Work Text:
Gaty had seen Two excited before.
She had seen them bounce in place so enthusiastically that their feet barely seemed to touch the ground. She had watched them spin through the air, laugh too loudly, and talk so quickly that entire sentences blurred together. When Two got excited, they became almost impossible to keep still.
This was different. The moment they began explaining, something about them changed. Their voice remained bright, but there was a strange intensity underneath it, as though they were trying very hard to explain something correctly. Their hands moved constantly as they spoke, fingers tracing shapes through the air that seemed almost too precise to be random.
"You see," Two began, their fingers moving in careful geometric arcs, "when an Algebralien really, really likes someone, they, well..."
They paused, searching for the right words. "It's complicated. It's a little like multiplication. Like how two numbers combine and become something bigger together. But it's also kind of like..."
Their hands twitched. Gaty's eyes widened. For the briefest moment, Two's fingers were no longer (though fingers as a concept to her was weird enough on its own). Their edges shifted and straightened, their shapes twisting into symbols Gaty could not quite recognize. A curve became an angle. A fingertip flattened into something almost like a numeral before everything snapped back into place.
Two noticed her staring, and they froze. For a second, neither of them said anything. Two's expression faltered. Their eyes flicked down toward their own hands, then back up to Gaty.
Were they doing something wrong? They must have been.
A nervous, high-pitched laugh escaped them.
"But, y'know, objects don't do that, right?" Two said quickly. "Ha ha! So, I don't, uh... I don't do that."
Gaty didn't respond immediately. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to say. There was something deeply uncomfortable in the way Two had said it. Not embarrassed, exactly. More like they were trying to distance themself from the thing they had just described, as though admitting it belonged to them would somehow make it true.
That was odd. Two liked being green. They liked being a number. They liked being the host because it was something they had chosen for themself. They took pride in the things that made them different. So why did this sound different?
"So... what do objects do, then?" Two asked, tilting their head. "If you really like someone?"
"Uh, well… I mean, we talk to each other. We hang out. We sometimes touch if we want to, but not like..." She hesitated, trying to figure out how to phrase it without making things more awkward. "Not like that."
Two nodded far too quickly.
"Right! Yeah! See, that's great. That's normal. I like that. I want that."
Gaty raised an eyebrow. “Why do you want to be normal?”
Two flinched. Their body flickered. For less than a second, several numbers appeared across their form, overlapping one another before disappearing again. Two immediately clasped their hands together, as though physically restraining themself from moving.
"I don’t want to be normal! It’s just-" They inhaled sharply. "I mean, sure, it's ‘normal’ for Algebraliens to do all the mixing and merging. But I don’t like it. Sometimes you just don’t really want to be or do what you’re expected. I don’t want people to look at me and immediately assume, ‘oh, that’s Two, Two should like math because they’re a number,’ because that’s the normal for me."
They gave another laugh, but there was no humor in it this time. Gaty looked at them, waiting for more to come.
They exhaled, eyes darting away. "...I just want to be like an object sometimes."
She looked at the green number sitting beside her. There was something strangely vulnerable about hearing Two say it. They did not sound like someone making a casual preference. They sounded like someone admitting to wanting something they had spent a long time convincing themself they were not allowed to want.
Gaty shifted in her seat once again. "You don't want to be a number?"
"Oh, yeah, uh, not exactly!"
The answer came so quickly that it was almost comical. Two waved a hand dismissively, but the gesture was stiff and unnatural.
"I'm just saying, being a number is great and all! It's fantastic! Numbers are great. I love being a number. But some parts of being a number..." They hesitated. "I could do without."
The smile was just a little too wide. Their hands kept moving even though there was nothing for them to gesture toward. Every movement seemed designed to make their words more convincing, as if standing still would give away something they were trying desperately to hide.
"So..." Gaty tilted her head. "What else is there?"
"Huh?"
"You said Algebraliens do that, uh, multiplying thing you were talking about. But what else do they do?"
Two stared at her. For once, they did not immediately have an answer. Their fingers twitched again. The tips briefly changed shape, almost splitting into several smaller forms before Two forced themself to stop.
Two sucked in a breath, their fingers tapping rapidly against their arm. "Well. We don't really have the same sense of space that objects do. Like, when I was younger, my friends and I would, y'know, merge a bit… Just little things! Like, changing a digit here or there, factoring things differently. Stuff like that. Throw limbs around since they regenerate-"
Gaty stared as Two’s voice was caught in their throat.
Two's grin wavered. "...That sounds weird, doesn’t it?"
