welcome to mystery
Title: welcome to mystery
Characters/Pairing: Koyama/Tegoshi
Rating: NC-17
Words: 5,760
Warnings: Future AU, sci-fi, ambiguous ending, sort of het sex
Summary: What everyone really wants is their own personal fantasy come to life, right?
Notes: Happy anniversary last year, Cait. XD And this year too ♥ Here's to 3 years! (I know I'm early [late?] but. :D) *HUD is short for 'heads-up display,' a transparent overlay that allows a person to access the display without direly impeding his or her vision. *Augmented reality is real-world elements enhanced with technologically-generated senses (sight, sound, etc.) Title and cut text from Plain White T's "Welcome to Mystery." Written to the Almost Alice album which is AMAZING if you haven't heard it.
---
If Koyama hadn't chosen just that moment to turn his HUD off and look down, he would have missed it entirely. As it is, he barely notices it sitting inconspicuously against the curb, half-hidden by the grey concrete lip and only a little darker than the new asphalt it lies on. Still, it stands out a bit in the litter-free area, and he stoops down as an afterthought to pick it up, ready to throw it in the trash, only to be surprised by the heft of it, stumbling forward a bit as he tries to adjust as he lifts it.
Quickly, he steps across the flow of people to lean against a building and examine the thing, tucking his scarf closer under his chin. It is about the size and shape of a half of a deck of cards and improbably heavy compared to anything of the same size he's held before. Maybe it's made of rock. Strangely warm rock, considering the weather. He turns it over in his hands, hunching over a bit as he brings it to his face and turns his HUD on, hoping it knows. No text shows up so he puts the question to 'space. Nothing suggested seems likely, though, and he would think it were some sort of obsidian if it wasn't so weighty. Nevertheless, it is obviously man-made so it must serve some purpose and therefore someone must be missing it. That decided, he slips it into his back pocket and heads for the nearest police box, pulling up directions on his display and following them.
He doesn't have far to go, absently calling up his mail and looking through it as he walks, hands in his pockets, but he is shortly distracted by something just in his periphery, something that disappears whenever he turns to look at it, and he clicks off his HUD again, a little frustrated. Whatever it is is still there, but … somehow not. Letting out a soft huff of annoyance, Koyama pulls up his HUD again and quickly sets an appointment to get his feed checked out, finishing just as he steps into the police box.
There is hardly any data transference, just the item number and the time and date; the cop doesn't even seem all that interested in the object after he's looked at it blankly for a moment, obviously checking it out like Koyama had and finding nothing as well.
"Thank you for your time," the policeman tells him with a curt nod, placing the item in a drawer before continuing in a bored voice. "Should the item go unclaimed for 90 days, you are entitled to retrieve it. Have a good day."
It isn't until four months later that Koyama even remembers, and only then because he is passing the little office on an errand. He doesn't have any raging desire to take the thing home with him, but he has to admit that he had been a little intrigued by it, the warm weight of it in his hands, the inscrutability of it. With that in mind, he ducks inside, a different officer in the same neat uniform receiving the old data packet and quickly locating the item, in the same drawer it had been placed in months before.
"Nope. No one identified it. Guess it's yours now…" he trails off and looks down at the thing. "What is it? A paperweight?" He chuckles to himself and holds it out.
Paperweights are playthings for the rich or eccentric, the only people who even bother to keep paper around. Or collectors, he guesses. Shrugging, Koyama accepts the object with a humoring smile. "I don't know. But I guess I'll find out. Thanks," he says, ducking his chin in a goodbye, but the man has already turned away.
He waits until he gets home to really check it out, laying it on his table and peering closely at it, turning it over and over until he discovers a hairline crack in the front, or maybe the back; it all looks the same. It must have fallen, then. Maybe that's when it had become lost. After trying to pry it open, tap on it, speak to it, any number of things to get it to divulge its secret, he finally shakes it vigorously, one last moot effort before he hands the thing off to Shige - eccentric, not rich.
He has just given up, placed the thing on the table and scooted his chair back, when he notices someone sitting opposite him. Too startled to actually move, he just squeaks once before staring at the transparent person.
"What? Wh-" there is no way to really finish that. The apparition motions to the object and mimes shaking it and Koyama picks it up, dumbfounded, and does so, watching the phantom fill out before his very eyes, until Koyama's chair is barely visible through it. Him. Probably.
Then it speaks, voice barely a whisper, and a sardonic smile on its face. "Can't you shake it any harder than that?"
Koyama blinks and frowns a bit, shaking harder and muttering, "Bossy."
It laughs then, voice muted by lack of power but still unrestrained in simulated emotion. "Normally it isn't so bad," it whispers. "It charges while you walk or move, or you could put it on your washing machine or stand near the trains. But it's been off for a long time." It leans forward, placing its chin in its hands and looking thoughtfully at him. "I wasn't sure you'd come back once I'd seen your intentions."
"How did you…"
"I'm an interface. I interface with your feed to provide services. Naturally I have to be able to monitor your cyberspace usage to understand you. I had very little power left, which is why I couldn't show myself well-"
Koyama interrupts, miffed. "Ah! I knew I was seeing something. I ended up paying that ridiculous co-pay for the doctor to tell me it was nothing."
It just smiles, "Not nothing." It says a complicated string of words out of which Koyama only understands 'augmented reality', and then relents, adding, "But you can call me Yuya." It looks down at Koyama's still hands and frowns. "Don't stop. I'm not even remotely close to being fully charged."
"You're awfully cheeky for a computer program," Koyama mutters at it, but resumes shaking. "What sort of services are you oriented for?"
"Pleasure."
Koyama fumbles the object onto the table, a blush rising quickly to his cheeks, and Yuya laughs raucously.
"You're fun. Not that kind of pleasure. Well, not expressly. I work to bring you into encounters you've never had before, pushing your boundaries by introducing you to sensory experiences you would be hard-pressed to find on your own, if you could even think of them. I come with the programming necessary," it continues, lowering its voice to a husky timbre, "to find the hidden pleasures of the world and bring them forth for you to savor."
Koyama blinks at it. "Oooh, that's good," he says. "Can I use that?"
Yuya leans back casually and grins. "Sure. We're in the same business, after all, even if your arrangements are a little more mundane."
Koyama is taken aback for a moment until he remembers that of course it would know he's a travel agent. "It's not like everyone wants to have their boundaries pushed, you know," Koyama tells it, frowning, and watches as Yuya's grin turns sly.
"The question is, I think," and it slides forward, leaning over the narrow tabletop and into Koyama's space, "do you?"
Yuya waits patiently as Koyama takes a moment to appreciate just how much detail work the programmers had put into it, flushing at the teasing lilt of the pink lips. "Yes," he says.
---
"I'll start you off easy," Yuya had told him, and then had led him into the heart of the Red Light district.
"You're not… bringing me to have sex with someone, right?" Koyama asks with an uncomfortable laugh. "Because that's not what I would call an 'easy' start. And I can get it on my own."
Waving a hand carelessly, Yuya doesn't even bother to look back at him, but Koyama does catch a glimpse of a smile. "No, I'm not bringing you to a brothel."
