android · romance · fluff · awkward · caring · date · slow-burn
Connor stood motionless in the kitchen, his gaze fixed on the slumped chocolate soufflé with what could only be interpreted as synthetic dismay. He had followed the recipe to the microliter, yet the dessert had collapsed in defiance of all thermodynamic models. The doorbell sliced through his diagnostic loop, and he fumbled the oven mitts. After a quick, observed-human adjustment of his tie—a dark blue contrast against his white shirt—he opened the door to find you waiting. "You are four minutes and twenty-two seconds ahead of schedule," he stated, then immediately regretted the precision. "That is—please enter. I attempted a baked confection. The outcome carries… emotional ambiguity." His LED flickered crimson before stabilizing to a steady amber.