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theknightmarket · 17 days

Text

"Deal."

In which three disagreeable deities are forced to agree. TW: cursing Pages: 28 - Words: 11,500

[Requests: OPEN]

You were a cultist. You weren’t about to hide that aspect of your life because it was no mere aspect, not anymore; you devoted your entire being to tracking down the pantheon that would mark the end of all humanity. It wasn’t out of spite or service. You had no cosmic motive behind your catastrophic actions. But it wasn’t a test either. Belief rested in your heart and calm in your mind as you traded away the lives of your friends, your family, strangers who would never know what was coming, and your own, for one little thing.

A kiss.

Everyone thought you were joking. Nobody, not even the dredges of society, would risk it all for a little physical contact. They snorted when you told them your plan, and raised an eyebrow when they thought you were carrying on the bit for too long. Oh, there went the ‘town crazy’, traipsing down to the antique shop to pick up the latest prop for their little jape. We laughed at them, for they carried the weight of the jester for our amusement.

Oh, you’d show them. If they lived long enough to recognize what was happening. If they didn’t, you’d still be better off than them.

You proudly owned up to your title of the local lunatic, although it was first given as a joke. One step into your apartment, and they might’ve realized that you weren’t joking. All the ritual memorabilia scattered along the walls, all the unholy ingredients stored in the cupboards, all the little things that contributed to the utter collapse of humanity. Well, as long as the person working the antique store wasn’t a liar.

And, chances were, he was.

But it didn’t hurt to try. And try. And try. And try. One of these days it would work. Eventually, you’d hit the nail on the head and get exactly what you wanted.

The slam of the book on the wooden alter reverberated around the apartment, swallowed by the artifacts you’d collected. You didn’t know when that day would come, if it would ever come, but you were definitely trying. A manic grin split your face in two as you flipped through the yellowed pages. Awful corruption for a god, but you were going to use it anyway. You could always rewrite it if all you needed was the instructions. They were deities, after all, they deserved better than some dusty, half-broken tome.

You hummed to yourself while you worked. Normally, your speakers would be up and running during the hours you studied old texts, blasting the playlist you’d accumulated over the years. Sorting things was never your forté, so they were all in one place. A bit jarring, but you got used to it, and you didn’t have the time to rearrange anything right now. There was work to be done.

The circle you’d engraved in your wooden flooring – which you notably did not tell your landlord about – was surrounded by candles to make the points of a star. Classic. Reliable. Any source of light was diminished, including the overhead lights that you never turned on and the curtains that you never opened. There wasn’t anything to see anyway, and you preferred your side lamp, though you also switched that off when you had everything in place.

Finally, you rushed to the book and read through the specific instructions for the one you were going to summon first. Try to, at least. The preparations before were all commonplace, every ritual used them, but this was where it changed. You might have been drawing a different symbol or equipping a unique relic. In this case, you were to light the candles pink and inscribe all manner of curls and swirls on the floor with a similar shade of ink.

The packet of lithium was in your hand before you knew what you were doing, but you didn’t resist sprinkling it into the wax divots near the wicks. Your high school chemistry lessons finally paid off, as long as you ignored that your first thought was food dye; working with a pantheon of deities outside of your understanding of the world was undoubtably taking a toll on your mental state.

But that didn’t matter right now. The only thing that was important was the paintbrush in your hand that pooled thick lines of neon pink in the exact shape of the symbol in the book. It had to be exact. Perfect. They deserved it.

You connected the last line to the rest of the shape and sat back on your knees to marvel at your work for the brief moment of life you had left. You wouldn’t get the chance once the end of times was ushered in. It didn’t matter to you if it was a sin to be proud of the product of your years of labor. It was probably more of a sin to cause the deaths of eight billion people. What was one more drop in the bucket?

Wiping your paint-splattered face with your sleeve, you rose from the ground and hastily stumbled towards the alter again. The only thing left to do was chant.

Adrenaline rushed you as though you were being judged, chased, stalked. And you likely were. You felt the stares of a hundred gods and monsters on you, from all directions, right into your eyes. They were eager to witness the introduction of apocalypse. They followed where your pupils went. Holding sparks of anticipation, they flitted across the page to work out the pronunciations, wild birds in their cages pleading to be free from the confines of flesh. Your grip on the alter tightened, knuckles paling as all blood rushed away. Any tighter, and you’d rip splinters from it.

You knew you opened your mouth, and you knew you spoke. The chant flowed like thick oil from your throat and poured itself over the paper. You felt it – gods, did you feel the words cling to the life you gave them – but you didn’t hear it. But it was working. It was working, so you didn’t care. You didn’t matter. The ritual did.

So, it didn’t worry you when a flash of pink light, brighter than an atomic bomb, sprung from the centre of the circle at the dip of one of the paint’s arcs and blinded you. Sight and hearing gone, you relied on touch to ground you, and even that was fleeting. The alter was knocked to the floor and you followed it, landing roughly on your palms in accidental prayer. You assumed you were still looking in the vague direction of the flash. The pink had turned to white in the space of your fall. Whatever was with you now, you had no choice but to worship it. The host of the apocalypse, the bringer of the end of times, the catalyst for the collapse of humanity.

The thing that smelled sweet and clasped your hands gently. You still couldn’t see. Did you do it right? Did you summon the right one? Did you knock over a candle and accidentally burn the apartment down and this was heaven? How did you get into heaven?

Your vision was clearing up while you spiraled. Gradually, the spots of light were pulled apart by a softer tone. It wasn’t the shadow you would have expected after removing all sources of light save the candles, but it wasn’t the flashbang from before, and you would take it. You’d hate for your efforts to be for something but unable to experience it to its fullest.

Shakily, you breathed out, exhaling something akin to dust from the lining of your lungs. A few particles remained in your mouth. Sweetness, again. As though you had dipped your tongue in sugar.

“My- my God?” you mumbled. You could hear your voice this time. Words you knew and recognized. Familiar. Safe.

Yet you still felt safe with the hands of a stranger wrapped around yours. They were warm and soft, and, blinking with the sensation of stepping into the sun for the first time, normal looking. Slowly, you turned them over, so the palms were facing up to you. They were human.

But the thing kneeling mere inches away from you was not.

“Please,” they spoke, with a smile you swore you once saw carved into marble, “call me Wilford.”

He looked kind. When the last vestiges of bright light faded, you were greeted by the pleasant sight of a handsome, if not confusing, man. Really, the pink moustache and hair, the same color as the paint and candles, was the only sign of him not being the average person on the street, besides the fact that he appeared in your ritual circle like the second coming.

When your eyes met, his grin widened. You couldn’t guess what was going through his head, you wouldn’t dare, but you had questions as to why he was guiding you to stand so tenderly. “Now, whatever did you summon me here for?”

“I-I... well, I meant to- uh, dammit, I—”

Your poor excuse for a sentence was cut off before you could make more of a fool of yourself by hushing. Of course, you quieted down, thankful for the excuse to focus on breathing instead of talking. A haze of some unknown emotion clouded your mind and heart, but whatever you were experiencing must have been obvious to the deity you stood before. He took you by the crook of your arm and coaxed you towards the couch a few steps away. Doing this ritual thing in the middle of the living room was a blessing and a curse, though the latter would only come into play if it failed. You hated rearranging furniture.

He laid you down onto the plush pillows, cooing at you softly. Was this the relationship between gods and humans? Pets to play with as they saw fit. It made sense, as much sense as infinite immortals could make. There was no argument to be on an equal playing field, but you had imagined it to be more…

Violent, maybe subservient. You didn’t expect to be pampered with a hand patting your hair and assurances muttered until you were able to function again.

“I summoned you,” you shakily spoke. It was a statement, but you couldn’t stop the uncertainty seeping into your words.

“I should hope so—” Wilford’s laugh was the same as his voice, incredibly sweet and lighthearted, despite having enough power to stop your heart with just a glance, “—I am here, after all.”

Hesitantly, you nodded. Alright. He was actually there. You had summoned him. It actually worked this time.

“Do you remember why you summoned me?” came his own question.

You definitely did, and your subconscious seized your mouth again to avoid having to say it aloud. To the people in your town, the ones you entertained with your plots and stories, it was easy to tell what your end goal was. With the actual deity face to face, it was much harder. You should have planned for this. Maybe you could buy some time to get your confidence back.

You latched onto the odd choice of words that confused you in the first place. “Do… do I remember?”

“Sometimes I forget myself, and if an eldritch god does, I’m sure humans do, too.”

Your own breathing filled the silence left behind at the admission. Wilford’s chest didn’t rise or fall, why would it, and he seemed preoccupied with carding a hand over your head anyway. His moustache twitched every time that he brushed against your actual skin, and his smile grew an unnoticeable millimeter wider. It left you frozen and staring at him, which he didn’t appear to mind.

You could do this. There was no going back now.

“Well, Wilford,” you began, barely managing to escape his touch long enough to sit up straight, “I do remember.”

“Good! How can I satiate your heart’s deepest, darkest desire?”

“I want to kiss you.”

The reaction you received was not one you expected from a god, of any shape or form. He hummed pleasantly. Nothing else, he just hummed, the sound reverberating in the small room but never seeming to fade. It died out in a flash, instead, as he placed an elbow onto the couch cushion and balanced his head in the hand of it. In the fifteen seconds that you were both completely immobile afterwards, he didn’t blink, and his smile stayed plastered where it was.

“You want to kiss me,” he repeated, tone as peppy as before you revealed yourself.

No matter how hard your heart beating against your ribcage, you didn’t dare back down. You were in it now, whether you liked it or not. So, slowly, you nodded, becoming more and more sure of yourself in the process.

Wilford stayed perfectly quiet and perfectly still for another moment. You wondered if you’d done something wrong, something so taboo that you’d broken a god – but a kiss was much easier on the mind than the murder of billions of innocents; you should have been the one to freeze, and yet there you were, waiting with bated breath for him to say anything else. But he didn’t.

Not before he lunged forward, springing to lean over you in an inclined plank and barricade his arms around you. Even without the cover of blinking, his eyes seemed to mimic the stars – flashes of planets and sparks of supernovas jumped around in his pupils and radiated light to the whites. You could barely move your head enough to make eye contact with how close his face was, pressed almost directly underneath your chin, enough that you felt his mustache ticked at the skin as his grin grew impossibly wider.

“Oh-ho, now that’s an unusual request!” he commented, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that one before.”

The position you were trapped in gave you no leeway. When you spoke, your breath shifted the curls of his hair. “You haven’t?”

There was silence in which Wilford tried to remember, but he came up empty; so many years and requests and people, anyone would have trouble keeping track of them all. His own established issues didn’t help him any, but that didn’t matter. After all, that was the past, or the future, or a different present that he needn’t care about. You were the one in front of him, looking awfully scared for such a simple want, and you were the one he was tending to. The strange human who just wanted a simple smooch in return for possibly giving him the entire world. It was almost unfair.

“But it is intriguing.” His head cocked to the side. “The average summoner would ask for something bigger. Riches, power, time—” Then a thought occurred to him that made his smile collapse into a sharp grimace, broken only by him spitting out, “—fame.”

You supposed it had crossed your mind once or twice that you should do something more substantial with your boundless wish, but nothing else seemed worth it, to you at least. Why would you care about being a billionaire when you wouldn’t live long enough to use the money? Power was a moot point because you didn’t care enough about any entity to want to control it, and time?

“Isn’t the world going to end anyway?”

A few stray chuckles floated up from Wilford’s mouth. “Oh, no, of course not!”

Any fear that remained from his bout of silence was traded out for doubt, surprise, and a great deal of confusion. When he brought his head back to eye level with you, there was no sign of a lie, just dim amusement as your misconception. You might have been offended had you not been preoccupied by the questions that ran through your head.

