Drown (Set For Rewrite)

Part 2

I decided that she has an evening job, I don't know if she's going to go job hunting....  I just realized the inconsistencies there.  Woops.  I was tired last night when I wrote the first part, I'm just gonna go with that. 

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I pulled myself up from the door, making my way over to my stereo system, wiping the last of the blood away before hitting the power switch, filling my apartment with country music. I bobbed along to the music, focusing on the words, trying to keep myself out of my head as I made a cup of coffee and wrapped my arm properly then getting dressed. I sat on my big fluffy arm chair near the piano, contemplating what to do with my day since work didn't start until this evening, when a knock sounded at the door. I groaned, praying it wasn't the neighbors to complain about my music-I needed it. What if they hated it? What if the landlord came and talked to me about it? I'd move. That's all there was to it. I'd have to find somewhere else to live. No, I'd just find a pair of headphones and an MP3 that hooked up to radio stations, no need to be dramatic. Still talking myself through it I went to the door, peaking through the hole to find the crazy man boy shifting back and forth on his feet, a coffee cup in his hand, with a shirt on and hair combed this time. He raised his hand to knock again, and I flipped the lock, opening the door with raised eyebrows.

"Yes?" My voice sounded cold even to my own ears, but I let the corner of my lips curl just enough to soften it. Hopefully.

"You gave me coffee, so I made special coffee. You said you hadn't had coffee yet, sorry it took me so long you've probably had coffee by now... my brothers were fighting over the stove. Come join us for breakfast?" He said in a rush, his eyes sparkling with renewed energy as he held the cup out to me. I debated. His coffee seemed to be paired with his offer of friendship.... To take or not to take.... "Just breakfast. Just want to meet our neighbor."

I glanced down at my outfit before nodding, reaching out to take the mug. I was wearing a long sleeve snug black under armer shirt with cargo pants, in other words all covered. "Let me grab my keys and I'll be right with you." I turned to go inside before pausing and turning back to him, holding out my hand to shake. "My name's Sang by the way." His face blanked for a second, as though surprised he didn't already know that, then he was grinning sheepishly and taking my hand in his, giving it a firm squeeze.

"Marc, Marc Weiland. Sorry about that, in the commotion and lack of coffee...." He shrugged, a slight flush creeping up his neck.

"Coffee is important." I smirked, turning once more to grab my keys of the counter before pulling the door shut after me and locking it, sliding the keys into my side pocket and making sure my phone was in the other. He reached out and captured my hand that wasn't holding the cup he'd given me, pulling me behind him with an unholy bounce to his step. He was so damn cheerful-I couldn't decide if it was irritating or cute. Both, probably. I sipped the coffee and almost jolted to a stop-it was really good. Were these my coffee beans?

"What did you do to them?" I asked, a note of awe in my voice. He turned to me in confusion, then smirked.

"You had the good beans, sure, but I have a good grinder and expresso maker. I also added some caramel and coco beans, just the beans-that way you get the slight taste without the sugar." He went on to explain more that I didn't understand before opening the door to his apartment, calling that we were here.

"Who's we, Marc?" A deep, gruff voice with an accent came from the the side hallway, and a tall, broad, tattooed man emerged. Shirtless. And pantless. He was just straightening his boxers.... "Who is this little bird?" He stepped toward us, his muscles rippling.... He was really fit.... My eyes traced the tattoos down his bulging arms, across his chest.... He had a nipple piecing. His chest rippled as he flexed, and I dragged my eyes up to his smirk, dark eyes that held shadows of a past I wasn't privy to, tempered by sarcasm and joy he'd found recently. His lips curled further, and he flicked his tongue out, drawing my attention to yet another piercing that graced it. "Like what you see, my little bird?" (Italics is Russian) It was my turn to smirk. He was Russian, and didn't know I knew Russian.... I wasn't about to enlighten him.