Chapter Text
Preston
It’s been a weird couple of weeks.
Not for me, of course.
For me, it hasn’t been anything.
Since some asshole shot me, I’ve been in a medically induced coma.
My father just can’t seem to just let me die.
It’s exhausting, really.
And no, I didn’t appreciate getting shot, so don’t go get the wrong idea.
I did want to die before, but that was before him.
He seems to have some special ability that makes me happy.
And I didn’t even think I could be happy.
It seems I make him happy too, considering he’s always so smiley around me.
He made me forget about the bad things, and when they resurfaced my mind, the memories didn’t make me feel as awful as before.
But now they all think I’m dead.
Including him.
Since my previously mentioned father is an absolute idiot, he decided to just let everybody think I’m dead.
Not cool.
He even orchestrated an entire funeral and a gravestone.
I would be honored if that bullet actually ended me.
At least I got to make a flashy entrance at that team party.
I swear, they all looked like they had seen a ghost.
I guess they technically did.
Absolutely hilarious.
What’s not so hilarious is that none of those airheads decided to inform Marcus.
Yes, I know that they technically didn’t know about us, but I’m pretty sure Kane has figured it out.
He’s just smart like that.
Speaking of Kane, he and Jude have been obsessing over me like worried mothers.
I guess they’re technically my uncles now, but still annoying.
I literally had to pry myself out of their claws just to be able to be alone.
I’m currently walking to my gravestone.
I swear, if it’s ugly, I’ll be disowning my own family.
There’s almost no one on the streets.
I guess it is pretty late.
The streetlights shine, making the road a mix of yellow and gray.
It’s pretty cold outside, but thankfully I’m wearing a jacket.
Beer bottles and empty cans are littering the streets, but you have to expect that when it’s the weekend.
Honestly, just expect it whenever.
College students have no limits, and no one really cleans up the alleys.
I faintly see a church in the distance, and I speed up.
Maybe it isn’t that freezing, but my poor face is suffering, and I don’t want my face to get dry.
When I get there, I realize I don’t know where the hell my gravestone is.
Honestly, they should have a graveyard dedicated to me.
I’m obviously superior, but those ignorant people don’t see that.
Since I don’t know where to go, I just start walking around.
What else am I supposed to do?
As I look around, I see something slumped against the back of the church.
Is that…a person?
Why the hell are they sleeping at a graveyard when they probably have a perfectly useful bed at home?
Horrendous life choices, I swear.
As I walk closer, I start to see the gravestone they’re lying next to.
It’s made out of black marble, and the text is gold.
The text slowly becomes more visible.
Preston Armstrong.
Hold the fuck up.
This is my grave.
It isn’t too bad, but there’s always room for improvement.
But if this is my gravestone, who is sleeping next to it?
I turn my head towards the person, and the sight that greets me knocks the wind out of my lungs.
It feels like someone took a sledgehammer and hammered my chest repeatedly.
Marcus.
He’s tragically beautiful.
Or beautifully tragic, depending on how you look at it.
He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, with dark circles under his eyes and tearstains on his cheeks.
“Marcus.”
He doesn’t wake up.
I try again, going down on my knees and slapping his face gently.
He stirs but doesn’t open his eyes.
Lastly, I sit on his lap with my knees framing his thighs.
I cup his face with my hands, admiring his face.
“Marcus”, I murmur.
He slowly opens his eyes, his gaze landing on me immediately.
His eyes are so full of agony, yet so painfully empty.
It fills me with sorrow I didn’t know I had.
He opens his mouth, and his words shred my heart into tiny pieces.
“I loved you.”
My hands freeze around his face.
“I know you’re not real, but I did love you. I still do.”
His tone holds no doubt, like he’s been wanting to say this since forever.
I attempt to speak, but he cuts me off before I can say what I want.
I love you too.
I love you so much it hurts.
“And I also wanted to say I’m sorry.”
His eyes glaze over, and new tears slither down his face.
“I’m sorry for not saving you in time, and I’m sorry for not realizing I loved you until it was too late.”
I violently shake my head.
It’s not your fault.
Now I’m crying too.
Shit.
“I’m real Marcus.”
Please believe me.
I’m begging you.
For the first time, his lips slightly curve into a sad smile.
“No, you’re not. You’re gone, and it’s all my fault.”
His voice cracks at the last word, and his whole face just…crumples.
He’s full on weeping now.
It’s breaking my heart.
“Fuck, I miss you. I don’t know what to do now. I’m tired, Pres. I don’t want to do this anymore.”
I’m here baby.
I’m right here.
I wrap my arms around him, engulfing him in a tight hug.
I expect him to panic, but he just lays his head on my chest.
“I’m real”, I whisper, but I don’t think he can hear me.
I get off him and call my private driver.
I try to lift Marcus up, but it’s literally impossible.
Shit, he’s heavy.
I have to drag him through the grass, making his clothes dirty.
He still doesn’t wake up, though.
We don’t have to wait long until a sleek black car pulls up.
