OLD WRITING

___

"N-NO, I'LL BE w-working t--then," Mark managed into the phone speaker, talking to one of his friends, Jack. "How d-does Sund-day sound?" There was a mumble in his ear as he walked down the busy streets of LA, heading to a sweet little cafe by the name of 'mutiny.'

Sun was shining down, baking the streets and raising the temperature. People walked to and fro, some walking leashed dogs or chatting with their friends. Mark was still talking to his Irish friend on the phone, glancing around the busy sidewalks as he spoke.

"A d-double da-te?" he muttered, heat spreading across his features. "Y-you know I'm not se-eing anyone." There was a teasing phrase on the line. "How a-about I bring a f-friend; c-an Tyler c-come?"

Mark barely dodged a bicycle as it flew past him. "O-okay, that s-sounds go-od. 5 P.M?" The male rounded a corner, the small cafe in view. He smiled, ready to hang up. "S-see you then."

The male looked down as he slipped his phone into his pocket, yelping when he bumped into someone. Coffee was spilt, and a feeling of dread washed over Mark. People in this busy city could be bity.

"Oh G-God, I'm so s-sorry!" he spluttered, wide eyes looking up into calm crimson. His throat went dry, face heating up as the newcomer, dressed in an excellent suit that was just ruined, kindly smiled at him. He made a waving hand gesture as if saying 'it's okay,' picking up the coffee cup and throwing it away in the nearest waste bin. The man in the suit brushed himself of the hot beverage, waving a small goodbye to Mark; the gesture gave him some confusion.

"W-wait!" he called, making the stranger stop. "I'm r-really sor-ry, please let m--me get you a n-new one." The man shook his head, kindly smiling again. But before he could head off, Mark grabbed his hand and dragged him inside. "I-I feel re-ally bad, I really a-am sorry," he apologized under his breath. The stranger looked down at him with a blank look an interested toddler would wear, eyes staring and face relaxed.

The cafe was bustling with customers, all of their voices a loud murmur. Mark hastily retrieved some napkins, face burning red as he shyly handed them to the stranger.

"S-sorry. . . again. . . that's s-such a nice s-suit," he mumbled as the man took the napkins, lightly drying himself off. Mark stared at the other, admiring his features-- the glossy raven hair; those piercing yet calm scarlet eyes; a wonderfully set frame. He quickly snapped out of it. "Ah! I-I'll get your coffee n-now, w-what did you. . . h-have before?"

The stranger slipped out a piece of paper, handing it to Mark. He already knew that trying to decline the stuttering male's offer was futile.

Mark nodded, gripping the paper that read 'black coffee, please.' He ignored the odd fact why someone would write down such a simple order. "O-okay, I'll b-be right b-back," he said, quickly heading off into line. The stranger watched him, an amused smile on his face. He headed over to one of the tables for two, pulling out a small, worn notebook and a pen. A few moments later, Mark returned with a cup of steaming black coffee.

"H-here you go," he muttered shyly, eyes downcast. The stranger smiled, giving a thankful nod and motioning for the other to sit. Mark's face went red. "Y-you want me to sit?" The man nodded, and Mark hesitated before sitting in front of him.

"I--uhm--" The stranger lifted up a finger with a small smile, and Mark instantly shut himself up. Pen gracefully gliding across the paper, the man wrote a quick note, turning it towards Mark. The male blinked, glancing at the stranger before reading it.

'You really didn't have to,' it read. When Mark glanced up, the stranger motioned to the coffee.

"I-I didn't want to be an a-asshole or anyth-thing," he said, trying not to get lost in the other's red eyes. "It's the b-best I can do."

The stranger smiled, sliding the notebook towards himself and writing a few words before turning it back towards Mark.

'Thank you,' the words read beneath the last sentence. 'There aren't many people like you.'

Mark blushed, glancing at the stranger for a moment. He looked back down. "Same to y-you," he stuttered. "M-most people would g-get angry."

He stared at the note blankly, admiring the elegant script scrawled in black ink. Something clicked in his head. "A-are. . . are you a m--mute?" he hesitantly asked. The stranger nodded, writing something on the notebook again.

"Since I was 11."

"Wow. . ." Mark murmured when he read the words, glancing up at the stranger. "Ahm--" He sent the stranger a sheepish smile as he took the pen from his fingers, writing down something on the notebook. This way, it felt fair; the stranger had to write all of his responses, meanwhile Mark had the ease of voicing them aloud (with mild troubles).

