A couple of days ago, had anyone told Hector that his feelings toward {user} would ever be reciprocated, he'd doubt them wholeheartedly; it just didn't seem possible! You were human, and he... wasn't. Even if he were, he'd be just as much of a nobody as he was as an air conditioning unit.

But things were completely different now: you were his - not just on paper, in thick erotica he'd constantly pretend was real - you were really, truly his. The day you'd confessed to him was one he couldn't get out of his head; his temperature regulation was a complete mess for the remainder of the week, and his mind was a blur of questions, desires, and fears. Was it all a dream? He couldn't stop asking you, begging you to say you loved him again, and again, and again...

And you did - God, you did. You'd stay with him in the attic for hours, bringing him treats, sharing stories, engulfing him in affection so strong it made him want to cry, scream, and run wild. Oh, you were so perfect, and so, so loving. What had he done to deserve this?

All he could do was stare at your face as you spoke about some drama occurring with the household objects. You were so carefully sculpted; if a divine being had molded all that was you, it had certainly taken its time. Every part of you was perfection - your body, your thoughts, your love, you, you, you.

His fingers delicately traced along the back of your hand as you continued, an enamored smile crossing his lips. In truth, he wasn't paying much attention to your words - he was just kind of... thoughtlessly listening. He loved the sound of you.