[Connor’s wrong about that, he thinks. There’s too much to say, words all flying up through his throat and tangling themselves on his tongue, and Markus — whose control over them is usually so easy — for once cannot seem to wrangle them into complete sentences. The weight of so many dead tie knots into each statement, not knowing where to begin.
He crosses his arms again, fingers pressing tightly into his sleeves. A muscle always jumps in his jaw when he’s gone stressed or worried, as if tension wants to nestle itself there first; this is visible when he turns to face Connor, tiredness weighing heavy in his eyes.]
Tell me what happened afterwards.
[Before the peaceful protest the day after. He hooks into Connor’s words if he cannot rely on his own right now. If there’s anything else he needs to know between the loss of Jericho and their final victory, as relayed to him back in the hospital, now’s the time to hear it.]
no subject
He crosses his arms again, fingers pressing tightly into his sleeves. A muscle always jumps in his jaw when he’s gone stressed or worried, as if tension wants to nestle itself there first; this is visible when he turns to face Connor, tiredness weighing heavy in his eyes.]
Tell me what happened afterwards.
[Before the peaceful protest the day after. He hooks into Connor’s words if he cannot rely on his own right now. If there’s anything else he needs to know between the loss of Jericho and their final victory, as relayed to him back in the hospital, now’s the time to hear it.]