SinpaiCasanova

This is for your contest! It's kind of rushed, but I hope it's okay! I'm not going to win but I tried my hardest in the few hours I had 💙

Characters used:
• Markiplier
• Jacksepticeye

~~~

Déjà vu
(noun)

A feeling of having already experienced the present situation. Example:

"When I met Mark, I had a strong sense of déjà vu."

~~~

Being an immortal is hard. No need to sleep, eat, drink, anything. I'm not a vampire, but the ability to live forever is something many would die for- no pun intended. But it gets tiring, living through the same predictable days with the same predictable events with the same predictable people. Every. Single. Day.

Days turn into months turn into years. Years that never change my cycle of my boring life.

Then I met him.

It was at a dance hall in the nineteen-twenties, me in my dark maroon suit, dancing with whichever stranger caught my fancy. Being gay wasn't spoken of, was practically forbidden. So these dance halls were run in the dead of night, where girls could dance with girls and boys could dance with boys if they so pleased. Cross dressers and people with other socially unacceptable preferences felt welcome here.

Then this stranger, with soft brown hair and bright blue eyes in a deep green flapper dress gave me a kind smile. "Would you like to dance?" He asked in an Irish accent that was smoother than velvet. I accepted, and we danced the night away.

We courted for three years, before he was killed by the pneumonic plague outbreak. I was shattered, but later in the fifties, the pattern occurred to me when I found him the fourth time. His soft brown hair was now an array of colours, like poison green, bubblegum pink and cobalt blue, and his eyes were framed with bright makeup, but he still had that charming voice and amazing sense of humour.

A pattern began. I would find him again, and he would die after a few years. Then, a decade later, he would show up in my life again. I'd never believed in reincarnation, but if immortality existed, why not being reborn?

I courted every single one of his reincarnates, hoping he would remember me. But he always greeted me as if I were a stranger.

It's nearly time. Hopefully he will remember.

~~~

December, 2017

"Welcome to my humble abode," Mark joked, and I smiled as I walked around. Everything was so neat and tidy, in contrast to what I thought a computer engineer's home would be like. I expected to see half-finished projects and blueprints, special technical equipment. That sort of stuff. Not a large plasma television, or a record player that looked like it was from the 1920's, or the large leather bound notebooks on the shelves.

Mark gave me a small smile. "Show yourself around, I'm gonna go to the toilet," he said, jogging up the stairs. I smiled slightly, rubbing my arm before pulling one of the notebooks from the shelf- 'Twenties' was engraved in silver along the spine and the cover. I opened it, my eyebrows furrowing at what I saw.

A man who looked exactly like Mark had his arm around a man who looked like me wearing a flapper dress. The picture was in black and white, but the background of the party told me enough. I flipped through the album, biting my lip. All of the same couple doing different things.

What was this?

I grabbed the album labelled 'Sixties'. There, the man who looked like Mark was wearing a tie-dye shirt and fringed trousers, kissing the man who looked like me, who wore a psychadelic-pattern dress, on the cheek as the both of them made peace signs. What startled me was how young they still looked.

I looked at album after album. Different decades, different styles, but still us. The same couple every time.

I shakily opened the last one. 'Twenty-ten to twenty-twenty'.

Our first date. Mark's birthday. Our day at Disneyland. A slip of paper fell out, and I picked it up, reading it.

Sean's reincarnates never know who I am, that we courted previously. Maybe if he remembers, he'll stop dying after a few years of our meeting, and I can live with him until he grows old.

My head hurt, and I closed my eyes as memories flashed.

Mark being drafted to war in the forties, coming home unscathed. Peace protests in the seventies, both of us holding signs, and each other's hands. Decade after decade flitted before my eyes, and I fell to the floor with a cry of shock as I blacked out.

~~~

6 years later

"I can't believe you never told me," Jack said quietly, the two of them snuggled up and panting after a passionate midday session between the sheets, and Mark chuckled breathlessly.

"How was I supposed to approach the subject? You would have called me crazy."

"You are crazy."

The two of them laughed quietly, Mark kissing Jack's nose playfully. "Crazy for you."

"Oh, shut up."