Connor is the entire world shapes into one human being that is so perfect Murphy can barely stand even being close to him.
They are so different, so very different in every single thing except their taste for trouble that it annoys everyone when they were young, annoys Murphy too because there is something very wrong about how perfect Connor is compare to Murphy. It does not make sense how Connor's hair is bright, ashy-blonde color sticking out at all the wrong angles while Murphy's is all black, too-freaking neat despite how he barely takes care of himself the way Connor does.
Also, there is something inside his chest, somewhere down there, where something just, fucking aches when Connor drapes an arm across his shoulders, even when they're naked, especially when they're naked which is really, really, uhm, comfortable actually. So comfortable it freaks him out, a little bit. Connor feels perfect against his side, his skin, sliding down his body, mouthing at the skin on the crook of his neck like it's the most normal thing to do. The ache disappears, but the beats of his heart turn erratic 'thump, thump, thump!' and his skin is hot all over; a burning weight settles heavy on the pit of his stomach when Connor's hand slides south.
"Connor," Murphy says, whispers.
"Murph," Connor breathes, hot and moist into Murphy's ears and it sounds so perfect, so fucking perfect Murphy stops thinking and lets it sink, for a while.
Connor is Murphy's entire world and from the way he looks down into Murphy's eyes, all bright and happy, Murphy thinks he is Connor's too.