Luhan for Anonymous. The request asked for fluff ... I guess this is fluff. ~Admin Kelc

Luhan sits besides his owner. They’re on the window seat at the end of the hallway on the second floor of a mansion that is much too big for a family of three. He brings his feet onto the seat, wrapping his arms around his legs and resting his chin on top of his knees. He looks over at the girl sitting next to him, watching her as she pushes her thin-framed glasses up her nose. She flips the page, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and he can’t seem to think of any other moment where she is more beautiful.

He sometimes wonders if all Dolls find their owners to be perfect or if it’s just a glitch in his program. But would it really be a glitch? Is it a mistake to think that his owner was perfect? Does it render his coding to be faulty if he thinks that she is beautiful? An angel in disguise?

She looks up from her book and catches his gaze.

“Stop watching me,” she says quietly.

Luhan immediately turns his body away from her and stares out the window, shoulders square to the glass. To others it would appear as if he was being polite, adhering to the girl’s wishes like a gentleman. But in reality, it was all just in his program, coded into his hard drive, grafted onto his metal heart. One of his many special features was to be obedient after all.  

“Why don’t you like me watching you read?” he questions as his eyes absentmindedly follow the first flakes of winter fall from the sky and stick to the window.

“It makes me nervous and I can’t concentrate,” she mumbles a reply and Luhan can’t help but smile.  

They lapse into another one of their silences, ones that were comfortable and warm, but ones that were never missed. After a few turns of pages and a few dozen snowflakes does Luhan speak up again.

“What’s it like?”

She looks up at him curiously and finds him still staring out of the window. She takes her time answering his question, first closing her book softly and stretching her arms out in front of her. She rakes a hand through her hair and lets out a yawn before scooting closer to him and turning towards the window.

“Snow?” she asks as presses her shoulder against his, “Come on, Luhan, we’ve played in the snow before.”

He ignores the way his chest tightens when she says his name and shakes his head, “Not the snow. Falling.”

“Umm, I guess it’s kind of like a feeling of weightlessness? But with anxiety because you know that there’s going to be an impact in the end and a hint of fear because you don’t know if someone is going to be there to catch you or you’re just going to end up getting hurt.”

“Is that the same feeling you get when you fall in love too?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know. I can’t really say,” she shrugs, “Why? Have you fallen in love with me or something?”

She nudges his shoulder with a teasing smile and Luhan gives her a smile.

“I think so,” he responds.

Honesty was another one of his features.

The smile on her face slowly fades and stares at him with wide eyes. He reaches over and carefully takes her glasses off. A few strands of hair fall into her face and he gently tucks them back into the place.

He stares into her eyes and seconds feel like eternities.  

Luhan suddenly leans forward and presses his lips to hers.

He feels a jolt of electricity run from his lips and through every part of his body, from his fingertips right down to his toes. He’s not sure if it’s that “spark” that all of those romance novels that he’s read talk about or if he’s just short-circuiting.  

He slowly pulls away but continues to lean his forehead against hers.

After a few beats, he reconnects their lips, reveling in the warmth that seems to fill his soul.

He stops breathing when he feels her slowly start to kiss him back. Dolls aren’t supposed to do anything without the permission of their owners. But after the initial shock, his brain starts to go into overdrive and he no long finds himself able to control his actions. He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her into his lap, tilting his head to the side as he hugs her closer.

And she lets him.

But when his lips part and his tongue sweeps across her bottom lip, she shoves him away with a gasp and scrambles off his lap. She faces her back to him, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing both of her hands over .  

Luhan’s eyes fly open and he wonders if this was the fear that you feel when you fall in love, the fear of falling alone, the fear of not having anyone to catch you. He reaches out to her but falters when he sees her shoulders visibly hunch over as she curls into herself, shielding her heart from the world.  

“I’m sorry,” he stands up from the window seat and bolts down the hall.

---

Luhan didn’t know that Dolls could cry, but apparently they can. It’s probably a new feature added by the developers to make them seem human, or well, more human at least.

He sits on the ground in the yard behind the mansion, flakes of ice shining in his hair, tear tracks running down his cheeks.  He hears the crunching of snow under boots from yards away, but he doesn’t look up. He doesn’t look up when a figure crouches in front of him. He doesn’t look up when thumbs wipe away the tears and she sighs softly.

It’s only when a hand wraps around his that he does. She flips his hand over and presses her thumb to his wrist, right where he pulse would be if he had one. A red 33% illuminates through his pale skin.

“Your battery’s dying,” she whispers, “Come inside before you hurt yourself.”

Luhan stands up against his will and allows himself to be led back inside and up the staircase into her bedroom. She sits him down on her bed and he pulls off his sweater and undershirt. She pulls the cord across the carpet and attaches the charger to the port on his back between his shoulder blades. The numbers reappear on his forearm, this time green instead of red.

Luhan watches her disappear into the bathroom and return with a towel. She climbs onto the bed and kneels behind him before beginning to towel away the melted snowflakes in his hair.  Seeing his eyes starting to droop, she tosses the towel to the side and sits behind him. She pulls him backwards to rest his head on her lap. He turns on his side so the cord connected to him isn’t digging into his back. He closes his eyes when he feels her fingers absentmindedly running through his still slightly damp hair.

“Are you mad at me?”

Her fingers pause for a moment.

“I can never be mad at you,” she whispers, “I love you too much.”