Gaty wasn’t sure how to respond. "I mean, it sounds… personal?"
Two shifted uncomfortably, their fingers tapping out an uneven rhythm against their arm.
"But, y'know!" Two said suddenly, forcing their usual brightness back into their voice. "That's just how we are. It's totally normal for Algebraliens! Not weird at all! Anyway! Enough about that!"
Two waved their hands enthusiastically, almost knocking into Gaty in the process.
"What about you folks?"
Gaty didn't answer right away. She was still thinking about what Two had just said. The more she thought about it, the more certain she became that there was something Two wasn't telling her.
It wasn't just embarrassment. Gaty knew what embarrassment looked like. She had seen Two get flustered plenty of times before. This was different. Every time the conversation came close to what it meant to be an Algebralien, Two seemed to pull away from it. They had talked about being a number as though it were something wonderful, but then immediately started listing all the parts of being a number that they wished they could avoid.
I want to be like an object.
Gaty glanced over at Two.
They were pretending to be interested in something else now, gesturing toward the distance and talking far too enthusiastically about some completely unrelated topic. But Gaty could still see the tension in their hands. Their fingers kept curling and uncurling, and every so often their form flickered for just a moment before settling again.
"You don't have to answer," Gaty said.
Two stopped.
"What?"
Gaty turned toward them fully.
"You don't have to answer if you don't want to. But..." She paused. "Do you actually like being a number?"
Two's smile returned immediately.
"Of course!" Two's smile slowly faltered. "I mean… Yeah. Sometimes. Most of the time, even."
"Sometimes?"
"Well, sure. There are good things about it." Two began counting them off on their fingers. I'm strong and powerful. I can regenerate. I can do all sorts of math stuff. I'm a host. That's important."
They lowered their hand. "And I like being green."
Gaty nodded. "And I like being periwrinkle."
"So what's wrong with the rest of it?"
Two's expression went blank. "Nothing."
"You don't sound like someone who thinks there's nothing wrong."
There was a long silence after that; in fact, it was so quiet that Gaty almost thought that the conversation had ended there. Maybe she had pushed too far, and now Two simply doesn’t want to communicate anymore.
But then, very quietly, they asked, "Do you ever wish you were something else?"
Gaty considered it. She considered it for a good while. Had she wished she was something else? She’d wished that she was a different colour before, but never something fundamentally different. She was happy being Gaty, and happy being a fence gate.
"Sometimes I wish I could have arms and wonder what that would be like, but I never wished to be another object."
Two nodded. "Right. I think everyone wonders sometimes. About what they'd be like if they were different."
Two's gaze dropped to their hands.
"I don't want to be a different number. I just..." Two struggled for the words. "I don't know if I like what being a number is supposed to mean."
Two continued before she could ask.
"Everyone acts like there's one way we're supposed to be. One way we're supposed to think. One way we're supposed to..." They stopped themselves. "You know."
“Behave?”
“Yes! Exactly!”
Two’s eyes lit up for a brief moment, but just as immediately as it did, it went away. Their shoulders sank.
"And if you don't want that, people act like you're the weird one. I don't hate being Two," they glanced to watch the breeze blow over the grass on the field. "I don't hate being an Algebralien. It was just expected, y'know? You don’t think about it. You don’t question it. But then I left. And I saw how you guys are, how objects act, and I just thought, why can’t I have that?"
Two’s hands twitched, then pressed flat against their sides, like they were trying to hold themself together. "...That’s why I wanted to give my powers away. I thought maybe if I wasn’t like that, if I wasn’t so, so Algebralien, then maybe I’d finally feel normal."
Two’s fingers dug into their sides, pressing down like they could hold themself together if they just stayed still enough. They didn’t like talking about this. They didn’t even like thinking about it.
Because the truth was, they never fit in. Not really.
It wouldn’t work. It never would. Because no matter what they did, no matter how much they flattened themself, no matter how buried they hid their instincts, no matter how much they tried to be like the objects. They were still Two.
They were still an Algebralien.
And they hated that.
They hated the way their instincts screamed at them to reach out, to merge, to let go of their individuality and become something else with someone else. They hated that they could feel those same instincts clawing at the edges of their mind even now, even when the thought of it made their stomach twist.
They hated the way numbers acted toward each other. How easily someone could be forgotten, abandoned the moment they were no longer convenient. Locked away for an eternity. And worst of all, they hated that they understood it.
Because Two had been given this power.
That was what everyone called it, anyway. A gift, a blessing. Something they were supposed to be grateful for.
