"Date me."

"What?"

"Make me your boyfriend."

The shorter of the two just scoffs, giving his companion a once over behind his glasses before drawling, "I don't have time for that."

"Sure ya do. You're always callin' me over to help with experiments, right?" the second shrugs, his tone light. "Sounds less fishy if we're goin' out already."

"Work and dating shouldn't mix."

"Yeah? It ain't like yer gonna fall in love with me anytime soon."

Cyril pauses at the crosswalk to study the person beside him. Although he and Aeton are only one month apart in terms of age, the other easily towers half a foot over him, his messy hair tied up in a wild ponytail that cascades down his back. There's a plaster on his cheek that covers a cut, remnants of this afternoon's weapons trial. It's an imperfection on the otherwise flawless face with piercing golden eyes and sharp, angular brows. His careless slouch, sukajan jacket, and barely visible tattoo peeking from the wrist mark him as a native of the streets: in other words, a common gangster.

In comparison, the young scientist with his dark-rimmed spectacles, white lab coat, and collared shirt tucked primly into his trousers oozes authority and self-restraint. His features are soft where Aeton's are hard, his gaze cloudy with the myriad thoughts that plague a constant, intellectual pursuit of curiosity.

"You were chosen as a test subject to further my research," Cyril says coolly. "Not to make forays into my personal life."

His "test subject" only smirks and casually leans over. "Uh-huh," Aeton agrees, "As long as ya honor yer end of our contract."

"I see." A flicker of understanding passed through Cyril's features before he looked askance at him. "You are overdue for a reward after your efforts. What would you like this time? Another new toy? Perhaps the prototype for the latest model would do?"

"Nah, nothin' with that much paperwork," Aeton says languidly as he rests his chin on that oh-so-pristine shoulder covered in the white lab coat.

"Oh?" Cyril is a little impatient as he shrugs Aeton off. "Then a direct transfer of payment is sufficient. I'll ask the R&D department to calculate the appropriate bonus based on your recent performance."

Aeton resisted the urge to roll his eyes. When it came to science, Cyril was centuries ahead of the curve, but for things like picking up cues in conversations, he was hopeless.

"Go on a date with me!" he repeats, this time with a trace of a whine.

"No." The rejection is immediate. "I told you, I'm not inter—"

"Just one," Aeton interrupts. "No strings, no relationships. I'll pay for dinner an' everything." He can see the gears turning in Cyril's head as the young scientist digests his words. The next second, Cyril reveals a puzzled expression.

"What benefits does that give you?" Cyril asks. "My tastes are expensive and very particular. You would be losing money on a pointless exercise."

"It's for my mental health!" Aeton cuts in quickly. After six years of working with this guy, even his fight-addled brains had picked up snatches of jargon here and there. "Ya know I perform better when I'm less irritable, yeah? Humor me for once."

Cyril purses his lips when Aeton beams at him. "With your current erratic behavior, I'm afraid a dinner date will only exacerbate emotions into further excitability." His gaze drifts to the trees around them, just starting to bud after a long winter frost, and frowns. "Your reactions today were 2.5% slower than usual as well. Such carelessness is uncharacteristic of your typical performance, but I've witnessed similar cases of restless inconstancy in animals come springtime. You are, perhaps, distracted by the warm weather to—"

"Anyways!" Aeton interrupts before he can finish. "I'll come to the lab and pick ya up at 7 tonight! Checked with yer assistants already, they said yer evenin's free."

By now the light is already green, so the gangster simply flees across the street before his good scientist buddy can catch up with him.

Six years ago, Aeton had only been a common vagabond, fighting to survive amongst the other lurkers in the streets. He had no parents and even less of a home, but he thrived in the chaos in spite of it all. Then one day, he'd been caught by surprise and beaten up by a group of thugs and left bleeding in an alley.

Aeton had thought that was the end, but that was when Cyril came in. The clean-cut, primly-dressed 14-year-old was already enrolled in university and pursuing a double degree in engineering and medicine. He had crouched next to his broken body, gave him a rundown of every single mistake that had cost him the fight, then bandaged him up and sent him to the nearest hospital. Cyril had no family either, but his genius had made him a special ward of the state. The government was funding his education with the expectation that he would enter into the newly established sector of the military dedicated to developing next-generation weapons for their soldiers. As for how Aeton knew this, it was simple: Cyril had found him after graduation and hired him to work for him—not as an assistant or bodyguard, but simply as a basic test subject.

