Chico they/them

You took kinder to Hank than the rest. Connor deduced that that was because of Hank’s…unpredictability with himself off the clock. You were by no means nice to him, but Connor could tell that you cared for his well being, not that you’d tell anyone.

He really wanted to talk with you, not relating to a case or the weather, but actually hold a conversation. That posed a few problems though, as not only did you avoid talking with the officer’s department in general unless needed, but also because the last time Connor witnessed someone who you weren’t familiar with saunter up to your desk, they left on the brink of tears.

All of these inputs had lead Connor to your desk one morning, long before you were set to arrive. Hank called his actions snooping, but Connor thought of it as deductive reasoning. If he could retrieve information on your preferences, then, when the time came, maybe you wouldn’t be so intimidating.

Here’s what he had gathered so far:

1. You used to lived in Boston.

2. You held a doctorate in Criminology with a focus on crime analysis alongside a second series of degrees in the Biological Sciences at the age of 28.

3. It seemed you had a knack for nature.

Connor noted to look into the natural scenery near Boston within the day to strike up conversation with you. He was so lost in his analysis himself that he didn’t hear the approach of one Hank Anderson behind him until a throat cleared.

“You better finish up with all your sniffing around soon, they just parked.” He had a tone of amusement strung through his words, the events of the night weighing in his sleep deprived eyes. The Eden Club, letting the Traci’s go, all of it in the course of a couple hours.

Connor nodded. “I was just—“

Hank cut him off. “Kid, I really don’t care, and as much as I’d love to watch them make an android cry, we got work to do. Let’s go.”

He and Hank began to debrief at their neighboring desks when a commotion of voices echoed from beyond the glass doors of the precinct. The pair looked questioningly to one another before the door was swung open. The culprit of the scuffle turned around to face the glass mid stride, flicked the two officers that stood guard (presumably watching them now) off, and then resumed their path, all without breaking pace.

You marched right up to one Gavin Reed’s desk before slamming your hands down on the table, Reed’s computer shaking slightly. He attempted to seem unfazed by your presence, but Connor noted the bead of sweat running down his temple.

“I don’t do third chances, Reed. The next time you take my parking spot and make me late, you’ll be walking home.”

Gavin greeted you, your name slipping out of his mouth in a faux good morning. “Well aren't you a piece of cake today. Is this a threat that I hear?” He crossed his arms. “Because threatening a police officer is illegal.”

Hank snorted at the interaction, turning to Connor. “You see, one thing about them, Connor, is that they hate cops. Especially ones like Reed. And him saying that, well, he just poked the bear.”

Connor looked to Hank, tilting his head ever just so to analyze the man before returning his gaze to you. He made another note to look into what 'poking the bear' meant. You were utterly calm with your words, no raised tone or wild movements, side from the one earlier.

“Would you like it to be a threat, Reed? Because I counted four violations on your shitty Ford Focus that could get that thing tossed into a junkyard just now.” Reed’s eyes widened at your words. You whispered your next, and if it were anyone other than Connor listening in, they wouldn’t be able to tell what you said. “I would also have no qualms with explaining to Fowler my sudden missing evidence from your last case. What would he say to that, hmm?” You had an almost sultry tone then, and he could sense Reed’s heartbeat increase. Good, you scared him. Someone needed to.

“God, Reed, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Hank shouted from his seat. Connor studied the interactions, noting that you could develop a very hostile relationship with himself very quickly.

A new mission appeared to his corner. Your name had appeared, followed by a bright ease tensions note in blue.

Hank regretted speaking up though, because almost immediately, your fury was turned to him. Connor could only watch with slightly scrunched eyebrows as you made your way over to the duo.

“You.” Your eyes slitted when you reached him. You shot an accusatory finger towards Hank's chest--you emanated fury. Connor understood then that there was an emotion underlaying your anger, it was hurt. You and Hank were friends, and he did something to betray that trust.

“How dare you text me what you did last night? You don’t talk to me for days outside of work, just to send a suicide note to me at the ass crack of dawn? Are you serious? I was worried sick, you asshole.” Your chest was rising relatively rapidly, “You never texted me back. I thought you were fucking dead. I showed up to your house, and you were nowhere to be fucking seen.”

Connor had concluded that the scariest thing about you so far was your ability to remain calm. You would truly succeed at interrogating had that been a path you took, as you never rose your voice once, instead opting to lowering it as severity increased.

You took a deep breath in, holding your forehead with your hand. Once the dust had settled, the two of you stood there, neither dropping eye contact.

Eventually, the graying man conceded, looking around before giving a deep sigh.

“You cut your hair.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You forgot to shave that stupid beard.”

He snorted. “Yeah well, what’s it you say? ‘You can only control who you are.’ Decided to try something new.” Connor scanned your movements again, changing his previous hypothesis. It seemed that you took Hank for a... father figure.

It was then that you noted Connor was even there, eyes wide and staring directly at you. You shot him a sneer.

“The fuck are you looking at?” You crossed your arms as he realized he was caught. He stood up to match your position before fixing his tie.

“My name is Connor. I am an android sent by Cyberlife. I’m here to assist Lieutenant Anderson on a more—“

You cut him off, motioning your arm in his direction as you looked at Hank. “Did you buy a fucking android?”

“He was sent to me by the higher ups, thank you very much.”

You eyed him suspiciously, eyes raking over every inch of him. Connor had an unusual fault in his system it seemed—he could feel his thirium pump rate increasing. He widened his eyes at your stare, shifting from his left foot to his right. What the hell was this? He ran a system diagnostic, but everything appeared regular.

His new mission appeared by your figure now. He decided to extend an olive branch. “I assure you, I will keep a good watch over Lieutenant Anderson based on your previous words. Last night when I found him, I ensured all protocols necessary to prevent an untimely demise.”

Hank grew angry at the open talk of him while he was right there, scoffing. You on the other hand eyed Connor, who was sure he had spoken the right words. You clenched your jaw repeatedly, seemingly stewing over what you were going to say back, but after a few beats of silence, you looked back to Hank. “How long has he been here?”

Connor tilted his head at you, noting that you were the first individual here besides Hank to call him ‘he’. It threw him a little off guard.

“A few days now, he’s here to help with the deviant sightings.”

You rolled your eyes. You rolled your eyes.

Though his mission still laid above your head, something in him, a program he chalked it up to, risked that mission--he couldn’t help himself. “Is the idea of androids becoming deviant from their programming just an irritant to you?”

It was a moment, that unbeknownst to Connor, would happen all the more frequent the more you were around. He didn’t think before he spoke, and he always thought before he spoke.

When he saw the deliberately slow turn your head made towards him, well, he could hear Hank’s voice in his head. ‘Good luck with this one, kid.’

Hank’s eyes went wide at Connor’s quick bite back. Oh, you were gonna destroy the poor guy.

“Connor, was it?”

“We’ve already established that, yes.”

The way you turned towards him, eyes following your head, reminded him of a snake. Stunning, yet sometimes lethal creatures. You slow blinked at him, once, twice, before rolling your sleeves up.

“Let me set the scene for you, okay, sweetheart?” Your tone started off too light, too nice. Connor felt a software notification appear as your voice lured him in. Sweetheart.

“Yesterday I was called to the scene of a serial arsonist to gather evidence—the second family home—no survivors—to be set on fire in a week.” You stepped closer to his desk, lightly placing your hands down as you leaned towards him. He realized then that if you were a snake, he was most definitely the mouse.

And you had called him sweetheart.

“After that, I had to deliver reports on whose remains might be who.” He shot Hank a panicked look, to which the man shrugged in a ‘you got yourself into this mess’ manner. Connor gulped, actually gulped, and couldn’t get his mind off of that nickname you had given him. He’d never had a nickname before. He’d have to ask Hank about what it meant later.

“Later, I held onto a mother as she took her last breath. And then I came home to a text from this asshole saying it was his end too.” Your eyes had narrowed, never breaking eye contact, even as you had gestured to Hank moments before. It was intense.

And the worst part? Some deep part of Connor liked the lack of distance between the two of you. He was getting notifications all down the side of his HUD for possible outcomes and hostility changes from you. He could feel his cooling fans kick on.

“So, yeah, I don’t give a damn if androids are gaining consciousness and developing their own thoughts. Let them, for all I care.” Connor’s blinking rate increased, your face now merely 13 inches from his own.

“That is not my problem, and unless you deviate and aid in my case work, it will never be. Kapeash?”

Connor was about to reply with how he would never deviate, as he was created to catch deviants and accomplish his missions not become one, but he was frozen. You were a mystery to him—his data displaying levels of irritancy, boredom, and pride blooming from you, all towards him. His eyes were widened a bit, and he could tell his own emotional processors were running on overdrive.

