A/N So this story is gonna get angsty again and a little bit AU because Mark is gonna smoke in this story and I don't think he does in real life. Buuuuuuuuut creative interpretation is a thing yaaaaaaaaaaaay! I so wish I was going to PAX D: maybe next year, huh?
And before you ask NO they didn't do anything canoodle-y, they just slept in the same bed.
Also none of the stuff above ^ is mine. Nope. Not mine.
THERE IS A REFERENCE TO A SHOW IN THIS CHAPTER AND IF YOU GET IT I WILL LOVE YOU AND GIVE YOU A SHOUTOUT IN THE NEXT CHAPTER
Also, TRIGGER WARNING: MENTIONS OF SELF HARM
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Mark sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. It was three in the morning, the sky outside still dark enough that it didn't feel as easy as it was, and he couldn't sleep. Jack was sleeping peacefully beside him, chest rising and falling easily. Mark envied his carefreeness, brushing the hair from Jack's face tenderly. It was nice, he realized, feeling like this for someone. But he hated himself for it, too. He hated himself for being able to move on from Joey like this, sure, thinking about his this often obviously meant he wasn't moving on, but being with Jack felt like moving on. It felt enough like moving on that he felt guilty for doing it.
He sighed, again, and quietly eased himself out of bed. They hadn't gone to sleep so terribly long ago, honestly. Most of the night had been spent playing GTA V for a few recording collabs. It'd been nice to spend time with the guys, for a little while Mark had felt almost normal. Almost. But the guilt came back, heavy as a weight on his chest, and it hadn't moved since.
The backdoor closed with a 'snick' behind him and he lit a cigarette. Inhaling slowly, Mark took a moment to revel in the burn in his lungs. It had been a while since he'd had a smoke and not without reason. His father had died of lung cancer (not sure if this is actually true or not) and Mark hated himself every time he allowed himself to smoke. But, there were rare occasions when he allowed it. When he actually enjoyed the burn the cigarettes brought to his lungs and throat. Where he almost worshipped the heady, nicotine taste and the cloud of smoke that rose from him like a halo. This occasion, for example: it was three am and the stars were out and, in the stillness of the silence, he let himself break down.
Mark curled his knees to his chest and openly cried into them, the small glow of his cigarette the only light in the darkness. His head fell back against the side of the house, his eyes skyward and empty as tears trekked down his cheeks to his chest. Mark knew he shouldn't feel this way, he'd had no ties to Joey, nothing physical or mental that tied them together in anyway besides friendship.
And yet, he couldn't rid himself of the guilt that was slowly eating him alive. Without even thinking about it, Mark took another long drag, blowing the smoke out of his nose. After another handful of drags he deftly spun the smoke between his fingers and put it out on the delicate inner skin of his forearm. His body twitched, a hiss leaving his mouth, but he didn't move the cigarette. Tears trekked down his face when he finally let it drop, choosing instead to examine the mark it had left. He gently brushed away the ash, grunting softly as the wound began to bleed. His mind was spinning, it'd been a long time since he'd done anything like this and he didn't remember it hurting so bad the last time.
'Though,' a quiet voice in the back of Mark's mind dared to whisper, 'perhaps last time you didn't deserve it as much, hm?'
He knew it wasn't healthy, and that it wouldn't be easy to explain should one of the other men currently living in his house see it. Mark wasn't entirely sure why he'd done it and now, even after it was done, he didn't feel bad for doing it. The guilt over Joey was lessened now that he had a physical aspect of pain to focus on. A small part of his mind warned him this was a dangerous and possibly deadly route to be taking, especially when things were only just now beginning to feel normal again.
Without allowing himself too much time to think about it, Mark lit another cigarette.
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Jack woke with a groan, rolling over in an attempt to burrow himself against Mark and hopefully fall back asleep. Except, the bed was empty. His hands met only cool sheets and twisted blankets.
Instantly alert and panicking, Jack threw himself out the bedroom door, trying to frantically think of anywhere Mark might have gone. He heard sound coming from the kitchen and skidded in, slamming hard into the wall as his socks slid too easily on the slick wood.
"Jack, are you okay?" Mark's voice was warm and a little confused.
He was standing in front of the stove, making what looked to be chocolate chip pancakes. He was smiling, his eyes warm and relaxed and almost instantly the knot in Jack's chest lessened.
"Yeah, sorry. You weren't in bed and I panicked, was all." He laughed, the sound quiet and subdued.
"I wanted to make everyone breakfast." Mark's voice was bubbly, like it'd been before. "Here, sit down and have something to eat. Relax, everything is fine."
Jack didn't even notice when Mark slipped his sleeves lower to hide the burns.
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A/N PLEASE DON'T HATE ME.
This got really dark and I honestly can't say why. It just kinda did.
Also! I'm going to be adding some chapters in between the professing of the loving Jack and the zoo, to kind of help Mark and Jack's relationship grow a bit. So be looking forward to that!
YOU ARE READING
The Broken Places (Septiplier)
Fiksi PenggemarMark's close friend Joseph had just died and Mark didn't know what to do. He had never felt so empty and cold. It was like there was a black hole inside him, sucking away all the light in his life. And Jack ends up in LA to spend time with his Ameri...
