[He could lean away, pressing his shoulders into the back of the chair again. He feels oddly relaxed enough to do it; but Markus instead keeps forward, leaning close, one hand resting idly on Connor’s bedside.
A chance to celebrate. Even if Markus hasn’t quite earned that yet, he’d not deny Connor of the opportunity — even if they are dimensions or worlds away. They need it. It’d be good for the both of them.]
I think that, given how difficult our respective weeks have been, we could use it.
(after everything else this comes easily to him, too high on painkillers to feel apprehensive and too proud of how naturally they repaired their friendship after so much went so wrong. if markus doesn't want to, he will say no. if markus does, then they'll be able to take this conversation somewhere else.
build on it, get to know more about one another's lives and bond over the mistakes they made.
connor's lips part, a moment's delay before he manages to piece together the words to communicate what he wants in his head.)
We could finish our dinner. Somewhere nicer, this time.
[Markus can see the creeping haze of medication start to overtake Connor, the same way a quiet fog slinks in. He’s glad for it. The other android needs the rest, needs to put this day behind him through a veil of eventual sleep and recovery.
So he’s not exactly expecting the most coherent reply as the syllables roll off of the other’s tongue. Yet Connor keeps speaking, formulating what it is he wants to do, and Markus finds that’s not quite what he expected to hear.
A dinner. A nice dinner. Does he know what that sounds like? Or is he too high on painkillers to even consider implication or intent or anything more than just two friends celebrating a promised future? Should he ask—]
Yes. I’d like that. [—but the words escape him before they can be pinned down, surprising even him. He pauses briefly, inexplicably, then continues.]
Once you’ve recovered a little, we can go wherever you like.
(markus' affirmation makes him reach up to fix a tie that isn't there, fingers bumping the collar of his hospital gown.)
You would? (that's not at all what he wanted to ask, but there's a certain lag to him now that's making the process of thinking difficult and he's been derailed by his absentee outfit — maybe he's grown too accustomed to that lived-in thing.) Hearing you say that, I think I'd prefer to go now.
(said as he tries to the heart-rate monitor's clip off of his index finger.)
[…Right. Here we go. Connor is definitely under that telltale thrall of morphine, or whatever it is the hospital’s decided to give him. Markus reaches out, a huff of amusement he’s trying to keep to himself escaping.]
No, Connor— wait.
[A hand to gently clasp around his wrist, stopping his motion. The emotional buzz of the bond kicking up again.]
Not now. You need to rest. I need to rest, too. We’ll go soon, all right?
(markus' tired amusement feeds up his arm and he's forced back by responsibility. he's right, of course, as he often is. no matter how desperately he wants to go, they have to take it easy now.
connor only has one thing to ask, dropping back against his pillows.)
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A chance to celebrate. Even if Markus hasn’t quite earned that yet, he’d not deny Connor of the opportunity — even if they are dimensions or worlds away. They need it. It’d be good for the both of them.]
Would you like to?
[What does he want to do?]
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(after everything else this comes easily to him, too high on painkillers to feel apprehensive and too proud of how naturally they repaired their friendship after so much went so wrong. if markus doesn't want to, he will say no. if markus does, then they'll be able to take this conversation somewhere else.
build on it, get to know more about one another's lives and bond over the mistakes they made.
connor's lips part, a moment's delay before he manages to piece together the words to communicate what he wants in his head.)
We could finish our dinner. Somewhere nicer, this time.
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So he’s not exactly expecting the most coherent reply as the syllables roll off of the other’s tongue. Yet Connor keeps speaking, formulating what it is he wants to do, and Markus finds that’s not quite what he expected to hear.
A dinner. A nice dinner. Does he know what that sounds like? Or is he too high on painkillers to even consider implication or intent or anything more than just two friends celebrating a promised future? Should he ask—]
Yes. I’d like that. [—but the words escape him before they can be pinned down, surprising even him. He pauses briefly, inexplicably, then continues.]
Once you’ve recovered a little, we can go wherever you like.
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You would? (that's not at all what he wanted to ask, but there's a certain lag to him now that's making the process of thinking difficult and he's been derailed by his absentee outfit — maybe he's grown too accustomed to that lived-in thing.) Hearing you say that, I think I'd prefer to go now.
(said as he tries to the heart-rate monitor's clip off of his index finger.)
This is difficult to do with only the one hand.
(here we go...)
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No, Connor— wait.
[A hand to gently clasp around his wrist, stopping his motion. The emotional buzz of the bond kicking up again.]
Not now. You need to rest. I need to rest, too. We’ll go soon, all right?
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connor only has one thing to ask, dropping back against his pillows.)
Are you staying?
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Of course I’ll stay.
[Watching Connor sink back into his pillows, Markus releases his loose grip, letting his hand rest at the bedside once more.]
I’m not going anywhere.