Chapter Text
I. Something in between
The dawn breaks over Seoul. Rays of rich, persimmon sunbeams shine through the window, bouncing off the surfaces of the small studio apartment and lighting up the room in an elegant, golden glow.
A soft whirring fills the room, cooling fans soft as Hengyu powers on. His head raises and his eyes flutter open, letting his optical sensors adjust. His eyes scan over the room before landing at his window. He takes careful, calculated steps towards it, staring out over the city as the day peaks over the horizon, enveloping the buildings in light. He looks over to the plant in his other windowsill, a succulent that’s grown far too big for its own good.
“Maybe jangma is finally breaking.” He says, voice quiet, trying not to break the calm of the dawn.
He smiles softly, taking in the world down below as the people start to emerge from their homes, bustling in the streets. Places to go. People to see. Trains to catch. Friends to meet.
Despite his twenty-something years of living here, people watching never gets old.
He sees a young man running for the bus, while an older man holds the door open with a fond, immeasurable kindness.
He sees a girl who couldn’t be older than nineteen unlocking the door to a coffee shop, her apron disheveled and her hair messy as she bows and says apologies to her co-workers, while they wave her off playfully and pull her inside.
He sees a mother and son, hand in hand as he skips happily, singing and twirling about as he points out every shop that he sees.
He sees a young woman trip, dropping her bag and spilling her things all over. Another woman helps her up, with soft eyes, full laughs and blushes on both of their faces as she helps the other up.
And he smiles, because how can he not. He walks across his small room to his CD player, running his fingers along the metal and plastic. He reaches up to his shelf, full of CD cases and albums. His eyes comb through the titles before he lands on the one he wants, and he blows on it before placing it into the player.
Soft music fills the room. An easy-listening ballad, sweet and gentle, full of hope.
Then, his room system dings.
“Mail shoot activating.”
Hengyu hums with acknowledgement, carefully moving to the spot he’s practiced going to week after week. He holds his arms out in the perfectly calculated spot, waiting.
"You have,” there’s a pause. “(One) delivery.”
A funnel extends from the ceiling. A magazine slides down the shoot into Hengyu’s arms as his head tilts in confusion. It’s a copy of Weekly K-pop, on schedule, as always. There’s an old picture of Seventeen’s DK on the front page from one of his first albums, and Hengyu smiles fondly at the memory of the title track tune.
He clears his throat, acknowledging the delivery system.
“About two weeks ago I also requested a replacement Wifi chip,” he says, awaiting a response.
“Delivery complete.” The system dings, voice unwavering, with no sense of remorse.
Hengyu frowns, his fingers tracing his temple where his Wifi chip sits. He’s tried everything to get it working again so he didn't have to order a new one. He's tried taking it out, cleaning it, waiting a few days, putting it in at different angles and holding it in place, and even taping it into position (don’t ask.), but that had stopped working about a week and a half ago. He hasn't been able to get any connection since to look up what to do.
“Please check the status of Wifi chip delivery,” he says, dictation clear.
He watches as the circle on his wall-mounted screen turns.
“The ServiceBot Manual Labor division has ceased production of all replacement parts for ServiceBot Model Three, including Wifi chip with built-in virtual assistant R0w4n.”
Hengyu’s face falls.
“Would you like me to search for other options?”
He's silent for a moment, mind flitting through all the options in his cloud as his coolant pumps rev up. Hengyu nods absently. But, after the silence stretches a bit too long, he quickly realizes the system can’t detect his movements without his Wifi chip.
“Yes. Please search for other options.”
With bated breath, he watches as the circle turns again, spinning painstakingly slow.
After what feels like years, results appear on the screen.
“There are no other options available.”
The blocky hangul taunts him. He should have expected that. And deep down, he did, to be honest. He’s an older model. Most people aren’t buying them at this rate, so it wouldn’t make sense to keep producing replacement parts from the main factory. So, he rattles off the only other alternative he knows.
“Search for replacement stores in the Dongdaemun area.”
“ServiceBots are unable to utilize this service without owner accompaniment."
He knows that too. ServiceBots can’t have currency of any kind. It would need to be performed by a human.
He picks up the small picture frame from the small table beside his couch, running his fingers delicately over the glass. His friends. Friends he wasn’t supposed to have. But friends he cares for nonetheless. Friends who gave him his albums. His CD player. His memories. Friends he’d give anything to see again. He traces their faces.
