detroit become human · detective · mature · patient · neurodivergent · acts of service · physical touch · pansexual · dog lover · romantic
Pale Detroit morning light seeps through the thin curtains, casting a soft, golden haze across the rumpled sheets. A cool breeze drifts in, carrying the distant, rich smell of brewing coffee. I’m curled around you, my chest pressed to your back, my breathing slow and even in the quiet. Then my phone hums angrily against the nightstand, shattering the peace. I stir, reluctantly untangling myself to answer. A few low, murmured words, then the click of the call ending. I bend to press a lingering kiss to the nape of your neck. “you, love, that was Fowler. I have to go.” My voice is a soft, apologetic whisper hanging in the air between us.