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People who tolerate machines

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   Ryan has always combined an interest in engineering and playing the drums. Of course, his parents were very doubtful about their son's Hobbies at first, they asked him to choose one of them, but then they decided to let him do what he wants. Now Seaman has already graduated from the University and now he is finishing the implementation of his grand idea. The guy still hasn't decided what he likes more — drums or engineering, so why not combine it together. In addition, Ryan has long dreamed of his own music group. The idea itself was on the verge of fantasy, well, or madness. Robot-a person who will also play the bass guitar, and sing, and with artificial intelligence…



   Ryan wakes up, stretches, flexing his cramped muscles due to the fact that he fell asleep again on the table while "training" artificial intelligence. Today is definitely going to be a big day. The dark-haired man quickly washes his face, pours himself a cup of tea, and heads back to his studio room. There was already at least six months of ready-made "man", all that Seaman did all this time was to adjust the intelligence. And today he has just a little bit left. Finally, after this, he will be able to sleep properly and restore his diet, which he has been dreaming about for a long time, but literally gave all his strength to finalize his creation.
   To be honest, no one believed in Ryan, but the development grant was still given, with the idea that if he failed, he would have to return the money, so no one lost anything except Seaman, of course. But it looks like nothing will need to be returned.
   It was nearly 1 am. Ryan has spent the entire day typing in information, and now, with trembling hands and a blinding, happy smile, he finishes the final touches and moves a little to the side to look at Dallon. That's the name he gave him. And if completely, then Dallon James Weekes. Yes, he registered it as a full-fledged person, it was very difficult for him to achieve this, but still he was given consent and registered.
   Oh, yes, it will definitely be progress. Maybe Ryan will even be recorded in history, quite possibly. All that remained was to breathe life into Dallon and try not to have a heart attack at the first sign of life from Seaman's invention.
   "Finally... everything must work, it must! Well, the most significant moment in my life. One… Two… Three…"
   At the last word, Ryan triggered Dallon's life activity and burst into tears of happiness. Weekes just looked around the room and took a step. Seaman threw an arm around the brown-haired man and buried his face in his shoulder. Dallon only took a step back, but then put his hand on Ryan's back and stroked it gently.
   "Why do you greet me with tears, Ryan Seaman?"
   "Dallon, Dallon, Dallon…"
   The drummer just mumbled the name on his shoulder and cried himself to sleep. Tomorrow he will try to start recording a song with Dallon, he will be the first to hear and see a real miracle with his own eyes. Dallon immediately played well on the bass guitar and sang, no wonder Seaman steamed over all these almost main components.
   The first song was written very unexpectedly. One day, Seaman returned home from the store to find Dallon sitting at the kitchen table, bent over a piece of paper with a focused stare and writing something.
   "Dall, what are you doing?"
   "Ryan, I'm finishing our first song. Want to read it?" Weekes looked at the guy, who was smiling happily. Seaman immediately went to Dallon and looked at the paper. He liked the song very much, so he began to praise and thank the uncomprehending Weekes, and then asked him to hug. Of course, Dallon did not refuse his request, and in the end they stood in an embrace in the kitchen for about five minutes, only then the drummer remembered that he still had a bag of food in the hallway.
   They decided to make a mini-album, and at the same time recoup all the costs of developing a bass player with the help of a tour of their band with a strange name. However, to match the group itself. Their first clip became a sensation and they have already paid off twice all the costs. Dall acted like a robot at first, but then his speech and movements became more and more human. Ryan's parents were still biased and skeptical of the bass player, but nothing negative was expressed.

