Who: Eoin and Rose What: Dorkish breakup-rehearsal. Where: Their room When: Sunday, March 6, about noon. Rating: SFW, or should be. Except, you know, Eoin and Rose so swearing all over the motherfucking place.
He'd slept until what felt incredibly late, but with the time difference and everything, it had only actually come to about nine o'clock that morning before he'd woken up, sure he was sleeping the day away. Fucking jetlag. So he'd sprawled himself out over the blissfully brother-free bed, buried his face in the pillow, and tried to recapture sleep.
It hadn't worked.
He'd gone from there to sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor, and from there to pacing to and fro. He needed to see Rome. Needed to work out how much of a bad idea it would be to break up with him now. And, if it wasn't the worst thing in the world to do... he needed to know how to do it.
Which was why he was standing in the bathroom, bedroom door locked (he'd seen far too many crappy films to rule out the possibility of Rome walking in at the exact wrong moment) but bathroom door standing open, staring at himself in the mirror. Even ignoring the dark circles under his eyes, he still looked a mess, but that was beside the point.
He knew this was a dorky thing to be doing. But really, it seemed a better idea than the alternative.
"Listen, Rome, it's not that I was lying about... anything I said. I just think we're not good for each other. It's not you, it's me. I'm fucked up. This is fucked up. Fuck, this is hard." He sagged against the sink, grimacing. God, if he couldn't even find the words to say it to the mirror...