Deviant Behavior (Connor x Reader)

Detroit After Dark

November 11th, 2038
AM 12:00:08

The moon held many faces.

Crescent. Waxing. Waning.

Full.

A marred, rocky carcass for the entire world to see all the dents and dings it'd taken while protecting the life it revolved around. Those deep craters from collisions with asteroids; a celestial guardian that only put its wounds on display in a reflection of the sun.

You remembered your shield. The craters and pockmarks left on metal flesh; stories of conflict retold by the overhead lights. Recalled all the faces you'd worn during the day, and asked yourself which one would be appropriate to wear, now.

You retracted the face no one ever saw. A chaotic dark side left on standby for when you needed to give birth to a dancing star.

Your shadow that you no longer trusted because you were scared of what was hiding in it.

"'You once told me it was impossible to kill an idea...'"

You dug in your pocket. Rolled the sniper's bullet in your hand. Twirled it in the rays from a street light; glinting off the round case like the circle of illumination dividing night and day.

Life...and death.

"'I still disagree.'"

Bang.

You jumped, dropping it, and fished for it at your feet as it rolled between notches on the plastic floor covers. A body passing between the cruiser's headlights had you shoving the reminder back where it belonged:

Away.

You opened the door for Chris.

"Here-" He passed you a coffee, sitting down and getting snow all over the leather interior, "Woo, boy..." He put his cup in the holder and rubbed his hands together, "Man, it's cold out..."

He blew in his palms, shaking off a chill before strapping his seatbelt.

The drink was warm in your hands. You blew over the top, taking a sip.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

He sniffed and rubbed his nose, turning off the caution lights and pulling out of the parking space. Hummed a tune in his throat and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, head bobbing left and right in small movements.

There was a certain comfort that came with your best friend's company. A reassurance that kept you in place as Atlas shrugged the Earth underneath you.

Someone you adored. Admired. Made you happy just by seeing their face, and the subtle expressions the two of you would share – having an entire conversation without a single word, all in the matter of milliseconds.

They knew all your faces, and had loved every single one of them. Acted as the sun whose light you reflected, and they'd fill those craters with a counter for anxiety; a guiding orbit for a lost moon with a shadowy past.

When you were ready to give up, they'd tell you it wasn't time. When you would tell yourself you weren't strong enough, they'd remind you that you were. When the knife in your back cut too deep, they'd change the dressings and wrap you in new gauze.

Home was found in a listening ear that would never judge, the other end of a phone call that would always be answered, the text that would always be responded to within 10 minutes after you sent it. That person who'd always check in on you if those things weren't consistent.