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It’s four in the afternoon when Mark wakes up in his childhood bedroom. He knows the time because the clock on his nightstand has comically huge numbers that glow bright blue. There’s a button he can push to change them to any color of the rainbow he wants, a gimmick that he used to play with often as a kid: red when he was angry about something, orange when he got a really good grade on a test, purple if one of his friends complimented him, green for when he was feeling hopeful about his current crush… And blue for when he felt sad. He almost never made the numbers blue when he was a kid. He had a pretty happy childhood with parents who doted on him and a best friend who lived nearby. He did fairly well in school, was always popular, excelled in his extracurriculars, and was generally loved by his teachers even though his antics probably should have been more annoying than charming. Once he figured out no one could resist his smile, most of his reasons for being sad went away.
But the first thing Mark did when he stumbled upstairs to his bedroom earlier today was change the numbers on that clock from white to blue. When his mom came in to bring him a cup of tea, she found him already in bed, staring at the clock. She set the tea down on the nightstand, sat down beside him, and combed her fingers through his hair the way she used to when he was little and couldn’t sleep.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” she said gently. “But I’m happy to listen if you want to.”
Mark hummed noncommittally, those numbers glowing brightly at him in the relative darkness of the shaded room. “Can we talk later, Mae?” he asked. “I want to sleep first.”
She didn’t say anything, just continued to pet his hair until he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer.
Napping was necessary after a night of not sleeping, but Mark kept waking up from bad dreams, reaching for someone who wasn’t there. It was only mildly comforting to find himself in his parents’ house instead of his apartment with some new treat left for him on the nightstand by his mom. He drank the tea and ate the cookies and tried to go back to sleep, eventually pulling the pillow over his head to block out the sound of the birds outside.
But now it’s four in the afternoon and Mark’s phone is flashing at him from where he plugged it in across the room. His heart skips a beat, then lodges in his throat — does Kit finally want to talk to him?
He nearly trips over his own feet in his haste to grab the phone. When he sees that it’s only a cascade of texts and missed calls from Wayu, his heart drops back into his chest. He trudges back over to the bed and sits up against the headboard to read Wayu’s messages. They’re mostly in the vein of asking Mark where he went and why he isn’t answering Wayu’s calls, then, after getting the rundown from Thanu about what happened, calling Mark nine shades of idiotic for turning his phone off and worrying his best friend.
Mark sighs and tosses his phone to the other side of the bed without bothering to reply.
“Hey, buddy.”
Mark looks up as his dad enters the room. He’s still wearing his suit from work, a little surprising considering he usually changes into his favorite jeans and a t-shirt as soon as he gets home. Mark’s mom follows on his heels with a worried smile, and Mark’s shoulders slump in understanding.
His dad grabs the desk chair and sits backwards on it to face the bed.
“How are you doing?” he asks. But Mark hears the unspoken questions behind it: Are you okay? Why are you here? What happened? It doesn’t help that his mom is coming over to sit beside him on the bed again, reaching up to straighten his sleep-tousled hair.
Mark glances between his parents. His mom hugged him when he first got home, but suddenly that’s not enough. He twists toward her, and she accepts his embrace without question, her arms warm and firm around his shoulders, hands gently patting his back.
“It’s okay,” she says softly. “Whatever it is, you can tell us.”
Somehow it’s easier to talk while hugging his mom and not looking at his dad. It’s almost like being a little kid again, confessing his bad deeds before bedtime, wondering if his parents will punish him for his missteps but ultimately feeling safe in the knowledge that they’ll love him no matter what. He ends up with his forehead on his mom’s shoulder while he recounts the fight he had with Kit, confessing his suspicion that it’s linked to something that happened between Kit and his parents, declaring his ultimate decision to give Kit the space he needs to work through things before he can really talk to Mark.
“It’s just hard to be apart from him,” he says quietly as he’s winding down. His mom’s hands smooth circles over his back; it’s so comforting that Mark almost wishes he could stay here forever.
“Of course it is,” his mom murmurs. “You love him. You want to be with him.”
“Mark.”
His dad’s voice has an edge to it that makes Mark’s spine stiffen. He finally lifts his head off his mom’s shoulder.
“What did you say about hurting Kit?” his dad asks. He’s sitting on the other side of the bed now, uncaring of the way his suit is wrinkling.
Mark withdraws back against the headboard, raising his knees to his chest and holding onto them with his hands. He really does feel like a guilty little kid right now, but he’s pretty sure he deserves whatever punishment might be coming.
“When we were arguing, I grabbed him,” Mark admits, speaking to his knees instead of to his parents. “I was holding him up against the car, and he had to tell me to let go.”
“Did you?” his mom asks. It’s a simple enough question and she asks without an inflection of judgment, but Mark still feels awful.
“Yes,” he says, lifting his eyes to meet hers. She looks back at him steadily, warmly, full of trust. “But I saw his wrist later.” He winces and turns to look at his dad. “I apologized and he said it was fine, but I know I hurt him. And later when we were still arguing, I thought about it again…”
Unlike his mom, his dad is frowning, brow knit tight with apprehension. Mark’s heart plummets into the acidic depths of his stomach.
“I didn’t do anything else.” Mark is on the verge of tears. “But I was so frustrated when he wouldn’t talk to me and I just… I just…” He drops his head to his knees and screws his eyes closed. “I feel horrible about it,” he whispers. “I wish I could take it back.”
There’s a tense silence. Mark is worried about what his parents are thinking, but that feeling pales in comparison to the guilt he’s laboring under. He knows he’s going to have to address this with his boyfriend once their other problems are solved, and he’s terrified to do it. Part of him is still wondering if this is why Kit won’t talk to him.
