How to Repair a Mechanical Heart - By J. C. Lillis Page 0,47

dare maybe. brandon’s way too neurotic to do that on his own.

doomerang: Still, you guys. SHIRTLESS. HAND. HOLDING.

retro robot: They are legit doing it. That is all.

lone detective: They may be getting closer but I don’t think it’s a done deal yet. And I hate to be Debbie Downer but Disturbing Thought: ***could*** it be fanservice?

thanks4caring: omg. what if Miss queen bitch Maxima spilled about us???

whispering!sage: nope. no way. she’d never ever mention us to them. she’s uber creeped out by real-person shipping.

sorcha doo: if they get together global warming will stop and wars will end and kevin will love me again.

amity crashful: hey_mamacita are you here?? we neeeeeeeed you.

hey_mamacita: OMG SOBBING AND SHAKING AND VOMITING RAINBOWS. LIKE WHAT IS THIS LIFE EVEN.

amity crashful: your last fic made me cry like a bb

hey_mamacita: LISTEN: it’s not fic anymore. okay? It is PROPHECY. i mean SHIT ON A SHINGLE, SON it is SO CLOSE to happening and I don’t give a porcupine’s bumhole what maxie & her minions at Cadsim think. anyone can see how far they’ve come. look at brandon’s body language in Photo 1: looser, more open. examine abel’s eyes in Photo 4: they have that silvery sparkle now when brandon looks at him. THINGS. HAVE. EVOLVED.

amity crashful: omg I worship you. Never stop saying words.

hey_mamacita: I won’t!! EVER. not until they’re together for 10000000% sure. SWEET FANCY MOSES IN A HULA SKIRT, BOYS, just freaking do it already! We are‌…‌

“‌…‌Dying over here!” Abel rakes his hands across his chest and slowly teasingly trails them downward, his second Spaceman Straw dangling from his lips. I cough out smoke and we laugh laugh laugh and our laughing sounds huge as if there are a hundred of us in the Sunseeker, communing with the Abandon shippers and huffing in some serious wisdom.

“How are u still alive?” I ask Abel and he giggles.

“IDK, IDK.” He flops down on the pinecone rug. “I saw you shirtless and OMG, dead! Vomiting rainbows!”

“Ooh, turn over, turn over.”

“Like this?”

“Yeah‌…‌”

“Why?”

I shake my head and whistle. “DAT ASS.”

We explode again and it hurts this time, like the laughing is turning me inside out. Bec is perched up in the loft with her ankles crossed and my Phillies shirt on and she watches us like a wise old owl in a children’s story who hoots about danger to kids who won’t listen. She stopped after a couple puffs. I probably should’ve too but oh well.

“Father Mike would be so disappointed,” she tsks. “Your bodies are temples, guys‌…‌”

She says his name and my memory strains; he’s a book I read once in first grade and can only remember part of a picture, a snippet of a sentence. Snippet. Is that a real word? I lean my head back and swivel in the desk chair and feel like I’m falling but gently, like a million dandelion seeds after someone puffs them free.

“Oh babe‌—‌look look!” Abel pokes my ankle with the head of Plastic Sim. I’m in his red SEX BOMB shirt and it smells like his soap and sweat. “They’re already making macros from your shirtless picture.”

“Beautiful.”

“Abandon shippers are so much more awesome than Cadsim shippers.”

“We have very smart fans.” The ceiling is the most amazing shade of white.

“They love us, so they must be smart. OH! Oh, we should tell them how smart and awesome they are!”

“Shhhhhhh!” I sit up fast. The room whirs. “No no no no‌…‌”

“They wouldn’t know it was us. Bec joined with a sockpuppet‌—‌hey Rebecca? What’s our username, doll?”

Bec sighs. “brandonrox.”

“Perfecto.” Abel takes another drag and grins around a channel of smoke. He cracks his knuckles and starts typing and he’s so so fast, like I bet he’s the world’s very fastest hunt and pecker, and he reads out loud while he types.

“Dear Abandon shippers: you are the greatest! I’m friends with Bec and have met Brandon many times and you’re totally right, he is a neurotic mess‌…‌”

“Hey!”

“But hopefully soon he will see the error of his ways and let Abel get in his pants‌…‌Is that right? Is that even English?”

“So to speak.” I get down on the floor and crawl over to him.

“Are these words supposed to be moving?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Ugh. No more Spacemen.”

Bec turns over in the loft and switches my book light on and it glows like the pale third moon of Castaway Planet. Abel stabs out the Spaceman Straw and replaces it with a red lollipop from the bag of junk food we got at the 7-11. I unwrap my second