Out Of The Box // Hey! Say! JUMP
Out Of The Box
Arioka/Yamada
PG, 858 words, robot AU
“CAUTION: CONTENTS WITHIN MAY SHIFT.
HANDLE WITH CARE.
THIS SIDE UP.”
The stickers are plastered all over the box Daiki finds on his doorstep, so naturally the box is lying on its side and one corner is slightly crumpled.
“Handle with care my ass,” he tsks, irritated by the vagrancies of the postal system, and gingerly picks up the box. He carries it inside, careful not to jar it too much, and sets it down, right side up, in the middle of his living room. There’s a small rattling sound as the contents inside shift, but thankfully it doesn’t sound as though anything is broken.
As soon as he sets the box down properly though, he flies around his apartment hunting for scissors (which are always in the last place he looks, damn them). He can’t wait to open it - there had been some mix-up on the manufacturer’s end when they’d sent it out and so he’d waited an extra two weeks to finally receive his order. He really, really hopes nothing is broken because he’s not sure if he’ll be able to stand yet another two weeks of waiting if he has to get an exchange.
When Daiki finally gets the box opened, he breathes a sigh of relief. The mecha standing in the middle of his living room, in a sea of crumpled cardboard and packing peanuts, is definitely not broken. In fact, it’s perfect.
With the tip of a finger, Daiki lifts a few strands of the mecha’s chestnut brown hair and lets them slip past his finger as soft and smooth as silk. He’s careful not to accidentally trigger the power button, hidden in the hair behind the mecha’s left ear, quite yet. It’s the first mecha he can call his own, a top-of-the-line model, purchased after scrimping and saving his paychecks for over a year now. He wants to savor the moment, wants to take a good long look at it while he can still think of it as a product, before he turns it on and it becomes a person to him.
He walks around it once, slowly, taking in all of the details. The craftsmanship, at least on an aesthetic level, is beyond reproach. Out of the box, the mecha is only clothed lightly in a simple white frock that does little besides cover its private parts. The frock reveals a slim build with strong arms and shoulders that look capable of physical activity. It has rosy peach skin, a sunshiny smile, a really cute nose. And the best part - it’s just the same height as Daiki, so he can look into the mecha’s clear brown eyes with perfect ease.
There’s a piece of paper pinned to the mecha’s chest, a basic instruction manual that explains how to turn it on and how to contact the manufacturing company if anything should go wrong. There isn’t much else written on the paper - AIs are finally advanced enough now that the mecha will adapt to its owner’s needs.
“Class: Heisei VII Mecha
Family: Yamada
Stroke one finger slowly along Recognition Panel behind mecha’s left ear to activate for first time. Tap same spot to switch on or off in future instances.”
It’s strangely intimate, this spot behind the mecha’s ear, and Daiki feels unwarranted tingles at the back of his own neck when he reaches his finger up to “stroke one finger” along it. It’s even more strange and more intimate when the mecha comes to life-skin becoming warm and supple, heartbeats fluttering at the pulse points, eyes deepening with new-found recognition-because it feels like Daiki is the one giving the mecha life. Strangely intimate, however not unpleasant.
The mecha swivels its head to take in its surroundings. The movement is a bit stiff at first, but by the time its gaze returns to Daiki, the movement is smooth and lifelike. Daiki raises his hand halfway and wiggles his fingers tentatively in a greeting; the robot does the same. Daiki smiles, a little embarrassed; the robot mirrors his expression for a moment, before deepening its smile to a warmer one.
“Hello! It’s nice to meet you. I’m Yamada.”
Yamada has a pleasant voice - medium-toned and a bit lower than Daiki’s, at least to his own ear. He speaks without any of the odd pauses and lack of intonation that the traditional mechas used to have, and for some reason it’s this that puts Daiki at his ease again.
“I’m Arioka Daiki,” he replies, “...but you can call me Grandmaster Of All Japan And The Universe. What’s your given name?”
“I do not have one, Grandmaster Of All Japan And The Universe. Would you like to give me a name?”
Daiki looks at the mecha, pretty and fresh-faced. He’d had a whole list of names written down, a product of his weeks of waiting, all of them foreign and high-flown and none of them at all suitable for the mecha in front of him. Instead, Daiki goes with his instinct, saying the first name that rolls off his tongue.