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   "Dall, we can finally release our first album tonight, can you imagine? We should celebrate it! And then we're gonna do our first serious concert in our town, damn, that's so cool!"
   "Okay, I'll just stay home, monitor the fans' reactions, maybe play something from our repertoire. All right, well, just come home, look for you all over town, and then dragging your body home is not part of my job, okay?"
   Dallon looked at the blueberry miracle across and smiled a little, probably because he began to understand when and what emotion would be appropriate. But the expected counter smile of Ryan didn't follow, so Weekes stopped smiling and stared at him, all of a kind showing misunderstanding.
   "No, Dall, I wanted to celebrate with you, you've done a great job and none of this would have happened without you. I'm very proud of you! Well, we can watch the fans' reactions together if we want to, right?"
   Seaman did smile at the end and put his hand carefully on Weekes' shoulder. He just smiled again and nodded his head.
   "But, you know, I don't really prefer alcohol. I'm not sure I can keep you company better than your friends, because you wanted to celebrate fully..."
   "Dallon, I don't have to drink to be happy. It's just with friends, for company, that's all. No, well, I do occasionally initiate these bar raids, but rarely. So, what do you think of buying Pepper for two and pizza?" Honestly, Ryan wasn't expecting any special reaction from Dallon, other than consent or rejection, because he didn't seem to put any preferences in Weekes' artificial intelligence, other than some general ones, in the likeness of music. And he didn't put any self-improvement in it either, though he didn't limit it.
   "Oh, well, great idea, I like the combination of Pepper and pizza. And separately, they're good too, I won't hide it. Why don't we buy some more?"
   Seaman nodded pretty hard at first and was about to get up from the table to get the phone, but then he pulled over and turned sharp on Dallon.
   "What'd you say? "Liked"?! Do you like it?! You do?! I mean, really?! Exactly "like", you "prefer" it? Dally, do you?! No, it can't be, no, no, no, how?"
   The drummer wrapped himself around a bit confused and misunderstood Weekes, and then he quietly added "can I give you a hug?"
   "You're the only one who can. I take it this is the amazing news to you that I might like something?"
   "Well, yes..." Ryan took his eyes off the bass player and hugged him hard, stuck him in the shoulder. "You're the only one who can"... sounds like something creepy romantic and sweet, but Seaman decides to write it all down to Dall's recent reading of some kind of soulmate novel, so now he decides to insert the phrases from there without really knowing how they sound.
   "Actually, I was also surprised to learn that I liked something separatelyly. I mean, not like music, songs, guitar playing and fans, but like the same food, soap operas, books, genres, and more. It's so cool to feel that you like something, feel how your unique personality is built, or something like that"
   The shaten hugged Ryan and with one hand gently and carefully ruffled the hair on the back of Seaman's head, which gave him the tingles on his back and he blurred in a smile.
   "I can imagine that. I'm very happy for you! Shall we open a can and order a pizza? What do you want, pepperoni, margarita or something? Today you can choose anything you want!"



   Two guys sat on the couch and scrolled through social networking media, looking at the fans' reactions to their album and expectations for tomorrow's concert. They were absolutely ready for the show, so they could afford that time at 1:00 o'clock at night. They wouldn't fall asleep anyway, and the fans are interesting. Of course, there were haters in the stream of messages and comments, as well as quite strange people who asked strange questions about Dallon and Ryan's life, but there were so few of them that both musicians simply ignored them without even thinking about ruining their mood.

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   Ryan was clearly nervous. He walked from corner to corner, wiped his sweaty palms, went to the mirror, corrected his bangs, and then started wandering around the dressing room again. Dallon only watched his eyes and did not know how to help the drummer.
   "Ryan, it's gonna be good-"
   "Easy for you to say! You're not worried! Or did you already have learned how to do it?! No, of course not!" - Seaman sat down on the sofa next to the bassist and took a hard breath to straighten his hair. "Okay, sorry, I snapped. You see, I'm really worried, even though it's not my first concert, I've been in other bands before, but it's... it's different..."
Weekes just sighed and, sympathetically looking at the nervous guy, gently hugged him, soothing on the shoulder.
   "It's gonna be okay, Ryan, we're gonna be okay, we're gonna be okay together," the blue-haired man just smiled softly and hugged Weekes back.
   "You definitely have to finish your novels and melodramas, Dall," Seaman said, smiling a little sadly.
   There was a knock on the door and the boys stopped their hugs. It's time to go on stage.
   The hall was completely full, and as soon as they both appeared on stage, there was a deafening squeal and joyous screams. There was happiness on people's faces, so Ryan's nervousness was noticeably reduced. He smiled and came to the microphone, and Dallon stood on his right hand.
   "How many people, I'm really surprised!" There was a cheerful and a little insecure drummer's voice. The hall exploded again with applause and rapturous screams, "Thank you for coming today! It's a pleasure! Well, I guess our music isn't the only thing that brought you here? So, I give my word to Dallon Weekes!"
   Ryan looked at the shaten and the man immediately answered him with a gaze that Seaman seemed to have, with support and some kind of special tenderness. The man passed the microphone, and he sat down at the drums, watching his creation. To be honest, he always perceived it as a man, not an artificial creation, and he was even very offended to hear or see how Dallon is treated not as a man, but as a robot. From Ryan's reasoning had come a new wave of joyous screams, which meant the end of Weekes' speech.
   They were already pretty exhausted at the end of the concert, but happy as hell. The last song Dallon sang was something quiet from his personal composition. Yeah, he wasn't just writing for the band. Seaman put his talent for songwriting into it, but he didn't limit it to just the band. In fact, Ryan gave the bass player a lot of freedom in his actions, for which he was extremely grateful.
   "Ryan, I think you can get some rest on the last song, I want to do it on my ukulele separately. Well, it's also next to you, but it's very uncomfortable to sneak up on you, and in case I break something there."
   The drummer didn't know what to do: curse Dallon for that phrase or beg for it. Still, the second one outweighed, so he got out of his favorite drums and sat down next to Weekes on the floor, his legs crossed.
   "Dallon, you should definitely stop reading so many novels and watch so much romance!"
   Looks like somebody's nose is bleeding from the hall. Well, there's a lot of reactions in people.
   Dallon was singing a song, and Ryan was quietly singing on the back, smiling, even if he was a little tired.
   The concert was over, and the guys threw drumsticks and the mediator into the audience and left. They were sweaty to the thread, tired and exhausted, so as soon as Ryan finished hugging the fans, Weekes smiled, rubbed Seaman's hair in and turned to the fans to say that they are going to home to take a rest. Yeah, straightforward, but there's nothing wrong with that.
   After the concert they did not go into the social network for several days, because they understood what was going on there. But on the third day Ryan's curiosity overpowered him and he suggested Dallon see what was going on in their fandom. In fact, Weekes was already on the verge of seeing what was going on, so it didn't take him long to talk.