Hank murmured a ‘just nod, Connor, for your own sake,’ that the android caught and followed obediently.

You stayed in that position a tad more than you had too, Connor derived, for intimidation purposes. Intimidation purposes, mind you, that were working.

After a pause you glared at Hank one more time before walking over to your desk, settling in for the day.

Hank didn’t even give it a minute before you were gone, giving a low whistle. “I thought they were gonna fillet you, so objectively that went relatively well.”

Yeah, he was going to have to self regulate later.

—

The next day, you were there much earlier than usual. Your eyes had gained a couple bags, something that Connor presumed was from the early morning. He had discussed with Hank about getting (and staying) on your good side, as though it was hard to do, you were the best there was and would be an incredible help for evidence analysis should the time come. Over the night, Connor had run through his database after going through an extensive self-regulation process with Amanda (even though he had refrained from explaining the newest addition of a mission that he was sure he created, not his programming).

He had gone through many of an approach over the hours on how best to smooth things over with you, from bringing you coffee to destroying Gavin Reed’s car, the latter an action that was sure to have many consequences, no matter how much he wanted to.

He landed on a blunt apology. That had a 76% success rate—the highest one possible.

He let you settle in for a couple minutes before leaving his desk to walk to yours. Your head was down in some files, hand propping up your forehead. He cleared his throat when he arrived in front of you.

You brought your head up to match his gaze, the familiar fury of yesterday still lingering.

He stumbled at first. Like he said, he was intimidated by you. “I-I would like to apologize for ensuing a tiff between us yesterday. I in no way meant to undermine the work that you complete.”

You glanced over to your clock before looking at him. You rolled your neck, a few cracks emanating from the actions, and though Connor was tempted to mention a statistic about the danger of cracking your neck, Hank's voice in his head halted that.

Tread lightly with them, Connor. They're trained to find faults in evidence, whether the evidence is verbal or physical. Trust me, for the both of us, you want to be in their good graces.

You narrowed your eyes at his posture, and it was then that he realized--you were analyzing him. Usually, it was the other way around.

"Did Anderson put you up to this? If so, you can tell him to fuck off." With that, you resumed your focus at the computer screen slightly to your left. Connor made no effort to move. His self-made mission pulsed next to your frame.

"No, I came here on my own accord." He couldn't outwardly ask to engage in civil conversation with you, so how would he accomplish this? He ran his social relations program for best results.

It did not help.

You shot him an annoyed look. "Listen buddy, I got shit to do. I get you mean no harm, but you need to leave me alone. If Hank wants to give me a half-assed apology about the other night, it's gotta be better than this."

It was going to be a long day.

--

Things were different now that he'd deviated. It had been a month since the revolution, androids now being able to live with equality. Connor could think freely for himself, could allow himself to recognize and feel the emotions that overtook him. It seemed as if some of the workplace pressure was alleviated from him too with the arrival of Nines, who in turn took up all of Gavin's time.

Connor began to take note of the little details, ones that would be determined insufficient not too long ago. That, and he took a focus to you.

The chill of January still kissed Detroit, snow cascading down as the wind pounded upon the house. Connor mistook the knocks at the door for those gales at first. He was in a worn out DPD tee with sweats on, playing on the floor with Sumo. When he distinguished that there actually was a knock at the door, he went to open it, Sumo in tow.

He was not expecting the sight at the front door.

There you were, snowflakes coating the winter coat hugging you, that permanent glare splayed on your face. Connor thought he saw a slight look of surprise on you at his appearance, but quickly rationed that it could have been a trick from the weather. You stood there with a paper bag in your hand, a blue ribbon with light sparkles tying the handles together. Connor deduced that you did it yourself, though that was a thought he decided not to voice.

"Are you going to let me in, or are you just going to stand there and let me freeze while also letting the cold air in?"

Your caramel coated voice snapped him from his daze. He did a little shake of his head before stepping back, letting you inside. Hank had told him that you tended to pop in every now and then, and though you would make excuse after excuse as for why, Hank knew it was to check up on him. So why were you holding a gift?

"Can I take your coat for you?" Connor offered, a soft look on his face. You shot him a look before taking it off yourself, hanging it on the rack.

At the sight of your familiarity, Sumo had run off to find Hank, leaving the two of you standing unsure of the other. Connor could feel your hesitation, and it dawned on him that he'd never seen you outside of work attire. You stood there in a worn sweater, the color complementing your hair.

Emotions were new to him still. He had been able to identify quite a few of them, like happiness and frustration. But when his eyes landed on your frame? Something overcame him, a tightness in his chest, like a foot was stepping right on his chassis. He could feel a rush of thirium to his cheeks, one that you seemed to clock.

"What?"

Connor had asked after you around a week post his deviancy.

It had been out of the blue, as he sat with Hank at the dinner table, Sumo laying down next to Hank's chair.

"Is there a reason for their...guarded actions?"

The old man had a mouthful of food as Connor questioned. Hank chewed a couple of times before responding.

"Son, they're here all by themselves. Besides me, they don't have anyone. They've had a rough go at life, and when that happens, you become hesitant." He popped another spoonful of corn into his mouth. "...That's why we get along, probably."

"Hello? Earth to Connor. What the hell dude?" You were looking at him as if he was telling a story and left it at a cliffhanger, palm raised up, and head titled ever so slightly.

Connor blinked rapidly, blue tint on his cheeks spreading. Hank's words repeated back in his head, along with your previous conversations. He had another chance to get on your good side, and he was not going to ruin it.

Or so he thought.

"You look absolutely stunning."

Shit.

So much for not blowing it.

You looked as caught off guard as Connor felt. Why did he just say that?

Maybe it was because of that feeling, buried deep within him, that pressure continuously pressing on his chassis that wouldn't let up. Or maybe it was because of the way the nearby table lamp reflected onto your clothes, the warm yellow highlighting and shadowing different parts of your frame.

Or maybe, it was because, ever since that talk with Hank, it was as though Connor could see right through you. You two had something in common, after all.

You were both pretty lonely.

Your mouth was slightly agape at the confession, head tilted in question and eyes wide. You opened your mouth to run him a new one he presumed, but before you could say anything, Hank came walking in.

"Hey, if it isn't my favorite ray of sunshine."

You took a moment before facing Hank, studying Connor. He could see your chest take a breath before responding.

"Shut the hell up. What's he doing here?" You nodded your head towards Connor.

"He's living with me now." Hank crossed his arms. "Is that a problem?"

He could tell you were familiar in this home. If not before, when you first stepped through the door, then especially now, as after Hank finished his sentence, Connor followed your eyes to a photo of Hank's late son. You studied the photo for a second before looking back at Hank, then meeting your eyes with his own, then back to Hank.

Hank did this thing with other humans that Connor was unsure of. The older man seemed capable of having unspoken conversations with others, something that quite confused Connor still. He knew people weren't capable of the telepathic pathways that androids had, but then how was the man in front of him now seemingly talking to you without a word being passed?

"No, no problem at all."

"Good."

Another beat of silence. Connor felt a little out of place. Hank didn't typically have company, so he wasn't sure what to do. You obviously did not want to converse with him--would it be appropriate to leave and find Sumo?

As if almost on cue, the one and only came running in. You took Connor off guard as you sank down to your knees and the pup came waltzing to you, hands outstretched to welcome him. You placed the bag down as you pet Sumo, a smile growing on your face. He had never seen that before on you, a smile. You seemed elated at the presence of the dog, and Connor found himself entranced by this view.

Your smile made that pressure return to his chest, and his thirium pump starting thrumming overtime. An unfamiliar sensation ran down his arms, almost as if a flush of cold air was sent through them. The feeling continued down his center, to his legs. He felt frozen at the sight, wishing to never look away. Hank cleared his throat, and Connor snapped his gaze to him, caught in the act of studying you.

Hank had what appeared to be a mix of amusement and surprise present on his face, giving Connor a look he's never seen before. The man's eyebrows were raised, arms still crossed, with a little smile developing. The abnormality of it all was in his eyes though, and Connor placed another new emotion within himself--embarrassment.

He could feel the overdrive of his cheek sensors again, fairly certain that the blue dusting was covering his face. His own eyes wide, he chose to ignore Hank and deal with whatever he had to say later, instead focusing his gaze back onto you.

You erupted into a laugh at the Saint Bernard, something that Connor immediately stored into his memory at the risk of such a noise never being heard again, before giving one final pat to Sumo. You placed your hands on your knees as you stood, picking up the gift bag before walking over to Hank, pushing it into his arms.

"Happy birthday you old oaf."

