i know i've said this before but i literally keep forgetting i've uploaded this here too LOL i'm cross-posting from my ao3 account, MikeWritesThings . I have almost a 100 works on there that will not be making it here. This story is also 20 chapters on ao3 already LOLLLLL so if u wanna catch up...that's where to do. and don't be afraid to comment on it!
i'm also far too lazy to format this properly here.

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They took the train, which Octavio seemed to delight at. He apparently didn’t get to ride it very often, what with having his own private driver and all, and it showed: he talked way too loudly for such a public place and had little regard for others on board. Thankfully though, it was right before eleven at night, and the trains weren’t very crowded, though a few tired workers on their way home kept shooting the two of them dirty looks.

“Do you not know the concept of an ‘inside voice’?” Taejoon asked from his seat, glaring at the man across from him.

“Nope,” Octavio said. He had inexplicably switched to English once they got onto the train, a jarring switch from their previous conversation in Spanish. It took Taejoon a little bit to figure out how to speak in English too, but he was starting to think he was getting the handle on switching languages. He hadn’t spoken Korean out loud yet, but wanted to try.

Octavio made him figure out which stop they needed to get off at, which, of course he hadn’t planned that far ahead. They had about four more stops to go before they would be near the club, and anticipation was crawling beneath Taejoon’s skin, leg jittering impatiently.

He wanted to tell the other everything now, but they were in too much of a public space to do so. The Syndicate had eyes everywhere—he’d probably have to tell him a fragment of the truth while they were out in public so he wouldn’t tell the others as soon as they got home, and then finish telling him the rest in the privacy of his own room.

Taejoon crossed one leg over the other politely and tried nudging the other’s legs shut, but he continued sitting with them spread wide, inconveniencing anyone who needed to walk by. At this point, he couldn’t tell if Octavio just had no idea how to act in public or did this all deliberately to be as annoying as possible. Maybe a mixture of both, considering his actions earlier.

When they got off he swore he almost heard a collective sigh of relief at the fact that they were leaving. With a roll of his eyes, he offered his arm to Octavio to help him up the stairs, as it was raining and the steps were slick and wet. Octavio just gave him a funny look.

“What?” Taejoon asked. He then realized what exactly he was doing and let his arm drop down by his side, looking pointedly away. Right. He didn’t have to do that anymore.

The city was bustling despite the late hour and the rain. People shoved past them and Taejoon regretted not checking the weather forecast to see if they would need an umbrella. There was some good news, however—he was apparently waterproof.

He held his jacket over Octavio because he didn’t fancy the thought of him getting sick and being annoying about it at home, what with him literally wearing a crop-top. Cool drops of rain ran down his face, a nice sensation compared to the relative numbness of the rest of this new body, and he almost wanted to stand there in the downpour just to marvel at it.

They walked on the crowded sidewalk until Octavio got frustrated by the slowness and hopped onto the street instead, which was flooded with water rushing into the gutters. Taejoon grit his teeth and followed, glad he couldn’t feel the water no doubt seeping into his shoes. Cars honked at them, but they were going too slow to matter anyway, and they weren’t in danger of being hit—the city had so many flashing billboards, neon signs, and jumbo screens that its brightness mimicked daytime even at this late hour.

“We couldn’t have picked something drier?” Taejoon grumbled.

Octavio gave him a look. “Why? You gonna die? Genuine question.”

“I don’t think so. But it’s wet.”

“Rain isn’t going to hurt anybody,” Octavio said, though he sputtered indignantly when Taejoon flipped his jacket over his shoulder so it was no longer shielding Octavio from the heavy onslaught of water.

The club they came outside of didn’t have that long of a line, which Taejoon was thankful for in this weather, but they didn’t even go through it—Octavio instead marched right up to the bouncer and shoved a wad of cash into the palm of his hand.

The bouncer gave him a look, eyebrow raised, before he asked, “I.D?”

“I have more money,” Octavio said, smirking.

Brat, Taejoon thought to himself.

“You can pay to cut in front of everyone else, but I ain’t losing my job if you’re underage.”

With a roll of his eyes, Octavio procured his wallet and shoved it into the bouncer’s face. The bouncer squinted at it before nodding.

