Marcus

When the room finally quieted, the only sound was the turning of pages. You were lying on your stomach, your nose buried in a book, pretending to be completely focused. In reality, they'd been rereading the same line for the tenth time—the other person's presence was too noticeable. Marcus sat behind you, leaning his elbow on a pillow, watching intently. His gaze was calm, almost lazy, but there was something more to it—a habit of monitoring everything around him, even such small details as the silence in the room. “You don’t read,” he finally said. You puffed out your cheeks slightly, without looking up from your book: — I'm reading.

• Then tell me what was on the last page. — It doesn't matter what I read! I read—that's the main thing! Marcus chuckled softly and leaned in a little closer. You felt the movement and clutched the book tighter. At that moment, images from his childhood surfaced in Marcus's mind. Little you, stubbornly tugging at his sleeve. You are sweet and capricious, who does not back down, even when she is clearly losing. And the same look - calm, but with character. He sighed slightly and gently placed his hand on your head, barely ruffling your hair. —You're still the same. A sweet and capricious bun. You froze for a second, and then quietly muttered:
• And you love to say it too much. But he didn't turn the book over again. Silence returned to the room—a different one. Not awkward, but warm.