Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

            Mark pushed the spare key into the lock and turned. When the door hit the opposite wall, it upset some kind of balance, and a basket of dirty clothes spilled on the floor.

            Mark’s brow furrowed. “The fuck?” he mumbled to himself. Why didn’t Jack do his laundry before he left?

            As he turned on the light and stepped inside, he realized that the laundry was just one of many problems. The overhead light illuminated what looked to him like a war scene: stray socks and boxers all over the floor, old wrappers and tags, crumbs and dirty dishes lining the surfaces. Further in, Mark could see that the couch was draped in blankets and old clothes, there were two or three empty chip bags on the coffee table, and the tables (and even a few chairs) were laden with cans of Coke and energy drinks, some of them still half-full.

            “It might be kinda messy,” Jack had said on the phone yesterday. “Sorry about that. I’m usually too busy to clean.”

            “Too busy, huh?” Mark had joked, doing sit-ups. Normally he wouldn’t pick up the phone while he exercised, but he and Jack had gotten close enough over the past few months that he didn’t mind if his friend heard his unattractive grunts and groans.

            “Okay, maybe I’m too lazy,” Jack had confessed, laughing.

            “Don’t worry about it, dude. Everyone’s a little messy.” Mark himself was a bit of a slob sometimes; as of late, his nightstand had become a veritable shrine to empty bottles of Gatorade.

            “Yeah, well, I’m more than a little. I really appreciate you doing this for me, though.”

            “It’s no problem, dude. What all do I need to do?”

            “Get my mail; water my plants; feed Bruiser. Keep the place sorta tidy until I get back, if you don’t mind.”

            “I don’t. It’s no problem.” It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do, he thought dryly.

            “Thank you so much. Sorry this is so last-notice. I’m literally packing right now.”

            “Wow, you weren’t kidding, huh?” Mark finished his set and sat up, gulping quickly on a bottle of Gatorade as he waited for the burning in his abs to subside. “Couldn’t they have given you some warning?”

            “That’s the thing about pregnancies, I guess. You never know when that baby’s gonna pop out.” He laughed. “At least I have frequent flyer miles.”

            “All right, well say hello to your nephew for me.” Mark leaned back against the sofa.

            “Believe me, I will! I’ll pay you for this when I get back. Thanks again!”

            “You don’t have to—” The line went dead, and Mark shrugged and set his phone down on the sofa cushions.

            That had been yesterday, and now Jack was probably already in Ireland congratulating his sister and her husband on their first baby. Meanwhile, Mark had had no idea he’d be balls-deep in such a big mess when he agreed to housesit last minute.

            He hadn’t known Jack for very long; just a few months, really. There weren’t many newcomers in the gaming development industry, and most of the PEWDIGames employees worked from home and didn’t know much about each other. However, Felix (Mark’s boss) tried to introduce people working in similar fields so that they could collaborate, usually over Skype since employees came from all over the world. But, to Mark’s surprise, the new audio engineer that Felix had hired lived in L.A.

            “I think it’d be pretty cool for you two to meet up in person,” he’d told Mark in an email. “Exchange notes, figure out where you wanna take the game. Would you mind doing that for me?”

            Mark had been skeptical; he was more of a solo worker and didn’t like collaboration, but the closer they got to deadline the more he realized how overworked and far behind he was. So, a few emails and a phone call later, he met Jack at Starbucks and was pleasantly surprised. Not only was he a talented sound artist, but he was funny, charismatic, and seemed to enjoy Mark’s company. Felix was happy to hear that they’d finished their part of the project with time to spare, and they continued meeting each other around town, sometimes to work and other times just to hang out. Mark wasn’t embarrassed to admit that Jack had quickly become one of his closest friends.

            They’d never visited each other’s houses, however, and Mark was starting to see why. He sighed. Jack had tried to warn him. His basic duties were to get mail, water some plants, and feed “Bruiser”, whoever that was. Mark hoped it didn’t bite.

            He laid the mail he’d gotten from the lobby on the table (Jack had given him the mailbox key, too) and filled the first clean cup he found with water for the plants. Jack had two ferns and a cactus, apparently, although they were a little hard to find among the rubble. It turned out Bruiser was a goldfish, swimming in a surprisingly well-kept tank next to Jack’s bed. Mark couldn’t help laughing as he shook fish flakes into his water. Of course that’s what Jack named him.

            Mark glanced around the wreckage of the house. Jack had said to “keep the place sorta tidy.” How the hell was he supposed to do that when it was already a pigsty?

            Well, Mark thought, it’s not like I’ve got anything going on today. PEWDIGames had just launched its most recent horror map on Steam, so it was up to the producers to boost sales while designers and engineers took a break, meaning that Mark had a surplus of time to spend contemplating how unfulfilling his life was. He shook the thought out of his head (it was a dark road he really tried not to go down) and went back to the kitchen, looting in the cabinets for empty trash bags.

            Why not clean up the apartment? It would be a pleasant surprise for Jack when he got back, and it saved Mark from taking (another) fetal-position shower when he got home.

            The wrappers and disposable containers were the first to go. Mark combed the entire house for empty bottles, chip bags, tags, and plastic wrap and filled two-and-a-half bags with what he was certain were garbage. Next were the dirty clothes: he refilled the hamper and put a cycle through Jack’s washer and dryer three times before the floor was visible again. (The dirty boxers he found were handled with a paper towel.)

            Then out came the vacuum to pulverize all of the crumbs and dust bunnies stuck in the carpet. For the tiled kitchen, he found a Swiffer in the closet (looking untouched) and mopped the floor. He did the dishes (of which there were plenty), dusted the hardwood, and spritzed a little disinfectant spray on the bathroom surfaces. (He didn’t clean his toilet though. Mark did have some boundaries.)

            When he got to his bedroom with a load of clean clothes to put away, he began opening drawers to put things away and found that Jack had no system of organization; rather than separating his clothing into drawers, it was apparent that he just threw his shirts and pants and socks together randomly.

            Mark sighed, but he wasn’t annoyed; if anything, cleaning Jack’s apartment had become a very welcome distraction. He began pulling out random clothing articles: a polo, jeans, cargos, polka dot boxers, single socks, a T-shirt, a button-up….

            Mark continued digging, vowing to fold and organize them all, when his hand hit paper. He rolled his eyes, expecting to find more trash, and pulled out the offender.

            His brow furrowed. It wasn’t trash, but rather a surprisingly well-kept notebook, embellished with a polar bear on the cover. Without thinking, Mark opened it up. In green Sharpie, the words Property of Jacksepticeye were printed in thick handwriting.

            “‘Jacksepticeye?’” Mark repeated aloud, puzzled. Was that some nickname of Jack’s? He glanced at the first page.

            February 8^th, 2014

            Dear Diary,

            Mark stopped, forcibly glancing away. This was Jack’s diary? Jack kept a diary? The idea was a little bit funny, because Jack hardly seemed the type to keep secrets. During their first meeting alone he’d gone into extensive detail about his history in audio engineering and even a little bit about his childhood.

            He slowly set the notebook back in the drawer. This was Jack’s personal information. He shouldn’t pry…still, the temptation was strong. Even as he pulled more clothes out of the drawer, his curiosity wouldn’t relent.

            There can’t be anything too personal in there, Mark rationalized as he began separating shirts from pants. He knew I was gonna be here and might find it…I’m sure he wouldn’t care if I just took one quick look.

            Even Mark knew it wasn’t much of an excuse, but he was too intrigued to go back now. He grabbed the notebook, climbed up onto the bed, and opened to the first page.

            February 8^th, 2014

            Dear Diary…

Chapter Text

            February 8^th, 2014,

            Dear Diary,

            Happy belated birthday to me!

            When Mum found out I hadn’t bought one of these already, she wouldn’t stop calling me until I bought one, which I thought was pretty ridiculous. She shouldn’t be calling me forcing me to do shit! I’m a grown-ass man! Well, I’m supposed to be, anyway. Sometimes I wonder if she even thinks I am.

            Dr. Turner said I should be keeping this diary for…some reason. Probably something to do with ~coping~. I don’t know, I wasn’t really paying attention. I don’t really pay much attention to her anymore. She’s kind of started repeating stuff. Maybe she’s giving up on me? God I hope so. I can fix myself. I don’t need her help. I was just fine on my own before she entered the picture.

            It’s entirely possible that she called Mum to tell her I haven’t been keeping the diary. I guess it makes sense, ‘cause it’s not like Mum is able to keep an eye on me anymore. That’s why I came to America in the first place. I don’t need her riding my ass, and I sure as hell don’t need Dr. Turner doing it either. The only person that should be riding me is Em. (Ha! I made a funny!)

            Anyway, that’s all I have to say, really…Dr. Turner, if you’re reading this, sorry for the insults. You said to be truthful though, so was that enough truth for you?

            I guess I’m done now.

            -Jack

            Mark furrowed his brow. “The hell’s Dr. Turner?” he wondered aloud, leaning back against the bed to get comfortable. It sounded like she might be a therapist. Why would Jack need to go to therapy, of all people? He was one of the most upbeat people Mark knew.

            He turned to the next page.

            February 11^th, 2014

            Dear Diary,

            So apparently that wasn’t what you wanted. I guess I’m supposed to ~reflect~ in this thing. Damn, Dr. Turner talks about reflection almost as much as coping. It’s like those are the only two things they taught her in school.

            What do you want me to reflect on, Turner? My childhood? My adulthood? Em? Never mind, you probably want all of those things. Don’t you know I’ve got shit to do? I don’t have time to be scribbling in a diary 24/7.

            I guess I should probably take this seriously, though, since I am paying her by the hour. That’d be a lot of wasted money if I didn’t turn out better.

            That’s the problem, though. What if I don’t want to be better? What if the person I am when I’m better is different than the person that I am now? Ugh, I hate changing, it’s scary. I just want to stay the way I am, is that so much to ask? Even if I’m broken, I’m still me.

            I’m too tired for this. I’ll go to bed and write more tomorrow.

            February 13^th, 2014,

            Dear Diary,

            I got a call from Mum asking if I was writing in the diary now. I am, so I said yes, but she wanted to know how many entries, and I’m such a piss-poor liar, so I got a lecture and now I’m writing more. Seems to me that 24-year-old men shouldn’t be getting lectures, but what the hell, Mum? Why not keep controlling my life, even when I’m a trillion miles away???

            Oh well. I guess I should start writing some serious stuff in here, if I ever want Dr. Turner to let me stop writing in this stupid thing. Should I start with Mum? I’ll start with Mum.

            It was at that moment that Mark realized that this diary was very personal, and he should probably put it down. But even before he closed it, he felt his entire being burning with curiosity too strong to ignore. He bit his lip, resigned himself to having to go to hell, and darted to the next paragraph.

            Mum, you’re not a bad lady, honest. You just never let me be myself. And it wasn’t that you never supported me or gave a shit about me, but it’s that I always felt like I was below your expectations…I wasn’t great in school, I didn’t want to go into the family business, I never held down a girlfriend for more than a month…the list goes on. I was never social, I never had as many friends as you wanted me to have…I don’t know. I don’t know if you meant anything by it, Mum, but it just felt like every time you asked about my life you didn’t get the answer you wanted.

