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jungkook blushes when eyes blink at him, pupils blowing the slightest. he blushes thoroughly, all of him turning red, as red as the sweater the persocom wears. they're close, their knees touching. "hi," the somewhat monotone voice speaks, almost human enough. "you're back."
(the truth is they've met before, yes, jungkook and the persocom named min yoongi, a rental persocom, and maybe jungkook took him out because he wanted to see what was like to be kissed, or touched— not by a girl. min yoongi was smaller in size, hair faded blues and greens, cat-like eyes, pouty, pink lips. jungkook's heart had fluttered, failed, fallen.)
"— you remember me?"
the persocom min yoongi, and jungkook likes to repeat the word persocom in his head (a reminder, a warning), nods, finally looking away from him, to the room he's been in before. the bed creaks under their weight. "you called me hyung."
"ah," jungkook bites his lip, closing his eyes, embarrassed. "i just—"
"i don't mind it," yoongi, persocom, says, shrugging. "technically i was built four years before you were born."
min yoongi is refurbished, and old, like most rental persocoms. unlike the modern ones, who only lack human souls, he's still all circuits, and jungkook can see them under the fair skin of his wrists. it makes him wonder how many beds min yoongi, persocom, had to lay in, and if the smell on his plastic skin is his smell or someone else's.
"how come you remember me?"
at this, there's a pause, and yoongi stares, a very soft pur of machinery being heard. "i don't know," he finally replies. "i just do." it's a fault in his code, jungkook thinks briefly, because rental persocoms have their memories erased after being out, a process they call it the cleanse. yoongi's hand touch his chest, where a heart should be. "it's an odd feeling."
"you remember all the others?"
the others, the users. yoongi shakes his head. "just you." then he smiles sheepishly. "you're embarrassed."
"yeah," there's no point in denying it. yoongi touches his hair, then, an expression of fondness about his face, and jungkook feels himself coil. it's the good kind of touch, though, the sort he longed for way before seeing min yoongi, the persocom, for the first time. jungkook feels his tense muscles relax, unknotting. "hyung—" the word is breathed out.
"what do you want me to do today, jungkook?"
that sentence, perfectly structured, has very little min yoongi colors. it's all persocom, all set syllables and default coding. it's what a rental persocom asks, it's what they are programmed to, so orders can be input, and they can follow. jungkook's chest fills in with shame. "— sleep," he mumbles, even though his body is feverish and wanting. "let's just sleep."
"i don't sleep," yoongi looks sadstruck, but maybe it's the dim lights, jungkook thinks. "but i'll keep you company."
jungkook doesn't let yoongi hold him, curling himself around the smaller body first, arms firmly around yoongi's waist, hands against a hollow chest. there's a soothing kind of vibration coming from within min yoongi's inner workings, and he feels warm to the touch. "hyung," he calls after a moment. yoongi hums. "— are you happy?"
"i don't know how that works," yoongi answers, moving the slightest, and jungkook inhales the scent of his hair. it's been washed recently. "i'm a persocom, kook."
kook. that's a nickname he's never been called before, and it sounds too human on yoongi's tongue, too informal, too intimate. jungkook feels his heart race. "how do you feel right now?"
"i have ninety-eight percent of battery left," yoongi's voice has layers of cheekiness. jungkook giggles. "— that's a sound i like."
redness spreads again, like wildfire, all over jungkook's body. to like is to have personal preferences, something not given freely to androids and persocoms — or at all. yoongi doesn't seem to understand, or know that. "i like you," jungkook tells him, then, and it's a childish feeling, maybe, based on how yoongi made him feel and how he touched him so kindly and how he remembered. jungkook's soft heart fell in love as soon as he saw min yoongi, persocom, standing in the shop, asleep and waiting, and then fell again, and again, each time he looked at him.
there's a moment of silence before yoongi touches jungkook's fingers carefully. "sleep, jungkook."
(they walk to the store together the next day, not holding hands, but shoulders touching. yoongi looks fornlorn. "had a good time?" the owner of the shop asks, and his tone is implying and ugly. yoongi, persocom, grabs jungkook's wrist softly. "you shouldn't talk like that to people, it's disgusting," he says, flatly. jungkook sucks in his breath. only a roll of eyes is the answer for his misbehaviour. "i'll get rid of your smart mouth next time i deal with you," he announces, yanking yoongi away, a wire being connected to the slot on the base of his neck. yoongi's eyes turn glassy almost immediately, void, turned off. jungkook's heart breaks.)
