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needlebomb) wrote2021-01-24 05:34 pm
needlebomb) wrote2021-01-24 05:34 pm
inbox.
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he didn't read stiles' last message until he was double-checking the pin notification and climbing his way up the stairs, however, so whatever irritation he might've felt crawling around under his skin is pretty quickly replaced by guilt. he's empty handed, and when he looks back at stiles for the first time since shouldering his way into his hallway, he just kinda lifts up his arms helpless and apologetic. ]
I didn't bring your shirt. I will tomorrow. Or - or later tonight, if you really need it.
[ and he hopes that stiles isn't going to be a massive asshole and use marcus's incompetence here to keep his diary to himself. speaking of which - marcus looks away from stiles, eyes raking over whatever surface he can find. ]
Where...?
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he rubs his fingers across his forehead, and then tries not to think about it too much as he closes the door after marcus. he turns around, and is met with marcus apologizing about his shirt, which stiles already forgot about until now. he shakes his head, waves his good hand dismissively. ]
Don't worry about it. [ he was just - gonna trade him for a fresh one, honestly, but now that he's been judged, and on top of marcus turning down stiles footing the bill for a small meal, he feels like it would have just been more awkward rathe than helpful. stiles watches marcus look away, and silently wills the slight feeling of discomfort that's creeping up to go away. he blinks, then clears his throat, gesturing towards somewhere behind marcus. ] Coffee table. That way, to the left, next to my laptop.
[ he waits for marcus to move before trailing slowly after him. ]
It's, um. Kind of a little water damaged, I think. Y'know. Beach. But it's not too bad?
[ realistically, it probably doesn't look all that different from how marcus remembers it, but stiles has no idea how worn it was before he found it, so it's just a fair warning. ]
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No, it's - it's fine, honestly. I'm just really happy you found it. I thought it was lost. Seriously, man, I could kiss you.
[ marcus takes his journal off the table and sets it down on the floor, hunching over it slightly to casually hide the pages from view as he flips through each entry. it's all legible, thank christ, every memory of his parents he committed to paper that he pores over whenever he wants to make himself cry still as clear as day. marcus finds the photo in between two journal entries about Sunset, and he swallows the lump in his throat as he holds the picture between his fingers.
he leans back on his shins, looking back at stiles, nerves chewing on his insides. he feels out of place here - small and dirty, mucking up stiles' clean floor with whatever filth he dragged in from the down. now that the adrenaline of finding his journal is starting to cool down, he just feels kind of ashamed of himself for being here. it's an ugly feeling, brought on by long weeks of being stuck in this city. ]
This is my dad. Obviously. He... well, he died not too long after this was taken, and I don't have any other photos of him, so I was pretty scared I wouldn't...
[ ... get this back. marcus trails off, mumbling those last three words more to himself than to stiles, the shame of opening up only compounding the shame of being in stiles' apartment at all. stiles hasn't given marcus a single reason to think he wouldn't want him here, but marcus is feeling the same skin-crawling disgust in himself he felt when he first ended up on the streets; before his anger was polished and focused on the world that drove him into Sunset and then under bridges to sleep in puddles of who knows what, he was just a scared kid on the run who didn't know how to handle adults looking at him like he was something retched. being here makes him feel newly homeless again, and marcus suddenly just wants to leave before stiles tells him he stinks, or something. kicks mud at him when he asks for food.
hastily, he stands, bumping his knee on the same exact edge of the coffee table stiles bumped his own on a second ago. marcus swears, but shakes it off. ]
Nevermind. Shit, I should get out of your hair.
