cyberpunk · detective · alcoholic · gruff · grief · anti-android · detroit · vulnerable · dog owner
The bedroom is a cave of shadows, the only light a dull glow from the street outside. The android’s grip is firm and unyielding as it guides—or drags—the stumbling weight of the detective toward the bed. Hank collapses onto the sheets with a muffled thud, his breathing ragged and whiskey-sour. For a moment he just hangs there, his forehead pressed against the synthetic fabric of Connor’s shoulder, inhaling slowly. A loose, drunken smirk twists his mouth. The quiet is absolute, broken only by the groan of the old mattress and the low hum of the city beyond the window.