The driver doesn’t know about me and Marcus, but he knows to shut the fuck up about my business.
I manage to throw Marcus in the back seat, and I climb in behind him.
The drive is silent, and I only have the outside to entertain me.
Trees and fences blur by as we slowly reach my apartment.
I bought it some days ago, after the whole coma thing.
To say I was mad when I woke up is an understatement.
I was fucking livid.
I don’t even remember most of it, I just know I was screaming and throwing things around.
I haven’t talked to my father since, and because I didn’t want to be near him, I had to click buy on the first apartment I found.
It’s still looking pretty bland, but I’ll fix it later.
Right now, I have more important matters, like trying to drag Marcus out of the goddamned car.
“You’re like an oversized potato sack”, I mutter.
Thankfully the building has an elevator, or else I would have left him by the stairs, no kidding.
I haul him through the door and throw him onto the sofa while I find him some new clothes.
I’m not putting him in my bed while he’s wearing that.
It’s dirty as hell, and it’s also not aesthetically pleasing.
After I rummage through my closet and find an outfit that’ll hopefully fit him – and put it on him – I collapse on the bed next to him.
I’m exhausted.
Having your situationship/boyfriend tell you he loves you while he’s drunk off his ass is not for the weak.
It’s also a tire just being me.
I’m just so amazing it drains my energy.
“Good night”, I say.
I don’t think he can hear me, but that’s alright.
…
I wake up to the fucking sun in my eyes.
I groan as I try to shield my eyes from literal hell.
I need coffee.
I’m about to get out of bed when I realize I physically can’t.
I turn my head and make eye contact with Marcus.
It’s not really eye contact, considering he’s sleeping, but whatever.
Close enough.
He has his arm slung around my waist, hence the reason I wasn’t able to move before.
Damn, he’s beautiful.
I manage to escape his grip without waking him up and walk into the kitchen.
The fridge is almost empty since I usually just make Kane cook for me or steal food from Jude, but I manage to scrape together something to make pancakes.
I might burn down the kitchen, but whatever.
At least I’m trying.
Making the batter goes pretty well, but it pretty much goes to hell with the oven.
Since when could butter burn?
Isn’t melted butter technically a liquid and shit?
I need Kane like, right now.
I could have ordered takeout, but I’m trying to be a good person.
When I actually make my first pancake, I literally cry.
So, what if it’s deformed?
As they say, love your child no matter what.
The pancakes gradually become less and less deformed.
I’m fucking amazing.
I’m working on another one when I hear commotion behind me.
Marcus is standing there, eyes wide, like he’s seen a ghost.
His eyes slowly fill with tears, and before I can react, he’s bolting towards me.
I open my arms right before he crashes into me.
I stumble some few steps back and brace myself on the counter.
One of my hands subconsciously starts stroking his hair while the other one wraps around his waist.
Marcus wraps himself around me like a koala, squeezing me so hard it’s difficult to breathe, but I ignore it.
He doesn’t say anything, just keeps sobbing into my chest.
It feels like a rock settle deep in my stomach every time I see him like this, and that’s happened far too many times lately.
“I think the pancakes are going to burn soon”, I say, trying to lighten the mood.
He looks up at me, eyes still puffy and red.
“I don’t care.”
I gasp dramatically, putting a hand over my heart for maximum effect.
“What was that, peasant? I spent all this time on you, and you don’t even care? What did I do to deserve this? I’m really hurt.”
I try to keep a neutral face, but I fail miserably.
He smiles back up at me.
“I sincerely apologize”, he says, his eyes glinting with humor.
Holy shit, I’m going to marry this man someday.
To keep myself from literally going down on my knees and begging him to be mine forever, I nod my head, smiling down at him.
“Apology accepted.”
I unfortunately have to go back to the stove, because the pancakes are actually burning.
“Preston?”
“Yeah,” I answer, still hyper focused on the food.
This shit’s hard, I swear.
I have concluded that chefs are severely underpaid.
“How are you alive?”
Damn, forgot to explain that.
“Ah, that’s true. I haven’t explained it to you yet. I’ll tell you later, ok?”
I seriously don’t have the brain capacity to explain that shitshow right now.
“Okay.”
I hear footsteps behind me, and then a head rests on my shoulder.
“Preston?”
Fuck, please baby, just let me concentrate for 3 seconds so I don’t burn the damn kitchen down.
“Yeah,” I answer, despite my better judgement.
But let’s be for real, my judgement is shit.
If it was rational, I probably wouldn’t even be here.
Doesn’t that mean it’s actually excellent?
“I love you.”
One sentence.
A single sentence, and it feels like my heart is doing somersaults in my chest.
A single sentence, and I can feel time slowing down.
A single sentence, and it’s only one thing that’s on the tip of my tongue.
“I love you too.”
I love you more than anything.
And as I turn my head around and kiss his forehead, I feel a giant weight lifting off my shoulders.
I’ll rewrite our world for you.
I’ll make it so that no one takes you from me.
You’re mine.