(no subject)
coin-operated boy | pg-13 | ~5400 | hyukbin
i started this over a year ago and just now got around to finishing it. thank you to riley for putting up with my whining about not remembering the ending, and for helping me to find a new one. please forgive me for being a weenie.
Toy boys are a trend. They're not the kind of thing that Hongbin would normally buy into, but he can't help but be drawn to the catchy advertisements -- late-night television combined with an intense case of insomnia would do that to anyone, he reasons, narrowing his eyes against the bright, flashy lights that pop up on his screen -- and memorises the jingle with exhaustion-numb lips.
The appeal, while cheesy in practice, is incredible in theory: a boyfriend who would never do anything you didn't want him to do, wouldn't leave the house without you, couldn't function without you, all at the turn of a simple key in the center of his back. He doesn't look mechanical at all, completely seamless, modeled after Adonises and Atlases and too beautiful for words, but underneath the skin is nothing but machinery that whirs and clicks as he touches your face and tells you how much he loves you.
Yes, in theory, the idea takes Hongbin's breath away. So he picks up his phone, requests further information, and waits impatiently, eyes trained on the mailbox day after day.
It's not that he hasn't had experiences with real men; he's in a relationship when the catalogue comes in the mail, all shiny and bright and offering promises he's almost sure it can't keep. Wonsik gives him a look as he pores over the pages, treating it as if it's a sacred book that should be treasured and worshiped. "Why do you keep looking at it like that?" he asks, eyebrows bunched together in obvious displeasure.
Hongbin just mumbles something about how pretty they are, thumbing carefully over corners of pages, dog-earing the ones he likes the best so that he can remember them later. Just in case, he tells himself, knowing that 'in case' is probably going to happen any day now, with the way Wonsik impatiently sucks on his teeth and turns on his heel, leaving Hongbin to his minor form of idol worship.
He stops on one time after time, stares into the face as if it's going to respond to his admiration if looks at it longer. Wide face, angular jaw, full lips and a low brow, uncharacteristically endearing nose that would look pretty awful on anyone else, and eyes that slip into curved crescent slivers when he smiles, showing off perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. Slim neck, rounded ears that stick out just a little too much, thin shoulders that would feel good under warm hands that do nothing but want him. He has a dip in the hollow of his collarbones, and Hongbin can easily imagine sucking little marks into the spaces beneath, covered by clothes until you get to the specs in the back of the catalogue.
His heart thuds in his chest, his mouth goes dry, and he sucks in a deep breath, knowing exactly what he has to do.
"Wonsik," he calls out, knowing that he'll more than likely go ignored, "I'm going to order one." And he picks up his phone, requests an operator's assistance because he'd like to place an order.
He remembers when Wonsik had first asked him out, and while the memory isn't exactly fond, it does explain his sudden desire to replace the man with something (someone) more desirable. "You know I'm probably never going to feel the same way about you that you do about me," Hongbin pointed out, probably a little cruel and unfeeling as he sipped at the coffee they'd brought away from their lunch.
"You say that now," Wonsik said, determinedly at that, steeling his jaw, more than likely staving off the idea that rejection could, in reality, hurt. "But I haven't hardly gotten started."
They stopped on the curb, Wonsik ready to drop Hongbin off at work, planted right in front of him on steady feet. Hongbin almost felt awful for the fact that he was breaking yet another heart -- he'd done it with Hakyeon a few months back, stating simply that his reasoning was that he had no desire to date anyone with whom he worked -- so he reached down, took Wonsik's free hand in his own, gave it a squeeze.
"I have to go in now," he pointed out, brows lilting upwards a bit despite the vaguely sardonic smile tugging at his lips. "Maybe I'll see you later?" And he'd hoped that his tone implied that he did not, in fact, want to see anyone later, least of all Wonsik, with his heavy browline and intensely sloped nose and too-small mouth.
Except Wonsik decided, very suddenly as it were, that right then was the right moment to completely change the game. He arched upwards, brushed his lips against Hongbin's, running fingertips through his hair.
That, as they say, was that. Six days later they were dating; six weeks later they were fucking; six months later they were living together, leaving Hongbin to question completely where, exactly, his life had gone so wrong, that he might end up in a relationship he really had no desire to be a part of, and whether or not he was going to be able to maintain full sanity before it ran its course.
Wonsik, however, is no longer a problem by the time the toy boy arrives, all shiny plastic packaging waiting to be unraveled and reveal the actual image of perfection.
"Why am I not good enough for you?" Wonsik had demanded as he was throwing his clothes into a suitcase, promising under his breath he'd be back for the rest when he had somewhere to actually go that wasn't his friend’s couch. "Why have I never been good enough for you?"
"I tried to warn you," Hongbin had pointed out sadly, holding a hand to his chest and watching Wonsik flutter around the apartment, a distinct lack of amusement splayed across his face. "I tried to tell you I'll never love you. You didn't listen to me."
"And I thought you had changed, Hongbin! I thought..." Wonsik had stopped in his tracks, tucking his hands into the pockets of his oversized, worn-out hoodie. "I thought I had changed you."
There hadn't been much to say after that. Hongbin hadn't even bothered to wish Wonsik good luck, tell him he'd be missed, or really hold any kind of conversation. A lot of that had to do with the fact that he'd heard a thunk in the kitchen, where the catalogue had been kept, tabbed with neon colours and scribbled in with important notes. When he came out, the booklet was scattered all across the marble tiles of the kitchen floor; Hongbin had stooped to pick it up, eyes softening at the blatant disrespect.
He'd tried to warn Wonsik, and Wonsik hadn't listened. It simply wasn't Hongbin's problem anymore, and any guilt he might've felt in regards to the situation dissipated as soon as he heard that final slam of the door.
Now everything is decidedly better, he realises as he slowly runs his palms across the length of the box -- person-sized, no assembly required save for the insertion of the key into the toy's back. He raises his eyebrows, mouth falling slightly open, and works at the packaging carefully, in case the whole thing is a gimmick and he ends up disappointed as well as alone. With the amount of money he's spent and the amount of time it's taken for them to construct his perfect boy, customised completely to Hongbin's liking -- eight weeks, he recalls with a sigh, pressing his knuckles to his temple in vague frustration. He shouldn't have to send it -- him, he corrects himself, wrinkling his nose -- back.
An image of the delivery man flashes through his mind -- roundfaced and sweaty, with a wrinkled nose and furrowed brow, an expression that read nothing but complete and total judgment. He pushes it away as he works harder, eager now to bring his toy out to play.