But as they go deeper into the district, farther and farther away from the well-maintained main roads of Shinjuku, Koyama gets jittery. "Yuya," he says nervously, eyeing the dark figures glaring at him from shop-fronts and alley mouths, the aggressive hosts and provocatively dressed women promising everything and more.
"Calm down. We're here." Yuya stands in front of a narrow, non-descript stall, closed metal shutters painted black and it doesn't look like anything but a closed-down shop. "Knock," Yuya tells him. "Like this." It taps out a pattern on the shutters, and Koyama hesitantly mimics it.
It takes a minute, but then the shutters roll up to about Koyama's chest and Tegoshi slips under them, motioning for Koyama to follow. Which he does, but not before swallowing thickly.
Steam hangs in the air around them, moisture and food smells swirling and eddying in an undetectable breeze, and Koyama follows Yuya down the narrow aisle to a single seat along the bar in the very rear. No one says a single word to him, not even Yuya. When Koyama looks questioningly at him, Yuya just shakes his head and mimes, 'wait.'
Koyama waits. Eventually one of the men behind the counter reaches over and plops a bowl in front of him, following with a white wine glass, liquid sloshing messily inside as the man sets it down. Maguro-don, Koyama can see that, thinly-sliced tuna arranged delicately in the shape of a lily over a bed of rice, only a thin line of brown straight across. Licking his lips, Koyama picks up his chopsticks, breaking them apart and picking a piece of tuna carefully out of the arrangement and placing it on his tongue. It practically melts there, the fleshy taste of the fish complemented by the earthy, citrusy ponzu he now recognizes the taste of, and he bites back the enthusiastic cry he'd been about to let out. Instead, with a sigh of appreciation, he reaches for the wine, swirling it experimentally before lightly breathing in the subtle scents of peach and lime and then raising it to his lips.
Koyama's wallet is considerably lighter when he leaves, but he definitely deems it money well spent, and Yuya knows it, its face full of smug triumph as they walk home together.
"What did you mean, easy?" Koyama asks it, sprawled damp and happy across his bed, idly stroking the sleek, black unit where it lies on his stomach, indenting the bare flesh.
Yuya lounges at the end of Koyama's bed, laid out on his stomach with his chin propped up in his hands and his feet idly kicking at the air. "Easy for you. No extra augmented reality at all. The more time we spend together, the better I understand your perceptions, the easier it will be for me to enhance what you experience."
"Enhance?"
Yuya scoffed. "Surely you know what augmented reality is. I can tell your system has the capability and you must see it all the time."
"No, I know what it is," Koyama says, making a frustrated sound. "What I mean is, why can you enhance what I see? Surely that takes a lot of programming capability. I mean, the companies are always talking about the costs of keeping up with AR. So much so that a few big ones are making a push to 'get back to the old ways' even though most of us know they only want to do it for the savings. So how can you do it? You make it sound so nonchalant."
Yuya just shrugs one shoulder lazily. "I'm an interface. I work with what you have and make what you need." Then it smiles, all mischief, and holds its hands out in front of it, spreading the fingers and wiggling them ridiculously. "Just think of it as magic."
Humming sleepily, Koyama turns onto his stomach, dropping into a light sleep, and dreams of giant, silvery schools of tuna swimming the streets of Kabukicho.
---
Yuya lazily kicks its feet against the edge of Koyama's desk, watching the people walking in between the cubicles and half-monitoring Koyama's transactions with clients.
"See?" Koyama whispers at Yuya. "People just want boring vacations."
"People who call you just want boring vacations. Not everyone is boring." Yuya smirks at him, ghosting one bare foot up the outside of Koyama's knee with a pressure he can barely feel. "You're not boring, right, Koyama?"
Touch is not one of the sensations that goes along with augmented reality. Yuya's touch, however, has been gaining strength over the weeks and Koyama isn't sure what to think about it. Maybe he just thinks Yuya is touching him so he feels it - phantom brushes. He should probably ask, but instead he laughs nervously and takes his next call.
That evening Yuya picks out his clothes for him. "It's time for the next level up, Koyama," it tells him cheerfully, pointing out worn jeans and a t-shirt.
The last few weeks had been filled with trips to restaurants or dance clubs all over Tokyo, the augmented reality there expressed only in small displays of art or fancy. Tonight, Yuya said, it would show him real AR.
Koyama sees AR every day, even some art pieces scattered across the city that are stunning, but he has never been any place so fully detailed that he could step in and forget he was even in Tokyo.
Once he has been ushered through the front door, Koyama is in a giant tree-house. Not the silly clapboard ones in American movies, but a tree grown with flat surfaces and stairways and little glowing flowers drooping from the branches, leaves shaped into fantastic topiaries in places, and hanging naturally in others.
A warm, earthy smell permeates the room, with the sharp scent of greenery, and, as he walks past a glimmering bud, a light floral scent adds itself to the mix. It is amazing. Leaves and flowers are barely out of reach and he knows it is because while sight is easy to manipulate and scent is easy to duplicate, touch is not. That doesn't take away from what he is seeing, though. The floor is smooth wood under his feet and his shoes slide slightly, but when he clambers up and down the bark-covered ladders, scoots along branches not meant as walkways, the touch is rough under his fingers. Yuya is right in front of him, scrambling ahead with boisterous laughter, teasing him along, until they sit at the very crown and look down over the forest in awe. Well, Koyama looks around in awe, but Yuya just watches him with interest, and Koyama blinks when he meets its eyes, before smiling widely.
"Do you like it?" Yuya asks, almost shyly, and Koyama nods vigorously.
"It's amazing."
Koyama takes the sense of wonder with him to bed, lightly stroking Yuya's housing where it lay on his chest, fingers tracing the tiny fracture in it thoughtfully. "I'm glad you weren't broken," he says.
"No," Yuya replies lightly, watching Koyama's fingers, "just a little cracked."
---
As Yuya comes into its own, comfortable in Koyama's hard and software, it begins to improvise. Small things at first, miniature fireworks displays that have Koyama clapping in delight, a horde of tiny acrobat kittens tumbling around on Koyama's carpet that he can't stop cooing over. But it builds up to astonishing things.
Koyama stands in the little park next to his home, staring in awe. Pale, ethereal lights are strung up all along exotic, broad-leafed trees, highlighting watery blue blossoms as big as Koyama's hand. Yuya is right beside him, watching him as he walks up to one and moves his face close, tracing the air over the fragile-looking petals.
"Touch it," Yuya whispers, and Koyama frowns at the A.I., puzzled. "Go on," Yuya insists, smiling wide.
Reaching out one long finger, he slides the pad delicately down a petal, gasping at the cool, wet feeling and watching the liquid swirl within the petal. "Yuya…" he breathes.
"Do you feel it?" Yuya murmurs, and Koyama could swear he can feel the faintest warmth of its breath against the shell of his ear and he shivers.
"Yes. Yes I can feel it." He turns to face it. "How are you doing it?"
"Magic," Yuya says, but Koyama catches the gleam of triumph that crosses its face.