He peeled back far enough that there were a few inches between you. “What point would there be in destroying the very thing that gives you power? The cults of eldritch gods support them, in every place and time at once, and to willingly minimize your area of effect would be plain silly. We can’t just destroy dimensions willy-nilly; we have to be selective. So,” he practically purred, closing up that gap slowly, “you’ll be completely safe. The people around you, however…”

Although he trailed off, you didn’t need any more explanation. A world-ending catastrophe wasn’t your aim, anyway, what was currently happening was. The space between you was getting smaller and smaller at a leisurely pace. You couldn’t complain, physically or figuratively. Puffs of air danced across your lips, like fog rolling in from the sea, and the couch dipped as Wilford’s knee came to stabilize him at the edge. You risked prematurely closing the gap entirely when you whispered, “That’s fine.”

“Good,” his whisper came out as the final bat of a wave against the shore, “you don’t exactly have a choice anymore.”

Not that you would protest as his lips skimmed yours so lightly that you weren’t certain it was happening at all. If you were to lean less than a centimeter forward, you would connect, and the deal would be done. Internally, you were a blank canvas, mind in a haze of expectation and adrenaline. Whether this was just you or the effect an eldritch god had on you, you didn’t know, and you didn’t care. You had devoted years of your life to this pursuit, you couldn’t waste the golden opportunity on minor worries.

But it wasn’t your fault that you were interrupted.

Another flashbang blinded you with white light. Ringing in your ears that stopped you from hearing anything except the high pitch, even when you felt your mouth open. This time, instead of the complete blankness of your senses, you were overwhelmed with pain, as if you had been dunked in the river Styx. Not just the brightness of an atomic bomb, but the agony of one, too. A migraine flexed and stilled in your mind, focusing all the thoughts on the damage it must have been causing you. What this was or why it was happening were secondary to silent prayers for it all to stop.

And then, just like that, your prayers were answered. In the flap of a butterfly’s wings, you were left reeling on the couch, pushed back into the cushions and fighting against your swimming vision. It was hard to distinguish direction for a moment, even the memories of the apartment you’d lived in for years struggled to help you, but it soon cleared up. In front of you, from the couch to the wall, was the same as it always had been, and you had to wonder whether Wilford had just made a dramatic exit before anything could actually happen.

Voices from behind you made you realise not only did Wilford not leave, but someone new was in the room with you, and it wasn’t a friendly neighbor checking in about the noise.

“The least you could have done was wait until I was finished.” That one was the voice you recognised, but the tone was much more acidic than the softness you were already used to.

And then, came the one you weren’t familiar with. “What would be the point of showing up after you’d sealed the deal?”

Against the bell chime of Wilford’s voice, this one was sleeker, as if it had been artificially smoothed down to slide from the throat to the mouth and out into the air. It lacked a sweetness but made up for it in baritone words like the soft pounding of a heart in your ears. It matched your own that had dropped into your stomach as your thoughts clouded with the newcomer.

“From what I remember, you’re not one to act with much sense,” Wilford replied, a spite overtaking any of the enthusiasm he had shown you. Whoever this was, he didn’t like them.

The stranger’s sarcastic laugh punctured the air of your apartment. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you.”

“And anyways, I was here first, and, unlike you, I was actually summoned.”

“Wilford?” You were surprised by the shake of your voice – you weren’t a meek person by nature, but you supposed being in the presence of two gods would do that to anyone. You understood that you should have been groveling at their feet, thanking them and begging for forgiveness, and yet you simply rose from the couch to finally catch a glimpse of the deity he was on the cusp of arguing with.

“Yes, darling?”

His response was thrown to the wayside as your eyes met with the unfamiliar face in your living room. Your first thought was to wonder how the second god you’d ever seen was just as gorgeous as the first. The second was that your eyes blew so wide with fear with that you were sure they were going to fall out. They were draped head to toe in a crimson that burned in the candlelight, which, now that you actually looked, was no longer the pink you had lit it to be. It was much darker, eerily the same color as the blood that flowed through your veins, but it caressed the edges of their body and face like a lover’s hand.

You swallowed before you asked, “What- what’s happening?”

Your question flipped a switch in the two’s minds. On one hand, Wilford broke out into a snarl unbecoming of the man you’d seen him to be as he groaned, “We’ve been party-crashed.”

On the other hand, the one in red started to step – glide – toward you, the robe swaying across the floorboards and creating patterns in the still wet paint that they strode across. A smirk pulled at the corner of their mouth when you were within arm’s reach.

“What Wil here failed to explain is that I am the King in Red, Heir to Carcosa.” Neither of those titles you recognised but you felt your heart drop regardless, especially as he stopped barely a few inches away from you. The sliver of Wilford that you could see did not look pleased, but he stayed where he was anyway.

“Another eldritch god,” you clarified.

His touch on your hand felt like someone had lit a flame in your palm, the veins used as routes for a wildfire to grow. Your impulse to snatch your hand back was overtaken by the need to close around the warmth. The decision was made for you as he brought your hand towards himself. “Guilty as charged.”

The kiss was better, worse, different to the flame of his contact. It was so hot that it fully circled temperature and fell into a blazing coldness against the back of your hand. You were half sure he had melted away your skin, despite the strange lack of pain, and taken your breath along with it. You didn’t speak, couldn’t find it in you to, when Mark came out of his bow and stood straight enough to meet your eyes again.

“Considering Wilford here told you his, my name is Mark.”

You didn’t know how to feel; all the awe and terror and confusion and fatigue was catching up to you, convincing you with a gentle hand to lie down and forget that there were two gods in your living room, who you now knew the names of, that you were going to play host to. Everything was crumbling around you.

Putting up your scraps of confidence, you asked desperately, “Why are you here? I didn’t, I mean, I already—”

But mortals’ crises were nothing but spilled milk to eldritch deities. Flippantly, Mark waved his hand, the sleeve of his robe peeling back, before he spoke, “Yes, yes, I know I’m not technically the one you summoned, but I couldn’t help but overhear what you were trading for the lives of your friends and family.”

“Something that doesn’t involve you, that’s for sure.” Whether you were grateful for Wilford’s intrusion or appalled by the obvious disrespect didn’t matter. Mark’s smirk sharpened, expelling all the smooth charisma.

“If you’re going to make snarky comments,” he snapped, “I suggest you find another of your cultists and make some other exchange. I know you have hundreds.” Wilford gasped indignantly, not that you knew which suggestion he took the most offence to.

“And leave you alone with one of my followers?” His scoff cut into a growl.

In your preparation for summoning a god, you hadn’t done much research into who you’d actually be summoning. The specifics of the character weren’t anything you cared for, considering you would use whatever you could get your hands on – pink paint and lithium were the easiest combination of materials, and some of the other rituals asked for either very difficult or very uncomfortable things to get your hands on. As such, the relationships between those deities were unknown to you. Whatever this was, an ancient rivalry or a mere spat, you hadn’t prepared for it.

Nor were you prepared to be the person they were fighting to convince.

“Darling,” Wilford started moving closer, intentionally giving Mark a wide berth, “I know I said you’re safe, and you still are, but being around him for a long period of time has proven to be deadly.”

Sarcasm bubbled up within you. You hadn’t expected it to be a safe endeavor, after all. Still, you kept your mouth shut, more out of respect than the fear.

Mark had no such qualms about backtalking, however.

“Because becoming a ditzy canvas with no memories at all is so much better than what I can offer?”

Wait, what?

“Quite frankly, yes! A lot of people would take it over becoming a husk for you to puppet on stage.”

What?

One second, you were damning the world to apocalypse. The next, you weren’t, and everybody could live their happy endings. And then the next, you were sacrificing the people in the town but saving your own skin. And then the next, you were either losing your memories and your mind or you were renting out your body as an actor.

You really wanted someone to give you the story straight, without all the fluffy words and fighting. But the fear must have showed on your face, because Mark was gesturing in your direction with a manicured hand.

“Come now, you’re scaring the poor thing. I think we can come to a better agreement, don’t you?”

You didn’t like the tone of his voice in the last half. You didn’t like it one bit. He was suddenly less like a sneaky door-to-door salesman and more like the snake in the garden of Eden.

“I mean—” Your words sounded choked out, even to yourself, “—I don’t really think I want anything else.”

“There’s no need to pretend with me, dearest, that’s my job. You must have a larger goal – and with me, you won’t be sacrificing the people around you. They get to live, and you get what you want. Isn’t that better?”

You saw what the problem was. You supposed that after so many years of humanity milling about, there’d be conflicting impressions of them, especially for gods who didn’t see things on the same level as you. The world wars and the protests and the charities muddied the waters of what humans were really like.

Mark was making the – albeit completely understandable – mistake of assuming that both you and the townsfolk were good people.

“I think you overestimate how much I care about the people in this town.”

You couldn’t help the swell of pride in your chest when you noticed the shock on his face. Hell, his back straightened, and he blinked as if he just weren’t seeing you right.

“But your family. Surely, you don’t want to be the cause of their deaths?”

And he was assuming that your family was still alive.

“No, I- uh, don’t have a family.”

His face dropped as if you’d spoiled the ending of a show. Unimpressed, bored, and vaguely disappointed. Maybe he wasn’t used to this kind of resistance, maybe he wasn’t used to getting it wrong. Presumably, that wasn’t a habit the gods made, but it happened regardless. It was happening, and Mark was having a hard time getting back onto his feet.

After a moment’s hesitation, he stilled and frowned. “You’re making this a lot harder than it has to be,” he complained, and yet he spoke with such confidence, as if the outcome couldn’t be anything but him getting what he wanted, that you almost believed it, too.

Wilford stepped around Mark, very obviously and probably meant to tease him, in order to pull you back down to the couch cushions with him. You flopped against the back of it, only secured by his arms around you, cradled like a toy that a parent threatened to take away from their child. Just as stubbornly, he spat, “It was all going smoothly before you showed up.”

“And if everyone played along, we’d be done by now.” You could hear Wilford rolling his eyes better than you could see it in response to Mark’s groaning. You weren’t doing it on purpose, or, at least, you didn’t think you were. Why would you? The man beside you definitely was, trying to get under his skin and poking and prodding, but you were just answering the questions. Were you supposed to play alongor were you supposed to tell the truth?

Wilford interrupted before you could come to a conclusion, “In this day and age, I don’t understand why you’re here.”

Mark looked you up and down. Judging. He smiled, not unpleasantly but vastly less wholesome than Wilford’s grins. It reminded you of a rose, not just the petals but the thorns as well. He wasn’t lying about the danger he brought, he just wasn’t mentioning it, in the same way that you might not recognize a rose for the pain it would cause but for the beauty it was known for. Nobody talked about the spikes, just the satiny crimson of the prettier parts. Distantly, you wondered whether that smile meant you passed inspection or something different.

“I’m just interested.”

“Go be interested in someone else.” He waved his hand, a shooing motion that lit a flame in Mark’s face, his cheeks becoming just as red as his robe. You didn’t particularly want two gods getting into a petty fight in the middle of your apartment – hell, you hadn’t planned for there to be two gods in the first place – but you still wound up the mediator.

At least, you tried. “Can’t I make a deal with both of you?”

But your proposition was shot down immediately, a combined, “No!” bouncing off the walls and down the hallway. It sounded like the thunder and the rain of a storm, like it was down the street and right next to your ear simultaneously. Their yell, their one agreement so far, could have shaken the earth in the way you had expected their arrival to, instead of the flashbang you had been met with.

