Chapter Text
Ethan Nestor has a firm (and justified) belief that life sucks. Especially lately. His mood has been ridiculously low and he's been more anxious than he's been in his entire life. He doesn't know why.
Well… he does. He's just not ready to admit it.
He's not ready to admit that it's because he's feeling so lonely that his chest aches at night, causing him to sob for hours instead of sleep, simply wishing he could be loved. And yet, he isolates himself however he can.
He's not ready to admit that it's because he's touch starved, merely craving a simple hug to get him through the day. Not that he'd accept the contact, most people just didn't make him feel safe enough for that.
He's not ready to admit that it's because he's in love with his best friend, making him overthink every single thing he does. Anxiety causing his stomach to churn to the point where he won't eat for a few days at a time. (Not that he actually minds this, though. He uses it as an excuse to starve himself.)
The biggest thing he's not ready to admit is that he's scared. He's scared of himself. Ethan doesn't remember the exact reason why it started, a particularly bad day meeting a particularly enticing stray piece of broken glass. But he’s started cutting himself. His left forearm littered with scars, scabs, and fresh wounds. It hasn't been that difficult for him to cover them up in recent videos, but some of Mark's new ideas would need him to be shirtless.
New video ideas like the ones they were supposed to be filming today.
*Knock Knock knock*
Ethan stood on Mark's front steps, Spencer's leash in hand. He was trying to think of a good excuse, any excuse, of why they shouldn't film the sensory deprivation tank video. He'd barely gotten through the hot-dog eating contest video they filmed yesterday. (He'd made sure to have made himself puke as soon as he got home, continuing a pattern he tries not to think about).
Ethan was trying to figure it out in his head, “Hi Mark! I know you had this video idea you were super excited about filming, but can we do something else instead? ‘Why?’ you ask? Well, it's because I hate my body and I cut myself and don't really want anyone knowing about it. Sound good? :D”
Ethan didn't really think that would work very well. And yet, that was his only plan.
He bit his lip. What if he thinks I'm disgusting? What if he hates me? Then the worst thought crossed his mind.
What if he cares?
Ethan didn't want to be the cause of Mark's worry. He wanted to be the reason Mark smiled that classic “Markiplier smile”.
He didn't want Mark to care about him. What was he even planning on doing here? What selfish person asks their best friend to sacrifice the thing he loves for their own, meaningless comfort? Effectively just being a bigger burden then they already are?
Ethan turned and started to walk down the steps, hoping he could get away to form a better course of action before-
The door opened up and Spencer immediately whipped around and dashed into the house, completely disregarding Ethan's mini breakdown.
“Ethan?”
Shit . He turned on his heels, silently cursing his dog for being so… well… dog-like. Ethan smiled weakly at his friend, not quite meeting his eyes.
Now, Ethan knew he looked like a mess. His hoodie was about 3 sizes too big, his hair was an absolute rat's nest, and the bags under his eyes looked like they had been drawn on with a pen . He did the best he could considering he woke up late and was in a giant hurry to get out of the house.
Mark stared at him for a second, seemingly deciding what to say. Ethan couldn't bring himself to say anything, either, all the words catching in his throat.
Mark finally spoke, “Were you…” He paused for a moment, “...gonna leave?”
Ethan cleared his throat. “I… Yeah. Y’know, I'm really tired so I think I'll actually just grab Spence and go. Sorry for canceling this late.”
Mark furrowed his eyebrows. “No. Come on. You're already here. Plus, we don't actually have to film anything today if you're not up for it. We can just… hang-out”.
Ethan bit his lip, unsure, “Um… Yeah. Ok…” Mark smiled at that. “Good. Come on”.
The two boys walked into the house, Mark leading them to the living room. “You wanna watch a movie?”
“Yeah that sounds nice,” Ethan smiled.
They decided on The Outsiders after Ethan discovered Mark's never seen it. He called the situation an “appalling state of ignorance” . It's one of Ethan's favorite movies, it always made him cry.
They sat together on the couch, sitting closer than they normally would because Mark could only find one blanket. Ethan wasn't quite sure how he felt about that.
