Predecessor (Connor x Reader)

19 - Recognition

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The Urban Farms. Two years ago. Back when you were still learning how the world worked, still finding your place in the city. He was one of the first people you spoke to. And you were probably the first person who ever treated him with quiet, genuine kindness—without wanting anything in return.

Something passed between you then—unspoken but impossible to forget.

You don't move. You don't speak. You just stare.

Behind him, Hank shifts his weight. You hear the leather of his jacket creak. Connor steps in closer, LED flickering yellow.

"You know each other?" Hank asks, voice clipped, suspicious.

Rupert's eyes narrow. "You're a cop?"

"I—yes," you say. "I am now. But I'm not here to hurt you."

He flinches, barely, like the idea alone stings. "I've done nothing wrong. I just wanted to be free, you know what they'll do to me when they turn me in."

Connor's eyes flick between you and Rupert. "You've met before?"

You inhale slowly through your nose. "Briefly. A long time ago."

Connor tilts his head. "Where?"

You don't answer.

Rupert's voice softens. "I didn't know what it was back then. What you did." He looks at the ground. "But something changed after that."

Your stomach tightens.

"After what?" Connor presses, a little too sharp.

Your throat tightens. You step a little closer, just enough so the others behind h can't hear every word.

"Why didn't you run just now?" you ask, voice lowered. "You could've fought. You could've pushed past me."

"I saw your face.... And I remembered how it felt. Not just the cloth on my arm. But the way you looked at me—like I mattered."

You glance over his shoulder. Hank is tense, watching. Connor's arms are crossed, brows drawn together.

You turn back to Rupert. "You didn't do anything wrong. There's no reason for them to take you."

He gives a shaky nod. "But they will."

You don't say what you want to. That you understand. That the only reason you're not in his position is because no one's looked too closely. That what you gave him that night was more than comfort—it was the start of something.

"What the fuck is going on?" Hank snaps from behind you. His hands go to his hips, eyes locked on you now.

You don't look away. They need to see it. Both of them. That this deviant isn't dangerous. That he hasn't hurt anyone. That he doesn't deserve punishment just for wanting peace. Why is that so hard to see?

You take a breath, your voice low, careful. "What are you doing here?" you ask. "In this... place." You gesture lightly to the grime-streaked walls, the scattered feathers, the dense air full of birdcalls and rot.

Rupert shifts, his eyes flicking to the pigeons crowding the shelves and rafters. "They're like me," he says. "Made to serve. Programmed for purpose. Then tossed aside when no one needed us anymore. But even though we are free, it's still like being stuck in a cage."

His gaze trails one of the birds as it hops around his feet. "The birds are my friends. The birds like being with me. They protect me. They reassure me. I look at them and feel peaceful."