This one was inspired by Blue Man Group's Persona.
None of it was real.
Not a shred, not a speck, not a single iota.
Mamoru smiled and laughed, talked and flirted, but it was all fallacious, no matter how saccharine the smile or how genuine the interest shining in his eyes seemed. It was all programmed. None of it was felt. It was his job to infiltrate--to gather information regardless of the cost--and seduction was not below him. He never faltered when the hands of his targets slid along his bare skin. Never failed to make them cry out for him in a tangle of bedsheets. Never hesitated to press his lips to theirs. He sat up long nights thinking, hand pressed to his chest over his synthetic heart and feeling its steady thumps reverberate in his chest. None of it was real.
And then Jon would walk into the room and his heart would falter. His words became clumsy and his face warmed. He found himself smiling without verbal prompting, watching Jon go about his daily activities. His warrior programming was one thing. His A.I.--the programming that allowed him to learn, to bond, to love--was quite another. The ache in his chest when Jon was away, the giddy feeling that made his heart feel like bursting when Jon came home, the tranquility and security of being in Jon's arms, the breathlessness that accompanied their kissing--those were real. Beautifully real. Frighteningly real.
And no matter what, he would never allow anyone to tell him otherwise.