Trent woke up with a throbbing headache, and a memory that he hoped he'd imagined. He hoisted himself up on the couch, pulling himself into a sitting position, eyes half shut because light was streaming in between the blinds, and Trent was far too hungover to want light blazing directly in his eyes.
What was it that he had remembered?
He had forgotten it, whatever it was. Sometimes Trent felt like he was waking up from a dream after a heavy night of drug use and drinking; things that he remembered immediately after waking would dissapear into smoke. Sighing, he rubbed his temples, looking down at Marilyn's extended body through squinted eyes, feeling the same nearly stale repeated emotion he always felt when Marilyn passed out in front of him; that he was beautiful and elegant and snakelike. Trent's half shut eyes scrolled down Marilyn's body, from the peaceful face buried in his own alabaster shoulder, to the sliver of hips showing where his shirt was pulled up by the aforementioned arm serving as Marilyn's pillow. Marilyn's other hand had lipstick rubbed off on the fingertips. Trent wondered why for a second, then realized the other man must have just been wiping his mouth. But the sight of red striking so visibly against the paleness of Marilyn's fingers was beautiful to Trent, for some reason.
Trent was broken out of his adoration by his stomach rumbling with extreme hunger, the typical effects of smoking too much weed. He leaned forward, shaking Marilyn's shoulder halfheartedly, failing to wake him up, unsurprisingly. Trent stood up from the couch, running his fingers through his hair as if it would negate his headache, and walked into the kitchen. He opened the fridge, wincing at the whiteness of the light exuding from it; the brightness burnt his eyes. He grabbed the first edible looking thing, a container of strawberries, and shut the fridge as fast as he could.
"Dude, are those organic?" Trent jumped at Marilyn's voice around the corner from him.
"You fucking scared me." Trent spoke accusatorily, turning around, "Also, no, they're not organic."
"Organic fruits are better for the system." Marilyn said, and Trent searched his face for a sign of irony, but couldn't find it.
"Brian, why the polite fuck do you care about organic fruit when you do cocaine at least weekly?" Trent rolled his eyes.
"I... nevermind." Marilyn spoke, walking over to Trent in three long strides.
Trent took off the lid of the strawberry container, and looked at Marilyn, one eyebrow raised. Sighing, Marilyn picked up a strawberry and popped it into his strawberry colored mouth.
"You're an asshole." Trent said, looking up at Marilyn.
"You like that, don't you?" Marilyn said playfully.
Statements like that always hit Trent wrong, because they made his head rush- did Marilyn know how he felt? He was looking at Trent, unbridled intensity in his eyes. Trent decided to evade the question.
"Are the strawberries okay for your sensitive self?" Trent rolled his eyes.
"Yes, Trent, they're fine. I'd just prefer..." that look again, dark eyes trained on Trent, "Better ones."
YOU ARE READING
I Bet You Think This Song Is About You
Fanfiction"Truth, or truth." Marilyn uttered as a statement. "Second truth." Trent ran a hand through his hair. (also known as: Marilyn starts to have feelings for Trent, things ensue.) I should let you guys know this is posted on archive of our own as well...
