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Jack just wanted to go home.
Into the strong, intimidating, large waves that crashed onto each other. Into the blue, dark, deep sea that roared below a tall, long, unoccupied bridge.
Or into the cold and dirty asphalt road filled with nothing but people who didn't matter. Into the busy street that lay below the 20-foot brick building in the city.
Or maybe in a white marble bathtub filled with hot water that awaited his red blood to mix and blend in. Hot water that just called him to sleep , an eternal slumber he wouldn't be able to escape.
Anywhere but here was home.
Away from this cruel world was home.
And Jack, he desperately needed to go home.
—•—
Mark just wanted to find home.
Maybe in a cozy cabin somewhere far from the obnoxious bright lights of the city. Far away from the never-ending noise that kept him awake.
Or on the road, in planes, ships, and trains. In a different town, a different country, a different place everyday. Everywhere. All around the world.
Or even in the little moments, memories, and experiences in his life. In everyday interactions and regular conversations.
But his home, it could be breathing, human and alive.
His home could have dazzling blue eyes and green hair.
And Mark, he desperately needed to find home.
—•—
He knew he had to say goodbye. To his family. To all his friends. But most of all, to the red haired, brown eyed man he called his best friend.
So he sat, letting his feet dangle off the edge of the building, not a single care in the world about how he would have leapt in horror at the sight of the tiny cars and ant-like people below him. He just stared at it all now, taking it in while he still could.
He didn't even know how he managed to get to the top-most floor of his apartment complex. He didn't know why they'd let a green haired weirdo with bloodshot blue eyes up there at all. Heck, he could've sworn he looked so broken. But they gave him access and he did it. He was here.
Maybe he'd feel really guilty. Maybe pretty sorry as well. Heck, he couldn't even tell if he was feeling a whole lot lost or if he was just done. But there was one thing he was sure of — he'd never feel regret. At all.
After a moment of breathing in the city smog for one last time, he finally did what he planned to do in the first place. He took out his phone, staring at his screen, letting his eyes adjust to the light. Then he went to his contacts, immediately finding the name of the person he wanted to text so badly.
Mark .
Typing away, he said all he'd meant to. All the thank you 's and sorry 's he knew he owed the man. He was always there for him, had always been there for him, will always be there for him. And Jack wished he could do the same, but he's just been such a burden, some heavy weight to carry, and he knew he had to stop.
The emotions in his message were raw, fresh, and unpolished. He knew it was all a mess, filled with typos and blabber, but he also knew that he was a mess. A large one, bigger than the world that constrains him. Besides, did it all matter? Did he matter?
So he just clicked send, and then continued through all his contacts, sending them all the thank you 's and sorry 's. None of their messages compared to Mark's, though. None of theirs as lengthy, as messy, as honest .
And eventually, he sat in silence, phone dropped onto his side.
And eventually, he closed his eyes, and stood up.
—•—
He looked everywhere, trying hard to focus on finding Jack instead of letting the panic seep in. Trying hard to keep his head clear of alarm because Mark's panic won't help Jack. A frantic, flailing, messy man won't be of any use. Calmness was currently what he needed on his side.
So he tried hard to stay calm, thinking of every place the Irishman could be in right now. The text he sent was wordy, meaningful, and important to Mark, but it wasn't enough to hint where the hell he was. It wasn't enough to tell where Jack had decided to end his life.
So he continued to think, continued to come up with conclusions. He searched every corner of his brain for a clue. Every conversation, moment, memory he could muster and uncover. He tried, so hard, until eventually, he remembered.
Jack was afraid of heights.
—•—
Jack really should have chosen another building. Maybe Mark wouldn't have found him standing there — hair floppy and messed up by the wind, arms widely outstretched, his body ready to drop and fall — if he had went somewhere further and harder to find.
But he had no choice now but to stand there and hear Mark's pleas. He had no choice but to hear his friend's pain, just to add up to it all when he refuses to get down from his spot on the edge.
"Jack?" was what broke him from his trance in the first place, eyes suddenly snapping open, a little shudder running through his body at the sound of the deep voice.