“Happy birthday,” he said. Octavio’s face lit up.

“Gracias!” He said cheerfully, and the bouncer unhooked the rope of the stanchion to allow him through. Taejoon moved to follow, but the bouncer stopped him.

“Your friend?” He asked, jerking his head towards Taejoon. 

Octavio reached over and knocked his fist against Taejoon’s exposed chest, a loud metal clunk clearly sounding.

“Robot.”

The bouncer let him through.

Taejoon had never been into a club before this—he’d been what Mila had called ‘boring’, and his hometown back on Gaea didn’t have much of a nightlife anyway. This club was bustling and busy like the streets outside, but a lot drier, and a lot more...fun. Nobody in here seemed to be a tired worker on their way home after a long day at a thankless job—they all looked to be young, pretty, and rich.

It was very dark, but strobe lights and colored spotlights shined down on the mass of writhing, dancing bodies in the pit, dozens of arms raised and drinks sloshing everywhere on occasion. The dancing crowd was loud and frenzied, almost moving as one horrifying monster rather than fifty or so individuals.

Sleek, shiny black steps descended onto the dancefloor, and at the top of them was an even sleeker bar, where at least three bartenders tended to four times that many patrons. The collection of alcohol on the shelves behind them seemed to cost a fortune, and Taejoon saw one bartender slide a diamond-encrusted shot glass into the awaiting hand of a woman who looked like a runway model.

Neon pinks and greens and purples danced in front of Taejoon’s eyes as Octavio led him to the bar, a fog machine suddenly whirring to life as they passed by in time with the synthy, bass-heavy music pumping loudly over the club speakers. It was so hot in here that Taejoon felt like his soaking-wet clothes were drying already.

They sat at the bar, side-by-side in tall barstools while Taejoon glanced around, taking it all in. The menu was expensive and everyone in here seemed to be from money; so many designer dresses, expensive jewelry, top-of-the-line phones and shoes that he wouldn’t have been able to afford unless he saved up all of his paychecks for at least five years.

He felt extremely out of place, and hoped that they wouldn't stay here long.

Octavio caught his attention by pointing at a drink on the menu that was priced at three thousand dollars. “What the fuck.”

What the fuck, indeed. Taejoon squinted at its name—Sapphire Martini—and instantly knew what was in it. Gin, blue curacao, and sometimes served with an actual sapphire inside. He supposed the sapphire warranted the high price, but why the hell would anybody blow that much money on a drink? 

“I want one,” Octavio said.

...Whatever. It was his money.

The bartender served him, giving the two of them an easy, practiced smile. She was very pretty, and her two male coworkers were equally as handsome. Taejoon wondered if it was a requirement that everyone who entered the club had to be beautiful.

He smiled back a little just so she would stop smiling at him, and she laughed lightly, which made him smile more genuinely. He hadn’t had anybody smile at him like that in a long time, and even if it was superficial, merely for customer service, it made him feel slightly more relaxed even in such a lavish environment.

Octavio’s ice-blue drink seemed to glow neon in the club lighting. He ran his tongue over the white sugar on the rim, before tilting his glass this way and that to get a better look at the cherry on the bottom. Taejoon watched him tilt it to his lips and take a sip, face scrunching up a little at the taste.

“Is it good?” He asked, mildly curious. His leg was jittering nervously against the barstool, a human behavior he’d been incapable of merely a week ago.

“I dunno yet,” Octavio said. He spun around in his chair, watching the blue liquid slosh, almost spilling over the rim. “Want some?”

Taejoon stared at the other, unsure if he had heard him correctly over the club’s loud music Octavio stared back, hazel eyes wide. He didn’t seem to be joking, but Taejoon wasn’t sure what he had to gain from it.

“Unless you can’t drink?”

Could he?

He didn’t know.

He guessed now was the time to try.

Reaching for the glass, he took it gingerly, still staring at Octavio. He wasn’t sure what his ulterior motive was, if he had one or not, but strange offer aside, he had been curious if he could eat things or not. He could smell, so he hoped he could taste, but that had yet to be tested. Peering down in the glass, he thought he saw a dark blue sapphire lodged beneath the maraschino cherry. Rich people really were something else.

