Chapter Text
There’s a single-note ding and your phone lights up your nightstand in the black of your bedroom. Your eyes squint to fight the intense brightness before they adjust as you grab your device as you turn over in bed. What time is it? The corner of your phone screen reads 12:34 a.m. The banner notification of the new message on your screen has no contact name, just the usual 10-digits number combo, but you recognize it immediately. Without a second thought, you open it up and see that the message has no text, just a video. Now you hesitate, but you still press play after a microsecond’s deliberation.
He’s drunk. You can tell that almost immediately. The too-red of his face, the glazed haziness of his deep brown eyes. His lopsided, closed-lip smile that accentuates his dimple. All classic symptoms of a very inebriated Marcus Pike. Which makes perfect sense. There’s no way he would’ve recorded this video sober. Even less of a chance that he would have sent this to you. Especially not looking like this. The Marcus you knew always maintained a cleanshaven, neat appearance. But his hair is longer, a slight wave to the fringe that frames the right side of his face. He’s also let his facial hair grow out in a moustache and patchy beard. It’s very unlike him but he looks incredibly handsome.
And you? Well, you’re not doing so hot either. The tears that lulled you to sleep last night have long-since dried off, leaving itchy streaks down your face. The shirt - one of his old T-shirts you’d kept - you’re wearing and shorts that you haven’t even bothered to change out of all weekend. You’re also too damn curious or maybe just too damn stupid enough to open up the attachment. Even after ten months, your heart skips a beat. Even after ten months, you’re still crying and caring about him. You hear a soft exhale and your eyes are drawn to him again, your heart warming at the familiar sight of him and the dimple on his right cheek. He glances down for a second, before looking up once more as he lets out a throaty chuckle.
“Hi,” His voice is steady, confident, but then he drops the smile as if already regretting this. “I was thinking about you. I always do, around this time - every time of the day, actually.” The admission is slightly rushed as he averts his gaze again. “Anyway, uh probably not even thinking about me. Do you ever think about me? A little?” There it is, the famous puppy dog doeness of his brown eyes that gives him an instantly boyish demeanor and made you fall head-over-heels for him what seems like forever ago. He gives a slight shake of his head, even as you’re nodding along to the question. Not that he can see you of course. But of course you think about him. It’s impossible for you not to think about him. Even now.
He glances off as a look of confusion crosses his features, a sigh escaping him. “What was I saying? What am I-?” He cuts off, sighing again, “What am I saying?? Don’t lose track, fuck.” He mutters to himself. He steps back, before dropping down close to the camera again, another drunken smile appearing for a moment, self-amused for losing his train of thought. Or maybe the courage the alcohol gave him, you’re not sure. He suddenly slaps both of his palms over his face and drags them down his face, contorting his features in the process and making a soft laugh involuntarily escape you as he whimpers once quietly. A loud clap from him makes you jump and then he points at you, making you resomber.
“Do you remember… Do you remember,” He snaps before continuing, “when we saw that uh, what was it, uh?” Two snaps this time, with both hands. “You remember?” He gives up and backtracks, “They used to be in these big ass expensive fuckin’ buildings, you remember? What were they called, um?” His desperation is palpable, even through the screen as he turns to walk directly away from the camera before crossing diagonally to your right. There’s a commotion of sound, as if he’s tossing everything around in search of something specific. As it grows louder for a moment, you almost grow worried but then he’s filling your view again with a familiar playbill next to him and a wide grin on his face. “Plays!” He exclaims, proudly. The site of the cover of the playbill with its tattered edges and faded coloring tugs at your heartstrings. He’d kept it all this time? “This??” He accentuates the question by tapping the title on the cover. You’re reading it aloud along with him, though you know the name of it from memory. “The Last of the Sad, Mad Genuises.”