The box falls to the floor, and Hongbin's breath catches in his throat; he rubs gently at his Adam's apple, hoping to ease the tension in his throat, and when nothing changes, he swallows hard around the lump forming at the back of his mouth. The boy is just as advertised, complete with skin imperfections, little moles at his shoulders and across his chest, a scar just under where his ribcage would be if he had one. Hongbin reaches out a hand, ignoring the way it trembles with anticipation, and brushes his fingertips against the cool porcelain skin of his new toy.
A boyfriend, he thinks, even his mind muted completely by the indomitable presence of his utter awe. A boyfriend who's all mine, who won't care what I want, who'll always want me even if I don't want him.
He breathes in deeply, squats and finds the key amongst leaves of bubblewrap and tiny hills of silicon packing peanuts, folded into an envelope that lists off information should one lose their key and require a new one. There's a notch in the head of the key, and Hongbin wastes no time in going and finding a plain silver chain -- one that Wonsik had given him, he thinks, sly delight playing at his mouth -- and threading it through the key. He stands the toy up, balancing it carefully between his palms, and circles around to its -- his -- back, gaze critical, but also trying to find --
Ah, there it is. He breathes a sigh of relief, and slips the key into the hole, turning it three times to the right, just as instructed. One time an hour. Days would take much winding, he thinks, vaguely disturbed by the notion, but three hours would be good enough to teach him for the time being. Then he takes the boy by the shoulders, spins him around, looks into deep brown eyes that flutter open with the sudden introduction of life.
"Hi there," Hongbin greets, fighting the urge to grin like a complete idiot.
"Hello," the toy returns, neutral, as a machine should be; tiny mechanical whirs come from inside his mouth when his jaw opens up. "What is this machine's designation?"
"Hmm?" Oh, shit. He hasn't read this far into the manual. Is he asking what he's supposed to do? Is he asking about a name? Shit, shit, shit. He isn't prepared for this, what if he screws it up, what if he doesn't know how to undo whatever it is he's about to do-- "Ah, could you please...repeat the question?"
"What is this machine's designation?" The roboticised voice stays calm, and for a moment Hongbin is sidetracked by the fact that the face of the toy, while physically perfect, is eerily tranquil. Perhaps it -- he -- will learn facial expressions over time? He isn't sure. He really will have to read that manual later. In the meantime, he reasons in an attempt to keep his cooler head, it can't be completely harmful to have a conversation with the boy who's going to be living with him from now on.
"Your designation...is your name, right?"
"Affirmative."
"You're Sanghyuk." He had decided it as soon as he'd laid eyes upon the model in the catalogue; the name came off his lips with a sigh, definitive and dreamy and, decidedly, dangerous. "Sanghyuk. Understand?"
"Affirmative. Shall I take a conversational tone...?" And immediately, the robot boy's face and voice soften into something notably softer. Hongbin nearly jumps out of his skin at the suddenness of the change, but manages (just barely) to keep himself together.
"That would be nice, yes."
"What's your name?" the toy asks, smiling quietly, as if he's got a secret underneath that mechanical skin.
"I'm Hongbin."
"Hello, Hongbin."
Just the way that Sanghyuk says his name has Hongbin swooning, nearly fluttering to the floor, and he knows he’s in a predicament already -- he’s in love with his new toy boy. Images of the propaganda pasted all over the buildings and billboards in town flash through his head, the television PSAs ring through -- “Don’t waste your life with a robot!” -- but he can’t bring himself to care so much as be afraid of what this means about himself. Is he just a waste of a life because he can’t form a relationship with a human being, has to buy one with a cyborg instead?
“Would you like to go out with me, Sanghyuk?” Hongbin asks, curious, eyeing the robot boy’s face carefully, waiting for him to learn enough change of expression that his eyebrows move or his eyes dart around.
It doesn’t happen; Sanghyuk merely glances down at Hongbin -- he’s a good few inches taller, something Hongbin is grateful for -- with a neutral face and tone. “If that is what you want.”
It takes a few months, but before he can even get an idea of the passage of time, Sanghyuk is almost more human than Hongbin himself. They download programming together, and for awhile because of an error in the search engine Hongbin had used in order to find said programming, Sanghyuk had acted like a character out of one of those awful soap operas Hongbin’s mother is always watching. It’s amusing, if a little disarming, to come home from work every day for a week only to find Sanghyuk pretending to die on the floor of Hongbin’s bedroom.
Every day before work he turns the key in Sanghyuk’s back, shuts him down, lays him in bed with covers bundled around him and the plug that’s meant to charge him stuck into the back of his neck at an awkward angle. When he’s away from home, his robot boyfriend doesn’t do anything without him, just waits for him to return. When he comes back, he unplugs Sanghyuk from the wall, gets him out of bed, takes great care in dressing him, in styling his hair, in taking care of something that could very well take care of itself. Himself, he remembers every time he makes that mistake. To deny any trace of Sanghyuk’s humanity, whatever there might be of it considering who and what he is, is to make Hongbin one of those people that merely fetishise the part of toy boys and girls as the perfect love slaves.
He won’t be the reason the propaganda is posted on the walls of his work building, refuses to let himself become another statistic. Because after three months, they still haven’t had sex. Hongbin, under curious questioning from the few friends he has that he trusts not to judge him for having a toy boy, says he’s taking things slowly. Not that he hasn’t thought about it, because he has, and endlessly at that. He’s gotten off by himself more times than he can count. He got caught once or twice, and because of some of the database programming they’ve downloaded he’s had to awkwardly turn down offers for assistance from Sanghyuk. Hongbin deeply regrets the porn downloads, both accidental and intentional, and spends hours poring over his operator’s manuals, trying to figure out how to delete these particular modes. In the end, though, when the time comes, he keeps them, knowing that he’ll want them there eventually.
Otherwise, he socialises less, stays in more, learns to cook better and finds out that a cyborg boyfriend has just as much interest in eating good food as Hongbin himself. He spends more time making Sanghyuk as human as he possibly can, finding more and more things for Sanghyuk to be interested in, programs him with music and movies and television and books and has long conversations with his toy boy about political theory and art and photography. He takes lots of beautiful pictures, spends hours sketching just the shadow beneath the curve of Sanghyuk’s lower lip, unable to bring himself to go further in an attempt to capture his perfection.
His friends, the ones who are still his friends, mostly Taekwoon who wasn’t big on social interaction anyway, worry about him, send him messages in an attempt to get him to come out. And once in a while, Hongbin obliges, but only when the mood tickles him and he knows Sanghyuk needs to be charged anyway. He spends the occasional Friday night out drinking, and every time someone tries to hook him up with a stranger. All the while, as he’s being flirted with and bought drinks, he thinks about his toy boy, just waiting for him at home, about the conversations they can have, about the things they can learn together.