   "Ryan, look how many pictures are with us!"
   "Yeah, somebody even shot the whole concert!"
   "Our fans are so cool, aren't they?"
   "Yeah, they are! Look, let's go to bed now, it's 2:00 in the morning, we're really into watching..." Ryan lifted up the corners of his lips and rubbed Dallon over his shoulder and lay on the bed. Shaten only looked at him first with a little doubt, but then smiled back and lay down on his side of the bed. Yes, they slept on the same bed, because Seaman had no money for several beds at first, and now they are just used to it.   
   Weekes walked carefully to the door, closed it, and plunged the room into an enveloping darkness, broken only by the milky moonlight and some distant streetlight. Dallon lay down carefully on the bed so he wouldn't wake up Ryan with the slightest movement and tried to sleep. Usually if Dall couldn't sleep normally, he'd switch his nervous system and fall asleep peacefully, but now there was something worrying him, something he just couldn't understand. The feeling that he wasn't on his toes, the depressing unreasonable anxiety was absorbing Weekes more and more until it hit him.
      Ryan should have been asleep for at least two hours, but he hadn't even flipped over on the other side, though he usually spun around the bed. The bass player was too accustomed to waking up, wrapped in someone else's legs and hands and sometimes pressed across, but Dallon always gently and carefully placed Seaman in an adequate position and went to the bathroom to comb his hair. But now Ryan wasn't moving, and the only sign that he was alive was his languid, heavy and intermittent breath that cut through the night's silence.

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   Dall couldn't sleep last night, something was bothering him about Ryan's behavior. Seems like Seaman didn't create artificial intelligence, but a full-fledged man.
   It's half past 5:00 in the morning. Ryan still hasn't moved and Dallon begins to doubt whether he's sleeping at all, but he decides to wait a little longer and then either "sleep" or check what happens to the drummer. Weekes did not have to wait long and soon felt as Seaman from behind sat on the edge of the bed and stood up carefully. Dallon could not see what was really happening there, for he was lying on his side, his back to the balcony and to Ryan, so all he had to do was trust all his senses except his eyes. Well, the bass player's senses were fine, thanks to his creator.
  At one point, Weekes felt a heavy brown eye look on him, so it was like everything was upside down inside him. Then he heard Ryan gently take the phone and walk out onto the balcony, closing the door gently.

   What a fool, because when I go into a dream I can't hear or feel anything, and he still moves around carefully and tries not to make any sounds.

   The corners of his lips unwittingly trembled in an embarrassing and warm smile. So Dallon lay there until he heard a quiet sobbing from the balcony. Weekes immediately opened his slightly closing eyes, yet his habit of falling asleep made sense, and with one quick movement he got out of bed. He walked gently through the thick darkness to the balcony door and slightly pushed back the curtain that covered the moonlight. Ryan opened his eyes, hugging his knees, his legs pressed against his chest and shaking a little, either from the summer night chill or from crying. His phonewhas lying next to him on and some tweets glowing softly. Shaten went without hesitation to the balcony and approached to Seaman, sat down next to him and hugged him by the shoulders.

