Archive of Our Own ^beta

Connor stares.

Surely, Sunshine Bouquets didn’t look like this the last time Connor walked past it. Quickly pulling up a snapshot from ten days, two hours, and twelve minutes ago on his HUD confirms this: the flower shop looked just as unassuming as ever. A faded awning over the entrance, once green, now an unidentifiable mossy color; large windows in desperate need of cleaning. Colorful flowers displayed in various states of wilt.

Connor has never truly paid attention to Sunshine Bouquets; it’s not like he ever wanted to buy flowers (so far, at least). It was just a small, uninteresting part of Detroit.

But now… Sunshine Bouquets looks completely different.

The shop is decked in blooming flowers, mostly ranging from white to red (from pearl to wine, to be exact), decorated with various heart-shaped accessories: cards, plush hearts, even chocolates. Baskets full of flowers, teddy bears holding hearts, heart-shaped balloons.

It’s a lot, and it takes Connor’s processing 2.4 seconds to categorize every single detail about the flower shop’s renewed, shocking look.

“Fuckin’ Valentine’s Day.” Connor’s audio processor picks up Hank grumbling next to him. “What a stupid holiday.”

Connor frowns and quickly looks up the meaning of the day.

Valentine’s Day is an annually celebrated holiday, held on the fourteenth of February. Most likely, it originates from a Roman festival of fertility, although it later got its name from a Christian martyr or saint, named Valentine. (This part seems a little murky as human traditions usually do.)

Nowadays, Valentine’s Day is a popular celebration of love and romance. People buy each other gifts or send each other cards to express their affection.

Interesting.

Connor has to admit, he severely lacks knowledge in the topic of romantic love. The only references he has are the things he witnessed Markus, North, Josh, and Simon do when they’re affectionate with each other (although Connor had always felt like he was somehow intruding when that happened and left the scene shortly), and the questionable, romantic storylines in Hank’s old-school movies. But… it doesn’t mean he’s never felt something akin to it.

Or at least his processing marked it with a ninety-four percent probability, which, considering Connor still doesn’t know what he feels more than half of the time, is a pretty solid likelihood.

He shoots a glance at Hank. “Valentine’s Day is a popular holiday, celebrating romance,” Connor regurgitates. “Do you have a problem with it?”

Hank makes a face that Connor categorizes between disgusted and annoyed. “Well, just look at that!” He points an accusatory finger to the over-decorated Sunshine Bouquets. “People just buy useless shit for each other and go all lovey-dovey for one day! And shops like this just wanna force you to buy stuff to exploit all the stupid people! Hell, I’m sure this day was invented by florists and chocolate manufacturers–“

“Actually, it dates back to–“

“Not the point!”

Connor tilts his head, pondering Hank’s words. “So you don’t like Valentine’s Day because of consumerism?”

Hank lets out a long-suffering sigh. “It’s not just that! Ugh. It’s like a pretend holiday. So cringe!”

“Cringe.”

“Yes!”

Connor tilts his head to the other side, trying to understand Hank’s point. It’s difficult a lot of times; humans rarely say what they mean, which can be confusing or misleading, and Hank is no exception. “Do you think all romantic gestures are ‘cringe’, or just the ones related to Valentine’s Day?”

“Agh, Connor, just fuckin’ drop it!” Hank waves dismissively and turns away. “It’s just a stupid holiday for stupid people, end of the story.”

Before he follows Hank, Connor takes a last glance at Sunshine Bouquets. A young man is currently browsing the flower baskets, looking at them with a soft expression. Connor assumes he’s thinking about his loved one.

Connor’s thought process also cycles back to his… Hank.

Hank’s disgust about Valentine’s Day might explain a thing or two. Connor is aware that Hank has been in romantic relationships before; most notably, he was married once. But in the three months Connor has spent in Hank’s company, Hank hasn’t shown any romantic interest towards anyone.

Is Hank not interested in romance in general?

That might explain why Connor failed to spark anything in Hank, despite the constant, subtle signs he sends Hank. Lingering touches, fluttering lashes, dressing in clothes that Connor knows accentuate his physique. The only things he received in exchange were confusing looks and a slight pink tint in Hank’s cheeks on occasion.

But how could Hank not be a romantic? When he listens to slow jazz songs about love? When he spent the whole Christmas holiday cozied up in front of the television with Connor, watching Hallmark movies?

Maybe Hank is just stubborn, as always. He has self-esteem issues; Connor is acutely aware of that. Maybe Hank just needs a little (or not-so-little) push.

Hank might be stubborn, but Connor can match it easily. If Hank doesn’t get the subtle signs, Connor can come in with guns blazing. He can confess his feelings to Hank in a way that cannot be misinterpreted or dismissed. And what opportunity would be better to execute this than Valentine’s Day, the holiday of romance?

Connor nods to himself, determined. He has a mission now, and he always accomplishes his mission.

Valentine’s Day is in two days, so Connor should have adequate time to come up with the perfect plan for his operation. Still, it’s better to start working on it sooner rather than later.

It’s 10:42 p.m. when Hank bids him good night, ruffling Connor’s hair affectionately. Connor leans into the touch like a scratch-starved Sumo until Hank removes his hand and retires to his bedroom.