He didn't respond, though. He stayed perfectly still, perfectly tense, hoping the man would leave him be. But knowing his friend, that was surely impossible.
"Jack?" Mark prompted again, this time louder, as he crept closer to the figure on the building's rim. He didn't have to ask twice to know it was Jack, having recognized the black shirt, black jeans, and green hair from a mile away, but he knew his friend was vulnerable. Who wouldn't be if they were going to jump to their death?
Still, Jack didn't respond, and Mark knew he had to do more than just calling his name in the darkness of the night.
"Jack, you can't do this. You still have so much ahead of you."
There was still no reply, just Jack's arms dropping back to his sides. Still, that wasn't enough for Mark.
"You have so many people willing to help. So many opportunities awaiting you. So many more memories to make."
Jack was so quiet. It was really starting to scare Mark.
"Jack, please. Say something."
Nothing.
And it hurt. It hurt Mark like hell. He really wanted to help his best friend. He really wanted to talk him down. But here they were, here Jack was, and the red haired man felt like there was nothing he could do.
But he really couldn't give up like that.
"Jack, please. Don't—" he wheezed, trying not to let his tears fall, keeping his voice steady for his friend.
"Don't d-do this."
He really couldn't help the little break in his voice. He really couldn't.
"Mark, m'sorry."
Jack finally said, and he sounded so tired, so done, so hopeless. Mark just wanted to make him happy. He wanted to give him the world, keep him safe, and let him know how important he really was.
How badly did Mark want him to know how important he was.
"Y-You're not supposed to apologize, Jack. You're supposed to get off the... the roof."
"That's why I'm sorry, Mark. I ain't coming down for ye. Not fer anyone."
Mark could tell Jack meant it. Mark just wished he didn't.
"I really am sorry."
Mark just stood there, afraid that rejecting or accepting the apology would send Jack flying. So he sealed his lips despite not wanting to. He stayed quiet, hoping that his awful silence was enough.
"Maybe I should've sent yer message last. I should've known you'd find me. Yer Mark! Of course ye found me."
The Irishman simply added after realizing his buddy wasn't going to say anything. He sounded like he was being humorous, and Mark didn't understand how he could still joke around at a serious time like this.
"Jack!" the American said, finally letting words escape his lips, his voice jumping a few octaves higher just like it did when he was scared, hoping his friend would understand the degree of the situation they stood in.
And Jack sighed, "H-How many times do I have te say sorry, Mark? I just... I can't. I've made it this far, I won't get off just because ye found me."
He really sounded broken. How did Mark miss it all this time?
"I-It's not like yer unimportant. Ye are very important te me, Markimoo," Jack used his silly, unwanted nickname. Mark suddenly wished he'd hear more of it, "I just can't take it anymore. I can't take all these... unwanted emotions. I know, I know. It's a permanent solution to a temporary problem. I've been saying that plenty. Have said it in my YouTube videos, too. And trust me, I believed it. But then, life just gets overwhelming. It gets tiring. And then ye just... give up ."
"Don't give up, Jackaboy," Mark decides to use the nickname too, " Please . For me. For your family. For the YouTube community. Don't give up."
"And if I do stay, where the hell will I go? I'm fuckin' lost. I'm lost and I don't fuckin' know why. I'm trapped, suffocating, slowly dying by just bein' alive! So, where the hell am I gonna go, Mark?"
The anger, depression, hopelessness, and exhaustion bubbled up and exploded as Jack uttered those words. He was right, he was now feeling guilty. So so sorry. Yet still, no regret. Not just yet.
Mark knew what to say, though. Because he knew what he was comforted by when he was down. He knew what his concrete certainty was in such a dark, busy, changing world. He knew exactly what Jack needed, because he needed it himself.
"You come home, Seán. You come home ."
—•—
"H-Home?" Jack asked, taken aback. He didn't expect that response. He didn't expect Mark to have an answer at all. He never had an answer himself, so his best friend actually replying to his question was a big shock.
"Home," was all Mark said, as if he was simply confirming and reiterating the statement he had just said.
"What?"
"Home. The one place where you feel happiest. The one place you know you can leave your heart in. The one place that can keep you secure and warm."
