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Jack hated the city.
The hustle and bustle of the crowd made him cringe, the blaring of car horns and the rumble of exhaust everlasting, it seemed. The city never slept, and these days, neither did he--but it didn't make the noise anymore bearable.
To be fair, Jack had no real reason to be out of his apartment at the hour. The November chill was reason enough to stay indoors, but Jack couldn't sit still in his apartment anymore. It had become nothing more than a sleeping place--he spent most nights wandering the sidewalks, occasionally sitting on the park bench, listening to music until his body physically couldn't withstand the elements anymore, to which he went home and collapsed into bed. He didn't even consider home a home anymore. It was just his apartment. The place that he paid for and slept at. That was about it.
It wasn't always.
Jack sighed. He pulled his scarf around his neck a little tighter, pulling his beanie down further over his ears. A gust of wind picked up, causing him to shiver. He rubbed his gloved fingers together, breathing on them as he walked, vainly trying to warm them, hoping they wouldn't snap off from being so cold.
He could really use a coffee.
Jack wove through the crowds of people coming down the sidewalk, meandering through them, murmuring sorry to every person he hit even though they neither looked up nor acknowledged him at all. City life tended to be like that. When he saw his favorite coffee shop come into view, Jack ducked inside and immediately breathed in the sweet scent of rich roasted coffee. He smiled.
He made his way up to the counter, where he recognized the barista--which proved that he'd been in this place way too many times for his own good.
"Hey, hey," Matthias--that was his name--hummed, sporting a huge grin as Jack approached. "Want your usual?"
Jack glanced over the menu board, thinking maybe he wasn't quite up to his usual today--black with two sugars. A part of him wanted to be a little adventurous, so he quipped, "Nah. Um--what do you recommend?"
"Well, since it's still early in November," Matthias said. "We've still got some Pumpkin Spice--that really big, Autumn sort of coffee. It's pretty popular with customers--wanna try that? It's got a cinnamon flavor to it, too. I personally like it."
At first, the thought of cinnamon in his coffee sounded really good--he'd never been a huge fan of cinnamon but in coffee, it could work really well, he figured. But then he remembered.
Mark loved cinnamon in his coffee.
Jack swallowed. His mind buzzed, and he curled his fingers into fists, sucking a sharp breath. Matthias stared at him quizzically, apparently taking note of his sudden shutdown.
"I'll have my usual, actually," Jack murmured, digging into his pants for his wallet. "Thanks."
Matthias frowned, but didn't say much as he took the few bills from Jack, returning his change momentarily. "It'll be right out," he said, before running off to pour his cup of black coffee.
Jack took the coffee cup from him, dumping two sugar packets into it, placing the lid back onto it without stirring. Gripping the cup tighter than he meant to, Jack swirled on his heel, deciding that he really didn't want to be in the shop anymore.
As he turned, he nearly ran into someone. Jack stumbled back and met the gaze of the stranger--and his heart nearly stopped. Brown eyes stared back at him.
But then his heart picked up again. They weren't the right shade. Two shades darker than the chestnut of Mark's. The stranger glared and walked around him, approaching the counter while Jack stood there, trembling.
He took a swig of his coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste. The sugar had dissolved but it was probably all at the bottom. After a deep breath, Jack pushed open the door, ignoring the jingle of the bell as the noise of the city filled him once again.
A quick glance to his watch indicated that Jack really needed to go home. If he didn't, he wouldn't be able to get up tomorrow morning for work, and the last thing he needed was his boss getting on his ass.
Jack began the long trek back to his apartment, trying to tune out the honking of horns once again. As he neared the apartment, he slowed his steps, finding himself weary--heavy with apprehension about returning to his empty apartment. But what else could he do?
The wind whipped at him as he climbed up the stairs, and Jack took another sip of his coffee, before gagging, remembering that the sugar wasn't mixed in properly. In a fit of anger, he hurled it over the railing, watching it fall down until it hit the pavement below. A small amount of guilt filled him at the gesture, because someone was going to have to pick that up, but then he sighed. He continued to his apartment.
After fishing the keys out of his pocket, Jack opened the door, wincing as it squeaked. He made a mental note to oil it or something, but knew that he would probably wouldn't get around to it. He wasn't home enough for it.
