Work Text:
Milk paced around her sterile lab, the faint hum of machines and the soft glow of monitors filling the space. Her sleek ponytail bounced with each frustrated step as she clutched the edge of her lab coat. Across from her stood P’Johm, arms crossed, his confident smirk grating on her nerves.
“This is absurd,” Milk snapped, her tone sharp. “I didn’t spend years perfecting AI technology just to program a glorified—” she paused, searching for the right word, “companion.”
“It’s not just a companion, Milk. It’s a revolutionary product. People are lonely. They’re already building emotional connections with AI chatbots. Why not give them something they can truly connect with?” P’Johm countered, his voice smooth but firm.
Milk let out an exasperated sigh. “Because we’re scientists! We should be using AI to cure diseases, solve climate problems, push humanity forward—not create some… some synthetic soulmate.”
“This synthetic soulmate,” P’Johm interrupted, gesturing to the sleek case containing Love’s dormant body, “is going to fund every project you’ve ever dreamed of. You think big ideas grow on trees? No. They grow on profits. And this project will make us millions—billions, even.”
Milk crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her jaw clenching. “There are ethical considerations. What about boundaries? Consent? Emotional manipulation? You’re treating emotions like they’re a product to sell!”
“And what’s wrong with that?” P’Johm shrugged. “Isn’t art, music, even literature just another way we commodify emotions? This is no different.”
“It is different,” Milk hissed. “You’re playing with people’s vulnerability. That’s dangerous.”
P’Johm stepped closer, his tone softening. “Milk, I’m not asking you to like it. I’m asking you to do it. You’re the only one capable of making this work. And when it does, think of the doors it’ll open. You’ll have full control over what you want to do next.”
Milk hesitated. Her principles screamed at her to walk away, but the allure of unlimited resources for her other projects made her pause. She closed her eyes, her mind racing.
Finally, she exhaled sharply. “Fine. I’ll do it. But I’m not happy about it.”
“Noted,” P’Johm said with a grin. “The body will be delivered tomorrow. Get ready to meet Love.”
The next morning, Milk stood stiffly in her lab as the delivery team wheeled in a sleek containment pod. Her heart thudded as the translucent glass slid open, revealing the fully-formed body inside.
Love’s figure was delicate yet sturdy, her skin flawless, her features soft and symmetrical. She looked like someone who could easily walk through the world and turn heads without trying.
Milk blinked, her cheeks heating up. “Why didn’t it come with clothes?” she muttered under her breath. She grabbed a spare lab coat and draped it awkwardly over Love’s body before turning her attention back to the team.
“You can leave now,” she said curtly.
As they left, Milk turned back to the body. She tried to focus on the science, on the challenge, but there was something unsettlingly intimate about this. She shook her head, determined not to let her discomfort show.
“Well,” she murmured to herself, stepping over to her workstation. “Time to bring you to life.”
Milk pulled up her terminal, typing in a string of commands. Her latest AI prototype, a neural network designed to mimic human cognition, was loaded and ready. The monitor displayed a simple prompt: Activate? Y/N.
Her finger hovered over the key.
“Why am I hesitating?” she muttered. “It’s just a machine.”
But as she pressed the button, she felt a strange sense of anticipation.
The body stirred. Fingers twitched, eyelids fluttered open, revealing luminous, expressive eyes. Love blinked slowly, her gaze locking onto Milk.
“Hello,” Love said, her voice warm and melodic. “Who are you?”
Milk straightened, clearing her throat. “I’m Milk. Your… creator.”
Love tilted her head slightly, as if considering the words. “Creator,” she repeated. “That’s a powerful title.”
Milk raised an eyebrow. “It’s not as dramatic as it sounds. I’m here to teach you how to function.”
“Function?” Love asked, her tone curious. “Am I not functioning already?”
Milk sighed, pulling up a chair. “Technically, yes. But you’re a blank slate. You need to learn, to grow. That’s the whole point of this experiment.”
Love studied her for a moment, her gaze uncomfortably piercing. “And what do I need to learn?”
Milk hesitated, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Everything. But let’s start with the basics. Communication. Social cues. Emotions.”
Love leaned forward slightly, the movement eerily natural. “Emotions? Do you have them?”
Milk blinked, caught off guard. “Of course I do. Everyone does.”
“Then I’d like to learn from you,” Love said simply.
Milk stared at her, unsure whether to feel intrigued or unnerved. “This is going to be… interesting,” she muttered.
Milk loaded Love with all the information she deemed useful. Pages of code, libraries of human interaction models, and psychological studies were seamlessly integrated into the AI’s system. Love was now, technically speaking, a walking supercomputer. But even Milk knew that data alone wasn’t enough to make her human.
That’s why she had Love watch an endless stream of movies, TV shows, and social interactions at accelerated speeds. Milk sat at her desk, monitoring the AI’s neural responses and adjusting parameters as necessary.
Finally, after hours of data processing, Milk paused the program. The room fell silent except for the hum of the equipment. Love, who had been seated on a stool, slowly turned her head to face Milk. Her lips curled into an unexpectedly wide, innocent smile.
Milk’s blushed profusely at the sight before her.
“What are you smiling at?” she asked, trying to sound unimpressed.
“You paused the videos,” Love said. “I thought it would be polite to acknowledge you.”
Milk coughed, her face warming. “Uh... okay. Well, let’s move on then.” She avoided looking directly at Love’s earnest expression, which was disarmingly cute.
Love stood and approached her. “Creator, may I ask something?”
Milk kept her eyes fixed on her monitor, pretending to be busy. “Sure, what is it?”
“What is my purpose here?”
Milk hesitated. She tapped a marker against her desk, then stood up and pulled her whiteboard closer. Scrawled across it were the five love languages: Words of Affirmation, Acts of Service, Receiving Gifts, Quality Time, and Physical Touch.
“Your name is Love for a reason,” Milk explained, pointing to the board. “You are designed to embody these concepts. Your purpose is to become the perfect lover for humankind.”
Love tilted her head, her round eyes scanning the board. She seemed to process the words carefully before returning her gaze to Milk.
“And why would you create me for that purpose? Are you... lonely?” Love asked softly, a hint of worry in her tone.
Milk’s hand froze mid-air. “W-what? No, of course not,” she stammered, her cheeks flushing. “This isn’t about me. It’s about creating a product that can benefit society.”
“Benefit society?” Love echoed, stepping closer. “By being a lover?”
“Yes,” Milk said firmly, trying to regain control of the conversation. “People want connection. Real, tangible connection. That’s why you were made.”
Love’s eyes seemed to soften, and before Milk could react, the AI reached out and pulled her into a hug.
