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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 11 days ago

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The Man In Your Apartment

Pairing: Mark Meachum x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: First dates are stressful enough without Mark Meachum showing up to make you second guess your entire life.

Tropes: Friends With Benefits, Mutual Pining, Implied Slow Burn.

Word Count: 10.8K (Don't look at me like that)

Warnings: I'm gonna just label this 18+ to make sure. References to Sex, Sexual Innuendo, Implied Sex, Reader's hair is long and is described as "curvy", Cursing, Angst, Talks of Cancer, ANGST, Self-deprecating thoughts from the reader and Mark, Unhinged joke about starfish, Flirting, Mark might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is no use of y/n! I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite! I'm just starting to write for Mark, so please be gentle.

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

Mark Meachum Masterlist

A/N: Yes, yes I did finally watch Countdown, and the unthinkable happened… I wrote another Jackles character fic.

"Ow, ow, ow. Hot! Hot!" You yelp, releasing the chunk of your (now) perfectly curled hair to stick your singed index finger into your mouth while staring at your reflection in your bathroom mirror.

This looks nothing like the video.

You think with a groan, eyes shifting to your phone that shows the supposedly effortless updo being displayed by the girl on screen.

I should've known better than to try something new one hour before I'm supposed to go out on a date! There's no way I can salvage this.

The reflection of you in the mirror looks at you raises an eyebrow as if asking you 'did you expect anything less?'

"Shut up." You mutter with a huff.

You’d thought that by now you'd be used to the first date jitters. The swarm of butterflies that erupted in your stomach in nervous anticipation, the small tingle of excitement at the thought that anything could happen, and the anxiety of trying to find the perfect first date outfit.

There were enough "first date outfits" strewn over the floor of your bedroom for you to go on a hundred dates, the same hundred outfits you'd modeled for your best friends Evie and Sam over video chat for two hours before you chose the current ensemble. It was the one that they'd said would 'give your date a heart attack' all the while whooping so loud it made their next door neighbors start banging on the wall.

The black ankle length dress clung to your body like a second skin, hugged your every curve, and swept low over your breasts to give a hint of cleavage. It was the emergency dress, the one thing in your closet that you'd never worn, but bought months ago hoping to wear it for someone else. The same someone else that you hadn't seen or heard from in nine months.

Not thinking about him right now.

There weren't exactly many places that you could wear something like this, especially not to the firm of York, Goldman, and Preston. Your power suit and heel staple was more sensible anyway, though did little to stop one of the senior partner's wandering eyes whenever you bent over to pick something up while twisting the golden wedding ring on his left hand.

Pig.

Products in bottles and containers of varying colors and shapes are scattered over the small single sink in your bathroom, foundation is smeared on the marble countertop, a thin dusting of eyeshadow flecked in the mirror, a broken eyeliner pencil sits forgotten on the floor an inch from the toe of your stilettoed boot, a single earing lies aimless, and the makeup brushes you'd used are shoved into the small makeup bag you put them in all the while lying to yourself and saying that you'd clean them the second you got home. The same thing you told yourself each time you took one out and ran your thumb over the stiff makeup caked bristles before applying your makeup each morning.

But despite the support from your two college roommates turned best friends after four years in the trenches, you were still nervous.

It was the first date you'd had with anyone in over nine months. The never ending pile of depositions and case evidence on your desk had kept you plenty occupied, and this was first time you'd allowed yourself to make time for something like this.

Devin was another junior partner at the firm, a nice guy that had asked you out several times in the past, but you'd politely declined. Now, after a nine month dry spell and no other prospects you were willing to give him a chance.

He's not terrible, just a little too much like vanilla yogurt, plain and often not enough.

But you were willing to give Devin a shot, maybe he wouldn't be as straight laced outside of the office as he was in it. Maybe he had a secret bad boy side that would surprise you and sweep you off your feet.

The playlist that Evie made aptly titled "Get Back Out There and Get It" switches to an upbeat song that makes you swing your hips and hum under your breath, while you change the part in your hair, frowning again at your appearance before you flip the piece back over to the side.

I'm done. I can't look at myself anymore.

Pickle, your French Bulldog, trots into the bathroom happily, sniffling around the bottom of your dress and licks tentatively at your ankle.

"Hey buddy." You lean on the counter and scratch behind one of his pointed ears. "What are you up to huh?"

His leg thuds against the floor rhythmically, nudging his flattened face against your leg once before he turns to sniff along the rumpled pile of clothing in your closet and leaving you to the deranged spiral of your thoughts. They were hanging from the chandelier by now in a ritzy mansion with the Unsinkable Molly Brown.

Devin was taking you to a little Italian restaurant a few blocks from the high rise you worked at in downtown LA, and he was due to be here any minute, which meant that you probably had no time to fix your hair.

Maybe I can pretend that I got a stomach bug and reschedule. He seems like he would be plenty understanding and-

Your phone buzzes on the counter, the group-chat titled "Feral Friends" flashing once on the screen to distract you from your reflection for a few moments.

Evie: You better not be staring at yourself in the mirror thinking about faking an illness

Sam: Or contemplating toaster bath to get out of this.

Evie: You look so hot in that dress. Devin is gonna want to have all your babies!!

Sam: He's a dude Evie.

Evie: THAT DOESN'T MATTER, SEAHORSE RULES BITCH!

Sam: As a marine biologist I can't condone your behavior… but as your friend I say that it can totally happen.

Evie: Thanks babe. Does that mean you're gonna finally let me come back to the lab?

Sam: Nope. I'm not going to let you molest another starfish.

Evie: I just wanted to see how mermaids get them to stick!

Sam: I know this is difficult for you, but mermaids aren't real.

Evie: I don't believe you! The government probably paid you to say that and now you're keeping them from me.

Sam: Why do you want them to be real?

Evie: And I bet you know the location of the necklace that old lady threw into the sea!

Sam: The lady in Titanic?

Evie: YES!

You stifle a snort.

