Tonight he comes to me as a vintage 2019 Sendai-Hartono bioframe, joints damped so smoothly that I almost don't hear him sidling up behind me, bending his head over my shoulder for a kiss. The holographic logo dances in his eyes, and his cheekbones whir; I tilt my head in response and meet his lips. He tastes like strawberry and latex, with notes of dark cherry and wine.

"Fendi?" I murmur, momentarily distracted.

"Close, but not quite," he whispers. "Formosa Plastics Group, pheronomics division. They're a DSTA subsidiary."

"Kisses so fragrant, they could kill." I smile, offering him my waist. "They let you bring it out?"

He slides his arms around me. "Why not? It's field testing, babe." At this moment, the hall's neons pick up, bathing us in candle-wax pink.

He presses up close. "And you - " now his soft microfibre curls brush against my cheeks - "you, my dear, are my little experiment."

I feel his lips again, this time in softer places: the sides of my neck, the back of my left ear. Instinctively, my haptics trigger, like in a Facebook Messenger vibration. I let out a soft moan. But at this hour, in this corner of the cheapest tech-friendly bar in the bowels of Old Beach Road, nobody around us seems half-sober enough to mind.

When the lights die down, I find myself clinging to his arm for support as he half-drags, half-carries me to his waiting car outside.

///

Some time later, I'm trembling on the edge of a bare mattress, fingernails digging into my palms as I try to ride out the last of the haptics. My body has shifted to maximum detox: heart cycling like a jackhammer, lungs pumping hot damp breath onto my thighs.

Jesus Christ. A few more nights like this and he'll run himself clean out of boys to fuck.

Breathe in, in, out. Slowly, the fog lifts from my brain, and I take stock of my surroundings. The room itself is small and sparse. There are no windows. A door lies ajar, spilling orange light: beyond, a glass-fronted balcony, with a wall of little blue lights twinkling in the distance. In the distance, the faint sound of waves.

That sly fox. I get to my feet, wincing as the servos kick in. Just how far out did we go?

I try to pull up the network, but catch only red bars and zeroes. No dice. Whatever his new toy is, it's really done a number on my peripherals. He's really got to tone the voltage down next time. Assuming, of course, that there is a next time. After all, they've never let him keep the same body twice.

He's seated on the balcony in a small plastic stool, which seems to be the only other piece of furniture in the flat. I scoot over and sit cross-legged next to him. His body is cold to the touch, the skin smooth as polished glass. As I lean against him, his tense muscles relax, and he slips an arm around me. "Hey, sleeping beauty."

"Mmmm," I giggle. "Zao'an, asshole. How long was I out?"

"Four hours and thirty-two minutes." He gives my shoulder a playful squeeze. "I thought you were a goner, but you took it like a champ."

"Anything for you." I nuzzle up against his thighs. "Maybe go a little slower next time, no?"

He laughs. "They're military-grade. I warned you. Pheronomics packs one hell of a punch."

"Save the hell punches for the bad guys," I mumble. The view from the balcony is mesmerising. I realise we're at least a hundred floors up, and the lights in the distance are the roofs of HDB flats, beaming their drone warning lights into the sky.

"The Tanah Merah arcology," he explains, noticing my transfixed expression. "We're in one of my safehouses. Don't worry, they won't find us here just yet."

"Won't they have trackers? GPS?"

He dangles something black and shiny in front of me. A little red light twinkles from its tip.

"Just a little something from R&D. They probably haven't even realised that I'm gone."

I rest my head on his lap as we stare into the blinking depths. We stay that way for a while, with him occasionally playing with my hair, until dark gives way to light and dawn's rays cast the arcology's shadow onto the flats below.

"I think you should be going," I tell him.

There is no answer. His body has gone still. I lift his arm from my body and peer up into his eyes, but there's nothing there except the Sendai-Hartono twin logos, spinning webs of crystal-clear blue.