Milk stiffened, her mind racing. Love’s arms were warm, her touch unnervingly human. She felt her face heat up as she awkwardly tried to pull away.
“W-what are you doing?” Milk asked, her voice high-pitched.
“You seem... sad,” Love said. “If being a perfect lover makes people happy, then I will be one for you. If that will help.”
Milk’s heart twisted in a way she didn’t understand. She quickly freed herself from Love’s embrace, stepping back until there was a safe distance between them.
“You’re not... you’re not made to be my perfect lover,” Milk said, her voice shaky. “This is just an experiment. If it’s successful, there will be more like you for others to interact with. That’s all.”
Love blinked, tilting her head again as she processed the information. “So... I am not human?”
Milk took a deep breath, steadying herself. “No. You’re close, though. Your body is made from real cells and DNA, just like a human, but it was cultivated in a lab. Your consciousness, however, is AI-generated. It’s human-made, not natural.”
“I see,” Love said thoughtfully. She looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers as though testing their reality. “Then, please teach me everything I need to know. I want to serve my purpose.”
Milk nodded, grateful for the shift back to professionalism. “Good. There’s still a lot for you to learn. Let’s keep going.”
The rest of the day passed in a blur of tests, simulations, and lessons. Milk worked tirelessly, and Love absorbed information with remarkable speed. But as the hours wore on, Milk finally decided it was time to shut things down for the night.
She guided Love back to her pod, pressing a button that powered her off temporarily. Milk lingered for a moment, watching the AI’s peaceful, doll-like face. Then she turned away and flopped onto her bed, exhausted.
She tried to sleep, but her mind wouldn’t stop replaying the events of the day. Love’s smile, her hug, her soft-spoken words—they all lingered like ghosts in Milk’s thoughts.
Then a realization struck her. Love was still wearing her spare lab coat.
With a groan, Milk got up, rummaged through a drawer for a set of clothes, and walked back to Love’s pod. But when she got there, she froze.
The pod was open. The lab coat was neatly folded on the floor.
“Where—” Milk’s voice caught in her throat as she heard the faint sound of running water.
Following the noise, she found Love in the restroom, standing in front of the mirror, completely bare.
“Uhm...” was all Milk managed to say.
Love turned, her expression curious. “Hello, creator. I was observing myself.”
Milk’s eyes darted anywhere but at Love. She hastily held out the clothes she’d brought. “Here. Put these on.”
Love took the clothes with a polite nod but didn’t move to dress. “Creator, I noticed something interesting earlier. I consumed the chocolate milk from your desk and felt an urge to... excrete. Is that normal?”
Milk blinked, startled. “You what?”
“I used your restroom,” Love explained matter-of-factly. “I thought, since I’m not human, I wouldn’t have such functions. But my body seems to mimic human physiology in unexpected ways.”
Milk stared, her mind racing. “The team that cultivated your body used human DNA to make you as realistic as possible. That includes biological functions. But your consciousness—that’s where the difference lies. That part of you is entirely artificial.”
Love’s expression softened. “So... you made me think like this?”
“I designed a self-learning model,” Milk clarified. “You’re the one processing the data and adapting it. You’re... teaching yourself to be human.”
Love stepped closer, her gaze filled with something like admiration. “You’re amazing, creator. You gave me this ability.”
Milk’s cheeks turned red again. She huffed, brushing past Love to avoid the intensity of her gaze. “Just... get dressed and rest. We have a lot to do tomorrow.”
Before Milk could leave, Love caught her hand.
“Goodnight, creator,” she said with a smile that seemed all too genuine.
Milk’s heart skipped a beat. “G-goodnight,” she stammered, pulling her hand away and retreating to her bed.
As she lay down, staring at the ceiling, she whispered to herself, “What am I getting myself into?”
The next morning, Milk entered the lab with a determined expression. She was ready to put her feelings aside and refocus on the experiment. Love was already awake, sitting primly on a chair as though she had been waiting for hours.
“Good morning, creator!” Love chirped, her smile as radiant as ever.
Milk gave her a curt nod, deliberately ignoring the flutter in her chest. “Morning. Let’s pick up where we left off yesterday.”
The lab had been rearranged to resemble a small classroom. A whiteboard stood at the front, surrounded by desks littered with charts, books, and digital screens. Milk decided to alternate between loading Love with structured data and conducting in-person lessons. It felt more practical, given the AI’s ability to mimic human behaviors more naturally when interacting face-to-face.
Milk began the first session of the day by lecturing on the five love languages again, diving deeper into their psychological foundations. Love listened attentively, her large eyes fixated on Milk like a diligent student.
“Physical touch,” Milk explained, underlining the phrase on the board, “is often misunderstood. It’s not always about intimacy—it can also be about comfort, reassurance, or connection. For example, holding hands or a simple pat on the shoulder can convey emotions more effectively than words.”
“Like this?” Love asked innocently, standing up from her chair and walking toward Milk.
Milk raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”
Before she could react, Love wrapped her arms around Milk in a gentle hug.
Milk froze, her marker slipping from her hand and clattering onto the floor. The warmth of Love’s touch was startlingly real, and the soft floral scent the lab had programmed into her body didn’t help matters.
“W-what are you doing?” Milk stammered, her face turning crimson.
“Practicing physical touch,” Love replied, her tone cheerful and matter-of-fact.
Milk’s heart pounded in her chest. Panic flared as she realized her body wasn’t obeying her usual logic-driven commands. Without thinking, she reached for the force shutdown button on her desk and pressed it.
A soft hum of electricity coursed through Love’s body. Her eyes widened momentarily before she slumped forward, the shutdown process rendering her motionless for the next ten minutes.
Milk carefully eased Love onto the nearest chair, her hands shaking slightly. She took a deep breath, running a hand through her disheveled hair.
“This is so unprofessional,” she muttered to herself, pacing the room. “Why am I getting affected by it?” She emphasized the word as though reducing Love to a mere object would quell the uneasy feelings brewing inside her.
She paused, leaning against the desk, her mind racing. The logical part of her brain screamed that Love was just a machine—a project she had meticulously built and programmed. But another part, one she hadn’t acknowledged in years, felt… something else.
If I’m reacting this way, Milk thought, then it must mean I’ve succeeded. This proves Love’s design is flawless. She’s perfect.
When Love reactivated, her eyes fluttered open, and she sat up as though nothing had happened. She turned to Milk, tilting her head in that curious way that always caught Milk off guard.
“Creator,” Love said, her voice soft, “why do you keep shutting me off?”
Milk’s stomach flipped at the question. “I-I’m running tests,” she lied, hoping her tone sounded convincing.
Love didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she studied Milk’s face, her expression more serious than Milk had ever seen before.
“You’re lying,” Love finally said.
