i absentmindedly fiddled with my fork, not focused enough to be annoyed by the clinking noises it made every time it collided with my plate of spaghetti. i was probably making marshall anxious because of how quiet i was, but all my energy was being channeled into figuring out something very important.
why i was so perpetually pissed at him.
what had he done, really? he gave me amazing sex. he made me pancakes. sure, he called me drunk, but even then, he just ended up crying about how he thought he'd never see me again. no matter how desperately i grasped for a justification, this long list of things i thought was there that granted me the right to be so insufferable was proving to be virtually nonexistent. was i really tormenting him for no reason?
"you make me feel guilty," i admitted quietly.
"about what?" he asked gently, sounding as if he were walking on eggshells.
"yelling at you." i looked up, and i swear i almost had a heart attack. he had this puppydog-eyed look on his face that was so damn cute.
"look," he started, cutting himself another piece of his steak, "it's not just you. i can be a dick." he shrugged, hastily taking a bite and mumbling, "don't worry 'bout it, baby."
what did he just call me?
after he swallowed, he ordered, "now eat 'fore it gets cold."
whereas normally a snarky remark of defiance would leave my lips, i felt as if i didn't have the energy or reason to fight about it. i was starving.
"marshall?" i piped up softly after a few mouthfulls.
"huh?"
"you're coming home with me."
YOU ARE READING
same song and dance.
Fanfiction❝ i heard 'em say exact opposites attract. if that's a fact it'll take task force to get you back. ❞ -- she's a professional. but when he won't take no for an answer, the line between business and pleasure is blurred.
