R watches as Jay’s cheeks darken. Did he say something wrong? Is love a touchy subject? Maybe it is, but at the same time, R’s glad he asked. Someone with experience, personal experience, will probably know what it’s like to have your heart feel like it’s stuttering in place, clenching so tight it almost feels alive again. What he doesn’t expect is for Jay to lean over and brush his hair away from his eyes, revealing more old, bloodless scars.

The zombie stares back, a question in his face as he tries to work out what he wants to ask.

“No more…” R struggles to remember the term. They haven’t had these in a long time. It’s one of the useless little obsolete facts R remember about Life Before. “Dry…cleaners. Could you…help color…coord…inate?”

R likes the colors Jay has, if that’s all things he picked out. It’s attractive but easier on the eyes than the typical Capitol fashions. R’s only just met the guy but he thinks he trusts his color judgment more than his stylist team. Ironed and matching. Clean. R’s a cleaner corpse than he’s ever been in his life but there’s only so far they can go before they start scrubbing off skin. He assumes that’s clean enough.

A glass of water materializes at Jay’s elbow, a fresh folded little towel joining it, one of the Avoxes slipping in and out silently without having to be asked. R follows the Avox’s gliding progress away before his head lolls back to stare at Jay. The way he speaks doesn’t bother him the same way it does with his Escort. They both sling around “darlings”, sure. The way Jay does it makes him think he sees him as a person, not another body to stick into clothes that don’t fit quite right. R decides he doesn’t mind the patting or the hair brushing. In a way, it’s kind of nice. Someone touching him and not seeming like they’re disgusted.

Too bad he can’t get Jay as his stylist. R thinks he’d be a lot more willing to go along if they could swap.