He screens phone calls from Wonsik, who begs Hongbin to take him back, who apologises for being as awful as he was before; several voicemails entail him crying about what a bad boyfriend he’d been. Sanghyuk gets an earful the first time, Hongbin ranting about how it hadn’t been about Wonsik at all, and from that point on Sanghyuk refuses to let Hongbin answer any of Wonsik’s messages, instead texting with stumbling fingers that Master Lee Hongbin will not be spoken to in such a manner. (Hongbin only kind of regrets downloading the title from a database of historical drama mannerisms. Only a little. And definitely not when it comes to stuff like this.)
All in all, things are normal. They have a relationship. They get along well, they have harmonious personalities, and maybe that’s because of the whole robot thing, but Hongbin can’t imagine himself getting on this well with a human being.
Still, the memories of propaganda films shown to him in school ring through his mind every so often, and he doesn’t mean to let them get to him, but he feels a little guilty for he and Sanghyuk’s relationship, if only because he’s been trained to do so.
Some nights he lies awake next to his living, breathing toy boy and finds it hard to curl up to him. Those nights are the most difficult. Sanghyuk wraps around Hongbin, warm in places where Hongbin is cold, his palms broad and encompassing across the bare expanse of Hongbin’s chest. He should be warmer than he is, though, and sleeping draped over him is like lying on a block of ice when he powers down his non-essential functions in order to make it through the night.
It’s just another reminder to Hongbin that no matter his efforts, he’s still a statistic, he’s still to some degree one of those people he’s been warned his whole life about.
When he falls asleep the image of the posters sticks to the back of his eyelids. He turns around and cuddles up to Sanghyuk anyway, wondering if there isn’t something terribly deficient with him that he can’t even muster up the necessary nerve for a real relationship with a real person.
Hongbin is packing his things, and Sanghyuk, despite his desire to do the opposite, is helping out as best he can, remembering the extra pairs of socks, the comfortable shoes just in case of a lot of walking.
“I don’t understand,” Sanghyuk whines, folding a shirt that Hongbin had shoved into the corner of his suitcase just moments before. Hongbin deeply regrets teaching Sanghyuk that whining is a thing that will get him places if applied correctly. It had been an accident, and for awhile he’d found it endearing, but right now it’s just a pain. “Why do you have to leave?”
“I have a business trip,” Hongbin says plainly, straightening up with two ties in his hands. He offers each one to Sanghyuk in an attempt to make a decision; in the end Sanghyuk goes with the pink one with yellow pinstripes, and rolls it up around his fingers, gently placing it in the suitcase with the rest of Hongbin’s effects. “It’s kind of a big deal for me to get to go, I’ve only been with the company a little over two years, usually only the people who’ve been there five or more get to go, but apparently they think I could be useful in business negotiations?”
Sanghyuk knows every detail about Hongbin’s job, but pretends he doesn’t, drapes himself over the bed instead. “You could always take me with you and practice all your business speeches on me. I mean. If that’s something you do. I don’t know, I’m just a silly robot boy.”
Hongbin stiffens at the mention, but only momentarily. “No, I can’t. We’re going to America, and people like you aren’t allowed to go.”
“Why do you always say it like that? ‘People like me’. You mean robots.”
“I mean people like you,” Hongbin insists, gently nudging Sanghyuk to the side and closing the flap on his suitcase, zipping it up without another word.
“I wish I could go with you,” Sanghyuk says, and it’s something of a pang in Hongbin’s heart, to hear those words, partially because it’s his fault Sanghyuk wants anything at all, and partially because he, too, wishes he could take Sanghyuk with him. Not because he wants the company of someone to practice all his speeches on, but because he wants to be able to experience America for the first time with someone he truly cares about, wants to take them to all the nice restaurants and the cheesy tourist spots, wants to hold Sanghyuk’s hand in the streets of a foreign land.
It’s never going to happen, he reminds himself as he starts stuffing books into his carry-on. Sanghyuk would never even clear airport security.
Still, the idea is tempting, and he thinks about it all the while he’s packing the remainder of his things, while he’s stuffing a travel case full of an extra toothbrush and his cologne, while he’s cooking them their last dinner together until Hongbin’s return.
He deeply wishes. It is all he can do.
When he goes to the airport, the walls are plastered with warnings about taking your toy boy on planes, how they can mess with the mechanical aspects the same way a phone used to be able to do. ‘It’s not only illegal -- it’s dangerous.’ Hongbin finds that he doesn’t care, that he would put people in danger if he could only take his boyfriend with him to the States.
Hongbin calls every day while he’s in the States, if only for a minute or two -- Sanghyuk isn’t an expert but it sounds like Hongbin is very busy, very hassled by the proceedings. Sanghyuk doesn’t know a lot about sympathy, either, so he downloads programming on his own for the first time on how to be a sympathetic lover, and from that point on he’s as sweet and patient and gentle as can be when it comes to these phone calls. Hongbin seems to appreciate it, and even cracks a joke or two, makes Sanghyuk promise not to download any rogue AI programs while he’s away and try to take over the world.
One week goes by, becomes two, according to the messages Hongbin leaves for Sanghyuk on their answering machine while Sanghyuk is powered down. Sanghyuk watches television he has no interest in, cleans their already spotless apartment, spends more time learning how to plug himself in than he means to. He reads stories about America, and despite his programming to the contrary finds his data circuits wandering off with ideas about what it would be like to be on vacation with Master Lee Hongbin.
Two weeks become three, and Sanghyuk wonders if he will ever see his designated owner again. He has little care towards the recollection or perception of time, time being a man-made interface and a measure of the way the earth moves and all that, and only knows that when he plugs himself in at night he wants sorely for the body beside which he’s grown so used to sleeping.
He doesn’t understand. He’s a robot, he’s not meant to have these feelings. He shouldn’t be getting all up in arms just because Hongbin is away longer than intended.
And yet, he is.
Perhaps, he reasons one day after wiping down the stove for the hundred-and-first time this week, he has downloaded some faulty programming that has given him the idea that he is capable of missing someone’s presence. Perhaps he’s been watching too much television in Hongbin’s absence. Perhaps sentiment is no longer outside his realm of plausibility; he has been learning a lot lately.
Or maybe he just really, really misses taking care of his human.
Three weeks become four, and he’s gotten preoccupied enough to go over the rated programming leftover in his system from that pornographic accident he and Hongbin had encountered not long into their relationship. He doesn’t quite fantasise, because he’s not programmed to do that yet, but he goes over the material again and again, wondering why people are so interested in the practice, then resolving that upon Hongbin’s return he will engage in this sort of activity, if Hongbin wants.