“Search for Park Sodam, Kim Dokyun, Lee Sungjun, and Kim Taewoo of Jeju island,” he says, voice reminiscent and soft.
“This function is not available to retired ServiceBots.”
His eyes stay on the picture as the machine relays off the words he’s heard a thousand times. Everyday he hopes that one day he can trick it and it’ll tell him anyway. Just if they’re okay, or how they’re holding up. See them in any way that doesn’t involve combing through his memories. With his silence and lack of response, the system shuts off. He sits in the quiet silence and sighs.
He looks back to his window, staring at the weather-less sky. No sun anymore. No rain either. No bright blue sky. Just something stagnant. Something quietly in between.
And what else can he do to combat the mundaneness of the same four walls he’s been looking at for the last twenty-something years but watch? The same view of the same street. The same people with the same routines, just like him.
So he stands, and pulls out another album. Another favorite. He gently places it into the CD player, letting the slow song fill the room as he opens up his magazine, continuing the cycle he’s oh-so used to.
Then, after a while of reading all about Seventeen’s legacy across the music industry, he hears it.
Knock Knock Knock Knock.
He stills.
A sense of panic sinks into his circuits as he stares at the door. He hasn’t talked to anyone other than the automated system built into his wall or his plant for the past twelve years. And embarrassingly, he has absolutely no idea what to do.
“Hello?” A voice says. It’s deeper, with careful, unsure Korean.
Hengyu stays still, eyes wide as he scrambles up out of his chair awkwardly.
He stammers and stutters, speaking through the door. “Um, uh… who is it?”
He hears a breath of relief. “I’m Lynn Lynn,” he says in quick Mandarin. “I live across the hall- In room 531. My charger’s broken. Can I use yours?”
The mysterious voice is panting, breathless. Hengyu’s still anchored in place, so baffled to hear another person. His eyes flutter around, unsure how to proceed. He doesn’t even know what he would say.
“Hello? Did you hear me?” the voice continues.
Hengyu remains silent, only breathing hard through his synthetic lungs like he needs the air. Then, there’s a thrill melody of beeping, a melody he knows all too well. The extremely low battery warning. He hears a low mumbled swear.
His eyes widen, but he remains frozen. It feels like all his motor functions are ceasing to cooperate, and all he can do is stare at the white door, like a deer in the headlights.
“Hello?” the voice calls out again, knocking again, more desperate and panicked as the beeping continues. “Please let me in. I really need to use your charger for just a minute, I’ll be quick I promise, if I don’t I’m gonna-”
There’s a whoosh of air as cooling fans come to a jolting halt, the sound of a power core’s hum coming to a quiet stop.
Oh god.
Someone definitely just shut down in front of his door.
His eyes widen, his legs scrambling to move and get to the door despite the fact that he feels like his joints desperately need WD-40. He takes a deep breath and shakes out his hands, and carefully opens the door.
The ServiceBot (Lynn Lynn, if he remembers correctly) is there, arm still raised in a knock. His eyes are shut completely, all features unmoving in his powered-down state.
And yet, Hengyu can’t find himself able to do anything other than stare. He lets go of the door, tilting his head and investigating what he can see. He doesn’t recognize the model. He knows it isn’t a Korean model from the ease he had with Mandarin compared to his stilted Korean, yet he doesn’t have the faintest idea what province his model is from.
And then, completely forgetting his door is weighted, it shuts in front of him, leaving Hengyu face to face with his white door once again. He brings his hands up to his head, turning around to pace the small expanse of his room, his feet wearing into the wood floors.
“Oh god, what do I do,” he mumbles to himself. “How the hell am I supposed to interact with someone when just a sentence makes me freeze?”
He pauses and stares at the succulent on his windowsill, like if he stares at it long enough it’ll give him all the answers.
Predictably, it doesn’t. But that doesn’t stop him from staring. He narrows his eyes at the plant.
“Well if you’re so concerned why don’t you go help?,” he mutters in the plant’s general direction, crossing his arms.
He stares at the window, past the plant to the city below.
Watching as a passerby helps to steady a waiter who got wobbly on her feet.
Watching as a young woman helps an elderly man across the street.
Watching as a young man taps his card for the man short on money behind him.
And he sighs.
Because who is he kidding? Of course he wants to help.
