Under Pressure - Septiplier

Chapter Forty Seven

Amy sprays down a table, wiping over it with a rag. Her hair casts a curtain over the side of her face that hides her eyes from view as she covertly watches Mark and Jack. They'd worked for several hours, but now, the boys have stood up, and they're facing each other. Jack's doing most of the talking, and he doesn't ever seem to pause, just chattering on and on and on without even seeming to take a breath. Mark doesn't speak; he rarely even opens his mouth. Amy watches as the pair leaves, the bell ringing atop the door in a signal of their departure while the two teens step out onto the sidewalk of the busy street.

Silence fills the cafe as she makes her way over to their deserted table. It's not a busy day. Most people are home on Saturdays, with no need for a quick fix of caffeine from the shop on the way to work. It's empty for the moment. There is nothing but memories and regrets to fill the empty seats at the table of disconsolation reserved under the name Nelson. Amy halts her cleaning and braces her arms against the back of the chair, staring down at the wooden surface that hosted books and laptops just moments ago. Mark is so different now. It's been a long while since they've seen each other, and even longer since they've talked. He's changed so much, in some good ways, but a few bad changes as well.

Mark has filled out, with buff arms and a broad chest to match the big head. His jawline is sharper, dusted with dark stubble. He looks healthier. He finally looks balanced, comfortable in his own skin. But, so much is the same, or even worse. His ability to maintain eye contact has lessened. That sad, desperate, empty vacancy in his gaze is stronger than ever, searing into her vision after even the shortest of glances. Not only that, but did he even talk? Amy never saw him open his mouth, except to eat. He replied to Jack with a few signs that he only used if he was struggling not to panic. However, this place is quiet and comfortable, and Jack is kind, so there was no reason for Mark to freak out. No reason but Amy.

Wasn't she reason enough?

She dropped him. Leaving him alone in his emotions to wallow in bitterness and frustration, wading in stagnant pools of despondence, sinking deeper into the murky depths as the detritus falls down with any pressure, pulling him deeper and deeper.

Mark once told her she made him feel fast. He said he felt like he was in a time-lapse with her, people moving past in bothersome blurs of color and sound that could never pierce his concentration. With her, the surrounding world became a rainbow of colors and an orchestra of sounds that muted and tempered down in her presence.

Amy rubs her face and pushes off the chair, grabbing the cleaning materials and marching back to the counter. She sets the materials aside, scooping up Mark's used mug. There's only a few dribbles of hot chocolate left, the dredges at the bottom of the pool where Amy left Mark.

Amy puts the plate and cup down in the sink, hands shaking so that the glass jitters and clatters together before falling still with a resolute clank against the steel bottom of the basin. She grabs the edges of the sink, taking several deep breaths and closing her eyes. There's that familiar burn behind her eyelids, that pain in her throat, that emptiness in her gut. She lets out a soft sob, bowing her head in defeat as the regret overcomes her. In the empty kitchen, it rings.

Jack takes Mark to the nearby park, the sun shining overhead, birds chirping, a soft breeze flowing through the air. A picturesque day meant lots of people outdoors, lots of people to pass, lots of people making noise at the parks. They're at the pond, wistfully watching the ducks as the flock chases after a kid with a hot dog. A musician starts playing the guitar nearby. A dog barks to their right. Mark frowns lightly and stops moving, closing his eyes to eliminate at least one of the many stimuli assaulting his senses.

"Mark? Hey, yeah, I know, it's a lot. I'm getting us to a good spot. I know it's a lot. Can you hang in there for me? Anything you need, I got you, I know you can do it," Jack says after realizing what Mark is doing. He doesn't touch Mark, doesn't add any stimuli, but he speaks softly, voice level, and almost monotonous. Mark's brows furrow and he gives a slight nod. The teenager opens his eyes, finding those soft pools of blue so close that he almost falls into them, gathering himself before he gets lost in those cerulean depths. He averts his gaze to the ground, unable to look too long. Mark takes a calming breath, imagining the clean air filling his lungs, spreading through his veins, cleansing him of the fear, the panic, the uncertainty.

Mark slowly moves his gaze up Jack's legs before finding the teenager's hands calmly resting at his sides. Mark bites his lip and leans forward, tentatively taking Jack's wrist and pulling his hand up. Those dark eyes examine Jack's hand, and the teenager does his best to stay limp and pliant for Mark. After whatever test Mark mentally ran through, he intertwines their fingers, eyes drifting back down to the ground.

"Whatever you need," Jack murmurs, voice a soft hum that floats in the small space between them, wrapping around their intertwined hands in a gentle promise. Mark smiles lightly, squeezing Jack's hand for a moment. Jack squeezes back, and Mark huffs with amusement. The two continue on as if everything is the same, but for Jack, his heart is racing, and he's doing mental cartwheels in celebration at the contact.

For Mark, he once again starts to move at lightspeed.