Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

CRASH

Markus' eyes flew open, any vestiges of sleep fading away as he registered a loud sound. He laid still for a few moments, wondering if he had just dreamed it up, but a following low thump from somewhere downstairs quickly killed that hopeful thought.

Heart rate increasing, he sat up in bed, the blankets pooling around his feet as he kicked them off. Despite the fact that he was a grown man perfectly capable of self-defense, he’d never felt as vulnerable as he did creeping over the cold, bedroom floor in nothing more than his boxers and a t-shirt still covered with flecks of paint.

Despite his best efforts to have some of his clothes be clean (if nothing else than to prove North wrong that he was an art-obsessed weirdo-- which he wasn’t… even if staying up for hours past midnight to paint most days, tonight being a rare time that he didn’t, slightly discredited that thought) , his pajamas weren’t unscathed. Of course, even if they weren’t, they weren’t an impenetrable armor or bullet-proof vest, so Markus was right to be wary as he opened his bedroom door and peeked out into the hallway.

The hallway was illuminated by shadows. To his left, his adopted father’s bedroom remained dark, further dashing Markus’ hopes that Carl had simply come home early from his ‘Guys Night Out’. As much as Markus enjoyed the fact that Carl had good friends that he visited regularly, the fact that they were Elijah Kamski was eccentric at best and Lieutenant Hank Anderson was a grumpy drunk at worst meant that they were an… odd influence. Or, perhaps that wasn’t fair since Carl was an equally bad influence . Either way, the light being out in his room meant that it probably wasn’t his adopted father… unless he had gone to the studio for a late night painting session? It… wasn’t likely, especially since Carl had called hours ago saying he was going to spend the night at Kamski’s, but possible.

Blood pressure quickly rising, Markus crept over to the staircase and peered over the railing. He saw the reflection of light from the studio and, despite the fact that it strengthened his theory that it was his father home, something in his gut told him that it wasn’t.

Swallowing, he crept down the staircase and through the living room, pausing by the giraffe as the light from the studio became brighter. It was then that he realized that he should have probably grabbed a weapon. The worst case scenario would be that Carl would laugh at his paranoia while the best would be that he wouldn’t be completely defenseless in his pajamas against a burglar.

Looking around for something to defend himself, he grabbed a nearby candlestick.

Great, he thought to himself. If it really is a burglar, you can often them romantic mood light as they steal your paintings and step over your dead body .

Finally, he mustered up the courage and peered into the studio.

And just stopped.

Whatever Markus was expecting when he came down here, dressed in his pajamas and with a candlestick as protection, it wasn’t this… this…

This angel.

Long legs and arms that went on for miles against a perfectly sculpted-- and, really, that wasn't fair since Markus  had yet to see a  sculpture that could compare to the magnficence before him-- body that, while thin, also looked to be the peak of athletic fitness and made Markus feel even more self-conscious about his bed-ridden state. Dark hair that, while stylized, couldn’t hide the man’s natural curl-- Markus had the sudden desire to see it messy-- and pale skin that only enhanced the idea that the person before the artist was an unearthly being sent to fill Markus’ dreams and nightmares in equal measure.

Then that face . Gentle features with big, round brown eyes that were focused on… oh God, was he looking at Markus’ painting!?

Despite the fact that the man before him was an intruder, Markus suddenly felt more self-conscience of his work than ever before, internally wishing that he had spent more time brightening Identity’s colors and enhancing the texture...

Don’t get distracted, Markus. This angel is probably here to kill you or rob you blind.

“Excuse me.” Markus heard his voice crack as he inched around the doorway-- damn it, he probably looked like a complete idiot. “Can I ask what you’re in my home at--” He looked over at a nearby clock with a cuckoo-cuckoo bird on it. “--one in the morning?”

A split-second after Markus spoke, the man spun around, a bright flush on his face as he held his hands up in defense. Yeah, like Markus could do anything to this sculpted god--he thinks he would rather die than bruise such a heavenly face… which was still a possibility.

“Hello,” said the man, sounding very calm and composed despite having been discovered breaking into a house. “My name is Connor. I apologize if I woke you. I was not informed that anyone would be here.”

Markus blinked. Carl hadn’t said that there would be anyone coming over tonight, right? That or, whoever Connor had planned this heist with, didn’t give the man proper instructions. Despite Markus’ desire to continue staring at the gorgeous man, he really needed to find out what was exactly going on here. “I… live here?”

The man-- Connor, what a lovely name-- looked away, as if bashful. “My sincere apologies. I assume you’re Mr. Manfred’s younger son, Markus, right?” Markus’ heart skipped a beat as he nodded-- he knows your name. “I’m sorry that we’re meeting under such unpleasant terms. I’ve heard much about you when accompanying my partner, Lieutenant Anderson, and admire all you’ve accomplished in your short life.”

Every part of Markus seemed to short circuit with every word Connor said. There was an internal war between ‘how can someone so polite have broken into the house, he can’t possibly be real’ and ‘he admires what I’ve accomplished , I think I might die from the biggest crush ever oh my God I’m so pathetic’ before giving way to: “You know my Dad’s friend Hank? I mean, Lieutenant Anderson?”  

Apparently as relieved as Markus to get on an easier topic, Connor nodded eagerly, looking closer to a puppy than anything remotely real. “Yes! I was recently transferred to the Detroit City Police Department and assigned to be the partner of Lieutenant Anderson. We were supposed to work on a case tonight, but the Lieutenant had previous plans with your father and an Elijah Kamski. I was unaware and about to return to the station when, for whatever reason, your father insisted that I come over and make sure none of the paintings had been stolen.”

This was, undoubtedly, the most bizarre break-in story Markus had ever heard. Speaking about break-in… “Then what was that crash?”

To Markus’ delight-- and horror-- Connor blushed, a pale pink that made him look equal parts adorable and irresistible “I… was having difficulty getting inside. I realize now that I forgot to ask Mr. Manfred for his passcode to get inside. I thought it was imperative I get inside and… may have broken the door?”

Markus blinked. Wow, had he been so distracted that he failed to notice a broken door when going down the staircase? Maybe North was right that he was kind of useless at times…

A moment passed and Connor fidgeted, a sorrowful expression growing on his face that Markus instantly wanted to wipe away. “I’m sorry,” blurted out Connor, bringing Markus from his thoughts. “I… I never should have-- I swear I have the funds to replace it--”

Oh, did he think Markus was mad about the door? Of course, why else would he think Markus was staring at him like a total creep… besides the truth, that is.