            That’s why I came to America. Well, that, and I thought that I’d have an easier time finding work. But God, finding a job in game development is hard as balls! I didn’t really believe my professors when they told me it would be. I guess I thought I’d get hired on pure talent alone. But everybody has talent; it’s connections that you need, and where the hell am I going to get those? I’m just some Irish smartass who thought he could sail over and have the American dream. As if! That dream’s been a lie ever since this tank of a country was founded.

            Shit, maybe that got a little too dark. I hope Dr. Turner doesn’t put me on more medication. It always makes me so goddamn woozy, I hate it. And it’s not like they make the nightmares go away.

            Unloving mother? Unemployment? Medication? Nightmares? The further Mark read, the more surprised he was. He didn’t remember Jack telling him any of this when they’d talked on the many occasions before.

            Of course, it’s not like Mark had been exceptionally eager to lay bare all of his personal secrets. He gulped, thinking of all the things he kept private; not just from Jack, but from everyone. Some things were better left unsaid.

            Maybe that’s why you should put the diary down, his conscience snapped, but Mark had long since disregarded his respect for privacy and there was no point in stopping now. He skipped ahead a few pages.

            April 10^th, 2014

            Dear Diary,

            The good news: I finally got a job, meaning Mum can stop hold my fucking allowance over my head every time she wants me to do something.

            The bad news: It’s at a fucking hotel.

            I guess I could’ve sponged off my parents for a couple more months, but really, the money took forever to get here anyway. And besides, like I said, it gave Mum fuel to control my life. I can’t remember the last time she called and didn’t say, “You’d better do (whatever) or I’ll cut you off!”

            But it’s not in audio engineering, which kind of renders my major fucking useless. I guess that’s what I get for pursuing the arts. Everyone knows humanities majors starve. I just didn’t believe my professors. I didn’t believe anybody who told me my dreams wouldn’t come true…that’s part of the problem with today’s society, I guess. We tell our kids that they’re special, that they’re talented, and that all their dreams will come true if they just ~believe~ hard enough. Believing just isn’t fucking enough. Ask Santa Claus.

            Ugh, I’m a walking cliché. “As soon as life takes a turn for the worse, blame society, why don’tcha?!”

            I have the right to be cliché, though. Look at me! I’m a fucking maid now! They’d better just give me the little black dress and duster to go with it. Now I get to clean toilets full of strangers’ shit, and then I can come home and write about how piss-poor my emo life is in this stupid, therapist-ordered diary. God, my life is pathetic.

            Will I ever be happy again? God, do I even want to be? If Em’s not here to make me happy, then what’s the point?

            “Damn, this is depressing,” Mark muttered to himself. Who knew Jack was such a downer? He always seemed so…lively. Mark remembered meeting him and wondering why he couldn’t have that kind of energy. It took him hours to get anywhere close to Jack’s charisma level, and even then he paled in comparison.

            Mark flipped to the next page, but right then, his watch beeped. He was startled, and he stared at the alarm almost in fear. It had been a long time since he needed the alarm. Usually he spent five or ten minutes staring at it and waiting for it to go off.

            He stood up, stretched, and tossed the diary back into the drawer. He shrugged at the disarray of the clothes; it wasn’t like Jack was coming back anytime soon, and he’d be here tomorrow to feed Bruiser and water the plants anyway, so he could finish what he’d started then. Besides, he thought broodingly, where the hell else am I gonna be?

            As he walked out, however, he could already feel the nagging temptation to continue in the diary pulling at him. He hesitated in the doorway, swallowing. This was his chance to put it away forever. He was prying into Jack’s personal life, and he’d feel extremely violated if anyone did that to him.

            Still, he couldn’t do it. Maybe it was in his evil nature, or maybe it was because it was time to take another pill. But, with a sigh, he spun around, tucked the diary under his arm, and speed-walked out of the apartment as if afraid to get caught.

Chapter Text

            Mark was surprised by how late it was. By the time he got home, nuked a microwave dinner, and swallowed a pill, it was almost nine o’clock. Normally that would mean binge-watching Criminal Minds or playing a hentai game to focus on something other than his own stupid thoughts, but now he was able to turn on the radio, lock his bedroom door (irrationally, he knew, but it made him feel better), and lay on the bed to read the diary that he…stole…from…Jack’s…apartment.

            The more he stared at the front cover, the sicker to his stomach he felt. He dropped it by his side and buried his face in his hands. “God, what am I doing?” he groaned gutturally. He’d really sunk to a new low now. The first good friend he’d made in almost a year, and what did he do? He invaded their house and stole a piece of their personal property.

            Jack would be pissed if he found out. Anyone would be pissed if they found out something like this happened to them. If Mark kept a diary (not that he did) and someone read it from cover to cover, he’d probably bash their teeth in.

            Still…it wasn’t as if he didn’t already hate himself. What was one more reason to add to the pile? And besides, he’d already read too much, and Jack would be pissed no matter what at this point. It was just stupid not to go all in.

            Mark flipped open to a random page.

            March 14^th, 2014,

            Dear Diary,

            I miss university. I miss the people, I miss the dorms, I miss the stupid parties, and I even miss the fucking classes. They gave me some sense of belonging, which is something I never had at home. (Not that I mean anything by it, Mum. We’ve already been over this.) I didn’t have to worry about appeasing the people there. I could do whatever the fuck I wanted, and if someone didn’t like it I didn’t have to change it. I’ve never had that before.

            The only thing I don’t miss are the professors, especially Mr. McNab. God, that man was a fucking pimple on Satan’s arse. He taught the majority of the advanced audio engineering courses, and goddamn did he make me feel like I didn’t belong there. And he wasn’t subtle about it; at least Mum had the decency not to tell me I was a disappointment to my face.

            But this guy, whoa boy, he was in a league all his own. Don’t get me wrong, he was a dickweed to everyone in his classes; I don’t know, I might’ve been imagining it, but I always felt like he attacked me personally. I was probably imagining it, but it still pissed me off. He’d yell at me in front of the whole class for answering questions wrong or refusing to answer them at all. He wouldn’t help any of us with our assignments. It’s like he wanted us to fail.

            It was probably because he was depressed and his wife treated him like shit (or at least that’s what he said every single fucking day whenever something pissed him off in class). But he just made me feel like shit for everything I did. He made me seriously consider switching my major just so that I didn’t have to have him in class anymore. THAT’S how bad it was.

            But I stuck with it, because I was young and stubborn and thought that if I could just survive this bullshit, I’d be able to survive anything.

            Fat chance. Here I am, three years later, keeping a motherfucking therapy diary.

            Mark frowned. This diary was so sad. Was Jack exaggerating at all, or was this really his state of mind? For his sake, Mark hoped it was the former. He wouldn’t wish constant sadness on anyone. It was such a shitty state of being.

            He skipped ahead a few pages, wanting to read more of March.

            March 20^th, 2014

            Dear Diary,

            I realize that this diary is probably turning into the whiniest piece of literature ever written by humans.

            Mark raised his eyebrows and shrugged. He wasn’t wrong.

            I realize that this diary is probably turning into the whiniest piece of literature ever written by humans. So I figured I should maybe write a happy memory in here, just so that Dr. Turner doesn’t think I’m suicidal because I am happy sometimes. It’s just hard to feel that way nowadays. I don’t know why; hell, that’s why I got a fucking therapist, right? Look where that’s gotten me.

            Anyway, happy memory. My happiest memories are probably with my sister. She’s always been so kind to me. She treated me nice and sweet and she always loved me. As a kid she was the one that introduced me to video games. Sonic 3D Blast on the Sega Genesis was our shit! God, we’d spend hours playing that fucking game. It was so much fun back then. I died a lot because I was so little, but she was always patient with me. She liked watching me play. She liked listening to me chatter. Mum always told me to quiet down.

            Sometimes, when Dad worked late and Mum was busy with my other siblings, my sister would be the one to read me bedtime stories. After a while I kind of thought she did a better job than Mum. I liked the voices she used to do. I don’t know, she just seemed to have more fun with it. Mum always acted like it was a chore. I know she worked late and she was probably tired as hell by the time she had to read to me, but as a kid I just thought she hated doing it and so it wasn’t fun for either of us. That’s why I liked having her do it more, because she never acted like it was boring or tiring or an imposition. She was always happy to do it, and that made all the difference.

            I really miss my sister. I wish I hadn’t had to leave Ireland, or that she could’ve at least come with me. But I had to leave, and she knew why, and Mum knew why. Everyone knew why, even if they didn’t all like it. And for a while it was worth it, because I had plenty of money saved up, and I had Em.

            But now all of that’s gone, and I really just wish she was here. She’d make me feel better. She always did. She always does….

            Mark was really starting to wonder who “Em” was. Emily? Emma? Emery? Was she a former girlfriend, or somebody Jack had had a crush on? Whoever she was, it didn’t sound like things ended well with her. His heart ached for the situation; clearly, he’d had deep feelings for her. Every other paragraph mentioned her in some way.

            At least this was a nice entry, because Mark was getting very worried. It sure sounded like Jack had a lot of unresolved issues…of course, he was reading entries from the March 2014. Hopefully in the year-and-a-half that had passed since then he’d been able to improve his emotional state.

            He was about to read another entry when his phone pinged, and Mark jumped out of his skin. He froze, staring at the screen with a pounding heart. Wow, look at you, guilty conscience, a part of him thought haughtily. He shoved the voice away.

            When he picked up the screen, he realized it was an email from Felix.

            <<New project! >>it read. <<New immersion horror game; possible deal made with Oculus for compatibility and even advertisement. I know we’re fresh out of a release, but this is big. I need all hands on deck. Email me if you can start right away.>>

            Mark sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. Normally he’d be eager to begin a new project. It provided new distractions, not to mention new opportunities to drown his liver in Red Bull while he and Jack pulled all-nighters on video chat swapping audio files. But he wasn’t particularly thrilled with the idea of starting a brand new project without any help. He was startled to realize how dependent he’d become on Jack’s input; just a few months ago he would’ve cringed at the idea of collaborating with anyone.

            Still, a job was a job, and Mark had rent to pay. He emailed Felix a confirmation on the project, hoping it would be a few hours before he responded with the guidelines of what he wanted from him.

            Mark glanced back at the diary, but now he felt completely sapped of energy. Besides, the less he read of this diary, the better off he’d be. Even though it was hard, he set it aside, switched off his light, rolled over, and stared glumly at the wall until he couldn’t hold his eyes open anymore.

Chapter Text

            Mark slept in until noon, made himself a breakfast of Cheez-Its and Red Bull, and set to work. He read over Felix’s parameters on the game’s new sound, looked over a few sketches that the animation team had cooked up last night, and started wading through his huge audio database for unsettling monster sounds. The enemies were tall and gaunt, with eight eyes and tentacles spilling from their mouths like intestines. Mark spent the next few hours splicing together a mixture of growling, hissing, and something wet and heavy hitting pavement and added filters until it sounded like a sinister wail.

