Chapter Text
To most people, movie night probably isn't anything special.
But to Connor, someone who was never really invited to social gatherings in high school and who never had the time or means for them afterward, it feels like stepping through a door into a world he's always wanted to visit.
Markus' friends Simon and Josh are nice people. Josh is very kind, very soft-spoken and warm. Connor learns quickly that he's majoring in history, with the hopes of getting a job as a docent at one of the history museums in the city. He spends hours talking with Josh about different periods of history over raspberry hard seltzer and the homemade pizza he made with Markus.
Josh's boyfriend Simon is essentially sunshine incarnate. The whole time Josh and Connor spend talking about the Edo period and the Triassic period, Chloe and Simon do a cheerful singalong to classic Disney songs.
While all this is going on, North and Markus play an ancient version of Mario Kart in the living room.
For the first time in Connor's life, he feels like he's part of a real group of friends. He's a stranger to this group—even Chloe knows Simon and Josh better than he does, because the time she's spent at North's house over the past week—but he feels like he fits in.
And for the first time in seven years—
He feels inspired.
When Simon comes over to collect Josh to approve any styling Chloe gives to Simon's hair, Connor looks around the room. At the three of them, standing around Chloe's hairstyle design book. At Markus and North, gently shouldering each other around on the couch and trying to shove each other off Rainbow Road.
He's overwhelmed with the sudden realization that he could walk up to either of these groups of people, join the conversation, and not be treated like an outcast.
All because of Markus Manfred.
Inspiration strikes him like a bolt of ragged lightning, jolting through his muscles and waking up pieces of him that feel like they've been asleep forever. He tries to wait, at least long enough for one of his friends to be free so he can tell them that he needs a few minutes to himself, but it's too strong.
It's as powerful as a tidal wave in his blood, and he has to chase it. It's been years since he felt like this.
So, while everyone else is occupied, Connor steps away from the party and up into Markus' childhood bedroom. He leaves the door open a crack, letting the sound of his friends' laughter echoing through the huge main room at Markus' house serve as a soundtrack. It mixes pleasantly with the party mixtape Chloe put together.
He digs into his bag for the new notebook he bought, then pauses when he spots the small gift bag with the gift he bought for Markus at the bottom of his bag. He bought it when they went to town for groceries on Wednesday, and ever since, it's been sitting in his bag waiting for the perfect moment to find its way to its rightful owner.
Running his fingers along the fabric on the canvas gift bag, he feels a spike of tension creep up his spine.
It's such a personal gift. Such a serious declaration, after only knowing each other for two weeks. And he knows that Markus—and maybe only Markus—will know exactly what it means.
But he wants to give it anyway. He sets the bag on the bed, then turns to look down at his empty notebook, cracking a smile as he peels the plastic wrapping away. The feeling of peeling plastic in his hands is something he's always enjoyed, and even though it's a barrier between himself and his inspiration right now, he still takes the time to enjoy it.
Once the plastic is in the trash, Connor takes his favorite felt-tipped pen from his bag, takes a seat at the desk in the corner of the room, and… he writes.
The porcelain peasant in his story is still entrapped by the strings embedded in his skin. It's been years since he was dipped in porcelain, years since the strings silenced his voice and took his freedom of choice away, but over time, the strings changed shape.
For a time, they were cold like city streets, shaped like barbed wire that stuck out of the porcelain like little knives. He tells the story of how the puppet found a friend in a similar puppet whose strings looked exactly the same as his, but were wrapped looser. They forged through the world together with their barbed wire strings until they met a kind constable who knew how to free them.
He offered them safe haven from their adventure, from a world so cold and unforgiving to puppets like them.
The porcelain puppet thought it strange, Connor writes, that no one seemed repulsed by his porcelain armor. But nowhere near as perplexing as the fact that he suddenly saw himself as a person, rather than an inanimate puppet under the control of his strings.
Because his strings were gone. Well and truly gone.
Even the barbed wire was a fading memory, creeping into the dark corners of his mind to only sneak out when the nightmares came to call.
With the benevolent help of the constable and his gracious, amazing friend, the puppet began to accept his porcelain armor for what it was:
Just a shell.
Nothing indicative of who the puppet was within.
