#oppsy

The skate park is completely empty, bathed in the flickering light of a lone lampost. Per usual, the locked door and chain-link fence did little to stop them from having the time of their lives.

Mark jumps down first, cursing as his ankle slips sideways and he stumbles, nearly slipping on Tom's board, abandoned on the ground from where it was tossed over the fence.

Tom is close behind, grunting as he hits the ground. He raises his eyes to meet Mark's, a smile growing on his face as he straightens up and brushes off his shorts.

"Ready?" he asks, offering his hand like a prince would to a princess, complete with a charming grin and a twinkle in his brown eyes.

Mark slaps his hand, like any good-natured princess would do, picks up his board and starts off towards the skate park by himself.

Tom has the audacity to look offended, eyebrows knit together and jaw dropped.

He follows, albeit reluctantly, doing mindless tricks, spinning the wood between his feet with graceful ease.

Mark stops by the bowl, edging the skateboard forward till the front half dangled over the cement pit. Shifting his weight, he slides down the wall and comes to a halt at the bottom, looking up to where to Tom stands and raising his eyebrows.

The younger boy shakes his head and points to the the metal pole a few feet away.

"I wanna work on that," he says, tugging the long sleeves of his Hurley shirt and biting his lip.

"Alright," Mark replies, "just try not to break your neck."

He had only turned his back for half a second before he heard a loud crash and such a colorfull wave of cursing that it would make even a sailor blush.

Mark whips around to find Tom crouched by the end of the pole, knees scraped, crimson running down his calfs in streams down to his socks.

"Fucking fuckers," he mutters, wiping at his eyes and sniffling.

"You okay?" Mark calls out, already propping his checkered Vans up on the side of the bowl to climb out, skateboard left forgotten behind him.

"Mhmm hmm," Tom nods, eyes stinging more from the arrant humiliation of it than the pain.

Mark pulls himself up the sloped wall and takes a few unsteady steps before heading to where Tom sits, aided by the musky light of a full moon shrouded by clouds. He sits on his heels, leaning in and inspecting the younger boy's injuries.

"Man, I turned my back for one second and what do you?" Mark laments, picking up Tom's ankle and bending his leg slightly, "Try to break you neck, that's what."

Tom grimaces, a soft wimper escaping his lips as Mark touches closer to the scrape.

"Take off your shirt," the older boy says suddenly.

"Isn't that a bit foward?" Tom retorts, somehow always ready to turn everything into a crappy joke.

However, Mark is having none of it.

"No you asshole, so I can wipe up all this damn blood," he says, fingers already stained red from the copious amounts still trickling down Tom's legs.

Tom shakes his head, clinging to his shirt.

"I just brought this one," he whines.

Mark audibly groans, reaching for the hem of his own Cure t-shirt and raising it above his head.

Tom raises his eyebrows in shocked surprise as Mark dabs at the gashes on his knees, the carmine soaking into the dark fabric.

"Thanks," Tom says quietly, casting his eyes to the ground, avoiding Mark's piercing blue

gaze.

"No problem," Mark smiles, slowing his motions and standing up, tossing the blood-soaked shirt over his shoulder.

The moonlight shines down in rays around them, the celestial body having finally peaked around the clouds. Tom chances a glance at Mark's shirtless frame, contours bathing in the pale glow. He fixates his gaze on Mark's nipple piercing, glinting above the shadow cast by his pec.

Mark catches him staring and waves a hand in front of his face, offering his other hand to help the boy stand.

"Like what you see?" he smirks, hoisting Tom to his feet.

Tom hisses in pain as he stretches his legs.

"Fuck I was so stupid," he says, scratching at his upper arms and blatantly ignoring Mark's comment.

"Hey it's okay," Mark replies, gathering their boards and wrapping an arm under Tom's shoulders to steady him. "Everyone makes mistakes."

"Yeah that's how you got here," Tom retaliates, "Asshole."

Mark mocks offense and nearly shoves him away before remembering his friend's current condition.

"I'm your favorite mistake," he quips, nuzzling his forehead against Tom's, sharing his breath.

Tom leans in, bushing his lips against Mark's in a soft kiss.