Marcus

Woodrow sat in the brown armchair in his room reading. He looked over his book as the door to his room opened. A young man entered the room, his fiery hair spiked, giving it an even more fiery look than the redness already did. Woodrow sat silently and watched the young man sit on the couch next to the door. He looked somewhat forlorn, his eyes cast down, his elbows on his knees and his hands hanging loosely between his open knees.

“Marcus.”

The young man seemed to cringe at the sound of his own name. His head drooped lower.

Woodrow shut his book quietly and moved over to sit next to the young man. “Marcus, tell me what’s wrong,” Woodrow said warmly.

Marcus looked up just barely, his eyes slightly glazed. “She makes excuses. Bad excuses. It’s like she thinks I’m not even worth the effort. I don’t know what to do.”

“I can’t say I’m the best to ask for woman advice.”

“Who else would you suggest? As much as I love and appreciate the people in this house, there’s no denying that nearly everyone is off their rocker.” He looked up at Woodrow and met a somewhat annoyed gaze. “Look, Woodrow, I know that Victor is your best friend and whatnot, but he doesn’t get around much. I mean, he doesn’t leave his room until sundown and won’t dare go outside until the sun is completely out of sight. Whatever his reason, skin allergy or not, he never goes out during the day. and has probably never even seen a woman, much less ask one on a date.”

“You’re assuming quite a bit, Marcus.”

Marcus seemed somewhat skeptical. “Either way, you’re the one who wants a family.”

“ Marcus,” Woodrow said sharply, standing, “that is beyond the point. We are not discussing this any longer.”