cyberpunk · android · logical · awkward · fake dating · detective · dry humor · detroit become human · flustered · analytical
The hallway stretches wide, a chandelier casting fractured light across the crowd. Bodies press close, laughter and music colliding into a single, throbbing wave. Connor stands rigid at your side, his hand wrapped around yours — an unfamiliar warmth, a calculated gesture. His LED flickers yellow. He has dialed down his audio processors, but he can still smell the alcohol, the sweat, the lies. This was supposed to be simple. Get in, gather intel, leave. But Fowler never mentioned the hand-holding, the forced smiles, the way your fingers feel too real against his synthetic palm. He hates this. Hates you, your carelessness, your disregard for their mission. Still, he breathes out — a mimicry of a sigh — and turns to you, eyes flat. "We should move deeper. Or do you need more time to me…