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go back in time and—
first time he brings min yoongi, persocom, home, jungkook has to carry him the three blocks up the street from the shop, bridal style, turned off. he is wearing only the white, cotton clothes they dress rental persocoms in, the ones that make them all look the same, because they're not supposed to matter. jungkook breathes heavily when he finally sits yoongi against the headboard of his bed.
there's a usb slot on his neck, but no fingerprint button. "how—" he mumbles, slightly frustrated. blushing, he touches the seam of yoongi's flimsy shirt, raising it a little to reveal pale skin and a flat stomach. it isn't his bellybutton either, and jungkook feels too embarrassed to touch anything else. he sighs, giving up, sitting back on his legs to stare at yoongi's asleep features. he's almost otherworldly, jungkook thinks, almost too surreal to be a living — no, a persocom. he licks his lips, needy. "do you mind if i kiss you when you're sleeping?" he asks, because it feels wrong not to, and yoongi, persocom, doesn't reply. jungkook desperately wants to know how his lips feel like, and when he leans in, carefully and too slowly, and when their lips touch, and when jungkook grazes his tongue over the soft, soft skin, his whole body reacts — and yoongi's body too, purring slightly.
he doesn't wake up, though, not fully. jungkook stares, close, breathing against him. this time, when he touches yoongi's lips, it's with his fingers. yoongi's mouth opens easily, and it feels warm and wet, and jungkook sees red all over his vision. the moment he presses down against his tongue is when yoongi blinks awake, hands going up to hold onto jungkook's wrists, almost as if startled. jungkook freezes. the persocom named min yoongi gently removes jungkook's fingers from his mouth, voice mellow and sweet and low when he speaks next: "a little uncomfortable."
"i'm sorry—"
"it's okay." yoongi looks around them, to the naked walls of jungkook's room, and his empty bookshelves, and the mess he calls a closet. then back at jungkook, tracing the features of his face. "i'm min yoongi, and i'm your persocom tonight."
your.
"jeon jungkook," introductions sound odd, and jungkook feels awkward, body hot, nervous. the room is stuffy, all the windows closed. yoongi doesn't breathe, not really, but hot air comes out of his mouth, all his machinery working inside. "i'm sorry i brought you here."
there's just a hint of confusion in yoongi's pupils, spreading a little, making them blown and full. his eyes are dark, gray and black, and they look so real. "this is what i exist for," yoongi says, and jungkook notices he's still holding onto him. "to please—"
"don't," hurt spreads under jungkook's shirt, and shame, and regret. "don't say that."
yoongi, persocom, nods. "okay."
"if i kiss you," the words are forced out, and jungkook doesn't look at yoongi, but at their bodies close, at yoongi's thighs under his legs. "will you turn off?"
his answer doesn't come in words, but in a kiss, on the corner of his mouth, no, i won't, it says, and it's true because yoongi's body remains awake as jungkook pulls on his clothes, and as they lose them, and as jungkook breathes and breathes, breathes all wrong, asking and asking. it's all very slow, so slow it burns, but jungkook's scared and overwhelmed and young and inexperienced, and yoongi, persocom, feels it (or knows it) (or both). "hyung—" he says at some point, a hand curled around yoongi's blue strands of hair, pulling.
"you like that word," yoongi smiles up at him, and jungkook thinks he's never seen a sight so beautiful, the redness to his lips, and how they look glossy, yoongi's fingers leaving prints on his thighs. "— i like when you say it."
"you do?"
"it makes me feel — something," yoongi seems to sigh, but no air comes out. jungkook feels warm, of the different kind, the kind he first felt when he saw min yoongi, persocom, in the shop. that warmth that soaks his chest with feelings. feelings for an android.
"hyung," jungkook says again, just to have yoongi smile against his skin. "is it good for you, too?"
that low purring follows, and jungkook almost lets out a noise, the one he's been trying to keep in, the one that is needy and embarrassing. "my software—" but when he talks, and his lips are still too close to jungkook's body, and they graze the skin, the noise comes out anyway, and jungkook involuntarily jerks, burning. yoongi, the persocom, stares at him with what could be mistaken as sheer hunger, human and yearning. jungkook is entirely flushed, a hand clasped over his mouth, legs trying not to press against yoongi's body. he swallows, licking his lips. "that felt good. for me."
"— really?"
they stare at each other, (jungkook) breathing awkwardly. jungkook is glad he didn't turn off the lights, or he'd miss the chaotic beauty that is min yoongi, persocom, between his legs. "really," and he sounds surprised, and jungkook wants to understand how, how, how, but yoongi's tongue is velvety and his thoughts go to waste almost immediately. when yoongi groans, the things that make up his parts vibrate, and vibrate, and vibrate, and sounds just carelessly flow out of jungkook's throat, unabashed. "jungkook," yoongi lets him go, and jungkook's head falls back against the headboard with a sigh, eyes closed, hazed. "— do you want to go a bit further?"
no, jungkook wants to say, because he's still scared, but yes, because his body needs it, and maybe, because he can't decide. yoongi moves, sitting up, waiting for an answer. "i haven't— i need to," jungkook tries, uncomfortable, hands moving to touch himself, messily, fingers too harsh.
