i turn around and i start to miss you already

for mark to say that the boy is drunk is an understatement. he's wrecked. even as he stumbles up the street a couple dozen feet away, mark can tell that he's on the brink of blacking out, and when he gets closer, mark can even smell the alcohol on his breath.

"is that a dog?!" he asks suddenly, pointing at mark's beloved dalmatian. maple just stares at him, continuing to do her business in peace.

"uh, yeah?" mark asks, raising his eyebrows. "what else would it be?"

"can i pet it?" the boy begs, slurring his words. "she's really pretty--" he cuts himself off with a loud hiccup.

"she's kind of busy right now."

"oh, yeah, but, like..."

"like?" mark prods.

"i forgot what i was gonna say. what's your name?" the boy shoots him a half-grin, eyelids drooping. 

"mark. you?"

"...mark," the boy says, testing the name, trying to find the right consonants. "you're not from here."

"no."

"well, then, mark," the boy licks his lips, staring up at the stars before meeting mark's eyes again. "do you think anyone would mind if i took a nap here? 'cuz--"

and his eyelids droop closed.

he falls forward instantly, slowly at first, then quickly, and mark doesn't even know why he bothers catching him.

"oh, no, you are not passing out here, c'mon!" mark begs. he slaps the boy in the face, and maple pads across the lawn and onto the sidewalk to investigate. unfortunately, the boy doesn't even flinch.

he can't just leave the boy out on the sidewalk in the cold, but lucas will kill mark if he finds out that he dragged a passed-out stranger into his house and nursed him back to health.

if lucas advises against it, though, it's probably the right thing to do.

sighing, mark hoists the boy up, locking his arms under the boy's as he drags him into his house, maple trailing behind him curiously. "you're lucky i don't have class tomorrow, man," mark grumbles.

kicking the door shut behind him, mark stumbles through the hall, the added weight of the boy making it hard to reach the couch. the boy isn't much help, either. his feet keep catching on things--the rug, the inside of a bookcase, and, at one point, even maple's poor paw.

finally, though, mark reaches the couch, flopping the boy onto it and grabbing a blanket from the floor to throw on him. maple inspects his sleeping face, sniffing him a few times for good measure. as if she's deeming him fit for the house, she climbs on top of the couch and thumps down lazily onto the boy's stomach, resting her head on his chest.

"maple, you're gonna crush him," mark complains, but maple makes no move to get up. he sighs in resignation and goes to get a bottle of water and a container of advil in case the boy wakes up before mark does. setting everything down on the side table, he removes the boy's hat and glasses and nestles them in between couch cushions on the back of the couch. 

he's kind of cute, mark thinks to himself. no, he's really, really cute. maybe that's why i brought him inside.

he scratches maple's ears as a way of saying goodnight, then retires to his room to sleep.

and maybe mark does think about how soft the boy's hair was when his hand accidentally grazed it. and how he looked really ethereal with his mouth slightly open, eyes shut gently. and how tan and soft his skin was.

mark doesn't sleep much that night, and he swears it's not because of the cute stranger sleeping in his living room.

  ― 

xodaniel