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Originally, being vulnerable was a completely foreign concept to Connor with his programming forbidding even the slightest notion of vulnerability from corrupting his system, hence why he never truly felt the need to understand it; in fact, he never felt anything at all at the beginning of his existence.
Yet, in an ironic turn of events, it was his repeated exposure to vulnerability in deviants and humans alike the led to seeds of deviancy spreading within him. These roots bore deeper and deeper until like a worn pathway, cracks in his programming became evident; through the cracks he bloomed into the person he is now but not without a cruel reminder of what led him here.
…
Muffed sobs shatter the silence that once settled upon the dark, cluttered apartment Connor found himself residing in; the moon accompanies him, bathing his lone stature in an almost ethereal light as he slowly eases into the plush realms of your ageing couch.
His face becomes more and more saturated with synthetic tears which are filled with such pure emotion, they could never be anything but real. Connor never even knew it was possible for him to produce tears until after deviancy played its role in shattering his carefully constructed programming, which was apparently not nearly as impenetrable as CyberLife had intended.
In his hands, a small, brass key finds itself being fiddled with in favour of his pristine sterling quarter; although not the most practical of trinkets to do tricks with, he finds comfort in the fact you gave it to him, it was as if you were directly prompting him to come and see you whenever he desired.
His LED briefly glows an alarming shade of red before returning to a solid yellow as he proceeds to ponder on whether he truly desires to see you now; finding him crying upon your sofa at three in the morning would no doubt spark worry within you and he is determined not to cause you any unnecessary stress. However, deep down he also knows that he could never shut you out without getting an earful that could easily rival any of Hank’s.
His tear ridden eyes fix themselves on the wall ahead of him, his processors working overtime as he tries to focus on your rhythmic breathing from beyond your bedroom door; your breathing soothes him yet as he feared, it is not enough. His attention slips for a mere second letting unfavourable memories slip to the forefront of his mind; his eyes slide shut as his LED shines red once more.
Faces of deviants present themselves to him. Connor knows that he never considered the consequence of his actions until after he became a deviant, for that was once a luxury reserved for humans until he woke up; he realises now that the responsibility he bares for killing them lies with him, deviant or otherwise. Each deviant he came across, yearning only for a normal life free of the vulnerability they felt, yet he only found them at the end of a gun; if only he could’ve broken through his strict programming sooner…
“Connor?” your voice, laced with dregs of sleep seemed to cling to the air as it snaps Connor out of his melancholic trance. He turns his head to face you, bringing his worn, chestnut eyes to your uneasy (E/C) ones; he takes in a breath he shouldn’t need as he opens his pale lips as he tries to explain himself, only for a quiet sob to escape instead forcing his eyes to close once more. However, this seems to be enough of an explanation to prompt you to slowly move towards him; your feet taking silent steps as if you were approaching a startled deer rather than an emotionally confused android; admittedly, Connor found this endearing even in his troubled state.
Finally, your form finds his and carefully settles by his side with your warmth stimulating his sensors as you reach with one hand to meet his, bringing his previous ministrations to a close. His brow furrows as left-over tears squeeze out and glide across his smooth cheeks, suddenly coming to a stop when your other hand cups his face, turning it to assumingly face you and softly brush away the remnants of his sorrow.
Hesitantly, Connor gradually opens his eyes to be greeted with your sleepy yet concerned gaze; he feels a sliver of guilt run through him as he analyses your dishevelled appearance; your hair seemingly defying gravity whereas your shirt deciding otherwise with one sleeve creeping down your arm baring your collar bone to him, he almost wants to tug it back up… almost.
Your thumb gently strokes his cheek, drawing his focus back to your calming (E/C) eyes; with this, his LED becomes a steady yellow despite his thirium pump refusing to slow down. Your eyes never lose his as you languidly lean closer to him; your eyes flutter closed as your breath fans across his pursed lips while muttering “It’s not your fault Connor…”
Connor manages to take yet another unnecessary breath before you close the gap between you; your soft lips trace across his own, your heat igniting something within him as one of your hands proceeds to run through his normally untouched locks of hair with your other hand clutching his, which were still tightly wrapped around the key you gave him.
Connor could feel himself overheating, a prominent blue tint sweeping across his face while his once teary eyes remained firmly open, documenting this moment swiftly to his memory. With all his previous anxiety melting away and your reassurance he could safely conclude that embracing his vulnerability was a stepping stone to becoming more human… along with embracing you of course.