His mom finally breaks the silence. “As long as you know what you did was wrong. You’re not going to do it again, right?”
Mark makes a strangled sound. He looks up, but it’s his dad’s reaction he wants.
“I would never hurt Kit,” he says fiercely. “Not ever. Not…” He trails off, realizing he already did.
His dad reaches over to touch his mom’s arm, but he never takes his eyes off Mark. “Baby, can we have a moment alone?”
She glances between them, seems to come to some sort of conclusion, and nods. “I’ll be downstairs making dinner,” she says, getting up from the bed. She leans over and kisses Mark’s forehead before leaving the room.
Mark’s dad moves closer to him once his mom has closed the door.
“Talk to me,” he says simply.
Mark feels wild with the need to have someone else understand him. He crosses his legs and leans forward, the words pouring out.
“It’s just that I thought I would never hurt Kit, but I did, didn’t I? What if I do it again in the future? What if the whole reason he’s not talking to me right now is because of how I acted? I did something way worse than he did. I wouldn’t blame him if he never talked to me again.”
Any second now, he’s going to start crying and he won’t be able to stop.
His dad rests a hand on Mark’s knee — and something about his grip is grounding, a reminder that he’s not actually alone.
“If you take responsibility for what you did and stay conscious of your actions in the future then that’s the battle won right there, kiddo. I’ve seen how you and Kit are together. You would never deliberately hurt each other. So give him a chance to explain himself, and give yourself that same chance in return. You two may come out of this the better for it.”
He tightens his fingers on Mark’s knee for a moment.
“How about it? Can you do that?” He tilts his head and looks for all the world like he did fifteen years ago when he was asking five year old Mark if he could summon the courage to try sleeping without a night-light.
Mark manages a weak smile and a nod. “You’re probably right,” he croaks.
His dad squeezes his knee again before getting off the bed. “Of course, I’m right. I’m your dad. I know everything.” He winks as he straightens his suit jacket.
Mark breaks into a real smile at that.
His dad nods. “Anyway. You know your mom and I are happy to have you stay here as long as you need.” He gestures towards Mark’s phone. “Does Kit know you’re here?”
Mark blinks. He actually never told Kit where he was going; he was too focused on getting here before he chickened out and went back to the apartment instead. He scrambles for his phone.
“I’ll tell him now,” he says, feeling a little stupid.
“Good,” his dad says like it’s not a big deal. He moves toward the door. “You coming down to dinner?”
Mark pauses in the middle of composing a text to Kit in order to look at his dad. He loves his parents and appreciates them more than he’ll probably ever be able to tell them, but what he really wants right now is to be alone.
“I’m still tired,” he says. “I think I’ll sleep some more.”
“Okay, buddy,” his dad replies easily. “Come down when you’re hungry. We’ll save you something.”
“Thanks,” Mark says. His dad leaves, and he turns back to his phone to try and figure out exactly what to say to Kit. For once, he wants to be careful with his wording.
After he’s sent the text, he can’t help but wait for Kit to respond. He watches the message switch from ‘delivered’ to ‘read’, but nothing else happens. After ten minutes of scrolling other apps and checking back every thirty seconds to see if Kit is typing, Mark unhappily sets his phone aside. It’s probably better if he tries to nap some more anyway. He’s still tired, and now he’s even more emotionally wrung out to boot.
He curls himself around one of his pillows, pulls the blanket over his head, and shuts his eyes.
When he wakes up again, it’s because his mom is knocking on his door and calling his name. For an instant, Mark is so disoriented he almost tells her to give him five more minutes so he has a little longer before he has to go to school. And then he remembers why he is where he is and he rubs his eyes and sits up. The room is pitch-black aside from the eerie blue glow of the alarm clock.
“Come in,” he calls, fumbling for the cord on the bedside lamp.
His mom opens the door and hurries over to the closet just as Mark turns the lamp on.
“Get up,” she says, sounding strange and excited. “And change into some fresh clothes. You’ve been sleeping in those all day.” She starts throwing shirts on the bed that Mark hasn’t worn in years.
Mark stretches his arms until his back cracks. “I’ll just put pajamas on,” he complains, yawning. “Since it’s nighttime anyway.”
His mom spins toward him, more shirts clutched in her hands. “No, Mark. You’re going to want to get dressed properly.” She hands him the clothes. “Kit is downstairs waiting for you.”
“He’s what—?” Mark drops the shirts and flips the blankets back so he can scramble out of bed. His mom catches him before he can dart out the door.
“Mark, honey.” She hauls him back into the room. “This is an important moment for you two, right? It might be nice if you changed — and maybe washed your face first.” She brushes the corner of his mouth with her thumb and he rubs distractedly at what he knows is dried spit from sleeping with his mouth open.
“But Kit…” He looks mournfully at the door.
“He’s going to wait, don’t worry. I’ll make some tea and bring it to the living room so you two can talk. Okay?” She pushes him gently toward the closet. “Get dressed now. Don’t make him wait too long.”
He nods and she leaves, shutting the door behind her. Heartbeat thundering in his ears, Mark changes as quickly as possible before running into the bathroom and splashing water on his face. He eyes himself critically in the mirror for half a second, makes some hurried adjustments to his hair, and rushes back into his room for his phone. He didn’t miss any messages or calls from Kit, which means he came over entirely unannounced. Mark isn’t sure how he feels about that but…
He pauses for a moment. And then he leans over his nightstand and changes the color on his alarm clock to green. The glow in the room goes from sad to hopeful, and Mark’s heart lightens.
For the first time in way too long, he thinks everything will be okay.