A/N: Sorry for taking forever to update! This part probably doesn't make sense but, oh well. Also, this is my first try at angst, so it probably sucks... but yeah, feedback is always welcome. As always, have a great day x
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Slowly, you conversed with Mark a little bit more each day.
It was similar to a child learning their first steps. They stood up with the help of another object, letting their grasp on whatever it was supporting them loosen little by little until they completely let go, stumbling when they began, yet determined not to fall.
You saw Mark every day, and eventually got used to his habits. Sometimes, you'd pass by his recording room and find yourself smiling at his screams or curses. You admired him for staying strong and smiling, even in these circumstances.
It was like school, where Mark was your classmate; maybe even seatmate. During the first week, it was awkward; but when he bravely started a conversation, things seemed to fall into place. He didn't mind at all that your progress was slow. As long as you were actually progressing, even if it was an inch every day, he was happy.
But, you still found yourself with your laptop, scrolling through the thousands of pictures you had backed up from your old phone. Of course, most of them were of you and Mark, but some of them contained people laughing or doing something silly; people who you didn't recognize. You wanted to remember so badly. Mark did, too.
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About 6 and a half months have passed.
You could comfortably call Mark your friend. The initial shyness, awkwardness, and even fear have all faded away, just like the steam that clouded the kitchen as you finished cooking breakfast.
"Good morning," You said to Mark, who came into the dining room with tired eyes.
"Good morning," He replied, voice low and quiet.
The rest of your meal contained no conversation - making you slightly worried. Maybe Mark was just tired, you thought to yourself, although you couldn't deny the tension in the air.
You tried your hardest not to stare at Mark, who furrowed his brows as he cut his food, seeming to be deep in thought. Then again, you knew that you were quite the over-thinker; but for some reason, you had a feeling that this time, your intuitions were right.
And, they were.
You jumped at the sound of Mark's utensils dropping against his plate, looking up at him to find himself sighing deeply, his face covered by his hands. Slowly, you put down your spoon and fork, a million thoughts rushing through your head as a result of his sudden movement. You were going to call out his name, but it got stuck in your throat; and you swallowed it down when you had a strange feeling that you shouldn't.
He removed his hands from his face, turning his head towards you.
For once, you couldn't tell what he was feeling. His eyes that were always emotive seemed overcast with a haze that made it unreadable, and his emotions always appeared to be black and white, but today, you were faced with an unfamiliar gray; and you felt terrified.
"I'm sorry." Were the first words he said, the first part of a puzzle piece.
"I'm just-" He breathed, looking off to the side for a second, attempting to blink away tears. "I'm getting tired."
Your heart raced.
"And I, I hate... I hate feeling this way, but..." He continued, voice cracking, looking up at the ceiling in a second attempt to hide his tears; but it was inevitable.
