Marcelle is attractive.
Marcelle is a football player.
Marcelle is cliché.
Marcelle is a wolf in sheep clothing.
Marcelle is a Christmas fanatic.
Marcelle is just downright annoying.
Matthew Griffin is a certified theatre geek/video game nerd. And...
❝It's Christmas Eve. It's the one night of a year when we all act a little nicer, we smile a little easier, we cheer a little more. For a couple of hours out of a whole year we are the people that we always hoped we would be.❞
Frank Cross
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Matthew doesn't want to admit it, but every now and then, he loves sun bathing.
His new house isn't sun friendly, being a condominium and all, but Olga's house is perfect. The glimmering cobalt swimming pool is at his feet, nipping to touch his heels, but he pulls away just in time. Green grass surrounds the beach chair he's lazing on and for once the weather is Floridian winter: sunshine and humidity like the inside of a football player's pits.
Between Ru half asleep and burning into a human samosa on the chair next to him and Olga tackling down her brother in the water [and successfully loosing], he couldn't ask for better. Even though Marcelle is younger, he might as well fit into this group. He's been part of their clique ever since he could talk.
"C'mon, Matt!" Marcelle persists, fringing water all over Matthew, making him groan. "Come swim!"
He's been pestering Matthew to come swoop since he planted his ass on this beach chair. Matt doesn't want to swim, he's not a big fan of water [he melts when he touches H2O]. Sunbathing isn't an entire great idea since he's trying to reinforce the ivory complex he's supposed to have from Harvey's side, but lacks with an olive skin tone.
"I'm allergic to water," Matthew says, pushing the sunglasses higher up his nose. He can't see anything in detail, wearing Marcelle's Ray Bans and all and discarding his actual glasses [which he actually found, buried beneath a stack of freshman manuscripts in an old school bag].
"C'mon!" he insist, pouting over the edge of the masonry keeping the water in the pool. He folds his arms on the edge of the pool, resting his chin on his forearm, just staring at Matthew with long eyes.
"Maybe when I'm in an old age home with cancer," Matthew muses, picking up his can of soda and touching it to his lip. Marcelle rolls his eyes, falling back into the water.
Matthew sits back and relax, finally sitting back again to soak up the sun. He takes a sip of sweet, acidy liquid, cooling him off. Marcelle and his sister is putting together some kind of plan, but Matthew doesn't care.
He's just enjoying the chill.
Deciding against burning like a piece of toast in a wrecked toaster, he gets up from the cushioned seat and takes a stroll to look at his reflection in the water. He always sees the people in films do it, so why can't he? But they do it for a reason, he doesn't have a reason.