An expression of shock registered on Hank before he undid your homemade bow, opening the little bag. Inside was a clunky black tape, the words Gears vs. Nuggets, 1983 inscribed on it. Your initials were scrawled next to the date. Hank's eyes widened as he read the words on the VHS before smiling at you, bringing you in for a hug. You fought against it at first, words of protest leaving your mouth, before finally coming to terms and hugging back briefly. It was a little awkward for the both of you, hugging. Connor could sense the apprehension coming off of you in waves.

When the two of you broke from the hug, Hank laughed, still smiling. "You're a big ol' softie, you know that? How long did it take you to find this thing?"

Connor could see you poking the side of your mouth with your tongue in what seemed like irritation, but something told him that you were doing it for show. "Find that thing? Are you kidding me? I had to go to fucking war to even get my hands on a VHS tape you ancient sack of shit." You started to unstring your boots, sliding them off one by one. "And then I had to find the game, record it, and protect it from the elements. It was a bother and took a ton of my time up, so how about you go fuck yourself." Your expression remained stoic as you walked past him and into the kitchen, throwing hot water on.

"Are you staying for dinner?" Hank called out with a smile behind him, now looking at Connor.

"No, I'm planning to burn your fucking house down with this kettle." A pause, and then a begrudging mumble. "Yes, I'm staying for dinner."

He could see an air to Hank now, elated and sober. It made Connor smile, knowing that his dad friend was happy. He was still underinformed as to why the two of you were so friendly (or as friendly as you could be) but threw curses at the other every alternate word--he was sure that wasn't how most humans displayed positive emotions to those they held close.

"What's on there?" Connor opted to ask, gesturing to the VHS. Hank came over to him before pressing it into his hands.

"That there is the greatest basketball game ever known to man. Detroit Gears up against the Denver Nuggets in 1983, with the most points ever being scored to date. Ended with a score of 186-184, Gears winning of course." Hank rose his eyebrows as a smirk crossed him. He rose his voice so you could hear him from the other room. "Something that would take hours to record, mind you!"

A distance 'fuck off' echoed through the first floor. The android couldn't help but chuckle at this exchange between you and Hank. Connor turned his head to the vague direction of your voice.

His guard was down when Hank struck. "So, wanna talk about that blush you had going on earlier casanova?"

Connor snapped his head back towards the man. "What do you mean?"

The Liutenant snorted. "Don't play coy with me son, you practically had heart eyes as they played with Sumo." Connor's eyes widened. "That's a dangerous game you're playing, if what I'm suggesting is true." He took a breath. "Is it?"

Connor's sensors were fraying a little at the accusation. "I'm not sure what you're insinuating, Hank." He could feel his pump rate increase again, though this time out of nerves. That was an emotion he knew.

"Nothing wrong with having a little crush, Connor." Hank shot a look behind him, making sure you were still in another room before continuing. "They're not going to make it easy for you."

"They don't even want to talk to me."

Hank snorted. "Well, then, what are you going to do about it, kid? Listen," He gestured with his thumb back towards your locale. "I've known them for eight years. They're a hard one to crack, but only if you're not persistent. You gotta make them want to talk to you."

--

If Connor didn't know any better, he'd think even Nines was apprehensive of you, and that was saying something. Hank had left for the day, but Connor had some more evidence to go through before he caught the cab back home. This current case had the duo in a stump, and Connor had caught the short end of the stick. Tensions were running thick in the office today after this morning, when Gavin sent Nines to go park in his spot, the fourth one to the left of the precinct--your spot. Of course, Reed knew what he was doing, taking any opportunity to torture the android as possible. You had seen him leave Gavin's car, and from the second you stepped into the bullpen the air shifted.

Connor recalled the buzzing feeling that erupted within him, that feeling of air being shot through his core returning, as you grabbed Nines by the tie before shoving him against Gavin's desk, death set in your eyes.

Gavin had let out a snort at the scene, which had drawn the attention to himself as the true culprit. You had released the confused android, and Connor had the unabashed fantasy of being in Nines' place. Your hands pulling him by the tie to meet your gaze, pushing him against the nearest surface and--

He rapidly blinked to shake the image from his head.

These thoughts were new to him, he knew this. He didn't need to breathe, but felt that the extra air would help his cooling sensors work faster. Connor had been experiencing these...unique emotions more and more. The barista at the coffee shop Hank stopped at who locked eyes with Connor before he threw him a wink and wrote his number on the cup, the lovely android who greeted him every morning as he walked inside with her kind eyes. But you seemed to elicit these feelings the most from him.

Ever since the day you stopped by with Hank's birthday gift, he felt his sensors go into overdrive at the mere thought of you.

You had walked right up to Gavin Reed, swiped his files off of his desk, and then decked him right in the cheek. "Jeez, Doc, who put salt in your coffee this morning?" He had rubbed the bruise forming under his eye, taking the punch. Who knew how many people he had thrown his fist at today already--it seemed as if he had a daily quota some days. That being said, no one moved to chastise you or help him other than Nines. Nines, who whilst wearily eyeing you, sidestepped your body and examined Gavin.

You spat at Reed's feet. "Told you, I don't do third chances. Mind your own fucking business, and don't get others to do your dirty work for you." You looked to Nines before glaring once more at Gavin, turning around and heading to your desk. Connor and Hank's desk were in your path, and Connor was lost in his little world of you holding his tie as he realized you caught him watching the debacle.

"You have a staring problem, you know that?" Your voice still had a little of the intimidation husk to it, and numerous warning notifications of system overheating appeared in his vision as you spoke to him.

You didn't allow time for a response, keeping your stride before taking a seat at your desk for the day.

This morning had been running on a loop in poor Connor's head.

You had gloves on as you examined a piece of what appeared to be curtain, fixed with a look of determination. He gathered up his courage before standing and heading over to you. He was built for literal interrogation, why was he so nervous around you? He cleared his throat to announce his presence before he caught your gaze.

"Come back later unless someone is actively dying, I'm busy."

He's pretty sure that's the longest sentence you've said to him yet.

"What are you examining?" You squinted your eyes at him before returning to your subject.

"Anything that could present a following lead. They said it was clean, but I don't buy it. I just can't find anything."

Connor spotted a few splotches of blue and decided to follow his intuition. No way was he passing up an opportunity to talk to you. "There's thirium on the corner edge. It spreads all down the side of the fabric."

Your hands froze before you met his eyes again, this time holding them. "I've checked this over more times than I can count."

"Thirium isn't noticeable to the naked eye after a few hours, but I can see it perfect. It looks like the victim was strangulated." You glanced at your clock before looking back to him, ultimately getting up and walking away. Had he really batched it that bad with you?

His worries were resolved as you pulled a nearby chair back with you, placing it next to your own. He looked at you with a quizzical eye, head slightly tilted. You gestured to the empty seat before changing your gloves. Connor took the hint and sat down next to you. He was treading on new ground--this is the longest you two had ever even held a conversation. His mind started to drift back to earlier, the thoughts of one hand on his chest and the other pulling his tie overriding anything previous.

A pair of fingers snapped in front of him. "Hey, Connor, are you going to help me here or just stare at my fucking desk?" He stored how you said his name to memory. Was that the first time you said his name?

For once, it seems, he said the right thing.

He locked eyes with you before hovering his hand over the thirium marks. "They run in a pattern that starts up here," he trailed his finger just above the evidence, making sure not to touch it. "And from there it staggers a bit until a blotch here." He pointed to the bottom left corner, where electric blue was splattered in what almost made a fingerprint.

"Where, here?" Your finger was slightly off from the locale Connor pointed out, so he shook his head. You moved your finger down slowly trying to find it, but to no avail. You were so close to it, but so far that Connor couldn't help himself.

With a feather touch he covered your hand and wrist with his own. Being this close, he felt the tempo of your breathing change at his grasp. He delicately moved it to hover over the spot, holding it there for a second before using your hand to trace the thirium. "It follows until about here, where it stops."

You move the hand under his grasp back to the beginning before replaying what he just did. "Does the pattern of the thirium follow the curtains seem or go against it?"

"It follows it, which means that--"

"That the unsub must have ripped it from the rod." You gestured to the frayed area of the evidence. "I had a hunch, but couldn't put my fucking finger on it." Connor analyzed your motions as you analyzed the scene in front of you, taking in how in your element you were right now.

There you were, back slightly hunched over the desk, hair awry, bags under squinting eyes.

He had no need for breath, but if he did, the sight of you here and now would have taken his breath away.

Connor noted that your hand was still covered by his, eyes glancing to the two before you took yours away. Maybe he should've felt hurt at how fast you withdrew your hand, but he couldn't over the unknown bloom that was occurring at your readiness to have it held for nearly five minutes straight.

You looked to him, forgetting how close the chairs were to each other. "You said you can always see thirium?" Connor nodded. "I hope you know what you just signed yourself up for."

