Asystole ✷ Mark Sloan

𝟬𝟭𝟳 this is what makes us girls

𝙓𝙑𝙄𝙄.
THIS IS WHAT MAKES US GIRLS

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MIAMI

"HOW DO YOU take your coffee?"

It was a weird thing to ask a person after spending the night together, but I couldn't really think of anything else to say.

We were in a hotel. We were in a whole different state. A whole different city— and I couldn't think of anything to stay to Mark Sloan after a one-night-stand. At first, I was completely taken a-back by the fact that I'd woken up to him beside me, looking ever so nonchalant as I sat up in bed, slung on the nearest t-shirt and just blinked at him. He'd made himself comfortable.

"Really?" Mark watched me and I just sighed. He sounded amused. When I looked back at him, his eyebrows were raised and he was grinning. "You're asking me about coffee?"

Yes. Coffee.

I didn't get what was so funny about it. Every morning, I had to have a coffee otherwise I wouldn't feel like myself. Since arriving in Miami, I'd trundled down into the hotel lobby each morning and paid for the largest coffee I could find.

I'd sat outside on the hotel patio and I'd read the news on the newsstand on the opposite side of the road. It was half genuine and half an elaborate trick to make myself feel like a responsible adult.

Responsible adults didn't sleep with Mark Sloan.

I let out a noise.

It lingered halfway between a sigh and a tut, catching at the back of my throat as I got to my feet and dragged my dress off of the floor. My clothing from Derek and Addison's nuptials looked worse for wear. I trailed my hands over a rip in the seam and inhaled sharply. I didn't remember breaking this—

The whole time, Mark just smirked, eyes sparkling.

Oh crap

"Coffee," I said, voice rough. "Coffee."

When I turned around, Mark was in the middle of dressing, bending over to shrug on a pair of slacks. I teetered around the hotel room, throwing my hair into a ponytail. There was a brief pause as he chuckled.

"Coffee," He repeated. "Okay, I can do coffee."

Fuck. He thought that was inviting him for coffee. I hadn't intended on— I didn't want to— I just inhaled a very long and tiresome breath, closing my eyes and trying to ask myself how the hell I'd ended up in this situation.

I chewed on my bottom lip, shoving my legs into a pair of leggings that I was sure was quite possibly the grossest item of clothing I owned.

"Great," I said breezily. Every syllable of the word was stretched and twisted, the tips of my ears going red as I began to play with the idea of remembering what had happened the night before. It was dangerous territory.

Oh dear god, What the fuck had I done? My face burned as I locked myself in the restroom, giving Mark a rather strained smile. I turned to the furniture, running the faucet and slapping a hand against my forehead. You dumb drunk bitch. You got drunk and you did the unthinkable— Oh fuck what the hell is Addie going to think—

I couldn't remember much.

What I could remember was pretty confidential as far as movie ratings went. I felt my chest heave as I retreated to the toilet, head in my hands and fingers rooting at the base of my scalp. I wasn't sure why I felt like I needed to sit down to have this particular crisis. I'd had plenty of them standing up, but this one felt like it needed its own stabiliser.