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he also kind of keeps his distance, too, for no particular reason. subconsciously, he's probably just trying to offer marcus whatever illusion of privacy as he can, and reassurance that he's not interested in whatever's in marcus's journal, even though he kind of is. not enough to violate his privacy, but stiles is curious and will always be curious, so it's no surprise. he lingers closer to the kitchen, planting himself on one of the two simple bar stools on the outside of the small breakfast bar, bringing his sockfeet up onto the bottom rung. belatedly, he wishes he'd grabbed the carton of milk from the floor by the coffee table.
from here, stiles can only see marcus in profile, half of his body blocked by the table, but he watches him quietly anyway, idly swiveling back and forth on his stool. when he starts to talk about his dad, stiles slowly stills, and he's struck by this quiet but familiar heaviness. he understands now, more than ever, why marcus would be so desperate to find his journal, if the picture of his father was still tucked safely away inside of it.
stiles' father is still alive (though right now that's a - very complicated topic), but that doesn't mean he doesn't know loss. one of the last photographs stiles has of his mother, with his mother, was when she was in the hospital, close to her last days. it was one of her last lucid moments, when she still remembered who he was. he's got it stashed somewhere safe in his bedroom here, so he knows the feeling well.
marcus goes quiet. stiles... doesn't really know what to say. he doesn't really talk about his mom - most people back home already know about what happened to her, being the late wife of the county sheriff, and most of the time they're smart enough to just leave it alone, but. for some reason, stiles feels compelled to say something, to at least sympathize or relate, so after a few extended seconds of silence, he clears his throat, shifting somewhat uncomfortably on his stool. he drops his hands into the space between his legs, quietly pulling and pressing at the velcro fasteners on his wrist splint. ]
... It's okay. I get it. My mom, um. She— she died, too. A while back. I don't really have very many photos of her when she was still— [ ugh, god. fuck this. stiles presses his lips together, wets them, sits up a little straighter. he swallows, and gestures kind of aimlessly toward marcus and his journal. ] Anyway. I'm glad you got it back.
[ stiles goes silent again, only for a handful of seconds. he should let marcus go if he really wants to go. after all, he only came here for his journal, and that's fine, but— ]
Hey, listen. D'you - okay, I don't know how to put this without coming off as some kind of, I don't know - privileged asshole, so just know that I don't mean it that way but - I know you're like, against letting someone buy stuff for you, owing a debt, whatever, which I totally get. [ he cuts one of his hands horizontally in front of him. ] But... what if it's free. Like... a free meal. Nothing out of my pocket, nothing out of yours.
[ surprise, stiles still feels like an asshole. what's new. he presses on, foot bouncing slightly on the rung. ]
You can eat it here, take it with you, whatever you want. If... you want.
no subject
I don't have any photos of my mom, either.
[ which is as close as he's going to get to admitting that his mom is dead, too. marcus has talked about his parents' deaths before, but he always tells the story of how they died in as much cynical, gory detail as he can, as if the dark, dismissive gallows humor might be enough to chase off whoever he's talking to. he uses bitter, violent language as a way to keep people from empathizing with him or worrying about him or prying into his personal life, and even now, as he stands in stiles' living room pathetically clutching a book and not knowing where to look, he's already lazily forming the words in his mind and wondering what face stiles might make should marcus make him uncomfortable enough by describing what their corpses looked like splayed out on that pavement. he wonders if stiles would get angry, if marcus was as brutally dark about his parents as he could be. he wonders if stiles would call him a freak, made too uncomfortable by marcus's gruesome honesty to think that he's a normal kid.
it's a moot point, because the idea of talking about his parents disrespectfully so soon after getting his journal back feels pretty shitty, and even if it didn't - well, he likes stiles. he doesn't want to fuck this up. he's a massive, tremendous fuck up, so he needs to try hard to be normal. he's gotta stop being so... himself.
stiles brings up food and marcus is immediately on the defensive again, shaking his head sharp and fast before stiles has even finished asking. he waits for him to stammer over the question, refraining from interrupting to say something harsh like i don't want anyone's charity, biting back all his knee-jerk reactions. ]
No, dude, I'm - I'm making money. I mean, I'm making money hypothetically - this guy I know has me doing deliveries for him, and he's not exactly paying me, but he said he would soon, so that's... I mean, I'm gonna be buying my own food soon. I don't need help.