A strange and small and distant part of Sanghyuk hopes that Hongbin wants.
Four weeks become five, and Sanghyuk finds that his only hope at this point is that he will see his master once again, that he hasn’t disappeared for good and abandoned Sanghyuk here in this apartment. He wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he never saw Hongbin again.
The door unlocks, and Sanghyuk looks up from the book he’d been toying with, not quite reading but cracking the spine anyway to pretend that he’s going to read. He doesn’t see the point, he can just download the information, but...Hongbin seems to like it, so he thought he’d give it a try. But then the door unlocks, and Sanghyuk is springing to his feet, only to spy an utterly exhausted-looking Master Lee Hongbin from behind the crack in the door. Sanghyuk takes the burden of opening the door the rest of the way and picks up Hongbin in a full embrace, taking advantage of the height difference between them and swinging him around in a circle.
“You’re finally back,” he declares, and though he tries to keep it from happening his voice cracks with enthusiasm, something he’s not sure where or how he learned.
“I’m finally back,” and Hongbin really does look more tired than Sanghyuk can remember him looking, he’s got these dark circles under his eyes and what appears to be a brand-new wrinkle in the bridge of his nose. “No more business trips, I promise. I wasn’t any good to the company at all.”
“What makes you say that?” Sanghyuk frowns, unable to understand that Hongbin could be anything less than a valuable asset to any situation. It’s not because he’s programmed to, either. “I’m sure everything went smoothly with you there.”
“No, they just wanted to use me for my face,” Hongbin sighs, glancing out the living room window at the city skyline. “It’s the same as it always is, people think I’m good-looking so they’re more inclined to listen to what I have to say. Except no one told me what to say this time, they just sort of let me go on my own and --” He pauses. “You don’t want to hear about all this.”
“Of course I do.” Sanghyuk smiles, tentatively, and he feels the circuits in his chest all begin to light up at once. He doesn’t know exactly what it means, of course; there’s nothing in any database that he’s been able to find that tells him what it is. No one appears to know. Yet he feels it all the same whenever he’s around Hongbin, and it’s not entirely uncomfortable; in fact it’s quite warm, makes him feel like he should run diagnostics and make sure his cooling system is completely intact. “I want to know everything. Did you at least get to have fun while you were there?”
“Not really,” and Hongbin smiles tiredly, rubbing at one eye with the back of his hand as he shakes his head, “and not nearly as much as I would have, had you been there.”
Sanghyuk’s cheeks turn a faint shade of pink, something he hadn’t been able to do before Hongbin had left, and he picks up his master once again, kissing him on the nose. “If only I could have gone with you,” he sighs.
“What have you been doing without me here?” Hongbin asks, wriggling out of Sanghyuk’s grasp with a laugh.
“Keeping your place clean. Learning new stuff.” He hesitates, then adds, “Missing you, mostly. It’s strange not to have you here.”
“Strange how?” Hongbin frowns, confused.
“Well, this is your house. I’ve only been here...what, half a year? If even that. Only since you brought me here.” He pauses, not struggling for the words but actually striving for cadence. “But you’ve been here for a very, very long time. So your apartment missed your presence. ...As did I. It’s odd to be in your house and yet not be taking care of you.”
“I didn’t know I would be gone so long,” Hongbin professes, and it sounds too much like an apology, so Sanghyuk shakes his head, takes Hongbin by the chin and kisses his lips firmly, preventing any further ‘sorry’. When he pulls back he presses light kisses to the apples of both Hongbin’s cheeks. “I just wanted to be with you the whole time I was gone. I didn’t forget you for a minute.”
“And I wanted the same from you!” Sanghyuk’s voice rises and he takes Hongbin’s face between his palms. “Hey, um…” And he doesn’t know how to broach the subject, pauses and makes several false starts before settling. “I learned a lot of things while you were gone. Went over all my old databases, especially--” he coughs, then covers his mouth a half-second too late, “the ones you didn’t mean for me to have. And if you’d like, I’ve been studying their contents. I want to show you some of them.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, a gesture he’d learned from a girl on television and one he hopes Hongbin finds charming rather than overexaggerated.
Hongbin’s eyebrows, in the meantime, shoot up practically into his hairline, and he turns red despite his dimpled grin. “If you’re talking about what I think you are, then...are you sure?” Sanghyuk nods, beams broadly, so bright that Hongbin can’t help but agree with him. He lets Sanghyuk take him by the hand and lead him to the bedroom, glad to finally be home, nevermind this particular outcome.
Despite all their promises to one another at the time of Hongbin’s return, they do not end up having sex that night, or for many nights afterward. Instead Hongbin programs Sanghyuk to think more like a human, and to think of himself as such. It might only be his way of keeping from feeling like a statistic, but it works for him, works for them, and he’s more than happy to accommodate any questions or concerns anyone else might have. (Sanghyuk especially. Sanghyuk mostly. Sanghyuk only. Everyone else go home.)
When they finally do have sex it’s with tender touches and gentle gazes and ‘I love you’s and nothing at all like the material Sanghyuk has studied from his programs, which had seemed downright obscene in comparison. From that day on they hold hands with fingers interlaced and go absolutely everywhere together, Sanghyuk passing for human well enough that no one questions him anywhere he goes, a relief to both the parties involved.
He introduces people to Sanghyuk who know him only as his boyfriend, never as his robot, and Sanghyuk is careful not to refer to Hongbin by his decidedly unfitting designation in front of people who won’t get the joke.
One day while they’re out, grocery shopping and drinking coffee and generally being normal individuals, they run into Wonsik, who has a boyfriend of his own. It’s not at all awkward, even though Wonsik makes a half-hearted attempt at turning it into one of those encounters, nearly exposes Sanghyuk’s secret in front of a crowd of strangers at the train station. Hongbin will later remember the reason as to why he feels such a strange sense of unease about Wonsik being with his new boyfriend -- he’d heard through the grapevine that Wonsik had finally caved and gotten a toy boy, himself.
He’d introduced his boyfriend to both Hongbin and Sanghyuk as Jaehwan, and they look very happy, very in love, although Jaehwan looks confused when Sanghyuk identifies as a person. If he knows, he doesn’t say anything, just moves on smoothly with the conversation.
When they part, Wonsik apologising for all the things he’d done at the end of Hongbin’s and his relationship and promising that they’ll catch up at some point, Sanghyuk and Hongbin exchange a glance of pure adoration for one another.
