Does one even need to explain what it must feel like, to heft the responsibility of protecting a fellow android — someone important to him — on one’s own shoulders, only to have them go disappearing without any trace at all? The worry, the hot sear of panic gripping at the back of his neck, the neglected messages sent, the long hours of trawling the unkind summer streets of a too-large city, searching?
Failure, and a sense of fearful loss, becomes a hand that reaches into his chest and pulls out something important, enough to leave him reeling in some kind of numb disbelief; and the fact that this is not an unheard of occurrence between the group as a whole does little to quell this feeling.
So when this message flickers into his vision, he feels like that same hand has closed itself into a fist and punched him in the gut, or has jarred his heart so loose that it constricts itself high in his throat. Hope is not always a gentle thing.]
Connor, where are you? Are you all right, are you hurt? You’ve been gone, I’ve been looking for you.
[Spoiler: Markus is just in their apartment, having been leaning against the balcony and feeling the heat of the sun beat down on his skin. He hasn’t painted anything in days, supplies untouched for now.]
(the messages pin him to the bed with a knead of fingers into the corners of his eyes, breath shaking as his body expels the horrible worry that paves the way for relief. thank god — 'thank god,' something felt so powerfully his mind offers it up to the empty text field awaiting a true response, something he deletes before drafting something new — connor doesn't know what he would've done if his concern wasn't volleyed back at him.
he sits up with the knowledge that that's exactly the crime he's committed by ignoring markus' notifications... even if he has no recollection of the past ten days.)
I'm okay.
(not enough.)
I'm in my room. I'm experiencing some discomfort in my chest, but nothing else seems to be the matter. There's the amnesia, but - that's to be expected after the accounts of the other trafficking victims. Right?
wow excuse, maybe the whippersnapper shouldn't run off like that
[‘That’s to be expected’, phrasing utilized in such a clear-cut way that it contradicts nigh everything Markus had been experiencing since Connor went missing. He’s being met with calm, sensible words, which should be comfort unto itself; but his insides are all twisted up, gone harshly aflame with concern, and the android refuses to let relief wash that away until he can see the other. Until there is physical proof of him being there, in his room, as he says.
The question is ignored, in favor of—]
I’m already here. [Already in the apartment, already home, already nearby.] Wait for me.
[What an inane thing to write back, when he’s but seconds away. When his feet are already carrying him through the living room, and down the hall, a tense hand to push open the door to Connor’s room and to latch his look squarely onto his form.]
Connor.
[A sight for sore eyes. His thoughts reflect Connor’s own, unknowingly. Thank god. And finally, finally, that wave of relief. It crests at his back, pushing him forward towards his bed, his expression still wound taut.]
I’ve been— [Worried sick? Perpetually restless? Both. He shears the rest of it away as he nears.] You can’t do that to me.
[An unfair assessment; it’s not like the other had much of a choice. But good god, what a way to put him through an emotional wringer and back again.]
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?)
[Markus is ever quick to make a physical connection, always willing to offer it when it’s needed, the indelible trait of a empathetic heart and mind. And Connor is certainly no exception to the rule; Connor is someone that Markus will always be an anchor for, always, even if his own emotions are dancing so wildly with anxious relief and concern that it’s hard to find a grounding point in his own thoughts.
It doesn’t matter. Connor reaches for him and Markus clasps his fingers around that imploring hand, sinking into the mattress next to the other android, while his free arm pulls him closer in tandem with the other’s similar attempts. The empathy bond does its due diligence, and between them crashes the waves of their emotions — Markus, picking up on disorientation, pinpricks of panic, and a fearful want to connect, experiences a sting of guilt at his own hasty words. Connor’s apology heightens it by a degree or two.
So his reply will be a tight embrace, fingers pressing into a shoulder, and words breathed out as a mode of comfort and an attempt to set aside any explanations or apologies for now.]
It’s all right. I was just— I was worried.
[It’s an understatement. ‘Worried’ does not encompass what a leader feels when having lost one of his own; ‘worried’ cannot hope to describe what it was like to realize that Connor was gone — a close friend that has grown into something a little more than that.]
But I’m happy that you’re back, and that you’re safe.
(their emotions mingle through the hand-hold until he's not quite certain which came from him, the panic, the fear, the guilt. all of it compounds and draws connor into the hug without much more prompting than the first tug, arms winding tightly to keep him near.
just lifting the scent off of his collar is a comfort far better than his own bed has been.)
I wish I could've warned you. All this time and I still... can't remember a thing. It's so frustrating. We're at their beck and call, whenever they like.
(it all comes out a mutter near the side of markus' neck, hand sliding up the middle of his back where fingertips knead and eventually take a fistful of fabric.)
