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Three Months Later

Mark and I were an item. A thing. Brought together by the trauma, and my acceptance of it all, we were pretty close by the time we reached our third month together. We celebrated every day as it came and went, we took nothing for granted, and Mark continued to work on his channel, creating better content because he didn't know how much longer he could keep it up. Between us, we raised record sums of cash for charity. I wanted to quit my job, to spend as much time with Mark as possible, but Mark wouldn't hear of it. He wanted to make sure that I had my life as much as possible, working and living as I had done before he'd played his part in having a countdown slapped onto my existence. I'd moved in with him and sold my house, we'd introduced each other to our respective friends... but no-one outside of our little bubble knew of anything that we'd gone through, nor that our time was limited. And that was fine. Because when we both disappeared, or whatever Dark had planned for us, we both knew we'd kept things as normal and as carefree for our friends as possible. 

One morning, as the sun rose and the heat from the day began to make the earth outside smell heavenly, I woke. Mark snored softly beside me, and I smiled at how peaceful he looked. His hand draped over his stomach, one hand resting on my hip. Then, the nausea hit me. I eased myself out of the bed and tiptoed to the bathroom, closing the door quietly. It wasn't so long before I was bent with my face in the bowl of the toilet, throwing up pretty violently. I clutched my stomach, my eyes watering. 

"Y/N?" Mark asked sleepily from the door. He opened it, rubbing his eyes. "Are you okay?" 

"Yeah -" I began, but another wave of nausea hit me and I threw up again - although how I still had anything left was beyond me. "No... no, I'm not okay..." Mark moved into the bathroom and kneeled behind me, putting my hair into a messy bun on top of my head. He leaned against the column of the sink and yawned deeply. 

"You're alright," he murmured softly. "You're alright..." 

"I feel awful..." I rested my face against the cold seat, uncaring for the moment about the grossness of all of that. "I think I need a shower..."

"You're clammy," he said quietly, touching the back of my neck. "Want me to go bring you some water?" 

"No... no..." I reached for his hand and sighed. "I think I'm okay now." I sat up, no longer feeling the urge to be sick even though the nausea was still there. "What time is it?"

"Five-fifty," Mark smiled. He was sleepy. He'd been awake until one that morning editing a video. 

"Oh, god, I'm sorry," I gasped, flushing the toilet. 

"Don't apologise, I should have stopped playing when I said I would..." he gave me a sleepy grin, his eyes puffy. "Do you need anything?"

"I'm gonna take a shower, I think. I'll use the guest one, though. Go back to sleep." I took a bit of mouthwash before I kissed him, and smiled. He kissed my forehead and held me tightly. 

"You're going to be alright. If you need to go to the doctor, or you need anything, let me know, alright?" 

"I know, Mark, I know," I replied softly, closing my eyes. Thank God it was a Saturday... I could at least sleep whenever I needed to. 


Given that I felt much better for the rest of the day, we chose to write it off as a bit of bad food from the night before, or dehydration - anything, really. Bodies, after all, are weird, and do weird things without warning. I felt a little better going to sleep that night, but after an entire week of feeling like crap and throwing up every morning (I managed to slip out of the room and use the guest toilet for the rest of the week to hide it from Mark), I had to acknowledge that something was not right. I bit the bullet when I realised I hadn't actually had a period since I'd been with Mark despite taking the pill, but I'd chalked that down to stress. Because although on the surface I was incredibly calm and happy, I lived every day with a countdown - eight and a bit months left with him. And even that was best case. 

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