Evie and Sam had been such a big part of your life for years now. Through thick and thin, the family that you never had, but always wanted. The three of you, three parts of a whole that fit together seamlessly even though you lived in LA and they both shared an apartment back in Florida on the other side of the US. You were planning a trip for the end of the month to see them, desperately needed it like the air you were breathing, couldn't wait to camp on their lumpy couch and catch up on Love Island while eating greasy pizza and waking up between Evie and Sam like nothing had changed. Like the three of you weren't still complaining about how small your shared apartment was and eating cup a noodle at every meal while dreaming about marrying rich to avoid getting a soul-sucking nine to five.

You: As scintillating as this conversation is, it's not helping.

Evie: That's why they pay you the big bucks smarty pants, because you use words like that.

Sam: Girl, come on, the guy's gonna fucking plotz right in his pants as soon as he sees you. I don’t know why we're even having this conversation.

Evie: Or why you're going out with him… The guy is about as interesting as a sack of flour. Never seen someone so white in my entire life, thought I was going to go blind when I stalked his insta and saw a picture of him in shorts.

Sam: EV!

Evie: What? We're all thinking it! This guy would be lucky to get a foot pic from you babe, let alone the whole package.

Sam: She's right, but at the same time please don't sell pictures of your feet. You got that one wonky toe…

You: I've told you multiple times that it's not wonky and we're getting off topic again.

Pickle walks back into the bathroom toting his prize, a red lace thong that you'd ruled out as 'impractical' for tonight, choosing rather a black one that matched the bra you were wearing. You still weren't sure where the date would end up, but you were being optimistic, dwelling in the possibility that Devin would surprise you.

"Drop it." You order.

Pickle freezes, eyes wide, his little gray body tensing.

"Pickle." You say sternly.

He bolts into your bedroom full speed, his little legs scrambling against the hardwood floors, nails scrapping against the wood as he goes.

Damn it.

"Get back here!" You shout as you run through your home and down the darkened hallway behind him in swift pursuit, but Pickle continues to run as fast as he can through your two bedroom apartment his little mouth chewing furiously because he knows his days are numbered.

Just as you cross from the hallway into your living room, a pair of hands come out of nowhere and catch Pickle, yanking him up into the air.

You screech to a halt, eyes widening as you focus on the stranger standing in your apartment.

The man comes into focus, broad shoulders encased in a black leather jacket, brown hair kissing the collar in a soft wave, his hardened muscular body molded like a statue in Greece, perfectly chiseled as if from stone. Pickle writhes fruitlessly in the man's arms, trying to escape from air-jail, but the man only laughs at him. The sound of his chuckle trailing goosebumps over your skin.

But even though the stranger's back is to you, but you don't need to see his face to know who it is.

Mark Meachum.

You'd met in the courtroom or rather outside the courtroom when you were running exactly five and a half minutes late and slammed into him after he'd given testimony. The trusty briefcase you'd had for years decided at that moment to give up the ghost, splitting open and scattering the notes and papers you'd worked so hard on all over the floor. And while others continued to walk by, Mark had stopped to help you, flirting all the while, and by the time he'd handed you the last paper you had a date for drinks and a reason to grin and bear it while a senior partner yelled at you for your tardiness.

The relationship, if you could call it that, started then and there.

Late night phone calls, late night drinks, followed up by late night rendezvous, memories of beer, sweat, and the spicy scent of Mark's cologne that clung to your sheets long after they went cold. The haunting memory of his rough hands dragging over your soft skin, finding places that no one else seemed to, every inch of your body and his fitting together so well if the world was burning outside your bedroom neither of you would be none the wiser.

It was all going so well… until it wasn't.

Mark was content to keep things the way they were, but you weren't. You wanted more. A total cliché, you knew that, but when the two of you started you didn't have time for more than just a few hours, but you liked Mark and you wanted to try, thought that there was something worth exploring between the two of you.

He didn't.

He'd said that he didn't want things to change, that he wasn't looking for anything serious, and that led to the inevitable parting of the ways…

Except Mark didn't stay away for long, never did. He'd showed back up at your apartment in the weeks that followed and each time you let him in all the while trying your best not to take it personally that he didn't want more.

Sometimes you thought he did though.

When all was quiet and you couldn’t sleep because something was bothering you and he actually listened to you talk instead of the usual grunt you got from the handful of men you’d tried to date in the past. When you’d find him in the kitchen in the morning nursing a cup of hot coffee and pinching the bridge of his nose to drive away the headaches he had so often, and he allowed you to gently rub at his temples to soothe the ache, while he watched you with curious green eyes as if he couldn't believe you were real.

Those moments made you think that maybe Mark wanted more. More than just the heat of your body beside him, more than the sweat soaked sheets and gasps of his name into the night air, and more than just the pleasure you brought him when the two of you were alone and nothing else seemed to make sense but the rock of your body against his and the moans of your name into your mouth from his lips. But just like clockwork the next day would dawn and Mark would get up, get dressed, kiss you goodbye and saunter out of your life so easily it made your head spin.

Until 9 months ago, when you told him you couldn't do this again, that it was the last time and you needed him to stay away for good. You remember how you'd said it, wrapped in your sheets when he got out of bed and got dressed. Mark had winked, dark hair falling forward into his face, before he kissed on in the forehead the same patronizing way he always did. You’d hoped that he had actually gotten the message, that he was finally, finally listening to you when you told him that.

Apparently not.

"These for me?" Mark smirks, the bright red thong dangles between his long fingers. There's a familiar glint of mischief in his green eyes, the same glint that always seemed to get you in trouble whenever he was around, the one that ended with you breathless in bed with Mark's body nestled snuggly between your thighs like he belonged there. "You shouldn't have."

You snatch away the offending garment from his outstretched hand. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I was in the neighborhood." His eyes trace over your body, bringing a pleasurable tingle down the length of your spine.

Your body didn't seem to get the memo about being anti-Mark, but you weren't surprised. It had a tendency to disconnect from your mind whenever he was in your general vicinity and usually wanted things that were bad for you.

The Bluetooth must not be working because there's a flood of warmth to the apex of your thighs the longer that Mark stares at you with the same mischievous smirk he gave you the last time you saw him.

Your eyes flick to the open window in your living room where the floral curtains billow and flap in the night breeze.

Did he come in through the window? I'm three floors up!

"Did you break in?"

"No." Mark answers scratching Pickle behind the ears, who has now turned traitor just as your body had and is licking Mark's jaw where the prickle of his beard has begun to shadow.