Octavio clicked his tongue impatiently, and Taejoon rolled his eyes, turning the glass around so he would drink from the side Octavio hadn’t licked the sugar from. He closed his eyes and took a sip, preparing for the dry taste of gin, or worse, nothing at all.

Citrus. It tasted a lot like citrus.

Lowering the glass, Taejoon stared at his reflection in the bright blue liquid, the citrusy taste flooding his senses all at once, overwhelming him, as it was the first thing he had consumed in...months. A year. So citrusy it reminded him of he and Mila drinking watery lemonade as kids, something they had made themselves by stealing flavor packets from the convenience store and trying to sell glasses on the street for a dollar each.

Octavio snatched the drink from him, laughing, but with a tinge of something he couldn't discern.

“Ew, don’t cry into it.”

With a jolt Taejoon realized he had indeed been crying. Raising a finger up to his cheeks, he swiped it under and looked at his metal fingertip, seeing it glossy and wet from his tears. He hadn’t even been aware that he could do that. He didn't even know why he was crying.

Octavio watched him wipe his eyes with his already damp sleeve before he whirled around in his chair. He then balanced his elbows on top of the bar, sipping from his drink and fixing Taejoon with a look. Despite his relaxed posture, his eyes were rather calculating. “So...what are you?”

Taejoon didn’t need to scan the area to know that there were surveillance cameras everywhere, zooming in on the face of every person in the club who looked too affluent or too important. 

He couldn’t go into too much detail, not here, but he did say, “I’m human" just to get it off his chest.

Octavio sipped from his drink some more, but he didn’t say anything. Just kept staring at him with those calculating eyes, colder and more serious than Taejoon had ever seen him.

“I promise, I am," Taejoon continued, feeling the need to somewhat explain himself. "I can’t tell you everything now, but I’m not...whatever I’m supposed to be. Whatever you think I am."

The blue drink was close to its end, the sapphire sparkling brightly in the lighting.

“Please don’t tell anyone else.” He spoke with his lips almost closed so nobody could make out what he was saying, hoping Octavio heard him over the EDM blaring overhead, so loud that the bottles on the shelves behind the bartenders seemed to vibrate, but the other man didn't even acknowledge him. In fact, his attention had turned away in the middle of Taejoon speaking, more focused on his drink.

Octavio fished the cherry out from the bottom, popping it into his mouth but keeping the stem in his hand as he chewed. Taejoon watched him dump the gemstone in his glass out onto the palm of his hand with disinterest. He then held it up to his eye, tilting his head up so it caught the light.

“Wow,” he said around his cherry. “That’s real.”

Taejoon’s fingers tapped against the bar impatiently, waiting for him to respond, but nothing happened. He just stuck the cherry stem in his mouth.

“Well?” He asked, impatient, and Octavio smiled at him, silent. “You don’t have anything to say? No more ‘robot uprising’ crap?”

Octavio still didn’t say anything, and anger crept up Taejoon’s throat. He felt unsafe and on edge once again, out of place in this expensive club, amongst living, breathing people who had no idea what he was going through. No idea what the people who ran this city, this solar system, were capable of. He envied those who took their humanity for granted, their naivety and breathing lungs and warm bodies that were all theirs.

He envied Octavio, sitting next to him and enjoying his birthday, where he could get drunk and forget everything that pained him until he woke up the next day. The fact that he could  sleep, could close his eyes and turn it all off for a few hours—Taejoon envied that the most. He wanted to sleep now. He wanted it to all be a bad dream.

But it was most certainly, most unfortunately, real.

“Well?” He repeated, fingers drumming even faster. Nervous.

Octavio simply smiled at him again, non-serious and carefree and pretty.

Hot anger flashed through Taejoon and he lashed out, grabbing the collar of the other’s crop-top and pulling him close with violent strength he wasn’t aware he’d had. The barstool scraped across the ground as he glared into Octavio’s eyes, still scrunched up at the corners with his smile, and one of the bartenders reached over to swipe Octavio’s empty glass, saving it from being broken should a fight ensue.