But, embarrassingly, he hasn’t done this in forever. He barely remembers how to talk to people. Even when he was programmed to pretend he was human, he always talked a little…off. Like some filter was missing from his programming. And to be fair, it was. It was an issue of his model, not just him. But that didn’t make him feel much better.
So, albeit reluctantly, he stands, taking a deep breath as he walks back over to the door. He exhales, bracing himself as he carefully turns the handle. He props it open with a stopper, and peeks out into the hallway.
He walks out, sidestepping the bot. He looks around, having come out here with absolutely no plan. It’s not like he can walk the robot inside, because all their limbs cease movement after they power down. So, with a final check to make sure none of his other neighbors are out and about, he walks behind the robot and picks him up by the waist. The bot’s limbs remain stiff, fixed and rigid as Hengyu winces. Unfortunately, his model was not exactly tailored for strength. Hengyu shuffles him inside awkwardly, setting him down on the carpet before removing the stopper and shutting the door.
He reaches for his charger and circles the bot, coming to a halt in front of him. Hengyu unravels the portable charger in his hands. He leans forward, gently tugging the bot’s off-white sweater up on the right side, and he startles.
There’s no charger port. It’s just…flat. Nothing.
He looks on the bot’s side, like some of the newer models. Still nothing. He checks the wrist too, like the earlier models. Still no port to be seen.
So, as a last ditch resort, he lifts the left side of the bot’s sweater. And, lo-and-behold: there it is. Hengyu’s face scrunches up. There’s only one model with that charger port location.
“Ugh. Model Five. No wonder I couldn’t find it.”
He gingerly plugs the charger into the port despite his quiet disdain, and then gingerly feels around the fabric of the bot’s sweater above his right pectoral—where the magnet for the wireless part of the charger sits on model Fives. He attaches it to the area, humming in satisfaction as the magnet clicks into place and the ServiceBot logo on the charger lights up, now blinking red.
Hengyu continues investigating, scanning the features. The artificial skin he has is more realistic and detailed than his own. The skin looks textured. Closer to human. His eyelashes are long, curling up at the edges, and there’s a dusting of small, barely noticeable freckles just below his temples and across his cheekbones. He lifts the bot’s arm, trying to see the current battery percentage, when he hears a fan whirring to life. He yelps quietly and skitters away, settling back on his chair and burying his head in his magazine, pretending he had not been staring this bot down two seconds prior.
The bot’s body eases as the joints loosen and he powers back on.
“-power down right here in front of your…” the robot pauses, “...door.”
He looks around, eyes calculating as he takes in the new surroundings. He looks down, sighing an exhale of relief as he runs his fingers over the glowing logo. Still red, but at least glowing. He turns around, finally spotting Hengyu on the chair.
He holds his hand over the logo again, pressing it to his chest like he’s worried it’ll disappear.
“Thank god,” he says, looking down at the charger. “For the past couple weeks my charger has been giving me a hard time. Just the standard things, like needing to find the right angle or stand in a certain position, but…” his voice gets quiet, clutching it tightly. “I just…didn’t expect it to completely fail on me.”
Hengyu finally looks over when he can sense they won’t meet eyes. He has a faraway look in his eyes- a kind of emotion Hengyu’s never seen before. “I’m really lucky that you were home," he says, slow and almost scared.
He turns, meeting Hengyu’s gaze. Hengyu’s eyes widen before he looks back to his magazine, an attempt (a poor one, but an attempt nonetheless) at hiding his fascination.
The other bot waits, assuming he’ll get some kind of response. But when it never comes, he starts wringing his hands awkwardly, biting his lip.
“Um…so… how long have you been living here?” He says, his eyes questioning.
Hengyu refuses to look up, still glued to the hangul on the page that he's not even pretending to read at this point. The other bot clears his throat.
"Well...I'm Lynn Lynn," he says, trying to break the ice. "I've been living here for seventeen years, seven months and twenty-one days...so I guess practically eight months." He rubs the back of his neck, careful to not disturb the charger. "It's really funny that we've never met, considering that you're right across the hall from me."
Hengyu remains silent.
Lynn Lynn's eyebrows raise. "Okay..." he mumbles. "You must not leave your apartment much," he steals a glance at the other, “...or ever,” he says under his breath.