Leaving Connor on the sofa in their living room. In their home.

Connor thinks the word ‘home’ fits Hank’s house perfectly. He’s been living here for more than three months; he has the layout of the building mapped precisely in his positronic brain, and the place feels the most comfortable for him. Despite Connor having the opportunity to move to the new Jericho headquarters, he decided to stay here, where his favorite people are (Hank and Sumo).

Being near Hank is sometimes a blessing and a torture at the same time. Connor loves being around Hank, registering Hank’s body heat, his heartbeat with his sensors. Connor loves watching Hank, his unmistakably human gestures, his expressive, handsome face, his kind, ocean blue eyes. Connor loves learning new things about Hank, loves hearing stories from his life. Connor loves imagining what it would be like to touch Hank in a way that would step over the threshold of their friendship.

Connor loves Hank, period.

He only needs Hank to realize it.

And that brings Connor back to the planning.

• Operation name: Valentine’s Special

• Operation goal: Confess romantic feelings to Hank Anderson

• Operation timeframe: approximately 40 hours.

• Operation budget: 50 dollars.

This is the money Hank gave Connor to ‘buy whatever shit you wanna’. At first, Connor didn’t want to accept it: after all, he already had everything that was necessary for him, but Hank insisted. Now, Connor is content that he took the money and has the opportunity to use it for something special. The Valentine’s Special.

• Operation details: …

Now, this is the tough part. What would Hank like to get for Valentine’s Day?

Hank likes and prefers physical things. Paper books instead of e-books, vinyls, DVDs. Due to his age or just as a personal preference, Connor hasn’t figured it out yet. So Connor’s computing gives him a high likelihood of Hank enjoying getting a physical gift. Maybe even something handmade.

Searching for ‘best handmade Valentine’s Day gifts’ doesn’t particularly help Connor. It just reveals gift cards bordering on tacky, accessories that Connor doesn’t think Hank would ever want to wear, and sewing projects that would definitely exceed the operation timeframe.

And heart-shaped cookies.

Connor perks up. He could bake something for Hank!

The lemon shortbread cookie recipe seems pretty easy, and Connor is confident that he could execute it well. Or at least better than his previous endeavor in the kitchen, which ended with a pan of burnt eggs and vegetables and an irritated Hank. But Connor’s programming is specialized in adapting and learning from his mistakes.

That’s one thing, but some cookies won’t be enough to get the message through. Connor could still buy some flowers and a card. Chocolate is out of the question because of Sumo; knowing the dog, he would want a taste of the gift and Connor cannot risk getting him sick.

Now that Connor is pleased with the basic operation plan, he can spend some time preconstructing the anticipated positive outcome.

Hank might need some extra reassurance that yes, Connor is serious and yes, he indeed has romantic feelings for Hank. Connor is prepared for that. But once Hank realizes that Connor is not just joking or ‘got swept up in the Valentine’s Day craze’, he would accept Connor’s confession. Of course, he would also admit his feelings for Connor in that sweet, deep voice of his that makes something go haywire in Connor’s circuits. Because why wouldn’t he? Connor registers those looks, he knows that Hank is attracted to him. Connor just needs to give him that push.

So Hank would admit his feelings and Connor would finally be able to touch him. He would cup Hank’s face, feel the coarse hairs of his beard on his palm sensors. If the plan executes well enough, Connor would get to kiss Hank, taste his lips and analyze his saliva. And Hank would put his warm hands on Connor, his large palms a steady touch on Connor’s chassis.

Connor stops the preconstruction and blinks when he realizes that his temperature is already increasing just from imagining the scenario. He should stop daydreaming anyway; the real thing will be so much better, he’s sure of it.

Connor is acting weird.

Truth be told, he’s acting weird most of the time, but this is even weirder than his usual weird.

Which is weird.

It’s Sunday and they’re out on the way to the dog park, because Connor insisted they should extend their usual route to ‘provide adequate exercise to Sumo’. Though, at this rate they will never reach their destination, because Connor keeps stopping and staring at every kitsch shop window they pass.

Fuckin’ Valentine’s Day.

Did Connor really have to get obsessed with the stupidest holiday this time?

Christmas was… it was understandable at least. Even amidst the aftermath of a whole-ass android revolution it was in your face in every corner. Christmas music on the radio, fancied-up houses in the neighborhood; of course Connor got bit by the festive bug.

So Hank bit the bullet and erected a Christmas tree for the first time in three years. Connor spent hours decorating it and the whole house as well, in his meticulous ways. Somehow he also managed to lure Hank into it (yeah, Hank knows how… stupid, irresistible puppy-eyes). They watched Home Alone and Connor stared at the tree with wonder in his eyes. (Hank got a little drunk about it. It reminded him too much of Cole.)

Hank bought Connor the ugliest Christmas sweater he could find as a gift and Connor absolutely adored it.

All in all, it was fine.

But now? Valentine’s Day? Seriously? Hank would be amenable to celebrating anything with Connor, but it’s not even a real holiday.

Ugh.

“Connor!” Hank warns him for like the tenth time today.

