[a/n Thank you, everyone, for your patience and continuous support. This was by far the most emotionally exhausting chapter. Please give me your thoughts. I'm going to be doing a Q + A soon so please leave your questions too! I hope you enjoy this chapter as we begin to get into the true story of Overwritten]

-

Shades of red bloomed on my cheeks, eyes desperately trying to read his as I struggled to form a coherent sentence. Seeing my reaction, Scott gripped my hands tighter, his gaze unwavering as he grew closer. I didn't move, I didn't think. His eye narrowed, darting across my face and scrutinizing every movement. After what felt like hours, he, at last, sat back.

"I didn't mean like that," he said quietly, tone blank and gaze now lazily resting on me. His hands still held with mine, but I found myself not pulling away as I thought I might have, merely sitting there in disbelief, "But it would be the best theoretical outcome for everyone. I am aware of your dislike of Jake. I did not mean anything romantically, I meant as... friends. It would be the best outcome..."

"For... for us to be... matched?" I struggled to form the last word, gripping his hands tighter yet not knowing exactly why. For a brief moment, paranoia sent my eyes around the room, wondering if there were any cameras. It was pointless to look. Even if there were, I knew I wouldn't be able to see it. He gave a small smile, some hair brushing in front of his face.

"Yes, given the situation at least," he said it so simply, it took me a moment to register the gravity of what he was saying. He let a sigh escape from between his lips, the air still filled with the strong stench of disinfectant, "Now let me ask you the same question,"

"What?" I blurted, not able to think coherently. I wondered for a brief moment how hard he must have hit his head. Giving a small chuckle, his shoulders loosening slightly, hands still resting with mine. The blush on my face deepened with every passing moment.

"I must admit, it is quite amusing to see you so flustered," as he said this, his glasses slowly slid down the bridge of his nose. Carefully he removed his hand from mine, sliding it back up. He paused for a moment, hesitating before slowly sliding his hand between my fingers again, returning to where it had been.

"Why do you wear glasses?" I asked, surprising myself with the question. Glancing up I was met with my own deep red cheeks reflected in the lens of them. He raised an eyebrow, curiosity sparking in the eye that remained. His eyes always looked so interesting when he was curious, almost as if it were a rarity. Then again, not many people were allowed to be curious in a world like this. I continued, stammering over my words in an attempt to justify what I had blurted, "I mean- mean like... with the technology we have, it's almost like you're living in the past... why-why not just, y'know, get your eyes fixed..."

"I suppose," he paused for a moment, weighing it up in his head as if he himself did not know the answer. Not knowing if I should move my hands away, I kept them there, waiting for a sign that he was done with me. He seemed to come to an answer that satisfied him as he continued, "Perhaps it has something to do with sentimental value?"

"Sentimental value?" I repeated, puzzled at what he had said. For a moment, I wondered if I may have misheard him. I looked to the crack in one of the lenses, wondering if they could even be replaced.

"Yes," he gave a slight nod, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth although he almost seemed to be pushing it away. His hands ever so carefully gripped tighter. For a brief moment, his gaze was caught to something in the corner of the room before returning to me not even a second later, "My father made them for me,"

"Your father? Why?" it seemed with every question I asked, the more questions I had, the further from the truth I seemed to get. I remembered his Father, a more messy and older version of Scott. His warehouse had been filled with many various things. And the eyes. The man's eye holding a familiar curiosity, "But why... why gl-"

"I don't know, why does it matter?" his words held some kind of defense, snapping to alert. Despite the hostility, he didn't pull his hands away. Instead, he continued to scrutinize my face as if desperately trying to read a foreign language, the ever-growing curiosity burning in his eye.

"Because you don't seem like the sentimental type..." I said slowly, still wondering if I should pull my hands away. But the sharp and judgemental glare he typically adorned was absent, consumed by the curiosity. It was as though I was stepping on eggshells with each word, yet now it was as though I had someone ready to catch me in case I fell.

"Don't I?" for a moment, he seemed genuinely taken aback by my response, pausing and running the sentence over. He let out another sigh, almost disappointed. Had I said the right thing? Had I actually offended Scott? Yet still, his hands remained with mine, an odd reassurance.

"Not really," I said slowly, the usual weight of terror I felt around Scott returned. His grip loosened, the light in his eyes faulting slightly. He didn't say a word, or at least if he did I would be unable to hear him over the rapid thumping of my own heart. With each second of silence, I wondered if I should say something.

"Oh..." He said, almost defeated. But he seemed to change after a few moments, his shoulders straightening up as he said, "I suppose I must not be then,"

"I met your father the other day," I wondered if that's what he wanted to hear. I didn't even know what he wanted to hear, let alone where to start. But at the mention of his father, he seemed to relax, giving me a small nod to continue, "He's nice,"

"He's loud," he said in response, and I couldn't help but smile. Seeing this, he smiled back, the tense atmosphere seeming to lift bit by bit. It was now that I realized in an odd way, holding hands with Scott, I found myself feeling safe. After a small moment, he continued, "Now your question earlier about why the glasses... it wasn't my idea, it was his, and I just wear them from the force of habit. I suppose he saw it as a way to defy the system, to not be apart of it, but without getting caught,"

"But why glasses..." I said, hesitant to ask any more questions in fear of Scott closing himself off from me again. But there was a new sense of ease to him, a familiarity, and as if he could read the doubts running through my mind he gave my hands a gentle squeeze of reassurance. I continued, "Why do something to defy the system?"

"He doesn't believe the system is always right. He believes there's always a kink, always a flaw" he said, almost as if he was tired of the very thought itself. As he spoke, I began to realize something once more. That perhaps I had been too quick to judge him, too quick to assume he was emotionless. Too quick to even think of how he might have felt. And even when it was too late, I had begun to realize that I was slowly unraveling the mysterious boy in front of me.

