Notes: Unfinished draft, angst (heavy)
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It was a normal afternoon.
You slid into the booth, placing your bag to your side and leaning back into the red leather. Mark did the same, thanking the waiter who dropped off two menus with a smile, of course, before spinning on his heel and rushing in between tables.
It was just a bit past 12 PM, when lunch rush started to die down. Going to this somewhat low-key restaurant every Sunday became a tradition between you and Mark ever since you guys stumbled upon it, hungry from exploring LA.
Breathing in the scent of coffee, you looked out the window, absentmindedly watching the busy streets.
"You're always doing that," Mark commented, peeking at you from behind the menu.
You slightly jumped. "Hm?"
"Staring off into space. Got a lot on your mind?"
"Not really," You said, eyes flickering to the neat, little tray of condiments, before looking back at Mark.
"It's just kinda quiet, I guess. It's very... peaceful. You know what I mean."
He just nodded, smiling softly to himself before continuing scanning through the menu, and you went back to staring out the window. You left your menu untouched, already decided what to get, but Mark wanted to try something new. Knowing that you were hungry, he picked up the pace, placing the menu down and raising his hand once he's decided on this combo meal.
The same waiter who gave you the menu earlier appeared in front of your table, attempting to hide his slightly ragged breathing as he flashed you two a smile, wiping the beads of sweat that formed on his forehead before fishing out a small pad of paper and a pen. You told him your order and Mark followed afterwards, handing back the menus.
"Ah, I just want to take a nap right here." You sighed in content, closing your eyes and placing your head on your folded arms that rested on the table.
Mark chuckled. "Same."
More small talk was exchanged as you waited patiently for your food. The atmosphere was as calming as ever; although there were quite a few people- not a lot to say that the restaurant was packed- it was surprisingly quieter than you'd expect it to be.
The day went by rather slow, not that you were complaining. It was a normal day, after all.
With fingers interlocked and small smiles on both your faces, you made your way down the bustling street you were just watching out the window moments ago. The sun still shone brightly, but thanks to the tiny roofs that the shops had, you were safe from the heat. You commented back and forth as you passed by the seemingly endless line of shops, pointing at random trinkets that caught your eye.
After a banana split and running into 4 dogs later, you had made your way to one of many intersections; where you had to go separate ways, since you had to visit your friend and pick up something you left behind a few weeks back.
"See you later," Mark said, giving you a kiss on the cheek once the sign for you to cross signaled 'go'. "Love you."
"Love you, too." You smiled, before turning around and crossing the street.
But, you weren't able to cross the street.
A loud screeching of tires and a loud crash caused Mark to quickly turn his head and rush back to where you both stood earlier. There were people everywhere, and Mark could only mumble a sorry; his heart racing as he tried to tell himself to calm down.
"Y/N!" He called out, eyes scanning the crowd that stood on the opposite side. He shouted your name two more times, starting to slightly panic, but you couldn't answer. He pushed his way to the front, searching for you frantically, until his eyes suddenly came to a halt.
His heart stopped as he gazed at the familiar body lying in the middle of the street. Slowly, everything around him began to become hazy. The sounds of the people's murmurs and the scenery of the tall buildings drowned out. He couldn't move, just like you. All he could hear was his own ominous heartbeat, and all he could feel was the prickling sensation of tears in his eyes; but they never seemed to pour out.
It was a normal day, wasn't it?
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The wind blew through the Spring trees and in Mark's messy, red hair as he stood on top of his apartment building, his blank eyes gazing at the sinking sun. He had managed to zone out the sounds of the sleepless city and its bustling streets while he shut his eyes closed and his chin in the palm of his hand, rested on the thin edge of the wall that kept him from descending down by the harsh strings of gravity until he collided with his doom. Not that he'll ever do it, of course - but he can't say that he never thought about it, especially after you left.
It was difficult.
It was hard for him to sleep, let alone get in both of your- no, his, bed. It was hard not to leave your pillow stained with tears. It was hard to place an air freshener on the dresser to replace your scent that lingered on his favorite hoodie and in the air that he breathed in every day. It was hard for him to pack up all the photos in the glass picture frames you had bought together; trying to block out your smile that's imprinted in his brain as well as his heart, because fuck, he's never going to see it again and it fucking stung. It was hard for him to eat without swallowing his salty tears along with the water he'd be drinking, because he can't gulp down orange juice anymore since it reminded him of you and your rants about how "pure orange juice is so sour" even though he's heard it all before - he just doesn't stop you because he loves to listen to your voice, but now he could never hear it again and it's more sour than any natural orange juice or lime or lemon, and he despises that taste on his tongue after he heaves all his breakfast in the porcelain toilet because of how hard he was sobbing and coughing. But what he truly hates most of all was that he couldn't kiss your soft lips or run his fingers through your hair until you fell asleep on his lap with your mouth slightly opened.
He was supposed to marry you, for god's sake. The scintillating diamond ring had already been purchased - it was just waiting to be opened by you. But now when Mark dug it out of its secret spot - which was just a drawer of spare wires in his recording studio - it appeared dull, just like he was in the reflection of the tiny gem. He almost flung the velvet box across the room because of how it now symbolized your impossible return and inability to give him an answer to the question that accompanied the ring, but instead, he sunk to the floor before letting it drop onto his lap, its smooth top absorbing the tears that had begun to flow freely.
