"…Ahh…" I dragged a hand through my wet hair, fingers catching slightly in the damp strands. The frustration hadn't gone anywhere. It stayed under my skin, restless, like something waiting for a reason to snap. My gaze shifted to the medical kit, then to her, then back again. Plastic. Steel. Clean lines. Simple design. I stared at it like it might explain itself if I looked long enough, like repetition alone could turn confusion into instruction. It didn't.
"…What should I do now…?" The question came out quieter this time, stripped of its edge and weighed down by something heavier. I looked at her again. Still. Unmoving. Too quiet. There wasn't even the faintest illusion that she belonged here—this room, this space, this version of the world. If anything, she felt misplaced. Like something the city had already decided to discard.
Aictil. The thought surfaced on its own. AI medical services. Licensed intervention units. Clean, controlled systems designed for cases like her. The word itself felt wrong the moment it formed—too structured, too visible, too official. If I called them, it wouldn't stop there. It never did. Questions would follow. Who was she? What happened? Why was she here? Why was I involved?
And worse—what was I?
My jaw tightened. No. Bad idea. Not inefficient—dangerous. The kind of danger that didn't show up on reports, the kind that stayed with you long after everything else was over. "…Damn it…" My voice dropped into the quiet. It would have been easier if I had just left her there, let the city do what it always did—erase, process, forget. Someone would have found her eventually. Handled it properly. Cleanly. Without hesitation. Not me. Never me.
My hand slid down my face, dragging the last traces of rain with it. It didn't feel like it belonged to the present anymore. (…Now I'm the one stuck with this.) The thought didn't feel like responsibility. It felt like something worse. Like something had gotten on me that I couldn't wash off.
Then another idea surfaced—quieter, simpler. The internet. I could just look it up. AFH kit usage. Basic instructions. The kind of things people were supposed to already know. "…Yeah…" I exhaled lightly. "…That'll work."
I moved to the desk. The chair creaked softly under my weight, worn but stable. Reliable in the way broken things sometimes are. I powered on the laptop. The screen flickered, hesitated, as if deciding whether I was worth responding to, then finally came to life. Pale light spilled into the room, cutting through the darkness in thin, cold lines. I typed slowly: AFH FIRST AID KIT — AI USAGE. Enter.
Time passed, but not cleanly. It stretched, blurred, lost shape. Ten minutes, maybe more. I didn't move. Just read.
"…You've got to be kidding me." It wasn't complex. It wasn't specialized. It was basic—too basic. Like the world expected this to be normal. Like dealing with them was routine. Maintenance. "…So I got worked up over nothing." A quiet breath left my nose. "Tch."
I closed the laptop. The screen went dark too quickly, like it was relieved to stop looking at me. I stood up, my body heavier than before. Not just tired—something else had settled in. Something I didn't want to name. I turned back to her.
She hadn't moved. Same position. Same silence. That faint, uneven rise and fall still there, barely holding on. (…Doesn't look like she'll wake up anytime soon.) That should have felt like relief. It didn't fully land.
I picked up the AFH kit and placed it on the bed, keeping a deliberate distance. Not too close. Not too far. Just enough to pretend it mattered—between her and me. I opened it again. Inside, everything was familiar at first: bandages, cotton, antiseptic. Things I understood. Things I could control. But mixed between them were unfamiliar components—clean, precise devices meant for systems that weren't supposed to be human.
One of them caught my attention. Small. Metallic. Compact. "…What even is this?" I turned it in my fingers. No response. No recognition. Just something made perfectly for a purpose I didn't understand. "…Doesn't matter." I set it aside.
Stick to what I know. That was the rule. If I recognize it, I can use it. If I don't, I don't touch it. Simple.
"Alright…" My voice lowered slightly. If I followed the instructions and didn't overthink it, she'd be fine. Probably. The word stayed unspoken, but it was there anyway.
I sat beside her. The air shifted—subtle, but enough to notice. Like the space between us had become aware of itself. My hand lifted, then stopped midair.
(…This is my first time touching a girl.)
The thought came out of nowhere. Unwanted. Suspicious. I frowned faintly. This wasn't that. This wasn't anything like that. This was just procedure. Treatment. Nothing else.
Still… my hand didn't move for a second longer than it should have.
Then—contact.
Her arm. Small. Light. Marked. Cuts lined her forearm, bruising gathered near the elbow. I applied antiseptic carefully, controlled, measured.
"…Huh."
I paused.
Her skin was warm.
Soft.
Not synthetic. Not mechanical. Not anything I had prepared myself for.
It felt wrong—because it felt right.
My fingers stayed there for a second too long. Just enough to notice.
(…They really are…)
The thought stopped halfway. Finishing it meant accepting it. I wasn't ready for that.
AI. We learned about them. Structure. Behavior. Integration. "Human equivalence modeling." Just words. Something printed in books. Something I never cared enough to question.
Now my hand was proving it.
"…What a joke." The words came out quiet. Not angry. Not even bitter enough for that. Just… off.
I continued. Her legs had minor abrasions, but I left them. No need for unnecessary contact. Efficiency over intimacy. That was the rule. I repeated it in my head as I moved to her neck.
A cut along the side. Deeper than the rest.
I cleaned it more carefully. Slower.
Not because it required it.
Because I did.
Then her face. Bruising along the cheekbone—subtle, deliberate. Someone had wanted her to look like this. My hand slowed again before continuing.
Done.
I leaned back slightly, a controlled breath leaving my lungs. Everything visible was stabilized.
For now.
I packed the kit and returned it to its place. Where it belonged. More than I did. Then I moved back to the desk and sat down.
Silence returned immediately.
The rain filled the gaps between my thoughts. Soft. Endless.
I rested my arm on the desk and looked back at her. She hadn't moved. Still breathing. Still unknown.
"…Tch." My voice barely carried. "I'm tired…"
The realization came late. Like everything else tonight.
I lowered my head onto my arm, just for a moment. Just to stop thinking. Just to—
The room softened. The rain blurred.
Her presence stayed at the edge of it.
Distant.
Unclear.
And before I realized it—
Sleep took the decision away from me.
Somewhere in the quiet…
Something shifted.
Not in me.
In her.