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Coldness. It was all the man knew. He had always been so cold. But now he was colder than ever, blackness all around him and he didn't even know that the tears that fell on the dirt were from his friend who came alone, a rose in hand, thorns tearing into his skin from where he clenched it in a tight fist as he screamed in anguish, agony, anger... It was the hardest he'd ever cried in his entire life and he hated it because it was too soon--it was always too soon. June 28th, 1989 to November 20th, 2017. Only 28-years-old, not even old enough to be worrying about getting older--no, he was too busy worrying about the cost of the funeral and the depression he would put his friends through when he finally swallowed the pills.
He was broken... And who's to say that he's still not a broken man even when he's six feet under the very dirt his friend is crying on, screaming that he was too young and begging for him to come back? Was this what he wanted all along? For people to notice the symptoms of his depression, how he would laugh less in each video, wearing the same red t-shirt that had a million tears spilt into it from endless nights of crying...
The man could always cry on camera but how come he couldn't cry in front of his friends? They would try to save him, wouldn't they? Something deep inside him didn't want to be saved. He was thinking of his dad and how he walked out, throwing the wedding ring on the floor and yelling that he hated his mother. It was never his fault because he had been eavesdropping in on the conversation from between the railings of the stairs and they never mentioned him once or his brother. But he still couldn't stop blaming himself, thinking if he had never been born, this wouldn't have happened. It would just be a normal family, a mother, a father, and a son, happy and normal. But no, he had to come along as the younger sibling, steal all the attention away from his brother and make his parents argue, make his dad throw his wedding ring on the floor and storm out, slamming the door as his mother sank to her knees and sobbed.
He couldn't have felt more helpless when that happened. His fingertips were trembling as tears plopped onto them and Thomas was in bed, hiding his emotions but Mark... Mark was so weak and he couldn't help but cry and when his mom came over to hold him, he latched onto her and never let go.
But, unfortunately, he had to. He let go and he didn't want to say goodbye but he did. Held her hand as she whispered to him--only him, not Thomas nor his father that had shattered her heart to dust that Mark tried to put into a taped vase to give to her for Mother's Day--"I love you." And it felt like the last straw for the man but he was only nine. What was he supposed to even do at the age of nine? He wasn't thinking about suicide at that time because he had just gotten a new game console and it occupied his time--kept him distracted from what was really going on in the real world. He wouldn't think about suicide in a million years... Well, another 5 years later actually because high school was so foreign to him. He had just moved and didn't know anybody and every friend he tried to make didn't take much interest to him because he wanted to be an engineer but always had his head stuck in cloud nine with all the video games he played to drown out the world around him.
Doubtful anyone would really blame him though. He was living with his dad--the same dad that threw the wedding ring on the ground and left this mom crying on the floor for a few hours as he hugged her, crying with her. He didn't really like his dad but he provided food, shelter, clothes, heck, even a gaming system and that was enough for the both of them. Yet high school just really hit him hard. All the stress was building up and he wanted to go into the medical field but the thought was abandoned so he went back into the engineering field but that thought was also abandoned so he went into the film and director field to become a YouTuber. Last resort much?
He didn't really expect himself to go anywhere and he even admitted in his last video that all he ever wanted to be was proud of himself. He just couldn't stop thinking. Mommy's six feet under and Daddy's drinking. Brother's in the bathroom and Mark 's just right there thinking: Man, oh, man, where'd it all go wrong? Why the heck is he singing this song? There's nothing to his life anymore but he's still fighting, he's still trying and still enlightening. All his hopes and dreams are now comatose. One more pill and overdose.
He wasn't nine-years-old when he did it but it was only 30 days ago that he swallowed the whole bottle and set it on the nightstand, throwing the covers over himself and closing his eyes one last time as his very last tears rolled down his face and onto the pillow beneath him. It wasn't the way he was expecting to go but high school... Well, he really shouldn't blame it so much on high school, rather his mom and dad who just divorced without another word said. That played a big part in his life.
Maybe in another time where his mom was to walk out and his dad was to die as he held his hand and whispered that he loved him. Maybe he would be more successful. He wouldn't have sold all those tour tickets only for his friends to tell his fans they wasted $80 on a dead man's show.
Mark was greedy. Well, still is greedy. Even in the afterlife, after he took a whole bottle of Buspirone, 1200mg to be exact but he's still wanting more, wanting to see his friends again. He regrets it. But nobody blames him, in fact, they're blaming themselves, thinking they could have actually saved him. They didn't even notice the signs of depression! How could they possibly save him now?! He's 40 pills down and six feet under! Good luck!
Nobody should be yelling at a time such as this one. Jack is at his grave, his tombstone, bleeding and screaming, crying and begging for him to somehow magically wake up and run into his arms one last time. He saw the signs of depression--he really did!--but Mark always told him that it was nothing and he was forced to bite his tongue on the matter because he was too afraid of losing him as a friend. They had fought once before and it was something the Irishman never wanted to recreate ever again in his life. He could see the veins pop out on his forehead and he swore, by all the gods, he swore he saw a few cuts flash on his stomach from when he waved his arms about. But he bit his tongue and kept quiet. He bit his tongue until he felt the blood pool into his mouth and when he finally couldn't take it anymore, he spat it out of his mouth and released all the secrets he had been keeping in.
He had cracked and spilt at the funeral which was open casket. Just seeing his body, peaceful and pale was enough to make him grab his hand, his cold, cold hand and kneel down, pouring out every confession and wrong the man has done. He had been rambling for nearly 35 minutes before Bob came over and gave him a bottle of water and a handkerchief to clean himself up with. He loathed to see the smaller man in such a state as the one he was in and he felt obliged to help him out since no one else would. They were all too busy crying their eyes out in different corners of the room, thinking no one saw them.
Mark saw them though. Mark saw everything everyone did and he hated it, to say the least. The regret and guilt were piling up on him each and every day and he felt himself wanting to die all over again. Oh, if only there was an afterlife for the afterlife and so on, so forth. He wouldn't miss a single heartbeat if he ever got the opportunity to redo it again. Oh, the things he would undo or the things he would actually do. Heck, maybe he could possibly save his mother? Unlikely... The cancer was terminal...
He could only wish but wishing was bad because everything he ever wished for never came true. He used every birthday wish, every double 11s on the clock, and every shooting star he saw to wish for a better life... But it never came.
