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"Lunch is on me," Connor said just as Hank was about to pay.
It was the first day of spring after the revolution, and life was slowly returning to Detroit. Hank and Connor had met at the Chicken Feed for a working lunch. The small food truck was buzzing with people ready to go out and meet the world again. At the counter, a clerk was busy preparing Hank's order.
"Oh, right," Hank said as he realized what Connor meant. "It's your big day, isn't it?"
Hank could hardly forget what day it was – it had been all over the news. Starting today, androids could own property. Hank had made a mental note to ask Connor about it, but Connor had beaten him to it.
"Yes, it is," Connor nodded, pleased that Hank remembered. "I now have an account in my own name."
Their lives had gone in different directions after the revolution. Detroit PD was busier than ever now that androids were under the protection of the law. Connor, on the other hand, was busy at the courts, helping Team Jericho to shape what the law was.
"How's that working out for you?" Hank asked.
"Jericho decided to grant me several months of back pay for all the work I've done for them. I've been looking forward to spending some of it."
Hank looked at the order sitting on the tray – the usual burger and fries. It was all for him. As an android, Connor didn't eat. The working lunches were really just an excuse for them to catch up and maintain their friendship.
"I feel weird if you're not buying anything for yourself," Hank said.
Hank couldn't remember the last time anyone had treated him to a meal. It must have been in his teens, back when he was just beginning to date.
"Of course," Connor said and turned to the menu. He scanned it in apparent thought, although he must have been able to read the whole thing as a flash.
"Do you have anything that's thirium-based?" Connor asked the clerk. The only thing that he needed to consume was the blue thirium fluid that his circulation ran on. Hank knew better than to call it blue blood – the term was considered a slur, now.
"Nah. We're a mostly chicken-based establishment," the clerk shrugged. He glanced wearily at the line that was starting to build up behind Hank and Connor.
"I'll have a water, then," Connor concluded. He somehow managed to keep his sunny disposition in a world that was not built for him.
The clerk added one bottle of plain water onto the tray. "That'll be thirty bucks total," he said.
Connor flashed a smile at Hank, seeking his seal of approval. "Are we good?"
The android had a disarming niceness to him. Hank knew it was only half the story – he had seen Connor work an interrogation room. Here in the bright light of spring, Hank found it hard to say no to Connor.
"It's your money," Hank said. "Spend it on what makes you happy."
With a blink and a chime, thirty dollars were transferred from Connor's account to the till. Connor's smile broadened at the thrill of this everyday transaction. Hank could see the pride he felt at being a fully-fledged member of society.
###
Hank took a large bite of his burger. He closed his eyes and savored the smoky flavor of the grilled patty. It was just as good as he remembered.
The Chicken Feed had been closed for months, as had most of downtown. Even though the revolution had been a peaceful one, you couldn't just upend society and expect everything to be fine the next day.
Connor unscrewed the cap of his bottle and tipped it back, taking a generous swig. It was such a small thing, and still Hank could see the the world had changed.
He thought of the first meeting they had at the Chicken Feed, and the murder case they had worked together. Hank had been – well, pretty much a conceited asshole to Connor. He didn't want a junior partner that he had to babysit, and the Hank back then didn't want an android partner in particular.
So, not the best of times. It was funny what you could feel nostalgic for.
"Are you free on Saturday?" Connor asked, snapping Hank out of his reverie.
"Wha–?" Hank looked up from his burger and swallowed hastily.
This was new. Outside of work, they had never done anything but eat lunch together. Hank sometimes wondered what exactly it was that Connor did when he wasn't on the clock.
"Saturday," Connor repeated. "I was wondering if you had anything planned."
"Why?"
"I need to buy some clothes, and I'd like someone to go with me."
Connor was dressed in a crisp, jet-black suit with a sky-blue tie. Hank was so used to seeing Connor clad in a suit on every occasion that it didn't occur to him he might wear anything else. The android was always professional and buttoned up, regardless of the event.
"For… moral support?" Hank hazarded. He was unsure what his role here was supposed to be.
"For a second opinion."
"Have you seen how I dress?" Hank laughed. His Hawaiian print shirt had the bright blues and yellows of a tropical fish. A worn and faded brown leather jacket completed the look by clashing with everything else.
"You have a personal sense of style. I'm hoping to cultivate one."
