drunken thoughts, sober feelings - marcus au
And as you’re tapping the steering wheel whilst searching through the crowd of drunken people that lingered outside of your car you cursed at the promise you had made Marcus earlier the night - “If you need picking up please call me, I’ll come fetch you”. Truth be told as soon as his name flashed up on your phone and his shouts echoed through your speaker you felt bad for not wanting to pick him up but you knew he was absolutely smashed and you promised you’d help him back. Even if that did mean running to your car in pyjama shorts and a jacket zipped to your chin.
“She’s here guys!” Jesse slammed the window of the passenger seat wildly with his palm, pulling faces at you through the glass as the rest staggered over to you car. Reaching to the back you pushed the door open, Marcus’ hand wrapping around the door frame as he threw himself into the back seat - shortly followed by Dele and Trent. Jesse chuckled as he buckled himself next to you, his drunken hands fumbling with the radio as he tried to find something worth listening to, “Marcus kissed someone today, he finally pulled!”
You listened along to the guys argue back and forth over who was the best dancer as you turned corners and waited patiently at red lights: all the time thinking about Marcus’ mouth pressed against another girl. It wasn’t as if you two were dating or anything, it was nothing like that, no, it was more down to the fact that it was obvious you two had a crush on each other - and all the guys knew that. So why was Marcus shoving his tongue down some strangers throat when he had made it so clear that he was interested in you?
Pulling into your driveway you rolled your eyes as Dele pushed Trent out of the car, his elbows hitting against the graveled driveway as you held out a hand for his to grasp. With a slurred “Fuck you” Trent playfully slapped at Dele’s head, chuckling as his palm came in contact with his ear. Slipping inside the house you beckoned the rowdy lads, not wanting them to wake any of your neighbours with their drunken antics as they yelled about needing water and somewhere to sleep.
“Can we talk?” Marcus yanked at your wrist as he slumped past you, his eyes searching your face as you motioned towards the stairs as the rest of his army piled into the living room. Armed with blankets, cushions and jugs of water you watched as they all settled onto the sofa’s - suddenly looking a lot younger than they actually were as they gulped down glasses of water. If it wasn’t for Marcus lingering about upstairs you would have happily kept them company for the rest of the night, giggling away at their conversation about what the best condiment is on toast - their voice’s getting progressively louder as Jesse exclaimed that it would always be jam.
Trent’s attention would be diverted as he scoured the room for something, his lips curling into a smug smirk, “Is Marcus sharing your bed tonight?”
Your cheeks burned as you flipped the switch, closing the door in order to muffle the laughter they had erupted into as you made your way up the stairs. Embarrassment reeked through your body as you noticed Marcus perched on your bed, his fingers scrolling through his phone as he tried to sober up. Reaching out a hand you’d bring his concentration to a halt as he looked up at you with hazed vision, “Didn’t mean to kiss her. It just happened. So quickly.”
His voice sounded desperate as you crossed your legs next to him, resting your head on his shoulder as he continued to ramble about her just coming up to him and in the moment he didn’t remember anything and he was too lost in the music as his mouth found itself to hers. But you’d switched off: too busy thinking about how you were going to live this one down with the lads downstairs. Of course Marcus was too drunk to try and speak to now but you knew in the morning he wouldn’t remember anything, his cheeks would blush a bright red as the boys tease him about sleeping with you after kissing another girl.
“Marcus. Marcus I don’t care,” You’d whisper, bringing him out of his nattering rant as you traced his tattoo’s that were peaking through his shirt sleeve, “The lad’s think we’re going to sleep together tonight so please don’t be mad in the morning. Just be prepared.”
He nodded, comfortable silence blanketing the two of you as you listened to his heartbeat increasing in his chest. You could tell by now that the alcohol was wearing off; his words weren’t as incoherent and he was started to maneuver a lot easier now. Marcus shifted nervously on the bed, your head lulling into the crook of his neck as you attempted to sit up straight. But he sort of held you there as he snaked an arm around your shoulders, squeezing your arm gently as he sighed, “I think I love you, y’know.”
And you had second thoughts on him sobering up as you freeze in your position, swallowing hard as he fiddled with his thumbs that sat in his lap. You can tell that he’s awaited an answer as his mouth twitches to the side slightly - but you have no answer to give him. Because you know once you awaken in the morning everything would have been forgotten, so what’s the point? You saw no reason to try and talk to him about it all, not when he was drunk anyway.
“Let’s get you to bed, yeah?” You whisper as you stood from your position, hands on hips as you yearned for him to snuggle into you and tell you everything you wanted to hear. But he was drunk. And you were sober.
But he would shake his head, left to right as his vision became blurry from the sheer harshness of his neck movements. Marcus fell back, his spine hitting the mattress as he spread his arms out across your sheets in a defeated way. His was mumbling something, his words rolling into one string of noises as your chest pinged at the sound of him rambling on again. His eyes dragged across your ceiling, “You think I’m only saying this because I’m drunk. Like I won’t mean it tomorrow morning when I’m sober.”
And you hate how he was right, you despised how well he knew you. Memories of the two of you flashed before your eyes: like the time he persuaded you to go on holiday with him because he’d booked it for him and Jesse but Jesse had pulled out last minute, or the way in which he sobbed to you when his ex girlfriend had broken up with him out of nowhere. And how you had to be the one to try and mend him, pick him up from the floor and convince him that everything would be okay in the end. Your shoulder had been damp for days due to his uncontrollable tears, his voice strained as he struggled to thank you - and all you could do is hug him. But here he was now, in the present time, lying on your bed and confessing his deepest thoughts about you.
“I fucking love you! I always have! Always will. I kissed that girl tonight and you want to know something? I dreamt it was you. I always do. You’re all I dream about - every damn night.” His mouth was spewing sentences that didn’t quite make sense as he spoke them but as they sunk in he lifted his head from your duvet, wide eyes looking you up and down. Your shoulders slouched as you chewed on your fingernail: you didn’t know what to say to him. Fuck, you didn’t know if you wanted to speak to him.
“Please say something. Just tell me to fuck off; just anything to let me know that you understood what I said.” He sounded desperate, his tone pleading as it sliced through the silence that had fallen once again between you two. Marcus rolled his body until he was facing your headboard, the duvet crinkling beneath him as he fluttered his eyes shut. You decided against trying to sleep in the same bed, scared what would happen between the two of you if you dared tried to slip under the covers - instead slouching off to the guest room. But as you pulled the door open his voice cut through the air, “At least stay, please. Even if it’s the last time you do.”
