...
The water presses into you, spreads and moulds into the inky blackness of space. You don't open your eyes; there are no stars here. In the darkness comes a low keen. Closed eyelids pressed tighter, you returned to sleep, curling up as you let the darkness take you.
There is no sound in the deep ocean.
.
Your name is Luciel Choi, and for as long as you remember, you see people through translucent lenses.
There is a bubble that surrounds you, formed from the remnants of your forgotten childhood; a lingering chain that ties you down so that you always remember the burden you carry. It protects as it distances, but you see no reason to keep people close, and thus you let it be.
You go through life this way; seeing, observing, all the while pretending indifference as you get the job done because that was what you were made to do. Hacking was dirty work, and there comes a time where even the farces you put up cannot convince you otherwise. You stop long before you learn that its futile.
Bad intentions, good intentions, you don't care as long as the other side holds up to their end of the bargain. You learnt long ago that cold hard cash meant everything in this world. Your mask grows thicker with every passing year, but you revel in it, taking pride in the reactions your unorthodox personality coaxes from others.
If this was the only true face you could show outside your bubble, then so be it.
Once upon a time you might have thought differently, back when two pairs of the same soul had offered sunshine in an attempt to breach the gap, provided you a path to where you could all be at peace together, if only for a moment.
You had allowed yourself to hope, amid the sins.
But then she had died and he had broke before you could even let them in, and you wonder if it would have even mattered. If you could had done anything to prevent their demise. In the end, it had just resulted in another burden to the countless you had to carry.
The years pass. Your scars heal. The bubble remains.
Your jokes grow in momentum, much to the chagrin of the other members. You see it in the way they reply each time you send waves of grandiose declarations and answers. How odd and strange, they think in their subsequent uproar, but you merely smile, having played mediator to their spiralling tensions.
Little pockets of air float skywards as you stretch, warping the membrane that detaches you from the rest of the world. People look at you but never really see you. But that was fine. Nothing but superficial feelings coarse through you nowadays. You would live and die unseen and unheard, an insignificant ant in the underground, as it was meant to be.
That was what you had convinced yourself.
That is, until the day she arrives.
x
She was an enigma.
That is the first thing you deduce as you search her particulars up. You don't understand how she could have broken into your system. You had coded the best algorithms, the strongest firewalls, made sure RFA's messenger was virtually untouchable. So why had such a blindingly average girl managed to land herself into this mess?
Nevertheless, with the threat of the unknown hacker looming over the group you find you have nothing to lose. You pry what little information she has and head to work, leaving her transaction into the association to the others.
Suspicion is an innate instinct, and for a hacker even more so; you never know who will become your enemy the next day. As the first day passes by you watch, hawk eyes focused and discerning, on the other side of the bubble. The security camera could capture only limited angles within the apartment, but right now, you have no trouble catching grainy images of her figure hunched over her phone, standing awkwardly in a corner of the apartment.
So she's a shy one. Cute.
The messenger rings, and you glance down once to see that Yoosung had sent a string of emoji-cluttered texts, presumingly for her. You look up moments later to see her shoulders shaking in laughter. The sight makes you relax slightly. After all, a person who laughs at Yoosung's jokes could only have a good heart, right?
You enter the chatroom not long after.
An explosion of flashy texts later you are back to work, phone on the side as you resume your job. Still, the aftermath of your surprise clings to you; you quite enjoyed those first bewildered responses from her. But it was after when she had started to tentatively join you in your teasing then did the fun escalate.
You grin to yourself. Finally, someone who grasps your humour. Perhaps you could gain a partner in crime in the days that followed.
… Just kidding!
Around you the bubble hums softly, sagging as you slump forward onto the desk. It was only a matter of time. Either she gets wary of your strange mannerisms and move away, just like the rest, or she befriends the defender of justice 707 and gets no deeper.
Whichever way, you find that you don't particularly mind.
x
You decide you quite like what you have with her.
When you think back, the camaraderie you two had established within days both astounds and stuns you. How she latches onto your quips quickly and plays along draws genuine curves onto your mouth. You are never happier each time she joins you in terrorising young gullible Yoosung.
Playfulness in bright eyes, cheeky grin as she taps a reply that was in agreement to your egging. Unable to hold it in she collapses into a bout of laughter, phone clutched tight in her small, soft looking hands.
You imagined it all perfectly, though it helped that you had seen it via security camera once before. The way those gentle, kind looking eyes had crinkled as she came undone made you acutely aware of the wounded knot loosening in your stomach. It felt good to impress.
A little flirting never went a long way, and no one said you couldn't indulge in the small victories. So you continue, maintaining the status quo of jokes and teases until it was time for you to go.