He slammed the door behind him, locking it. He pressed his forehead against the cool frame, bracing himself--as he always had to before he faced the apartment. Jack swallowed tightly, before shrugging off his coat, tossing it lazily over the side of the couch, uncaring as it slid to the floor. He shucked off his shoes and gloves, and untied his scarf, letting it slip through his fingers and onto the carpet. He stepped over it and proceeded to the kitchen.
Inwardly, Jack wished he hadn't thrown out that coffee. His feet padded across the tiled floor of the small kitchen, and he dug through the cupboard to see if he had any instant coffee he could brew up. When he couldn't find any, he let out a soft groan of disappointment.
Then again, when was the last time he actually went shopping? How many other nights had he thrown out coffee he didn't want, only to want it later? How many nights had he brewed that same, shitty instant coffee when he couldn't sleep?
Jack rubbed at his eyes. Sleep. He needed to sleep. But without moving, he looked around. He ran his index finger across the counter top, leaning against it, burying his face in his hands.
He could remember too clearly. He could remember too clearly sitting on that stupid counter top, swinging his legs back and forth as Mark hummed a little tune as the two of them waited for the actual decent coffee to brew. The mornings always had been the best part of their day--the one moment they got to be together peacefully. Jack could remember hopping off the counter after Mark playfully griped at him, giggling as Mark pulled him into his arms, kissing him three times--once on each cheek, then once a little longer on the lips. If he focused long enough, he could still feel it--the warmth of his arms and the softness of his lips--
But that was a thing of the past. Jack breathed out, shaking his head. He bit his lower lip, deciding that maybe being in the kitchen wasn't a good idea anymore. Jack hurried out, making his way to the bedroom, as if it were any better.
The Irishman gazed upon his unruly bed, tangled sheets and sideways pillows, a testament to how little he cared for sleeping these days. Without meaning to, his mind strayed to how Mark always insisted on making the bed in the mornings whenever he was there, convincing him that it was more comfortable to get into bed in the evening when it was made. It had become a habit for a while--one that he had clearly dropped.
In the first few weeks, Jack had slept on the couch, unable to be in the room for too long without feeling an emptiness in his heart. But after a while, sleeping on the couch just hadn't been an option anymore, his back could attest to that--and so to the bedroom he had returned. Not that he slept any better, though.
Jack padded to the closet, then stopped himself--he didn't keep pajamas in the closet. He rubbed at his eyes again, realizing he was even more tired than he'd thought himself to be. Jack then dug through his drawers, making another mental note to do laundry as he pulled out a pair of an old pair of red flannel pants.
He swallowed.
"These shouldn't be in here," he said aloud, even though nobody else was in the apartment. He was by himself--he had been for a long time. "These aren't mine."
Even so, Jack allowed himself the small comfort. He changed into them from his jeans, then tugged on an old hoodie before crawling into his unmade bed, burying his face in his pillow.
He had been thinking about Mark a lot today. And the last few days. The last few weeks. The last few months. In all honesty, Jack wasn't sure if a day had gone by that he didn't miss the ever loving fuck out of Mark Fischbach.
Though, he didn't have a right to. It was Jack's fault he was gone. It was entirely Jack's fault that he wasn't in his life anymore.
Jack rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Despite the stillness of his apartment, the noise outside whirred, reminding him that even if he felt dead, the city was alive and well.
So was Mark. Somewhere out in the city, Mark was alive and well and doing just fine without him. And Jack hated every bit of knowing that.
Jack brought a hand up to his eyes, rubbing them fiercely, attempting to prevent any tears from falling. He shouldn't be this invested in his ex boyfriend of all people, shouldn't be seeing him at every corner or seeing him in the eyes of strangers, shouldn't be losing sleep over him, especially since he was the one who had ended the relationship to begin with. He had no right.
But he couldn't help it. His heart ached. Against his wishes, tears streamed down his cheeks, and god help him, he wanted nothing more at that moment than to find his old lover again and tell him he was sorry, that he had never loved anyone more in his life--that he could do it this time, that he could commit. But he couldn't.
Jack choked out a sob, the only sound in the apartment echoing back to him. That one sob was all it took--afterwards he completely broke down, unable to stop the emotions that collapsed in on him, bearing down on him, reminding him of what he'd lost.
He fell asleep to his own shaky breathing and the sound of the city below him, wishing for nothing more other than for everything to just be quiet.