"You know how to fight, so I'll leave you in the streets to keep your skills sharp," Cyril had proposed, "But I also want to pay you to fight for me. Of course, you'll be able to request rewards within reason based on your performances in my weapons trials."

Others might have laughed him off for the lopsided arrangement, but not Aeton. For the boy who had grown up alone all his life, being noticed for his own merits was a novel thing. And he didn't mind the arrangement either—fighting was all he'd known, so he wasn't planning to stop. Getting reimbursed for it simply meant he could afford to live a little better, scope a little farther, for challenges that suited him.

It also didn't hurt that Cyril was a very attractive man. Physically, he was weak and rather delicate—one could describe his pale skin and ice-blue eyes as doll-like, especially against his shock of silver hair. But mentally he was a monster, a predator like Aeton who delighted in hunting down weaknesses whether they be scientific theories, design flaws, or the very human failings of his co-workers and colleagues. He was uniformly dismissive of human notions, yet ironically advocated for subjects like Aeton to participate in his trials because he best embodied the "organic, unpredictable nature" of human thoughts and feelings.

Mankind had yet to evolve to a state where robots controlled warfare, and if scientists like Cyril had any say in the matter, they never would.

—

At 6:55PM, Aeton saunters up to the front gates of the Aesir Research Institute and waits dutifully for his date to begin. His plaster is gone, the cut on his face already healed to a faint pink scar. He's changed his shoes and jacket for something more respectable and even his ponytail looks a tad less spiky than usual.

At precisely 6:59PM, Cyril strides out of the gates with quick steps, still wearing his lab coat and cradling a tablet beneath one arm. He sees Aeton and makes a beeline for him while pushing up his glasses.

"I've already called a car to pick us up, it should arrive shortly," the scientist announces briskly. "I know you don't have your own and I can't stand taxis."

Aeton just shrugs. He has the money to buy his own ride, but no space or time to park the thing and drive it around the city. "Ya don't wanna change clothes?" he asks instead. As far as he could tell, the other was still wearing his work uniform.

Cyril glances at Aeton's outfit and shakes his head. "I don't own anything worth as little as yours—and even if I did, I'd hardly find such rough fabrics comfortable."

Aeton internally facepalms, but drops the subject. The next second, a black company sedan pulls up just as the clock strikes 7PM. Before he can speak up, Cyril's already gotten into the front seat and settled himself comfortably across from the chauffeur.

"....." says Aeton as he slides into the backseat all alone.

"Where are we going?" Cyril asks as soon as their ride turns out of the laboratory driveway. When Aeton rattles off numbers and streets to the driver, he checks the GPS navigation and frowns. "A residential address?"

"My house," Aeton explains simply.

"Did you forget something at home?"

"No, we're goin' there to eat."

Cyril turns around in his seat with a rare, childish pout. "I don't like take-out food."

"I know," Aeton tries not to laugh. "That's why I'll cook for ya instead."

Cyril opens and closes his mouth a few times, then quickly tabs open his tablet. It holds copies of most of his notes as well as important files to review on the go, such as Aeton's personal profile as a test subject.

"This doesn't list your cooking parameters," Cyril complains after flipping through the pages.

"Then yer in for a surprise," Aeton replies airily.

"Have you ever cooked before?" Cyril asks suspiciously.

"I've been livin' alone since I was old enough to make it on the streets," Aeton says matter-of-factly. "What d'ya think?"

Cyril really does think, but it doesn't take him long to draw conclusions. "According to statistical evidence compiled in the last decade, a majority of minority homeless are forced to engage in foraging behaviors to supplement their less than sufficient diets, commonly limiting themselves to cost-effective meals from fast food or dumpster div—"

"All right, stop thinkin'!"

"Am I wrong?"

"Yer evidence is outdated! Obstinate!"

"I believe the correct term is 'obsolete.'"

"I can cook," Aeton finishes the conversation. "So just get ready to enjoy a good meal."

That night, he burns the steak.

Cyril doesn't seem to care and is in the middle of shoveling charred meat into his mouth when Aeton knocks the fork from his hands.

"Don't, it's prac'ally charcoal," he fumes.

"It's fine," Cyril says.

Aeton's heart skips a beat. "Aren't ya suppos'd to have 'expensive and particular' tastes?"

