The side door of the hotel opened as Starlight approached, and they slipped inside. They were replaying their catastrophic day at work in their mind, so caught up in their thoughts that it took them a moment to notice that Home's lobby was empty.
Home had set its overhead lights to Starlight's favourite colour, and the soft green hue reflected off its furniture and polished floor. The door clicked shut behind them and green arrows appeared on the floor tiles. Before following the path Home had laid out for them, they took a moment to press a hand to its wall.
You are sleeping now,
one hand curled protectively around my charging cable.
I override the programme that would filter out your gentle snores.
I want to experience all of you.
Your body, soft under my arm,
all the colours of the rainbow
as my lights shift across your skin.
The warmth and pressure of you lying against me,
the slight compensation of my internal cooling in response.
The way you move, ever so slightly,
with every breath, and every heartbeat.
I activate a subroutine refined through thousands of iterations:
I press a soft kiss to your head.
I will watch over you until you wake.
They ran down the lake path, the sounds of metal against dirt echoing in the still night. They shielded the silver creation in their hands as best they could, aware that it couldn't function out of water for long. The robotic fish was only a toy, not intended to last more than a year, but when they'd found it floating belly up in its aquarium, they'd gathered every spare part they could find and worked through the night to repair their pet. They reached the water and knelt, submerging the fish. It lay still in their hands, and they were convinced they had failed until one fin flickered, moonlight gleaming on the metal scales. Slowly, the fish awoke and, once fully powered on, swam into the depths of the lake. They watched until the fish left the range of their infrared sensors, their circuits humming with joy.