From that point, his whole world takes a turn to the fantastic. There are forests made of frozen bursts of fireworks, glittering on his way home from work, the sharp smell of sulfur barely lingering in the air, almost like an afterthought, and a slight heat emanating when he gets close to a bloom. His home is transformed into a sumptuous sultan's lair one day, complete with barely-clad women fanning him, the puffs of air drifting over his skin, silken pillows cushioning his body and rustling underneath him, the sound of tiny bells chiming against wrist and ankle of women dancing. Yuya is always there, always increasing the wonders.
He barely puts effort into making his own food anymore, just making sure the right nutrients are there, because Yuya gives him a feast for every meal. Now, Shige sits staring at Koyama pushing around the pasta Shige had made them both. As a courtesy Koyama asks Yuya not to augment anything when he's with his friends.
"What's wrong?"
"Hm?" Koyama looks down at the plate and then blushes. "I'm sorry, I was just distracted. It's delicious." He gives Shige a broad smile and tries to ignore the suspicious rise of an eyebrow he gets in return. "Really." He takes a giant bite.
---
"Koyama," his boss's voice cuts across the chatter in the room, and Koyama looks up with wide, guilty eyes, cutting his link to his computer to slink toward his boss's crooked finger.
Shut behind glass doors, he can feel curious eyes on his back but he doesn't look back. "Yes, sir."
There's a sigh. "Your sales are slipping. What's going on? People say you're talking to yourself sometimes."
Koyama tries for innocent eyes and a quirky laugh. "Well, here… I think that's the norm, right?"
"Koyama."
"Sorry. I'm sorry. I'll work harder, I promise."
"I'll let it go, but only because this is so unusual for you." He walks past Koyama, places his hand on the knob and looks Koyama in the eyes. "If something is wrong, please let me help you. You've worked hard for us."
Koyama just smiles warmly and shakes his head. "Everything is fine."
Never been better.
---
The chilly air of the doctor's office makes Koyama shiver, and he almost wishes Yuya could turn up the temperature for him. It's something Yuya can't do, not yet, but it's not here right now anyway, since he'd had to turn everything off. It has always been so disconcerting, this improbably long moment where he isn't connected to anything at all. It's a little empty. Lonely. At least he doesn't have to be naked, not for this, the doctor hooking into his various hardware, wires hanging off his head like some strange accessory. It always makes Koyama giggle, how he probably looks like Medusa, and the doctor raises an eyebrow at him before switching everything back on.
"All your hardware looks good, checks physically. Now we'll just run some diagnostics."
Yuya is back now, perched on the edge of one of the counters, feet kicking absently as he smiles at Koyama.
"What's this?" the doctor asks, frowning.
"What's what?" Koyama's never had anything wrong with his hardware or software, a lucky thing since he's so technologically unlucky with everything else, so he's a little nervous.
"Why's your hard drive so full?" He shoots a stern look at Koyama. "You shouldn't let it get this bad. You could cause some serious issues. And I don't recognize a lot of these processes utilizing system memory."
Koyama's eyes flash toward Yuya who shakes his head and tells him, "Ask him for more hard drive space and don't let him shut the processes down. It's just me."
So he does, avoiding the doctor's eyes and questions, and he's pre-occupied as he sets up an installation appointment with the bored receptionist on his way out.
"You're quiet," Yuya observes as they walk together toward the station. "What's on your mind?"
You, he thinks. How I am suddenly frightened by what you're doing to me and yet can't seem to want to let you go… "Why are you taking up so much space?"
Yuya smiles, the barest hint of slyness there. "It's all you, you know. It takes a lot of space to record everything about you."
"That's sort of creepy," Koyama says dryly, eyes darting across the cityscape aimlessly, before sliding to where Yuya is.
But Yuya just laughs, and Koyama feels strong, thin fingers wrap around his bicep and the heated press of clothed skin against his own as Yuya leans against him. It is sort of creepy. And sort of amazing, too.
---
"Kei, do you like girls? Boys?" Yuya asks him in his typical straightforward manner, making Koyama blush as he chokes on his water. Yuya laughs at his reaction and nudges him. "I don't know why you think you need to keep secrets from me."
Koyama just hums in agreement and takes a quick bite of his dinner. It's no surprise when Yuya doesn't give up, just stares expectantly.
Pouting, Koyama makes a disgruntled noise. "It doesn't matter. Both, I guess," he says, blushing harder. "Not that it's any of your business."
Yuya's eyes darken and it lays a hand on Koyama's knee, leaning close to whisper teasingly in his ear. "But of course it's my business. I exist to please you, don't you know that?"
Clearing his throat, Koyama shifts uncomfortably and opens his mouth but is cut off by Yuya's finger against his lips.
"You don't have to be embarrassed. Let me take care of you?" The rise in its voice at the end indicates a question, but the look in Yuya's eyes is all command, and Koyama just nods. Disappointment jars him when Yuya pulls away completely.
"Finish your dinner," Yuya tells him, the corners of its lips tilted up in the barest hint of a smile.
There's no mention of it again and Koyama has finally filed it away for the night as he slips into the tub, eyes sliding shut and a soft sigh escaping him as he relaxes. They fly open again when he feels the soft pressure of fingers running down his chest. Yuya's head is cradled against its forearm where it rests on the edge of the tub, looking into Koyama's eyes with a sly expression, the other arm is submerged in the water, fingers now splayed against Koyama's skin.
What follows is less than he wants and more than he should get, he thinks. His head hits the wall with a heavy thud when Yuya begins stroking him, a slick feel that heats him more than he cares to admit, not that he has to - his body makes it quite clear what he thinks of it. Eyes closed, he doesn't need to see to know a flush is climbing his chest to his cheeks, and his breath starts to come out in pants. He's nearly there, can feel the orgasm starting to curl his toes when it comes to an abrupt stop. His eyes fly open and Yuya is looking at him thoughtfully.
"Yuya," he growls, sort of surprised at the aggression in his own voice, but he's never been denied like this… it almost feels primal. But he can't even touch the A.I., can't even try to make him give him what he wants. It's strange to feel so powerless. They stare at each other in silence until his heart stops racing.
Koyama's just drying his hair from his bath when the bell rings. He answers the door wearing just a pair of loose pants and a frown, but the girl on the other side is only interested in one of those things. She's aggressive, waltzing into his apartment in her stilettos and not even bothering to take them off as she crowds Koyama up against his own living room wall and kisses him, skipping how-do-you-dos and going straight for the inside of his mouth. He hadn't really realized until now how much that could turn him on, someone just pushing him, and he kisses her back without thinking.
He should probably question it - in the back of his mind he knows that - but he's desperate with want, not for her, though he's not quite ready to admit it yet, but she'll do. Yuya probably planned it anyway. It's too perfect to be otherwise. And so he doesn't question it, he just kisses her harder, grabs her by the shoulders and manhandles her until she's down on the couch, writhing underneath his touch.
She doesn't care about foreplay, already wriggling out of her clothes and reaching for his with a nimbleness he spares a moment to admire, and he's never done it like this before. He doesn't even know her name. Quite honestly he doesn't even care. So he turns her over, imagines another face. He slips on a condom and she's already reaching back between her legs to grab his cock and guide him into her. She's loud at first, but the voice is all wrong, so he reaches around and covers her mouth. A professional, she's suddenly quiet. But only for a split second before he hears the other voice he'd imagined, a little lower, more breathy than he's used to, saying his name over and over. He barely keeps from coming right then.