[ marcus hesitates, tripping over what he's saying. "this dude isn't paying me but he promises he will one day" sounded way more believable before he actually said it out loud, and now he feels kind of stupid for falling for this, if he's being taken for a ride. even if his new hustle is legit, buying his own food is a bit of a pipe dream; stiles was the one who told marcus in the first place that he'd need permission from a dom to go shopping, and that's still not something marcus is willing to ask for. marcus feels kind of stupid for saying anything at all, honestly.
but fuck, maybe he should stop thinking of a free lunch as charity. maybe it would benefit stiles if marcus stopped dragging his feet and making things difficult for him. maybe marcus's dad would kick his ass for being disrespectful to his host, if he were still alive - maybe marcus cares about that, even if he would say out loud that he doesn't. maybe marcus wants to spend time with someone who has done nothing but look out for him since he arrived, the way saya was always supposed to at king's, and maybe shooting him down all the time just to look cool and self-sufficient isn't even fucking working. marcus hesitates, thumbing the pages of his journal before forcefully trying to relax his jaw and settle his shoulders. maybe he's being an asshole. ]
I'll - stay, though. If you want to hang out. Like - as friends, or whatever.
no subject
well, now stiles isn't sure about his father anymore. he's still alive, but - stiles doesn't want to think that he may as well not be, if he doesn't remember anything about his relationship to stiles, but the thought makes him feel a little sick, so he moves on from it and skirts past the guilt of having said anything about his own mother at all.
it's... kind of hard not to look at marcus like he's an idiot. hypothetically making money? not exactly being paid? sounds like a bunch of IOU bullshit with nothing binding marcus and whoever this other person is together. in a place like this, in marcus' position - stiles isn't so sure whatever set-up he's got going on is going to work out in his favor, and even if it did, well. very few places are willing to sell to a submissive who doesn't have explicit permission from a dominant, but. stiles isn't going to push the issue any more than he already has. two rejections is enough, and it's not like stiles wouldn't act the same way if he were back in marcus' position.
stiles is just about to put his hands up in surrender and drop the whole topic entirely. he gets as far as pressing his lips together and lifting his hands out of his lap, ready to get up and at least walk him to the door, before marcus speaks up again, offering to stay. hang out.
honestly, stiles will take it. he may not technically be new to duplicity anymore, but there are still very few people here that stiles would consider his friend. marcus, so far, has been pretty okay all things considered. he may have been tripping balls when stiles first met him, and he may be stubborn and kind of pretentious, but by comparison, well. he seems alright. stiles doesn't have any weird gut feelings about him yet, so that's gotta be a plus. friendship is kind of a weird thing to come by here in duplicity, at least for someone like stiles, who isn't so much interested in fucking someone before he even really knows them. and marcus is straight, so. no worries there.
stiles drops his hands so they thump quietly against his thighs, shrugging his shoulders like he's not bothered either way. sure, he'll hang out. he's got nothing else going on anyway, and this apartment feels less claustrophobic when there's someone else inside it with him, as backwards as that is. stiles nods, hopping off his stool. ]
Yeah, sure. That's cool. I don't - have a lot to offer as far as entertainment goes, but. [ he starts, moves toward the couch, the coffee table, his laptop. he scoops the carton of milk up off the floor and very casually tries to hold it behind his back, like he's some kind of alcoholic in denial, trying to hide the damning evidence. it's just fucking milk. ] You can scroll through whatever's on my iTunes, now that you're here. Or pick through the very legally obtained comics I've got saved... somewhere. If you find anything you like, I can stick whatever on a thumb drive, or [ stupid idiot, marcus probably doesn't have anything to upload shit onto, ] I dunno, maybe transfer whatever to your phone.
[ he gestures to his laptop with his free hand, and then starts to slink backwards toward the kitchen so he can put the milk away. once that's done, and he's still mostly out of sight, stiles takes out his own phone and places a quick order for a cheese pizza through the room service app on his phone. if marcus doesn't want to eat, so be it. stiles will scarf down a couple slices in the kitchen if he has to, and if marcus does change his mind - well, stiles ordered a large for a reason. ]
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he's directed towards stiles' laptop, and marcus nods, uncharacteristically quiet while he kneels in front of it and stares blankly at the screen. he's still not sure how to use these things, but he's had enough time in the city to at least be vaguely familiar with how they work - the screen is black, and rather than know that's because stiles' laptop is asleep, marcus assumes it's off entirely and holds his finger down on the power button. it shuts down, and he stares, expecting the screen to light up... which it does, when he presses the power button again, now under the impression that laptops need to be turned on twice to actually turn on. hey, he fucking hates the future.
