It doesn't take them to long before they find their way out – there's a few close calls when they almost brush against each other again, but after the second time Sabo claims a chill and pulls on his jacket again.
The rides are starting to shut down, and it seems eerie now that the sounds have started to dull. Only music can be heard streaming into the cool night air, and Marco glances upwards to try and see if he can spot the stars now that some of the carnival's lights are out.
Clouds cover the sky, though, and he gives a small frown, directing his attention back to Sabo and refusing the urge to brush against him. To see if their skin would Spark again if they touched.
Their conversation is filled with quiet, meaningless things as they exit the carnival and start the trek back to Marco's car, but then Sabo stops.
Obligingly, Marco stops with him, trying to see Sabo's face in the shadows cast by the tree he's frozen under. He breathes out a huge sigh, and then seems to gather his courage.
"Do you- do you still like him?" Sabo asks, and Marco can't help but hesitate, unable to stop staring at Sabo, trying to read what he wants Marco to say. "You don't have to answer if you don't want-"
"I won't steal him from you if that's what you're worried about," Marco mutters, wishing that his heart would stop aching because the words were true but God it still somehow hurts so much to say them. "I'm just glad he's happy."
Sabo's silent again, and the night seems frozen around them, heavy with the weight of something that should be said – is it an apology? An admittance?
Rain begins to drip on Marco's shoulder before the silence breaks, and then suddenly the clouds tip buckets; water pours down around them in a flash, and Marco can't help but splutter, feeling his hair start to get plastered to his cheeks and his neck.
Sabo doesn't do much better, and neither of them stick around to continue their conversation. Marco takes off running for Izo's car, fumbling for the keys at the same time. Now that he needs them, of course, they're nowhere to be found, and he fumbles in his pockets before he finally manages to pull out the keys and unlock the car.
He slips inside with a sigh of relief, hearing rain drum on the roof. As he silently prays for Izo's car to work, Sabo collapses onto the passenger seat, lips brimming with laughter as he tries (and fails) to brush water off his hands.
The engine rumbles to life, and he heaves a mental prayer of thanks, flicking on the headlights and the windshield wipers.
Marco peers out into the darkness and purses his lips, careful. The mood from before is broken, but he doesn't want to be forced into an awkward conversation if he offers to take Sabo home-
At the same time, though, unreasonable protectiveness surges in his chest at the thought of Sabo trying to make his way home in this weather, and he gives a quiet mental sigh, relinquishing the battle before it takes to many casualties and he has to admit to more than what he wants too right now.
"What's your address, yoi?"
Sabo looks surprised, blinking at him, and water drips off his eyelashes and glimmers on his lower lip. Then, he smiles and Marco forces himself to concentrate on Sabo's eyes instead, trying to convince his heart to keep beating.
"You can just drop me off at the bus stop, Marco. It's fine."
I used to be so much more eloquent, Marco thinks ruefully as he struggles to figure out how to get his tongue to co-operate. "I- it's fine, Sabo. This weather is awful."
Sabo wavers, staring out the window at the sky, and Marco can see the moment he gives in. His smile is grateful when he turns back, eyes crinkled just slightly at the edges, and Marco can't help but wish he could delude himself into thinking he hasn't been noticing these tiny details about Sabo for weeks now. "Thanks," he says, and rattles off an address that Marco plugs into Izo's GPS quickly. As he plugs his seatbelt in, however, Sabo opens his mouth with a grin and says, "I hope you don't expect a kiss on the first date, even if you are taking me home."
Sabo's tone makes it a joke, Marco knows it's a joke, and yet-
The memory of blue Sparks tease his thoughts, and on top of that is the knowledge that Marco's never kissed anyone he'd Sparked with (Ace is – was – his only Spark, and he's never ever kissed Ace and felt a tingle of electricity on his lips).
What would it feel like, for skin to touch skin? For a Spark to jump between them as their lips graze, to know that who he's kissing will kiss him back for love and not curiosity-
Marco's thoughts stumble to a halt.
