No Regrets Ch. 08

"I can't believe we just did that," Deacon said as she pulled away. Sarah's grin widened and she chuckled as she folded up the blanket.

"You say that every time."

"Because every time I still can't believe we did it," Deacon replied, forcing a matching grin as he moved to the door and unlocked it. Sarah laughed and crouched down to stuff the blanket back where it had come from. Deacon opened the door and gestured a hand toward it. On her way out, Sarah leant close to his ear.

"See you later, hot stuff," she whispered, and squeezed Deacon's ass. Deacon stood in the doorway of the closet as he watched her saunter out of the store. Shifting his gaze, he caught sight of Sam behind the register, staring at Deacon hard enough to drill a hole in his head. Deacon sighed and walked to the back room. He dropped down into the office chair and pulled out his phone. The text was from Mark.

Sounds gr8, feels like we haven't hung out 4 ages. 6ish at mine, you pizza, me beer?

Deacon fired off a text to the affirmative before laying his head on the desk and releasing a long sigh. He wasn't avoiding Mark, but at the same time...he kind of was. It was a weird and maddening feeling, Deacon had decided, to simultaneously be desperate to see someone, but dread it at the same time. Deacon heard footsteps approach the desk and looked up to see Sam leaning in the doorway.

"Have fun?" Sam asked, his arms folded across his chest, dark piercing eyes levelled at Deacon. Deacon rubbed a hand over his face.

"...Not really," he admitted eventually. "Tried to. Shit." Deacon dropped his head back onto the desk. "I'm a really bad person," he said, the sound muffled against the wooden surface.

"Being gay doesn't make you a bad person," Sam offered. Deacon raised his head and glared at Sam.

"That's not...I meant that I cheated on Sarah."

"Oh. Yeah, that was pretty shitty," Sam agreed. Deacon dropped his head back to the desk, his forehead landing with a thud. He was quiet for a while and then propped his head up in his hands, pressing his palms into his eyes.

"That's not even the worst part."

"Yeah?" Sam prompted. Deacon sighed and dropped his hands, staring miserably down at the desk.

"I'm using her," he confessed, looking up at Sam. "I don't love her anymore." Sam shrugged.

"So break up with her."

"No," Deacon said, shaking his head emphatically. "I can't. Then everyone will...know."

"Don't be stupid," he admonished. "Breaking up with a super hot chick doesn't automatically make everyone think you're a homo." Deacon's eyes lost focus and he stared at the wall past Sam's shoulder, his thoughts far away and somewhere else. Eventually he shook his head, as if shaking off the possibilities, and looked at Sam.

"...They'll know," Deacon repeated, the words low and firm. Sam snorted and pushed away from the door frame, shaking his head in sad disbelief. He headed back out to the store front, but turned back and looked at Deacon.

"You know what? You're not a bad person," Sam spat out, his eyes full of contempt. "You're just a coward." Sam walked back to the front register, leaving Deacon slumped in the office chair, defeated and full of self loathing.

*******************************************

Mark took a deep breath and knocked on Marie's front door. He had a bad feeling about this. The voice message he had received from her that morning had been tense and...vague. He heard the call come through but hadn't answered - her opening on the message implying that she knew he wouldn't. She had then asked if he could come over this afternoon, that they needed to talk and it was important. Mark let out the breath he'd been holding and stuffed his hands in his coat pockets. He heard the chain rattle on the inside of the door, and then it was open, Marie standing in front of him. They locked eyes for a beat before Marie's gaze darted to the floor and she stood to one side.

"Come in," she said quietly. Mark stepped in to the house, making no attempt to kiss her as he usually would; she didn't look like she had expected him to. Marie closed the door and headed toward her room; Mark kicked off his shoes and followed her. He closed the door behind them and turned to see Marie sitting on the edge of her bed, her posture stiff. Mark sat down at the foot on the bed silently, waiting for her to speak. Maire threw a quick glance at Mark. "So things have been...not so good lately," she started, her hands clasped together tightly in her lap.

"No. I suppose not," Mark agreed when she didn't continue.

