[COMPLETED] Corrupted (Connor X Reader)

Together

It was a small blessing that Hank's house was a 16 minute drive away from your apartment — ample time to shove all the embarrassing clutter in your closet, put out clean towels (Why? It wasn't like Connor would use the bathroom like other surprise guests), fix your hair, change out of your pajamas and into some nicer loungewear, and as a last-minute decision, re-apply the colored lip gloss generally reserved for going out.

Is this silly? I feel silly, you thought, shifting side-to-side in front of the bathroom mirror, with colored lips and loungewear too expensive to ever actually be worn to sleep. With a twinge of regret, you remembered that Connor had already seen you in your comfy (albeit ratty) pajamas and bed-head when Hank brought him for repairs two nights ago.

You didn't get any more time to think about it, however, as a rhythmic knocking startled you from your thoughts. After a last deep breath to calm your nerves, you pulled the chain from the lock and cracked the door open.

Oh, you couldn't stop yourself from holding your breath. Snow dusted Connor's dark hair and eyelashes, and he was rolling that coin on his knuckles again, eyes flicking up from the flashing silver to meet yours.

He didn't say anything, only pocketed the coin, quirked his face into an almost-smile, and stepped inside, gaze darting first to your lips, then pointedly around your apartment, probably scanning and cataloging everything. You gave a quick 'thanks' to whatever blessing allowed you time to tidy before he'd arrived. A moment passed, then two, before either of you moved or spoke — you broke first, chewing the inside of your cheek, unable to stand the jittering racing through your nerves. You invited him here, your mind offered unhelpfully, do something.

"Did you, um, want to sit?" You asked.

Connor's gaze returned to you, and when your heart beat a little faster, he smiled, all brown eyes and warmth — your body didn't know whether to relax into that warmth or tremble and flush from the anxiety that came with it.

Both happened.

Connor's smile widened a fraction, and he tilted his head in your direction before you cleared your throat, trying to reclaim some semblance of dignity. Was he enjoying this? Possibly teasing you on purpose? Every instinct you had screamed that he was, but the nervousness won over in the end, and you turned away from him to retrieve your computer.

That's what he was here for, right?

Once you'd sat on the couch with your legs crossed and the computer on your lap, you patted the next empty cushion. You swore Connor's shoulders slumped a bit, but he immediately followed, settling in and peering over the screen, smile now gone. With only a slight shift, he leaned closer to you, body brushing yours, as he peeled back the synthetic skin on his hand and placed it over the computer on your lap. You stiffened, feeling the gentle pressure as his hard shoulder bumped against yours.

Calm down, you thought, gritting your teeth, He's barely even touching you — don't overreact.

Eager for a distraction, you threw yourself wholeheartedly into observing the screen his bare hand rested against. Lines of code scrolled furiously, blinking in your vision, too quickly for any human to follow. Then, Connor's brow furrowed and the flashing slowed to a crawl, as small chunks erased then rewrote themselves, new pieces added, flickering between what you'd worked on for the past 12 hours.

He was fixing the virus blocker.

Fascinated, you watched the new bits and variables bloom to life, inserting themselves into the program you'd struggled over, repairing the small errors and bridging the gaps you'd failed to close yourself. You didn't realize how utterly transfixed you were until the screen froze, and you glanced up to see Connor's face only inches from yours, his brown eyes watching you — watching your awe over his work.