It feels nice to move with him, eyes heavy-lidded and staring at nothing in particular over his shoulder. He smiles the smallest smile to himself, quietly enjoying the moment and for the first time this evening allowing contentment to reach his expression. A few fucking minutes of this is all he gets, but he's going to do his damnedest to concentrate on it.

He hopes that when ("when", it will be "when", not "if") they get back home he can do a decent job standing up to the scrutiny. He won't deny Connor, he promised he wouldn't. And generally, he can take quite a bit of verbal abuse. But he's never been in a relationship out of the ordinary; he's never had the face the prospect of being hated for who he loves and that makes him feel a little naive. He's aware that sometimes it might end up scathing.

At the moment it's perfect. They're here and they're the only people that exist. There's no concern about bombings or iterations or duplicates or groceries needed for tomorrow. There's just the two of them.

"Yeah?" he responds quietly, still a little unfocused.