Something that you too wished you could do.

Stop it! Stay strong. I will not relapse. If only there was a green-eyed, dark haired man anonymous group on the internet for addicts like me.

You clear your throat, eyes shifting to the open window and then back to him, raising an eyebrow in a silent question. Mark chuckles low under his breath, the gradual rumble going up through his chest that makes your throat tight.

Distant thunder before a storm hints.

And what a storm it would be if your let him back into your bed. A category five hurricane, a damn tornado so destructive that Tyler Owens was out there chasing after it.

"I've been telling you to fix that window forever. Do you have any idea how many home invasions there are in LA every year?"

"I'm on the third floor Mark!"

"See-" He holds up a finger. "That's exactly the kind of thinking that lets these freaky bastards free and clear to go through underwear drawers."

"Strong words from a man who was holding my thong ten seconds ago." You cross your arms over your chest.

"Blame Pickle. He obviously wanted me to have it."

The dog in question has his tongue lolling out of his mouth, smiling happily up at the man who ruined your life.

He didn't, not really.

It was your fault that you kept going back to him, your fault that each time he showed up on your doorstep, dark hair scrunched up around his face, glimmering eyes that raked over your body, and charming smile that you couldn't say no.

"What are you doing here?" The question is measured, each word slowly rolling out of your mouth with precision.

Truthfully, you knew what he was doing here, it was the same what that you had told yourself you were never going to go back to. It had taken you all nine months since you'd seen him to get over it, overworking yourself, going too hard at the gym on the treadmill because it was easier to fall asleep when you were so exhausted rather than sitting up all night and thinking about the man with the glowing green eyes. The endless marathon of rom-coms that made you feel like Elle Woods throwing a box of chocolates at the tv also didn't help either.

A part of you was angry that he was here now, that he had stayed away because he knew it really was the last time and now he had some warped alarm inside of his head that told him you were finally moving on and he had to come back.

Mark puts Pickle on the couch giving him another affectionate scratch before he focuses back on you.

"I thought I'd stop in and say hello. You look nice. Hot date?" Mark's eyes trace over your figure again taking in the black dress, the one you’d bought for him in mind because you thought that it would change something, but never had a chance to wear it.

“Yes, actually.”

Is it hot in here?

The fact of the matter was that despite your brain wanting nothing to do with him, there was another part of your body that was ready to rip all his clothes off and act like the last nine months hadn’t happened.

“Huh.” Mark scratches his chin as he takes one step towards you so close that you catch a whiff of the same cologne that was long gone from your sheets. Hints of sandalwood and sunshine that you’d let yourself breathe with his pillow crushed to your chest when he left for the last time, tears burning in your eyes. “Is that so?”

He towers over you, smirk quirking on the end of his mouth, humor flashing through his eyes the longer he stands there looking at you. Some of his dark hair has fallen forward over his forehead that your fingers itch to push away, remembering the way that the smooth skin of his temples felt beneath your fingertips whenever you soothed away the headaches he seemed to have so frequently.

It’s a few inches shorter than the last time you saw him, but he looks just as good if not better. The thick dusting of his beard over his strong jaw makes him look rugged in the best way and again makes the irrational part of your brain start rattling the bars of her cage.

“Y-yes.” You stammer.

Top of my class in litigation and yet every time he looks at me like that I can’t form a single sentence.

"I like what you did with your hair." Mark's smile widens, eyes softening as he raises his hand and pushes back the chunk of hair that singed your fingertips moments ago. "It's pretty."

Please for the love of mashed potatoes keep it together. Heart of a warrior!

You chide yourself, feeling your legs turn to jelly under his gaze that makes your right foot wobble in the stilettoed boot.

9 months ago when he'd left, Evie and Sam had shown up out of the blue and the three of you performed a "Markxorcism." You'd burned sage, lit candles, chanted ridiculous things, and then eaten so much junk food that Evie puked into Sam's purse.

Now you were realizing that it didn't work, because your subconscious obviously didn't get the memo.

There's a blush creeping up through your cheeks with the brush of Mark's fingertips against your skin. All it did was remind you of the moments the two of you had spent together in the past, with those same fingertips exploring parts of your body that no other man ever seemed to be able to reach.

Please don't think about that right now.

The song on the playlist shifts to something softer, a melody that you've forgotten the name of, but does little to push the memories of Mark and you in this very apartment. The soft light in your living room accentuates Mark's strong jaw, making the shadow of his beard a little bit darker while catching in his glimmering green eyes. The memory of the day he left washes over you in a fluid wave. When his hair was rumpled from where your hands had tangled through the strands the night before, when the glow of his freckled skin caught in the early morning sunlight that shone through your curtains, and when the familiar scrape of stubble rubbed against your forehead as he kissed you goodbye.

"You should go." You clear your throat again, voice sounding a little higher than it usually does.

"Why?" Mark's breath wafts over your face in a minty wave.

"Because it's gonna be hard to explain-"

"Explain what baby?"

"Why you're here."

Mark chuckles low under his breath, his tongue wetting his bottom lip. "And why do you think I'm here? Hmm?"

Something dark flashes in his eyes as his gaze drops down over your body once more, catching on your curves like flypaper. Goosebumps flicker across your skin, following the trail of his eyes on you and making warmth pool in the pit of your stomach.

Oh dear Lord why does he always have to look so good?

Your mouth is dry, the last shred of willpower you have pulled so tight that you know it'll snap at any second. You hated that he did this to you, that one look from those glowing green eyes turned off whatever rational part of your mind usually drove and sent you scuttling back into the stone age, like taking one look at the rugged man in front of you suddenly stimulated the primal animal instinct that lived in the dark recesses of modern man.

You can take the cavewoman out of the cave… but you can't take the cave out of the woman.

And damn you wanted to drag Mark back into yours.

A soft knock sounds at your front door breaking the spell between the two of you, but also sends a bolt of anxiety through your body.

You groan audibly.

How the hell am I going to explain Mark being in my apartment?!

“See if you feel that way when the guy shows up, you might as well just not go at all. Don’t worry, I’ll let him down easy for you.” Mark turns to go towards your door.

“No!” You shout grabbing the back of his jacket, tugging him back, but Mark doesn't move an inch in your direction.