--

Connor was shocked to see you get out of the police car, especially tonight. The snow had melted, weather still relatively cold but not freezing, making any new precipitation come in thick and heavy. The rain was pouring down tonight. He ran a diagnostic of the possible reasons for your attendance and had come to the conclusion that this rain was the most probable cause. The crime had occurred outside, making it integral that they have an analysist on site just in case something were to wash away.

You didn't fare well in this weather, Connor could tell. He had been able to spend more and more time with you throughout the past two months, his ability to see thirium making him your eyes for android related cases. He had tried to breach personal topics on more than one occasion, but you never took the bait.

He did have a feeling that you started to warm up to him though, because you made it a point to show up to Hank and his home about once every two weeks for a dinner or movie night. It confused Connor, the way you were able to withhold so much of yourself from anyone. A fleeting thought occurred to him that at times, you seemed more machine than he was.

He shuddered to clear his head. "Doctor, it's a pleasure to see you, unfortunate that it's under these circumstances." You shot him a look at his words, and that's when he saw your eyes. This case was called pretty late at night, but the bags under your eyes made him conclude that you hadn't been sleeping for awhile. That was another thing he picked up on--you wouldn't admit it, but you had a few pretty severe self-destruction habits. You didn't sleep much he assumed, and he knew you didn't eat much--you would frequently work through your lunch, and tended to pick at your food when you came over for dinner.

On that note, about two weeks ago he had made a folder in his system dedicated to you. It held objectives, sub objectives, alongside the limited information he was able to gather about you. You currently had three likes, and seven dislikes.

An ongoing objective of his was to get you to resume healthy living habits. Eating, sleeping, hydration. He knew this would be an excruciatingly long task, but who was he if not persistent?

"Doctor, thank you for the help, I’m aware this isn’t your usual scene." Connor offered you some space under his umbrella.

The glare adorned on your face was nothing short of irritated. "Don't thank me yet, sweetheart." You kept walking, past him and his umbrella, past Hank, moving to crouch by the first set of evidence signs.

There was that word again. Sweetheart. You had let it slip a few times over your interactions, and though Connor picked up that they weren't meant in an affectionate tone, a small part of him documented it as such.

After all, he didn't have any friends really outside of Hank, and his emotions were overwhelming at times. You calling him a name typically associated with positive intonations, even if you didn't mean it that way, made his head woozy. He had documented every time you said that to him in your file too. He would never admit it, but when he was having an extremely rough day, he would replay the moments you called him that to ease his mind.

"Who's in charge of this fucking investigation?" Your voice coursed through the thrum of the rain, Hank crouching down next to you before explaining everything he knew.

"Someone get a tarp!" Hank yelled over the rain, patting you on the shoulder once before going to check his car for one. Connor took that as a cue to deliver the information he had gathered to you. Once he arrived by your side, he bent down to prop the umbrella up as a temporary protection for the evidence. You continued to examine the shards of broken glass, turning to him when he mirrored your position on the ground.

"Any thirium nearby?" Connor shook his head.

"Not that I can tell. Is any of this salvageable for your studies?"

You sighed. "Some of it, if the soil doesn't start to flood." Your gloved hands delicately picked up a piece of the glass, examining it before placing it back down. The rain didn't let up. You glanced to the sky, eyes briefly closed as you inhaled. "I need to find CSI, inform them on the lab tests I need completed."

That's when things took a turn. You placed a hand on the ground to support you as you stood, but his previous hypothesis of your health status proved correct, as when you went to stand, your eyes fluttered closed before you reached for something nonexistent to steady you. You opened your eyes, but Connor could see that they were unfocused, and opted for what he thought would be the best option as you started to fall down.

He reached his arms out, catching and steadying you as you came down. "Woah there, are you alright?" A pleasantry, really, as Connor knew for a fact that you were not, no matter what you said.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you placed a hand on his arm. "I think I stood up too fast, I'm fine."

"You are not fine, Doctor." He had to broach this topic very carefully, as you could become quite hostile very fast if he did not phrase this right. And while he should have thought about what exactly it was he would say, it came out before he could stop it. "This isn't the first time I've seen this behavior from you. I'm worried about you."

When you had slightly collapsed, it was against his chest. Now, he steadied you with a hand on each arm as he brought you back to a normal stance, your eyes blinking rapidly.

"I'm anemic Connor, these things happen. Drop it." You were not anemic. His initial scan all those months ago showed that. He felt frustration bubble up in him at your lie.

"No, you're not."

"Excuse me?" You took a step towards him in what he assumed was intimidation, but you started to blink rapidly again, just like he did when he got a new influx of information.

"Your nervous system is firing synapses at an elevated rate. I would feel better if I accompanied you to the nearest CSI, in case you take a tumble again." He had meant it cordially, but of course you didn't take it as such.

You took a step back from him, forcing his hands to drop from your sides. "Fuck off, I said I'm fine." He could see you jaw clench before you took a deep breath, pushing past him as you went to talk to CSI.

Something settled in Connor then. It was resolute, final. He was going to help you whether you liked it or not. He cared for you a little more than he'd like to admit, and he didn't even know why. But he did know that he could be of assistance, and you needed someone to know that you weren't alone here.

A new mission appeared by your file.

And Connor always accomplished his missions.

--

Your apartment was...not what he thought it would be.

For some reason, he had it in his head that you lived in some lair like Batman, hiding in your secret crevices, only occasionally coming out of the woodwork for your job. That was not the case at all, he realized, as he stood staring at the little grey mat outside your door.

Hank had been so surprised at Connor's plan that he paused his basketball game. He had repeatedly questioned if Connor had any extra biocomponents or thirium ready in case you fucked him up for showing up unwelcomed and uninvited, but Connor persisted.

He had explained some of his findings to Hank, who in turn replied with a breathless remark along the lines of "if you don't come back tonight you're either going to be in over your head or dead," before wishing him luck.

It couldn't be that bad, could it?

He gulped, gulped, as one hand tightened around the paper bag full of groceries. He was actually doing this.

He was actually doing this.

He knew it would be pointless to knock on your door, but he did so out of politeness at first. After a few moments, even though he could hear you inside, no one came, as suspected.

Time for plan B.

He pressed your door buzzer, and held it.

For a minute straight.

He knew that this would most likely work, but with negative consequences. Honestly though? He didn't really care.

The entire day, he had tried to channel his inner you in preparation for tonight. He allowed himself to feel the annoyance and frustration that came with your words, the little time you dedicated to actually care for yourself. He was angry on your behalf, and he was going to do what was necessary to complete this mission, whether he liked it or not.

It was important to him. For some reason, you were important to him. You made him feel a type of way that no one else could elicit, and not only did he crave it, but he was fairly sure that you might feel similar if you let down your damn guard.

Maybe he was channeling a little bit of Hank right now too.

After another thirty-two seconds of pushing the buzzer, the door unlocked.

"'Can I fucking help you, Connor?" You sneered. "What the fuck are you doing here? How did you even find my fucking place?"

There you were, standing in a black sweater with navy blue sweatpants. The shadows from outside seemed to lengthen the bags that draped under your eyes, and you looked...worse for wear.

It was now or never.

"Hank gave it to me. I'm coming in."

"No, the hell you're not."

"Yes, the hell I am." He was not good at this when it came to you.

He looked at you before pushing his way into your home, using the element of surprise to his benefit.

Your mouth gaped open in shock at his confidence, and he could tell you were a little shellshocked at what he had to say. Good.

"I'm gonna ask you one more time." Your tone was dipped in venom at the intrusion. "What the fuck are you doing here."

It was almost as if his interrogation modules had kicked in with how quick he was. "I'm here to take care of you, obviously." He gestured to the bag of groceries in his right arm.

"You're not some fucking housekeeper, and I don't want you here." Your pulse increased, and he could tell you were fuming. He tried to let your words fall off his shoulders. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much."

It slipped before he could help it. Like he said, he didn't think straight around you, and frankly, your words did sting a bit. "Yeah, clearly."

You scoffed, arms crossed, glare fixed on him. You took a step towards him as you clenched your jaw, teeth grinding. "Get out of my house."

He ran a quick diagnostic on you, if only to prove his point. He shrugged.

"I mean, maybe you're right. If not sleeping in thirty two hours with only a shitty meal and a half in your system equates 'taking care of yourself,' then you're doing a great job."

Oh, he was in it now.

You took a heated breath in, clenching your jaw in unbridled fury. There it was, the calmness that over took you when you were about to lay into someone.

This time, that someone was him.

You started slowly, too slowly for Connor's like.

"You show up, unannounced and uninvited at my place at nearly one in the damn morning. Then, you start going off about how I don't take care of myself, and how I have poor living habits." You took a step with every sentence, now leaving barely any space between the two of you. He could see your tongue punching the inside of your cheek. "Then you have the gall, the nerve, to what? Offer your help?" You were standing practically against the grocery bag now, that's how close you were. "Let me make myself clear, I don't want your shitty fucking help, Connor."