“I’m so glad I have you,” Hongbin tells his boyfriend with a squeeze of his fingers.
i started this over a year ago and just now got around to finishing it. thank you to riley for putting up with my whining about not remembering the ending, and for helping me to find a new one. please forgive me for being a weenie.
Toy boys are a trend. They're not the kind of thing that Hongbin would normally buy into, but he can't help but be drawn to the catchy advertisements -- late-night television combined with an intense case of insomnia would do that to anyone, he reasons, narrowing his eyes against the bright, flashy lights that pop up on his screen -- and memorises the jingle with exhaustion-numb lips.
The appeal, while cheesy in practice, is incredible in theory: a boyfriend who would never do anything you didn't want him to do, wouldn't leave the house without you, couldn't function without you, all at the turn of a simple key in the center of his back. He doesn't look mechanical at all, completely seamless, modeled after Adonises and Atlases and too beautiful for words, but underneath the skin is nothing but machinery that whirs and clicks as he touches your face and tells you how much he loves you.
Yes, in theory, the idea takes Hongbin's breath away. So he picks up his phone, requests further information, and waits impatiently, eyes trained on the mailbox day after day.
It's not that he hasn't had experiences with real men; he's in a relationship when the catalogue comes in the mail, all shiny and bright and offering promises he's almost sure it can't keep. Wonsik gives him a look as he pores over the pages, treating it as if it's a sacred book that should be treasured and worshiped. "Why do you keep looking at it like that?" he asks, eyebrows bunched together in obvious displeasure.
Hongbin just mumbles something about how pretty they are, thumbing carefully over corners of pages, dog-earing the ones he likes the best so that he can remember them later. Just in case, he tells himself, knowing that 'in case' is probably going to happen any day now, with the way Wonsik impatiently sucks on his teeth and turns on his heel, leaving Hongbin to his minor form of idol worship.
He stops on one time after time, stares into the face as if it's going to respond to his admiration if looks at it longer. Wide face, angular jaw, full lips and a low brow, uncharacteristically endearing nose that would look pretty awful on anyone else, and eyes that slip into curved crescent slivers when he smiles, showing off perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. Slim neck, rounded ears that stick out just a little too much, thin shoulders that would feel good under warm hands that do nothing but want him. He has a dip in the hollow of his collarbones, and Hongbin can easily imagine sucking little marks into the spaces beneath, covered by clothes until you get to the specs in the back of the catalogue.
His heart thuds in his chest, his mouth goes dry, and he sucks in a deep breath, knowing exactly what he has to do.
"Wonsik," he calls out, knowing that he'll more than likely go ignored, "I'm going to order one." And he picks up his phone, requests an operator's assistance because he'd like to place an order.
He remembers when Wonsik had first asked him out, and while the memory isn't exactly fond, it does explain his sudden desire to replace the man with something (someone) more desirable. "You know I'm probably never going to feel the same way about you that you do about me," Hongbin pointed out, probably a little cruel and unfeeling as he sipped at the coffee they'd brought away from their lunch.
"You say that now," Wonsik said, determinedly at that, steeling his jaw, more than likely staving off the idea that rejection could, in reality, hurt. "But I haven't hardly gotten started."
They stopped on the curb, Wonsik ready to drop Hongbin off at work, planted right in front of him on steady feet. Hongbin almost felt awful for the fact that he was breaking yet another heart -- he'd done it with Hakyeon a few months back, stating simply that his reasoning was that he had no desire to date anyone with whom he worked -- so he reached down, took Wonsik's free hand in his own, gave it a squeeze.
"I have to go in now," he pointed out, brows lilting upwards a bit despite the vaguely sardonic smile tugging at his lips. "Maybe I'll see you later?" And he'd hoped that his tone implied that he did not, in fact, want to see anyone later, least of all Wonsik, with his heavy browline and intensely sloped nose and too-small mouth.
Except Wonsik decided, very suddenly as it were, that right then was the right moment to completely change the game. He arched upwards, brushed his lips against Hongbin's, running fingertips through his hair.
That, as they say, was that. Six days later they were dating; six weeks later they were fucking; six months later they were living together, leaving Hongbin to question completely where, exactly, his life had gone so wrong, that he might end up in a relationship he really had no desire to be a part of, and whether or not he was going to be able to maintain full sanity before it ran its course.
Wonsik, however, is no longer a problem by the time the toy boy arrives, all shiny plastic packaging waiting to be unraveled and reveal the actual image of perfection.
"Why am I not good enough for you?" Wonsik had demanded as he was throwing his clothes into a suitcase, promising under his breath he'd be back for the rest when he had somewhere to actually go that wasn't his friend’s couch. "Why have I never been good enough for you?"
"I tried to warn you," Hongbin had pointed out sadly, holding a hand to his chest and watching Wonsik flutter around the apartment, a distinct lack of amusement splayed across his face. "I tried to tell you I'll never love you. You didn't listen to me."
"And I thought you had changed, Hongbin! I thought..." Wonsik had stopped in his tracks, tucking his hands into the pockets of his oversized, worn-out hoodie. "I thought I had changed you."
There hadn't been much to say after that. Hongbin hadn't even bothered to wish Wonsik good luck, tell him he'd be missed, or really hold any kind of conversation. A lot of that had to do with the fact that he'd heard a thunk in the kitchen, where the catalogue had been kept, tabbed with neon colours and scribbled in with important notes. When he came out, the booklet was scattered all across the marble tiles of the kitchen floor; Hongbin had stooped to pick it up, eyes softening at the blatant disrespect.
He'd tried to warn Wonsik, and Wonsik hadn't listened. It simply wasn't Hongbin's problem anymore, and any guilt he might've felt in regards to the situation dissipated as soon as he heard that final slam of the door.
Now everything is decidedly better, he realises as he slowly runs his palms across the length of the box -- person-sized, no assembly required save for the insertion of the key into the toy's back. He raises his eyebrows, mouth falling slightly open, and works at the packaging carefully, in case the whole thing is a gimmick and he ends up disappointed as well as alone. With the amount of money he's spent and the amount of time it's taken for them to construct his perfect boy, customised completely to Hongbin's liking -- eight weeks, he recalls with a sigh, pressing his knuckles to his temple in vague frustration. He shouldn't have to send it -- him, he corrects himself, wrinkling his nose -- back.
An image of the delivery man flashes through his mind -- roundfaced and sweaty, with a wrinkled nose and furrowed brow, an expression that read nothing but complete and total judgment. He pushes it away as he works harder, eager now to bring his toy out to play.
