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[hippie_ninja]

This is Jesus. Leave a message.

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[konstant]

K is not self conscious, does not have trouble under scrutiny most of the time, but there's something about the combination of this subject and the way Jesus is looking at him now that makes him uneasy.

"Sometimes the deterioration is gradual. Maybe I just haven't been exposed to an effective enough stressor." He shifts a bit, leaning forward over his lap instead of back.

[hippie_ninja]

"It happens to humans, too." He looks away. "Where I'm from, most people broke."

In some of the most literal ways that sentence can be taken. "Stress kills us all if we don't learn how to manage it."

[konstant]

K doesn't look away. Not this time.

He has definitive proof that he is way off baseline, way outside the parameters for which he was designed; you don't look like you on the inside. But Jesus is struggling.

"Do you know what's most important to you?"

[hippie_ninja]

"Survival." Nothing matters without that. But it's not a whole truth. He's been willing to die for his ideals.

He looks at K with a wan smile, another little shrug. "What about you?"

[konstant]

K meets that smile not with one of his own, but it's not a harsh or a blank look either. Simply receptive. Taking in what Jesus is telling him and what he's not.

"That I help," he answers, and it is the most basic truth about him.

[hippie_ninja]

He knows K was built for that purpose but, like he'd said, this life is not that one. And other replicants shirked their duties.

"Why?"

[konstant]

K blinks, surprised by the question.

"Because..." He struggles for a moment to put it into words that aren't just repetitive, aren't self defining for something he's never thought to try to explain.

"I've seen what happens when people are hurt. Hurting. When they don't have what they need. I don't want to contribute to that. I want to alleviate it."

It is, as he said, important.

[hippie_ninja]

And there it is again: that unexpected, not wholly welcome flip in his gut that makes him smile and makes him want to kiss K again.

"You help me."

[konstant]

K hears the words, they're not frivolous in any sense, but he's much busier just now watching the silent conversation Jesus isn't having with him.

He tips his head as if it might help him hear what isn't being said, brow furrowing faintly. He almost forgets to answer.

Almost: "I hope so."

[hippie_ninja]

He knows K is seeing and deciphering things that he'd probably be better able to hide from other people. K always seems to pick up on it, though, so he doesn't try. He likes K; there's no reason to pretend he doesn't.

"What helps you?"

[konstant]

It's another question no one has ever bothered to ask outright - not without it being sarcastic anyway. Not actually wanting an answer.

He shakes off the studious cast to his gaze - literally shaking his head to refocus - and his brow creases more deeply, thoughtfully.

"Understanding what place I hold."

[hippie_ninja]

That's the thing that is galling him here. The thing he is meant to be here is an experiment, the only thing he can really offer is his body--and not the way he's learned to use it to make things better.

But he doesn't want to think about that and so he has more questions for K. "What place do you think you hold with me?"

[konstant]

It's the kind of discomfort K has seen in multiple people, that multiple people want to see in him - but he's used to being something other than an equal, something other than free. He doesn't like it, he doesn't want it, but he knows that neither of these things matter.

His answer for Jesus is immediate: "We're friends." Even if he doesn't really know exactly what that means in turn, Jesus has already said it. He has said that they're friends, and K believes him.

[hippie_ninja]

"We are." His tone is calm but firm on that point, because he knows there's a gap in K's definition. He knows that he doesn't know how K defines it. "What is that like for you?"

For someone who has never had a friend before.

[konstant]

"I'm still figuring that out," he admits honestly, perhaps a little hesitantly. He doesn't want it to insult Jesus somehow.

"I have... memories of having friends. At work, at home. But those aren't real. You are."

[hippie_ninja]

"I don't like being held by definitions. What's right in one friendship maybe isn't in another." He's flexible about these things. "I just want it to be something you want to keep."

[konstant]

"I do," he says immediately. "It is. You are."

He's not entirely sure which of these is correct in this case, but regardless, they're all true. It also pulls at something in him, half memory, half instinct, and he doesn't stop there.

"What it means is that I feel better when I see you. I feel... safer. I want to talk to you, to spend time around you."

[hippie_ninja]

"It's different with you." In ways he honestly isn't sure he trusts, because K is so honest and his silences aren't the bitter pauses Jesus is used to from people who have every reason to be bitter. He shakes his head and clarifies, "It feels better around you, too. We should do more."

[konstant]

"I'd like that," he can agree readily, especially since there's no case load here to make demands on his time first and foremost. He has no duties to interfere, unless it's at Marked, or Scratch.

He hesitates, though, before clearly making the decision to continue with, "I liked - it's easier. With someone else around, and I liked that night of camping."

[hippie_ninja]

"I did, too." And he needed to hear that, but it's not something he knew to ask for. "That day was good," all of it, the bathhouse and the night in the tent. He has no regrets even if he doesn't want it to change their dynamic, either.

[konstant]

"Yes, all of it," he adds quickly because he had definitely enjoyed the bathhouse - the pool itself, the conversation, the sex and the showers. He'd like to try again sometime.

But like Jesus, that's not what he's thinking of foremost: "If you're looking to push back against the program, it seems to me that sharing quarters might help."

[hippie_ninja]

It's clear immediately that he likes that idea, that being alone is now a thing he's actively avoiding.

"You're working to be cited over it?"

[konstant]

He smiles more at the eagerness than the question.

"Less that and more that I'm not willing to give up spending time with who I want to because I've been told I can't by someone who won't even say why. Whatever they feel they need to do about it is what they need to do."

[hippie_ninja]

"You could stay here tonight," he says, because if K is on the same page he's not going to try to argue either one of them out of it.

"There's an extra bed anyway. Or," a curious glance. "You could share mine."

[konstant]

K looks at it too, but then back to Jesus. He's more serious about asking, eyes on eyes, "Are you okay with that?"

He remembers how tense Jesus had been shoulder to shoulder with him in the tent, how attuned to every movement and sound.