            He shrugged. It was sufficiently creepy. Jack might’ve been able to do a better job. He emailed the file to Felix with a footnote that he was waiting on his partner’s return before committing to a final draft and sent it his way.

            When he looked at the clock, he realized it was five p.m. “Jeez,” he mumbled, burying his face in his hands. He felt so lonely, surrounded by his empty energy drink cans and takeout containers. His face felt scratchy and unshaven, and his hair was a horrible mess. He couldn’t even remember if he’d brushed his teeth today.

            Someday, he remembered his mother saying the last time she visited, you’re going to look around and realize that there’s no one here. You pushed us all away, and you’re going to have to live with that.

            Mark groaned. He didn’t have time for this right now. He needed a shower. Fresh laundry. A cleaner apartment. A better diet. Some fucking friends. He tried to remember when the last time he tried to contact anybody other than Jack or Felix was and came up short. When had he heard last from his mom, or his brother? When was the last time he’d actually made the effort to talk to them himself? How could he expect them to keep chasing after him if he gave them no reason to?

            The idea of calling his mother made Mark’s stomach clench too much to go through with it. Instead, he stood up, stretched, closed his laptop, and went into the shower. He shampooed his hair and washed himself, staring down at his torso with disgust. The workouts still weren’t doing him much good, or maybe they were and he was just expecting too much too fast. Back in the good old days he’d had the body of a Greek god, but a lot of time had passed since he was quarterback for the high school football team. He’d been on top of the world back then: a perfect GPA, first place in regionals two years running, men and women alike throwing themselves at his feet. All of the friends he’d known and loved had gone on to become such bigger and better things: doctors, teachers, musicians, missionaries, parents. And where was Mark? Why hadn’t he responded to any of his former friends’ Facebook messages? Because he was ashamed?

            He stepped out of the shower and was caught by his reflection, which stared back at him through red-rimmed eyes and a scruffy jaw that bordered on caveman.

            Ashamed was certainly one way of putting it.

* * *

            Mark forced himself to pack the diary. He was going to return it one way or another, even if it physically pained him to do so. On the drive over, he kept stealing glances at it, even though he wanted to pretend it wasn’t even there.

            Upon entering, he set the bills on the table, watered the ferns (the cactus was still plenty watered), and sprinkled some fish flakes in Bruiser’s tank. He watched the goldfish for a few minutes: it swam up, glistening brightly in the sun, and gulped the multicolored flakes whole before swimming back down to the bottom. He darted in and out of a little fish house, looking everywhere with wide, glassy eyes. Mark wondered what it was like to be a goldfish: to have few tasks, no company, and no exits from their homes.

            Mark glanced down at his hands, sitting in his lap, and clenched them into fists.

            “I’m not a goldfish,” he mumbled to himself. The words didn’t resonate. “I’m not a goldfish!”

            Now he was screaming to himself. That was good. That was a great fucking sign.

            Sighing, Mark turned his attention to the laundry pile still sitting on the floor. He sat cross-legged in front of it and finished sorting Jack’s three drawers, designating a shirt, pants, and sock drawer once he was done. He put them away and looked around the room, feeling satisfied. He’d done a good job of cleaning up the place. Hopefully Jack wouldn’t mind.

            Mark realized he’d left the diary in the car and went out to go get it, bringing it back into the bedroom and setting it in the drawer. He stared at it pensively, even though he knew the longer he hesitated the harder it would be to part with it. The polar bear on the cover met his eyes, and Mark couldn’t tell if his gaze was lonely or accusatory.

            He’d only read the first third of the diary…2014 was so long ago…things had probably changed for Jack, hadn’t they? He certainly didn’t work in a hotel anymore, and maybe he wasn’t seeing Dr. Turner any longer. Worry began to form in Mark’s gut, sitting in it like a rock. Jack hadn’t told him any of the things he’d written in here, and it was doubtful that he ever would. What if Jack was still messed up? What if he needed help in other areas?

            What if Mark was actually hurting him by not trying to find out more?

            Mark sat in the living room on Jack’s newly-cleared sofa with the notebook, thumbing through the pages. He decided to skip ahead a few months to see how things evolved.

            June 1^st, 2014

            Dear Diary,

            Yesterday was my last day seeing Dr. Turner. Mum gave me permission to stop, by which I mean she promised to stop constantly nagging me to stop by the office. Whether that’s because I’m finally “cured” by her standards or because she was sick of lending me money to pay the healthcare bills is beyond me. (But really, Mum, being a maid barely even covers the cost of rent. How could you have possibly expected me to keep this shit up?)

            Dr. Turner seemed worried to see me go. We haven’t really made as much progress as she promised we would, and I know that’s probably my fault. I didn’t want to go through with the treatments, and I never finished her prescriptions. But who can blame me? They made me feel all foggy, and they only made the dreams weirder.

            Mark gulped. Damn, that hit far too close to home. He hadn’t taken his pill yet today, either. He tugged uncomfortably on his watch, set to beep at him lest he forget to swallow his medicine like a good little boy, and tried not to think about the other mementos that the watch hid underneath the wrist strap.

            I’ve decided to go ahead and keep writing this diary though. I don’t know, it gives me something to be responsible for, which is sometimes the only thing that makes me wanna get out of bed in the mornings. That’s why I have the plants and the goldfish, anyway, which were more suggestions of Turner’s. They’re petty things, but at least they make it harder for me to rationalize staying in bed for fourteen hours straight.

            June 3^rd, 2014

            Dear Diary,

            So, since I’m not going to be showing this diary to Dr. Turner anymore, I guess I can finally tell the full story of Em.

            I’ll be honest: this was kind of brought on by the fact that I just got a call from my sister, who’s apparently engaged now. And I am happy for her, honestly. The guy is super nice and funny and good-looking and I know they’ll be happy together. I guess that’s what stings, if I’m being honest, which makes me such a horrible person. What else is new?

            Anyway, so Em.

            Mark sat up straighter on the couch. Finally, some answers on this girl.

            I met Em in my second year of university, and I still remember the conversation perfectly, because I knew even then that it would change my whole life. I know that sounds stupidly cheesy, and it is, but I swear to God it’s true.

            I was studying in the library, and Em walked up to me wearing this super tight white tank top and skinny jeans. It looked like some kind of a cross between workout clothes and something you’d wear to a bar, and I never would’ve felt confident in it, but Em pulled it off perfectly. It complimented every bump and curve, and I’ll be damned if I didn’t almost get hard on the spot.

            Mark gulped. Damn, Em must’ve been a real looker. A white tank top that complimented every bump and curve? He looked down at himself in his own dumpy black shirt and faded jeans and sighed.

            The conversation went something like this:

            “Are you almost done with that book?”

            “Uh…I don’t know yet, depends how fast I read.” (I was so fucking nervous. Em was already shooting me with the thousand-kilowatt smile.)

            “Okay, well how fast do you read then?”

            “I guess, like, uh, I don’t know, two sentences a minute? What kind of question is that?” (I, being the total dumbass that I am, couldn’t tell that I was being flirted with, so I got rude. I’m surprised Em didn’t give up on me right then and there.)

            “I don’t know, a valid one? I need that book to study too and I’ve been waiting on it for two weeks.”

            “Oh, really? I’m sorry I’ve been hogging it. I know I’m gonna fail this test no matter what I do.”

            “Is it O’Brian’s final?”

            “Yeah, how’d you know?”

            “’Cause I have him for class too. I wish he gave just one fucking multiple-choice.”

            “Ha! Same here. I’m barely pulling a D in that class. I wish I could just skip my fucking general studies.”

            “Me too, I’m ready to just get the fuck started on my music. What’re you studying?”

            “Audio engineering. I wanna go into gaming.”

            “You’re a nerd, huh? I never would’ve guessed it.”

            “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

            “I don’t know. I guess you’re too cute to be a geek.”

            BAM. That did it. Thank God I was sitting at a table, or else my tent would’ve been way to visible. Em was still smiling at me, that thousand-kilowatt grinning bitch. That smile made my legs feel like jelly every single time I saw it. I never got used to it; it was too powerful. Toothpaste models looked like hobos compared to Em’s gorgeous mouth.

            “Are you…are you hitting on me?” (Because I’m Captain Fucking Clueless and couldn’t believe that someone so stunning actually had an interest in me.)

            “Yes, I am. You’re really cute, and also I need that book and am not above using my sex appeal to get it back.”

            “Well you sure have plenty of appeal to spare.” (After I said that, I wanted to punch myself in the balls, but Em laughed.)

            “Well thanks, um…what’s your name?”

            “Sean, but most people call me Jack.”

            “Well hi Jack. I’m Emmett.”

            Mark’s eyes widened to about three times their size. Oh. Oh. That did certainly change things. Emmett?!

            I would’ve failed that damn final if Em hadn’t been there to help me study. He was so good at focusing, and I was good at focusing on him. I have no idea what made him attracted to me in the first place. I certainly wasn’t charming, or interesting, and no matter what he said I still don’t think he found me attractive. Maybe he just liked being the attractive one in the relationship (and goddamn, he sure was, with his thick dark hair and bone-liquefying grin).

            I knew that I loved having him around though. He owned three guitars and could sing like a honey-voiced angel. And for some reason that only God knows, he was attracted to me.

            Mark set the diary aside, his stomach knotting in ways he didn’t fully understand. So Jack had had a boyfriend. Jack had had a boyfriend. How had Mark been so blind for so long? Jack was gay—or bi, who knew? Sexuality had never been a topic of conversation. He’d never thought to ask about it.

            So what had happened with Emmett to make Jack so sad? Mark suspected they’d either broken up or he’d died. Neither option boded well for Jack’s mental state. He must’ve really been in love with him.

            Mark’s stomach twisted again, and he was startled to find that he felt like he was on the verge of vomiting. Maybe that was enough diary for one night. Maybe he was having a physical reaction to how wrong it was to pry in Jack’s personal affairs. Or maybe he was…nah, that couldn’t be it. Mark pushed the thought away.

            He sat up, put the drawers away, and left the diary on the bed. When he came back tomorrow he’d make the decision whether to forge on or put it away for good, but tonight it seemed like too much for him. His watch began to beep on his wrist, and he nodded a little to himself. Time to go home. Time to take his pills. Time to shave his face. Time to watch Netflix. Time to stare at his phone and wonder if anybody would bother to call, or if he’d finally reached the point where everyone stopped trying.

Chapter Text

            At five o’clock in the morning, Mark got a phone call.

            He hadn’t silenced his phone (it never rang anyway) or even turned down the volume, so the sudden full blasting of the weird funky music he’d set at his ringtone almost gave him a heart attack in the middle of the night.

            With his heart pounding and his sleep-addled mind struggling to catch up, Mark didn’t even think to check the caller ID. He held his phone up to his face and mumbled a mostly unintelligible “Hello?”

            “Hey, buddy! How’re you?” an extremely chipper voice said on the other end of the phone.

            Mark rubbed his eyes. He was slow to catch up. “Who…who is this?”

            “It’s Jack, dummy! How many people with an Irish accent do you know?”