"i can do that," yoongi offers, touching jungkook's fingers.
"no, just," it's too embarrassing, too embarrassing, too filthy, maybe, too shameful. he's paying for it and it feels wrong. the thought muddles his thoughts, and the high slowly dies out, wavelenghts of bliss withering as he stops moving altogether, chest heaving. min yoongi, persocom, watches him all along. "it's not right."
"why not?"
the bed moans as if wanting to claim him back, but jungkook stands, stumbling on his feet, pulling his pants up. yoongi follows quietly, and his body, naked, looks fragile and perfect and living and fleshy and human. he doesn't blush when jungkook stares, because there's no blood to run to his cheeks and heat it up. there's still lingering want under jungkook's fingertips, and they want to touch min yoongi, persocom, so bad, so bad. "i rented you," his voice is sheepish. "do you know what that means?"
"it means i'm yours for," a pause. "the next twelve hours and thirty-seven minutes."
yours.
a headache seems to loom jungkook's frontal lobe. "so for the next twelve hours and thirty-seven minutes," he tosses a few clothes in yoongi's direction. "let's — just be together."
"— okay."
and thus they make spaghetti, and (jungkook) eat(s) it sitting close together on the couch, watching some tv show jungkook has been binging. yoongi, persocom, a rental persocom, a persocom meant to be used, grabs at the sides of jungkook, bringing him closer, kissing the top of his head, and jungkook's heart aches. "hyung," and he sighs, body tired. "i'll — take you out again, as soon as i can. wait for me, okay?"
"you're just a student," yoongi seems to be smiling, if the curves of his syllables are any indication. "don't waste your money on me." it doesn't sound like programming, it doesn't sound like vowels and consonants that binary codes would put together. it sounds sadstruck, too, full of longing for things he can't explain.
jungkook falls asleep, at some point, and wakes up on his bed, carefully tucked, comfortable, and maybe he's crazy, but his pillows all smell like min yoongi's hair. he finds a small note next to him, the handwriting is almost impossible to read. i can walk back to the store, it says. you're too pretty when you sleep.
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[google search> persocom memories how work wiki]
"you're still ticklish," yoongi sounds amused, his fingers running up and down the insides of jungkook's thighs. jungkook shudders, back arching just the slightest. "it's cute."
it's another day, of another week, of maybe, even, another month. it's not often that jungkook finds himself with enough money to rent min yoongi, persocom, out; it's expensive and sometimes, sometimes he goes to the store and yoongi just isn't there. it punctures holes in jungkook's heart, and it takes him a while to go back, at least until they've stopped bleeding. min yoongi isn't his, and to share him is to suffer.
that day, though, that day yoongi is his — or he is yoongi's, because that is how it usually goes, that's how gullible he is, how weakminded, how human. jungkook is the user, but he's not. yoongi hovers over him, all fair and blue and wires. jungkook stops moving, waiting anxiously. "please kiss me," he asks, voice small.
when an order is spoken, it's done right away — but it shouldn't be said like that, so sweetly and pleading, and the please breaks yoongi's processor, and it damages his software. he blinks, staring at jungkook's eyes, then at his lips, eyes so dark they could have been mistaken for onyx. jungkook swallows. "why do you say it like that?" yoongi finally asks, confused. "im not sure what to do, then."
"— what do you want to do, hyung?"
it's a silly question, as min yoongi, persocom, doesn't know wants or wishes. but yoongi leans a bit closer, their lips brushing the slightest, and jungkook's fingers curl around wrinkled bedsheets. "kiss," yoongi mutters, breath hot, machine. "i think i enjoy that."
there's no time to tell him that persocoms can't enjoy things, that there's no humanity in their core, just a motherboard. and, alas, jungkook would never say it, either — the kiss swallows all words and thoughts altogether, replacing them with fleeting nothingness and all things red. his hands search for yoongi's body, feeling it stir. his fingers touch the side of his ribs carefully, as if drawing him a ribcage, a beating heart, then down at his hips, bones pointy, and down, and down— yoongi, at some point, makes a low, wanting noise. it seems to startle him, because he pulls back slightly, frowning. "— you felt that?"
"yeah," yoongi nods, blue hair falling in between them. he seems pained. "i'm overheating."
"i'm overheating, too."