I was snapped from my thoughts as Scott continued, his voice slightly quieter than before, "That no matter how much you fiddle with the code, no matter what laws you have and no matter what people may say, it is imperfect,"

"Do you believe that too?" I asked, thinking of what he had told me about the system beforehand. A lot of what he had said to me about the system seemed to be a reflection of his father, a connection I was unaware of. A new wave of guilt began to creep into my mind. Guilt of what assumptions I had made of him. Guilt that I hardly even knew him, and yet here I was, holding hands and asking questions. It was nice.

I never thought I would say that about talking with Scott Preston.

"To some degree," he said, my thoughts returning to the conversation at hand. He watched me with his usual curiosity, but instead of something he wished to examine, the look in his eye showed something else entirely. What it was I was far from knowing.

"And what degree don't you?" I asked again. I wondered why I felt this odd feeling in my chest. Not guilt, not fear, not anything I had felt before. It was as though I was nervous, but not a bad nervous. Not excited but happy about something. An eagerness to get up onto my feet but not wanting to move from the situation.

"In degrees that can't be measured," Scott said, drawing me back from my thoughts again, "I believe it's not a matter of being correct or incorrect. It's accuracy. Some things are more accurate than others. Such as you and I being assigned computer technology. That is an accurate choice,"

It took me a moment to process the weight of what he had said. It felt far more conflicting with how the past week had been with him. Silence and now what seemed to be an entirely new person.

"Sometimes I wonder if the system was wrong for putting me into computer technology..." I said quietly, averting my eyes for a brief moment, before returning to him. I no longer felt afraid of him, saying things I did not think I even had the bravery to admit to myself, "I mean, there's you. Someone who's smart, knows their way around it, can fit in with those guys... I'm just an odd one out. I didn't even want this job. I don't know anything about computers, you seem to have been just raised in that environment... I just feel like I'm everything that's wrong, that the flaw in the system is me..."

"That's funny," he gave a smile, something rare yet seemed to make my heart swell. Gently, he shook his head, "I seem to view myself under the same light, sometimes I wonder if I am the issue... I see you as the one that was meant for the job, nobody starts out with prior knowledge. Why would they? I just happen to... You're smart Rebecca, smarter than me. You just haven't quite realized it yet..."

My breath caught in my throat, his words making my head spin. I could feel the beating in my heart growing louder with each passing moment. There was a faint blush on his cheeks as he had said it, causing him to give a small smile. 

"Sorry if-" "Are you-" we had begun to speak simultaneously, the red dashed across each of our cheeks deepening. We both gave a small laugh as he nodded for me to speak first. There was a new awkwardness between us, but not as unwelcome as the silence which had crept in the shadows. It was almost a good awkward. 

"Do you really believe that?" I said, unable to shake the odd new feeling which had seemed to consume the air around us amidst the hospital space, "I mean I'm not even smart... I barely passed my tests in school. Do you actually-"

"Yes," he cut me off, a smile adorning him that I had never seen before. It was new, but something I wished to see more of, "I know for a fact that the system can be accurate because you were placed in the smartest job. The system's computers. Anybody can stack books, but it takes someone with a brilliant mind to do this work,"

"So was the system accurate about the matches too?" I asked before I had processed the question myself. But now it was my turn to be curious. Previously he had seemed so set in his ways, but now it was as though his true self was unraveling before me.

"Yes..." he said after a few moments, his voice growing quiet "...but that doesn't mean it's right. It can only be so accurate... and I'm afraid they have missed the mark slightly... at least with Jessica and I,"

"I feel the same way about Jake..." I responded quietly, not sure if I had come to the realization at that point or whether this had been hidden inside my heart ever since March 3rd. A reality I had struggled to face now coming to light. I continued, "I mean he's a great guy, don't get me wrong... but sometimes I just feel a disconnect, or that it's not quite right... and when it feels right he's always chasing after her. If things had been different, yeah we might have worked out, but he's never going to get over her..."

"He's good for you," Scott said, his words hanging in the air, lingering for moments longer as if it contained a meaning not said. He gave a slight frown, "I mean, Jessica... is... well, I won't get into that now. She is not good for me. I feel I've been forced to be someone I'm not for my entire life that although the system is accurate, perhaps I haven't been... open enough for it to get a true reading... that this person I pretend to be is who is truly assigned to Jessica,"

"And who do you think would be accurate for you?" I asked, giving his hands a reassuring pull as he had done for me earlier. I didn't know why, but being here, it just felt right. And now more than ever, I didn't want to let that go, "I mean, the real you..."

"I... I don't know," he paused, seeming to weigh something up in his head before he responded, "I suppose I never had a chance to consider it... besides, what does it matter? I am with Jessica until I die. What difference does that make,"

"I want to know," I said, "Just theoretically..."

"I suppose..." he looked down, and even as the glasses slowly slid down his nose he did not push them up, keeping his hands with me. He was thinking about something, running it over in his mind that if I spoke I was afraid I might break it. With hesitation and a deep blush on his face, he answered, "Someone like you,"

"What if..." I paused, staring into his eye, my heart beating like a repetitive drum inside my chest. As if sensing my hesitation, he gripped my hands tighter. A reassurance once more. Taking a deep breath, I finally allowed the words to leave me, each moment drawing on longer "What if we switched..."

"Switched?" he frowned, seeming nervous but taken aback by what I had said. Had I heard him correctly? Was I saying the wrong things? He pulled my hands closer, studying every movement I made with almost a desperation, "What do you mean? Switch what?"

"I mean... all of us..." I stumbled over the words, hardly being able to hear myself speak over the deep thudding of my heart, speaking before I could change my mind, "What if... Jessie and I... we switched places..."