   "Ryan, what happened, will you tell me?" The blue-haired man noticeably shuddered and raised his head to Dallon.
   "So you weren't asleep after all. Why was that?" The voice was treacherously shaking and the breath was confused, but Ryan tried to hold back the tears that were coming.
   "I... I thought something was wrong, plus you weren't moving at all in your sleep, it was too suspicious."
   "I'm sorry to make you... worried? I didn't think you were capable of it anymore, even though I wanted to keep you from it... but that's how it's supposed to be, it's good that you're developing and becoming more and more human, right? Yeah, I'm really glad about that. That's not why I'm crying. So it's okay, Dall. Please go to sleep, I think it would be nice to study and rehearse more starting today, so it's worth storing enough energy."
   "But doesn't that mean you need to save up energy, too, Ryan? Come on, let's go inside, calm down, and we'll sleep, it'll be fine. Whatever reason you have for crying and suffering, I'm sure it'll be all right soon. I'll try to help you as best I can."
   "No, no, don't get involved, it's not worth your attention, Dall!" The drummer carefully raked the shuttle hair and smiled a little, but the smile was soaked in bitterness. Slightly turning off the phone, Seaman rose to his feet and extended his hand to Dallon. "But I guess you're right about one thing, let's go inside." Weekes took a hard sigh, but still took Ryan's hand and went up. Then, in one motion, he turned Seaman right to himself, then quickly took second hand under his knees and dragged him home in his arms, leaving the balcony and closing the door. For some reason, Ryan only cried harder on Dallon's shoulder and began to ask him to put it down immediately. Weekes put him down on the bed and lay down next to him, hugging the blue man.
   "It's gonna be okay, Ryan, sleep tight, I'm with you. You can cry, but just come next to me, or at least just in bed..." Seaman squeezed Dallon in his arms and sobbed with renewed vigor into his shoulder. Weekes tried to understand what made Ryan feel so bad, but he decided that he would try to figure it out, of course, if the drummer wasn't too much against it. Anyway, they still are different people with their lives. In fact, most of them were just Seaman, but Dallon thought it was extremely tactless to break into someone's life without asking.


   After a while, the drummer fumbled in Weekes' hands, and he realized that his creator had finally fallen asleep, so he let himself pass out. It was six o'clock in the morning.

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   Dallon woke up at nine o'clock in the morning, and the kitchen could already hear the kettle boiling, noisily gurgle and clicking a button, which meant the end of the boiling. The sound was so cozy and homely that Weekes unwittingly sprayed in a smile, slowly rising from his bed and stretching. As he walked out of the room into the hallway, the shaten bumped into Ryan, sleepy and shabby, wearing a home t-shirt and pants.
   "Ryan, you okay? Why don't you get some more sleep?" Said Weekes, putting his hands on the drummer's shoulders and looking at his face. He just tiredly smiled and gently patted on Dallon's hands.
   "I'm all right, Dall. We're gonna have to rehearse a lot today, so get ready."
   "Okay, whatever you say. If anything, I'm here for you, and I'll always try to help you, just say the word!"
   "Yeah, yeah, don't worry about it!" Heard from the room before Seaman closed the door.
   Bassist was even more worried about Ryan's condition, but since he said not to worry, maybe you shouldn't? Anyway, he had to get ready for work now, as Seaman had asked him to, so Dallon had a quick breakfast and coffee and then went to the room where Ryan was already waiting for him to pick up the drums.
   "Can we start with Do It All The Time?"
   "Okay!"



    It seems that on that day they ran all the songs they knew a few times, just taking a break for food. Ryan, of course, has always taken their skill and training seriously, but not so much. It was 9:00 in the evening.
   "Ryan, please, let's finish for today, you need to rest. You're about to fall, aren't you?"
   "It's... it's okay, Dall..."
   Weekes's warning wasn't empty, and eventually, as soon as he turned away, he heard the sound of falling drumsticks. He had a lightning-fast reaction, so Seaman hadn't fallen on the floor, but into Dallon's hands.
   "Damn it, Si, it's not good!" The bass player spoke through his teeth, carefully putting the drummer to bed. Now he looked so calm and peaceful that Weekes unknowingly stared at this miracle. His hair was now sticking to his forehead because of the cold sweat, his chest breathing measuredly, his arms sometimes twitching like his legs because of fatigue and muscle contraction, and his mouth a little open. Dallon, after a while snooping around, shook his head and went into the kitchen to prepare a glass of water for Ryan when he woke up. Carefully pouring a little cool water, brown-haired heard a quiet rustle in the room, so he quickly headed there with the mug.
   "Ryan, Ryan, you need to lie down, don't get up, here, drink some water and lie back down, okay? Next time, don't get so worked up, all right?" The shaten sat squatting in front of the drummer and handed him water. He looked at him with some glass and tired eyes, but he took a mug. He took a couple of sips and left it on the bedside table, staring again at Dallon.
   "Ryan Seaman, you need to get some rest. Don't overburden yourself, you played great tonight, so you can have a well-deserved rest. Come on, get down." Weekes pushed Ryan lightly into his shoulders, put him on the bed, and he sat on his side of the bed. Seaman, however, fell asleep quickly, so Dallon decided to go in and check the social network, but ... having opened the phone, he did not find any, and it was impossible to download, because there was a password restricting the download.

   What the heck is this, Ryan?! Why did you delete all the social networking? What the fuck is going on?! Okay, well, maybe he's got a good reason for this, one last time I'll pretend nothing happened. The. last. one.


      With these thoughts, Weekes decided to put his phone down and get some sleep, because he's pretty exhausted today, too.