There's an assumption on his part, honestly. An assumption that twists his stomach into smaller and smaller knots, and that's that Sabo would even kiss him for love.
Because Sabo already has someone he's in love with.
From the corner of his eye, Marco can see Sabo shift uncomfortably, his head turning briefly towards Marco before he decides to stare at the rain tracing patterns on the windowpane.
There's a long, awkward silence, and Marco can feel something heavy in his throat as he focuses back on the road.
The ride's too long when they don't speak through it, but thankfully the rain has started to slow as Marco pulls into Sabo's driveway, engine rumbling quietly as the car rolls to a stop.
"Thanks, Marco." Sabo says, and gives Marco a smile that does something stupid to his chest and makes his face flicker briefly into a frown before he can stop it.
"No problem, yoi." He returns, offering his own smile back, and Sabo cautiously looks out the window, cracking the door open when he sees that the rain has mostly stopped. As he gets out, however, Marco remembers with startling clarity that Sabo'd been the one to tell Ace originally about Marco's feelings, and he quickly lunges forwards, grabbing onto Sabo's jacket. Sabo looks at him in surprise, head cocked to the side, and Marco has to swallow before he can speak. "Look, Sabo, can you- I mean-," he takes a deep breath, and finally blurts, "Please don't tell Ace I still like him. I don't- I can't ruin our friendship again."
For a moment Sabo is still, and Marco's hand tightens on the wheel, unsure about what Sabo's going to do. What if he tells Ace, just to make sure that Marco's never going to have a chance? Sabo is Ace's soulmate, they'd Sparked, but yet...Marco is Ace's best friend.
It had been awkward enough between them when Ace had first found out that Marco had been lying about their Spark – Marco can't stand their friendship reverting back to strained silences and careful excuses.
However, Sabo only pauses in the darkness, and gives a tiny nod. "I promise I won't."
Then he slips out the door, and their fingers brush and Marco-
This time, Marco's the only one who catches the Sparks of blue static that follow their hands.
It's stupid, how Marco starts to jump when he sees Sabo. For almost a week after the carnival he can't stop himself from flinching when Sabo shows up, or frowning when he sees Sabo casually lean on Ace and the Sparks that flicker if their exposed skin touches. He knows it's stupid to fidget when Sabo gets close to him, because he knows that he's wearing his jacket and he's wearing his gloves, and Sabo is wearing a jumper and gloves, what does he have to be afraid of-?
But he can't help himself.
He can't help himself from tempting fate. He can't stop 'accidentally' getting to close to Sabo before he shies away, not wanting to know for sure.
He can't stop thinking, touch me again, prove that this was real, tell me you see it too, tell me you saw it.
Izo is, of course, the first person to figure it out. For an aromantic, he's surprisingly adept at figuring out romance. That, or he's just surprisingly adept at figuring out Marco.
"You and Sabo Sparked, didn't you?" he says, approaching it without preamble. Marco can't answer, shocked by the question, but his shock is answer enough to someone as perceptive as Izo. The pity that flashes across Izo's face stings, even if Marco knows he likely isn't aware of it. "Oh, Marco." Izo breathes, gently taking hold of his hand and giving a gentle squeeze, but Marco can't stand Izo looking at him like that. Like he would help if he could, but simply doesn't know how. "I'm sorry."
Marco can't look at him, biting the inside of his cheek. "It's fine, Izo." He says, breathing it out on a sigh. "I don't want to talk about it, yoi."
Izo nods, "I- there could still be another Spark, though. People don't just have- one soulmate-?"
"I've had two, Izo!" Marco laughs hollowly, angry, and the sound hurts his throat. He knows he shouldn't snap at Izo, knows Izo is only trying to help, that it isn't Izo's fault, but- false hopes always hurt that much more when they're ripped away. When he realises they never could've happened in the first place, and he'd tried so hard to hope, for nothing. "I found my second soulmate, just like you and Haruta always say I will, and he still doesn't love me!"
