since eighth grade. → markiplier

Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Appointment

Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Appointment

Lack of inspiration sucks. Sorry for the late update, guys.

Ellie

When we had finished recording, I had put everything away and let out a sigh. I drag myself into Mark's bedroom - though you could really class it as our bedroom now - and pretty much collapse onto the bed. I let my face fall into the pillow, and I instantly realize that it is the one that Mark usually lies on. I snuggle closer to it, inhaling his scent a little whilst I wrap my arms around it. I really wanted to sleep right now, but I didn't want to be alone. I'm pretty sure Mark didn't either, but he had editing to do.

I roll off of the bed with a groan, landing sloppily on my feet. I carry myself into Mark's recording room, finding him with his head on one hand, his other using the mouse. He doesn't turn to me when I enter the room, but I do see his eyes flicker in my direction for a moment. He smiles weakily, his eyes looking fairly dazed as he blinks slowly, tiredly.

"Hey, Mark," I say softly, pulling over a spare chair and placing it next to his. "You could just do this tomorrow, you know." I tell him, and he finally turns now, stifling a yawn. He blinks at me, obviously trying to keep his eyes open.

"...Can't." He says, his voice muffled from the hand that covers up his yawn. I frown, catching his wrist from his face and pulling it away.

"Why not?" I ask, curious. If I were to get no reasoning out of him, I would pull him to bed whether he was willing or not.

"Because..." He begins, scratching the back of his head. "I booked...d an appointment for tomorrow. For, you know, the kid." He says, and I freeze for a moment. I push some of my hair behind my ear and nod my head a little.

"Oh, um, okay," I begin, stumbling on my words a little. "And you're only telling me now because...?" I inquire, feeling a little irritated. Mark seems to notice as he sits up a little straighter, his eyes, beyond the haziness of alcohol, a chocolate brown, are unreadable. This scares me a little.

"I forgot," He says, looking more sober than he did only moments ago. Nothing about his expression or body language tell me that he is lying, so I nod my head and let it slide. "Sorry, I should have wrote it down or something." He mutters, running a hand through his hair. I sigh, reaching forwards and kissing his cheek. Underneath my hand, that rests on his shoulder, I feel his tense muscles relax.

"You don't need to apologize," I tell him, pulling away reluctantly. "I shouldn't have snapped. I'm sorry." I say, and don't let him answer. To shut him up, I press my lips to his. It feels as this short, but sweet, moment has been something missed. How long had it been since we had shared a simple kiss that held emotions so strong? I let my hand run along his cheek for a moment, but I pull away afterwards. When we do part, I finally taste the lingering alcohol and energy drink on my lips. I smile weakly, leaving Mark to edit whilst I collapse on the bed.

I tangle myself in the sheets; lying there, tossing and turning, until I finally get comfortable. There is something... something off about my skin. It tingles, and the back of my neck and ears burn, almost like somebody is watching me. I sit bolt upright, my eyes scanning the room. Of course, I can see nothing but darkness. My eyes swim over to the window, where I see something shadowy cross the window. I tense up for a moment, but calm down when I notice that it's just a tree. Geez, why am I being so paranoid?

I guess I'm just nervous for tomorrow.

***

I wake up quite early in the morning the annoying sound of Mark's alarm - set early enough for us both to get up, shower, change and head to the doctor's. I turn my head to see Mark, sprawled out comfortably on the bed, his right hand blindly reaching towards the alarm to shut it off. When he does, he lets out a groan and pulls his glasses onto his face, running a hand through his dark, untamed hair.