Alkyds

by yeaka

Summary:

Markus lets Leo stay.

Notes:

Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The picture forms on the canvas in broad, colourful strokes, strategically blended by dabs of different hues, and the style’s distinctly reminiscent of a man that Leo both hated and loved. He can see his father all over Markus’ work and knows, deep down, that Carl would be proud of the few paintings Markus has made. They’re often simple but provocative, humble but grand, intensely inspired: they don’t look at all out of place in Carl Manfred’s colourful menagerie. Leo hasn’t touched anything in the house, except for the odd place where he’s hung Markus’ paintings up despite the quiet disapproval behind him. If Markus had his way, nothing would change. Carl’s bed would even remain undone, because Markus hadn’t gotten around to it that morning. They’re strangely on the same page about most things.

For the most part, sobriety brought clarity. But Leo knows there’s still a whole ocean under Markus’ attractive exterior that Leo doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know half of what Markus went through. And he’s too ashamed to ask.

He makes up for it by keeping his head down and doing his best to curb the snide remarks that come so easily to his tongue. Sometimes slurs still slip out—he called Markus a tin-can over the weekend and still regrets it, even though Markus stood there silently and showed no anger or pain. Leo’s trying to be good. When Markus extended an odd olive branch by asking him to stay in the studio, of course Leo agreed.

Leo’s a terrible model and knows it. He keeps fidgeting. He’s not plagued with the faint tremors that used to overrun him, but he still finds it difficult to sit still for long. Markus paints remarkably fast, but the canvas he’s chosen is a large one, and he’s not sparing any detail. It’s an honour to slowly emerge through the sea of articulately chosen colours. Leo’s father never painted him—never even sketched him.

It’s not like he ever wanted to be drawn. He doesn’t know why Markus asking him felt so good. He shifts his weight across the stool he’s perched on and breaks the comfortable silence with his awkward paranoia: “Should I be trying to stay still?”

Markus glances over at him, pausing, LED blinking a serene blue. “No, that’s alright.” Turning back to his work, Markus coolly adds, “I can extrapolate what you look like in the correct position.”

Leo’s cheeks feel warm. He’d forgotten Markus has perfect recall and a dozen other impressive features that make him worth ten times more than Leo. Instead of just soaking in the awe of that, he mutters, “Then what am I still sitting here for?” He immediately regrets saying it. He doesn’t want to be an asshole.

Markus doesn’t seem to take any offense—never does. His soothing voice is perfectly even as he answers, “Maybe I just like looking at you.”

Leo’s face flares red. He knows he shouldn’t read anything into that, but he can’t seem to stop his mind from kicking into overdrive. He’s not much to look at—his addiction wrecked his skin and put bags under his eyes, and he was never as hot as Markus anyway. Markus was designed to be gorgeous, Leo’s sure of it, and the confidence he found after he left only makes him hotter. He’s also silicone and circuitry masquerading as another mammal, and maybe he should be something like a brother.

He never has been and probably never will. The best Leo can hope for is tentative friends. The studio doors slide open while he’s still processing, and he tenses as soon as he sees who it is.

North’s face has appeared on Markus’ tablets before. They mostly seem to communicate directly, right through their minds, but every once in a while, there are visuals. Leo’s heard enough about the Jericho crew to extrapolate who the strict-looking woman is anyway. Markus warned him they might all stop by from time to time. Irked to the core, a part of Leo wanted to say no way, but the rest of him knows he has no right to refuse. He’s welcomed Markus in and agreed to share the house. Leo knows that’s what his father would’ve wanted.

His father would let Markus’ friends come in without even knocking, and eventually, they’d overcrowd the place and make Leo even more obsolete. He looks away as she strolls across the studio like she owns the place, until she spots Leo. He can feel her synthetic eyes boring into him. When he looks up, there’s recognition there, even though they’ve never met.

Then her attention snaps to Markus, and North bluntly says, “That’s the human from your memories. The one that got you killed. What the hell is it doing here?”

A wave of guilt and anger crashes over Leo. His nose wrinkles at being called an it, even though that’s how he used to talk about androids, but then the night everything changed rolls back into him, and he feels horrible. He knows she’s right. It’s amazing Markus hasn’t choked him in his sleep. Amazing Markus can stand the sight of him. He watched Markus get shot through the chest and did nothing.

But Markus calmly answers, “He’s cleaned up since then. We’re living together.”

North blinks. She storms the rest of the way to Markus, closing in on him, so close that Leo bristles. He has no right to be annoyed but is. North hisses to Markus, as though Leo’s so inferior that he won’t hear them just because she’s lowered her tone, “Kick him out.”

Leo winces. Markus meets North’s sharp stare with complete composure. “He’s Carl’s son.” And that’s all Leo is. There’s a bitter taste on his tongue that he swallows down.

“So? He left everything to you, correct? We earned our rights, Markus. You can claim everything now. You can—”

“North,” Markus quietly cuts in, and it works—North instantly falls silent. Markus gently tells her, “Leo isn’t going anywhere.”

There’s a long moment where the two of them just look at each other. Leo belatedly realizes that they’re probably still talking, just doing it inside their heads, cutting him out of the loop, showing their superiority. It’s incredibly uncomfortable to sit there through it, knowing what he’s done and how they’re probably condemning him. Except when it ends, North rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Then she turns on a dime and leaves as swiftly as she came. Whatever she came for, they must have already worked out. And Markus goes right back to painting, as though none of it mattered.

Leo’s still sitting there, allowed in Markus’ life. As difficult as it is, Leo makes himself acknowledge that. He mumbles, “Markus...”

Markus glances over. Leo’s tongue feels swollen, or his throat’s dry—it’s suddenly hard to talk. He squeezes out, “Thanks,” and means for defending him when he doesn’t at all deserve it. It’s unexpected but very welcome. Markus nods like it was nothing.

“You’ve been a good roommate.” The brush dips into the water perched on Markus’ palette, swished clean before dragging delicately through a different colour. As Markus resumes his work, he finishes, “And a handsome model.”

Leo’s still blushing. He flashes a rare smile that he hopes makes it into the painting, shocked but grateful.