He laughs again, shoulders hunching, and then clenches his teeth together, jaw aching. "So- so just stop, alright? Don't- don't keep saying that."
Izo nods, expression still pained, but Marco can't look at him. He's still wondering what might've been, hating himself for wishing that he'd met Sabo first, or had just never met him or Ace at all.
He manages to limit his time with Ace for almost a week, and he's almost proud of himself for the success. He would be proud of himself for such a success, but guilt eats away at him; how's he supposed to explain what happened at the carnival with Sabo?
Or is this one of those things neither of them is going to mention again, like Sabo's hesitant question?
And then Ace decides to have a study date with Haruta, and Marco's plans on avoiding Ace until he figures out what to do goes down the drain. As soon as he sees Ace arriving he carefully excuses himself, and misses the hurt that flashes across Ace's face.
What he doesn't miss is his phone buzzing a few hours later, and when he opens it finds a text from Ace.
[Ace - 8:47 pm] hey do you mind if I stay the night?
He wants to say no-
He wants to say yes.
Marco laughs at himself for the indecision, and texts back,
[you - 8:48 pm] Yeah, don't let me hold you up. Hope study is going well. Tell Haruta I'll bring back dinner.
[Ace - 8:49 pm] See you soon! :3 Ace sends, and Marco's in the middle of putting his phone away when another text arrives.
His heart stops when he sees what it is, and for a moment he feels something tighten around his throat.
Then, he shoves it to the back of his mind, convinced it's just a slip.
It has to be. There's no possible way that Ace was thinking when he sent-
[Ace - 8:50pm]
When he comes home bearing pizza, Ace and Haruta are going over terminology in the warm glow of the kitchen.
He's about to escape again when Ace calls him over and asks Marco to help test them.
And so he stays, careful and quiet, and when he excuses himself to sleep they're talking about Ace staying the night. It's weird to think that Ace will be so close, that he's going to be sleeping over like he used to before this whole mess started, and he almost convinces himself that Ace will be gone when he wakes up, this midnight conversation only a dream.
But when he gets up in the morning Ace's stuff is still in the kitchen.
He walks into the living room, trying to find Haruta, but all he finds is Ace, drooling over their couch cushions.
Marco can see the even rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. There are faint purple smudges under Ace's eyes, and Marco, for a moment, allows himself to step forwards and kneel next to Ace, letting the tips of his fingers gently comb Ace's hair from his face.
There are no Sparks.
Marco's eyes go wide at the sight, his hand freezing, and he tries again, pressing his knuckles to Ace's cheek a little harder than he'd wanted in his panic, but there's no flash of blue, no tingle of electricity, and his heart thuds in his throat.
There's no off switch to this. He can't just think that he wants the Sparks to go away and they will, because that's never happened before and he's been trying for years, so why-
When-?
His mind jumps back the weeks, pulling up a memory that he's tried to bury because of the self-hatred that it makes him feel.
There'd been no Sparks when Marco had kissed Ace for the first time. Marco had just taken it to mean that maybe you didn't Spark when you kissed, or that because he'd tried to take something Ace hadn't consented to giving-
But what if it hadn't been? What if it'd been the precursor to this?
But that doesn't make sense! Marco's mind yells uselessly, and he remembers the Sparks that'd been visible when Ace had confronted him about it, and hugged him.
He rocks back on his heels to land with a soft thump on the ground, and digs his thumbs into his forehead, eyes squeezed shut.
None of this makes sense, Marco thinks to himself almost uselessly, mind tumbling and twisting, and he almost misses it when Ace slowly wakes and frowns at him. He doesn't miss Ace's sleep croaky voice, though.
"Hey-" Ace says, concern clear in his tone even though it's muddy and rough with sleep, "hey, Marco, what's wrong?"
Marco lifts his head, heart beating like a drum in the tight confines of his throat, and watches as Ace reaches out as though to touch him, before he stops and seems to realise what he's doing.