"You told me after break that you needed some space," she pressed on, her eyes on the floor. "That you had the after-summer-blues. And I bought that. But it's been a couple of months now, and you're still being..." Marie frowned and shook her head. "You never text or call me. If I call you, you don't answer and it takes you days to get back to me. When we do eventually spend time together, it's like you feel obligated to be there. And on the rare occasion that we've had sex, it's like you're somewhere else." Mark made no attempt to deny any of it; everything she said was true. Marie paused and shifted so she was facing Mark. She found his gaze and held it. "I'm not stupid. No matter what you say, I know something is going on with you. But I know you don't want to talk to me about it, and I can't make you." Mark swallowed, finding his mouth dry.

"What are you saying? Are we breaking up?" He asked, a cold weight in his stomach.

"I'm saying that I think we should...take a break, at least." Marie shifted over toward him on the bed and took his hand in both of hers, gripping tightly and looking intently at him. "I love you, Mark, and I still want to be with you, but I can't keep feeling like this, like a burden." Mark closed his eyes and dropped his head.

"Ok," he said after a while, his voice barely above a whisper. She let go of his hands and pulled away.

"So just, I don't know, call me when you've figured out what you want." Mark opened his eyes and looked at her, surprised at her casualness. But he found her eyes glittering with barely restrained tears, her lips pursed to stop their quivering. He nodded before placing a hand on the side of her face and kissing her lightly on the cheek.

"Ok." He stood up and opened the door. He looked back at her sitting on the bed, her face turned away and shoulders starting to shake. "I'm sorry Marie," he said quietly. "I'm so sorry." Then he walked out of the room, gently closing the door behind him. As he left the house and walked down the driveway, Mark felt a deep ache in his chest. But he also felt like a great weight had been lifted, and the knot in his stomach loosened.

*******************************************

Mark was nervous and fidgety as the clock approached six o'clock. He had Call of Duty loaded in the console, paused on the main menu; a couple of six packs of beer chilling in the fridge; a bowl of potato chips on the coffee table; paper towels ready for the pizza; and the two comfy armchairs pulled up in front of the widescreen TV. He didn't really know why, but he kept pacing around the lounge, readjusting the way the remote controls and chips were sitting on the coffee table, picking imaginary lint from his jeans.

As six o'clock came and went, Mark became even more nervous. He stared at the clock as it hit twenty past six, his stomach churning. 'What if he's not coming?' He thought, biting on his thumbnail. 'What if...' The chiming doorbell startled him mid-thought, and he leapt off the couch and raced to the front door. He opened the door, and was caught completely off guard by the strangely pleasant lurch his stomach gave as he met Deacon's blue eyes.

"Hey," Deacon said, holding up a couple of pizza boxes.

"Uh. Um. Hey," Mark replied, feeling a huge, stupid grin splitting his face.

"Uh...do I need a password or something?" Deacon asked, giving Mark a strange look.

"Oh! Sorry." Mark started, realising he was still standing in the doorway. He stood to one side, blushing as Deacon stepped past him and started pulling his jacket off.

"So what am I kicking your ass at first?" Deacon asked as he started down the hallway. Mark mentally shook his head and closed the door, following Deacon into the lounge.

"Uh, I've got CoD loaded. But we can play something else. If you want," Mark said, frowning as he noticed that his hands were gripping each other tightly.

"Nah, CoD is good." Deacon surveyed the room, took in the snacks, the towels, the chair placement. "Jeez, you've got it all set up in here. Are we cracking a campaign or something?"

"Uh, we could. If you want. We don't have to," Mark replied, wrenching his hands apart and wiping his palms on his t-shirt.

"I don't have anywhere else to be," Deacon said with a shrug as he dropped down into the nearest armchair. "Where's that beer at?"

"Oh. Right." Mark turned and walked to the kitchen. As he reached for the refrigerator door, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window. He took in the daft grin on his face, which perfectly matched the fluttering in his stomach; his grin faded and he scowled at himself. 'Stop that,' Mark chided himself. 'So you're happy to see him. Chill out.' He grabbed two beers from the fridge, opened them and took a deep breath before returning to the lounge. "Alright soldier, let's do this."

*******************************************

They had been playing for a couple of hours, and hadn't made much of a dent in the completion bar for their campaign. The game had been paused many times - to argue about strategy, to discuss something from class, to tell some funny story found on the internet. At the rate they were going, they'd have to play all night to make some progress - and Mark realised he wouldn't mind that one bit. They'd hardly been hanging out at all lately, and Mark missed it - missed talking and laughing. And other things he wasn't supposed to be missing. But mostly just being around Deacon, he felt...sheltered. Like they were in their own little happy bubble, and nothing - no one and no trouble - could touch them.

