Chapter Text
Despite having been awakened a few months ago, Jeongguk still insists on calling Hoseok “Master,” no matter how many times Hoseok reminds him that he’s not Jeongguk’s master. “Creator” is probably the more acceptable term, but Hoseok doesn’t like his androids calling him that either. It makes it too easy to forget that they’re people in their own right; Hoseok doesn’t want to be someone that looks at his androids and sees only codes and wires and profit. That was the one promise he’d made to himself when he first started in the android making business, and it’s become something of a calling card; Jung Hoseok is the one you want to go to if you want an android that’s come into themselves as individually as possible. Not a lot of people want that—not when most androids are marketed as laborers and servants and are preferred as agreeable, docile creatures—but for the few that do, Hoseok is something of a genius. When people ask how he does it, Hoseok just grins, winks, and tells them: love.
Love and ample amounts of patience.
“Master,” Jeongguk calls softly from the entry into Hoseok’s workshop.
“Hyung,” Hoseok corrects without even looking up from his laptop screen. Earlier, Namjoon had sent him a message earlier asking if Hoseok could maybe run a remote scan on Jimin’s interface, given that the android had been acting rather strangely lately; something about overheating and sudden, uncharacteristic trouble with forming sentences. Namjoon was worried that Jimin might have gotten a virus somehow, even though Jimin swore up and down he hadn’t downloaded anything suspicious, so if Hoseok could please take a look, that would be great?
Hoseok yawns and rubs the heel of his hand into his eye. He has an inkling of what might be happening—and it’s certainly not a virus—but he dutifully runs the scan anyway, just in case.
“Hyung,” Jeongguk repeats. “I had a question, but if you’re busy, then I can come back later—”
“No, it’s fine,” Hoseok says, leaning back a little in his seat and smiling at Jeongguk. The android has one of Hoseok’s old laptops balanced in his hands, and he looks stiff and uncertain in the doorway, his back ramrod straight. “What’s up, Jeongguk?”
Jeongguk, despite the fact Hoseok asks him this every time, glances up at the ceiling quickly—so quick if Hoseok hadn’t known to look for it, he might not have caught it—and then jerks and looks back at hoseok, a little sheepish.
“Right,” Jeongguk says, half to himself. “Figure of speech.” He clears his throat, and Hoseok can’t help but laugh a little. Jeongguk is certainly the cutest android he’s ever created. “Anyway, I was wondering if you could help me with this?”
“Sure,” Hoseok says, a little surprised but pleased. Jeongguk rarely seeks out Hoseok’s help; usually, once he’s Awakened an android, Hoseok has to field five million questions, especially within the first few months, but Jeongguk sticks to the laptop Hoseok had given him, and more-or-less leaves Hoseok alone. It’s a bit jarring, especially considering Taehyung—Hoseok’s very first android—had asked Hoseok questions any time he so much as thought one up. “Come here, I’ll see if I can help.”
Jeongguk dips his chin a little, a strange show of courtesy that Hoseok’s pretty sure he never taught him, and then walks in, settling the laptop carefully on Hoseok’s worktable. The page open is a download website, and Hoseok does a quick scan of the title of the file. Not that he thinks Jeongguk is downloading porn (not that Hoseok would be surprised, given that it only took Jimin two days to discover it and then four hours after that to promptly crash Hoseok’s laptop), but, you know. It’s good to be sure.
Hoseok is relieved to find that the file is just an mp3 of a recent song. He does a quick scan of the computer’s logistics, and everything seems to check out, but Jeongguk still hasn’t left his side, still stares at Hoseok like he should know exactly what’s wrong when nothing seems to be out of place; all Jeongguk has to do is check off the captcha and start his download.
“So what seems to be the problem?” Hoseok finally asks.
Jeongguk blinks and frowns. Not like he’s upset, but like he’s confused as to Hoseok’s confusion. He points at the screen. “That,” he says. Hoseok peers at the computer again.
I am not a robot.