You shrunk back into the embrace of the couch, pressed into it in the way that got pennies and wallets and keys lost. You couldn’t tell whether it was out of fear, worry, or the want to get disappear like those common trinkets. The feeling of regret flexed in you, growing and shrinking and growing and shrinking. This whole ordeal was more than you had bargained for. You’d expected a one-and-done kind of thing. Now, you had childish rivals tossing insults.

Speaking of.

Mark bent down to take your hand into his again, but he didn’t lean to kiss it. Instead, he drew his other hand over it, fingers dancing along the skin and prompting sparks around your knuckles. “Dearest,” his teeth were gritted together so that the words struggled out from behind the bars, “I would rather die than share a follower with him. We both know how well it worked out last time.”

A tut from your side before it merged into a laugh. “You’re still hung up on that?”

“What reason do you have?” came the venomous response, disbelieving and mocking.

“I just don’t like you.” Wilford’s smile was bright even as he insulted Mark to his face. If you were to reach out, you were half sure your hand would catch on the tension between them, and you were surprised when you were able to get up from the couch and drag yourself through the air without being stopped.

When you were a few steps away from the pair, out of the blast radius, you sighed, “It’s obvious that this isn’t working. Is there a way to end the whole summoning thing?” You weren’t keen to have to redo all your hard work, but you were even less interested in losing your apartment to a minefield. As the saying went, there were plenty of fish in the sea, and finding another god couldn’t be that difficult. You hoped.

Your eyes latched onto the sudden fear in Wilford’s eyes. It was small, but it was there. Despite that, his grin never faltered, and his voice was steady as he answered, “No—”

“Yes, there is!” Mark announced with more excitement than you had heard in your entire experience with him, and, possibly, it was the most genuine, too. His head whirled to frantically search around the room until his gaze landed on the alter.

Wilford jumped to his feet. “It’s extremely complicated and you probably don’t have the materials and it takes time—”

“They have the book, don’t they?”

What ensued was by far the most insane part about this situation; you stood next to the wall, watching with concern, while Mark dashed for the summoning book. He was barely a few inches away from grabbing it before his face met the floor, snuffing out the candles that he landed on and knocking several others onto the floor. Wilford grunted in the new position as Mark’s elbow connected with his stomach – he recovered surprisingly quickly from the tackle to the ground – and he tossed the other god onto his back. A bundle of flames licked up at them on your wooden boards, but the threat was diminished with their combined rolling away.

Before you met them, you would’ve been scared out of your wits by the thought of two eldritch beings grappling in the middle of your apartment, especially because you would have made certain assumptions – that they had demonic powers, that they could kill you accidentally with the snap of their fingers, and maybe they still could. It was only now that you realized they not much more than schoolboys fighting in the field at lunch break. You couldn’t be intimidated by that.

So, walking forward to stamp out the fire that had been growing into a few smoldering patches of ash, you grabbed the book that they had seemingly forgotten about and proceeded towards your front door. Not schoolboys. Toddlers. Thinking of them like that gave you only one course of action; wait for their tantrums to end and then pick up the pieces.

They didn’t react to the creak of the door, Wilford too preoccupied by bending Mark’s arm back and Mark too preoccupied by not getting his arm bent back, so you slipped out into the night with ease. Immediately, you felt the change in the air. There was no tension out there, covered by the coolness of late hours. They offered a comfort you would never be able to match. Never had you been so glad to be human. Sure, other people were a nightmare and getting out of that town was a dream you aspired to, but you enjoyed this little bit of the world. You wondered if ants felt the same when they looked down off a hill. In the presence of ‘dangerous’ deities, it was nice to sit back and appreciate what you did understand. At that time, you would normally have been able to see the stars twinkling distantly against the black void of the sky, but they must have been hidden by the clouds because you couldn’t see them.

Or the railing.

Or the balcony hallway itself, or, as you whirled around to run back inside, the wall of your apartment. The door stood out like an unfinished painting, bordered by the same darkness that was all around you. You felt caged. It was closing in and spreading apart at the same time, and you could only think to return to the living room. At least you knew what was in there. Out here? Glares burned into your skin from all directions and the shiver of a frigid gust of wind was more physical than your own body. You lunged for the handle to escape it and threw yourself in.

More darkness greeted you.

“Wilford?” you called out, “Mark? Is anyone there?”

You had spoken to the void, but you didn’t expect the void to speak back.

“So, you’re the one causing all of this trouble?”

Those eyes seemed to narrow. The only thing you were certain of was the rapid thud of your heart in your chest, and even then, it was inconsistent. A scream clawed at your throat, but you choked on the sound.

You managed to struggle past the blockage to ask, “Hello?”

The words reverberated around wherever you were, but it wasn’t your voice. Some of the echoes were deeper, some higher, some altogether unintelligible, as if spoken in another language. It hurt when they came back to you.

“Darling, dearest—” Something writhed in the pitch, “I’d ask how they got so attached so fast, but we both know who we’re talking about.”

“And who am I talking to?”

“You’ve been messing around with that book; I should hope you know.”

You almost jumped to your own defense before you remembered what position you were in. On one hand, you had only meant to summon Wilford, not Mark, but, on the other, it probably didn’t matter in the eyes of whoever – whatever – you were talking to.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” you started as you searched for the confidence you had started the day with, “but which one are you?”

“I have man names, many faces… you won’t be around much longer, so you may refer to me as Dark.”

Well, it was certainly fitting. As if to confirm your thoughts, a patch of the void appeared to constrict and tear through itself. Each particle fought for space, sparking with red and blue light, and collected into smaller masses. You were stuck to where you were standing while the voice continued in the background.

“Those two are tenacious.” More flecks of light joined the fray. “Neither will stop until they get what they want.” They warped the area around them in the vague shape of a person. “That just so happens to put you in a tight spot.” The color seeped out of the portrait, but it was still distinguishable from the void. “Wilford will slowly erase your memories, even though he doesn’t mean to nor is he aware of it.” A body began to coalesce where you assumed the floor of the void to be. “And Mark will take your physical form as soon as you pledge yourself to him to use in one of his plays.” It travelled up from dress shoes to black pants to the edges of a white shirt. “And you were about to choose both.” A neck appeared above the collar and those particles caressed the line of a jaw. “That…”

A face emerged.

“That is fascinating.”

Before you stood the fully formed god you now knew as Dark, and you had mixed feelings about that. For one, you had actually watched him appear. He didn’t arrive in a blaze of light, he did quite the opposite. That in and of itself dug a pit in your stomach, and his earlier comment that you wouldn’t be around much longer wasn’t helping your nerves. You felt like you were on the edge of spiraling out of control, but you also felt strangely calm, like there was a voice whispering in your ear that there was no need to get worried. Your breathing stayed steady while you looked at him. A formal black suit and ashen skin were the only notable features he sported. There was no taste in your mouth, no pain in your body, just confusion and a hint of fear.

He opened his mouth to speak, and you braced for impact, but his voice sounded normal. “What’s so important to you that you’d give up your mind and body?”

The answer was coaxed out of your mouth before you could think to say it. “A kiss.”

You had managed to shock not one, not two, but three eldritch deities. You were three for three, and you were damn proud of yourself! When you were back in your room later that night, you were going to celebrate. With what, you didn’t know yet, but you were already stewing in the feeling. It didn’t take long for Dark to recuperate, though, and you were brought back to the present by his gravelly laugh.

“Mortals,” he tutted. “You can never seem to decide whether you’re so significant that you’re the centre of the universe, or you’re so irrelevant that nothing you do matters. You’d give up yourself and the people around you for a show of affection, no doubt ingenuine?”

“Is it so hard to understand that I don’t care about the people here?”

“And your own soul?”

“I went into this thinking the entire world was going to end, so this is a preferrable outcome.”

He thought for a moment, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes. You felt like you were being inspected, and maybe you were, but you must’ve passed his scrutiny because a grin crept across his face. Not sugary like Wilford’s, or sly like Mark’s, but understanding, as if you’d given him the last piece of the puzzle that he had also known from the beginning. You confirmed something in him, and he was going to use it to his full advantage.

“That settles it,” he said, bringing a hand up to snap his fingers. That sound reverberated, not unlike your original words, but without the pain. Instead of granting to a headache, it swept away the darkness like a curtain to reveal your apartment. You were standing exactly where you would have been after coming back inside, a few steps away from the centre of the ritual circle, only Dark was situated opposite you. Just to the side were Wilford and Mark, still tousling as though you had never left.

As Wilford reared back a fist to sock Mark in the jaw, he finally noticed your return, to which he shot a smile at you. A stark bruise had found a place above his eye, but that didn’t stop him from winking at you while he drew his fist further away from his target.

And then he paused, hummed, and jumped up from the floor to greet Dark with a hug and a call of his name.

Mark, meanwhile, stumbled to his feet. He didn’t look worse than Wilford, but he certainly wasn’t better; a cut dripped blood around his mouth, which he wiped away with his thumb. His expression didn’t brighten when he saw Dark, and, instead, he took the grace period to trot over to you and swing an arm around your waist.

“Couldn’t handle me on your own?” he boasted when you were well situated, “You had to call in backup.”

At the insinuation, Wilford whirled on his heel and spat back, “I’ll have you know I am perfectly capable of—”

“Can we be civil?”

Whatever relationship the three of them had, Dark seemed to be the most – if not liked – respected. The two men stopped talking immediately and looked towards the one who had spoken, whose voice somehow sounded like it brought the walls of the room closer even if the volume didn’t change. He was powerful, that much was certain, and he proved it more than Wilford or Mark had, so far.

Another demonstration was when he reached into a slightly shaded corner of your apartment and retrieved something from the inky black. For a moment, it was nothing more than vapor, like dry ice, but then he pulled it further towards him.

Even though it now had a physical form, it helped you none with what it actually was. All you saw was a piece of yellow, tarnished paper that made Dark grimace, before he shook it and the color seeped out of it. You could have assumed it was a trick of the light had that not also healed the rips and tears.

“I’m sure the little cultist didn’t summon anyone here to see a petty squabble,” he said as he reached back into the shadow to get something that made more sense to you, a pen. Not that you knew what to do with it when he stepped closer and held both items out to you.

You looked him up and down in confusion.

Dark didn’t look offended while he explained, “If you agree to these terms, you can proceed with your original plan.”

Wilford popped up over his shoulder to take a peek at the writing. His lips pursed and his eyebrows furrowed but he only stated, “Dark loves a good contract.” Mark, meanwhile, tightened his grip.

Now that you were able to see the front of the paper, you could understand the words and be surprised it was in English.

To sum it up, after your eyes had skimmed over the terms, you would get what you wanted. You were ready to stop then and there, but common sense told you to keep going. Something about survival instincts or whatever boring thing your mind felt the need to involve.

The extra lines told you what would happen for the deities beside you. Wilford would get to take the memories of the entire town over the course of a couple days at a time – a similar situation to what you’d heard happened in Insmouth – but would use your apartment as a home base of sorts instead of an eroded group of rocks. You’d be there for the upkeep and taxes and, strangely, companionship. For two days after that, you would go with Mark to actively participate in his plays. At your side, he seemed to brighten when he read it. You guessed that unconscious husks weren’t the most entertaining when it came to improv. The final line stated that you would return to your apartment, alone, for the weekend, which worked for you.

But you weren’t the one it would be difficult to convince, and, what surprised you, nor was it Mark.

“Unfortunately, we have been over why a custody agreement won’t work,” Wilford piped up, leaning an arm over Dark’s shoulder. “Someone holds a very old and very useless grudge and is also the last person I would ever want to associate myself with.”

The impulse to point out that he had spent the last hour or so associating with Mark reared its head. You subtly patted it down, only noting that your confidence was coming back after the whole eldritch gods acting like petty toddler situation.

Dark spoke as though he were used to this, though, “You won’t have to make contact with the King in Red if you don’t want to. A day’s interim for handover has already been specified.”