Peace reigned supreme, until the puppet found his way into the parlor of a greedy, vicious puppeteer—
A soft, rapping knock sounds out against the door, and Connor calls a quick, "Come in!" as he hurriedly jots down the ending of that sentence– with malice in his heart.
When he turns, he's completely unsurprised to see Markus standing in the doorway, holding a large, manila envelope in his hand.
What is surprising is the look of complete and utter joy on Markus' face. Markus wears a smile so bright that he could easily light the entire house himself. Suddenly, Connor is glad he's sitting, because if he wasn't there's a good chance his knees would've given out underneath him.
Markus is as gorgeous as ever, in a medium-green button-neck t-shirt, with two of the four buttons popped open. His black distressed denim pants show off the muscles in his thighs. Connor noticed earlier how great his ass looked, only to get an elbow in the ribs and a wry, teasing smirk from Josh.
That perfect smile is enough to make Connor's chest flutter.
"Markus," Connor greets, a flash of heat creeping up his spine at the husky sound of his own voice. He clears his throat. "Did they send you up to check on me?"
Markus shakes his head, stepping into the room and easing the door closed behind him. "I noticed you were gone," he explains. "Chloe told me that you might've just retreated because you don't like big groups too much, and then I remembered what you said about being an introvert. So I wondered if it was too much."
Shaking his head, Connor climbs to his feet and leans back against the desk. "No, I was actually having an amazing time," he confesses with a sheepish laugh. "So good that… I got inspired."
Brows peaking, Markus stands straighter and gestures to the desk. "So you were writing?"
Connor nods, his smile sheepish. "I was."
"Do you want me to go?" Markus asks, taking one hand from the manila envelope and gesturing over his shoulder to the door. "I didn't mean to interrupt you—"
With a sharp shake of his head, Connor takes a step forward. "No! No, it…" He clears his throat and averts his gaze, another rush of heat crawling across his cheeks at the desperation in his voice. "It's… I don't mind. I've been up here for a while. I should probably take a break anyway."
Markus nods and takes a step into the room. "Do you mind if I have a seat?"
Laughing sheepishly, Connor shakes his head and teases, "Markus, you really need to stop asking permission to do things in your own house."
It's Markus' turn to laugh. He crosses the room to take a seat on the bed, setting the manila envelope off to the side and turning his full attention to Connor. "What were you writing?"
"I…" Connor looks over his shoulder, then turns to Markus with a sheepish smile. "I promise, I'll show you when it's done. Because I want you to see it, but not until it's ready."
Markus nods in understanding. "That's okay," he reassures Connor. "I understand, don't worry."
With a chuckle, Connor crosses the room and takes a seat next to Markus on the bed. He sits close enough to feel the warmth radiating from Markus' body, piercing his natural chill and warming him down to the bone. The moment he settles in, it feels like his hand seeks Markus' like a laser-guided missile. Like more of an instinct than an impulse.
When Markus laces their fingers together like he was waiting for it, Connor can't help but smile.
Lately, the only time he feels right is when he's close to Markus like this. When they're holding each other's hands, close enough to feel each other's energy, sharing smiles and quiet words.
He turns to look at Markus, and when he sees Markus' nervous smile, it takes him off guard. The last time he saw Markus looking this nervous was before showing Connor A Mystery Worth Solving for the first time. Actually, this nervousness looks even worse. He's not even meeting Connor's eye.
Instead, he stares down at the rug on the floor, tapping his finger against the manila envelope on the other side of him. His fingers twitch nervously against Connor's hand, which draws Connor's attention to his face.
"Markus?"
Markus startles. "Oh." He lets out a wobbly laugh, then pulls the hand on top of the manila envelope into a loose fist. "Sorry. I'm… I came up here and interrupted you, and now I'm not even talking."
"Is everything alright?" Connor urges. "If something's on your mind…"
"No," Markus replies quickly, then pauses and huffs. "Not… exactly. It's just…"
A low, rumbling grunt of frustration sounds out from Markus' throat, as he turns his head down to the manila envelope. In the room's low light, he can see a deep shade of cherry red dusting his freckled cheeks, drawing the freckles themselves out. He picks up the envelope, then turns to Connor with a shy smile.
Holding the envelope out, he murmurs, "I have something for you."
"For me?" Connor's brows rise.
