it's not a rare thing, marc being kicked from the bedroom or being abandoned to the bed alone, but in the past it's never involved a couch. it's been a long time since marc's stayed anywhere with just one bedroom, and the remark repeats itself, tauntingly, absurdly, at the edge of his thoughts. the couch. the fucking couch.
it's not that he can't sleep on the (a) couch — for someone so insistent on getting the smallest amount of sleep that's humanly possible, marc is remarkably skilled at being able to sleep anywhere and at any time. indeed, it almost makes it worse that he can and he simply chooses not to.
it's petulant and petty and ridiculous, all of it. everything marc had said and everything lottie's chosen to do in retaliation. marc might be aware that this is essentially his fault — that he could have chosen at any point not to escalate, to not insist on making it worse with everything he chose to say (or not say). he could have taken lottie at face value, but—.
of course he hadn't. of course he won't.
he lets her leave. he lets her do whatever plan of action makes its way through her mind, lets her dim the lights, lets her close her bedroom door. he doesn't say anything, his expression set hard and unhappy. she leaves and he exhales, loud and frustrated and angry. out of habit, lingering and hard to break, his gaze shifts to one corner of the room to the next and the next, half-expecting khonshu to be there, a taunting and unspeakably dickish reminder of his many mistakes. an impressively unpaternal reminder of what he could have done and how he'd chosen, precisely, to fuck the evening up.
but khonshu's not there. marc's alone and it's quiet and he doesn't like it. his own phone is sat, unused, on a nearby surface. there aren't many people that text him, there aren't many people with his number who haven't sought to lose it — just greer and reese and soldier — and badr, who's even worse at social communication than marc is.
there isn't anyone, really, that marc can just text for a distraction. greer will be busy being a mom, and reese and soldier have their own families. it means marc's left to his own thoughts (and steven, and jake), and those are the last things he wants to engage with.
but it's either pointed, deliberate waiting, or it's seeking lottie out — which he's not going to do, not yet, not until enough time has passed and it doesn't seem too desperate.
no subject
it's not a rare thing, marc being kicked from the bedroom or being abandoned to the bed alone, but in the past it's never involved a couch. it's been a long time since marc's stayed anywhere with just one bedroom, and the remark repeats itself, tauntingly, absurdly, at the edge of his thoughts. the couch. the fucking couch.
it's not that he can't sleep on the (a) couch — for someone so insistent on getting the smallest amount of sleep that's humanly possible, marc is remarkably skilled at being able to sleep anywhere and at any time. indeed, it almost makes it worse that he can and he simply chooses not to.
it's petulant and petty and ridiculous, all of it. everything marc had said and everything lottie's chosen to do in retaliation. marc might be aware that this is essentially his fault — that he could have chosen at any point not to escalate, to not insist on making it worse with everything he chose to say (or not say). he could have taken lottie at face value, but—.
of course he hadn't. of course he won't.
he lets her leave. he lets her do whatever plan of action makes its way through her mind, lets her dim the lights, lets her close her bedroom door. he doesn't say anything, his expression set hard and unhappy. she leaves and he exhales, loud and frustrated and angry. out of habit, lingering and hard to break, his gaze shifts to one corner of the room to the next and the next, half-expecting khonshu to be there, a taunting and unspeakably dickish reminder of his many mistakes. an impressively unpaternal reminder of what he could have done and how he'd chosen, precisely, to fuck the evening up.
but khonshu's not there. marc's alone and it's quiet and he doesn't like it. his own phone is sat, unused, on a nearby surface. there aren't many people that text him, there aren't many people with his number who haven't sought to lose it — just greer and reese and soldier — and badr, who's even worse at social communication than marc is.
there isn't anyone, really, that marc can just text for a distraction. greer will be busy being a mom, and reese and soldier have their own families. it means marc's left to his own thoughts (and steven, and jake), and those are the last things he wants to engage with.
but it's either pointed, deliberate waiting, or it's seeking lottie out — which he's not going to do, not yet, not until enough time has passed and it doesn't seem too desperate.
(he can wait—.) )