Work Text:
Mark had not wanted to come. And now that he was here, the desire to leave had become overbearing. He needed to run back to his country house and enter the next year like he had left the last, hiding behind walls and trees and rolling hills and the great nothing he had made his home. But Mark knew that whatever he needed ceased to matter when faced with the reality of what he wanted or rather who he wanted.
His back was pressed to a wall, velvet curtains hanging off it, the fabric dug into his back through the black silk shirt he wore. A slight, prickly irritation he ignored. His top buttons were all loose and open, a lot of skin on display to distract, to impress? Who was he kidding. Mark felt delirious. The waiters kept passing by, one tray with wine, one with champagne, one with sugary cocktails that made his throat burn. He tried all of them, the trays kept coming and Mark kept drinking.
At first he had wanted to stay sober, desperate to cling to a clear mind but then time went on, as it always did. And as time went on, the void in his mind started eating away; a parasite who forever rejected the concept of contentment.
He doesn’t want to see you. His assistant invited you because she’s polite. He doesn’t care. It meant nothing. He doesn’t love you anymore, he never love-
Mark downed the last bit of his cocktail and winced gratefully as it left a fiery trail down the back of his throat. The music was loud, he felt the beat hammering in his chest, bouncing off his ribs, making his heart flutter and his head even lighter.
His eyes darted through the room, careful to look unbothered but he was sure his anxious pulse betrayed him. He never did have a poker face after all. Whenever he looked into a certain corner - the one from which people kept pouring into the venue - the angle of a low hanging spotlight hit his eyes with a sharp brightness. And whenever that happened, the painful impulse dragged his eyes into a different, darker corner. One where a girl had been eyeing him for the last however many hours. She was pretty, petite, dark long hair and with that kind of look dancing in her eyes he remembered all too well. When he had been nothing but a boy, this game had exhilarated him but at some point, Mark had figured out that a game could not be a game when the winner was always predetermined.
An hour ago, the idea of taking her to a hotel room and drowning himself in the escapist pleasure of a stranger had felt obscene. Nothing more than the bitter aftertaste of a life he had tried to move on from. He was not Mark Owen from Take That anymore; a gift, a curse, both or neither, all depending on the day.
But the alcohol had risen in his blood and so has the desperation. With every passing stranger, with every passing stranger that wasn’t him, the woman in the corner gained a more gripping alure he didn’t care fighting for much longer.
One more tray, one more glass of wine and if he was still alone after the last blood-red drop had spilled on his tongue, then he would give in, then he would escape.
He looked into the bright corner again, watching people come and go, a faceless blurred wave. One after the other, anticipation and disappointment swapping places in a craven dance. He remembered and discarded each one from his drunken mind until - fuck!
A glimpse of black hair and broad shoulders.
Mark dragged himself away from the wall he had been leaning against, his feet rushing, his eyes chasing, his heart hammering so loud the music had all but disappeared. He parted the sea of people with pointed elbows, almost walking on the tips of his toes to see above and beyond the crowd, frightened to lose sight of who he believed to have seen.
He could not lose him. Not again
“Sorry.” He murmured, as he pushed a man to the side.
“Excuse me, sorry.” He said to a woman who needed several taps on her shoulder to move and make way.
If he was finally here, then he would not lose him.
At last, he came out on the other side, spat out by the sea of people, stumbling into a small empty space between the crowd and a small stairway. Without another thought wasted on his intentions, he dashed up the stairs as fast as his drunken limbs would take him. One step after the other, spurred on by his racing heart and the bass drum of the music dancing out a fast rhythm in his mind, the alcohol blurring every line and thought and fear until he got to the end of the stairway and climbed the last few steps.
“Markie?”
Mark suddenly froze. He wanted to reply but his tongue would not obey and so he stared and stared and stared - wide-eyed and terrified.
“What are you doing here, buddy?”
Buddy, a word like a papercut. It broke him out of his stupor.
You invited me. Mark wanted to reply but he had just confirmed his suspicion, nothing more than a pitiful invitation from his assistant.
“Rob!” Mark said.
And there he was, as if he had always been here, just waiting at the top of these stupid stairs. Dark hair and broad shoulders and green eyes that never stopped. As if Mark could’ve come up here any time and found him.
Robbie moved, then, meeting Mark where he stood frozen, throwing his arms around his slim frame in a quick embrace that could never have lasted long enough. Mark felt his heart stutter and Rob took a step back and away from him.
Mark had been mulling over the right thing to say to him all night. There had been so many things he wanted to say, none of which seemed right.
What are we?, was all he could think now that he looked at Rob as if he was a ghost. It’s been two years since they had last seen each other at a charity football game in 1999 and it also had been no time at all.
“Do you remember us?”
“You come here often?” Mark asked, watching Robbie’s face go blank before he broke out into a surprisingly sincere giggle. Why is that surprising? The Rob you knew would’ve giggled. Is that not him?
“Actually no, New Year’s don’t happen too often, I think.” Rob answered, his eyes fixed on Mark. It was only then that Mark noticed how erratic they looked; a wild, restless green. He felt himself pulled back to a time where Nigel had dragged Rob out of strange hotel rooms in foreign countries with foreign people, out of his mind on coke and booze and whatever else he had been taking then. It was a sight that worried him, stabbed at old wounds from days where he – as he now knew thanks to the gift of hindsight – had already lost him. But that same erraticness also brought an unexpected dose of relief. Mark recognised that look and so he recognised Rob and so he decided to forget about what he saw in his eyes all together.
