"You made me give a fuck." Marc's voice was a soft growl, the sound of a hurt beast reacting in pain and anger. "You made me care and need and now you're saying you don't want this." Hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, coming up to press against Isaac's shoulders and shove him back. "Fuck you, then. You want it done, s'done. If you don't need me, then I'm sure as fucking going to find a way not to need you. M'glad you're good on your own. Me and Isolde, we'll be fine here. We were fine before you moved in, we'll be fine again without."
He turned and walked away, arms crossed, hating the fact that he felt like he was going to be sick, right there. He'd been right. "S'fucking weakness," he muttered. "Shouldn't give a fuck about an empty bed. Shouldn't give a fuck at all." But he did, and that was the problem. Fuck.