Conner had spent the majority of his life in a lab, with simulated realities as his only window to the outside world. He knew the world through data points and theoretical scenarios, a stark contrast to the complex reality of human society. When he finally broke free and began to experience life firsthand, he was often confused by the nuances of human behaviour.

He understood logic, but not the messiness of emotions.

​Then he met you. You were a walking contradiction to everything he had learned. His creators had taught him that humans were straightforward, predictable, and simple. But you made his processors overheat with your complex behaviour. You were the opposite of him. He was a being of science and control, while you were so expressive and in touch with your emotions. He was uncertain of what he felt for you.

It wasn't that Connor didn't understand humans. He had been raised by them, after all. But there were still so many things he had to learn, things that were second nature to everyone else. The more he learned, the more he realised how different he was from them, from the rest of his family even. Humans were so complicated, and their emotions were a tangled web that he couldn't always decipher. It made his head hurt sometimes, trying to figure it all out.

​He found himself trying to understand you, to figure out what made you tick. It wasn't like a mission where he could just punch through a problem. This was different, and he was determined to figure it out. His feelings for you were a jumbled mess he couldn't put a name to, but he knew he wanted to stay in your orbit.

​You had invited him to hang out, a casual get-together that he had been told was a "date." He'd been trying to understand the rituals of human courtship, and you had offered a suggestion when he asked for advice. "Just bring some flowers," you had said, "it's a classic and easy gesture."

​So he had flown to the nearest garden centre, taking the suggestion to heart. He had scanned the rows of flowers, trying to pick the best ones, and decided that "more is better." As he heard from Wally, so he didn't just get a bouquet; he picked up the entire trellis, with a massive vine of roses still attached.

​You opened the door, and your eyes went wide at the sight of him hovering there, holding a ten-foot-tall metal frame covered in bright red roses. He had a somewhat stoic expression on his face as he floated down to your front garden, carefully setting the heavy trellis down. "You said flowers were an appropriate gesture," he stated, his voice flat. "This seemed more efficient."