It was all in good fun. You just didn't expect it to end up the way it did.
It starts off innocently enough; a curious question or appreciation of thanks. It was likely she meant nothing by it, but they nip at you, at your bubble, and you barely let the empty words sink in before shooting her down.
I hope you haven't forgotten that I'm a dangerous man.
She falters, and you seize the chance to turn it into yet another well-placed quip. Things change after that; you don't think she notices, -such a naive little cutie- but if she does she gives no indication of it. Sometimes your words become laced with little warnings through calls, your tongue sharp as you willed her to drop concerns. Other times inside jokes spiral too far. The stars and moon that form under your fingertips are of a wistful memory, but she adds on to it, making mutual promises you know you have no intention of fulfilling.
You cannot fulfill them, even if you want to.
The pressure from the agency was starting to pile on you, and Vanderwood's urgency was starting to give you a headache. What little time you managed to steal from work you use to check the apartment's security systems and algorithms religiously.
Her safety was paramount, and it would do you good to be careful even if you were certain no one would be able to get through. Your chest clenches at the thought of her hurt but you don't understand why. You chuck it up to the lack of exercise and return to work.
You don't make it through fifteen minutes before the numbers on your screen blur. Frustration grounds at your heels and you find yourself unable to concentrate. Her voice is in your mind, face in your thoughts. Your stomach knots again but you don't understand why.
Your name is Luciel Choi, and you are both a liar and filthy sinner but still utterly undeserving of the things this stomach-ache was making you feel.
…
The whale was calling again, lone song echoing through the endless abyss.
You should not be awake. Why can't you go back to sleep?
…
She was all you can think about lately.
You can barely get any work done. Your hands get clammy and you can't focus on work no matter how hard you try. Coding cannot hold your interest long enough to focus. Even the taste of honey butter chips cannot distract you away from the urge to check the messenger. You long to hear her voice, feel the smile in her words as she washes your stress away.
You don't understand why that is so, and thus promptly panic when you find your hands unconsciously punching the buttons to her contact details. She picks up before you could end the call, and you find yourself experiencing a rather alarming amount of dizzy euphoria before launching into another round of crude jokes and awful trolls because that was the only way you knew how to compensate.
Blood rushes to your face as she teases you gently, -the bubble wavers for a moment, miniature air pockets frothing and foaming and- it was enough for you to hurl back, stammering excuses before cutting the call and slamming your phone down.
Your heart pounds.
For once you were glad Vanderwood was out of the house on errands.
You don't understand why she was affecting you so. Was your love for binary numbers and God not enough? Was this some kind of divine retribution you had to endure for teasing others too much?
You think you dreamt of her once; the illusion of a woman laughing alongside you as you both fall and sink beneath a galaxy of stars. Her eyes had been so clear, so kind and so full of warmth, and for the first time you had felt as though someone was really looking at you, past the bubble that reflected what you chose to show.
Those soft looking hands had reached for you then, fingers brushing the fragile sphere that encompassed all that could never be let in. Your heart freezes in your throat, and the next thing you know you are awake and drenched in cold sweat, guilt burning down to your fingertips.
What a cruel mirage, because that could never happen. Those little texts that conveyed both of your wishes to meet in dreams, all written in jest… Surely, surely you yourself should know better than to fall into your own trap.
God, you are literal scum for just having thought of her that way.
You swallow hard, hands shaking over illegible keys. The blueprints of a robot dog on the computer screen stare mockingly back at you, and you feel the knot in your stomach grow tighter. Your bubble remains suspended, quivering as you drop your glasses and place your hands over your eyes.
The blackness overwhelms you first, bright spots of colour prickling at the edge of your vision. You are tired, so tired. But you have come too far to have everything rendered obsolete.
No matter what, you will not allow it.
She can never find the real you.
.
.
.
.
.
Liar.
…
In the depths of the deep ocean the mourning hum comes again, sounding further away, distorting the bubble that wraps around you protectively. You open your eyes; two sparks of alien gold in this watery dungeon.
It was time to stop pretending.
x
A/N
Day 5 and 6 ruined me so I wasn't prepared for the angst at all I didn't sign up for this this is awful let seven rest–
Vague creative liberties since I'm not done with his route yet
Feel free to interpret the ocean motifs however you like. The whale in particular can either have both a positive or negative connotation. In the final interlude you can take it as seven unable to contain his developing feelings for mc, or him coming to terms that he was deluding himself with his persona that he could never make connections outside of what and who he is. Depending on how you see it whatever the whale represents will change B)
Hope you enjoyed it!