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Fights weren't common for you and Mark. In fact, they were so rare, that "fighting" wasn't really a term in your relationship. But, with the latest turn of events, a fight seemed inevitable. Sure, now it was something rather dumb to get worked up about, but then, when the two of you were caught in the moment, it seemed like it was something with the utmost importance.
Mark had been doing too much, too stressed for his own good, and you were on the receiving end. At first, it was just something a couple kisses and a word or two could fix, then it escalated, and kept escalating to where the two of you had been – you trying to not to cry while locking yourself in the bedroom, and Mark outside the door, knocking lightly and trying to apologize for what he said.
Thoughts had been running through your head, trying to help you come to a rational decision on how else to respond to his hateful words; his words stung, and although you were going to marry this man, it wasn't going to put a band-aid on your open wound.
You're so clingy! Just get off my back about stupid shit that you can do yourself!
Sure, they were words that were spurs of the moment, but it still didn't bode well in your mind.
You did know that you weren't going to break up with him, though, that was just too much of a reaction. But you were probably going to be sleeping alone for the next couple nights, depending on how badly the situation ended.
Sopping up your tears, you got up and walked to the door, opening it slowly. You were greeted by Mark standing against the wall, his head in his hands as he shook rather violently. He was trying not to cry, just shaking instead as he mumbled random things about what he might do if he lost you.
"I don't want to lose her," he whispered into his hands, "she's my everything. Don't let this tear us apart, please, y/n, please." You walked over to him, placing your hands on his and pulling them away from his face.
"I'm not leaving, Mark. I promise I still love you, and I know that the words you said didn't have any meaning, but they still hurt, Mark. I'll just say that we'll both be sleeping alone for awhile." He only nodded in response, wanting to hug you but being restricted by your light grip on his hands.
If you were honest, you wanted to hug him, too; it took all of you not to. But, you also knew that you had to let him know that you weren't always going to be so quick to forgive him and that it wasn't always going to be okay the second the words I love you were uttered. Letting go of his hands, you sucked in a breath and looked to the right of him, not sure how you could look at him in the same light.
"We don't have to go to any hotels, but we just can't sleep together right now. Now that those words are out – whether they were meaningful or not doesn't matter – it'll take a little time to clear them out of my head. So, grab your blankets, and a pillow, and head downstairs. I love you," you whispered, seeing his face slump and his eyes fall so heavily you're sure that they could've cracked concrete from their weight.
That seemed like the perfect opportunity to you then, to get everything off your mind. But, in the present time, where you're lying in bed without him close or his arms tucked underneath your chest and pulling you close, you feel so fucked up.
Mark was probably asleep, or at least trying to go to sleep on the couch, which wasn't comfortable in any way – that went without question when you were trying to use it as any type of bed – and you were trying to fall asleep in what was normally one the most comfortable places on Earth; tonight, neither of you would get the right, good sleep.
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The next morning came slowly, oh so slowly, and when you got up to go to the kitchen, you saw Mark on the couch, a frown etched into his handsome features and a squint to his eyes you hadn't seen for quite some time; that squint meant he wasn't sleeping right or he was completely out of dreamland and in the land of nightmares.
You walked to the other side of the couch, leaning over and caressing Mark's cheek a little and placing a kiss on his forehead before walking over to the kitchen and finding something to drink or eat for breakfast. Hearing the shuffling of Mark getting off the couch, you felt a tinge of guilt when you heard him make a grunt and his heavy footsteps as he walked to where you were.
You could feel the heat radiating from the closeness of his hands as he was about to rest them on your hips, but stopped himself and sent a cold wind toward your lower back. Shivering ever-so-slightly, you mumbled, "Morning, Mark." You didn't use his nickname, Marki, you didn't say it was good – because that would've been a lie – and you didn't really look at him.
Truth be told, you would've loved to have had him in bed with you last night, considering the fact that you probably wouldn't have stayed up all night and not gotten any sleep. And, you didn't want to see the highly upset and sorrowful look he would have on his face because of something you did.
No, you didn't want to see it, but you needed to, you needed to see how bad you made him feel so you could forgive and almost completely forget. Forcing yourself to look at him, you almost cringed at the state he was in.
His bright red floof of hair was strewn about the place, settled to the point that it was all going one way but sticking up in different places, his face was pale, as was the rest of his body, because of how he got when he cried or was scared, and his normally vibrant brown eyes were dull with dark circles underneath them. He wasn't sleeping right like you had predicted, and that was what it did to him when you weren't around.
Stepping over to where he was, you lifted his head up with your hand and looked at him, letting his eyes slowly make their way to your own. You leaned up, kissing his coffee-tasting lips and placed your hands on his chest. He didn't kiss back, which didn't surprise you, so you just pressed your head to his chest and whispered, "I'm sorry. It's my fault."
He didn't think anything was your fault, and he almost immediately regretted not kissing back. And as you were walking away, he became even sadder that he made you feel guilty when the fault was his own.
He shouldn't have let the stress get to him like he did, and he shouldn't have snapped like he did, and he shouldn't have held himself back when he could've hugged you and said he was sorry, and he – well, he could've done a lot of things he didn't do, but he couldn't change the past, and he wasn't going to.
Taking soft steps out of the kitchen and to where you normally went on the patio outside, he walked up behind you, not paying any mind to the ironically excited golden retriever nipping at his ankles to get his attention.
"Y/n," he started once he was behind you and his hands were so close to your hips, his fingertips were brushing against them with a feather-light touch. You didn't turn around, like you knew you should've, you just reached behind yourself and pulled his hands to your waist and leaned back into his chest.
He loved feeling you against his chest, and when you let him hold you by your hips, he wasn't so tired anymore. Placing his forehead in the crook of your neck, he whimpered out, "I'm so sorry, y/n, just please, please, let me sleep with you again. I need you at night, when we talk about random things at midnight and I kiss your shoulder to make sure if you're asleep or not; I need you every day because you keep me sane and you let me hold you and kiss you and prove that you're mine. I need you to forgive me, and please, just let me sleep with you again."
You didn't hesitate to turn around and kiss him when he finished, knowing you needed the same thing. It was strange how that worked for the two of you; if you were mad at each other and something happened, you would feel the regret of your actions a few hours later, and by the next morning or hour, you were already making up and forgiving each other.
Maybe that's why you were so perfect for each other, and maybe that's why "fight" wasn't a true term in your relationship: you needed each other so badly that you just couldn't stay mad.