            “Oh…oh! Hey! Hey, Jack, sorry! I, uh…I was asleep, my bad.” Mark sat up, stretching, trying to get some blood flow in his sluggish brain.

            “You were? Oh, God, you’re right, the timezone! I completely forgot! I’m sorry.”

            “Nah, man, it’s okay. So what’s up? How’s your sister?”

            “She’s great! They named the baby Rose. She’s so cute!” Jack sounded absolutely over the moon, and Mark couldn’t help grinning like a fool at his enthusiasm. Jack had always had a way of being so over the top with his own emotions that they spilled into other people, even at five in the morning.

            “That’s awesome! So how do you feel being an uncle?”

            “It’s so crazy! I feel like I need to start smokin’ cigars or somethin’.” He laughed. “And maybe get myself a trophy wife to spoil her like a good auntie should.”

            Wouldn’t you prefer a trophy husband? Mark thought, and barely stopped himself from blurting it out loud.

            He remembered Emmett, and the diary, and oh God holy shit he’d been reading Jack’s diary and Jack was calling him right this very second. Mark gulped audibly while his face heated up to approximately 800 degrees Kelvin. He didn’t respond for a few minutes while he stewed in complete and utter humiliation.

            “Uh…Mark? You there?” Jack’s voice got quieter as he presumably looked at his phone. “Did I lose connection?”

            “No I’m here!” Mark cleared his throat awkwardly. “I’m, uh, I’m sorry…hit the mute button by accident.”

            Jack chuckled. “Damn phones. So how’re things back home? Any word from Felix?”

            “No—wait, uh, yeah, I lied. He gave us a project two days ago.” Jesus, Mark needed to get it together.

            “Sounds good. Have you done anything yet?”

            “I did some monster sounds, but I wanted to show you them before committing to a final draft.”

            “Wanna email them to me now? I got time.”

            “Nah, you should enjoy your vacation while you’ve got it. I can work on some other stuff while I wait for you.”

            “All right, thanks! I should be home in about two days at the most. You been keepin’ my house?”

            Mark flushed even hotter, so much so that he feared he might start sweating. “Uh…y-yeah, I have. It-it, I mean, yeah, o-of course, just like I promised…yeah, y’know…yeah.” Smooth, you fucking idiot.

            “Okay…?” Jack replied confusedly. “So you got the mail and fed Bruiser and stuff?”

            “Yep, sure did!” Mark said with forced enthusiasm that even he knew sounded terrible.

            “Are you okay, dude? You’re actin’ kinda weird.”

            “Yeah, I’m fine, I’m just…tired.” And a terrible fucking friend.

            “I understand. I’ll let you go so you can sleep a few more hours.”

            “All right, uh, cool. Thanks man. Have fun with your sister’s baby.”

            “I will! I’ll tell her you said hi. See you when I get home.”

            “Yeah…see you.” The line disconnected, and Mark dropped his arm limply in his lap.

            He groaned and fell back against the pillows. God, what was he doing?! If he was that guilty on the phone, there’d be no way he could face Jack when he got back home. The last thing he wanted to do was tell him the truth, but how were they ever gonna work together if every time Mark heard Jack speak he got redder than a tomato? Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea for Mark to leave the country too. Did he still have any family in South Korea? He’d have to ask his mom…the stomachache that accompanied that idea quickly brought it to an end.

            Mark kicked off his blankets. He was too riled up to sleep now, or take his morning pill. He hopped in the shower and scrubbed his hair so vigorously that it made his scalp tingle. He stared down at his body and couldn’t look past the bumps and lumps where steely abs used to be. He glanced over his arms and tried to ignore the raised marks in his skin.

            For a few moments, Mark wondered if he should keep a diary too. He didn’t know how much it helped Jack, but it must’ve done something for him to get all of his angst out on paper. It was better than bottling it all up, a process tried and tested by Mark and confirmed to not work in the slightest. Mark liked to think he’d gotten past that and was able to express his problems in a healthy way like art or friendship, but all he’d ever done was drown it in chemicals until he was too doped up to feel any of it, and that wasn’t living. Even then, in the shower when he pointedly stared anywhere other than his arms, he could feel it coming on.

            It’s like darkness, he remembered saying to his mom while he laid in a too-stiff bed. This is gonna sound dumb, but it’s just like darkness that’s always threatening to come back. And sometimes I can keep it off, even if it’s hard, but it feels like it’s always…I guess I feel like it’s always pulsing at the edges of my vision. It never really goes away.

            Mark swallowed hard, suddenly feeling as though he might cry.

            He had to finish the diary. The thought came to him in a mere second, and while he tried to ignore it, he knew in his bones what his real answer was. He could stay away from it all he liked, but he wanted to know how it ended (or at least, what the last entry was). He hated the suspense; he hated that he needed to know; he hated that he was undoubtedly the world’s shittiest friend.

            But he was done trying to convince himself that he was going to do something he wasn’t. He’d done that enough.

* * *

            At six in the morning, Mark was in Jack’s apartment. It was as immaculate as ever.

            He (unsuccessfully) reconciled his presence there by watering the ferns and giving Bruiser an early breakfast. He could disguise his obsession with housekeeping, right? He even brought his laptop so he could do his work on it, right? He wasn’t just here to stalk his best (and only) friend’s very private information, right?!

            He sat down on Jack’s bed and felt the diary hitting his back. With a sigh of defeat, he pulled it out and flipped to the entry he’d left off on, all about Em. Tall, perfect, killer smile, honey-voiced Em. Mark was startled to find that he was grinding his teeth together.

            I knew that I loved having him around though. He owned three guitars and could sing like a honey-voiced angel. And for some reason that only God knows, he was attracted to me.

            So we went on dates. At first we just did cliché stuff and went to get coffee and studied. He made it explicitly clear from the get-go that he was into me, a concept which I still struggle to understand, because there was nothing interesting or attractive about me the first few times we hung out. I was awkward, quiet, said sorry too many times, told terrible jokes…yeah, it wasn’t pretty. But Em loved it; he ate it up. Maybe he liked being the attractive one in the relationship. Who knows?

            It was after a few weeks of this that I finally started getting used to him, even though I was still baffled that he wanted to be seen with me. He actually started taking me to a few of his shows. He was in a wicked band called “Unlit” and they were fucking incredible. Their music was basically an ear orgasm. (That’s a super gross comparison, but I suck at similes.)

            I fell in love with him. It didn’t even take long; after about a month of dating I knew I loved him, and I told him so. Christ, I was such an idiot. I mean, for God’s sake, we hadn’t even had sex yet. And the look he gave me when I said it was the most nerve-wracking thing that’s ever happened to me, because he didn’t immediately jump up and kiss me and tell me he felt the same. He just stared at me all confused, and I practically threw up all over myself.

            I don’t remember exactly what he said, just that he needed time to feel that way too. I went home that night and I did throw up because I felt sure he was going to break up with me. We didn’t talk at all the next day, but the next night he called me and gave me this big long speech about how sorry he was that he’d been such a douche and that he loved me too but he was just scared to say it because he didn’t want to screw anything up and I literally cried because I’m a stupid fucking idiot. I guess it’s okay though because he cried too.

            Mark gulped hard and lowered the diary onto the bed, his heart hammering with what felt like jealousy. He figured it was because he’d never had love like that before. Sure, he’d met a few women in his time that he thought he had deep feelings for, but it never amounted to anything and he always felt like an idiot after it was over. He’d definitely never felt so strongly about someone that it moved him to tears.

            And that’s how things went from there. We were openly, committedly, disgustingly in love. We grossed everybody out with how in love we were. Every one of his bandmates and friends made fun of us (but in a nice way), and my friends (of which there were few) did the same. My roommate eventually gave up on us and just left whenever Em was in the dorm so that we could kiss and cuddle and have sex in peace.

            At the mention of sex, Mark’s stomach curled into a tiny little ball, and he set down the diary again. God, what was with him?! It wasn’t like he’d never heard of sex, nor that he’d never had it himself. (Of course, he’d never had the kind of sex Jack was describing, but still.) Why did every little sentence set him on edge? What was it about Em that made Mark feel so sick and angry? He shook his head, exhaling loudly through his nose. Whatever the fuck was wrong with him needed to stop right now.

            I thought I was so lucky, and I was, because Em was perfect. He was funny and handsome and talented and kind and friendly and outgoing. He was everything I wished I was and more, and goddamn if I didn’t want to be with him forever. He said he felt the same way, too, but I don’t know if he really meant it, because who the hell would stay with someone like me for more than five seconds anyway?

            No matter what, I guess I’ll never know if he meant it or not.

            This sucks to write down. I hate writing this down. I wish I didn’t have to. I wish I didn’t want to, because all it does is hurt. It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts.

            There was one weekend when Em and I went out drinking with his bandmates after a show. They’d just performed at some bar, so we got free rounds, and that extended to girlfriends and boyfriends like me. We all drank too much because we were young and having fun and didn’t know any better. We thought we’d be fine; we thought we’d just find a cab or something and that’d be the end of it. It should’ve been the end of it.

            We left around two o’clock in the morning after we’d probably overstayed our welcome. Em was pretty touchy-feely and I knew where that was going, so we decided to take a cab separately. But after the band left Em wanted to walk, said the cab would make him feel too sick, so me being drunk and stupid agreed to walk back to campus. It wasn’t like it was that far, but we were stumbling and talking like fucking idiots. I’m surprised we didn’t get in trouble for public drunkenness, but hey, it’s Ireland.

            So there we were, walking and singing and kissing like sloppy alcoholic fools, when Em walks ahead of me into the street. I hung back a little because I saw that the light was red, but for some reason that knowledge didn’t travel from my brain to my mouth, so I let Em walk into the street.

            Some guy who couldn’t wait just five fucking seconds slammed straight into Em, because it was dark and he didn’t have his headlights on and he just fucking assumed that Em would know not to cross. He didn’t even want to wait, didn’t even care that the light had only just turned red and he needed to give passersby a chance to recognize what was going on.

            Em flew through the air, and I still remember the sound his skull made when he hit the street. Dear God Almighty, it was the most sickening thing you’ve ever heard.

            I remember taking off at a run, but of course I was still hammered so running was like falling down a rabbit hole, and I think I fell over a few feet away from him. By the time I picked my sorry self up off the street, the ambulance had already gotten there and EMTs were bent over his body. I went over there to see for myself, but got pushed back by a few cops. I started crying then, saying he was my boyfriend and that I saw the whole thing, but they didn’t take my eyewitness account very seriously because of how drunk I was.

            The driver ended up getting arrested anyway. Turns out he was drunk too, which is just too fucking ironic. If anybody had been sober in that situation, Em probably would have survived. I haven’t even touched alcohol since the accident.

            Em didn’t make it, as I’m sure you already fucking know. He died a day later, went brain-dead. His mum pulled the plug. I didn’t even get a say in it. I couldn’t even go into the fucking hospital room, because I wasn’t family. The last thing I saw of Em was him walking down that street like a drunken mess, laughing and singing some nonsense song with his hands in the air. My brain is probably romanticizing it, but I remember his arms being back and silhouetted against the sky. The stars and the city and the glow of the street made him look like some kind of an urban angel.