Markus nods. "Full transparency, Chloe actually helped me with it," he confesses, "Because it's something she and North told me that I don't think you ever mentioned. But it's something… I thought you deserved the chance to do."
"Something I deserve the chance to…" Connor furrows his brow.
Accepting the envelope, Connor tests its weight curiously. It's light, but it's thick, like whatever is inside is folded over a few times. There's a second piece of paper alongside the first one, thinner and not folded.
When Connor's curiosity peaks, he decides he can't wait any longer. He holds the envelope in place between his knees as he folds the bracket open and flips the flap. It would probably be easier if he had both of his hands, but… letting go of Markus' hand isn't an option. He'd sooner work in tandem with Markus to open it than let go.
It seems like Markus catches his thoughts without him even vocalizing them, because with a quiet laugh, he reaches his free hand over to pull the envelope open.
Connor laughs, too. He reaches in and takes the two pieces of paper in his free hand, pulling it from the manila while Markus holds it still. He's sure they both realize the absurdity of the situation, but neither of them makes any effort to unlace their hands. Markus lifts their linked hands and places them on Connor's thigh.
"There," lilts Markus playfully. "Now you can use both of your hands."
Laughing airily, Connor casts Markus a sidelong glance. "Clearly the only logical option," he reasons, setting the folded paper down for a moment as he holds the unfolded one in front of him. He reaches his thumb and forefinger around Markus' thumb and holds the side of the paper. "Much better than letting go of your hand."
Markus puffs out a breath. "Yeah. That would be a waste of a hand."
Connor smirks, then turns his eyes down to the page he holds—
And instantly, the breath is dragged out of his lungs like a vacuum sucked it away.
There, in front of him, sits a perfectly drawn, colored, shadowed, and detailed version of Connor and Markus' hands. They're not laced together like they are in reality, but they sit cupped together, with a perfect scale of the slight difference in size. Markus' hand is just slightly bigger, and freckled in every single place his real hand is.
But the real shock is what they hold between them.
A key, the same shade of bronze as the text in A Mystery Worth Solving, embossed with glistening sapphires, set in the silver handle. He stares, unblinking, at the drawing for a few long seconds. His heart thrums like a kick drum in his chest, and his breath stutters erratically.
"Markus…" Connor whispers.
"It's called First Steps," Markus murmurs. Even without looking, he can feel those two-toned eyes on him. "Because… I know I already figured out what you were hiding, but I also think you realize that wasn't the mystery I wanted to solve."
Connor turns to look at him, but doesn't say anything. He wants to hear exactly what Markus is thinking right now.
A sheepish smile spreads across Markus' face. "Getting you out of Zlatko's crosshairs was basically the prologue, I think," he intimates, holding Connor's gaze. "Because as long as you were there, you weren't free to be you. To do what you wanted to do and be where you wanted to be."
Heart threatening to burst out of his chest, Connor manages to trill, "Just the prologue, huh?"
Markus nods. "The real mystery to me was you. Everything about you," he admits, his cheeks reddening as he speaks. "Not just the secrets you keep, but what it takes to make you smile. To make you laugh. What every single one of your favorite things are, and…"
"And?" Connor breathes, a quiet plea for Markus to continue.
Fingers twitching against Connor's, Markus clears his throat and says, "If there's any chance that maybe, someday, you could meet me in the middle and care about me as much as I care about you."
Connor feels frozen as he looks into those perfect, two-toned eyes. He wants to speak; wants to tell Markus that he doesn't need to wait, if he's waiting for the moment Connor cares about him. But it feels like his words are caught deep below his throat, trapped under his voice box and unable to escape.
He watches as Markus' free hand reaches for the folded paper he abandoned between them. He holds it out.
"A hand?" lilts Markus cheekily, gesturing to Connor's free hand.
With a throaty laugh, Connor takes the other side of the folded paper and pulls it open, but before it's even open, he realizes exactly what it is. He blinks.
"A map?"
No, not just a map. A map with a bright blue line tracing… a route. A road trip route?!
"Markus…"
"I know it sounds crazy," Markus admits. "But… North mentioned to me that you had a plan to go on a countrywide road trip after high school. To visit all the continental forty-eight states, Chloe said. This isn't exactly that, because there was no way to plan it all in one summer, but I thought… I thought maybe we could go. You, me, Chloe, and North. Simon and Josh, if they want to. Kara and Luther already agreed to house-sit, since they're getting their place renovated anyway. Hank agreed to look after your place, and Josh's friend Jerry agreed to house sit for them for the summer."