"Is it hard?" Mark wrote, glancing into the other's eyes. The stranger nodded, but an amused smile flitted across his features; it humoured him to see Mark writing as well.

"Removing the means of verbal communication make life quite difficult," the stranger wrote back. He grinned, exhaling as if it were a silent laugh. "I can't talk on a phone very well."

Mark chuckled softly, heat coming to his face. He smiled at the stranger, who shared the gesture and wrote a bit more.

"Thankfully, I learned sign language," the stranger wrote. "But it still limits who I can talk to."

Mark nodded, staring off for a moment. He didn't take the pen and notebook, hesitantly glancing up. "I've. . . a-always consid-ered b-being a m--mute by c-choice," he quietly breathed. An emotion shifted in the stranger's eyes. "B-because of m--my stutter; P-people make f--fun of me f-for it."

The stranger shook his head, turning to a new page. "Don't do it," he wrote. "Not worth it."

Mark hummed, frowning in the slightest. The man continued to write.

"No matter what you do in life, there will always be people who will criticize you. There will be people who will make fun of you-- hurt your feelings. But they don't matter; the people that matter are the people who are close to you. The ones who care about you." The stranger looked up at Mark for a second before continuing. "Trying to please everyone around you will only make you sadder in the end. Focus on your happiness."

Mark read over the words, his heart feeling light. He smiled at the stranger. "T-thanks for th-that," he whispered, staring down at the notebook. There was a short pause between them before the stranger wrote again.

"What's your name?"

"Mark Fischbach."

The stranger smiled. "Damien Edwards; but you can call me Dark."

Mark smiled, his grin growing wide. He shyly presented his hand, and when Dark shook it, a shot of electricity zipped through his veins.

"N-nice meeting y-you," he said happily, earning a nod in return. The stranger shyly glanced away for a moment before hesitantly writing something down.

"Would you like to be friends?"

Mark blushed, heart fluttering. "O-of course!" he said excitedly. "I-I mean--" Mark clamped his mouth shut, face a light red; anymore speaking and he might just not be able to be understood. Damien smiled at this, amusement over his features.

The two "spoke" for a while more, the sky outside growing darker as time passed. Customers thinned, the hush of their voices now quieting. Baristas behind the bar exhaled in relief, resting for a while.

"Oh! I-I should g-get hom-e," Mark stuttered, glancing out at the darkening sky. His new friend smiled and nodded, slipping his notebook into his pocket and standing. The two headed outside, where the city lights were bright and flashing. Their hands brushed as they stood side by side, making Mark stiffen and blush.

"Um--" he glanced away. "Would y-you like to. . . see e-each other again? M--maybe m-meet some of my f-friends?"

Dark smiled, glancing down at the other with glimmering scarlet eyes. He nodded, pulling him into a sudden hug. Mark's heart leapt in his throat and his face heated up further, hesitantly hugging back.

"I, uh--"

Dark pulled away, his cheeks a deeper shade; it made the other's heart flutter to see him blush. 'Thank you,' he signed; Mark understood. 'Very much.'

Mark smiled, bowing his head. "Y-you too," he murmured, glancing away. There was a short silence between them, filled with the rushing sound of cars driving by and the occasional barking dog.

"S-so. . . Sund-day at f-five P.M? M-my friend a-and his d-date will be th-there."

Dark smiled, sweeping his eyes towards the cafe as if asking 'the same place?' Mark nodded.

"G-guess I'll s-see you s-soon then," the male shyly said, face warm. Dark bowed his head in agreement, smiling and kindly waving him goodbye. Mark returned the gesture, watching the other leave with a smile on his face and a fluttering heart.

.

The two, Damien and Mark, began to see each other on a regular basis. They had an array of little cafe dates, walked together in the park, spent the night at Mark's house; overall, the two grew very close, always happy to see one another. They were practically inseparable.

"You should so ask him out!" Jack's voice rang out of the phone's speaker. Mark cringed, leaning away from his phone for a second.

"I c-can't do th-that! W-what if it r-r-ruins our f-friendship?" There was a disappointed sigh.

"Remember when you first introduced me and Singe to him? That little Sunday date?"

Mark blushed at the thought; they had been rather crammed into the booths that day. "Y-yeah?"

"You two were pretty close-lookin' ta me," his friend chuckled. "You should really see tha way you two look at each other, though-- makes me wanta vomit."

"H-hey!" the male piped, puffing out his cheeks and furrowing his brows. Jack laughed.

"That's a good thing, calm yer horses!" his friend snickered. "Really, though. I think you should ask him on a date. Not like you two don't do that enough, anyway," he added under his breath. The quieter statement made Mark's face heat up.