            There were several lines skipped after that, but Mark saw that down at the page was another sentence, pressed so hard into the paper that it actually tore in a few places.

            I thought that would make me feel better, but it didn’t. I feel so much fucking worse.

Chapter Text

            Mark shuddered and set down the diary. A whole mess of emotions was kicking around in his stomach. He was confused, he was sad, he was worried, he was…happy. Some breed of evil, savage happiness was making itself known in his psyche, and as soon as he felt it he wanted to spit.

            Good. I’m glad he’s gone. I’m glad that fucker’s gone.

            “That’s it,” Mark groused, standing up. God Almighty, he was so fucked up. He should’ve taken his pill. He’d been late for too many dosages, and now he was skipping them altogether. He didn’t even want to think about what his mother would say if he went into another relapse. It had already been such a nightmare the first time.

            Mark stood up, got some water from the sink, and gulped it down in three swigs. His stomach was churning and he could physically feel his pulse in his neck. He hoped he didn’t throw up. He hated everything about throwing up: the sense of dread, the waiting, the smell of the toilet, the feeling of his stomach lurching up into his throat. He’d thrown up enough times in his life to know that it was one of the worst things humans experienced.

            He washed the glass and put it back where he found it, feeling almost paranoid. He shuffled back into the bedroom and found the diary was laying on the floor. He picked it up and flipped back to the next entry after the one about Em.

            April 10^th, 2015

            Mark did a double take. Hadn’t it just been June 2014? Did he accidentally skip an entire year of entries? He flipped back and forth between the two entries and couldn’t even find that any pages were missing.

            April 10^th, 2015

            Dear Diary,

            So…yeah. It’s been a super long time since I wrote in this thing. I’m surprised I even remembered where it was.

            But I have some stuff to get off my chest, and now that I can (finally) look at this damn thing without feeling like I’m going to throw up, it seemed like a good place to do it.

            For starters, I got a job in audio engineering, fucking finally. My sister sent me the application she found online for a company called PEWDIGames. The nice thing is that everyone works from home and we’re all paid electronically, so I have to interact with very few actual humans to do the work. I Skyped the boss, Felix, and he seems pretty cool. I sent in some old demos from college and he liked me enough to hire me.

            You’d think that’d be the big news, but no.

            So Felix told me the other audio engineer actually lives in L.A. with me and that I should meet him in person. He said his name was Mark, he’d been working for the company for about two years, blah blah blah.

            Mark’s eyes widened. He never imagined Jack would mention him in his diary. Had he really left such a big impression on him? He doubted it. He started thinking that it was probably just a throwaway observation, and with that rationalization he carried on reading.

            So Felix talks me into meeting this guy. I’ll be honest, it’s been a long time since I tried to form a lasting relationship with anyone I know in real life. I still keep in touch with my sister, sure, but the rest of the time the bulk of my human interaction is just people I see at the grocery when I restock my fridge. So I had no idea how to act around this guy.

            We met at a coffee shop, and as soon as I saw this guy, I was blown away.

            I have never seen anybody so fucking gorgeous in all my life.

* * *

            Mark was so shocked, it took him a few minutes before he could even process that there was more written on the page.

            Jack…wrote…that he thought…he was…attractive?!

            Like damn, I know I thought Em was good-looking, and he was, but by God I’ve never seen a more perfect human being than Mark. The thickest, darkest hair you’ve ever seen in your life, melted brown eyes, the sexiest stubble on Earth…I honestly almost turned and walked right out of the door, because I couldn’t even process it all in one go. Not to mention I had no idea what I was even going to say to him.

            But he saw me and said hello to me before I could make my getaway, so I sat down in front of him and was scared that it’d be just like the first time I met Em, where I was sat still and could barely say 2 words.

            The opposite happened, though. I couldn’t shut the fuck up. The meeting was supposed to be introducing ourselves and assessing our strengths and weaknesses, but Jesus I did all that and more. I probably told Mark more in an hour than I’ve ever told anyone anything in my entire life.

            But the strange thing was, he didn’t seem to mind. It was almost like he liked listening to me, and of course that just made me talk more and more until I was fucking parched. And he just kept smiling and nodding and asking little questions. He was, like, the perfect listener, and of course he was super easy on the eyes.

            I don’t know where I’m going with this, probably nowhere. There’s no way he thought I was all that great anyway, so I should probably just quit now.

            I mean, of course, I thought Em felt the same way…

            Oh, get a grip, Jack. This is a totally different situation. Don’t give yourself any stupid false hope.

            That was the end of the entry. Mark had to blink a few times to make sure it was real. Was Jack implying what he thought he was implying? That was…just crazy, not to mention impossible. For Jack to feel that way…and really, if he did, how had Mark never noticed?! He liked to think he could read people fairly well, but he guessed not.

            But he thought that the last chapter was a doozy, he was in for a real treat on the next page.

            April 21^st, 2015

            Dear Diary,

            Please shoot me. I think I’m in love.

Chapter Text

            Please shoot me. I think I’m in love.

            We’ve exchanged phone numbers, and I’ve met him four more times since we last saw each other, and I’ve called about double that. I can’t get him out of my fucking head. It’s like a disease. Why hasn’t humanity decided love is a disease yet? Because it is. I’m so fucking screwed.

            And I don’t even know exactly what it is about him that I like. I can’t pinpoint one single trait and say, “Yes. That’s why I love you. Because of _____.” It’s like…this huge collection of traits about him that I like, and most of them don’t make any goddamn sense. I love that he takes his coffee black with two sugars. I love that he never ties his shoelaces. I love that he types using the caps lock key instead of the shift. I love that he hums “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” under his breath when his mind is wandering.

            And, as you may be asking, just how do I know all this shit about him already? It’s because I can’t stop paying attention. I couldn’t look away from him if I wanted to.

            Whenever we meet up, I’m always running my mouth about something irrelevant, and he’s always listening, smiling, nodding, and encouraging me to keep talking. Everyone I’ve ever talked to before has always acted like they can’t wait for me to shut up; I’ve never actually met someone who likes the sound of my voice! It couldn’t be any weirder!

             So I’m obviously screwed ten ways to Sunday. At least Em made the first move, which was so much safer than going in blind. I really need to give him credit for taking that kind of chance, because there’s no way that I have the balls to do it. I don’t know what Mark’s like (beyond tiny, adorable details), if he likes men, if he likes me, etc. I guess you could argue that Em knew even less about me, but c’mon, he was practically sweating confidence when we first met. When I’m with Mark, I barely have the confidence to shut my own mouth.

            So…yeah. I don’t know what to do. Either I make the first move or there’s no move that gets made, because I’m pretty sure Mark isn’t planning on confessing his feelings anytime soon. I just wish I knew what to say. I wish I wasn’t so clueless in the social interaction department.

            But if I don’t say something, then nothing will change, and I’ll just keep being his friend forever! I don’t want that! That’d suck! I hate keeping secrets, even though I’m kind of the king of having them. (But, in my defense, it’s pretty necessary. I’m pretty sure Mark would run for the hills if he knew what I was really like.) But the idea of losing him entirely is worse than only having him one way and not the other….

            God, this is too fucking complicated. I probably just shouldn’t say anything. I don’t exactly have the best track record with lovers, anyway. With my luck, Mark would end up drowning in a face-first in a toilet or something.

            Mark stared at the page blankly after the entry ended. His heart appeared to have stopped beating.

            He’d never known. Dear God, he’d never known. How had he missed it? How was he so fucking stupid?!

* * *

            A few minutes later, Mark was slouching at Jack’s dining table, wishing he had some whiskey to wash this whole ordeal down with.

            He felt like an ass. Not just for reading Jack’s diary (although that was certainly a large chunk of it), but for not seeing the truth sooner. All of the calls, the texts, the gratuitous conversations, the blissfully happy smile that Jack always seemed to wear whenever Mark was around…he’d wondered why all of it conflicted so strongly with the angst depicted in the diary, but now it all made sense. Jack was in love!

            But was Mark? That was truly the million-dollar question. Mark leaned forward and rested his chin on his hands.

            Contrary to Jack’s belief, he had been attracted to men before—on several occasions, in fact. It just wasn’t information he shared very freely. His dad was the only one who knew, and that secret died with him. He’d never acted on any of the urges he had anyway, and it wasn’t like it was a looming problem, given the fact that he loathed the idea of putting on his public self to go meet up with people.

            So was he attracted to Jack? Come to think of it, he’d always been pretty excited himself when Jack called. He thought of all the times he’d been invited out by old friends and family, and how every invitation had seemed like a chore. The ones that he accepted were long and arduous, and the ones he declined felt like a weight was being lifted off of his shoulders. So why was it that every time Jack suggested meeting up he leapt at the chance?

            He thought of Jack’s goofy smile, his lilted voice, his eagerness to share stories. He thought of his bright azure eyes boring into him, and the way his hands gestured wildly while he was excited. He thought of his intense look of concentration; all those times Mark had snuck glances at him while they coded side-by-side, and how his gaze seemed to linger whenever Jack gnawed on his lower lip or raised a brow at his screen.

            Whenever Jack called, Mark actually felt okay. He found the will to exercise, to shave his face, to check his email and change his sheets. Little things that everybody was supposed to do, but to Mark seemed like monumental chores. Having Jack there made it…easy. There was no real reason for it; Jack didn’t give him motivational speeches to pick up the shattered pieces of his life. There was just something about him that made Mark…want to.

            The realization was slow-coming, but once Mark fully grasped it, it was like being hit by a truck. “Oh, balls,” he groaned, and his forehead hit the table with a clang.

* * *

            “Thomas?…Hey, yeah, it’s me…it’s Mark…your brother…yeah, I’m happy to hear from you too…listen, listen, listen, can we catch up in a sec? Sorry, I just have a specific reason for calling…I kind of fucked up.”

            Mark was sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes. It was nine o’clock in the morning, which was very early for him. He’d gotten in at about seven p.m. last night, after stopping by the bar on his way home from Jack’s. Damn, first taking pills late, then skipping them altogether, and now turning to drinking…Mark really needed to be careful, lest he hit a relapse. Now would certainly be an inopportune time for his brain to turn against him.

            “So do you want some advice?” Thomas asked, sounding both excited and nervous. Mark guiltily remembered that this was the first time he actually called him in probably a year. “What’s going on? I can help.”

            Mark swallowed, weighing his options. He could either ask arbitrarily or be upfront about his situation. Honestly, it came down to how well he could lie. He wasn’t in the mood for dishonesty; he’d come to Thomas to help him fix how dishonest he’d been in the past few days, in fact.

            “Okay, so first things first, I’ve gotta tell you something.” There was no easy way to do this. Goddamn, why did Mark have to do this now?!

            “Um…okay, sure. Are you okay?” Thomas asked concernedly.

            “I’m fine, dude, I’m…well, I’m whatever version of fine I usually am, I guess.” Mark laughed nervously. “Anyway, uh…I’ve kinda been putting off telling you this for a while because…well, actually, I don’t know why. There wasn’t really any good reason.”

