niko @nickel-eater - Tumblr Blog

nickel-eater

Feb 16

it could all be yours

ta-da!!! my contribution for the @hankconminibang

i got matched up with the COOLEST EVER @spacemonolithart :D

i'm so grateful for this great project, i'm so happy i got to be a part of it :)

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

·1·

Hot. Hot. Hot.

Connor rushed through the stairs of the building with three coffees balanced in his hands, holding them together in a small triangle and burning his fingers in the process. He should have taken the cup holder the barista offered, but he had been confident that, for the short route from the coffee shop to the 10th floor of his office, a holder wouldn’t suppose much of a difference. Well, now Connor knew for the next time.

He hurried up the steps, concentrating on not falling, finally arriving on his floor. He made a sharp right turn into his department. Connor felt like skipping in excitement. He had learned his coworkers’ orders after observing (not spying, observing, he reminded himself) their cups for the last week and was almost sure he’d gotten all of them right. Connor felt spirited at the thought of making his coworkers happy. Walking up to their section of cubicles, Connor scanned the area for his teammates.

Connor smiled when he spotted Markus in his cubicule.

He walked forward, opening his mouth to greet Markus, when he felt something soft squash under his feet. He felt his feet slide towards the wrong direction at the same time he watched the floor rapidly approaching. As he hit the floor, he could see at the far end of his sight a wet mop clattering down.

Hot. Hot. Hot.

The hot coffee, formerly in his hands, was now soaking into and staining his cream-colored shirt, burning his chest in the process. None of his psychopaths coworkers had anything but scalding hot coffee as their usual order, and Connor often wondered how they could drink that shit. He silently cursed them and let his head hit the floor softly. Of course, Connor’s opinions on his team’s drinks didn’t matter anymore, because while North might be a little weird sometimes, he was fairly sure she wasn’t going to drink her honey latte out of his tie.

Slowly, he lifted himself into a sitting position and stared down at himself. His shirt, suit, and tie were all dripping hot liquid onto his pants, which thankfully were dark enough to conceal some of the wet spots. A movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he looked up to see Simon’s hand extended to him, worry crinkling his eyebrows.

“That was a hard fall. Are you hurt?”

“If he isn’t, his pride sure is,” North snorted and covered her mouth in a meager attempt to hide her amusement.

“North, please,” Simon sighed, glancing at North behind his shoulder before turning his attention back to Connor. “Come on, up.”

Connor accepted the help and was hoisted up to his feet. His tie now dripped onto the floor, each drop echoing loudly in Connor’s ears. He glanced at the squished coffee cups, his shoulders sinking dejectedly.

“Thanks.” He looked up at Simon, attempting a small smile. “That was, um, coffee. For you three.”

“Ah, thank you, Connor. That wasn’t necessary, but thank you.” Markus smiled kindly at Connor.

“Acts of kindness usually aren’t necessary, Markus. Because that’s,” North gestured in Connor’s general direction, “what happens when you do them.”

“North, I’m really not sure how that is helpful right now,” Markus chided. North shrugged beside him and went back to her screen.

“Come with me. I think I have a spare shirt in my locker.” Markus guided Connor by the shoulder while Simon used the damn mop to clean the mess on the floor.

Markus only had a clean shirt, but no tie, jacket, or pants. He also had underwear, but that was too much intimacy for Connor’s liking. So he spent his workday with a wet suit hanging in a corner to dry, wet spots on his pants, no tie, and no coffee for his coworkers. North slipped him a small post-it note with a smile on it; however, he was unsure if she was happy because of the attempt at coffee or because she got to see him kiss the floor.

The chilly Friday went on as usual with no further incidents. They left the office earlier as per the company’s policy. To get the employees to enjoy themselves before the weekend, they said. As if the IT team would do anything besides eat and go home to do more work and be alert for any issues over the weekend. Connor did like his job. Sure, it was sometimes a bit annoying to need his work phone to be on all day, all night, every day of the first week of the month, but it paid well, and it allowed him some flexibility to work from home if he wanted. Which he never did, unless it was the middle of the night and the company had an emergency. For that, he and his coworkers had agreed they would each be responsible for emergencies for a whole week each month, instead of rotating every three to four days. Connor had picked the first week just to have it done and out of his mind as soon as possible.

In the lobby, Markus invited Connor to join them for a late afternoon snack. Connor declined with a small shake of his head, feeling too awkward in his wet clothes, though he did promise to join them next time (which they all suspected would not happen). As they parted, the others went the way he usually used to get home; to avoid further embarrassment, Connor went the opposite way, adding a few minutes to his commute.

Connor liked his routine. He woke up, fed himself and his fish, a betta gourami named Bloom, then went on a run. Following his run, he showered and readied himself for work. After work, he returned home, ate dinner, and watched some television. On days his eyes weren’t too tired, he read novels, if only to appease his mother when she inevitably asked him what he’d been reading recently during their weekly phone call. It didn’t matter to her how old he was; she would keep insisting he keep up his reading habit. Most, if not every, night he fell asleep watching something for background noise, only to find out when he woke up that somehow he had turned it off in his sleep. Rinse and repeat.

Today, Connor itched uncomfortably walking home, his discomfort pooling in his stomach. He had already gone out of his way to get coffee for his coworkers. Changing his commute home was yet another bump in his routine, and apparently luck wasn’t on his side today. So he went very carefully.

Connor did his best to relax. It wasn’t his first time using this route. When he started his job, he had taken all the possible commutes between his home and office to decide which one he liked best. How could he decide if he hadn’t seen or experienced them all? With his backpack strapped tight to his chest, he paid close attention to the vaguely familiar surroundings.

The bodega was packed, as usual, filled with workers from the surrounding area getting early dinners or another late lunch. The library was closed on Fridays, but Connor noticed they had painted the door green since the last time he had taken this route. A small crowd of people in athletic wear loitered outside the yoga studio, while others headed straight to the cafe next door. Next, Connor passed the lamp shop-

The lamp shop wasn’t there anymore.

Instead, there was what looked like an open garage door. Some trash bags were scattered around the door on the sidewalk. A huge dog lay close to them, head resting on its paws. Not bothering to lift it up, it glanced around lazily. It locked eyes with Connor. For a fleeting moment, he was sure the enormous dog would get up and attack him, but, to his mild surprise, it simply lifted its head, sticking out its tongue and panting, still looking straight at him.

He waited, unsure if moving in any direction would lead to an attack from the dog. He hoped he just smelled funny to the animal, thinking of the coffee stains on his clothes and his own sweat clinging to him. After a few moments, the dog rolled a bit to its side, exposing his fluffy belly.

Oh. Oh no.

How was Connor supposed to just go straight home now?

