One Shots ➝ Detroit: Become Human (hiatus)

Isn't It Poetic? ➝ Simarkus

simon x markus, pacifist canon setting
I kind of went a bit prose-y in this one don't bully me

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They were down to their last few, cornered by the military. Thirium coursed rapidly throughout their bodies; it was now or never. The only sounds consisted of the constant spin of the news helicopter and the muffled heavy breathing of a few of the masked soldiers. The androids stood like marble statues, worn from the confrontation. The sky shed itself in delicate snowflakes that punctuated and juxtaposed the tense milliseconds.

Simon almost didn't see Markus' head subtly turning. The mismatched eyes met pure blue, and then he nodded.

"Hold on just a little while longer."

Suddenly, the noise of the world disappeared in the face of the song. Markus stepped forward and held his head up, proud. The surrounding soldiers seemed frozen, torn between two sides. Markus faced the barrels of the guns with almost unwavering confidence. It was as he said, freedom or death.

Simon, North and Josh all stepped forward, voices joining in an unorchestrated harmony. The air filled with a familiar hope. The once muted hope of their people, rotting away in Jericho. The refreshing hope of Markus, driven and ready. Their renewed hope, when they realised the humans just might actually listen. And, finally, their last desperate hope that rushed out of them in rivers because it just might've been their last chance to feel it.

The last remaining group of free deviants in Detroit sang in gratitude, in fear, in spite. The guns lowered.

Snow crunched under Simon's feet once again as he moved to stand next to Markus. The harsh artificial light shone even more in his eyes from where he stood. He was exhilarated yet completely terrified.

When they reached the final line of the song, everyone was silent, other than Markus.

"Everything will be alright."

Snow settled on the shoulders of those on both sides and it weighed down on them as if they were Atlas. Simon grasped the hand of the revolution's leader beside him just like he would collapse under the weight without him. Markus squeezed his hand once.

Time would have felt as though it was standing still if it wasn't for Simon counting the beats of his own thirium pump. One beat, two beats, three.

The soldiers retreated.

Was that the beating of his heart or the footsteps of the troops?

Simon looked to Markus again, rays of sun from the approaching dawn barely shining from the horizon. The golden light caught Markus' eyes in a way that made them sparkle and glow and Simon felt his simulated breathing stutter, as if it was torn away and shoved back in again.

Pure joy dissolved, sickly sweet, into their biocomponents, Markus met his gaze, eyes crinkled at the corners from his grin.

And so, cheeks aching and heads stupid, they wouldn't know who pulled the other into the hug. All they knew, in that second, was the hands grasping at the fabric at their backs, the dampness in their eyes and the beating in each other's chests.

"We won, Markus!"

Markus pulled away a little and reached a tentative hand toward the blond's cheek. Running a thumb along his cheekbone, he wiped away a stray tear of joy.

Markus leant his forehead against Simon's before softly murmuring, "Yeah, we did."

The leader hesitated. Then, he leant in.

Instinctually, the paler man reacted to the press of lips, holding the stubbled jawbone in one hand and threading their fingers together with the other. The pearly chassis of their hands was exposed from their skin retracting before they even had to think.

It felt like the water of a river; It felt like the earth of a landslide; It felt like the air of a storm.

It felt like fire, rudimentary and passionate. Warm and giving. Burning and destroying. Like a pheonix, their souls burst into flame and ash and were reborn into something renewed.

They broke apart when they heard cheering.

"Fucking finally!"

"Shut up, North, they're having a moment."

That was the first time Simon had ever seen Markus laugh.