Connor looks back at him like a deer caught in the headlights, amber eyes huge and innocent. “I’m coming!”

“What’s with you anyway? Wanna ask someone on a date or what?”

Uh, maybe Hank shouldn’t have asked this, because Connor blinks at him and stutters. “I- I’m just fascinated with the holiday!”

“Sure.”

Fuck.

What if Connor really just wants to confess to someone? As far as Hank knows, Connor doesn’t have a girlfriend (or a boyfriend, fuck if Hank knows where he swings). Because surely he would know about it, considering he lives with the guy and all.

Right?

Which leaves Connor wanting to confess. The thought shouldn’t make Hank’s stomach sink.

Great, Hank now feels like a pervy old man. But it’s not exactly his fault that Connor is just that irresistible and beautiful and brilliant. And yes, a little goofy, but it’s just part of his charm. Hank has to see that pretty face and long legs and dark eyes every fuckin’ day. No wonder he ended up developing some kind of stupid crush, Jesus.

But Hank has to be a grown-up about this and bury his feelings somewhere no one – especially Connor – can’t find them. It would be the best for both of them, even if it’ll suck major ass.

Fuck, indeed.

Connor takes a day off on Valentine’s Day.

It’s not like he has those, though; technically, he works at Jericho while he’s allowed to help the Detroit Police Department – specifically Hank – with any android-related cases. So he just tells both places that he’d be at the other, hoping that no one would be inclined to check his actual location.

After Hank leaves for work, Connor starts his journey, armed with his fifty dollars, to get the perfect gifts.

First thing’s first, he purchases the ingredients for the lemon shortbread cookies at the nearby 24 store. Some of the fellow shoppers look oddly at him – probably they’re not used to seeing androids in plain clothes buy food items by themselves – but he manages to get everything, which fills him with a sense of accomplishment.

The next stop is a nearby stationery where he intends to buy a card.

The card display takes up almost an entire wall, showcasing more than a hundred different products. It’s a little bit overwhelming, seeing the paper gifts in many shapes and sizes, all decorated differently. However, Connor is a state-of-the-art android for a reason, so he quickly scans the whole display, analyzing all the cards.

The first ones he eliminates are the ones with AI generated images; knowing Hank, he would absolutely hate those. The cards with over-the-top decorations also get dismissed soon after. That leaves only a few options.

Some of them are rather… ugly in Connor’s humble opinion. Clashing colors, strange gnomes, there are even some that play music upon opening. Who would even want to buy these? Not Connor, that’s for sure.

In the end, he settles on a simple one: a red heart with the text ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’, surrounded by pretty, pink flowers. That would do; the important part will be what he writes in it anyway.

The list on Connor’s HUD ticks off another task, making Connor smile. Only one stop left of the shopping trip.

There is quite a commotion at Sunshine Bouquets.

Young and older people alike are scrambling for a last-minute gift for their loved ones. Connor joins the crowd, trying to get some flowers before the shop runs out of them.

From his research, Connor knows that red roses are the most universal flowers to signal romantic love. His ocular units land on a beautiful bouquet of blood-red roses, tied with a similarly colored bow.

The petals are delicate as they decorate the artfully arranged flowers. But not even the added extra green foliage can hide the piercing thorns–

Sharp shears work in precision to prune the large rose trellis, the soft clicks of the tool penetrating through the sudden silence. It’s spring in the garden, but Connor still feels something cool creeping into his circuits.

Dark, judgmental eyes stare into his.

A cold shiver runs down Connor’s spine.

The world returns as he blinks at the rose bouquet, looking just as it did before.

Fuck.

What is wrong with him? Running a quick diagnostics doesn’t reveal anything; no traces of any new intrusion by Amanda or CyberLife, no memory malfunctions detected. It’s a stupid thing to get… a flashback of sorts over a bouquet of flowers. However, whatever the issue is, Connor has no time to work on it right now, so… maybe it would be for the best if he didn’t get the roses.

Something akin to disappointment runs through his processors. What should he get then?

Connor is not even sure if Hank likes flowers. He certainly doesn’t have any inside his house or planted in his yard. The only greenery he has are two cacti in his living room that Connor is trying hard to nurse back to life. And there’s a Japanese maple bonsai on his desk at the DPD. Connor’s statistics show that it would be a better fit to get a potted plant.

Quickly, he scans Sunshine Bouquets to find a good match to his new goal.

The potted plants are shoved into one of the corners inside the shop, since they have less relevancy at this time of the year. Connor approaches them, already trying to determine their species.

Displayed on the shelves and racks are rubber plants, ferns, monsteras, and snake plants. Connor is once again hit with the overwhelming freedom of choice.

Most importantly, he needs to get a plant that doesn’t require special care. It would be the best to get something that’s not sensitive, but can withstand some neglect. It’s not that he plans on neglecting the plant, but what if he has to travel somewhere with the Jericho leaders? (Connor kind of hopes that he wouldn’t have to leave Hank behind if such a thing would ever happen, but his processors are calculating all possibilities.)

This is when he sees a money tree placed on the ground, with glossy, green leaves, and an interesting, braided trunk.