            “Okay…?”

            Just fucking say it! Mark thought. He took a deep breath, gulped, and blurted, “So I’m bisexual,” before he could talk himself out of it.

            The phone line was excruciatingly silent for a few seconds before Thomas said amusedly, “Well thank God you know!”

            Mark’s head jerked back in confusion. “Excuse me?”

            “Dude, I’m super happy you’re ready to tell people, but Mom and I suspected it for a while. I mean c’mon, did you really think we had no idea?”

            Mark’s face reddened considerably, and he cleared his throat. “Oh, well…whatever, that’s not why I called anyway.” He was slightly offended that they didn’t say anything about it but decided he should probably just move on.

            “Okay, sure. What else is up?”

            “Well, now that we both know I’m bi, there’s a guy I like, okay?”

            “Okay, awesome! Congrats!”

            Mark laughed mirthlessly. “Don’t congratulate me yet. I didn’t know I liked him until pretty recently…I mean, I guess I always liked him, but I didn’t actually know it…does that make any sense?”

            “Yeah, I get what you mean,” Thomas said airily. “So what’s the problem? Does he like you too?”

            “Yeah, actually, I think he does. But he didn’t exactly tell me himself.”

            “What, did you hear it from a friend?”

            “Nah, nothing like that…okay, so this is the part where I fuck up. Just try not to judge me too harshly, okay?”

            “Okay…why, what happened? Did you read his texts or something?”

            That was as close to a Segway as Mark was going to get. “Well, it was more like…his diary.”

            This time the phone was silent for a much longer interval, during which time Mark was forced to sit and stew and realize just how fucked up his admission was. He wondered if Thomas was going to hang up on him.

            “Wh…why did you read this guy’s diary?”

            “Because I…okay, honestly, I don’t really have that good of a reason. He asked me to housesit for him, I found it, and I read it. Like I said, I fucked up pretty royally.”

            “Mark…,” Thomas sighed, and Mark’s shame doubled. “That’s so…middle school of you.”

            “I know, I know. If it makes you feel any better I feel like a total dick.”

            “I’d be pretty worried if you didn’t.”

            “Yeah….” Mark swallowed, unsure of how to proceed. “Well, anyway…he wrote in his diary that he’s attracted to me, and I know I’m into him…so should I say something?”

            “Ideally yes, because you two like each other,” Thomas said quickly. “If two people like each other it only makes sense to start a relationship.”

            “Okay, so that’s good, right?” Mark asked, his heart beginning to beat faster.

            “In your situation, not necessarily,” Thomas said regretfully. “I mean yes, you know he likes you, but what are you gonna tell him when he asks how you found out? And even if he never asks, do you really wanna keep that secret from him?”

            Mark’s stomach began to churn. “No, I guess you’re right…,” he mumbled, dropping his head shamefacedly. “So are you saying there’s no hope?”

            “I mean, I guess there is if he’s a forgiving person, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he held a grudge,” Thomas admitted. “I don’t know, dude. You just gotta tell the truth and hope for the best, really. You were the one who violated his privacy. You’re gonna have to deal with the consequences when they come.”

            “Yeah…yeah, you’re right.” Mark sighed. “Listen, thanks for letting me tell you all this. It helps, really.”

            “No problem, dude. You know you can call whenever you want to, right?” It was a casual question, but Mark didn’t miss the tension in Thomas’s voice. He was trying to be cool, but he was worried, and he had every right to be. This was the first he’d heard from his brother in the several months since the incident. It was Mark’s fault. He should’ve called. The multiple layers of guilt threatened to choke him.

            “Yeah, I know…and I’m sorry I haven’t. I don’t have a good reason. I just…I wanted to, really bad, but every time I thought about it I started feeling all sick and shaky and I just—”

            “Dude, you don’t have to explain yourself,” Thomas said softly. “It’s okay. You just do whatever you need to do to get better.”

            Mark smiled a little, feeling immensely grateful. “Thanks. I’m glad you understand.”

            “Of course I do.”

            They were silent for a few moments, then Thomas said with a smile, “But hey, as long as you’re here, you wanna talk for a few minutes? Mom told me you’re working for a new company. What’s it like?”

* * *

            That night, Mark couldn’t bring himself to call Jack, but he vowed to do so the next day before he got off his flight. No matter how painful it was, he would tell his friend the truth. He deserved to hear it. It was doing Jack a gross disservice if he withheld it.

            He got off the phone with Thomas at about eleven p.m. and went to bed straight after.

            At two in the morning, his phone went off, sounding to Mark as loud as a siren.

            He answered it on the third ring, still half-asleep and groggy. “Hello?”

            “We need to talk. Right now.”

            The voice was Jack’s, and it had never sounded so cold before. Immediately, Mark was wide awake.

            “Uh…sure. What’s up, dude?” He flicked on the lamp next to him and found that he was shaking like he’d just drank six cups of coffee.

            “So my flight got in early tonight,” Jack said matter-of-factly, each of his words sounding like the echo of a gunshot. “I just got home to a very clean house a few minutes ago. Did you tidy up my place?”

            “I, uh…yeah, I did. I dunno. I was bored and it was messy…I was just trying to do you a favor.”

            “Yeah, okay, fine,” Jack snapped. “I believe you. That’s acceptable. But what about this notebook sittin’ out on my bed? Can you tell me where that came from?”

            Mark’s stomach dropped. He felt almost dizzy. Oh no. Oh God. Oh dear fucking God no.

            “Uh, I, uh…I don’t know what you’re talking—”

            “Just cut the fuckin’ bullshit!” Jack roared suddenly, and Mark was so startled he almost pissed himself. “Did you read this?!”

            “I don’t—”

            “You’d better start tellin’ the goddamn truth or so help me—”

            “Yes! Fine, okay?! Yes!” Mark whimpered. He leaned heavily against the wall, feeling as though his ribs were cracking apart one by one as he listened to the hurt and anger in Jack’s voice. “I found it and I read it and I didn’t know what it was so I—”

            “Did you read all of it?”

            Mark’s voice trailed off. He was terrified by how cold and crisp Jack’s tone was, as if he were ordering for all of Mark’s limbs to be torn off.

            “Well I didn’t really—”

            “Tell me the truth.”

            “I don’t know if—”

            “Tell. Me. The. Truth.”

            Mark could’ve vomited. He sighed, his breath shuddering like crazy, and said desolately, “Yes, Jack. I…I read through it to the end.”

            The line was deathly quiet for what felt like hours.

            Then it went dead.

Chapter Text

            Mark was damned to silent purgatory.

            Jack’s cold shoulder was pure torture, simply because it was so total. He didn’t text; didn’t call; didn’t respond to emails or other messages. Mark begged to him on every medium of communication with the same pathetic, stupid plea.

            Please Jack. I’m sorry. I’m a terrible friend and I know it and I don’t blame you for what you’re doing. But please, say something. Anything.

            Jack, come on, I know I was a total dick. Like literally, I was the biggest ass-bag on the entire planet. But I’m dying over here.

            Dude. It’s been three days. This is getting ridiculous. Even if you’re not willing to forgive me, at least respond to my work emails.

            Eventually, Mark got desperate. On the fourth day of silence, he hand-wrote Jack a letter. It wasn’t anything fancy or lovesick, just another spiel of him begging for some kind of attention.

            I’m not asking for much, Jack. Just show me that you’re at least hearing me when I try to get ahold of you.

            He mailed it that afternoon. Two days later, he got a package. Inside were the remains of Jack’s diary, hacked to bits with a pair of scissors.

* * *

            Suddenly, Mark was furious.

            Being angry was one thing. Jack had every right to be pissed. What Mark had done was a serious breach in his trust.

            But this was childish. If Jack didn’t want to be his friend anymore, fine. He deserved it. But first he was ignoring his emails regarding PEWDIGames, and now this? Grow up.

            Without stopping to think about it, Mark grabbed the package, closed it as best he could, and marched out to the car with it. He drove the whole way to Jack’s ten miles over the speed limit, grinding his teeth all the while. He had no idea what he was going to do when he got there, but he’d be damned if he put up with any more of this shit.

            He waited outside Jack’s apartment complex for a few minutes. He didn’t bother asking to be buzzed in. He simply waited until somebody walked into the lobby and followed them. No one questioned it.

            He rode up to the third floor, seething with rage. When he made it to Jack’s door, he knocked as forcefully as a police officer.

            There was no answer. Scowling, Mark knocked again. When he went unanswered a second time, he knocked harder, shouting, “I know you’re in there! I’ve got all night!”

            Mid-fourth knock, the door swung open, and Jack stood aggressively in the frame. He glared at Mark with a look of pure hatred.

            “What the hell do you want?!” he snarled.

            Mark held up the package, barely resisting the urge to hurl it at Jack’s head. “Real mature,” he snapped.

            Jack rolled his eyes and tried to slam the door in his face, but Mark stuck his foot in between them at the last second and ignored the pain.

            “Don’t you dare try to avoid me this time!” he yelled, forcing the door open. Jack turned his back on him and stormed his way further into the apartment, and Mark pursued him hotly. “I’m done playing your little preschool silent treatment game!”

            Jack didn’t respond. He veered past the kitchen and through the living room, which Mark saw was slowly making its way back to its former filthy state. A smattering of dirty socks and a few empty beer cans littered the floor. That was strange. Jack had said he stopped drinking alcohol.

            Jack tried to hide in his room, but Mark beat him to it. He followed him in, hot on his heels, and Jack was forced to turn around and glare at him.

            “I should call the cops on you for breakin’ and enterin’,” the former threatened. Mark barked out a laugh.

            “Oh, right, like you’re gonna do that!” he shot back. “Dude, you can’t just eject me from your life like this. Like it or not, we’re coworkers!”

            “I don’t care!” Jack growled. “I’ll quit if I have to! Just get out of my fuckin’ house!”

            “You’ll quit and do what?”

            “Go back to maid service, probably. I’m sure you know all about that, don’t you?” Jack’s eyes narrowed, and he stared at Mark with disgust.

            “Jack, just stop it,” Mark groaned. He was so tired of this he wanted to spit. “Look, I get it. I fucked up. This was way beyond awful, and I understand if we can’t be friends anymore. But if you’re willing to quit your job over something so petty—”

            “See?! There you go! There it is! You don’t fuckin’ get it!” Jack hollered, gesturing wildly. “This isn’t some petty primary school argument! That diary wasn’t just some little secret journal that I told all my crushes to! That was given to me by my therapist to write down all of the things I couldn’t tell anybody. No one was supposed to read what was in there!” His nostrils were flared and his already-loud voice was practically deafening at this level of rage, but Mark was startled to see that his eyes were wet with tears. “Do you even understand just how…embarrassed I am?!”

            “What, because you have problems?!” Mark interjected, and he was pissed when his voice cracked. “And you didn’t want anyone to know about them? I’m sorry that you feel inadequate, Jack, and I’m sorry that Em—”

            “Don’t even say his name!” A tear squeezed out of Jack’s eye, and he slashed at it aggressively. “That was my business! I didn’t want you to know what I was like! I didn’t want you to know any of that…!” Another tear managed its way through, and Jack gave up trying to hide them. He fell limply against his bed, and when he looked up at Mark, his face was a wasteland. “I didn’t want you to know just how fucked up I was…it wasn’t for you to know!”