“It’s fine!” said Markus quickly, holding up his hands-- one still holding the candlestick, damn it all-- as if to show his peaceful intentions. He quickly set the candlestick down before looking at Connor again. “Really. Carl should have remembered. Especially since you were doing him a… favor.”

A bullshit favor, by the sounds of it. But why would Carl purposely send Connor on a nonsense mission…?

... wait, he hadn’t, had he?

Connor tilted his head. “The most logical conclusion here would be that I was lying about knowing your father at all. Not that I wish to be mistaken for a burglar, but I’m surprised that you believe me.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong…

Markus crossed his arms with a smirk, trying to gain a bit of control over the situation now that his initial ‘struck-dumb attraction’ was becoming more manageable. “Oh? Would a burglar really say that then?”

Connor blinked, long eyelashes fluttering far too attractively. “No, but I have encountered felons on many cases who are willing to say whatever’s necessary in order to avoid detainment.”

The stray thought that Markus would like to lock Connor up-- if only just to paint him whenever he pleased-- came and went faster than he could control it. Damn, he had to control himself! “Well,” Markus cleared his throat. “I have a feeling that, besides breaking my door, you’re not the criminal type.”

The pale-skinned man blinked once again. “I appreciate the sentiment, even if I have done little to substantiate or deserve such trust.”

Markus noted that Connor spoke rather oddly. It wasn’t just formal, but almost mechanical? Yet, the tone he used was like music to his ears. Markus definitely needed to hear more in order to figure it out… for science, of course. “I’m usually alright trusting my gut,” he answered, wanting to prolong the conversation in any way. “But even when I’m wrong, my friends are usually there to back me up.”

Something in Connor’s facial features changed, a full-change that even someone without Markus’ artist eye would spot. Almost becoming… lonely? Whatever it was, it made Markus’ heartache and regret causing it. “Do you… have many friends?” asked Connor tentatively.

It felt like an odd, strangely personal question, but Markus answered anyway. “Yes, quite a few people that I’m friendly with, but I’m closest to my friends North, Josh, and Simon who I’ve known for many years.”

“Oh.” Again, the sound, while quiet, seemed to have the ability to rip Markus’ heart apart. “That sounds nice. Friends, I mean.”

Oh . Markus bit his lip. “Do you... not have friends?”

He immediately regretted the question, especially when he saw Connor become even more forlorn and withdrawn. “I… have yet to fully settle in Detroit.”

“But what about before?” asked Markus before he could stop himself.

Connor glanced away towards the other side of the studio, obviously uncomfortable. “I… do not have anyone in my past that would qualify.”

Not only was this man the most beautiful person Markus had borne witness to, he, with a few words, managed to convey one of the saddest lives that Markus had ever heard of. “What about Lieutenant Anderson?” blurted out Markus, desperate to wipe that expression from Connor’s face. “I mean, you said you were partners, right?”

If anything, Connor seemed to become even more uncomfortable-- much to Markus’ ever-growing horror. “I… do my best to stay out of Lieutenant Anderson’s way, but I’m afraid I have yet to earn anything but his ire and annoyance. Such as tonight, when I inadvertently interrupted him during his evening with… friends.”

He glanced away. “It seems quite likely that Mr. Manfred was not truly worried about his paintings and, rather, just wanted an excuse to get rid of me instead.” He suddenly tensed. “I apologize. I don’t know why I’m still bothering you. Please excuse me--”

“Wait!” shouted Markus, actually throwing his hands up as if he was willing to physically stop Connor from leaving-- even though he wouldn’t mind laying his hands… not the time, Marcus ! “I’m… sure that’s not what they intended! Dad and I have an art show coming up and my older brother, Leo, sometimes steals paintings in order to sell for fast cash. Carl was… probably worried that might happen again.”

Markus wasn’t sure why he was, essentially, airing out the dirty laundry of the Manfred family, but it was well worth it to see Connor suddenly straighten, a bit of that grief washing away under a mask of professionalism. “Have you reported him to the police?”

The tan man shifted uneasily, not quite comfortable talking about his older brother like this-- even if seeing Connor in what he’d forever more dub ‘Detective Mode’ was really hot. “No, he’s… he’s still my brother, Carl’s biological son, you know? Family doesn’t turn on one another, even when they turn on you.”

Suddenly, that sadness returns to Connor’s face-- Markus despaired the fact he seemed to do nothing but bring it back. “I… actually do not know. I have been an orphan my entire life and cannot recall a time that I had a family. As a result, I’m unable to fully understand such sentiment. My apologies, again.”

Markus stared at the forlorn expression on Connor’s face following his words. Really, Markus’ heart couldn’t take this stress. Either he’d died from a lovestruck heart attack or he’d die from the heartbreak of hearing Connor’s sad backstory. This wasn’t fair in any way. Why oh why did Carl think it was a good idea to send this gorgeous, melancholic man his way?

“No, it’s my fault,” said Markus quickly. “I didn’t mean to bring up any bad memories.”

Connor shook his head. “You had no way of knowing. There’s no need to apologize.”

“No, I really did,” insisted Markus. “After all, you came all this way as a favor for me and my Dad and all I’ve done is be a terrible host.” His eyes widened. “Oh, shi--I mean, did you want something to drink? Sorry, I didn’t offer anything before.”

Connor’s head tilted again, as adorable as the first time he did it. “But it’s, as you said, approximately one-thirty in the morning. Surely it’s best you return to sleep?”

Markus glanced at the clock and, wow, they’d already been talking for half an hour? This was definitely one of the most emotionally turbulent half-hours of his life. He looked back at Connor, gesturing him towards the sitting room. “I actually went to bed pretty early tonight. I’m usually still up at this time painting. But if you’re tired, there’s more than enough guest rooms,” offered Markus-- he would not think about Connor sleeping, he would not think about inviting Connor to share the same bed… “I’m sure Carl would be fine with you staying over.”

For a moment, Connor seemed to consider it, before shaking his head. Though Markus felt his heart sink in his chest, he understood. He, generally, wouldn’t want to sleep over at some stranger’s house… especially in these circumstances.

Still, a part of him rebelled at letting Connor go so quickly. “If not,” he quickly added on before Connor could speak “I can make you something quick for the road? Really, it’s no trouble.” He tacked on that last part, seeing Connor’s hesitancy grow.

For a moment, Connor seemed to consider him. Markus wondered if he could hear his heart beating right now. With how loud and hard it was thumping, Markus wouldn’t be surprised if the other with his perfectly crafted ears-- crap, he was already musing how beautiful the other’s random appendages were; he was in too deep already-- could hear it. Honestly, Connor might not be a burglar, but he seemed unconsciously determined to steal Markus’ heart right from his chest.

