Work Text:
nov 14, 2020
3:24am
unus
hey.
i love you so much.
and i loved this dumb fucking channel and all the things i got to create because of it with you.
and this is such a shitty way of admitting romantic feelings that’ve been festering in me since i was probably 18, maybe 19 if you wanna push it.
and the way how things turned out due to covid and all, but.
wouldn’t want it any other way, you know?
partners in crime, accomplices in idiocy, you know how it goes.
don’t know what i’m saying.
i really hope you’re asleep.
i can’t seem to do that.
no, that’s too much. hold on. delete it before he sees. knowing mark he’s probably out like a smashed up lightbulb by now.
nov 14, 2020
3:24am
unus
hey.
[message deleted]
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thank you. for past last year.
better than nothing.
the suit’s been peeled off for a few hours now, shoved into a corner of ethan’s closet and will be forgotten about until he moves, probably. he’s still thinking of what he wants to do about that.
mark says to bury it. out of sight, out of mind works better for ethan. he’ll just ignore the flood of tears the next time he sees it all crumpled and wrinkled when he takes it out to pack it up, it’s fine.
and don’t get him started on the time capsule.
the phone’s plugged in, locked, carefully placed on a night stand. spencer’s in his crate. there’s no channel to look forward to and to wake up 20 minutes before he’s in charge to upload a video for and everything is back to how it was, before that one afternoon in a buffalo wild wings in the summer of a year that nobody really remembers anymore.
it’s a summer ethan doesn’t really remember at 3:27 in the morning.
emotions are stupid, this is stupid, mark is stupid, ethan is stupid for thinking something could work—
”shouldn’t you be asleep?”
ethan looks up from the obnoxiously blinding light of his laptop, squinting to mark in a silent response, and in attempt to try to make him out in the dark kitchen.
it’s easier when mark sits next to him. the warmth welcoming.
”can’t.”
”y’want some company in the meantime?”
ethan only hums in vague approval and mark immediately rests his head on his shoulder. the weight is grounding.
maybe one of mark’s hands ends up in ethan’s and only leaves him with one to finish last minute edits. last minute tweaks. the channel dies in a little less than 24 hours from now.
neither of them say anything about it. the hand thing, anyway.
”when i said i wanted to do a sleepover for the last video before shutdown i didn’t take into account that this could happen, y’know.”
there’s a weary sigh and ethan finally pulls his face away from the screen, turning it to look at his channel partner. the eye bags are obvious. ethan hopes the tear tracks aren’t.
”i’m not forcing you to be here, mark.”
”i want to be here.”
there’s a squeeze to their joined hands and ethan only turns back to the screen.
”and with how tense y’look i have a feeling i’m not alone in that sense.”
ethan hates how mark’s right 80% of the time.
and he must’ve not noticed mark finagling with what he was working on, because suddenly the light in front of him was gone and his chair was being nudged to face mark head on.
he doesn’t look up.
”..at least talk to me, nestor, c’mon. don’t have to make eye contact if you don’t want to.”
mark takes his open hand into his own and it takes just a gentle little swipe of his thumb for ethan to break, if the gross, teary sniffle isn’t anything to go by.
(mark says nothing as his fingers are locked in a death grip.)
”i’m—.. i’m scared.”
it’s whispered. tender and burning around the edges like an infected wound left open for too long.
”i’m scared of— what’s going to.. happen. after everything goes away. after we leave the studio and after we close the door behind us and after we step in our separate homes to our separate lives. all of that stuff.”
mark tries to squeeze back, ethan appreciates the effort.
”and— and, y’know, i feel like i don’t.. deserve this? i don’t deserve to be at the grand finale even though we already established way before now that i’m one half— one third of this.. whatever this thing is anymore. i feel like as soon as the channel dies people are gonna go on and forget that i was here. that i’m never gonna get to a place in my life where—.. where i’m satisfied with what i’ve accomplished because this fucking channel is where i peak.”
ethan ignores how mark rubs his hands slowly after he lets go of them to ward of the pain as he digs the heel of his palms into his own to try and stop whatever flood is coming out of them. it’s not much.
”and just—”
there’s a hiccup as ethan waves his hands around in a display of trying to get his emotions in order.
mark gets it.
”you feel like even if you’re still young you’ll never grow past from where you currently are?”
81% of the time. mark’s right 81% of the time.
ethan feels himself nod and mark’s arms around him immediately after, his hands scrabbling to grab onto white cotton and nose ducking into the junction where the neck meets the shoulder.
it feels like 20 seconds and 20 years simultaneously until mark carefully lifts them both off their chairs and get their feet on solid ground, though the sensation of the cool tiles only makes ethan hold on tighter.
“y’not gonna fall, luna meum, relax.”
the nickname gets the first chuckle out of ethan in maybe 3 hours. albeit it’s dry and hoarse from crying, but it’s still a chuckle.
”the fuck’s luna meum?”
”it’s latin, don’t worry about it.”
the next time ethan peels his eyes open, it’s a little past noon. twitter’s still crying over the livestream, most are asking where the new video is.
ethan doesn’t blame them, he’s usually scrambling to upload something by now.
he clears notifications left and right and drags himself out of bed to just get something moving in his body, wandering to find spencer when he stops in the middle of a hallway, maybe right by the staircase.
his thumb ghosting over the clear button for a text from mark from about half an hour ago.
nov 14, 2020
12:09pm
annus
i love you too
ethan pretends he didn’t see the message notifications before he deleted them in a desperate attempt to wrangle his feelings into a few words.
pretends that it’s platonic.
(it probably is.)