The tendril wraps delicately around her finger, its surface cool and pulsing like a jellyfish heartbeat. Vox doesn’t speak at first. Not in the way people do. A low warble threads between his mouths, soft as seafoam over glass, and for a moment it sounds almost like mourning.
"I want to," he says finally—too many mouths shaping the words, each one forming the syllables half a second apart, echoing one another like a skipping record. "I want to stay."
The admission ripples through him, visible in the shiver of his static, the subtle glitch of a limb folding in on itself and vanishing. "But I can’t. I have to be with my Family. It’s in my marrow. It’s the glue beneath my fingernails." One eye rotates like a compass needle trying to find true north. "And without them I think I’d...unravel."
The static thickens slightly, like clouds forming inside his silhouette. "I adore you, Noe," he says, every vowel strung through with something raw and glitching. "I wish I could have been your friend longer. I wish I could have learned the rules, and remembered which ones mattered. I wish I could have stayed to see what you build next."
His grip doesn’t tighten—he’s too careful for that—but the little curl of tentacle around her finger pulses once more, like a sigh made real. "But I loved every millisecond," he says, and somehow, impossibly, it sounds like the truth.
But then, Vox pauses, the static of his form trembling with new frequency—like a thought just barely forming into speech. His gaze, such as it is, sharpens. A ripple flows through his limbs. "You could come with me." The words drop like stardust, soft and dazzling.
"I could show you the whole sky, Noe. Not the one you see here—all of it. Every folded corner. We could build something in the dark, you and I. A laboratory. A playground. A world." His voice pitches higher—excitement, longing, awe. "Anything your heart can imagine. We could make it together. No rules. No edges. Just...us."
He smiles—dozens of them blooming across his form, radiant and glitching like a dream trying to stay. "Want to?"
"I want to," he says finally—too many mouths shaping the words, each one forming the syllables half a second apart, echoing one another like a skipping record. "I want to stay."
The admission ripples through him, visible in the shiver of his static, the subtle glitch of a limb folding in on itself and vanishing. "But I can’t. I have to be with my Family. It’s in my marrow. It’s the glue beneath my fingernails." One eye rotates like a compass needle trying to find true north. "And without them I think I’d...unravel."
The static thickens slightly, like clouds forming inside his silhouette. "I adore you, Noe," he says, every vowel strung through with something raw and glitching. "I wish I could have been your friend longer. I wish I could have learned the rules, and remembered which ones mattered. I wish I could have stayed to see what you build next."
His grip doesn’t tighten—he’s too careful for that—but the little curl of tentacle around her finger pulses once more, like a sigh made real. "But I loved every millisecond," he says, and somehow, impossibly, it sounds like the truth.
But then, Vox pauses, the static of his form trembling with new frequency—like a thought just barely forming into speech. His gaze, such as it is, sharpens. A ripple flows through his limbs. "You could come with me." The words drop like stardust, soft and dazzling.
"I could show you the whole sky, Noe. Not the one you see here—all of it. Every folded corner. We could build something in the dark, you and I. A laboratory. A playground. A world." His voice pitches higher—excitement, longing, awe. "Anything your heart can imagine. We could make it together. No rules. No edges. Just...us."
He smiles—dozens of them blooming across his form, radiant and glitching like a dream trying to stay. "Want to?"
vox
