Work Text:
What a shitty day it was turning out to be.
Jack groaned as he spun around in his chair, watching his walls rotate in a weird sort of way as his head began to swirl.
There was just something about this day that ground on him—and not in the good way, either. He felt like a mixture between sad and irritated all shaken up into one, big, uncomfortable Jack-smoothie. It was kinda gross.
He was trying to sort through said gross feelings when his phone buzzed, indicating a text. Jack grabbed the device and unlocked it, smiling as a picture of Mark greeted him, his hair twirled so horribly, it looked as if he'd been in a hurricane.
Look at this mess, the text read. Haircut, y/n?
Jack couldn't help but laugh as he texted back, No. I need that hair in my life. Makes me laugh too much.
He hadn't even set his phone down when Mark texted back, Do you need some laughter in your life?
The Irishman shrugged to himself, as if that would explain his answer, but then he felt silly. Mark couldn't even see him. Technology wasn't that advanced. He replied, Maybe. Been kind of a shit day, yknow
What's got you down?
Jack stopped himself from shrugging again, and instead replaced the gesture with various question marks in a reply text. Before Mark could get confused, he followed up, I don't really know what's wrong, I just feel bad.
There was a brief pause, and Jack set his phone down, continuing to spin in his chair. He folded his legs up and grabbed his desk, pushing off to where he spun around and around. By the time Mark replied again, he was a little dizzy. He squinted at his screen, forcing his eyes to focus on the text.
I know just the thing, Mark wrote. Put your pants on. I'll be over in 15.
Jack looked down and noted that yes, he was already wearing pants—at least today. Though they were pajama pants, he was still technically clothed. He couldn't help the sly remark of, You should follow your own advice before he went to his closet to put on a suitable pair of trousers for his boyfriend.
In about twenty minutes, a knock sounded on his apartment door and he grinned, trying not to rush over too eagerly as he opened the door. Mark returned the grin and said, “Lock up, let's go.”
Jack grabbed his shoes and stepped out, putting them on in the hall as he shut the door. “Where are we going?”
“You'll see,” Mark sang, before grabbing him by the wrist. “Come on.”
~~
He stared at his boyfriend critically as he handed him the cone.
“Okay, I'm officially lost,” Jack said, taking the ice cream. “What's this gonna do?”
“Literally no one,” Mark said, waving his own cone around. He looked totally and dead serious. “Can be sad eating this ice cream. It's worked every time—on me and other people—for years. I swear. It saved me a lot of mental breakdowns in college, honest. Go on, eat it. Cookie dough's the favorite, right?”
Jack's heart swelled a bit in his chest, tickled by the fact that Mark remembered such a small detail about him. But he was still skeptical that just eating ice cream could make him feel better. After all, it wasn't like he actually knew what had him down. Surely, ice cream couldn't just make it go away, could it? He eyed him carefully as he took a lick of it, and then another, and then another, and then another, and then--
Damn, this ice cream was fucking good.
Mark was smirking as he watched Jack eat in front of him. He pulled Jack by the wrist again, towards a bench. They were in the local park, about ten minutes outside of Jack's apartment. The sound of laughing children and barking dogs made for a pretty peaceful atmosphere, the soft breeze warm today. Jack sat down and ate the sugary treat hungrily as Mark took a seat next to him, eating his own at a more leisurely pace.
About halfway through the cone, Mark asked, “Soooo, how are you?” he asked, purposely drawing out the vowel.
The Irishman looked down at it, thought for a moment, and then sighed. Was this for real? “Okay. I admit it. I feel better.”
“My streak remains,” his boyfriend grinned. “I'm glad that worked. I don't know what else I would've done.”
“You coulda just attacked me with this mane of yours,” Jack snickered, reaching up to comb his fingers through Mark's hair. “That woulda had me laughing uncontrollably.”
Normally, this odd sort of familiarity would've had him blushing like crazy, stuttering over his words with a rapid heartbeat. But considering all the time he'd been spending with Mark recently, he felt way more comfortable about doing affectionate things. Especially since he and Mark were now, well, boyfriends.
“I'll remember that for next time,” Mark said with a wink, shaking his head. “That is if I don't cut it all off first.”
“I'd still love you if you were bald,” Jack replied without even thinking, and then stilled.
That was the first time he'd said I love you. He swallowed, wondering if Mark had caught it—he hoped he hadn't but then again, Jack was pretty loud. Internally, he was screaming at himself in utter horror. Mark didn't speak for a moment but then nodded, seemingly pleased with the words. “That's good to know. I'll still love you even if you're sad.”
It was such a simple set of words, but Jack couldn't help but smile like an utter goober as he went back to eating his ice cream, finishing the little bit of it he had left. He felt his toes curling in his shoes out of pure excitement, and rested his non-sticky hand beside him, occupying the space between them.
Jack bit back the urge to squeal out loud as Mark's strong fingers intertwined with his, squeezing gently.
He made a point to scoot a little closer. He glanced at Jack, as if asking for permission, and really, like Jack was going to tell him no.
To reassure him that it was totally fine, that he absolutely did not mind Mark being closer to him, he laid his head on his shoulder. Mark didn't seem to mind this, either.
“This is nice,” he said. “Really nice.”
“Yeah,” Jack mumbled, feeling as though a huge weight was being lifted from him. “It really is.”
What a lovely day it was turning out to be.