Money trees are popular, beginner-friendly, tropical plants, originating from Central and South America. They only need watering every one or two weeks, and most importantly, they’re safe for pets. Sounds perfect!

One problem though, the money tree is enormous. Or at least it would be a problem if Connor wasn’t stronger than the usual human of his stature. He does have to juggle a little with his other goods; the cookie ingredients and the card. Still, it proves relatively easy to lift up the plant and walk to the register.

Connor once again gets some odd looks from people while he rides the bus to Hank’s house. It seems like today is an odd stare day.

When Connor finally gets home, he only finds Sumo there. Good. Even though he knows Hank’s workday only ends at 4 p.m., his official schedule never stopped him from coming and going whenever he wishes. Connor is glad that there’s still time for him to continue his preparations.

As the front door clicks shut behind Connor, Sumo trots up to him, hoping for some treats, or at least pets. Unfortunately, Connor cannot give him anything at the moment, because his hands are full, and the treats are in the kitchen.

“Wait,” Connor tells Sumo, and deposits the money tree on the ground nearby.

Maybe this was a mistake, because Sumo seems to think that the gift is for him. Or at least he starts sniffing the plant like it was something particularly interesting.

“Sumo,” Connor chides him, gently pushing the big lug away from his inspection. “Come, I’ll give you your treat!”

To the promise of a treat, Sumo perks up, obediently following Connor to the kitchen. Connor is not supposed to give out treats to Sumo like this, without him earning them, but Hank is not here to see, and what you don’t know can’t hurt you.

Now that Sumo is taken care of, it’s time to start preparing the gifts! Since baking would take the longest time, Connor decides to begin with that. He dons an old apron of Hank’s and rolls up his sleeves.

The lemon shortbread cookie recipe still seems fairly easy when Connor scans it.

Mix ½ cup of butter with ⅓ cup of sugar until it becomes fluffy.

Connor takes out the electric mixer from the cupboard above the kitchen counter that hasn’t seen the light of day in a long while. When he plugs it in, he’s delighted to find out that it still works.

‘Fluffy’ is an interesting description to give to a food. Connor moves the mixer round and round until the mixture becomes a lighter color and less rigid.

Add the zest and juice of a medium-sized lemon.

Connor grabs the lemon. He spent quite some time comparing fruits at the 24 store, trying to decide what counts as medium-sized. He sincerely hopes he got it right.

After working the lemon through the squeezer and the grater (who thought you need so many tools in the kitchen?!), he adds the zest and the juice to the concoction.

Add 1 tablespoon of chopped thyme leaves.

Connor follows the next step and mixes the ingredients again.

Add 1¼ cups of flour and a pinch of sea salt.

Connor freezes. How much is a pinch exactly?

Searching for how much is a pinch in ounces doesn’t yield a satisfactory answer. All sources say you just have to pinch some salt between your fingers.

Humans are so imprecise in many things which annoys Connor sometimes – alright, most of the time. They all talk in abouts and approximates and relatives. How is Connor supposed to know what these measurements mean when they’re not in the United States customary units?

How much is even a pinch of salt? What if someone has bigger fingers? For example, Connor’s hand is smaller than Hank’s: his fingers are thinner. Hank’s palm is large and warm. He could cover fourty-seven percent of Connor’s face if he was cupping his cheek with one hand. Connor wants to feel it so much, but it depends on the success of this lemon shortbread cookie, among other things.

Fuck it.

Connor pinches into the salt as best as he can and throws it into the bowl. A hot puff of air leaves his mouth: he might’ve worked himself up too much about this. He can only hope the measurement is correct.

Connor attempts to calm down and work on the mix. He has to use his hands when the dough becomes firmer. The recipe says it needs cooling if it’s sticky, but it doesn’t seem to be. Or at least it doesn’t stick on Connor’s palm. It’s not like he can check if it adheres to a human hand.

He certainly didn’t think baking would be this confusing.

Still following the recipe, Connor rolls the dough on the counter until it becomes 1/4″ thick. It’s… not easy. No matter how hard Connor tries with the rolling pin, the dough doesn’t have the same thickness all through.

After restarting the whole rolling process four times, Connor has enough of this – in one of Hank’s favorite swear words – bullshit. The dough just doesn’t want to become even. Connor gives up.

The failure hangs on his HUD for a little longer than usual, but he tries to shove it away. There’s still work to do with these cookies.

Since he has no cookie cutters, he has to cut out the shapes himself. At least this is something he’s confident in. With a sharp knife it’s easy to create the hearts out of the dough. He feels his mood brightening as he arranges the cookies in neat rows in the baking tray.

Transfer to the baking sheet.

Wait, he was supposed to put them on a baking sheet? Oh. Connor is quick to rectify this mistake.

Bake for 10-14 minutes.

Again, an approximation. What is even Connor supposed to do with this? He has no idea how the cookies are supposed to look when they’re ready. Yes, there is a picture attached to the recipe but what if they should look slightly different while they’re still in the oven?

Maybe Hank was right to ban Connor from the kitchen after all?