"Yes, but you're my most expensive investment," Cyril explains matter-of-factly. "If eating your poorly-cooked food satisfies the requirements of our 'date,' then the risk of a bad stomachache is worth it."

Aeton's heartbeat speeds up as his temper flares. "Fine then, eat it all!"

"No need." After wrestling with one piece for a few moments, Cyril sets it back down on the plate. "I have exerted enough effort to express my sincerity and am now well justified in calling for take-out to replace the main course."

Aeton slams his hands on the table. "Ya said ya didn't like take-out!"

"Your steak is even worse," Cyril remarks while texting his favorite restaurant. "It's wise to pick the lesser of two evils."

Aeton sits in his seat and sulks. Outside the window, mockingbirds chirp in ridicule as the sun goes down.

He can't pinpoint the moment he fell in love with Cyril, only that he did and it's probably a lost cause. Some people are born with all brawn and no brains, while Cyril is all brains and no heart. He means what he says and speaks what he feels, but he's never shown affection towards any human being. Even his act of rescuing Aeton in their past was simply born from goodwill bred from curiosity, later sharpened to motive when he brought him in for his experiments.

Maybe he was in it for the cash.

Maybe he was so starved for attention that even some from a weirdo scientist was welcome.

Maybe might be anything, but as Aeton watches Cyril cut through the fresh delivery of medium-rare steak with mathematical precision slices, he realizes he could stare at the sight until the world ends.

Rrringgg!

Or at least until the phone rings. Not even looking up from his steak, Cyril merely speaks to his tablet resting on the table.

"Accept it."

The call connects, and the screen springs up with a perfect hologram of a man's face. Aeton creases his brow at the sight: the hat and uniform indicates it's military. The sound is transmitted directly to Cyril's eardrums so he can't eavesdrop on the conversation, but he reads enough lips to catch "new project," "confidential," and "hopes of the armed forces."

Cyril only nods and hums between bites of steak, never looking at the man at all. At the end of the call he finally opens his mouth to say one word.

"Okay."

The call disconnects, and Cyril reaches for his cup of tea. He never drinks unless he's done with a meal, so Aeton's quick to follow up.

"There's still dessert."

"No time," Cyril shakes his head and wipes his lips with a napkin. "Latest news, I'm needed back at the lab. They have something big planned."

"Then I'll come with ya?" Aeton offers.

"Not right now," Cyril brushes him off. "Wait until they authorize field tests and I'll bring you in."

"How long s'that gonna take?"

"One, two weeks at most," Cyril rattles off as he gets up from his seat. "They're in a hurry. I'll call you when it's time."

"Yeah?"

"Of course," Cyril pauses before reaching over to pat Aeton's hand awkwardly. "You're an irreplaceable step in testing our prototypes. Skipping you would mean weeks of pointless troubleshooting."

Aeton grabs Cyril's hand before he can pull away. "All right," he swallows, ignoring the questioning look the scientist shoots him. "I'll be waitin'...for ya."

Cyril's gaze on him intensifies. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

"H-huh?!"

"You're physically restraining me from making a speedy exit," Cyril points out.

Aeton scowls at him, then simply raises Cyril's fingers to his lips for a quick kiss. "There, I'm done!"

Cyril wiggles his freed hand, then shoots Aeton another strange look. "What was that for?"

"Dammit Cyril, it's a kiss!" Aeton sputters as he turns bright red. "What else did ya expect after a dinner date?!" Especially one ya cut short with work commitments!

"I understand that, but I thought you also knew I have no interest in you," Cyril points out. "You're very good at deluding yourself otherwise."

Aeton's face flushes again—this time with indignation. "It ain't a crime to act on my feelings, is it?!"

"When it comes to matters of romance," Cyril turns serious, "Consent is a very important detail. We're adults, but it's common sense to ask permission first."

"Fine then, gimme permission ta kiss ya whenever I want!"

"Denied," Cyril arches his eyebrows. "Why should I let you take advantage of me for no reason?"

"Then make 'em my rewards for workin' hard," Aeton insists. "I don't need more prototypes or bonuses—ya give me enough money as is. I just want more time with ya!"

"We spend all day together when we're running field tests," Cyril points out.

"I mean time with ya alone," Aeton clarifies. "Like tonight. Things like dinners and hangin' out!"

"You mean more dates?" Cyril asks.

"Yes! Dates and kisses and whatever couples do," Aeton rambles on, "It's easy pay, and it won't cost you a penny."