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Marv taps her fingers against the metal table, “I don't know why you don't just reach out to him.“
“I already told you, it's not happening, he's made it clear he never wants to see me again.” Dean twirls a strand of hair between his fingers, eyes shifting around the room as he responds. “Can we please talk about something else.”
She rolls her eyes, “I think you're being very overdramatic,” She stretches her arms out and leans back in her seat. “But fine. Are you getting your hair cut soon?”
He blinks at her owlishly, eyebrows raising. He wasn't, he hadn't really thought about it until now. With the court case, break-up, and the ongoing Jack Thing happening back to back he hadn't had time to think about, much less do anything extra. He toys with the strand, trying to feel out how long it'd gotten.
“I don't know, do you think I need one?”
“Nah, it suits you.” She assures, hand waving.
“Then…why'd you ask?”
Shrugging, she leans forward again. “What if I hadn't and you showed up next week shaved bald. I'd feel horrible that I hadn't known to talk you out of it.”
Dean grimaces. As much as he loves Marv, talking to her sometimes felt like he was missing out on a big joke.
“I mean now that you've mentioned it I probably should schedule an appointment,” Marv looks at him in terror. “Just for a normal haircut! Jeez.”
It takes a second for Marv to revert back from her briefly horrified state. He feels miffed about her hypothetical unsupportiveness. If he wanted to go bald she should be supportive, it'd be the least she could do after being witness to his crumbling life. Though she had gone to jail for him, maybe that absolved her.
“Why, though?” She startles him out of his thoughts.
“Sorry?”
“Do you really need to get your haircut?” She presses.
“Well,” He starts slowly, confused. “No, I don't have to but I probably should.”
“Is it bothering you?”
“Honestly? Hadn't realized until you said something,” He flattens his palm against the side of his head. Hair brushes his thumb as he tucks errant strands behind his ear, finding it’s grown almost to his jaw. It’s the longest it's been since he was a kid standing in his mom’s bathroom with a straight iron. He shudders at the thought, it’s a miracle his hair didn’t burn off after years of heat damage.
“Well, I think,” She stresses, “you should keep it, it frames your face.”
He snorts, “Yeah, alright.”
“No, seriously!” She reaches over to smack him lightly on the arm. He casts a glance to the guard who is very inconspicuously craning his neck away from them. “It looks good.” she continues.
“If this is just you trying to make up for making me feel bad about Jack it’s not working.”
“Just accept the compliment, Dean.” She deadpans.
“Okay, okay.” His hand has gone back to fidgeting with lock, “Do you really think it suits me?”
“Dean.”
“Right, sorry.”
The conversations from other inmates echo off the cement walls, a cacophony of indistinguishable noise. It’s not as full as it could be, empty tables scattered throughout the large room. He’s found coming on weekdays usually means the guards will avert their eyes if they go over the time limit. The first time he had visited he’d been all nerves and half convinced Marv wasn’t going to show up even though she had invited him. On top of that the front desk clerk had assumed he was Marv's son, which had thrown him so bad he’d ended up staring blankly at them for a moment too long.
It had gotten easier as time went on, a block of time easily carved out of his schedule to see her. There was still guilt, a lot of it, that swirled uncomfortably up his throat if he stayed for too long or thought too hard about it. He thinks she can tell, but she’s never said anything. There’s a lot of silence now, but it’s probably for the best.