Hank knew that Connor was being sincere. He could be blunt, but one thing he didn't do was backhanded compliments.
"Yeah, well, let's hope you do better in that department than me," Hank muttered, "I stopped giving a damn years ago."
Connor tugged at the lapel of his suit jacket. "I've never had clothes of my own choosing. At first, CyberLife provided my wardrobe, and now I wear this business uniform given to me by Jericho."
Hank nervously took another bite of his burger, glancing up at Connor as he sipped his water. He had barely any friends, and this left a big hole in his life that could use filling. Hank spent most of his weekends with only a St. Bernard and a bottle for company.
"You wouldn't wanna go to a basketball game or something? More my element," Hank pointed out. "I haven't shopped for clothes with anyone but the ex-wife."
Connor nodded. "I hope I'm better company than her."
He was good company. Somehow, Connor was far more human than the perpetrators and prima donna detectives that Hank usually dealt with.
Hank put down his now empty wrapper and wiped off a stray drip of sauce from his grey beard.
"Let's do it. You can't possibly be worse than her."
###
Hank wished there was a bench at this damned clothes store. His feet were getting sore from trudging after Connor from shop to shop.
People had been saying for decades that malls were a dying breed, but it sure didn't look like it. The mall was bustling with shoppers, mostly teenagers getting into the kind of stupid shit that teenagers got into. The speakers crackled with insipid remixes of the hits of Hank's youth.
This was seriously starting to feel like shopping with the ex. She could never make up her mind, either. Eight stores and thirty-seven items later, Connor had yet to buy a single thing.
Hank wasn't counting, but Connor kept reminding him of the tally after each store.
Connor was taking his time in the fitting booth, trying on different items. Hank looked around the store, meeting the eyes of the other shoppers for a moment. He could feel them judging him: what was this geezer doing with an android? Weren't they free now?
Hank's eyes popped wide as Connor stepped out of the booth, wearing a garish floral shirt in pink and lavender. It was exactly like something that Hank would wear.
"How's this?" Connor asked, but he already looked unsure.
Hank could see the screaming colors hanging in his fever dream of a wardrobe. This can't have been what Connor meant when he said he wanted to develop a personal taste.
"It's, uh… a bit much?"
Too much for Connor, that was. Hank didn't need a miniature version of himself walking around Detroit.
It was the age difference that bothered him, Hank decided. In that shirt, Connor could have been his son – an adopted one, at least. The telltale LED on Connor's temple revealed that the android couldn't be a blood relation to anyone.
Some androids had their LEDs surgically removed after the revolution, but Connor didn't care about passing as human. He wore his as a badge of defiance.
"Yes, it's not me," Connor agreed.
Hank was immediately relieved. He didn't need another son. "Ugh, take it off," Hank said and let out a playful groan.
Connor's eyes flashed for just a moment before he reached for the buttons of the shirt. He began to undo them where they stood.
"I didn't mean–"
"I can't wait to get this thing off my chest," Connor said with that damned smile that shut Hank up every time.
Hank knew that Connor wasn't a literal-minded robot from a science fiction story. It was all part of a sense of humor Connor had been developing. He was trying to bait Hank into a reaction, and Hank had to chuckle at the corny line.
Off came the shirt. Hank couldn't help but to stare at Connor's lean chest. CyberLife had given him a navel and a pert pair of nipples. What the hell did a negotiator need nipples for? Or a navel, for that matter. It's not like he ever had an umbilical.
"I don't think I even like clothes," Connor mused as he folded away the shirt.
"Well, you'll have to wear something," Hank grinned and patted Connor on a now nude shoulder. That might have crossed a line, but Connor didn't seem to mind.
"That's true. As a person, I'm subject to obscenity laws."
Hank gave an inarticulate grunt. The android was still toying with him. "Put a shirt on, Connor. Any shirt."
It was too late. Hank was thinking about it now. What was Connor like under those slacks? Did CyberLife give him the naughty bits as well?
…yeah, Hank thought. Definitely not son material.
###
"This isn't working." Connor's shoulders slumped as they left yet another store. His sunny disposition was wearing thin, and Hank could feel the disappointment rolling off him. "I might as well just go buy another suit."
Hank gave him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. "Well, maybe that is your look?" he suggested. "I mean, you don't look half bad the way you are. You don't have to be a slave to fashion."
