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There was blood spattered across your face. Not the usual red, no, but a bright, Thirium blue. It was bright and all over your face. It was dripping down your nose in thick drops and falling to the floor in quiet splats. It was meant to be inside of androids, and yet it was all over your face, and likely all over your clothes. You hadn’t looked yet, too scared by the weight in your arms.
He was heavy, heavier than you at least, and not the normal weight that you’d lift in a day, but you think if it had been any other situation, you would have enjoyed this weight in your arms. He was warm too, like a sunny day, or a warm bed. He would be nice to hold too if it weren’t for the fact that he was bleeding out. All over the floor, all over you, and that you loved him. It would be nicer if it weren’t for the fact that the android that you loved was bleeding out all over you.
You wanted to cry, but you couldn’t quite feel the tears sliding from your eyes. Too dehydrated, Connor was always reminding you to drink more water. Perhaps you should really take his advice and drink more when you get home. Alcohol would be nice, but you didn’t have the time for a headache right now. Plus, Connor had locked up the liquor after you had tried to jump off the roof that one night. He hadn’t been deviant then, but he was now. If the look on his face was to say anything. He had turned only a few days ago, trying to keep it a secret. He couldn’t keep from telling you though. In his own way. The way he grabbed your hand one day, in the back of Hank’s car. How he narrowly avoided punching Gavin in the face because you had stepped in and calmed him down.
Right, he was dying. That made so little sense to you. How was this fair? He was such a good person, a good android. He wanted to be free, but he’d be killed if he wasn’t careful. He wanted to love you too, you could tell in the way he looked at you, and yet he was shot. Shot three times, one hitting and destroying his state-of-the-art thirium pump. One that was unique to him, and only him. He would be dead in seconds. Maybe a little more if he didn’t move. But he was moving. God, why was he moving?
Connor raised his hand to your face and lightly pressed it against your face. “I love you,” He mouthed it, his soft lips barely forming the words before his hand dropped down again.
And he was gone. The warmth that his body gave off slowed and then stopped completely. And you were cold. So cold. All you wanted to be was warm, and you were so cold.
His hands were normally soft and warm. Pliable, so that they fit around yours perfectly. They were nimble, his coin was his favorite thing he had, and he often showed off his little tricks when Hank wasn’t too annoyed to snatch it away from him.
“Oh, no, Connor, no, no please…” your words were hushed, but they spilled from your lips like prayers. You just wanted him there with you. You wanted him alive, and laughing, and trying to get Hank to be his friend. You wanted him happy. You wanted him to love you, and let himself be loved.
Hank was behind you, kneeling. “Oh, son, no.” His soft pleas were like your own but he stopped talking and took your shoulder in his hands. “It’s okay,” he called your name quietly. “We need to go.”
You didn’t want to leave him there with all of those strangers, but Hank got you up, and you left him.
He wouldn’t come back the same.