Unlikely Companions Again? {Marcus}

[Freya Reeves]

Perched on one of the few benches that were scattered around the courtyard was a young teenage girl. Her long legs were pulled up and tucked expertly underneath her thin body. She was leaning back, her long semi-red hair was spilling over the back of the bench as the sun enveloped her pale features. It almost would have passed for a nice, peaceful moment if her fingers hadn’t been furiously tapping out a song along her thighs. As time seemed to crawl by her fingers only continued to speed up as they remained her only outlet for her building nerves.

Why was she so nervous? It was fairly simple and completely complicated at the same time. A few weeks had passed since her best friend on the island had abandoned their friendship out of fear of hurting her. He had decided that he was too dangerous to her wellbeing and took himself out of the picture to prevent any future incidents from occurring. She was filled with regret, disappointed, hurt, angry, frustrated, confused, and pretty much every other semi-negative emotion out there. Yet, through it all she stuck to her gut reaction and respected his choice. After all, it was his decision on who he hung around with and who he didn’t. Freya had just hoped she stick around in the first boat for a bit longer.

However, as of yesterday, the dynamic between the two musicians was beginning to change again. Last night she had received what she believed to be a text and then a call. Of course, being the blind klutzy fool she is, she fumbled around with the phone and ended up declining it. After a long struggle (taking an amount of time that she is not willing to admit out loud) to call her voicemail she finally heard the message that was left by none other than Marcus. It was short, brief and filled with the nervous and awkward tone that was now becoming a physical manifestation in her tapping but it had set up a meeting if she was willing to talk to him.

Freya, of course, jumped at the chance to hear his voice in person. In a way she almost felt pathetic for how excited she had gotten just by the thought of hearing him again but she missed him too much to really care. Which is exactly what brought her to be sitting in the courtyard for the past ten minutes hoping that she wasn’t horribly early or late. Telling time was a tricky thing for her. Biting her lip, she was just about to go wonder around until she bumped into someone for the time when she heard a familiar set of heavy footsteps coming in her direction.

Her head snapped up, her blank eyes turning to the noise way too quickly for any hopes of playing it off like she hadn’t missed him. “Marcus?” Freya quickly called out, excitement and uncertainty both playing off the word expertly. It would be her luck that it wasn’t her green haired punk and it would also be her luck that he hadn’t come here to try to work things out with her which meant her excitement would turn out to be a total embarrassment. She’d simply have to deal with that if it came to light and for now breath clenched in her throat as she waited on a response from the approaching set of feet.

[Marcus Finch]

Marcus blinked as he stepped into the courtyard. Shielding his eyes against the sudden brightness, he scanned the quiet space as he chewed at the piercing in his bottom lip. The glint of sunlight on red hair drew the punk’s eye and let out a soft breath. He paced forward, heavy boots thumping across the stone floor of the courtyard. Marcus kept his hands buried in his pockets as he walked, trying hard not to notice the way Freya’s fingers tapped against her thigh. His shoulders tensed as her infectious anxiety rolled onto him, but then her head snapped up and brought him to a sudden halt.

His heart ached when she called his name and he swallowed. “Yeah, Freya,” Marcus said before making it the rest of the way to the bench. “Marcus.” Letting out a slow breath, the punk shoved his hands in his pockets. It was all he could do to stop himself from pulling her into a hug and apologising for everything. That’s not why you’re here, he reminded himself. “Err,” he looked down and scuffed at the pavement with the toe of his boot. “So, it's been awhile.” Marcus cringed at how lame it sounded.

Since the last time they’d met, the punk had gone through some obvious changes. He slouched forward as he spoke, clothes hanging not quite right from his frame. His hair looked like a freshly mowed lawn, but Marcus no longer seemed so keen on drawing attention to it. Instead, with his hands buried in his pockets, he gave off the impression of someone who didn’t want to be noticed at all. Of course, Freya saw none of this, but the blind girl didn’t have to see him to hear the hesitation in his voice. The punk’s typical self-assured bravado gave way to quiet uncertainty. “I guess we should do the talking thing again. Man, that sucks,” he sighed through his nose and nibbled at his lip. “Mind if I sit?”

[Freya Reeves]

For a moment, silence hung in the air and she worried that she had just made a total fool of herself to a complete stranger. Another beat and she finally got her reply, it was in fact her sorta-kinda friend. The relief that unfolded in her chest was short lived as he sounded less than thrilled to be here. It wasn’t exactly a surprise with how they left things out but she had been semi-hoping for something a little warmer from the punk. Swallowing thickly, Freya raised a hand and gave a slight wave before she brought her hands to rest on her lap again, doing everything not to break into a nervous beat.

“Yeah. It has been,” she nodded a little. It had been a while. She wasn’t exactly sure how long, telling time wasn’t exactly her expertise anymore, but she knew that it was too long. She had missed him terribly but somehow the silence between the two had been easier than the start of this awkward encounter. Part of her just wanted to curl up and let him walk right on by her. After all it would be way easier than trying to unclog her throat and try to figure out how to talk to him again. What does someone even say after their best friend says they don’t want to be friends anymore? There wasn’t a whole lot, at least not that she could think of.

As the cogs turned in Freya’s mind, completely preoccupying her conscious, she forgot that Marcus had been hanging around the edges of the bench. At the sound of his voice she jumped a little, running her hand through her long hair nervously, “Sorry. I guessed I zoned a bit. Um, yeah, sure. Take a seat, I’m not gonna be cruel and make you stand around all day.” She tucked her legs underneath her and twisted so that she was partially facing Marcus, though she was a little off to the left. “So,” she drew out the word for a bit, “what did you want to talk about?”

[Marcus Finch]

At her invitation, Marcus shuffled over to the bench. He eased himself next to her at a comfortable distance and leaned back, allowing his eyes to wander around the courtyard without looking at the girl. Beside him Freya sat with her legs tucked neatly beneath her. She tilted her pale face in his direction with silver, unseeing eyes looking somewhere just to his left.

Marcus took a deep breath as he felt the sun warm his face. The quiet of the courtyard provided the perfect amount of breathing room. It eased the edge off the punk’s tension as he searched his mind for the right words. “Well,” he started, running a hand through his green hair, “I suppose I should start by saying I’m sorry.” It seemed a solid enough start, but the awkwardness still lingered.

“Err,” he cleared his throat and shifted before continuing. “I mean, like, last time we talked things went kind of bad and I guess I didn’t really do a good job of explaining shit. So, err, I guess I’m asking for another chance to explain myself and, uh, maybe make up for it all?” Dropping his gaze to his boots, the punk held his breath. He chewed at his bottom lip as his heart pounded against his chest. Why did words have to be so hard?