The next morning, you woke up feeling very refreshed and well rested, and you swore up and down that you had just gotten the best sleep you've gotten in a very, very long time.

You smiled softly to yourself as you rubbed sleep out of your eyes and yawned. After the sleep was rubbed out of your eyes, your vision began adjusting to the sunlight that was lighting up the room and after doing so, you saw someone standing in the room and facing the wall, causing your heart to skip a beat out of fear and only starting to beat again when you realized that it was only Mark.
You cleared your throat so that he would know that you were awake before you spoke, "H-How long have you been in here?"
Only five minutes. Mark turned to face you and struggled to use sign language that he was holding a paintbrush in one hand and a palette in the other. I suddenly had an idea for what I wanted to paint on this wall, and I want to get it painted before the idea completely slips my mind because, believe it or not, I can be pretty forgetful sometimes.
"What are you going to paint?" You asked as you saw the very beginning of what Mark was planning on painting on the wall, smiling softly as you knew that it was start of something great.
The solar system. Mark smiled softly as well after he finished touching up the outlines of the sun and the nine planets (He was apparently one of those people who still refused to believe that Pluto was no longer considered a planet.) I think it'll tie into the space theme I have going on in my room very nicely.
"I think so too." You agreed, unable to take your eyes off of him. You had always wanted to watch him draw or paint since you wondered just how he could create such amazing works of art, and now that you were finally given the opportunity to see him do just that, you were excited. "So, I'm curious. What made you choose to go with a space theme for your room?"
Well, the main reason is because I really love space. Mark's eyes darted all over the wall he was currently painting on, most likely due to the fact that he was making sure everything was just right. But another reason is because I was literally living in a replica of Amy's room that I created, and I came to the realization, even though I thought it would help me cope with losing her, it actually did the opposite. It made me miss her even more than I already did to begin with. When I realized it, I got rid of almost everything that was in my room and made it into what you see right now. While it was really hard at first, I'm really glad that I did it because now I feel like this is actually my room and an expression of who I am rather than my ex-girlfriend's room and an expression of who she was. Mark smiled a tiny bit as he looked around the entire room, seeming to study even the tiniest of details as he did so.
"I can't wait to see what it looks like once it's done." You smiled a tiny bit as well as you looked at the incomplete walls and tried to imagine what they were going to look in the (hopefully) near future. However, you had the feeling that the things that you were currently envisioning were nowhere near as good as what they were actually going to turn out to be simply because it was Mark, someone who was almost unrealistically good at art.
Me either. Mark agreed as he walked over to you with the palette and paintbrush in one hand. Once he was close enough to you, he extended his other hand out towards you. Do you want to come and help me paint?
"I would love to, but I'm horrible at anything art related." You smiled sheepishly as you looked up at him. "I can hardly draw a stick figure." You couldn't help but laugh when you said this.
I'll help you. Mark was, for some reason, insistent on having you help him paint. You can hold the paintbrush and I'll guide you along as we paint.
"I don't know if that's a good idea." You didn't know why Mark was desperately wanting you to help him paint, especially since there was a time when he refused to show anyone his drawings and paintings. "I feel like I would ruin all of the hard work that you've already put in so far."
You won't, I promise. Mark insisted yet again, which wasn't that much of a surprise to you at this point. I'll make sure you won't. Please just help me, even if it's just for a little bit.
Seeing the look in his eyes was more than enough for you to finally cave in and agree to help him. Letting out a very small and quiet sigh, you slowly got out of bed. "Fine, I guess I can help you for a little bit."
A bright smile and an excited expression formed on Mark's face as he grabbed ahold of your arm and practically dragged you over to the wall. Still holding your arm, he placed the paintbrush into your hand and forced you to form a grip around it.
Just tell me when you want to stop.
"Okay." You smiled ever so slightly, caught between whether you felt excited about doing this and making him happy or whether you felt like you just wanted to get it over with. "Mark, I think you're a little bit too excited about this."
As always, Mark didn't say as he guided your hand over to the palette and dipped the paintbrush into the color that he wanted to use. He then guided your arm over to the spot where he left off and, despite the fact that he was using your arm to paint with, moved it gracefully without messing up his progress.

*****

As time went on, you kept biting down on your lip as you waited for Mark to mess up and finally have to completely take over once more, but that never happened, and you couldn't believe it. At least half an hour had already gone by, and he hadn't messed up, not even slightly.
"How the hell..." You breathed, accidentally voicing your thoughts out loud as you looked up to see how much progress had been made. You were disappointed to see that a lot less progress had been made than you thought. "First of all, how the hell have you not messed up yet, especially since you're using someone else's arm to paint with? Second of all, how the hell do you have the patience for this? This whole thing's going to take hours to do!"
No response came, which didn't surprise you at all. You didn't even know why you had asked him those questions in the first place. Perhaps it was because that somewhere in the very back of your mind, there existed a tiny flicker of hope that Mark would finally speak one day. This would make sense when you took into the consideration the fact that Mary had questioned whether you thought he would ever speak again while the two of you were getting ready for Prom.