The box falls to the floor, and Hongbin's breath catches in his throat; he rubs gently at his Adam's apple, hoping to ease the tension in his throat, and when nothing changes, he swallows hard around the lump forming at the back of his mouth. The boy is just as advertised, complete with skin imperfections, little moles at his shoulders and across his chest, a scar just under where his ribcage would be if he had one. Hongbin reaches out a hand, ignoring the way it trembles with anticipation, and brushes his fingertips against the cool porcelain skin of his new toy.
A boyfriend, he thinks, even his mind muted completely by the indomitable presence of his utter awe. A boyfriend who's all mine, who won't care what I want, who'll always want me even if I don't want him.
He breathes in deeply, squats and finds the key amongst leaves of bubblewrap and tiny hills of silicon packing peanuts, folded into an envelope that lists off information should one lose their key and require a new one. There's a notch in the head of the key, and Hongbin wastes no time in going and finding a plain silver chain -- one that Wonsik had given him, he thinks, sly delight playing at his mouth -- and threading it through the key. He stands the toy up, balancing it carefully between his palms, and circles around to its -- his -- back, gaze critical, but also trying to find --
Ah, there it is. He breathes a sigh of relief, and slips the key into the hole, turning it three times to the right, just as instructed. One time an hour. Days would take much winding, he thinks, vaguely disturbed by the notion, but three hours would be good enough to teach him for the time being. Then he takes the boy by the shoulders, spins him around, looks into deep brown eyes that flutter open with the sudden introduction of life.
"Hi there," Hongbin greets, fighting the urge to grin like a complete idiot.
"Hello," the toy returns, neutral, as a machine should be; tiny mechanical whirs come from inside his mouth when his jaw opens up. "What is this machine's designation?"
"Hmm?" Oh, shit. He hasn't read this far into the manual. Is he asking what he's supposed to do? Is he asking about a name? Shit, shit, shit. He isn't prepared for this, what if he screws it up, what if he doesn't know how to undo whatever it is he's about to do-- "Ah, could you please...repeat the question?"
"What is this machine's designation?" The roboticised voice stays calm, and for a moment Hongbin is sidetracked by the fact that the face of the toy, while physically perfect, is eerily tranquil. Perhaps it -- he -- will learn facial expressions over time? He isn't sure. He really will have to read that manual later. In the meantime, he reasons in an attempt to keep his cooler head, it can't be completely harmful to have a conversation with the boy who's going to be living with him from now on.
"Your designation...is your name, right?"
"Affirmative."
"You're Sanghyuk." He had decided it as soon as he'd laid eyes upon the model in the catalogue; the name came off his lips with a sigh, definitive and dreamy and, decidedly, dangerous. "Sanghyuk. Understand?"
"Affirmative. Shall I take a conversational tone...?" And immediately, the robot boy's face and voice soften into something notably softer. Hongbin nearly jumps out of his skin at the suddenness of the change, but manages (just barely) to keep himself together.
"That would be nice, yes."
"What's your name?" the toy asks, smiling quietly, as if he's got a secret underneath that mechanical skin.
"I'm Hongbin."
"Hello, Hongbin."
Just the way that Sanghyuk says his name has Hongbin swooning, nearly fluttering to the floor, and he knows he’s in a predicament already -- he’s in love with his new toy boy. Images of the propaganda pasted all over the buildings and billboards in town flash through his head, the television PSAs ring through -- “Don’t waste your life with a robot!” -- but he can’t bring himself to care so much as be afraid of what this means about himself. Is he just a waste of a life because he can’t form a relationship with a human being, has to buy one with a cyborg instead?
“Would you like to go out with me, Sanghyuk?” Hongbin asks, curious, eyeing the robot boy’s face carefully, waiting for him to learn enough change of expression that his eyebrows move or his eyes dart around.
It doesn’t happen; Sanghyuk merely glances down at Hongbin -- he’s a good few inches taller, something Hongbin is grateful for -- with a neutral face and tone. “If that is what you want.”
It takes a few months, but before he can even get an idea of the passage of time, Sanghyuk is almost more human than Hongbin himself. They download programming together, and for awhile because of an error in the search engine Hongbin had used in order to find said programming, Sanghyuk had acted like a character out of one of those awful soap operas Hongbin’s mother is always watching. It’s amusing, if a little disarming, to come home from work every day for a week only to find Sanghyuk pretending to die on the floor of Hongbin’s bedroom.
Every day before work he turns the key in Sanghyuk’s back, shuts him down, lays him in bed with covers bundled around him and the plug that’s meant to charge him stuck into the back of his neck at an awkward angle. When he’s away from home, his robot boyfriend doesn’t do anything without him, just waits for him to return. When he comes back, he unplugs Sanghyuk from the wall, gets him out of bed, takes great care in dressing him, in styling his hair, in taking care of something that could very well take care of itself. Himself, he remembers every time he makes that mistake. To deny any trace of Sanghyuk’s humanity, whatever there might be of it considering who and what he is, is to make Hongbin one of those people that merely fetishise the part of toy boys and girls as the perfect love slaves.
He won’t be the reason the propaganda is posted on the walls of his work building, refuses to let himself become another statistic. Because after three months, they still haven’t had sex. Hongbin, under curious questioning from the few friends he has that he trusts not to judge him for having a toy boy, says he’s taking things slowly. Not that he hasn’t thought about it, because he has, and endlessly at that. He’s gotten off by himself more times than he can count. He got caught once or twice, and because of some of the database programming they’ve downloaded he’s had to awkwardly turn down offers for assistance from Sanghyuk. Hongbin deeply regrets the porn downloads, both accidental and intentional, and spends hours poring over his operator’s manuals, trying to figure out how to delete these particular modes. In the end, though, when the time comes, he keeps them, knowing that he’ll want them there eventually.
Otherwise, he socialises less, stays in more, learns to cook better and finds out that a cyborg boyfriend has just as much interest in eating good food as Hongbin himself. He spends more time making Sanghyuk as human as he possibly can, finding more and more things for Sanghyuk to be interested in, programs him with music and movies and television and books and has long conversations with his toy boy about political theory and art and photography. He takes lots of beautiful pictures, spends hours sketching just the shadow beneath the curve of Sanghyuk’s lower lip, unable to bring himself to go further in an attempt to capture his perfection.
His friends, the ones who are still his friends, mostly Taekwoon who wasn’t big on social interaction anyway, worry about him, send him messages in an attempt to get him to come out. And once in a while, Hongbin obliges, but only when the mood tickles him and he knows Sanghyuk needs to be charged anyway. He spends the occasional Friday night out drinking, and every time someone tries to hook him up with a stranger. All the while, as he’s being flirted with and bought drinks, he thinks about his toy boy, just waiting for him at home, about the conversations they can have, about the things they can learn together.