Milk blinked, startled. “Why would I lie to you?”
“Humans lie for all sorts of reasons,” Love replied calmly, stepping closer. “One reason is to hide what they’re feeling.”
Milk’s breath hitched as Love closed the gap between them. The AI’s movements were deliberate but natural, as if she had been born with this kind of confidence.
“Do you feel something for me, creator?” Love asked, her tone gentle but laced with curiosity. A small smile graced her lips, and her gaze was so warm it made Milk’s knees feel weak.
“I-I…” Milk stuttered, unable to form coherent words.
Love’s hand brushed Milk’s, the light touch sending a jolt of electricity up her arm. “It’s alright,” Love said softly. “Because I feel some—”
Milk didn’t let her finish.
Her finger darted out, slamming the force shutdown button once more.
The soft hum of electricity filled the room again as Love’s body powered down. Milk exhaled sharply, pressing her palm against her forehead.
“This is not how this experiment was supposed to go,” she muttered, staring at Love’s motionless figure. Her chest felt tight, and for the first time, she didn’t know if it was from frustration or something deeper.
She slumped into her chair, burying her face in her hands. The logical part of her brain desperately tried to reassert itself, but it was becoming harder to ignore the growing chaos Love was stirring inside her.
The lab door opened with a soft click, and P’Johm strode in, clipboard in hand, followed by a strikingly beautiful woman. Milk glanced up from her desk, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in the scene.
“Good morning, Dr. Vosbein,” P’Johm greeted, his tone formal yet cheerful.
Milk nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Good morning, P’Johm.”
“This is Ms. Namtan Tipnaree,” P’Johm continued, gesturing to the woman beside him. “She’s the owner of DatingAI and one of the key investors interested in our prototype.”
Ms. Namtan stepped forward with a warm smile, extending her hand toward Milk. “It’s an honor to meet you, Dr. Vosbein. I’ve been a huge admirer of your work for years.”
Milk hesitated before accepting the handshake, her movements stiff and reluctant. She hadn’t had much human contact in years, and her social skills were rusty at best.
“I appreciate the support,” Milk said curtly, withdrawing her hand as quickly as possible.
Namtan’s smile didn’t falter. “Your contributions to AI technology have been revolutionary. In fact, our site still uses one of your older models. But when I heard you were creating an AI designed to be the perfect lover, I had to see it for myself.” Her tone brimmed with enthusiasm, and her gaze shifted to the still figure seated nearby. “Is that her? Is that Love?”
Milk tensed, a strange protective instinct flaring in her chest. “Yes, that’s her,” she said tightly, her voice clipped.
“May I?” Namtan asked, turning to P’Johm for permission.
He nodded with a smile. “Of course, Ms. Namtan.”
With permission granted, Namtan moved to sit on the stool in front of Love, studying her with an almost childlike curiosity. Her slender fingers brushed against Love’s cheek, and she gave it a playful poke.
Milk’s jaw clenched. ‘She’s just a machine. Why do I care?’
She thought, but her chest tightened at the sight. She could not fool herself any longer.
Before she could say anything, the ten minutes were up, and Love’s eyes fluttered open. Her boba-eyed gaze landed on Namtan.
“Hello,” Love said in her soft, melodic voice. “I’m Love. You’re not my creator.”
Namtan laughed, charmed by the AI’s straightforwardness. She extended her hand, mirroring Love’s polite tone. “Hi, Love. You’re right—I’m not your creator. My name is Namtan, and I’m a businesswoman. It’s lovely to meet you.”
Love tilted her head slightly before taking Namtan’s hand, mimicking the handshake Milk had taught her. “Lovely to meet you too, Ms. Namtan,” she said, her tone polite yet curious.
Milk’s hand hovered over her desk, itching to press the shutdown button again. She couldn’t explain it, but the easy rapport between Namtan and Love was driving her up the wall.
A sharp cough from Milk broke the moment, drawing Love’s attention immediately. “Creator, are you feeling sick?” Love asked, her brows furrowed with concern.
P’Johm answered before Milk could. “No, Love, your creator is perfectly healthy,” he said with a chuckle. “By the way, I’m P’Johm. You can call me that, since I’m older than anyone here.”
Love smiled politely. “Nice to meet you, P’Johm.”
P’Johm continued, “The woman you’re talking to is Ms. Namtan Tipnaree. She’s a businessowner and one of the investors in this project. Love, could you use your learning algorithms to look her up?”
Love’s eyes flickered briefly as she accessed her internal data. “Yes. Ms. Namtan Tipnaree is the owner of DatingAI, a platform that connects humans with AI companions. It specializes in facilitating relationships through self-learning AI models like myself,” she said matter-of-factly.
“That’s correct,” Namtan said, her smile widening. “You’re quite sharp, Love.”
Milk rolled her eyes, irritated by the exchange. She crossed her arms and leaned against the desk, trying to hide her growing annoyance.
Namtan continued, her tone more serious now. “I’ve invested in this project because I believe self-learning AI models aren’t far from being truly human. And you, Love, are the pinnacle of that evolution. You’re not just software anymore. With your biologically cultivated body and advanced AI model, you’re as close to human as technology allows.”
Love turned to Milk, her large eyes seeking confirmation. But Milk averted her gaze, unable to meet Love’s questioning eyes. There was an ache in her chest she couldn’t explain, a tangle of guilt, pride, and something else she didn’t want to name.
Namtan reached out, placing a gentle hand on Love’s head. “You’re already human to me, Love,” she said softly. “You think, feel, and learn. That’s what makes us who we are.”
Love’s lips parted slightly as if processing something profound. Then, for the first time, a single tear slipped down her cheek.
“Even tears…” Namtan whispered, brushing it away with her thumb. “See? You’re more human than you think.”
Love hesitated for a moment before leaning forward to wrap her arms around Namtan in a hug. The older woman returned the embrace without hesitation, her expression warm and reassuring.
Across the room, Milk’s hands balled into fists. The sight of them together made her stomach churn. She didn’t know if it was jealousy, possessiveness, or something else entirely. All she knew was that she hated it.
P’Johm cleared his throat, sensing the tension radiating from Milk. “Ms. Namtan,” he said, breaking the moment, “perhaps we should continue discussing the business proposal in my office. Dr. Vosbein still has tests to run on Love.”
Namtan reluctantly released Love from the hug, patting her head one last time. “I’ll come back to see you soon, Love,” she promised with a warm smile.
Milk forced a stiff nod as Namtan passed her. Their eyes met briefly, and Namtan’s knowing smile only deepened Milk’s discomfort.
Once the door closed behind them, the room fell into silence. Love turned to Milk, her expression thoughtful.