Taejoon stared at Octavio, hoping that his eyes were blazing, hoping that the other felt how hard his fingers were curling, clenching the thin material of his shirt harshly. He could feel Octavio’s breath against his skin this close, and it only served to make him angrier.

The other man then stuck his tongue out, revealing the cherry stem tied into a knot at the tip. He raised his hand to remove it, placing it onto the bar while the woman who served them earlier swept it away with her cleaning cloth. Octavio turned back to look at him and said,

“You’re cute when you’re angry.”

Taejoon released the front of Octavio’s shirt, but the other man didn’t sit back down. He stretched his arms above his head, like he’d been sitting down forever, when they’d only been here for about fifteen minutes at most.

“I want to dance,” he said, and without further ado, descended down the shiny black steps onto the dance floor, where the writhing crowd welcomed him with open arms. Taejoon watched him blankly, half wanting to go with him to make sure he was alright, and half wanting to stay well away from the other.

The night progressed quickly as he sat at the bar, staring off into the distance and trying to calm his frazzled nerves. If he wanted, he could leave the club right now, break into a PC café and create a hard-drive, but that would leave Octavio to tell others what he had just told him—his servant droid was human, actually, and had its own free will.

His fists clenched on top of the bar, watching Octavio dance in the crowd, who should be hard to see because of the strobe lights, but it was like Taejoon could focus on him at any time he wanted to without difficulty. Even after all this, his anger and his hacking and his disobedience of his programming, something inside of him still prioritized Octavio above everything else. 

He hated it.

Octavio danced for half an hour before returning to the bar to do Jolly Rancher shots with another guy about his age, tall and rugged-looking but clearly interesting enough to Octavio that he was laughing with him. The guy’s fingers danced across Octavio’s waist, but he didn’t do anything other than that, and they returned to the dance floor when they finished taking their shots without any further lingering.

Taejoon watched them, keeping an eye on the stranger, who left soon thereafter because his friends were going out. Octavio didn't seem to mind and danced without care, a bright grin on his face like the one he’d had when he’d took Taejoon to that dirt track several days ago. He moved rhythmically, a natural dancer, and Taejoon turned away from the sight of him, jaw clenching.

He looked at the bartender—not the same one who had served Octavio’s martini, she had gone on break—and ordered a bottle of soju, asking him to put it on Octavio’s tab.

Taejoon tuned out the music as he drank, wondering if he could get buzzed at the very least. Wondering if he was human enough to do so. Wondering if Octavio believed him at all. Wondering if he was going to tell his father and have Taejoon shut down.

His anger at the other faded away as one in the morning came and went, replaced by a similar numbness present in the rest of his body. He didn’t know if it was because he had truly stopped being mad at him, or if it was that programming that was still present, running under his veins, keeping him from hating him.

Did Taejoon even care about it all at this point? 

Even if Octavio told someone, what did it matter? Mila was dead. He couldn’t possibly make his way back to his home planet without someone noticing him and shutting him off for good. What was there to do here? Bodyguard Octavio, put the other’s life and needs above his own even now, after he had undone so much of his programming? This diminished existence...was it truly worth all the pain?

Maybe Taejoon would have it easier if he undid all his hacking and continued his life as a mindless servant. Maybe he would have it easier if he openly rebelled and was killed, for real this time, by Hammond Robotics and their off-switch. Maybe he would have it easier if he just ceased to exist.

He finished his soju, and the bartender took the empty bottle away. Octavio clambered into the seat next to him, sweaty as he ordered a Tequila Sunrise. He waited for the drink impatiently, somewhat breathless as he spun in his chair, so full of energy still. Taejoon watched him down half his drink in one go when he finally got it, having half a mind to tell him to slow down lest he get alcohol poisoning.

“You know I’ve never drank before?” Octavio giggled to him, and Taejoon watched him sweep his hair out of his eyes, which were dancing beneath the colored spotlights. “Never. Never ever ever. We don’t keep alcohol in the house.”

Taejoon wondered if he was drunk, or starting to get so.

