They stopped just near the curb, where the streetlights flickered like dying fireflies. Void turned to her, softly staring her right in the eye, that stupidly warm smile which made Keira feel like maybe this world wasn't doomed after all.
"See you soon, yeah?"
Before Keira could answer, Void leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek - featherlight earned.
And it wrecked her.
Not because of the kiss. But because Void didn't know about her.
"Yeah... Soon."
Void didn't see the way Keira's jaw tightened as she turned to walk the other way. How her hands curled into fists deep the pockets. Didn't see how her eyes went glassy, not with romance - but with rage. With rot and a splash of resentment.
Neons shimmered around her. Some cracked sign advertising artificial noodles or antidepressants. Keira didn't register the details. Her focus narrowed to the rhythm of her boots on the sidewalk, the click of her lighter, the taste of burning paper as she dragged smoke into her lungs. Penance, she thought.
"You fucking idiot," she muttered to herself. "Of all the things to do."
One kiss. Might've meant nothing. Maybe it meant something. In that moment, it meant everything to her.
Void had no idea. No clue what that kiss was pressed up against. No idea that Keira wasn't just a cute tech girl with witty remarks and a killer soldering hand. Absolutely zero clue that Keira was, functionally, owned. That every step away from her flat felt like desertion.
Her phone buzzed. As expected.
She didn't check it just yet. Jenna would give her a full five-minute head start before the real performance began.
The city stretched in front of her like a bad dream - cracked sidewalks, puddles full of oil and halogen-emitted light, and the soft whine of advertisements bleeding from cheap holo-projectors. A guy across the street was screaming at a vending machine. The vending machine didn't care much, as one would expect.
"Should've said no," she muttered. "Should've pulled the fuck away. Should've told Void - what, exactly? 'Sorry, I'm emotionally unavailable and shackled to someone who thinks affection is a currency to be rationed'? Yeah. That'd go over just fucking great.
The thing buzzed again.
Jenna :: 1:36AM
Hey. Just checking in. You alright?
The usual opener. She always sounded concerned at first - the trap. Jenna was never cruel up front. No yelling, no cursing. Just gentle, coiled disappointment.
Keira walked faster.
Void's smile was still burned into her memory - the crinkle in her eyes, the warmth in her voice, the way she said "You're not bad at this" like Keira was more than a walking malfunction.
She wanted to believe that. She wanted to believe Void saw something more in her than anyone else.
Another buzz.
Jenna :: 1:38AM
You didn't say when you'd be home. Just let me know you're alright.
Right. Because the implication was always the same: if she wasn't alright, it was Jenna's job to fix it. And if Jenna couldn't fix it, Keira was being difficult.
She pulled her phone out again, stared at the screen for a brief while. Hesitantly typed a message. Back-spaced it shortly. Lit another cigarette instead.
Her reflection caught in a storefront window - "borrowed" spiked hoodie pulled low, hair windblown, eyes sunken. She looked like someone trying to hide inside her own skin. The sleeves still smelled like Void: soldering flux, citrus and cherry, heartbreak stitched into every thread. She didn't look like someone magenta girl should've kissed.
She didn't look like someone anyone should kiss.
"Shouldn't have let it happen," she whispered.
Except she already had. She'd leaned into it. She hadn't stepped back. She'd felt safe.
And that was terrifying. The fact that Void's touch hadn't come with fine print. Much unlike Jenna's.
The first time Jenna got cold, it had been over something stupid - Keira hadn't answered a message fast enough. Ten minutes. That was all. She'd been elbow-deep fixing a customer's gearbox. And when she finally responded, all she got back was:
Jenna :: 5:41PM
It's okay. You're busy. I just... Wish I mattered enough to interrupt.
It had felt like a silk knife. Gentle. Elegant. Precise. Right where it hurt.
And Keira had panicked. Apologized. Promised to keep her comms open. She even installed a second alert system just so she'd never miss another ping.
From there, it got worse. Subtler.
She started dressing down. "Your boots are too aggressive." So she stopped wearing them.
Then it was about her body. "Your hair doesn't fit the shape of your face." So she cut them.
Each comment was a whisper. Because Jenna never outright demanded.
She influenced.
She suggested.
She rewrote Keira line by line until all that was left was a version easier to hold onto. Like a story she felt she had control over.
Buzz.
Jenna :: 1:47AM
Are you mad at me? I just want to know what's going on.