Actually, it depends on how one would look at it. If one were to look at it from a bird's eye perspective, the man has everything. He has a mansion, a lovely girlfriend, 18 million subscribers on YouTube, a loyal fanbase, another tour coming up, amazing friends, and a supportive family in South Korea. But if one were to look at it from Mark's eyes, he doesn't have enough. The mansion's rent is too high and with the YouTube ad boycott still coming undone and he's still a bit behind. His girlfriend may dress up for the camera but she's not all sparkles because they argue a lot. His best friend from Ireland may or may not have been coming down in secret only so that he could buy a cheap motel and have their fun for a few nights. His dad walked out, mom is dead, brother hates him for some unknown reason he still can't figure out, he doesn't talk to his friends that much because he started to clam up and choke on his emotions, he's still trying to save up money to see his family but Jack is just so addictive, he can't get him off his lips.
Jack was his remedy, his one and only, lit his heart up with joy and glee, he was free of his depression. He loved the man and with every kiss he couldn't resist his hands from roaming his body because they had a mind of their own. Gods, nothing could describe the overwhelming guilt he felt every time he was with Jack because they both had girlfriends but neither cared. Jack just mainly did it to make Mark feel okay and that was even more wrong than anything in the world. No amount of depression could compare to how wrong the Irishman felt doing that. He slept with his best friend just to see him smile when he didn't even love him that way. But he still said he did whenever Mark said it first. And he wouldn't dare tell a soul but at the casket, he spilt everything and his girlfriend still understood. She was so understanding but the guilt was still there.
The guilt became too much and that's how he winded up on his grave, crying and screaming for him to come back. Oh, how he looks like a fool, picking up the still-fresh dirt in his hands and throwing it, tears streaming down his fast faster than he can blink them away, mumbling curses and just giving up and hugging the tombstone as if it was him. The pain he felt couldn't possibly be compared to how the red-haired man was feeling, oh no, he must have it better because he's still alive and his friend is not. But he's wishing he was alive again so he could tell him how much he really means to him and he's wishing he could even hear so much as his heartbeat again because it was the only thing that eased the guilt after the night they had just spent together.
Gods, was Mark the cause of his depression? This was such a vicious chain and it would never end. His mom said something so his dad left, so he comforted his mom but she died--wasn't his fault but he still felt like it was--so he moved in with his dad and went to a new high school, but nobody liked him, he got into YouTube, built a fanbase, was going on tours, but his stupid mind kept thinking back to the old days and he started cutting and ignoring and clamping up, so Jack swooped in... One drink, two drinks, eyes lock, kiss. Suddenly they can't get their hands off of each other and they're standing up, stumbling into walls and bending over tables, article after article of clothes removing until they're losing their virginities to each other, slightly drunk but fully conscious. Maybe it was out of anger because he never had the perfect life but he couldn't get enough of his friend--the friend that had really been there for him the most and through everything despite their arguments. So this became a habit and the guilt started piling up because Jackaboy still loved his own girlfriend and he wouldn't tell her because she would leave. And he started to think of his home life, which was rather well, and he started harming but in a different way. His mother always told him never to hurt himself on purpose because she had dealt with psychotic depression before and it wasn't something she would ever want to see her son go through. So, he didn't hurt himself physically but rather mentally. He would call himself worthless and everything, torture himself with sad music and when his girlfriend checked in on him, wondering why he had been in his room all day, he would lie, voice like a broken record with the way it always said "I'm fine" all the time. His girlfriend, of course, wouldn't have any of it and would walk in, only to be slammed in the face with the smell of depression. But nonetheless, she would walk in, sit on the bed, lay down, and spoon him, telling him how much she loved him. It only made the guilt worse but he would eventually suffocate himself to sleep and everything would be okay, right?
Wrong. His girlfriend was always so concerned and even reached out to her friends and maybe even some doctors to see what the heck was wrong with her beloved. She was always so worried and maybe she was developing a bit of depression as well. She felt she couldn't help Jack, her one and only Jackaboy, so sweet and innocent... Well, that's what she thought. But she couldn't help but feel she was no use. Thankfully she didn't hurt her pretty skin, unlike Mark who picked up the razor and went to town without blinking an eye, no, she cuddled with her boyfriend and told him all her problems. They discussed them and it honestly kept the small man distracted from what was really going on.
It was one of those nights were the half-Korean would pull his hair and bang his head on the bathroom door. One of those nights where his own girlfriend was having a slumber party with her friends, probably having other relations or whatnot but he couldn't care because he didn't love her anymore. He finally had a large enough headache where he could take some Buspirone and forget his troubles. Something in him snapped and he started downing the entire bottle, pill after pill until there were 40 inside him, slowly dissolving as time went. He threw down the bottle and started crying and screaming, running to the bedroom where he got out a pen and paper, tears falling onto the desk rapidly and even some soaking into the lines, making them a bit blurry as he scribbled down the last words he'd ever write. Once he was done, he signed his name and left the paper there, changing himself into a suit as he felt the first wave of drowsiness hit him like a truck. He got dressed as fast as he could, fingers slowly going numb and before he knew it, he was in bed, slightly panting but also choking because he couldn't get enough air. But also before he knew it, everything went black and he was suddenly at his own funeral, watching Jack cry for 35 straight minutes as he babbled about all his sins. It broke his heart and he scratched at his scars, digging his nails into his flesh so he could try to recreate the pain his friend was in but he couldn't... He had caused that pain and knowing that was something he wouldn't even wish upon his arch nemesis.
So now he's here. Crying on his friend's gravestone and hugging the rock as he watches a car pull up from afar. He recognizes that car all too well as it comes to a stop and a large man with a purple shirt steps out. The one and only Bob, also known as the human plushie because of his fluffy size. A broken smile cracks his lips and he wipes his tears and snot with his shirt. Slowly, he walks through the rows of those who are lost and makes his way to the smaller man who's standing up to meet him at eye level. There're no words but they hug instantly, trying to fix the puzzle with broken and missing pieces. They don't talk for a while but once they break apart the hug, Bob is the first to open his mouth.
"You should be getting home, Jack. It's getting late and you know nobody wants you out here in cold." He was always a caring friend and was even more caring now that everyone was super sensitive.
He could only nod, words choked in his throat as he hugged himself gently, looking at the ground. But only then did the bigger man catch the small drops of blood the trickled down his arm, a small handprint on his sleeve and caked blood on the back of it. His arms reach out to grab his wrist gently in fear that he had made scars.
"Jack, what--" He pauses and has to relook at the thorns embedded within his skin where they broke off from so much pressure. "Jack, what did you do?" he asks.
