He notices it, but he's gotten the same look for 24, and from Malcolm when he'd made self-deprecating comments about his lack of a love life. As it was, he had no real interest in a relationship, he just wanted to further his career and help his best friend with his rivalry.
"Dude, how embarrassing would that be? Plus, he might hit me with those bony elbows." A shrug followed. "Unless the heat died or something." He's thought about it before, mostly as a watch a movie and all chill under a blanket on the couch kind of deal. "Which is so lame to say aloud?"
He didn't mind the pat. "Oh, I didn't really think about that. Kinda Bruce Wayne like that, huh? Except, no Alfred."
"The elbowing is pretty painful. And then he acts like it isn't his fault." She has to snort at her own cuddle pile joke, though, for such soft men, they sure try to act tough sometimes when it comes to all that.
"It's totally lame, but that's alright." Like Bruce Wayne... "No, no Alfred, as far as I know." He could have used one.
"I had a feeling, you can just tell with some people." Though, he shook his head when she mentioned Malcolm acting like it wasn't his fault. Classic Monarch, he wasn't even shocked. Before 24 died he might have openly given his idea without much shame, but now he cared a little more about what he says and how it can be taken.
Outside of his fandoms, anyway.
"And that's why it will never be mentioned again." He pushed himself up, grabbing the empty bottle and the cigarette butt to drop it inside. "That so sucks, he deserved better than that." Looking back to her. "I'm gonna head back in, in a second. Want me to ditch yours too? He never takes out the trash, easier to just toss them in the can." That's how he's hid the cigarette butts and kept Manolo from getting blamed.
Depending on the people, he's a little easier to argue with these days. Maybe it's old age or just settling in. Or just a best friend who respects him but doesn't fear him like he used to.
Her smile softens into something sad, wistful. Of all she knows about bitty Malcolm, he deserved so much better. "He deserved the world, then."
Now that trust fund...it depends. Sheila shrugs. "C'mon, let's go in. I'm freezing my tits off, but it's good to know I was right-- he isn't taking out the trash."
Probably a bit of old age, and a best friend who will argue with him now. Gary always tended to befriend people older than him. Hank, aside, of course. But they had a lot in common.
"Well, we can at least try to give him the world now. Team effort, or family effort, I guess." That brought a smile to his face as he pulled open the back door for her, motioning her in first.
"You totally should have said something, I would have loaned you my hoodie." He lightly chastised, but would follow her inside once she was headed in. The bottle still in hand to ditch with the rest of the trash. "Come on, did you really think he was? I take it out, and to the street."
Her smile widens. That's right. They'll give him the world-- or else. Sheila skitters inside at his polite motion, shakes her head.
"It's alright, I needed the fresh air-- fresh cigarettes." The house is much warmer, even as she rubs her palms over her arms. "It's normal to hope, you know?"
That smile was returned, Gary already wanted to make sure both of them were safe and happy. So, the idea was no different from normal. Sheila and Malcolm were his family now after all.
"Totally get it, some nights it's just nice." The burly henchmen manage to not offer his hoodie again, but starts to head towards the kitchen, so he could go take that trash out before Malcolm comes looking for them. "Oh, I so get it, but I also don't mind, and he knows that. I like helping out."
Once a minion, always a minion. It's why he never cut it on his own.
"I know you do...I just wish he wouldn't just count on that."
He had for too long, before, and then 21 had left a bit-- to grow up, to heal a little, heal a scab ready to return and be picked at a little more, but-- still.
"I mean, I'm his henchman, it's expected. And I don't mind. Besides, I can hide these without him knowing." The beer bottle tossed in the trash can as he pulled the bag out. "I'll see you tomorrow, have a good night, m...Sheila." He caught himself, maybe he'd be able to keep it.
He'll get it eventually. For now, he waved and headed on back out to ditch the trash, so he could head upstairs to play one of his games a while, then off to bed.
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"You mean you haven't forced your boss into a cuddle pile? That's a surprise," good cover, Sheila.
Pat, pat. "I know, I know. He's not used to that-- I think he was on his own a lot for dinner as a kid."
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"Dude, how embarrassing would that be? Plus, he might hit me with those bony elbows." A shrug followed. "Unless the heat died or something." He's thought about it before, mostly as a watch a movie and all chill under a blanket on the couch kind of deal. "Which is so lame to say aloud?"
He didn't mind the pat. "Oh, I didn't really think about that. Kinda Bruce Wayne like that, huh? Except, no Alfred."
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"It's totally lame, but that's alright." Like Bruce Wayne... "No, no Alfred, as far as I know." He could have used one.
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Outside of his fandoms, anyway.
"And that's why it will never be mentioned again." He pushed himself up, grabbing the empty bottle and the cigarette butt to drop it inside. "That so sucks, he deserved better than that." Looking back to her. "I'm gonna head back in, in a second. Want me to ditch yours too? He never takes out the trash, easier to just toss them in the can." That's how he's hid the cigarette butts and kept Manolo from getting blamed.
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Her smile softens into something sad, wistful. Of all she knows about bitty Malcolm, he deserved so much better. "He deserved the world, then."
Now that trust fund...it depends. Sheila shrugs. "C'mon, let's go in. I'm freezing my tits off, but it's good to know I was right-- he isn't taking out the trash."
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"Well, we can at least try to give him the world now. Team effort, or family effort, I guess." That brought a smile to his face as he pulled open the back door for her, motioning her in first.
"You totally should have said something, I would have loaned you my hoodie." He lightly chastised, but would follow her inside once she was headed in. The bottle still in hand to ditch with the rest of the trash. "Come on, did you really think he was? I take it out, and to the street."
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"It's alright, I needed the fresh air-- fresh cigarettes." The house is much warmer, even as she rubs her palms over her arms. "It's normal to hope, you know?"
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"Totally get it, some nights it's just nice." The burly henchmen manage to not offer his hoodie again, but starts to head towards the kitchen, so he could go take that trash out before Malcolm comes looking for them. "Oh, I so get it, but I also don't mind, and he knows that. I like helping out."
Once a minion, always a minion. It's why he never cut it on his own.
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He had for too long, before, and then 21 had left a bit-- to grow up, to heal a little, heal a scab ready to return and be picked at a little more, but-- still.
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"Goodnight, Gary. And thanks for all this. I appreciate it."
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