[Lacking control is a chilling thought, a dangerous reality, to a pair of androids having only so recently broken free of the programming that kept them boxed in at all angles. Tugged to and fro — appearing, disappearing — at the behest of some unknown entity’s whim could happen to any of them, at any time, and what were they to do? Scour the city, sit and wait, hope and pray for the best?
Feel the sensation of cold dread compounding itself against his ribs as the days marched by, wondering when Connor would return. If he would return.
A muscle twitches in Markus’ jawline as he draws the other tightly near, leaning in close, feeling his partner’s breath brush against the base of his neck.]
I know it does.
[Their empathy bond would inform the other of one thing, just a ghostly presence amongst the waves — it scares him, too.]
You had no way of knowing this was going to happen. And you can’t blame yourself for not remembering; no one’s been able to, as far as we know. [But he shakes his head, inclining it towards Connor, taking in his scent when he breathes.] But you’re back. Here, with me, when I thought I might not see you again. Right now that’s all that matters.
(that's what has his grip tightening, that fear they share, feeling at once adrift and anchored by it. they're strong together, but apart he feels like he loses sense of himself. old habits die hard. he wishes they didn't, that he could just shake them and be the person hank and markus want him to be.
need him to be.
this solid hug brings him back to reality, only getting a bit of distance to stamp their foreheads together so he may look at him and prove to himself that they're both okay. they're right here, sitting on his bed in their shared apartment, just ten days later from the time he went missing and nothing else has changed. connor's endlessly relieved by it, him, his presence. he didn't know he'd been this lonely, only realizing that the moment they exchanged text messages.
how's that possible, when he can't even remember being gone? he doesn't have the first clue.)
You're right. (markus always is.) Can we... sit here for a little while longer?
Of course we can. [He breathes it out, lowly; they’re so close that a whisper of an answer would do.] As long as you need.
[And it’ll be for however long Connor needs, because Markus will sit here for the rest of the day and night if he has to, willing to keep him close. They both gain comfort from it, beyond glad to be in each other’s presence again, and finally — after days — does Markus begin to feel the corded tension drain from his middle. An unfathomable kind of relief to have him back, and though his body disperses some of its anxiety, the empathy bond allows a loneliness from Connor to slide through in return.
Markus allows moments to pass before he speaks again. Wants to offer some comfort with his words, the best way he knows how.]
The whims of time and space, interdimensional portals, the machinations of some faceless threat... Whatever the reason was for your departure, you still found your way back. Who’s to say there wasn’t some small amount of control you had over that? [They don’t know. Anything was possible when memory failed them, when they had no idea where they went or how they returned. Maybe the idea is a little romanticized, but if there's comfort to be drawn out from it, he doesn't care.]
You meant it when you said you wouldn’t ever abandon me.
(sticking there against him causes a significant boost in comfort, forehead to forehead, feeling secure enough to close his eyes to breathe this closeness in. dark eyelashes lay against pale cheeks that go pinker with the time that passes in silence, already healthier and happier in markus' presence.
what would he do if markus disappeared? besides scour the earth?
he wades in this gentle tide of traded emotions, feeling the other android's warm words on his face like sunbathed sand on hands and feet, and eventually draws back to admire him.) If you really think so, I'm inclined to defer to your judgement... you're the one who gave me the confidence to say that. (gathering markus' hands up in his own, connor raises them to kiss at his knuckles, lips lingering, soft and cherishing.)
We're partners, Markus.
(there's something final to it, like he's hit the ceiling of his infatuation. and every other day he's proven wrong, because every other day he likes him quite a bit more.)
[Gentle space is placed between them as Connor draws back, and Markus takes comfort in the look of the other. More color in his features, healthier and haler, a little more light in brown eyes. He feels his own wash of relief, glad to be the reason for it — wanting nothing more than to be the reason for it, his very existence in this moment only to make Connor to feel better, more grounded, no longer afraid of pressing forward with each day that passes.
All of it for Connor’s benefit, spoken to softly embolden him. And yet when his hands are drawn up by the other, when lips brush against his knuckles in the barest whisper of a thing, he thinks to himself of how fortunate he is to have him; someone so devoted, someone who manages to make Markus’ heart stutter in his chest when a million other things would never do the trick.
This deeply growing affection, given a jolt after Connor’s disappearance... he wonders if he can continue to live up to deserving it.]
Then it’s a two-way street. [Fingers tighten warmly against Connor’s own, and Markus leans forward again, just long enough to grant him a barely-there kiss across his brow. He's unable to fight the curl of a smile.]
You and I always finding each other, eventually, no matter what happens. Not too steep of a promise to make.
[Not for the strongest hearts, nor the most willful spirits.]