As Hank would say, that was the straw that broke the camel's back. Because Connor analyzed your status then, before carefully setting down the groceries on the nearest table. He then returned to his previous stance, head tilted.

Like he said, emotions tended to overwhelm him quickly. The amalgamation of what he felt around you was built up like a dam, one that he just broke.

He matched your tone, staring you down. Hands behind his back, he was ready to pounce.

"Let me make myself clear, Doctor." He started. "You are a nuisance to work with. You are never kind, no matter who you're with. You had no friends, no one that cared about you." He saw you suck a breath in, ready to retaliate, but he didn't let you butt in. "You sleep for, on average, approximately twenty four point seven hours a work week, and you eat around one meal a day. You may not think anyone pays attention or, as you say, 'gives a shit,' but you're wrong. You are relatively dehydrated and present yourself as hostile to all those around you."

He could hear you mumble a 'fuck you' in his direction. He continued. "Yet, for some reason, you have entranced me, sweetheart." Something bloomed inside of Connor at that sentence. That felt good to say. "I spend a quarter of every day making sure you're functional for your shift, planning alternatives if not so. I have tried over and over to be your companion, and just because you scare me a bit doesn't mean I'm going to stop trying. Not when you're actively almost killing yourself." He heaved an unneeded breath.

"So yes, I came over unwarranted, but too bad. I'm staying, cooking you a meal, and making sure you sleep tonight." He clenched his own jaw, words softer this time. "You are not the only one who feels alone in this world from time to time. Let me do this, Doctor. Please."

Your eyes were wide at his outburst, stunned into silence. It took you fifteen full seconds before you responded, and though Connor was proud of his words, the familiar claw of anxiety was starting to devour him.

You opened your mouth to assumedly give him a run for his money, before slowly closing it. Instead, you opted to stare him down for a minute before looking to the ground. "I'm going to go shower." You muttered, walking off up the stairs.

Connor stood there, at your front door, looking around your living space before his success struck him. Did he just win that? A small 'objective complete' appeared in his HUD by your file, the words Convince the Doctor to let you stay turning green before fading.

You hadn't kicked him out, which meant two things. One, that you didn't mind his presence, and two, that if you were accepting help, things were bad. You were akin to Hank in that way, refusing any help until it was too late.

Connor wasn't too sure he'd get this far, and was glad for the small cooking lessons Hank had offered him before coming here--he was not programed for that skill originally, and since he didn't really taste much, he struggled with the concept of cooking. Hank had showed him how to make a relatively quick and healthy dinner option, to which the ingredients were held in the paper bag.

He blinked rapidly before grabbing the bag, a new mission appearing to find your kitchen. His LED spun a continuous yellow as he took in the details of your apartment. Books lined the walls, with a shelf underneath the television for record playing. You had a fireplace, something that he hadn't seen much of here in Detroit. There were a couple of photos, and Connor decided to take a look at them. There were only two, one of them being Hank and a begrudging you, the other of a little black cat.

He didn't see any animals upon entering? Who's cat was that?

That's when he felt the odd pressure against his legs. He looked down at the source. You did have a cat. It meowed as it weaved between Connor's shoes, and started to make an odd rumbling sound from its system. Connor didn't know much about cats, so he was a little freaked out at the sensation, but not opposed. He reached his hand down and the cat bumped their head against his hand, rubbing their face alongside his palm. The fur was soft and fluffy like Sumo's, but more textured, more delicate.

He decided he liked cats.

"Hello, little one." He murmured to the cat, who meowed back at him.

He eventually found your kitchen. It wasn't completely upkept, but Connor didn't mind. There was a cup of water laying on the counter and some dishes in the sink. He set out to wash his hands before preparing dinner for you, your cat hot on his heels at the new guest.

The late night ambience added to the personality he was drawing of your place--it just seemed right to be here when it was past dark. Warm hues flooded in around him as he turned the light switch on. Most lights were digitally commanded these days, so he was mildly surprised at your manual switch.

A little chirp emitted by his feet, the cat quickly jumping up onto the counter. Connor panicked, he figured that the little one was not supposed to do that. Awkwardly, he walked over to the cat before attempting to pick it up. His sensors registered the fur as a new texture, and with one hand holding the underbelly of the cat, he used his other one to give a little pat on the creature’s head before the cat wriggled out of his grasp. Connor made a noise of fear as the cat jumped down, afraid of the distance between the floor and his arms. He stumbled as he went to catch the furball, the cat appearing much more graceful than he. When all four paws landed on the ground, Connor and the cat stared at each other for a minute, the cat in annoyance, Connor in relief.

The sound of your shower turning off made him shake his head in an attempt to re-regulate himself. Dishes, food, you got this.

Fifteen or so minutes later, you came in to join him in the kitchen, where he was very intensely monitoring the levels of heat ascending onto your frying pan. He was nearly done, and in his opinion, it looked very acceptable. Nothing had burnt unlike when he first tried to make the meal with Hank this morning, something which he was quite proud of. He didn't notice you watching him as he carefully took the pan off the stove after turning the flame off, pouring the contents on top of the first half of the meal. He was researching the ratio of seasonings that needed to be added on top as he placed the pan in the sink.

When he turned around to locate your spice rack again, you startled him. He cocked his head to the side. "How long have you been standing there?" He could feel the thirium rushing to his cheeks.

You studied him, raking your eyes from his hair to his undershirt (he had discarded his leather jacket at the door upon settling in, and now had his sleeves partially rolled up to avoid any spillage from the food). Connor did the same to you, or tried to, as when he saw your look fresh out of the shower in a tee and sweats, he nearly short circuited.

Literally, because he had to manually turn on his cooling fans.

When he was able to move again without making a fool of himself, he offered the plate to you. He set it down for you on the table before pulling out a chair for you and one for him, both next to each other. When he had sat down and got comfortable, he noticed that there were extra bags under your eyes.

No one said a word for about ten minutes. Once you were done with your meal, you cleared your throat, and Connor could see your jaw clench. You locked eyes with him.

"Why are you doing this, Connor?"

Could you not see it? He studied the wooden table as your unwavering gaze beat into him. The gusto that he had acquired seemed to have dissipated. What came from him instead was raw and unfiltered.

"Because, believe it or not Doctor, I care about you."

He saw you take a deep breath before you collected your dishes, taking them to the sink. He could hear your heater kick on. Your voice lacked its usual bite as you spoke this time.

"Well, you shouldn't."

He knew he needed to tread lightly, but there was a question that had been gnawing at him for the past half hour. "When was the last time you had company here?"

The vulnerability in your gaze sharpened at his inquiry. That small gap between your armor had been welded shut, but that didn't stop him.

"You have a really nice place, objectively speaking for today's market."

You still offered him no response, so he tried again. "Your cat seems quite lovely.”

That made you respond. “You met Boo?” Your eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “She’s usually afraid of new people.”

“She was an excellent supervisor to my work on your dinner. We’ve become friends, I think.” As if on cue, the cat in mention waltzed into the room, letting out a quick chirp before going up to Connor and rubbing against him again. He smiled down and stuck his hand out (he had researched friendly behaviors towards cats as he prepped your meal) letting her bump into his hand before affectionately giving her some head scratches. When she purred, it reverberated through his system.

He felt honored at her respect of him, so much so that he didn’t notice the small smile that graced your features at the sight. In fact, he had literally only seen you smile once, so had he known what you were doing, at that it was directed at him, well, he would’ve frayed a wire.

“She really likes you, huh.” You tilted your head inquisitively, and when Connor looked up to meet your gaze, he could see your eyelids start to droop shut.

“We have work in the morning, you should head to bed.”

Your walls went right back up at that, face going into a scowl. “You don’t think I’d be asleep if I fucking could?”

Connor started to scan your for fatigue rates, but you interrupted him. “Quit fucking scanning me, Connor. I’m not sleeping because I don’t want to., it's because i can't.” You left to walk down the hallway, one that Connor was sure lead to your room.

His chair screeched back in protest against the linoleum as he stood up, following you in tow. You disappeared into the farthest door on the left, and without a second thought he followed you in.

Something that he definitely should have thought about first.

“Get the hell out of my room.” You grumbled as he stepped foot in. He saw you sit down on the bed, back facing his frame. The clock on the opposite wall showed it was 2:17 am.

He ignored you. "Why can't you fall asleep?" He started to scan you again before your previous words echoed through his head. He stopped midway, opting instead to take a step closer to you.

"You wouldn't understand." He could not tell if that was an uncertainty you were voicing or a diss towards him, but he paid no mind either way. He could see you winding up to fight for yourself again, but a steady overhang of exhaustion dulled your bites.

