( in an ideal world, marc would be able to say 'the room with the crescent moon painted on the outside', but unfortunately — or fortunately, depending on perspective — this is not an ideal world. it's not that he's especially precious about the room and certainly not his debt — he's spent a lot of time fairly recently determined to act as if he doesn't need much of it — but it's not his, and he has zero intention of staying there for longer than he has to.
steven, most likely, will worry about the shape of marc's debt when he's given chance to. )
208. ( it's quick and easy, uttered as if on autopilot. not exactly dismissive, but it edges towards it for the same reason that wanda feels awkward: the concern of rejection despite appearances, the expectation that whatever has replaced the tension is fleeting.
but then— oh. she means his phone number. it occurs a beat too late, and though marc doesn't look overtly embarrassed, there's a sudden awkwardness to the way he pauses, free hand sliding into a pocket to withdraw the phone he's incredibly certain he owned at one point in his twenties. it's a veritable, nigh indestructible brick capable of (hopefully) surviving any and every manner of physical punishment marc might put it through, not to mention being forgotten and abandoned — a stark contrast to the phone he has (had) at home, all touchscreen and glass, shattered front and back and holding on for dear life.
a couple of button presses — sticky, like either marc or the previous owner had spilt something on on the phone — and he holds it out to her, his brand new-to-him phone number illuminated by the dull, green backlight of the early 2000s.
then, the kind of admission that's reluctant, mentioned only out of necessity— ) Afternoon or evening's better.
( the 'but' hangs unsaid. (those dark circles exist for a reason.) )
no subject
steven, most likely, will worry about the shape of marc's debt when he's given chance to. )
208. ( it's quick and easy, uttered as if on autopilot. not exactly dismissive, but it edges towards it for the same reason that wanda feels awkward: the concern of rejection despite appearances, the expectation that whatever has replaced the tension is fleeting.
but then— oh. she means his phone number. it occurs a beat too late, and though marc doesn't look overtly embarrassed, there's a sudden awkwardness to the way he pauses, free hand sliding into a pocket to withdraw the phone he's incredibly certain he owned at one point in his twenties. it's a veritable, nigh indestructible brick capable of (hopefully) surviving any and every manner of physical punishment marc might put it through, not to mention being forgotten and abandoned — a stark contrast to the phone he has (had) at home, all touchscreen and glass, shattered front and back and holding on for dear life.
a couple of button presses — sticky, like either marc or the previous owner had spilt something on on the phone — and he holds it out to her, his brand new-to-him phone number illuminated by the dull, green backlight of the early 2000s.
then, the kind of admission that's reluctant, mentioned only out of necessity— ) Afternoon or evening's better.
( the 'but' hangs unsaid.
(those dark circles exist for a reason.) )