"Break," Deacon called, pausing the game. "My thumbs are cramping up." He tossed the controller down and stretched back in the chair. He cracked the knuckles on each hand, one at a time, groaning as his thumbs popped loudly. "This is going to take forever."

"Yeah, probably. But there's nowhere else I'd rather be," Mark said, a fond grin on his face as he looked over at Deacon.

"Mm. Hawaii would be nice," Deacon joked, a little thrown by the affection in Mark's honesty.

And yet Deacon found himself feeling the same way - although still with the familiar edge of near-panic that always seemed to be there when he was around Mark lately. The fear that something was going to happen, or be said. About what they'd been over the summer, what was still constantly lurking around the edges of their friendship.

"So, um," Mark started, when the silence between them started to stretch awkwardly. "Marie and I broke up."

"What?" Deacon asked sharply, his head whipping round to face Mark "When?"

"This afternoon," Mark replied. Deacon looked down at the beer bottle clenched in his hand and said nothing for some time.

"You didn't...tell her anything, did you?" he asked, eyes still on his drink, his posture awkward and uncomfortable.

"About...us, you mean?" Mark asked softly. Deacon nodded stiffly. "No," Mark admitted. "I wanted to but I chickened out." Deacon nodded again without saying anything, but Mark could see his relief in the way Deacon's shoulders slumped.

"Shit. Well, I'm, uh, sorry, man," Deacon offered, his words stilted, fingers starting to peel the label from his bottle. His eyes darted to Mark's face, then quickly back to the bottle.

"Yeah. It was more her doing than mine. But still," Mark shrugged. "I feel kind of...relieved," he admitted. Deacon's fingers stilled on the bottle, teeth worrying his lower lip. He looked up and met Mark's eyes.

"Why?" He asked eventually, although he sounded reluctant to ask the question. Like he wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer. Mark looked up at the ceiling for a long time, saying nothing.

"Things between her and me have changed. Actually...lots of things have changed," Mark said, his gaze catching and holding Deacon's.

As their gaze held, a faint blush started rising on Deacon's neck and cheeks. He unconsciously caught his lower lip between his teeth as he watched Mark's pupils dilate. The air felt thick and charged between them, like the odd sensation before a lightning storm.

Deacon cleared his throat and pulled his eyes away from Mark's gaze, staring at the arm rest of the chair he was sitting in as he picked at some loose threads. Mark's breath came out in a quiet rush and he rubbed a hand through his hair. 'What the hell was that?' His heart beating quickly, mouth dry, Mark got up out of his chair and started clearing up the pizza boxes and paper towels, purposefully keeping his gaze away from Deacon as he walked past him to the kitchen.

"Want another beer?" Mark asked as he stuffed the trash in a garbage bag.

"Uh, no. Thanks," Deacon called out.

Mark popped a bottle open for himself and headed back into the lounge. Where he found Deacon shoving his phone into his pocket and shrugging his jacket on. Mark's stomach dropped.

"What're you doing?" Mark asked, his voice sounding thick and strangled to his own ears.

"I gotta go," Deacon replied, dropping onto the couch and tugging his shoes on.

"What? Why?"

"My...uh, my mom needs help with something," Deacon mumbled, as he grabbed his keys from the coffee table and headed along the hallway. Mark hurriedly put his beer on the side table and rushed after Deacon.

"Deac, wait," Mark called, clutching Deacon's elbow as he opened the front door. Deacon looked back from the door, his mouth set in a tight line. Mark tried to make eye contact, but Deacon stared resolutely at the hand on his arm. "Look, me and Marie breaking up, it was her call, y'know? I didn't do it so that, well...you know," Mark finished weakly, Deacon's elbow falling from his grip. "It doesn't have to mean...anything."

"Yeah," Deacon nodded, his face blank. "Okay. Good."

"Okay. So. You can, um, I mean, will you stay?" Mark pleaded, trying not to sound as desperate as he was feeling. His stomach sank as Deacon shook his head, his grip on the door turning his knuckles white.

"...My mom, she...I gotta go," Deacon mumbled. His eyes darted briefly to Mark's before shifting to his feet. "I...Sorry." Then he slipped out the door, the catch snicking softly as he closed it behind him.