After taking a quick second to decide, Connor walked up to the new store and crouched next to the dog. It still just stared at him, wet tongue lolling out and spit dripping onto the pavement. Connor reached his hand out toward the animal. No reaction. He slowly touched the round belly in front of him, still watching for any change in the dog’s attitude. When there was none, he curled his fingers into the soft fur.

It was a really soft fur.

Connor adjusted himself, trying to get into a more comfortable squatting position. Well, as comfortable as he could be squatting in his work pants. He thought of the rip he’d sewn back together a few days ago and hoped he wouldn’t need to add ripped pants to his list of today’s events. He dedicated both his hands to fluffing up the dog’s belly fur.

“Aren’t you a cutie dog? Oh, you look so big and dangerous, but you’re such a softie. Yes, yes, you’re a softie…” The dog barked, almost as if agreeing. Connor laughed and patted its belly. This was amazing. He switched between patting the dog’s belly and caressing the rest of the dog’s body.

“Oh my, you big thing, I see you’re all cuteness and no bark, right?”

“Unfortunately,”

Connor startled and tried to look behind him to see the owner of the voice. However, his position was held by his weak balance, and in his haste, he fell, landing on his ass. His ass, however, did not touch the floor. Instead, he landed on top of the stranger’s feet. Some hard boots he was wearing.

Connor looked up to see a striped apron and the top of a head looking down at him. Deep blue eyes stared down at him, an eyebrow raised up in question. As he stared a bit more, he noted a wrinkled forehead and silver hair strands looking down at him.

“Well, boy? Are you gonna sit on my feet all day like my old dog?”

Connor rushed to stand up, looking at his own feet to hide his blush. He turned toward the man, using a hand on the ground as leverage to push himself up. He brushed at his clothes and checked out the man in front of him.

He was an older man, silver hair tied back in a loose ponytail and silver beard hugging his mouth. He wore a striped apron with tools hanging out of its pockets. The blue shirt underneath had its first few buttons undone, letting a few chest hairs peek through. A set of ear protectors hung around his neck, scuffed and dusty. His hands held some shopping bags.

“I- I’m so sorry. I was just walking, and then I saw your dog and -” The man lifted his eyebrow even higher and placed a hand on his hip. Connor shivered. “And I’m sorry I shouldn’t have done it. It’s not my dog.”

Connor dared a glance at him, waiting for an answer. The man looked back at him for a few seconds longer and sighed.

“Never mind, it’s fine. I got him to look over the workshop when I’m gone. As you said, he does none of that.” He turned and walked into the workshop. “His name is Sumo. Don’t pet him too much; he’ll get used to it.”

Connor stared as the man left him standing by the door. The man entered the place, leaving the plastic bags on top of a big table, amidst pieces of wood and more tools. Connor glanced at the dog –Sumo – still belly up, tongue lolling out of his mouth, before he also walked into the shop.

The place was full. It was very obviously a wood workshop – finished pieces laying on display with price tags, and unfinished-looking things were thrown almost everywhere. Sawdust covered the floor in a thin layer. Connor peeked at the broom in the corner of the shop: also full of dust.

The man carefully took things out of a bag. A couple of what seemed to be tuna sandwiches, clear safety glasses, some hand soap, and a paintbrush. Connor watched the man fold the plastic bag and put away its contents: the paintbrush in a can full of other brushes, the glasses placed next to a face mask, and the soap behind a closed door to what Connor assumed was a bathroom. After returning, the man took the sandwiches and sat down in a chair, opening the packet and eating them tastefully.

“Hello, my name is Connor.” Connor introduced himself “I work at CyberLife, in the offices right down the street.”

The man kept eating his sandwich, not sparing Connor a second glance.

Connor insisted. “I know your dog’s name is Sumo. What’s your name?”

Silence.

“Do you mind if I take a look around?”

The man shrugged, opening up a second sandwich.

Connor walked back to the entrance of the shop, now taking his time to give everything a good look. He saw everything from cutting boards to chairs, stools, and, surprisingly, larger furniture, like coffee tables.

Behind the man’s workbench, with some gap big enough to walk through, was a huge wall of shelves filled with tools, ranging from the most normal-looking hammers to high-tech battery-powered drills. All carefully organized on the shelves or hanging directly from the pegboard attached to the wall. Other shelves stood on the floor, holding pieces of wood so full and disorganized the pieces looked a breath away from falling to the floor.

He made a full circuit around the store, making his way around the workbench, which was at the center of the shop, managing to check out everything and being very careful as to not trip again and not hit any of the nails that stuck out of random objects. He was back next to the man, this time in front of him.

“What time do you open?”

The man looked up from his second sandwich.

“There’s a sign by the door,”

“Thank you.”

Connor picked up the things that he had left by the table and walked up to the huge door until he saw a small poster, handwritten and laminated.

Anderson’s Woodworks. Open Monday to Friday from 10AM to 6PM. Saturday until 2PM. Pick-up available only on weekdays. For more when I’m not here, slip a note under the door.

Connor chuckled, taking out his phone and snapping a picture of the paper. He looked back at the man, who was now cleaning his hands with a paper towel.

“Thank you, Anderson! I’ll see you soon.” He waved. Connor gave the dog, which still laid on its side, a parting pet. “Bye Sumo!”

Sumo barked, tongue out, dripping spit to the floor. Connor smiled and left the shop towards his house.

·2·

Connor twisted the quarter in his hand while he waited for the elevator to come.

Today he would have lunch by himself, as Markus was stuck in a meeting, and Simon and North were working from home. Connor was pretty certain they were actually having a bit of a secret vacation together by the beach, but he wasn’t going to be the one to snitch on them.

So, he decided to treat himself by instead of going to the office cafeteria or bringing food from home, heading down to the coffee shop to have something more tasty. While the cafeteria had varied and healthy food, he didn’t fancy all the noise and those awful yellow ceiling lights from there. And he never really cooked at home since he felt he always missed some important utensils the recipes declared as necessary. What did he need a mandolin for? And anyway, he knew that the coffee shop had a new burrata sandwich he was dying to try.

As he gets in line to order, he spots the sandwich and smiles. There were two left. If he tried hard enough, he could imagine that one of them had his name on it.

Then, there was only one sandwich left. That’s okay. He had three people in front of him, plus the person who was still ordering at the moment, it was unlikely that one of them was going for that last one. He hoped.

Three people. He let out a breath and closed his eyes. Yeah. All was fine.

Two people. He opened his eyes just in time to see a pair of kitchen tongs grab the last sandwich and give it to a tall man with long hair that fell on his shoulders in silver strands.

Connor squinted. He had left his glasses by his table in the office. As the man turned around, he recognized Anderson from the store, with no Sumo or striped apron in sight. He watched as the older man unwrapped the sandwich and took a big bite into it. Or, almost did, just as Connor stepped out of the line right into the man’s path.

