My Freedom Is You [Connor X Reader]

[CHAPTER: TWELVE]

You paused outside the door of your new apartment, breath fogging in the chilled hallway. The key felt cold and sharp between your fingers. You placed it into the lock, hands trembling as you sucked in a breath.

"Are you ready?" Connor asked, waiting patiently behind you. He looked effortlessly handsome in the brown leather jacket he usually wore. Hank stood behind him, mumbling about the cold.

You nodded, though you weren't sure you could ever truly feel ready for this moment. Your new life lay right behind the door, your new freedom. And it was overwhelming. Deciding not to dwell on it any longer, you turned the key.

The door clicked open with a soft echo, warm afternoon light spilling out into the hallway. For a moment you just stood there, frozen, staring into the apartment. Cream-colored walls stretched upward, bare and bright alongside the massive windows that overlooked the city. The space was empty, but instead of feeling hollow, it felt... weightless. Quiet in a way that wasn't suffocating. Clean in a way that didn't feel sterile. A new beginning.

Stepping inside felt like crossing an invisible border, one that you'd been staring at your entire life without realizing it. The soles of your shoes brushed against the fresh vinyl flooring as you wandered through the apartment, the unfamiliar scent of new paint settling quickly into your lungs. Decoration possibilities flooded your mind as you looked around at the small apartment.

It was fairly simple, a one-bedroom with a small living space and kitchen. Besides that, the soft wooden cabinets and marble countertops made the place feel almost luxurious. This was all completely unfamiliar, so... different from the bunker you'd lived in for most of your life.

"Nice place, kid!" Hank congratulated you, placing a gentle hand over your shoulder. "You'll feel at home here, I bet."

"Yes." Connor stood beside you now, analyzing the space. "I think this space is perfect for you."

You smiled, beaming at the android. "Thank you, Connor. For helping me find this!" Some instinct—old, childish, unbearably hopeful—surged forward. Before you could stop yourself, you stepped in front of him, wrapping your arms around him, catching him off guard. He reciprocated it, awkwardly.

Hank stifled a cough in the doorway, and the two of you pulled apart, both staring at the old man as he gave you a knowing look. "Well, c'mon! We've got some stuff to bring up, don't we?"

* * *

You propped the apartment door open with a box and jogged back down the hall toward the steps. The stack of old furniture Hank had generously donated to you was waiting by the front entrance: an eclectic pile of mismatched wood, dented metal, and one chair that looked like it had been rescued from a roadside crime scene.

You lugged another box up the stairwell, arms shaking halfway up the first flight. The cardboard edges cut into your palms, but for some reason you refused to let go. You wanted to do this. You needed to do something on your own.

Halfway up the next step, your knee buckled. You groaned, leaning against the wall for support. "Need some help?" Connor asked, already setting down the old nightstand he was carrying.

"I've got it," you snapped, breathless.

"Y/n," Connor said carefully. "That box weighs forty-five pounds. There is no advantage in hurting yourself." He was already placing a hand underneath the other side of it, gently lifting the opposite corner so effortlessly that the box was practically floating in your grasp. He wasn't taking over, not controlling it. He just helped you, supporting your movement as you climbed.