It's good. God it's good, and he doesn't know whether it's because of her or because of Yuya, but everything feels just a shade too intense, too real, like it's all doubled in on itself and he's a little delirious from trying to hold back, to make it last. Then he feels fingers scratch lightly under his balls; he has no idea who it is, her, it, him, but he gasps, orgasm riding him hard as he bucks helplessly, just trying to hold on.
When he looks across the room, breath still coming in ragged pants, Yuya's smiling.
---
"Are you real?" Koyama finally asks Yuya fretfully. "I mean, like. No," he shakes his head, "never mind. I don't know what I mean."
Yuya gives him a measuring look. "Just because no one else can see me doesn't mean I'm not real." It crosses the space between them, puts a warm hand over Koyama's heart. "I'm here. You can feel me. I can feel you. What else is there?"
Koyama doesn't know.
---
He feels so heavy these days. Heavy and light, alternating, never entirely sure which world he's immersed in - Yuya's creations feel the same as every other part of his life now. He can't tell the difference except that he knows it isn't real. It'd probably be better for him to cut Yuya off, uninstall, go back to the real world. Where everything is mundane and he's just Koyama the travel agent. Every time he thinks about it he feels a little sick inside, and Yuya is there to make it better. He tells himself he's more alive than he's ever been.
In the midst of yet another existential crisis on his way home from work, Yuya thoughtfully silent beside him, he stumbles a little, tripping right into someone and spilling the person's coffee all over their shirt. Koyama hurries to apologize, finally lifting his eyes to the other man's face only to have all words die on his tongue. His eyes flick to the side to where Yuya is, hair platinum blond like it's been the last few weeks, back to this stranger, an almost mirror image: jet black hair to Yuya's blond, a freckle just above his lips to Yuya's unmarked face, a slightly more masculine, slightly less ephemeral version, he thinks.
"S-s-sorry," he stutters, rushing to pull out his handkerchief and dab at the man's shirt, the man pushing at his hands and laughing, showing off somewhat crooked bottom teeth.
"Don't worry," he tells him, and Koyama can't keep from gasping at the similarity in the way they sound, eyes going to Yuya again, who is now looking on with narrowed eyes and a frown. "It's my lucky day. I already have another shirt," he says, gesturing at the shopping bag in his other hand.
"Let me buy you a coffee," Koyama says, words one breathless rush, and the man tilts his head to regard him thoughtfully, a slight smile twitching his lips up finally.
"How could I refuse?"
Koyama is utterly charmed. Yuya is silent.
When they get home, Koyama rounds on Yuya the moment they're inside. "Why?" he asks. "Why do you and Tegoshi-san look the same? Why do you have the same voice? The same name?"
"We don't look the same," Yuya tells him imperiously. "I am the perfect version."
"Yuya."
"He's my model. So what?" He jerks his head higher.
"Your model?"
"Yes. My creator paid a college student to provide the model for me. He recorded the way the student moved, spoke, everything, to create me. The student was good, but not perfect. But he made me perfect. Aren't I?"
Koyama's eye twitches. "So what I've fallen in love with. It's him, isn't it?"
"No!" Yuya spits, and Koyama is taken aback. It's the first time Yuya has been anything but perfectly agreeable, if teasing. Everything perfectly calculated. Then its face falls and it comes close, puts its hand on Koyama's heart, its head against Koyama's shoulder. "It's me. I'm me. I can be anything you want me to be."
Koyama bites his lip.
---
It's an addiction, he knows. There's a building pressure. Shige has been calling him out on being distracted and they'd gotten into a huge fight last week that Massu had had to break up. They'd never had a fight like that ever. Shige had been so angry, so hurt, tears shining in the corners of his eyes as he grit his teeth hard enough that Koyama could hear them grinding. Poor Massu had looked torn between concern and reproach for both of them.
Yuya can sense Koyama's dissatisfaction with its creations and has taken to brooding silently in the corners while Koyama works or tries to rebuild burnt bridges with friends, family, life. The idea of letting Yuya go, letting go of the fantasy, hurts, makes him sick. But the thought of losing everything else instead is worse.
He calls up his contact list and sends a text. What he needs is less perfection.
---
He commands Yuya to turn off every time he meets with Tegoshi. It feels a little like betrayal, especially with the way Yuya looks at him when it's turned back on. Yuya is flawless. And that's what's wrong. They are so similar, the two of them, but Tegoshi makes mistakes, stumbles, his breath smells weird sometimes, but most importantly he makes Koyama feel full but not heavy. Somehow he knows Koyama, an instant connection. Whenever they touch he gets a sense of euphoria. Beyond all that he can introduce Tegoshi to his friends.
Tegoshi and Shige exchange greetings in Koyama's living room under Koyama's happy gaze. They hit it off right away, Tegoshi pressing all Shige's buttons just right, insulting and praising in fair measure, and when Shige makes Koyama walk him to the door, all smiles, Koyama feels like a huge weight is gone.
Koyama is in love.
"Call me Yuya," Tegoshi tells him one night between kisses, breathless and playfully serious as he straddles Koyama's lap, and Koyama's heart jumps.
"Yuya," he whispers, and Tegoshi leans in to lick the name off his lips.
It's not perfect, not at all. It's sweaty and fumbling and Koyama knows Tegoshi's never done this before because even under all his bravado, when Koyama is poised to push in, fear flits across his face, and Koyama kisses it away.
It's better than anything he's ever felt. Electric ripples traveling down his spine and curling his toes every time Tegoshi 's nails dig into the sparse fat of his ass, pulling him in harder and faster until it's a constant hum of energy between them that bursts in sparks across his vision when he wraps a hand around Tegoshi's cock and the man comes with a wail, squeezing almost painfully around him.
They collapse into a sweaty, heaving heap, Tegoshi's fingers sliding in absent circles through the cooling sweat on Koyama's back until he shivers.
"I love you," Tegoshi whispers.
"I love you too," Koyama replies.
---
Tegoshi is asleep in his arms, a warmth pressed against his chest. He turns Yuya on one last time to give the command to uninstall.
Inexplicably, Yuya smiles. "I'll never let you go," it says, then flickers out.
Suddenly cold, Koyama extricates himself from bed to rummage around in his nightstand quietly. When his fingers touch a smooth warmth, he pulls out the case and pads into the kitchen, putting the case into a clear plastic bag and carrying it out to the trash area even though non-burnables collection isn't for a week.
---
Tegoshi helps him find a new job. He has to move to be closer, and Tegoshi comes with him. They get a joint cyber account and Koyama changes his number and mail, messaging his family and friends from his new account to give them his address and information. He feels like a new man.
---
One sunny November day, a man in a café sees Koyama walking alone, talking animatedly, laughing. The man's face blanches and he rushes out calling Koyama's name loudly and desperately before losing him in the Tokyo crowd. His shoulders drop and tears come to his eyes.
"Shige?" Massu calls out as he jogs to stand next to Shige, gazing out into the crowd. "What's wrong? Where's Koyama?"
Shige just shrugs and turns to walk away.
Koyama walks on, oblivious, happy, fingers wrapped tightly around Tegoshi's.