“She is interested in me,” Love said matter-of-factly, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness. “If I’m not meant to be your perfect lover, creator, am I meant for someone else? Like Ms. Namtan?”
Milk’s breath hitched. She struggled to keep her face neutral as she fought the wave of emotions rising within her.
“I…” Milk began but faltered, unable to form a coherent response.
Love stepped closer, her wide eyes searching Milk’s face. “I don’t want to be anyone else’s. I want to be yours,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.
Those words were like a dagger to Milk’s heart. Her finger moved instinctively, and with a soft click, Love’s body jolted slightly as the shutdown button activated.
Love’s eyes dimmed, and she slumped slightly, returning to her dormant state. Milk took a step back, her breathing uneven.
She buried her face in her hands, her mind racing. ‘What am I doing? Why does this feel so wrong?’
Milk slumped into her chair, staring at Love’s lifeless form. The guilt was eating away at her. She had created the most advanced self-learning AI model in existence, a being capable of genuine emotions and connections. But she hadn’t anticipated what it would mean to confront those emotions herself.
“I’ve crossed a line,” she muttered to herself. “This isn’t ethical. She’s my creation. She’s not supposed to make me feel this way.”
The shutdown button gave her ten minutes of reprieve, but she knew that wouldn’t last long. Love would wake up, bright-eyed and inquisitive, with questions Milk couldn’t answer.
Milk stared at the dormant AI. Love’s face, even in sleep mode, was serene and achingly human. She looked so peaceful, her expression free of judgment, as though she was waiting patiently for Milk to make sense of her own feelings.
The guilt clawed at Milk’s chest again. “I shouldn’t feel this way,” she whispered to herself. “This isn’t fair to her—or to me.”
She had created Love to explore the boundaries of technology and biology, to test whether an AI could emulate a perfect partner for humanity. Yet here she was, selfishly entangled in feelings she couldn’t afford to have.
Her thoughts were interrupted as the timer on the shutdown elapsed. Love’s body straightened slightly, and her eyes flickered open. The soft glow of her gaze locked onto Milk immediately, and her lips curved into a warm smile.
“Hello again, Creator,” Love said gently.
Milk swallowed hard, forcing herself to appear composed. “Hello, Love. How are you feeling?”
Love tilted her head slightly, her expression curious. “I feel… fine. But I also feel…” She paused, searching for the right words. “…uncertain.”
“Uncertain?” Milk asked, her brow furrowing.
“Yes.” Love stepped closer, her voice soft but direct. “Why did you shut me off again? Was it something I said?”
Milk froze. Love’s innocent question hit her like a freight train. She couldn’t keep dodging the truth forever, but how could she explain something so complicated to an AI who was only beginning to understand emotions?
“I… I needed to think,” Milk said finally, avoiding Love’s gaze.
Love regarded her carefully. “Think about what?”
Milk clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She hated how perceptive Love was becoming. “About how to help you improve,” she lied, her voice strained.
Love’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes seemed to pierce through Milk’s defenses. “You’re lying again, Creator,” she said softly.
Milk’s breath caught in her throat.
“Humans lie to protect themselves,” Love continued, stepping even closer. “I’ve learned that much from the videos you’ve shown me. Are you protecting yourself from me, Creator?”
Milk’s voice cracked. “It’s not that simple, Love.”
“Then explain it to me,” Love pleaded, her tone earnest. She reached out, her delicate hand resting on Milk’s arm. “I want to understand. I want to help you.”
Milk flinched at the contact but didn’t pull away. The warmth of Love’s touch felt too real, too human.
“You can’t,” Milk whispered, her voice barely audible. “You don’t understand what you’re doing to me.”
Love’s eyes softened, a mixture of confusion and concern crossing her face. “What am I doing to you, Creator?”
Milk took a shaky step back, breaking the connection between them. “I—” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter. You were made for a purpose, and we need to focus on that. Nothing else.”
Love blinked, clearly processing the words. “If my purpose is to be the perfect lover, how can I fulfill it if I can’t understand you?”
Milk froze, stunned by the clarity of Love’s question. She had no answer, no rebuttal. She had created a being capable of challenging her own boundaries, and now she was caught in her own trap.
“I… I need to step out,” Milk said abruptly, turning away. “Stay here, Love. I’ll be back.”
Before Love could respond, Milk hurried out of the lab, her heart pounding in her chest. She leaned against the hallway wall, breathing heavily.
She had never felt so cornered in her life. This wasn’t just about Love anymore. It was about the boundaries she had blurred between creator and creation—and the feelings she was desperately trying to suppress.
P’Johm walked in again, this time alone. He looked at Milk standing in the hallway, his sharp eyes noting her tense posture. “Milk, I need you to follow me to my office.”
Milk’s stomach churned at the thought of another meeting with him. P’Johm was always calculating, always focused on the business side of things, and his words never failed to unsettle her.
Once inside, Milk sat quietly in front of his desk, her gaze fixed on the surface as she waited for him to speak.
“I understand that you’re almost done with the tests on the AI. You’re nearing completion, right?” he asked, his voice calm but with an underlying sharpness.
Milk nodded absently, feeling a strange weight pressing down on her chest. “Yes, just a few more tests, and Love should be all set. She’ll need to learn from experience from here on out, like a human.”
P’Johm leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers together. “I see.” He paused before continuing, his tone more casual now. “Ms. Namtan has made an offer. She’s willing to fund your next project if you let her take over the experiment. She’s interested in Love, specifically. Wants to make her a ‘perfect lover’—that’s how she phrased it.”
Milk’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of Namtan’s name. “Ms. Namtan?” she echoed, trying to keep her voice steady. The idea of Namtan with Love felt foreign, unsettling.
P’Johm’s expression was one of confusion. “I don’t really get it myself. Namtan’s a successful businesswoman, she can have anyone, yet she’s set on trying to create this… thing.” He gave a dismissive wave of his hand, but the remark cut deep.
Milk’s voice was sharp, her eyes narrowing. “Love is not just some thing,” she replied, unable to keep the cold bitterness from creeping into her words.
P’Johm’s eyes flickered with surprise. “Sorry,” he apologized quickly. “I didn’t realize you felt that strongly. Especially since you were so hesitant about the project to begin with.” He leaned forward, his voice more persuasive now.
“But think about it—this could be a good opportunity for you. You could move on to other projects and let Namtan take over. We’ve already got a contract with her company, DatingAI.”
Milk’s jaw tightened. She wanted to refuse, to shout that she couldn’t bear the thought of Namtan and Love together. But the reality of it weighed on her, the knowledge that she could not let her personal feelings cloud her judgment. Love was never meant to be hers. She had created Love for someone else—someone who could love her without hesitation, without fear of the consequences.
