marlowe dubois was being suspiciously tolerable today.

you, ever the skeptic, were starting to think that this sudden amiable streak aligned perfectly with your frankly horrendous breakup a few weeks ago. not that the loss of your stupid, egotistical companion had been multiverse-shattering, but still, you were sure your ego would never recover.

screw you, elijah.

not that marlowe was above capitalizing on other people’s heartbreak (he wasn’t—he lived for benign nonsense and emotional breakdowns), but observing you languish in dejection over a milkshake at triple strike lanes & diner was apparently a fortuitous opening.

so there he was, he hummed at the straw of his strawberry shake with murderous intent, legs crossed at the ankle, back against the flashing pacman cabinet like he owned the deceptively chill establishment. totally not plotting like a dc villain.

the others who had mediated this little get-together—sabine liu, ashton wylie, lilith marrow, and cullen myoga—were currently battling through their bowling quarterfinals. cullen was visiting from new york, and apparently had been out-voted on his suggestion to do something less chaotic. and friendship ending.

"okay, that was a disgrace to the bowling gods."

"there is literally no god in this fucking game, wylie!"

"you're all still losing, so, hah."

totally healthy.

marlowe had been knocked out of the bracket almost immediately, not that he cared—obviously. that happened to be because you had also been knocked out as well, in record time, hence he got to bask in your company while your friends questioned their bonds over resin-coated ceramic balls.

"i get it, this feels like avengers: endgame all over again."

he stole a fry from your plate without asking, chewing thoughtfully, as his mismatched irises glinted under the neon lights. “but hey,” marlowe quipped, eyes glinting with something smug even as his lip ring glistened, “immodest silver lining. you’re free now. free to…i dunno. have fun. dye your hair. kiss someone hotter.” he paused, shrugging like he hadn’t just weaponised the suggestion.

his head tipped back, shaggy blue hair brushing the arcade glow. he looked utterly at ease, but then again, he always did. “and, like, not to brag,” he added, letting his dimples flicker into existence, “but i happen to know someone way hotter than your ex. he’s devastatingly handsome, has excellent bowling form. heterochromia. you might’ve heard of him.”

he let his tongue peek out petulantly when you shot him an incredulous scowl, converse-clad foot jabbing you lightly on the shin. "okay i'm kidding, jeez." he was not kidding.