Characters/Pairing: Koyama/Tegoshi
Rating: NC-17
Words: 5,760
Warnings: Future AU, sci-fi, ambiguous ending, sort of het sex
Summary: What everyone really wants is their own personal fantasy come to life, right?
Notes: Happy anniversary last year, Cait. XD And this year too ♥ Here's to 3 years! (I know I'm early [late?] but. :D) *HUD is short for 'heads-up display,' a transparent overlay that allows a person to access the display without direly impeding his or her vision. *Augmented reality is real-world elements enhanced with technologically-generated senses (sight, sound, etc.) Title and cut text from Plain White T's "Welcome to Mystery." Written to the Almost Alice album which is AMAZING if you haven't heard it.
---
If Koyama hadn't chosen just that moment to turn his HUD off and look down, he would have missed it entirely. As it is, he barely notices it sitting inconspicuously against the curb, half-hidden by the grey concrete lip and only a little darker than the new asphalt it lies on. Still, it stands out a bit in the litter-free area, and he stoops down as an afterthought to pick it up, ready to throw it in the trash, only to be surprised by the heft of it, stumbling forward a bit as he tries to adjust as he lifts it.
Quickly, he steps across the flow of people to lean against a building and examine the thing, tucking his scarf closer under his chin. It is about the size and shape of a half of a deck of cards and improbably heavy compared to anything of the same size he's held before. Maybe it's made of rock. Strangely warm rock, considering the weather. He turns it over in his hands, hunching over a bit as he brings it to his face and turns his HUD on, hoping it knows. No text shows up so he puts the question to 'space. Nothing suggested seems likely, though, and he would think it were some sort of obsidian if it wasn't so weighty. Nevertheless, it is obviously man-made so it must serve some purpose and therefore someone must be missing it. That decided, he slips it into his back pocket and heads for the nearest police box, pulling up directions on his display and following them.
He doesn't have far to go, absently calling up his mail and looking through it as he walks, hands in his pockets, but he is shortly distracted by something just in his periphery, something that disappears whenever he turns to look at it, and he clicks off his HUD again, a little frustrated. Whatever it is is still there, but … somehow not. Letting out a soft huff of annoyance, Koyama pulls up his HUD again and quickly sets an appointment to get his feed checked out, finishing just as he steps into the police box.
There is hardly any data transference, just the item number and the time and date; the cop doesn't even seem all that interested in the object after he's looked at it blankly for a moment, obviously checking it out like Koyama had and finding nothing as well.
"Thank you for your time," the policeman tells him with a curt nod, placing the item in a drawer before continuing in a bored voice. "Should the item go unclaimed for 90 days, you are entitled to retrieve it. Have a good day."
It isn't until four months later that Koyama even remembers, and only then because he is passing the little office on an errand. He doesn't have any raging desire to take the thing home with him, but he has to admit that he had been a little intrigued by it, the warm weight of it in his hands, the inscrutability of it. With that in mind, he ducks inside, a different officer in the same neat uniform receiving the old data packet and quickly locating the item, in the same drawer it had been placed in months before.
"Nope. No one identified it. Guess it's yours now…" he trails off and looks down at the thing. "What is it? A paperweight?" He chuckles to himself and holds it out.
Paperweights are playthings for the rich or eccentric, the only people who even bother to keep paper around. Or collectors, he guesses. Shrugging, Koyama accepts the object with a humoring smile. "I don't know. But I guess I'll find out. Thanks," he says, ducking his chin in a goodbye, but the man has already turned away.
He waits until he gets home to really check it out, laying it on his table and peering closely at it, turning it over and over until he discovers a hairline crack in the front, or maybe the back; it all looks the same. It must have fallen, then. Maybe that's when it had become lost. After trying to pry it open, tap on it, speak to it, any number of things to get it to divulge its secret, he finally shakes it vigorously, one last moot effort before he hands the thing off to Shige - eccentric, not rich.
He has just given up, placed the thing on the table and scooted his chair back, when he notices someone sitting opposite him. Too startled to actually move, he just squeaks once before staring at the transparent person.
"What? Wh-" there is no way to really finish that. The apparition motions to the object and mimes shaking it and Koyama picks it up, dumbfounded, and does so, watching the phantom fill out before his very eyes, until Koyama's chair is barely visible through it. Him. Probably.
Then it speaks, voice barely a whisper, and a sardonic smile on its face. "Can't you shake it any harder than that?"
Koyama blinks and frowns a bit, shaking harder and muttering, "Bossy."
It laughs then, voice muted by lack of power but still unrestrained in simulated emotion. "Normally it isn't so bad," it whispers. "It charges while you walk or move, or you could put it on your washing machine or stand near the trains. But it's been off for a long time." It leans forward, placing its chin in its hands and looking thoughtfully at him. "I wasn't sure you'd come back once I'd seen your intentions."
"How did you…"
"I'm an interface. I interface with your feed to provide services. Naturally I have to be able to monitor your cyberspace usage to understand you. I had very little power left, which is why I couldn't show myself well-"
Koyama interrupts, miffed. "Ah! I knew I was seeing something. I ended up paying that ridiculous co-pay for the doctor to tell me it was nothing."
It just smiles, "Not nothing." It says a complicated string of words out of which Koyama only understands 'augmented reality', and then relents, adding, "But you can call me Yuya." It looks down at Koyama's still hands and frowns. "Don't stop. I'm not even remotely close to being fully charged."
"You're awfully cheeky for a computer program," Koyama mutters at it, but resumes shaking. "What sort of services are you oriented for?"
"Pleasure."
Koyama fumbles the object onto the table, a blush rising quickly to his cheeks, and Yuya laughs raucously.
"You're fun. Not that kind of pleasure. Well, not expressly. I work to bring you into encounters you've never had before, pushing your boundaries by introducing you to sensory experiences you would be hard-pressed to find on your own, if you could even think of them. I come with the programming necessary," it continues, lowering its voice to a husky timbre, "to find the hidden pleasures of the world and bring them forth for you to savor."
Koyama blinks at it. "Oooh, that's good," he says. "Can I use that?"
Yuya leans back casually and grins. "Sure. We're in the same business, after all, even if your arrangements are a little more mundane."
Koyama is taken aback for a moment until he remembers that of course it would know he's a travel agent. "It's not like everyone wants to have their boundaries pushed, you know," Koyama tells it, frowning, and watches as Yuya's grin turns sly.
"The question is, I think," and it slides forward, leaning over the narrow tabletop and into Koyama's space, "do you?"
Yuya waits patiently as Koyama takes a moment to appreciate just how much detail work the programmers had put into it, flushing at the teasing lilt of the pink lips. "Yes," he says.
---
"I'll start you off easy," Yuya had told him, and then had led him into the heart of the Red Light district.
"You're not… bringing me to have sex with someone, right?" Koyama asks with an uncomfortable laugh. "Because that's not what I would call an 'easy' start. And I can get it on my own."
Waving a hand carelessly, Yuya doesn't even bother to look back at him, but Koyama does catch a glimpse of a smile. "No, I'm not bringing you to a brothel."