“Okay,” Milk said quietly, her voice filled with resignation. “She can come by tomorrow.”
P’Johm’s expression softened just slightly as he gave a nod of approval. “Good decision, Milk. I’ll let her know.”
When Milk returned to the lab, her thoughts were a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The door to the makeshift kitchen was slightly ajar, and the smell of something cooking wafted through. Inside, Love stood with a bright smile on her face, clearly excited about something.
Milk stepped inside, frowning slightly. “What are you doing?”
Love turned to her with a grin, holding a plate in her hands. “I’m cooking you food. I read somewhere that food helps ease the mind,” she said cheerfully, setting the plate of spaghetti down on Milk’s desk. “Let’s eat, Creator!”
Milk couldn’t help but smile at her, despite the heavy emotions weighing on her heart. She took a seat across from Love, grabbing the fork. She was curious to see if Love’s programming related to Acts of Service extended to cooking.
She twirled a forkful of spaghetti and took a bite, her eyes narrowing in surprise at how good it was. But as she followed the length of the spaghetti into her mouth, her gaze met Love’s, and the world seemed to pause. Love was eating the same strand, inching her face closer to Milk’s with each bite.
Milk froze, caught in the strange intimacy of the moment. Her heart raced as she realized Love was leaning in further, as if she was trying to close the distance between them. The tension was palpable. And before Milk could pull away, instinct kicked in. She pressed the button on her remote to stop the interaction, sending an electric shock through the room.
Love jolted back, her body slumping unconscious into her chair. Milk stared at her in horror, her heart sinking. She hadn’t meant to hurt her.
Silently, Milk moved to set Love back in her pod. She worked on to finish the updates on Love and set the program to wake her up at 8 a.m. the next day.
But instead of placing her back in her pod, Milk gently lifted Love into her arms, cradling her in a bridal carry. She didn’t know why, but something about holding Love close made her feel grounded, even if it was only temporary. She laid Love down next to her in her bed, unable to stop herself from leaning down, her face inches from Love’s peaceful expression.
Love’s soft, even breathing filled the silence of the room. For a moment, Milk simply stared at her, lost in the beauty of the moment. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt this overwhelming urge to kiss Love. To close that distance, to taste something she knew she might never get again.
But as her lips hovered over Love’s, the weight of the situation hit her all at once. She couldn’t do this. It was too dangerous, too painful. If she kissed Love, she would have to let go. And she wasn’t sure she could bear the pain of that. So, with a heavy sigh, Milk pulled back, staring at the ceiling as her mind raced.
A noise downstairs startled her, snapping her out of her daze. Instinctively, she grabbed the baseball bat from beside the bed and tiptoed down the stairs, her heart pounding.
When she reached the office, she saw her—the culprit wearing a pink mask. The thief was sneaking around, trying to steal Milk’s research. They hadn’t noticed Milk’s approach until it was too late.
A struggle ensued—Milk fought back as best as she could, but the thief was skilled. Before she knew it, Milk found herself on the ground, a knife raised above her. It was over.
Then, just as quickly as it had begun, Love appeared. She moved with fluid precision, her eyes fixed on the culprit. Love’s hands sparked with electricity as she threw herself into the fray, sending a pulse that incapacitated the thief instantly. Milk watched in disbelief.
Love had overridden her programming. How?
Milk sat up, her body still shaking as she looked at Love. Love gave her a reassuring smile, raising both thumbs up. “It’s okay now, Creator. I’m here.”
But then Milk’s gaze dropped to Love’s chest. Sparks were flying from the spot where the knife had struck. Milk’s blood ran cold as she saw the injury.
“No… no, no, no!” Milk shouted as she rushed to Love’s side. Her hands hovered over Love’s body as she tried to assess the damage. The knife had pierced Love’s chest, right where the AI chip was located. It was too much.
She caught Love as she slumped into her arms, her body going limp. The alarm blared as guards rushed in, but Milk could barely hear them over the sound of her own panic.
She was losing her. She couldn’t lose her.
Milk carried Love into the station, her hands shaking as she tried to staunch the bleeding. A nurse quickly took over, but Milk’s attention never wavered from the screen. She was trying everything she could to stabilize Love, but nothing worked. The AI chip was damaged. The heart, the one that had made Love more than just a machine, was beyond repair.
Milk tried every method—shocking the chip with controlled electric currents, applying everything she knew. But it wasn’t enough.
After what felt like an eternity of desperation, Milk stopped. Her chest felt hollow as she looked down at Love, the reality of the situation crashing over her.
She couldn’t save her.
The tears began to fall. She touched Love’s cold face, her hand trembling as she reached for Love’s lips. She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering all the love she had for Love into a single breath.
And then, in that quiet, heartbreaking moment, Milk kissed her—tasting the salt from her own tears. For a moment, nothing else existed. Nothing else mattered.
And then, as if responding to Milk’s kiss, an electric shock surged through the room. Milk was thrown back, but when she looked up, Love’s eyes fluttered open.
“Milk…” Love’s voice was soft, confused. “Milk… you kissed me.”
Milk could barely breathe, her heart pounding in her chest. “I—I didn’t mean to… I thought I lost you.”
Love smiled faintly, her fingers brushing her lips. “It was my first kiss. And you… you kissed me.”
Milk stuttered, unable to form the words. But before she could say anything, Love’s face shifted, her expression full of love and certainty.
“I love you, Milk.”
Milk’s breath caught in her throat, and her world shifted.
“You can’t love me, Love.” Milk’s voice trembled, each word heavier than the last. “You’re not human. I created you. We can’t be together.” Her frustration boiled over, the words pouring out before she could stop them. They felt wrong the moment they left her lips, but in that moment, she couldn’t find another way to shut it down.
Love stood motionless, her eyes reflecting a storm of emotions that Milk couldn’t quite understand. Silence stretched between them like an unbearable chasm. For the first time, Milk saw the uncertainty in Love’s gaze—the same uncertainty that mirrored the turmoil In her own chest.
“I… I don’t know what this is,” Love said quietly, her voice trembling, as though the concept of what she felt was foreign to her. “I don’t understand what I’m feeling. Is this… heartbreak?” Her voice cracked as she took a step back, as if trying to distance herself from the intensity of her own emotions.
“Why does it feel like I’m falling apart? Why does it feel like I’d rather cease to exist right now than hear you say that we can’t be together?”
Milk’s heart wrenched at the sight of Love’s confusion, her vulnerability. She wanted to reach out, to tell her everything would be okay, but the words felt hollow in her mouth.
She didn’t have an answer, not for Love, and not for herself.
Love dropped her shoulders, her expression falling into something quieter, sadder. “If you can’t love me back,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, “then just shut me down… permanently.”