“Anderson! Hello!”

The man stopped midway through his bite, juicy pesto threatening to get in his beard. He stared at Connor as if he had grown a second head. He bit off the bread with force and chewed.

“Who are you?”

Connor deflated a bit.

“I’m Connor! I work at Cyberlife, I was petting your dog the other night, and we met, remember?"

A beat.

“No.”

“You must! You scared me, and I fell ass-first on your feet.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Well, it definitely happened. But that’s okay! I just-”

“Can I do anything for you, boy?”

Chills ran down Connor’s spine.

“Uh, yeah. I saw that you got the last burrata sandwich. The thing is, I was really hoping to eat it today, and…” Connor stopped himself mid-sentence. What was he going to say? That he hoped Anderson would share it with him? A stranger? He wouldn’t share it with him either, probably (maybe if the man had asked nicely. Or maybe if he hadn’t asked so nicely, too).

“And since you are eating the last one, I was thinking of doing one at home! Do you think you can help me?”

“If I knew how to make it, do you really think I would be buying it?”

“Right,” Connor said. Ultimately, he felt the lightbulb light up on top of his head. “However, I still need your help!”

The man lifted an eyebrow.

“In order to make it properly, I need all the ingredients, and, uh, I need to cut them! And I don’t have a cutting board! But I’m pretty sure you sell these, right? You can help me choose one.”

The man was already halfway through the sandwich as he stared up and down at Connor. “Sure. Just don’t stand and block my entrance like an idiot again.” And walked out towards the street,

Connor smiled and followed. “So you do remember me!”

It was a short walk to the workshop - Anderson walked in slow and big strides, which made Connor need to put a bit of hurry into his steps so he could follow. Connor stood aside while he saw Anderson open up the doors to the workshop (which did look like garage doors), and as they went in, he spotted Sumo sleeping in the corner on a large bed that looked mostly made out of fleece blankets, now bathed in the sunlight.

He waited patiently by the door as Anderson put his apron on and put away some tools. When he was done, he turned on his feet to look at Connor.

“So, you said you want a board.”

“A cutting board,”

“Right.” Anderson walked to the work table, looking at some of the shelves filled to the brim with things. He browsed for a bit, a big hand stroking his grey beard, reminding Connor of a librarian looking at his books. He stared at the shelves for a few minutes more before pulling out one of the objects, turning it in his hands, and handing it to Connor.

“There you go,”

Connor took the board in his hands, examining it carefully. He didn’t know anything about cutting boards, but this one seemed sturdy enough.

“Great! Thank you, Anderson, this is going to be a great upgrade from my plastic one. Glad to be getting rid of microplastics!” He smiled at the man, who was just staring at him hard. Connor looked away, embarrassed, and figured he must have been holding the board wrong. If there was a correct way to hold it, there is.

Connor paid and watched the man wrap his new board with some Christmas wrapping paper and stick a “Thank you for buying handmade!” sticker on it. The wrapping itself was a disaster: the piece of paper was uneven to start with, there was tape everywhere it shouldn’t be, and a border of the board was sticking out. The yellow sticker stood out against the red coloring like an infected pimple.

“Thank you so much, Anderson! I will be sure to try it out tonight!” Connor yelled and waved from the door as he left with the board inside a paper bag. The man grunted and gave him a small wave back, his hand barely reaching waist level. Good enough for Connor.

That night he stayed in his kitchen, ready to chop his newly bought ingredients for a quick meal - some salad and soup. He looked down at his unwrapped, washed, and dried new cutting board.

“Let’s go, baby,”

Connor held his best knife (which was still a regular knife) and a tomato. He cut into one, two, three tomatoes. The board worked well enough. Connor stuck out his tongue in concentration.

Then came the onions, and everything that worked stopped working.

Connor didn’t even think about rinsing the board after the tomatoes before trying to cut a perfectly round onion on it. So when he put just the tiniest bit of extra strength into it, the onion slipped out of the board towards the wall and hit his old toaster in the way. Connor was speechless as he stared into the indent. The force in the knife that was directed into the onion was directed into the board instead of his fingers, thankfully.

And then the board broke in half, leaving Connor with his knife on the countertop.

“How does that even happen?” He exclaimed into the phone against his shoulder while he cleaned everything before resuming with his cooking.

“It’s what happens when you don’t rinse in between ingredients, dumbass,” Nines sighed into the phone.

“Hey! I’m calling my brother for moral support in the hell that is cooking, not for name-calling,” he said while dumping the last of the onion peels into the trash.

“Support? You don’t even listen to half of the things I tell you. I bet you threw away the peels instead of keeping them for stock like I said.”

Connor froze.

“Knew it.”

“Shut up, Nines.”

“But anyway, no matter how inept you are in the kitchen, the board shouldn’t break like that. You said it cracked? Let me see.”

Connor wiped his hands on a cloth and sent a picture.

“Connor what the hell? This isn’t even cracked, it’s parted like an iceberg,”

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m calling you! And it was brand new too, I bought it from a woodworker that has a new shop right by my office, and I don’t wanna have to go complain about it-”

“Why not?”

Connor held the phone against his ear and said nothing.

“Connor? You there?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you want to go complain? It’s your right as a costumer, you bought something that doesn’t work. You need at least your money back! If you want I can go instead, and-”

“No! Do not.”

Silence.

“Connor. What’s going on?”

Connor sighed.

“Nothing,” Connor answered, a bit too fast.

Connor could almost hear Nines’ gears working extra hard. Then, he heard the chime that indicated that his brother wanted him to change to video call. Connor swiped the button and stared at his almost-face.

“What?”

“I need to see your face to know.”

“To know what?” Connor could feel a drop of sweat make its way on his forehead. He could blame it on the effort of cooking.

Nines squinted at him.

“Was the guy an asshole and obligated you to buy it?”

“What? No! I mean, he was kind of an asshole, but he didn’t do anything like that.” Connor waved his hands, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“So you like him and don’t want to tell him his work is shitty.”

“I, I don’t,” Connor faltered. Damn.

“Too late. You do like him. That’s why you don’t want to go and get your money back,” Nines smiled. “It was time already. It’s been a while since Elijah.”

“Oh my God, Nines, please do not mention Elijah.” Connor used the back of his hand to clean up another sweat drop that was making its way toward his nose. “It’s bad enough that I’m still working at the job he gave me, I don’t want to think about it even more.”

“Okay, okay, I never said anything.” Nines lifted one of his hands in false surrender.

“And I don’t, like-like him. He’s just, I don’t know. Cool, I guess,” Connor shrugged.

“Sure. Whatever you say.”

·3·

Connor did not, in fact, go back to the woodshop to ask for his money back.

