Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mark crumpled the page in his hand, groaning as he dropped his head onto the desk. This was the third attempt today. Today he would give him one, today he had to give him one. After drafting and tossing letters for months on end, he had to do it.

Oliver was coming home today. Oliver was coming to stay with him. Today. 

He had everything planned. Write the letter, put it in the envelope he kept on his desk, and give it to Oliver. He remembered, from their texts, that Oliver liked pancakes, but hadn’t had any in a while. He’d remembered a cute coffee place in town, and memorized the way. That was the perfect place to give him the letter.

He sighed and sat back up, running a hand through his hair as he picked his pen back up. “Dear- No, fuck, that sounds stupid. Who uses ‘ dear’ anymore?” He threw his pen against the desk and stood up, taking a deep breath and pacing his office.

Other unsent drafts littered the floor, in various stages of destruction. He’d tried burning a couple, but he did like his new apartment, and preferred to not burn it down. Then he’d bought a paper shredder, but would always grab the letters before he lost them completely. Water hadn’t worked, either.

Every letter seemed to just get worse. First he'd tried a simple, 'Hi, I love you.' That letter had immediately been burned. It had only gone downhill from there. He could just never seem to figure out what he wanted to say. 

How do you tell one of your closest friends that you're in love with them?

Yeah, no, that still sounded super weird.

“How else do you start a letter?” He tugged at his hair, frustrated with himself. It shouldn’t be this hard. He just had to… Figure out what to say. And write it down. And give it to Oliver.

He let out another loud groan and fell back into his chair. Maybe a phone call…? No, absolutely not. Maybe in person? No. Worse. 

He grabbed his pen, tapping it against the blank page. “Hey, Oliver. Huh. That might work.” He scrawled it at the top of the page.

Now, for the actual letter.

Ugh.

“Hey, Oliver, it’s Mark.” He dropped his head back, exhaling. God, that was bad. He collected himself and tried again, the pen poised right over the line. “Hey, Oliver, I know I’ve literally never done this before and it’s really weird but I couldn’t handle doing this out loud and Caleb said people send love letters all the time.”

He grimaced. He hated the way ‘love letters’ sounded. It felt like he was a high school girl writing in his diary. No, he had to do this, and he had to do it well. Because there was a slight chance that this letter doubled as a goodbye, since he was probably about to ruin whatever kind of friendship they’d had. Oliver would probably find anyone else he could stay with. 

The pen was back on the paper. He inhaled, exhaled. He could do this. Okay. “Hey, Oliver,” he mumbled, and then started moving the pen.

I know this is really weird. Me giving you a letter. While we’re sitting across from each other. But I have something to tell you, and I figured this was the best way to say it. Because I’m not really good at this kind of thing, and this was the only way I could get it down without exploding, and it’s not like you’re reading it right now. I mean, maybe you are. But hopefully you’re not. So, uh, here goes?

I like you.

That sounds so stupid. I can’t believe I’m 32 and just wrote that. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I’m in love with you?

I mean, yeah. Yeah. I’m in love with you. And that’s weird, too, I guess. But it’s more true. I think it’s been a year. I don’t think I can just say like anymore.

So, uh. Get back to me? I mean, or don’t. If you pack up and leave without doing that, I’ll get it.

Mark.

Okay. Okay, he was done. It was written. Now to get it to Oliver.

He got up and folded the letter, putting it in his envelope. As he tucked it in, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the notification.

Ollie<3 : 8:28 p.m.

At the airport. Swing your car around.

He was here. He was here.

Mark swallowed. He could do this. Hopefully.

Mark opened the door, standing beside it to let Oliver in. The bell above their heads chimed. Oliver glanced up at it. “A bell. Quaint.” He smiled a little- Which made Mark melt, he’d missed that smile- and then looked at Mark as the door shut behind them. “What do you want? My treat, for the ride, and the room.”

“Just a black coffee.” He shrugged slightly. His hand was settled in his pocket, almost shaking with nerves and excitement, the envelope seeming to get warmer the longer it stayed there. 

Oliver looked scandalized at his request. “Are you serious? After all the waffle talk?” He seemed disgusted with Mark’s choice of black coffee over waffles.

It was almost endearing. Okay, admittedly, it was pretty endearing. Mark raised his hands in mock protest. “I’m limiting my sugar intake,” he said. That was true. It wasn’t like the waffles were for him.

“Then why would you suggest a waffle bar?” Oliver scoffed. Even absolutely disgusted with Mark, he looked cute. Maybe the scrunched-up nose helped- Like a bunny. Like a really judgmental bunny.

Because you love them. And I- “So I can smell it,” he said instead. God, that was stupid. What did that even mean? He sighed quietly to himself, regretting his life’s choices up to this point. The letter. He focused on the letter. “I’ll grab a table.”

Oliver shook his head. “No need,” he said, titling his head to the corner of the room. “We’re in the corner.”

Mark looked, and his heart sank. In the corner, a man was sitting at the table where Oliver was saying they would sit. Oliver had been planning to meet with someone else. 

He curled his fingers around the envelope and tried not to show the hurt on his face. He’d really thought, even just for a second, that something was finally going right. Maybe this was a sign, that it wasn't worth it after all. That he should just give up.

He let go of the now crumpled envelope and blinked back whatever was bubbling up, collecting himself. And then he got a better look at the man who ruined everything for him.