"Rose," was all he whispers, looking at the flower on his friend's grave. Bob's travel to where he's looking and a small sigh leaves his lips as he realises what he did.
"Listen, I'm gonna take you back to my place and get you cleaned up, alright?" The Irishman nods and Bob gives a small smile. "I really care about you, Seán and seeing you like this makes me wish I could do more but I'm doing the best I can, okay?" Another nod. "Okay, c'mon," he says, starting to walk away. He doesn't pay his respects to Mark because like Jack, he does it alone.
"How... how did you know I was here?" he asks softly, eyes focusing on the soft grass the bend and crunches softly with each step.
He gives a small shrug. "Just a guess... And maybe Ethan told me."
He doesn't give him a chance to say much more before he cuts him off. "How did Ethan know I was here?"
"I mean... this is where you go when you have free time..." he points out, pinching his lips to the side.
"True..." he whispers and as they approach the car, he gets in, making sure left and bloodied hand doesn't come into contact or he'll wince and Bob will worry more. Their seatbelts buckle and suddenly they're off, driving along the curves of the roads and now down a driveway where he pulls in, puts the car in park and gets out.
He gets all bandaged up but now he has a long-necked bottle in his hand and he's taking swig after swig of it, barely caring about the after effect. And Bob is letting him, sharing a clink with him every few moments only to say "Bottoms up" and chug it until they can't feel pain anymore, until they don't know their names. They hate themselves in the moment but they're not stopping each other, no, they're letting all this happen only so that they can wake up in the morning with the worst hangover of their life.
This time, it's Jack who's the first to speak, speech slightly slurred but he doesn't care. "Y'know... Mark and I... Mark and I were close... I'll never be able to forget his voice. Man, I can't even sleep anymore because the guilt is piling up."
"What guilt?" the other asks, burping afterwards and patting his chest.
"How did you not know? He would buy motels just so we could get under the sheets..." He was shaking his head and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was going to cry and make a fool of himself in front of his friend. "I didn't even love him, Bob, but we were still going at it each night like we were married. I still loved my girlfriend and all I could think about was her and how I let her down by cheating... Bob, I lost my virginity to Mark and... I regret it."
The other male gets up and sets his beer down on the nightstand, going over to the male across from him who is now crying again. Man how he was sick of crying. "Jack," he starts off, wiping his tears from his face with his own thumb, making him turn away, "I know how much Mark means to you and means to all of us but he wouldn't want us to worry, he'd want us to move on and throw a party in celebration of his life, not mourn his death and remember all the negative things..." Oh, how he fluffy man was right. Mark had always talked about how he wanted a party in celebration of his life rather than a funeral for his death. But everyone held a funeral and maybe he hated it, maybe he didn't. Either way he had no say 'cause he was dead and in the bed with flowers, showers of tears galore and all the tears falling to the floor from his best friend, his only friend for which he bought motels to bed with him night after night and almost as if in fright he took it all away, never to say goodbye again.
That definitely wasn't the only reason he decided to leave, of course it wasn't, he had internal struggles too. Struggles he only told Jack and now he was spilling them to Bob. "Jeez, I know, Bob, but we held that funeral anyway... We would lay awake at night and I would live to see his smile even if it was killing me on the inside from all the guilt... Just bubbling up inside me because I didn't love him but I loved his smile... Bob, I knew he had depression! I knew and I didn't say a da--"
"Jack! Calm down!" His hands go up in front of his chest slightly to signal him he was too loud and indeed needed to calm down before he had no furniture in his living room. "We're all angry, I know, but yelling won't do us any good."
"I know but I just..." His eyes closed and he gives a small groan before his head falls and he props his elbows on his knees, face within his hands as he lets the tears spill. "I just really wish I could have stopped him, y'know? He means so much to me and... and I don't know what to do!" His sobs tugged at his heartstrings and he wraps him in a hug where the other's arms clutch around him for dear life.
"Jack, you don't have to tell me anything but just know I'm always gonna be here for you... I know we don't talk much but that doesn't mean I'm going to leave you in the dust for you to figure this out on your own... I'm going to help you, okay?"
He nods into his purple shirt, hiccupping lightly. "Do you remember the first day?" he asks quietly.
"I don't think I'd ever forget any 30 of them... They put us all through Hell and back..." Sure he's over exaggerating a bit but the winter wasn't friendly to him. Friendly to everyone else but not to him.
"His smile... In the videos it looked so real like he was happy..." he says, dropping the other subject quickly in fear that he'd remember the day after the 30th task when he read the note.
"He was happy, Jack. He was happy because he once told me a long time ago that when he smiles for pictures, he thinks of a dumb joke you told him and he starts to laugh..."
"Really?" he asks, looking up at him.
"Well, I wouldn't lie to you," he says, a small smile forming even though his own tears are welding in his eyes.
That makes the Irishman break into a smile, more tears falling down his pale complexion as a broken chuckle leaves his lips. "That makes me feel better actually," he tells him and he breaks the hug to sit down.
Bob looks at him for a second before sitting back down on the couch beside him instead of across him where his beer lay. "Glad I can make you smile..."
The silence doesn't stay for long before he speaks: "I miss his smile so much..." Jack says, looking down at his clasped hands. "I see it in the pictures but it doesn't quite look the same as real life, y'know?"
He nods slightly, taking in the words. "Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. He always made me laugh from his stupid jokes to his improv."
"Yeah, I used to watch your videos and I would laugh at your guys' stupidity." A small laugh escapes and suddenly he's smiling brighter than he's smiled in a while.
"There ya go," Bob points out. "You're smiling."
"Shush, big man," he says and Bob playfully gasps, putting a hand on his chest.
"Me? Big man?" he questions, raising a brow. "Why I'd never," he says in a falsetto voice.
Jack giggles at his stupidity, playfully pushing him over but he bounces back with a smile. "Shut. Up. Bob."
"Why? I like your smile," he admits.
"You like anyone's smile."
"Well, I'm a friendly guy."
"I know," he says for what feels like the millionth time. Something in his brain won't let him drop the subject of Mark so he brings it up again. "What do you think he's doing?"
"What do you mean?" he asks, looking at him with a slightly confused face.
"Mark. What do you think he's doing right now?"
"Probably wishing he was sitting right here with us... Or maybe he is." He shrugs, closing his eyes slightly. "I don't really know what dead people go or if they even go to Heaven. Some believe that Earth is purgatory and when you die it's Heaven or Hell."