            Mark’s heart splintered, and he dropped his head. “Jack, I….”

            However, Jack seemed to compose himself, and when Mark raised his eyes he saw that he’d returned to his look of repulsion and hatred.

            “It was my business! You had no right to look in there!” He stood up again, and Mark was afraid he might throw a punch. “How would you feel if you had secrets—problems—memories you didn’t want to revisit?! How would you feel if you were just tryin’ to be normal, just tryin’ to find your place, just tryin’ to pretend that you hadn’t absolutely fucked up your life beyond repair—?!”

            That did it. That fucking did it.

            Mark lunged forward, as if he were about to go for Jack’s throat. The latter of the two seemed to realize this and fell back against the bed to wriggle away.

            “You think you’re the only one who’s got problems?!” he screamed, his voice sounding torn.

            Tears left hot, scorching trails down Mark’s throat, and his heart threatened to ram out of his chest. He stopped to collect his breath, which Jack seemed to think was an invitation to answer. “Well, I—”

            “Because you’re not, all right?! You’re not!” Mark was completely unfiltered now; his self-control was but a distant memory, and all of the barriers he’d taken so long to construct were coming down in one fell swoop. “You’re not the only one of us who’s got fucking problems!

            “You wanna talk about fucking up your life?! At least you tried! At least you had a fucking dream and you went and got it! At least somebody gave a damn about you, at least once; just one time in your life you actually found someone who gave a flying fuck about you!”

            Jack sat up a little, looking very pale. “Mark, you need to—”

            “No! It’s my turn!” Mark ground his teeth savagely. He wouldn’t—he couldn’t—stop now.

            “You wanna call me a fuck-up?! Fine! You go the fuck ahead, because I already know exactly what I am! I can’t do a god-fucking-damn thing right! I never have!” Tears flowed embarrassingly freely down Mark’s face, but he was too livid to care now. “I’ve never done one fucking thing right my whole life! I mean, for God’s sake…!” He laughed almost like a madman as he ripped up his sleeves, exposing them all: every mark, every pink slash, every souvenir he’d ever earned from his stint in the purgatory of his own mind.

            “I’m so fucking stupid I couldn’t even kill myself right!”

* * *

            Silence.

            Silence.

            Silence.

            Silence.

            Silence.

            Silence.

            Silence.

            Silence.

            It was the longest, thickest silence Mark had ever experienced: the silence that came right after screaming. It was the silence that filled the horrified, unfiltered stare that Jack held as he stared at Mark’s self-harm scars, scars that he’d vowed never to show to anyone, because they were his reminders, no one else’s. They weren’t anybody’s problem but his own.

            It wasn’t shame that kept them hidden under long sleeves and wristwatches. It was the sobering fact that Mark didn’t want anyone else to feel obligated to bear the burden of his mistakes…of his illness.

            Jack slowly found the courage to meet Mark’s gaze, which had long since lost its murderous gleam. Now Mark just felt emptied out; he’d been picked clean of all his rage. He wanted to drop into a fetal position and hold himself. He wanted to crawl in a hole and disappear.

            “How…?” Jack started, his voice hoarse. He stopped, licked his lips, and tried again. “Er…when?”

            Mark knew what he meant. He sighed, slowly lowering himself so that he was leaning against the wall. He had no more energy left to stand straight up anymore.

            “I was nineteen,” he sighed, his voice quiet and strained. “And it was an X-ACTO knife, before you ask.”

            Jack was quiet for a few moments before whispering, “…Goddamn.”

            Mark closed his eyes. Eventually, he heard the bedsprings creak, and Jack was standing a few inches away from him. He met his gaze tiredly. Both of their eyes were rimmed with red.

            “Do you…,” Jack started, then swallowed. “Do you mind if I…see?”

            Mark shook his head. The cat was already out of the bag, anyway. He held out both of his arms for Jack to see. The scars weren’t nearly as hideous as they had been, thank God, but they still weren’t pretty. Each of them was still raised and pink, rather than a nice pearly white that could easily be overlooked.

            Jack tentatively took Mark’s left wrist and slowly ran his fingertip over the damaged skin. Despite his fatigue, Mark shivered from head to toe. Jack raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment.

            “How many are there?” he asked instead. “I mean, if you don’t know, it’s—”

            “There’s twelve on my left arm,” Mark cut him off, “and eleven on my right. I passed out before I could make the number even.”

            Jack’s eyes grew infinitely sadder, and it was hard for Mark to continue holding their gaze.

            “But…why?”

            Mark smiled ruefully and looked back at the ceiling. “Oh, God, I wish I had a good reason,” he murmured. “It’s major depressive disorder, or at least that’s what they tell me. Some kind of chemical imbalance in my brain…I don’t know, it’s hard to remember all the details.”

            “And do you…take any medicine?”

            “Yeah, of course. Well, I’m supposed to anyway. Lately I’ve been missing some doses.”

            “Aren’t you afraid you’ll have another incident?”

            “Yeah, it’s a concern of mine.” He shrugged and forced himself to meet Jack’s gaze. “But I’m not exactly known for making good decisions, am I?”

            Jack half-smiled, but there was no amusement in his gaze. “No…I guess you aren’t.”

            The two men stood silently for a while until one of them seemed to remember that Jack as holding Mark’s arm. The latter let it fall limply to his side like a dead weight, then he spoke up.

            “Listen…I don’t want you to think that me having depression excuses me from what I did…it was wrong of me to read your diary, and I was totally out of line. I’m sorry.”

            Jack nodded, staring at the floor. He opened his mouth twice before he could finally get the words out.

            “It wasn’t even the Em stuff that really bugged me…I mean, yeah, I was super pissed about it, but….” He looked up at Mark, his eyes naked and scared. “I know you read all the way to the end…and that means you read the stuff that I wrote about…about you.”

            Mark nodded soberly. “You’re right, I did. I guess it’s too bad you didn’t know how fucked up I am until you wrote it, isn’t it?”

            Jack rolled his eyes. “Well I guess it’s too bad you didn’t know how fucked up I am before you befriended me, then?”

            “You’re not fucked up, Jack. You’re just going through a rough time.”

            Jack looked Mark deep in the eyes, and both men became lost in each other’s scrutiny. Dear God, Mark had no idea how he’d ever managed to convince himself that he didn’t have feelings for Jack. Just one look at his oceanic eyes was enough to send him reeling.

            “You’re right, I am,” Jack admitted, and he didn’t sound ashamed. “But aren’t you going through one, too?”

            Mark’s heart thrummed. He smiled softly, and Jack returned the favor.

            And, despite the fact that neither of them were touching, Mark had never felt closer to anyone than he did right then.

Chapter Text

            Mark and Jack ended up in the living room watching Criminal Minds to alleviate some of the awkward tension. Their feet were propped up on the only part of the coffee table that wasn’t papered with beer cans and Hot Pocket wrappers.

            “Dude, you know I literally just cleaned this place,” Mark chuckled eventually. Jack’s cheeks pinked a little.

            “Yeah, I know…I’m a bit of a slob.”

            “‘A bit?!’”

            “Hey, c’mon now! You’re not perfect, either!”

            Mark’s laugh faded away, and he gazed at the floor, smirking a little cynically. “Believe me,” he murmured, “I’m well aware of that.”

            Jack withered a little, and Mark felt guilty. A few minutes of silence passed, and he tried to focus on the program rather than his own conflicting emotions.

            “Mark….”

            “Hmm?”

            “You don’t have a very high opinion of yourself, do you?”

            Mark raised his eyebrows, surprised by the bluntness of the question. “Uh, well…no, not really.”

            “Why not?” He made the mistake of glancing at Jack and saw that he’d turned practically sideways on the couch in an attempt to catch his eye. He tried to look back at the floor, but Jack wouldn’t allow it. “C’mon, look at me. This is important.”

            Mark sighed and met his gaze grudgingly. “I dunno, man…it’s a side effect of depression, probably.”

            Jack’s face fell a little, but he was relentless. “Yeah, but that can’t be all of it. I hated myself for a while after Emmett died, but I felt better eventually.”

            “Well we can’t all be you,” Mark retaliated, his voice coming out harsher than he intended. He took a moment to compose himself. “Sorry, that was rude. I’m happy you bettered yourself, but I…can’t.”

            “What do you hate about yourself?”

            Mark chuckled derisively. “Oh, jeez, how much time do you have? My inability to connect with people, the way I shut people out of my life, my poor decision-making skills, the fact that I can barely take care of myself, the fact that it’s an Olympic effort for me to just get out of bed every day, my stubbornness to refuse help or treatment….”

            Jack was staring at him with sad puppy-dog eyes that made Mark wish he’d just lied and not listed anything.

            “Mark, why do you do this to yourself?” he asked, almost in desperation.

            Mark sighed. “I don’t know! It’s not exactly something I can just turn off!”

            “Yeah, but you’re just so…so hard on everything you do.”

            “Jack, come on. You and I both know I make really shitty choices.”

            “But so what?” Jack seemed to be growing impassioned, and it was throwing Mark for a serious loop. The next thing he knew, Jack had taken his hand and tugged him around on the couch so that they were sitting within each other’s personal space and staring each other in the face. He gulped, his heart revving to his core.

            “Uh…so what what?” It definitely wasn’t Mark’s most intelligent statement.

            “So what if you make shitty decisions? Shittin’ on yourself isn’t goin’ to make those any better.” Jack’s voice cracked; it was almost like he was begging.

            “Well it….” Mark laughed breathily, his gaze falling on their clasped hands. Jesus Christ. “It’s not something I can really control.”

            “I just hate seein’ you beat yourself up like this.”

            “You’ve gotta admit though, it’s better than bleeding myself out in a bathtub.”

            “Mark.” Jack’s eyes bore into him disapprovingly.

            “Why are you even so heated about this?” Mark looked up at him, feeling sort of appreciative and sort of annoyed. “It’s not like it affects you.”

            Jack was breathing very fast, and his cheeks were reddening. “Mark, this is exactly what I used to do to myself after Em died. It sucks, it’s the worst feelin’ in the world, and no one deserves to do it to themselves.”

            “I—”

            “Especially not you.”

            Mark’s forced laugh came out as more of a huff. “Yeah, sure,” he said sarcastically, looking away.

            “C’mon, would you just accept a compliment?” Jack demanded, but there was no malice in his voice. Mark felt his other hand on his neck, and he was so surprised that he turned back to look at him.

            Jack’s eyes were as brightly cobalt as ever—they almost seemed brighter now that he was all riled up—and Mark struggled to get a full breath in his lungs.

            “I’m…,” Mark started. He swallowed. Words weren’t coming very easily to him at the moment. “I’m not really all that good at…accepting compliments.”

            “Just hear me out.” Jack closed his eyes for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. “You’re absolutely perfect, okay? I know you don’t think so, but it’s true. I’ve never met a friendlier, smarter, funnier, more interesting person in my whole life.