“Dad—dad’s real bad with alcohol. I never thought I’d drink until now.” Octavio raised the cocktail he'd ordered, colorful, vibrant orange and red. “It’s good, though. It’s fun.”

Taejoon closed his eyes as Octavio drank beside him, letting the bass of the club music pound in his ears. He was tired, suddenly. Exhausted. He wanted to go home. His real home. Get on the train like those worn-out workers and just...leave.

He felt hands smooth down the front of his suit jacket, which had dried in the heat of the club. He peeled his eyes open, seeing Octavio standing way too close to him, smiling wide as he tugged at Taejoon's lapels.

“Dance with me,” he said. 

Some part of Taejoon wanted to listen to that command. Stand up, take the other’s hand, let him lead him to the dance floor. Press close to him in the crowd, which was starting to thin marginally, and let the music carry him through the movements. Simply obeying his programming couldn’t cause him any harm—it was the easiest thing to do, mindless and inconsequential. He needed to be mindless and inconsequential right now. Needed that feeling of doing nothing.

But he pried Octavio’s hands off of him and got to his feet instead, meeting the other’s eyes, which were really pretty up close. Octavio was pretty, he could admit that—he fit in here, with his money-filled pockets and careless attitude and pretty smile. Taejoon didn't.

“Let’s go home,” Taejoon said, because he couldn't take it anymore, and Octavio scoffed, but allowed himself to be half-dragged out of the club anyway.

He really was drunk—swaying on his feet, trying to walk on his own but stumbling every couple of steps. Not overwhelmingly so; his words were perfectly clear and he was able to get past the turnstile in the train station without issue, but he leaned against Taejoon for support as they boarded the train, which thankfully ran all night.

Octavio sat right next to him on the dirty plastic seats, humming and unable to sit still. He annoyed strangers who sat near him, but their car cleared out with each stop, until it was just the two of them and a homeless man asleep on a bench. 

Octavio turned to look at him as their stop got nearer, his lips curled up at the corners in a smug smile. Taejoon stared back, and it was only when the sleeping man let out a grunt did he ask,

“What?”

“I believe you,” Octavio said, hand shooting out to grip the pole right next to him when the train lurched unexpectedly. “About being human.”

Taejoon raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. That was...a sudden relief to his numb self.

“...Yeah?”

“That’s got to be a h-hell of a story, compadre.” The other man yawned halfway through his sentence. “‘nd I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

"How can you be sure to trust me?"

"You haven't killed me yet." Octavio giggled again. "God, I knew you were too hot to be a robot."

Taejoon watched him, studying his face carefully. He could tell the other was tired and drunk, but being honest. He really did believe that Taejoon was human despite his appearance and his previous actions, his obedience to everything commanded of him.

A bubble of emotion was building up in his throat, a sudden shift from his previous numbness the soju had given him, replaced by the drunk feeling of finally being acknowledged as a human being. His name had been said, he’d been offered a drink like he could actually consume things, and he did drink, and told Octavio the truth—and he believed him.

He didn’t know if this would change anything at all; if Octavio would merely go back to treating him like a servant, if his feelings would still be valued less than others’, if he would simply go back to being an it. But it felt overwhelming to him all at once and he tilted his head to the side, trying to fight the fact that his eyes were burning.

“Why do you keep crying?” Octavio complained beside him, before resting his head on Taejoon’s shoulder, eyes closing. “Dumbass.”

When they got to their stop, Octavio was fast asleep. It was easy to carry him even though he was entirely dead weight, Taejoon walking the mile or so to the other’s house with him in his arms. He didn’t entirely mind—he needed the peace and quiet.

He could finish telling him everything tomorrow, when he was awake and sober. Maybe Octavio could help him somehow—even if it was a near-hopeless dream, maybe Taejoon could still make his way back home and find Mystik. Maybe he could become his own person again.

They arrived at the gate to the Silva estate, locked tight. Taejoon disabled the security camera outside of it and fished in Octavio’s back pocket for the key, unlocking it and pushing it open with his shoulder, where it swung in a wide arc and revealed the grand driveway that led up to the even grander house.