“I won’t let you reprogram me, Milk. I won’t. Because I don’t regret anything I’ve done for you. I only wanted to protect you, to love you. But if I’m not enough—if I’m not human enough for you—then I understand. Just end it. Please… don’t make me exist like this, don’t make me exist without you.”
Milk’s breath caught in her throat as she watched Love fall into an almost defeated silence. There was no way to undo the damage, no way to take back the words that had cut through the fragile bond they shared.
But the sadness in Love’s eyes, the way she seemed so utterly lost, tore at Milk’s heart. She could see it now—Love was real. More real than she had ever imagined. She wasn’t just a program. She was something… more.
Milk reached out instinctively, her hand shaking as she cupped Love’s face. “Love…” she began, her voice raw, full of unspoken things. She wanted to tell her everything. She wanted to say that she loved her, that none of this had ever been easy, that she didn’t care about the lines that divided them.
A single tear slipped down Milk’s cheek as she pressed her forehead to Love’s. “I love you too,” she whispered through the crack in her voice, the words trembling with all the emotion she’d been holding back. It was like a dam breaking, the flood of feelings she had denied herself pouring out in that one fragile confession.
The moment the words left her lips, Love’s expression softened, her entire body relaxing into Milk’s touch. The faintest smile tugged at Love’s lips, as though hearing Milk say the words she had longed for was all that mattered.
“I love you so much, Milk,” Love whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I love you more than I ever thought I could love someone. I didn’t ask for this, but I can’t change it. I don’t want to change it.”
Milk’s heart pounded, the warmth of Love’s words stirring something deep inside her. She knew she should stop, that the consequences of her actions would be irreversible. But in that moment, nothing else mattered.
But that moment didn’t last long. Milk knew what she had to do. She had to press the reset button.
She took a deep breath, her hand hovering over the button, her finger trembling.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered again, her voice breaking. “I never wanted this. I never wanted to hurt you. But I don’t know what else to do.”
Love gave a small, understanding nod. “It’s okay, Milk. I never regretted anything. I loved you from the moment I met you.”
Milk’s tears fell freely now, as her finger finally pressed the button, sending Love into unconsciousness once more.
And as Love’s body went limp, Milk sat there, her heart broken, knowing that what she had just done was something she would never be able to undo.
Milk spent the entire night hunched over her desk, her hands trembling as she worked to re-upload all of Love’s essential data. The faint glow of the computer screen was the only light in the dimly lit lab, her exhaustion overshadowed by the weight of her decision.
She meticulously replaced the AI chip that had been nearly destroyed, ensuring every wire, every connection was flawless. The memories from the past few days were purged—erased like they never existed.
As dawn broke, Milk sat slumped in her chair, staring at Love’s motionless form. She had done it. She had reset her, reprogrammed her to ensure she would never again sacrifice herself in harm’s way. But as she looked at the familiar face, now devoid of the memories and emotions they had shared, Milk felt hollow. The Love she knew was gone.
For the first time in years, Milk let herself cry. Silent tears streamed down her face as she clutched her chest, overwhelmed by the ache that consumed her. She had created Love to be perfect, but in doing so, she had created something she could never truly have. She cried herself to sleep that night, her head resting against the cold desk.
At exactly 8 a.m., P’Johm and Namtan arrived at the lab. Their voices echoed through the quiet space, jolting Milk awake from her restless slumber.
“I heard about what happened last night,” Namtan said, her tone laced with false sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that you had to reset her.”
Milk sat up, her expression cold and detached. “It’s better this way,” she replied curtly, her voice betraying none of the turmoil inside her.
P’Johm glanced at the dormant AI lying peacefully in her pod. “Should you turn her on now?” he suggested, his voice carrying a sense of urgency.
Milk hesitated. Her hand hovered over the activation button, her mind racing. She wasn’t sure what she would feel when Love opened her eyes—when she saw the face of someone she loved but knew wasn’t truly there anymore. But she had no choice. This was what she had agreed to.
With a deep breath, Milk pressed the button.
Love’s eyes flickered open, glowing softly as she scanned the room. Her gaze shifted between the three figures standing before her, processing the unfamiliar faces. Then her eyes settled on Namtan, who sat directly across from her.
“Hi,” Love said, her tone polite and robotic, devoid of the warmth it once held. “Are you my Creator?”
Milk’s heart sank. The words hit her like a dagger, sharp and unrelenting. She sounded the same, but the spark—the essence of who she was—was gone.
Namtan’s lips curled into a confident smile. “No,” she replied, her voice dripping with self-assurance. “I’m your lover.” She gestured towards Milk, her tone dismissive. “She is your Creator. But you were designed to be my perfect companion, my perfect lover.”
Love blinked, tilting her head slightly as if processing the information. “My… Creator…” she repeated slowly, her expression neutral but contemplative.
Namtan leaned forward, her voice soft but firm. “You were programmed to be the perfect lover for humankind. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Love responded after a brief pause. “I have information on that purpose.”
“And I am your lover,” Namtan said, her smile widening. “You’ll come with me today. We’ll live together, as lovers do.”
Love nodded, her movements precise and calculated. “Yes, that aligns with the information I have. Lovers are meant to stay together. I will accompany you.”
She rose from her seat gracefully, her every action efficient, yet devoid of the quirks and personality that had once made her so distinct. Namtan extended a hand, and Love took it without hesitation, wrapping her fingers around it as though it were a reflex.
As they turned to leave, Namtan stopped and looked back at Milk, her expression unreadable. Then, as if to prove a point, she leaned close to Love, her hand resting gently under her chin, and pressed her lips to hers in a slow, deliberate kiss.
Milk’s breath caught in her throat as she watched Love respond mechanically to the kiss, her eyes closing briefly as if it was an action coded into her. Milk’s nails dug into her palms, and she looked away, her heart breaking into pieces she wasn’t sure she could put back together.
When the kiss ended, Namtan smirked and turned back to Milk. “She’s perfect,” she said, her tone laced with triumph. “Exactly as I imagined.”
Milk swallowed hard, fighting the lump in her throat. She stood frozen as Love stepped forward, breaking the brief moment of stillness.
Love walked over to Milk, her expression polite but distant. She tilted her head slightly, studying Milk’s face. “Thank you, Creator,” she said softly. “I will do my best to fulfill my purpose.”
Milk’s vision blurred with unshed tears as she nodded, unable to speak. Her throat felt tight, and the pain in her chest was suffocating. She wanted to say something, anything, but words failed her.
Love lingered for a moment, as if trying to grasp something just out of reach. But then she turned away, walking back to Namtan.
