Marcus' breath catches, confused: is he that important, really? He almost laughs, a little disbelieving, and then he nods, and thumbs away a bit of blood from Midnighter's lower lip and kisses him. Gentle, mouth closed: he doesn't want to get the taste of blood in his mouth. But he wants to kiss him all the same. Tries to put the stuff he's not sure he can say into it, the stuff that he doesn't have words for, like how when he pictures Midnighter he gets this warm, secret, precious feeling like a candle he wants to cup his hands around to protect.

"Yeah," he mumbles, "you better an' all."