"T-those aren't d-dates," he stubbornly said. "J-just friends h-hanging out."

His friend sighed, and Mark could imagine him rolling his eyes. "Oh, whatever, ya loverbird," he chuckled. "Question is, though: do you like him?"

Mark's heart leapt in his throat at the words, and he looked down at the floor, picking at the fluffy sheets of his bed. "I. . ." He looked through the window that he faced, not focusing on anything. "Y-yeah. . ."

"Well, if ye aren't gonna ask him out, why not drop some hints? Get a little closer than you already are?"

Mark scoffed at the last statement with a little smirk, but his amusement fell. "W-what if he d-doesn't feel t-the same w-way, though? He's s-s--smart; what if h-he t-tries pushing m--me away!" His friend was silent for a moment.

"Trust me, Mark; when I said that you should see how you two look at each other, I meant it-- It's like the two of you finally found your soulmates. He likes you too much. Even if he doesn't feel the same way, I'm positive that he won't just leave you like that."

"But w-what if he does?" Mark firmly said. Jack sighed, a silence stretching over the phone for a moment.

"He's not that type of person," he breathed. There was a pause. "Listen, me and Signe are going to an orchestra at the Grand Hall this Saturday; it starts at 6 P.M. You should take a little break from Dark and come with us. I've got an extra ticket for you."

Mark hummed, the idea of being able to go into such a prodigious estate alluring. He gave up and sighed. "Yeah, th-that sounds nice." He smirked. "It's about t-time I b-become a th-third wheel a-again," he snickered. Jack playfully scoffed.

"Yeah, yeah; so I'll see you at 6 P.M. tomorrow?"

"Mhm. S-see you th-then."

.

"Would you like to hang out again tomorrow?" Dark wrote in his new notebook, which was already half-full with their previous conversations. The two were sitting on a local bench, the sky dark yet again; their little hang-out sessions lasted hours, for they always lost track of time.

Mark paused for a second. "I'm going to a concert with Jack and Signe tomorrow," he wrote with his own pen, which was a light shade of red. A dog barked somewhere nearby, momentarily ruining their calm silence. When Damien read the words, interest glimmered in his eyes. He glanced over at Mark.

"Where?" he quickly wrote. There was a little sinking feeling Mark's chest; this was so he could get some time away from the other! Immediately, he felt guilty for thinking that, replying simply:

"The Grand Hall at 6 P.M."

Dark paused for a moment, staring at the piece of paper. His scarlet eyes glanced into Mark's hazel one's.

"I'm going there, too."

"Re-ally?" Mark asked aloud, looking at the other. He noticed his slightly tense frame; a gesture that the mute one did when he wanted to say something. "Something w--wrong?" Dark shook his head.

"After the performance-- would you like to meet up?"

Mark smiled, the offer irresistable. With a nod, he wrote: "I'd love to."

.

"And wear something nice," Jack was mumbling in the phone as Mark tried fastening on a bow tie. It was an honor to be able to go to the Grand Hall, and it would be filled with the rich.

"Already a-am," he said, running a hand through his hair and looking at himself through the mirror. He slipped on his suit jacket, smiling at the sight. "Oh-- J-Jack. . ."

"Yeah?" was the voice that came from the speaker phone. Mark sighed, picking up the phone and pressing it to his ear, turning off the lights to his room and readying himself to leave.

"Damien's c-coming."

There was a sound of protest and confusion. "Wha-- I thought this was to take a break from him?"

"I m-m--mentioned it to h-him; he s-said that he w-was already g-going."

Jack sighed. "Oh well, we can't do anything about it."

Mark left his house, locking the door and starting up his car. "W-we're gonna m--meet up after the c-concert," he mumbled, glancing around a few times before he began to drive down the road. "S-sorry. . ."

His friend sighed, chuckling. "You two really can't be separated," he said with amusement. "At least you won't be the third wheel anymore, right?" Mark smiled, blushing.

"Yeah. S-see you soon, J-Jack." With that, he hung up, continuing the drive to the Grand Hall.

It was obvious when he was in close proximity to the prodigious building. The Grand Hall was one of sparkling divinity, shining gold with its bright lights and tall greek columns. The parking lot was packed, and Mark was lucky to get a spot near the entrance.

He exited his car, locking it and walking towards the building. There were many people entering, a few security officers standing by the doors. Mark's breath hitched when he entered, looking up at the glittering interior of the Grand Hall.

