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Mark didn't know.
He really didn't know about his best friend's problems. He didn't know about the trapdoor of depression he's fell into. He didn't know about the sea of demons swarming in his head. He didn't know his home had been broken all along.
And he really didn't know what to do about it. He didn't know how to fix things at all. He didn't even know if he had a chance of changing his friend's fate. He wished he did. Oh, how he wished to save the Irishman from all his struggles. But he didn't know how to do that at all.
How was he going to patch up all the holes? How was he going to keep his home from crumbling? Was he enough to keep the blue eyed man breathing? Was he enough to keep the man afloat from the flood that has seemed to drown him?
He didn't know the answers to all the questions swarming his head.
Sadly, he wished that he did.
—•—
Jack didn't know.
He really didn't know if sending the message was gonna do any good. He didn't know if it would even matter at the end, this goodbye message — his suicide note. He didn't know if his best friend would be mad, or just plain sad. Maybe he'd be numb, or he might not even care at all.
And he really didn't know if he cared about any of that, now that it wouldn't matter. Nothing would matter once his body lies still, pale, bloody, and dead on the sidewalk 20 feet below him. Nothing would matter, as long as he finally came home.
But was death really where his heart belonged? Will he truly feel peace and comfort when he finally takes the leap? Was ending his life the right path to take? Is this really the way back home?
He didn't know the answers to all the questions swarming his head.
Sadly, he wished that he did.
—•—
He pushed away the fear like he had his messy green hair. He ignored it like he had ignored the way his heart was rapidly beating in his chest, a sign of a life he didn't want. He tried to keep all the pleasant, lovely, positive emotions he had once experienced — happiness, contentment, excitement — in his head like he had tried to keep his eyes clear and adjusted to the light of his screen that flashed:
Mark .
He knew he wanted to say something. Anything. Possibly everything, in fact. But he didn't know what exactly was it he wants the man to know. He didn't know what words to use or how to make proper sentences when his mind was as messy as dog poo.
But he couldn't use that as an excuse to skip his beloved friend from the list of people he wanted— no, had to say goodbye to.
So he typed away, his two thumbs dancing and creating a messy bundle of words, until eventually, all that he had left to do was hit send .
—•—
The ding — quiet but alarming — echoed in Mark's bedroom, waking him and snapping him free from his Tumblr-scrolling spree. He wasn't too busy, just checking out some fanart made specially for him, so he had the time to immediately pick up his phone from his bedside table and check who was messaging him at this hour of the night.
Jack .
He was happy to hear from the Irishman, even if it was already really late. His days and nights were always better when his friend talked to him. Jack was like the sun that brightened up his rainy days, so who would even be surprised if they learned that he didn't mind staying up for the man at all?
But little did Mark know that the night was going to take a sharp, scary, large turn. One that was very much life changing.
So he clicked on the notifcation blindly, heart warm and ready for a little happiness, when all he was about to receive was the opposite.
—•—
His eyes widened at the length of the message, now knowing that it was important — Jack wouldn't have sent such a wordy text if it wasn't urgent. So the brown eyed man sat up from his slouched position on the bed, cleared his head from the nonsense it regularly stored, and went on, reading every word.
"Marrk, you know how ever since i moved here from Ireland, ive been always on your side like a little pupper who wouldnt dare leave its own er? Well guess i have to say that im finally gonna leave. The pup is gonna be free now. Which brings us back to the main reasin why im rhere trxting you jn the first place. Im here to say a single word: goodbye. I know i know im being a little stupid and maybe youd kill and scold me for the icidocy im doing but im just really far gone the hellhole of sadness and nothigness that life is too much for me to bear. I cant do it anymore Madk, and im so sorry that i have to leave you in the process of ending my misery. You gotta know that you are important to me, though. Yoy are so so important that id honestly dp anything for hou. Youve endlessly distarcted me from my head and i am so so gratefu. Thank you for being my friend, myy idol, my refuge, and my happy little pill if uou myst call yourselfnthat. I know this is a meess and im really really sorry. Im really really sorry for being a burden, ane xtra weight you jave to carry too. Im sorry for beingg a pain in your asd all the time and a huge disappointing friend. Id make it up to you, if i actually haf more time. I want tp make it up to you, I really do bevause you drserve more than the loser i am as a buddy. You desecre the world and even a depressed kid who just wants to die cant do anything but give you these words. So im sorry if it isnt enough. Im sorry if im not enough. If ill never be enough. But i huess that wont eben matter now that my life is gonna end. Thanks for beong here throughout that time, even if ive been sich a trouble. Thank you for making this life a tad lot worthwhile at least. In the midsy of all the sick, cold things that have thrown me off the cliff, you have made memories for me to savor and I really hope thay even if I dont desevre a space in your heart and mind, I at least grt a single atom int here somewhere. Sadly, I gotta go now. I havr to find another place to be a loser in. I have tk find the place i truly belong in. And that is the afterlife. So, so long my good friend. Ive loved every moment weve shared together and trust me, i will neer forget you. None of this is your fault. Dont you dare blame yourself."
—•—
He knew the note was crap. He's reread it a couple times now that he's sent it, but like he's been reminding himself a couple of times now — it didn't matter now. It wouldn't matter once he's gone, soul adrift from the Earth. He wouldn't matter to Mark once he was inexistent. Right?
Why did he feel wrong?
Mark didn't care about him like he hopes. Heck, no once cares about him like he hopes. He really is just a waste of oxygen, a waste of space, a waste of time, a waste in general. He shouldn't have been born at all at this rate of disappointments and mistakes.
So he just shook his head free of the thoughts that haunted him everyday, enough to be able to compose more goodbye 's for the rest of the people who seemed to care, even in the slightest bit.
—•—
Mark wished he knew.
He wished he knew about the blue eyed man's conditions sooner. Maybe he wouldn't have even considered suicide if Mark had a way to keep him afloat earlier in their friendship. But it was well-hidden, and he wished Jack wasn't that great of an actor.
He wished he could do something. Do anything. Do everything. Maybe give him the whole world. Maybe make him realize his worth. Maybe stop the self deprecating thoughts that haunted his friend. He wished to be able to at least do something, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem.
But there was nothing. He couldn't do anything.
This wasn't the end, though. Mark shouldn't think it was the end. Heck, there was still some time left. If he just hurries up, he could still fix things. He could still keep Jack alive. He could still keep his home standing, saving it from the storm that was gonna kill it.
So he stood up, dressed up, and went thinking.
Because he desperately needed to bring Jack back home.
Gladly enough, he immediately knew where to go, his head giving him the answers he needed.
—•—
Jack wished he knew.
He wished he knew how to breathe, but he was suffocating. Maybe if he did know how to survive, then he wouldn't be here now. None of his emotions would have bubbled up, too hard to bear. None of his problems would have triggered the side of him that just lusted for blood and death.
He wished he could fix himself. He really did. He knew that despite how much he hated his life and the world, there were still things he'd miss. The memories, moments, conversations, sounds, colors, people. The things that were so small yet important, unnoticeable yet significant, hidden yet meaningful.
But here he still was, on the edge of his apartment building's roof.
This may have seemed like the end. The final moments in his life. And as much as he wanted to prolong this moment, he knew that if he did, he'd merely back out. And he couldn't do that to himself. He knew he wanted this, no matter how much his body screamed no.
So he just stood up, closed his eyes, and stopped thinking.
Because he desperately needed to go to the place that felt closest to a home.
Gladly enough, Mark was there to correct him, making it just in time.