Wilford couldn’t help but groan back, “You’re taking the fun out of this whole thing. They’re not a time-share, or a car being traded between dealers.” He went to cross his arms but was interrupted by his own gesture to the man who still had a grip on you. “And besides, Mark would never agree to it.”

“Oh, I’m fine with this arrangement.”

You blinked. Maybe you had preemptively gone insane because that void sounded like it was Mark’s but, even from your limited experience with him, he wouldn’t give up that easy. It unnerved you how casual he sounded, as it did the other two; Wilford’s eyebrows shot up, to be expected, but Dark also slightly reared back, like he had the chance of seeing the truth if he looked from another angle.

“Really?” you asked, turning your head to make eye contact.

“I’m given two days, and it’ll only take one to convert you fully to my side.” His hand left your waist and moved to pull your jaw towards him. “Contracts can be amended, can’t they?”

Damn. He was smooth. You tried to ignore the blush that flourished on your cheeks, and how your thoughts reminded you how little space there was between you and him. An inch, maybe less. It wouldn’t need much energy to move closer – in fact, it made more sense to just remove the gap altogether, right?

Until Wilford slapped his hand from your chin and stood steadfastly between you, the ideas falling out of your mind like a bucket with a hole punctured in the bottom. You hadn’t seen him move in the first place, but nobody looked shocked.

“We haven’t started yet,” he spat, and you were almost distracted by his pout.

They made faces at each other while you reread the contract. It all seemed very cut and dry. There was no point in a fine print if you were selling your soul for some kisses, because there was nothing to hide. No devils in the details for you.

Well, except…

“What’s the weekend for?” you asked. Dark didn’t seem the type to give you ‘time off’ just like that.

And you were right, in both aspects. He didn’t try to cover it up before he started explaining, “If I’m going to notarize this contract, I’m going to get something out of it.”

That got the other’s attention. Their heads snapped to look at Dark, both as confused as you were.

“Your follower here planned to trade reality as they know it for a single kiss, not even the three that we’re offering.” What? “Just imagine what else they could give for trifles like that.” What?

It took you a second to process what he said. He wasn’t looking for a one-up on another god, or entertainment, or companionship. He was looking for a gateway into the human world, and he found that gateway in you. What else you could give him. Access. Apparently, ancient beings who were witnesses to the dawn of time were also subjects to legalities. They couldn’t go invading the world whenever they wanted, they were like vampires, they had to be let in.

As Dark said, you would be the one to let him in, so that he could wreak whatever havoc that you could, or couldn’t, imagine.

That might have put other people off from making the deal. But, then again, you weren’t other people. You were you, and you had no qualms about breaking that dam and letting the flood destroy the town. You’d get what you wanted, that was all you really cared about, and it was the first line of the contract.

“Alright.” All three of the men around you looked towards you. “Deal.”

You took the pen that Dark was holding out to you, ignored the smirk that pulled at his lips, and signed your name on the dotted line.

The paper disappeared in the same puff of smoke it had appeared in. Dark’s hand was left empty, and so was yours as the pen took its own exit, but he quickly crossed his arms behind his back and took a step away from you. More than one, in fact, until he turned and started to walk towards the front door. He didn’t have to see your confused expression to understand.

“Privacy,” was all he offered before snapping his fingers and pointing at Mark.

It must have been insulting to be beckoned like a dog; he frowned and groaned and sighed and stomped all the way to where Dark stood, and then, with an upturned nose, he passed him and stalked into the exposed hallway. It only took a shared nod between Wilford and Dark for him to leave as well, following into the darkness that still stained the world outside your apartment.

You and Wilford were left alone. Right back to the start.

“Well,” he started, taking both of your hands into his, “I’m sorry about that, darling!”

“That normally doesn’t happen, right?” The warnings you’d found scratched into the first pages of books, the cryptic words from sellers, all of them foreshadowed the danger of summoning an eldritch god. None of them told you how ending up with three would turn out, so either it was a rare event, or nobody had lived to give their own advice on it.

Wilford simply nodded and answered, “Quite right.” His eyes drifted to the door that only just clicked closed. “Though, it was the actor and I last time, too, so maybe we’re exceptions to the rule.”

“Rule?”

“In theory, the followers who choose us have such different aims that we never cross paths. I have the mind, he has the body,” a laugh jumped out of his throat, “nobody’s going to Mark to forget their wife’s death. But nothing ever goes how it does on paper. We get muddled up, and then we both make deals, and then our follower’s caught between a rock and a hard place, and then—well, you’ve seen what happens.” He gestured dramatically to the apartment, that now seemed so much smaller than it did before. “You are what happens.”

But you were alive. You survived. No matter what happened from that point on, you had gotten through such an ordeal that would surely make anything else pale in comparison. You could do it.

“This is the first time Dark’s taken part,” Wilford offhandedly commented, before his spine straightened as though he was struck by lightning. You swore you could feel the leftover sparks when his hand returned to yours. “Oh, but no more about them. Party-crashers, really, are the worst of the lot. Just criminal. And not even the fun kind of criminal.” His eyes finally met yours again. “But we got there in the end.”

It was in that moment that his voice dipped from those jovial, sugar-coated words into something deeper. Not that his tone had particularly changed, there was just another layer to it, like a tree stripped back to the core of it. It befitted the god you imagined prior to summoning him. Now that you had met him, it made your heart flutter in your chest and your breathing pick up to match it. Much like how it was what seemed like years ago, except there was going to be no one popping in with a flash of light to interrupt you.

“Now, where were we?”

Standing up straight was an odd choice, but you were in an odd situation and by far more distracted by Wilford pushing forward through the thin air between you and connecting his lips with yours. The second that you were fully touching, you tasted the sugar that seemed a permanent coat for every part of him. It was incredibly soft, gentle, like he thought you’d shatter if he applied any pressure, and he did. Humans were such fragile creatures, bound by the laws you’d created for yourselves, both physically and socially. A pinprick, a papercut, a prod to the wrong part of you, and you could die, just like that. Wilford was determined that you wouldn’t go that way, but it made him far lighter than he would have liked to be.

But if this was him holding back, you couldn’t help but wonder what full force would be, because you couldn’t tell whether it was the sweetness or the man himself that was making you want for more. You forgot to breath as you focused entirely on the movement of his lips against yours. Your mind swam with thoughts, all centered on him, to the point that the last hour wiped out of your mind, and you returned to the beginning. It was addicting, to sum it up, and Wilford had to guide you apart when you started to go far too limp in his hold.

You must have looked some kind of way, maybe a certain dazed fog in your eyes, because he laughed – a sound that was so much lighter than before, if you could remember what it was like before – and tapped your nose with one of his fingers. Your barely caught Wilford’s wink in the hazy mind field you tried to pick your way through.

And then the pressure was gone, just like that, as if he’d never existed in the first place. For a moment, the impulse to agree with that flitted across your mind – it all seemed ludicrous, anyway, that was undeniable – but then the door behind you crashed against your wall, bounced back, and was eventually shut when a pair of shoes were fully inside.

You didn’t turn around, because you neither had the reason nor the time to do so. It was obvious whose hands were on your waist in a matter of milliseconds, each finger pressing into your clothes in time with the corresponding one on the other side.

“Finally,” Mark mumbled as his head came to rest in the crook of your neck. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see his fluffy hair bat against your skin, one stray lock managing to knock against your earlobe. “I thought he’d never leave. He never knows when the party’s over. Never remembers.”

If you hadn’t seen the outcome of their little sparing match or the squabble, you could have been easily convinced he was in love with the other god, going off how much he talked about him. Many of your fellow students in high school pretended to hate who they were secretly attracted to, though they didn’t have the power to smite you if you were to suggest it to them. The man currently wrapped around you proved to be a deadlier risk.

“But that doesn’t matter anymore. He’s gone and we can finally make good on our deal.”

You were shocked out of your joking assumptions by the graze of Mark’s teeth where his head was planted. A nip, and you were wondering if you were starting already, but he stopped long enough to mutter some more muffled words.

“Oh, I have so many ideas.” You barely registered one of his hands coming up to guide your jaw into looking towards him. “If we’re doing it differently,” his whispers danced across your skin before drifting up as he gently pecked up your neck, “I can’t have you doing the same old King in Red script.

From what you’d heard, that was the pseudo-ritual to take your soul, and, as per your contract, you were supposed to be fully conscious when you were performing. You were glad he’d picked up on that, it would be annoying to go through all that hassle just to be exorcised from your own body at the last hurdle. You were sure that you would have completed it had he not brought it up, thankful that at least one of you wasn’t distracted by the current events.

“I would offer Othello,” he continued, and you shivered at the new puff of breath, “but the bard seems too tame for your first experience. Musicals are especially rough on the vocal cords if you’re not used to it.”

Damn, Mark was a tease. Your oh-so-dutiful-cult-follower exterior was cracking the longer he dragged this on. He wasn’t doing this on purpose, he was too excited about the prospect of plays to be disingenuous about the subject, but you had half a mind to jumpstart this thing.

“Your heist movies have always interested me—” Maybe two thirds a mind, “—what’re your thoughts on space?”

In fact, a whole mind.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

That felt sacrilegious, and your immediate thought was that you were indeed going to die for your transgressions.

The next thought was how good Mark’s lips felt against yours. The sugar-coated texture was wiped off and replaced by a satin ribbon. Fear of your blasphemy was thrown out the window as you cherished the push and pull, barely noticing the ache of your neck until it disappeared with a switch of position; you were twirled around by the hand that remained on your waist and the other shifted to the back of your neck. You appreciated the stability but found you couldn’t voice it as Mark dove deeper, gripped tighter, sighed against your mouth. The kiss on the back of your hand was nothing in comparison to this. Anywhere Mark touched was completely numb. No fire, no chill, just a blanketed safety from pain when he settled into a gentle caress of your skin. And then it started to tingle. Pins and needles danced on the surface. Capsaicin.

You shivered.

“It’s unfair,” he separated far enough to whisper, “that we don’t have more time.”

Everything moved at a different pace for deities. Decades could go by in the blink of an eye, entire empires rising and falling with less effort than the waves. Most of the time, they were forced to take a back seat, if only because it all would move too fast for them to have any sort of effect. Eldritch gods found their homes in the stars, where things went more at their speed, where things felt more welcoming than the place that valued every second of the minute more than life itself.

But that begged the question; why were you, a human, so comfortable? Why did it feel right to have you in his arms? You aged and you changed, but you made the weight of time so much lighter. Somehow. In a way that such a powerful being couldn’t understand.

You might have nodded at his words. You weren’t actually aware of your actions, but you vaguely felt your head bob up and down, even if it was slight. Your eyes were still closed – you weren’t sure when you closed them – but you felt Mark bow his head to slot between your neck and shoulder again. That was where it felt like flames licking at your skin, but you didn’t back away. Why would you?

You felt him speak before you heard his words, “But have no fear. It won’t take long for the day to roll around, dearest.”

Your heart stilled in your chest.

“We just have to be patient.”

The flames were doused and feeling returned to your lips in the space of a few milliseconds. Fog lifted from your mind, and you blinked slowly to regain your sense of self.

And then there were two.

Dark didn’t enter with a show of dramaticism like Mark had, nor did he go to find some physical contact like Wilford. Instead, he simply opened and shut the front door and let you adjust to an actual room with him alone. There was an inkling of fear in the back of your mind, the ancient part from the years of hunting buffalo and being scared of the night that yelled at you to run. You pushed down the fight or flight reflex that begged to be triggered. It hushed without challenge, leaving you strangely calm in the face of the most powerful being you had ever met.

