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If you're reading this, it would mean the world to me if you commented and gave me just a little bit of advice on how to improve this. This story isn't done and although it's currently 32k, I wasn't going to upload it until it was finished but you guys are lovely and I can't deny you!

--

When Mark’s phone goes off at 2 AM, he finds that he doesn’t really mind, having become bored with staring at the ceiling waiting for sleep. He especially doesn’t mind when he sees it’s from his best friend Jack, asking for an early pickup.

Bearing in mind that this request is slightly unusual, he rolls out of bed only half awake and pulls on a sweater in the darkness before grabbing his keys. Glancing at his phone, he smiles absentmindedly when he sees that Jack has sent the party’s address. Pocketing it, he makes his way out of the door, fingers trying to pull his brown curls out of his eyes.

The car slowly pushes down the dimly lit street as Mark mumbles house numbers under his breath, watching for a green beacon of hair. Carefully, he halts in front of a slightly ragged-looking man bathing in light spilling from the lamp above him. With red wine spilt down his shirt and a hand wiping down his face he’s hunched over his phone, looking like he’s waiting for something.

“How much for a good old beej?” Mark says, leaning out of his window slightly. His friend looks up before standing up a little straighter and leaning against the street lamp next to him.

“You couldn’t afford me in your wildest dreams, Fischbach,” he sighs, putting his phone away before threading his fingers through his hair with a sarcastic smirk.

“I fucking could, I’ve been saving. Look, I’ve got... a whole 2 dollars,” Mark replies after scraping around in his trouser pockets.

“Maybe enough for Kjellberg, but not enough for me, mate,” Jack replies, hands resting on his hips. The light from above him makes his face look hollow and tired and despite the jokes, Mark knows that he probably wants to go home.

“Food and home?”

“Fuck yeah.”

As he stumbles into the car Mark sees that the Irishman has tears stains down his face and strangely one side of his face is a darker red than the other. Putting the thoughts to the back of his mind, he pulls away from the curb and starts to drive downtown.

With kebabs and fries at 2:30 AM, the pair are unusually silent the whole drive back apart from the munching of food. Only when they get home does Jack start to talk.

“I only started talking to the guy from the gym because I felt like Chris didn’t give a single shit. We were just stood by the fish tank and he was so nice and ripped as fuck and then suddenly, Chris starts caring about me, well... sort of...” he rambles, messily taking his stained shirt off with his fingers fumbling at the buttons. Mark collapses onto the sofa feeling too full from the junk food, motioning wearily for Jack to continue.

This wasn't the first time they had had this conversation.

“So then Chris starts fucking shouting at me and saying that I’m a whore, how he's never good enough, you know how it goes, and when I try to defend myself he chucks his wine at me! Because of course, he's drinking wine,” he mocks, sitting on the sofa next to Mark.

“At a uni party?”

“At a fucking uni party,” Jack confirms, snuggling next to Mark when an arm pulls him closer.

“Then, the lovely gym guy starts having a go at Chris saying that he shouldn’t push me around like that and Chris fucking grabs me and says that he can do what he wants with me?! So I might have slapped him and then he might have slapped me and then suddenly there’s a fish flying through the air that manages to hit the lovely gym guy and it all just goes to shit,” Jack says, sighing. Whenever they lie down like this, Mark can’t help but remember when the boys were kids barely over 12, huddling away the fear of horror movies. The memory gives him a gentle smile and he finds himself bunching closer to his friend.

“So I think it’s given that Chris and I are over. I’m not his fucking object, and he can get lost. I am awesome and he doesn’t deserve someone like me,”

“And you’re gorgeous too.”

“Damn right I am.”

“Fuck that guy.”

“Fuck him. But not literally, he’s utter dog shit in bed.”

The boys burst into giggles and Mark can’t help but feel tempted to fall asleep with Jack tucked next to him, his warmth flooding into his side, too comfortable to want to leave. However, the thought of his morning lecture floated into his thoughts and sitting at a desk with a cricked neck for two hours sucked ass. Sleeping on the sofa also seemed like a more likely way to sleep in, and having been late to his past two lectures with Professor Landry, the last thing he wanted was even more missed theory.

“Jack, we have to go to bed or we’ll regret passing out here in the morning,” Mark mumbles, but when left with only soft snores are a reply, he sighs.

