Markus. (blurted out when markus shoves into his room, startled by his sudden appearance despite the texts that should've given him some hint he'd follow-up — "wait" doesn't exactly mean long when it sounds like he's just come in off of the balcony.
his favourite haunt, there to watch the sunrise and the sunset and every moment in between at an easel filled with the strong, bold colours the city lacks. an appropriate comparison to their relationship, their unique personalities, markus adding the vibrancy and life connor's sorely needed in his own. and connor offering reliably flat tones and hues that pick up every accent around. add too much of either and you make a mess, but just the right amount of both—
right now he's fearful and desperate for that balance, sitting up too abruptly in a way that makes his head spin. his throat's tight. he's nauseous, dizzy, aching, but he swings his legs off of the bed and reaches for his partner's hand. connor means to pull him closer, breathe in anything that isn't the panic he's trying his best to bury under his growing relief.)
I'm sorry. (it's not his fault, but connor can't help wonder how things could've changed for him, markus, and every other trafficking victim if his memory hadn't failed him — maybe this wouldn't have happened if he'd done a better job of fighting off whatever came for him.) I'm back now, it should be fine...
(until when? the next time it happens to him? or markus?)
"RUN OFF"
his favourite haunt, there to watch the sunrise and the sunset and every moment in between at an easel filled with the strong, bold colours the city lacks. an appropriate comparison to their relationship, their unique personalities, markus adding the vibrancy and life connor's sorely needed in his own. and connor offering reliably flat tones and hues that pick up every accent around. add too much of either and you make a mess, but just the right amount of both—
right now he's fearful and desperate for that balance, sitting up too abruptly in a way that makes his head spin. his throat's tight. he's nauseous, dizzy, aching, but he swings his legs off of the bed and reaches for his partner's hand. connor means to pull him closer, breathe in anything that isn't the panic he's trying his best to bury under his growing relief.)
I'm sorry. (it's not his fault, but connor can't help wonder how things could've changed for him, markus, and every other trafficking victim if his memory hadn't failed him — maybe this wouldn't have happened if he'd done a better job of fighting off whatever came for him.) I'm back now, it should be fine...
(until when? the next time it happens to him? or markus?)