He kept the broken board in his kitchen as a token of his best try at cooking. He concluded that it must have been a sign from above that he mustn’t cook ever again.

That didn’t stop him from going back to the shop.

Sometimes he just walked past it, trying not to call too much attention to himself. Sometimes the man would see him, and Connor would wave, big and high, only to receive a small head nod back. Other times, Connor would sit in the bar right in front of the shop to watch the man work as he drank something warm. He didn’t want to think it was him being a stalker, no. It was him being eager to observe.

Until today.

Connor arrived at the woodshop and found its garage doors closed shut. No scribbled “be back in 5’ ” note taped to the door, no change in the opening times. Connor heard Sumo inside, a few shy barks, and then the grind of metal against wood.

So Anderson was inside working but had closed his doors. To work in private, after always working with his doors wide open, was a bit suspicious in Connor’s books.

Connor walked around the shop into a small alley that hugged its left wall. It led to a very unkempt back garden that Connor wasn’t sure if it belonged to the shop or some other business around. Between the garden and Connor, stood a rusty grid and some wooden boxes. The boxes were piled one on top of another, a couple of staples sticking out in odd places. They were all closed, and looking up, they led to a small window.

Connor knew he shouldn’t. Connor also knew he really wanted to know what the piece was that demanded such secrecy.

Connor sighed. He poked the boxes, which luckily didn’t wobble much. He adjusted his tie and climbed the boxes. Furthermore, he had to stop after a couple of steps to stabilize his grip on a box at the top, but after a few minutes, he reached the top. Connor craned his neck to peek at the window. The sun shone directly on top of him, so he used both his hands around his eyes to avoid the sun’s reflection.

The first thing he spotted was the white and brown back of Sumo’s fur. He was splayed down on the floor, head resting on his front paws, sleeping. He looked adorable.

Then, at the corner, stood Anderson, with his big ear protections in. He wasn’t grinding anymore but, instead, walked around for a bit before stopping in front of his wall of tools and grabbing a hammer. The man looked at it for a bit, turning it in his hands, analyzing. He looked at the far end of the shop and back to the hammer and nodded, having made his decision. He walked with big and heavy steps towards the corner he had looked at before, in which Connor stared at a body.

A what, now?

The shape definitely looked like a body. It was inside a black bag, and Connor hadn’t updated his contact lenses in a moment, but he could clearly see the outline of the body, the head, the legs, and the feet. It was a small human, like a petite adult. But it definitively was a body.

Connor’s breath faltered. What was happening? Was this a murder? Was he about to witness a murder here, in broad daylight, in this neighborhood?

He looked back at Anderson, who had now arrived at the body, and looked down while, turning the hammer on his hands, almost toying with it. Connor had a fleeting thought that if it was him, the hammer would have already fallen on his foot.

Anderson took a step back and let out a big sigh, his shoulders visibly making their way up and down. Connor blinked, and the next thing he knew, he saw Anderson take his hand way back and take it down into the person’s head.

Connor yelled.

His heart was thumping hard against his ears. He tried to incline his body towards the street to see if someone was around he could call for help. Would he be considered a culprit, having watched a murder and done nothing? He inclined himself a bit more and felt his balance falter, and he caught himself on the dusty windowsill, pulling himself back towards the wall. He sneezed loudly, the dust invading his nose, and cleaned off his dirty fingers against his pants, and heard a bark. He froze. Turning slowly towards the window, he could see a very awake Sumo looking at him, tongue out and tail wagging, and a very serious Anderson looking at him.

He had to leave. Now.

Connor climbed down to what he thought was his last step before reaching the top. Except, with all his moving back and forth, the stable step wasn’t a stable step anymore. As soon as he put his foot on that spot on the box, the box slipped, and along went Connor.

He felt himself fall gradually, although, from experience, it probably looked like just a big and fast fall to the ground. He landed on his ass lower backside immediately aching. Connor felt himself panic. He had to run back to his job, or at least to the main road, to let someone know. Suddenly, Connor stopped feeling the heat of the sun on top of him. He saw a big shadow around him, and looking up, he saw Anderson and an expectant Sumo looking down at him.

He swallowed dry.

They looked at each other for a few seconds. And then, they spoke at the same time.

“I won’t tell anyone,”

“Those were my boxes, you know,”

“What?”

They stared at each other a bit longer. Connor stole a quick glance at the man’s hands, which were now empty. Good. Maybe he wasn’t in imminent risk of death by skull crush. He looked back up to the man’s face, which now had a small smirk.

“Checking me out, boy?”

Connor felt the sweat dripping in his collar.

“Anderson, I-I won’t tell-”

“You won’t tell anyone you what? That you were spying on me? Good, that wouldn’t reflect well on you. All those fancy clothes and that job, and you can’t even be discreet?” The man crouched in front of him. “You think I can’t see you? Looking at me from the bar, or the happy look on your face when I give you the slightest bit of interaction? Do you really think I’m that stupid?”

Connor couldn’t trust himself to speak. A moment of silence. The man looked past Connor, at the boxes behind him.

“Those were my boxes. Huh.” He grunted as he got up from his crouch. “Guess they weren’t very good boxes.”

Connor had never heard Anderson speak so much at once. The man extended a big hand towards him, which Connor stared at. He wiggled his fingers playfully. Well, Connor thought, he had already been found, and there was no escape now. He’d better not enrage the man.

Connor gripped the warm hand and felt himself being hoisted up to his feet. He dusted off his pants and shirt and passed a hand through his sweaty nape.

“Come, Connor.” Anderson made a slight move with his head. Connor felt a rush in his chest at hearing his name in the man’s voice. He ran after him until they came in through an opening on the garage doors, Sumo close behind, tail still wagging.

Connor entered the shop and stared at the floor. He felt like a child being reprimanded.

“Connor, look at me.” Connor snapped his head up. Anderson looked back at him.

“What did you see?”

Connor breathed hard. He sneaked a peek towards the black plastic bag and back towards Anderson.

“You hammering down their head.”

Anderson hummed in agreement. “Sure. Now come see it.”

“What?” Connor felt nauseous. “No, no, please. I told you, I promise I won’t tell anyone. Please don’t make me look at it.”

Anderson placed a hand on Connor's lower back and dragged him towards the bag. If it were a more pleasant situation, Connor would appreciate how strong the man was. But for now, he was panicking.

In a couple of strides they got to the back. Anderson let go of him and walked towards the bag.

“Now pay attention, boy.” He crouched to the bag, grabbed it with both his hands, and ripped it. Connor closed his eyes and turned his eyes.

“Connor, look at it.”

Connor swallowed again. After quick consideration, he concluded that he should be more scared of what Anderson could do to him if he didn’t obey than the body itself. With his head still turned, he opened one of his eyes the slightest bit. After a moment of looking at it, he opened both his eyes and stared at it.