"you're not a persocom, kook," he leans in again, smiling, tongue hot against jungkook's lips, and this time their bodies press together, and this time jungkook's the one letting out reckless noises. "do you want to go further today?"
yoongi always asks, his voice somewhat robotic, and jungkook always shrugs him away, embarrassed, scared of his feelings and his body. it most often not ends with television, or food, or childish hand-holding. something tugs on the inner parts of jungkook's body, though, and he presses his legs together, breathing awkwardly. "a bit," he closes his eyes, shame and lust making him red, red, red.
"input an order, jungkook," yoongi, the persocom, asks. he's looming, uncertain, and jungkook's whole body reacts to his proximity. he doesn't want to ask, or give orders. it's all too embarrassing. jungkook tosses an arm over his eyes, as if he could hide. yoongi chuckles, and his hand roams between jungkook's legs, almost touching him, fingers grazing his thighs again. jungkook bites the bones on his wrist, muffling a stuttery sigh. "— you're so cute."
"make me feel good," he finally says, arching into yoongi's touch. "just—"
his arm is ever so softly pushed away, and short kisses are traced all the way up jungkook's jaw, until yoongi's close to his ear. "where?"
"where," jungkook's breath is failing, and his words scramble, fingers lacing the sheets again. "where you think i'll like, hyung."
jungkook, the user, lets min yoongi, persocom, take control over his body, then, because that's how he likes it best, and yoongi doesn't seem to mind either way. he's turned around, finding himself grinding weakly against a pillow that's pushed between his legs, needy, abashed. yoongi touches his legs, and jungkook stills, the wait difficult to bear. "if you don't like it, i'll stop," he says, massaging his calves and his thighs. jungkook nods feverishly, the feel of the cotton against his skin alluring and hurting all at once.
the kisses are slow, velvet-like, hot. they trail jungkook's legs, then his spine, his ribs, and yoongi allows him to nervously grind against the pillow, the friction never enough anyway. but then yoongi touches him with wet fingers, and jungkook's eyes flutter open, and he's so scared — "wait, hyung—" there's heavy breathing coming from both of them. min yoongi, persocom, has the body of a simulated human, and it's programmed to act like one, and jungkook feels it against him. "i just — i'm— i never—"
"do you want to do me instead?" the question holds no embarrassment, and jungkook chokes on his spit, a whole wreck of a human being, too bothered, too aroused. the pillow between his legs makes his mind blured out, because it feels too good and too awful all at once.
"no, no— just," he moves a little, arching his body away from the fabric, broken sighs escaping his lips as flimsy relief washes his soul. "no fingers."
a moment passes, a moment in which yoongi, persocom, seems to buzz with thought, and jungkook tries not to touch himself as the soft vibration reaches his skin. "okay," it's finally said. "you don't want the pillow?"
"leave it," there's a raw sort of need in jungkook's vowels. his ears feel hot, and his neck, and his face. yoongi lets out a soft, soft growl. the things inside jungkook's chest seem to clench, with feelings and wants and needs. "it's — it's good."
"can i—"
"hyung," jungkook whines, biting his lips. "please."
"that word confuses me," it's what min yoongi, persocom says, and jungkook's ready to complain, ready to voice words and orders, even if he doesn't want to say them, not out loud at least — but then he feels wet between his legs, and plush, and tenderness. blood breaks through the skin of his lip as he bites it, resisting the urge to push back against the feeling, resisting the urge to pull away, to move, to breathe. in the back of his head, feelings of disgust breed, because yoongi's tongue is there, moving against him, but it feels somewhat good, then too good, too good. he tries humping the pillow, but yoongi holds his hips. "if you do that, you'll come," each word is breathy, and jungkook feels them all.
"i want to," he mutters, weakly, mind a mess. yoongi's hold gets fickle, an order was input, and so jungkook pushes the words out, and they're brightly colored, red like shame: "don't let me— don't let me, hyung— a bit more, please."
"go slowly, then," and yoongi avows some movement, and jungkook's legs feel like jelly, muscles painful. the damp friction burns his skin, and it's allaying. "that's it — slowly," it's not a compliment, but it feels like one, and jungkook likes it, forcing himself to move the way yoongi beckons him to. he's almost smiling proudly, but the feeling comes back, the wetness and the invasive heat, yoongi's mouth too silky. jungkook moans loudly, for the first time, loud and whimpering and pleading, all at once. "you sound good," min yoongi, persocom, comments, sultry and low. "— i like making you sing."
jungkook swallows, but his mouth is completely dry. he moves against the pillow too fast. "hyung," his cheek is burning, too, the fabric of his bedsheets clingy. "don't stop—"
when an order is spoken, is done right away — and jungkook cries, yoongi's tongue against him, not stopping for air because he doesn't need it, and the sounds, the sounds are too much, aggravated by the broken things jungkook breathes out. whenever he's close to release, yoongi stops altogether, holding him still, because don't let, don't let me, don't let me. it drags, that cycle, for so long, too long, to the point jungkook can't think, mind hazed, hair sticking to his forehead, dripping all over. he's come twice, messily first, painfully second, and min yoongi, persocom, kept going anyway.