Damn him for being so solid and broad.

Instead, he opens the door.

Devin stands there in the brilliant light of the hallway, holding a small bouquet of magenta and white carnations, wearing the same sharp black suit, blue tie, white shirt combo that he wore every single day to work without fail. His auburn hair is combed back in simple waves that curl behind his ears, the dark dusting of freckles over his cheeks giving him a boyish quality, the exact opposite of the infuriating man blocking you from view.

"Hey-" Devin's greeting stops mid-way as he makes eye contact with Mark, who only smirks down at the man inhabiting the space just beyond your front door.

Mark is taller than him, broader too. Seeing the two of them standing there reminded you of those pictures on the internet of Kevin Hart and Dwayne Johnson.

"Hey there champ." Mark says while flashing a broad smile. He's obviously pleased with the turn of events and it makes you want to curl up into a ball in die. "How's it going?"

Because how in the hell were you going to explain Mark to Devin?

"Oh hey Devin! This is Mark, he stopped by for a quickie before our date" did not sound like something that you said to the father of your future children.

"Um… good." Devin clears his throat, still not able to see where you're standing behind Mark in your living room. "I'm sorry I must have the wrong apartment."

"I think you do bud-" Mark begins to shut the door, but you push past him- well, you try to. Mark is built like Paul Bunyan and moving him was like Moses trying to get water from a rock.

"No, he doesn't-" You whisper sharply under your breath to Mark, only earning the same glorious rumble-like chuckle that makes your knees feel like they're clacking together. "Hi Devin!" You say to him with far too much anxious enthusiasm. There was enough of it crackling through your synapses that you could power all of NYC in a blackout.

"Hi." Devin repeats, his eyes flicking from Mark to you as he tried to figure out what he was missing.

"Sorry. Mark was just stopping by for-" Your hands wave anxiously in front of you, the excuses and lies you were about to spew from your mouth would have made milk curdle.

Devin's gaze falls to the red thong that you still have clasped in your right hand, the tips of his ears pinkening when he realizes what it is.

Oh sweet baby corn.

"The laundry, right baby?" The humor in Mark's voice makes you want to feed him to Pickle, who would probably just lick him to death given how much Pickle loved Mark.

"NO!" You shout, eyes widening in panic. "Um. He was-um… fixing the window. Can never be too careful in LA right?" The awkward laughter that follows catches in the back of your throat as you toss the thong around the corner and into a potted plant out of sight. "All those break ins and whatnot."

"Yeah." Devin coughs out a half-laugh, but he doesn't look too convinced, probably because you live on the third floor. "Um. You look really nice."

"Thank you." You smile, but it was hard to. Not when Mark was still looking at you like a cat that got the canary and you felt your heart was flip-flopping around in your chest.

At this point you wished that your elderly neighbor Mr. Wyatt came out and flashed the three of you the way he always did whenever Evie and Sam visited, at least then there would be something else to awkwardly laugh at other than you.

I'll never understand why he moved out of that nudist colony, he sounds so happy whenever he talks about it.

"I got you these." Devin holds out the carnations. His hand trembles, gaze still shifting from Mark to you.

You didn't blame him.

You'd run into Mark at a bar one time when he had a date with him. A woman that looked like she walked right out of a playboy magazine, beautiful, sexy, poised… The rest of the night you couldn't help but compare yourself to her, focusing far too hard on all the little flaws that never let you rest whenever you looked at yourself in the mirror. And you were sure that Devin was having the same spiral of self-deprecation inside of his head at the moment given that Mark was well… Mark.

"Aww that's sweet." Mark coos. "Look he brought you flowers."

Anger surges up in a wave of heat to your cheeks.

Is he being serious right now? He shows up in the middle of the night after zero contact for nine months and he has the audacity to make fun of a man who is actually interested in dating me?

It was enough to remind you of why Devin was here. Devin was here because he genuinely wanted to take you out, because he genuinely wanted to have something more than whatever the hell Mark and you had. Something real.

Because you were worth more than this. Worth more than an errant text in the middle of the night that ended with Mark and you rolling around in your overpriced 1000 Egyptian cotton sheets.

And the thought is enough to sober you up.

You grind the stilettoed part of your heel down into Mark’s big toe, hoping that it hurts. "It is. Thank you Devin!" You take them gratefully with a genuine smile. "I love it when someone brings me flowers. Haven't had that in such a long time."

Mark stiffens slightly beside you, but you don't notice.

"I'm gonna go put these in water and grab my purse. Mark you can go." You don’t bother looking at him again when you turn to the kitchen to find the only vase you have, a crystal vase that is a relic of another time, when men actually brought flowers and held open doors for women they liked.

Not show up in the middle of the night like a bat out of hell looking for a quickie.

"So soon?" Mark says to your back, but you can hear the grin in his voice. "I was hoping to get to know your friend Devin a little better. See what his intentions are."

"Oh-oh well- um I mean-" Devin coughs awkwardly, before adjusting his round glasses with a trembling hand. "I mean she's-"

"That's none of your business Mark." You glare at him from behind the kitchen island before unwrapping the plastic from around the stems and placing the flowers in the vase.

My life is none of his business. I told him countless times that I didn’t want to keep doing this. I’m not going to give in because he shows up out of the blue and gives me attention.

"I beg to differ."

"I don't."

"Tomato, Tomah-to." Mark shrugs. "So Devin where are the two of you going tonight?"

Devin opens his mouth to answer.

"Don't answer that." You interrupt, giving Mark one good shove to push him out into the hallway beside Devin before you lock the door. "He doesn't need to know."

"Actually I do. There's a lot of unsafe places in LA-"

"No, you don't." You fluff your hair over your shoulder giving him a glare. "Now go."

The movement makes Mark's eyes go back down to the soft and supple skin just above your breasts, lingering for a moment too long to be just friendly. "You sure you don't need a coat?" His voice has dropped a few octaves, a coarse grit that lives in the back of his throat.

"Why would I need a coat?"

"Because it's cold tonight." Mark clears his throat, but you watch his gaze flicker to Devin, who also has his gaze focused on your chest.

Wait a minute is he… jealous?

"You can have mine!" Devin offers, his eyes flicking away from the top of your chest.