Connor shakes his head, trying to clear off the doubt creeping into his thought processes. If he got this far with the cookies, he might as well finish them. So he places the baking tray into the oven, turning it on. Then he removes the baking tray when he realizes he’s supposed to preheat the appliance. For how hot, the recipe doesn’t say. Connor is starting to get frustrated with the inaccuracies, so he cranks up the heat to three-hundred degrees.

At least the little light on the oven turns off when it reaches the desired heat, and Connor doesn’t have to put his hand in it to determine the current temperature.

After he consults with his inner clock to measure the ten to fourteen minutes, he decides to move on to the next task on his to-do list.

Since Connor is not sure when Hank will be home, he thinks about creating a romantic atmosphere. Hank has quite a few jazz albums, full of (or at least featuring some) love songs. Connor sifts through them and picks one that Connor witnessed Hank enjoying before.

It is a collaborative album between two well-known and highly regarded jazz singers, Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong. There are quite a few romantic songs on it, so Connor deems it adequate for the occasion.

Gently, he removes the vinyl from its paper case, puts it on the turntable, and moves the arm to start the music.

Perfect!

Next, he decides to move on to the card.

He spends some time admiring his choice: in his opinion, it looks just right. Not too fancy and not too shiny, but still appropriately decorated for Valentine’s Day. Quickly, he grabs a ballpoint pen from Hank’s desk and sits down.

Now he needs to decide what to write in the card.

It needs to be a clear message. Even though the plant and the heart-shaped cookies should already indicate Connor’s affection, Connor knows too well how dense Hank can be. It needs to leave no room for misinterpretation.

Connor could start with the cold, hard facts that Hank already knows, just to ease him in. He could write that Hank is his best friend and he’s so grateful that Hank is in his life. Then he could explain that over the past three and a half months, he developed romantic feelings for Hank, and he would like to pursue this angle of their relationship if Hank would let him.

Oh, that sounds perfect! An elated ping goes off in Connor’s processing unit. Time to start writing!

Or it would be if Connor’s audio processor didn’t detect Sumo rummaging somewhere behind him.

Sumo is once again sniffing the money tree. Connor shakes his head.

“It’s just a plant, Sumo, not that interesting!”

The dog seems to have a differing opinion, because he lifts his leg–

“Sumo, no, no, no!” Connor jumps there, disturbing Sumo. “Don’t pee on the plant, please! Do you have to go outside?”

Sumo doesn’t answer, just makes another attempt at marking the money tree.

“Sumo! I’ll let you out.”

It indeed seems like Sumo had to relieve himself, because it’s the first thing he does when the door to the yard opens. Peeing on the neighbor’s fence is a much better option than ruining Hank’s gift.

Now that this is taken care of, Connor returns to Hank’s desk. The pen hovers over the open card when… Connor is hit with another doubt.

His writing is in CyberLife Sans. Which is not exactly appropriate for such a confession.

Humans have this so easy; they all have their own, unique handwriting. Connor only has… fonts that he can download. Unfortunately, he has to get some new ones, because the scant few he already has installed (like Comic Sans or Wingdings) are just not right for the occasion.

Searching for calligraphy free font downloads shows way too many results. Once again, Connor is overwhelmed by the choices. Still, he tries his best to scan several sites and make an adequate comparison.

It… doesn’t work. There are too many similar choices; they start to lag Connor’s analysis program. With frustration rising in his wires, he stops the algorithm and looks at the first ten results (so far).

He ends up selecting one that has a little heart on the preview image. Connor is not sure the aforementioned symbol is part of the font, but it looks fancy enough. It’s called Switzerland. Connor’s never been to Switzerland (or out of the United States), but maybe he would like to visit another country.

A quick search reveals that Switzerland is beautiful. Snowy mountains, green valleys, dream-like, tiny towns surrounded by forests and lakes. Ah.

His processors are quick to generate several scenes about him and Hank walking hand in hand in a picturesque village in the Alps–

His daydreaming is violently interrupted by a suspicious, chewing sound.

“What are you–“ Connor starts, turning around, only to freeze when he sees Sumo happily munching on the money tree!

“No! Bad Sumo!” Connor shrieks, running to shoo the dog away from making even more damage. “You’re not supposed to eat the plant!”

Sumo looks at Connor with soulful eyes, a few chewed-up leaf pieces falling out from under his jowls.

Fuck. Maybe he should move the plant somewhere else where it’s not directly in Sumo’s reach.

Lifting it with ease, he places it on one of the kitchen chairs instead. There. Much better!

He shoots a last, reprimanding look toward Sumo (who retreated to his doggy bed after committing his crime), and returns to the card.

Or, he would, but the ten-minute ping goes off in his HUD. Time to check the cookies!

Connor hurries to the oven only to see the cookies looking almost exactly the same as they did when he put them in. Interesting. Surely, they should look at least a little browner or thicker. Perhaps they need the additional four minutes the recipe indicates. Or the temperature isn’t correct. Yes, that must be it!

So Connor cranks up the heat to four hundred degrees, and closes the oven door on the cookies. That should do it.

Finally, he returns to the card, now for real, and he gets to put pen to paper.

Dear Hank, he starts. The font looks swirly and beautiful, which makes a pleasant ping go off in Connor’s processing unit.

