#8— untold
—Angstober day 8: growing pains
Pairing; Genos x reader
Warning(s); established relationship, unhealthy selflessness
Synopsis; As someone so dear to his soul, it’s only fair that you know every change he does to his body. But as Genos presents his new, drastically differing, installments to you, he doesn’t miss the silent sadness behind your forced unbothered facade.
✎Word count; 0.7k
♪ Playlist; Sarah
"Woah- hey, what's all this...?" A wobbly smile etched at your lips as you blinked at Genos. The newly modified, Genos. Your slightly dilated gaze fanned over his arm, eyeing every sharp bump of metal encasing it, installed for the sole purpose of vengeance and destruction.
Genos stood still before you, trying to ignore the small apprehension inside him as he observed you vigilantly, absorbing every movement or faint reaction you let slip.
"New upgrades. I thought I should show you." He simply stated, not wanting to bore you with his long rants, at least not when his mechanical irises were trained so acutely at you, analyzing every twitch and motion. You let out a dry, and painfully strained, laugh.
"So that's what you've been up to." Your arm rose gently to reach for his hand, hesitantly tugging it toward you by cupping his palm.
The tips of his fingers were sharp, the rest of his hand ragged with spikes and slicing cracks, you could only hold him by his palm, but even then you had to be careful with your touch.
Something in you settled as your eyes lingered on his hand, your fingers exploring the cold, smooth surface of his pointed knuckles. You peered up to glance at his shoulder. A large, pointed metal plate covered his side, shielding it completely. The unpleasantness in you bottomed further.
You can't intertwine your hands anymore. You can't lean against his shoulder, or even the whole of his arm for that matter, unless you're willing to be probed and sliced by the knives along his frame.
A bitter taste pooled in the back of your throat as your eyes flickered to his features, eyeing the metal scraps along his cheekbones.
You had to admit, it made him look cool and quite handsome, however, it just made him all the more distant to you.
He fixated on that ghostly crease in your brow. He could read the disappointment in your figure with the way your shoulders fell slightly. There it was again, the same deflated posture you tried to restrain.
A part of him cracks every time he catches that longing look behind your forced content, the craving for something mutual, something warm. He can see the quiet want on your face whilst you're holding him-- his hands, his face. him. He's right there, but you still crave him, a part of his that doesn't exist.
You're so human. So alive. Seeking the warmth of humanity in the way you diligently cup your warm cup of tea on cold mornings, or in the way your fingers loosely comb through your strands. When you think he's not looking, you leer down at your palms, itching with desire. Your hands slowly make contact, fingers deliberately gliding against each other before curling around each knuckle, intertwining together. And as you exhale a soft breath, he holds his own.
His core feels like it builds up with pressure whenever you shiver at his cold being. On the rare occasions when you sleep beside him, he hurts as he watches you shift in your slumber, hands reaching out to seek support. Yet once your skin makes contact with the sensitive metal of his arm, he senses you shudder then pull away. Retreating into your own closure.
It was only natural for you to want something soft, tender, and reassuring. But then there was him- hard, Mechanical, and indifferent. He can't help but feel he's holding you back from the same serenity you provide with your breathing contact.
As your eyes continue to take in his new look, your strained smile never faltering, your jaw clenches a little.
When you entered this relationship, you knew he would never fully prioritize you, and you were willing to live with that because he had somehow managed to rip out every ounce of care you could possibly harbor for someone with his unrelenting force.
Every time he comes back to you, it's like a little more of the human in him is taken away, the part of him you constantly yearned for.
You wanted to tell him to stop. Was that so selfish?
He feels his core slightly heat up as he wordlessly watches you chase something he can never give you. As your lips part and twitch, he hears you draw out the syllables he felt from your beating heart.
'I wish you were human. I wish you'd just let yourself be with me.'
"They're sick!" You beam up at him, then turn to walk into your room, carefully tugging him along. "Tell me all about them."
His throat flexed as he gulped, lips pressing together. It's fine. He's fine. He'll just continue to give you whatever is left of him to offer.