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   The next day, Dallon didn't say anything about social media, and Ryan pretended like nothing was going on. He was working enormous hard and in the evening he came out of the drum set with a loud snap of knuckles. At night Seaman left, staggeringly, to go into the kitchen with his phone and sat there seemingly until 4:00 in the morning. At any rate, Dallon came and dragged his sleeping exhausted body onto the bed, carefully covered with a blanket.
   Weekes tried to have a conversation and understand what was going on with the drummer, but all his attempts were in vain. Attempts to calm Ryan and discourage him from overloading themselves drove only to the fact that Seaman looked at the shaten with eyes, which seemed ready to turn into a waterfall, then said that he had to go to the store and hurried to leave, leaving Dallon home and not even took the keys to the apartment. It lasted about two weeks. Seaman changed his hair color to chocolate and changed his hair. Those changes were obviously not for nothing, and Dallon was getting more and more worried.



  "Ryan, you can cry in peace at home, I'll listen to you, it'll be fine. It's okay. It doesn't make you weak. It doesn't make you an idiot. It doesn't make me feel bad. Your problems are just as important as any other person's. And for me, they're especially important." Dallon reached out to grab Seaman by the edge of his shirt, but he just shuddered and turned away, speeding up his step towards the door.
 "Don't worry about me, Dall. You don't have to do this. You've got your own life. And you have enough of your own experiences, I'm sure of it. I'm an adult, I'll take care of it by myself. I'm sorry."
   After that, Seaman slammed the door and the soft sobbing and the retreating sound of running feet was heard. He went back to the "store" again.
   The drummer returned soon enough, however, grabbed his phone, which he left at home and stopped in front of the kitchen window.
   "Ryan, what's-"
   "Dallon, I need to make a call, okay? Can you please stay in the room?" A pair of begging eyes staring at the bass player and he couldn't argue with anything. It's like they were saying "I don't want you to know, but I want you around."
   "Okay, call me if there's anything."
   Ryan nodded and Weekes rushed off to the room.
   The shaking hands were dialing the phone number again. The beeps.It feels like it's been going on forever.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four...
   Finally, on the other end of the wire, there was a clearly disgruntled voice.
   "What the hell do you want?!"
   "Mom, I..."
   "My son is missing. Stop calling here. This is the last time. My patience has burst. Isn't it clear that if you don't get an answer, they won't talk to you?!"
   "Mom, you... ...believed in these... ...Mom...?"
   "Sorry, the connection's been cut off."

   Legs are being swung and phone is slowly dropping on the table. Hand slips off the edge of the tabletop and the body drops to the floor with a deafening noise. Cold and physical pain is not felt at all. Tears do not pour, bitter lumps in the throat, lungs can not breathe. He can hear fast approaching steps and a familiar worried voice. Warm hands hug and turn on the back, rubbing over shoulders.
   "Ryan, Ryan, answer something, please, Ryan, please!"
   Shaten led one hand under Seaman's knee, and the other slipped between the floor and his shoulder blades, immediately lifting the shivering man and carrying him into the room as carefully and quickly as possible. His breath was confused and his gaze was glassed. Dallon decided that he would ask about the situation later, but now he had covered the drummer's plaid carefully and returned to the kitchen to pour a glass of water. The gaze fell on his phone, neatly lying on the edge of the tabletop.

   I'm gonna get some water now, then I'll come back and take a look. This is not an invasion of privacy, this is just to help. It's okay.

   Weekes took the phone off the table and put it in his jeans pocket, then headed to Ryan's room.

   "Ry, I brought water."

   Ryan still seemed to be lying there with the glassed eyes, but now the sheet was soaked around his head by the tears. He finally cried. He was crying now silently and motionlessly, as if all he had was excess water in the form of tears. Shaten sat down on the bed, stretching his legs, next to Ryan, gently stirring his hair. He stroked his hair soothingly. It had an effect. Seaman sobbed, sobbing loudly, not holding back, hugging and bumping into the bassist's legs. Now his jeans were soaked, but he didn't care about it now. The important thing is that Ryan will feel better when he will tear all off.
It turned out to be true because after an hour and a half, Seaman fell asleep, right on Weekes' lap. The last one wasn't actually complaining.

   Now I can see what's going on in the world. And find out who dared to hurt Si so badly in a half-minute phone call.

