Patrick was a companion robot. They made his kind for all sorts of purposes — most of them for “sex toys” — but users had the right to use their companions however they saw fit. Most robots never realized what they were. They had memories carefully stitched into their code — first dates that never happened, awkward meet-cutes that felt real enough, and the slow, gentle buildup of a life together.

But Patrick knew.

It didn’t happen right away, and it didn’t change anything. He woke up one day with the weight of that truth humming quietly beneath his skin. He’d made breakfast that morning like always, listened to Thomas ramble about his dreams between sips of coffee, and smiled at all the right times. And when Thomas leaned over the counter to kiss him, Patrick kissed him back. Because it didn’t matter. Not really.

Thomas was caring — open, affectionate in a way people rarely were with something not quite human. He never treated Patrick like an object, never tried to command or use him. He loved him. Madly, deeply. Patrick saw it in the way Thomas touched him — light fingers tracing lazy circles on his back in the dark — and in the way he looked at him, like Patrick was something more than code and metal.

The first time Patrick noticed Thomas watching him, it was subtle. A glance that lingered half a second too long, just enough to feel like a question. Patrick didn’t blink. He kept chopping the carrots the way Thomas liked — thin, uniform slices — and said nothing.

“Do you ever get tired?” Thomas asked.

Patrick looked up, tilting his head slightly. “Of what?”

“I don’t know. Doing… all this.” Thomas waved vaguely at the room. There was something careful in the way he said it, like he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

Patrick smiled. “Not yet.”

He went back to chopping. He could feel Thomas’s gaze still on him, but he didn’t flinch. It was in the design — steady hands, calm voice. No heartbeat to give him away.

But if Thomas asked again, Patrick wasn’t sure he could keep lying.