Work Text:
The very first thing you did when Mark got home was tell him about the figure’s visit.
Mark’s face had darkened, and he’d held you tight, swearing that the figure would never bother you again if he had anything to say about it. His assurances helped soothe some of your worry that not-Damien would appear again and try to convince you to not trust Mark.
Mark had done nothing but shown you kindness and loyalty— even in his moments of frustration with your inability to perform that day, he was never cruel. You had no reason not to trust Mark; and no reason to trust the dark figure.
———————————————————————
In the days following the figure’s visit you were on edge. You didn’t have it in you to perform, and Mark wasn’t asking you to.
“You need your rest,” He’d said, lying in bed facing you, playing with your hair. “Seeing him must’ve been so draining…”
It had been. The betrayal that had dulled came back with full force, and sometimes you shook with rage and pain. Mark was always a calming presence in moments like that.
You hadn’t really known Mark before. Damien spoke of him, but the first time you’d met was the last night before the mirror. He’d seemed a bit cocky, but other than that he seemed fine enough.
Now… now you definitely knew he was cocky. He was cocky, and stubborn, and bullheaded. He wanted what he wanted, and he would do whatever he could to get it. You didn’t want to know whether you were one of the things that he wanted or not.
None of those things took away all that he had done for you. He’d saved you from purgatory, took care of you on the days where you felt like you were still in there. He was everything you could ask for after what you’d been through what Damien put you through… it was Damien’s fault you were in there….
It made it easy to start to fall for him.
Lying in bed with him, his arms snaked around your waist in an act of possessiveness, head nuzzled into your neck… it was something you’d never had. Something you had imagined with another face on the man in bed with you, true, but never had.
He didn’t look at you the same way Damien he did, but he was the one by your side when it got dark out and you were afraid you were back in the mirror, and that was infinitely more important.
When you were finally up to it again, Mark decided you’d be retelling the heist story he was so fond of. Make that decision, choose that option…
It got dark. Mark, gone.
“Same snake, different skin…”
You looked around, trying to find the source of the voice.
The figure who’d visited you stood before you once more. “Always spinning his yarns… his webs… his lies.”
He was speaking about Mark. That was the only possible ‘he’.
He paced slightly, fixing you with a look. “I always thought that you were trapped in these games, perpetually plunging down the rabbit holes of the stories… helpless, lost… I know the feeling.”
Trapped?
Telling Mark’s stories was an active choice on your part. You wanted to tell stories beside him.
“That’s not—”
The figure cut you off. “Perhaps I’m the crazy one.”
You bit back a you are, curious at this point as to where the not-Damien was going with this.
“Perhaps we’ve met a hundred times before, you simply don’t remember it.”
“We’ve met once,” You said, bitter, separating this figure from Damien in your mind. “And that didn’t exactly go smoothly.” You recall throwing a pillow at him and crying.
The figure continued as if you’d never spoken. “Perhaps you’re tired of me repeating myself over and over and over and over and over again!” He flashed, visions of red and blue around him.
His face split into a grin. “Maybe you just missed my pretty face. It doesn’t matter.”
You scoffed at him. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m sick of you barging into my life and trying to tell me how to feel or act, and I’ve only met you once— which was more than enough.”
“It’s dangerous, being by his side,” The figure said, rocking back and forth a singular time.
He reached a hand out. “I can take you somewhere he can’t touch you.”
You pulled yourself out of his reach as if he were going to burn you.
“You’re crazy,” You said, anger in your voice, “if you think I’m going to abandon Mark and go with you. I know what it’s like to be abandoned, and I’m not doing that to him.” You couldn’t hurt Mark at this point. You couldn’t.
The figure retracted its hand. “One day… one day you’ll learn. You’ll see who he is behind the curtain, and I will be there waiting for you.”
He continued on. “Games were always his forte. But allow me this moment of self-indulgence.”
In the figure’s hand was the box. “Do you really want to know what’s inside this box? The truth, not the lies he’s told you.”
What was in the box was always a mystery. Each script had a different ending; no two boxes contained the same thing. You had to admit that finding out what was in the box was one of the things you most looked forward to.
“I know how much you love a good game…” The figure said, eyes never having left you.
He held the box out to you. “Open the box, for your truth.”
You accepted the box from him on instinct alone, holding it in your hands for what had to be the hundredth time. If you opened it, you’d have the answers to any questions you had about Mark, about the figure, maybe even about the mirror…
… some things were better off left in the past.
You looked up from the box. “No thanks. I’m good.”
You smashed the box on the ground, watching the wood and ceramic blend shatter and splinter, and felt yourself get reset so you could start the story from the top.