Jongdae’s always been made of more expensive materials than Yixing; it’s why he gets jobs so much easier than Yixing does – why they’re always depending on his money, rather than Yixing’s. It’s not that he doesn’t have his talents either – he does. They just appeal to ists, rather than normal, everyday people.

Underground clubs hire him all the time; robo-dancers draw in big crowds, especially if they have sparky eyes or perfected features. Yixing has both; and he’s not ashamed to admit he knows his way around a pole. Jongdae watches him, sometimes, hawk-eyes flashing and a glass of something he’s not supposed to drink held up in a mock toast.

Yixing is fast – that’s part of the attraction. They’re mesmerised by the speed with which he moves, the way he twists and turns as if there’s no effort involved because it’s unreal, unattainable; they coat him in dark makeup and leather and chains, and sometimes Jongdae tells him he looks like a rent boy, but it’s what they want. They want the vampiric ideal – the fantastical creature who is not quite human. Some droids even get vampire teeth fitted, but the idea’s never appealed to Yixing.

He’s content to be human-but-not-quite; to have a whiff of the exotic but no more than that. When they touch him, he coils back, pushes forward with a smile on his face to get them to pay up. Robo-ists are a predictable lot; they want to touch but they don’t dare go further.

It’s more about being different than anything else. A digital dream – nothing more than flashing lights and a hot body with a metallic sheen.

But still – nothing the stuff of love songs are made of.