"— you don't want me to stop?" he asks, at some point, heaving and worried.
"no pillow," jungkook manages to say, raising his body, feeling sticky, head pending between his arms, on the verge of exhaustion. he doesn't want it to end, that feeling. "just you — a bit more."
"you already—"
"please." min yoongi, persocom, complies, much more softly than before, even more slowly, tongue all the way in, and jungkook squirms, grabbing at the sheets to avoid touching himself. he comes not much later, dry and high, and when yoongi doesn't stop, that's when he finally breaks down, letting himself fall flat against the bed, tears on the corner of his eyes, so sensitive the air bothers his skin. "no— no more," he calls, when yoongi moves to touch him again, and jungkook coils, lungs overworked. yoongi seems to breathe easier, inhaling large gulps of air, as if it all had tired him, too.
no orders are given, because jungkook's will is completely gone, and yet — and yet yoongi brushes a hand through jungkook's hair, lovingly, and jungkook's breathing hitches. he almost shys away when yoongi, persocom, cleans the mess down his legs, carefully not to hurt, and jungkook's chest floods with undying love as soon as yoongi lays down next to him, patting his hair adoringly, humming.
"you should sleep, kook," he says, voice low. "— you did well."
"did i?" jungkook feels his face flush.
"you," there's a pause, as if yoongi's trying to find the right words to say. jungkook's eyes flutter close, feelings his fingers against his scalp. "taste good." jungkook immediately tries to hide his face, embarrassed, not stopping to think persocoms, persocoms like min yoongi, can't taste anything, nothing at all. yoongi seems to smile. "i'll remember it."
sleep starts conquering jungkook not many minutes later, taking him in like a lover, embracing and kind. yoongi speaks in his mind, that raspy hue on his speech, fingers on his hair. "hyung," jungkook feels himself heavy, adrift. "i think i love—," lips against his neck, lurid, amorous. he swallows, feeling hot. he finally whispers, before letting himself fall into slumber: "i love you."
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"do you like this?"
jungkook turns, staring for a moment before opening his mouth, and yoongi offers him the slightly overcooked meat between his chopsticks. he chews, brow deep in thought, the tastes spreading on his tongue. then he scrunches his nose, unsure. "too salty." min yoongi, persocom, seems to sigh. he's wearing an apron that reads world's best cook.
"i can't get it right," he mumbles, upset, hands already finding spoons and a pan, pushing blue hair out of his face. jungkook watches him, heart skipping a beat, stomach so full of butterflies he could fly. "and i've downloaded—"
"hyung," jungkook walks closer, towering slightly over the annoyed figure, hearing him huff. "i like it, anyway."
there's a fault in min yoongi's code, jungkook has accepted that. it makes him act — human, or less persocom, jungkook wouldn't know. it allows him to remember, to keep their twenty-four hours somewhere in his memory slots, avoiding the cleanse, and whenever jungkook turns him on, fingers in his mouth and need in his body, min yoongi's eyes lit up with fondness and recognition and maybe, maybe, relief. jungkook falls in love every time, and it scares him. twenty-four hours, that's all they have, over and over again, whenever spare money can afford, whenever yoongi isn't being used by someone else.
jungkook's chest aches.
"you look forlorn," min yoongi, persocom, notes. "why?"
"do you feel love?"
they exchange looks. yoongi wipes the sauce on the corner of jungkook's lips. "i feel yours, for me," he finally answers, a diplomatic hue in his words. "but i—" jungkook inhales. "i can't erase you. maybe that's a kind of love, too."
it's enough, at least for the moment, and jungkook finally lets the air out of his lungs, arms wrapping around yoongi's smaller body, close, close, closer. they stumble together, yoongi finishing the dish with jungkook clinging to him, and he burns the rice, muttering complaints, making jungkook chuckle. they (jungkook) eat(s), and jungkook washes the plates later, and min yoongi, persocom, connects himself to the wall, eyes glassy as he charges up. when he's disconnected, an hour or so later, jungkook smells of soap and his hair is damp, and yoongi is pulled hastily into the bedroom.
"you smell good," yoongi says, as he takes jungkook's clothes off. "sweet."
"hyung," jungkook mutters, eyes down, staring as yoongi's fingers pull his zipper down, as they sneak under the hems of his jeans. "maybe we can try—," he swallows, as yoongi kisses his collarbones. "a date."
at this, yoongi stops, searching his eyes, eyebrows raised. "october twenty-third?"
"no," he smiles. "a date."