*******************************************

Deacon walked away from the house quickly, his heart racing and breathing shallow. He jumped into his car and backed down the driveway before speeding down the street. He pulled into a side street a couple of blocks away and parked outside a random house. He shut the engine down, rested his forehead on the steering wheel and let out a long, shaky breath. He sat there for a long time, trying not to think about anything - and failing miserably. A million thoughts, doubts, assumptions all whirled around in his head with only one thing in common - Mark.

Why was he being like this, running away like that? Just because Mark and Marie broke up, it didn't mean anything. It didn't mean everyone would find out about what happened between him and Mark, it didn't mean that there still was anything between them. Mark had just said that, that it didn't mean anything.

'Except he didn't say that,' Deacon thought. 'He said that it didn't have to mean anything. Which means that it could. If I wanted it to.' Deacon screwed his eyes shut tightly and dropped his head back against the head rest with a sharp breath. What did he want? He'd come as far as to admit to himself that it wasn't Sarah, not anymore. A year ago, he wanted to spend every moment with her, just anything or nothing as long as he could smell her hair or see her eyes sparkle. Deacon's chest tightened when he realised that when he thought of her now, of being with her, it was like thinking of a distasteful or monotonous task that had to be endured, a chore that took time and effort.

But Mark...as much as he might try to ignore and resist and deceive himself, Deacon's body never let him have the lie. When he thought of Mark, a not entirely unpleasant rolling sensation gripped his guts, his groin tightened, a flush rose unbidden to his neck. Even now, in the throes of panic and doubt and self loathing, Deacon still couldn't get out of his head the way Mark's hand on his arm had felt just now. Mark's soft, strong grip, that spark jumping across from him just like it always had. Deacon wanted those hands on him, all over him. He wanted that spark to trip up his spine and curl his toes, to bury his face in Mark's hair and breath deep.

Deacon gritted his teeth and thumped the steering wheel with both hands. He was breathing heavily and could feel his cock pressing uncomfortably against his zipper. So it was pretty clear what he wanted. He just couldn't have it. Or more rightly, he couldn't handle what would come with having it. Deacon stared at the roof of his car, miserable.

'Sam was right,' he thought. 'I am a coward.'

Deacon started as his phone started ringing in his pocket. He fished it out, simultaneously hopeful and afraid that it would be Mark. It wasn't. Deacon exhaled through his nose, hit the receive button and put the phone to his ear.

"Hey."

"Hey," Sarah replied. "Where are you?"

"Uh, I've just been at Mark's."

"Hmm. Did he tell you about him and Marie?"

"That they broke up? Yeah," Deacon answered. He heard an impatient sigh.

"And? What did he say?"

Deacon shrugged, before remembering he was on the phone. "Not much, just that it was her call."

"Oh right," Sarah barked with a derisive snort. "Did he also happen to mention it was because he was being a total jerk?" Deacon gripped the steering wheel tight with his free hand.

"Funnily enough, no he did not mention that," he snarked through a clenched jaw.

"So you're on his side?"

"Jesus Sarah," Deacon breathed. "I don't even know why they broke up, I'm not on anyone's side. But he is my best friend."

There was silence from the other end for a moment. "Taking him to a strip club now, I guess?"

"What?" Deacon screwed up his nose. "No. I had to go, my... mom needed some help with ...something." Deacon cringed at the hollow lie. But if Sarah recognised it, she didn't call him on it.

"Well I'll be at Marie's, consoling my heart-broken best friend," Sarah said, her words sharp and somehow biting. Deacon's jaw muscle jumped again.

"Why are you talking to me like this is somehow my fault?"

"Maybe because you seem to have caught a dose of whatever caused Mark to come down with a case of asshole," she snapped. Deacon rubbed his eyes and bit back a sigh.

"Look, maybe you should call me when you've calmed down a bit," he suggested.

"I'm calm, Deacon," Sarah replied softly. "I'm just fed up." They were both quiet for several moments.

"Sarah, I'm sorry," Deacon said finally. "I know I've been...distant lately." She said nothing for a while.

"It feels like you're somewhere else all the time," Sarah finally said. Deacon closed his eyes.

"I know. I sort of have been," Deacon admitted.

"So come back to me."

"I'm working on it." Deacon shook his head ruefully. "Believe me, I've been thinking about it a lot." He could hear Sarah sigh, and then silence.

"I gotta go. But hold that thought. I want to talk more about this."

"Yeah," Deacon breathed.

"G'night," Sarah said with a kiss sound, and before he could reply, the line went dead.