playlist ? dbh connor

approximately 16 beats per minute

"You didn't have to do all this, you know," you say, between bites.

"Perhaps not," he replies, tone measured. "But ensuring your well-being is important to me." His phrasing makes your chest tighten, but you decide not to press him on it.

After the plates were cleared and the dishes were stacked neatly in the sink (by Connor, of course), his gaze wanders toward the wall beside your bookshelf. There, hanging proudly, was the guitar he gifted you randomly.

"I see you've kept it displayed," he notes, his voice tinged with something like satisfaction.

"Of course," You follow his line of sight. "I didn't think I'd get back into playing until you gave it to me."

Connor approaches the instrument with reverence, his fingers brushing over the strings. "Would you mind if I play it for you this time?"

"You can play?"

He looks over his shoulder at you, one brow raised. "I'm familiar with the mechanics of the instrument. Would you prefer I demonstrate?"

Grinning, you grab a stool and sit down, pulling the guitar from its mount and handing it to him. "Alright, show me what you got, rock star."

The way his fingers move across the strings is almost hypnotic. His precision is unreal, each chord perfectly tuned and placed. You are caught off guard when he begins to sing, his voice smooth like caramel and hot chocolate, filling the room with a richness you hadn't expected.

When the song ends, you stare at him in disbelief.

"Connor, what the hell? You can sing too?"

"All androids can," he explains, his tone pragmatic. "We are equipped with advanced vocal synthesizers for various purposes, including music."

"Oh, shut the fuck up. That was still amazing," you say, waving off his explanation as you got up to retrieve something from the bookshelf.

When you return, you hold out a small object: your first ever guitar pick. Its edges are worn from years of use, and a faint design of a star is still visible despite its age.

"I want you to have this," You press it into his palm. "I know it's nothing. This is my first-ever guitar pick. I've had it since I was a teenager."

Connor examines it closely, his brows furrowing slightly. "Are you certain? This seems important to you."

"It is," you admit. "But so are you."

His gaze snaps to yours, his LED flashing yellow before settling back to blue. "I don't know if I should accept this. It holds sentimental value for you."

"And that's why I want you to have it," you say firmly. "You've been there for me — when I got shot, when I felt alone and lost, when I needed a friend. You always checked up on me, always looked out for me."