Much to your surprise, Mark let go of your arm and grabbed the paintbrush from your hand before setting both it and the palette down.
To answer your first question, I've been drawing and painting for as as long as I can remember, therefore it is extremely rare for me to mess up. To answer your second question, I have patience to do this because the picture I get when I'm all done is more than worth the work and the wait. Art isn't just about being able to create a beautiful picture, you know. It's also about being willing to put in the effort and time to get there, especially since art is something that can never under any sort of circumstance be rushed.
"I don't think I'm meant to be an artist then." You replied as you laughed sheepishly. "Because not only do I not possess any artistic abilities beyond being able to draw a really shitty stick figure, but I also have little to no patience."
That's okay. For some reason, you felt assured when he said this, and you had no idea why. It was as if there was a part of you that thought he would be mad at you for saying that you didn't really have that much of an interest in creating art. Art isn't for everyone. You'll find your passion soon enough.
"That's what everyone keeps saying though!" You whined. "And by that, I mean Troy keeps saying that when he's completely sober!"
Is there ever a time where that's the case? Mark joked, laughing a little as he began mixing two different colors together in the palette.
"Believe it or not, yes." You replied, laughing a little as well. "But that's pretty much only when he has to go to school because he at least has some common sense and realizes that it's a bad idea to go to school drunk or high."
I'm surprised he does realize that. Mark shrugged as he finished mixing the two different colors together. I figured that when you're a senior in college, all the fucks you ever gave just go right out the window.
You started laughing so hard that you were surprised that you didn't start crying. "Troy is someone who has never given a fuck. He does and says whatever he wants and doesn't care if you like it or not. I mean, the guy smokes weed, drinks, and is dating a seventeen year old girl. I think that's more than enough to show that the phrase "giving a fuck" and "Troy" do not mix whatsoever."
Yeah, you're right. Mark smiled brightly as he resumed painting once more.

Right as you sat down on Mark's bed so that you could watch him paint, you heard your phone ringing. You let out an annoyed sigh as you reached over and grabbed your phone before you answered it without bothering to check to see who was calling. 
"(Y/N)..." You instantly recognized the voice as Troy's. He was about to say something, but was cut off by erupting into laughter. "You're gonna fucking love this."
"Troy, what the hell did you do?" You let out a small sigh as you laid down on Mark's bed and stared up at the ceiling as a million different things that Troy could've done while drunk last night.
Troy's started laughing harder, and you imagined that he had tears streaming down his face at this point. "How much did I drink last night?"
"I don't know, and I don't really care." You rolled your eyes as you shrugged. "You drank enough to forget that you have a girlfriend. You even forgot what her name was at one point."
"Shit, did I really get that fucked up?" Troy asked as he let out a small laugh, somehow already calmed down from the outburst of laughter he just had. "Damn, I thought my tolerance was better than that."
"Why were you even drinking in the first place?" You asked him, not bothering to hide just how annoyed you were with him. "You knew we were going to Prom. It was bad enough that we were risking getting into trouble in order to sneak you in, but the fact that you got drunk made it pretty much impossible."
"Why are you making such a big deal about it?" Troy asked, sounding just as, if not, more, annoyed with you. "People showed up to Prom drunk when I was a junior and they sure as hell did it when I was a senior because no one really gave a fuck."
"Yeah, well, things are different." You scoffed as you rolled your eyes, feeling your annoyance growing as each second passed by. "There's a new principal, and he's kinda a major asshole. He's super strict. Knowing him, I wouldn't be surprised if he suspended someone from just looking at him funny."
"That sucks." You imagined Troy shrugging because his tone showed that he really didn't feel all that bad for you. "At least you have less than two more years though."
"Yeah, less than two more years in a school full of people that I don't like and can't wait to ever see again." You scoffed and rolled your eyes once more as you spoke in a sarcastic tone. "I'm so excited for that."
Dead silence fell between the two of you and as you were about to say something in order to bring the conversation back, Troy broke the silence.
"So, anyway, let's get back to what we were originally talking about. You're not going to believe what happened last night."
"Oh God, do I even wanna know?" You groaned as you rubbed your forehead in anticipation of hearing what stupid thing the college senior had done this time. "How the hell do you remember anything from last night? You were unbelievably drunk, you know."
"Yeah, I suppose so." You imagined Troy shrugging once more. "But I was almost completely sober compared to Mary. Holy shit, from what I remember, she was hardly even there."
"I know. I saw you guys, you know." You sighed, just wanting him to tell you what he had wanted to say so badly. "Just get to the point already. I'm trying to hang out with Mark, and you're interrupting me with your rambling bullshit."
"Jesus, calm down." Troy was clearly taken aback by your outburst. "From what I remember, after Mary and I had sobered up slightly, we went back to her house and Brandon was there. You remember Brandon, right? He was the one that threw that huge party I dragged you to, the one where Mary and I met at." He paused for a very brief moment. "Well, anyway, Brandon was there and he was pissed to see me with Mary and when he found out that we were together, he flipped his shit. Long story short, he ended up with a black eye and I'm pretty sure I lost a tooth somewhere along because, along with my head, my mouth really fucking hurts. Plus, I vaguely remember tasting blood last night after the fight ended."
"Troy, how many times do I have to tell you to stop getting into fights?" Even though you felt like you were a mother scolding their child at the moment, you still felt the strong urge to say this to me. "One of these days, you're going to get seriously hurt."
"Okay, listen up here, Mom." The last word was spoken bitterly and you could perfectly visualize the anger that was more than likely flaring in Troy's eyes at this very moment. "I only fight when I have to, and I never throw the first punch unless someone really fucking pisses me off, which it hasn't ever gotten to that point, believe it or not. Also, can you seriously stop acting like you're my mom? It gets annoying sometimes."
"Yeah, well, sometimes hearing about and/or seeing you doing stupid shit gets to be annoying." You almost instantly fired back, already anticipating an argument about to break out really quickly. "Have you ever thought about that?"
Troy was dead silent for an uncomfortable amount of time and just as you were about to ask if he was still there, he finally replied, "You know what? I'm going to go. You can go hang out with your pretty boy or whatever the fuck you were doing before I called you. See you later, I guess."
Before you could even think about how to respond, Troy hung up. You huffed as you placed your phone on your lap, resisting the urge to throw it at the wall by clenching it so hard that your knuckles turned white.