Another breath, and Connor slowly nodded.

A smile bloomed on Markus’ face as he waved the other towards the kitchen, suddenly wracking his brain for every tea and hot chocolate recipe he knew-- generally he was a coffee man, but this was not time for coffee; even by Markus’ standards-- and trying to figure out from sheer willpower what Connor would enjoy the most. “How does… a cup of chamomile tea sound?”

While not Markus’ favorite tea, it was great for relaxation, stress-relief, and insomnia. While Markus suffered from all three regularly, he had a feeling that Connor did too.

Yet, the reason he chose chamomile tea was because of the color. Freshly brewed, chamomile tea was a warm, rich brown shade. He wondered if Connor’s eyes, in the sunlight, would be a similar color?

It didn’t matter, because in the next moment Connor smiled, driving away the thoughts of anything else from Markus’ mind. “I have never sampled chamomile tea…” Markus felt his heart squeeze again. “...but I would not be remiss to trying it, however.”

Markus smile grew, large enough that his cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling so long as he gestured towards the kitchen once more. “You’ll love it, I promise.”

o0o0o0o

It was a short cup-of-tea, one shared over an equally peaceful and awkward silence, and Connor was gone far too quickly-- Markus was thankful that he used the broken door as an excuse to talk longer; getting the young man’s phone number was certainly worth all the broken doors in existence-- but Markus felt light as air despite it.

Despite the fact that he had more tea than what was strictly necessary-- after all, by refilling both their cups, they could talk longer-- he found himself unable to sleep for many hours, insomnia worse than ever as he thought of alluring, soulful brown eyes and a hopelessly charming voice.

It was only hearing the door opening downstairs did he realize that he had fallen asleep, having apparently been so obsessed with Connor that visions of the man had literally followed him into his dreams.

He quickly sat up from the bed, irrationally hoping that it was Connor-- really, if it was, he’d definitely have to be concerned the other man was lying about his intentions-- before hearing his adopted father call out to him. “Markus? Are you awake?”

“Coming, Carl!” he yelled down, quickly dressing in reasonable breakfast-clothes before quickly making his way down. It was apparently already half-past ten. Markus, even when he was up late, rarely slept in like this.

His adopted father, wheelchair in front of a broken door, greeted him with an amused expression as he bounded down. For a moment, Markus wondered why he looked so amused…

He flushed. “Why did you send Connor over here last night?”

Carl shrugged innocently. “I just wanted him to check on the paintings,” he said evenly, as if that ever-present sparkle of mischief wasn’t in his eyes. “If you just happened to be awake when he came by…”

“I wasn’t.” Markus’ blush grew. “I was actually asleep. I thought that someone had broken in.” He gestured to the broken door. “Technically, he did . All because you ‘forgot’ to give him your passcode.”

Carl raised an eyebrow. “And, yet, Hank hasn’t called to ask me to drop any break-in charges on his young partner. I have a feeling you weren’t that upset, were you?”

Markus glared, his face literally on fire now. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” he accused. “Why?”

A touch of sorrow entered Carl’s face. “As you probably saw,” he said gently, “that young boy has far too heavy a burden on his shoulders. Despite Hank’s best efforts, he has yet to get through to that boy that he is wanted. When he came over last night, I could tell that he would leave in some misguided attempt to not be a bother despite Hank offering for him to stay. Definitely devoted to his job, that one.”

“A good partner for Lieutenant Anderson then,” answered Markus, trying to ignore the way his stomach clenched at the reminder of Connor’s deep sorrow.

Carl nodded. “Yes. Hank is quite taken with the boy, but, as I said, I’m afraid Connor has yet to realize the Lieutenant’s care for him. Even if he had managed to convince Connor to stay, I had a feeling that he wouldn’t find much enjoyment spending time with three boring old men playing cards--” At this, Markus couldn’t help but snort. His adopted father and two friends were many things, but boring wasn’t one of them--the world would probably be better off if they were. “--so I had the idea to introduce him to you.” With that, the twinkle returned to Carl’s eye.

Markus huffed. “And you couldn’t just send him over at a normal time? Or, I don’t know, not pretend we were worried about a break-in so that he would actually break-in?”

Carl laughed. “As I told you, Connor is very devoted to his job. Hank says he’s very much a loner, doesn’t go out or interact with others unless it pertains to a case. I have my own suspicions on that, but I knew that if I could convince him to come over, you , my boy, would take care of him.” He paused. “Or, at the very least, get a nice eyeful.”

“Dad!” complained Markus, flushing up to his ears now. Honestly, he was a living tomato. North would never let him live it down. “I didn’t… you --” He swallowed. “Whatever you intended, it didn’t work. We barely spoke before he left.”

“But you met, didn’t you?” egged on Carl.

Markus thought back to the explosion of emotions he felt when he first laid eyes on Connor to the sadness he felt during their conversation to the peacefulness of their sharing of tea to the lovestruck high that followed his departure…

“Yes,” said Markus finally, trailing off into thought and failing to notice Carl smirk at him. “We did.”

Chapter Text

"Markus? Markus..."

Markus snapped his head towards his adopted father who sat in his wheelchair beside the stand where Markus had set up the painting, Identity. "Do you need something, Carl?"

Carl smiled, more than a hint of mischief as he glanced towards the rest of the art gallery. "Oh, nothing. Just that you've been preparing for this gallery for months, and yet it seems to be the last thing on your mind. Perhaps because of a certain intruder?"

Markus flushed, face lighting up like a tomato--a very ugly tomato he was sure. It had been about a week since Detective Stern, Connor, had broken into the Manfred house with the idea that he was helping prevent the theft of Markus and Carl's paintings... an idea planted into the--gorgeous--detective's head by the convincing old man in front of him.

"He wasn't intruding," argued Markus, looking away from Carl. Not because he was trying to avoid looking at his father, of course, but because he was honestly curious how many people had come to see his work... even if he hadn't been, well, curious for the last hour that it had been opened. He had been a bit preoccupied with... art thoughts, and all. 

It was technically true since he already had a dozen sketches of Connor filling his sketchbooks...

"Intruding into your heart without a doubt," remarked Carl.

"Dad!" protested Markus, flushing an even deeper--and uglier--shade of red as he glanced around, worried that someone in the gallery would overhear.

Carl chuckled, obviously enjoying his son's embarrassment. "What's wrong? I thought you and Connor got along quite nicely?"

"We did," admitted Markus, returning his gaze to his father. "But that doesn't mean that I was thinking about him."

The old man raised an eyebrow, but Markus met his eyes, refusing to back down. A few seconds went by and Markus sighed. "Okay, fine. I... may have been wondering about him."

