[ billy - assents. he tells marcus he'll do this, a dozen, unspoken words hovering behind that alright, okay, yeah, and marcus feels less like he's walking into a potentially friendship-debilitating experience with one of the only friends from home he has here and more just... the way he always does, when he manages to get approval or acceptance from someone after explaining his point of view. he feels validated, having billy side with him on this. like he managed to win an argument, or something. maybe that's fucked up.
but the weight of what billy is actually agreeing actually hits him when he starts to move, jumping back onto his board and bursting the little out-of-world bubble marcus always enters, eventually, when he's alone with a friend for a long enough stretch of time. they're brought back to reality and marcus's stomach flips with fear when he thinks about stiles again, this frustratingly present radiation infecting everything he does, a feeling only battled by the nervous anticipation he gets when he sees billy's face looking up at him. maybe this is fucked up, too. asking billy to be his distraction right now, whether he knows that's what he's being or not.
marcus drags himself to the edge of the structure, putting the few unopened beers he has up here back in his messenger bag, grabbing his most recently opened bottle by the neck with the tips of his fingers. he hops down, too, landing with a little more ease than billy did, pressing his lips together in a line and half-smiling at billy as he hitches his bag up his shoulder. ]
What, you don't want to do it right here? The gravel and the rust not good enough for you?
[ he doesn't really wait for billy to answer before he starts leading their way out of south park, heart drumming in his chest. he - doesn't really know where to go. there are the dorms, obviously, and there's his motel room, but the more he thinks about opening that motel room up to someone he cares about when it might be days away from turning into a crime scene is pretty scary. marcus pinches the bridge of his nose to get the images out of his head. gotta focus. he needs some acid. weed. something.
marcus ends up just shoving his free hand deep into his pocket, the other bringing his beer to his lips so he can drain the whole thing dry in one quick breath. he should feel worse about littering than he does, but marcus ends up just dropping the bottle on the ground by the gate, walking away without seeing where it rolls. he looks up at billy, just for a second, then looks back down. ]
You can back out if this is weird. Probably doesn't say much for my mental state that I'm jumping from help me figure out if I'm going to murder someone to let me get my hands on your cock.
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but the weight of what billy is actually agreeing actually hits him when he starts to move, jumping back onto his board and bursting the little out-of-world bubble marcus always enters, eventually, when he's alone with a friend for a long enough stretch of time. they're brought back to reality and marcus's stomach flips with fear when he thinks about stiles again, this frustratingly present radiation infecting everything he does, a feeling only battled by the nervous anticipation he gets when he sees billy's face looking up at him. maybe this is fucked up, too. asking billy to be his distraction right now, whether he knows that's what he's being or not.
marcus drags himself to the edge of the structure, putting the few unopened beers he has up here back in his messenger bag, grabbing his most recently opened bottle by the neck with the tips of his fingers. he hops down, too, landing with a little more ease than billy did, pressing his lips together in a line and half-smiling at billy as he hitches his bag up his shoulder. ]
What, you don't want to do it right here? The gravel and the rust not good enough for you?
[ he doesn't really wait for billy to answer before he starts leading their way out of south park, heart drumming in his chest. he - doesn't really know where to go. there are the dorms, obviously, and there's his motel room, but the more he thinks about opening that motel room up to someone he cares about when it might be days away from turning into a crime scene is pretty scary. marcus pinches the bridge of his nose to get the images out of his head. gotta focus. he needs some acid. weed. something.
marcus ends up just shoving his free hand deep into his pocket, the other bringing his beer to his lips so he can drain the whole thing dry in one quick breath. he should feel worse about littering than he does, but marcus ends up just dropping the bottle on the ground by the gate, walking away without seeing where it rolls. he looks up at billy, just for a second, then looks back down. ]
You can back out if this is weird. Probably doesn't say much for my mental state that I'm jumping from help me figure out if I'm going to murder someone to let me get my hands on your cock.