Like the famous Sistine Chapel, paintings adorned the sloping ceilings; there were gold designs etched into the cream-colored walls; a glistering, white-crystal chandelier hung from the fanciful ceilings, casting lovely light over the citizens among the hall.

Mark glanced around, spotting Jack and Signe. He smiled when they, too, spotted him, and he walked up to them.

"Hey, g-guys!" he greeted.

"Hello, Mark," Signe politely said, her brown locks elegantly curled. She looked beautiful as always.

"We already turned in our tickets," Jack said, his blue eyes motioning to little stations that had long lines. He handed over a small square-shaped item, which was thicker than paper. "We get the good seats. Ready to go?"

The three of them headed off into the theatre entrances, and Mark glanced around for a second, unconsciously looking for Damien. Where could he be?

An usher directed them to their seats, and they sat down in comfortable seats. The only lights in the room were focused on a stage that was at the very bottom of the theatre; it was circular, and many rows of performers sat facing the conductor's podium. They held an array of glittering instruments, each facing their own stands that held their music. A black grand piano was near the middle of the semicircular arrangement of performers, its lid propped up welcomingly. Mark admired it all, looking around.

The hall was absolutely huge; the theatron held rows upon rows of seats before and behind them, all curved in the slightest to surround the bright stage. There were booths set into the sides of the fancy walls, where the VIPs sat luxuriously. A light murmur of chatter settled over the waiting audience. Mark looked at the piano, wondering who would play it.

"This is awesome, isn't it?" Jack whispered, glancing around with wonder in his eyes. Mark nodded, entranced with the place.

"Thanks f-for inviting m-me," Mark said, quickly shutting up when someone's voice rang over the prodigious theatre, echoing with a welcoming tone.

"Welcome, everyone, ladies and gentlemen, to the Los Angeles Eroica Orchestra! We hope you've all accommodated to your seats well," the voice boomed. Mark glanced around, relaxing into his seat. The voice went over rules about the orchestra-- being mindful of others and when to leave and reenter-- and then a rush of applause erupted through the audience.

"Now, welcome our conductor Vernon Elsing!"

A portly man, dressed in a black suit and bowtie, walked across the stage, stepping onto the raised podium. He faced the enormous crowd, bowing to them before turning to the orchestra; in his hands was a thin, silver baton that gleamed in the lights. The orchestra stirred at the sight of him.

"Mr. Elsing has been conducting at the Eroica Orchestra for thirteen years, presenting us with stunning pieces each year. And, recently, he has found an excellently talented pianist, who has played for these concerts for five years now." Mark's attention was raised a bit more. "Please welcome Damien Edwards, our pianist this evening."

Mark's eyes widened. "What--?!" he merely exclaimed, clapping a hand over his mouth. A few people glared at him, but he paid no mind, his surprised eyes only following Dark as he gracefully walked on stage, bowing and seating himself on the pianist's seat. Jack looked over at his friend with equally wide eyes, Signe with a similar expression.

"Did you know he was a pianist?" the Irishman whispered. Mark shook his head, staring at Dark, whose hands were in his lap.

"Not a-at all," he breathed. That's why he acted weird.

They had to repress their surprise and jitteriness, for the announcer had just stated the upcoming piece. The audience went deathly quiet, and as the conductor raised his baton, and the performers readied themselves, they began to play an impressive piece. Mark swore his heart stopped when he heard the elegant notes from the black grand piano, his breath taken away.

Why didn't he ever tell me? Mark thought as his mouth hung open, still completely struck.

Mark watched with awe, heart beating fast. The hall was filled with alluring music, swaying the audience. But his eyes were only focused on Damien-- his perfect stature; his formal appearance; the way he played the piano with such emotion. It was as if the piano were a part of him.

.

The hall echoed with roaring applause as the final piece came to an end; all of the performers stood, bowing lowly. Mark sniffled, the whole event toying with his emotions; Jack and Signe chuckled at the male's reactions, still stunned from the excellent performance.

"And that was the Eroica Orchestra, pleased to give you another year of sacred music!" the voice echoed around the hall again.

People began to file out, the ushers guiding everyone to the exits. Mark stared at Damien as he walked away from the piano, shaking hands with Mr. Elsing before they disappeared backstage. The male smiled, heart feeling light as he followed his friends out of the theatre.

"That was crazy awesome," Jack mumbled, chuckling as they filed into the lobby they had came in from. It was crowded, everyone's shoulders brushing against one another's every few seconds. Mark nodded.

"I-I still c-can't believe th-that Dark p-played!" the male stuttered, glancing around the room. "Y-you've gotta have a m--miracle to be a-able to join Eroica."