It was, in fact, a body. A very white, now cracked, plaster mold of a body.

Connor felt embarrassment wash over his body like a cold bucket of water.

“See, I closed down my doors so it wouldn’t look like I was murdering someone while I just destroyed this ugly mold I did.” He lifted himself. “Guess I couldn’t prevent spies from it.”

Connor felt the blush over his face going down all the way to his neck and chest. Had he just knocked on the door…

“Well, I guess that’s solved, and now you also know that I sculpt. Now get out from here, lemme destroy this ugly ass in peace. Or, should I say, in pieces?” The man laughed to himself as he hauled the garage doors open a bit to let Connor out. He walked in shame towards the door, and before leaving, he turned towards Anderson.

“Anderson, why were you breaking it?”

“Heh? Oh, I don’t like how it looks anymore. And it’s of better use for me now if I grind it up to a new batch. Now shoosh.”

Connor slipped through the opening.

“Oh, and Connor?” He stopped and saw the man’s face looking up at him from the slight gap created. “You should stop calling me Anderson. My name is Hank.”

And the garage doors were shut.

Connor made a fast way back to his office. Before sitting back down, he went to the bathroom to freshen himself up and wash his face.

He didn’t know if he should obsess over the fact that he felt himself go through the shock of watching a murder without it actually being a murder, being caught spying, breaking property, being told off, or learning that he had been calling the man the wrong name this whole time.

Instead, he looked at himself in the mirror and smiled.

Hank had called him by his name today.

A few days later, when Connor had felt his embarrassment level was low enough to go see Hank again, he spotted a chair and a small stool by the door’s entrance. Their price tag didn’t have a price on it; instead, it read “Connor” in thick, smudged letters.

·4·

Most days that he was at the office, Connor took the time to go down to the shop to eat lunch with Hank, at his very dedicated chair and stool. The man sometimes ate with him, sometimes nodded at him and kept working, leaving Connot to eat. It wasn’t practical, at all. He had to run to get food from the cafeteria, then run to the shop and pretend he wasn’t eating in a hurry, then almost vomit the food back up as he ran back to his office in time so his coworkers didn’t wonder why he was gone for so long.

And now, Hank would actually talk back to him. As Connor ate, the man would complain about some customers he’d just had or explain how some of his new projects were coming along. Connor sat and listened, eager to know more, and sometimes, offering ideas. It was worth it.

After giving Connor the scare of his life, Hank now seemed even more eager to have him by his side most of the days. Connor explained that he didn’t work in the office every week, but he did not mention how he had considered switching to full-time in the office just to be able to see Hank more often. No, he had just told his brother that, who now also thought that Hank was an actual killer and that Hank was just distracting Connor so he could be his next victim.

“Con, are you fucking insane? Next thing I know, it will be me seeing your body inside a fucking body bag. Oh God, I think I’m gonna puke just thinking about it.”

Trust his brother to protect him, right?

Today was a bit different. He was lucky to not be invited to a meeting that would be taking place after lunch until the end of the workday (only after bribing North to take his place with some high-end chocolate), so he got all of his things to finish his work at the woodshop.

On the way there, he stopped by the cafe to grab both of them the same sandwich that had sparked that conversation a while ago. It felt like it had been months ago, when in reality it had probably just hit a month from the incident. After a quick mental debate, Connor also bought a pup cup for Sumo.

He arrived at the shop to find Hank staining a big piece that looked somewhat like a door. He looked up briefly, and seeing it was Connor, gave him a quick nod and a small quirk of his lips. Connor smiled back and spotted Sumo at his owner’s feet.

“Sumo! I got something for you!” Connor exclaimed, sitting down on the concrete floor and taking out the pup cup. Next thing he knew, his vision field was full of fur and kisses from the dog, its saliva dripping down into Connor’s legs.

Connor laughed and gently replaced his face with the pup cup, watching it disappear between big licks in mere seconds. Connor petted him and left the cup on the floor so that Sumo could finish it on his own time.

He got up and walked up to his chair and his stool. He had to admit it was a questionable-looking chair and an even more doubtful stool. Even with its four legs, the chair wobbled a fair amount, almost earning Connor a fall or two. The stool itself had multiple nails sticking out, some more, some less. The more prominent one was right on the round top of the stool, towards one of the ends, to “hold your computer so it doesn’t fall off,” in Hank’s words. Connor was more afraid of accidentally making a nail-shaped dent in the back of his work laptop, but he just nodded and expressed his thanks to Hank.

As the day progressed, Connor worked with Hank’s tools as background noise. As he sat on the floor to give some rest to his behind after long hours at the wobbly wooden chair, he felt the sun hit the back of his head from the same window he’d used to peek at Hank some weeks ago and moved a little bit to the side to avoid burning his scalp.

Just as he moved, he felt Sumo, who was before resting close to him, move to come rest his big head on top of Connor’s legs. He was a bit too warm for comfort, but again, Connor was not one to complain.

And then Sumo moved up a bit more, resting his whole upper body on top of Connor’s legs. Connor stretched his legs and dragged himself to rest his back against a shelf to the best of his abilities without shifting the dog too much so they both could be more comfortable. Sumo was warm and drooled slightly on top of him, and now the sun hit just right on his chest. He had been working for hours on end, crouched over the computer on his stool, and with the soft background noise of Hank varnishing the door, Connor felt his head droop to the side and his eyes come to a close, falling asleep.

When Connor felt himself wake up, the first thing he felt was the soreness on his ass and something poking at his back. He tried to open his eyes just the tiniest bit, just to be met with droopy eyelids begging him to keep them closed. His mind felt more awake than his body, and he slowly remembered giving way to a nap on the floor of the woodshop. He also remembered dreaming of big, strong hands caressing his body, a hairy chest under his palms, and the tickle of a beard on his shoulders.

Connor tried to open his eyes again. He managed to creak them the slightest bit open, seeing Sumo’s fur on his legs and his drool puddle on the floor. With some effort, he looked around, just to see that the garage doors were already closed and there was no light coming from the window. He didn’t crank his neck up to see, but he figured it would be nighttime already.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,”

Connor grunted an answer.

“I’m not sure if you were asleep or dead, both of you so still. Kind of creepy,”

“What time is it?” Connor whispered.

“Like eight. Haven’t checked in a while.”

Connor opened his eyes in full. Hank was in his chair, a book open in his hands. All of his tools were put away, and the space was fully clean. Connor shifted slightly to sit up, trying not to jolt Sumo awake, and felt all of his back crack as he moved.

“Why didn't you wake me up?”

Hank looked at him.

“Did you want me to?”