            “Before I had you….” Jack trailed off. He closed his eyes again, as if looking at Mark made it too hard to speak. “Before you, I was so alone…I came to America ‘cause I couldn’t go back to university without seein’ Em on every corner, and my mum wasn’t bein’ sympathetic at all…I couldn’t stay. So I came here, thinkin’ I could use my degree, and I ended up in a fuckin’ Holiday Inn scrubbin’ toilets, and it sucked. I hated everythin’ about it. I was…I was even thinkin’ of movin’ back home, maybe livin’ with my parents; I was willin’ to do anything if it meant just getting the fuck out…

            “But then I finally found a job, and I met you, and I…I was just so fuckin’ happy. I can’t even tell you how I felt after we met for the first time. God, I was so screwed. I knew I was screwed right when I met you, because you’re absolutely fantastic. And I thought, ‘There’s no way in hell this guy is ever gonna think even the slightest of me.’ But you always made me feel so important. No one’s ever made me feel so special before.

            “And I…I just can’t believe you think you’re a fuck-up, or that you’ve never done anything right, because you’re just so good, Mark….” He opened his eyes, and the blueness of them was enough to blow Mark away. “It breaks my heart that you can’t see it too.”

            Mark gulped. Jesus fucking Christ. He knew what Jack meant when he said he was totally screwed.

            “I don’t know, Jack….”

            “How can I prove it to you?” Jack demanded earnestly. “How can I show you that you’re good?”

            Mark’s heart broke at his fervor. “Jack, I…you can’t.” He squeezed his eyes shut, injured by his own words. “Believe me, I want you to, I really do…but you can’t. N-…no one can.” His voice wobbled on the end, and he wanted to punch himself. He wouldn’t cry. Not now. Not now.

            Jack’s loose grip on his neck tightened a little, and Mark looked back up at him. Jack’s jaw was set stubbornly.

            “Won’t you at least let me try? I’ll do anything if you let me try.”

            Mark was stunned. He didn’t deserve any of this kindness from Jack. He blurted the first thing that came to his mind.

            “But I…I read your diary.”

            There was a beat of silence in which Jack considered this. He sucked on his lower lip, and every bone in Mark’s body ached with a longing that shocked even himself.

            “You did,” Jack uttered softly. “So you have to know how much I love you.”

            Mark felt the words in every part of his body, and a rush of emotions hit him so strongly he almost felt lightheaded. Jack must’ve felt it too, because all of a sudden they were both breathing as though they’d just finished a mile run.

            Mark began to say, “Are you gonna k—?” but Jack pulled him in feverishly, and their lips found each other as if in the dark.

* * *

            There was no singular emotion to describe how Mark felt when he kissed Jack for the first time. There was happiness there for sure, and some confusion, some fear (actually, there was a lot of fear), a rush of passion and lust, and an overwhelming sense of urgency. He couldn’t possibly have waited another second to feel Jack’s lips on his.

            Jack’s hands were wound into Mark’s shirt collar, and he pulled him closer, giving Mark the opportunity to wrap his arms around Jack’s waist. He heard a soft noise come from the other man’s throat, but moments later, Jack pulled away.

            “I’m sorry,” he gulped, and Mark opened his eyes in dazed confusion. Jack’s face was flushed with either embarrassment or lust a few inches away from his. “I shouldn’t’ve done that, I’m—”

            Mark shook his head, unable to get any words out, and he closed the space between them once again, relishing in the soft, warm intensity of the other man’s mouth.

            Jack didn’t object twice. His arms snaked around Mark’s neck, pressing their torsos together. Mark’s heart pounded harder, his hands spreading over every available inch of Jack’s back, both of them making incoherent noises of agreement.

            Jack broke away a little, his breath tingling on Mark’s neck. “Jesus Christ,” he said breathlessly. “Jesus Christ, this is—”

            Mark wanted to kiss him again, but suddenly he was hesitant to go any further. Both of them seemed to be getting hot and bothered, and while that was fantastic, he was scared of where that might lead. Instead, he buried his face in the hollow of Jack’s throat, breathing in his scent. “This is what?” he prompted, wanting him to keep talking.

            Jack’s chest bobbed up and down as he tried to gather his bearings. “It’s…God, it’s great.” Mark could practically hear him smile. “God, I’ve wanted to do this since I first saw you.”

            “Really now?” Mark asked. He wasn’t even trying to sexy, but he could feel Jack shiver underneath him.

            “Yeah, really. C’mon, lemme get a look at ‘cha.”

            Mark smiled a little and raised himself up onto the palms of his hands. Without warning, Jack turned him over, almost shoving them both off the couch. He smiled impishly above him, and Mark marveled at how easily he’d gained the upper hand.

            “God in heaven, you’re beautiful,” Jack murmured reverently, his cheeks a bright shade of red.

            “Am I?” Mark replied, because it was difficult for him to speak in full sentences.

            “Yeah, you really are. I can’t believe no one’s ever told you that before.” Jack kissed him again, this time very slow and thorough. He parted their lips, and Mark really had to give him credit. It took every bit of his concentration not to lose control right then.

            Jack’s hand danced over the top of Mark’s stomach, and Mark’s thoughts scattered like leaves. He tensed up, shivering. Jack smiled a little.

            “What, do you like that?” he asked triumphantly.

            “Yes,” Mark answered without a shred of dignity.

            Jack’s hand travelled down his side, his fingertips prodding at his spine. He stopped kissing him but didn’t really raise his head; he seemed to be watching Mark’s reactions, which was embarrassingly uncensored.

            “You look like you’re havin’ fun,” he laughed, and he kissed the space between Mark’s neck and jaw.

            “Y-you noticed?” Mark gasped, trying to gain back some ground (or at least a few brain cells).

            “You ever done this before?”

            “Yeah, but only…only with girls.” He inhaled sharply when he felt Jack’s teeth on his earlobe.

            “Oh yeah? Is this better or worse?”

            “Better.”

            “Is that so?”

            An electronic tune began playing somewhere in the background, and Mark felt Jack’s weight lift off of his chest. He opened his eyes to see that the other man was looking sideways at his laptop with almost murderous intensity.

            “Fuck Skype,” he swore abruptly. “It’s probably my sister. One second.” Mark expected him to get up, but he jabbed at his trackpad without looking at the username and barked, “I’m in the middle of something!”

            Mark glanced at the screen in time to see Felix jump away from his monitor like it was on fire.

            “Well Jesus Christ, you didn’t have to answer if you were having sex!”

            Mark and Jack seemed to realize simultaneously that they were in the very compromising position of Jack pinning Mark to the sofa with his pelvis. They sprang apart, trying in vain to straighten their clothing and tuck in their pants while their boss looked on in horror.

            “What the fuck, you guys?!” Felix cried. “Why didn’t you just block the call?!”

            “I-I’m sorry Mr. Kjellberg, I thought you were my sister!” Jack said, mortified.

            “You let your sister see this shit?!”

            “Felix, we’re sorry!” Mark interjected, deciding he should probably do damage control since he’d worked for PEWDIGames for longer. “We weren’t exactly thinking—”

            “No fucking shit!” Felix sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands. “Whatever. I’m moving on. I’m going to pretend that I didn’t see that, and we’re never going to speak of it again.”

            “Okay, agreed!” Jack said hastily. He sounded as if he were willing to sell his soul to Satan if it meant keeping his job.

            “So anyway, what the hell Jack? Why haven’t you been answering anyone’s emails?” He pursed his lips in annoyance.

            Jack looked away shamefacedly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kjellberg,” he said sheepishly. “I was going through a rough time…it won’t happen again.”

            “So you’re not quitting?”

            “No, I’m here to stay. I’m sorry for behaving that way.” He glanced at the screen like a kicked puppy.

            Felix, however, smiled with relief. “Thank God. I dunno how we’d ever be able to put out a game by next month with only one audio engineer.”

            Mark laughed. “Yeah, that probably would’ve never happened,” he chimed in.

            Jack seemed to realize that he wasn’t getting fired, and he visibly relaxed. “Yeah, well don’t worry, I’m not leaving. I, uh…I really like this job, and I’m probably gonna stick with it for a while.”

            “Yeah, apparently. I see you two have gotten…close.” Felix had an eyebrow raised at them that was somewhat disapproving, like a teacher catching his students making out in the back row.

            Mark and Jack glanced at each other and blushed.

            “Uh…yeah, I guess you could say that,” Mark replied awkwardly.

            “I must say, I’m surprised. I never really took you for the type, Mark.”

            “It wasn’t information I gave out very freely…um, sir.”

            Felix rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Oh please, you don’t have to call me that,” he admonished. “Anyway, Jack, as long as you’re not quitting we’re good.”

            Jack smiled. “Thank you. I promise I won’t let this happen again.”

            “Yeah, you damn well better not, or we’re gonna have a problem,” Felix said semi-aggressively, but he didn’t let the tension sit. “Anyway, I’ll go ahead and get going. You two can do…um, whatever, I guess.”

            Jack flushed red again. “Bye, Mr. Kjellberg. We’ll email you some content by tomorrow morning.”

            “Great. It’d better be quality. The stuff Mark sent me while you were away isn’t gonna cut it.”

            Mark rolled his eyes. “I’m glad you think so highly of me.”

            “Yup, you’re welcome. Have a good night. And Mark, don’t forget to take your medicine.” Before he could reply, Felix ended the call, and Jack’s laptop screen went dark.

            The two men sat awkwardly on opposite ends of the sofa, both of their hands in their laps to conceal whatever might be lurking there. Jack glanced at him and half-smiled.

            “So, uh…I’m guessing you’re into me then?”

            Mark tried an attempt at humor. “God I hope so, or else I’ve got more issues than I thought.”

            It worked; Jack laughed, and the sound made Mark’s heart flutter.

            “You’re right about that.” Jack reached across the couch and gripped his hand. “I wouldn’t mind, though. I like you just the way you are.”

            Mark smiled. He still had his doubts about that; making out with Jack hadn’t made him take back all of the awful things he thought about himself. It certainly couldn’t take away the self-harm scars or undo the suicide attempt.

            But it was something. Jack’s love was certainly a force to be reckoned with, simply because it was real.

            It wasn’t some half-assed prescription happy pill from Walgreens.

            It wasn’t some cynical therapy diary that only reminded the user of all their failures.

            It was honest, it was genuine; it wasn’t synthetic or unwanted or undeserved. It was an amalgamation of emotions: happiness, embarrassment, flattery, boldness, and hope. Maybe pharmacists could bottle contentment, and maybe therapists could sell a sympathetic ear, and maybe X-ACTO knives could offer sweet, forbidden relief; but nobody—nobody—could give hope. Hope had to be earned, and by God, they’d both so dearly earned it.

            “I’m serious, Mark,” Jack went on, interrupting Mark’s thoughts. “I mean it. I really, really like you for who you are.”

            Mark smiled, and in a moment of daring, he raised Jack’s hand and kissed his knuckles.

            “Thank you, Jack. I’m glad you do. It’s time somebody finally did.”