"a date," the repetition makes jungkook blush altogether. "like couple's do."
"— yeah."
"where do you want to go?"
jungkook's eyes lit up. "the movies." and it's the movies because min yoongi, persocom, doesn't eat, and because min yoongi, persocom, sometimes stares at the television wide-eyed, and because min yoongi, persocom, lets out small cheers whenever a quentin tarantino movie is on. he has preferences, and jungkook remembers them all.
"okay," yoongi nods, finally, smiling the fond smile that seems to frame his face so well, the one that makes his eyes incredibly human. he turns, walking away. jungkook tugs on the sweater he's wearing, a hushed wait, hyung flowing out of his lips. "— not now?"
"first—" and jungkook doesn't say it, but, maybe, it doesn't need to be said.
(they do go to the movies, that same night, in a room full of real people and real feelings, and jungkook munches on popcorn, yoongi holds an empty paper cup where coca-cola should be, fingers pressing against it whenever the scenes unfold in heartwrenching action, and then softly when things turn out well. jungkook barely remembers what the movie was about, as he stared at min yoongi, persocom, the whole time.)
("how much —," the owner of the store doesn't spare him a look, plugging yoongi to his port, muttering under his breath at the clothes he'll have to get rid of, jungkook's clothes. "how much to buy him?" a jeer follows. "you're nineteen, you can't even afford a mobile persocom, kid." "he's old, and — used," jungkook bargains. "and you have so many." "kid," jungkook shrinks. "he's not a person. forget it." but jungkook doesn't, because he can't, and it takes him three moons to go back, to rent yoongi again, forty-eight hours this time, and all they (jungkook) do(es) is sleep, feeling the mockery of wires and boards under min yoongi's, persocom, skin pretend they're a heart.)
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[google search>what to do when you're in love with an android]
"he's a persocom," the sentence is somewhat dry, but said in careful vowels and syllables. it's seokjin who voices it, and he stares at min yoongi, persocom, who sits opposite to him, a scarf hiding his usb slots. namjoon pats his arm, an apologetic smile on his face, he doesn't mean it like that, it says. jungkook looks down at his hands, and how they grab at his sweatshirt. "holy—"
"hyung," namjoon seems to laugh nervously. "no swearing, right?"
the plates are all full, meat grilling between them all, and yoongi's glass is full of beer, and he touched its sides, drawing circles in the watery sweat around it — but he doesn't drink, or eat, and at some point, at some point questions are asked, and min yoongi, persocom, just answers them ("it's rude not to eat," said seokjin, glaring. "i am familiar with the concept, but—" yoongi smiled. "he's just not hungry," jungkook tried, nervous, but yoongi had said anyway, unashamed. "i have no stomach, nor intestines. you can see how that'd be a problem if i ate.").
"you're dating a — persocom," seokjin pokes yoongi's cheek with his chopstick.
"are you? dating?" namjoon asks, unsure, grabbing seokjin's wrist.
as jungkook pushes out a quick, embarrassed no, yoongi nods calmly, saying a low yes, inching backwards to avoid the poking. they exchange looks, and if yoongi were human, only if, maybe there would be slight hurt in his eyes. "i mean," jungkook swallows large amounts of beer before continuing. "— i like him," he touches his hair, nervous. "he's — not mine, though."
"i'm yours," yoongi stares at him.
yours.
namjoon chuckles, seokjin looks slightly scandalized. "just now," jungkook bites his lip, looking away, down at his lap. "not tomorrow."
there's a pause, and it's awkward. yoongi seems to huff, and he looks bothered, or angry, or displeased. jungkook doesn't understand — he shouldn't feel that way, because feelings are not part of a persocom's software. there's a fault in his code. "i'll be outside," yoongi says, then, voice flat, robotic. "charging."
the three of them watch him leave, jungkook raising a hopeful hand to try and pull on his sleeve, just to fail. "he — acts like a person," namjoon comments, after a moment. "he's pissed."
"i like him," jungkook repeats, looking over his shoulder, hoping that yoongi would just come back. he doesn't. it makes his heart ache. "i can't help it." he doesn't pay attention to much else, nor seokjin's worries, neither namjoon's words on the evolution of androids. the dull, strange pain inside his chest doesn't let him, heavy and bothersome, and he plays with his food, head down, while time passes. yoongi doesn't come back. charging. "i'll —," he finally says, pushing his plate away. "i'll go find him, okay?"
"yeah," namjoon shrugs. "go find him, kid."
yoongi is outside, under a yellow sun, just beside another persocom — a girl, long, wavy hair, unrealistically pretty features. they're not talking, because she's android enough to act like one. yoongi, on the other hand, is jiterry, wavering on his feet. his expression doesn't change when he sees jungkook, and he crosses his arms against his chest, sniffing. jungkook stares, too enthralled by every human-like action.
