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“Celine?” Mark unlocked the door, stepping in. “I’m home. I got you those caramel candies you like.”
Silence.
“Celine?” He yelled out again. Was she asleep? It was only evening. “Helllooooo?”
Huh. Strange. The bag thumps onto the counter, keys following it moments later.
“You know, I was thinking we should ask Damien to come over sometime this week. I feel like we haven’t seen him in ages.” He opened the fridge as he spoke, filling it with the contents of the plastic bag. “Maybe we can invite William, too. Make a night out of it. I can dig out those board games from the attic.”
Mark furrowed his eyebrows, closing the fridge door as he turned, slowly scanning the room. “Are you even here? I bet I’m talking to myself right now. Like a crazy person. Cuckoo.” He giggled to himself, finding the idea amusing.
He grabbed a glass, filling it with water, then froze in his place, the glass promptly overflowing in his hand. In the corner of his eye, he noticed a piece of paper, its edges unevenly ripped from a notebook.
It was almost mocking him. Sitting there, gone unnoticed until mere seconds ago. Set on the kitchen counter, the pink glittery writing stared back at him, held down by the very pen it was written with. Immediately, he recognised the handwriting. Mark set the glass down, drying his hands off on his shirt quickly, then grabbed the note.
“I don’t mean to hurt you.”
“I couldn’t find any other pens, please ignore the glitter, this is serious.”
“It isn’t your fault.”
“I just can’t stay with you, Mark.”
“I’m sorry.”
“William is so much more caring.”
He gawked at the writing, dumbfounded. It was filled with nothing but lies.
He slammed his fist on the marble counter, inhaling sharply. Years of marriage over, with a note? Not even— she couldn’t even muster up the courage to speak to him face to face?
He shoved the paper into his coat pocket, grabbed his keys and went out to the front door. He couldn’t stay. Not tonight.
•••
Mark made his way up the porch steps, using the rail to steady himself. It was freezing, he cursed under his breath, he should’ve grabbed a sweater or something before leaving the house. Instead, he had to live with pulling his coat tighter around himself, which did nothing. It was nearing midnight, and he had a feeling Damien was nowhere near full consciousness.
He knocked on the door a few times. No answer. He knocked again, harder this time. Still nothing. Taking a few steps back, he watched each of the windows closely. All of the lights were off, not a single bit of movement, save for a curtain inside being blown around. He huffed. What type of person sleeps this early?
Mark hit the doorbell button, holding his finger there for a long few seconds. Then again, once, shortly. Then about a million other short bursts following each other.
That’s when a light inside turned on. Finally.
Damien carefully opened the door, blinking the tiredness from his eyes as he yawned, “What the hell, Mark?”
Mark smiled widely, opening his arms and pulling his friend into a tight hug, practically throwing the majority of his weight onto his friend, “Mister Mayor! It’s been too long. We haven’t spoken in ages.”
He stumbled back, hesitating before returning the embrace, “Are you okay? Are you drunk?”
“No. To both of those questions. Celine left me. Don’t let go, this is really nice.”
“Mark— What? Okay, hold on, it’s freezing. Can we please sit down inside first?”
“No.”
“Mark.”
“Fine. Whatever. Can’t believe you got cold so quickly, honestly. If I lasted this long outside, how come you can’t last ten seconds? You need to toughen your skin up—“
“Mark.”
“Okay, okay. Lead the way.”
•••
Mark lounged on the deep blue chaise, sprawled across the length of it. The clicking of the clock on the opposite wall slowly drove him insane. Damien walked over, sitting on the edge next to him and handing him a warm cup of hot cocoa.
“Are you planning to tell me what happened? What prompted you to come here?”
“Maybe.” He took a careful sip, “This is really good.”
“I know. It’s Nesquick. Tell me how it happened.”
“No, like, I think your Nesquick is better than mine. Do they send you a special batch because you’re the mayor?”
“Mark.”
He rolled his eyes and sighed, sitting upright, “You don’t have to know what happened. It’s really not that important. It’s not like my entire life has gone to shit and I’ve wasted the last decade of my life on complete bullshit.”
“Well, you can’t just drop something like that on me and not explain how it happened.” Damien sighed, setting his arm on Mark’s leg, holding his own mug between his cold hands.
Mark couldn’t bring himself to reply. He looked away, down at the swirling of the sweet drink he now had rested on his lap. How was he supposed to explain it to him?
“Mark.” Damien spoke softly, placing a comforting hand on his friend’s knee. “You can tell me anything, you know that.”
He glanced at the hand, breath faltering. What was Damien doing to him? “Look, it’s fine. It’s over between me and her. She made it clear in her stupid note.”
“Over? What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s over, forever. I don’t want to talk about it. I just— can we watch a movie, or something? I just need a distraction.”
“Yeah, of course.” He gave him a small, comforting smile, patting his friend’s knee once before taking his hand away, and turning to face the TV.
For a moment, Mark only thought of one thing; he wanted so desperately for Damien to put his hand back where it was.