Jack didn't even know what to say. He knew he should take Mark seriously — he was trying to talk him down, damn it — but he couldn't help feel like the brown eyed man was just being silly at this point.
"Are ye just being all poetic now, Fischbach?"
Mark sighed, "Try to understand me, please. Just... come home?"
"And where the hell is that, then? What is— Where is my home?"
Jack had to ask, because maybe Mark had the answer to that question too.
"Home is..." Mark trailed off, suddenly out of words. He didn't know where Jack would find solitude, security, and warmth. He didn't know where or what Jack would put his soul in to leave it there forever.
But he knew where his own home was. And maybe by describing it, Jack would find his own.
"Home doesn't need to be a place. I mean, it could be one place. But it could also be one thing. Maybe one person . But whatever you know you'd give up everything for because you feel safe there, that's home. Whatever or wherever makes you feel okay— no, more than that. Wherever you feel complete and... happy . That's home."
"But what if I'm happy with death, huh? What if my home was twenty feet below?"
"Stupid," Mark teased, yet he sounded so lost. He was lost, because he really couldn't bear to lose his best friend, "You can't feel anything when you make decisions like this. You're numb, tired, sad, and broken, not happy or complete. Not safe, not at all."
"I just," Jack sighed, sitting down like he had been just earlier. The American took this as a good sign — the man was slowly giving in to coming back to life — and approached his friend slowly.
"I just want to know how to survive."
"Start slow. It's a process," the red haired man sat and let his feet dangle off. He sat next to the blue eyed, much to his shock and dismay.
"Mark, what—"
"Trust me, I'm not jumping off."
Jack just laughed. Genuine, yet hoarse, his exhaustion evident.
"But yeah, it's a process. Just like how most people start off in their parent's house, then in apartments, then finally, they have their own property to themselves."
"When will you stop with all these... metaphors?"
"Maybe when you finally find your home."
"I'm cringing, Mark."
"Glad to know you feel something besides depression now."
Jack couldn't help roll his eyes. Mark tried hard not to laugh in reply.
—•—
Jack looked down onto the tiny people, refusing to give in to fear.
He was up here for a reason, damn it. He really couldn't and shouldn't just chicken out now, he'd never forgive himself if he did. But he can't ignore the fact that he was going no where. He couldn't ignore the fact that Mark being there was the root cause.
He just couldn't help it. He just felt comforted, sitting at the highest peak of his apartment building with the person he didn't want to leave so badly, nothing but the distant sounds of cars honking and the drumming of his heart in the background.
And he couldn't help feel regret either.
He swore he wouldn't feel regret. Yet here he was, suddenly aware that he mattered, but still wanting his life to end. He was suddenly seeing the opportunities ahead of him, waiting for him to take them head on, yet he still craved for the wind blowing through his hair as he went crashing down.
He was suddenly aware of home , yet he didn't think he wanted to go there.
So he just sat in silence, thoughts ringing in his ears like static.
—•—
Mark looked at Jack, refusing to give in to fear.
He was quiet, staring down at the sight that would've made him afraid with content. It was as if he was at peace . Despite this calm he'd manage to obtain, though, he still had a look of confusion break into his expression every once in a while.
Mark really did feel like Jack has improved from his earlier state. He was silent, yes, but there wasn't that distant look anymore. He looked peaceful, for goodness sake, and Mark really couldn't help think that his eyes were just tricking him.
But he couldn't deny that they were still living through a serious situation. Heck, they were still on the top of this building.
"So..." the red haired man suddenly wanted to facepalm as the word escaped his lips. What a way to start a serious conversation.
"Y-Yeah?"
"What do you mean ' yeah ', Seán? Are you gonna make the right decision now?"
He really really didn't mean to snap.
"No? Yes? Maybe? Who the fuck even knows."
He didn't mean to snap, either.
"Sorry," Mark immediately remarked, "I'm just panicking. No big deal."
"I'm surprised yer even panicking at this rate," Jack said, somewhat amused at the fact that people cared. Somewhat amused at the fact that he believed people cared.
"You really should know that you're worth worrying over. Seriously. The text you sent really showed how much you felt like a waste of space, when that isn't even true."
