(Untitled)

[dancin_maxxie]

Tony leaves and Maxxie stays put. He doesn't move from his spot, seated on his desk, feet on his chair, except to prop an elbow up on a knee and rest his chin in his hand. It's a classic pose, like The Thinker, and for once he actually is thinking

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[quite_a_delight]

There's a gap in the curtain when Marshall approaches Maxxie's room, just enough for him to see the line of Maxxie's back bent over his desk drawer as he slams it shut.

Frowning, Marshall draws back the curtain just enough so that he can be seen and says, "Hey... Is everything okay?"

[dancin_maxxie]

"Yeah," Maxxie responds instantly, irritable tone belying his words. He takes a second to shut his eyes and pull in a deep breath, letting it out and reminding himself it's no big deal.

"Tony walked off with my lighter," he explains, turning to look at Marshall. "I wanted a joint."

[quite_a_delight]

Tony, right. The chances of this actually being about a lighter were pretty slim, and Marshall knew it.

"I don't have one. Sorry," Marshall said, standing awkwardly in the doorway, "There should be matches in the kitchen."

[dancin_maxxie]

"I'll get some later." The words come out sullen, like he's moping, and he doesn't mean to be. It annoys him to hear it in his own voice, but that only makes his mood a little worse rather than inspire him to shake himself out of it.

It's not the lighter and it's not the joint. He wants the pot to soothe the inexplicable feeling of loneliness, but Marshall's company could help with that, too. He looks Marshall up and down, standing in the doorway. "You coming in?" he asks. "I'm not that bad off, promise. Just annoyed."