11:11 // Crankiplier

30.

Ethan's POV

Somehow it was almost 9 o' clock at night, and the sky was painted with brilliant purples, pinks, and reds as the sun set. Mark and I sat quietly on the roof of his house, looking out on the neighborhood. It felt as if we were the only two in the world.

"Why?" I finally asked. Mark stared at the dark grey shingles.

When I had gotten there he had just downed his fifth beer. He was now on his sixth.

Mark put his head in his hands. "I'm fucked up Ethan. I'm so, so fucked up. I've been depressed for a while now, and it got better while I was dating Sean, but after we broke up, everything got worse."

"But why the alcohol? Why do you need it?" I kept my eyes glued on him.

"You see, back when my depression first started I gave it a figure. Something I could shove in a closet or something to get it to shut up. But he got stronger. Eventually, I couldn't shove Dark in a closet anymore. He came back a week or two ago, and I discovered that this," he raised his beer bottle and swirled it in his hand, "would make him be quiet." He took another sip before setting it down.

I watched him closely. I could tell he was drunk, or at the very least tipsy.

"It was an alternative to cutting myself again." He pulled up his shorts to show countless scars all over his thigh. "There's even more on the other leg." He sighed.

"Why though?" I found myself moving a little closer to Mark.

"Kristen's a fucking bitch. That's why." He pulled up his shirt-not much, but enough to reveal part of an obviously much larger purple bruise. It didn't matter that I already knew about Kristen's abuse, I still gasped when I saw it.

I wish I could've said something, anything, to make it better, but I couldn't find the words. Just the thought of Mark being beaten made me hurt, because he was hurt.

"Seeing you with that girl today stung too." I looked up from his now covered stomach to meet his eyes.

"You remember that I'm gay, right?" I chuckled dryly. Why was that funny? It wasn't, really.

Stop laughing. This is serious.

Mark's eyes seemed to light up with realization before he buried his face in his hands again, muttering, "I'm such a fucking idiot."

I moved a little closer, our shoulders now less than a foot apart.

"You're not an idiot, Mark." He looked up at me. He looked like he was about to argue, but instead just smiled sadly before looking back out at the almost completely navy sky, the first stars slowly becoming visible as the light faded.

"I should just face it," he said softly. "I'm a fucking mistake." I felt my chest tighten.

"You're not."

"I am. Dark said so." I ran my hand through my hair.

"Well," I began nervously, "I don't care what Dark thinks. To me, you're perfect."

Mark looked up at me again with wide eyes.

Any thought I had telling me I was or could be over Mark was a lie. I was as tangled up in him as a fly in a spider web. I loved him, and I hated seeing him like this. He is perfect, and I couldn't rest until he saw what I saw.

"What do you wish for, Mark?" I changed the subject, pretending to turn my gaze back to the sky when in reality I was still watching him, just from the side. He was quiet for a minute.

"I don't know." He finally shrugged. "Sometimes I pray for patience, sometimes I pray for a gun." He raised the brown bottle to his lips, taking a small sip before setting it down.

"What about you?" I turned to see him already facing me, locking our eyes together. "What do you ask for in your moments of faith?"

What do I ask for? A little world peace would be nice. An end to discrimination, maybe. The absence of homophobia sounds pretty good, too.

For you.

The thought rang through my head loudly. What would that mean, exactly?

Do I ask for his well being, for him to be happy?

Or, the more complicated answer, for him to be mine?

I tore myself from my thoughts to focus on the person in front of me. Staring into his eyes, I could see everything. Despair, emptiness, uncertainty, every insecurity he's ever had.

The fact that I could see it in his eyes, especially in this light, broke my heart.

I made myself look away, leaning back slightly on the roof to see the sky.

"I guess there's a lot," I sighed as a small chill made its way through my body.

He looked down at me with a small smile. Just before he looked away, I could've sworn I saw just the slightest glimmer of hope.

From there on we sat in silence, 9 o' clock turning into 10. We enjoyed each other's company. Mark finished his beer.

Once he had, he turned to me. He cleared his throat and made sure I was looking at him when he began to speak.

"You know I'm still pretty drunk, right?" I nodded. "And you know that being drunk can basically be like a truth serum, right?" I nodded again. Mark stared at me for a minute before speaking again.

"Ethan Nestor, I am in love with you. Now, and while I'm sober. Sober me just would never admit it." I felt my heart beat get faster and stronger.

"No matter what happens," he continued, "you will always be one of my best friends and you'll always have a special place in my heart. You're the reason you'd never find me drinking at school, because you're there to help me remind Dark that I'm not as alone as I think. You're the reason I haven't given in to cutting myself again. You're the reason I didn't start playing hooky, because I wouldn't get to see your face if I did. I might be able to deny it when I haven't had six beers, but i can't now. I love you, Ethan."

"If you don't feel the same-" he paused for a second- "please, tell me now, before this gets out of hand."

I said nothing, speechless, and only watched him with wide eyes. He smiled, seeming relieved by my silence. I smiled right back.

And that was when he closed the gap between us, pulling my small frame into his body and wrapping his arms around my torso as mine found their way to his neck.

That was when his lips crashed into mine.