"That makes sense... But I believe he's in Heaven, soaring over the clouds and sky, watching down on us through some sort of window. He was always a good man to everyone and everything. I don't see why he wouldn't go to Heaven, to be honest."
"Yeah, neither do I..." he agrees, nodding his head slightly to accommodate his words.
It's silent for a few minutes as Bob gets distracted with the television but Jack isn't. He's too busy getting a piece of paper, wrinkling but folded neatly in his jean pocket. He gets it out and unfolds it, the black ink from the one and only Mark Edward Fischbach. The last words he ever wrote and Jack kept the note because the note said so, Mark wrote so. He looks down on it, rereading the words:
I'm sorry everybody. I know this isn't the way you wanted to find me but I can't stop thinking about my past. If you log onto my computer, go into the files and there will be a video explaining everything I find wrong with myself. You'll see some disturbing things, yes, but I can't feel sorry enough. To whoever finds this, give it to Jack. And, Jack, if you're reading this first, then show everybody. I only want one thing and that's for you to not worry. Nobody worry about me because I know you all were worrying about me when I was still alive. I emptied a bottle of 40 30mg Buspirone and if you want to take me to the hospital, don't. I won't survive and it will be a waste of your money. Save up for the party you're going to throw me. Or throw me a funeral to mourn my death and cry. Either way I won't have a say in it. Just know it wasn't any of your faults because you all made me happy and kept me living just a few hours longer. And, Jack... I love you, Jack... More than anyone will ever know. I don't care if you don't love me back but just know I never stopped thinking about you. I never stopped thinking about any of you because I know that you all would miss and I would hurt you... But I'm in a better place now... Thank you for always being there for me and I hope you all can understand why I've done this. I love all of you.
P.S. Jack keeps the note for reasons that I say.
And that was all there was to the note, new tears falling onto it as he starts to remember the video, the drops of water smearing a few words. He lightly gasps and wipes it off, putting the note on the armrest of the couch so he can think better. He puts his feet on the edge of the couch and wraps his skinny arms around them, huddling them close to his chest with his head between them.
The video was simple but heartfelt. It was made one week before he committed suicide and Jack couldn't help but to look for any real sign of happiness in his eyes. Only when he mentioned Jack's name did the sparkle come forth and that made him smile on the inside because he knew he was of great importance to the man behind the screen, now in the grave.
"Hello, everybody. My name is Markiplier and welcome back to me crying for however long this video lasts for. I would like to start off by saying my name is Mark Edward Fischbach and if this video were to ever get posted, then know right off the bat that I love you guys and I want to thank you for all your support. You guys have kept me going all this time and I even said in my other video that all I wanted to be was proud of myself but... the truth is, I'm not... I went on a hiatus so I could possibly learn more about myself and get my life together and it didn't work because I still find myself not happy with the content I make and it bugs me so much to where I feel the need to address this to you guys. You're such a loyal fanbase and I really thank everybody who's been with me from the very start because even those few subscribers kept me smiling throughout the day. Y'know, I wanted to be an engineer but that didn't work out," he said and was was actually laughing, wiping his nose a bit to sniffle. "But that's not really the point here. The point is... I want to talk about my mental health right now and why my friends are probably inactive on YouTube. I am dead. When you see this video, it will be January 1st, 2018, right after the new year because I don't want you to be sad on Christmas. I know my videos are only uploading one per day but on December 21st, they stopped because I only preuploaded 30 of them, one for each day. As these videos are uploading day by day, I'm sure you never noticed my signs of depression. Outside of YouTube I... lock myself in my room and I cry... I cry because the only thing I can think of is my dad walking out on me. And you don't know this but he threw his wedding ring on the ground and walked out... I was watching from the stairs and when he walked out, my mom fell to her knees and sobbed and I rushed down and hugged her tightly. Thought to myself that I was going to be the man of the house but there was also my brother Thomas and I don't really know what happened but we really just fell out once he graduated and moved on to college... He moved out of state and I don't see him... Mom died from cancer and she held my hand and whispered, "I love you" to me and... she was gone... But I couldn't help but to think it was my fault and I know it wasn't but if I had known, I would have tried to do something to get money to get her some treatment... I don't know..." He shook his head.
It was a few seconds before he continued. "You're not gonna like it, guys... But I've been... hurting myself in ways that I shouldn't and I know I tell you all never to do it but I just... I don't know... I'm not proud of myself at all but you guys are proud of me and it should be enough but it's not. I can't stop thinking about the past and it haunts me... I guess I just wanted my dad to actually be proud of me and I know he's not because I'm sitting in front of a camera and crying. He wouldn't be proud of all the scars I've inflicted upon myself and he wouldn't be proud that I overdosed on pills... I don't know if Ethan or Bob or Wade or even Jack has told anyone yet but on November 20th, I overdosed and died. So the real question is: how am I talking to you now? This is recorded one week, on the 13th, from when I will take my life. I feel bad to start off the new year like this but I didn't want you guys to worry too much about me. Some of you are probably mad and call me selfish if you want because this..." He took off his shirt and threw it on the ground, revealing his abs but also a thousand cuts on his torso, some deep and some just small nicks but nonetheless, they looked horrid. "This is nasty and I hate it so much... I don't remember how I started out but I know that I promised myself no more. It disgusts me so much and this isn't who I want to be..."
There was a pause as he put his shirt on and sighed. "For my friends... You're going to see this on November 20th and I have a... thing. I don't know what you would call it but it's a task for 30 days, one for each day. And I only hope you do it so that on Christmas, you won't be sad anymore. You'll be happy and you'll celebrate the holiday with glee and joy and there will be a plethora of gifts... I don't want any of you crying, okay? I want you all to have a happy day... Don't worry about me because I'll be watching from that window above and smiling down on you guys... You can find the first one under my bed and promise you'll do it for all 30 days, please. It's the only thing I ask and you'll understand why I want it to be 30 days afterwards, okay? I want anyone who's doing it to do it all together at the same time. No cowering and chickening out like how I did. Just trust me... I love all of you. Thank you for supporting me, friends, family, fan base... Thank you. And I love you... Buh-bye!" He waved at the camera and it ended.
The first thing was under his bed in a box. It was a list of everything they needed to do. It was simple but also fill in the blank.
