[ He hasn't even thought about how little he's eaten since they've been here. Very little before they initiated operation Home Alone, and almost nothing after. A glass of milk, two shots of tequila, a wayward piece of cheese. Chugging water otherwise, enough to keep his stomach from feeling too empty to concentrate.

Not enough calories in, especially given the physical exertion and the injuries. He's fine now, but it might explain the lingering subtle shades of fatigue. He's chalking it up to stress instead. ]

ᴊɪᴍᴍʏ ʙᴜғғᴇᴛᴛ ᴍᴀɴ, ᴍᴀʀɢᴀʀɪᴛᴀᴠɪʟʟᴇ?
ɪ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴍᴏʀsᴇ ᴄᴏᴅᴇ ʙᴜᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴀᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙʀᴀɪɴ ɪs ғɪʀɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ғᴇᴀʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴅʀᴇɴᴀʟɪɴᴇ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴘʜᴇʀɪɴɢ ʀᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ᴛᴀᴘᴘɪɴɢ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍᴏʀsᴇ ᴛᴀᴘᴘɪɴɢ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ʙᴇ ᴅɪғғɪᴄᴜʟᴛ
ɪ'ᴍ ᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴡᴇ sᴛᴀʀᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ sɪᴍᴘʟᴇ ᴏɴᴇ-ʜᴀɴᴅ sɪɢɴ + ᴍᴀᴛᴄʜɪɴɢ ᴠᴇʀʙᴀʟ ᴘʜʀᴀsᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴠᴇʀ ʙᴏᴛʜ ʙᴀsᴇs, ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴡᴇ'ʀᴇ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ sᴀᴍᴇ ᴘᴀɢᴇ ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴡᴇ ʙʀɪɴɢ ᴍᴏʀsᴇ ɪɴᴛᴏ ɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴄᴀᴛᴇ
ʟᴇᴠᴇʟ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ, ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘɪᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ ᴏɴ ᴍᴏʀsᴇ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴋɪʟʟɪɴɢ ᴀ sᴜʀɢᴇᴏɴ?

sᴛʀᴏᴋɪɴɢ ɪs sᴛɪʟʟ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀʙʟᴇ.

[ There's silence in these moments, long pauses around the scratching of pen, the quiet of the house. Temporary peace, which almost serves to make the pair of them look like fucking morons for all of their running, yelling, fighting, window breaking.

Was there ever even a goddamn thing anywhere near them? Was it all just the product of hallucinogens and a single locked door? ]