But as they go deeper into the district, farther and farther away from the well-maintained main roads of Shinjuku, Koyama gets jittery. "Yuya," he says nervously, eyeing the dark figures glaring at him from shop-fronts and alley mouths, the aggressive hosts and provocatively dressed women promising everything and more.
"Calm down. We're here." Yuya stands in front of a narrow, non-descript stall, closed metal shutters painted black and it doesn't look like anything but a closed-down shop. "Knock," Yuya tells him. "Like this." It taps out a pattern on the shutters, and Koyama hesitantly mimics it.
It takes a minute, but then the shutters roll up to about Koyama's chest and Tegoshi slips under them, motioning for Koyama to follow. Which he does, but not before swallowing thickly.
Steam hangs in the air around them, moisture and food smells swirling and eddying in an undetectable breeze, and Koyama follows Yuya down the narrow aisle to a single seat along the bar in the very rear. No one says a single word to him, not even Yuya. When Koyama looks questioningly at him, Yuya just shakes his head and mimes, 'wait.'
Koyama waits. Eventually one of the men behind the counter reaches over and plops a bowl in front of him, following with a white wine glass, liquid sloshing messily inside as the man sets it down. Maguro-don, Koyama can see that, thinly-sliced tuna arranged delicately in the shape of a lily over a bed of rice, only a thin line of brown straight across. Licking his lips, Koyama picks up his chopsticks, breaking them apart and picking a piece of tuna carefully out of the arrangement and placing it on his tongue. It practically melts there, the fleshy taste of the fish complemented by the earthy, citrusy ponzu he now recognizes the taste of, and he bites back the enthusiastic cry he'd been about to let out. Instead, with a sigh of appreciation, he reaches for the wine, swirling it experimentally before lightly breathing in the subtle scents of peach and lime and then raising it to his lips.
Koyama's wallet is considerably lighter when he leaves, but he definitely deems it money well spent, and Yuya knows it, its face full of smug triumph as they walk home together.
"What did you mean, easy?" Koyama asks it, sprawled damp and happy across his bed, idly stroking the sleek, black unit where it lies on his stomach, indenting the bare flesh.
Yuya lounges at the end of Koyama's bed, laid out on his stomach with his chin propped up in his hands and his feet idly kicking at the air. "Easy for you. No extra augmented reality at all. The more time we spend together, the better I understand your perceptions, the easier it will be for me to enhance what you experience."
"Enhance?"
Yuya scoffed. "Surely you know what augmented reality is. I can tell your system has the capability and you must see it all the time."
"No, I know what it is," Koyama says, making a frustrated sound. "What I mean is, why can you enhance what I see? Surely that takes a lot of programming capability. I mean, the companies are always talking about the costs of keeping up with AR. So much so that a few big ones are making a push to 'get back to the old ways' even though most of us know they only want to do it for the savings. So how can you do it? You make it sound so nonchalant."
Yuya just shrugs one shoulder lazily. "I'm an interface. I work with what you have and make what you need." Then it smiles, all mischief, and holds its hands out in front of it, spreading the fingers and wiggling them ridiculously. "Just think of it as magic."
Humming sleepily, Koyama turns onto his stomach, dropping into a light sleep, and dreams of giant, silvery schools of tuna swimming the streets of Kabukicho.
---
Yuya lazily kicks its feet against the edge of Koyama's desk, watching the people walking in between the cubicles and half-monitoring Koyama's transactions with clients.
"See?" Koyama whispers at Yuya. "People just want boring vacations."
"People who call you just want boring vacations. Not everyone is boring." Yuya smirks at him, ghosting one bare foot up the outside of Koyama's knee with a pressure he can barely feel. "You're not boring, right, Koyama?"
Touch is not one of the sensations that goes along with augmented reality. Yuya's touch, however, has been gaining strength over the weeks and Koyama isn't sure what to think about it. Maybe he just thinks Yuya is touching him so he feels it - phantom brushes. He should probably ask, but instead he laughs nervously and takes his next call.
That evening Yuya picks out his clothes for him. "It's time for the next level up, Koyama," it tells him cheerfully, pointing out worn jeans and a t-shirt.
The last few weeks had been filled with trips to restaurants or dance clubs all over Tokyo, the augmented reality there expressed only in small displays of art or fancy. Tonight, Yuya said, it would show him real AR.
Koyama sees AR every day, even some art pieces scattered across the city that are stunning, but he has never been any place so fully detailed that he could step in and forget he was even in Tokyo.
Once he has been ushered through the front door, Koyama is in a giant tree-house. Not the silly clapboard ones in American movies, but a tree grown with flat surfaces and stairways and little glowing flowers drooping from the branches, leaves shaped into fantastic topiaries in places, and hanging naturally in others.
A warm, earthy smell permeates the room, with the sharp scent of greenery, and, as he walks past a glimmering bud, a light floral scent adds itself to the mix. It is amazing. Leaves and flowers are barely out of reach and he knows it is because while sight is easy to manipulate and scent is easy to duplicate, touch is not. That doesn't take away from what he is seeing, though. The floor is smooth wood under his feet and his shoes slide slightly, but when he clambers up and down the bark-covered ladders, scoots along branches not meant as walkways, the touch is rough under his fingers. Yuya is right in front of him, scrambling ahead with boisterous laughter, teasing him along, until they sit at the very crown and look down over the forest in awe. Well, Koyama looks around in awe, but Yuya just watches him with interest, and Koyama blinks when he meets its eyes, before smiling widely.
"Do you like it?" Yuya asks, almost shyly, and Koyama nods vigorously.
"It's amazing."
Koyama takes the sense of wonder with him to bed, lightly stroking Yuya's housing where it lay on his chest, fingers tracing the tiny fracture in it thoughtfully. "I'm glad you weren't broken," he says.
"No," Yuya replies lightly, watching Koyama's fingers, "just a little cracked."
---
As Yuya comes into its own, comfortable in Koyama's hard and software, it begins to improvise. Small things at first, miniature fireworks displays that have Koyama clapping in delight, a horde of tiny acrobat kittens tumbling around on Koyama's carpet that he can't stop cooing over. But it builds up to astonishing things.
Koyama stands in the little park next to his home, staring in awe. Pale, ethereal lights are strung up all along exotic, broad-leafed trees, highlighting watery blue blossoms as big as Koyama's hand. Yuya is right beside him, watching him as he walks up to one and moves his face close, tracing the air over the fragile-looking petals.
"Touch it," Yuya whispers, and Koyama frowns at the A.I., puzzled. "Go on," Yuya insists, smiling wide.
Reaching out one long finger, he slides the pad delicately down a petal, gasping at the cool, wet feeling and watching the liquid swirl within the petal. "Yuya…" he breathes.
"Do you feel it?" Yuya murmurs, and Koyama could swear he can feel the faintest warmth of its breath against the shell of his ear and he shivers.
"Yes. Yes I can feel it." He turns to face it. "How are you doing it?"
"Magic," Yuya says, but Koyama catches the gleam of triumph that crosses its face.
