Snippet #2382003

Well, at least he wasn't the only person feeling awkward, Matthew thought wryly as Ms. Torres hesitated before determinedly wiped at the lipstick spread on and around his mouth like he was some sort of clown escaped from the circus. That part was partially his own fault from when he'd attempted to wipe it away earlier, but that was neither here nor there. He wished that he had thought to suggest that he clean himself up, but with the deed nearly done, it was too late to voice any resistance. The faint odor of make-up remover wafted up from his mouth from the doused cotton ball, an almost comforting scent. It reminded him of the bathroom he'd shared with his sisters, how they never remembered to put the lid back on the bottle of make-up remover and the countless times they or he had accidentally knocked it over, dousing the sink. Then again, it also reminded him of Miranda, so that was a bit of a double-edged sword, wasn't it?

At this proximity, Matthew wasn't quite sure where he was supposed to look without looking incredibly awkward. His eyes trailed around the bathroom past Ms. Torres' head, trying to find something to occupy himself as she swiped away the red surrounding his lips. Unavoidably his gaze fell back on her and, given their close distance, he could really see how exhausted she looked. Maybe it was because the week was officially over and she'd spent it looking after children, maybe she was stressed about something- whatever it was, she looked as if she needed a good night's sleep at least, maybe a weekend of relaxation. He didn't say anything, though. It wasn't exactly his place to give advice to someone so put together while he was just... Well, Matthew, the maintenance man. The ex drug addict. The awkward, lonely guy in apartment 1100.

"There. All done." He had to hold in a relieved sigh as she finally backed away, a smile that he couldn't quite tell if it was just polite or friendly stretched across her lips. Matthew straightened up then, backing away from the sink himself. Now, he thought, was the time to go. He no longer looked like an experimenting drag queen and could leave with his head held high(well, metaphorically speaking; his posture was atrocious). He trailed behind Ms. Torres, barely keeping in the yawn that threatened to escape his lips. Oh. He was tired. It was a sudden sort of revelation. He'd been so caught up in his own thoughts and little problems that he hadn't even noticed the exhaustion from today slowly crawling over him, urging him to rest.

Which was why he surprised even himself by accept Ms. Torres offer of a beer. Hadn't he just been thinking about returning to his room and heading off to bed? Whatever the reason, here he was now, settled on Ms. Torres' couch as she flipped through the channels. He took a sip, the once familiar burn trickling down his throat followed by a brief bit of pleasure. He didn't often indulge in alcohol, too intent on keeping himself in the right frame of mind, keeping in control, but he'd have a drink with Simon every once in a while. So maybe that was the reason he was able to keep up small talk with Ms. Torres- no, Elle, he mentally corrected after she'd verbally done so at least three times. It was just like having a drink with a friend.

As the night trailed on, his own tiredness began to take over, his head lolling back onto the couch as they finished some show he'd never seen and would probably never watch again. His eyes fluttered shut and his breathing began to even out, so maybe it was no surprise that he hardly noticed the warm presence that was slowly becoming closer and closer. If anything it made him sleepier, the added warmth lulling him to sleep.

He woke up at around four in the morning, a time broadcasted by the DVR under the television which was playing some sort of infomercial now about some sort of blender or something. He blinked tiredly, entertaining the idea of getting off of his couch and making the short walk to his bed when he realized something. This wasn't his couch, far too modern and un-plush, even if that wasn't a word. Then he realized something else. This wasn't his apartment. This couldn't be his apartment because it did not look like his apartment at all. This was Ms. Torr- Elle, his mind sleepily supplied- Elle's apartment. Which was when he noticed a third thing. There was someone on his lap. His neighbor's head was using his lap as a pillow, her long hair spread out across his legs. It took every ounce of self-control not to let out a yelp of surprise or throw himself off of the couch or something because this wasn't right. Nope. Not at all. They were barely even friends at this point, and he was pretty sure that you had to be pretty damn good friends to sleep on each other like this.

His mind was certainly awake now and he was subsequently wracking it for ideas and plans to act out. He could always go back to sleep or, no, wait! He could pretend to be asleep and "accidentally" wake her up and let her move or something. But, no, that wasn't exactly nice and if he, the guy who had been single for the past few years, found this awkward, he could only imagine how someone who'd just broken up with her boyfriend would feel about this. He stayed there for a moment, staring blankly at the television screen. The infomercial was about knives now, somehow more special than the rest. He let out a quiet sigh. Well, going back to sleep wasn't an option for multiple reasons now.

So, instead, he gently lifted Giselle's head, careful not to tug at her hair, as he slid out from under her before sliding a pillow into place as a welcome substitute to his lap. He thought about leaving then, but some kind(to Giselle, not to him) part of his mind kept urging him to do something more. So he did.

When Matthew finally slipped out the door into the hallway- thankfully void of any living soul lest it look like he was taking the walk of shame which would be unfortunate for both himself and Giselle- the television was turned off, a neatly folded blanket that he'd found in the living room spread over the sleeping woman, and a note was left on the back of the paper that had been taped to her door for the meeting.



The next day, Matthew woke up at 7:30 to his screeching alarm clock which he silenced with a well-placed smack. He groaned slightly, neck sore from when he'd fallen asleep in Giselle's couch- there was no use ignoring that last night had happened, it was a fact of life now. He took a quick shower, got dressed, had a leisurely breakfast of sweet, warm tea with lemon and toast with raspberry jelly, and relaxed, gradually waking up. He sighed as his eyes trailed over the the clock. It was 8:20 now, he may as well head down to the lobby for the meeting with Keilani.

The lobby was empty when he came down which was unsurprising given that it was a Saturday morning and anyone who would be going out this early was already gone, and anyone else was still in their apartments. He settled in one of the comfortable chairs, stifling a yawn. He hadn't exactly gotten much sleep the night before. Now he just had to wait for the tenants of the 20-23 floors to arrive and for this show to get on the road.