Quicklog, Marvel: Louis D/Cris M
[The exhaustion was starting to get to Cris. He'd been awake before Elena's, adrenaline acid in his veins, but the whole encounter had sapped him. Still, it wasn't as if he could just go to bed. He wouldn't sleep anyway. The exhaustion would grit along his eyelids, drying up, as he laid and stared at the wall, and that wouldn't help anybody.
He hadn't figured out his play yet. Not exactly. He thought about it, face blank, in the green alcove of the kitchen, as he ground coffee beans—the ones Louis had gotten him for Christmas—and their aroma filled the apartment like a mug. He leaned against the counter with his hip, jeans wrinkled from a long day and his Yankees hoodie unzipped over a gray t-shirt. He caught a yawn with his palm and snapped on the percolator.
It wasn't going to be pleasant, this. He didn't know what he was going to do, but he knew Louis wouldn't like it, whatever it was. He could already tell, from that cold ring of distance, that the man was either irritated his sister was confiding in Cris over him, or he figured it was more than a friend kinda thing. The specifics didn't matter at the moment, not with everything else going on, but they made Cris wary, and made him miss his old partner.
The water boiled slow, and the apartment was quiet, lights down and the TV off for once. Cris worked a spoon in coffee grounds-thick water, metal on metal, and looked at his watch.]