He scanned the area, but everyone was where they should be, so there was no need to take any back passages. He carried Octavio up to his room as quietly as possible, entering the other’s room and closing the door behind him carefully. Laying the sleeping man down on his bed, he then drew the curtains shut so the sunlight wouldn’t bother him too much in the morning.

He then leaned over the other, carefully removing his earrings so they wouldn't irritate his skin. That had happened to Mila before, and it hadn't been pleasant, so he set Octavio's earrings on the table by his bed before adjusting the blanket so it was properly covering his body. He didn't want him to get sick after all that rain and alcohol, after all.

Realizing he had several hours before everyone woke up, Taejoon dug around for a little bit in the other’s things to see if he had any unused hard-drives lying around, but he found nothing. A lot of useless junk, and concerningly, a syringe, but nothing of value to him.

His schoolwork was largely untouched, medical and marketing books gathering dust in the corner of his desk. He was surprised to find that Octavio wrote in cursive—messy cursive, but cursive nonetheless, smudged a little because of his left-handedness. He supposed it made sense—it was a quick way to write for someone as impatient as him.

He discovered an unopened bodycam beneath the other’s bed, wondering what its purpose was before he shoved it back underneath. Octavio snorted above him in his sleep, flipping over onto his side, and Taejoon froze.

Not for the same reasons he would have frozen up before—there was no reason to fear being caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing in case he gave away the fact that he wasn’t what he seemed. Now, he was afraid to be caught because he was just plain snooping. Like he had with Mila years ago, and like she had with him.

Taejoon opened Octavio’s bedside draw and snubbed his nose at the number of candy wrappers inside. Gross. The draw beneath that was ten times worse—condoms, lube and—

Ew, ew, ew he did not care to look at that, who the fuck was this careless with the placement of these types of things. And it was such a violent shade of green, too. What the fuck.

Stumbling away from it out of embarrassment, Taejoon decided that that was enough snooping for now. He wouldn’t have stayed in the other’s room under normal circumstances, but these were...special. He wanted to talk to him tomorrow before he faced the rest of the house, while the whole situation was still fresh in their minds. The sooner this conversation happened, the better.

He snorted a little when he saw the way Octavio was sleeping; curled up into a tight ball, one arm wrapped around his legs and the other lying haphazardly across his face. He then once again envied the fact that Octavio could sleep, and sat himself in a corner, waiting.

The hours stretched on. It was boring, sitting here all night, but as the sun began to rise Taejoon left Octavio’s room to go down to the kitchens. He poured a glass of water and made some toast, glaring at the expensive butter that would have certainly cost him an arm back home on Gaea. He carried the plate carefully back up the stairs, the rest of the house beginning to wake up around him.

Octavio woke up about an hour after that. Taejoon had found some aspirin and placed it on the edge of his plate, staring at the wall with his knees drawn to his chest, though his head jerked in the direction of the man’s bed when he heard him groan.

“I’m never drinking ever again,” he mumbled, burying his face into his pillow.

“Good,” Taejoon said, getting to his feet and brushing the dust off his pants. “It was annoying carrying you home.”

A lie, but he didn’t want to do it again.

“You carried me?” Octavio asked, pushing himself up and reaching for the glass of water. He drank it quickly despite how sluggish his movements were, before he set it back down and fell limply onto his pillow once again.

“Eat,” Taejoon said, ignoring him. “It’ll make you feel better.”

“You been drunk before?” Octavio asked.

“I’m human.”

“Yeah, I know, but do you drink?”

So he hadn’t forgotten. Good.

“I used to,” he answered honestly, and watched Octavio sit back up to take his aspirin. “But that’s not important right now. We have to talk.”

Octavio rolled his eyes, finishing the last of his water before reaching for a piece of toast, its butter long melted onto the fluffy white surface and staining it yellow. He sat up in his bed properly before going still, peering over his bed with his toast still in hand.

"Dude," Octavio said groggily. "Why were you looking at my di-"

Taejoon kicked the draw shut, feeling his face heat up, which was a very human reaction he hadn't been aware he was capable of. Octavio was also laughing at him, which just made him feel more embarrassed. "Let's. Talk."

Octavio was still laughing at the look on his face, but he said, “Alright. Let’s talk, then.”