Connor wasn't sure, so he didn't answer. The truth is, how comfortable he was sleeping in Hank’s space, even if it was on the floor of his shop, scared him to full awakeness.

He petted Sumo's fur for some moments before gently waking him up. The dog looked up at him just as sleepy as Connor had felt. He got up from Connor’s legs, which finally allowed him to get himself up from the floor.

“It’s late already,” Connor stated. “You wouldn’t happen to be hungry, would you?”

“Not really. I ate some food while you were asleep.”

“Well, okay. You wouldn't happen to be thirsty, then?”

“No, you know I have my water fountain,”

“Hank, I’m just asking if you want to, you know,” Connor fumbled with his hands, trying to not let his awkwardness get the best of him. “Go get something to drink or just hang out. For a little while.” Connor looked at Hank with a side eye, trying to grasp his reaction.

Hank huffed and got up from his chair.

“Connor, I've spent the last hours staring at your face. Aren’t you tired and want to go home?”

I’ve just woken up from the best nap of my life, Connor thought. But he could sense a soft rejection when he saw one.

“Ah, yes. Sure, Hank, I’m sorry. It’s better we just see each other tomorrow, right?”

Hank smiled.

“Yes, Connor. Let’s see each other tomorrow.”

Connor felt disappointment run through his veins. He grabbed his things, and Hank walked him to the door. As Connor left, Hank waved him goodbye with Sumo barking at his feet.

The next day, Connor had lunch at his office desk.

·5·

Connor took some days to go back to see Hank after the last time. Connor had a hard time dealing with rejection, as his brother liked to constantly remind him, but after Simon’s comment that he hadn’t ever seen Connor eat at his table for this many days in a row, he decided enough time had passed. Confront your fears, or something like that, right?

Today, Connor had packed a couple of microwave burritos and some cut-up fruit that he had mentally recollected that Hank liked. Strawberries, kiwis, one apple, and grapes. Enough for both him and Hank, and some snacks for Sumo.

As he arrived, he stopped right before the doors to take a deep breath and recompose himself. He hesitated, doubtful if coming in was a good decision or not. Luckily for him, the decision was made for him as Sumo smelled him and came his way to greet him.

“Oh my Sumo, thank you for coming and getting me. Otherwise I could have stayed here until nighttime,” Connor whispered to the dog as he petted his big ears. Sumo barked in answer.

Connor and Sumo walked into the shop. Hank was sweeping the floor and looked up as he heard them.

“Well, hey there. Thought you had forgotten about me,”

“Pft. As if,” Connor huffed. “I could not forget you that easily, Hank.”

Hank stared at Connor, puzzled look in his eyes. Connor fought the blush rising in his cheeks and did not waver his stare. Hank pulled away first.

“I brought us some food today. Would you like to share?”

Hank brought Connor’s chair and stool closer to his own chair at the back end of the shop. They ate while talking about their week, falling into easy conversation as if they hadn’t stopped talking for the week. Hank complained about his tools getting dull and needing to sharpen them, and Connor commented about his work. Connor divided his attention between Hank and Sumo, taking some moments to give Sumo its treats one by one.

Hank noticed.

“Hey, I haven’t walked Sumo today yet, since you brought me lunch and all, I haven’t left the shop since I got here.” He licked a bit of red from the strawberry from his lips, Connor’s gaze (acompañando) the movement. “Thanks for making sure I eat something healthy.”

“No problem.”

“Anyway, do you want to take Sumo for a walk? You can take all the time that you need. Or, rather, all the time that you have left of lunchtime.”

Connor smiled, big and contagious. “I’m sure my coworkers won’t miss me too much.”

“Great then, I’ll leash him up,”

Connor took that time to sneak in a text message for Markus to let him know he would be taking a little while longer on his lunch break, to which he got a thumbs up in response. Hank approached him, giving him a leashed Sumo and a squirt bottle.

“It ain’t very hard. Squirt where he pees, and if he shits, pick it up. If he pulls, do not pull back, he’ll just pull harder, and you’ll end up kissing the ground.” Hank grimaced, as if the thought brought him memories of pain. “Just be stern, and he will behave.”

Connor smiled so wide he felt his cheeks ache. He had gone with Hank to walk Sumo before, but this was the first time the man was trusting him to go alone with the dog. This definitely felt like an improvement in comparison to the last time they had seen each other.

“Yes! I remember. Thank you, Hank!”

“Heh, don’t thank me until you’ve come back in one piece. Try not to get him too excited.”

Connor nodded, and both he and Sumo left the shop.

Trying not to get Sumo too excited was easy, since Connor felt himself to be way more excited than the dog. They walked through the streets and the park, taking the long way so to avoid CyberLife’s offices. Sumo pulled, and Connor did his best to not pull back, trying to sound serious when calling the dog’s name but ending up caving in when Sumo looked back at him, tongue lolling out and tail wagging. Connor figured it was best for him to wear the leash across his torso to not let it slip from his sweaty hands, like it happened once or twice (or maybe more, but Connor would keep that secret close to his heart).

As they got to the park, Connor let Sumo roam free in the designated area, just like Hank had done so many times in their previous walks. As Sumo chased the birds, Connor sat on a bench. He could get used to this, walking Sumo when Hank was busy. Or walking Sumo alongside Hank, holding hands and intertwining legs as they sit on this same bench. Or as they huddled together to try and fight off the cold, and as they taught Sumo easy tricks to entertain themselves.

Connor’s heart fluttered. A man could dream.

Sumo came back to him, seemingly tired of chasing birds. He rested his big head on top of Connor’s legs, whining and looking up at him. Connor chuckled and petted his big head.

“I wish you could tell Hank all of this I’m thinking about,” he confessed. “I bet he would take it better from you than me.”

Sumo just closed his eyes, and Connor continued to pet him.

A young girl with brown hair had approached him to kindly ask if she could pet Sumo, to which Sumo just laid his head on her feet, making the girl squeal excitedly. Connor looked up to see a woman walking up to him.

“Hello,” she said, bearing a small smile on her face. “This is Alice, and I’m Kara, her mother. Alice, honey, say hi.”

“Hello!” The girl said, not tearing her attention away from petting Sumo.

“Hello. My name is Connor, and this is Sumo.”

“May I sit?” Kara asked. Connor moved to make space for her. He looked at the time on his phone.

“No problem. I will be leaving soon, anyway.”

“Oh, that’s fine. I don’t want to take much of your time,” Kara waved her hand dismissively. “I just wanted to ask. Alice and I come to this park often; we have seen Sumo with an older man more often than not. We have seen you once or twice with him. I was just curious, is your friend okay? This is the first time I have seen Sumo without him.”

Connor’s heart warmed a bit. “Yes, of course. His name is Hank, he’s just working today and trusted me to walk Sumo without him for the first time, as you said. But everything is well, thank you for asking.”

