"I wouldn't expect anything different," he retorts, barely holding back his amusement. He's grinning as Hank pulls back to look at him, his eyes crinkled as they look into Hank's. He's so tempted to pull their masks back. He even reaches up to run his fingers up Hank's cheek and along the very edge of the mask like he'd like nothing more than to pull it away.

But there's a long moment where Connor's happy to just look into Hank's eyes like he's never seen anything like them - not even his photographic memory is enough sometimes, and it's funny how that's happened. Sometimes he just likes to...look. Not for any reason, just to enjoy him. But it always seems like Hank likes to do the same thing.

"I gotta go soon," he says only when the timer in the corner of his mind starts to tick down low, twinging insistently, and he sounds genuinely sorry to be saying it. "Who knows, maybe Jane'll come out and go straight home. I can lock her in her room for the night."

That probably won't happen, but he can hope.