“Lazy fucker. I’m the one that got up to get you, I should be the one passed out,” he mumbles, pushing himself up from under Jack whilst trying not to wake him. Turning back to Jack, he hooks one arm under his neck and one under his knees, attempting to lift him bridal style. Keyword: attempting.

“Fucking hell, Jack, did you like double in weight from the last time I did this?” He asks, not expecting an answer.

“I’m pretty sure the last time you did this I was 10 so yes, you git,” Jack mutters, pushing out his words through his fatigue. Shaking his head, he starts walking towards Jack’s room before he bends his knees unexpectedly, pretending to drop him with a grin on his face. In response, Jack clambers for Mark’s shoulders before freezing as he realises that he isn’t really falling.

“Take me to bed Mark, I’ve had enough fucking drama for one night,”

At that Mark’s smile falls off his face and he carefully carries Jack to his bed, placing him down gently. Mark knows that his bluntness is due to the drink and that he isn’t really mad at Mark, but nonetheless it dulls his mood slightly. He sits down next to him when Jack doesn’t move to get cosy under the covers.

“I know you had a shit night, but at least you’ve got rid of that buffoon,” he comforts, his hand gripping Jack’s arm lightly. With Jack staring at the ceiling, Mark’s shoulders droop with sympathy as he waits for Jack to reply, staring down at the bed in his motherly position. He’ll be right as rain by tomorrow, he always is, but he has to feel vulnerable sometimes. Mark can’t help but feel grateful that Jack shows him this side of himself because he doesn't allow it very often, which is why it hurts all the more when he finally breaks.

Jack falls too quickly, he loves too easily. Every single one of them breaks his heart in one way or another, and each time Jack looks just a little more worn out, or at least that’s Mark view on the situation.

“I know. Thanks, Mark,” he says finally and his eyes meet Mark in the dimly lit room. His blue irises contrasts from his pale skin and Mark can only wonder how Jack always seems to be unlucky with his partners.

Smiling with an ounce of sadness on his face Mark replies quietly with a subtle nod, before leaving Jack to his own thoughts.

Returning to his own bed, he finds it refreshingly cold compared to the stuffy heated sheets he was lying in just an hour ago. Rubbing his eyes, he clambers into bed and shuts them straight away, his mind resting easily knowing his friend is safe next door.

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

If you're reading this, it would mean the world to me if you commented and gave me just a little bit of advice on how to improve this. This story isn't done and although it's currently 32k, I wasn't going to upload it until it was finished but you guys are lovely and I can't deny you!

--

When Mark’s phone goes off at 2 AM, he finds that he doesn’t really mind, having become bored with staring at the ceiling waiting for sleep. He especially doesn’t mind when he sees it’s from his best friend Jack, asking for an early pickup.

Bearing in mind that this request is slightly unusual, he rolls out of bed only half awake and pulls on a sweater in the darkness before grabbing his keys. Glancing at his phone, he smiles absentmindedly when he sees that Jack has sent the party’s address. Pocketing it, he makes his way out of the door, fingers trying to pull his brown curls out of his eyes.

The car slowly pushes down the dimly lit street as Mark mumbles house numbers under his breath, watching for a green beacon of hair. Carefully, he halts in front of a slightly ragged-looking man bathing in light spilling from the lamp above him. With red wine spilt down his shirt and a hand wiping down his face he’s hunched over his phone, looking like he’s waiting for something.

“How much for a good old beej?” Mark says, leaning out of his window slightly. His friend looks up before standing up a little straighter and leaning against the street lamp next to him.

“You couldn’t afford me in your wildest dreams, Fischbach,” he sighs, putting his phone away before threading his fingers through his hair with a sarcastic smirk.

“I fucking could, I’ve been saving. Look, I’ve got... a whole 2 dollars,” Mark replies after scraping around in his trouser pockets.

“Maybe enough for Kjellberg, but not enough for me, mate,” Jack replies, hands resting on his hips. The light from above him makes his face look hollow and tired and despite the jokes, Mark knows that he probably wants to go home.

“Food and home?”

“Fuck yeah.”

As he stumbles into the car Mark sees that the Irishman has tears stains down his face and strangely one side of his face is a darker red than the other. Putting the thoughts to the back of his mind, he pulls away from the curb and starts to drive downtown.

With kebabs and fries at 2:30 AM, the pair are unusually silent the whole drive back apart from the munching of food. Only when they get home does Jack start to talk.