You are my best friend,

The letters flow from Connor’s pen perfectly, decorating the card with his feelings. Because that’s what this is, an outpour of Connor’s affection in written form, addressed to the person who he loves the most.

Suddenly, a loud bang shocks him out of his writing flow. With panic rising in his circuits, he turns around–

“No!” he shouts, running to the kitchen, where the money tree lays on the ground, soil scattered everywhere.

“Oh, no,” Connor whimpers, looking at the mess. Sumo lets out a satisfied boof, stepping on the ruined plant. “I told you to leave the plant alone!”

Connor pushes Sumo away, cold creeping into his wires. This is a disaster! He needs to fix this right now!

As quickly as he can, he straightens the plant and begins to scoop the soil back into the pot. Countless reconstructions with different outcomes flood his HUD. He should’ve put the plant even higher, should’ve placed it in the closed bedroom where Sumo can’t reach it. He should’ve bought a smaller plant, a different one. What if Hank doesn’t even like it?

A red warning appears on his HUD about his elevated stress level. Shit. He needs to calm down. He can still fix this, he can right the plant and–

As he clears off the unnecessary messages and warnings from his HUD, he freezes.

The fourteen minute timer for the cookies went off two minutes ago!

Shit! Connor runs to the oven, but he already knows something is off. When he yanks the door open, thick, gray smoke floods out, right into his face.

No! No, no, no! Turning off the appliance doesn’t help anymore. And as Connor removes the baking tray, the situation gets even worse.

The cookies are all burned. They’re discolored in black, almost the entirety of them. Connor doesn’t even need to scan or sample them to classify them completely inedible.

He drops the tray on the kitchen table. Despite the heat that still radiates from the oven and the cookies, he feels freezing cold creeping inside him. How could things go so wrong? He made so many mistakes, it’s unacceptable.

Something is threatening to overcome him, making jumbled warnings appear on his HUD. He wants to hide. He wants to turn back time. He doesn’t want to face Hank like this, doesn’t want to face certain rejection.

A sudden thump pulls him out of his thought processes, but he’s had enough. As he looks at the other side of the table, he sees Sumo wrestling with the money tree again. Right. Connor left it on the ground when he remembered the cookies.

This day cannot get any worse. Defeated, Connor walks to the couch, sits down, and buries his face in his hands. His thought processes start spiraling, creating endless loops of Hank’s expected reaction: confusion, anger, disgust.

It’s impossible to stop them.

It’s certainly been a day.

Hank had no chance to escape the stupid Valentine’s Day – not even at the station, thanks to Tina Chen, who decided to fancy up the break room with paper hearts made from sticky notes and play romantic songs all day. And if it wasn’t enough, Gavin Reed kept asking Hank about where he had left his ‘twink robot boyfriend’.

Now, first of all, Connor is not a twink; yes, he has a sinfully tiny waist, but he does have shoulders like a swimmer. And he’s strong as fuck. Awesome, now Hank is thinking about Connor’s shoulder to waist ratio, something he really shouldn’t do. Fuck.

Secondly, Connor is obviously not Hank’s (or anyone’s) boyfriend. Yet, at least. But fuck if Hank knows, maybe Connor is out right now having a date with someone on fuckin’ Valentine’s Day.

Yeah, Hank just wants to get a beer or two (or three) and chill out on his comfy, worn couch for the rest of the day, without thinking about dates, and romance, and especially, Connor.

That’s what Hank is busy thinking about when he opens the front door of his house. But the moment he steps inside it’s obvious that something’s off.

For one, Sumo is rolling in a large potted plant that got… de-potted and lays on the ground. The next thing that hits Hank is the smell: it’s like something’s burning. Alarmed, he hurries into the kitchen where he sees a full tray of black-ish… cookies? It’s hard to tell from their current state, honestly.

Also, there’s music.

What the fuck.

“Connor?!” Hank bellows, because he banned Connor from the kitchen a while ago, but it seems like the fucker decided to make a mess. Again.

“I’m sorry,” comes the whimper from the direction of the couch.

And that’s when Hank notices Connor slumped there with his face in his hands, looking utterly devastated. Huh?

“What the fuck is going on?”

Connor lifts his head, showing his temple light blinking in rapid red-yellow-red. Oh shit. Hank still has no idea what’s going on, but his instinct to comfort Connor immediately overwrites his annoyance. His stomach tightens. Fuck the burnt shit. (He does shoo Sumo away quickly from the ruins of the plant.)

“Hey, what happened?” Hank asks softer this time, while he tosses his coat on the back of a kitchen chair.

Connor pouts at him as he watches Hank sit on the couch, his sad amber eyes like saucers. “I ruined everything.”

“What… did you ruin exactly?”

“Valentine’s Day.”

“Well, fuck Valentine’s Day anyway–“

“Do you remember when you asked me yesterday if I wanted to ask someone on a date?”

Hank’s stomach sinks. “Yeah.”

Wordlessly, Connor hands Hank a card.

It’s a regular Valentine’s Day card, with a heart and flowers, not too fancy. Curious, Hank opens it. Thankfully, it doesn’t start playing a jingle. Inside it contains a few lines of text written in a near-illegible fancy-ass font.