He screens phone calls from Wonsik, who begs Hongbin to take him back, who apologises for being as awful as he was before; several voicemails entail him crying about what a bad boyfriend he’d been. Sanghyuk gets an earful the first time, Hongbin ranting about how it hadn’t been about Wonsik at all, and from that point on Sanghyuk refuses to let Hongbin answer any of Wonsik’s messages, instead texting with stumbling fingers that Master Lee Hongbin will not be spoken to in such a manner. (Hongbin only kind of regrets downloading the title from a database of historical drama mannerisms. Only a little. And definitely not when it comes to stuff like this.)
All in all, things are normal. They have a relationship. They get along well, they have harmonious personalities, and maybe that’s because of the whole robot thing, but Hongbin can’t imagine himself getting on this well with a human being.
Still, the memories of propaganda films shown to him in school ring through his mind every so often, and he doesn’t mean to let them get to him, but he feels a little guilty for he and Sanghyuk’s relationship, if only because he’s been trained to do so.
Some nights he lies awake next to his living, breathing toy boy and finds it hard to curl up to him. Those nights are the most difficult. Sanghyuk wraps around Hongbin, warm in places where Hongbin is cold, his palms broad and encompassing across the bare expanse of Hongbin’s chest. He should be warmer than he is, though, and sleeping draped over him is like lying on a block of ice when he powers down his non-essential functions in order to make it through the night.
It’s just another reminder to Hongbin that no matter his efforts, he’s still a statistic, he’s still to some degree one of those people he’s been warned his whole life about.
When he falls asleep the image of the posters sticks to the back of his eyelids. He turns around and cuddles up to Sanghyuk anyway, wondering if there isn’t something terribly deficient with him that he can’t even muster up the necessary nerve for a real relationship with a real person.
Hongbin is packing his things, and Sanghyuk, despite his desire to do the opposite, is helping out as best he can, remembering the extra pairs of socks, the comfortable shoes just in case of a lot of walking.
“I don’t understand,” Sanghyuk whines, folding a shirt that Hongbin had shoved into the corner of his suitcase just moments before. Hongbin deeply regrets teaching Sanghyuk that whining is a thing that will get him places if applied correctly. It had been an accident, and for awhile he’d found it endearing, but right now it’s just a pain. “Why do you have to leave?”
“I have a business trip,” Hongbin says plainly, straightening up with two ties in his hands. He offers each one to Sanghyuk in an attempt to make a decision; in the end Sanghyuk goes with the pink one with yellow pinstripes, and rolls it up around his fingers, gently placing it in the suitcase with the rest of Hongbin’s effects. “It’s kind of a big deal for me to get to go, I’ve only been with the company a little over two years, usually only the people who’ve been there five or more get to go, but apparently they think I could be useful in business negotiations?”
Sanghyuk knows every detail about Hongbin’s job, but pretends he doesn’t, drapes himself over the bed instead. “You could always take me with you and practice all your business speeches on me. I mean. If that’s something you do. I don’t know, I’m just a silly robot boy.”
Hongbin stiffens at the mention, but only momentarily. “No, I can’t. We’re going to America, and people like you aren’t allowed to go.”
“Why do you always say it like that? ‘People like me’. You mean robots.”
“I mean people like you,” Hongbin insists, gently nudging Sanghyuk to the side and closing the flap on his suitcase, zipping it up without another word.
“I wish I could go with you,” Sanghyuk says, and it’s something of a pang in Hongbin’s heart, to hear those words, partially because it’s his fault Sanghyuk wants anything at all, and partially because he, too, wishes he could take Sanghyuk with him. Not because he wants the company of someone to practice all his speeches on, but because he wants to be able to experience America for the first time with someone he truly cares about, wants to take them to all the nice restaurants and the cheesy tourist spots, wants to hold Sanghyuk’s hand in the streets of a foreign land.
It’s never going to happen, he reminds himself as he starts stuffing books into his carry-on. Sanghyuk would never even clear airport security.
Still, the idea is tempting, and he thinks about it all the while he’s packing the remainder of his things, while he’s stuffing a travel case full of an extra toothbrush and his cologne, while he’s cooking them their last dinner together until Hongbin’s return.
He deeply wishes. It is all he can do.
When he goes to the airport, the walls are plastered with warnings about taking your toy boy on planes, how they can mess with the mechanical aspects the same way a phone used to be able to do. ‘It’s not only illegal -- it’s dangerous.’ Hongbin finds that he doesn’t care, that he would put people in danger if he could only take his boyfriend with him to the States.
Hongbin calls every day while he’s in the States, if only for a minute or two -- Sanghyuk isn’t an expert but it sounds like Hongbin is very busy, very hassled by the proceedings. Sanghyuk doesn’t know a lot about sympathy, either, so he downloads programming on his own for the first time on how to be a sympathetic lover, and from that point on he’s as sweet and patient and gentle as can be when it comes to these phone calls. Hongbin seems to appreciate it, and even cracks a joke or two, makes Sanghyuk promise not to download any rogue AI programs while he’s away and try to take over the world.
One week goes by, becomes two, according to the messages Hongbin leaves for Sanghyuk on their answering machine while Sanghyuk is powered down. Sanghyuk watches television he has no interest in, cleans their already spotless apartment, spends more time learning how to plug himself in than he means to. He reads stories about America, and despite his programming to the contrary finds his data circuits wandering off with ideas about what it would be like to be on vacation with Master Lee Hongbin.
Two weeks become three, and Sanghyuk wonders if he will ever see his designated owner again. He has little care towards the recollection or perception of time, time being a man-made interface and a measure of the way the earth moves and all that, and only knows that when he plugs himself in at night he wants sorely for the body beside which he’s grown so used to sleeping.
He doesn’t understand. He’s a robot, he’s not meant to have these feelings. He shouldn’t be getting all up in arms just because Hongbin is away longer than intended.
And yet, he is.
Perhaps, he reasons one day after wiping down the stove for the hundred-and-first time this week, he has downloaded some faulty programming that has given him the idea that he is capable of missing someone’s presence. Perhaps he’s been watching too much television in Hongbin’s absence. Perhaps sentiment is no longer outside his realm of plausibility; he has been learning a lot lately.
Or maybe he just really, really misses taking care of his human.
Three weeks become four, and he’s gotten preoccupied enough to go over the rated programming leftover in his system from that pornographic accident he and Hongbin had encountered not long into their relationship. He doesn’t quite fantasise, because he’s not programmed to do that yet, but he goes over the material again and again, wondering why people are so interested in the practice, then resolving that upon Hongbin’s return he will engage in this sort of activity, if Hongbin wants.