“I only started talking to the guy from the gym because I felt like Chris didn’t give a single shit. We were just stood by the fish tank and he was so nice and ripped as fuck and then suddenly, Chris starts caring about me, well... sort of...” he rambles, messily taking his stained shirt off with his fingers fumbling at the buttons. Mark collapses onto the sofa feeling too full from the junk food, motioning wearily for Jack to continue.

This wasn't the first time they had had this conversation.

“So then Chris starts fucking shouting at me and saying that I’m a whore, how he's never good enough, you know how it goes, and when I try to defend myself he chucks his wine at me! Because of course, he's drinking wine,” he mocks, sitting on the sofa next to Mark.

“At a uni party?”

“At a fucking uni party,” Jack confirms, snuggling next to Mark when an arm pulls him closer.

“Then, the lovely gym guy starts having a go at Chris saying that he shouldn’t push me around like that and Chris fucking grabs me and says that he can do what he wants with me?! So I might have slapped him and then he might have slapped me and then suddenly there’s a fish flying through the air that manages to hit the lovely gym guy and it all just goes to shit,” Jack says, sighing. Whenever they lie down like this, Mark can’t help but remember when the boys were kids barely over 12, huddling away the fear of horror movies. The memory gives him a gentle smile and he finds himself bunching closer to his friend.

“So I think it’s given that Chris and I are over. I’m not his fucking object, and he can get lost. I am awesome and he doesn’t deserve someone like me,”

“And you’re gorgeous too.”

“Damn right I am.”

“Fuck that guy.”

“Fuck him. But not literally, he’s utter dog shit in bed.”

The boys burst into giggles and Mark can’t help but feel tempted to fall asleep with Jack tucked next to him, his warmth flooding into his side, too comfortable to want to leave. However, the thought of his morning lecture floated into his thoughts and sitting at a desk with a cricked neck for two hours sucked ass. Sleeping on the sofa also seemed like a more likely way to sleep in, and having been late to his past two lectures with Professor Landry, the last thing he wanted was even more missed theory.

“Jack, we have to go to bed or we’ll regret passing out here in the morning,” Mark mumbles, but when left with only soft snores are a reply, he sighs.

“Lazy fucker. I’m the one that got up to get you, I should be the one passed out,” he mumbles, pushing himself up from under Jack whilst trying not to wake him. Turning back to Jack, he hooks one arm under his neck and one under his knees, attempting to lift him bridal style. Keyword: attempting.

“Fucking hell, Jack, did you like double in weight from the last time I did this?” He asks, not expecting an answer.

“I’m pretty sure the last time you did this I was 10 so yes, you git,” Jack mutters, pushing out his words through his fatigue. Shaking his head, he starts walking towards Jack’s room before he bends his knees unexpectedly, pretending to drop him with a grin on his face. In response, Jack clambers for Mark’s shoulders before freezing as he realises that he isn’t really falling.

“Take me to bed Mark, I’ve had enough fucking drama for one night,”

At that Mark’s smile falls off his face and he carefully carries Jack to his bed, placing him down gently. Mark knows that his bluntness is due to the drink and that he isn’t really mad at Mark, but nonetheless it dulls his mood slightly. He sits down next to him when Jack doesn’t move to get cosy under the covers.

“I know you had a shit night, but at least you’ve got rid of that buffoon,” he comforts, his hand gripping Jack’s arm lightly. With Jack staring at the ceiling, Mark’s shoulders droop with sympathy as he waits for Jack to reply, staring down at the bed in his motherly position. He’ll be right as rain by tomorrow, he always is, but he has to feel vulnerable sometimes. Mark can’t help but feel grateful that Jack shows him this side of himself because he doesn't allow it very often, which is why it hurts all the more when he finally breaks.

Jack falls too quickly, he loves too easily. Every single one of them breaks his heart in one way or another, and each time Jack looks just a little more worn out, or at least that’s Mark view on the situation.

“I know. Thanks, Mark,” he says finally and his eyes meet Mark in the dimly lit room. His blue irises contrasts from his pale skin and Mark can only wonder how Jack always seems to be unlucky with his partners.

Smiling with an ounce of sadness on his face Mark replies quietly with a subtle nod, before leaving Jack to his own thoughts.

Returning to his own bed, he finds it refreshingly cold compared to the stuffy heated sheets he was lying in just an hour ago. Rubbing his eyes, he clambers into bed and shuts them straight away, his mind resting easily knowing his friend is safe next door.