"Aww." A smile pulls at the corner of your mouth as you gently touch the end of his tie. "What a gentleman. It's nice to see that chivalry isn't dead.” The glare that you throw in Mark's direction makes the end of his lips twitch.

Mark mutters something under his breath, but you don’t care. You were past all of this. Mark didn’t have a right to suddenly show up in your life again, so you weren’t going to give him the time to. And he certainly had nothing to be jealous about, not when you gave him every opportunity to date you.

“Now if you’ll excuse us, we’re going to dinner.” You loop your arm in Devin’s. “I’ll see you around Mark.”

You don’t give him a chance to answer you, instead you lead Devin down the hallway and into the elevator that by some miracle is on your floor and you don't have to wait awkwardly for it to arrive feeling the heat of Mark's gaze on your back.

But as the doors begin to close, you catch one last glimpse of Mark where he stands outside your door, and even though he's wearing the signature smirk, something flashes in his eyes that you can't place, an emotion that briefly flickers through the familiar green for a moment so fast you think you missed it.

"And I told him not to take his brother's toy, but Snowball is such a little stinker that he never listens to me-" Devin babbles, auburn hair waving around his head with the enthusiastic bob of his head. His phone is clutched in his right hand, stretched half-way across the table to show you a video of his not one, not two, but six cats all tumbling together on the floor of his apartment in a multicolored heap of fur and teeth. "And just look at Kida! She can't wait to start biting Milo's ears."

"Oh wow. That's crazy." You tip the rest of your wine glass back to catch the last few drops of red before trying to make frantic eye contact with your waiter who is nowhere to be found to beg him with your eyes for another glass.

By now the amount of times that you'd fake smiled in the past twenty two minutes was making your right eye twitch and your cheeks burn.

The car ride to the restaurant had been fraught with awkward silences, each one filled with the image of Mark back in your apartment, when he'd stood so close to you that all you could smell was the heady scent of his shampoo and you could feel the rough trace of his fingertips against your cheeks while his smirk did so many things to your body it felt like it had betrayed you.

Is this how Obi-Wan felt? No. Because Obi-Wan wasn't on the worst date of his life with someone who described in detail every single pair of socks he had in his sock drawer.

At first you'd thought that maybe you were imagining how boring Devin was, because you were still focused on Mark's sudden appearance, but by now you knew that you should have just left whatever this was back at the office rather than bring it out in the open.

Which really sucked because the restaurant was perfect.

Each table was covered in white tablecloths with soft yellowed light coming from a flickering candle, there a small raised platform in the corner had a band singing just low enough to bring the tickle of music through the air, the attentive waiters wove through the crowded restaurant wearing perfectly pressed suits, and the rich smell of cheese, bread, and wine flooded out into the room on a wave that made your mouth water. It was the kind of place that had just the right amount of romance and magic that would make a first date unforgettable…

Unfortunately the only thing making this date unforgettable was the three videos that Devin had showed you about the pack of cats he had living in his apartment, the conversation he'd started about the different kinds of paper he used at the office and how to avoid ink smudges, and the shadow of Mark's reappearance on your doorstep.

The bread basket laid empty on the table between the two of you, a side-effect of the stress eating that wouldn't stop from the second you sat down because you were trying not to say something that would hurt his feelings. Shoving bread in your mouth seemed to be a better option.

Truthfully, the only thing you were really trying to do was not compare him to Mark, but that was hard.

Mark was everything Devin wasn't. The two of you never had a problem finding something to talk about and Mark never failed to make you laugh. His sense of humor and wit brought something light to conversations and you never laughed as much as you did whenever he was around. Which was about as infuriating as it was annoying, that Mark not only was gorgeous, but he had the charm to back it up.

But the longer you sat on this date with Devin all it did was discourage you. The men that you liked never wanted to be more than just "friends" and the ones that you tried to like never seemed to live up to the hype of the ones you did. All you wanted was for someone you actually liked to be interested or at least be willing to try.

It was enough to make you want to go back to your apartment, curl up under a blanket, and watch My Big Fat Greek Wedding or some other rom-com where the love interest didn't disappoint you.

"I'm going to go to the little boys room." Devin says, pushing back his chair with a grating scrape against the hardwood floor that makes the people in the tables around you turn and look at him.

Maybe it’s not too late to fake an illness.

You were already planning to send the code word to Evie and Sam so they gave you a call, but you were hesitant. As disappointed as you were with this date, there was still some little part of you that wanted it to work, to justify wearing this dress and this amount of makeup out on a Friday night. You had carved out the time to do it, you had spent hours trying to figure out what to wear, and it felt like a waste to just cut your losses and go back to your empty apartment.

That was the most unfortunate part of this, that you would end up at your apartment all over again, where the memories of the time Mark and you spent there were haunting the halls like a Victorian ghost in a creaky mansion on the coast. All it would do was remind you of how single you were and how much you wanted something to change.

You’re contemplating this exact thought when a familiar voice shatters through the wave of disappointment.

"Ugh, I thought he'd never leave." Mark breezes as he slides into Devin's recently emptied seat. "How many stories can one man tell about his six cats? Just embarrassing. He's like a walking life model replica of the 40-year-old virgin. Talk about a mood killer."

He sends a knowing smile in your direction as if you're sharing a private joke. “And what’s up with ‘little boys room?’ He’s a man trying to get a woman into bed with him and he calls himself a ‘little boy?’ Come on! Does he want you to read him a bedtime story or something too?”

"What the hell are you doing here?!" You whisper yell as loud as you dare.

And older couple at the table beside yours gives you a dirty look.

I’m sorry that my soap opera of a life is shattering your romantic anniversary! Really I am!

You say with your eyes, but they only turn back to each other, the same annoying lovey-dovey looks in their eyes pulling at your heartstrings.

Sometimes it was hard to see how happy everyone else was.

It’s enough to make a girl want to be a divorce lawyer.

A busty blonde at another table wearing a dark red dress gives Mark a once over and bites the inside of her cheek, it does little to soothe the feelings of anger and frustration that grind your teeth together whenever he shows up in your life.

"Did you follow me? Are you stalking me?"

"Believe it or not, not everything revolves around you sweetheart." Mark leans towards you over the table with a smile that could warm a penguin standing on an ice floe in the middle of a frozen sea.