"Then help me. Understand, I mean. I want to help you."

Though you were a little more dreary with your words, you didn't stop them from coming out.

"Why do you care?"

Frankly, Connor was frustrated. Why couldn't you just accept his help? He flexed his hand, something he'd seen you do once to help expel negative feelings before adopting the technique himself.

His tone was bold but gentle in response. "I'm not going to have this argument with you again. I told you--"

But you cut him off. "No, Connor, I mean, why do you care. you're always sweet to me, polite no matter what I throw at you. You don't take my shit and try again even when I'm annoyed, which is all the time, so why do you care so much?"

Connor quieted for a second before responding. It was a bittersweet response.

"Because we're both lonely."

That stunned you into silence. A note that Connor saw and ran with. Why couldn't you understand?

"When I first arrived at the station, before I was deviant, besides Hank, you were the first person to not see me as just a machine. After my deviance, you--" Connor searched for his words. You were staring at him wearily, a yawn catching your breath. "You enticed me. I knew that I wanted you in my life, and Hank told me that you needed more people in your corner. And that's what I did."

You stared at him hard and long, opting to sit on the bed. "Nightmares." You whispered. "If I manage to sleep at all, I get replays from my past that enter my thoughts while I sleep." You took a deep breath. "Some nights it seems easier to ignore them altogether.” You took a breath. “Stay awake.”

"Then I will stay here with you. If you begin to experience one, I will wake you up." He sat down next to you, a bold move that he prided himself on.

"I--"

He turned to you, locking eyes. "Let me do this, please."

Your head moved down towards your lap. You took a deep breath as you stood and moved to go under your covers.

"If it counts for anything, I don't hate you." You murmured before sighing, shifting into a laying position. "Do you sleep?"

Connor shrugged. "I enter a stasis period every now and then, but no actual sleep. It's relatively the same process, but I don't reap any of the benefits humans do, as I don't need them.”

Your eyes fluttered close for a second before you grabbed the other end of your covers, pulling them back. Your voice was hesitant, light. "Well, get in here then."

He was still preening at your compliment of not hating him--he was fairly certain that if anyone else saw or heard him right now, he'd look like an idiot. An error message appeared in the corner of his HUD, but he immediately dismissed it, because he could tell you were serious.

"...are you sure?"

He could sense the moment slipping away, so he quickly caught himself. "I just wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable." You rolled your eyes, you rolled your eyes.

Your voice was scratchy and caked with sleep. Connor devoured every second of it. "Sweetheart, I wouldn't have asked if I was. Unless you'd prefer to sit on the floor all night."

So slowly and hesitantly, Connor joined you in bed. He couldn't think too deep into this right now, because if he paused for a second to consider what was actually happening, he might have short-circuited.

He had never shared a bed with someone else before, and that was made apparent by the way he sat ninety degrees in the bed as you laid back down. Your voice floated across from the other side.

"You're not doing this because someone asked you to, right?" Your voice sounded unusual, sounded vulnerable. While the words stung a bit, Connor knew for once that this was genuine.

"All of this is on my own accord." Your name slipped from his lips as his eyes landed on your frame, the top sheet covering your shoulders with the duvet and blankets sitting a little farther down. "Like I said, you're not in this alone. I..." He watched your chest rise and fall with every breath. "--I care about you, more than I'd like to admit. I even enjoy your presence, believe it or not."

You rolled over to face him at his words. Connor melted a little at the sight. "I must be dreaming already because no one has said that to me in a long time." Connor made a note to rekindle that topic later. You mumbled the next words, so quick that he almost missed it. "It means a lot that you did this, you know." Your eyes met his then, scrunching in question. "What are you doing up there? Lay down."

He did not know how humans tended to sleep at night, so he followed your suggestion. Albeit awkwardly, he slid himself into the covers, leaning right up next to you. He could hear your heart pump. "That's better."

Once again, the words slipped from Connor before he could stop himself.

"I like this side of you, you know. I've never heard you be nice before."

A sleepy smile pulled on your face. You were on the edge of succumbing to rest. "Yeah, yeah, don’t go telling people now, I have a reputation to uphold." You nuzzled your head into your pillow. "I like you, too. Probably a little too much."

Something tugged at Connor's thoughts. "You like me?"

"Oh, sweetheart," You murmured as sleep dragged you under. "Believe it or not, I adore you."

Blue coated his nose down to his neck, and instinctively yet hesitantly he wrapped an arm around you.

He didn't even think as he took a glance at you, so close.

You were still awake, and he knew this, because something came over him then, and he kissed your forehead.

He made a vow then to care for you for the rest of his days, if this was how it was received. He closed his eyes and he began the process required before going into stasis. Just as he was shutting his eyes, he felt it.

You leaned your head fully against his chassis.

As you both were gifted rest into the night, he could tell that you had fallen asleep.

He took the opportunity to whisper back.

"Adoration isn't the right word. I think--I think I'm in love with you."

He checks your reactions constantly. And not just when his lips are your skin, but all the time.

It’s subtle, almost unfairly so. A quick glance, just casually making sure you’re okay whenever or wherever you are. He’s always reading you, and somehow managing to do it perfectly (which is more than mildly terrifying for someone who struggles to read themselves half the time).

Then, when he notices something, he fixes it. Like your shirt when it gets twisted, or your hair when it falls in your face, or the way you’re sitting on him if it looks uncomfortable. He never points it out, never makes it a thing. Just adjusts and moves on. Like taking care of you is second nature for him, as if it's something he's been doing without thinking for years.

It’s unsettling in the most disarming way possible, because it means you can't actually hide as easily as you thought you could.

And then there are these little pauses. The ones where he just...looks at you. Not in a dramatic way, not even enough to call him out on it. He doesn't say anything, doesn't do anything. So, in retrospect, it shouldn’t matter.

But holy shit, it does. It matters a lot.

Small things. Easy to miss. Unless you’re looking for them. And now, unfortunately, you are.

Why is it unfortunate?

Because the more time you spend with him, the more details reveal themselves. Details you really really like.

You’d think being best friends with him for so many years, you would’ve clocked at least some of these already. But the closer you get, the more you realize you were too caught up in your own head, too focused on yourself to really see him before.

And now that you do, there’s no unseeing him. There's no denying just how intense your feelings for Changbin have become, and how scarily fast they're starting to grow.

“You’re staring again,” he says casually from his spot next to you on the couch.

“No, I’m not,” you shoot back, a little too quick. “I was zoning out, and you just happened to be there.”

“Mhm,” he hums, clearly entertained by your weak excuse, finally turning his head to look at you.

Fuck, he's got that look in his eyes. The one that says you’ve amused him, and thus captured his entire attention.

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t ‘mhm’ me.”

“Why not?” He leans in, way too easily, like your answer won’t change anything anyway.

“Because…” your voice falters, pulse beginning to spike.

“Because…?” he echoes, softer now, his lips hovering just short of yours.

There’s no rush; there never is. Just this quiet certainty that something is about to happen. It feels so familiar by this point, and it pulls you into the moment without any effort.

And like always, you can't help but go quiet under his gaze.

Changbin’s eyes scan over your face for a mere moment before he leans in further. Again, something easy to miss if you didn’t already know what he's doing.

He’s reading you.

And maybe that’s what makes this so damn frustrating. Because that part clashes with everything else about him during moments like this.

Honestly, he’s looking at you like he’ll have you no matter what you say, no matter what you do. Like one way or another, he’s going to kiss you, and you won’t dare stop him.

But underneath all of that confidence, there’s respectful restraint.

You’ve always had an out. You still do. Even now, when the back of his fingers gently drift over your leg, and your brain short-circuits.

He’s patient. Respectful. Somehow able to make you feel like the most desirable person in the world while never making you feel guilty for stopping him halfway.

You exhale slowly, eyes fluttering closed as he closes the distance, his lips brushing yours in that annoyingly gentle way he does before he actually kisses you properly.

And sure enough -- there it is. Your bottom lip caught between his teeth before he closes the space completely, guiding you back toward the couch with steady, careful pressure.

His hand finds your lower back, warm and sure, fingers spreading over the fabric of your shirt as he eases you backward, slowly crawling his way on top of you.

Your back meets the couch, soft and quiet, and he follows, catching himself before his full weight lands on you, one arm braced beside your head, the other still at your back.

You expect a pause. There isn’t one. His lips never leave yours.

If anything, the kiss deepens. Your hands find his shirt without thinking, his shoulders something solid to hold onto as everything narrows down to the rhythm of his breathing and the slow, steady press of his mouth against yours.

You let yourself sink further into the cushions, the space between you shrinking as you tug him down by his collar, bringing him closer.

