, a pout still on his face. “i promise i’d take better notice of my schedules.”
“and?”
“and?!” rafayel echoes back, offended that you didn’t take the bait before he collects himself. “and i’ll treat you and talia to an expensive dinner tonight.”
“good.”
rafayel pouts.
“you can be so mean sometimes, cutie.”
“really, Qi—” “stop!”
sylus:
sometimes, you curse yourself for being competent. at first, you thought that showing guts in the hunter’s association would bring you more respect and dignity.
in reality, it just thrusts you on more missions that make you question if the salary was justifiable.
you were so tired, you just got back from a week-long mission.
you just wanted to rest in sylus’ arms and whine about how the association was wringing you dry and look at him in appallment once he suggests quitting your job. you know, the usual.
as you ride your motorbike to the N109 zone, you can already imagine the conversation. you smiled softly to yourself as you approached the heavy doors that seemed to readily open to you.
you walk towards the main hall, brows furrowing as you hear luke and kieran throwing out profanities and the sounds of controllers clicking.
you push open the door to see luke, kieran and, surprisingly sylus, on the couch with their vr gear on. you see the tv playing a racing game that you vaguely remember playing. judging by the twins’ response, you assumed that sylus was in the lead.
as much as you would’ve loved to join in and have a little game night, you were tired and wanted nothing more but to be held by your lover.
seeing sylus be so unguarded and oblivious to your arrival, you couldn’t help but time your entrance, once you see sylus seconds away from the finish line, you cleared your throat as you loudly called out.
“Qin Che.”
luke and kieran freeze as if they were the ones being called as they ripped out the vr gear from their faces, looking like deer in headlights. sylus also takes his off, albeit slower, as he takes in your figure. a look of surprise and longing in his expression.
you had your arms crossed, a blank expression on your face as you stepped closer.
almost immediately, you see the twins skedaddle past you, dropping their gear and leaving sylus sitting on the couch.
“ooooooo, dad’s in trouble!” you hear luke tease, and a sharp smack! right after, as kieran urges him to move faster, the door slams shut.
an offended caw resounds in the room, you turn around to see mephisto banging itself on the door, wanting to get out as well. you bit back laughter as you see the door open for just a sliver before a gloved hand– you’re assuming luke, reaches out to pull mephisto by the wing, an indignified squawk leaving the metal crow’s beak.
the room was silent, save for the video game’s background music, to which sylus shuts down.
you walked over to him, who sat there waiting for your next move.
without another word, you sat on his lap, your face pressing against his chest, hearing the way his heart was beating significantly faster.
“welcome home.” sylus says as he wraps his arms around you, breathing in your scent.
“your heart’s beating really fast.” you point out, voice muffled by his chest. you pull away slightly to look up at sylus who immediately presses a kiss on your forehead.
“well. it seemed like a certain kitten hissed at me unprovoked,” sylus said as he affectionately ran his fingers through your hair.
“all because i called you by your name?”
sylus chuckles as he presses another kiss to the crown of your head.
“sweetie, you underestimate the power you have over me.”
caleb:
you really shouldn’t have agreed to be caleb’s date at their high school reunion. hell, he shouldn’t have even bothered going.
the day could’ve been spent with the two of you cuddling in comfortable clothes on your sofa, but no. caleb thought it would be a good idea to show you around the DAA.
which wasn’t what was happening as his former classmates whisked him away. you stood off to the side, a frown on your face, arms crossed over your chest.
caleb promised you that he’d be back in five minutes. it’s been thirteen minutes, and there was no sign of him ending the conversation. good thing that gideon was right beside you, keeping you company, as he only arrived a few minutes ago.
“your boyfriend sure is popular, huh?” gideon teases as he nudges you with his elbow.
“too popular if you ask me,” you mumble under your breath, eye twitching as yet another former classmate approaches him.
gideon snorts under his breath. “he’s always been popular, not even your scrunchie on his wrist managed to ward off the girls at the time.” you huff at that, eyes zoning in on the girl by the corner of your approaching caleb.
it was irrational, you’re well aware of that, but enough was enough.
‘caleb is mine.’ the jealous part of your mind screamed.
“Xia YiZhou!”
for a split second, you can feel the tension in the room drop, and everyone in the room freezes. caleb immediately turns to where you were standing, smiling sheepishly.
“coming, honey!” caleb walks briskly to where you were, but you gave him the cold shoulder.
he tries to pry your arms away from your chest as he attempts to coddle you.
“you said five minutes, Xia YiZhou.” you say, turning away from him. from the side, you can hear gideon stifle a laugh as caleb’s face drops at your words.
“pips, you know—” “five minutes. you said.” you glare at the way caleb’s lips twitched, you knew the bastard was fighting a smirk.
“is my pipsqueak feeling bored–” he reaches up to playfully pinch your cheek, but you dodged his hand before walking away.
“damn dude, good luck.” you hear gideon say as you exit the venue.
caleb follows you, letting you walk three steps ahead. you walk by the school’s open garden, feeling the breeze pass your face.
“go away, Xia YiZhou! i don’t wanna see you.” you hear caleb chuckle from behind you, and all of a sudden, he’s right beside you, flinging an arm around your shoulders.