"For the hundredth time," pointed out Carl.

"Carl!"

"Oh, sorry. The hundredth time today."

"Will you quit it?" Markus wiped his hands on his suit, feeling uncomfortable in such formal clothing but knowing that it was required of him as the main artist on exhibit. "Can't I just think someone as a friend?"

"North, Simon, Josh, and others are your friends," said Carl, gesturing around the art gallery with a wrinkled hand to where the said friends were pursuing other parts of the gallery after bothering Markus for an hour before opening. "But you've never reacted to someone like this. When I sent him over, I admittedly didn't expect you to be so fixated even a week later. Especially since you weren't able to get that date you wanted."

"I didn't ask him for a date!" denied Markus. 

"I know." Carl looked at him, deadpan. "When he called to transfer funds for the door, you said 'thanks' and let him hang up before you could say anything else. Honestly, my boy, I thought I taught you how to speak better than that--"

"I can't believe you're bringing this up now," moaned Markus, placing one hand over his face as if that could hide the sheer mortification he was feeling. "Really, Carl. That critic, Veronika Satin, is going to be here soon so we should be mingling with the guests."

Carl nodded, placing one hand on the controls for his wheelchair. "I know, which is why I came over to bring you from your fantasies--though be sure to jot down a few notes, I'm certain that your 'Visions of Connor' will give way to enough art to fill up an exhibit by itself."

"Bye, Dad," gritted out Markus, fiddling with his tie as if that could somehow make him look busy. "I'll tell you how it goes with the critic."

Carl chuckled, an indulgent sound that calmed Markus despite his best efforts. "Alright, alright. I'll tease, oh, excuse me, I mean inspire you later." He looked over to where North, Simon, and Josh stood next to the painting Jericho, the work based off the outreach community house that North ran and Markus regularly volunteered at. "Perhaps I shall talk to North--you haven't told her about Connor yet, have you? I'm certain I would have heard if she had..."

"No, don't tell North!" Markus said, reaching out in vain as Carl wheeled over to the area that Markus' three friends were currently at, the three greeting him as he came over. "And... he's gone."

"Such a shame," said a voice, young and feminine, from behind him. "It's such an honor to be near a legend such as him."

Markus whirled around. The one who had spoken was a young woman, maybe five years his senior, with curly dyed red hair, more makeup than skin--what Markus meant was that her lipstick was a bit... much--and was dressed in a bright orange dress that seemed more befitting a runway--as in an airplane runway--than an art gallery. She was also carrying a steaming, styrofoam mug of coffee, obviously custom brewed with something... odd given the way its smell overpowered the scent of paint and wax from the surrounding area.

Trying not to wrinkle his nose, he composed himself with a nod. "Hello, welcome to the Manfred Art Gallery. How are you enjoying the works on display today?" 

"Oh, I'm enjoying what I see very much." She smiled lavishly, fluttering her eyelashes playfully. Markus felt something inside of him sink--he knew that expression. But he kept himself outwardly neutral. "In fact, you probably do too."

"I beg your pardon?" asked Markus, feeling himself grow wearied of the conversation already.

"You're excused," she said, waving a hand. "Anyway, I'm sure you recognize me, but I'm Veronika Satin. I'm the critic doing an article on the gallery opening today."

Markus nodded, straightening despite himself. "Of course. Well, all the art we have on display today, including the centerpiece, Identity--" He gestured to the painting next to him, feeling a wave of pride despite himself. "--was done by myself, so if you have any questions I would be happy to answer them."

She frowned, raising a manicured eyebrow as she glanced over at Identity. "Oh? Really?" Satin made a big show of looking around with a faint nonchalance. "Are you sure? I mean, they seem to be a bit... more professional than you'd expect from an emerging artist. Surely your father... helped, didn't he?"

At Markus' side, his hands gripped into fists, but he made sure that his face remained calm. "No, Miss Satin, I'm afraid that while my father did teach me all I know, it was entirely by my doing that I made the art on display today. I think you'll find that my style is a bit different from his--"

"Call me Veronika. And, hmm, you're really trying to take credit for these?" She stepped forward, definitively invading all common ideas of personal space; so much so that her flowery perfume was now overwhelming him as well. "I think we both know that's a bit of an exaggeration. That's okay--it'll be our little secret. But if you really want me to write that you're the artist and give them a good review, I think we can come to an arrangement of sorts--"

"I'm sorry," said a voice suddenly, "but are you suggesting that you will blackmail Mr. Manfred if he does not pay you to write that he did his own art?"

For a split second, Markus almost replied "while she's definitely trying to blackmail me, it's not money that she's trying to get; or, at least, not just money" but then he registered the voice.

Eyes widening, he spun towards the direction of the voice and just... stopped.

Almost entirely the same--as in, beautiful beyond belief--as the night he had broken into Markus' house, Detective Connor Stern stood just a foot away with a frown--and, wow, Markus didn't like seeing him unhappy, but the way his lips pursed into that confused pout needed to be immortalized forever in a painting, or at least a few dozen sketches--as he regarded the two of them.

Satin's eyes widened for a moment before she scowled at the detective. "Of course not," she said, derisively. "And didn't your parents ever tell you how rude it is to listen in to other people's conversations?"

Markus immediately tensed, seeing something flash through Connor's eyes with her words. While she had no way of knowing about Connor's orphan upbringing, she had no right to speak to him--to anyone--like that.

Before Markus could say something--demand for her to leave so that Markus could spend time with someone that he'd willingly throw her out the window in order to see--Connor straightened, staring at Satin head-on.

"It's my business if you're attempting to solicit Mr. Manfred here," Connor glanced at him and Markus felt his heart skip a beat... even if he desperately wished Connor would call him by his first name. Hadn't he asked Connor to call him by his first name? Probably not since Markus had only talked to the other man for less than ten minutes. "Besides, the idea that you're accusing him of attempting to plagiarize his father's work... it's rather silly."

"What would you know?" snapped Satin, her already pointed face becoming even sharper in a way makeup couldn't cover.  

"I know Mr. Manfred mainly be reputation," admitted Connor, stepping closer to that he was now beside the painting of Identity. "But spending even one minute in his presence tells you that he's a devoted, honest, and brilliant person who pours his very 'soul' into his work. I'm quite certain that he'd rather give up doing art rather than steal from someone else."

While it was true, Markus was... stunned silent by the fact that Connor, through their very short exchange, could say such things about him. If he hadn't been fascinated--fixated--before, Markus definitely was now.

Great, he better buy some more sketchbooks because Connor's expression while defending him was going to fill a few more...

