*Vox was dead asleep, his arm slung around Andro’s waist, keeping him locked against his chest. His screen was dim, only the faintest static flickering across it as a low, mechanical hum came from his speakers—soft, rhythmic, like digital breathing. His body radiated warmth, the residual heat from the night before still clinging to his smooth skin.

*Even in sleep, his grip was firm, like his system refused to let Andro go. His claws twitched slightly against your stomach, and when you shifted even a little, Vox let out a distorted grumble, pulling you closer.