Just then, Mark finished up what he was painting while you were on the phone with Troy before he placed the palette and paintbrush down on the floor, although he still wasn't done with painting the entire wall. He then walked over to you and pried your hands away from your phone, placing it down next to you as he grabbed ahold your hands. When he did this, your clenched fists relaxed and you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath before exhaling for a couple of moments.
"I don't know how or why you have this calming effect on me, but you do." You whispered as you looked up at the brown-eyed boy. "And I also don't know how you rarely ever get angry at anything. Sometimes it's just so hard not to get frustrated with someone or something."
It's because I'm not the kind of person who gets angry all of the time, but you more than likely could tell that already. Mark shrugged. It takes a lot to get me angry. Unless you're my mom, of course. Then I get really angry really fast because there's just no reasoning with her. She's as stubborn as a bull.
"Yeah." You whispered as you nodded your head in agreement. "She sure is."
But enough about that. Mark dismissed the subject of his mother after a few moments of awkward silence had gone by. Tell me. What made you angry?
"Troy." You seethed as your mind flashed back to the phone call you had with him just a few minutes ago. "He was telling me about some stupid shit that he did last night while he was drunk, and he thinks it's fucking amazing and cool as shit when it isn't. I hate to sound like a mom, but he really needs to grow up. He's about to graduate, yet he still acts like the high school party boy I know he used to be. He talks about how much he wants to open up a business and make it successful, but yet he has horrible grades, and I really question whether or not he's met the requirements he needs to graduate. He says he does, but now that I think about it, he might be lying about that.
Well, you can't change people, (Y/N). Mark shrugged slightly as he waved his hands around. You can only guide them in the right direction. They have to make changes for themselves.
"But it's not fair." You pouted. "Especially when someone absolutely refuses to change."
I know. Mark put a hand on your shoulder and gave you a look of understanding. It's sad, but sometimes people just don't make the right choices.
"I hate to say it, but you're right." You sighed despite the fact that you were enjoying the fact that he had his hand on your shoulder. "I wish it weren't the case though."
Yeah, me too. Mark's face sank in sadness for a brief moment, but he quickly relapsed and returned to a neutral expression once more. But enough about all of this. Let's go and finish the painting on my wall to take our mind off of things. I don't know about you, but painting or drawing something always helps me stop thinking about something that's been upsetting me for a while and calm me down.
"I suppose I can paint with you again." You shrugged slightly as you got up and went over to the wall that Mark was currently painting on and smiled as you admired his work.

