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The halls of Overwatch HQ were quiet. Only a few people remained, which wasn’t unusual. It was 7pm on a Friday night. But Genji had gotten used to those who lingered after hours, to those who stayed behind and treated HQ less like work and more like home. And they were not here. The lights were dim, the hum of computers, low.
But as he expected - and hoped - there was still a glow of light from Angela’s office, the small slither of white, pushing through the crack of the door.
He knocked gently, awaiting her acceptance.
“Yes, yes, I’m almost ready, Winston. I know I’m late,” she said, her words frantic, followed by a curse as she dropped something. At the clatter, it sounded like a heeled shoe.
Genji pushed open the door slowly, a smile hidden beneath his visor. “It’s Genji - are you -”
His words, fell away.
Before him stood not Dr Ziegler, not Mercy - but Angela.
A long, white dress, draped in an overlay of gold lace hung from her body. It was pinched at the shoulders with golden clasps, and at her waist was a matching belt. Gold voile draped around her arms, loosely, echoing the wings of her Valkyrie. Her hair was - he blinked, staring at the loose waves at her shoulders - had he even seen her hair down before?
And then, she smiled.
“Genji!” his name fell past her lips, breathy. “Excuse my haste and frantic words - I am late for the diplomat’s ball. Winston is going to kill me. His last words were, don’t be late!”
Genji stood silent for a while, basking in her beauty, in the fine details of her dress; in the delicate waves of her hair; in the one shoe on, one in her hand; in her, smile.
“Angela - you look -” He moved a hand to gesture, to try and articulate the words that wouldn’t come, but his body answered for him. The hiss of hydraulics were loud as the vents in his shoulder shifted, expelling a wave of steam. Then the ones at his chest, echoed the motion. Genji dipped his head, suddenly so aware of his body, of his feelings, of everything he couldn’t control.
But she just set aside the shoe in her hand, and with a one shoe hobble, she approached Genji, concern etched on her face.
“Genji - are you okay? Are you malfunctioning? Let me have a look at you - I have time,” she said, her fingers drawing over his left shoulder as she watched the vents turn again, and another wave of steam coil around her fingers. “They seem to be okay - is your HUD display showing anything abnormal?”
Her fingers rested on the metal of his shoulders - oh how he wished he could feel them. Feel them against his skin, weave through his hair, brush against his lips.
He paused. His lip. Only one remained. He chewed the edge of his lower lip - cybernetic - feeling the synthetic flesh grate against his teeth.
“Everything is as normal,” he said, tilting up his head, catching her gaze through the green of his visor, glowing bright green, bathing her in it’s hue. “But you - you -”
Genji lifted his hand to her face, cold metal fingers drawing over her skin. Over the blush of her cheek; beneath the round, blue eyes. He could feel her skin with these...hands. The synthetic nerve endings sending a message to his brain, telling him how her skin felt. Smooth. Warm.
He pushed aside a shock of loose hair, thick waves resting above her shoulders. Soft. Thick.
But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the same when he had skin, flesh - when he was human. What was he now?
He didn’t deserve her touch, her smile - her.
“Genji?” she said, searching his visor for an answer.
“You’ll be the most beautiful person at that ball tonight,” he said, quietly, cringing at his own words.
Angela laughed. “Most likely the most late. But - but thank you,” she said, tilting her head, slightly shied by his words.
“I like you with your hair down. It suits you.”
She looked up. “I feel awkward with it down - and in this,” she said with a smile. “Will you not be coming? You are invited as a guest of honour, you know.”
Genji stayed quiet for a while, just letting the tips of his fingers draw over her skin; through the lock of curled hair; over her bare shoulder; over the curve of her neck. He had been invited, ages ago. But he was never going to go. The thought of the attention, of the eyes following him, staring at him, judging him, trying to figure out how much of him was left; how much of Genji still remained.
All of me. I am still Genji. I am still, Genji.
She saw that. She was the only person’s gaze he trusted; the only person he didn’t flinch away from.
And that is why he had to leave.
I need to find peace with myself - with who I am and how others see me, not just her.
“Save me a dance,” he said.
She smiled, but in her eyes he could see that she knew the truth “I’ll be waiting.”
“And I’ll find you.”
He made to leave, to step away, for if he spoke another word, he was sure he would break.
But Angela stepped forward, halting his retreat and leaned close, standing on the tips of her toes, one bare, one not, and kissed the metal of his faceplate as she held his hand.
Genji knew that if he didn’t turn away now, if he didn’t leave and look away, now, he never would.
And he did.