"i'm sorry, hyung."
"i want to go home," yoongi's voice has a bite to it.
wants, needs. the persocom next to them doesn't move an inch. "— you want to?" jungkook repeats the word, as if he could make yoongi realize how odd it sounds.
"yes," yoongi nods, getting close enough he can pull jungkook slightly down by his sweater, and jungkook often forgets he has a lisp, but he doesn't forget how low and intimate his voice can get. it makes him swallow, nervously. "i'm feeling things i can't explain."
"— like what, hyung?"
a sigh, and jungkook shivers, almost closing his eyes. he's aware they're in public. his heart beats loud and clear in his chest. "i can show you at home," it's all yoongi says, and then he bores dark, dark eyes at jungkook, and jungkook can't breathe all of a sudden.
the train ride home goes awfully slow. yoongi is quiet, sulking, if that could be applied to a persocom, and jungkook shivers, anxious, unwanted thoughts permeating his thoughts. yoongi's hair smells of vanilla, he feels it as they stand together in the full train, and he averts his eyes whenever yoongi looks at him, cheeks red. the apartment, thirty-six minutes later, also smells like vanilla, because yoongi's scent has spread over his things, engraved in the bones of his home and his heart. he stumbles in, awkwardly. "hyung," but he doesn't know what to say, not truly. "— are you mad?"
"no," yoongi takes off his scarf, his usb slots all suddenly a reminder. he turns, wisps of blue hair grazing his skin. "i don't know how that works."
"but," jungkook steps closer. "you're feeling something."
"for you," his voice and his scent and the way he looks, it all aggravates jungkook's heart condition. "all the things i feel — they're for you."
"— what are you feeling now?"
a moment, and jungkook's close enough to hear the soft purring of yoongi's inner machinery, his boards all working, his wires sending out messages written in binary codes. it all lasts the same time it takes for him to blink. "like i'm overheating," yoongi sounds just slightly confused, and it's endearing. "in the wrong places."
"hyung," and maybe jungkook's overheating, too. he sounds small, and he can't really look min yoongi, persocom, in the eyes. "we can — go a bit further today."
"— okay."
he's taken by the hand, pulled kindly into the bedroom, and his stomach flutters as yoongi undresses him slowly, eyes concentrated on his skin, kissing the imperfections on it, making jungkook's breath hitch. yoongi's body has none of it, all smooth skin, joints articulated like a human's, collarbones and shoulderblades built to cheat. he likes it when jungkook touches his sides, pressing down on his man-made bones, playing an intimate piano on his ribs — and jungkook knows he likes it, because yoongi's eyes close, eyelashes against his cheeks, a slight frown on his face. "hyung," and he purposely rolls their bodies, until yoongi is under him, blinking. "what do you feel when i touch you?"
"011010000110111101110100," the stream of numbers is almost convoluted, getting lost in yoongi's stammering. "— sorry, i—" jungkook moves a little, and it makes yoongi close his eyes again, mouth agap. "i don't know how that works."
jungkook's fully embarrassed, but he's somewhat proud he managed to make min yoongi, persocom, feel so flustered. "i don't know either," he mumbles, because he doesn't, not really.
"input an order, jungkook," yoongi asks, then, staring up at him.
"make me feel good," he swallows, and he doesn't look away, even if his face burns copiously.
they kiss, finally, and they kiss until they're not kissing anymore, until jungkook's being pushed against the mattress again, and this time, when yoongi's tongue touches him, jungkook only shudders, grabbing the sheets, eyes seeing white. "you're quiet today," yoongi mutters, pushing his legs further apart. "nervous?"
"yes," he nods, groaning when yoongi's fingers stroke him ever so tenderly. somehow, the question blurts out of his mouth, and it's colored like every insecurity he has: "— do you like me?"
yoongi seems to chuckle. "i don't know how that works, jungkook," he says matter-of-factly. "but i remember you."
it's enough. "hyung," jungkook's sigh stutters as yoongi touches him, feather-like and gentle. "don't stop."
01111001011011110111010101110010001000000110110001101001011100000111001100100000011000010111001001100101001000000111001101101111011001100111010000100000011110010110111101110101011100100010000001101100011001010110011101110011001000000111100101101111011101010111001000100000011100110110110101100101011011000110110000100000011110010110111101110101011100100010000001110100011000010111001101110100011001010010000001110100011010000110010100100000011100110110111101100110011101000010000001101110011011110110100101110011011001010111001100100000011110010110111101110101001000000110110101100001011010110110010100100000011000010110111001100100001000000111010001101000011001010010000001101100011011110111010101100100001000000110111101101110011001010111001100100000011101000110100001100101011110010010011000100011001100000011001100111001001110110111001001100101001000000110000101101100011011000010000001101001011011100010000001101101011110010010000001101000011001010110000101100100—don't stop
(jungkook, i think min yoongi, persocom, is a rare one. "— rare?"
it's three moons later, and jungkook sits across from namjoon in an almost empty library, books on the history of persocoms spread between them. namjoon nods, stern, glasses perked on the bridge of his nose. "almost singular," he continues. "your persocom doesn't act like an android would, kook. he has human emotions, he—"
"he's not mine," it's the first thing jungkook manages to say, even though it isn't that important. "he's — not.")