Throughout the movie he would insist they pause it every ten seconds to go on a three hour tangent about the actors, the author, the original book, or his own head cannons.
An hour into the movie, Ethan had to go to the bathroom. “I'm gonna piss,” he said while standing up to leave.
“Oh hey Ethan I-” in the middle of his sentence Mark grabbed his arm. But Mark had grabbed Ethan's left arm, causing him to shout without thinking. “Ow! Fuck! Dont- don't grab me so hard.”
Mark's hand (and face) dropped. “...I didn't”
“W-well…”
Before Ethan could even attempt to defend himself, Mark pulled up the sleeve of his sweatshirt, revealing his injured arm. He quickly tore his arm away, yanking his sleeve back down
“Goddammit, Ethan.”
This is not how he wanted this discovery to be found.
Mark stood up and grabbed his hand this time, entwining their fingers together. Ethan tried (and failed) to prevent blush from crawling up his neck at the gesture.
I'm screwed.
Mark sat Ethan down at the dining room table with a very stern look on his face. Ethan didn't know what was happening. Half of him thought Mark went to put on rings so he could properly beat him up for being so weak. Or… something less aggressive and illogical.
They were having such a nice time, then Ethan just had to go and fuck it all up. So, he just sat, waiting for Mark to come back with a goddamn baseball bat.
Ok. He knew that probably wouldn't happen… probably. But he never would have guessed that the older man would come back with first aid supplies.
Ethan's brow scrunched up, pure confusion painting his features while he sunk in on himself. This situation was making him increasingly uncomfortable.
“What's that for?”
Mark looked up from rummaging through the pile he'd haphazardly dropped on the table. “Your… arm.”
Ethan curled in on himself. Feeling uncomfortable with the premise of Mark touching a part of him he's so ashamed of. The negative voice in Ethan's head suddenly piped up. It got loud fast. He could tell Mark was speaking to him, but he could barely hear the other man. The voice drowning out most other sounds.
“Don't let him touch you”
“He'll hurt you”
“He thinks you're disgusting”
“This is a trick”
“He doesn't care about you”
“He only cares about himself”
That's not true, he thought back, though he might've said it out loud. But it only got louder.
“Don't let him touch you”
“He'll hurt you”
“He thinks you're disgusting”
“This is a trick”
“He doesn't care about you”
“He only cares about himself”
It's all that was there. Nothing else. It was drowning him. Consuming him. Ethan’s eyes darted around, unsure of what was happening.
“Don't let him touch you”
“He'll hurt you”
“He thinks you're disgusting”
“This is a trick”
“He doesn't care about you”
“He only cares about himself”
Over and over again. It wasn't stopping. He could feel himself start to cry.
“Don't let him touch you”
“He'll hurt you”
“He thinks you're disgusting”
“This is a trick”
“He doesn't care about you”
“He only cares about himself”
Ethan tried to cover his ears. It was getting louder. He couldn't breathe. He grasped at his throat, hoping for some kind of purchase yet finding none. He climbed off his chair to the floor, foolishly trying to escape his own head.
“Stop”
He tried to yell but it came out in a muddled whisper. He could see Mark out of the corner of his eyes, struggling to understand the cause of this rapid change. Then he started standing up.
“No” Ethan tried, but Mark couldn't hear him. Ethan couldn't even hear himself.
The older man was walking towards him, apparently not understanding he was the cause of this in the first place. Mark kneeled down.
Ethan freaked out. Everything in his body told him to get away.
“Don't let him touch you”
“Don't let him touch you”
“Don't let him touch you”
“Don't let him touch you”
He tried to scramble backwards, meeting a wall who stopped him, hitting the back of his head on the hard surface. Ethan sat gasping out in pain. But he couldn't stop moving. He had to protect himself. He had to run.
“Don't let him touch you”
“Don't let him touch you”
“Don't let him touch you”
“Don't let him touch you”
But Mark wouldn't stop reaching forward. He won't fucking stop.