And yet still, you sense restraint.

Somewhere in the way he kisses you, in the way his hands hold you, there’s a quiet implication that it's hard for him to fully let go.

Like you could ruin him without even trying.

His weight against you is everything in this moment, as his lips trail to your neck. The change draws a quiet breath from you. Your hands slip into his hair and your body arches into his.

Even now, there’s no rush. No sudden push for more. No impatience. Just the warmth of his lips against your skin and the occasional nibble just below your ear.

With his lips still buried in your neck, both his hands find your waist. He adjusts you underneath him with easy control, guiding your hips so they align with his. Your body follows his lead as he settles between your legs, finally able to create friction with a subtle jerk of his hips, moving against you with a deep inhale.

That pulls a breathless reaction from you in form of his name, the small moan leaving your lips before you can stop it.

He stays there, every movement slow and controlled, letting the moment stretch on instead of rushing past it. A small rut of his hips, a firm squeeze of your waist, a gentle groan into your neck.

For the past month, this has been the line. Where your thoughts start to race faster than you can keep up, and suddenly you’re hyper-aware of everything. Every place he touches, every shift of pressure, every curve and fold of your body beneath him -- until the awareness turns overwhelming, and you can’t stop thinking about how big you must feel under his hands.

Usually you just press against his chest, pull away or push him off, laugh or ask him to stop.

And he always listens. Changbin has never once insisted on going further than you felt comfortable. Never once made you feel like you owed him anything for the way he touches you. Actually, he’s the opposite. He's frustratingly patient.

That should make this easier, right? That should be enough to quiet the doubt in your heart and anxiety in your head.

But it isn't.

Something quiet and mean formed in your mind years ago, and it never really left. The kind of thought that doesn’t feel like a thought anymore, but rather self-hate you learned as fact and never questioned.

Your body isn’t the kind people want. You're not sexy. You never were and you never will be. He's not enjoying this. He's tolerating your figure because he has to. He would prefer someone else, someone...smaller.

Even with Changbin borderline worshipping your curves every chance he gets, believing someone actually craves you doesn't come easily.

But you desperately want to believe Changbin wants you and to show him how badly you want him too. If anything, you don't want whatever this is that you have with him to fizzle out just because you're self-conscious about letting him fuck you.

So, you won't stop him this time. Even though he'll probably cringe at seeing you naked and you'll probably be permanently traumatized, it's better to be judged and laughed at than end up alone, watching him walk away.

Changbin stills. Then he lifts his head from your neck and gently smiles down at you.

For a second, you think he’s just pausing to look at you because he does that sometimes, although you still aren't sure exactly why.

But then his hands slip away, he leans down and kisses your nose and then your cheek.

When you blink, he’s already pulling away, sitting up, and offering you a hand to help you do the same.

Your stomach drops as he guides you upright with an easy, careful lift. “I didn’t say stop.”

“I know, but that’s usually where you ask to stop, so..."

The words hit harder than they should.

Usually.

Of course, he’s been paying attention. Tracking your boundaries even when you don’t say them out loud. Memorizing the exact point where your breathing changes, where your hands get tense, where you start to get stiff.

“I don’t want to push you into something you’re not ready for," he says, gently tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“But aren't you at least a little disappointed?"

He frowns, confused. “Why would I be?”

“I mean…I’m not exactly delivering on the whole friends-with-benefits thing.”

Little by little, the confusion folded in his brow smooths out. His gaze lingers on you a fraction longer before he looks away, the softness in his expression pulling back and replaced with something more guarded and more distant.

“Oh.”

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“For what exactly?”

“Making this awkward.” You let out a quiet chuckle. “I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve never…done this before, if you couldn't tell.”

The silence that follows isn’t long, but it's heavy.

"Me neither."

You've made him upset. He's upset at you.

“But,” you add quickly, filling the space before it stretches too far, “I'm ready to take things to the next level now. I won't make you wait any longer, I promise."

“Yeah,” he says immediately, running a hand through his hair and over his jawline. “I get it. I mean, it's fine. I don't mind waiting."

But it doesn’t feel fine. And it definitely doesn’t sound fine.

"Changbin, I'm sorry if I frustrated you by always making us stop in the middle. I was just, you know, nervous. But I'm okay now."

You take his hand and place it on your upper thigh, but the moment you see his thumb on a stretch mark, a flicker of self-consciousness runs through you, even as you try to hold his gaze and pretend it doesn’t matter.

He sighs, "I'm glad you're not nervous anymore." He pulls his hand away. "But I'm not feeling it today."

Then he stands, gathering himself with his hands in his pockets.

"Actually a bit tired. I think I’ll head out early."

And then he leaves.

Not abruptly. Not coldly. He still presses a kiss to your forehead and reminds you to text him when you go to bed, still smiles before closing the door.

But something’s different.

And it stays different.

For weeks.

::

It’s not like Changbin to avoid you. And technically, he isn't.

He shows up every few days, jokes around before dropping onto the couch, eats your food, watches your TV, listens to your day. So, on the surface, everything seems okay.

But it’s not.

He hasn’t once tried to kiss you since that night, let alone make out with you. Every time you try to start anything, he shuts it down before you can even kiss his cheek.

It’s never obvious. Never enough to call him out without sounding ridiculous. He’ll laugh it off, redirect, brush your hand away like he just wasn’t paying attention, act like it doesn’t matter.

But it does. It really does. Because he used to meet you halfway – no, more than halfway.

And now…he just doesn’t.

He’s still kind. Still Changbin in all the ways that made you like him in the first place. He sits next to you, walks with you, talks like nothing’s changed.

But something definitely has.

It's as if he’s overthinking every inch of space between you instead of just existing in it. His eyes don’t linger on you the way they used to, although he's still reading you every chance he gets. But it feels…different now.

The way he looks at you is different.

It was subtle enough that you doubted yourself at first, but once you noticed it, you couldn't deny it. Something changed. But he never told you what it was!

And now it's messing with your head in bigger and bigger ways. Replaying conversations. Overthinking pauses. Inserting meaning into silences that used to feel safe.

Something is going down between you two, and you keep waiting for him to bring it up, but Changbin isn't addressing it directly like he usually does.

Not that you’ve tried to address it either, but that's his job! You're the chaotic, insecure, avoidant one, and he's the calm, responsible, communicative one!

Your lips press together as the realization settles uncomfortably in your chest. This isn’t just him being busy, or distracted, or giving you space.

He's…pulling away. But can you really be surprised? This wouldn't be the first time someone's gotten tired of you, after all.

Damn it, of course, he’s tired of trying. It's all because of you!

How many times did he lean in, touch you like you were something worth wanting, only for you to hesitate? To cut him off? To make him second-guess?

You drag a hand over your face, pacing your room like that’s going to chase the thought out of your head. Obviously, you're never going to be that girl, anyway. A guy like him? Wanting you like that? Wanting you at all?

That was already pushing it.

And yet somehow, you still managed to fuck it up.

You had something with him, something at least semi-real. Perhaps the realest thing a girl like you will ever get the chance at having. And you let it slip through your fingers before you even let yourself fully have it.

And even worse…you might’ve ruined the best friendship you’ve ever had, too.

You swallow hard, pacing slowing to a stop.

It can’t stay like this. One of you has to confront things. If he won't, then you will. The only other option is to keep guessing and spiraling and filling in blanks with the worst possible explanations and then crashing out.

But for once, you don’t want to be passive about it. You don’t want to wait for him to fix it, or pretend it’ll go back to normal if you ignore it long enough.

You have to be the one to say something. Even if it’s awkward. Even if you say it wrong. Even if it makes your chest feel like it’s about to cave in and all your coping mechanisms malfunction.

You exhale slowly, steadying yourself.

No jokes this time. No deflecting. No pretending this is anything less than what it is. The conversation you should’ve had weeks ago needs to happen today.

Your fingers hover over your phone for a second before you finally type out a text, simple and to the point:

[y/n] can we talk? actually talk?

You stare at it for a second, heart pounding like you're being chased by a madman. And then you hit send.

[binnie] Sure. When?

[y/n] tonight. my place? ill order pizza

[binnie] 👍

::

When he knocks, you don’t hesitate. You open the door with a small, sweet smile, doing your best to act like the bath robe you're wearing isn’t suspicious – it’s completely normal to answer the door like this at 10:58pm on a weeknight.

Changbin gives you a flat smile in return. It’s more than you expected, if you’re being honest.

“Come on in,” you say, stepping aside to let him pass.

The moment feels way too formal. You’re both used to Changbin just letting himself in because your space has also become his at this point. But now there’s a pause and a politeness that wasn’t there before. It makes your skin itch.

He toes off his shoes and follows you to the living room, to the place where you usually hang out and to the couch where you usually…well, where you used to spend most of your time together.