With a quick, wobbly laugh, Connor turns his eyes toward Markus. "What about my job?"
A smirk spreads across Markus' face. "Turns out, Hank is pretty persuasive. He pointed out how illegal it was for your boss to work you the way she was, which—unsurprisingly—convinced her to not only give you the summer off, but hire help for you when you get back," he explains. "You have the whole summer off. A few weeks paid in there, to make up for the paid vacations you never got. But everything else, I'm taking care of. And Hank said he'd help you and Chloe pay for everything, too."
The corners of Connor's eyes feel hot with tears. "Are you… are you serious?" he stammers. "Is this real?"
Markus nods, his smile becoming more confident. "I rented a six-seater SUV, and I figure, if all six of us go, we can split driving duties so no one is overtaxed. Even with four, it won't be too bad. I have an annotated map in my room with hotels and motels marked off, and even campgrounds, since North wants to try roughing it a few times."
"I… I've always wanted…" Connor trails off.
"I know," Markus confirms, squeezing Connor's hand. "I figured… it'd be good for all of us. You know? You get to take your dream trip, and seeing more of the world—outside of trips to New York and LA like I always used to take with Carl—would do me some good, too. I have a lot of beach stops planned. Some trips up mountains, and…"
He trails off, letting out a quiet laugh and rubbing the back of his neck.
Connor recognizes that face, that subtle rub to the back of his neck, as something Markus does when he's nervous. When he's feeling shy and needs a little encouragement to say what he's thinking.
"And?" Connor urges.
With a bashful, almost coy smile, Markus finishes, "What better way to find a key than to follow a map?"
At first, all Connor can do is let out a quiet, shaky laugh in reply. The fact that Markus put this all together for him, just for a chance to get to know him better, is more than he ever could have imagined. More than he ever expected from anyone, let alone a man he's only known for two weeks.
He'd be stupid to say no, and he's not going to. But before he tells Markus as much, he has one more thing to say.
"Well, you might be surprised," Connor remarks, his voice as coy as Markus' smile. "The key might be closer than you think."
Markus' brows rise. "What do you mean?"
With a smirk, Connor looks over his shoulder and picks up the small canvas gift bag. He offers it out to Markus. "You're not the only one with a gift," he explains. "Though it's nothing like a gorgeous drawing and… basically making sixteen-year-old me's dreams come true."
Laughing lightly, Markus pulls Connor's hand toward the bag. Still staunchly refusing to let Connor's hand go, but that's okay. Connor doesn't want to, either.
He pulls the bag open and digs through the tissue paper, then pauses and blinks. Then, he reaches his free hand into the bag and pulls out an antique silver key on a long sterling silver chain. It's not exactly the key Markus drew, but after searching the antique store's huge key chest for almost an hour with North's help, this was the best he could find.
And Markus doesn't seem bothered by how different it is. "Connor…"
Heat crawls up the nape of Connor's neck, to the tips of his ears, and to his cheeks. "Sometimes you don't need a map to get to a key," he confesses.
A quiet, shaky laugh bubbles up from Markus' chest, and without hesitation, he drapes the chain around his neck. The key hangs proudly over his chest, and he gently places his free hand over it, pressing it tightly to his heart. He turns to Connor, those perfect two-toned eyes tracing Connor's face with intricate detail. The gaze is so piercing that it makes Connor feel naked.
But he doesn't care about being exposed.
He trusts Markus. Completely.
So much so that when Markus lifts his hand to place on Connor's cheek, on instinct, he closes his eyes and tilts himself into the touch. He memorizes the feeling, warm and gentle but rough in places. That addictive adrenaline rush he loves so much courses through his veins and lights them on fire. Markus' hand smells slightly of metal from touching the key and chain, but the smell isn't unpleasant.
After a few seconds, his eyes flutter open, and he looks up into Markus' eyes.
Immediately, he's floored.
Markus looks at him like he's a work of art. Gentle eyes tracing every inch of his face, as his thumb and forefinger come down to hold Connor's chin and tilt his head upward.
"Connor?"
"Markus?"
"Can I kiss you?"
