Chapter Text
Living with Jack was far stranger than Mark had ever dreamed.
He didn't regret inviting him to move in, not even a little. It made more sense- Mark hated living alone, he acknowledged that his mental state suffered when he lived alone, and Jack moved to LA and needed a place to live. Two birds with one stone. Right? Right.
Well...
Jack was an odd roommate.
Living with someone new always took a little time to get acclimated to. They always started out a little overly polite- trying too hard to not step on each other's toes- and then slowly shifted back toward the way they wanted to live. Compromises were made, and they discovered each other's habits and tics.
For example, Mark had always left the low night light on above the stove, while Jack was unaware that ovens even had lights. In that case, they erred to Mark's preference. And Jack tended to leave mugs of coffee with a tiny bit in the bottom everywhere, which initially irritated Mark, but he got over it fairly quickly.
They started out keeping their dishes separate, but eventually became comfortable enough to use each other's things. The same went with food, linens, and quilts. Their items mixed until even they were unclear who's things were who's.
But there were some really strange things about Jack. Not quirky habits, but true oddities.
The lemon incident, for example.
It was a typically hot LA day, and Mark had a hankering for Arnold Palmer on the deck. He went out and got a few groceries for supper, and picked up iced tea mix and lemons to make his own half-and-half drink. He squeezed a generous number of lemons into the mixed iced tea until he was satisfied with the taste, then poured two tall, cold glasses.
"Jack!" he hollered, carefully making his way to the sliding glass door. "Drinks on the deck! Come get some vitamin D!" He didn't particularly worry if he was recording- if he was, he could easily cut Mark's shout out. Or he could even leave it in, and the viewers would just take amusement from it.
Apparently he wasn't recording, as he came downstairs fairly soon. Mark had settled in his favorite deck chair, and had the iPad out to check his tumblr and twitter tags. Jack plopped down beside him, grumbling something about the bright sun, picked up his drink and took a big swig-
-and immediately spewed it everywhere. Mark cried out in surprise, snatching his iPad up and away from the spray. Jack retched and coughed, spitting and making distressed noises.
"The fuck is this?" he cried, eyes watering, still choking.
Mark burst into laughter at the unexpected reaction, putting his hands over his mouth to try to stifle it. Rude to laugh at the plight of another, but it was pretty funny. "It's just Arnold Palmer."
"Arnold what? I thought it was iced tea," Jack said with a horrified shiver.
"It’s just- iced tea and lemonade mixed together."
Jack just shook his head and wiped at his mouth. He suddenly looked clammy and pale. "I- er- I mean, thanks for the drink, super nice of you, but I probably should've told you I'm really allergic to lemon."
"What?" Mark cried, sobering up. He jumped to his feet. "How allergic? Can you breathe?"
"Not that kind of allergic," Jack groaned. "We don't need to, like, go to the hospital or anything. I just... I'm probably gonna be pretty sick the rest of the day," he mumbled, scrubbing a hand down his face.
"Shit. Man, I'm so sorry," Mark sighed.
"No, it's my fault, I hadn't told you."
Mark was amazed at just how ill Jack became- he spent the rest of the day dozing in his room and making infrequent trips to the bathroom. Mark heard the unmistakable sound of his stomach emptying, and went in to bring him a bottle of water and more apologies.
So that was weird. Mark had never heard of people being allergic to lemons, but he was careful to accommodate for it from then on.
And then there was the moth thing.
Jack and Mark were returning home after an evening at the gym, both of them shivering from their post-swim wet hair in the cool night air. They were taking their shoes off when Mark was startled. Something flitted at his face.
A small white moth had made it in the door with them.
Mark swatted at it with a scowl, irritated, and Jack howled.
"Leave her alone!" Jack cried, jumping to his feet. He reached out and delicately caught it in cupped hands on the first try.
"It's just a moth," Mark said, baffled at Jack's reaction.
"Wasn't hurting you none," Jack argued. "Open the door." Mark opened it and stepped back, and Jack walked back out a few feet into the cold, before reaching up and opening his hands, letting the moth fly free. He stared after it for a long moment before turning and heading back inside.
"I wanna order Thai from that place down Beech Street," Jack decided, removing his shoes and thumbing through his phone. Mark just shook his head. Weirdo. But Thai did sound good.
Jack frequently roamed the house at night, aimlessly, just wandering around. Mark asked him several times why- he just shrugged.
Whenever they went to Denny's, he would drink the tiny creamer cups with such enthusiasm ("This is the best shit since sliced bread, cream in a little tiny happy mouthful, I fucking love these!") that Mark never stopped him.
Sometimes he didn't just roam the house- sometimes he left. Mark didn't know where, but he never came home dirty or high or drunk. He never asked- he suspected that Jack missed his space in Ireland, and it was just a private time of peace in the relatively fresh air, under the light-polluted LA sky. It seemed like a sort of personal thing, so he never brought it up, just let him do his thing.