("there's always a chance for unlikely events to take place."
his own words make him sink further against markus, getting nearer to the warm kiss against his forehead. how can he enjoy something this comforting when the omissions hang over his head like a spectre waiting to steal these feelings away. to connor owed his leader then and he owes him now, for endangering the lives of hundreds — thousands — of their people, all to satisfy a desperate craving for cyberlife's validation. to be successful in his endeavours, when he failed so many times before.
fingers grasp at markus', guiding them to the shirt over his chest, applying gentle pressure to the backs of them. it keeps the powerful touch there, fills him with warmth, makes his breaths waver out of his lungs. how poignant those loving words are, how brave they make him feel — but their link be damned. he has to hide the worry and the hesitations from his new partner, shroud the bad emotions with a clever activation of his ability.
its glow is obscured entirely beneath their palms.)
I promise.
(as though it's the bond and only the bond casting blue beneath the angles and planes of soft expressions, noses brushing with a decisive narrowing of already negligible space. connor thanks him, apologizes to him, and pleads to him with a ghosting of lips over his own, the trailing press fleeting compared to their overt display at the ball. the moment it's there it's gone.)
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sheds tears of joy along w/ poor markus
Does one even need to explain what it must feel like, to heft the responsibility of protecting a fellow android — someone important to him — on one’s own shoulders, only to have them go disappearing without any trace at all? The worry, the hot sear of panic gripping at the back of his neck, the neglected messages sent, the long hours of trawling the unkind summer streets of a too-large city, searching?
Failure, and a sense of fearful loss, becomes a hand that reaches into his chest and pulls out something important, enough to leave him reeling in some kind of numb disbelief; and the fact that this is not an unheard of occurrence between the group as a whole does little to quell this feeling.
So when this message flickers into his vision, he feels like that same hand has closed itself into a fist and punched him in the gut, or has jarred his heart so loose that it constricts itself high in his throat. Hope is not always a gentle thing.]
Connor, where are you? Are you all right, are you hurt? You’ve been gone, I’ve been looking for you.
[Spoiler: Markus is just in their apartment, having been leaning against the balcony and feeling the heat of the sun beat down on his skin. He hasn’t painted anything in days, supplies untouched for now.]
the old man can't take this kind of stress
he sits up with the knowledge that that's exactly the crime he's committed by ignoring markus' notifications... even if he has no recollection of the past ten days.)
I'm okay.
(not enough.)
I'm in my room. I'm experiencing some discomfort in my chest, but nothing else seems to be the matter. There's the amnesia, but - that's to be expected after the accounts of the other trafficking victims. Right?
wow excuse, maybe the whippersnapper shouldn't run off like that
The question is ignored, in favor of—]
I’m already here. [Already in the apartment, already home, already nearby.] Wait for me.
[What an inane thing to write back, when he’s but seconds away. When his feet are already carrying him through the living room, and down the hall, a tense hand to push open the door to Connor’s room and to latch his look squarely onto his form.]
Connor.
[A sight for sore eyes. His thoughts reflect Connor’s own, unknowingly. Thank god. And finally, finally, that wave of relief. It crests at his back, pushing him forward towards his bed, his expression still wound taut.]
I’ve been— [Worried sick? Perpetually restless? Both. He shears the rest of it away as he nears.] You can’t do that to me.
[An unfair assessment; it’s not like the other had much of a choice. But good god, what a way to put him through an emotional wringer and back again.]
"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?)
LEFT HIM ALONNNEEEE
It doesn’t matter. Connor reaches for him and Markus clasps his fingers around that imploring hand, sinking into the mattress next to the other android, while his free arm pulls him closer in tandem with the other’s similar attempts. The empathy bond does its due diligence, and between them crashes the waves of their emotions — Markus, picking up on disorientation, pinpricks of panic, and a fearful want to connect, experiences a sting of guilt at his own hasty words. Connor’s apology heightens it by a degree or two.
So his reply will be a tight embrace, fingers pressing into a shoulder, and words breathed out as a mode of comfort and an attempt to set aside any explanations or apologies for now.]
It’s all right. I was just— I was worried.
[It’s an understatement. ‘Worried’ does not encompass what a leader feels when having lost one of his own; ‘worried’ cannot hope to describe what it was like to realize that Connor was gone — a close friend that has grown into something a little more than that.]
But I’m happy that you’re back, and that you’re safe.
no subject
just lifting the scent off of his collar is a comfort far better than his own bed has been.)
I wish I could've warned you. All this time and I still... can't remember a thing. It's so frustrating. We're at their beck and call, whenever they like.
(it all comes out a mutter near the side of markus' neck, hand sliding up the middle of his back where fingertips knead and eventually take a fistful of fabric.)