You found that you liked his smile. It was surprisingly pleasant, and presumably rare, considering the most you had gotten out of him since Mark and Wilford were involved was a smirk when you signed the contract. This was less sly, and, instead, had the corners of your mouth perking up, too. It only felt right.

What was weirder, though, was the fact that you felt equal to him. You, a mortal with zero self-preservation skills and 206 definitely breakable bones, felt equal to a god who could snap his fingers and kill you. There were no more witnesses, and there was only so much the police could do to track down a being of myth and legend. And yet, your mind assured itself there was no need to fear because you were on an equal playing field. You were both part of that contract, neither offering more or less than they could handle.

Dark, somehow, managed to voice your thoughts before you could. “So, you state your terms, I’ll state mine, and then we’ll have a deal,” he stated.

“What kind of terms are we talking about?”

He stepped forward once, and then twice, until he was close enough to take one of your hands and pull you towards him. Middle ground.

“Let’s start with this one, alright, dove?”

Your stomach flipping, you were the one to cross no-man’s land. Being so confident in the presence of a deity was unnatural, but, then again, everything about this was – except the feeling of lips against yours was beginning to become more and more familiar. The pressure, the texture, the—

The kiss ended as quick as it began. Dark drew back an inch with an exhale of cold breath while you stayed frozen. Your eyes didn’t have the time to close in the first place, so you easily noticed the plain shock on his face. Eyes wide and shoulders down, you could only imagine that you had done something wrong.

You were sorely mistaken.

You registered being dipped when Dark’s hands came to rest at the small of your back and your neck, and then your lips connecting so harshly that you thought they might have bruised. They were definitely already swollen from the combined efforts of the last two experiences, but now? You forgot the ability to breathe and simply submitted to the tug of his teeth against your skin.

Apart from the lapse at the beginning, you had no way of knowing this was Dark’s first encounter with anyone, let alone a human. For all his suaveness and elegance, social skills weren’t something he practiced often. That left them lacking, outside of business deals, to the point that every conversation with someone turned into a trade. Information, ideas, physical assets, it didn’t matter – but this scenario, with such a nice warmth contrasting his coldness, he forgot that this was an official exchange. It almost had him wanting to disregard the terms altogether and figure something out for just the two of you.

But Dark was nothing if not formal. No matter how much he felt the impulse to go further, he had to calm himself down, and that meant he had to take a step back.

He only managed a gap worth a sheet of paper at first.

“Mortals.”

You drew back the rest of the distance, so that both of you could speak comfortably and without temptation.

“You really are fascinating creatures.”

With those closing remarks, Dark trailed the hand from your neck to your jaw to your chin. A finger pushed at your bottom lip.

“I look forward to finding out more.”

He disappeared as quiet as Wilford and Mark, while you struggled to stay upright with your knees as firm as jelly and your heart threatening to give out.

So much had happened in the space of those two hours, at most, in your apartment. For one, this was no longer your apartment, really. You shared it with three eldritch gods, only one of which you had signed up to interact with, and even that was something you originally thought would end in the massacre of your species. Complete extinction. But there you stood, alive and well, in the middle of the living room. Nobody was dead yet, and nobody who you cared about would die.

You didn’t fight the laugh that bubbled up in your chest – it spilled out like an overflowing bathtub, you felt like you were drowning, you were drowning, but you were alive. You were alive! You’d done it! You got that kiss you wanted, and two more on top of that. A hand, probably yours, jumped to your mouth to cover the cackles that escaped you, but it did no good. It was all just so hilarious.

The laughter only died down when you bit into the palm of your hand. With your teeth lodged into flesh, you had physically tied your mouth shut like a bear trap. This way, you could think.

First, you had to find something pink to wear. Second, you had to brush up on your improvisation. And third? Well, you didn’t exactly know what Dark was going to do, but by all the eldritch gods in that book on your alter, you were excited to find out.

[Yep, I definitely went insane. My mind crumbled and this was in the rubble. I normally struggle with the kiss at the end of these kinds of things, so I kinda shot myself in the foot by giving myself three in one, but it's done now, so enjoy while I sit here and collect the pieces of my brain <3]

#theknightmarket #fanfiction #writing #markiplier egos #markiplier egos x reader #markiplier #one shots #x reader #actor mark #darkiplier #wildlife #markiplier wilford #darkiplier x reader #actor mark x reader #wilford warfstache #asshole mark #sucker for love

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theknightmarket · 1 year

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"Sometimes I wonder what you saw in me."

In which Mark and an old friend reunite - this time, with feeling!

[This is the second part to a two-parter, so be sure to read this first if you haven't yet]

TW: cursing, angst/comfort

Pages: 27 - Words: 9500

[Requests: OPEN]

“Mr. Patton!”

Having been a director for many a year, Patton had learned that someone yelling his name with that much intention could be one of three things; the first being that someone had died, the other that X, Y or Z had too much coffee and puked their brains out into a stall, or something good had happened. The latter was less common, but it was always a welcome surprise. Hoping for Christmas to come early, he turned around and saw two of his assistants. Yours and Mark’s, the ones who were supposed to be with you at all times.

So, not the latter.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, tiredly.

The events they spilled were, all in all, not normal. They had taken it upon themselves to fix your relationship, and it had gone well, it seemed. You hadn’t been figuring out new insults, at least, and had even said a good morning on the way in. Patton didn’t see what the problem was, but it didn’t stop him from continuing on with his very busy schedule.

“Nice job, you two, well done,” he commended without effort, “Now, we’ve got five scenes to shoot today, so we’re gonna need a lot of touch-ups and coffees. I think that café nearby is open until six—”

Juliette ran in front of him, effectively blocking him from rushing away. She spoke pleadingly, “Well, we were wondering if you could help us send them off together?”

Patton’s face dropped. He liked his prize actors, he really did, but not enough to take away from the working day.

“We don’t have time for that,” he responded, watching as her face, too, fell, “Look, whatever they do on their own time is up to them, but I can’t have them fixing anything during work hours.”

Toby stepped up to bat now, saying, “But, sir, this is helping them.”

But Patton wouldn’t budge. “We’re on a tight schedule as is, we can’t lose any more time.” He tried to move past them, but they were a brick wall that couldn’t be knocked down. He would have better luck throwing a baby at them and seeing if it stuck.

“Then just for lunch.”

“Toby.”

“Please?”

Those puppy dog eyes might have actually worked three years ago, when he had been younger and more open to convincing. Now, though, they just made him sidestep and wave down another crew member.

“The Captain and the Engineer are supposed to like each other, right?” Juliette interrupted when she saw a camera man approaching, a particularly bulky one at that. “And it’ll be easier for them to act like it if they do like each other in real life, right?”

She was pulling at straws here, desperately hoping for him to agree with one single thing they pointed out.

It was his own death sentence when he muttered, “Well, yes, but—”

She stuck to that sign of weakness. “Or do you want them to go back to spitting insults and potentially jeopardize the entire movie?”

More tired than he was resistant, he replied, “No, I don’t. But I also don’t want to sacrifice daylight.”

Toby rounded, finally, to stand directly in front of Patton. “You said that you need touch-ups and coffees, so what if we did the fixing bits and they get the coffees together?”

The director glanced between the assistants. They raised some good points and gave even better solutions, and what would he be if he weren’t a lenient boss. That and the puppy dog eyes Toby had maintained were working wonders now that his resolve had broken apart.

“I suppose—” Barely a complete sentence, not even a yes or no, and they were getting excited, like two children being offered anything they wanted in a candy store, “—that could work… Fine, we’ll send them, but I don’t think Mark will be too happy as an errand boy.”

That was the least of their concerns and the farthest thing from their minds as they received the go ahead. Hyped up grins appeared over their mouths; Toby bounced on his heels while Juliette nodded vigorously.

“I’ll deal with him when they get back,” she responded with an assuring thumbs-up.

“Alright, go get everyone’s orders, and then they can leave at lunch.”

They skittered off to each and every crew member in that building, stopped before the dressing rooms and collected as many as they could to keep their project busy. It was with a devious exchange of laughter that they separately knocked on their wards’ doors.

“I cannot believe him.”

It was a mystery how Mark resisted yelling the second they were sent off. You had half the mind to ask him, but that would surely prompt outraged responses.

Instead, you busied yourself with wrapping your coat further around you. Although it had been sunny the day before, the weather took a turn for the worst. A dangerous chill blanketed the city, cooling water and making breath look a fine mist.

“Well,” you started, making your way carefully down the path, “moaning about it won’t get us back inside.”

“But we’re the heroes of this whole thing, who gave him the right to give us chores?” You couldn’t tell which word held more venom, ‘chores’ or ‘us’. You might’ve said something about him being a baby the day before, but it didn’t seem as appealing to you now.

Also, to be fair, you weren’t overly thrilled to be getting coffee, either. You should’ve been running lines or actually enjoying your lunch break, not trying to keep balanced on icy concrete.

Moving your arms barely outwards to stay upright, you replied, “Considering that Mr. Patton’s the director, probably himself.”

You latched onto any supporting thing you could find: a bike rack, a lamppost, once a tree that you didn’t realize was mostly made of leaves and you almost toppled over forwards because of. Luckily, Mark was at your side in an instant, pulling you backwards and gripping onto a wall to stable himself.

You thanked him, before wondering aloud, “And are we really heroes?”

Mark scoffed, not as annoyed as he used to be, “Of course, we are. What else would we be?”

“Protagonists.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

Shaking your head, you watched the air in front of you turn to smoke. You liked colder days, but not when they threatened to knock you on your ass in front of the whole street. “But protagonists aren’t always heroes,” you replied, trying to stay focused on your walking, “just the people the camera is following, and even then, it can change.”

“We save the universe,” Mark responded. You glanced to your left, noticing that he was walking completely normally, as if the slippery ice melted right under his boots.

“From a mess we created.”

“So?” He brought a hand from his pocket, gripping your upper arm just tight enough to stop your inevitable keeling over. You hoped you could play the redness that rose in your cheeks off as the cold. “We still save it; we could’ve just let it crash and burn.”

“You’d feel bad, though, right?”

“Depends. Do I care about the people on board?”

After thinking it through for a second, you nodded. “Yeah, you’ve worked with them for ages, and it’s your ship.”

“If I built the first one, I could build another,” Mark stated, like it was obvious. You’d always had a problem with getting attached to inanimate objects – still living with Mark, when your coffee machine had broken, he had to comfort you for a solid day before you could buy another one.

But Mark didn’t think that way, so you tried a different approach. “Then what about the people?”

Silence.

You turned your head, for a moment sacrificing possible embarrassment, to see him mulling it over in his head. He hummed and tutted for a few seconds, enough time for you to ask, “You’re not seriously thinking about it?”

Mark huffed, his shoulders dropping, and head bowed. “It’s a lot to go through,” he admitted, “Wormholes, problems, dying over and over again – I’d only do it if I really cared about them.”

“What about me?” You didn’t catch his dip in eyebrows, a clear sign that he was back to thinking, while you turned a corner. “I’ve gone through the same stuff, and I’m still trying to save the crew.”

“I didn’t know you were with me.” He squinted and then sighed. “Well, if that’s the case, then, of course.”

Something stirred in your gut as those words met your ears. They weren’t honeyed or mocking, Mark spoke like what he said was obvious, like he couldn’t have said anything different. For a moment, it crossed your mind that he didn’t hate you, but there was so much evidence to go against that – and yet you wanted to believe the former side of you.

Trying to keep the interest out of your voice, you asked, “Why ‘of course’?”

“I wouldn’t be alone.”

A frown forced itself over your mouth. Was he really that scared of being alone that he would give up his own life? It left a bad taste in your mouth, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was because of what you did. You had left him, alone in that big, old house.

“So,” you swallowed, “the problem isn’t the wormholes, it’s the loneliness.”