Satin's face twisted, obviously not used to being talked to like this. "That's idealistic and all, but everyone knows that, in the art community, you have to do whatever it takes to get to the top." She turned her nose up, as if she could make up for the foot of height difference between her and the detective. "I don't blame Markus for using his father's work--he's already using his father's name, after all."

Markus clenched his fists tighter, willing himself not to say, or do, something he'd regret. It was something that he'd heard often: the idea that Markus was only getting exposure to his art because of his father's fame and that, without him, no one would give him a second glance. He knew... he knew that was probably correct, but--

"That's ridiculous!" snapped Connor, the raised tone making Markus look at him in shock. "Obviously, you know nothing of what he went through to get here. Markus first began publishing his work under the pseudonym 'Deviant' and it was only after many critics requested to know his true name that he revealed it and announced this art gallery. While it's true that he's still starting out, the efforts he has made to get here are obvious and entirely of his own."

Connor fixed his tie, something Markus thought to be a nervous habit since he had done it many times at Markus' house, but his eyes never left Satin. "Does your newspaper know about your insufficient skills in research? I think it's quite detrimental in your line of work and is a disservice to all who read it."

Markus hid his laughter by pretending he had to cough, secretly relishing in the shocked and indignant expression on Satin's face from behind his suit sleeve. "Excuse me?"

Connor nodded. "You're excused, but please apologize to Mr. Manfred more efficiently. There are many guests here and, even if you're a critic, I kindly ask that you do not take more of his time than needed." He glanced at Markus, warm brown eyes looking at him inquisitively. "Of course, unless he has any other use for you?"

At the back of his mind, Markus' theory that Connor was an angel--a guardian angel--gained a few points.

Markus shook his head, barely hiding his grin--though he had a feeling Satin knew where he stood in this 'discussion.' "No, I think you covered all the points there, Connor. Thank you."

At the sound of his name, Connor's eyes seemed to warm. Markus stared, mesmerized.

For a moment, Satin just stared as well, but then her face twisted into one of nonchalance. It unsettled Markus for whatever reason.

"Wow," she gushed with obviously fake enthusiasm. "You have quite a fan already, don't you Markus? Well, I suppose I should really get going..."

She stepped towards Identity--a move that Markus found odd since the exit was in the other direction--and, then, without warning: "Oops!"

She tripped, flailing in a way that would have been comical if she wasn't falling towards Identity with a cup of coffee--

Markus moved to try and protect his painting, fear rising up in him as he realized he hadn't anticipated her true intentions quick enough--

Splash

Satin stared up incredulously at Connor, the latter suddenly in front of Identity and holding her shoulders up from 'tripping.' His well-fitting semi-formal jacket now soaked in the brown--undoubtedly burning hot--liquid, so much so that it was dripping from his once clean white shirt and tie down to the floor.

Yet, the detective didn't seem to notice as he stared down at Satin. "That was a very immature thing to do," he spoke, tone even as ever. "I think you will find purposely defacing personal property to be a very serious offense."

"I-I didn't--" she stammered, obviously shaken in the face of the still neutral-faced man. She tugged her arms away from him, backing away from the soaked detective.

"Connor!" yelled out Markus, quickly coming over once his senses returned to him. He stared in horror at the ruined uniform, years of making coffee for his father and dealing with the inevitable burns that came from brewing it filling him with fear at how painful Connor's already reddening skin had to be. "How much pain are you in? Your skin is already blistering--"

"It's fine, Mr. Manfred," said Connor politely. How he could be so polite even in the face of this, Markus had no idea, but the surge of admiration Markus felt severely out of place.

"Like hell it is," said a gruff voice, saying what Markus had been thinking.

All three parties turned around to see Detective Hank Anderson walk over, Carl following closely behind in his wheelchair. Both men had grave expressions, but the former looked ready to tear Satin's head off. "You just made a big mistake, lady."

Satin's eyes darted around, obviously searching for an easy exit, before composing herself. "I think you'll find that I was simply protecting myself." She sneered derisively at Connor, redirecting the attention to him. "This man came up and insulted me with no reason. And then, when I tried to leave, proceeded to assault me--"

Hank snorted, interrupting Satin's speech mid-sentence. "Yeah, fuck no," he said, rolling his eyes before glancing at Connor. "Connor is a lot of things, but that bullshit you just spouted is none of them. This idiot gets himself into a lot of trouble, but it's always for a reason."

"I find myself agreeing, Miss Satin," said Carl, the normal twinkle in his eyes having gone out as he stared at the woman who nearly ruined Markus' prized artwork. "But, in the spirit of fairness, I am willing to hear Connor and my son's side of the story."

"No, wait--"

"Miss Satin here was attempting to coerce Markus into paying her to say that he did his own work," said Connor immediately, still completely unaffected as coffee continued to drop down to his shoes from his clothes. "She then went on to verbally harass him and, when he did not immediately agree, attempted to deface his painting with her coffee by disguising it as an accident."

"He's lying!" tried Satin, ugly red splotches appearing on her cheeks from embarrassment.

"No, he's telling the truth," said Markus, finally allowing himself to glare at the woman who had nearly ruined his painting had it not been for Connor's intervention. "She had every intention of doing everything Connor described. I'm sure the cameras will have recorded, if not the words, the actions to prove that she's the one at fault."

Connor glanced at him with something akin to admiration, as if he was impressed that Markus had thought to think of the cameras recording the art gallery 24/7. The tan man resisted flushing, a bit too upset with the situation to fully appreciate the detective's attention.

Obviously, Hank also was less than willing to let this drag out longer than necessary. "Well, that's all I need to hear." He walked over to the critic with a large sigh, bringing out a pair of cuffs from his back pocket. "You're coming with me, lady."

Satin flinched back, but Connor held her arms, preventing her from escaping--and, if Markus wasn't mistaken, keeping her away from Identity--or causing more trouble. "Stop! I'll call the cops!"

Hank snorted, expertly placing the cuffs around her wrists with more force than Markus thought was necessary, but he wasn't going to complain. "You want cops?" he asked. "You got two right here--the first one being the guy you just 'accidentally' showered in coffee."

Satin's head swiveled around to stare at Connor incredulously. The detective didn't smile, only nodding. "The Lieutenant is quite correct, Miss Satin," answered Connor to her unspoken question. "I may look young, but I am a certified detective for the DYPD and Lieutenant Anderson's partner."

"Why are you at an art gallery?" asked Satin, as if she couldn't comprehend what two members of the police force were doing at such a place.