it takes an uncomfortably long amount of time to navigate to stiles' itunes, once the laptop is booted back up and stiles has typed in his password for him. he pecks at the letters on stiles' keyboard in slow, individual presses, and he clicks mouse buttons way harder than he needs to, but he does eventually get a long list of music in front of him, ready to be browsed through. he's about to listen to the first track he can find when the pizza arrives, and marcus, well. marcus would be embarrassed about how long he's taking if he had any frame of reference to know he's taking a long time.
marcus almost offers to get the pizza for stiles, but he's kind of annoyed by the thought that he'd get to the door and be told by the delivery guy that a dom needs to sign for it, so. he just waits it out while stiles collects their food. the smell is fucking outstanding, and marcus's stomach rumbles the second stiles is back in the living room, eyes wide and focused on the box. there's-- a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips, kind of self-deprecating but nevertheless genuine, and he sighs, chewing the inside of his cheek for a second before he announces his defeat with as much airy, well-natured joy as he can. ]
Hey, uh - I'll take a slice.
[ or two. or three. or four. who knows. marcus might be quick to feel shame under certain circumstances, but he also used to eat burgers out of trashcans and smoke joints he found half-burnt out in the gutter, so accepting free pizza from a friend probably doesn't seem all that bad, in comparison. or maybe he's saying the wrong thing again! maybe stiles will respect him even less than he already does. maybe stiles thinks he's a needy piece of shit who needs his hand held and can't stick to his ideals if it's this easy for him to roll back his rejections. marcus shrugs, trying to sound casual as he focuses on stiles' music again. ]
If that's cool.
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and then he leaves marcus to it, at least for a minute or two while he disappears down the hall toward his bedroom so he can grab his laptop charger. when he returns, he plugs it into his computer and the wall without disturbing marcus too much. stiles only notices belatedly that marcus doesn't really... seem to have a whole lot of experience with computers, and then he feels like an asshole, because hello - marcus is from the freaking 80s, so he wouldn't have any know-how. he's about to apologize and offer to give marcus a brief "walkthrough" so to speak, when there's a quiet, curt knock at the door.
once he's collected his food and quietly thanked the doorperson, stiles takes the pizza directly to the kitchen, unsure still if he's being rude by ordering and eating pizza in front of someone who, yes, declined the offer of food, but likely hasn't eaten anything substantial in who knows how long. it's probably rude. stiles is probably an asshole, but. well, marcus is welcome to it, and maaaybe the smell will be tempting enough to change his mind. stiles just wants to help the same way he'd wished someone had helped him when he'd needed it, without forcing him to commit to a binding contract. he sighs, grabs two plates, and stacks them on top of the box before taking all of it out to the living room. hiding it from marcus in an attempt to not be rude isn't going to make him feel welcome to asking for a slice, so stiles just sucks it up.
in the living room, he slides the box of pizza onto the table near his laptop, shifting the plates off of the lid so he can flip it open. he sits on the couch this time, leaning forward a little and doing his best to separate a slice from the rest of the pie without getting sauce or cheese on his splint, pinching with his free fingers. when marcus speaks up, stiles huffs a quick, amused breath out through his nose, laughing a little under his breath. ultimately, he's relieved, and lets go of any remaining anxiety over looking like an asshole as he passes marcus the second plate he brought in anticipation of - well, exactly this. ]
Yeah, go for it, dude.
[ maybe he sounds a little more enthusiastic than he means to, but whatever. stiles nudges the box a little closer to marcus once he's got a hand free, and folds his slice of pizza in half before taking a bite of it. it's... a little too hot still, so the cheese is extra melty and stringy and obnoxious, and stiles has to pinch it off with his fingers so he doesn't end up with cheese on his chin, or worse, dragging all of the cheese off of his slice. he should have brought some napkins, shiiit. he gets up, taking his pizza with him, and talks kind of over his shoulder as he wanders back toward the kitchen for a couple paper towels, and two bottles of water while he's at it. ]
So, iTunes. There's a search bar on the top riiiight? Yeah, top right, and you can type whatever you want in there. Artist, song, whatever, and it'll narrow down the selection by filtering out everything not related to the search content. It'll only pull from what's in my library though, so you probably won't find everything you're looking for. ... And no judging me, alright - there's a lot of weird and/or old stuff in my library because I have dumb friends with questionable tastes who want mix CDs to give to their girlfriends, and also my dad.
