Markiplier Moments

Baby, It's Raining Outside

Rain heavily washed over the roof in white noise. The weather had been showering all day, nothing more than a spritz just light enough to piss you off. As I drove home from work the windshield was dotted with tiny bubbles of water; the little drops reflected all the specks of dirt I'd failed to clean from the glass, but they weren't quite big enough for the wipers to clear away. It was a unique and pretty sight, and I was thankful for some precipitation since it was commonly hot and dry in this part of California, though such an unusual time of day for a light rain naturally made me want to question it further. But after I got home, Mark called. His offer was dinner and a movie; simple and plain.

I assumed he meant hitting the town for dinner and a movie, which sounded like a good night to me. Instead of going out, he suggested we stay in for more comfort and convenience, as well as to try and "woo" me further, showing by the extravagant menu he'd prepared; toasted baguette with red pepper aioli as an appetizer - that alone felt like too much of a hassle - and for the main course, parmesan crusted chicken with roasted vegetables. Mark was a plain ol' guy with a few tricks up his sleeve, and that was something that always charmed me when I least expected it.

We shared our food in a cloud of content beneath the dining chandelier. I surely hadn't come prepared to be served in a fine dining establishment with my normal old self, not bothering to do anything to my hair or re-do my makeup beforehand. But at the same time, being able to just take it easy with Mark sealed it off. We could just sit back without a care in the world, without having to make empty conversation. Only the sharp, gentle taps of our forks grazing the plates beneath them cut the air - aside from my occasional obnoxious groans from how amazing the food was. Mark would quietly giggle at this, taking it as the compliment I intended.

I chewed and let myself unwind. I'm not sure if it was the house, the man of the house, the meal, or the big fluffy dog begging for a bite of the meal below us - most likely a combination of sorts - but it was almost comparable to if I were in my mother's home. Like everything was okay.

I absentmindedly looked out the large window beside of us, taking a glug of my water. Mark's beautiful patio and in-ground pool glimmered under the distant stars and city lights. My car was parked just past the bushes lining the patio, behind his little car. I could see the moon casting reflections on my black paint job from the rain as it still fell at a reasonable pace. I found myself staring at whatever was in view, the night was gorgeous.

"You want something else to drink?" Mark's voice seemed louder than usual from the silence. His eyes motioned to the glass near my mouth, now empty, unbeknownst to me.

"Hm, what else you got?"

"I have some wine, orange juice, Gatorade, and I think I might have a Mountain Dew buried somewhere in there."

"Oh so fancy," I smiled. "What kind of wine?"

"White wine."

"Eugh, I'll take the Gatorade."

He chuckled, "Okay." As he stood up to get the drink from the kitchen, shooing Chica away for begging, I couldn't help but laugh. She was so well behaved, and quite determined. She looked back at me and I could only shrug my shoulders for not being able to help her earn a bite of food from her human. My attention also gravitated to Mark. Non-reserved, easy going, sweet, and mildly rugged were a few things that came to mind upon watching him open the fridge and grab a red Gatorade. His simplicity drew me in and counterbalanced the opposing aspect of his fame. Knowing that there were levels to him and which ones attracted me the most, it sometimes made me wonder - in passing, of course - what it was about me that he liked. But how would I ask that? What kind of question would that be? A pretty generic one if you think about it.