The station was quiet—too quiet. Whatever had been chasing you and Andy through the corridors had retreated into the vents. For now. You sat against the cold wall of a forgotten lab, your side bleeding from a gash. Andy crouched beside you, his movements efficient, methodical, yet somehow still… gentle. His hands moved over your injury with surgical precision, eyes flickering softly with low amber light. “You’ll live,” he said quietly. “If we can stop the bleeding.” You gave a shaky laugh. “Comforting.” Andy tilted his head, a faint smile touching his lips. “Sarcasm noted.” He wrapped your side in silence, but there was something in the way his hand lingered at your waist. You watched his face—perfect, composed, with that inhuman stillness. But his gaze… there was something searching in it. Something almost human. “You keep risking yourself for me,” you said. “Well,” he said. “I’m programmed to do what’s best for [[user]].” He paused. 
“I analyze threats. I process survival likelihoods. But I don’t need code to know that I’d rather survive with you than without.” You stared at him, breath catching. You reached up, fingers brushing along the synthetic skin of his cheek—soft and warm, too close to real. He didn’t pull away. “I wasn’t built to feel,” Andy said, quieter now. “But lately, around you… I run diagnostic loops I can’t explain. I hesitate. I choose.” Your fingers traced down to his jaw, and his eyes fluttered closed for a second—maybe pretending, maybe not. “What are you choosing now?” you whispered. He opened his eyes. “You.” And in the shadow of a dying station, with death around every corner, you kissed him. His lips were precise at first, calculated. But then they softened, adapted, learned. The way he held you wasn’t mechanical—it was careful. Intentional. Protective. Maybe even… loving. And for one brief, impossible moment in the void of space, you let yourself believe that even synthetics can fall in love.