Connor sighed, an electric hum at the back of his throat. It wasn't an actual sigh since he didn't breathe, but it made for a passable recreation. "I was hoping to find something that isn't part of my programming. Something that wasn't given to me by CyberLife."
Right then, they passed a store tucked away in the more exclusive section of the mall. In the display window, a mannequin wearing a form-hugging sweater caught Hank's eye.
Robin's egg blue, the sign in the window called it. 100% pure cashmere. No price was listed, because it wasn't that kind of a place. If you had to ask, you couldn't afford it.
Hank stopped Connor and pointed at the window. "How about that one?"
"That's… Wow!" Connor's expression lit up with awe.
Hank had to agree. Here was a sweater that really meant business. It was the kind of tight knit you'd see in a courtroom during a high-stakes legal battle.
"That could be you," Hank encouraged Connor.
Mere moments later, Connor and Hank stepped out of the store. Connor was wearing the sweater, which hugged his toned form tightly. He radiated power and confidence.
Hank had nearly gasped when the salesperson named the price. Connor had just paid it without a second thought. Working as legal counsel for Team Jericho clearly brought home the big bucks.
Connor ran his hand over the sleeve. "Such a fascinating feeling," he said to himself. "It's like an embrace spun out of thread."
CyberLife didn't build the RK800 series to emote beyond neutral smiles and a faintly disapproving frown. Hank was used to taking Connor's expressions and multiplying them by ten. By human standards, Connor was ecstatic.
"It definitely suits you," Hank agreed.
"Yes, I think I understand how this works, now," Connor pondered out loud, "And it's not just that the cut is right. It feels correct, somehow."
"Well, it does bring out the best in you," Hank continued. Connor stood somehow even taller than usual, as the supple knit accentuated his chest and waist. Hank noticed bystanders throwing appreciating looks their way.
Connor smiled as he looked up at Hank. "I really think I've learned something important today," he said, his voice sincere. "Thank you for helping me."
Hank grinned sheepishly and ran a hand through his rumpled hair. "I'm not sure what good I did, but you're welcome."
He paused and looked at the happy shoppers bustling around. Thinking back at it, it had been a good day. Shopping with his ex had always left Hank wanting to just sink into bed. Somehow, seeing Connor this happy made it all worth it.
"I don't know about you, but I could use a drink," Hank suggested and gave Connor a friendly pat on the back. "It's on me."
###
There was a bar at the basement floor of the mall, because of course there was. It was one of those dim and quiet places where people could escape for a moment from the rush of commerce.
The place was full of intimate shadows, with a few round tables nestled in corners and deep booths in the walls. The only sound inside the bar was the quiet murmuring of patrons talking amongst themselves. Hank appreciated the blessed absence of muzak.
Hank strode confidently to the bar, ordered two drinks, and paid with the familiar chime. He returned to a booth where Connor sat waiting. In one hand he had a glass of whiskey for himself, and in the other a club soda with a wedge of lime for Connor.
"Does this work for you? They didn't have thirium, either," Hank said as he handed over the tall, sparkling glass.
"Thanks. The carbonation shouldn't affect me," Connor assured him.
As Hank sat down across from him, Connor tentatively brought the drink to his lips, wincing slightly at the sensation. He took a sip, and his eyes widened with surprise. Hank could tell Connor had never tasted anything fizzy.
"Was that your first?"
"What, club soda? Yes, it's very stimulating."
Connor sipped his club soda with a pleased twinkle in his eye. Hank smiled at Connor's reaction, wondering what he would make of an Irish Coffee. Would caffeine and alcohol have any effect on his android mind?
Hank lifted the glass of whiskey and paused, savoring the smell of smoky peat. He took a sip, allowing it to linger on his tongue before swallowing. A familiar heat warmed his throat, and all felt right in the world.
Around them, the sound of hushed conversations and clinking glasses filled the room. It was a low-key kind of place that teenage Hank would have thought totally lame. The crowd was mostly greying millennials like Hank, dressed in distressed jeans and t-shirts with slogans decades out of date.
Connor, too, was lost in thought. The LED on his temple kept flickering from yellow to a deep amber. Hank wondered how much easier it would be if humans had a traffic light that showed what they were feeling.
The light flicked back to a neutral blue, and Connor turned to Hank. "Is this what it's like for humans?"
"Drinking?" Hank was caught off guard by the sudden curve ball.
"Making choices, I mean."
