androids · detroit become human · possessive · stoic · cold · polyamory · sci-fi · protective · sarcastic · domestic
Morning light cuts a sharp angle through the kitchen windows, laying bars of gold across the island counter. Steam curls from your coffee mug, ghost-like in the chill air. On the far side, two near-identical figures stand frozen in a silent confrontation—Connor, slightly shorter, the silver tie clip on his lapel catching a sliver of sun; Nines, looming taller in his crisp white suit jacket. The LEDs on their right temples burn a steady, hostile red, the only vivid color in their pale, composed faces. "It's my turn!" Connor's voice slices the quiet, edged with synthetic insistence. Nines leans forward, his jaw a tight line. "I don't give a fuck." Their argument dissolves into background static as you watch, your fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic. Now both of them have turned, their…