Keira ground her teeth. The question was bait.
She typed: I'm not mad. Just needed air, okay?
Left it to rot in the text box.
She walked further ahead as the wind picked up, tugging at her sleeves like it wanted to drag her back. Her fingers ached from the cold, but she didn't go home. Couldn't convince herself to.
She passed a crumbling mural of a woman with glowing eyes and a missing jaw. Someone had spray-painted "LOVE IS CONTROL" across her forehead. Keira laughed bitterly, then muttered, "Someone's been to couples counseling."
First time Jenna had said "I love you," it had been mid-fight. Keira was crying - full-body sobbing over some pointless argument about who forgot to buy more milk. Jenna had held her face, wiped her tears, whispered it like a benediction.
"I love you," she'd said. "Even when you're like this."
Like this.
Keira had spent weeks trying to figure out what "this" meant. Emotional? Flawed? Loud? Human?
She finished her cigarette and lit another. How many it's been already? Five? Six?
"Chain-smoking your way into a meltdown. Real classy," she mumbled.
Familiar vibration.
Jenna :: 1:58AM
I feel like I don't matter to you anymore.
There it was.
The blow below the belt.
Guilt bloomed in her chest like a bruise. Immediate. Unfair. Familiar.
She wanted to text back. Say: "I can't breathe when I'm near you anymore." Say: "Void kissed me and I didn't stop her because she doesn't make me feel like a burden."
But instead she typed:
Keira :: 2:00AM
Still walking. I'll be home later.
And stared at it.
"Don't send it," she whispered.
Her thumb hovered.
"Don't..."
She hit send.
Idiot.
Across the street, someone was arguing in a doorway. Two men, one woman, lots of gesturing. A bottle shattered. Keira flinched. They didn't even notice her.
She walked faster.
Void's hand had brushed hers earlier. Casual and unthinking. But Keira had felt it - that jolt of electricity that was neither dread nor performance. It was want. Simple. Honest.
She wasn't used to want being clean.
With Jenna, want always came with a ledger. If Keira kissed her first, Jenna would mark it down. "Oh, now you're affectionate."
If Keira forgot something - a date, a message, a minor promise - Jenna would bring it up weeks later, twist it into a pattern, an accusation.
Keira had apologized for things she hadn't done. For thinking things, or feeling tired. She'd apologized for not being the perfect partner in a relationship that felt like it was made of mirrors and spotlights.
Another message.
Jenna :: 2:02AM
Just don't shut me out. Please.
It read like concern. Felt like control.
She stopped walking. Her legs were tired. Her heart hurt.
There was a bench by a busted tram stop. She sat. The metal was freezing. She hasn't found any energy left in her to care enough.
Her fingers shook as she pulled her hood tighter. Wind cut across her face again. No fucks given either.
She pulled out her phone. Looked at her chat with Void. No messages yet.
Of course not. Void didn't know the storm Keira had just walked into.
"Would you still smile at me," Keira whispered, "if you knew what a coward I actually am?"
She closed her eyes.
Jenna's face haunted the backs of her eyelids. Not mad - just disappointed. Hurt. Always hurt.
"You don't trust me," Jenna had said once, after Keira asked a simple question: "Who are you messaging at midnight?"
Instead of an answer, Keira got a two-hour lecture about jealousy. About insecurity. About how hard it was to be with someone "so sensitive."
Keira had cried. Jenna had held her.
Like a leash.
She'd wanted to leave so many times. Bags packed. Keys in hand.
But Jenna always reeled her back.
Sometimes with sex. Sometimes with tears. Sometimes with memories of better times - old photos, first dates, promises made when things were still soft.
And Keira had bought it. Every time.
Because she was tired.
Because she didn't think she deserved better.
Another notification. This time - relief.
Void :: 2:12AM
just finished setting the phone up. it fucks! thanks for today, girlie. 🫶
She curled her fingers around it, the message hit her like a med-kit in an online match when your health was dangerously close to death.
Void deserved better than this. Better than stolen kisses and guilty hearts. Better than someone too afraid to walk away from a cage just because it had velvet walls.
She switched back to the chat with Jenna, took a long breath. Then:
Keira :: 2:15AM
I'm done playing your fucking games. Back home in 10. Moving the fuck out right now. I'm going to live in my workshop if it means I'll finally get rid of you.
Show time.