1- Walk Chica
2- Walk for 5
3- 10
4- 15
5- 20
6- 25
7- 30
8- 35
9- 40
10- 45
11- 50
12- Walk Chica twice
13- 55
14- 60
15- 65
16- 70
17- 75
18- 80
19- 85
20- 90
21- 100
22- Walk Chica 3 times
23- Jog for 5
24- 10
25- 15
26- 20
27- 25
28- 30
29- Jog with Chica
30- Rest
It was folded at the right side and was taped, saying not to open it until the 30th day. So, naturally, Ethan, Tyler, Jack, Bob, Wade, Amy, and Kathryn all did what the paper told them to do. Felix, Marzia, and Signe wouldn't do it, mainly because the first two cried together in secret and the third was in Brighton, not wanting to see Mark because she knew if she went down, she'd never stop crying. She had told Jack to spend as much time as he wanted down there but no longer than 3 months or she'd get too lonely. She wanted him to feel comforted by all of Mark's close friends so she easily stepped out of the picture. Anything for her beloved Jackaboy whose smile would never bend the same and eyes would never shine the same.
So day after day they did the challenge and it was hard some days because they didn't want to--depression was hitting them too hard but it was a team effort that kept them strong and going. They would have discussions on the longer walks and despite the freezing cold, the winter wasn't as bad as they initially thought, they powered through it. Everything felt better because their minds were distracted but they still remembered him when someone slipped up or something on TV reminded them of it. Yet they were all there for one another and everything felt... okay.
On the last day, one was about to walk out the door but Tyler had stopped them. He stopped his little blue bird from flying out of the nest. He told him it was a rest day and he looked rather surprised upon hearing the words, taking off his scarf and jacket. The note had been hung up, Kathryn and Amy putting red lines through all the days they had passed. It was something to keep them busy but in all honesty. Nobody minded because they'd all rather run a million miles than mourn over Mark.
Finally, everyone had been gathered around at the table. The note in Jack's hand. Mark had always said that his Irish accent always made him listen so he figured he should be the one to read it out loud. Not that anyone wouldn't listen but better to be safe than sorry. He also may or may not have been favoured more by Mark. He unfolded the paper and began to read:
If you've done all of these, you did what I've always wanted to do. I kept your mind distracted for a certain number of minutes and you were focusing on that task. You didn't think of me, or I hope you didn't. It takes 28 days to form a habit but 28 days to break a habit. Hope you formed a habit to get up and be active but broke the habit of remembering me.
His words had gotten shaky after a few seconds of reading but he managed to get through it, throwing down the paper and gasping afterwards as he realised what Mark had really set up. He wanted them to forget about them and they fell right for his trap. But in all honesty, he just wanted them to forget about them so they could have a Christmas full of fun and happy times while he partied with them in spirit. But he was frowning at all their reactions, thinking he was stupid because he had told them his plan. He should have done 60 days and maybe then everything would have been better. But he found himself wishing again and wishing was bad because nothing came true and it meant he was selfish. Why couldn't they be happy? Why didn't they throw a party for his life instead of mourn his death? Why? Why? Why?!
"Jack, did you want to stay the night again?" Bob asks, seeing how dazed the other is, lost in his own little world as a small stream of tears makes their way down his face yet again, dampening his already damp shirt
He gives a nod and hiccups slightly. "Yeah, if you could let me, please," he responds. They had been hanging out more, Bob and Jack, and neither really minded. They needed the emotional support.
Bob's phone starts to ring, distracting the Irishman as he looks over at him, waiting for him to pick it up and answer. He digs into his back pocket and pulls out the phone, looking at the caller ID. Only Tyler. Wait, how did Tyler even get his number?
"Hello?" he answers, putting the device to his ear.
"Bob?! Bob, help, it's Ethan! He-he's in the hospital and-and I'm freaking out, Bob, I can't get ahold--"
"Woah, woah, woah, Tyler, calm down. Why is he in the hospital?"
"He's trying to visit Mark..." he admits. The words alone make more tears fall down his face and he can't wipe them away quick enough with his sleeve.
"I'll be over shortly," he tells him but doesn't hang up, wanting to see if the other would speak first.
"Thank you... I couldn't get ahold of anyone else... Thank you..."
"You're welcome, Tyler," he responds as the other line disconnects. He pinches his lips together as he looks at the device, making the screen turn black as he shoves it back into the pocket from whence it came.
"Bob, what happened?" he asks, eyes shining with concern with how distressed the man's voice sounded over the phone.
"Tyler said Ethan was trying to see Mark," he explains, about to say something but shakes his head and exhales instead. "I'm worried about Ethan. I don't want him ending up like Mark."
He shakes his head slightly as well. "I don't know what I would do if I lost him too... the man is so sweet and bubbly... Kept us on our feet when we didn't want to do so much as open our eyes..."
"Yeah, he's in the hospital now," he says, walking over to the table with his beer and grabbing his keys. He looks at the beer and figures why not, picking it up and taking another swig. It was then that he realised he was drunk.
Jack looks at him and furrows his brows slightly. "Are you going to be okay to drive?" he asks.
"Yeah," he replies. "You're drunker than me," he points out. "I'm still a bit sober."
He decides to go along with it and they go out to the car, get in, start it up, drive off to the hospital, park, walk in, and their eyes widen slightly. It's their little blue boy, Ethan. The same little blue boy that made corny jokes at the funeral and the same little blue boy that yanked each every one of them out of their beds so they could go on their walks. It's the same little blue boy that never stopped smiling and would always kiss Tyler behind closed doors, almost losing his virginity once but deciding against it once his shirt had been thrown off and onto the ground. Tyler didn't mind, he completely understood and went back to kissing those pretty pink lips of his like they were his security. He loved him dearly but would never say it out loud because he was afraid--afraid of losing him; much like how he was afraid of losing him this way as well.
"Ethan..." Jack starts out, putting his hand forth as to reach for him. He wasn't the same little blue boy anymore, no, he was an imposter. The real little blue boy wouldn't be hooked up to a breathing mask, pumping oxygen into his frail little body, pale and cold, much like Mark's. Everyone knew the "gleeful" man was an inspiration but not this kind of way. Not inspirational so much to where the little blue boy was hooked up to a machine that kept his kidneys going and his blood clean.
"Tyler, is he okay?" the other asks as he takes a few steps forward to the near-corpse before him. He looks appalled as he sits down in the chair across from the patient's secret boyfriend. Ever since Mark left, so many secrets had been spilt as if he had been the only thing holding up a wall to keep them trapped in. It was the trust factor of it all and without him here anymore, they depended on each other more than ever--not only to stay alive but to be there emotionally for one another.
