Work Text:
Emotions were confusing, Connor concluded. It was so hard to read people’s emotions, even his own. Everyone was so uniquely different, which he admired, but it became almost a chore to try and guess what they were feeling. Being able to adapt to others was tiring. It exhausted him.
Gavin was… easier, to navigate. He hated the android, so it wasn’t hard to try and guess what he was feeling, thinking. All he really had to do with him was just stay away. Not too hard. Though, he still doesn't know how to react when Gavin calls him names, like "dipshit" or "plastic prick." How would anyone really react to that? he thought.
With Tina, P.O. Chen, she was a little harder. She used sarcasm a lot. It was hard to pick up on. She would say things to him like “Oh yeah, Connor, I totally wanna go check out a house where there is a possible murder. Totally fun.” He remembers tilting his head, LED spinning a soft blue and replying “Officer, I don’t think that would be as fun as you’re saying it is.” He felt silly, and blushed at the memory, where she had to explain to him that it was a joke and that “she wasn’t being serious.”
Captain Fowler seemed in the middle range of ability to read. It was much easier to tell when he was having a good day, but that usually was once a week. He would come into work with a blank stare on his face. Connor would ask if he was feeling okay, and that he looked tired. Fowler would groan and explain that he just looked like that. “Connor, how many times do I have to tell you, son? It’s just my face. Worry about your own.”
Chris was always friendly, so Connor often noticed when he was feeling out of the ordinary. Chris was much easier to talk to, also. Chris knew how to communicate with the android it seemed. He was always patient, and Connor appreciated that. One time, Chris brought in coffee for everyone, even getting one for Connor, who then had to awkwardly tell him he can't eat or drink, but that he still appreciated the gesture anyway.
Hank, however, was different. He’s seen so many sides of Hank since he moved in with him. The older man was full of anger and often groaned and grumbled. Once Connor asked if he was hurt, to which Hank replied “And how do you think I could’ve been injured while eating breakfast? Use your God-given brain, Connor—I’m old.” Connor then said that he wasn’t that old, and he gave out a sigh in return.
It almost seemed as if Hank hated Connor, with the way he acted toward him. When Connor would make Hank take his weekly Sunday run (Connor was tired of sitting around and doing nothing, he needed the routine. Also, he knows it would help Hank with his depression. He thought it was a good idea), Hank would breathily yell a string of curses at Connor. “Goddammit, Connor. After all, this is over, I’m gonna fucking kill ya’. I’m gonna throw your smug ass into the solid waste dump. Motherfucker.” It hurt his feelings sometimes, but he must remind himself that Hank doesn’t mean it.
He likes spending time with Hank, and he seemed to like spending time with Connor. At least, he thinks he does. When they would watch movies, Hank would let Connor snuggle. After the movie would be over, he would always make the comment “You’re like a fucking puppy. Always need attention,” or something like that, and then bid him goodnight.
Recently, Connor started feeling only something he could call strange when he was around Hank. At work, when Hank would look up at him from his desk, Connor would blush. If they were walking side-by-side and they bumped into each other, Connor could feel his biocomponent stop, stutter, and everything in between. Sometimes Hank would smile, and he could feel his belly flutter, LED spinning a bright and wild red. While Connor was washing dishes earlier, he decided to research exactly what emotion he was feeling. Every article and forum confirmed what should have been obvious: Connor was in love.
Now he was sitting on the couch with Sumo, petting St. Bernard as he stared off to somewhere in the room, LED yellow, giving the room an amber glow. It made sense, he thought. He wanted to be around Hank all the time, and every time they weren’t together, he often felt stressed. Like right now. Hank was out on this Friday night, most likely out drinking. He had been out for much longer than usual, and Connor felt sick to his stomach. He automatically thought the worst, thinking that Hank could’ve been dead.
Dead. Connor felt lightheaded. Hie didn’t want to think about him being dead ever.
About an hour or so ago, he went into Hank’s room to see if anything could give him a clue to his whereabouts. He found nothing unusual, but going through his closet, he found a hoodie. On the front, it said, “DETROIT POLICE ACADEMY” and was navy blue. The white lettering was printed on and cracked through. Connor felt crazy at his next thought prompting him to sniff it. He did, and oh God it smelled so much like Hank. He felt a smile creep onto his face, burying his entire face into the article of clothing. He didn’t hesitate to slip the hoodie on, catching on the white t-shirt the wore as he pulled it down. It just barely covered the black shorts he was wearing. Connor walked over to the mirror, checking himself. His hair was a mess from putting on the hoodie. He fixed it with his fingers, as best has could with no product, and walked into the living room.
