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Sometimes it feels like Tyrell's looking in past Elliot's eyes to see Mr. Robot inside.

He'd accepted long ago that he's just a rootkit on Elliot's system, but the way Tyrell looks at him makes him feel whole, not just a purpose without corporeal form. When Tyrell looks at him and touches him and eventually kisses him, it's the most real he's ever felt, so he allows it. He encourages it. Tyrell's breath hiccups like keybounce whenever they do touch and Mr. Robot initiates the next kiss, engulfing Tyrell's shaky breath into himself, because it feels like more proof to squirrel away into the parts of Elliot's mind he can't see and has never thought to look.

It doesn't take long for them to end up on the dingy old sofa in the back office of the arcade. Tyrell is a chatty partner, praising him for how beautiful his mind and his vision are and then his voice lowers to a rasp as he murmurs about how good it feels and how he's waited for this for so, so long. Mr. Robot consumes and consumes, keeping this as his, because Elliot greedily kept Shayla, his damsel in distress, clutching her too tight and suffocating her in the process. Tyrell sounds a lot like a damsel in distress right now with the soft, high moans spilling from his lips and Mr. Robot leans back and watches, drinking him in as he arches and squirms back into the arm of the sofa each time Mr. Robot's hips rock forward.

When Tyrell comes, relieved tears immediately start to stream down his face. Mr. Robot almost leans in to lap up them up because every little bit of this moment belongs to him and he'll protect it better than Elliot ever could, but instead, he moves close, kisses Tyrell again and pretends he doesn't hear when Tyrell murmurs a quiet, "I love you," into the tiny space between their lips.


"Do you love me?" Tyrell asks quietly.

Mr. Robot moves the receiver from one ear to the other and sighs. He looks around to the other inmates hovering around, waiting to make calls too and then turns further into the cubicle separating the phone off from the others.

"Listen, Tyrell," he starts, but Tyrell cuts him off with an incredulous huff of breath.

"Don't act like this is what I wanted."

"Is it not?" Mr. Robot asks. "Jesus fucking christ, you're not in love with me."

His chest aches as he hangs up, but he brushes off the feeling and starts back toward his cell before Elliot wakes up.


As he weaves through the crowd on the way to the rendezvous point with Tyrell, Mr. Robot feels nauseous. It's a kind of unease like he's being watched, but It's not unusual considering Elliot hasn't fed them in almost a full 24 hours and they haven't slept longer than in 20 minute increments over the last few days. The sour feeling in the pit of their stomach is kind of a constant and it probably isn't an indication of anything.

It's ridiculous, but he swears he can feel Tyrell heading towards the same point, drawing them closer and closer together. He'd be lying if he said it wasn't a small comfort to see someone that shares his goals and that he can be at least mostly honest with. He'd be lying too if he said that wasn't the only thing on his mind, becuase kissing Tyrell for the last time before leaving the arcade lingers in his memory as he walks.

He rounds the block and can see the taxi in the distance, idling at the corner, but he stops and watches as Elliot walks ahead of him, headed towards the taxi.


"I love him," Tyrell breathes into the phone.

There's silence on the other end for a brief moment. He sniffs again, trying not to cry, but his hands still smell like blood even after scrubbing them raw.

"I do too," Angela says.

She disconnects before she can hear him say, "I think he loves me too."