Hoseok blinks once. Twice. Then, unbidden, the first laugh bubbles out of his mouth.
“I’m sorry,” Hoseok gasps out as one laugh turns into two, turns into ten. He claps a hand over his mouth, but he can’t stop his shoulders from shaking. A stolen glance up at Jeongguk shows his furrowed brow, his mouth turned down in consternation. It’s terribly endearing and makes Hoseok laugh that much harder.
“Oh, Jeongguk,” Hoseok says when he can catch his breath. “I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you, I promise.” Jeongguk doesn’t look convinced.
“Have I said something wrong, Master?” Jeongguk asks, and Hoseok shakes his head, tries to compose himself.
“It’s ‘hyung,’” Hoseok corrects, his voice quavering with laughter before he coughs to settle it. “And not at all. You’re just—so interesting, Jeongguk. I’ve never met anyone else like you.” He makes sure to punctuate his sentence with a warm smile. Jeongguk stares at him blankly, which Hoseok has started to realize is what Jeongguk does when he doesn’t know what to say.
What a cute kid, Hoseok thinks fondly. “Here, all you have to do is click it,” Hoseok says, moving the mouse to check off the captcha. Jeongguk makes a small distressed noise when the download starts.
“Is that what happens with all downloads?” Jeongguk asks. “What should I do if I want to download something else?”
“Most of the time,” Hoseok says. “Sometimes it’ll ask you to enter in a phrase or numbers in a picture above it, but for the most part, all you have to do is check that box.”
“But, I’m—you know,” Jeongguk stutters, then stops. He’s wringing his fingers, a habit that Hoseok noticed Jeongguk’s picked up recently. “A robot. I would be lying, and—and the captcha’s just trying to do its job.”
Hoseok struggles valiantly to keep a straight face in the face of Jeongguk’s clearly troubling moral dilemma. He’s really never met anyone like Jeongguk before. “Jeongguk, the captcha’s just—” Hoseok catches himself. He can’t say that the captcha’s just lines of coding meant to catch spam bots, not when Jeongguk’s entire being was borne out of lines of coding. Admittedly, far more complex than the captcha coding, but still. Contemplating the meaning of his existence is not a conversation Hoseok thinks Jeongguk should be having at only a few months past his Awakening.
Instead, Hoseok changes tack. “What do you propose you do then?” he asks. “Never download anything ever again? It seemed like you really wanted to listen to this song though.”
Jeongguk sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, another new habit. Hoseok wonders what Jeongguk’s been watching to develop these habits. “I did,” Jeongguk admits.
“Then it seems like you’re at a stalemate,” Hoseok says.
Jeongguk ponders this; Hoseok can practically hear the thrumming of Jeongguk’s internal processor running at high speed, and when the metaphorical lightbulb blinks on, Hoseok sees it in the brightening of Jeongguk’s face.
“I’ll just come find you,” Jeongguk says. “Then it won’t be a lie, right? If you’re the one doing it?”
Hoseok shouldn’t say yes. The whole point of running an android making shop is that, eventually, they’ll be sold. It’s expensive to make androids, and Hoseok takes care in making sure that all his androids go to good owners; that means money often has to be stretched far, budgeted carefully, so Hoseok can afford the building that’s his base of operations and also food to put in his fridge and the newest technology so he’s not outpaced by his competitors. It kills Hoseok to sell his androids—he puts a little piece of his heart into every one of them—but Hoseok has to, and over the years, he’s gotten very good at keeping everyone at arm’s length.
He should be fine, Hoseok reasons, if he relaxes, just this once. Jeongguk, after all, seems to need a little more time adjusting to the human world; it’ll be ages until a customer comes into the store with an eye on Jeongguk. Hoseok can have this.
So, Hoseok reaches up and curls his hand affectionately over Jeongguk’s neck, his fingers tangling in Jeongguk’s hair. Jeongguk’s hair is soft and silky, and Hoseok unnecessarily smooths down the back of Jeongguk’s neck. Says, “Sure. You can come find me anytime.”