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“Mark—“ an irritated answer spat back over the line, the slight staticky reverb of being on speakerphone echoing through; peppered with a background wash of running water, casual movements. He could’ve been anywhere, washing his dishes, brushing his teeth, working a job. “Yanno…I’m pretty s**t at math, but even I know how long two weeks is supposed to be…” All the pretense at playing sweet on the line for answers sake dropped, not that he’d been holding the half-mask together particularly well to begin with. But he felt like he’d at least tried— made himself believe that what he’d been doing was trying!

But not anymore —

“Here I’d thought…a man with your kinda requests? Would at least be .. what .. timely? About stringing me the ******** along…” And either the sounds suddenly stopped, or the environment abruptly changed. “…making me think we had something special…a real nice date t’look forwards to.”

A confused 'huhn' trickled out over the line as the hamster wheel in Albites head spun round a tiny symphony of 'whys'. So much information handed over out of the blue, all of a sudden. The sorts of personal details he hadn't thought he'd earned considering---

But no, maybe it was just fair shares of olive branches being handed his way? Maybe 'Mark' was still oh so deadly serious about ********, of all creatures. Hungry to share with him the kind of information that Albite was sure by now the man nust've known he needed desperately, or maybe just freakishly het-up for more time with bugs?And Albite shuddered unpleasantly at the thought that *anyone* could be so enamored with *Headache* as to desire a meeting with the creature both above and beyond their personal health and impending marriage.

Not that he was one to judge...

"Only if it means our date is canceled." He caught himself, corrected himself, forestalling the urge to offer congratulations he wasn't sure he'd mean. Not wanting to be disingenuous to the baiting ******** who apparently had a life beyond this. The sheer ******** gall of the universe, making Mark a person who could be hurt, and bleed, and love. He almost prefered him more when he was nameless, faceless, punching bag for all his worst bouts of animosity. The sort of ******** who'd deliberately hurt him by holding information on his husband 'hostage'.

Instead of just the regular, mundane, busy sort.

"Even if it's just as friends? But wait...does this mean I should bring a...what is it they do for weddings?" He tskd, knew there was a word for it, when people went the traditional route with white dresses and black tuxedos. "One of those gifts...Oh! Registry s**t, yeah?"

“That’s good to hear, wouldn’t wanna tank the pre-wedding vibes by making you seem flighty…” A relaxing breath that tasted sour, the way he didn’t need Marks forgiveness, since he wasn’t the one who’d overstepped! And still, there it was in the other man’s tone, needling his better senses, the way it felt like being rubbed wrong even if it was innocuous chatter at best.

“We didn’t go the traditional route….it was more an ‘in the eyes of god n’our friends’ kinda deal…real impromptu when it finally happened, though I’d considered something big before? Real story book s**t. But life rarely waits for the right moment and a perfect sunset—” a shrug of a hum that quickly became a surprised, short chuckle. He hadn’t expected an invite, let alone one given with cheer, and the feel of false fangs hidden behind it. It left Albite wondering what sort of monster would marry someone like ‘Mark’. If somehow being a ‘Prince’ was perks enough to gloss over what Albite assumed were sharp, glaring character flaws.

It had him ******** it, for that alone? I’d go.

“If we’re still in contact? Imma hold you to that. I wanna be top of the list.” Sounding like he didn’t think it’d happen — like he hoped Marks new love of the moment might murder him in his sleep, potential for prenups be damned. Before biting the next hook. Shamelessly starved for business, unable to hide what subject he wanted most to get to. “And? I’ve done you even better than just one place, yeh? I’ve got two in mind. Just t’be extra accommodating—“ his excitement practically echoed in whatever new room he stood in, one more stone than wood. “We could either meet at the Old Farnsworth? Or the new construction site just outside-ah the central-line arena— It’s real off grid. Looks like they tore one of the old malls down and are putting something new up in its place?”

He didn’t look gift horses in the mouth, espescially not when those horses were shaped like failing department stores tore down to their concrete bases and metal rafters. What had once bloomed large in the 70s, and now were little more than derelict skeletons of former glory days.

“And I’d prefer witching hours, if it’s all the same to you. Works best for the bugs too I think. Not that I care what works for it.….” Dismissive and assuring, Mark would get his time. However much he needed. Which? Really just boiled down to what Headache could spare — what he himself would tolerate. “By the way…no ones ever specified t’me how big a mirror you’d need t’come through? Or if I should include a red carpet? M’ah bit outta touch on this whole ‘meet n greet’ etiquette thing…”

<******** pressed together till his molars hurt, he bore a grimace at nothing and no one. The shadows on the wall didn't flinch, the perpetual dust-motes that inhabited the place continued their lazy piling in pitted, mortared corners. The pendulum holding his barest bit of wry humor, gentle affection for another human being swinging wildly back in the exact opposite direction. Because Mark was indeed a ********, probably the kind that bedded other people's mothers for the sake of seeing their sons faces upon the reveal, claiming all the while that 'he didn't know!'. Waru could see it now, hell, he could feel it as acutely as the panic-flared sting of potentially having ******** up by choosing somewhere other than what played exactly into Marks hard to track whims.

"Sorry--" Quickly offered, bitten back, huffed over. "It really is--" Because he wasn't about to argue his own lack of preparedness with an offended pile of bugs that expected him to have gained something other than a taste for pack-hunt tactics from his brief time in spec-ops. b*****d bugs sending him on hunts for knowledge -- b*****d (?)Mark sending him on hunts for public rendezvous *with* said b*****d bugs!

A bunch of picky ******** all around --- itchy under his skin primadonnas ---

"Headache-- did I tell you the bug's name is Headache? S'probably gonna wanna be addressed properly after this point." Sounding drained already at how insufferable he expected either Headache or Mark to be from this moment on, "And I can do that -- just don't judge me if it's 'walmart-chique' instead'ah 'thrift-store' charm--" assured as he jotted it down, made mental notes, semi-focused on an idea of a man-sized mirror. No red carpet.

"Tomorrow."

*Its A Date*