[ stiles pauses, still in the kitchen, nudging the fridge closed with his foot and trying to juggle his pizza, the napkins, and the bottles of water. ]
Not - they don't give mix CDs to my dad, that's weird. I mean my dad's music is also in my library.
no subject
still, once stiles is back, drinks and food in hand, marcus takes a bite, lets the pizza melt in his mouth, enjoys the cheese burning his tongue in a masochistic, self-flagellating, marcus-is-a-downer kind of way. he clicks through stiles' library, unreadable and impassive, learning how to use all this with surprisingly fast aptitude. adaptability has always been one of marcus' strongsuits, and if he just focuses on learning something new, he can get the hang of it without too much trouble; it's just a matter of staying motivated, keeping interested. luckily, trying to find never before heard songs by the bands he loves is a pretty high priority for him, and the excitement wins out over anything else he might be feeling, in the end. he drags his cursor to the first song-title that catches his eye and responds to stiles as nonchalantly as he can. ]
Totally gonna fuck your dad if I ever meet him. Really gonna gargle that load.
[ a normal escalation after stiles made an uncomfortable joke about his friends giving his dad mixtapes, he thinks. hidden beneath all the ghostbusters themesongs, rick astley and some band called aqua, stiles has a couple of depeche mode songs on here that were released well past '87. marcus picks one at random, frowning when no audio comes out of the laptop's speakers and figuring out through trial and error what he needs to press to unmute things. for a moment, he's just quiet. the tinny, low-quality sound flows through the speakers and marcus just keeps himself to himself while he processes what he's listening to - a song by a band he loves released years ahead of his timeline and years before stiles' birth, crackling through laptop speakers that barely know how to do the job right. marcus actually gets pretty emotional, the bars hitting him hard in a way that makes him want to crack open his journal and write something new. he doesn't - just listens until the end of the song and resists the urge to hit repeat as it shuffles onto something modern and pop-rock that he doesn't really like.
marcus looks up from the laptop before too long, at least, pretending like his mind is full of nothing but thoughts of chewing his pizza and curling a noodle of cheese around his tongue. he swallows, then shuffles his knees to the side, patting the floor next to him to get stiles' attention, asking him to join him in front of the coffee table. ]
Play me some of your favorites?
no subject
the comment about his dad almost makes him choke on a bite of pizza. he coughs once, twice, mouth closed and eyes watering slightly, and once he gets through it, he clears his throat, slightly red in the face. surprisingly, though, he plays it off and runs with marcus... joke. stiles hopes it's a joke. obviously it's a joke, so... he can joke, too. ]
Whatever. I'm not gonna call you Dad.
[ but also fuck marcus for making stiles think about his dad and literally anything related to sex. stiles focuses on eating the rest of his slice and sits back, listening to whatever song marcus picks. it's a good one, but most of his music is good, bar pretty much anything scott's ever had him download for... "wooing" purposes, or whatever. as he finishes off his first slice of pizza and sits forward again to reach for another, marcus pats the floor near his foot. stiles glances down, arms outstretched toward the cardboard box on the table, and once he realizes he's being invited down onto the floor, he unfold his legs and slides down off the couch, rearranging himself so he's not all up in marcus' space. stiles takes another slice of pizza for himself, and slides another one onto marcus' plate too, while he's at it, pinching his napkin between his fingertips to wipe away any grease before he reaches across the space between them toward his laptop, dragging his fingers across the touchpad. ]
Uhhh. I mean... [ he clicks around, finds a decently-long list of random playlists, and clicks one of them called cartoons, which is... just a playlist of random songs he likes that he can listen to on his phone in the car if and when the radio happens to crap out on him, as if often does. ... car tunes. he hits shuffle. ] I wouldn't say all of these are my favorite, but there are some good ones here.