The brunette shakes his head, retracting his hand only to put both on his face as it hangs low and pitiful. "Bob, I don't really know... He had his own note saying how he just wanted to see Mark and how nothing really mattered. Not I, not you, not Kathryn, Jack, anyone--he just wanted to leave." He doesn't really realise the tears that gently plop onto his hands and crusade down his wrists, wetting his cheeks as well. "I can't lose him, Bob, I just can't! Not him too!"
"Tyler, please. Yelling doesn't solve anything." He looks at him before looking at Jack who's leaning awkwardly against the door frame, internally debating on whether or not to join in.
"I know, I know. I just... I just really love Ethan, okay?" It stays silent for a few seconds, giving him the impression that they want him to continue. So he does and he says, "I love him more than what I show. Kissing behind closed doors and almost losing our virginities to each other... He told me he was stressed out about Mark but I just figured maybe he was like the rest of us, y'know? We're all stressed out about Mark's death and I ignored it, showering him with kisses in hopes that the thoughts would go away. But they didn't... Now look what I've done..."
"Tyler, this isn't your fault, okay?" the smaller finally chimes in.
"But I could have stopped this! Had I known more I could have prevented this whole scenario from even happening!" He's angry and that's the last thing Mark wants anyone to be is angry. Everything was his fault, of course. He made them cry, he made them fight, and now he's making them angry. He hates it so much because he knows there's nothing he can do now. What's done is done. End of story.
"It's not your fault!" he says again, but now they're both yelling and if they continue, a nurse will come in. He feels kind of bad now, seeing as the grown man clamped his mouth shut and looked at his not-so-secret-anymore lover. Jack gives a gentle sigh and leans against the counter, hands folded across his chest as he tries to think clearly.
Tyler is just staring for a while before he wipes his hands on his jeans a few times and grabs Ethan's cold one. He doesn't feel anything in the moment--he's too busy looking at his little chest, watching it rise and fall, only waiting for the moment it ceases to move and everything is still. He doesn't want to be thinking about it but he is and he hates it, he hates it so, and now he's angry, standing up and shaking the railing of the bed, screaming for him to just wake up already. It's only been maybe a day since he's been admitted and he's already losing his whole mind.
The two see this and rush over to him, each grabbing one arm and restraining him. They force him to sit down and thankfully, thankfully, a nurse doesn't come in despite the camera in the corner of the room that watches their every move.
His breathing is heavy and it becomes evident that he meant nothing of what he just did because his breath catches in his throat and he breathes out a stutter, tears starting to roll down his face. They set him in the chair and Jack is the first to hug him tightly. Of course he hugs back, nails like claws digging into his back, all too familiar to the way Jack would claw at Mark and scream his name, begging for more. But he didn't mind the pain, this was his friend and he needed to be comforted in any way possible.
"Hey, Ty, calm down. We talked to the doctors and they said he's recovering faster than they've ever seen. He's healthy and once they give him the liver transplant, he'll be ready to go." His Irish accent makes the man listen and calm him down a bit, nodding his head into the crook of his neck. "I have an idea, come on," he encourages, silently praying that he hopes it works.
"What idea?" he asks after a few seconds.
"Just come on. You too, Bob," he says, releasing the hug to give a smile like Ethan would. It's trusting and welcoming, almost making Tyler want to kiss him but his senses slap him and he reevaluates whatever the heck he just thought of.
Nonetheless, he gets up and stands on his feet, wiping away his tears with a sniffle. Jack is the first to walk out, then Tyler, and lastly Bob, all walking down the corridors with sick and soon-to-be-dead people much like Ethan. Oh, but Ethan is doing just fine, more than fine, according to Jack. Or was he just lying to get Tyler's senses back to him? He doesn't have much time to think seeing as they're already outside, heading into the parking lot, going away from Bob's car.
"Are you taking me home?" he asks, shoving his hands in his pockets as he looks at them.
"No," Jack responds, "we're taking a walk."
"A walk?" he asks flatly, eyebrow now raised.
He nods a yes. "A walk. Just something to get your mind off things," he adds.
Tyler decides he has no other choice but to follow them on the way. Going back inside wasn't an option because he'd just run back to Ethan, screaming and crying for him to just wake up already. Mark used to have them go on walks after his death and Ethan was the one who was always hands down for it. He loved to go on walks because it kept him busy in his younger years and helped clear his mind in older years. That's what Mark was trying to do, he was trying to clear their minds and distract them and it worked! They all hated it but it worked. So Jack thought he would talk them on a walk to distract their minds and as far as he could tell, it was working.
"How long are we gonna be walking for?" Tyler asks.
"As long as I want," Jack responds. Sure it's a bit cruel, but at the same time it's fair. He can already tell Tyler doesn't like that answer because of the way he shoves his hands further into his pockets and huffs out of his nose like a bull. Nobody puts up a fight as the three emotionally distressed men continue to walk along the lot of parked cars--some new, some old, some fancy, some rented. It was hard to tell but the most stressed one out of the three found himself trying to determine which was which as his eyes glided over the numerous rows and columns of vehicles. Anything to distract him was needed and the small amount of hatred he held for Jack in that small moment had already crumbled and withered away. He didn't want to think about why he couldn't go back in time to undo what Ethan had done and maybe even flush the pills that did this to him. He didn't even want to think about what he'd do if Ethan, his little blue boy, his little blue bird had succeeded in his plan. Oh, he'd lose it all--grab the nearest gun and wouldn't dare to think twice as he pulled the trigger.
Thankfully, the distracted man was too busy categorising cars to think about anything else. He didn't want to think about anything but categorising cars right now because he knew the second he remembered was the second all Hell broke lose. He doesn't even hear the ongoing conversation Bob and Jack are sharing about Mark. Talking about when Kathryn slipped on that ice patch when they were on their 35 minute walk. Or about that Chica slid down the road trying to chase after another dog. They start to laugh at the memories before Mark really comes into the picture. How they would do collabs with each other and the inside jokes they shared. Those were good times and Jack almost forgot he was drunk until he bumped into a car, only to apologise to it. After he realised what he did, he stops and begins to laugh at his stupidity.
"What's so funny?" Tyler asks, snapped out of his thoughts. He looks at the two males laughing and only gets more confused, stopping slightly behind them to ask again.
"Jack apologised to a car!" Bob finally gets out, wiping the tears that welled in his eyes.
A snicker makes its way out and before he knows it, he's chuckling, the thought of Ethan slipping further and further away from his mind.
