Work Text:
Sam was tired. He was tired of chasing without being chased, of loving without reciprocation. He loved Mark, but Mark wasn’t ready to be loved, didn’t have time to be loved, not yet. But Sam was tired of waiting for when Mark would be ready, it had been months already of giving love and receiving little in return.
He understood. He understood that Mark was scarred from his last relationship. But Sam could only take so many rejections before he began to fall away. It became easier, at least, as the food poisoning case closed and Mark wasn’t around investigating the restaurant all the time. No one ever seemed to notice the amount of time he spent ‘interviewing’ Sam in private, returning with red lips and messy hair.
Sam read through their texts sometimes, wondering if he imagined the love interwoven in Mark’s words. It had been a month and a half since he last received a message, two months since he last saw Mark’s face. There had been no indication anything was wrong, no angry message or shouted words. Mark was there, and then he was gone.
Sam wondered if it was his fault. If he pushed too hard, demanded Mark to be more serious and commit more than he was ready for. Or maybe he just got assigned a new case and without Sam to help him, forgot how to balance his job with having a life again. Sam imagined him slumped over asleep at his desk, as he had found him so many times.
The restaurant was almost back in perfect working order and Sam wasn’t sure what he would do once it was done. Sure, he’d work out of his room at the restaurant, helping Quinn with orders sometimes, but he wouldn’t have enough work to occupy his entire days anymore, leaving even more time for him to miss Mark.
He found one of Mark’s hoodies in his work room from one of their many makeout sessions and sometimes at night found himself hugging it tight to his chest, fingers hovering over the keyboard to message Mark. He never did though, no matter how many messages he typed out he never hit send. Sam knew it was bad for him, he and Mark’s back and forth of boyfriends or not. He wanted something solid, and Mark couldn’t, or wouldn’t give it to him.
He’d started playing with his band again at night, hosting gigs that were gathering larger and larger crowds. Sometimes he swears he sees Mark in the crowd, but whenever he looks back he’s gone.
It was nice being back on stage, nothing to worry about but the notes on his guitar and making the crowd dance. It brought a lot of groupies, too. Men and women, young and old, looking to hook up with the band members. Sam indulged a few times, but stopped when he noticed he was only fucking people with black hair and big, brown eyes.
It was a Friday night, their last big show for the week, and Sam was backstage getting ready. He decided to forgo a shirt entirely for the show, as they were the last act and the heat from all the bodies in the crowd was suffocating. He was delicately applying eyeliner to his waterlines while quietly repeating their line up for the night to himself. Today Sam was feeling extra lonely, and found himself almost looking forward to the prospect of having sex with a groupie tonight, if only to stave off the coldness of an empty bed.
They got their stage call and he took one last look in the mirror, taking a deep breath. He wouldn’t think about Mark, not tonight. He told himself this every night. It hadn’t worked yet.
The lights on stage were blinding and the cheers were deafening. Usually Sam loved performing more than anything, but tonight it felt hollow. There was a man in the front row that looked too much like Mark for him to enjoy himself. His fingers acted purely on muscle memory to play through the songs while he thought of quiet afternoons in his workroom, Mark’s hands on his body and lips on his.
In a flash the show was over and Sam was backstage again, switching his jeans out for a pair of sweats, pulling on a sweatshirt he pretended didn’t belong to Mark. It didn’t even smell like Mark anymore, anyways. He didn’t bother washing off his makeup, just throwing his hair into its usual bun and slipping out the door.
Outside, the usual crowd of fans was waiting, looking for a quick hook up with one of the band members. Sam was deeply considering it, spotting a tattooed man with dark hair and brown eyes, when he froze. There, walking past the small crowd to his car was Mark. The real Mark, not whatever person Sam projected him onto for the night. He rushed to get to him, not even sparing a thought as to what he’d say when he did, but by the time he pushed his way through the crowd, his car was gone.
Sam went home alone.
He laid in his cold, empty bed wallowing in misery and self-pity. Sam hugged Mark’s sweatshirt tight to his chest, desperately searching for any last traces of his scent in its seams. He heard a quiet knock on his front door, but couldn’t even bother to get up and answer, knowing if it was important enough they would come back in the morning.