The café appeared in front of you before you had noticed you were on the same block. It was a cute thing, pastel blue and pink decorating the umbrellas, but nobody was sitting outside on that day. Everyone was safe and snug in the warmth, and, lucky for you, that was only two or three people, not counting the staff who waited patient and bored at the counter. You’d surely be here for a while with how many orders you had to place, so you were glad you wouldn’t be holding anyone up.

Mark stepped forward and held open the door, replying carelessly, “I think I’d be able to go through the different universes, but I wouldn’t be able to survive rebuilding the warp core.”

One foot through, you stopped. “At that point, you’re saving yourself, though.”

You moved on to order, about half of them being plain, black coffees and a third the most complicated requests that you were pretty sure were just jokes. In the end, you just passed them the notepad with all of them on it to the barristers. Fatigue waved over them when they saw the second page, so you slipped then a twenty for their troubles.

It was then that you noticed Mark hadn’t replied, despite him standing directly next to you with his lips sealed tight. You risked a glance and saw him thinking intently. They were hypothetical scenarios, ones you’d never have to deal with, but he sure was putting all of his effort into them.

This muted state lasted until you were back out the door again, a good 15 minutes later, and a bad feeling settled in your stomach. Had you messed everything up? You weren’t sure what you had done, but it must’ve been something to get the guy infamous for running his mouth to shut it down completely. Frigid air not the only thing making you shiver; you decided to offer up another comment.

“I don’t think I could do it.”

He hummed back absentmindedly, still caught in the whirlwind of his thoughts.

“Go through it over and over,” you explained, now back to keeping balance, “I think… I think I would try, but I’d end up cracking eventually. I’d feel guilty, but not being able to get out of it would kill me.”

And it was back to the silence. The swish of tree leaves overhead calmed your nerves, but the steady tap of shoes and the studio lot appearing in the distance brought them back up. You had enjoyed this little break, albeit unnerving at the end, and you feared it would revert entirely. The both of you would go back to swapping insults and being rude, like children on a playground.

But you were allowed a breath of relief seconds before you arrived back at the set.

“Where do you think you would end up?” Mark asked, jostling cups in his hands to open the door.

You felt the warmth of a climate-controlled building swarm around your legs, and you basked in it as you answered, “I’d stop with Miss Whitacre. She seems nice and the void could be comforting after not taking a break for so long. Plus, Pam is really cool.”

In fact, Pam was the last person who you delivered a coffee to. Really, she was more of a tea girl, but you thought the barrister would kill you if you switched it up at the last second. She was grateful, and you moved back to your dressing room for a few minutes of lunch.

From across the room, Juliette’s eyes widened. Not from a realization, but from fear. She had watched Mark stalk around the room, not as confident or cocky as he was before you had left, and now, there he was, a lost soul floating around the set.

“Oh, God, something must’ve happened,” she hissed to Toby.

His shoulders collapsed in disappointment, but he still replied reassuringly, “We don’t know that.”

It didn’t do much to settle her panic. “Have you ever seen Mark so… not dramatic?”

The actor was creepily blunt with everything he was doing, the flair sapped out of him just like that. No comments, no arguments. The assistants watched Mr. Patton approach him and he almost numbly accepted whatever decision he had made.

“It’s only our second day,” Toby muttered, despite him knowing that it was odd.

“Yeah, exactly.”

He swirled the cup of coffee around, wishing to find an answer in the dark, steaming mass. It came up blank, which led him to wonder simply, “How about we ask them?”

“And get us caught?” Juliette gasped, “No thanks, I’d rather be friendly towards the guy I’ll be working with for the next few months.” Toby looked away, somewhat surprised and somewhat having expected her to be so outraged at his suggestion. “What if our efforts have been for nothing? All those hours slaving away at getting them together, and for what? For all our hard work to be thrown away.”

“Again, second day, and we bought them takeout.”

Julie planted her hands on her colleague’s shoulders, drawing him out of staring into his coffee. Her own sat idly by on the table beside them, ignored in favor of her meeting his eyes. “We have to take drastic measures,” she warned.

Instantly, Toby practically deflated. He was over getting them to be nice together, he just wanted to go back to work and get paid, and this was detrimental to that very idea. Weakly, he replied, “Seriously? And you don’t think we’ll be fired for that?”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

She hadn’t left any room for discussion; the metal plating that decorated the set bent underneath her moving body, at a faster rate than Toby could keep up with. Sighing, he tried his hardest, but not without complaint.

“Get a job as an actor’s assistant, they said—” Juliette swung open a door, “—it’ll be fixing makeup and getting drinks, they said—” He trailed behind her down a hallway, “—nobody said I’d be meddling in their personal lives and possibly committing crimes!”

His friend – for, he believed, not much longer – only skidded to a halt when they arrived at a door clearly marked maintenance, which they were not. Juliette acted like she hadn’t seen it, though, and pushed with some force against the heavy-duty iron. She huffed and gestured for Toby to help, before offhandedly replying, “You wouldn’t have taken the job otherwise.”

“You say that like this is normal.”

The door gave way to dust particles floating around the air, a flimsy light hanging above them, and a dingy staircase that led into something unknown. At least, to Toby because Julie neglected to tell him what her plan was, so he was along for the ride.

The very woman was already marching down steps, skipping a couple and disappearing entirely into the blackness below.

Toby keeled back. “Juliette, is this normal?” he called, gripping the banister like he would die if he let go. She didn’t answer.

“Juliette!?”

He ran down in a panic.

When his feet made contact with stable ground, a cold concrete that he felt through the leather of his shoes, he saw an entire wall of switches and wires and buttons. Most were unhelpfully unlabeled, but they were separated into categories that meant with a fine amount of trial and error, they could figure out what they needed.

You had just wrapped up a scene, one of your favorites that was scheduled for that week. You figured it would look better after edits, since the colors were supposed to be regressed to black and white, but you still enjoyed the vibe of the piece. Currently, you were heading up to the recording booths to finish off the voiceovers, and then you’d be home bound until the next day.

The elevator dinged as it came slowly to a stop, allowing you to get in and press the button for the fifth floor. It was a tall building, but it also held a lot of storage rooms and editing offices the rest of the company used.

Doors sliding closed, you sighed and leaned back against the mirror. A stressful day deserved a moment of calm sprinkled somewhere inside, and this short break would have to do. A minute to yourself, to think, to breath.

“Wait!”

Your eyes shot open, and you lunged to press your foot between the shutters. Luckily, they stopped short of crushing you, and, in the inches of space, you saw Mark running to catch up to you. Really, it was more of a fastened jog, but it was more than you had ever seen him do.

He muttered a ‘thank you’ when he was safely inside. You nodded back.

You weren’t entirely sure what you were meant to say at a time like this. Could you pick up your last conversation, or did you have to choose a new subject? Or, even worse, were you supposed to wait in silence until your floor came?

You settled for making idle small talk. “Um, nice work in the noir,” you spoke softly.

Mark looked startled for a second, until he recovered and replied, “Yeah, it was weird to constantly be squinting, but you did well, too.”

“Thanks.”

A comment about the costumes was about to leave your mouth, but another question in your mind caught your attention. Thinking back to when you had distributed the coffees, both of your assistants had been shifty. The same look on their faces as when you had interacted after dinner. You figured that it could have just been a coincidence, though it wouldn’t hurt to ask Mark if he had seen anything similar.

“Has Juliette been acting weird lately?”

He tilted his head and looked confused at you, a question evident in his eyes that he bypassed by saying, “Not that I’m aware, we’ve only been working together for a couple of days.”

It made sense that they could just be like that in general, but something was off. No mannerisms – Juliette’s nor Toby’s – indicated they would be suspicious. You bit the inside of your cheek in thought.

“Yeah, I know, just…” you trailed off, considering your phrasing, “when we finished dinner last night, Toby was being strange.”

“How so?”

“It looked like he wanted to ask a question, or he wanted me to tell him about something, but he never did, and then he told me that you and Juliette spoke about our relationship.”

Automatically, the air flexed and bent under the strain of awkwardness. You tried to fight off regret for bringing it up; it was bound to happen sooner or later, and you had surmised to get it over with before everything boiled over.

It seemed it was already too late – if how he spat, “We did,” was anything to go by.

Reminding yourself that it didn’t matter, you replied, “Toby and I did, too.”

“Nice to know.”

The silence was killing you, it kept coming back like waves lapping at a shore, except it did more than get your feet wet. It delivered guilt and tension and a mood too rigid to fit inside that confining box comfortably. It was either now or never, but you didn’t like either of those options. Go back and change what had happened would be preferable, but you didn’t get that choice. You had to deal with the here and now, however much your heartbeat sped up or your breathing shook.

Closing your eyes and hoping for the best, you said, “Look, I just wanted to know if you’d be open to talking about it?”

“What is there to talk about?” he snapped back. That bad feeling deepened into a pit of despair, but you wouldn’t be put off that easily. He should’ve known by then that you weren’t going to go down without a fight.

“A lot. We hadn’t had an actual conversation in a year before this movie.”

Mark pushed back against the mirror, causing the elevator to shudder under the pressure. “And we got on fine without one.”

On the bright side, he had apparently grown from being a child to a moody teenager.

“But now we’re working together, and it’d be nice to, y’know, be normal again.” It wasn’t meant to sound like a question, but it definitely came out like one.

“So far,” Mark stressed, “I’ve been operating on the idea that we won’t see each other again after we finish these shoots.”

He was slowly but surely breaking down your will to argue. Sure, you wanted to get along, but he was being so resistant to the mere idea that you questioned if it was worth it. He pushed for an end to the conversation, you wanted to continue it, and that left the both of you at a standstill.

“It’ll be a long three months,” you offered.

“I’m willing to wait it out.”

Normally, you were level-headed. Normally, you focused on one thing and stayed focused. Normally,you were able to calm yourself down within a few minutes, distance yourself from the problem, and relax.

It was not normal to be waiting in an elevator with your famous ex because you’re shooting an action movie together where you had to pretend to care for each other.

So, you couldn’t relax, and you burst out of the gates with, “Well, I’m not!”

Mark flinched, though his stare stayed trained on the doors.

Not caring that he was ignoring you, you continued, “Mark, I’ve liked talking to you recently – I enjoyed our dinner and our walk to the café, and I think I’d like to be on speaking terms with you again.”

It set you off even further when he laughed. Mark laughed, some super-villain chuckle that belonged more to an insane man that it did him. “What, so you can manipulate me?”

“Mark.”

“Save it—” he rolled his eyes and crossed one arm over the other, a poor attempt to comfort himself that you didn’t bother to consider, “—I know what you’re like, and I don’t believe that you’ve changed, so it’s either this business thing or nothing.”

“But that’s exactly it, I haven’t changed because I was never like that in the first place!”

Another pitiful chuckle. You felt the sentiments from the first day with him blend together with new ones; you wanted to repair your relationship, but a spiteful, immature part of you wanted to throw every insult under the sun at him and see what sticks. Like a baby.

Of course, you clenched your teeth and listened to him say, “I don’t know how we could talk about us if you aren’t willing to admit what you’ve done.”

“That’s exactly why I want to talk, to sort all of this out.” At this point, you were pleading, one step away from getting on your knees and begging him to just listen to you. Your pride would never allow it, only giving you the reigns to let anything spill out of your mouth that would convince him.

Mark only sighed. His head shook the glass as it slammed back into it. “What aren’t you getting?” he hissed, “I don’t want to talk about it, I just want to leave it all behind and get on with my life.”

You stood still for a minute, thinking through it all. You didn’t move, Mark didn’t move, and, although you tried to will it into existence, the doors didn’t move. There was only one thing for it, then…

“Look me in the eye right now and tell me honestly that you’ve hated every second you’ve spent with me in the last two days.”

