Winter's Progression

stuck in here

Jeremy sat up, wiped his face on his sleeve, and called out for the squip. The sky was dark outside his bedroom windows. Never had he felt so alone, he could always talk to Michael about anything. He could've turned to Christine, she understood the whole squip thing. He even could've gone to Rich. He knew too.

But he isolated himself. He'd somehow convinced himself he didn't need anyone but himself, when the world turns its back on you, turn your back in the world style. The squip was all he had left.

Said computer had buzzed in on his bed, sitting a comfortable distance away from him. He'd been watching everything unfold through the feed his receptors collected from the part of Jeremy's brain that made sense of what his eyes actively saw. Though the squip picked up a few things Jeremy hadn't noticed. An invaluable piece of his software was facial recognition. The computer had the capability to "decode" a person's face on the fly, able to differentiate between sarcasm, true emotion, and anything in between.

Thanks to this programming, the squip caught the disappointment in Michael's face when Jeremy blew him off. He caught the defeat in the line of Michael's shoulders. He saw the pain of Michael losing a friend twice in the way he spoke. What Jeremy perceived as anger in his best friend, the squip understood as his plea, he couldn't lose Jeremy again.

Except he did.

This was a mess. Why can't humans see? They've got flaws in their programming. It doesn't make them special, being different makes a person weak. Individuality is a dream as far off from reality as utopia. The only way for things to work is for everyone to the same.

The squip shook his head, notices like that always flagged across his main operating system after a major technological change, like an upgrade.

The computer moved its hand to Jeremy's shoulder, trying his best to comfort him. Through Jeremy, he'd started to grasp just the barest outreach of human emotion through his upgrade. But, this upset thing, this heartbreak thing, the squip never had any reason to have to deal with love sickness. Jeremy had been pining over Christine, but that was a worn over emotion, dulled by the years he'd spent loving her. This was new and raw, if there were a physical representation of that feeling it would be jagged and sharp to the touch. 

Jeremy thought he was through with crying. His eyes were red rimmed, they burned from being rubbed at too much. This was different from his normal breakdown. In a normal situation he'd be lying in the nurses office on a faux leather padded bench, curled in a ball waiting to get over his spiking anxiety. Normally he'd have his phone in his hand, looking at stupid memes on instagram trying to make himself laugh. Normally he'd talk to Michael. Whenever he'd ask Michael if he'd come over on a bad day, Michael knew he meant Jeremy needed him. And when Michael said he'd stop over for a few,  Jeremy knew he meant he'd always be there for him. But what do you do when no one follows the script, when both parties end up doing exactly as they say they will. Michael did come over, he popped over for a few, and left. 

The worst part wasn't watching Michael leave his house looking disappointed, it was the way he closed the front door gently instead of slamming it. Michael was a hothead, it took a lot to get him worked up but once he was he burned. Seeing him pull the door closed told Jeremy it was over. And the fact that it was Jeremy's fault was something he couldn't stomach. He wouldn't let his tears his his floor, that would mean he'd have to face himself and that'd be too much. As a result, his cheeks were rubbed raw. He was holding the shirt his squip had left when Jeremy had snapped at him, another time he'd driven someone away. The shirt was soaked in tears and sweat and snot. 

The squip had watched his episode unfold from inside his head, carefully pouring over the table that housed his emotions. He monitored them carefully. Too much apathy would have Jeremy turning his back on his feelings, turning numb. Too little empathy would have Jeremy seething. There was almost a beauty to it, how human emotion worked. It was easy to control from inside, but from outside. Hoo doggies. 

"Like I said..Jer" the nickname unfamiliar in his mouth, he thought he'd try it out "we don't have to continue the trials until you feel ready to. The testing period shouldn't last more than a week, keep in mind" he removed his hand off of Jeremy's shoulder. He could handle happiness, lust, sadness, any emotion out of a normal day's vocabulary, but grief? This was new. 

Jeremy leaned back into the squip, laying his head back onto his shoulder. He didn't care if it was weird, if there was one thing that was clear to Jeremy it was that he didn't want to be alone. Even if the thing he was with was the equivalent to his imagination, it was something. The squip froze, his eyes flashing white as he searched his servers for what a human would do in this situation. Lots of things had been put into his hard drive, his data storage was vast with how to handle millions of social interactions, but never anything so personal as the computer himself being invited to cuddle. It clicked in his processor that he could cheat, use information he'd offer Jeremy in this situation and use it for himself. He found the file he needed and followed the code. He pushed himself up against Jeremy's headboard and moved an arm around his hip so Jeremy could lay in his lap. 

Jeremy mashed his face into the squip's black pants, his face contorting as he went into another fit of crying. This time though, he let the tears fall. They melted into the black fabric of the computer's dress pants as he finally let go and sobbed. The squip moved his hand up Jeremy's back, letting it rest between his shoulder blades. If anything it made Jeremy cry harder, now that he had someone to keep him grounded. 

The computer, after a small internal debate, spoke softly, his voice low. "You'll be okay, Jeremy. I've got you, I'm right here" he experimented with different tones, with different inflections and accents on words. This was almost like an experiment, like a game. Trying to see what notes Jeremy responded to, what ones made him cry harder, what ones made him wipe his eyes and sniff as if he were going to try and stop. One in particular had an interesting effect. Whenever the squip would whisper "you're safe, I'm here and you're safe" he'd shut his eyes, the waterworks ceasing for a few minutes until he'd hiccup and start again. 

It took almost an hour of soft spoken reassurances that meant nothing to the computer to lull Jeremy to sleep. The squip waited ten minutes, the amount of time scientifically proven for the average teen to move from the first stage of sleep to the second, a deeper phase before edging himself away from Jeremy. 

He'd almost slipped away, preparing to dematerialize for the night when Jeremy caught hold of his wrist. The squip jumped and a sea of small blue lines appeared in his form. Jeremy had surprised him, a sea of small wires buzzed from his wrist where Jer had grabbed him. He muttered a groggy "stay..?" He looked the part of a disheveled teen. His hair stuck up a thousand different directions, his voice was low and rough but his grip on the computer was strong.

Maybe it was a moment of weakness, a moment where the squip had given in to his learned human behavior, or perhaps it was a moment where the computer truly recognized the need for company in his voice. He climbed back into his bed with him, Jeremy did the rest. He moved the squip's arm around him and laid his head on his chest. He breathed a sigh of contentment, grabbed a handful of the squip's shirt, and slipped back into sleep. 

The computer remained on its back, his hand right where Jeremy had put it, his waist. He thought of zapping out. It was a viable option, but leaving Jeremy alone? That didn't seem like the smartest idea. He could sit and cry again at being alone in the world, he could get angry, or he could take a couple of sleeping pills and stay in bed until noon tomorrow. With only one of the outcomes being good, he didn't want to bet on 66%. He sighed, and blinked out of his clothes, opting instead for an old t shirt and jammie pants. He'd be the first to admit that his constant three piece suit was uncomfortable, and if he was going to be spending the equivalent to a full night's sleep he'd rather not feel bitter starchy clothes. 

He sighed once more then set a sleep timer for himself. A full seven hours seemed good enough. He shut down his systems one by one, shutting off his artificial consciousness last. Before he caught a final look around the room, he mumbled a "goodnight, Jeremy"