They had been handed power simply because they were lucky. Lucky enough to be the right number. Lucky enough to have the right personality. Lucky enough to be the sort of number who could apparently do anything and get away with it. The whimsical one. The carefree one. The one who always seemed to land on their feet. The one who could never have a bad attitude towards the others.
And Two didn’t know how to feel about it
They didn’t know how to react to the way people looked at them like their power was proof that they were special. Sure, the cheers from the object fulfilled their ego, but it also left behind an emptiness they couldn’t explain. They didn’t know how to react to how easily everyone accepted that they deserved it, as if power could somehow be justified by being fortunate enough to possess it.
Because what had they actually done to earn it?
Nothing. They had simply been born Two.
Numbers were selfish. Two knew that. They took what they wanted. They competed. They pushed each other aside. They treated strength like something that belonged to whoever was strong enough to claim it. They were selfish too.
They wanted things.
They wanted to win. They wanted to be important. They wanted people to listen when they spoke. They wanted power, attention, affection, recognition. They wanted to be loved without having to give anything up in return.
They wanted to be special.
They wanted to be ordinary.
They wanted to be an object.
They wanted to be anything except what they were.
After the incident, they left and watched how objects interacted, how they could stand next to each other without feeling like one, how they could touch without losing themselves, how their love didn’t have to mean becoming someone else together.
And Two had wanted that. They Needed that.
So they tried.
They tried so hard to be like them. They made their movements small. They established a new personality for themselves, less snarky and more kind. They never let their form stretch anything out of the norm, unlike Four and X. They never let anyone get too close.
And they told themself that this was better. That this was what they wanted.
But the feeling never went away. That deep, gnawing ache. That sickening, sinking certainty that no matter how much they tried to escape it. They would never, ever be anything but themself. And they hated that more than anything. Two swallowed, forcing down the lump in their throat.
Gaty was looking at them. She wasn’t saying anything, but she wasn’t looking away either. They must’ve stayed quiet for too long; she was getting concerned. Two clenched their fists tighter. Their smile wavered for a moment, words flickering at the edge of their mouth, but they pushed it down, forcing themself still.
"...I don’t want to be me," they admitted, barely above a whisper.
Gaty’s expression softened, just slightly.
"...Then who do you want to be?"
Two hesitated. They didn’t have an answer. Two opened their mouth, but nothing came out.
Who did they want to be?
Anybody but themself.
But that wasn’t an answer, was it? It was just avoidance. Just another way of saying I don’t know.
Their throat tightened. They wanted to shrink, to dissolve into something else, to stop existing as Two, if just for a second. But they couldn’t. They were stuck here. Stuck like this.
"I don’t know," they finally said. Their voice felt too small, too fragile, like it could crack apart at any moment.
"That’s okay."
The words were so simple that, for a moment, Two wasn't sure they had heard them correctly. Two searched her face for the catch.
There had to be one. Usually, when Two admitted something like that, there was always something that came afterward. A question. A correction. A suggestion. Something that told them what they were supposed to do next.
Then figure it out. Then be better. Then decide. Then stop acting like this.
But Gaty didn't say any of those things.
"I don't know."
"I don’t either."
"I don't know who I want to be."
"That's okay."
It was such a strange answer.
They had spent so long believing that not knowing was something shameful. Something they had to hide. Every time they couldn't explain themself, they scrambled for an excuse. Every time they couldn't decide what they wanted, they picked something quickly and pretended it had been their choice all along. They had thought there was supposed to be an answer. Some kind of solution, right? That's what they’re known for: being good at math and finding solutions to problems.
"You don’t have to know. I mean, I didn’t know I wanted to be periwinkle until Saw handed me that bucket of paint; I just knew I didn’t want to be brown.”
Two's mouth opened slightly.
"But..." They stopped, then tried again. "I should know."
"Why?"
"Because..." Two faltered. "Because I'm supposed to."
Gaty tilted her head. "Says who?"
Everyone, they thought. Everyone.
The other numbers. The objects. The people who looked at them and expected them to be confident, powerful, capable. Even themself. They were supposed to know what they were. They were supposed to be happy with it. They were supposed to know what they wanted. And if they didn't, then something was wrong with them. But Gaty was looking at them like there was nothing wrong at all.
Two swallowed. "You're not mad?"
Gaty giggled, surprised at the question. "Why would I be mad?"
"I don't know. I thought you'd think I was being stupid."
“Well… You are stupid sometimes, but this is not one of them. As I said, I didn’t always want to be periwinkle. But one day, I decided I didn’t want to be brown anymore, so I changed. And that was okay."