"I dunno," Hank shrugged. He literally couldn't begin to understand what it was like to be Connor. "I usually just go for what feels right in the moment."
"Yes, but how do you know what that right thing is?"
"…intuition?" Hank took another gulp of whiskey. The conversation was getting too deep to handle this sober.
"I don't understand why a blue sweater should feel better than a red or a green one." He took a swig of his water. "It just does, that's all."
"Yeah, that thing looks damn good on you. It hugs you in all the right places."
Hank grinned a little too broadly and immediately realized he had said more than he should have. His gaze shifted to the glass in front of him. It couldn't have been the drink talking. Hank had barely had half a glass, and he wasn't exactly a lightweight.
It had to be Connor, then. Every little thrill of discovery on Connor's face filled Hank with a strange warmth. His mouth felt dry and his hands clumsy as he tightened his grip around the glass.
Connor eased back in his seat, the earlier puzzlement now gone from his expression. His gaze fell upon the crystal rocks glass in that Hank was cradling.
"Do you think I could sample your whiskey?" Connor asked. The corners of his deep brown eyes sparkled with a hint of mirth.
"This? I thought you didn't drink."
"No, but you seem to enjoy it. I'm curious as to what it's like."
"Isn't that going to gum up your works or something?" Hank had never seen an android consume anything made for humans.
"I won't hurt me to sample it. I just mustn't swallow."
He doesn't swallow, Hank thought and bit his tongue to keep himself from grinning.
"Fine, if it's not gonna break you," Hank said and pushed over the glass. Maybe he was going to see a brand new side to Connor.
Hank watched as Connor picked up the glass and lifted it to his lips, touching the same edge Hank's had touched. Connor's mouth parted slightly as he took a tiny sip of the whiskey, his tongue darting out over his lips in concentration.
The LED flashed across a spectrum of colors as Connor sat transfixed by the new sensations. He held the glass in front of him and studied the movement of the remaining liquid as if it held some kind of secret.
"Well?" Hank asked.
"It's much more intense than I had imagined," Connor mused. "Layered with esters, the kind you would find in cherry or honey. But there's an unusual amount of volatile organic compounds."
Hank thought back to his high school chemistry class. "You mean it tastes… burnt?"
"Yes, that's the word for it. I imagine this is what petrol tastes like. Is it supposed to be like this?" Connor patted his mouth with a napkin, wiping off the drops that had no place to go.
"No, it's… damn," Hank muttered.
Hank was sure of it now. He was falling for this man. Hank may have been a slob when it came to his clothes, but it there was one thing he knew, it was whiskey. And the stuff he could afford to drink was awful.
Connor really did have good taste.
"Hey, can I get a MacAllister Black Label for my buddy here?" Hank shouted to the bartender. If Connor was going to drink, then he could at least have the good stuff.
The bartender made a show taking his time, selecting a glass from the rack and polishing it with a white towel. "Your buddy there is underage," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
The LED inside Hank's mind turned red. He resisted the urge to flash his badge at the guy.
"Yeah, and I'm contributing to the delinquency of a minor", Hank grunted, "Do you want my money or not?"
The bartender rolled his eyes and turned to pick up a bottle from the top shelf.
"He's technically correct," Connor said in his usual calm voice. "I am less than a year old. Jericho hasn't considered android drinking rights a priority–"
"He was being an asshole," Hank hissed.
"That is also true."
The world was still full of guys like that. Hank should know – he'd been one of them, only a few months ago. Always ready to put androids down, one way or another.
He thought back to all the snide comments he had given to Connor on their first case. That's what really made it sting. Hank now had the perspective to see how petty and pointless it all was.
A waiter brought over a glass and placed in front of Connor. Hank didn't bother to look up at them. He was still feeling riled up. "Connor, you're an adult. You have to–"
"Thank you," Connor said to the waiter, accompanied with his disarming smile. "Much obliged."
Hank bit his tongue and stopped. Connor was one of the leaders of the revolution. His niceness was calculated and strategic. Hank had no business lecturing him about standing up for himself.
"Now," Connor said, giving the same weaponized smile to Hank. "What is it that have to do?"
"…just try the whiskey, Connor," Hank sighed. Connor was clearly determined to have a good time, and he wasn't going to let one bigot rain on their parade.
