“You smell like a .” Yixing comments as soon as he comes in, eyes switching from purple to blue and back to brown; it’s something that only happens when he’s pissed off. Jongdae’s never quite been sure why Yixing had that mechanism installed, especially as it’s so fleeting. Why have something beautiful if you can’t display it to the world?

He rolls his own eyes in response, the yellow flashing brighter for a second; Yixing only stares back steadily, eyes still flittering through their many colours. “You can’t smell, Yixing. You had that removed.”

“Alcohol’s strong enough a scent for me to pick up on.” Yixing mutters, angrily tossing his book aside – what do classics matter when there’s someone to get angry at? “Besides, I don’t need to smell it. I can tell by your face that you were ing someone else.”

Is he pissed off by the fact that it was a human, or the fact that it was just someone other than himself? Jongdae can’t tell, but he can hear the cogs that make up Yixing’s mechanical heart whirring and for a second – just a second – he wonders if he Yixing is capable of caring. Because they’ve never really staked a claim on each other, even as they wander the world for a little extra cash.

They’re not the kind of droids to make it in the movies; they’re cheap and flashy, tinkered with and sparky – but not special.

“Why do you care?” He groans, fingers digging into his impossibly tight jeans for the fistful of credits he got for his trouble. “It keeps us in business – don’t tell me you haven’t been running on empty these past few days.” If he could still blush, he’d be flushing right now. He drops the money on the table next to the bed, thumping down next to his lover.

The tick-tick-tick of Yixing’s motorised heart is all that breaks the silence as Jongdae lays his head on his shoulder.