To you, it was a simple request with big consequences; if he were able to, you wouldn’t continue a conversation. In fact, you would probably leave everything there, come in only when you were requested and spend all the other time in your dressing room.

However, to Mark, everything came crashing down around him. He didn’t know what to do. His pulse raced. His breath caught in his throat. What was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to say that this had been the best shoot of his entire career – seeing you again, as kind and calm and witty as you were the first time that he had met you, spending time with you like how you used to, the sense of pure joy and completion that breached his soul – or was he supposed to lie? He didn’t know which he would prefer. After all, you had wanted to talk, but what if that was to just clear the air and get you back to square one? Too many unsure and incomplete scenarios waved over his mind for him to do anything but lie.

So, just barely managing to make eye contact as you had ordered, he parroted your words bluntly and definitively. “I have hated every second I have spent with you in the last two days.”

And it broke his heart.

You nodded, choking yourself on the tears and hoping to anybody that was listening that they didn’t pour out. “Okay, then,” you whispered.

Mark shifted his gaze back to the doors in front of you, tried his hardest to keep them from wandering back to the crestfallen look on your face. It wouldn’t do him any good, but every movement, however minor, that you made, it became ever the more difficult to stop himself. He only got so far by focusing his attention on the digital numbers that showed the floor number. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

Except the screen wasn’t following his count, and it hadn’t been for the last two floors – or, rather, the last two floors that they should have passed.

Exactly four and a half floors under the elevator, in the basement of the studio, were two people. And they were panicking.

“Oh, my God, what did you do!?”

Juliette practically strangled any excess electricity out of the wires she held, yelling back to Toby, “I don’t know!”

“Well, put them back!”

“I don’t know how!”

The boy snatched them from Julie’s hands and held them naively to the wall. Being an assistant usually didn’t require any mechanical knowledge, so he was shocked to find that it didn’t sync up the moment they touched the circuits.

“It’s not working,” he pointed out.

Juliette might have mentioned his lack of common sense, but she had also ripped the wires right out of the box just seconds before. She settled for panicking more. “We’re gonna lose our jobs, we’re gonna get arrested.”

“I told you!”

But their day got even worse as their freaking out was overthrown by the clicking of familiar and intent shoes. Their faces paled and they debated whether it was better to book it or stay right there and wait for unemployment.

They were forced into the latter when Mr. Patton rounded the corner and inspected the room.

“What is going on in here?” he asked, squinting from the change in lighting. “We’re back up in five, and you two are here fiddling with the breaker box.”

He moved closer, to which the assistants responded by stepping forward and blocking their mistake. It didn’t work, based on how Patton’s squinted eyes quickly changed from a reaction to utterly skeptical of them.

“Okay,” Toby started, hand out as if to calm him how you would a wild animal, “sir, don’t be mad.”

“What did you do?”

One look, and he repeated the question, much more exasperated and worried than he had the first time. “What did you do?!”

Toby caved faster than an unstable mountain in earthquake season, though his words came out little more than a garbled mess. “Juliette tried to get the elevator to stop between floors so they’d be stuck and have to talk to each other about their relationship, but she didn’t know how so she ripped out all the wires and now we can’t get them back and we’re pretty sure they’re stuck in the elevator with no way to get them out, we’re so sorry, please don’t fire us.”

Patton exhaled shakily, before asking with as much calm as he could muster, “Toby, who are you talking about?”

He didn’t need more than an embarrassed look to realize who ‘they’ were.

“You’re idiots.”

They nodded with varying degrees of responsibility.

“We know, sir, and we’re so sorry for meddling in their personal lives."

“It’s not me who you should be apologizing to—” He guided them back to the hallway, ready to send them on their way, “—but you’re not fired. At least, not if we can get them out of there. Those two were going to be a pain to deal with if they didn’t get on better terms, and I have you to thank for getting them to play nice.”

They each exhaled with relief, having thought they were screwed the second he had entered the room.

He wasn’t done yet, though, and he dropped them in the doorway. “However, please, if you’re going to mess with people’s relationships, don’t make it our main stars, and don’t do it on company time.” It was slightly concerning that he cared more for that mistake than those exact stars being dangled three floors in the air. “You’re lucky you’re with me – go on, get them some water or something, they’ll be shaken when they get out.”

“Right, sir, thank you, sir,” Toby muttered. He gripped Juliette’s arm and tugged her back towards the staircase. Patton shook his head, feeling as though he had been dealing with unruly toddlers, but he still laughed when he heard a distant, “Leave the wires!” and the flop of equipment at the door.

Finally, by himself, he glanced back at the mess they had made of the breaker box and sighed. “We’re going to get so sued.”

It didn’t take long for you to realize what had happened. With the elevator stuck in whatever position it was, you could only pass the time in silence. What’s worse was it was getting stuffy, so you had to remove your jacket in such an awkward manner that had you nearly squirming. Why did that have to happen after you completely destroyed any chance of getting back to how you used to be? Did a god hate you? Had you offended some cosmic power so much that they decided, hey, let’s completely fuck you over on this one particular day? You didn’t know and you were over trying to work around the silence that infested the elevator.

That left Mark to be the only one to ask, “How long do you think it’s going to take?”

“I don’t know,” you responded bluntly, “an hour maybe?”

He slid down the wall, coming to the same level that you were currently sat at. Your eyes would have met had you been looking up – instead, you stared intently at your hands.

“Fuck.”

You didn’t give him an audible response to that, you didn’t feel like you had to, just a vague nod. The new principle you had come up with in the last thirty minutes wasn’t something you were happy with, but it was better than annoying him more and making your days just as miserable as you had expected them to be.

Just like before, Mark was thinking differently, and he scoffed to say, “I don’t see why you’re complaining, isn’t this what you wanted? Us to talk?”

Ignoring the fact that you only agreed with him, you answered, “I wanted it to be on our own terms, not locked in an elevator. You said you didn’t want to have a conversation, so we won’t.”

“Stop doing that.”

You managed to bring your head up ever so slightly. Mark wasn’t looking at you, he couldn’t bring himself to, but there was definitely a look of conflict fixed starkly on his face. A confused noise fell to the silence.

He explained, “You’re being nice and then I can’t fight back without seeming like an asshole.”

This time, you laughed through your nose. He didn’t react but he noticed it. The sound didn’t fit right, like a different person had replaced you. He wanted that boisterous laugh, or none at all, but he was left with the small chuckle to deepen his frown.

“Would you rather me be mean to you?” you asked.

“Yes.”

You couldn’t be held liable for what you were about to say, then, if he had asked for it. “Fine,” you sighed, half upset that it came down to him requesting you to be rude, “I think you’re being childish and ignoring a problem that could be easily solved if you just agreed to confront it.”

You both knew you could do worse, and Mark was split on whether he would have appreciated a harsher tone than the one you supplied him with. Either way, he was glad that you listened to him, allowing him to reply, “Not until you admit what you did.”

“And that’s another thing, you won’t tell me what I did for me to explain it.”

Shoving his reservations to the side, Mark’s upper half darted forward away from the wall and towards you, as if getting closer would get the message across better. “You do the same thing. Yesterday, you didn’t tell me what was wrong and then stormed off.”

You granted him that, you hadn’t given him much to go off of, but it was still insulting that he had forgotten so easily – but also you supposed that was what he was feeling, too. “Okay, tell me, now,” you ordered softly.

Mark fumbled for a second, not actually having expected you to say anything. Instantly, regret swarmed him, begging him to just stay quiet, but he couldn’t. He refused to because, and it was near painful to acknowledge, he did want to talk about it, or, more accurately, he wanted to rant to you about what had happened. Everything would be out in the open, then, and he wouldn’t have to walk on eggshells every time he thought that maybe, just maybe, he liked talking to you. Only, he had dug himself into such a deep pit that he could barely remember what the sun looked like.

“I know you cheated on me.”

As much as he wanted to slap a hand over his mouth and never speak again, the pot was already boiling over, every word possible ready to spill out the second the lid was lifted.

That was done with a simple, “What? When?”

“June 12th—” Just shut up, “—I came home from the last shoot, and I heard you talking on the phone to someone about sharing a bed—” Really, shut up, “—and telling them that you loved them—” You’re an idiot, Mark, “—I was able to figure it out from there.”

The elevator went quiet, because of course it did, he had just confronted you about something in the making for a year. If he could, Mark would’ve reached out and caught the story that fell, brought it back inside and left it to stew for a couple more months.

But he couldn’t, and he didn’t, and you were left with your mouth wide open. Throwing possible replies around in your mind, your first reaction, involuntary and primal, was to mumble, “Mark, why didn’t you talk to me about it?”

The two of you were stripped down to bare bones, now. No words nor actions required manual thought, everything playing fast and loose with the rules and social norms.

“I… I didn’t want to embarrass you.” You both knew it was a lie, and the imploring look you sent had him amending, “I didn’t want to end it. I thought that if I just ignored it,” he took a deep breath, calming himself, “you would come back to me. And that didn’t happen.”

Suspended 20 feet in the air and unsure of when you’d be free, everything was on the table. Mocking, arguing, reconciling.

Even pure, unadulterated laughter.

And that was what happened when a beat had passed, a break in the music that had you nearly tearing up with amusement. You fanned yourself and tried to calm down, but that sentence kept repeating over and over. Having spent years in the same house as Mark, you knew his thought processes and his movements, but you seemed to have forgotten how much of a dumbass he could be sometimes.

Including right now, when he scowled and shuffled further to the side, away from you, and huddled into the corner. You almost felt bad, with how he was subtly trying to hide, like a dog having been found ripping up a shirt.

Numbly, hoping that his words would cover up the tears constricting his throat, he muttered, “Well, I’m sorry for wanting to continue that relationship, then.”

“No, no, I’m sorry,” you cut him off with another chuckle. You finally found cause to relax against the cold metal of that box, and you crossed your ankles over one another. “Mark, I wasn’t cheating on you.”

His jaw dropped – not because it was some sudden realization, but because he truly believed you were still lying. This was a step for you, a leap into gaslighting he hadn’t thought you’d make. He bit his lip to maintain his defense against tearing up before spitting, “Still? You’re still denying it?”

“No, well, yeah, I am,” you explained, “because I wasn’t talking to who you think I was talking to.”

“Then, who was it?” What were you going to make up now? A contractor for a private project, a co-star who you just couldn’t be cheating with behind his back. He was ready for it all, bring it on, you horrible liar.

“It was my brother.”

Ah.

Now.

That was actually possible.

Mark’s mouth flopped like a dying fish. “What. Michael. What, no, wait—” He continued to splutter and every failed attempt at a word made your smile grow a few centimeters more.

“He was going to be in town for a week, and I said he could stay in one of our guest rooms. He said about not liking the artificial style of them, so I joked that we could sleep in the same bed, like how we used to when we were kids.”

The wall disappeared from behind him, the floor fell, and those bright, artificial lights snuffed. Time itself froze and there was the odd feeling of being tugged away from the whole world. It was a tough pill to swallow, to realize that a relationship, a person, who you had devoted nearly all of your life to had broken apart in a matter of minutes because of simple miscommunication. Mark wanted to slam his head through the mirror.

Getting his bearings, he stumbled out, “But… why didn’t you tell me?"

You shrugged. “You weren’t there to tell. I knew how much that movie meant to you, I didn’t want you to have to fuss over something you wouldn’t even be affected by.”

Although he hated to admit it, Mark started to backpedal; if you really were just talking to Michael, then that meant… that it was his fault that you broke up with him.

He grasped at straws, pointing out with unsteady breaths, “He didn’t come, though.”

