Flicker // johnmark

one

i tried to stop myself
but johnmark really just...my brain did something

— — —

A pack of cigarettes. That's what sits on the old circular table between them.

Mark stares at the pack, the only light hanging above them shining down on it, dimming out the rest of their surroundings.

"Are you gonna light it?" Johnny's voice never fails to catch Mark off guard, and he flicks his gaze towards the taller male, who he can only make out a few features of since the lighting is very minimal.

"Yeah." Mark's tone is soft, a bit shaky if you really listen to it. He reaches out and slides the pack towards himself and flips the top up. He pulls out a single cigarette, that one tiny thing that brings Johnny and him comfort.

Placing the tip into his mouth, he takes his lighter and cups his hand, watching the flame ignite and burn onto the cigarette. He inhales, and numbness washes over him, and when he exhales he can't feel anything.

It's an addictive feeling he can't get enough of.

The cigarette slips from his bony fingers as Johnny takes it from him, inhaling some for himself, and breathing out a cloud of smoke.

Mark's eyes are hazy - watching Johnny go into a state of euphoria with smoke surrounding him is a sight that will be forever engraved into his brain. With strands of his dark hair peeking out from under his hood, eyes lidded and a cigarette burning away between his fingers; now that's fucking addicting.

He passes the cigarette back to Mark, and he breathes in again, lungs full of smoke, mind full of nothingness.

This is their routine, late night smoking while sharing the cigarette. It's cheaper that way, they both conclude, since Johnny can barely pay rent for the small apartment they're in right now.

"How's it been?" Johnny speaks up, voice deep and raspy, just how Mark likes to hear it.

"Shitty." is all he replies, the taste of nicotine on his tongue. "They keep telling me the same shit over and over again."

In the back of Mark's mind, he knows his roommates care about him. They tell him to stop wasting his money on ciggarettes, shout at him every single day to stop fucking up his lungs.

But Mark doesn't listen to them.

He's stubborn when it comes to Johnny.

After a few minutes of silence, Johnny tosses the cigarette butt somewhere, deciding it's not doing them good anymore.

This time, he takes the pack, lighting another one, and passes it to Mark first. Johnny's always been a gentleman, Mark's briefly registered that in his cloudy mind.

"How's it been?" Mark asks the same question, as Johnny takes the cigarette from his hand.

"Might get evicted soon. Haven't been able to pay rent." he responds bluntly, placing the cigarette between his lips.

Mark stays silent, not knowing what to say. He decides he won't ask any more questions.

"Wanna go out?" Johnny asks, after they've finished their second cigarette, and Mark hums in reply. They lift themselves from those uncomfortable dining chairs, and Mark pulls his forest green hoodie over his head and grabs the pack before they head out.

It's pouring outside, with occasional booms of thunder and lightning strikes lighting up the dark sky. Johnny reaches behind him, fingers lacing with Mark's as they walk down the sidewalk.

A faint smile graces Mark's chapped lips.

Their clothes soak up the rain, and it's cold - or at least Mark feels cold, shivering as Johnny mindlessly leads him somewhere.

Before he knows it, he's in front of the apartment complex he lives in.

"Later?" he hears Johnny say, and for a brief second a pair of lips ghost over his forehead. Mark only nods, catching one last glance of Johnny's eyes before he turns away and disappears into the night.

Mark's left there alone. He sighs, walking up to his apartment and using the spare key under the doormat to get in.

"Where were you?" Renjun asks from the couch, the tv being the only light in the room. Jeno's asleep next to him, and luckily he's a deep sleeper so he won't wake up and greet Mark's presence.

"Out." Mark stuffs his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, feeling colder than he was before.

"With Johnny?"

Mark doesn't answer that question, he just goes down the dark hallway and into his room. He throws himself down onto the rock hard mattress on the floor, body now trembling from being cold.

He lays there, in the dark, listening to the sound of his breathing. His chest heaves up and down, and he's alive, physically at least.

But Mark stopped feeling alive a long time ago.