Chapter Text

Mark did give the man the benefit of the doubt. At least, he tried. For about five seconds, before he got up and stormed out, and not even Oliver could stop him from going.

He leaned against the wall outside, sinking to the concrete and dropping his head against the bricks. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the ruined envelope, unfolding it and tearing it open, his vision blurring as he opened the letter. The ink started spreading in the corner, a wet stain obscuring the greeting.

Was it raining?

No. No, he was crying. Fuck. He wiped his sleeve across his eyes and exhaled, closing his eyes and letting the letter fall to the sidewalk. It went like a leaf, and slid in the wind to his feet. 

He opened his eyes when he heard footsteps coming towards him. But he didn’t look up. Not until he saw the shoes in front of him, and the hand that reached down and picked up the discarded letter, the paper unfolding. He looked up, eyes widening. “Oliver—"

Oliver stopped looking at the letter when Mark said his name. “Oh, you dropped this?”

“Clearly– Can I please have that?” He winced as his voice cracked. He just hoped Oliver didn’t notice the tears.

“Who’s it for?” Oliver asked, handing it back. He didn’t seem like he’d noticed the state Mark was in. But Mark couldn’t exactly read his expression.

He tried to breathe. He shoved the letter back in his pocket, standing up and steadying himself against the wall. “That’s not– No one.” 

“Well, it’s clearly not for no one,” Oliver said, shaking his head slightly. And Mark could swear his eyes changed for a second.

Now. Do it now. Mark swallowed thickly, trying to find words. “It– It’s just—" Now was his chance. He could do it now, and it would be over. But nothing was ever that easy. “It’s Jackson!” Oh, no.

Oliver’s nose scrunched, tilting his glasses, in the way Mark loved. “Jackson?” He said incredulously, almost completely in sync with Mark’s brain. God damn it. “Wow. Huh.”

Mark frowned. “What?”

“Nothing,” Oliver said, shrugging slightly. His expression didn’t match, but it was hard to read. “Nothing, seriously. I’m just– Really? I mean, understandable. But he does not seem like your type of dude.”

Okay, what the hell did that mean? “My type?” Mark echoed, slightly offended. 

“I just can’t see it.” He held his hands up. “You seem like a guy who’d like, I don’t know, someone soft and cuddly and not dating your sister.”

“Okay, you don’t know him enough to say he’s not soft or cuddly,” Mark said. Why was he defending this? “And you have been gone for months, how do you even know about that?”

Oliver scoffed. “I have a phone. You tag your sister in every photo, it’s not that hard to find her Instagram, Byron.”

Something in Mark’s heart tugged painfully. He blinked. “That’s– Okay.” He sighed. “Fine. Fine, that was– That was stupid."

He looked down, avoiding Oliver's eyes. After a moment, he took a breath, and pulled the letter back out, holding it out. "I was going to give this to you today. Over waffles."

There was a terrifying moment of silence. Oliver took the letter, reading it as if he hadn’t just finished doing that. His eyes scanned over it twice, three times before he looked back at Mark. “Ah," he said, and then he paused, and then, "Did you want me to pass it on, or…?"

Mark wanted to hit him. "No, Oliver. The letter is for you. It was your name on it. You're the person I'm in love with." Every word sped up his heartbeat. He held his breath.

"Are you sure?" Oliver asked softly, after Mark went quiet.

"Am I– Jesus, Oliver. Yes. Fuck, yes, I'm sure. I've been sure. What, do you want an itemized list of reasons why I'm absolutely sure I'm in love with you?" The tension eased, just slightly.

Oliver smiled, just a bit, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. "I wouldn't complain," he said, his usual teasing tone back in his voice.

If Mark were a crueler man, he wouldn't have humored him, and gone back inside without answering. As it stood, he was not cruel, and instead, he tugged Oliver closer by his half-unzipped sweatshirt. "Your stupid, annoying quips that for some godforsaken reason, I find endearing."

"That's one," Oliver said, and Mark could have killed him.

Mark was about to say something else, and then stopped, letting go as realization washed over him. "Oh, my god. I didn't– I never asked if you– Fuck." He stepped back, face burning with humiliation. He hadn't considered… He'd hardly noticed that Oliver hadn't actually said anything back.

Oliver looked stunned for a second, confused at the sudden change of atmosphere. He frowned. "Mark?"

"Please tell me that you– that this isn't just me telling you that I love you and– and feeding your ego or whatever." His voice came out strained.

"Oh," was all Oliver said, and Mark's heart sank.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, chest tight. "I should– I should go, then."

"Mark, wait." He looked back up at him. Oliver's expression had changed, softening. He'd never seen him look at him like that. "I– I love you, too. I'm sorry, I thought– I'm not good at this, I thought you knew."

It felt almost too good to be true, and for a second Mark was scared he was about to wake up. But he didn't, and he'd never been more relieved. Oliver was still looking at him, smiling a little now, and he figured he should say something. He settled on, with a somewhat nervous laugh, "Do you want the rest of the list?"

Oliver kissed him then, leaning down and taking his face in his hands. Mark closed his eyes and pulled him closer, warmth flooding through him. He felt Oliver's hands slide up into his hair, and smiled.

Oliver pulled back first. "I'm sorry, I should've—"

Mark pulled him back and kissed him again to shut him up. It worked, Oliver's arms wrapping around his waist. And he'd never been happier.