Mark took a careful step forward, his hands digging into the pockets of his skinny trousers, hiding his nervous and drunken tremor. He felt sober now anyways and Rob didn’t move. The small light of the hallway they were in threw shadows on his face.
Seeing him now, it was a like all floodgates burst open in his mind. Mark remembered heartache and laughter, how soft Rob's hair was whenever he combed his fingers through it, his face when he slept, remembered the taste of drunken teenage kisses, remembered Rob's lips and his cock and how he felt when he saw his own smile reflected on Rob’s face; like nothing else mattered, like nothing else could ever matter.
And since then, perhaps it never did.
You’re pathetic.
“How is it going? Been a while.” Mark asked into the small silence that was stretching out between them, offering Rob a smile he gladly took. The muffled music and voices from downstairs were barely registering for either of them now.
He felt like crying. Somehow Mark had thought that he would meet the comfort of the superstar Robbie Williams, that he’d be deflected by a persona he didn’t know but now that he was stood here, staring at him, feeling him it was as if though the superstar had never been, and it made it so much harder for Mark. Almost as if the idea of his Rob no longer existing, would make losing him any easier. But he was here, his Rob was right here and if his Rob was here then why was he not here with him?
“It goes good. How about you?” Rob lied, not that it mattered.
“Can’t complain either. Nice party!” Mark lied back, which very much mattered.
They keep meeting like this, two ships in the night. The superstar and his ex-boyband mate. A charity football game here, a party there, nothing more than pleasantries and a social dance they always remembered the steps to. They always knew how to be Mark Owen and Robbie Williams, but Mark wanted them to be Mark and Rob again. He just feared that Rob would not know the difference anymore or if he did, would not care enough either way.
What was worse? And what are we now?
“So I’ve heard! You’ve been enjoying yourself then?” Rob asked. Mark couldn’t tell if he was holding back too, if he too felt like there was an endlessness of words begging to be said but kept being denied by the careful restraint of his mind. It was a like there was a bubble around and between them, just waiting to burst whenever someone dared digging too deep.
Mark didn’t want to scare him away, but he took another step forward.
Why? was all that he wanted to ask Rob.
Why did you leave me? Why can’t I be with you? Why can’t I love you? Why don’t you love me?
Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe that was just an excuse Mark latched on to soothe his own mind. Those questions always haunted him, alcohol or not. But he knew he could not beg Rob to answer them for him, it would ruin this, would pop their bubble and Mark just didn’t know if there was anything left for them beyond it. And he would rather be anyone, have anything that he could share with Rob than nothing at all. Even if this came far too close to nothing at all already, it was something.
Mark hummed in agreement, then, nodding his head, shrugging his shoulders to answer a question both didn’t remember Rob asking. Another step forward.
There was no more noise, the party downstairs had retreated, their bubble expanded. Mark could hear Rob breathe, that’s how close he was to him now.
Why?
Mark pulled one hand up, looking at Rob for permission, before he carefully placed it on Rob’s chest, right above his heart. He thought he heard Rob’s breath hitch; he thought he could feel his heart hammering through his bones and skin and the fabric of his shirt. Mark’s thumb stroked upward in a featherlike motion-
and then the bubble popped.
Rob took a step back and Mark dropped his hand.
The downstairs party burst into their scene, the music blared into the silence and there was fear flashing in the green of Rob’s eyes and Mark wanted to take it away and away but he knew he couldn’t.
“I-“ Mark started, desperate to repair what had been broken.
“I can’t, Mark, I’m sorry.”
Mark, another papercut. He felt like the ground beneath his feet had disappeared. Mark was falling, falling, falling.
“No, no-“ Mark replied and shook his head “I’m sorry for- for assuming-“
“It’s not-“ Rob cut him off, though unable to finish his own thoughts.
“I’ll go.” Mark surrendered, already turning around but finding himself stopped by Robbie’s hands on both of his shoulders.
“No, please.” Rob begged and then…
“It’s not our time yet Mark, okay? It’s not our time.”
Rob looked at him with such desperation that Mark was sure there was a sincerity to it, he didn’t quite understand.
“I see.” He answered, avoiding Rob’s gaze, none the wiser. His mouth turned into a smile automatically, years of training pulled at the invisible strings at either corner of his lips, but it came off wrong, his eyes would not follow. Mark’s face turned into a sad grimace.
Rob’s hands moved upwards, his fingers now grabbing Mark’s face instead of his shoulders, begging him silently to look at him and Mark obliged.
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
“I’m sorry, Mark.” Rob repeated, his voice turning into a prayer. Mark felt himself nodding. And then there were lips on his forehead, a brief but tender touch and he could feel Rob’s breath in his hair and the warmth of him pressed up against him and then the lips were gone and so was the warmth.
“Call me?” Rob asked, whatever that meant. Mark couldn’t bring himself to wonder. He was still falling and falling and falling.
“Yeah, promise.” He replied, his head was empty.
Another kiss to his forehead. It burned.
“See ya, mate.”
Mark closed his eyes, inhaling, bracing himself.
“See ya, Rob.” He said.
And then Rob was gone and Mark hit the ground.