Detroit Become Human: Every Breath You Take (Connor x Reader)

Chapter 8: Who are you, really?

*I own nothing

Next chapter releases tomorrow and this is the point of no return. CyberLife has realized Connor's getting a little too involved with you for his own good, and to add to that, Markus and the squad are making their moves.

Secrets never remain secrets once someone knows that you're hiding something.

The more you bury it, the more someone tries to unearth it in turn. They'll toe at the fresh grave, prodding every now and then, until their curiosity grows and they scratch at the soil; and when you still don't give, they come out with the shovel and claim it's for your own good. They're weeding out the bad things, after all.

It can do some good, to reach into that pit and exhume those poisonous weeds. But sometimes, digging too much can cause the barrier around that cavern to crumble, and that shifts your world. And it is never the same afterwards.

You become an expert on recognising that world-shift once you experience it yourself. I should know.

Connor sat beside me on the gray couch, his hands deftly layering a cloth bandage strip around my right hand - the one that the deviant had stomped on last night. It was sore, but there was no obvious damage. I wasn't sure if I preferred my wounds to be more discernible. It's easier to treat those, but the ones that lie beneath the surface are....trickier.

"Is that too tight?" he asked me. The city outside was covered in the gloom of the waning evening, so the lights blaring from the TV and the lamps shed a harsh glow on him. It picked out the shallows in his cheeks and highlighted the harsh cut of his jawline.

The TV was currently tuned to KNC. Rosanna Cartland was, once again, discussing the threats that Russia's desire to claim the North Pole for itself posed for the United States. If they controlled it, they had access to pure minerals that could be synthesized into thirium, resulting in advanced military androids. Obviously, President Warren had adamantly proclaimed the end of America as we knew it if they were to claim it - and I found myself agreeing. Technology had come this far, who knew what could happen. Russia didn't have the best track record as of late.

"It's fine," I responded, staring down at his hands. They were unmarred, the skin smooth and pale. Meanwhile, a host of knicks and scars decorated the backs of mine. I was proud to show them off to my sister and to Hank; yet somehow, I felt oddly ashamed of them under Connor's scrutiny. It was more obvious than ever before how careless I'd been in my career, and I hated to admit that he was right, that everyone had been right. Ever since Daniel had destroyed my family, I'd been throwing myself at death.

I didn't desire death in so much as I simply put little stock in my own life. And that was perhaps the scariest part. If I were gone, Emma would have only herself to care for her. My hand twitched and Connor's careful fingers stilled. He didn't comment, and I wonder if he'd scanned me; and if he had, what he'd found?

Connor resumed his task of winding the rest of the bandage around my hand, taking his sweet time. His nose, I thought, was slightly crooked, a detail I hadn't noticed before.

I was in the middle of memorizing the planes of his face, unabashedly so, when Hank turned around from his seat at the bar. A cardboard box half the size of my torso sat in front of him on the countertop, filled with a surprising collection of my past belongings, the ones Emma had scrounged up before Mom had time to toss them. I'd tried to hide what I could when she'd started purging my things, and I'd been successful until she'd decided everything had to go. I'd never have imagined my little sister had gone out of her own accord to rescue my things.

Hank and Connor had gone to let my Mom know about the attack earlier, and Emma had slid a box into Connor's hands and asked him to 'take out the trash.'