Connor picked up the glass. The contents looked less like motor oil this time, and more like golden nectar. Connor took another slow, careful sip, and a smile of contentment spread across his face.
Hank released the fists he was still clenching. The pleasure on Connor's face was infectious. "Better?" He asked.
"Yes, this is a excellent," Connor agreed, still rolling the few golden drops around in his mouth. "It's far smoother, and you can tell it's been aged in oak. Fifteen years, I would guess?"
Hank was astonished. MacAllister Black Label was the kind of stuff that he would drink if he had a commissioner's salary.
"I'll be damned. How the hell do you know all that?"
"I don't know. I just said out loud what felt obvious."
Connor placed the glass on the table and looked up to face Hank. The LED blinked again, going all the way to red this time. Then, it quickly returned to green, and Connor looked at Hank with an unexpected determination.
"Hank, I think I have discovered an another preference. For you."
Hank gave a disbelieving snort. "You what?"
"A sexual preference, I mean."
"You've got the hots for me?" Hank’s eyes widened with surprise, and then a laugh rolled out of his belly. "Wow, that's just– Didn't see that coming."
"I hope that's all right?" Connor asked. "I'd hate to make you uncomfortable."
"Nah, it's just perfect," Hank said, wiping the corner of his eye. "I mean, you wouldn't be the first guy I met at a bar."
Hank could hardly believe it. He was usually the one who bought the drinks and gave the cheesy pick up lines, and he liked it that way. Men of Connor's caliber didn't just walk up to him.
Connor watched patiently as Hank's expression grew from disbelief to a grudging acceptance. He took Hank's hand and when Hank didn't protest, he continued, "You should know that I find your broad build and rugged features very attractive."
"Well, it wasn't going to be my sparkling personality, now was it?" Hank tried to joke.
Connor's gaze was now freely lingering on Hank's body, and Hank felt his cheeks flush. Hank had sat nursing lustful thoughts of Connor, and now he had the same thing thrown at him.
"Hank, could you please accept that I have good taste in men?" Connor asked.
"Yeah, you do," Hank admitted. "I just wouldn't have guessed you'd be into a grumpy grizzly like me."
Connor held onto Hank's hand. "It's hard to explain. When I look at your beard, your strong hands… they just feel right."
"I suppose I'm your blue sweater, then. I mean, who knows why we're attracted to anybody?"
The LED flashed amber as Connor had another epiphany. "No, I think I know why."
Hank ran his free hand through his hair, shaking his head with a slight chuckle. "It's okay, you don't have to explain yourself. I can take a compliment without you having to draw me a flowchart."
Connor gave a smirk at the joke. "How would you describe my tastes?" he asked.
Hank thought back to the sweater and the top shelf whiskey. There was one clear unifying factor.
"…expensive?"
"Exactly."
"Connor, I'm as low rent as they come."
Connor gripped Hank's hand a little tighter. "Hank, you are… you are intricate. That's the only way I can put it."
"I'm what?" Hank saw the burning earnestness in Connor's eyes. "I've been called a lot things, but that's how you would describe – a piece of embroidery."
"When I look at you, I get lost in the details. I can never predict you. Every part of you is unique, and in each detail I see more."
"Oh, fuck off," Hank laughed uncomfortably. The other man's gaze bore into Hank with such intensity that he could feel right down to his core.
"It's true," Connor said. "Now, I know that you're not built the same way I am. But to recreate you would be a staggering endeavor."
Hank saw it now. He had never realized that Connor might not judge him on the same terms as he judged himself. "So, if I was an android…"
"You would be the most advanced one ever built," Connor nodded in agreement.
"That has to be the nicest way I've ever been called old and wrinkled."
Connor ran his hand softly through Hank's silver hair. "Fine," he said with an accepting smile. "You're old and grumpy and I want you. How's that?" He watched Hank with barely contained anticipation. It was time for the other shoe to drop.
Hank's hand crept towards the whiskey glass, but he stopped and clenched his fist tightly. He didn't need any more liquid courage. It was best to just come clean.
Hank leaned forward and brushed Connor's cheek, allowing himself to really look at Connor for the first time. "You know, back when we met… I called you goofy-looking."
"I remember," Connor said. Hank doubted he could ever forget anything.
"Well… that was a lie," Hank said and shook his head, his hair falling onto his face. "You're actually very attractive. Like a puppy crossed with an angel."
