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.”