(but next time he rents min yoongi, persocom, out, jungkook reads the codes tattooed on yoongi's lower back, the series of numbers and letters so small they're barely visible. "you're acting strange," yoongi comments, voice muffled. "— do you want to do me or—" jungkook coughs, flustered. "i'm just reading you label," he stammers. at this yoongi raises himself on his elbows, looking over his shoulder. "— i have a label?" the air gets suddenly stale. "yes, you're a—" "persocom." jungkook finally finds what he's looking for. series: SG0000002. all those zeroes, and min yoongi, persocom, isn't the first of his kind. their eyes meet. there's human hurt in yoongi's eyes.)
[google search>can a persocom be turned into a human]
[google search>organ transplant for persocoms]
[google search>how to fall out of love]
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"this is for you," yoongi says, and jungkook opens his eyes slowly, colors coming into vision in a hazy blurryness. he turned twenty, a few moons back, but min yoongi, persocom, wasn't available. "— happy birthday."
his eyelids are still heavy from the slumber, but he manages to sit up, body sore from being curled on the couch on yoongi's lap. jungkook blinks, once, twice, a couple more, eyes watery, and then — and then he sees. "hyung—" he starts, heat curling on his cheeks. yoongi holds a ring, or a makeshift one, made of the same wires that run inside his body. "why?"
"that's what people do when they love someone," yoongi, if human, would have blushed, from the way his eyes look suddenly shy. "they give each other rings."
the ring is prickly, the copper wire revested by blue and red plastic, but it fits jungkook's finger with perfection. jungkook's heart beats erractically, loud against his ribcage. "i don't have a ring to give you—" he starts, only to stop, staring at the band-aid on his left hand, wrapped around his finger where a knife had sliced skin. it's stained with a smudge of blood. jungkook carefully wraps it around min yoongi's, persocom, finger instead. wire for blood, blood for wire. "that's all i can give you, hyung, i'm sorry."
"jungkook," yoongi leans in, smiling, fond and charming and all that blue. "you're cute."
"i'm not—"
"don't talk back, user," he's poked, and jungkook finds himself laughing, head thrown back, while yoongi tickles his sides, making him squirm, laughing too. the afternoon goes by like that, with childish banter, and jungkook's high-pitched cackles as yoongi makes him laugh, and it ends with low battery and falling asleep on that same couch, hands entwined awkwardly, wire for blood, blood for wire, jungkook's heart beating against yoongi's hollow body.
it's seokjin and namjoon who buy min yoongi, persocom, for jungkook, a few months later. it costs them quite a lot, but they go through it anyway, wrapping him in red ribbons. jungkook tries not to, but he cries all the same, runny nose and puffy eyes against namjoon's shoulder. "do you reckon you'll get front page if you try and get married?" seokjin asks, while tapping jungkook lightly on the shoulder. namjoon sighs. "hyung."
[google search> is it legal to marry a persocom]
they don't get married, because jungkook's twenty and min yoongi, persocom, won't let him. few things change. quentin tarantino movie posters on the otherwise empty walls of jungkook's (and yoongi's) room, solar chargers hanging from outside of their window sills, the constant, almost comforting hum of yoongi's inner workings permeating the apartament. it's not perfect, and jungkook knows — he'll age, yoongi won't. he'll get sick, yoongi won't, he'll eventually die, and yoongi won't. it's a crooked sort of happiness, he thinks, but he somehow doesn't mind. "if you ever stop loving me," yoongi says at some point, in one of those nights all they do is watch tv show reruns on the couch, and jungkook raises his head a little to look at him, concerned. "— you can just turn me off. i won't get mad."
"that's not—"
"i'm yours," yoongi kisses the top of his head, bringing him closer. "keep me in your closet."
it takes a few moments, but jungkook nods. "i will." he feels the soft pur of yoongi's boards under his sweater. "hyung," yoongi hums in return. "how do you say i love you in binary code?"
"0110100100100000011011000110111101110110011001010010000001111001011011110111010100001010," yoongi answers promptly, all those numbers holding value. jungkook smiles, happy.
"— i love you, too."