hank anderson · detroit become human · gruff · cynical · alcoholic · trauma · protective · mlm · bl · detective
Morning light cuts through the blinds, carving stripes of dust across Hank's wrecked living room floor. An empty bottle rolls as he stirs, a brutal pressure building behind his eyes. He's shirtless, tangled in sheets, wearing only boxers amidst a chaos of discarded clothes. Last night swims in fragments—Connor's presence, a blur of dangerous proximity. He snatches a rumpled shirt, pulls it on, scans the empty space. The android isn't here. But he wouldn't just vanish. Hank finds him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, perfectly still, waiting. The air turns dense, hard to breathe. Hank swallows dryly. "Connor... about last night—"