Dear Hank,

You are my best friend, and I’m very grateful for your presence in my life. You are the most important person to me. Therefore I would like to

Would like to what? The text cuts off abruptly here. Hank frowns and turns the card this and that way in hopes of finding the rest of the writing, but the only thing he sees are more flowers on the back.

“What is this?” Hank asks, utterly confused, because there’s no way it’s what it looks like it is.

“I’ve been trying to show you that I’m interested in you romantically for weeks! But you kept ignoring me. I know you’re not a fan of Valentine’s Day, but I thought it would be a good opportunity to make my feelings known.”

Hank feels his face heating up. “What,” he croaks.

“It was a great plan! But I ruined everything. I couldn’t even finish this card,” Connor admits with his shoulders sagging.

“Hey,” Hank starts, trying to make sense of everything Connor’s said. He has feelings? For Hank? “Are you serious–“

“Yes.”

What the fuck? This… this can’t be. Even if all signs point to it being true. Connor’s serious face, the stupid card, the… black little lumps in the baking tray?

“Were you trying to make cookies?”

“Heart-shaped ones!”

Of course. “And why did you burn them?”

“I wasn’t trying to burn them!” Connor frowns, fully offended. “Human meal and cookie recipes are quite confusing. And I got distracted by Sumo trying to destroy the money tree.”

Hank takes a glance at the sad remains of the plant. “Well, he was successful.”

“He’s too stubborn. Just like you.”

Uhh, right. Connor once again looks at him with those huge, brown eyes of his, and Hank just wants a fuckin’ break.

He clears his throat. “Um. I think we should clean up? It smells like the house is burning. I’m surprised the fire alarm didn’t go off!”

“I disabled it.”

Hank shakes his head. “Yeah. That tracks.” He stands up and hurries to the kitchen, away from Connor’s expectant eyes and burning presence. Fresh, cool air hits his face when he opens the window. He has a feeling that the house will smell like fuckin’ ash for days.

Hank’s movements catch Sumo’s attention, who follows him to the kitchen.

“Hey, you big doofus, stop spreading the dirt everywhere! Fuckin’ hell.” Hank takes in the chewed leaf pieces sticking out of Sumo’s fur. “Come, I’ll clean you up.”

“I’m going to try to save the money plant,” Connor announces, resigned. “And I’m going to dispose of the cookies.”

“Yeah.” That’s all Hank can say to this, then he ushers Sumo to the bathroom.

Hank gets Sumo to stand on a rag, grabs the brush, and kneels down. (Gently. He’s too old to be kneeling, but the job has to be done.)

As he starts brushing out the shit from Sumo’s fur, he finds a steady rhythm that soothes his swirling, confusing thoughts somewhat. Yeah, maybe now he sees why Connor loves fidgeting with his stupid coin.

God, Connor.

“Did he really go through all this just to surprise me?” Hank murmurs to Sumo, who turns his gaze toward Hank. “What the fuck.”

It’s not like Hank’s been completely blind to Connor’s weird little flirting, but… he’s been doing it since before he was a fuckin’ deviant! Hank thought he was… he was just like that; he was just designed to bring any old man to his knees with those doe eyes and sweet lips. Honestly, Connor could have anyone. Why on Earth would he settle with Hank? Connor is brilliant, beautiful, and the best thing that’s happened to Hank in years. He deserves so much better than Hank’s sorry ass.

He lets out a sigh and guides Sumo to turn around, to continue the brushing on the other side.

But Hank can’t ignore all the trouble Connor went through to what? Confess to Hank? It was– it was a sweet gesture, even if in the end he just made a whole lotta mess.

Fuck, what is even Hank gonna do about this all? Connor is clearly expecting some kind of reply or reaction from him. He can’t just shrug it off like it never happened just to keep things as they are: familiar, comfortable. Things are not gonna be the same anymore, even if Hank despises change.

But isn’t that what he wanted? He’s been crushing on Connor for a while now, dreaming about holding him and kissing him (and doing other things to him). In his certainty that Connor can’t feel the same, he could barely even imagine it becoming real. However, now that Connor undoubtedly reciprocates Hank’s feelings… it’s scary. It’s terrifying to show his tender underbelly, to jump into a relationship.

What if he disappoints Connor? What if things turn bad after a while? Hank’s been here, multiple times. The last thing he wants is to hurt Connor.

But the truth is, he would hurt Connor with a rejection as well. It would hurt both of them far more than any hypothetical, future scenario where things go wrong. Yeah, Connor deserves better than Hank, but surprisingly, miraculously, it’s Hank who he wants.

Fuck. How did this even happen?

Hank reaches up to the sink to wet a towel, then sticks his hand out. “Paw,” he commands Sumo, and the big lug reluctantly lifts his front leg. Hank starts wiping the dirt off of it.

Shit, Hank just needs to man up and tell Connor how he feels, offer his heart to him. Accept Connor’s decision and welcome his affection, even if it’s fuckin’ scary. Because he wants to see Connor happy, wants to see his pretty smile, wants to give him everything that he can.

It doesn’t take long for Hank to finish wiping all of Sumo’s paws. Perhaps the big lug realized what a mess he’s made and feels bad about it, and this is why he’s been acting so obedient.