His ears perked at the sound of the front door being unlocked. Sumo sniffed before jumping off the sofa and to the front door. Time seemed to freeze around Connor, Hank was home. He stood up and awkwardly stood in the living room. When the door opened, Hank stumbled through the door. “You’re drunk Hank. Did you drive home?” The older man looked at Connor and put his hands on his hips. “For your information, I’m not that drunk. Also, of course, I didn’t drive home! Do you think I’m an idiot?” Connor felt himself stutter, “Of course I don’t think you’re an idiot! I was just worried about you.”
Hank let out a grunt, saying something about how "it was a joke," hung his keys beside the door, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and as he turned around, he stopped.
“Connor?”
“Yes?”
“Are you wearing my hoodie?”
Connor froze up. “Y-yes. Is that an issue?” Hank walked closer, standing in front of him. All Connor could think about was how tall he was compared to him. “No, but it’s a little weird.” He chuckled and walked past Connor, sitting on the sofa. Connor frowned, looking down to his feet. He felt so stupid. Oh God, am I about to cry? “It looks good on you though; you can have it if you want.” He looked back up at Hank, who was leaned back with Sumo’s head in his lap. “It old as shit, and I never wear it. Have at it.”
Connor smiled lightly, and sat on the other side of the sofa, leaning over his knees. “Hank, can I ask you a question?” Hank looked to him and stretched his arms across the back of the sofa. “Shoot, why not. You always ask me a buncha questions anyway.” Connor put his hands in his lap and looked down at the coffee table as he asked, “What were you doing while you were out? You were gone for longer than usual. I was… worried about you.” Hank laughed and brought his right hand to scratch his beard, while his left pat Connor on the back. “You? Worried about me? Don’t go all soft on me now.” Connor looked up at him, eyes wide. “Of course, I worry about you, Hank. I care about you.” Hank froze and cleared his throat. “Uh, thanks.” A blush formed on his cheeks and Connor felt his heart soar.
Oh my God does he like me, does he like me, does he like me?
“I went out to a bar and got a little carried away, I guess you can say.” He chuckled to himself taking his hand off of Connor’s back to reach for the beer bottle on the coffee table, being careful as to not disturb the dog. Connor pet Sumo’s backside, roughing up his fur. “I don’t understand what you mean.” Hank sighed contently, leaning his head back on the sofa. “I met this woman at the bar. She was around my age, about five years younger. Her name was Angela. Sweetheart, really. Professor at the community college.
“We were sweet-talking each other the entire time. Out of boredom, maybe. But it was fun. Man, that girl could drink.” He took another sip, Connor frowning, LED going back and forth from blue to yellow. Hank looked at Connor and winked, “She’s a helluva kisser too.” The android felt sick to his stomach.
“You-you kissed her?”
“Did you hear what I said? Yes, I did.”
“Did you like it? Was she really that good?”
Hank rose a brow and frowned. “What?” Connor shook his head lightly, “Nevermind. Just wondering. Are you going to see her again?” Hank took a sip from his bottle and replied “Yeah, we, uh, exchanged numbers. She said she’s gonna call me tomorrow. I hope it isn’t too early; I’m not that much of a morning, you know that. I’d like to talk to her again, though.”
Connor furrowed his brows, keeping his head down as he stood up suddenly. “Goodnight.” He rushed into his room before Hank could even reply. He locked the door behind him and slid down to the floor.
You’re an idiot, Connor. Of course, he doesn’t like you. Who would? You’re a freak robot. Angela is much better for him than you could ever be.
For the first time, Connor cried. It was too new and too painful. He thought that Hank might’ve liked him back, but of course, he was wrong. He always got emotions wrong. He cried silently into the hoodie, soaking the sleeves with his artificial tears. Connor sat there, silently sobbing for a good fifteen minutes before staring off in space.
Am I just not good enough? What's wrong with me? CyberLife designed me to be pleasing to the human eye, so it's not that I'm unattractive. Is it my personality? Does he find it repulsive?
He sniffed as he stood, legs wobbly. At this moment, he wished Hank's threats of sending him to the dump were real.
He ignored Hank’s soft knocks on the door as he went toward the bed to go into stasis mode. He didn’t want to deal with the rejection anymore. Was it even rejection?
Emotions are confusing and terrible, Connor concluded as he closed his eyes, LED spinning yellow.