Chapter Text
It hurt to hear the door close behind him, but William know that this was the right thing to do. Sure, the scars and burns made him want to trace and memorize them just by outline on a shirt, but it wasn't his to know. His Mark was alive but scarless as far he could know. The only thing he could do was try.
But the center of his chest left an empty feeling of dread and wonder at the same time. What happened to him to earn such a mark? He knew that his world collapsed or something closed to that, so did that scar come from his world ending? Was it his mark on him as a reminder of what's happened? He could only think of the worse that came with it. His eyes then feel on the empty computer chair where he sat and the photo of him and his Mark grinning at the camera. There was shine in his eyes that Mar would never feel, and it bothered him. William wanted to go back in and tell him he'll stay with him through the bath and help wash his hair, the same thing his mother would do when he was too sick and tired. And Mar started to look half dead just standing there tired.
Mark is his best friend in the whole world. In every universe, in any world, he would find him and be his friend. He couldn't think of anything else that could replace it. For Mar to show up and need help, asking him to be his for the night, just for the night, and beg with those bright, eyes, casting a simple but easy spell over him that he couldn't shake off wasn't fair. He wanted to be there to help build him up and carry him back to where he was. To love a friend is to live a long time, and he felt like he was missing that with him, this Mark. He said that his William wasn't there anymore, so what happened? Did they have a misunderstanding? No, their friendship wouldn't be ruined over a misunderstanding...unless it's something would cross his line like eat a baby or something dark and twisted. Who was he kidding? This Mark was and will always be dark and twisted. He watched a video a month ago of him ripping some guy's throat out just with his teeth! And then he laughed! Laughed! Maybe it's best that he was along in the bathroom where he could gather his thoughts on what he really wanted from William. Maybe he can get his head on tight and figure it out so he could live life and just be!
But those sweet eyes and tired steps told him something deeper happened. He kept saying that it was a mistake to be here, but fate has a crazy thing about making mistakes into miracles. His grandmother told him that when they were cooking dinner one night while his grandfather was outside working on the garden. She had this glimmer in her eyes when she looked out to where he was, and it filled something in him. He wanted to look at someone the same way she did even when his grandfather was cussing out the tomato plants then threatened to knockout the next door neighbor. Maybe her strange mistake was why she married him? He'll never know or ask because she passed last winter before the lake froze. But he held on to the thought of him finding his careless mistake and see where the adventure take him. And he was nervous--too nervous to say! It wasn't right of him to push him away like that, William to Mar, but he felt like he had to fix whatever bound there was, whatever was there that was left to put together. His empty room felt colder, and the bloody boots but his computer only added ice to the the frozen fire. There wasn't a single thought in his head or doubt, no backup plan or idea that told him 'no'. And this back and forth in his head was giving him a headache!
And Mar was struggling to get out of the suit. What if he needed help stepping out of it? Poor thing had a panic attack just seeing his gloves and tried to rip them off.
And that blood didn't just come from him, so what happened?
There he goes, repeating the loop of questions and never getting answers. He truly is her grandmother's grandchild.
He looked back at the door as if he was looking at a cursed item then the doorhandle. It lulled him like a sweet call over the ocean tides from a ghost or as darken, lost soul that only needed a hug to move on. But...
"Come on, Will," he says to himself, "don't do this to him. Give him space."
The spaced he started to crave. He wanted to know what it felt like, just once.
When the door closed, Mar wanted to call out for him to come back, to let himself give in to whatever his mind needed right now. He could get around to fixing himself, too, and it would start with holding him in his arms again. It put him back together more than words could say. He would follow the any string that led him back to him, only he could follow it. But Mar looked at his bloodied hands and arms and he felt sick. He's sick of what he's become over a simple thing, but it wasn't so simple.
When is William was taken from his life, that's when he decided to take everything else from everyone. He had to become dangerous to keep everyone out, but every world held a William he couldn't touch. How could you love something so much even though you can't touch it? Well, someone had to pluck the leaves of a poison ivy just to know the right shade it was and how to make it. Someone had to look at a marble block and carve it with gentle hands, steady and calm, to make it into someone that everyone loves. And what was he to the carver and painter? The way William looked at his scars, his burns, his failure made his skin crawl and rip more. Even the fibers in his cells called for him to reach out to him, even if he wasn't his carver. For once, he didn't want to be strong. For once, he wanted to let someone hold him up and tell him that they have them. It's okay if he couldn't find the words; his eyes would burn it in the air for him like a slideshow.
Build him up and make himself new, make him what William needs and wants. He'll do it without thinking and crave a space in his world for him again, but it was forever filled with his dead glazed eyes and death rattle.
He looked back at himself in the mirror, seeing his darken gaze in the dried blood face and how it made him look like he has freckles. Pull his mask off, the real one, and give him some air...give him some idea of what it would feel like to be alive again. Hell, he was alive in William's arms from earlier! He melted straight into his, feeling how perfectly made it was meant to be. Stars are forever, looking and hanging, seeing both future and past all at once without seeing it, so they must've known that they were meant for this! Meant for this aimless life he wanted so bad because he wanted know, so how know, what it's like to feel love it is. Oh, what a privilege it is to love someone like William, someone to have him. And his right there! Right outside the door! Even thought he wasn't meant to keep him in his world, in his life, that doesn't mean he can hold back here, right? The Mark here has Eve! He can have William--
There he goes again, chasing a kite without the wind to help lift him.
But that doesn't mean he doesn't feel his love! Mar looked at the bathroom and the bubbles in the tub, the lighting, candles--he felt his love just by looking. No one would do this for him execpt for William. Even his William did the same for him.