From that point, his whole world takes a turn to the fantastic. There are forests made of frozen bursts of fireworks, glittering on his way home from work, the sharp smell of sulfur barely lingering in the air, almost like an afterthought, and a slight heat emanating when he gets close to a bloom. His home is transformed into a sumptuous sultan's lair one day, complete with barely-clad women fanning him, the puffs of air drifting over his skin, silken pillows cushioning his body and rustling underneath him, the sound of tiny bells chiming against wrist and ankle of women dancing. Yuya is always there, always increasing the wonders.
He barely puts effort into making his own food anymore, just making sure the right nutrients are there, because Yuya gives him a feast for every meal. Now, Shige sits staring at Koyama pushing around the pasta Shige had made them both. As a courtesy Koyama asks Yuya not to augment anything when he's with his friends.
"What's wrong?"
"Hm?" Koyama looks down at the plate and then blushes. "I'm sorry, I was just distracted. It's delicious." He gives Shige a broad smile and tries to ignore the suspicious rise of an eyebrow he gets in return. "Really." He takes a giant bite.
---
"Koyama," his boss's voice cuts across the chatter in the room, and Koyama looks up with wide, guilty eyes, cutting his link to his computer to slink toward his boss's crooked finger.
Shut behind glass doors, he can feel curious eyes on his back but he doesn't look back. "Yes, sir."
There's a sigh. "Your sales are slipping. What's going on? People say you're talking to yourself sometimes."
Koyama tries for innocent eyes and a quirky laugh. "Well, here… I think that's the norm, right?"
"Koyama."
"Sorry. I'm sorry. I'll work harder, I promise."
"I'll let it go, but only because this is so unusual for you." He walks past Koyama, places his hand on the knob and looks Koyama in the eyes. "If something is wrong, please let me help you. You've worked hard for us."
Koyama just smiles warmly and shakes his head. "Everything is fine."
Never been better.
---
The chilly air of the doctor's office makes Koyama shiver, and he almost wishes Yuya could turn up the temperature for him. It's something Yuya can't do, not yet, but it's not here right now anyway, since he'd had to turn everything off. It has always been so disconcerting, this improbably long moment where he isn't connected to anything at all. It's a little empty. Lonely. At least he doesn't have to be naked, not for this, the doctor hooking into his various hardware, wires hanging off his head like some strange accessory. It always makes Koyama giggle, how he probably looks like Medusa, and the doctor raises an eyebrow at him before switching everything back on.
"All your hardware looks good, checks physically. Now we'll just run some diagnostics."
Yuya is back now, perched on the edge of one of the counters, feet kicking absently as he smiles at Koyama.
"What's this?" the doctor asks, frowning.
"What's what?" Koyama's never had anything wrong with his hardware or software, a lucky thing since he's so technologically unlucky with everything else, so he's a little nervous.
"Why's your hard drive so full?" He shoots a stern look at Koyama. "You shouldn't let it get this bad. You could cause some serious issues. And I don't recognize a lot of these processes utilizing system memory."
Koyama's eyes flash toward Yuya who shakes his head and tells him, "Ask him for more hard drive space and don't let him shut the processes down. It's just me."
So he does, avoiding the doctor's eyes and questions, and he's pre-occupied as he sets up an installation appointment with the bored receptionist on his way out.
"You're quiet," Yuya observes as they walk together toward the station. "What's on your mind?"
You, he thinks. How I am suddenly frightened by what you're doing to me and yet can't seem to want to let you go… "Why are you taking up so much space?"
Yuya smiles, the barest hint of slyness there. "It's all you, you know. It takes a lot of space to record everything about you."
"That's sort of creepy," Koyama says dryly, eyes darting across the cityscape aimlessly, before sliding to where Yuya is.
But Yuya just laughs, and Koyama feels strong, thin fingers wrap around his bicep and the heated press of clothed skin against his own as Yuya leans against him. It is sort of creepy. And sort of amazing, too.
---
"Kei, do you like girls? Boys?" Yuya asks him in his typical straightforward manner, making Koyama blush as he chokes on his water. Yuya laughs at his reaction and nudges him. "I don't know why you think you need to keep secrets from me."
Koyama just hums in agreement and takes a quick bite of his dinner. It's no surprise when Yuya doesn't give up, just stares expectantly.
Pouting, Koyama makes a disgruntled noise. "It doesn't matter. Both, I guess," he says, blushing harder. "Not that it's any of your business."
Yuya's eyes darken and it lays a hand on Koyama's knee, leaning close to whisper teasingly in his ear. "But of course it's my business. I exist to please you, don't you know that?"
Clearing his throat, Koyama shifts uncomfortably and opens his mouth but is cut off by Yuya's finger against his lips.
"You don't have to be embarrassed. Let me take care of you?" The rise in its voice at the end indicates a question, but the look in Yuya's eyes is all command, and Koyama just nods. Disappointment jars him when Yuya pulls away completely.
"Finish your dinner," Yuya tells him, the corners of its lips tilted up in the barest hint of a smile.
There's no mention of it again and Koyama has finally filed it away for the night as he slips into the tub, eyes sliding shut and a soft sigh escaping him as he relaxes. They fly open again when he feels the soft pressure of fingers running down his chest. Yuya's head is cradled against its forearm where it rests on the edge of the tub, looking into Koyama's eyes with a sly expression, the other arm is submerged in the water, fingers now splayed against Koyama's skin.
What follows is less than he wants and more than he should get, he thinks. His head hits the wall with a heavy thud when Yuya begins stroking him, a slick feel that heats him more than he cares to admit, not that he has to - his body makes it quite clear what he thinks of it. Eyes closed, he doesn't need to see to know a flush is climbing his chest to his cheeks, and his breath starts to come out in pants. He's nearly there, can feel the orgasm starting to curl his toes when it comes to an abrupt stop. His eyes fly open and Yuya is looking at him thoughtfully.
"Yuya," he growls, sort of surprised at the aggression in his own voice, but he's never been denied like this… it almost feels primal. But he can't even touch the A.I., can't even try to make him give him what he wants. It's strange to feel so powerless. They stare at each other in silence until his heart stops racing.
Koyama's just drying his hair from his bath when the bell rings. He answers the door wearing just a pair of loose pants and a frown, but the girl on the other side is only interested in one of those things. She's aggressive, waltzing into his apartment in her stilettos and not even bothering to take them off as she crowds Koyama up against his own living room wall and kisses him, skipping how-do-you-dos and going straight for the inside of his mouth. He hadn't really realized until now how much that could turn him on, someone just pushing him, and he kisses her back without thinking.
He should probably question it - in the back of his mind he knows that - but he's desperate with want, not for her, though he's not quite ready to admit it yet, but she'll do. Yuya probably planned it anyway. It's too perfect to be otherwise. And so he doesn't question it, he just kisses her harder, grabs her by the shoulders and manhandles her until she's down on the couch, writhing underneath his touch.
She doesn't care about foreplay, already wriggling out of her clothes and reaching for his with a nimbleness he spares a moment to admire, and he's never done it like this before. He doesn't even know her name. Quite honestly he doesn't even care. So he turns her over, imagines another face. He slips on a condom and she's already reaching back between her legs to grab his cock and guide him into her. She's loud at first, but the voice is all wrong, so he reaches around and covers her mouth. A professional, she's suddenly quiet. But only for a split second before he hears the other voice he'd imagined, a little lower, more breathy than he's used to, saying his name over and over. He barely keeps from coming right then.
