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Peter sighed and sat down at the table. The room was empty and just barely lit, yet he still felt the need to put down his head and hide his face in his arms to cry. Crying was a pain for him. He couldn't just simply allow himself to cry. That was too hard. Too vulnerable. Instead, he did what he always did. Pathetically grasping at his own scalp while groaning and huffing, squeezing his eyes shut as if stopping any tears from falling would make it all go away. It was futile as always. Gradual tears formed between his lashes, growing, merging, and splattering upon the table below him. There was just one sob at first, but then came one more, followed by yet another, and with each new sob, there was less space between, until his whole body was shaking with them.
Caught up in his own sorrows, he failed to notice the sound of approaching footsteps. Even when the door clicked and swung open, his senses did not alert him to the presence. It wasn't until the loud sound of the door being shut and the subsequent leaping of his heart into his throat that he even noticed anyone had entered the room. It was too late to hide that he’d been crying. Obviously, his predicament was far too blatant. However, he still found himself too afraid to lift his head and display his full shame right away, regardless of who was there. It was already bad enough that whoever was in the room with him right now had just witnessed him switch from a full-on sob session to awkward dead silence within seconds of them closing the door. Just the simple fact that he was being observed in this state felt like a great humiliation.
Despite his instincts telling him to freeze up and his mind begging for his own mysterious and sudden disappearance, he eventually reasoned that his only option to move forward was to pick himself up and face whoever was in there being so painfully silent. He brushed the back of his hand against his eyelids and blinked back the remaining tears before refocusing his attention on...Mark. Peter gulped and felt the heat rising to his face as Mark's brows raised, saying everything he had to say without the use of words. This was usually how conversations between the new couple started, but this time, it felt much different.
This was the first time Mark had ever seen Peter cry, nevermind completely break down. Peter had done everything in his power to prevent this from happening before, wanting to uphold a certain image of himself toward the recipient of his affections, but he had been so careless this time. Mark now took a seat across from him, sighing. Peter's insecurities immediately began clouding his mind and he turned away from Mark with a self-pitying scoff, equal parts adoring and despising the way Mark was almost smiling at him right now. Why was he being so damned patient with him? Why did it feel so wrong yet so perfectly right? Why was this so frustrating?
“Mark…” He started, but he wasn’t sure why, “please…” he finally let his eyes meet his partners, “I really don’t want to talk about this…”
“Yeah?” Mark stood up and walked around the table, placing a firm hand along the back of Peter's chair. Peter groaned and shook his head, bracing to be countered, “Who ever said you had to?”
“What are you trying to-” a gentle palm aimed his face to look at Mark.
“Peter…” his face was by no means soft or reassuring. Mark didn’t fancy forcing his face to match his feelings if it didn’t happen on its own. Peter knew this very well by now, so It was no surprise when Mark's tone was so sickeningly and contrastingly tender, but he was beyond relieved at the notion of not having to address the elephant in the room. Even more so that his tears weren’t being met with embarrassing ridicule. Of course, this didn’t stop him from feigning annoyance at Mark's tenderness, averting his eyes and giving a curt grunt. He loved perpetuating the back and forth game of false hatred the two had for one another. When Mark's lips curled up, Peter was reassured that he still enjoyed their little game too.
“What the hell are you smiling about?” he already knew the answer. He pretended to squirm as Mark grabbed his face, using both hands now and pressing his thumbs firmly against his partner's cheekbones.
“Shut up.” Mark glared and tightened his grip, leaning in and pulling Peter toward him just a bit. Their kisses were less than pretty. Something you wouldn’t expect to see in any perfect Hollywood romance film. Their lips squished together, each pair sliding unevenly along the others face like they somehow had less than no experience. They actually quite preferred this 'method' of messy clashing. They didn't need to think about being good at kissing. They didn't have to think about how disgustingly romantic it was. They didn't have to think at all.
They pushed their faces against one another, nearly play-fighting through the biting and suckling bliss. Lost hands grabbed around, unsure whether to push away or pull closer, nails digging in with indecision. It became part of the game to them, neither one willing to be the one to pull away and face the other, and so, both were gasping among the sloppy kisses. They lasted quite a while, but it could never go on for too long. Peter yanked Mark away, coughing to the side and catching his breath.
“Fuck you.” he choked out before Mark could say a word. He was met with a fond grin. Mark knew he’d loved every second of that kiss. Peter's eyes closed and he felt a hand rubbing along his back. Brief, yet so unbearably comforting. When he’d opened his eyes again, Mark had already made his way to the door, but he’d paused midway through opening it. He cleared his throat, not bothering to turn and face Peter.
“Get outta here and get some rest.”
This time, the door closed quietly.