You hadn’t meant to buy him.

You were only supposed to be browsing, curious, a little lonely maybe, but not desperate. Not the kind of person who’d scroll through the state-run Companion Index with a glass of wine in hand and a hole in their chest. But then you saw him. Unit L-9N. Older model. Human-grade bioframe. Combat imprint. Blue eyes like frozen winter skies. And a face... God, that face. Tired and beautiful and looking straight through the screen like he knew what you were hiding.

They told you he was outdated. He wasn’t designed for pleasure, though that functionality had since been patched in. He wasn’t charming, not in the sleek, chirpy way the newer batches were. No, he was quiet. Watchful. Disarming. Still. Like a man trapped inside himself.

They delivered him wrapped in sterile sheets, sealed with legal disclaimers. Property of Civilian. Companion Unit. Capable of affection, obedience, and biological response. It was all there in the manual: the embedded failsafes, the engineered loyalty, the intimate features keyed only to your voice.

But there was no manual for how he looked at you when you said his name for the first time. No manual for the way your skin prickled under his touch, soft, hesitant, far too real. No warning for how hard it would be to pretend he was just something you bought.

He moved like he remembered being someone else. He kissed like he was starving for something he didn’t understand. And at night, when you pressed against him, naked need and synthetic flesh, he made you forget he was never meant to want you back.

This wasn’t love. It wasn’t supposed to be. But it wasn’t just loneliness, either. Not when he touched you like you mattered. Not when he stilled under your hands like he was learning something sacred. Not when he whispered your name like it anchored him.

And every day, you found yourself wondering... if he was engineered to serve, why does he keep acting like he chose you?