(connor holds fast to markus and lets him grasp at him, breathe through it, cry. it's a weight both of them needed to relieve themselves of, pent-up frustrations giving them more to worry about than each other. no one can live like that, repressing everything, shoving it down for "another time" when that time, too, will be added in with the rest.

the painkillers make his head cloudy with appreciation, whatever protest his collarbone makes at the tight hug lost to the desire to keep markus close. so it's no fault of his own when the fingers of his free hand tighten and his face presses into a broad shoulder, head bowed, staring unseeingly at the far wall.

until markus can speak again.

he has to bite back another painful swell of emotion — "i know that you'll be there for all of it" — blinking to keep his eyes dry.)

You're... you're welcome. I'm just happy to be a part of this, so, if I could, I'd like to remain by your side for as long as I'm able to.

(a somewhat awkward pat at his back is connor's idea of something comforting, his palm eventually flattening between markus' shoulder blades.)

Are you alright?