"But that’s not the same. You didn’t stop being an object when you changed colors. I-" Their voice caught in their throat. "I want to stop being me."
"Do you want to stop being you? Or do you just want to stop feeling like this?"
Two sucked in a sharp breath. Their form wavered, edges flickering between smooth curves and sharp, jagged digits. They didn’t know how to answer that. Because if they could stop being themself if they could erase every part of them that made them feel this way, wouldn’t they?
…Wouldn’t they?
Gaty took a small shift closer. "You don’t have to figure it all out right now," she said softly. "But I think you should be a little nicer to yourself."
The phrase felt unfamiliar. They had never considered that they were allowed to take their time. They had spent so long trying to force themself into an answer that they had never stopped to consider that there might not be one yet. They didn't have to decide today. They didn't even have to decide tomorrow. Maybe… they didn't have to know at all.
Two's eyes stung. "But what if I never figure it out?"
Gaty shrugged. "Then I guess you'll still be you. You don't have to like every part of yourself right now. You can be confused. You can dislike things about yourself. You can change your mind. You can try things and decide they aren't for you."
Two didn't know what to say.
They had expected reassurance before. They had expected someone to tell them that they were fine, that they were special, that being Two was something they should be proud of.
This was weirdly different. Gaty wasn't giving them a big speech about how they had to love themself and accept even the things that they hated, or how they’re secretly wonderful and everything has a way of working out. Two looked down at their hands.
"Would you like to start trying out with a hug? Object style?"
Two blinked. Their first instinct was to recoil, to say no, to pull away, to run.
But Gaty was just offering a hug. A normal, simple, object-style hug. Something small. Something safe to try out if they liked it or not. Something Two had always wanted.
Their hands twitched at their sides. Then, hesitantly, they nodded.
Gaty stepped forward, slow and careful, giving Two enough time to back out if they wanted. They didn’t. They weren’t sure why. Maybe it was because they had already come this far, or maybe it was because some small part of them was tired of running. She wrapped herself around them, not too tight, not overwhelming, just enough pressure to let them know she was there. Two stiffened immediately, their instincts screaming at them to move, to run away before something was taken from them.
But Gaty didn’t take anything.
She didn’t press in like she was trying to mold into them. She didn’t push or pull or expect them to shift to accommodate her. She just… held them.
Two’s hands twitched at their sides before, hesitantly, they lifted their arms, unsure where to put them. Eventually, they settled on resting them lightly against Gaty’s backside, fingers barely making contact.
It was weird. But not in a bad way.
Two let out a breath they hadn’t realized they were holding. Slowly, carefully, they let their body relax into the hug, just a little. They still weren’t sure if they were doing it right, but Gaty didn’t seem to care.
She just held on. Two didn’t know how long they held each other like that. Time felt different when they weren’t something else, when they weren’t bracing for something to be taken or changed. They didn’t think they’d ever held still for this long with someone else before.
Gaty shifted slightly, not pulling away, just adjusting her grip. “You don’t have to hold me so hard, you know.”
Two hesitated. “Feels like I do. Otherwise I might…”
I might lose you
Gaty giggled again, “It’s okay to let go a little. I’m not going anywhere.”
Two swallowed. The words hit something deep in their chest. They didn’t know how to let go, not in the way Gaty meant. Letting go usually meant losing something. It meant breaking apart, dissolving into numbers, becoming something different whether they wanted to or not.
But this wasn’t like that. They weren’t going to lose anything here. So, with great effort, they allowed themself to relax just a little more, resting their chin lightly against Gaty’s shoulder. Gaty gave them a small squeeze like she noticed the effort.
"You know," she said, voice thoughtful, "I don’t think you have to pick a side."
Two blinked. "Huh?"
"You keep talking like you have to be one thing or the other. Like you have to be only an Algebralien or only an object.” Gaty pulled back just enough to look them in the eye. “But why can’t you be both?"
Two opened their mouth, then closed them.
They had to pick a side, didn’t they? They couldn’t just… sit in between, being some strange, unbalanced equation forever. Could they?
“…I don’t know,” they admitted. It felt nice admitting they didn’t know the answer.
Gaty’s grip on them didn’t waver. “Then maybe that’s your answer. You don’t have to know. You can just be.”
Two’s hands clenched slightly where they rested against Gaty’s back.
“That sounds hard.”
Gaty gave a soft chuckle. “Yeah. But I think you can do it.”
Two closed their eyes, pressing their forehead lightly against her shoulder. Something in the in-between doesn’t sound that bad.