“Don't let him touch you”
“Don't let him touch you”
“Don't let him touch you”
“Don't let him touch you”
Ethan lost it. He wasn't himself. He wasn't the one in control. All of his emotions he'd bottled up and ignored came like a waterfall. Spilling out of every part of his body. Gushing out of his eyes, his ears, his mouth. All being commanded by the voice in his head screaming at him not to let Mark near him. They all banded together, stepping on Ethan's soul and squishing it into a hopeless, helpless ball.
Flinging Ethan's body to his feet, they yelled at Mark. They screamed and yelled and shouted. Doing everything to isolate themselves.
“Don't touch me! Don't fucking touch me! Don't come over here! I know what this is! It's a trick! You're trying to hurt me! You're gonna hurt me! You don't care about me! You never have! I'm nobody to you! You just want to fool me! You can't! You won't! I won't let you hurt me! I know your plan! I know! So don't touch me! Don't you dare touch me! I won't let you! I won't fucking let you!”
Mark looked hurt, but the overbearing ball of pain in Ethan's chest didn't care. He was hyperventilating, his vision blurring.
“I- Ethan that's not true. If course I care-”
“No! You don't! Y-you think I'm fat and ugly and stupid and ‘not a real man’ and trash! You think I'm worthless! You say it all the time! You find me disgusting! You won't even let me touch you!”
Ethan laughed slightly, self-protection morphing into hateful bitterness as he started coming back to himself.
“Oh, but not now. Now you won't get away from me as I'm begging you to. I'm just a goddamn charity case to you. Isn't that right? ‘Poor little Ethan, cutting and starving himself.’ So sad, isn't it? Well fuck you.”
With tears still streaming down his face he ran out the door, forgetting that Spencer was playing with Chica upstairs. He just left a shell-shocked Mark on the ground.
—
It's been two days. Two days since Ethan went over to Mark's house, ruining his relationship with his best friend.
He'd cut himself when he got home, leaving a small pool of blood on the floor next to the sink. He hasn't had enough energy to even care enough to clean it up. It was probably the worst one he's done yet. He felt a weird sense of pride at that thought.
Ethan hasn't eaten, only leaving his bed to go to the bathroom. Which was only about twice a day for barely four minutes.
Mark has been trying to call him, about once an hour. Weirdly on the dot. Ethan supposed that he'd set an alarm for some strange reason.
Ethan didn't bother to answer. He didn't want to hear Mark yell at him. He knew he really should go get Spencer, but decided he's probably getting better care at Mark's house, anyways. I'll pick him up when I feel a bit better.
—
Another day passed. Ethan could barely get out of bed. He was so tired. He was sleeping all day, only waking up to think about how pathetic he was before falling back into an uncomfortable slumber.
Ethan wasn't quite sure if Mark was calling anymore. His phone was dead and he hasn't been on it the past two days. He just slept.
He just slept.
—
“Ethan?”
Ethan woke up to someone whispering in his ear. I don't want to get up yet. He rolled over, groaning. He wasn't ready to open his eyes.
“Ethan? I'm gonna check your arm, ok?”
Still out of it, Ethan mumbled some sort of objection before putting up no fight as the person lifted his left arm out from under the covers.
“Oh, Ethan”
Ethan finally popped an eye open. “Mark?” Mark smiled down at him. “Yeah it's me.”
Ethan closed his eyes again, sleep starting to take over again. “I'm sorry.”
He came back. No one ever comes back.
He fell asleep to arms being wrapped around him.
—
Ethan woke up again to a hand on his face, Mark was brushing hair out of his eyes. “Hm?”, he mumbled, slightly confused. “It's just me.”
Oh.
“Go to sleep, Eth.”
“Where…?” This wasn't his bed. He didn't quite mind.
“You're at my house.”
Oh.
“Just go to sleep. I'm right here”. Ethan wasn't really sure why that was so comforting. “Mark?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you...” It was quiet for a moment, Ethan not really sure how to ask what he wanted to. But he could tell Mark understood when felt the weight of another person dipping into the mattress beside him.
It was silent for another long moment. This one felt heavier.
“Mark?”
“Yeah?”
“I'm so sorry”
Ethan was asleep before Mark could reply.
—