“Ryosuke. Your name will be Ryosuke.”
Arioka/Yamada
PG, 858 words, robot AU
“CAUTION: CONTENTS WITHIN MAY SHIFT.
HANDLE WITH CARE.
THIS SIDE UP.”
The stickers are plastered all over the box Daiki finds on his doorstep, so naturally the box is lying on its side and one corner is slightly crumpled.
“Handle with care my ass,” he tsks, irritated by the vagrancies of the postal system, and gingerly picks up the box. He carries it inside, careful not to jar it too much, and sets it down, right side up, in the middle of his living room. There’s a small rattling sound as the contents inside shift, but thankfully it doesn’t sound as though anything is broken.
As soon as he sets the box down properly though, he flies around his apartment hunting for scissors (which are always in the last place he looks, damn them). He can’t wait to open it - there had been some mix-up on the manufacturer’s end when they’d sent it out and so he’d waited an extra two weeks to finally receive his order. He really, really hopes nothing is broken because he’s not sure if he’ll be able to stand yet another two weeks of waiting if he has to get an exchange.
When Daiki finally gets the box opened, he breathes a sigh of relief. The mecha standing in the middle of his living room, in a sea of crumpled cardboard and packing peanuts, is definitely not broken. In fact, it’s perfect.
With the tip of a finger, Daiki lifts a few strands of the mecha’s chestnut brown hair and lets them slip past his finger as soft and smooth as silk. He’s careful not to accidentally trigger the power button, hidden in the hair behind the mecha’s left ear, quite yet. It’s the first mecha he can call his own, a top-of-the-line model, purchased after scrimping and saving his paychecks for over a year now. He wants to savor the moment, wants to take a good long look at it while he can still think of it as a product, before he turns it on and it becomes a person to him.
He walks around it once, slowly, taking in all of the details. The craftsmanship, at least on an aesthetic level, is beyond reproach. Out of the box, the mecha is only clothed lightly in a simple white frock that does little besides cover its private parts. The frock reveals a slim build with strong arms and shoulders that look capable of physical activity. It has rosy peach skin, a sunshiny smile, a really cute nose. And the best part - it’s just the same height as Daiki, so he can look into the mecha’s clear brown eyes with perfect ease.
There’s a piece of paper pinned to the mecha’s chest, a basic instruction manual that explains how to turn it on and how to contact the manufacturing company if anything should go wrong. There isn’t much else written on the paper - AIs are finally advanced enough now that the mecha will adapt to its owner’s needs.
“Class: Heisei VII Mecha
Family: Yamada
Stroke one finger slowly along Recognition Panel behind mecha’s left ear to activate for first time. Tap same spot to switch on or off in future instances.”
It’s strangely intimate, this spot behind the mecha’s ear, and Daiki feels unwarranted tingles at the back of his own neck when he reaches his finger up to “stroke one finger” along it. It’s even more strange and more intimate when the mecha comes to life-skin becoming warm and supple, heartbeats fluttering at the pulse points, eyes deepening with new-found recognition-because it feels like Daiki is the one giving the mecha life. Strangely intimate, however not unpleasant.
The mecha swivels its head to take in its surroundings. The movement is a bit stiff at first, but by the time its gaze returns to Daiki, the movement is smooth and lifelike. Daiki raises his hand halfway and wiggles his fingers tentatively in a greeting; the robot does the same. Daiki smiles, a little embarrassed; the robot mirrors his expression for a moment, before deepening its smile to a warmer one.
“Hello! It’s nice to meet you. I’m Yamada.”
Yamada has a pleasant voice - medium-toned and a bit lower than Daiki’s, at least to his own ear. He speaks without any of the odd pauses and lack of intonation that the traditional mechas used to have, and for some reason it’s this that puts Daiki at his ease again.
“I’m Arioka Daiki,” he replies, “...but you can call me Grandmaster Of All Japan And The Universe. What’s your given name?”
“I do not have one, Grandmaster Of All Japan And The Universe. Would you like to give me a name?”
Daiki looks at the mecha, pretty and fresh-faced. He’d had a whole list of names written down, a product of his weeks of waiting, all of them foreign and high-flown and none of them at all suitable for the mecha in front of him. Instead, Daiki goes with his instinct, saying the first name that rolls off his tongue.
“Ryosuke. Your name will be Ryosuke.”