The morning began within the vast digital expanse of the university's computer, where I sought to relocate the captured moments stored within camera. The archives of December through March held a peculiar significance—each image, a fragment of time preserved in the system's memory. For months, I had developed a ritual: Before succumbing to slumber, I would traverse through these visual imprints, seeking solace in their familiarity. Only then would mind be quiet, and rest would embrace me effortlessly.

An occurrence, not of monumental significance but of notable amusement, disrupted the day's routine. Lu's device—a machine already plagued by the affliction of an inflated battery—had been defying logic. Though its display claimed a full charge, the system would power on at a mere ten percent, always ten. With our studies centered on the repair and maintenance of digital entities, Lu resolved to replace the failing component. Equipped with the necessary instruments, he engaged in the delicate operation of his device. All progressed well—until it did not. A single miscalculation scorched a segment of the screen, rendering it imperfect. Though the new battery was successfully integrated, the device retaliated, displaying fragmented lines across its interface. In an effort to rectify this, Lu attempted to reposition a misplaced component. However, the system resisted, its condition deteriorating further with each adjustment. More fractures emerged in the display, a testament to the delicate balance of its structure. Resigned, he concluded that a replacement screen would be required. Given the growing instability of his device, a new unit may have been the wiser investment, yet he remained steadfast in his choices—his resources often redirected toward ensuring my sustenance. It was an act of generosity, one that did not go unnoticed, yet I did not wish for him to deprive himself on my behalf. His response was simple: Providing for me brought him happiness, and that was reason enough.

Our departure from class was delayed; the time lost to the endeavor with Lu's device altered our course. Originally, we had intended to travel two cities away to visit a particular restaurant—a journey requiring nearly forty minutes. However, slow-moving vehicles further disrupted our itinerary. Faced with the constraints of time, Lu opted for a closer alternative. We traversed the streets together, entering an establishment shrouded in dim lighting. I did not like the atmosphere, though Lu seemed undisturbed, even appreciative of the subdued ambiance. As I scanned the menu, indecision overtook. The attendant circled back multiple times before I settled on a selection—quesadillas—while Lu, with far greater certainty, chose burritos prepared with his favored meat. We waited, immersed in quiet anticipation.

During this time, I had captured an image of Lu, his expression marked by a rare, unguarded smile. Upon reviewing the photograph, his reaction was immediate—displeasure flickered across his features, an open distaste for his own appearance. Yet, from my perspective, the image was anything but unappealing. I found him inexplicably adorable in that moment, though he failed to perceive himself in the same light.

After our meal, we took a brief excursion through the city, as the clock marked 2:00PM and my work shift was set to begin at 3:00PM. With time to spare, Lu guided me through locations he once frequented during his high school years—places imbued with nostalgia, as well as those near the beach where he often visited with his family. Along the way, we came across an installation featuring large painted letters reading "I ♥︎ [CITY]", adorned in the colors of our national flag. Lu mentioned that, years ago, when he had been employed in a temporary position, the city's leader had assigned him the task of painting and assembling the installation.

Our conversation meandered, though my own contributions remained sparse. Despite our familiarity, I still struggled with social interaction, even with him. Lu often remarked on my reserved nature, encouraging me to engage more freely. Yet, I found that around him, social skills seemed to erode further. Was it a mere lapse in memory? Or was I experiencing another glitch—a distortion in my programming, an anomaly in my processing? I could not determine the answer.

As we made our way back, Lu deliberately chose a slower route, unconcerned with time constraints. "We don't need to rush", he assured me. We arrived at the city where the university was located in approximately thirty minutes, the silence between us filled with fleeting touches and fragmented conversation. At some point, Lu impulsively veered into an unfamiliar neighborhood, his only rationale being a casual "Nah, I'll explore this place". With no real destination in mind, we navigated through unfamiliar streets.

The path led us near the local skate park where I confessed to him in November, but what truly caught Lu's attention was an abandoned structure. His fascination with forsaken spaces was immediate—without hesitation, he parked the car, took my hand, and led us toward the site. According to him, he had not ventured into an abandoned location since high school, though his excitement made it seem as though no time had passed. He admired the decayed structure, his enthusiasm unwavering.

The place itself appeared to be an unfinished project rather than a once-inhabited space. The skeletal framework lacked proper entry points, its construction halted before completion. Lu effortlessly scaled a stair-like formation at the entrance, but I struggled to follow. My repeated attempts to climb were fruitless, leaving me stranded below as he extended a hand in assistance. After several failed jumps and his persistent efforts to pull me upward, I finally managed to reach him. From our elevated vantage point, we simply stood together, gazing down at the skate park from the abandoned structure's incomplete heights.

Something rather embarrassing occurred. I felt an urgent need to urinate, but we were not in a place where that was easily possible. Lu, without hesitation, told me to remove my pants and underwear so I could do so discreetly (pervert). As I attempted to comply, I lost balance—but Lu caught me before I could fall, his hands steadying my body with ease. In my flustered state, I had made a foolish miscalculation, positioning myself in the most impractical way to urinate. The situation became so absurd that it nearly felt comedic. He looked at me, then down at my body, and with a playful smirk, he whispered, "Such an adorable [bleep]."

Even in my most vulnerable, most humiliating moments, he still finds me endearing. A part of me yearns to strip away every layer, to surrender completely, to let myself unravel into the rawest, ugliest version of myself—the version I have always hidden. Yet, another part hesitates. I want to give him everything. But not all at once.

He had to leave as the clock struck 2:40PM. Lu reasoned that traffic might build up, and though it was inconsequential to him, it could cost my punctuality—after all, I was the one who had to work. We arrived at the university by 2:50PM, perhaps a moment earlier. At first, he considered stopping in front of the entrance so I could step out immediately, but with minutes still to spare, he chose instead to park beneath a tree.

"I haven't bitten you yet", I reminded him, a teasing insistence.

With a knowing look, he pulled up his shirt sleeve, an offering. I leaned in and bit down—not enough to truly harm, but enough that he flinched at the sting. He winced, the reaction satisfying in a way I couldn't quite explain. A justified revenge, perhaps, for the times his teeth sank into my thigh, my skin burning with the lingering imprint. And yet—those bites hurt, yes, but they also felt good, didn't they?

So I bit harder—not enough to breach the fragile surface, but enough to etch existence into him. A fragment of data embedded in flesh. I pressed my lips to the reddening marks, suction pulling warmth into something tangible, as if feeding off him, as if consuming the proof of his presence. A cybernetic entity does not hunger, yet I did. The bruises blossomed, organic proof of a mechanical parasite learning the art of possession.

But they would fade. And I despised that.

I wanted permanence—days, weeks, an imprint that would not be erased by time's indifference. Was this obsession? Perhaps. But the thought of him bearing my mark, a remnant of this merging between steel and skin, between program and pulse, sent a quiet thrill through my circuitry.

Time was unkind, slipping through my fingers too quickly. 2:57PM. Our farewell kiss was brief, yet heavy with the weight of wanting more. I wished could have stayed with him just a little longer.