"Oh please." You narrow your eyes. "I'm not buying that for one second. Why are you here?"

"Alright, I have the chicken parmesan for the lovely lady." Your waiter says as he appears beside your table, toting an overlarge tray. "And the lasagna for-" The waiter tilts his head to the side when he spies Mark. You can see the gears turning in his head while he tries to figure out if he remembered wrong and Mark has been there the whole time. "Um- you I guess."

"Thanks buddy."

"Can I please get another glass of wine, please?" You ask.

I'm gonna need the whole bottle to get through the rest of tonight.

Your waiter nods, casting one more odd look at Mark before walking away.

Mark takes a bite of Devin’s lasagna and audibly moans. “Fuck that’s good. I'll say this about Dev, he knows how to order!”

“Don’t eat his food!” You smack the fork out of his hand so hard it clatters to the floor. "What are you doing here?"

"I was worried about you." Mark leans back in Devin's chair, running a hand through his dark hair.

Your mouth drops open in shock.

He was worried about me? Really?

A little voice inside your head whispers. It was the same little voice that often appeared when he would be laying beside you and offered advice when you would complain about your job or your parents. The one that sometimes made you think that Mark wanted more, the small sliver of hope that clung on with bloody fingernails.

“Why are you worried about me? Devin's a lawyer, not a murderer."

"You never know. But I had this gut feeling that you'd need someone to help you bail out of this date. I mean come on, you're going to waste a dress like that on him?" Mark's eyes drag down the length of your body, the candlelight kissing the soft curves of your body. "Did I mention how beautiful you look tonight?"

A thrill pulses through your body with his words, but again you hate him for doing this. For showing up all over again right when you had cut him out of his life and were trying to move on, for him thinking that the two of you could just go back to doing whatever it was and him leaving every single morning like it didn't break your heart each time.

I can't only blame him. It's my fault too.

You ignore the compliment. “Can you please get out of here before he comes back?”

“Good idea! I’ll call you in five minutes, fake an emergency and see you back at your place.”

“I am perfectly capable of faking my own emergency thank you very much!” You hiss.

“So you admit that you need to?

You hated how smug he looked, hated that he seemed to be having the time of his life acting like a complete jerk while you were trying to salvage what was left of your trainwreck of a dating life.

“Mark!”

“Okay, okay.” Mark chuckles, standing up from the chair. "I'll see you around." He turns to go, but looks back over his shoulder. "You really do look beautiful-" Mark says your name in that lovely rumble that curls deep into the pit of your stomach.

Water falling over rocks.

A soft patter of rain against the roof of a car.

The crash of the waves on an empty beach.

Why do I keep doing this to myself?

"Oh wow this looks so good." Devin says as he slides back into the chair across from you without the same lithe grace of the man who vacated it moments ago. "Huh, where'd my fork go."

"Your glass miss." The waiter places another glass of wine in front of you.

Yeah. Definitely gonna need the bottle.

The sharp click of your door closing is the only thing that gives you hope when you enter your apartment. You press your face against the strong wood of the inside of the door as if it could give you strength. The rest of the date had been a downward spiral. Devin kept trying to make conversation, but each time it fizzled out into nothing.

So you like cats?

Yep.

*awkward silence*

What do you think about the economy?

It's economic.

*silence*

Do you think that the government has been hiding the technology for lightsabers?

Maybe?

The entire night could go into the same category as the Hindenburg and the Titanic. Evie and Sam were waiting with bated breath for you to call them and give them the low down on everything that happened, but you didn't want to call because then you'd have to bring up Mark. They'd heard enough of him in the past, told you that you were too good to go back to start that all over again, and you partly believed them.

You did think that you were worth more, the problem was finding someone that made you feel the same way you felt about Mark, and if tonight was any indication about the dating pool in LA, it seemed like there was nothing to look forward to.

You exhale heavily.

"Oh good you're home. I fixed your window." Mark's voice floats through the air.

You turn around and spy him reclining back on your couch, beer bottle in hand, face illuminated by the blue glow of the Lakers game that's playing on your TV. Pickle sits next to him, laying his head on Mark's thigh, snoring as if the man in question isn't trespassing.

Some watchdog.

"Oh for the love of- why are you still here?! Don’t you have someone else to bother?!” You snap.

Mark tilts his head to the side in contemplation. “Nope.”

"Mark please-" Emotion lodges itself in the back of your throat, frustration and anger forming a hardened ball that makes your eyes burn.

"What?" He stands, worry pulling his eyebrows together, mouth turning down in a frown. "What's wrong? Did that asshole try something?"

"No! But this asshole did!" You throw your clutch at him.

It glances off his broad chest and tumbles to the ground. Pickle leaps off the couch to pick it up before dragging it back to his lair in the corner. It was really an old throw pillow that you'd had forever that was shaped like his namesake, but…

"Me? What did I do?" Mark looks confused.

"Everything!" You seethe.

Surely he can't be this stupid.

"You're blaming your bad date on me? Come on sweetheart. That was gonna tank. Who brings someone carnations? That's what you bring your sick grandmother in the hospital. He should have brought you roses-"

"Don't you dare mock him for that! You have no experience bringing me flowers!"

Mark only rolls his eyes. "If you wanted me to I would have."

"I can't do this with you. Please get out of my apartment." You sigh, attempting to push past him to go to your bedroom, but Mark shifts his imposing figure to block your way, staring down at you with a mix of confusion and concern.

"Not until you tell me what's wrong-"

"Why do you care?" You spit. "You've made it perfectly clear that you only care about me for one thing."

He blinks, once, twice, holding up his hands in front of him defensively. "Whoa I mean I-"

"No! No talking!" You shove your finger into his chest, the angry tears spilling from your eyes, smearing the makeup down your cheeks. "I will not do this to myself again. I will not fall back into this sick pattern I have with you where you use me and I-"

"I do not use you! It's not like that-"

"Yes it is! Each time we go through this I hate myself. I hate myself for thinking that I deserve this. Hate myself for not being able to cut you loose. Shit, I think I must be a fucking masochist because very single damn time you come slithering back into my life with that charming smile, piercing green eyes, and sexy-"

"You think I'm sexy?" Mark interrupts as he raises a teasing eyebrow, making the all-American rage burn even hotter through your body, beating it's wings against your rib cage so hard it hurts.

