T W O
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Jack was instantly awake, flying into a sitting position, his heart nearly hurtling out of his chest. Playing many horror games, sounds such as knocks set him on edge, especially with him being so sleep-deprived. His mind started playing tricks on him, then.

For a moment, Jack wondered if it all was another trick. So he waited, and he waited. No further sound emitted. About to blow it off, Jack began to doze, when another knock came. Louder, more persistent. He was unable to deny it this time.

He scrambled to his feet and rushed to the door, peeking through the peephole as he did so. It was an odd habit he'd picked up, most likely from, again, all the games he played.

His stomach flipped when he saw familiar dark red hair. Could it be—Mark? he wondered, his eyes widening. He was immediately alert as he flung open the door, his breath quickening. "Mark!" He greeted as soon as it was fully ajar.

Mark looked up at him and smiled, but something about him was. . . Off. Jack dismissed the weird feeling and gave a weak laugh of relief. "You had me—and your fans—so worried!" He shrieked, nudging the man's shoulder a bit angrily. "Where were you?"

Mark's smile remained, and it was beginning to become a bit unsettling. His whole demeanor was different, Jack noted. His skin seemed paler, somehow. His usually warm brown eyes were dark, flat. Expressionless. Shadowed bags highlighted beneath them, accenting his dreary look. It was all quite alarming.

"You look horrible, man. What happened?" He inquired further, noticing that Mark still hadn't responded to his previous questions.

Mark's smile faded slightly as he finally replied. "Oh, you know. . . Just stuff. I had to take care of some things, is all. But it's fine now. I'm fine, now."

Jack felt a small shiver go up his spine, and he frowned. It wasn't that cold, was it? Or maybe it was Mark's voice. It was, surprisingly, deeper than usual—and Mark's voice was deep. It was odd. There were slight catches in his tone now and then, though they were barely noticeable. It was all very, very strange.

"What kind of stuff and things did you take care of?" Jack prodded, trying to aim for small-talk. Instead, he got a crippling look from Mark, so intense it made his heart skitter nervously.

His smile had disappeared as he spoke, but then it reappeared again. Slowly but surely, inching its way onto his lips. "You want to know what I took care of?" He asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Um, yeah. . . That was what I asked. . ." Jack coughed, his brow creasing. Mark was definitely not alright. Jack was, for some reason, tempted to slam the door in his face, lock it, and hide forever in his room. It was the strangest urge; hadn't he spent ages looking for Mark? Now all he wanted to do was get away from him.

Mark suddenly pushed past him and inside. The movement was so forceful and so abrupt it made Jack stumble and crash into the doorway. He grimaced as he hit his shoulder. Muttering curses, he trudged after Mark, but not before slamming the door closed.

"You know, you've got a lot of nerve," Jack fumed, suddenly very frustrated. "Vanishing for three weeks, three weeks, without a word, then suddenly reappearing and looking like absolute death, with the worst attitude—"

Mark spun around, his eyes flashing. Something about him turned dangerous, was dangerous. A predator stalking it's prey. Jack swallowed and stepped back nervously, his face draining of all color.

"What did you say?" Mark hissed, jaw clenched. Daring him to repeat himself.

So Jack being Jack did, and the results weren't pretty.