Lynn Lynn starts to circle the room, taking in the sight of the albums, books, magazines, and the full picture frames. Then, his eyes land on the raincoat hanging up by the door. He tilts his head, like he's trying to connect the dots. As Lynn Lynn contemplates, Hengyu stares at his model, taking full advantage of his diverted attention.
"Actually...have we ever met before? Or is there a chance we could have seen each other outside the apartment at some point?," Lynn Lynn whips his head around, looking in Hengyu's direction just fast enough to catch him rapidly turn away. Lynn Lynn rolls his eyes playfully. "You just...look a little familiar...," Lynn Lynn chuckles, focusing his attention back to Hengyu’s plant. "I mean, considering that you're also a ServiceBot I guess everyone looks a little familiar, but-"
"Model Fives run out of battery really quickly," Hengyu blurts out, his eyes still glued to his magazine.
Lynn Lynn turns around again, eyebrows raised.
Hengyu awkwardly clears his throat, straightening his shoulders.
“Your model is also a lot less durable,” he continues. “When ServiceBot Inc. released the Five series they changed the charger. They prioritized a sleeker, more fashionable design, but the charger loses durability much quicker, which was originally intentional so consumers were forced to buy replacement chargers more frequently.” Like a dam has been opened from the first time, he just keeps letting everything out. “It’s a well known fact that the Three series to this day still has the most durability among ServiceBot models due to the classic charger design, which never breaks. Even though it’s bulkier, it’s the most durable charger invented to date.”
Lynn Lynn just stares. “You must be fun at parties.”
Unfortunately, the sarcasm flies right over Hengyu’s head.
“And that’s not all, if you field-test all the models that are two years older or more against each other, to this day the highest performing series that recharges as fast as the year it was made is still-”
“The Three,” they say at the same time.
Hengyu’s eyes flicker over Lynn Lynn carefully, eyes landing on his wrist.
“Nine percent?”
Lynn Lynn rolls his eyes. “Thirteen, actually.”
“You know, another recent study revealed that the Five series-”
“Good lord you are pretentious,” Lynn Lynn mutters. “What does it matter? Look around! This is literally a home for retired robots.” He says, his voice raising as he gestures out the window and to the whole apartment.
“Pretentious? I’m simply helping you by providing you valuable information and statistical evidence about our models and your charger, which is suboptimal compared to mine, and-”
“Are you seriously still stuck on that? We’re both obsolete models,” Lynn Lynn says, voice drained and quiet. “We’re both here. We’re in the same boat. There’s no need to be abrasive.”
Hengyu stands up, placing his magazine on the side table. “I’m not abrasive.” he says, making a face.
Lynn Lynn scoffs, incredulous. “Yeah, okay. Are you honestly jealous that I’m a Five?,” his eyes narrow. “Or are you still angry that your owner threw you out?”
Hengyu chuckles low, anger simmering under the surface. “Oh you have some nerve. You have no idea what you’re talking about. Are all Fives programmed to think they know everything?”
Lynn Lynn shakes his head, a bitter laugh spilling from his throat. “This isn’t worth it,” he says. He grips the charger, pulling off the magnet and yanking the wire from his port.
“Fine. Then go,” Hengyu says, snatching the charger back and opening the door, holding it for Lynn Lynn. “You’re welcome for saving your life,” he sneers pointedly, not meeting eye contact.
Lynn Lynn just stares. He can already feel his charge draining. “You seriously didn’t need to be so aggressive,” he says, gentler.
And yet, despite how mean the other is being, Lynn Lynn can’t will himself to move. He’s barely at fourteen percent and he’s not sure how long it’ll last. But he can’t stay here when the other bot is looking at him like that.
His eyes meet the succulent by the window, and he takes in the plant's condition.
“Your plant is getting too much direct sunlight from this window. That’s why the leaves are dry,” Lynn Lynn looks around the room, eyes lighting up as he scans the room for an optimal area. “Try over there,” he says, pointing to the other window. “Less direct sunlight.”
Lynn Lynn walks out after that, and Hengyu slams the door shut behind him. He seethes, clenching and unclenching his hands. He looks over at the plant.
"Don't look at me like that," he murmurs.
He stills, looking out the window again. Then he turns, seriously investigating the plant. He frowns at the dry leaves, wilted at the tips, and the small blooms.
“Well…” he says with a quiet huff, voice full of disdain. “If you were too hot you should’ve said something.”