"Man, we're drunk!" Jack exclaims. Tyler doesn't really want to think of how they got here if both of them were drunk but he doesn't ask either. His thoughts mainly go back to Ethan because he's distracted from being distracted. His sweet, little blue bird and how he's dying... Oh no, he's dying and he can't do anything to prevent that--no, he tried to overdose like Mark because he looks up to him too much. Everything is Mark's fault!
Tyler doesn't even realise he's walking away in a rage of anguish and anger until Jack and Bob call his name and start chasing after him. He's only going through maybe the 3rd stage of grief but he still wants revenge. He wants revenge on a dead man who's about to kill his boyfriend. Was he too inspirational or was Ethan just easily influenced? It could be both but Tyler was too busy walking away to actually think of every reason possible. He wants to dig up his grave and wrap his hands around his friend's boney neck, gripping it tight and spew useless curses--anything to release this pent-up anger that he has. He's so irate, more with himself than his deceased friend. He's angry for being angry at the inevitable. Well, he could have prevented it... But that just makes him even more angry and he walks faster away from the voices behind him that call out his name, following him.
"What?!" he nearly screams at the two when he turns around. A fresh set of tears make their way down his cheeks.
"Ty, it--" he interrupts himself once he sees the distress his friend is really in. The Irishman decides to give him a hug, bringing him in close and reassuring him that everything is going to be okay, that Ethan will be just fine.
"It's Mark," Tyler says. "Mark did this and I hate him."
"Tyler you don't mean that."
"No, we could have prevented Mark from doing that--none of this would've happened if Mark wasn't so selfish!" He regrets the words the second he says them, putting a hand over his mouth and trying to think of an excuse as to why he said that. He's pushed away by Jack and they look at each other in the eyes.
"He wasn't selfish!" Jack yells back, tears welling and voice cracking. "He was dealing with stress and depression and you know what?! You have some nerve saying that! Some nerve!"
"It was an accident! You're not the only one here under copious amounts of stress, y'know!"
"I already know this! But you're talking about how selfish Mark i--"
"I already said I was sorry, what more do you want from me?" he yelled as he flailed his arms up. When there was no response, he continued, slapping his hands on his thighs. "I get that you miss Mark, okay, we all do. But fighting is getting us nowhere and now I have Ethan to worry about... He said he wanted to be just like Mark."
"Oh, so now this is Mark's fault?"
"I never said anything of the sorts."
"You said he was selfish."
"And I said I was sorry!"
"Guys, guys, just calm down!" Bob finally chimes in, looking at them both. "Nothing is anyone's fault here, okay? The past is the past and I know moving on is hard but we have to eventually. So stop fighting."
Jack gives a sigh, taking in his friend's words. "Bob's right. Mark is dead and Ethan will live. No sense in dwelling in the past when you could be using that time to make a better future." His eyes fall to the ground as he speaks--too busy thinking about all the good times he and Mark shared together. More specifically, all the motel moments and when their neighbours would knock on the wall to tell them to quiet down. He smiles internally but the devastation is what keeps a frown on his face externally.
"Can we just go back inside?" Tyler asks gently, worrying about Ethan now.
They both nod and start to move their feet left, right, left, right into the building and down the various corridors until they get to the little blue boy's room The mask is off and he's awake now, eyes looking tired, bags underneath them. Once he sees Tyler, his eyes light up like a Christmas tree, hope in them--the only thing stronger than fear. But his smile doesn't last for long as Tyler comes over with that same broken smile he's had ever since he saw Mark in his casket. And now Ethan begins crying because he regrets it, he regrets ever opening the bottle and swallowing the pills. He regrets so much and he's crying to show how sorry he is. He doesn't want to be here, he wants to go home and he's babbling to his lover about it, continuously saying how sorry he is.
"Eth, baby, it's okay..." Tyler tries, holding his hand within his own, hoping that would calm him down even a bit. It does but he finds himself hiccuping, still begging to go home.
"Ty, please, take me home, please. It hurts, it hurts so bad, take me home!" It's the most heartbreaking thing the man could hear--his lover crying out in distress that it hurts and he can't do anything about it. He can only hold his hand and talk to him, let him basically suffer through his pain.
"Eth, baby, there's nothing I can do..." he tells him, his heart melting more for the smaller man, his little blue bird, the one he loves and desires most.
"Just talk..." he says, hoping his voice could somehow soothe him through the pain like his mother used to do when he scraped his knee or got strep throat.
"Wanna talk about Mark?" he offers, the only topic on his mind at the moment.
He nods, feeling his voice distract him already.
"We'll leave you two alone," Jack says kindly.
Tyler nods and watches as the two leave, politely saying their goodbyes and letting the two lovebirds work their own problems out. Once they're out of the room, he turns back to his beloved whose eyes are closed. "Remember... in the second balloon challenge collab we did together... and Mark wouldn't stop making proboscises on the ends of the balloons?" He gives a chuckle, a bit sad, but also joyous because he could never not smile when he mentions his friend's name. Ethan seems to remember as well because now he's smiling and laughing a bit. "Or when we made pancakes? Or the water bottle flip challenge?" He started giving idea after idea, explaining some but never once mentioning his death or videos near his death.
"Remember the game 'Don't Take This Risk' or something like that?" Eth asks once he stops talking for a few seconds because he was thinking of other videos to name.
His eyes unfocus as he notices the name. "Uh, isn't it that game where you have to keep the other person on the line?" he questions.
"Yeah," he replied, a noticeable shift in his voice when he says it, almost like he wants to talk about Mark's--
"I remember playing that game," Ethan continues. "It was so hard to keep them on the line because just one wrong sentence made them hang up." There's a small pause and when he continues, his voice breaks. "I just wish that maybe Mark could've opened up more or something. Ty, I thought he was okay and even in his videos he looked fine and I--"
"Eth, you're stressing yourself out," he tells him, squeezing his hand.
"I just wish I had done something!" he says. "I was his editor and I couldn't even notice the signs!"
"Ethan, it's not your fault!" he tries again.
"Yes it is, Ty!" he nearly yells at the male.
"No, it's not, Ethan! You didn't know!"
"But I could have!"
"He just hid it well!" he yells back, frustrated that Ethan wouldn't understand.
"But I still could have noticed!"
"You had no way!"
"But--"
"But nothing, Ethan!" Now both men were crying, one because the other was crying and one because they wanted to be like a dead man. He sniffled and wiped his lover's tears. "Eth, you have to understand that there was nothing we could have done. He hid his depression and nobody knew. Nothing was your fault." As he speaks, he wipes his own tears, holding his lover's hand tight within his own.