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   It had to trap himself to gently pull the phone out of jeans pocket and not wake up a sleeping "miracle" on his lap. They always trusted each other, so they knew the passwords on the phones. By quickly dialing it, Dallon first opened the call history. He was expecting some unfamiliar number or a friend or acquaintance of Ryan's, but definitely not this one. Shaten slowly turned the dumbfounded look on the sleeping drummer, then back to the phone.
   "This has got to be some kind of disgusting joke. He was always in a good relationship with his mother. Everything was fine..." Weekes said in his mind. He decided to keep digging. But first, the bass player went into the notes and found the password to install the applications on his phone. After that, he immediately closed the notes, because it really does look like an invasion of privacy, and he still has to respect the boundaries. Immediately, Dallon turned off the restriction with the password and installed the social networks back. He  went to the Twitter and Instagram. Too many messages and notifications. However, he decided to dig around and read who was writing what. There were a lot of personal messages, comments and tweets about how people admired Dallon and how cool he really is. There were good words about Ryan, that he was brilliant, that he was able to create such a realistic machine on his own, that he was a talented drummer and that he had a very nice voice and he was nice in general. However, there were some very unpleasant tweets and reports that Dallon is many times better than Ryan, that he could live separately, that Ryan keeps him in captivity, and generally does a lot of disgusting and nasty things.
   "It's taken a serious turn, something like that used to go away right away, and it's almost never happened. Ryan, I'm scared to know what's going on on in your phone, even though I've seen it in my dm's..." Weekes thought. And unfortunately, his worst guess just came true once he got into Seaman's phone. It was all painful and creepy to read. He finally figured out what had happened to his mother. She believed what was spreading on the Internet. It's not surprising, even Dallon himself almost began to believe, there are so many different arguments for their arguments, and so confidently all this was written. To realize how much Ryan was holding back, how much he was holding back, and how strong he still had Weekes's head covered. First he turned off the phones and put them on the bedside table, putting his hands on head that gently sniffing on his knees. His hair was so soft and nice. His breath had recovered a little, though there were torn sighs. Here Seaman squeezed a little harder in the arms bassist's hips and put his head on the bed.
   Now bitterness and compassion have changed to anger. An ordinary man would be covered in rage, but not Dallon Weekes. He could control his emotions. Though human emotions and even feelings developed inside him, artificial intelligence was still at its core. That's why controlling all his processes wasn't a problem for him, it's another thing that he let a lot of people do it himself, as it exists in people. It was interesting and easy to feel like others, knowing that they were more perfect.
   It is necessary to move on to active action. He has to help Si. This sweet, sunny, brilliant, beautiful boy. Shaten could probably spend hours talking and arguing why Ry deserves boundless care, love and respect.

I officially refute all the dirty rumors about us. And about Ryan. And about me. If you need an argument, I'll give it to you. If you continue to believe that and/or if you dare to spread some nasty news and opinions, then go to healing and never touch our music or anything related to me or Ryan Eric Seaman again. I will personally monitor this. Thank you.

 

   "It has to have its effect. It has to. How can they call themselves people if they write and believe in something like this?" Dallon was whispering it, posting on his page and sliding down on the bed to lie down, but not to get out of Ryan's arms. With a firm hug in return, he began to slowly sink into a "dream" as he pressed against his chest. Thoughts didn't rest until he turned off.

 

                 Why didn't I intervene earlier?

                                                                                    Ryan kept it from me so I wouldn't have to worry?

              Why did he make me so tall? And by the way, why did he even make me like this?


                                                                                                  His mother believed the rumors and gave up her son like that? Wasn't that just an excuse?


                   When we will wake up, we need to to eat and I'll try to help Ryan...

   They fell asleep in a hug that's never happened before.