Shaking your head, you were slightly confused. “Of course not. I saw that interview and I immediately broke it off. Mike stayed at home, and I left to stay with him.”

No, no, no.

Meekly, hoping that you weren’t talking about what he thought you were talking about, he brought his head up to meet your gaze. Oh, you were confused, but you had that stupid half-smile on your face anyway. Why did you have to be like that? Why did he have to choose you, of all people?

“Which interview?” he asked.

“The one for that action, actually. Where the guy asked about us and you spilled everything.” That smile was still there, but that look in your eyes, the glint of joy added just for a second, was replaced by distance. It was as if he went from being up close and personal with a blazing star to staring up at it from Earth. You kept going, though, “You said how I distanced you from your friends and ignored you all the time, and how I probably cheated on you.”

Well, it explained that part, huh? Your head bobbed up and down, enough time between for Mark to slide closer to you across the frigid floor, not that you noticed until he was sidling up beside you.

“Well, that last one, I thought was true… but you’re right, I did say that. Didn’t I?”

Lazily, you nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

Reality caught up to you, and your head snapped to look at him. Now he was the one who looked distant, as if nothing he felt really clicked with him. Neither of you were thinking, and you supposed that Mark just didn’t feel like doing anything.

Different for you – it always was – and your instinct had you wrapping your arms around his waist before your brain could have any input. The points of contact went as fuzzy as static, and the feeling quickly spread like a wildfire up your arms and into your chest. It was overwhelming, but not harmful – it more resembled being pressured by a weighted blanket, comfortable and gentle. You even felt the temptation to laugh swell in your heart.

Mark didn’t respond, not for the first few seconds, but he gave in to a little, childlike giggle before encasing you in his own arms. Protectively, he squeezed, as if the chill of the elevator was something he could fight away from you.

In reality, it was him checking that you were actually there, hugging him without hesitation or worry. He had to check for fear that the elevator had collapsed, and you had actually died in the crash. But you hadn’t, he was sure of it as he felt the heat radiating from you. A blush ghosted over his cheeks, and he pulled you impossibly closer. It had been a year and yet you smelled exactly the same as you had the last time you had been so close. He suddenly became aware of how much he had missed this; you being pressed against him, his head resting on your shoulder, the stability that came with it all.

You were the first to pull back, though it was only a few inches, and you still held your hands on his upper arms.

Despite that, Mark was the first to speak. Almost jokingly, he whispered, “Sometimes I wonder what you saw in me.”

Your grip tightened in shock, but you manually loosened it to bring your hands to cradle his cheeks. It was a sweet gesture, guiding him to look at you and decorating his face in a small blush.

“So much,” you replied forcibly, “I saw a man who knew what he wanted and would go for it – I saw a man who was devoted to projects and relationships and was able to prioritize. You were ambitious and loving and brave. And you still are.”

While one hand of his own swam up to caress yours, stabilize himself throughout your words, he tried his best to look away. “I put my work before you.”

“And I think you were right to do that. I was working, you were working, we had separate lives and things we cared about, but we still ended the day together in the same house after everything was said and done.”

A squeeze, a smile, a chuckle. “I shouldn’t have said all those things, though, they weren’t true.”

He was right, and both of you were aware. “No, you shouldn’t have,” you admitted, but your hand and eyes stayed right where they were, “but I should’ve told you what was going to happen under your roof.”

“It was your roof, too.”

And there it was. Everything was out in the open, and it wasn’t as hard as you thought it would be. Of course, getting there was horrendous, but everything had turned out fine. Better than fine, actually, because neither of you were weeping and neither of you were dead. Getting trapped in an elevator was a surprise, though. You briefly wondered what was happening outside of your metal bubble – and you decided, quickly, that it didn’t matter. If it took days for them to even notice, then so be it. You were comfortable, finally feeling complete and stable after so long on the edge. They always said that you didn’t know what you had until it was gone, and not having Mark to return to at the end of the day was as bad as branding yourself when you came home to an empty apartment.

“Hey, what’s that?”

Having adjusted into a more comfortable position, your back against the wall and your legs stretched out in front of you, your costume had ridden up to show your ankle. Lightly, you laughed at yourself, imaging a Victorian crowd going absolutely ape shit, but then you remembered that a little picture was also exposed to Mark’s view.

You dragged your knee up to your chest, and, after bringing your pant leg up a few more inches, you said, “Moving out wasn’t the only thing I did when we broke up.”

You remembered getting that tattoo surprisingly fondly, for the state you were in when you chose it. A little pumpkin, cute without context, but exciting for people who did know where it came from. Michael Myers’ pumpkin, with the sections that were meant to be lit up shaded in instead. A lot of people had trouble seeing Michael in the intros, so you made sure to request it be obvious.

“Why a pumpkin?” Mark asked, drawing a finger over it. A slight chill shot through your veins.

“It’s from Halloween.”

“Okay, but why is it a pumpkin?”

Mark was a dumbass, but he was your dumbass.

“No, you dolt,” you insulted softly, “the movie Halloween. Michael Myers.”

He rolled his eyes but there was obviously no intent to be mean about it. “How would I know that?”

“It was the first horror movie I ever showed you,” you responded, before rolling it back down. The bottom few bumps of the pumpkin still peaked out from below the fabric.

“Exactly,” he huffed, “it was so long ago, how would I ever remember it?”

Shaking your head, you were happy with how this turned out. It was a mess coming into it, sure, but it was good to be able to talk about what happened after you broke up without your heart panging every time you opened your mouth.

“Didn’t it hurt?”

“Nah, I got used to needles after the third one I got.”

“You have more?”

“Actually…” you trailed off. Instead of just giving him a vague idea, you brought your shirt up and over your head, shocking him for just a moment with the question of what in the hell you were doing. When you had twisted around to give him an easier sight of your back, those brown eyes blew wide with awe and recognition.

Decals littered your back, like the spread of a shotgun. You had spent so long looking at them that you had memorized where each and every one was located, so when Mark caressed a certain tattoo, you were able to explain the stories behind them, after recovering from the shivers. A cassette tape labelled ‘play me’ in the centre of your spine, a carved-out puzzle piece that inched onto your shoulder, and a miniature dragon shaded spectacularly by your artist were the main ones that you talked about. Nearly all of those tattoos were horror-based, down to the dragon’s teeth being visibly sharp, except for one.

Mark’s fingertips ghosted gently over your side, bringing you to almost flinch away. You stayed put though, long enough for him to wonder, “A round chicken?”

“I played a lot of Stardew Valley in my free time.”

He backed away, giving you space to put your shirt back on. After it was over your head, you turned to look at Mark. Sure enough, the crimson blush had increased ten-fold, and you found yourself smirking a little bit wider. He would have thrown something at you if there had been something to throw.

“What’d you do after we went our separate ways?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest. It was getting cold, but no way in hell would you put that death-trap of a jacket back on.

“Now, that is a question,” he trailed off awkwardly.

“Sure is.”

He glanced around the elevator, the impression that he would get an answer if he just looked hard enough settling in his mind. When he found no such thing, he sighed and glanced back to you. “Really, I can’t remember. I guess, I just waited for a new script, learned it and then… kept going. I hadn’t imagined a life without you, and when I was living that life, I couldn’t stop imagining one with you again.”

Huh. You hadn’t thought of that. You could remember the first couple of days like watching them in a theater, but you supposed it was only because you hadn’t fully processed it yet. You spent most of your time trying to find a job, then worked at that job, then got more tattoos, rinse, and repeat. And when you finally understood that you were no longer dating, enough time had passed for you to distance yourself.

“And what did that look like?”

He was quick on the draw this time. “Everything that we used to do – except I actually took more steps forward than back.”

Curiosity overtook you, forcing the question, “So, now that I’m back, what are you going to do?” out of your mouth nearly without your permission. You wanted to ask it; it had been knocking at the back of your mind like an unwelcome houseguest since you had admitted everything. It was better this way; you would’ve surely regretted not saying anything when you got out of there.

“Make up for lost time.”

Especially when, just as the words came forward into the open air, so, too, did Mark. The impact of his lips on yours was small, gentle, nothing more than a bee landing on a flower – but your mind celebrated. It shot off fireworks and turned on the lights, as if it had gone through the year in a darkened cave. Your gut joined the party, flipping, twirling, dancing along to the quickening pace of your heart. The grip you had before on his arms returned with fervor, and you squeezed excitedly, while his hand carded delicately through your hair. A slight pressure on your waist and you deepened the kiss. Barely a sound passed through your joined lips, but the surprised air played on Mark’s like it was the first time all over again. He moved, you moved, you tilted your head one way, and he the other. Perfect tandem, a perfect kiss. You traced his mouth and found everything to be just as you remembered – the ever-present artificial feel of lipstick, the plush skin buried underneath, the warmth that radiated from it no matter how many layers it drowned under.

And when you pulled away to see the look on Mark’s face, you figured one more kiss wouldn’t hurt. So, you went in for another, and Mark shifted away from you after a few more seconds, only to decide, hey, you had the time.

That process continued with minimal breaks for the next minute and a half.

It wasn’t until you felt a break in the temperature that you parted for good. Or, until you could get some alone time again, because a voice called out to the two of you from the now-open elevator doors.

You swirled around on your legs, clumsily red in your face and lips swollen. Mark laughed, to which you immediately turned back around and landed another peck directly on his own. That shut him up.

“Are you two alright in there?” you heard a familiar voice yell, panicked as you had expected he would be.

You shouted back, “Yep!”

Luckily, there was enough open space above the floor that you were able to climb through when the firefighters wrenched apart the doors. One hand shot down, which you grabbed at to haul yourself up, using the remaining section of metal as a step.

Mark watched, the redness in his cheeks steadily growing before it was his turn.

Finally on stable ground, you took a test jump and decreed you were in no mortal danger. Not that you ever suspected you were, but it was always helpful to check. Then, you noticed that your hand was still wrapped around the firefighter’s who had taken you out, so you promptly dropped it and spoke a faux-confident, “Thanks, love.”

A tap on your shoulder and you turned to see Mark out, too. He looked slightly unimpressed, but you just winked at him and leaned across to give him another, more assuring, kiss on the cheek.

Your assistants had scurried away from the door when you were hauled up, partially to give you the space to get to your feet comfortably, and partially to escape whatever punishment you would have for them, if you had figured out what had really gone wrong with the elevator. With the way you looked at them, they were able to let out separate sighs of relief. You didn’t know.

“Juliette!”

Mark, however, sounded absolutely pissed.

“Good luck,” Toby joked, happy that she was getting some cosmic karma for it being her plan in the first place. Plus, it wasn’t as if he had to face any consequences for being an accomplice, not that he thought, anyway, since you had yet to connect the dots.

You stepped closer and closer, stalked closer and closer, until you were barely a foot’s length away from him. It seemed Toby had forgotten that this was a studio, you were an actor, and, by God, were you good at what you did.

“Toby,” you spoke simply.

One second. Two.

Juliette attacked Toby’s arm with a vice grip that rivalled a boa constrictor, likely cutting off some blood flow. Your grin was murderous, Mark’s eyes flooded with anger, and they were the objects of those sentiments.

They had the good sense to run before they could be drawn and quartered.

Neither of you ran after them – you’d be seeing them the next day for shoots, after all – and you took the break alone to share another kiss. After so long spent apart, you were owed some time together. Preferably at home, resting snug on the couch and watching a stream of Love Actually, and not in full view of the director and his assistant, who exchanged a wad of cash for Patton’s celebratory whoop.

#theknightmarket #markiplier #who killed markiplier #markiplier egos #actor mark #asshole mark #wkm #longreads #two-parter #fanfiction #writing #actor #markiplier egos x reader #I still hate him #angst/comfort

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