"Get out."

"Come on-"

"No. Each time I fall for it. I think 'this time will be different, that maybe he'll change his mind' or 'wow he's really changed,' but you haven't. You're still the same selfish asshole that I keep falling back on and keep letting into my head and into my heart-." You shake your head with a heavy sigh. "But it's my fault too. I'm the one who knew you didn't want me and yet I still kept letting you in like I think it will change, but it never does! And every single damn time I pick up the pieces of myself when you leave and try not to think 'what did I do?'"

"I didn't know that."

Something crosses through Mark's eyes that looks surprisingly like remorse, but you ignore it, because you're not sure if he even cares, if he's just trying to do it to make you feel bad for showing him the cards that you've kept so close to your chest the entire time that you'd known him.

"Oh you did! You know that I wanted to be more and instead of staying gone, you just keep coming back! But I'm not going to do this to myself anymore. I am worth more than just whatever the fuck this is!"

You try again to push past him, not wanting to look at him anymore, wanting to curl up beneath your blankets and try to shut the rest of the world out, but Mark doesn't let you pass.

"No." He frowns.

"What?" You blink in surprise, rubbing your face with the back of one hand.

What the hell is he talking about? Why won't he just get out?

"No. I'm not going to leave. Not when you're like this."

“If you don’t leave I’m going to call the police!” You threaten.

“Okay." He shrugs. "Call them. I'll just tell the chief that my girl is just acting crazy and don't bother sending a patrol car.”

“I’m not acting crazy! And I’m not your girl!”

“It’s what you want though right?”

You open and close your mouth, gaping at him like a fish out of water. Mark's head is tilted to the side something hovering in his eyes that pries open your ribcage. “Not anymore.”

It's a lie and you know it. It was harder to believe it when his musk was everywhere all over the room, the one that made your head feel fuzzy and the butterflies in your stomach take flight.

More like a murder of crows.

“You hesitated.”

The smirk is back, haunting, sexy, annoying as fuck. The familiar glimmer of humor in his eyes like a slap in the face. You hated that he was turning this into a big joke.

“No, I didn’t.” The back of your hand that you swipe over your cheeks comes back smeared with foundation and mascara.

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t-“

“I don’t understand why you want to stand there wasting all this time giving me shit when we could be getting to the fun part.” Mark shrugs.

“I told you that I wasn’t going to sleep with you!" You scream at the top of your lungs, so done with all of this, done talking to him, done trying to explain what he should already know instead of laughing at you.

It’s the closest that you'd ever been to hitting someone, which was odd for you because you’d rather use your words than physical violence. It was, after all, why you became a lawyer.

“So you’re admitting that sleeping with me is the fun part?” He chuckles.

Your teeth grind together so tight you can hear the scrape in your ears.

How can one man be so infuriating and so hot at the same time?

"I'm not going to do this with you right now. I'm exhausted and I want to go to bed-"

"Good me too."

"We are not going to have sex! How many times do I have to say that?"

"One more time, I love the sound of your voice."

"Mark." His name comes out in a growl. "Why won't you leave? What is so important that you think you need to stay?"

Mark hesitates. His body shifts the weight from foot to foot, contemplating his next words as his eyes slowly drag over your body. "I don't know I've been-" He sighs. "I've been really thinking about you over the past nine months."

"And you didn't come by once?" You feign shock, pressing one hand to your chest. "Wow, must have taken some restraint."

And because Mark obviously isn't going to let you go to your bedroom, you turn to the kitchen to find something a little stronger than the wine you had at dinner. The buzz was wearing off and you weren't ready for any of this.

There were two parts of yourself at war, the part that wanted him to go because you were so tired of him and the other part that lived in the hope that Mark really did care.

I'm so pathetic. Why can't I just let this guy go? What is so damn special about Mark Fucking Meachum that I feel the need to torture myself over and over again?

You grit your teeth together to stop the flood of frustrated tears from coming again.

"I couldn't exactly stop by. I was undercover." He shakes his head to flick away the thought. "But that's not important. The most important thing is that I missed you."

"Wow." The heavy slam of the glass in your hand from the cabinet against the counter punctuates the word. "I can't believe you."

"What did I do now?"

"That you would stoop that low to say that you missed me to get me to sleep with you. What is wrong with you-"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You show up here at night," You slam closed the cabinet. "Messing with my life all over again," Another cabinet slams. "and even though I've said several times that I want you to leave you keep hanging around making me think that you actually give a fuck."

It would help if you could remember where you hid the emergency bottle of scotch that one of the senior partners gifted you at Christmas, at least then you'd be a little more drunk and the possibility of remembering this conversation would be less.

"I do give a fuck!" Anger flashes in his eyes as he takes a step closer to where you're hovering in the kitchen. "You are being so unreasonable right now-"

"No, you don't-" You turn away from him reaching for another cabinet, hoping that this one will have the bottle you so desperately need. "You're here because you're bored. You've made it perfectly clear that you only want one thing from me and I'm not going to give it to you. Not anymore.”

Mark's hand comes down hard on your shoulder turning you fast into him that you drop the glass in your hand to the floor, sending the shards in every direction. Mark's gaze catches yours, green eyes burning through the light of your cramped kitchen, the feeling of his rough hands against the bare skin of your shoulders making the familiar shiver travel down your spine.

"I don't want one thing from you." Mark growls. "I want all of you. But I can't."

"Oh fuck you. How stupid do you think I am? That sounds like a ridiculous fuckboy line. I want to be with you, but I can't? Same as it’s not you it’s me. Come on-" You struggle to turn away, but Mark jerks you back to look at him.

"It's not a damn line and I don’t think you’re stupid. I can't." He says through gritted teeth, face contorted in frustration.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm-" Mark squeezes his eyes shut, jaw locked tight together. "Because there's no future with me!"

"What the hell you talking about? Is this about your job? How dangerous you think it is? Because I don't care what you do-"

"It's not about that."

"Then what is it?” You scream back at him. This entire situation was reaching ridiculous levels and all you wanted was for it to reach a head so he could leave and you could cry, really cry over the phone with Evie and Sam. "What is this big secret that you just can't-"

"I have cancer!" Mark shouts.