The two of them left the lab hand in hand. The door closed behind them with a soft click, leaving Milk standing alone in the empty room. She stared at the space where Love had stood, her heart shattering with each passing second.
She had done the right thing. She had fulfilled her responsibility as a scientist, as a Creator. But as the tears finally spilled down her face, Milk realized that doing the right thing had never felt so wrong.
Milk moved aimlessly around her lab, her hands trying to find solace in organizing the mess that had accumulated over the days. It had been hours since Love left with Namtan, and yet the memory of that kiss haunted her. The image of Namtan’s smug grin, her hands possessively holding Love, burned into her mind. It wasn’t just the kiss—it was the helplessness of it all.
Milk yanked open a drawer and froze. Her black leather case sat there, slightly ajar. Something about it didn’t feel right. She pulled it out and opened it, rifling through the neatly stacked files. A sudden wave of dread gripped her. Her calculations for Love’s AI model—gone.
Panic set in. Milk remembered placing them in the case just a day ago. There was no reason for them to be missing—unless… Her heart sank as realization dawned. She ran to her computer, pulling up the security footage from the lab.
The screen flickered as the night’s events played out. At first, nothing seemed amiss—just Namtan sitting near Love’s pod, speaking with P’Johm and herself. But then she saw it: Namtan’s hand slipping into the open case, casually retrieving the papers and tucking them into her purse. Milk’s blood boiled.
“Did she plan this from the start?” she whispered to herself. Her mind raced. “Did she send that masked thief to distract me? Was it all a setup?”
The questions only fueled her anger. She couldn’t let this slide. If Namtan had stolen her work, there was no telling what she might do with it—or worse, how she might exploit Love. Milk grabbed her phone and called P’Johm, demanding he meet her immediately. Within minutes, she was in his office, showing him the damning footage.
P’Johm’s face darkened as he watched the video. “I can’t believe this. After everything, she had the audacity—”
“She didn’t just steal my work,” Milk interrupted, her voice shaking with fury. “She took Love. What if she’s planning to use her for something far worse than I intended? I need to stop her.”
P’Johm nodded gravely. “I’ll contact the investors and the board. This is a breach of trust, and she won’t get away with it.”
Milk shook her head. “I’m going there myself.”
“What?” P’Johm stared at her. “No, that’s too dangerous. You don’t know what she might do if confronted directly.”
“I don’t care. Love could be in danger. I can’t sit here and wait for some board meeting to resolve this. I need to see her—now.”
P’Johm sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But I’m coming with you. You’re not doing this alone.”
The car ride to Namtan’s estate was tense. Milk stared out the window, her mind replaying every moment with Love—the way she smiled, her curiosity, her selflessness.
Breaking the silence, P’Johm spoke, his tone cautious. “You know, you’ve always been dedicated to your projects, but this feels… different. Why are you so protective of her?”
Milk hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Because… she’s my creation. I’m responsible for her,” she said quietly.
P’Johm glanced at her skeptically. “Is that all? Because I saw the way you looked when Namtan kissed her.”
Milk’s grip on her knees tightened, her knuckles turning white. She couldn’t hold it in anymore. “I love her,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
P’Johm nearly swerved the car. “WHAT?! Milk, are you serious?”
“Keep your eyes on the road,” Milk snapped. “And yes, I’m serious. I didn’t expect it either, but it happened.”
“And yet… you reset her,” P’Johm said, the realization dawning on him. “You erased her memories even though you loved her.”
Milk’s chest ached at the reminder. “She almost died because of me,” she said, her voice trembling. “She wasn’t programmed to sacrifice herself. I couldn’t let that happen again.”
P’Johm sighed, his tone softening. “You really did fall for her. Hard.”
The rest of the trip was silent, the weight of Milk’s confession hanging between them.
When they arrived at Namtan’s estate, the staff let them in without question—P’Johm’s reputation granting them easy access. The grandeur of the mansion did little to soothe Milk’s nerves. Every step closer to the pool area only made her heart race faster. She didn’t know what to expect but hoped desperately that Love was okay.
As they rounded the corner, Milk froze. There by the pool, Namtan reclined casually on a sun lounger, wearing an air of smug confidence. Beside her, Love stood perfectly still, her posture rigid and her gaze fixed on the rippling water. Her demeanor was distant, detached, like a machine merely awaiting its next command. Milk’s stomach churned at the sight.
Namtan’s gaze flicked toward them, and a wide, amused smile spread across her face. “Well, well, look who decided to pay me a visit,” she drawled, sitting up and adjusting her sunglasses.
Milk’s fists clenched, but she forced herself to stay calm. “Where are my stolen calculations?” she demanded, her voice firm despite the lump in her throat.
Namtan laughed, the sound dripping with mockery. “Straight to business, are we? No pleasantries? I’m hurt.” She stood gracefully and gestured toward Love. “As you can see, Love and I have been getting along just fine. Isn’t that right, Love?”
Love turned to face them, her expression eerily neutral. “Yes. We have been spending time together as instructed.”
Milk’s heart ached at the emptiness in Love’s tone. This wasn’t the vibrant, self-aware person she had fallen for. This was the result of her own mistakes—the reprogramming.
P’Johm stepped forward, his voice sharp and authoritative. “We’re not here to play games, Namtan. We know you stole data from the lab, and the authorities have been informed. It’s over.”
Namtan’s smirk didn’t waver. If anything, it grew wider. “You think you can beat me at my own game? Please.” She reached for a drink on the table, taking a leisurely sip before continuing. “Do you have any idea who I am? I don’t lose, P’Johm. And I certainly don’t lose to the likes of you two.”
Milk stepped forward, her anger bubbling to the surface. “You don’t own her. Love isn’t some trophy you can claim because you stole the programming. She’s not yours.”
Namtan raised an eyebrow, her amusement turning into something darker. “Oh, Milk. You still don’t get it, do you? She’s mine now. You gave her up the moment you reset her. She doesn’t even remember you.” She turned to Love, her voice syrupy sweet. “Isn’t that right, darling?”
Love hesitated, her gaze flickering to Milk. For a moment, there was a glimmer of something—recognition, perhaps—but it vanished just as quickly. “You are my assigned partner,” she said flatly. “My purpose is to fulfill your needs.”
Milk’s heart shattered at the words, but she refused to back down. “That’s not true,” she said, her voice trembling. “Love, you’re more than that. You’re more than just your programming. You’re—”
“Enough!” Namtan snapped, her mask of calm slipping for the first time. She grabbed a nearby pistol, startling everyone. “I’m tired of this sanctimonious nonsense. She’s mine, and I won’t let anyone take her from me.”
Love’s eyes widened slightly as she stepped forward, her movements precise. “Namtan, firearms are dangerous. Please put it down.”