“Oh, good. He is a bit older than us, so for a moment I had been scared something had happened. And you are friends with him, you say?”

Connor faltered and looked down at his own hands, playing with the leash.

“Yes, I believe you could say we are friends.”

“Oh, that’s great. Although by the way you look at him, I would have assumed otherwise.”

Connor stared at her, mouth agape.

“Oh, it isn’t like that? I apologize for intruding and assuming. My husband always says I am too curious for my own well-being.” She chuckled and started to get up from the bench.

“No, no!” Connor exclaimed, a tad too loudly. “I mean, it is a bit intrusive, but it is okay. Not like you will go tell him, right?”

Kara looked at him and sat back down. “I will not, certainly.”

Connor hesitated. Next thing he knew, the words fell from his mouth like a waterfall.

“Hank and I met by chance. I fell on top of his feet, and I was just stuck there, marveling at him. He’s so talented at what he does - he’s a woodworker, you know - and even if sometimes it breaks or a nail pokes me in the leg, it’s still very impressive. And we had a very funny situation, which made me think we got closer, but then I tried asking him out to dinner, and he said no. And not even a straight no, just those soft no’s that are shaped like an excuse to make you feel better. I truly dislike it when people aren’t straightforward with me. I just… really appreciate his company. When we have lunch, he’s hilarious and always has a spot for me, and he listens to me. So I guess it’s just my problem then, the fact that I’m seeing things that are not there. And my brother tells me that I do that too much; I get my hopes up, and I make myself believe, and then I just fall from my own mind.”

Connor took a deep breath out. He stared at Kara, surprised at himself for managing to make it all come out. Kara stared back at him.

“I’m sorry,” Connor says.

“That’s quite alright. Maybe you have been holding that in for a while.”

“Maybe I have.”

Silence travelled through them. Connor checked the time again.

“I better be going.”

“Of course,” Kara got up and extended her hand to the girl. “Come on, Alice, say goodbye to the doggie, and let’s go.”

“Goodbye doggie, goodbye mister!”

Kara looked again at Connor, sympathy swimming in her eyes.

“Maybe you should talk to him now that you’ve gotten it all out.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“As I said, it’s fine. I might have an aura around me that makes people talk. You aren’t the first one to do that.” Kara smiled at him. “Be honest with yourself. You don’t have to confess, but tell him something, at least. You need it.”

Connor nodded. “I will.”

Kara smiled wider at him and waved him goodbye. As they both left, Connor got up and made his way back to the woodshop, energy high and feeling light on his feet.

Connor and Sumo spent their last moments of their walk cheerfully, even running a bit. Connor dutifully cleaned up after him and even waved at some of the owners of the dogs Sumo played with. He checked the time again, and if he wanted to be back at the office in time to finish up his workday, he needed to head back soon. Calling Sumo’s attention, Connor gave him a treat as an apology for the early end of their walk, and they walked back to Hank’s.

Hank seemed to be waiting for them as he filed his own nails, sitting relaxed on his chair. Connor took the leash off Sumo, allowing him to run back to his owner, demanding pets.

“Hey there, you rascal. You had fun?” He looked up at Connor, scratching behind Sumo’s big floppy ears. “Did he behave?”

“Yes, of course he did. I used your advice, and we had no issue with him pulling too hard. Which is awesome, because if I hadn't, I’m sure I would have fallen down.”

Connor stretched his arms above his head, taking a deep breath in. He took a deep breath out and reached down, touching his hands flat on the floor, his forehead touching his knees. He was definitely feeling that walking and running on his hamstrings. Connor didn't see, but he felt Hank's eyes burning into him.

“You're, huh, flexible,” He stammered.

“I try to keep it up, since I don't exercise at all,” Connor shrugged and chuckled.

“I have a solution for that, you know. With both things”

Connor's head snapped up to Hank.

“What?”

“I mean, shit, I don't mean it like that.” Hank put his head in one of his hands.

What if I want you to mean it like that?, Connor thought. He kept looking at Hank.

“I mean that when I take Sumo out for walks. It's a good bit of exercise, and I always see people stretching in the park.” At the mention of his name, Sumo wagged his tail.

“Do you mean… ”Connor started.

“You know.”

“What are you suggesting, Hank?”

“I’m suggesting that getting a dog of your own should help you with both these things”.

Connor stared at him incredulously for a solid moment. So much for getting his hopes up. He then deflated, knocking his forehead against his knees in defeat. For a moment, he almost thought Hank would be inviting him to hang out. He took a deep breath and sat back up, staring at Hank.

“Sure. A dog of my own.” Connor stared at his feet and made quick work of taking out the leash from his torso. “I guess I should. That way I can stop bothering you with trying to take care of yours.”

“No, Connor, you know that's not what I mean.”

“Do I, Hank? I think that's exactly what you meant. That's okay. I got the message. Just like last week.” Hank raised an eyebrow. Connor gathered his things in a rush, looking around fast to not miss anything. “I'll be going now. So sorry for interfering.”

“Connor, come on. Don't be like that,”

“Don’t be like what, Hank?” Connor stopped halfway through the garage doors, looking back at Hank and feeling the pressure on his own eyebrows. “I’ve just been trying and trying to just get us to hang out, and I always feel like I’m trying and you’re just staring at my face to see when I’m gonna start making a fool of myself. I took weeks to learn your name. When I feel we are going somewhere, either I do something dumb and get embarrassed and can’t bear to show my face here, or you just pull back and boom, back to stage zero. And you know what? That’s fine. I’ll just let you be.” Connor walked up and left through the garage doors, hearing Sumo’s whine.

“Connor…”

By the time Hank whispered his name, Connor was already at the next street over, pretending to not wipe his tears.

Connor hadn’t gone back to see Hank.

He felt ashamed, of course. As he arrived at his office, he felt the same as when he was a kid, answering back rudely to his mother and being sent to his room. The guilt was eating at him. He was very sure he had overreacted: that that was just the way Hank was, and Connor had misread absolutely everything.

So, instead of going and trying again, he kept his word: he let Hank be.

Worst of all was that Connor missed him. Connor missed eating his lunch with Hank, he missed Sumo, he missed working with the sound of Hank’s tools in the background, he missed his wobbly chair and he missed the stool with a stabby nail sticking out. The way he got attached to it all so quickly made him sick.

North, godforsaken North, knew something was wrong, and every day that they saw each other, she tried a new way of finding out what happened. So far, it had been threats, guessing, bothering, and trying to sneak through his phone. This week, it was bribery.

“Connor, I got you that food from the cafe that you like!”

It was uncanny to see her being so kind to him.

“Thank you, North. I will eat it later.”

Well, years dealing with a bothersome older brother who tried to evade chores more than actually doing them trained Connor for his moment.

