Smoke curled around his pearly whites as Marco took a last, long drag of his cigarette, black eyes trained on the figure at the far side of the room.<br/><br/>He wasn't supposed to be smoking... Marco was meant to have quit along side his Ma three years ago in a bid to watch her health after her heart problem. All eight of his siblings had slung the habit with him, it was a group effort like most things in his clan, a gorgeous example of pack mentality that existed prominently in the Scottish blood charging through his veins.<br/><br/>He hated going back on his word, but Ryuu seemed to be just bringing out the worst in him today.<br/><br/>He'd even cracked out the whiskey... the amber, glass bottle sat on the mantelpiece, rich, overpowering, nostril-stinging smell sailing through the air around them and hanging on his breath.<br/><br/>He sat backwards on a dining chair, arms crossed and rested on the back support, slim legs either side, an open distance apart, toes curling on his naked feet remaining the sole clue to his mood.<br/>There was barely a whisper of breath from the photographers lips as his the boy bolted up wide-eyed in his bed, let alone word. He simply sat, stared and waited, one eyebrow raised.