A castle for us

His hair

It had been a whole three weeks since you'd spoken to Markus about your move to America. He didn't take it very well. His hair had started to grow out and his natural dark hue was starting to show through his dyed blonde locks. He hadn't come out of his room since the talk, even if he did it was when you weren't there. You couldn't tell wether or not he was angry because, as much as you'd like to, you didn't want to invade his privacy and mind. He almost never spoke to you anymore and a lot of the time it drove you to golden tears. You have to check up on him, it's the least you could do for him. This man has been with you through thick and thin and now you're just up and leaving him. Reading his thoughts would make the situation one thousand times easier but, again, his privacy was something he valued. Your legs spring you up from the warm sofa and drag you quietly to his bedroom door, pressing your ear against the solid wood. Oh- he was sobbing, struggling to breathe between the fits of tears. You knock twice. No answer.
"Markus? Can we talk?"
No reply. You knock three times, dragging out each tap of your knuckle on the dense door. Still no reply. "Can I come in?" A faint grunt is all you hear in response. When you pull open the one thing separating the two of you all you see is pure mess. Clothes scattered around, beer bottles littering every surface and plates at the end of his bed. He's barely eating, not that he ate much to begin with, but something really caught your eye. His once short blonde hair was now just above shoulder length and a mix of blonde at the tips and black at the roots. His dark brown eyes seemed to scan you up and down and, as soon as they were done wondering, made their way back to his hands.
You couldn't bare to see him like this. Disheveled, unshaven, depressed.
He was always the light in your life and, more often than not, was your shoulder to cry on. This time you had the urge to be his shoulder to cry on. You sat next to him carefully and took him in your arms, he immediately returned the gesture, sobbing into the fabric of your shirt.
"Look, Markus. I know you don't want me to leave but I have to. And you cannot, under any circumstances, come with me." It was a hard thing for you to say and an even harder thing to tell him.
"I've had a lot of time to think about it and- I want to come with you. I don't care how dangerous it is I just need to be with you." Those words felt like a warm blanket encasing the two of you. Between his sputtering and sobbing faint 'shh's could be heard. A comforting sound to him. He loved the ocean probably more than he loved his time with you which was a big statement. Simulating the sound of ocean waves was all you could think to do to calm the poor guy down. Anyways, who were you to tell him he couldn't come with you?
"Shhh. It's ok. I've got you Markus." You entangled your fingers in his matted hair, it was starting to curl slightly at the ends. Maybe growing his hair out wouldn't be a bad thing.
"I'm coming with you, (Y/N). You can't stop me."
"I guess I can't, hu?" A small chuckle left your lips, resulting in the man in your arms to chuckle too. This was your happy, not America. You could be happy anywhere as long as you were with him.
"We'll start packing in the morning and leave by Friday. I'll get the flights booked by tonight. Are you sure you're ready to do this?"
"If it's with you I'm always sure."

~

He'd been in the shower for almost thirty minutes, he hadn't eaten a decent meal in weeks. Rummaging through the cupboards you find some pasta and sauce, a nice bottle of wine and some ice cream. Your fingers slide your hair out of the way in preparation and you begin to cook a hearty meal. Markus has tried to help you regain your memories but all you could seem to remember was how to cook some good pasta and god did he deserve some good pasta right now. You weren't exactly a great chef but you weren't exactly terrible. Grabbing two small glasses you pour an even amount of wine into both, hands shaking and palms clammy. Another emotion you had yet to experience properly. You were nervous and after setting out two places at the table Markus had just about gotten out of the shower.
"What's cookin' good lookin'?" The sudden noise caused you to drop the whole bottle.
"Damn!" You spat out. "Just something as our last meal here. Something special I guess-"
"Can't wait to eat it, (Y/N)! Smells great"
He turned around and walked to his bedroom to presumably get changed. You moped up the spilt wine and swept up the glass shards. His hair seemed- longer, almost past his shoulders, and he seemed taller. It was probably the light. But god knew his chocolate eyes would encase you in the candle light at the dinner table.