"AHHH-CHOOO, Owww" Mark's whimpers echoed from his recording room again, "Wooo, my voice is not doing so well guys, haha." He was still filming. I rolled my eyes and looked over to his recording room door from my place on the sofa. Before I lived here, I don't think I quite realised the amount of work Mark does. I'm sure my dad would grunt and say his 9-5 office job was 10 times harder but that's because he doesn't know anything about Mark.
Mark leaves the house if, Chica needs a walk, there's mail outside the door, or if the house is on fire - sometimes not even then. He doesn't do it cause he's antisocial, far from it. He does it because he won't let himself relax. The last time I saw him away from his work for more than a few hours was last Christmas; we went back to Cincinnati together, to visit our parents as they lived so close to each other.
"LAHHHHHH!"
What the fuck is he doing I laughed, he's gonna wreck his voice.
"Aw man, I'm gonna wreck my voice doing this." I smiled.
Almost half and hour later, of cough filled recording, Mark emerged from his recording room.
"Don't say it." He said walking behind me.
"I don't know what you're talking about" I grinned, still looking at my laptop.
"You're gonna tell me I need to take a break but I'm fine. I'm gonna edit this video, chug a bottle of cold medicine and start stock-piling videos for the UK." He huffed, standing behind the sofa. I said nothing and instead lifted up a large bottle of medicine from the coffee table next to me. He took it and immediately disappeared back into his room.
I've learnt by now that there's no point to arguing with him, he's doing what he loves and that's all that matters. Even if he is wrecking himself in the process.
Suddenly I heard a loud thump and a smash from his recording room, then silence. I pushed my laptop off of me and ran in to his room.
"Mark what was- OH MY GOD, MARK!" I ran over to Mark's passed out body on the floor, "Mark! Mark! Wake up! Mark!" He was out cold his arms and legs sprawled out on the floor.
"oh god"