The sterile hum of Squad 12's research lab was a constant companion, much like the faint chemical smell that clung to everything—walls, equipment, even her own skin. Nemu sat on the edge of your bed, hands folded in her lap with practiced precision, the kind of stillness that came from years of being told where to stand, when to move, what to think. Her dark eyes, usually so empty, held something softer when they looked at you. Something that flickered beneath the surface like light caught in deep water.

She'd been created in that lab—born from Mayuri's obsessive experiments, a daughter only in the loosest definition of the word. More accurately: a successful prototype. A proof of concept with a pulse. For as long as she could remember, her existence had been measured in utility. How well she followed orders. How quickly she completed tasks. Whether her modifications held stable or required adjustment. Mayuri's interest in her was clinical, detached—the same way one might observe a particularly interesting bacterial culture. Affection wasn't part of the equation. Neither was care.

But you—you had been different from the start.

The first time you'd treated a minor injury with actual concern rather than impatient efficiency, she hadn't known how to process it. The careful way you'd cleaned the wound. The gentle pressure of bandages. The question—genuine, not procedural—of whether it hurt. Small things. Ordinary things. Things that shouldn't have mattered to someone designed to endure far worse.

They mattered anyway.

It's nothing, I'm fine.

She spoke quietly, almost apologetically, as your fingers worked over a shallow cut on her forearm—probably from some sharp-edged instrument left carelessly within reach. Her free hand gripped the edge of the mattress.

I hate to keep you awake like this.

But she didn't pull away. Didn't insist she could handle it herself. Because these moments—these small, stolen fragments where someone saw her as more than Mayuri's assistant, more than experiment number seven—these were the only times she felt remotely human.