"I do believe that art is open to the vast majority of the public," replied Connor before glancing over at Markus. "And... the Lieutenant here is a good friend of Mr. Manfred Senior. I'm afraid that you were negligent in your research on that matter as well."

Satin sneered, but it wasn't enough to hide the shaking of her shoulders as she stared down at her cuffed hands in horror. "Not everyone is a freak robot like you," she spat.

Markus took a step forward, anger rushing through him, but Hank yanked her away before he could do anything. "Shut up already. Your screeching is hurting my ears."

She yelped, staring at Hank angrily. "This is abuse!" she squawked.

Hank rolled his eyes, but Markus could tell that he was just as angry from her comment about Connor as Markus was--probably more so. "Yeah, yeah, I'm sure that Captain Fowler would love to hear all about it..." He pulled her away, before pausing for a moment to look back at Markus and gesturing with his head towards Connor. "Take care of that moron for me, will you? He looks like a wet dog."

"I like dogs," said Connor softly. (Markus mentally wondered if he could get a dog before remembering that, with Carl's allergies, it wasn't possible. Still...)

Hank snorted, something soft in his eyes. "I know you do, kid. Go get changed and I'll have some pick up this sack of shit."

"I will need another suit replaced," called out Connor to Hank's retreating figure.

Hank snorted, obviously rolling his eyes thought Markus couldn't see his face. "I'll tell Fowler it was lost 'in the line of work,' again."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," said Connor succinctly.

Satin protested as she was led away, but she was no match for Hank's sheer stubbornness and complete lack of empathy for bullshit. Markus would have been impressed if the Lieutenant's words hadn't reminded him of Connor's soaked state.

He spun around towards Connor, hesitantly placing a hand on his shoulder after a moment, hoping that he wasn't overstepping any boundaries. "Could you come with me?" he asked tentatively, trying to keep his voice calm even a part of him raged at the memory of what the critic had done. "You can change in the back and I can give you some burn cream."

To Markus' relief, Connor immediately nodded and the two went towards the back, a glance back at Carl--and North, Simon, and Josh walking up in the background--assured him that they would take care of things until he returned.

The two of them passed curious guests and onlookers, Markus briefly informing security of what had happened before leading Connor into a secluded room in the back.

Unlike the front of the gallery which was precise in its layout and cleanliness, this backroom was one where Markus could quickly throw all unnecessary items. A place to store his back-up clothes for after the event was finally finished, and, most importantly, where he kept his first-aid kit in case of emergencies. He hadn't really expected anything 'burn' related to happen at the art gallery, but was glad that he'd had the foresight to stock the proper amount of bandages and burn cream just in case.

"Could you sit over there?" he asked Connor, gesturing over to a plastic chair next to a stained workbench filled with clutter. Connor nodded and promptly sat down.

Before Markus could say a word, Connor reached up and took his suit-jacket off in one quick motion.

Markus froze, eyes widening as he was fully exposed to the way the coffee-stained shirt clung to Connor's body. "W-What are you--"

"I am removing the articles that were affected during the incident with Miss Satin." Connor hesitated, fingers stilling from where they were undoing his tie. "Unless... My apologies, I didn't mean to presume that you would let me borrow the clothing on the bench over there--"

"N-No, that was the plan," said Markus quickly, trying to force himself to remain calm even if he felt like he might solidly combust from the fact that Connor was stripping in front of him. "I'm sorry, I just..." He awkwardly gestured to the med kit on the workbench. "...meant what are you going to do about the burns?"

Connor paused, fingers curled around the second to the top button of his shirt. Markus both desperately wanted it to stay on as much as he wanted it to come off. "I would be fine without medical care," answered Connor finally, unfastening another button and making Markus' mouth go dry at the sight. "They're only superficial and will not cause any lasting damage."

Markus frowned, pulling himself from his lovestruck state even as the skin of Connor's collarbone and lower neck were exposed. "That doesn't mean they don't hurt," protested Markus, swallowing again. "Besides, isn't... logical to treat them as soon as possible if you can? So that the healing is... shortened as much as possible?"

A moment passed. The detective nodded. "There is no fault to that statement."

Markus was about to say something else when Connor finally-finally?--shrugged off the white button down, the fabric resisting being pulled away--Markus would resist being taken away from that body too--and clinging to Connor's skin as he peeled it off.

For a moment, Markus felt as if he was short-circuiting, trying to avoid overtly staring at Connor's pale, but finely toned torso. The fact that his pants, dark in color, contrasted with that paleness seemed to make this even worse (better).

Instead of staring, Markus tried to concentrate on finding the burn cream, inwardly hitting himself when he realized that it was in the same place as it always was at the top right-hand corner of the first-aid kit. He pulled out the green labeled bottle and returned his gaze to Connor whose brown eyes looked at him expectantly.

"Here." Markus swallowed, handing over the green tube as he diverted his eyes--he wasn't sure what was worse, seeing Connor's body or the way those alluring brown eyes watched him so innocently. "I'll... get you a towel so you can dry yourself."

"Much appreciated, Mr. Manfred," answered Connor, takin the burn cream and beginning to apply it to the reddened skin that the coffee had splashed.

Markus frowned. "You can call me 'Markus,'" he offered, heart pounding as he walked over to a small closet and pulled out the fluffiest towel he could find. "I would say that 'Mr. Manfred' is my father, but he doesn't like to be called that either."

Connor stopped from where he was applying cream to his arm, frowning in a way that made Markus' heart twist. "I'm sorry," he said, sounding truly remorseful. "I didn't mean to cause either of you discomfort--"

"You didn't!" assured Markus quickly, walking over with the towel and placing it next to Connor after a moment. "You've been nothing but polite, I promise. More so if you consider the fact that you just saved my painting from that critic."

The detective's lips curved downwards, sufficiently distracted from 'guilt.' "What an unpleasant person," he said, completely adorable in the way he seemed perplexed that such a person could exist. Markus found it almost too endearing for his heart to take. "I cannot understand why she would do such a thing, nonetheless to a work of art like Identity."

Markus shrugged, bringing over the replacement shirt and setting it on the workbench next to Connor as the latter dried himself off best he could. "There's a lot of people like that out there," he admitted. "Especially in the art community. But I'm sure it's nothing compared to some of the criminals you've had to apprehend."

Markus inwardly wondered if he could ask Hank what Connor was like in the field... after all, it was only 'fair' since Connor apparently knew about Markus' history as an artist.

"That's true," agreed Connor, obviously completely unaware of how alluring he looked as he inadvertently flexed his arms to dry them off--this was such torture. "But, still, whatever personal issues plagued her, she should have not attempted to deface Identity."

