Asystole ✷ Mark Sloan

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He took a few moments to allow himself to just exist in the voices in his head-- it was the reminder that he was supposed to be pretty military about getting people out of here to avoid small talk, but it was drowned out by the sound of the woman's ring tone. 

Until it wasn't... she silenced it with a complimentary 'Oh crap' for good measure.

"Not a morning person, I take it?" 

He didn't know why he was so averse to small talk these days, he was good at it. He spoke without even looking over at her. Instead, he just willed his hangover to go away, pressing his fingers to either side of his temple and pressing his lips into a thin line.

On the other side of the bed, the woman just snorted. 

Mark found himself glancing over at her back again, watching as she attempted to find her clothing off of the floor. (She had a nice back. Drunk Mark had good taste.) He propped his head on his arms and hummed lightly to himself, trying his best to ignore the dull pain in his head.

"Is it that obvious?" She replied. Her head was still turned away from; he just shrugged to himself despite the fact that he knew she couldn't see. "I slept through one alarm clock fifteen years ago and I've never been able to live it down-- can you pass my panties?"

He did so while still vaguely drunk, making him wonder exactly how much he had drunk last night. 

Honestly, he couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much to drive; it wasn't often that Mark lost count of how many drinks he'd had. Maybe that was how his year was destined to go-- he'd develop an alcohol addiction and end up wasting away in some rehabilitation facility on the outskirts of town. 

It wasn't like Mark had anything against rehabs, he'd visited people inside them before; he just really didn't think he'd suit standardised clothing.

(Scrubs were an exception.)

"Rough night?"

She sounded amused as he barely even made conversation; he could only grumble slightly, wincing as she passed a window and caused the curtains to flutter. 

Inwardly, Mark was asking himself to get his shit together. Outwardly, he was five seconds away from burying his head back under the cover. 

As he laid there, fit for a coffin, Mark was surpassed by this mystery woman as she got dressed with impressive speed.

"I might have had a few drinks," Mark murmured, barely able to bring his voice higher than a slight moan of pain. 

He heard the woman chuckle as she crossed the room. He didn't how familiar that laugh felt to him. 

He just pressed his hand to his forehead and attempted to sit upright. "Usually I'm a lot wittier in the morning-"

"Don't worry about it," The woman breezed, shrugging. 

He was just able to make up the twist of her back as she shrugged on a shirt and shimmied on a pair of jeans. 

"I usually like to stick around but... I've got a really important day that I'm already--" She checked her cell phone and let out a long breath. "--late for, fantastic."

Just listening to her get ready for the day exhausted him. God, he was beginning to remember exactly why he wasn't a fan of this whole having flings staying over thing; not only was it drastically domestic and messy, but it also impeded on his sleep.

 If there was anything that being a surgeon of such high calibre had taught him it was that he really did need his beauty sleep. It was just one of the many reasons why he was trying to convince himself to find a different extracurricular activity, one that wasn't primarily nocturnal.