"Okay," he whispers to him, hiccupping. He's a shaking mess and can barely comprehend anything but somehow understands Tyler's words. He's focusing too much on Mark and what he's done--what they've both done and how different everything could have been if they hadn't taken those pills. Pills were the cure but also the illness. They helped with life but they could also take away one within minutes. They help but injure. They're helplessly helpful. One way to put it...
Once both were fairly calmed down, Ethan was the first to sniffle and open his mouth to speak. "Ever think... that Mark thought we wouldn't understand his problems so he kept them to himself?" His head turns to look at the other for an answer.
"Honestly, sometimes I feel that way, yes. I mean, he's mentioned his backstory in his 'Draw My Life' video but after that, he seemed fine."
"Yeah, seemed fine. I doubt you even knew I was planning this..." he says, making something inside Tyler flare up.
"Look, I'm sorry I can't keep enough tabs on all of my friends but I also have my own problems to deal with! They're not as big as Mark's or as yours but I also can't put all of my attention towards you all the time! I have other things to be doing and I'd be happy to spend time with you, but I just can't spend every waking second making sure you don't get into razors or pills. Ethan... I love you a lot, I do... and to see you in this state makes me physically weak. Yeah, I didn't know you were planning this but that doesn't mean I don't care. Ethan, you're probably the best thing that's ever happened to me and to lose you... Eth, I don't know what I'd do..." He's shaking his head, thinking of all the things that would happen to him if Ethan succeeded.
"Ty, I'm sorry," he says, bringing a weak hand up to his face to wipe off his tears, His face is pink from crying so much and he hates it because now his eyes feel heavy but he doesn't want to fall asleep because he's had enough sleep.
He sniffles before wiping his own tears. "It's okay, Eth, I'm sorry too," he tells him. "That wasn't needed," he adds.
"No, no, I can... I could see where you were coming from. I shouldn't have said that to make you mad like that."
"Ethan, it's okay," he reassures him. He gets up, putting a gentle but hot hand--still hot from when he yelled at the smaller male--on his face and leaning in, kissing him softly. He can feel the other nearly lunge up into the kiss, desperate for that friction, that sweet, sweet friction. It makes butterflies explode within the smaller one's stomach like it's his first time kissing that one jock with brown hair and green eyes in the locker room once everyone had already left. They were together for a few months, kissing and making out, the jock protecting the smaller one in times of distress but unfortunately the bigger one had to move away, bidding his goodbye with a sweet kiss. And he felt the same butterflies then as he did now on his new lover's lips--hopefully his only lover for the rest of his life.
They pull back, staring lovingly into each other's eyes before giving soft smiles. "I love you... so much," the more dominant male says to him, taking his hand and pushing away a few strands of the other's blue hair.
"I love you too, Ty," he says softly, eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree once again.
From there it was all sappy romance, things one would see if they travelled back to the old days where the male greeted the female by getting on one knee and kissing their hand. Things like that made them both happy and they wouldn't want to change it even if they were offered all the money in the world which was impossible but the point stands.
It was only a month later and everything felt... normal. Most of them were dealing with Mark's death exceptionally well, bringing up the topic of him wherever they went, rewatching some of his fetus videos when he was still recording in his dad's basement. They would actually laugh at the stupid things he would do and how his looks changed throughout time. All of them laughed except one.
He was special to Mark. And he loved him. He loved him too much and the unbearable guilt he felt every day multiplied by the pain in his heart sent him stumbling into the eye of an emotional hurricane, screaming and tearing things down only to collapse in a corner, bleeding not only the truth but from his scratches along his face. He hated every ticking second of his life, never wanting to get up to eat or record, use the bathroom, talk to his own girlfriend... The Irishman was so numb and he just wanted to feel something--anything--to make himself feel human instead of a mindless robot. Everything hurt so bad it was numb...
So he finally did it. He got up and turned on his camera sitting in his cold chair that he had barely even looked at for the past few weeks. Everything reminded him of his beloved and most nights he couldn't breathe because he was panicking, reaching out to save him but always just being a hair short of reaching him, watching as the life drained from his eyes and the shackles from which confined him to the ocean floor go limp just like his body. He would scream on the top of his lungs and cry immensely, crying out for him to just come back already or screaming that he was an idiot, spewing endless curses at him. Mark watched this every night and even though he hugged him, he never felt anything. He cried with his lover every night, wondering what the heck he had done, endlessly searching for a redo button but never finding it. This was his consequence and even he himself knew it. And he hated it.
But Jack finally did it. Recorded a video and then went to sleep after it uploaded. He didn't want to watch the comments roll in because he didn't care about them. He just wanted to see Mark one last time and by the gods, by all the gods up there, he'd see him one day. He would...
Today was the day and he knew it. So he smiled truthfully for the first time in what felt like a billion years, doing his normal intro. He paused, the tears starting up again. Oh how he had cried so many endless nights in a row and oh how he was sick of crying. "Sorry," he apologises to the camera, sniffling and wiping his tears. "I'm very sorry... to let all of you down like this. I know Mark is gone and know without a shadow of a doubt some of you followed right with him but I always tell you suicide is never the answer. And it's not, it really isn't. It only causes so many problems and creates an endless chain of depression and sadness..." He shakes his head, looking up a bit before looking at the camera lense. "I'm sorry to all of you. Really. I let you down and I can't be there for all of you. I can't be there to take your place. I'm just... me. And I hate that. But hopefully I can make a better tomorrow..." He gave the weakest smile in the world and Mark smiled at that, not knowing what was really behind those watery ocean eyes of his.
"Hopefully I can be better than this because I've been having really bad depression as of lately and I figured today would be the day I changed it. So I hope all of you can understand." He paused a second, trying to remember his outro. "So if you liked this video, punch that like button in the face, like a boss and high fives all around. " He made his signature high five sound effects with his mouth, high fiving the air. "And I will see all you dudes... again... one day..." He ended the video and started to fill in a few blanks to the video uploading process. Once he was done, he posted it and went to bed.
There was no crying that night, no panic attacks, no speeding heart rate or whirlwind of emotions. He slept peacefully and soundlessly, loving it for the first time in a very long time.
When he opened his eyes again, the sunlight peering through the window was almost blinding. He forgot to close the curtains but was too lazy to get up. To be honest, the man felt like he had finally made it, having no pain anywhere in his body, almost too good to be true. He rubbed his eyes and noticed a figure standing before him in the outline of someone familiar. It wasn't until he spoke that the Irishman knew exactly who it was, the outline of his brown hair and chocolate eyes coming into view.
"Sean?"