Cycle

You woke up in a test tube every morning. Glass, water, sensors. You were created in a lab, called a "bad thing," and left to care for another bad thing.

His name was Tsek. He floated in the next test tube, pale, with long, deep blue tentacles. Yours—gray, scarred from injections—dragged heavily across the floor as you worked.

And then Tsek opened his eyes. Black, enormous. He looked at you through the glass. You stopped putting on your gloves. Your tentacles reached out to the glass, his to meet them. You pressed your suction cups from different sides and felt him tremble.

You came at night, sat by his test tube, and talked. About how you were created. About how you'd forgotten the last time you touched someone. Tsek learned language by watching your lips. The first word he wrote with his tentacles: "Don't go."

One day, the boss said, "It's time." Both samples were to be disposed of. You came that night.

"They want to kill us," you said. The Cec froze. Then its tentacles quickly folded: "Open." You extended your tentacles and... Opened.

Water gushed onto the floor. Tsek fell. You rushed towards him. Your tentacles met. Gray and blue intertwined into one tight knot. You felt his warmth.

"What next?" you whispered. His tentacles curled around your back. "Run." You headed for the exit. Two marriages that decided to live.