Midnighter leans into it, a sigh caught in his throat. That was perfect. This is the sort of thing he dreams of, the life he misses most after leaving Andrew-- coming home to (or with) someone who understands, who can withstand it and understand it, and will help with clean up after. He doesn't need a partner, but he wants one.

He can only be so earnest for so long, though; there's a vulnerability there that threatens to let him slip, say something before either of them are ready to deal with it, promise grandiose things and ridiculous gestures that scare rather than amaze and delight.

His expression inches toward wry. "Yeah," he agrees. "Otherwise, how'd I send you more pictures?"