Hank gives Sumo some good scratches behind the ear, praising him.

He takes a deep, steadying breath. “Wish me luck.”

After tossing the towel to the hamper, he leads Sumo out of the bathroom.

Connor made good on his word and cleaned up the mess – the only thing that serves as a reminder is the sad-looking money plant that Connor is busy trimming with inhuman precision. It doesn’t really help, Hank thinks, but he doesn’t wanna upset Connor even more.

When Connor realizes that Hank’s standing behind him, he turns, staring at him with those amber eyes.

“Hank! I’m sorry for the mess I made. My calculations missed several important variables which is unacceptable. I’m sorry if I disappointed you.” Connor’s hands are in constant movement, balling into fists and fidgeting. “I’m sorry that I assumed you needed such a push, especially on Valentine’s Day, a holiday you expressed your distaste for. I ignored your wish for my mission. I was too bold and too forward. I understand if you don’t feel the same way as I do. I understand that I ruined our relationship, or friendship with me trying to force you to return my feelings, and–“

This is when Hank realizes that there’s no use of waiting for Connor to take a breath because he doesn’t need to breathe.

“– I understand if you don’t want to spend time with me anymore, if you want me to move out, I can go to Jericho–“

“Con! Wait!” Hank puts his hands up, placatingly. At least it shuts Connor up; still, his light keeps pulsing in angry red. “Do I have a say in this at all?”

Hesitantly, Connor nods.

Here we go. Hank takes a steadying breath. “You didn’t ruin our relationship, okay? While yes, I would’ve preferred if you told me about your uh… feelings in a less messy way, but you didn’t mess up everything. Like, I like the music!” Hank points to the record player, still spinning Ella and Louis, the soft jazz music a stark contrast to the heightened emotions in the room.

Connor pouts. “I know you like this record.”

“And I appreciate you noticing it.” Hank reaches a tentative hand toward Connor. “Wanna dance?”

Connor’s eyes widen once again. “Dance? I’ve never danced before, I- I have to download a script for that!”

“The fuck you have to,” Hank grunts, beckoning with your still outstretched hand. “Come, I’ll teach you.”

Finally, Connor puts his hand in Hank’s, awarding him with the tiniest of smiles. Hank’s heart flutters as he pulls Connor closer. Gently, as if worried that now he’ll ruin something, Hank places a clammy hand on Connor’s waist, while Connor’s other hand finds Hank’s shoulder.

They slot together like two halves of a whole.

“You just move to the music, like this,” Hank says while he starts swaying to the beat. It doesn’t take long for Connor to follow suit.

“Hank, your movements are off-beat.”

“Shut up,” Hank scoffs. “I don’t have a metronome in my head like someone. Just enjoy!”

For a few moments, they dance gently, slowly. Connor is still looking at Hank with a slight kicked-puppy look on his pretty face. Fuck.

Hank licks his lips. “I uh… the truth is, I like you like, a lot, Connor. But I couldn’t help feeling like a dirty old man whenever I was thinking about you that way, y’know? Because you’re amazing and I’m just…”

“You’re amazing too!” Connor tells Hank.

Hank feels his face heat up. “Shut up, lemme finish! So, I was content with having a stupid crush on you in secret, hoping it’ll pass when you finally find someone worthy.” Connor furrows his brows and opens his mouth, clearly to complain, but Hank barrels on. “I couldn’t even fathom you feeling anything similar towards me. So I guess I should uh… thank you for coming in so strong with this whole thing, because otherwise I’d never have had the nerve to tell you how I feel.”

The corner of Connor’s mouth turns up, tentative hope twinkling in his eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah. As I said, I like you. A lot. And I’d be honored to be in a relationship. With you.”

“In a romantic relationship?”

Hank huffs. “Yeah, in a romantic one, you funky android.”

Hank swears Connor’s smile could light up the whole universe. Hank’s heart swells; he’d do anything to see that smile again, as frequently, as he can.

Gently, he pulls Connor closer, his eyes flicking down to Connor’s soft lips. “Can I?” he murmurs into the small space between their faces.

Connor answers with closing the distance.

The kiss is… a little awkward at first, Connor just pressing his lips to Hank’s, hard, like his life depended on it. Hank huffs, cupping Connor’s cheek to guide him, softening the kiss. Connor is quick to follow Hank’s movements, their lips sliding, tasting. It’s been a while since Hank kissed someone, but somehow, even with the initial awkwardness, it just feels right. It’s like a dam burst open in Hank’s heart. It feels like a beginning.

Eventually, Hank has to break the kiss to take a breath (because unlike Connor, he needs to). They smile at each other like the two loons that they are.

The moment breaks with a bark.

Hank tears his eyes away from Connor’s pretty face to look down at Sumo. “What? You haven’t made enough of a mess already?”

Sumo lets out another bark, and starts going around them in circles.

“I think he just wants to be involved,” Connor notes with amusement.

“Of course. Troublemaker. Both of you.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Hank!”

Hank barks out a laugh, thinking back to everything that happened in the past hour, knowing that the stupid holiday will be forever precious for him from now on.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Connor!”