#markangst

Mark fumbled with the phone in his hands, tossing and turning in his sleep. In the other room, he could hear his other band members snoring, but he just couldn't seem to get any rest tonight. He was tired, relaxed, and ready to go to bed, but for some reason, sleep just wouldn't come to get him.

Being the overthinker he was, he couldn't help but start regretting the decision to break up. He didn't even know why those words came out of his mouth one day. He didn't even know why he came home and just felt exhausted with you. He didn't even know how he would say such a heartbreaking thing to you. He didn't even know why he claimed to have fallen out of love with you.

Nobody said it out loud, but Mark always knew what they were thinking. They thought he was stupid for letting you go. And Mark couldn't help but agree. Every night since those few weeks ago, he'd fallen asleep with his phone in his hands; tempted to call you but too cowardly to press the button. He knew you hated him, and he didn't think he could bear hearing the venom in your voice.

But for some reason, his hands slowly searched through his contacts again. The route was so familiar that he could probably call you with his eyes closed. He stared at your contact picture; your bright eyes, silky hair, beautiful smile. And his thumb propelled itself towards the call button. He shut his eyes closed as tight as he could when the ringing started.

You picked up after exactly four rings. Mark braced himself for the screaming to begin, calling him a jerk, but that never came.

"Hey," you said. Mark's heart fluttered at your voice. There was no hatred, no accusations, no poison in your voice. Instead, you sounded worried, slightly breathless.

"Mark?" You called again, and this time, a tear crept out from his eye after hearing his name from your lips again. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a silent cry came out.

He could almost feel you looking at the phone screen in confusion. "M-Mark? Are you okay?"

He shook his head, begging you to hear him through the screen. No, I'm not okay. I need you. Please come back.

After moments of silence, a quiet sigh came from the other side of the phone. "Hey, I'm always here if you need me. I don't know why you called. Maybe it was accidental. But I'm just a phone call away."

Mark wanted to say everything. I'm sorry. I never meant to say any of those words, and these past few weeks have been the hardest of my entire life. I miss you so much. Please come back. But whenever he tried to open his mouth, fear of losing you again, hatred for himself, and the cowardly instinct crept up to his heart and stopped him from speaking.

There was silence for another several seconds, and the line went dead. Mark could feel his heart shattering once again, and this time, he could finally let out an audible cry. The first tear he'd let out since the breakup.

"I'm sorry. Please come back."

Little did he know, on the other side of the country, you sat in your bed, staring at your phone screen silently. You were shaking and sobbing, tempted to press the call button again. But you just couldn't.