“what’s got my baby apple upset, hm?” you huffed, reaching for your opposite shoulder to pull his hand, only to feel his palm sweating.
and caleb’s palm only ever does that when he’s nervous.
you fight the grin that threatens to escape your face. however, caleb already caught sight of it.
“ah, i see. someone just wanted my attention.” you rolled your eyes, dropping the facade.
“there were too many girls trying to talk to you.” you huffed. “it’s like they don’t know you have a girlfriend!” you squint your eyes, accusatory.
“unless you told them you didn’t have one.”
“hey now, pipsqueak.” caleb flicks your forehead softly. “even if they didn’t know, i’d let them know. no need to be jealous,” you huff, turning around.
caleb couldn’t help the chuckle that leaves his lips as his arms snake around your waist, pulling you flush against him.
“i’m all yours, pipsqueak.”
“Xia YiZhou, you dummy!”
caleb only smiles against the back of your head, finding your little tantrum cute.
“yeah, yeah. your dummy. i know.”
mentally, he was already planning all the ways he could get you to call out to him affectionately once more.
note/s: omg two uploads in one day that's craaaaaaazy lmao i hope you enjoyed this one <3
the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
thinking of johnny being lost after his desertion and, before fixating on music and forming samurai, he latches onto a musician preaching anti-capitalism, someone who promises the future in their songs and a cyberclairvoyance you'll get nowhere else. someone like you. stick with me here --
johnny's just ditched that whole "robert whoever" schtick he was given at birth. he's done staring at ceiling fans, tired of hearing the hum of electric lights and the tick of the clock. johnny knows how to drink -- getting shitfaced would be a great start to his reintegration into society.
interior, some shady bar: enter you, strapped with one of the sickest keytars johnny's ever seen. yeah, sure, you've got your little band members on stage too, but they hardly matter when that synth is punching through the noise and demanding to be heard. not that it's a bad sound, no -- it cuts through the low-hanging cigar smoke and leaves a shroud of... something. something johnny can't discern. but still, it drapes over him like lace silk, brushing against the fine hairs of his skin.
one shot of tequila for courage. another for fun. and a round for the band, to celebrate that no one was shot during their performance!
after the show, johnny sidles up to you, the metal of his prosthetic glinting in the low light. his chrome pales in comparison to yours; you've got metal highlighting every part of visible skin, and a sandevistan creeping up the back of your neck. he can definitely see where the rumors of cyberclairvoyance got their start. you tip the lip of your glass towards him in a silent salute, and he takes the invitation, settling in the barstool next to you.
"really dig the way you shred," he starts. "liked the synth in that neon red song."
"thanks," you say. your voice sounds like you aren't fully present, like you're thinking of something far away. "you like the lyrics? they resonate, or whatever?"
"sounded pretty," he says. "sounded pretty much like bullshit, too."
"of course you said that." you aren't pretentious about it, and you don't outwardly say anything rude, but johnny still feels insulted. "it's not for you. or..."
you push your red-lens aviators up onto your head, past your hairline. you squint at johnny, then he sees a faint glimmer in your kiroshis. a smile slowly spreads across your face. "actually, it was for you."
"what, you recognize me or something?" johnny shifts, pulling his shoulders back and making himself look a little bigger.
"no." you turn your head and sip your drink, intentionally making yourself vulnerable, and johnny's worries about you clocking him as a dissenter vanish. the light catches the symmetrical lines of metal showing through your skin, and johnny watches the glare. "but the song's still yours. well, not the IP, i still own that. it's... hm. it's a tribute to a man i don't know, and never will."
"sounds ominous." johnny leans against the bartop. "you plannin' on zeroing me in the back alley when we're through with this joint?"
"again -- no." you put your aviators on the bar, then mirror him and lean closer, johnny's stray wisps of hair nearly brushing your face. your voice is low, barely audible over the noise of the other patrons. "weren't you listening to the lyrics? you're not gonna die. not in a way that matters."
"what the hell is that supposed to mean?" johnny asks.
"how am i supposed to know?" you ask back. your free hand finds johnny's forearm, and you turn it over. you trace your fingers up the inside of his wrist, then to the complex plates that make up his palm. the touch makes johnny ache for something -- like false deja vu.
"maybe you need to see things differently," you say. johnny can feel the cool breath of your cyberlungs wisp across his skin. "maybe you need to shed that 'ganic shell... become something different before you become something more."
"say i get chromed up like you," he says. "what then?"
you shake your head. "no, you're not getting it. you see everything so plainly, johnny..."
his eyes snap to yours. "johnny?"
there's a scream. johnny looks behind him, hand on gun on instinct. it's nothing -- someone just threw their drink on someone else, not a stabbing or a shooting or anything else typical of night city. overdramatic...
"how do you know my..." when he turns back, you're gone.
you left him in a crowd of people, alone with nothing but this creeping feeling and a need to know more. your red-lens aviators rest on the bartop next to your half-empty drink. johnny picks them up and spots tiny, scrawled words on the inside of the lens along the upper rim: SANGUINE & SCARLET FOR JOHNNY.
whatever the hell that means, johnny intends to find out.