"Thanks, I guess."
And for the second time around, Mark could tell Jack was feeling something besides his sadness.
—•—
Jack's cheeks felt hot. He was glad it was dark out, or else Mark would've easily noticed the blush on his pale face.
Who's to even tell he hasn't seen it.
But he didn't know if he regretted saying that much to his friend. Heck, he didn't know if he regret even saying anything to everyone. He knew he couldn't leave without a goodbye, but now that it felt like he might not even push through with the jump— wait.
Could it be that easy? Could he really be convinced to stay alive that fast?
No. He's going to push through with it. He made it this far, goddammit. He can't just let life win.
But he shouldn't think like this, either. He shouldn't be thirsting for death like he had been.
"No really, though," Mark suddenly said, snapping the blue eyed man awake and away from his train of thought, "That message meant so much to me, because not only had I known how much I truly meant to you — and trust me, you're appreciated as much, maybe more too — but I could also finally see all your demons, the full picture. And even if I'd seen this side of you, the side you'd rather hide forever, I can tell you this while believing in it 100% — you are worth it all. You're worth panicking over. Worth staying up with. Worth trying to fix. Worth coming home to."
Stop talking, Mark. You're making it hard.
The last line got Jack's attention. The last four words Mark had said. And even if he knew what the brown eyed man was trying to say, he needed the picture to be clear. He needed confirmation because it might have been just his head fucking with him.
"C-Coming home to?"
Mark just smiled, warm and honest, before talking, trying his best to be as raw as the Irishman had been, telling Jack he meant it all. He really did mean it all.
"Yes, Seán. You're my home."
—•—
He didn't expect a metaphor to save him, convince him life had a way of flipping over and becoming new. He really didn't expect something poetic to keep him alive.
But those few words were it.
They were all it took to keep him afloat, away from the sea of death that called him, speaking his name.
"Huh?" he still muttered, though, because he needed to hear more. What his friend had just said didn't quite feel real.
"I-I just wanna let you know that you're like my rock in this life. You're the one who keeps me sane, happy, safe, smiling every damn day. You mean everything to me, more than oxygen would, and if you... you do push through with this," Mark swallowed the lump in his throat, "t-then maybe it'll be my turn to be lost."
"Mark, I don't deserve—"
"Oh, what? You don't deserve to be my home? Well sucks to be you, Mr. Booper Dooper but you are and you can't do anything about it. I can't do anything about it either. As much as I hate having my emotions, my heart, my soul sorta controlled and affected by another being, I can't change the way I feel about you. I really really can't."
Jack was surprised, yet content, his body filled with a warmth he never thought he'd ever feel. He wished he could bottle up that sensation, then maybe travel through time and give it to his younger self early on in life. Maybe he wouldn't be here right now, on the ledge of his apartment building, wanting to die. Maybe he wouldn't have been so sad and depressed, lost and confused, troubled and torn. But maybe he wouldn't have realized how much he meant in this world — maybe Mark wouldn't have said the metaphor at all, and he wouldn't have been able to savor this moment like he was doing right now.
"You do really matter to me, you piece of leprechaun shit."
Mark added to his earlier statement, and soon, there it was.
A heartfelt laugh. A genuine smile. Blue eyes crinkled at the edges in happiness.
"Thank ye for that, then, ya imbacile. You... matter to me too. Ye always have and ye always will. I guess ye already knew that, seeing how messy the text I sent ye was."
"It was pretty messy, with all the typos."
"Shut up and leave me alone!"
Mark just laughed.
"But yeah, thank you. Really . For being the best human and friend I could ever have. For caring so much for me to make me the center of yer world. For having such a good heart that ye even climbed up here, choosing to stay when I wouldn't budge. For actually taking time to talk me down. For actually keeping me alive ."
There it was. The word that caught Mark's attention. The word that was so important and life changing, he couldn't help his smile.
Alive .
This was when Mark knew everything was going to be okay. He's saved his friend. He's kept him from dying.
"You're welcome, Seán. I mean it."
He's finally where he knew he truly belonged — in the presence of his favorite Irishman. He was finally home .