Depending on the day, sometimes they would barely see each other. Occupied by their own business or the place simply being too big to cross paths, he recalls some days he’ll simply see her wade out to the garage to line her palms with oil and sweat and not see her for hours. A bit of a far cry from a ship packed to the brim, but he’s gotten used to it.
Now, though, there is a lack of loud boys in the mansion. Where they’ve off, Marco doesn’t know, and nor does he really express concern for their whereabouts-- they’re big boys, they can handle themselves. It’s just him and Rey, the table otherwise void of sleeping figures or empty plates. There’s another gulp of coffee (a familiar cup in his hands, to be specific), and half lidded eyes close for a moment before they lock onto the other figure in the room.
“Bit quiet without them arguing, isn’t it-yoi?” His voice is a lazy drawl, setting the mug on the table with a small clink.
“You’d think I’d be used to times like these by now, but I’ve always dealt with a little more noise.”
@scavengess
