Yixing wakes to the sensation of Jongdae’s arms around his waist and the familiar tick-tick-tick of his heart. His hand is twitching involuntarily; Jongdae’s glowing cheek pressed against his. His voicebox feels dry, but that’s probably the rust – he doesn’t really salivate anymore.

“How long was I out, this time?” He asks, watching his still-twitching hand with interest. It’s kind of funny, when you think about it – and it’ll stop momentarily. This always happens when he awakens from one of his turns, as they’ve taken to calling them.

“A couple of hours.” Jongdae shrugs, hugging him closer; Yixing likes the fact that his human heart beats slower than his own mechanical one. “It felt longer.”

“Oh.” He should be more concerned than he is, but what does it matter? When he blacks out, he’s not aware of it – he doesn’t even dream. It’s like being a computer, shut down because his circuits are overloaded and his fuse has blown, or something. He doesn’t really want to know what’s happening to his body.

“You keep tripping, Yixing.” Jongdae takes the twitching hand in his, tenderly folding the fingers into Yixing’s glittering palm. “You need to get re-mechanised. You can’t go on like this.” He says softly.

Yixing doesn’t respond, instead choosing to focus on the jumping of Jongdae’s pulse and the ticking of his heart; he likes the symphony of muscle and circuit. He might be a broken tin man, but by god at least he’s got a heart. Even if it is a mechanical one.

“We can’t afford that.” He sounds serene, unbothered; Jongdae’s grip on his hand becomes painfully tight.

“We’ll find the money.” Jongdae promises, their cheeks still pressed together; Yixing wonders if it is electricity or determination that makes his cheek jump.

He decides it must be an electrical fault; droids don’t really feel emotion, after all.