Before he was ripped from his world, he got into a fight at school. His mother was out of town and his father was saving the world or something, the reasons why his parents were gone never really come to him to remember. That's a rabbit hole he didn't want to fall down. But his William helped him come into the bathroom and took off his clothes, bandging his wounds with dressing and kisses, and helped him in the tub to wash his hair to get the blood out. He remembered his hands and how he leaned into the touches, listening to his whispers of gentle praises, and how they closed their love for each other that night, blooming like a desert rose.
William is like his William. In every universe, they were the same, but he was more like him. His eyes crinkled when he laughed and his smile burned with needing a match. When he first met him in this universe, seeing him alive, his mind snapped to whole again. He was himself again, the one that didn’t have blood staining his skin or hair. The way that he was moved like smoke in the mist. At first, he thought William was taken by Mark, but Eve—that bitch—had Mark…meaning William was alone in the cruel universe. Maybe he got too comfortable with him, and maybe he scared him too much, but Mar’s thoughts were consumed by the smell of sandwood and roses. He wanted to drown himself in his scent again.
His Mark was a fool not to love William.
He leans his head back and looks to the ceiling as if there were answers. His mind already circled and battled, so where’s his rest? He’s playing with fire and he’s going to get burned.
William was the silence he’s craved.
He felt himself heat up at the thought of William breathless underneath him. His face flushed a deep red, his eyes glazed in the moonlight’s glow, and his hair beginning to curl at the nape of his neck. His hands pinned over his head as he set a ruthlessly slow pace, rolling his hips into his, and his eyes closed as he marveled at the noises William would make. His neck would be bruised and bitten, his jaw slack and agape, and his eyes on him and only him. The sheets would be tangled around them and on the floor, and no angel would watch as he took what he wanted, what he needed. It would be just them and their darkness. The scene unfolded like a paper in rain.
He was selfish, greedy, and coy, but he needed him. The agony and pain he felt as his mind played a vision so unreachable that it ached.
“William,” he didn’t realize he said his name with so much need. “William, gods…”
He felt madness cloud his mind until there was nothing left but different thoughts of sin.
“William.” Let his name join on his chest with the rest of his scars. He’d proudly show it off. “William.”
He sits down on the closed toilet seat and continues to take his suit off. Realization comes back as he tries to get his arm out of a sleeve, but it stuck to his skin. He tries pulling, but the suit doesn’t rip or move. He grunts as he pulls and yanks, but it doesn’t move. The blood dried on his arms and under his suit that it started to crust up and make flakes, falling like snow.
”William?” He calls, desperately, “William!”
William's eyes wondered over the door, thinking about his options, before he heard his name being called, muffled and hurt, through the door.
He takes a deep breath and enters, knocking first. He looks up when he goes in, not looking anywhere else. "Mar?" Then his gaze softens. "Oh, Mar...let me help you." He steps in and closes the door behind him with a gentle click. Mar tried to sit down on the closed lip of the toilet, but he seemed stuck. His lower lip quivered and trembled like a five-year-old who just spilt milk on the hard oak follows of a kitchen. "What do you need?"
“I think it’s stuck on my arm. It sticking to everything and the smell is just suffocating!”
William helped hold his up arms and slid them out with ease. “There,” he said with a proud smile, “better?”
He didn’t mind how rough Mar’s arms were or the scars that littered him. Still honey toned and had little freckles dancing like stars, he knows his skin like a map to a forest.
“Yeah, thank you.”
“Do you need help with the rest?”
Mar thought about it before nodding. “If you could?”
William helped him stand and continued where he left off in the back. He unzips farther down his back, stopping at his hips. His skin was hot to touch, and it glows in the light. The scars looked like he was clawed by a monster, and there was one the seemed almost like a branding from an iron eagle. He traces it as if he was touching brail, memorizing the feeling.
”Does it hurt?” He found himself asking. “This one?”
Mar shakes his head and controls his breathing. “Not anymore. It used to when it’s cold, but not really.” He stands still as William traces it again, his back arching into his touch.
”How’d you get it?”
”Some lower villain with an ego problem,” he answers flatly. “He didn’t last long. Died in our second fight in my world.”
”Were you scared?”
Mar smirks, his lips curling into a grin. “Never.”
He steps away and lets Mar take the rest off, and he felt a mix of approval and disappointment when he saw the boxers under his suit.
“I’ll leave you alone to get in.” He tries to pass Mar, but his hand was caught, firm but gentle. He looks down at Mar’s hand and compared and how big it was against his, and met his eyes.
He shouldn’t. He can’t stay—
But he was only human, only a moth to whatever flame Mar lit, either a lighthouse or his own funeral. Whatever the answer, he was hooked. He was pulled back until they’re barely touched. There was something primal and dangerous in Mar’s eyes, something that screamed and roared his name. No longer frightened, no longer afraid, no longer pained—Mar knew what he wanted, and William was it.
“Mar?” His voice was low enough for just them. “Do you need something?”
Mar’s eyes studies his, reflecting the colors of the forest and sea. “I want to be selfish.” He rests his forehead against his, lowering his head. “Can I be that? Selfish?”
Tangled in waves of webs and silk, mixing with his, William felt his cheeks redden. “Okay.” He met his eyes as he lifts his head. “Okay, Mar.” He thumbs under his eye, sensing something growing in his mind like atom fusing with water. He was the only thing that mattered.
The candles on the tub burned a golden glow, playing a silent song, and it tangled and twisted in their hair. Steam rose from the water and still misted the mirror. The blurred reflection witnessed the mess being untangled, and it was becoming a favorite shade between them.