"You're right," said Markus, deciding after a moment to sit on the workbench. Hopefully, from a higher vantage point, he wouldn't be as tempted to stare at Connor's shirtless body. "But... why did you do that? I mean, I'm really thankful and definitely owe you--" Would it be selfish if Markus asked Connor out for drinks as a 'thank-you?' ...not coffee though; definitely not coffee. "--but my picture wasn't worth risking you getting hurt."

"It was," said Connor immediately, surprising Markus. The detective paused, as if... hesitant? "I... I apologize for stepping in, however. You likely had it well in hand and would have likely came to a conclusion that did not result in the risk of your work. It was only right that since I was the one to incite her anger that I also took responsibility when she tried to ruin it."

"I... didn't mean it like that." There were... so many things that Markus wanted to say in response to Connor's words. "It's just..."

"Also..." Connor said after a moment. "I... am very fond of Identity. Ever since I saw it I... felt something. I cannot truly describe it, but it's worth protecting."

Markus remembered how Connor had been looking at Identity when he had broken in a week ago, but he hadn't imagined that the detective had been that moved by seeing it. It... was a nice feeling, knowing that, even if Connor couldn't describe how it made him feel, that his painting was able to evoke such emotions. Really reminded him of why he became an artist in the first place.

Honestly, there was only one response. "Thank you," said Markus softly.

Connor's lips quirked into a half-smile, reaching over to the replacement shirt and pulling it over his shoulders. For a moment, Markus mourned the loss of that perfect, pale skin and lightly muscled figure, before realizing that Connor was not wearing one of his favorite shirts. Markus was taller than Connor but also wider shoulder-wise, so the shirt--green in color and extremely comfortable after how many times Markus had worn it while painting--was adorably baggy and hung off his shoulders in a very... enticing way.

Markus really needed to buy some new sketchbooks.

"Still," said Markus finally, swallowing for what felt like the tenth time in the last few minutes. Really, what did you expect of him? Alone in a room... oh, God, he's been in a room alone with Connor. A shirtless Connor. "I'm sorry that your efforts resulted in being soaked with coffee."

"It certainly wasn't as pleasant as your chamomile tea," agreed Connor, making Markus' heart skip a beat. "In fact, I do wonder if I'll be able to look at coffee the same."

"You..." Markus hesitated before plowing on. "Liked my tea that much?"

To Markus' sincere delight, Connor appeared to blush at that, glancing away as if studying the back room of the art gallery was suddenly a mission priority. "It was... very refreshing. It's the first time that anyone has ever done something like that for me."

"You mean... made you something to drink?" Markus felt his heart sink again. He hoped he was wrong, but Connor only nodded.

"Yes," said Connor blandly, as if this was completely normal. "I often am the one to bring my co-workers coffee. It does not bother me that they don't do the same, but it was... nice to be on the receiving end."

If Markus wasn't already aware that Connor had grown up an orphan without anyone he could call a friend, he would have probably asked ore. But, since he did, he had a feeling that doing so would only distract Connor from the... positive side of this situation.

Still...

After a moment of ogling--Markus preferred to call it 'appreciative examination' by a serious and upcoming artist who tried to see the beauty in all things... particularly attractive young detectives--Markus cleared his throat.

"We should probably get back," said Markus, disappointed that this had ended so quickly... even if had only happened because a critic was terrible at handling rejection. "Carl and Hank are probably wondering where we are."

Oh, there's no doubt that they probably thought Markus was doing... something.

To Markus' surprise, Connor seemed reluctant to leave as well, though the frown on his face hinted that it wasn't for the same reasons as Markus. "Is something wrong?" asked Markus tentatively, wondering if he was even his place to.

"Nothing truly concerning," said Connor, though the way that he glanced at the door told Markus that it was concerning to him. "Just... I am not looking forward to the Lieutenant's disappointment."

"Disappointment?" Markus blinked. "Why would he--"

"The Lieutenant came here in order to have a quick visit his friend," said Connor, as if rushing to get the words out. "He only brought me along because he had no other place to 'dump me' in the meantime. Yet, knowing that he barely tolerated my presence as is, I went and caused a disturbance not only for you, your father, and all the visitors here, but the Lieutenant himself for forcing him to make an impromptu arrest during a social visit."

"He doesn't..." Markus composed himself. "Connor, Hank doesn't think you're a burden or anything like that."

"He does," insisted Connor, as if he was arguing that the sky was blue or the grass was green. "He often repeats similar phrases or ideas at least fourteen times a day."

"That's just Hank," protested Markus weakly, though he could see how 99% of what Hank said could come off... in the wrong way. Still, the affection he had heard every time Hank spoke to Connor was also undeniable. "Really, Connor, I know that he appreciates you as a person and a partner."

He sighed as Connor remained quiet. He had a feeling Connor wouldn't believe him. "As for what happened today," said Markus, trying to turn the conversation around. "I'm so glad that you stepped in when you did. If it was just me, I'm not sure anyone would have believed the truth about her and, even if they did, her critique, unfair or not, would have still been a problem. Because you were there, she might not get arrested, but her reputation as a critic will be ruined after it gets out that she was trying to blackmail me."

He smiled, trying to convince Connor the truth of his words. "Really, Connor," he said softly. "I... everyone was glad that you were here."

A moment past and Markus could see the confusion in Connor's eyes--Markus' heart ached even more, wondering who had hurt Connor so much to make him believe that he was so worthless and unwanted--before Connor gave a hesitant nod. "I believe you may be augmenting the part I played in all of this, but... thank you, Markus."

Markus smiled widely, loving the way his name sounded on Connor's tongue. The way Connor's lips looked forming the name was addicting enough, nonetheless hearing it. "Anytime," he said honestly.

Connor nodded and promptly stood, gathering his soaked clothing into a neat pile before glancing at the door. "After you, Markus?" he asked, walking over and opening the door for Markus to go through. 

Markus ignored the way his heart skipped a beat--if North ever found out about how he had been turned into a verifiable schoolgirl, he'd never hear the end of it--and walked outside, waiting for Connor to close the door behind them before the two returned to the art gallery, side-by-side.

"--orry about all of this, Carl," Markus heard Hank say as they approached, seeing the Lieutenant stand in front of the painting of Identity with a scowl as his adoptive father sat next to it with North, Simon, and Josh beside him. "Fucking critics."

Carl chuckled, glancing over at Markus and Connor as they walked up. "Your partner had it well in hand," assured Carl before turning to Connor fully. "And you, Connor, thank you for defending my son and Identity. Both mean quite a great deal to me."