A strange and small and distant part of Sanghyuk hopes that Hongbin wants.
Four weeks become five, and Sanghyuk finds that his only hope at this point is that he will see his master once again, that he hasn’t disappeared for good and abandoned Sanghyuk here in this apartment. He wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he never saw Hongbin again.
The door unlocks, and Sanghyuk looks up from the book he’d been toying with, not quite reading but cracking the spine anyway to pretend that he’s going to read. He doesn’t see the point, he can just download the information, but...Hongbin seems to like it, so he thought he’d give it a try. But then the door unlocks, and Sanghyuk is springing to his feet, only to spy an utterly exhausted-looking Master Lee Hongbin from behind the crack in the door. Sanghyuk takes the burden of opening the door the rest of the way and picks up Hongbin in a full embrace, taking advantage of the height difference between them and swinging him around in a circle.
“You’re finally back,” he declares, and though he tries to keep it from happening his voice cracks with enthusiasm, something he’s not sure where or how he learned.
“I’m finally back,” and Hongbin really does look more tired than Sanghyuk can remember him looking, he’s got these dark circles under his eyes and what appears to be a brand-new wrinkle in the bridge of his nose. “No more business trips, I promise. I wasn’t any good to the company at all.”
“What makes you say that?” Sanghyuk frowns, unable to understand that Hongbin could be anything less than a valuable asset to any situation. It’s not because he’s programmed to, either. “I’m sure everything went smoothly with you there.”
“No, they just wanted to use me for my face,” Hongbin sighs, glancing out the living room window at the city skyline. “It’s the same as it always is, people think I’m good-looking so they’re more inclined to listen to what I have to say. Except no one told me what to say this time, they just sort of let me go on my own and --” He pauses. “You don’t want to hear about all this.”
“Of course I do.” Sanghyuk smiles, tentatively, and he feels the circuits in his chest all begin to light up at once. He doesn’t know exactly what it means, of course; there’s nothing in any database that he’s been able to find that tells him what it is. No one appears to know. Yet he feels it all the same whenever he’s around Hongbin, and it’s not entirely uncomfortable; in fact it’s quite warm, makes him feel like he should run diagnostics and make sure his cooling system is completely intact. “I want to know everything. Did you at least get to have fun while you were there?”
“Not really,” and Hongbin smiles tiredly, rubbing at one eye with the back of his hand as he shakes his head, “and not nearly as much as I would have, had you been there.”
Sanghyuk’s cheeks turn a faint shade of pink, something he hadn’t been able to do before Hongbin had left, and he picks up his master once again, kissing him on the nose. “If only I could have gone with you,” he sighs.
“What have you been doing without me here?” Hongbin asks, wriggling out of Sanghyuk’s grasp with a laugh.
“Keeping your place clean. Learning new stuff.” He hesitates, then adds, “Missing you, mostly. It’s strange not to have you here.”
“Strange how?” Hongbin frowns, confused.
“Well, this is your house. I’ve only been here...what, half a year? If even that. Only since you brought me here.” He pauses, not struggling for the words but actually striving for cadence. “But you’ve been here for a very, very long time. So your apartment missed your presence. ...As did I. It’s odd to be in your house and yet not be taking care of you.”
“I didn’t know I would be gone so long,” Hongbin professes, and it sounds too much like an apology, so Sanghyuk shakes his head, takes Hongbin by the chin and kisses his lips firmly, preventing any further ‘sorry’. When he pulls back he presses light kisses to the apples of both Hongbin’s cheeks. “I just wanted to be with you the whole time I was gone. I didn’t forget you for a minute.”
“And I wanted the same from you!” Sanghyuk’s voice rises and he takes Hongbin’s face between his palms. “Hey, um…” And he doesn’t know how to broach the subject, pauses and makes several false starts before settling. “I learned a lot of things while you were gone. Went over all my old databases, especially--” he coughs, then covers his mouth a half-second too late, “the ones you didn’t mean for me to have. And if you’d like, I’ve been studying their contents. I want to show you some of them.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, a gesture he’d learned from a girl on television and one he hopes Hongbin finds charming rather than overexaggerated.
Hongbin’s eyebrows, in the meantime, shoot up practically into his hairline, and he turns red despite his dimpled grin. “If you’re talking about what I think you are, then...are you sure?” Sanghyuk nods, beams broadly, so bright that Hongbin can’t help but agree with him. He lets Sanghyuk take him by the hand and lead him to the bedroom, glad to finally be home, nevermind this particular outcome.
Despite all their promises to one another at the time of Hongbin’s return, they do not end up having sex that night, or for many nights afterward. Instead Hongbin programs Sanghyuk to think more like a human, and to think of himself as such. It might only be his way of keeping from feeling like a statistic, but it works for him, works for them, and he’s more than happy to accommodate any questions or concerns anyone else might have. (Sanghyuk especially. Sanghyuk mostly. Sanghyuk only. Everyone else go home.)
When they finally do have sex it’s with tender touches and gentle gazes and ‘I love you’s and nothing at all like the material Sanghyuk has studied from his programs, which had seemed downright obscene in comparison. From that day on they hold hands with fingers interlaced and go absolutely everywhere together, Sanghyuk passing for human well enough that no one questions him anywhere he goes, a relief to both the parties involved.
He introduces people to Sanghyuk who know him only as his boyfriend, never as his robot, and Sanghyuk is careful not to refer to Hongbin by his decidedly unfitting designation in front of people who won’t get the joke.
One day while they’re out, grocery shopping and drinking coffee and generally being normal individuals, they run into Wonsik, who has a boyfriend of his own. It’s not at all awkward, even though Wonsik makes a half-hearted attempt at turning it into one of those encounters, nearly exposes Sanghyuk’s secret in front of a crowd of strangers at the train station. Hongbin will later remember the reason as to why he feels such a strange sense of unease about Wonsik being with his new boyfriend -- he’d heard through the grapevine that Wonsik had finally caved and gotten a toy boy, himself.
He’d introduced his boyfriend to both Hongbin and Sanghyuk as Jaehwan, and they look very happy, very in love, although Jaehwan looks confused when Sanghyuk identifies as a person. If he knows, he doesn’t say anything, just moves on smoothly with the conversation.
When they part, Wonsik apologising for all the things he’d done at the end of Hongbin’s and his relationship and promising that they’ll catch up at some point, Sanghyuk and Hongbin exchange a glance of pure adoration for one another.
“I’m so glad I have you,” Hongbin tells his boyfriend with a squeeze of his fingers.