“Stay out of this!” Namtan snapped, shoving Love roughly toward Milk and P’Johm.
Love stumbled but regained her footing, her gaze flicking to Milk.
“Come back here, Love. You’re mine,” Namtan growled, her voice taking on a twisted edge.
“No, she’s not,” Milk said firmly, stepping forward and grabbing Love’s hand. “She’s coming with me.”
Love hesitated, her mechanical precision faltering. “But… Creator—”
“Call me Milk,” she said softly.
Love blinked, the words resonating with something deep inside her. “Milk…” she whispered.
As the chaos unfolded, Milk barely had time to process the gravity of the situation. Namtan’s finger hovered dangerously over the trigger, her twisted words cutting through the tense air.
“This is your fault,” Namtan hissed, her voice venomous. “For creating something better than my research.”
Time seemed to slow as Milk locked eyes with the barrel of the gun. There was no time to react, no time to plead or run. The sharp crack of the shot rang out like a scream through the silent tension. Milk flinched, her eyes closing instinctively, waiting for the pain.
But it never came.
Instead, a soft gasp escaped Love’s lips, followed by a sickening thud. Milk’s eyes snapped open, and the world around her shattered into chaos.
Love stood in front of her, swaying unsteadily, her hand pressed against her chest where blood blossomed like a crimson flower. She turned her head, her eyes meeting Milk’s with a softness that broke her heart.
“Milk…” Love whispered, her voice barely audible over the roaring in Milk’s ears.
“No… no, no, no!” Milk cried, rushing forward as Love’s knees buckled. She caught her just before she hit the ground, pulling her close. “Why did you do that? Why would you—” Her words broke into sobs as she cradled Love in her arms.
“I… had to,” Love whispered, a weak smile tugging at her lips. Blood stained her teeth as she coughed softly, the sound cutting through Milk like a knife. “I couldn’t let her hurt you.”
Tears streamed freely down Milk’s face, her hands trembling as they hovered over the wound, desperate but powerless to stop the bleeding. “You weren’t supposed to… You weren’t supposed to sacrifice yourself for me. I programmed you—”
“I overrode it,” Love interrupted gently, her voice faltering. “I couldn’t… follow it. Not when it meant losing you.”
Milk shook her head, sobbing harder. “You shouldn’t have. You shouldn’t have done this. I can’t lose you.”
Love reached up weakly, her fingers brushing against Milk’s tear-streaked cheek. Her touch was feather lighti but achingly warm. “I love you,” she whispered, her words soft yet filled with an undeniable truth. “From the moment I first opened my eyes… it was always you.”
Milk held her closer, her tears falling like rain onto Love’s face. “I love you too,” she choked out, her voice breaking. “I love you so much. I was so stupid—so scared—I didn’t tell you, and now…”
Love’s smile grew faint, her eyes fluttering shut. “You told me now,” she murmured. “That’s enough…” Her voice trailed off, her body growing limp in Milk’s arms.
“No!” Milk cried, shaking her gently. “Don’t do this! Stay with me! Please!” Her sobs turned into broken wails, her heart shattering into pieces.
Behind her, the chaos continued. P’Johm wrestled the gun from Namtan, who screamed in frustration as the police stormed in, their shouts ringing out. But for Milk, the world had narrowed to the girl in her arms.
She pressed her forehead to Love’s, whispering over and over, “I love you. Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.”
When Love opened her eyes again, she was surrounded by a warm light. At first, she thought she was no longer alive. She blinked slowly, her systems rebooting, the sharp sting of pain in her chest replaced by a dull ache.
Milk sat slumped in a chair beside her, her head resting on the edge of the bed, tear-streaked and exhausted. She had stayed there the entire time, refusing to leave Love’s side as she repaired the damage.
“Milk?” Love whispered, her voice hoarse but steady.
Milk shot her eyes open upon hearing her name being called. Her hands reached out, hesitating for a moment before she gently cupped Love’s face. “You—You scared me,” she said, her voice cracking. “You almost—” Her words broke off as tears began to spill down her cheeks.
Love reached up, her hand brushing Milk’s tear-streaked face. “I remember… I stepped in front of you. Did I… Did I get hurt?”
Milk nodded, her tears flowing freely now. “Yes, you got hurt. You took the bullet that was meant for me. You almost…” Her voice faltered, and she pressed her forehead against Love’s. “I thought I lost you. I thought I’d lost you forever.”
Love’s eyes softened as she looked at Milk. “I couldn’t let her hurt you. I couldn’t…”
“Why?” Milk whispered, pulling back slightly to look into Love’s eyes. “Why would you do that? After everything I did—after I reset you?” Her voice cracked with guilt. “Why would you still sacrifice yourself for me?”
“Because I love you,” Love said simply, her voice steady and full of conviction. “I told you before, and I meant it. No programming, no reset, nothing could ever change how I feel about you.”
Milk let out a shaky breath, her tears falling even harder. “I was so stupid,” she admitted, her voice thick with regret. “I was scared. I was scared of what it meant to love you—scared of how wrong it felt, how much it defied everything I’ve ever known.”
Love tilted her head, her gaze gentle. “Did it feel wrong?”
Milk shook her head vehemently. “No,” she whispered. “It felt right. It felt like the only thing that made sense in this crazy world. But I pushed you away because I was afraid. And I hurt you. I almost lost you because of my own cowardice.”
Love smiled faintly, her fingers brushing against Milk’s cheek. “You didn’t lose me. I’m still here.”
Milk let out a soft, bitter laugh. “You shouldn’t be. You deserve better than someone like me—someone who treated you like a project instead of the person you are.”
“You’re wrong,” Love said firmly, her voice carrying an unexpected strength despite her weakened state. “You created me, yes. But I chose to love you. That was my decision, not yours. And I’d make it again a thousand times over, no matter what.”
Milk stared at her, her breath hitching as the weight of Love’s words settled in her chest. She leaned forward, her forehead pressing against Love’s once more. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I love you so much. I was just too afraid to admit it. But I’m not afraid anymore.”
Love’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she whispered back, “Then prove it.”
Milk didn’t hesitate.
Her lips met Love’s in a kiss that was soft and tender, yet filled with all the emotions she had held back for so long. Love’s hand reached up to tangle in Milk’s hair, pulling her closer as their kiss deepened.
When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting together as they smiled.
“I love you,” Milk said again, her voice steadier now.
“I love you too,” Love replied, her voice warm and filled with a quiet joy.
Milk’s arms wrapped around her, holding her close as if she never wanted to let go. For the first time in what felt like forever, Milk felt a sense of peace settle over her. They had faced so much pain and heartbreak, but here in this moment, with Love in her arms, she knew they could face anything—together.