Every part of his body was sore when he woke up. That's really what he got for falling asleep sitting upright outside Em's apartment. It was weird and he was being punished for it. According to his watch, since his phone had died at some point, it was almost eight in the morning. When had he fallen asleep? The whole night was a blur. It felt like he spent hours sitting in the dark, just thinking. He should leave. He had to leave. If Em came out and found him here, she would be furious. He didn't want to make her any angrier than she already was. But if he walked away now, what would that mean for them? Would it really be over? He wanted to believe their connection was stronger than that, but he had the terrible feeling that if he walked away right now, he would never see her again. So he sat and waited. He'd stopped trying to think of an excuse a while ago. He was here because he physically could not bring himself to walk away.
The door creaked open, and he tried to stand. Unfortunately, that was his first move in about six hours and his body was not ready for it. He immediately fell back into the war, limbs stinging. He turned to see Marco walking back towards his apartment.
"Hey." He said. Marco jumped, turning around and making a fist. He looked terrified, before he saw that it was Quentin and sighed with relief.
"What the fuck, dude. Why did you come back?"
"...I didn't." Quentin said sheepishly. Marco finally noticed his clothes.
"Have you been sitting out here all night?" Quentin nodded. "Why?"
"I couldn't leave." He said. This wasn't the person he wanted to explain himself to, but it worked. Marco stared at him, for so long Quentin started to feel genuinely uncomfortable. Finally, he turned.
"Em's out cold. She's not gonna be up until at least noon. You might as well come with me."
"... Where?"
"...My apartment? Where the fuck else?" Marco pulled out his keys and opened the door, then looked at him. "Hurry up." Quentin knew intellectually that he shouldn't go into the house of this man he barely knew, but it was cold as hell and this was Em's friend, so it was fine, right? He stood, still wobbling from aching feet, and followed Marco inside.
His unit had the same layout as Em's. The decor was completely different. His walls were barren, the only exception being a cluster of children's drawings taped to the wall near a creaky wooden desk. Unlike Em, he had a television, which was leaning against the wall precariously on top of an old dresser. Then there was a bed. That was pretty much it.
"Where do you eat?" He asked. It occurred to him immediately after that it was a rude thing to say, but he couldn't exactly take it back, could he? Marco pointed at the desk.
"You can sit on the chair or on the bed. I don't care." He walked into the kitchen and started fiddling with something, leaving Quentin to his own devices. It took him a moment to make up his mind, but he pulled out the chair and sat on it. He knew, in this moment, that this was the worst chair he had ever sat on. Possibly the worst chair in existence. He immediately stood back up and sat down on the bed, bacteria be damned. He made a mental note to buy this man a new chair. He assumed Em came over here fairly often, and her only two options were to get in the bed with Marco or sit in that horrible chair. That was simply unacceptable.
Marco reappeared holding two cups of coffee. He handed one to Quentin, who took it gratefully. It was hot and fresh and a surprisingly good blend. Marco hadn't bothered to ask how he wanted it. Luckily, Quentin loved his coffee black. He would drink it no matter what, since it was offered to him by someone who was doing him a massive favor, but he wouldn't have liked it as much.
The two of them drank their coffee in silence. It wasn't as uncomfortable as Quentin had assumed it would be. The man had a naturally calming aura. It made sense that Em would be friends with someone like this. Either Marco was a good person, or he was very good at pretending. Quentin never ruled out the latter.
"So." Marco put down his mug. "You got a name?"
"Quentin," He replied, leaving the last bit out. He didn't want to give too much away. Marco looked at him strangely for a second, but moved past it.
"Well, Quentin, I'd like to state for the record that I don't hate you. I'm guessing Em doesn't either, not really." He sighed. Quentin tried not to get his hopes up.
"... You don't think she's mad?"
"Oh, she's mad. I just think she doesn't really hate you. Em's not a hateful person. She gets mad at people often, but she forgives them too. I don't know what happened between you guys, and I really don't want to hear about it from you, but… you don't have to like, martyr yourself just to get her attention. Big gestures like that don't work on Em anyway. She prefers the real shit."
"It wasn't a gesture." Quentin said. "I just…"
"Whatever it was, it was stupid. You're probably going to get sick later, and then she really won't want you around. She hates being around sick people." Quentin made a mental note of that. He added it to his library of things he knew about Em. It was surprisingly little, considering the time they'd spent together. She was a private person, for the most part. She'd talk a lot but never about herself.
"So what do I do now?" He asked.
"Go home. Chug some DayQuil."
"No, I mean, about Em. What should I do?"
"How the fuck should I know?" Marco laughed. "And even if I did know, I wouldn't tell you. I barely know you."
"You let me in your house."
"I have a personal policy against letting hot guys freeze to death." Marco shrugged. "I will not intervene in your bullshit, but I will tell Em that you were here, okay? So she can call you if she wants to."
"And if she doesn't?" Quentin hated how desperate he sounded.
"That's on you, dude." Marco shrugged. "If you're not going to pass out in the next ten minutes, I'd suggest you make your way home. Get some rest. Maybe find a new hookup. It'll be a lot easier than fixing this." Quentin stood up, setting his coffee mug down on the table.
"Thank you for your hospitality."
"Whatever." Marco waved him off, and Quentin made his way outside. He didn't tell Marco that he wasn't going to find someone else, that he never would. If he got too intense he would certainly tell Em. She wasn't ready to hear that yet. So he kept his mouth shut, and headed back home.