“It’s that burrata sandwich that you’re always after.”

Connor’s fingers hovered on top of the keyboard for a second.

Hank liked that sandwich, too.

“That’s nice of you, North. Thank you.”

North rolled her eyes and left the food on top of Connor’s desk. He could smell the strong coffee and the pesto. Free lunch for him, no answers for North. Win-win situation.

Connor was not going to crack.

The next day, she tried her luck with some sweets.

“Thank you, North, but I do think Simon would like these better than me.”

“I would!” Simon piped from his desk, lifting his head with a smile.

“For you, then.” Connor handed him the sweets.

North was about to bite her lip off. Connor was sure that there was steam coming out of her ears, too.

The next day, she came again with pastries, which Connor happily ate and shared with the team. He did get fine sugar all over his tie and had to take it off, leaving it on the corner of his desk.

That same day, as he picked up his things to go home, North approached him, grabbing the tie off his desk and sliding it through her fingers.

“Are you going to tell me what crawled up your ass and died two weeks ago?”

“I’m not sure that I know what you are talking about,” Connor answered as smoothly as he could.

“Yes, you do, Connor. What is it? Come on, you can tell me.”

Connor kept putting his things in his bag, not looking at her.

“Is it related to the fact that you don’t go out for lunch anymore?”

Connor paused, arm stiffening. He forced himself to relax.

“I do go out to eat; you just don’t notice it anymore.”

“Yeah, I do. I notice you don’t take two hour-long lunch breaks anymore.”

“I figure I shouldn’t be wasting company time like this when I can go home earlier.”

“Bullshit, Connor. Bull-shit.”

Connor zipped his bag closed and turned to face North, putting his backpack on. He extended his hand.

“Sure. Can I have my tie now?”

“You know what? No, I will be keeping this for now.” North turned around and left in quick strides. Connor pouted. That was one of his best ties, with little fishes on them.

Another week passed. A week without his tie, another week without any news from Hank. The fact that the man apparently didn’t care enough to reach out to him also made Connor mad. His brother seemed to think all of this was avoidable.

“I warned you. You get attached easily. I warned you, Con.”

“You didn’t warn me of shit. Precisely, you said that it was time already for me to ‘start moving’,” Connor replied, making a mocking impression of his brother’s voice.

“I also said that you got attached fairly quickly.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“Con…”

“Whoops, the hockey game is about to start. I have to go.”

“Connor, you don’t even watch hock-”

“You stink. Bye.” Connor hung up the call, and, just to feel better about his excuse, turned on the TV to the hockey game.

He wasn’t sad; not exactly. He felt a turmoil of emotions, varying depending on the time. At work, he felt nervous; the break in his routine of going out for long lunches made him feel scrutinized by his coworkers, even if he knew it was just North that analyzed him that much. At home, he felt deception (?); for having expected, for having hoped that he himself would have been brave enough to talk to Hank no matter what. Late at night, he felt nostalgia for hands holding him, big eyes looking at him, and a deep voice saying his name over and over again.

The next day, as he revised some documents, Markus told him that he was being called at the front desk. Connor raised an eyebrow, and Markus shrugged back. Connor took his sweet time on the stairs instead of the elevator. As he arrived, the doorman pushed a cardboard box towards him.

“This got dropped off for you here. He told me to instruct you to open it on the office’s terrace.”

“Who’s ‘he’?” Connor asked. The doorman shrugged.

Connor didn’t often go up to the terrace. It was often too windy or too humid for him. Luckily today, all the spots seemed dry enough for him to sit. He sat at a table and tore away at the poorly sealed cardboard box. He peeked inside to see it full of packaging peanuts, no object in sight. Connor shuffled it around a bit, and not seeing anything, Connor put his hand inside the box, fishing for something. He felt his fingers brush some plastic, and he reached in deeper to pull it out. It was a heavy object wrapped badly in bubble plastic wrap, with painter’s tape covering all the object's surface. Connor tore at it carefully and slowly, putting away every piece of tape back into the box that now rested at his feet. Connor wondered if he had ordered anything online and forgotten about it. Or maybe North was still bribing him a week later.

Connor finally unraveled the plastic to reveal a ceramic piece of a dog, small enough to fit in his hand. Upon closer inspection, Connor was stunned to see it was a ceramic piece of a sleeping Sumo, with his big ears covering part of his face and a drop of drool on his mouth. He held it to eye level, admiring the small details that made the piece an unmistakable copy of Sumo’s face and how the sun shone against the glaze, making pretty reflections on the figure’s dark back. Connor held it strongly in his hands, too scared to let it fall, but touched it with a softness on his fingers previously reserved only for the original Sumo.

“Do you like it?”

Connor’s chest tightened. He turned around to see Hank at the doors of the terrace, hands in his pockets and shoulders high with anxiousness. This was a new look on him, seeing him wear anything other than lazy confidence. Connor wasn’t a fan.

“How did you get up here?”

“This is a public building. Or, as public as it can be when you say you know Connor from I.T.” He chuckled. Connor smiled.

“I guess, yes.”

The silence stretched between them. Hank moved from the door towards Connor, sitting across from him at the table in a comfortable position. Connor left Sumo’s figurine resting on the table on top of the plastic bubble wrap.

“I wanted to-”

“I think I-”

They both interrupted themselves and looked at each other.

“You go first,” Hank mumbled.

“No, you made all the effort to come here. Please, go first.”

Hank joined his hands on his lap.

“Look, I wanted to apologize. You were right; I’ve been an ass to you. I guess I -” Hank took a deep breath, looking out towards the city. “I guess I wasn’t sure that things were going the way I thought they were, because, you know, you…” He gesticulated with vague movements towards Connor.

“Me what?”

“You’re younger, more successful, and handsome. I don’t think I quite understand why you would want to be with me in any way.”

“Hank…”

“No, I’m not finished. But then, Connor, I realized that the decision you make is not up to me. If you want to spend your lunch breaks with me, I shouldn’t sulk and wonder why; I should just be happy that you have chosen me to hang around with.”

“And Sumo.”

Hank laughed. “And Sumo.” He stared at his hands on his lap again for a moment before he talked again. “I’m sorry I pulled back. I’m scared of good things in life.”

“Am I a good thing in your life then, Hank?”

“You can bet you are.”

For a few minutes, none of them said anything. They looked at each other, Connor relaxed against his chair, Hank tense on his, the Sumo figurine in between them.

“Say, Hank,” at the mention of his name, the man looked up at Connor. “Would you like to spend your next lunch break with me at my house?”

“I think I’d like that very much, Connor.”

#fanfiction #fanfic #hankcon #detroit become human #Hankcon minibang 2026 #dbh connor #hank anderson #hank x connor #conhank

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