The lack of control scares me.
no subject
Feel the sensation of cold dread compounding itself against his ribs as the days marched by, wondering when Connor would return. If he would return.
A muscle twitches in Markus’ jawline as he draws the other tightly near, leaning in close, feeling his partner’s breath brush against the base of his neck.]
I know it does.
[Their empathy bond would inform the other of one thing, just a ghostly presence amongst the waves — it scares him, too.]
You had no way of knowing this was going to happen. And you can’t blame yourself for not remembering; no one’s been able to, as far as we know. [But he shakes his head, inclining it towards Connor, taking in his scent when he breathes.] But you’re back. Here, with me, when I thought I might not see you again. Right now that’s all that matters.
no subject
need him to be.
this solid hug brings him back to reality, only getting a bit of distance to stamp their foreheads together so he may look at him and prove to himself that they're both okay. they're right here, sitting on his bed in their shared apartment, just ten days later from the time he went missing and nothing else has changed. connor's endlessly relieved by it, him, his presence. he didn't know he'd been this lonely, only realizing that the moment they exchanged text messages.
how's that possible, when he can't even remember being gone? he doesn't have the first clue.)
You're right. (markus always is.) Can we... sit here for a little while longer?
no subject
[And it’ll be for however long Connor needs, because Markus will sit here for the rest of the day and night if he has to, willing to keep him close. They both gain comfort from it, beyond glad to be in each other’s presence again, and finally — after days — does Markus begin to feel the corded tension drain from his middle. An unfathomable kind of relief to have him back, and though his body disperses some of its anxiety, the empathy bond allows a loneliness from Connor to slide through in return.
Markus allows moments to pass before he speaks again. Wants to offer some comfort with his words, the best way he knows how.]
The whims of time and space, interdimensional portals, the machinations of some faceless threat... Whatever the reason was for your departure, you still found your way back. Who’s to say there wasn’t some small amount of control you had over that? [They don’t know. Anything was possible when memory failed them, when they had no idea where they went or how they returned. Maybe the idea is a little romanticized, but if there's comfort to be drawn out from it, he doesn't care.]
You meant it when you said you wouldn’t ever abandon me.
no subject
what would he do if markus disappeared? besides scour the earth?
he wades in this gentle tide of traded emotions, feeling the other android's warm words on his face like sunbathed sand on hands and feet, and eventually draws back to admire him.) If you really think so, I'm inclined to defer to your judgement... you're the one who gave me the confidence to say that. (gathering markus' hands up in his own, connor raises them to kiss at his knuckles, lips lingering, soft and cherishing.)
We're partners, Markus.
(there's something final to it, like he's hit the ceiling of his infatuation. and every other day he's proven wrong, because every other day he likes him quite a bit more.)
Of course I meant it.
no subject
All of it for Connor’s benefit, spoken to softly embolden him. And yet when his hands are drawn up by the other, when lips brush against his knuckles in the barest whisper of a thing, he thinks to himself of how fortunate he is to have him; someone so devoted, someone who manages to make Markus’ heart stutter in his chest when a million other things would never do the trick.
This deeply growing affection, given a jolt after Connor’s disappearance... he wonders if he can continue to live up to deserving it.]
Then it’s a two-way street. [Fingers tighten warmly against Connor’s own, and Markus leans forward again, just long enough to grant him a barely-there kiss across his brow. He's unable to fight the curl of a smile.]
You and I always finding each other, eventually, no matter what happens. Not too steep of a promise to make.
[Not for the strongest hearts, nor the most willful spirits.]
no subject
his own words make him sink further against markus, getting nearer to the warm kiss against his forehead. how can he enjoy something this comforting when the omissions hang over his head like a spectre waiting to steal these feelings away. to connor owed his leader then and he owes him now, for endangering the lives of hundreds — thousands — of their people, all to satisfy a desperate craving for cyberlife's validation. to be successful in his endeavours, when he failed so many times before.
fingers grasp at markus', guiding them to the shirt over his chest, applying gentle pressure to the backs of them. it keeps the powerful touch there, fills him with warmth, makes his breaths waver out of his lungs. how poignant those loving words are, how brave they make him feel — but their link be damned. he has to hide the worry and the hesitations from his new partner, shroud the bad emotions with a clever activation of his ability.
its glow is obscured entirely beneath their palms.)
I promise.
(as though it's the bond and only the bond casting blue beneath the angles and planes of soft expressions, noses brushing with a decisive narrowing of already negligible space. connor thanks him, apologizes to him, and pleads to him with a ghosting of lips over his own, the trailing press fleeting compared to their overt display at the ball. the moment it's there it's gone.)
No matter what happens.