Luckily, Marcus has no shame. Well, no. That’s not true.

Luckily, Marcus has very specific and suffocating shame that dogs his every step and keeps him from sleeping too deeply even in places he’s pretty sure he won’t get knifed in the dark, but through long exposure and embarrassment, he’s not ashamed when blasted Sister Walwhatshername sifts through the browser’s search history, glasses perched on the end of her nose as she takes note on who’s most wasted the convent’s extremely limited bandwidth.

Боже, как это верно - про его специфическое бесстыдство

Упд: Аааааа, нет, я не могу! Это просто праздник какой-то

Henpecking across the keyboard, Marcus types in, ‘How to love yourself’ and looking at it, has to violently backspace the search bar blank, take a minute sitting in the wooden chair that gives him a crick in his back and breathes himself calm. Start small. Start solvable. He settles on the much less terrifying ‘how to get used to people touching you,’ and sifts uncomfortably through forums and pages of people dealing with the aftermath of abuse and mistreatment. It feels wrong to be taking advice meant for people that actually need help, people who have really suffered. That’s not. That’s not Marcus.

If he googles ‘how to not get an erection during a massage’ after he’s done, it’s only to drive Sister Whomever up the goddamn wall.