𝗘𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗟𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 [ 𝚃𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜 ] ❜

𝐴𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑊𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑌𝑜𝑢

𝐼𝑛 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑐ℎ - 𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑘 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑠𝑢𝑏𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑡 3𝑎𝑚 𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑢𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑒

𝑂𝑟 𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑘 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑅𝑜𝑏𝑏𝑖𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑢𝑛𝑠𝑢𝑏𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑒'𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑙 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑖𝑡 🤍

Inspired by: Alone Without You ~ Mark Owen

Angsty Willowen incoming...

♡'･ᴗ･'♡♡'･ᴗ･'♡♡'･ᴗ･'♡♡'･ᴗ･'♡

I listened to your album

I watched your favorite film

Hey hey hey

I missed you today

A bedroom, somewhere, 2003

"Is it true?"

"Robbie..is that you?" Mark's heart had almost stopped. This couldn't be real. That wasn't really Rob..his Rob, on the other side of the phone, no of course it isn't. This was a dream, he decided.

"Yeah, it's um me. I-I this is a bad time?" Of course it wasn't a bad time. No time that he got to hear that voice was a bad time, even if it was just a dream. Mark felt his heart clench, hearing the broken longing in his voice.

"N-no of course not, mate."

"Good. So, is it true?" Mark wasn't sure he followed.

"What's true?"

"That s-song, o-on your album, I-is it really about m-me?"

"I'm sorry Rob, not sure we're on the same page, which song are you talking about?" The bafflement was clear in his tone.

"A-alone without y-you." Then suddenly it all made sense.

"Shit." Mark had tried to mumble that under his breath, knowing he'd failed when Robbie audibly gasped.

"S-so it is?" Mark bit his lip, hard, drawing blood. He wanted to scream, wail, cry, until his throat was completely raw.  How could he have been so stupid? Thinking he could write a love song about his best friend without him noticing? When was that ever an intelligent idea?

He could just deny it. In fact, he probably should. That was the simple way out. Say no, hang up the phone, go to sleep.

"Y-yeah. Yeah it is." He'd winced as the words come out. Of course, his mouth had to be ahead of his brain.

"You said...no matter what which way I turn, how my feelings slowly, bleeding here for you.." Robbie was singing the lyrics as he relayed them, and Mark's eyes pricked with tears. He'd always had a soft spot for his singing. He sounded like an angel. Was an angel.

"You bleed for me, Markie?" If someone was to listen in, they wouldn't understand. It was a metaphor obviously. On reflection, bleeding may have been a tad overdramatic. But it was 3am, and he was drunk, and sad, and lonely, and god knows what else. In that moment, the metaphor had felt right, and somehow it still did, because it was true.