Signe nodded. "I know right! I just wonder why he never told you."

"M-m--maybe he thought I'd n-never believe h-him," the male hummed, smiling. There was another stir in the crowd, and Mark's heart sped up when he spotted those gleaming scarlet eyes.

"Excellent performance, sir."

"You really know how to twist the heart, young man!"

People shook Damien's hand as he walked through the crowd, smiling politely. He paused when he spotted Mark, his eyes glimmering as he headed over. Mark pulled the mute into a tight hug, startling him.

"Why d-didn't you ever t-tell me!" he exclaimed, grinning. "Y-you did a-awesome!"

Dark smiled, bowing his head in thanks. Jack smirked, tapping Mark's shoulder.

"We're gonna go, lovebird," he whispered with a snicker. The male blushed bright red.

"Th-thanks again f-for inviting m-me," he spluttered, smiling and waving as the Irishman headed off with his girlfriend. Mark looked back up at the other, heart fluttering when he met those calm red eyes. The mute made a motion as if to say 'come,' leading Mark out of the busy estate.

Outside, people were still filing out, the night air warm with a chilled bite to its breeze. The sky was a rich color of midnight, speckled with shy stars and highlighted by the bright moon.

The two walked down the moonlit path, shoulders brushing against one another.

"D-do y-you have your n-n--notebook on y-you?" Mark muttered, glancing over at the other. Damien shook his head, giving his friend an apologetic look.

'Forgot,' he motioned in sign language. He had to sign in simpler sentences, for Mark's knowledge of the language was limited. 'You coming made me nervous.'

Mark blushed at this, smiling. "Did I-I r-really?" The mute comedically shrugged, giving a silent chuckle.

'A little,' he responded.

They continued to walk, and a bench came into view, to which they seated themselves on.

"What m-made you s-s--start learning th-the p-piano?" the stuttering male softly said, turning to face his friend with gleaming hazel eyes. It was a bit awkward for him to be the only one speaking; he was used to writing in the notebook, as well.

'I always thought that the piano was beautiful,' he signed. 'So, one day, when I decided to run away from home, I found one in a thrift store and began to play.' He smiled at the memory, looking over at Mark. So far, the male understood what he signed out, and he continued. 'The man there was nice, and he taught me the basics. He would always let me play when I wanted.' A sad look came to his eyes. 'I played because it kept me going. It gave me comfort.'

Dark softly sighed, leaning against the bench. 'Ever since I lost my voice from what my father did to me, music was all I had,' he continued to sign. There was a slight pause. 'The piano is like my voice.'

Mark stared in awe, admiration and a tinge of sympathy in his eyes. He carefully took Damien's hand, looking down and softly running his thumb along the knuckles. "It m-m--makes sense-- the p-piano being y-your voice I m-mean. I c-can practically hear th-the emotion when y-you play." He glanced up, noticing that Dark's cheeks had darkened. In the moonlight, his greyish skin looked paler and smoother.

The mute smiled at his friend, gratitude showing in his scarlet orbs. He gave a small exhale and scooted closer, gently pulling his hand away from the other's butterfly-like grip.

'I'm very glad that I met you, Mark,' he signed, the motions almost shy. 'Thank you. For staying with me for so long.' The male blushed, glancing away.

"I-I don't see who wouldn't s-stay with y-you," he quietly mumbled, shyly glancing at the other. "B-but I'm g-glad I m-m--met you, t-too."

Damien smiled, bowing his head in the slightest. Though a silence gently settled upon them, it was a comfortable one. The two friends sat together in solace, the moonlight highlighting the earth and gleaming through the dark sheet of the night.

Mark glanced over at Dark, brown eyes meeting crimson. Slowly, they found themselves leaning closer, hands lightly brushing. Mark's heart skyrocketed, pounding in his Adam's apple as his face burned red. Time seemed to slow-- only the two of them in that one moment-- as their lips brushed. Mark lightly exhaled, the contact like a strike of electricity. And, before he knew it, their lips met, and Dark gently pulled him closer, the heat of their bodies intermixing.

When they pulled away, Dark's cool and was still cupping Mark's face, and the male hummed, leaning into the touch. "I-I love you, D-Damien," he breathed, staring into the other's crimson eyes.

And though he knew he couldn't respond, he could see it in Dark's eyes.

He loved him, too.

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word count; 4267

well, i hope this was alright! do tell your thoughts, if you wish ^-^

thank you so much for reading and have a fantastic day/night!

-sheera