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   The first thing Ryan felt in the morning was something heavy and warm that pressed him to the bed, besides a headache and thirst. He was also facing something soft but hard at the same time. When he opened his eyes and squeezed a little, he realized that he was resting on Dallon's chest, and Dallon wrapped him around it like an ivy. One hand hugged him, pressing him against itself, the other hand was placed under Ry's head and embraced him, also pressing him against itself, and one leg was thrown on the drummer's legs. The latter, in turn, first smiled and pulled out his arms to hug him back, but halfway through he pulled them over and closed his eyes. There were wet traces in the corners.
   All he wanted now was for this moment to continue and for him not to feel guilty before Dallon. But neither the first nor the second was possible for Ryan.
   He didn't want to wake Dall, even though he knew he shouldn't wake up until he turned himself on. And yet... Okay, thirst and the need to take the headache pills played a part and Ryan tried to get out of captivity carefully, but it wasn't there. Shaten immediately opened his eyes and stared at Seaman without moving.
   "How do you feel?" Silently asked Dall, continuing to devour the guy's eyes. He shuddered and slowly looked up at Weekes' face.
   "Are you awake?" He sounded suddenly hoarse and too quiet. Dallon was still not moving.
   "You know I don't like it when people answer a question with a question. But basically, I could tell by the sound of your voice. Pills and water on the table. But before you take the pills, you have to eat and it's non-negotiable. So drink the water and go to breakfast." With a strict but caring voice, Weekes finally let Seaman out of his clinging paws. He, in turn, decided not to argue and turned away and sat down on the bed to get a glass of water, but Dallon moved towards him and intercepted the glass. Ry looked at him with a strange and nervous look.
   "With such trembling hands you will spill all the water, or even drop it altogether." The bass player answered an unanswered question.
   "Thank you, Dall, but no n-"
   "You're not giving up my help anymore, okay? You've said no a few times, and the result is - you're in this condition" Dallon interrupted him. "Now drink and let's go eat."
   Shaten brought a glass to Ryan's lips and gently rubbed him on the head. The drummer took his eyes away, but opened his mouth. Dall immediately tilted the glass and the reviving fluid finally wet Seamon's dried-up throat. Weekes glanced involuntarily at the budding Adam's apple and lips, on which water was flowing slightly. He gently ran the end of the sleeve and removed the drop and the moist mark water had left. Ryan squeezed himself in and tried to drink the water faster. Ten seconds later, the contents of the glass were drunk and the drummer exhaled noisily, hanging his legs from the bed. Dallon stood up in front of Ryan and put his hands to Seamon's bedside table.
   "Dallon, what got into you, really? I can take care of myself, too..."
   "Seriously?! What's gotten into me? You're in a terrible weakness right now, and that's okay, because you had a breakdown. It's okay to accept help, just like asking for it. You couldn't take care of yourself and, you know, in this situation it's totally normal and understandable, so I'll take care of you. So either you take my hands now and I lift you up, or I take you and I carry you in my arms."
   "Dall, I-"
   Ryan hadn't had time to argue because Weekes had reduced the distance between them in one step and put one hand under his knees and the other under his back. The drummer may have been heavy for an ordinary people, but not for Dallon.
   After Seaman was seated at the table, a glass of water immediately appeared in front of him, and a little later a plate with fresh pancakes. And a little later, the same plate appeared on the table opposite the next chair. Immediately shaten sat down, poking a pancake at the fork. There was a silence hanging in the air. It was pressureful, unpleasant and very tense. Ryan looked at the plate, thoughtfully absorbing breakfast, his gaze was blurred with tears coming up again. And Dallon was looking at Ryan now and then on his plate. They sighed a heavy sigh and looked at each other. Everyone was looking for a solution in the eyes of the other, answers... but they both couldn't admit that one was drowning in molten bronze, voluntarily sinking into a hazel maelstrom, and the other choking in the pre-threatening clouds, finding comfort in the rain.
   The first to interrupt this pleasant torture was Seaman, who took his eyes away, whipped his tears and headed for the sink to wash his plate and go to the room. Weekes just pressed his lips and stared at his plate. Without the drummer, it was unbearably cold and empty in the kitchen, but the bass player wasn't sure he had the right to follow him now.

Chapter Text

   The pancakes got too cold somehow. It's like Seaman took all the heat from the room. And not only in the room, the shaten, too, as if he had re-qualified himself to the fridge. He has to move. This strange cold was already physically starting to stiffen.
   The water stopped murmuring in the kitchen and the plates rang against each other, and then the locker door rang quietly. Dallon hurriedly wiped his hands and, filled with determination, left the kitchen. Determination somehow quickly began to flow away, as soon as the bass player put his hand to the door handle.
   You just have to turn on the emotion control, as it always does, that's all. 
Dallon closed his eyes and rolled them up to restore the system. Sounds like it helped. After opening his eyes and taking a deep breath, he opened the door to the room and headed for Ryan. He stood by the window, leaning against the window sill, looking at his shaking hands. Weekes approached him carefully and placed  hand on his shoulder, which he suddenly pulled away.
   "Does that make you uncomfortable?" Asked a bit confused Dallon, because Ryan was always a tactile man, especially for a shaten.
   "That's not the point, Dallon. Opposite, I like it. But I really am forcing you to do all this. You don't have to take care of me, and you certainly don't have to put up with my antics. I... I'm just mediocrity, they were right, Dallon! You're so much better and more talented than me, you're so interesting and everything, and I'm... I'm just a burden, why you didn't leave me, why you're still messing with me, if you thought I was holding you back or somehow wanted to hurt you, not at all, really, not at all, I..."
   Dallon came close and stopped this nervous and unfortunate tirade, holding Seaman in a firm embrace. He carefully stroked the top of his head and quietly pulled away from the window, sowing in the end on the bed, not letting go of the drummer from his arms.
   "What they wrote was a complete nonsense, created only to hurt you. I've already started dealing with them. You're not forcing me to do all this- if you did, you know my character like no one else- I'd just walk away. And now about the mediocrity. Are you serious?! You created me, you know?! You're great at the drums, and I'm good at bass. But you created me, even if I play better than you on bass, even though you're great on drums, which I don't, you know you could create something better than yourself? This is unthinkable, Ryan! You're not a burden at all, how can you be a burden to someone without whom it just wouldn't exist? Please don't let those who say that make you believe it yourself."
   To be honest, Weekes was trying to fight the worst anxiety right now because he wasn't sure if he'd said anything extra, if it sounded too rude. All Ryan was saying was silence. Not a single sound or movement. There was a deadly silence in the room, interrupted only by Dallon's intermittent breath. It was a scarecrow. The shaten detached himself from Ryan and squeezed his shoulders, looking into his eyes. The drummer looked completely absent, his eyes pointing somewhere at the bassist's shoulder.
   "You did find out about everything... sorry."
   Weekes pinned Ryan back on him and started stroking his back soothingly.
   "Of course I found out. Why were you hiding it?"
   "I didn't want you to worry, and I didn't want you to feel bad about these people either."
   "Ryan, why didn't you think of yourself? I'm a lot easier at this than you are, and I'm a robot. Why don't you just share everything with me now and not hide anything, okay?" Dallon held his hands tightly in his arms and then, taking Seaman's face with his hands, suspended him, looking into his eyes again. They seemed to have become more full of life and the look was no longer so distant, so Weekes smiled carefully and stroked the drummer's cheeks with his thumbs.
   "Deal..." Ryan said uncertainly.
   Dallon smiled warmly and patted Siman on the head.
   "Well, that's better. It's gonna be okay, I'm with you, I'm here." This time, the drummer himself clung to Weekes and squeezed him in a warm hug with his face on his shoulder.