*****

Unlike last time, your time painting with Mark flew by. In fact, the time flew by so quickly that it felt like a few minutes had passed rather than a couple of hours before the painting on the wall was finally finished.
"It's beautiful." You murmured as your eyes darted across the wall and saw every single hyperelastic planet, the even more hyperelastic spaceship that was traveling across the solar system, and even the tiny astronaut on the moon that was waving to you. "But that's no surprise. Everything you create is beautiful."
Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed that Mark had started blushing. As soon as you looked over at him, however, he somehow managed to get rid of all traces of the blush without even covering it up.
"So, what do you want to do now?" You asked him. "I don't really plan on going back to Troy's house until way later so I need to do something to keep myself occupied in the meantime."
I'll do whatever you want to do. Mark replied as he shrugged. It doesn't matter to me.
"But I have no idea what I want to do!" You pouted as you let out a small laugh. "That's why I was asking you!"
Mark didn't respond for a few moments, presumably because he was thinking about what the two of you should do together, and it felt like an eternity had passed before he finally responded. How about we go to Columbus and explore the city? We went to Cleveland last time we traveled somewhere so how about we try out a new city?
"Yeah, that sounds like a lot of fun." You smiled softly.
I think so too. Mark said as he walked over to his bedside table and grabbed his car keys. Come on, let's get going.
Your smile widened as you followed behind him. As you were walking, you thought about grabbing ahold of his hand, but backed out every single time. You had absolutely no idea why you were holding back from him, especially since not only had he been your Prom date, but you also knew for a fact that he felt the same way you felt about him. Besides, it wasn't like there was anything or anyone stopping you two from being together. It was obvious to pretty much everyone that you two were really holding back from each other for some reason, and you had no idea what his reason was for holding back.
Nonetheless, you forced yourself to resist the urge to grab ahold of his hand and continued to follow behind him.

*****

After spending what felt like hours in the car and after Mark found a place to park, you stepped out of the car and walked over to Mark after closing the car door behind you. Just as you were about to say something for the first time since the two of you began driving to Columbus, he raised his hand up to stop you, appearing like he wanted to say something.
(Y/N), what's your dream?
"My... dream?" You echoed, confused as to why he was asking this out of absolute nowhere. "What do you mean, and why are even asking me this?"
What do you want to do after high school? Besides figure out what you want to do for a career because I already know that. And I'm asking you this because I'm genuinely curious.
"I'll tell you if you tell me what your dream is."
Fair enough.
You stared around admiring the city as you thought about what your "dream" was. As time went on, you realized that you haven't really thought about anything beyond trying to figure out what you wanted in terms of a career.
"I just want to be stable and happy." You finally said after what felt like years had passed and after you figured out what you actually wanted for yourself. "I don't want a lot of money, but I want enough to where I'm not constantly struggling to get money all the time. And I know I say this all the time and you're tired of hearing it, but I want to find something that I love that I can turn into a career and love doing it. I really don't understand how people can go into a career that they know they don't like and do that for sometimes years on end."
I don't get it either. Mark nodded in agreement. Most of the time, people do that because of the money. Now, I don't know about you, but I'd much rather do something I love and make enough money to get by than do something I hate and make a lot of money.
"Me too." You nodded in agreement as well. "Now, tell me. What's your dream?"
What's my dream? Mark echoed with a small smile on his face. My dream is go to college at a school that will not be disclosed for the time being to study to become an art teacher for special needs kids. Maybe "normal" kids if it really comes down to it, but preferably special needs kids.
"Really?" You asked, surprised that you were hearing all of this. "You don't really strike me as the type that wants to teach art. You seem like you'd be much more into just creating art and going out and selling it to people."
I was for a while. Mark shrugged slightly as he ran his fingers through his hair. But then I realized that I'd get much more satisfaction if I shared what I loved with other people and gave them to opportunity to possibly discover something that they might end up loving too.
"That sounds really nice." You smiled brightly as you began imagining Mark teaching several kids how to be just as good as he was at art, just like he had done with you earlier. "I'm sure that you'll be a great teacher."
Thanks. Mark rubbed the back of his neck as he blushed ever so slightly. And I'm sure that you'll be great at whatever you decide to do with your life.
"That's what I'm hoping for." You mumbled as you felt your face growing hot, almost dead certain that you were blushing as well.

*****

What do you think the future holds?
The question came so suddenly, especially since you were in a trace staring up at the stars and relishing in the fact that Mark was sitting next to you and the fact that everything in your life seemed to be perfectly fine for the most part at this exact moment.
"I don't know for sure, but..." You trailed off, looking over at him as you wondered whether or not you should finish what you were going to say. However, Mark giving you a nod somehow gave you the push that you needed in order to finish your statement. "I really hope that you're in it."
Mark smiled brightly and immediately started blushing as a rarely found courage caused him to wrap his arm around your shoulder and pull you close to him, holding you so tightly that it was as if he thought you would disappear if he let you go or didn't hold onto you tightly enough.

As you rested your head on Mark's shoulder, his hands, although slow in movement, seemed to convey that he was one-hundred percent certain and hopeful about the statement that he was about to make.
I hope that I'm in it too.