Let me be...

What you're afraid of losing

After a dreamless sleep, Corey wakes up startled.

The clock on his bedside table reads 11 am, which causes him to abruptly get up, knowing that there's no time for he to take a shower since he's already late for work. However, he regrets this action immediately as his head starts spinning.

He feels restless to say the least. His legs and arms hurt, and nausea soon appears, making him feel a lot worse.

His phone goes off and he clumsily opens the message, the letters hard to read as his sight is blurry.

"A friend of yours called saying you were sick. I guess I'll have to wait to announce the participants of the show tomorrow.

Call me when you're feeling better, ok? xx"

–Jess

His eyebrows furrow as he tries to remember what happened last night.

Corey attempted to escape from darkness by following a sinful path. He remembers a pair of stray lips placing hickeys on his neck; a couple of blue, empty eyes looking at him with worry; a cold body holding him against a wall. . . Then nothing.

He clenches his stomach before running to the bathroom. Fortunately, there's enough time for him to avoid puking on the floor. He cleans his lips with the back of his hand once the nausea disappears and flushes the toilet, still sitting on the ground next to it.

His head falls back, his eyes remaining shut closed as his toes curl nervously.

The air that he breaths feels ticker every second which makes the state he is in be worse.

He looks around, finally taking in his surroundings.

How did he get home last night, he doesn't know. But that's not what makes him worry right now. Instead, he finds himself wondering if the couple of beers he drank are the cause of his sickness.

His phone going off in the distance makes him cover his ears with his hands, slightly rocking back and forth on the cold tiles that cover the floor.

He doesn't want to talk to anyone. Thus, he waits until the sound stops echoing in his empty house leaving him with silent thoughts and heavy eyelids that soon trap him in darkness and pain.

*

Mark wishes it was all a lie.

His one fear has come true and he can't stand it.

The grip on his phone tightens as he doesn't get a response.

He had started to feel better, but whatever happened last night has stopped his recovery.

As he angrily tosses the device on the couch he's sitting on, a pair of blue eyes look at him curiously from the kitchen.

"Why do you care so much?" His blond friend asks before leaning on the counter and taking a sip of his coffee. The red-haired man sends a glare his way immediately, making him speak again. "If you don't mind me asking. . ."

Mark sighs and rubs his tired eyes before answering. "I- I fell for him." He confesses, looking down at the wooden floor and waiting for an exaggerated reaction from his companion.

However, he only gets a single opinion in exchange.

"Don't judge him right away, Mark. Give him time. Plus, he must be feeling like s**t right now." He adds with a sad chuckle.

The American nods and looks back to his cellphone, hoping in vain to get a message from his lover.

"You didn't have to drug him."

"I didn't know he meant so much to you, man. I'm really sorry."

The taller exits the kitchen and sits on the last step of the stairs, opposite from his friend.

They've known each other since Mark started living in Ireland. Felix Kjellberg was already earning money out of prostitution, yet he never had the intention of being a bad influence for the student at the time.

Mark, nonetheless, grew closer to him and eventually joined the Swedish.

It had been a while since they last talked directly, which is probably the reason why the silence they're sharing has suddenly turned heavy.

Mark is still doubtful of asking something that has been on his mind since his old friend entered his house. Nonetheless, he takes a deep breath and asks anyways, hoping the response can serve as a compass.

"H-Have you loved any of your- clients?" He says, his voice shaky and husky.

Felix purses his lips together, looking at the American as a loving father would look at his only child.

"More times than you'd expect, yes."

Mark looks up at him, hope clear in his chocolate orbs.

"Really?"

"Yeah." The other man accepts with a smile that soon turns into a frown. "But they always leave. . . It's fine, though. I'm sure your man is not like all those suckers I met." He concludes, the smile returning to his features.

"But he. . ."

"We all make mistakes. Now, I should have suggested this earlier, but you were too angry to think properly." Felix says, standing up. "Go look for him. He needs you."

Without wasting any second, Mark gets up from the coach, taking only his cellphone and a coat on his way out.

The way he looks is something that lacks his attention at the moment. He's just focused on entering the car and driving to the place where his heart is.

Fresh memories make him feel anxious.

After Felix called him last night, he went to the hotel.

Seeing the person he loves shirtless and unconscious was harder than finding the room he was in.

Shielded by darkness, he took the skinny man outside the building and into his car.

He struggled to get in quick and carefully. Now, the only thing that keeps him from entering the small house is his own fear.

Because he thinks that his suspicions are true.

His trembling fist finally knock at the door. But he knows that it won't be enough for the Irish to let him in.

Thus, he yells his name, unintentionally making it sound as a desperate plead.

Inside, Corey's eyes look outside the bathroom in surprise.

He had been inspecting a new bruise on his shoulder, far from the place the other hickeys were marked.

Past scenes had him feeling hopeless, but hearing Mark's voice in the distance is like seeing finding a way up to the top once you've hit rock bottom.

His blue eyes go back to his reflection only for a split second before he walks away and into his bedroom.

A dirty shirt he's lifted from the floor covers his torso now, but new memories hit him like a truck when the voice outside repeats his name.

Mark was there last night.

He's the reason he got home safe –or at least alive.

The headache fades now as the pain in his chest grows stronger.

How was he supposed to explain his actions? Would he really understand him?

The blond shakes his head and finally walks rather slowly to the front door.

He was waiting for the wind to mess his hair and dry his sweat. But he isn't ready for the pair of arms going around his waist.

The visitor closes his eyes as Corey returns the hug.

The men step back and look into each other's eyes.

Mark wanting to forget the situation that dragged him to that place and Wallcox wishing he didn't have to say his next words.

"We need to talk."

Both hearts break a little, but, ironically, they keep each other from completely falling apart.

"Wh-What is it?" The American asks with a sad smile after nonchalantly fixing his hair.

"I-" Corey stutters, letting out a sigh in order to feel less pressure. "W-We need to make a deal, Mark."

His words take the man in front of him aback. "What kind of deal?" He asks, shifting awkwardly Nd rising an eyebrow in the process.

"Promise me that this." The shorter starts, motioning to themselves with his index finger. "Will never be affected by whatever happens there." He offers, pointing now to the North.

And even though the place witness of their dirty desires is on the South, Mark knows perfectly what he means.

He looks away, considering the options.

Is now that he accepts that he was never afraid of not being enough; he's been afraid, no, terrified of losing his little piece of heaven all along.

Mark closes his eyes, the words of Felix repeating in his mind.

And he knows is still too soon to pressure a proper explanation on the Irish.

Therefore, he gives in to his offer for now.