Connor nods, but quickly whispers, "I've never…"
"Never?"
Expression falling, Connor flicks his eyes down to the bedspread. "I never let my clients kiss me," he explains. "It was one of my hard rules. Not only because I didn't know where their mouths had been, but because… I felt like a kiss should be special. Saved for someone I—"
He flicks his eyes back to Markus, smiling sheepishly. Someone like you, his mind finishes.
"Kiss me. Please."
Markus' hand pushes Connor's hair from his face, then comes to rest on the back of his head. His touch is gentle, cradling, his fingers threaded into Connor's hair and pressing gently into his scalp. Connor lifts his free hand and puts it on Markus' sternum, his fingers twitching against the solid, warm muscle of Markus' chest.
He's always been curious about what Markus' chest feels like, seeing the vaguest outline from over his sweaters and t-shirts, but feeling the sinewy warmth under his fingers, even through his sweater, Connor feels like his heart wants to burst.
Even more shocking is the fact that Markus' heart is racing, too.
Their eyes meet for the briefest of seconds, before Markus flutters his eyes closed and leans in. Connor's eyes close on instinct, and before he realizes it, he feels the warm, silken press of Markus' lips against his. Every single nerve in Connor's body springs to life. His hand grips the fabric of Markus' shirt and pulls him closer, holds him in place in a desperate plea to ensure this moment never ends.
The taste of hard seltzer lingers on Markus' lips, and probably Connor's too. Combined with the overwhelming buzz of everything around him, Connor feels the breath push from his lungs like it was never there to begin with—but pleasantly. In a way he never wants to stop.
Connor's quiet moan is completely involuntary, but when Markus responds with an approving hum against his lips, he thinks it was the right sound to make.
It feels like something else is piloting his body. Like all the nerves that woke up the moment Markus kissed him knew what to do better than Connor's brain does. He lays back against the mattress, using his hold on Markus' shirt to pull him along. Markus willingly joins Connor, falling to his left side on the bed.
Markus moves so he's leaning over Connor, breaking the kiss long enough to say, "You're so beautiful."
"You… so are you," Connor whispers.
When he tilts his head up to capture Markus' lips in another desperate kiss, Markus laughs huskily against his mouth. Connor tilts his head back and parts his lips, dashing his tongue out to flick against Markus' lower lip. When Markus parts his lips and dashes his tongue out too, Connor meets him halfway by brushing their tongues together.
Connor's desperate hands cling to Markus' clothes, like they're the only things keeping him from floating away. It's entirely possible that they are. He's adrift in a sea of bliss and want and Markus, but if he's destined to be lost, he can think of worse places to be.
The kiss breaks with a satisfying, but quiet smack, and Markus looks down at Connor like the universe exists in his eyes. "Con, I—"
Whatever Markus was going to say, Connor never gets to hear it. Instead, Markus' words are cut off by North's loud shout of, "Manfred! Stern! Get your asses down here! We're breaking out the board games!"
"If you're making out, save it for later!" Chloe follows up.
Connor huffs. "Do we have to listen?"
"Probably," Markus admits, hesitantly pulling back and sitting up again. "North would probably come up here with a hose, and I don't really want to spend the rest of the night cleaning water out of this room."
With a sheepish laugh, Connor murmurs, "Our friends suck."
Chuckling in reply, Markus holds his hand down for Connor to stand. "Does this mean we don't need to go on the road trip?"
"You can pry this trip from my cold dead hands, Markus," Connor replies playfully, taking Markus' hand and climbing to his feet. "Just because you have the key doesn't mean the door's open yet."
I really like you, but I want to take it slow, is what he means by that. He's never felt like this before, but he wants to savor it.
All he's ever had in his life are rushed encounters in back alleys for money. While he's curious about what it feels like to be with someone he really likes—loves, even—he wants to savor it. Take it step by step.
He just hopes Markus understands.
Judging by the warm, affectionate smile on his face, he does. He places his hand over the key at his chest, twists it gently, and says, "That's okay." He slides their hands together again. "I'm patient, and you're worth the wait."
Connor doesn't know what he did to deserve someone like Markus Manfred. A man who would dig through all his layers, help him sift through all his mess, save his life, and still see him as a mystery worth solving.
But it doesn't matter.
As long as Markus wants him around, that's exactly where he's going to be.
