Marcus had an affinity for being blunt, but most often without realising he was doing it. He didn’t know that his words often fell flat and unfeeling, or that people tended to stare at him, mouth agape, wondering why they’d been lumped with this awkward, slightly gormless guy who didn’t have a whole lot to say for himself. He didn’t notice when he was being odd, but he’d had it spelled out to him more times than once. He’d had producers and exes and even friends tell him he was weird, crinkling their nose in disgust as they went on long tirades about how strange and unappealing he was, or how he made them feel uncomfortable.
It wasn’t intentional. It was never intentional. Marcus just struggled to be, sometimes. He didn’t always feel completely whole in his own body or mind, oftentimes gliding through life as though he was living one out-of-body experience after the other. When artists, sound engineers, and producers alike pushed him down against their body, egging him on as they bartered with him for his right to work, he felt himself float out of his body and free from his mind, watching his own actions as if it was somebody else doing them. So, when Kai was surprised by his words, it occurred to Marcus that he hadn’t been a very good friend to the other man. He hadn’t made it clear that his company was valued, that he was valued.
For a beat, he thought he’d done it again. Kai was uncomfortable, and this would be the last time he saw him.
And then the other man returned his sentiment, and Marcus’ shoulders sagged in relief, a soft sigh escaping his lungs.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Marcus blinked, frowning just a touch. His brows knitted together in gentle confusion. His mums had always taught him not to apologise when he hadn’t done anything wrong, and he had always tried to follow their words of wisdom. He’d struggled with that lately, when his kisses had been lacking, his hands trembling as wet lips were pressed, unwanted, to the nape of his neck. His last studio manager had thrown him out without any warning, insisting he needed to find a new space to make his music if he didn’t get his shit together.
He hadn’t gotten his shit together. He’d found a new space, had found himself in the clutches of other bodies needing to be warmed.
His mind wandered, and he felt himself leaving again. Leaving their table, leaving Kai, the wide expanse of the sky opening up to swallow him whole. He cleared his throat, blinking as he tried to force himself back into existence, into the present day.
“I’m not very cool or smart. You’re a professor. You teach. That’s impressive, Kai,” he shook his head, knowing that everything Kai had to offer the world was of far more significance than anything Marcus had.
He extended his hand, annoyed as he noticed his fingers were trembling, and ripped at the edges of the cinnamon roll. He didn’t really want it – he found cinnamon overwhelming, the taste of it on his tongue startling – but he rolled the pastry between his thumb and forefinger for something to do, something small to latch himself onto.
“I know people think I’m weird,” he stated, shaking his head. He was ruining things again. “I like that you don’t think I’m weird.”
blakekathryn
germansingergirl
yousharknotpass
snowghoul
titsay