Clutched to his chest, just over Mark’s hoodie, his phone buzzed. Once, twice, three times in a row. Sam lifted the device, eyes burning at the bright light, and then abruptly dropped it on his own face when he read the notification.
Mark -_-:
Hey
I’m outside
Please answer
I’m sorry Sammie
The fourth text buzzed against his face. Sam shot up, crawling out of bed. He took a few steps towards the door, stopped, and read the messages again. Sat back down on his bed. Read them again. Stood back up. He raced out of his bedroom and to the front door before he could convince himself this was a bad idea. The door flew open, slamming into the wall.
Mark had turned, about to walk away. He glanced back over his shoulder, brown eyes meeting their blue counterpart for the first time in two months.
“Sam.” He sounded out of breath. His eyes were rimmed with tears, hands tucked into the sleeves of his hoodie. It was one of Sam’s hoodies, the colors faded and seams coming undone.
“Mark, hi.” Mark’s own hoodie was still clutched in his hands. The cold night air bit at his bare chest.
“Can we talk?”
Sam closed the door quietly behind Mark and made them both a cup of tea. They sat on stools at the counter, shoulders just barely touching, bodies alight at the point of contact. The clock ticked on the wall, each minute passing felt like an hour.
“I’m—”
“I can’t—” They rushed to break the silence at the same time, shy smiles at their haste. Sam gestured for Mark to continue.
“I’m sorry Sam. I’m so sorry, for everything. You didn’t deserve any of this, I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you.” Mark took a shaky breath, Sam’s hand twitched instinctively to grab his. “Sammie, I miss you. I miss seeing you every day. I miss your stupid puns, the lunches you’d bring me, your hugs, your lips.”
Mark trailed off with a sad smile, Sam stared into his cup of tea, but could feel Mark’s eyes on his face.
“Mark, I miss you too, more than anything. But I can’t be with someone who doesn’t want to be with me in return. I know you’re hurt and I want to help you heal, but I need you to heal me also, you know?” His eyes rose from his mug, meeting Mark’s, relieved to see tears matching his own. “I can’t love you not knowing if you love me back, not again.”
“You love me?” Mark whispered.
“Of course I do. I love you, Mark.”
Sam was tugged forward by the neck of his shirt, lips smashing into Mark’s. It was like no time had passed, their tongues reuniting like old friends, the rub of Sam’s piercing against the top of Mark’s mouth a comfort he forgot he needed. They kissed until their chests burned for air, hands grabbing at any part of each other they could.
Sam’s breath out became Mark’s breath in, filling his lungs and veins and every fiber of his being with Sam. Their foreheads rested against each other, eyes closed in silent relief.
“I love you Sam.” Mark pressed kisses all across Sam’s face. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I was scared, I am scared, I don’t want to lose you.”
“It’s okay to be scared, love. We’ll navigate this together.”
He pulled Mark against his body, arms wrapping tight around him. Their chests rose in unison, silent tears falling and being brushed away with gentle kisses.
Sam guided Mark into a warm shower where they took turns washing each other’s hair, quiet affirmations of love whispered under the running water. When they dried off, they traded back sweatshirts, falling into bed surrounded entirely by the other’s smell.
Sam’s head rested on Mark’s chest, fingers brushing lazily through his hair. His arms were thrown around Mark’s stomach, legs intertwined. He was lulled to sleep by the rumbling of Mark’s chest as he caught Sam up on every moment of his life he had missed in the past two months. Mark, it appeared, had lived much of the same depressed lifestyle Sam had.
Just as he was drifting off, Sam caught Mark whispering quietly.
“Thank you Sammie.”
Sam hummed in confusion, propping himself up on an elbow.
“For taking me back, thank you. I was at your shows, you had so many men chasing after you, it would’ve been easy to move on from me, but you didn’t. You waited.”
“I never could have moved on, none of them were you.” Sam said simply. Mark’s breath hitched. He pulled Sam into his chest, rolling them onto their sides and hugging him tight.
It wasn’t perfect, they still had two months of healing to process, but tonight Sam’s bed was no longer cold and Mark was back in his arms. For now, that was enough.