Watching him drop into that spot on the couch feels almost surreal after weeks of it being mostly empty. There’s something strangely comforting about seeing him settled into your space again, like nothing’s changed. Especially there. That exact spot.

The one that started all of this.

You didn’t tell him to sit there, and maybe it’s better that way.

You lower yourself beside him, leaving a small gap between your knees, your hands already fidgeting with the tie of your robe because if they don't do something, you might go insane.

“So,” he says, looking over at you with little expectation, “what’d you want to talk about?”

You’re not surprised he isn’t expecting much from this conversation. Not like you’ve ever been the confrontational type. And you haven't exactly given him a reason to think you’d suddenly sit him down and say what actually needs to be said. But you’re trying to be better. At least, for him.

“I’ll just get straight to the point if that's okay, umm,” you clear your throat. “Recently, I feel like you’ve been pulling away.”

Oh shit, you didn't know the shift in his face would be so immediate. Something flickers in his eyes. Was that guilt? Maybe he's just a little caught off guard. He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you, waiting to see where you’re going with this.

So you keep going.

“And I know why.”

“You do?” he swallows.

You nod. “Yeah. And…I want you to know that, I'm ready.”

There’s a pause. “Ready for what?” he repeats slower, trying to understand what you mean.

Instead of explaining with words – because you've used enough of them already – you stand in front of him and let the robe slip from your shoulders and fall quietly to the floor.

The moment remains suspended for several seconds as he takes in your body wrapped up in familiar black lace, black buckles around your thighs, and a black mini skirt resting just above your ass.

And all of a sudden, he's taken right back to that first night.

To the first time you danced for him. The first time he felt himself get addicted to your weight on his lap. His heart starts racing automatically in anticipation, and his skin starts reacting as if you're already on top of him. Even his scalp starts tingling like your fingers are already threaded throughout his hair, gently pulling it to tilt his chin and capture his lips. Oh god, his lips are dry. He runs his tongue over them once, twice, hoping it doesn't make him seem like he's drooling (but it wouldn't be a lie).

Fuck, you're beautiful. But it’s not just that you look good. It’s not the way you’re dressed, or how much skin you're showing, or how sexy you are when you get dolled up for him.

It’s you. All of you.

The way you’re standing there, a little tense, a little eager, hands fidgeting with the strap of your bra like you’re trying to hold yourself together. The way your eyes don’t quite stay on his and the tips of your ears get warm under his gaze.

You look so nervous. You look so real. You look so fucking pretty.

His gaze lingers longer than it should, considering your relationship is unclear and you don't belong to him in any sense. But you're here right now, allowing him to see you like this, and his eyes begin softening without him realizing it. He’s taking you in, piece by piece, not to judge, not to compare…just to see you.

And all he can think is how unfair it is that you don’t seem to understand what he’s seeing.

How can you stand there, right in front of him, and not realize that there’s nothing for him to pick apart? There's nothing to fix. Nothing to hesitate over. Nothing to hate. Nothing to laugh at.

All he can do is gawk and stare at you. Just you. Perfect, beautiful you.

You want to shrink under his gaze and run away, because it feels like it’s been minutes of you just standing here, practically naked, while he sits there unblinking, jaw open, eyelids fluttering, and wrists limp.

But you're not going to run away this time. If you back out now, you really will lose him forever. You have to see this through to the end, all the way…even if it's scary.

You step closer before you can overthink it, closing the space and settling into his lap. Maybe if you recreate the moment when everything felt right, it’ll fix everything that went wrong.

“I won’t pull away this time,” you whisper softly. “I won’t stop you. Do whatever you want to me. Just please don't leave.”

Your lips meet his, and for a second he just lets it happen.

Whatever restraint he’d been holding onto slips loose, and he seems to melt underneath you. His shoulders drop while his body becomes completely unguarded, following your every lead without hesitation. His eyes roll back in his head, and his hands firmly latch onto your ass, kneading and pulling you further onto his lap.

But just as your hips roll against him, his breath hitches and his body flinches, like he's been startled out of a daydream.

“Wait, wait,” he suddenly mutters into the kiss, pulling back just enough to break the momentum, hands easing you back with a careful touch. “What’s happening right now?”

Your confidence – which wasn't much to begin with – immediately falters. “I told you, I'm ready to let you go all the way.”

“Why are you suddenly offering to do that?”

“I don't want to upset you anymore,” you reply slowly, eyes falling, words much quieter than you mean them to be.

“So, let me get this straight. I got upset, and your first reaction is to let me fuck you?”

“Well…yeah?”

You're not sure exactly what reaction you were anticipating, but a fond chuckle was definitely not it. And in some weird way, it makes you think he understands you more than you understand yourself right now.

Changbin laces his fingers behind your ass so you can sit against them comfortably, adjusting you in his lap and looking up at you with gentle – dare you say – loving eyes.

When you’re settled, he tips his head back slightly, his usual, gentle smile that you've missed so terribly finally appearing in all its boyish glory.

“Do you think I was upset because you always stopped us before we had sex?”

You shrug. “What else would it be?”

“Actually, I was upset because you think we have a friends with benefits relationship,” he explains kindly.

“Isn't that what this is?”

“I guess for some people, it could be. But that's never how I saw us. And I never wanted that.”

“You never wanted me?”

“No, that's not what I meant! I want you, believe me. Like, holy fuck, I want you. But I thought we were dating,” he admits bashfully. “So, when you said we were just friends with benefits, it kind of broke my heart a little bit.”

“Oh…oh!”

It lands all at once, and you freeze, suddenly hyper-aware of everything at once: the way you’re sitting in his lap, his hands on your ass, what you’re wearing, what you were just trying to do.

Any left over confidence drains from your face so fast, immediately turning into visible embarrassment. You let out a nervous laugh, gesturing vaguely down at yourself and how absurd this all looks.

“So this was probably not the right idea, huh?” you say, half joking, half cringing.

“I mean, I'm not mad about it,” Changbin smirks playfully, exaggerating a lip bite just to make you giggle for real. “But I also don't want you to do it because you think sex will fix me being upset about something.”

“Sorry.”

“And to be clear – look at me,” he gently cups your cheeks, holding your eyes intentionally focused on his, “I'm not upset at you. I'm just…disappointed that we misunderstood each other this whole time.”

“Yeah, well that one was on me,” you say with a sigh, relaxing into his arms and dropping a little closer to his chest.

“No, I should have done a better job at treating you like my girlfriend instead of my friend I make out with.”

“You do treat me like a girlfriend,” you insist, mindlessly fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, just above the waistband of his sweats. “I'm just not used to being one.”

That makes him pause. Not in a bad way, just in a thoughtful way. Leave it to Changbin to actually take you seriously instead of letting your casual comment pass.

His expression softens, and he tilts his head cutely as if something has just clicked into place.

“Okay,” he says slowly, wrapping his arms around you again, tighter this time. “Then what are some things I can do to make sure you feel like my girlfriend?”

It’s an honest question. Just one you weren't necessarily prepared for. He already knows you way better than you know him, so to see him trying to understand you better than he already does makes your heart swell.

Without even thinking about it, your body leans into him, less guarded, more natural. Your hands find his skin absentmindedly, fingers brushing the back of his neck, then playing with his hair as if the very action soothes your nerves. Everything slows, your heartbeat, your thoughts, his eyelids when he blinks up at you.

“Could I come over to your place more often?”

“Of course, baby,” he says easily. “You can come over whenever you want even if I’m not there. Do you want a key?”

“Oh, well, maybe I don’t need quite that much right now,” you answer shyly, the offer sending goosebumps across your skin.

“Got it. I’ll get you a toothbrush and some hair ties for the bathroom. How does that sound?”

You beam. “That’s perfect.”

You're not sure who leans in first this time. Perhaps it doesn't really matter when his lips land on yours, somehow sweeter and softer than they've ever felt.

It starts small, just a quick peck. Then another. And another. Neither of you ready to stop, but smiling too much to take it seriously.

His lips brush yours again, lingering this time, and the moment naturally deepens into something slower and warmer. His smiles are still there, pressed between each kiss, undeniable.

You feel it then.

The way he pulls you closer, arms wrapping around your back, not letting any space exist between you if he can help it. His hold tightens until all of you is pressed against him.

And for once, your thoughts don’t spiral.

You don’t think about how your body must feel squished in his arms. Or how long you’ve been sitting in his lap. Or whether you should get up and give his legs a break.

None of it.

All you can focus on is the way he laughs softly against your mouth, a quiet, breathy giggle slipping into the kiss when you nuzzle his nose. The way his arms hold you close as if they'll never let you go.

And for the first time, a part of you feels beautiful and wanted simply because you are.

::

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