Jongdae’s sputtering, the ugly screech of metal and bone coming to a halt in the middle of a metropolitan shopping centre. People stop and stare only to curl a lip in disgust; he should have more manners than that, more charge left than to simply stop in the middle of the day. It’s not done. If you are robotic in anyway, then public opinion mandates that you keep up to date with plug-ins and power surges.

It’s just the way the world works. And nobody will stop and help – nobody will be sympathetic because they’re scurrying past, probably on the last dregs of their energy reserves themselves. Yixing sighs – as much as his stiffening wind-pipe will allow, anyway. Honestly, he’s surprised it was Jongdae who came to a stop first.

He puts a hand on Jongdae’s arm; his skin is over-hot, skin taut and the bone too hard to be fully human. “Are your circuits over-heating?” He asks quietly.

Jongdae cannot even move his head to nod, so he flickers his dulled yellow eyes towards Yixing; he takes that as a yes. It’s not a problem – not exactly – but it’s a hassle, and if Yixing hadn’t been built for strength, then they’d be in trouble. As it is, the only thing they have to worry about is the money to get a mécano to charge him up properly. And neither of them have the credits necessary for that.

Yixing supposes it’s lucky they’re both attractive.