Chapter Text
Marcus
The world is painfully desolate now. The noise around me has faded, leaving me staring at the shot in my hand.
I lost count of how many I’ve drunk the past hours. I can’t seem to care.
I throw my head back and let the drink make its way down my throat, welcoming the familiar burn. I keep hoping I’ll feel better with every shot, but it just amplifies my pain.
I don’t know how long I sit at the bar before standing on unsteady legs and walking out. It’s cold outside, and I don’t know where I’m going.
I can hear cars honking around me, but I keep my eyes on the ground. I don’t think I could handle seeing another thing that reminds me of him.
His blonde hair and green eyes haunt me, even after his death. I can’t even ride my motorcycle anymore.
Every time I sat on it, I was reminded of his arms that used to wrap around me. The same arms that’s now buried 6 feet under with the rest of him, all because of the family he had the misfortune to be born into.
The streetlights illuminate the road in front of me, highlighting the dried blood under my fingernails. I should wash it off.
I really should. It’s stupid, really.
But it’s the last part of him I’ve still got. I wish I had told him that I loved him.
I wish I had told him that he wasn’t some fling I was going to get bored of. I wish I had told him he was everything.
I wish we had more time. Everything we had was always temporary.
And now he’s gone, and I’m still here. I stop in front of a church.
Pres never believed in God. He had all reasons to not.
This damn world was cruel to him until the very end. His gravestone is behind the church.
Preston Armstrong.
That’s all it says. Nothing more, nothing less.
Just his name in elegant letters. Cold and impersonal.
It doesn’t say anything about who he was. Nothing about how outgoing he was.
Nothing about how much he cared for those who mattered to him. Nothing about how miserable he truly was.
I sit down. The grass is wet.
The church wall bites into my back. I don’t know how long I sit there.
I can feel tears streaming down my face. I don’t usually cry.
I’ve never had something worth crying over before.
…
I think I fall asleep. I can feel hands cupping my face.
"Marcus.”
Preston.
He often appears in my dreams, like he’s refusing to let me go, even after death. I know it’s not real.
But I like pretending it is. His eyes are different than usual.
Normally, he looks happy. Not truly, but there’s still light in his eyes.
He’s always smiling or laughing. Now his eyes hold a sadness I didn’t even know he possessed.
I could never talk to him in my dreams. He was right there, but I was forced to be silent.
However, I never stopped trying. I was hoping that one day the universe would have mercy on me, letting me speak to him one last time.
Maybe it’s because fate pities me, or I’m on my deathbed, but when I try to speak, it comes out loud and clear.
“I loved you.”
His hands freeze around my face, and his eyes widen.
“I know you’re not real, but I did love you. I still do.”
He tries to speak, but I cut him off.
“And I also wanted to say I’m sorry.”
My cheeks are getting wet now.
“I’m sorry for not saving you in time, and I’m sorry for not realizing I loved you until it was too late.”
He shakes his head. Tears are rolling down his face.
“I’m real, Marcus.”
I faintly smile.
“No, you’re not. You’re gone, and it’s all my fault.”
I can’t help it. The smile I had crumbles.
My tears turn to full on sobbing, but I keep going.
“Fuck, I miss you. I don’t know what to do now. I’m tired, Pres. I don’t want to do this anymore.”
His arms wrap around me, and I rest my head on his chest. As long as I’m with him, I’ll be at peace.
…
I’m lying in my bed. My head throbs, and all the memories from last night flood in.
The dream. Just thinking about it makes me want to cry all over again.
That’s when I realize this is in fact not my bed. I instantly shoot up.
The clothes I’m wearing aren’t mine either. I frantically look around the room.
It doesn’t look anything out of the ordinary, but I still don’t know how I got here. A phone catches my sight.
I quickly snatch it up, thinking it’s mine, but the background is unknown. Except it was actually not that unfamiliar.
I swear I’ve seen it somewhere. Preston’s phone.
I drop the phone like it burned me. No.
Nononononono. It can’t be.
This isn’t even his apartment. We usually met up at my place, but I know for a fact that he didn’t have his own place.
And if he did, it wouldn’t look like this. It’s too ordinary.
Too bland, as he likes to say it. Not enough him.
I need to get the hell out. Since I have no control over where I’m going, I end up stumbling into the kitchen.
A guy my age is standing by the oven, flipping what seems to be pancakes. He has blonde hair.
Just like Pres. It’s almost like Preston’s too, just a bit longer.
And then he turns around. Fuck.
Those goddamned green eyes. It feels like I’ve been kicked in the stomach.
Multiple times. Because the face that stares back at me isn’t a stranger.
It’s someone I know all too well. I remain frozen for a short time.
Then, a chocked-up sound leaves my lips, and before I know it, I’m in his arms. His fingers are in my hair.
I’m hugging him so tightly I don’t know if he can breathe. He’s real.
He’s so fucking real. I don’t even need to pinch my arm to know it.
This time he’s here. I don’t know how long we stay like that.
He’s still stroking my hair when he speaks. “I think the pancakes are going to burn soon.”
He says it with a smirk but makes no move to let me go. “I don’t care.”
Preston gasps dramatically and puts a hand over his heart. “What was that, peasant? I spent all this time on you, and you don’t even care? What did I do to deserve this? I’m really hurt.”
He pouts at me, but his lips twitch. Despite the current situation, I can’t help but smile back.
“I sincerely apologize.” Preston nods satisfied.
“Apology accepted.” He goes back to the stove and starts talking about some random topic.
“Preston?” He turns back and looks at me.
“Yeah?”
“How are you alive?”
“Ah, that’s right. I haven’t explained it to you yet. I’ll tell you later, ok?”
“Okay.”
I walk up beside him and lay my head on his shoulder. “Preston?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”