Re: Quicklog, Marvel: Louis D/Cris M
The promise of more revealing information had not put Louis in, shall we say, a positive mood. He was angry, disappointed, and, the worst of it, betrayed. Russ had known Sam was using and said nothing to him. He had bought drugs for her. And he didn't even have the decency to admit he had made a mistake, justifying it at every turn.
It was a remarkable betrayal, almost unbelievable. Louis didn't trust many people, least of all around his family. Once, he had trusted more, but that had been before the doors, before Gotham and New York, before things became unnecessarily complicated.
Everything was a fucking nightmare. Neil with his new girlfriend who could only spell trouble (who could forget the last time one of Neil's girlfriends became mixed up in the family?), Russ buying his sister the addict marijuana laced with crystal meth. The world had been pulled inside out. Now Cris had something to show him. Wonderful.
He had been the one to push Russ to pursue Sam, to go out with her, and he couldn't shake the sick feeling that he had created this situation. Could anyone be trusted with anyone he cared about? It appeared not. He had moved to try to create a life for himself that was about something more than running to his family's rescue. That was never going to happen. His fresh coldness to Cris was distantly recognized as cruel, but he was too tired and raw on it to care. It didn't have anything at all to do with his partner, really. Whatever he was doing with Sam that had prompted her to spill everything to him, Louis simply couldn't trust it now. He couldn't trust anyone around her after this thing with Russ, not ever again.
How fucking exhausting.
Perhaps it didn't help that he had hardly slept in the last week. Every night he woke from a fitful sleep to an ice cold, empty apartment that he was hating more and more with every second he spent in it. Sam had obviously been there over Christmas based on his credit card bills, and he hadn't even been able to ask her why before this fresh hell broke out.
Perhaps he should give up trying to make himself useful. This might just be a sign.
He was in no mood to see anyone, but whatever Cris had to say, he clearly thought it was important enough to insist. So he arrived at Cris' apartment within the hour, bringing the cold wind in with him before shutting the door. It was late, or early, and he obviously hadn't changed out of the clothes he had been wearing earlier in the day. There had been no attempt at all to go to sleep.
The apartment smelled like coffee, comforting enough to almost make him sag and collapse comfortably on the nearest soft surface. But he couldn't afford to do that. He didn't even register that it was the coffee he'd left in Cris' stocking.
He sat down at the kitchen table, grateful at least for the chair. He couldn't have looked more tired or done with all this before it even got going if he tried.] I couldn't bother you for a cup of that, could I?