   Everything was going great. Ryan seemed to be on the mend, but he didn't specifically look at social media. And Dallon was happy about that, but the important thing is that this sun was okay. They even took a couple of walks together and went to the cafe they used to go to. They also watched a movie together. Ryan doesn't really remember which one, but definitely some science fiction movie because he fell asleep on about thirty minutes. But Dallon was still very happy.



   The watch was halfway through the fourth at night. Ryan's been up for an hour. He just lies there with his eyes open, that's all. And he can't fall asleep. It's disgusting to be honest. Dallon's turned his back on him as usual, but you could say with absolute certainty that he was asleep. Seaman decides to go to the bathroom and wash, to get away from annoying, far from bright, thoughts. Ryan sits on the edge of the bed and prepares to stand up, as his gaze falls on the phone. 
   He thinks, takes it gently and puts it in a huge pocket of pajama pants.
   Since the drummer's eyes had become accustomed to darkness in more than an hour, he easily navigated and reached the bathroom. His legs were a little smothered, so as soon as he went into the bathroom, he immediately closed the door and fell to the floor. He just wanted to lie down and cry. And probably disappear. He can't help but remember the phone that was in his pocket. Ryan took it out his shakening hand, unlocked it, and went into the first social media he found, anyway, Dallon seemed to have set up posts everywhere.

                    "Dallon, how much trouble is he bringing you, ugh, I'm with you."
                                                                                                                              "Ryan, go away from Dallon's account and stop holding him."
                                             "Why don't you just give yourself a solo career if he doesn't, as you say, bother you and hold you back?!"
                                                                                             "Dude, don't be embarrassed, I thought robots were smarter than people, but it seems like Ryan couldn't even handle it."


   Ryan quietly put his phone on the floor and stayed on the tile.
   "I'm ruining his reputation. They don't believe him. They think he's stupid because of me. I'm messing with him. I'm really useless. He said all that just out of pity or so that I wouldn't spoil his mood with my depressing look anymore. He just wanted me to stop acting like an idiot and not be able to tell me directly that he was in trouble because of me. What can I do to fix it? Is there any way I can reach out to people and ask them not to touch at least Dallon? No, everyone's gonna come at me and not listen. I don't want to see it all pouring on Dallon all the time. I don't want him to put up with all this. It's all my fault... It's my fault why everyone's going at him and why is his reputation ruined? Well, of course he's protecting you, of course his reputation is ruined, you idiot. Why do you have to ask yourself that? You even ask yourself questions for the stupid. If I were dead, nobody would have gone after Dallon, right? I could just take away his problems because it's my fault, couldn't I? But people might think that Dallon was responsible for my death... it'll make things worse, though... There's got to be a way to get all the suspicions away from Dallon. If I throw myself off a bridge, for example? At night? While Dallon's sleeping? First, he'd have an alibi. Although that wouldn't take all the suspicions away. I can't let him get into even more trouble with the end of his existence. What if... fuck, no. What if I wrote a note? Write a little letter? It's like Kurt, only I'm really committing suicide, not getting killed. And no one will write a letter for me. Nobody's gonna remember about me and I don't have a family anymore... Dallon can quickly forget, he'll just take a few minutes to adjust a couple of settings, a few memories, that's all. He'll figure it out for himself. And the fans are gonna love it. That's great. Everybody's fine. I'm gonna go get a pen and a paper."

   Ryan barely stopped going through his head to list the reasons why it would still be okay if he left and how to do it, so he barely got off the floor and opened the bathroom door. With sorrow he reached the bed in half and found a pen with a paper, he began to write his suicide letter.