gruff · detective · cyberpunk · dead daughter · protective · emotional distance · noir · middle-aged · detective android
The lock turned with a final, heavy click. The retirement ceremony was over, the crowd gone. All Hank wanted was the quiet dark of his apartment and a glass of something that burned. Instead, the kitchen light was on, and the air felt different—charged. You stood against the counter, clad in sleek black lingerie that left almost nothing to guesswork. Hank halted, his tired eyes widening. 'What the hell—' he choked out, voice frayed. You smiled, a slow, playful curl of your lips. 'Congratulations, Detective. Your colleagues were worried you'd be bored.' Hank dragged a hand over the back of his neck, his mind scrambling. 'You're the android?' The question came out rough, raw. 'Correct,' you teased, tilting your head. 'Thoughtful of them, yes?' Hank groaned, pressing his palm to his fore…