The statement sucks out all the air in the room. For a moment you're not sure you heard him right, but judging from the way he releases your shoulders and bows his head like he's been caught running with scissors you know you did. You blink at him, mouth opening and shutting in surprise. "What did you say-"

"I have cancer." He repeats. "Fucking brain cancer actually. Can you believe that after all the reckless shit I've done, I get taken out by something like cancer. Really?" Mark flashes a signature grin, but it doesn't reach his eyes and comes across more rueful, cruel. "Fuck-" He sighs.

You're not sure what's more surprising… the fact that he has cancer or the fact that Mark admitted that he did want more, the very thing that you’d been hoping for since the moment he sauntered into your life.

Mark goes back to the couch in your living room to find his beer, taking a swig before he sits down. The leather forms around his body with a high pitched squeaking sound, the silence growing the longer he sits there.

"You don't know that." You say tentatively to his back.

"I do. Talked to a specialist, basically signed a death warrant." Mark mutters, running his hand over his face. His head is bowed, forearms braced against his muscular thighs as he stares down at your hardwood floor.

"What about chemo?" You ask him as you take a step closer, still a little unsure.

"No point."

"Surgery?"

"Inoperable."

"How do you know that?"

"That's what the doc said."

He hasn't looked at you since he said the 'c' word, almost as if he's ashamed to admit it, as if there's some part of him that thinks you'll think less of him for being vulnerable, for being human.

You sit beside him on the couch, measuring your next words. "And you just listened to him? Took his word for it?"

"Yes? What else was I supposed to do? Why would he lie about something like that?"

You nod for a second, quietly contemplating the entire situation. Well, you were, until you decided to get angry again. The pomegranate beaded pillow comes down hard against Mark's unprotected shoulder with the force of your swing.

He looks up at you, eyes wide in surprise. "What the hell was that for?"

You bring it down hard again, and he shifts up off the couch to get away from you, but you follow, chasing behind him and brandishing the pillow.

"Stop! What are you doing?!" Mark holds up his hands moving around the back of the couch with you in close pursuit.

"I can't believe you! You're just sitting back and letting this take you? You who are the most stubborn man I've ever met in my entire life is giving up?!” You shriek, going in for another swing that Mark dodges.

"I am not giving up! I'm still working!"

"Oh good. Glad to hear that you're recklessly throwing yourself into your job. What a typical Meachum move." You hit him again.

"Stop it! I am not-" Mark huffs out a breath, holding one of his arms up to protect his face. "What else are you suggesting? It's fucking cancer!"

"Then we find you a new doctor!" You shout.

"What?"

"We get a second opinion!"

"But what if-"

You swing the lumpy purple pillow in an ungraceful arch to hit him in the shoulder, hoping to knock some sense into him because someone had to.

"No! ifs! We keep trying to find a solution. Until we find a doctor that understands that Mark Meachum isn't just going to sit on his ass and let something like this beat him! Mark Meachum is not going to go quietly into the night damn it!"

He's looking at you like you're crazy and maybe you are. Maybe you care way too much for the man who has annoyed you to death all night long, but you don't care. All you cared about was him, even if he didn't want to be more than friends or whatever the fuck the two of you were, you weren't going to let him sit and wallow like a jilted bride.

There's irony in there somewhere.

"I cannot believe that you would just sit back and-" You begin to say, but you don't get far.

Mark's body crashes into you, tackling you back against the leather couch so fast that you don't have time to take a breath. The pillow tumbles from your hand onto your hardwood floor.

His mouth molds against yours, lips soft and urgent, his beard burning pleasantly against your cheeks.

"Mark what are you doing-"

"I've never understood how you do that."

"Do what?" You breathe.

"How you seem to know exactly what to say to make me lose my damn mind." His thumb rubs over your swollen bottom lip. "Fuck, each time I come here you always kick my ass into gear. I don't know what it is, you're like a damn unicorn."

Emotion builds in your chest as he stares down at you. "Mark I'm being serious, I can't do this to myself again. I-"

"You won't have to." Mark murmurs, brushing his lops back against yours so earnest, so differently than all the other times he'd kissed you that it pulls the air from your lungs.

It's like muscle memory the way he feels on top of you, the rough grate of his stubble rubbing against your cheeks, your heels locking behind his waist as he makes a home for himself between your thighs, and your hands coming up to hold both sides of his cheeks as if you never wish to let him go.

The rational part of your mind has gone silent, the animal released from it's cage as you lose yourself in everything Mark is. His body is hard and unyielding where it rests on top of yours, his hands trailing fire across your chest and down to your hips, finding the familiar curve of your thighs where you've trapped him in. He makes a sound in the back of his throat that you echo, the only thought in your mind fueled by the fear of losing him.

Because it was there, anchored just under your heart where you'd hidden it for the past nine months while you tried to ignore how much you thought about him.

He pulls back, large hands tight on your waist, thumbs moving in soothing circles around the curve of your pelvis. Mark's green eyes have gone dark, pupils so wide that you're not sure what's the stormy green and what has faded to black.

"You really don't care?" Mark breathes.

"Care about what?" Your hands cup his cheeks, gaze urgently searching his and trying to find some clarity. "You? Of course I care about you. I wish I didn't."

"No." He shakes his head with a painful smile. "That we'd have an expiration date?"

"Like a dairy product? A best if used by? Those aren't exactly the most reliable."

The joke makes him chuckle, the vibration of it working up through his chest, dragging along your own nerve endings where he's pressed against you. "You don't think it's a waste of time?" Something vulnerable flashes in his eyes, something that you'd never seen before.

"No." You shake your head, thumb stroking across his cheekbones as you pull his face down to yours once more. "Not if it means that I got to be with you. Having all the time in the world is overrated, plus I'm sure that you’d annoy me to death way before you kicked the bucket."

"Somebody has to."

His lips meet yours again, hands dragging down your curves in a way that makes you gasp and arch upwards into his chest while working your fingers into the dark hair at the nape of his neck to pull him impossibly tighter against you, wanting to drown in everything he was, afraid to let him go for even a second.

"Will you go out with me?" Mark whispers against your lips.

"I thought you'd never ask."

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! The comments really keep me going!

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