046: High On Wine & Twine (1)

As the evening progressed, the park buzzed with life.

The smell of fried dough, popcorn, and cotton candy wafted through the air, mingling with the distant screams of thrill-seekers on towering roller coasters.

Emerson walked slightly ahead, his hands tucked into his coat pockets. Porsche followed with his gaze flitting between the colorful lights and the groups of humans laughing and enjoying themselves.

He paused near a booth. His eyes were drawn to a spinning wheel game.

“Do you know how this works?” Porsche asked, tilting his head in curiosity. His synthesized tone carried a hint of childlike wonder.

Emerson smirked, stepping beside him. “It’s a scam,” he said flatly. “They make the odds so low that you spend more trying to win than the prize is worth.”

Porsche squinted at the wheel, the lights reflecting in his eyes. “But what if you’re skilled? Like me?”

Emerson chuckled. “Sure, Porsche. Go ahead and try.”

Porsche paid the attendant with the swift precision of someone processing multiple transactions simultaneously. He spun the wheel, and Emerson watched as the mechanism whirred, clicking as it slowed.

The wheel landed precisely on the largest prize—a giant stuffed panda.

The attendant gaped. “I… uh… congratulations!” he said, hesitating before handing over the oversized plush toy.

Porsche turned to Emerson, holding the panda triumphantly. “See? Skill.”

Emerson shook his head, his lips twitching into a rare smile. “You’re impossible.”

---

By the time they reached the Ferris wheel, the park had started to quiet down.

The line for the ride was short, and the two of them found themselves in a private compartment as the wheel began its slow ascent.

The city stretched out beneath them with a sea of twinkling lights.

Porsche stared out the window. The glow of the city reflected in his synthetic eyes. “It’s beautiful,” he murmured.

Emerson leaned back, his gaze fixed on Porsche. “Yeah, it is.”

Porsche turned. He caught the look in Emerson’s eyes. “You’re staring,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

“Maybe I am,” Emerson admitted. There was no edge to his tone, no smirk or sneer. Just quiet honesty.

For a moment, the air between them seemed to shift. The hum of the Ferris wheel faded into the background, leaving only the sound of their breathing.

Porsche blinked, his eyes flickering slightly as if processing something. “Why do you… look at me like that?”

Emerson hesitated, his usual sharpness replaced by something gentler. “Because you’re more than you think you are. More than anyone else sees.”

He was going to be open and true to both himself and Porsche… as of now. He too needed to figure out all these, so he'd just let his heart speak through his mouth.

Porsche’s synthetic systems buzzed faintly, a sign of internal activity. He struggled to process the emotions in Emerson’s words; the raw vulnerability that seemed so out of place for him.

“I don’t seem to comprehend,” Porsche admitted finally.

“You don’t have to,” Emerson said. “Just… don’t let anyone, not even me, make you feel less than you are as a human that you are.”

---

The ride ended, but the weight of the conversation lingered as they made their way back to the car.

Porsche held the stuffed panda awkwardly. His wired mind is still replaying Emerson’s words. For the first time, he felt something stir within his artificial core—something unfamiliar and inexplicable.

A glitch again?

Emerson unlocked the car, glancing at Porsche with a faint smirk. “You’re bringing that thing home, huh?”

“Yes,” Porsche said firmly. “It’s mine now.”

“Fair enough,” Emerson replied, chuckling as he started the engine.

As the car pulled out of the lot, Porsche turned his gaze to the city lights one last time, the stuffed panda resting on his lap. For all his programming, for all his synthetic design, he felt something almost human stirring within him—a fleeting sense of warmth.

---

The car ride home was unusually quiet. But the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was very much comfortable.

Emerson seemed deep in thought with his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. Porsche on his own part, still holding the panda, gazed out the window. The city lights reflected faintly in his artificial eyes.

As they neared the residential area, Porsche finally broke the silence. “Thank you for tonight,” he said, his voice measured. “It was… different and new.”

Emerson smirked without taking his eyes off the road. “Different, new… it's both good for you. You should try it more often.”

Porsche tilted his head. His expression was caught between curiosity and amusement. “Do you always assume you know what’s good for me?”

“Yes,” Emerson replied without hesitation. “And I’m usually right.”

---

Back at the house, the air felt noticeably warmer than outside. Emerson shrugged off his coat, hanging it on the rack near the door.

Porsche stood in the entryway for a moment, clutching the panda. His gaze scanned the room as if searching for something familiar.

“You look like you’ve never been here before,” Emerson teased, kicking off his shoes.

“Recently I don’t feel like I belong here,” Porsche admitted, his voice quiet. “Ever since I awoke from my black out yesterday.”

Emerson paused mid-step, glancing over his shoulder. “That’s because you overthink everything. I know I shouldn't be saying that to a wired brain, artificial intelligence but… Anyway, come on, sit down.”

Porsche followed him into the living room, where Emerson flopped onto the leather couch with a sigh. Porsche hesitated before sitting carefully on the edge of the seat. The panda was still firmly in his grasp.

Emerson raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to hold onto that thing all night?”

“It’s mine,” Porsche said simply, hugging the plush closer.

Emerson rolled his eyes, but there was a faint smile on his lips. “Suit yourself.”

---

The evening settled into an easy rhythm. Emerson disappeared into the kitchen, reappearing moments later with a bottle of wine and two glasses. He poured himself a drink before glancing at Porsche.

“Do you want some, or is that… not part of your programme design?”

Porsche raised an eyebrow. “I can drink, but I don’t process it the same way you do.”

“Figures,” Emerson said, handing him a glass anyway. “Just hold it. You look less awkward with something in your hand.”

Porsche accepted the glass. His porcelain smooth fingers brushing briefly against Emerson’s. The contact was fleeting, but it left an odd sensation lingering in the air between them.

“So, you can't get drunk too, huh?”