It's good. God it's good, and he doesn't know whether it's because of her or because of Yuya, but everything feels just a shade too intense, too real, like it's all doubled in on itself and he's a little delirious from trying to hold back, to make it last. Then he feels fingers scratch lightly under his balls; he has no idea who it is, her, it, him, but he gasps, orgasm riding him hard as he bucks helplessly, just trying to hold on.
When he looks across the room, breath still coming in ragged pants, Yuya's smiling.
---
"Are you real?" Koyama finally asks Yuya fretfully. "I mean, like. No," he shakes his head, "never mind. I don't know what I mean."
Yuya gives him a measuring look. "Just because no one else can see me doesn't mean I'm not real." It crosses the space between them, puts a warm hand over Koyama's heart. "I'm here. You can feel me. I can feel you. What else is there?"
Koyama doesn't know.
---
He feels so heavy these days. Heavy and light, alternating, never entirely sure which world he's immersed in - Yuya's creations feel the same as every other part of his life now. He can't tell the difference except that he knows it isn't real. It'd probably be better for him to cut Yuya off, uninstall, go back to the real world. Where everything is mundane and he's just Koyama the travel agent. Every time he thinks about it he feels a little sick inside, and Yuya is there to make it better. He tells himself he's more alive than he's ever been.
In the midst of yet another existential crisis on his way home from work, Yuya thoughtfully silent beside him, he stumbles a little, tripping right into someone and spilling the person's coffee all over their shirt. Koyama hurries to apologize, finally lifting his eyes to the other man's face only to have all words die on his tongue. His eyes flick to the side to where Yuya is, hair platinum blond like it's been the last few weeks, back to this stranger, an almost mirror image: jet black hair to Yuya's blond, a freckle just above his lips to Yuya's unmarked face, a slightly more masculine, slightly less ephemeral version, he thinks.
"S-s-sorry," he stutters, rushing to pull out his handkerchief and dab at the man's shirt, the man pushing at his hands and laughing, showing off somewhat crooked bottom teeth.
"Don't worry," he tells him, and Koyama can't keep from gasping at the similarity in the way they sound, eyes going to Yuya again, who is now looking on with narrowed eyes and a frown. "It's my lucky day. I already have another shirt," he says, gesturing at the shopping bag in his other hand.
"Let me buy you a coffee," Koyama says, words one breathless rush, and the man tilts his head to regard him thoughtfully, a slight smile twitching his lips up finally.
"How could I refuse?"
Koyama is utterly charmed. Yuya is silent.
When they get home, Koyama rounds on Yuya the moment they're inside. "Why?" he asks. "Why do you and Tegoshi-san look the same? Why do you have the same voice? The same name?"
"We don't look the same," Yuya tells him imperiously. "I am the perfect version."
"Yuya."
"He's my model. So what?" He jerks his head higher.
"Your model?"
"Yes. My creator paid a college student to provide the model for me. He recorded the way the student moved, spoke, everything, to create me. The student was good, but not perfect. But he made me perfect. Aren't I?"
Koyama's eye twitches. "So what I've fallen in love with. It's him, isn't it?"
"No!" Yuya spits, and Koyama is taken aback. It's the first time Yuya has been anything but perfectly agreeable, if teasing. Everything perfectly calculated. Then its face falls and it comes close, puts its hand on Koyama's heart, its head against Koyama's shoulder. "It's me. I'm me. I can be anything you want me to be."
Koyama bites his lip.
---
It's an addiction, he knows. There's a building pressure. Shige has been calling him out on being distracted and they'd gotten into a huge fight last week that Massu had had to break up. They'd never had a fight like that ever. Shige had been so angry, so hurt, tears shining in the corners of his eyes as he grit his teeth hard enough that Koyama could hear them grinding. Poor Massu had looked torn between concern and reproach for both of them.
Yuya can sense Koyama's dissatisfaction with its creations and has taken to brooding silently in the corners while Koyama works or tries to rebuild burnt bridges with friends, family, life. The idea of letting Yuya go, letting go of the fantasy, hurts, makes him sick. But the thought of losing everything else instead is worse.
He calls up his contact list and sends a text. What he needs is less perfection.
---
He commands Yuya to turn off every time he meets with Tegoshi. It feels a little like betrayal, especially with the way Yuya looks at him when it's turned back on. Yuya is flawless. And that's what's wrong. They are so similar, the two of them, but Tegoshi makes mistakes, stumbles, his breath smells weird sometimes, but most importantly he makes Koyama feel full but not heavy. Somehow he knows Koyama, an instant connection. Whenever they touch he gets a sense of euphoria. Beyond all that he can introduce Tegoshi to his friends.
Tegoshi and Shige exchange greetings in Koyama's living room under Koyama's happy gaze. They hit it off right away, Tegoshi pressing all Shige's buttons just right, insulting and praising in fair measure, and when Shige makes Koyama walk him to the door, all smiles, Koyama feels like a huge weight is gone.
Koyama is in love.
"Call me Yuya," Tegoshi tells him one night between kisses, breathless and playfully serious as he straddles Koyama's lap, and Koyama's heart jumps.
"Yuya," he whispers, and Tegoshi leans in to lick the name off his lips.
It's not perfect, not at all. It's sweaty and fumbling and Koyama knows Tegoshi's never done this before because even under all his bravado, when Koyama is poised to push in, fear flits across his face, and Koyama kisses it away.
It's better than anything he's ever felt. Electric ripples traveling down his spine and curling his toes every time Tegoshi 's nails dig into the sparse fat of his ass, pulling him in harder and faster until it's a constant hum of energy between them that bursts in sparks across his vision when he wraps a hand around Tegoshi's cock and the man comes with a wail, squeezing almost painfully around him.
They collapse into a sweaty, heaving heap, Tegoshi's fingers sliding in absent circles through the cooling sweat on Koyama's back until he shivers.
"I love you," Tegoshi whispers.
"I love you too," Koyama replies.
---
Tegoshi is asleep in his arms, a warmth pressed against his chest. He turns Yuya on one last time to give the command to uninstall.
Inexplicably, Yuya smiles. "I'll never let you go," it says, then flickers out.
Suddenly cold, Koyama extricates himself from bed to rummage around in his nightstand quietly. When his fingers touch a smooth warmth, he pulls out the case and pads into the kitchen, putting the case into a clear plastic bag and carrying it out to the trash area even though non-burnables collection isn't for a week.
---
Tegoshi helps him find a new job. He has to move to be closer, and Tegoshi comes with him. They get a joint cyber account and Koyama changes his number and mail, messaging his family and friends from his new account to give them his address and information. He feels like a new man.
---
One sunny November day, a man in a café sees Koyama walking alone, talking animatedly, laughing. The man's face blanches and he rushes out calling Koyama's name loudly and desperately before losing him in the Tokyo crowd. His shoulders drop and tears come to his eyes.
"Shige?" Massu calls out as he jogs to stand next to Shige, gazing out into the crowd. "What's wrong? Where's Koyama?"
Shige just shrugs and turns to walk away.
Koyama walks on, oblivious, happy, fingers wrapped tightly around Tegoshi's.