𝗘𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗟𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 [ 𝚃𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜 ] ❜

𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑂𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑊𝑒 𝐾𝑛𝑜𝑤

𝐼𝑛 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑐ℎ - 𝐼𝑡's 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑇𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑠𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑡, 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑘 𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑎𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑒. 𝐿𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑖𝑙𝑦, 𝐺𝑎𝑟𝑦 𝑖𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑓𝑎𝑟 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦.

Inspired by: Somewhere Only We Know ~ Lily Allen

So this is the first oneshot I have written in a good while. It's also my first Barlowen oneshot - I only started shipping them after reading about 50 million fics on AO3 about them at 4am but now I can't get enough of their beautiful bond!
Obviously everything here did not happen in real life, and I'm sorry if my view of events offends anyone - I'm not saying Gary actually was the one who led the decision for the band to spilt but it fits with this storyline and I do think it's quite a likely scenario though we'll never know for sure of course.
Thank you for your patience with me in regards to this book, the support means the world xxx

♡'･ᴗ･'♡♡'･ᴗ･'♡♡'･ᴗ･'♡♡'･ᴗ･'♡

Is this the place we used to love?

Is this the place that I've been dreaming of?

Oh simple thing where have you gone?

I'm getting old and I need something to rely on

A bedroom, somewhere, 1996

The bedroom was lit by the warm glow of a nightshade. It imitated candlelight, almost. Sat a glow by the gentle light was a boy, mousey haired and blue eyed, typing eagerly away on his rusting typewriter. The tinny typing noises harmonised beautifully with the pattering of rain against the window. Just a regular night for anyone else, but for this boy, tonight felt like a tragedy.

Fortunately, he wasn't alone. A certain someone was there, leant absentmindedly against the door frame, drumming his fingers against the plaster in a regular rhythm. He watched the boy type with a wistful gaze, but didn't move to break his deeply concentrated aura.

Gary thought Mark looked rather beautiful. Always had done, always would, whatever happened tomorrow.

Tomorrow. The dreaded tomorrow. A frightened shiver went up Gary's spine. He couldn't even bear to think about it.

Instead, he focused back on Mark. Beautiful, pure Mark. His Mark. How giddy it felt to say those words.

He studied him carefully, as one would study an intricate portrait or artefact. He noticed the way he chewed on his velvet lips in a mixture of concentration and nervousness. The way his fingers danced across the keyboard with an absentminded ease. The way the light reflected off his face, making his skin seem almost aflame. He glowed, like an ethereal god. In a way, Gary thought, he was. His god. Only his.

Usually typewriting was calming for Mark, but tonight he seemed different. There was a jittery, frantic nature to his typing, the tinny noise slightly jarring on the ear. Gary knew of course why it was different, and sighed guiltily, rubbing his clammy hands against the course fabric of his jeans.

"You should take a picture, make it last longer." Mark's soft voice cut through the air, startling Gary momentarily.

"Sorry Markie, I couldn't help it." His boyfriend chuckled fondly, sliding the typewriter out of the way.