Ever After

Behind The Scenes

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This chapter is in Jack's perspective.

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I couldn't figure it out - how did it all happen within one night? How had I, a man who was determined to be a normal, straight guy (or bisexual, at the very least), managed to feel so strangely about someone I'd seen just hours ago as nothing more than a friend? Mark was just my buddy, the geek that I took under my wing, and I thought he knew that - the way he kissed me felt as if I'd been played, as if he'd been just trying to smother it out of me, but something inside of me knew he'd never do such a thing (or, rather, have the balls to do it).

The next morning supplied an even weirder feeling, one that collided against my chest as I rolled about in my sheets, not expecting to lean my head over the side of the bed to see Mark's wide, open eyes staring back at me. I'd completely forgotten that I'd invited him to sleep over, that I'd insisted on letting him use the purple sleeping bag my sisters had used whenever they'd gone out with their friends - it was an odd sight, certainly, and yet, it was one that I enjoyed. I hadn't had a friend for a long time (if one could even call Felix a friend), meaning that it wasn't very often I had these special moments - the sleepover he, Felix, Bob, Wade, and I had had a few weeks ago was the first I'd had in a year, and the happy smile on Mark's face made me determined to have them more often.

"What're you doing up?" I mumbled, feeling awful for not having invited him to share the bed (although it may have been a good call on my part). "It's so early..."

"It's eleven o'clock!" Mark gasped. "You call that early?"

"Well, yeah," I said, astounded that it wasn't early for him. "Usually I get up about one or somethin'?"

"I get up at six," Mark said.

I didn't jump to asking him whether his early awakenings were because of his career or not, but, instead, I decided to find my dirty shirt, lying on my bedroom floor. Mark had slept in his day clothes, which I didn't disagree with - as great of a friend as he was, the last thing I would want is for someone else to be wearing my clothes. I watched Mark equip his glasses from underneath his pillow, fixing them onto his face and making sure they weren't crooked, as I stood before my bedroom mirror, checking to see if my beauty sleep had erased the grey streaks lining my hair. It didn't.

"Nobody's going to notice them," Mark said.

"You did," I retort.

"That's because you're playing with them in the mirror."

I let out a yawn as I collapsed back onto my bed, feeling the mattress spring to life as my body hit it. The sheets, as they usually were, were ruffled and wrapped around where my body had once been, the space where I kept my feet warm still floating in the air. Mark sat up in his sleeping back, crossing his legs to face me. He stared at me for quite a while, and I didn't mind it as much as I usually did - if the window had to put up with that shit, then I did, too. It wasn't an awkward silence between us, either; in fact, it was peaceful. I was happy that Mark and I had the kind of friendship where we didn't need to fill the gap.

Friendship, I thought. What kind of friends kiss each other?

"Your mom came in here," Mark insisted, playing with something I couldn't see from the top of the mattress. "I think she thought I was sleeping, though." Another moment of silence. "You look cute while you're sleeping."

I decided against saying anything, figuring it best if I just go back to staring out the window - how could one respond to such a statement? It was sweet of him to think such (although how was I to know of how cute I was when sleeping?), but it was also odd... I didn't want him to get his hopes up with whatever that kiss meant the other night, for, if things were to go wrong, he would be heartbroken. Well, at least, it seemed - Mark looked like the kind of kid that wouldn't be capable of handling such a tolling situation, especially reflecting on how he'd reacted when I denied his offer for a kiss.

The silence soon grew longer, long enough to reach a point where I thought I was going to burst from the tension between us, just when my mother's voice bellowed that breakfast was ready. Finding this to be the solution to the silence, I whipped open the door and fled down the stairs, allowing Mark to run politely after me, his feet silent as a mouse, mine louder than an elephant's.

I practically leapt from the final step of the stairs and into my seat at the dining table, patting the one next to me, insisting that Mark take my sister's place. Following my command with a heartwarming smile, he sat, allowing my mother to carry in a plate of stacked pancakes, a pan of bacon, and potato squares (any ordinary breakfast).

"How'd y'know I was awake this early, mum?" I asked, picking a pancake with my fork.

"I started up breakfast when I saw that Mark was awake," she explained, bustling about in the kitchen.

"But... but I was sleeping!" Mark attempted at a lie (failing miserably, if I do say so myself).

My mother chuckled. "I could see your eyes fluttering open."

Mark let his expression of sneakiness and pride fall as she re-entered the dining room, now placing a mug of black coffee beside my plate, knowing how to soothe my tastebuds.

"What'll you have, Mark, honey?" she asked, perhaps a little too sweetly to be a McLoughlin.

"Just water, please," he said.

I grinned. "But aren't you Mark who 'likes it dark?'" I asked, mocking his name tag from work as my mother headed back and into the kitchen.

Mark's eyes widened at the sound of the phrase, his lips opening as if he were about to whistle a tune.

"Shit..." Mark whispered to himself. "I... I completely forgot."

"Forgot about what?" I asked, feeling the need to ask despite my knowing what he was going to say.

"I have work today," he said.

"On a Saturday?"

Mark, not seemingly interested in responding, stood from the table just as he had from my comforter when I'd denied his kiss offering three weeks ago. He stuttered his way to the door, nearly tripping over his own feet as he did. Very nervously, he rummaged about the front foyer, giving me the time to approach him carefully, watching as he kicked on his new sneakers, tying the laces that weren't missing because of the rain. He threw on his shitty backpack before turning towards the kitchen, thanking my mother for her meal as he opened the door, ready to step outside - I placed a hand on his shoulder before he could go anywhere.

"Mark..." I said, my voice a little more desperate than I would've preferred.

He raised his eyebrows, as if to ask what I was struggling to say. I, too, was questioning it.

"... Be careful, okay?"

Slightly caught off-guard, he paused, only to nod a second later, a light smile hiding his eyes. I stood in the doorway as he stepped off of the porch, waving goodbye on his way down the sidewalk, towards the Coffee House - I wondered whether or not I should've offered a ride as I clicked the front door shut, leaning against it as I let out a heavy sigh. My mother, finally freed of her kitchen duties, sat in Mark's place, letting out a sad sigh once she'd seen he'd already disappeared.

"I swear, I don't think that boy will ever come over and not have to leave so quickly," she muttered sadly.

I returned to my place at the dining table, picking at my not-so-happy stack of pancakes, trying to wish I hadn't been so excited to get to play footsie with Mark under the table.