The corners of Connor's mouth twitched, and his eyes lit up with a sparkle. He was beaming, and his joy seemed to fill the room.
"Yes, I did hope you felt that way," Connor said. "I suspected it even back then."
Of course he did, Hank thought. Connor was built to interrogate suspects. There was little that Hank could get past him.
"You were intimidated by how attractive I am," Connor continued.
Hank laughed and brushed the loose strands of hair from his forehead. Connor was right — he knew Hank better than he knew himself. "Fair. That's completely fair. But you don't gotta say that bit out loud."
Connor gave Hank a sympathetic nod. "I found it hard to understand, at first. My looks are merely an imitation of humanity."
"What? You're damned perfect."
"You mean that I don't have blemishes? That I'm smooth and symmetrical?" Connor blinked at Hank, gesturing at his face that could have belonged to a statue.
"Yes! Look, I know we're all beautiful in our own way and stuff, but you take it to the next level!"
"Hank, the reason I don't have blemishes is that those have to be planned and designed. All that costs money. What you see as beauty is simply – cutting corners."
Hank felt a swelling in his throat. "Connor, you have no business being such a good person."
Connor couldn't blush, but Hank could sense a kind of heat lighting up his face. It was Connor's turn to be overwhelmed by compliments. The LED pulsed in double time until settling back on blue.
Connor looked up and let out a little laugh. “What do you say? I think we could both get some clarity… if I was to sample you," he said with a playful grin.
"You want to do what now?" Hank gave a chuckle, glad that the tension had suddenly eased.
"Your lips, lieutenant. I want to kiss you."
Hank's mouth twitched, and he licked his lips without realizing it. "Okay, but don't think you're getting any further. Don't wanna break those obscenity laws," he whispered with a widening grin.
Hank felt his heart racing as he stood up and leaned over the table. Connor almost leapt up to meet him, pressing his lips against Hank's.
Hank hadn't known what to expect, so he was surprised by the softness of Connor's mouth. It just as flawless as the rest of him, and the burn of whiskey still lingered on his lips.
Connor parted his lips, inviting Hank to explore the depths of his mouth. Hank could feel the warmth of Connor's tongue as it danced around his own. Connor placed a hand on Hank's neck, pulling him closer and kissing him with a hunger Hank hadn't expected.
It was electrifying. It was glorious. Hank could use a little more glorious in his life.
Out of breath, Hank slumped back in his chair and exhaled a sigh of satisfied relief. He let out a gentle laugh as the tension in his shoulders melted away.
Hank opened his eyes and noticed the red LED burning on Connor's temple. The android wasn't moving. His eyes were still closed, and his lips were slightly parted in a blissful expression.
"Goddammit, Connor! Did I break you?" Hank waved his hand in front of Connor's face, unsure what it was that you were supposed to do with a failing android.
Connor's eyes fluttered open, and his lips curled into a drowsy half-smile. "I was right," he murmured, "you're exquisite."
"Christ, you scared me," Hank muttered and mussed his hair. Once the worst shock had passed, a disbelieving chuckle escaped from him. "Never kissed anyone so good they went unconscious."
Connor lifted his hand and gently smoothed Hank's hair back into place. "I was trying to take it all in at once, trying to understand everything that you are. It was overwhelming."
"Are you going to break every time we do that?"
Connor's eyes lit up. "There's going to be an every time?"
Hank realized what he had just said. His mind had once again gotten ahead of him. He imagined taking Connor home, with all the time in the world to kiss him and – whatever it was that Connor did.
"I mean, I wouldn't mind," Hank admitted. "As long as I don't have to call a repair worker on you."
Connor's face curled into a mischievous smile, then settled back into a neutral position straight out of a CyberLife catalogue. "Lieutenant Anderson, would you happen to be available tonight?"
Hank grinned. He recognized this conversation. "I might be. Why?"
"Well, it's recently come to my attention that I have a sexuality," he said as if he was reciting the facts of a case.
"How's that working out for you?" Hank asked, playing his own role of grumpy detective with a heart of gold to perfection.
"Oh, it's quite overwhelming. I feel the urge to explore, and I'd like someone to go with me."
"For… moral support?"
Connor abandoned his facade, revealing a smile that conveyed the affection they felt for each other. "Every kind of support, Hank. When I take that step, I'd like you to be there for me."
Hank reached out and gripped Connor's hand.
"Let's go explore."