“Remember plays?” He asks, and his tone is soft in its innocence. “Songs? Poetry?” A brief hopeful smile flits across his features but it's gone in an instant. “Yeah, me neither.” His tone drops instantly from playful to somber and he averts his eyes, ruefully. He talks about these things as if they no longer exist, as if they were from a past life. But you know instantly what he means. Since him, since Marcus, there’s stuff you can’t enjoy anymore. You can’t watch any black and white movie because it’ll just remind you of the countless Cinema Nights you two spent on his couch, cuddled up close as he whispered movie trivia to you ad nauseum. Oogum Boogum by Brenton Wood still makes you cry because all you can picture is when Marcus sang it terribly offkey to you on your third date at a Karaoke bar.
“Remember we saw this play? And you laughed so hard you peed a little?” You should have been embarrassed, mortifyingly so, but you just couldn’t be. You were so comfortable with him, and he never made fun of you for it. “And, what was that fucking line in the play?? How the fuck did it go??? If,” He closes his eyes, his dark brows furrowing in concentration, “If, If, If-?” He opens his eyes and points again, “If you’ve got one friend when you die, you got something most people never have.” You nod again, impressed he was able to recall it.
“And I tried to quote that shit back at you, and you laughed at me cuz I fucked it up.” He lets out a reluctant chuckle. “And I kissed you,” He pauses and looks up at you again. Your heart squeezes in response to the look in his eyes, even when he tears his gaze away again. He shudders. “And you let me?” He whimpers again and you release a shuddering sigh in response. “And it-” He swallows, his voice thick as his eyes have a faraway look in them as he looks at anything but the camera.
“It rained like we were in a fucking movie, and life was never better than that.” You hate to admit it, but you feel the same way too. That moment had been torn right out of the pages of your romance novel and you thanked Cupid himself for allowing you to experience it. Especially with Marcus. “Shit, shit!” As he begins to break down, releasing these gasping, shuddering breaths that move his shoulders, your heart lodges itself in your throat as tears brim your own eyes, even as you recall such a sweet memory.
The way he had held you close against the sudden chill of the rain, his body warm and sweet and safe. The loud pattering of the raindrops as they hit your bodies and the pavement underneath your feet. The softness of his lips on yours, and the same doeness of his eyes. It had been nothing short of magical. “Why did you have to love me like that?” He asks softly. Your hand instinctively touches your phone screen as if it’s his face, caressing the edge of the device gently. He seemingly regains his composure, but then he covers his mouth and releases another gasp,
“WHY DID YOU HAVE TO LOVE ME BACK?!” The eruption from him makes you jump so much you almost drop your phone, not realizing you had leaned in so much the further you watched the video. You sit up straight and readjust, “Y’know? Why’d you do that? You… You had to have known that-that it, you’d send me into a kind of madness. Y’know? So-Sometimes, sometimes I think maybe-” He cuts off before trying again. “Sometimes maybe uh, I made you up… uh… sometimes.” Your heart breaks all over again at his confession and this time a couple of tears fall as you continue to watch, too enraptured by his madness to look away.
“So, I go,” his gaze travels off to glance around the room he’s in for a moment. “into the quietest parts of this house and..,” He looks directly at you again. “I whisper your name.” A shiver runs down your spine at that. “ I wish I could scream it .” Your body feels hot all over even as more tears begin to fall at that. “I should,” he continues. “Should I scream it?” You’re nodding again and so is he, a sudden determination in his voice. “I will, I should!”
He draws in a deep gasp. You can see that he’s about to do it, ramping himself up. Your own body tenses in anticipation, the hand holding your phone tightening its grip while the other tightens up into a fist as it rests against your thigh. You swear you can practically see his lips begin to form the letters of your name. But then he releases the energy in a slight hiss from between his teeth, followed by a defeated sigh and a slump of his shoulders.
“Yeah I… I can’t send this.” He mumbles. He lets out a humorless laugh. He grabs the playbill again and straightens up and away from the camera finally releasing you from his stare. He places the bill with both palms against his chest, his heart, clutching it tenderly before running a hand through his hair. He moves close again, dropping his hands and the bill. “You’re just making a damn fool of yourself, Pike. Fuck it.” The black screen greets you next and you’re up and out of bed in the next moment. Without a second thought, you’ve put on your shoes, grabbed your keys, and headed out. He’s awake, you think. He’ll open the door. You’re sure of it.