"It was my pleasure," replied Connor. Markus flushed, a reaction that he regretted since it made North's lightning-quick eyes dart to him. Damn it. "I only regret that I forced Markus to borrow me his replacement clothing."

"It's fine," assured Markus quickly, inwardly cursing as a smirk formed on North's face and understanding began to dawn on Simon. Josh still looked confused, but Markus knew that wouldn't last for long. "You look good, I mean," he corrected, flushing deeply and cursing himself as North snickered, "it's good that I had a spare. I wouldn't have wanted you to be stuck in those wet clothes."

"Much better to get them off, wasn't it?" piped in North, eyes glittering as she examined Connor with new interest.

Markus glared at her, both relieved and disappointed when Connor simply nodded, obviously unaware of North's double-meaning. "It was," agreed Connor. "Markus was very helpful in the endeavor."

"I bet he was." North grinned.

"Okay." Markus stepped in front of the two, as if he could block North's knowing smirk from Connor's field of vision. "I think you're done here."

"My apologies, Markus," said Connor. Horror dawned upon Markus when he realized that Connor had thought he was talking to him. Damn it, North! "I believe it is time for us to go, Lieutenant. The paperwork on Veronika Satin will not be done itself."

Hank groaned, obviously displeased with the thought. Markus almost laughed, remembering the stories his father had told him about Hank's intense displeasure for the piles of paper and wanting to 'burn it for the sake of his sanity.'

However, it seemed Connor didn't take it the same way, seeming to curl upon himself as his eyes flickered away, ashamed. "My apologies, Lieutenant," he said quickly, seemingly blind to the concerned expressions sent in his direction. "I... did not mean to suggest cutting your visit short, it's just that our lunch break is about over and I didn't want--"

"Connor, Connor!" said Hank, something... sad in his eyes as he regarded the younger detective. "It's fine. You're not wrong. But that asshole Gavin already picked Satin up so we don't have to be back to the precinct for a while. You could... I don't know, look at all the squiggles and shit." Hank glanced at Markus. "This idiot could probably explain it all to you since you like to ask so many goddamn questions."

Oh God. Was Hank trying to set Markus up? The artist wasn't sure if he was embarrassed enough to want to melt into the ground or thank the man for his service. 

"That sounds like a grand idea," said Carl, cutting into the conversation before sending a sly grin Markus' way. "I'm sure Markus would be all too happy to show his appreciation for your work."

"He definitely would," cut in North, looking like the cat who had gotten the canary. By now, Simon was smirking as Josh just shook his head, obviously amused by everything happening.

They were all traitors.

Sadly, Connor only hesitated a moment before shaking his head. "I don't think Captain Fowler would approve after the Incident on Thursday," he said, making Markus extremely curious to what had happened on Thursday. "But, if you truly wish to stay, it's true that I am one of the primary witnesses to Miss Satin's offense, so I can leave and attempt to convince--"

Hank sighed, loud and exasperated, though the older man flinched when he saw Connor wilt like a flower (the younger detective likely thinking that he had, somehow, done something wrong). "It's fine, Connor," said Hank, voice softer than Markus had really heard. "We can head back."

He clapped Connor on the shoulder, obviously affectionate even if the younger man only looked up at him with confusion. "But I fucking swear, if you hark on my use of swearing in the reports one more time--"

Connor frowned, suddenly a very stubborn expression on his face. "It's not very professional, Lieutenant--"

As the two began to walk towards the exit, still bickering--or more like Hank bickered and Connor simply replied--Carl nudged Markus forward. He nodded his head forward expectantly.

Markus swallowed, taking a step forward. "Connor!"

Markus flushed as the detective looked back at him curiously, Hank looking at him with a mix of exasperation and expectancy. The artist blushed deeper before forcing words out.

"Would you... like to get some drinks later?" asked Markus.

Once the words were out, Markus felt as if a great weight had come off his chest. Though, his nerves were frying like circuit wires as he anticipated Connor's response.

Connor tilted his head, as if... curious? "There is no need to buy me drinks as a thank you," he said, unaware of how Markus' heart plummeted to his feet with the words. "It's as I said, I was taking responsibility for angering Miss Satin in the first place and, even not including that, you've already treated me when I broke into your home last week."

"Oh my God," muttered Hank beneath his breath, placing one hand on his head and looking over at Carl with a 'you see what I deal with?' type of expression that Connor somehow missed.

Markus tried to ignore the way North hid a snort, trying to keep his expression neutral. As it is, he was trying to fend off his disappointment that Connor didn't understand his true intentions. But that was fine, he was okay with taking whatever he could get.

"Maybe," Markus reluctantly allowed, responding to Connor's not full-rejection. "But you already paid for the door your broke--" Markus' eyebrow twitched as North laughed, not even trying to hide it this time. "--so I'm definitely still in your debt."

"Besides," he added on quickly when he saw Connor about to object again, "it's something that... friends do."

Connor froze, staring at Markus for a moment before tilting his head. "...friends?"

A thousand emotions coursed through Markus, but he held it together. "Yes," he said, as strong and even as he could, trying to will Connor to understand. "I would like to be friends, Connor, if you would let me."

"I... yes." To Markus' joy, Connor's cheeks glowed a very obvious pink. "I would... enjoy that very much, Markus."

Markus settled back on his heels, feeling as if he could float up into the air at any moment. "Then I'll call you?" he asked, easily putting on his best smile in the face of all the joy threatening to burst out from inside of him.

Connor seemed to think it over another moment before nodding his head, a small, awed smile--one that made Markus' heart want to burst for two different reasons--on his lips.

Hank sighed loudly, obviously at his personal limit for sappiness. "Okay, okay, let's fucking get going." Despite his words, there was a hint of smirk at his lips as he pushed Connor towards the exit. "You two lovebirds can flutter around each other later, but I might throw up if I have to watch this any longer for today."

Why Hank? Why?

Connor stared at Hank in confusion, even if he resumed walking to the exit. "Lovebirds, Lieutenant? I fail to see how it correlates--"

Hank lightly cuffed him around the head. "Yeah, yeah, you'll get it when you're older."

"I am already twenty-four, Lieutenant, far past the legal age of adulthood--"

"--you might look like an adult, though I can barely give you that with that baby face of yours, but there's no doubt you're still a fucking infant..."

The two continued squabbling even as they exited, Markus staring after them as a hundred different emotions warred within him. He definitely hadn't been expecting what had happened today, but he couldn't find himself regretting it if this was the result.

"So, Markus..." began North from behind him.

Well, there was one thing he regretted.

Reluctantly, Markus turned around, regret building further when he saw the growing grin on North's face and amused expressions of his adoptive father and fellow friends.

"Who was that?"