Of course he won't touch you, Marco thinks bitterly, forcing his hands to unlace and trying to rub the imprints of his nails out of his skin. Not after he got told you still Sparked.
He shakes his head, trying to tell Ace without words that everything's fine, because his throat still feels like a vice and he couldn't get sound from it if he tried, but Ace's frown deepens until Marco manages to croak out, "it was nothing, Ace."
And then, because he's an idiot, because he can't leave things alone, because he's both too clever and too stupid to know when to leave things lie, knows this is what will get Ace to drop the subject, says, "I just wanted to see if I still remembered what a Spark felt like. If we still Sparked."
Ace freezes, and Marco can see him swallow.
He probably feels sick, Marco notes in the back of his mind, watching the minuet expressions flicker across Ace's face. His mouth will feel like someone's held it closed, embarrassment and surprise and the first inklings of repulsion before he squashes it.
There's a brutal laugh building in the back of his throat at that thought, but he holds it back with ease, and watches Ace slowly sit up on the couch, fidgeting with his bracelet.
But when he speaks, it isn't the diversion that Marco has expected.
"Do you still-" Ace starts, and then stops, like the words are stuck on his tongue. "Do you still like me? Does it- still-?"
He doesn't even have to finish and it already feels a bit like Marco can't breathe. Like Ace's hesitant question has torn through his chest and wrapped around his lungs and is squeezing until all Marco knows is how much it hurts, but honestly he's been living like this for years and he's lost his breath so many times before that catching it is easier than it used to be.
I don't know, is what he thinks. I don't know. We don't Spark anymore, but when I look at you my heart still twists-
"I worked on getting over you," is what he says quietly, but he doesn't mention that he hasn't been successful, doesn't mention that even though he doesn't Spark visibly when they touch anymore, electricity still tingles under his skin.
Doesn't mention that no matter what happens, he'll probably always be that little-bit uncontrollably, irrevocably in love with Ace.
Ace smiles at him, and Marco wonders if Ace knows he's lying.
"Do you still Spark?" Ace asked, wanting – needing – to know if he was too late, and without hesitation Marco had replied,
"I worked on getting over you."
He wonders if this is what Marco has felt like, all those years ago when he realised that the person he liked wouldn't like him back.
Keeping quiet to hold onto the tentative promise of what he could have. The hope that friendship while fighting desire and adoration would be more than enough.
Ace isn't even completely sure about what he feels, but what he does know is that he's lost his chance.
"I- I think I like Marco."
Sabo stops, blinking at Ace. When Ace stiffens under his hands, gaze fastened on the wall, Sabo carefully resumes combing his hands through Ace's hair, trying to get Ace to calm before Sabo speaks.
Ace seems to take his silence as the prelude to something awful, however, and blurts out frantically, "I love you."
Sabo can't help the laugh that spills from his lips.
"I know that, stupid."
Ace blinks, and his tension bleeds into surprise.
"Oh," he says, and Sabo grins, gently tugging on Ace's hair and scratching his nails at the nape of Ace's neck, making him shiver.
"But, I- like someone else. The same way I like you."
"Marco," Sabo says plainly, and can see Ace fidget. Then, half to himself, "But it seems different if it's Marco, doesn't it."
Ace sighs, resting against Sabo's leg, and Sabo stops petting him because Ace's turned to look at him, expression both helpless and serious at the same time. "It shouldn't be."
It shouldn't be different if it's Marco, but if it's Marco whom he shares Ace with, Sabo doesn't think he'd mind.
"How do you know? It's not like anything to do with Marco has ever been particularly easy to understand."
Ace gives a small laugh at that, but his fingers still trace meaningless shapes on Sabo's skin, following that path of Sabo's almost non-existent freckles and old scar tissue.
"I don't think he likes me anymore, though," he admits quietly, and Sabo bites his lip, pulling Ace close and pressing a kiss to his forehead, because that's a new, hard-to-handle scar, and he doesn't know what to do but try and offer a bandaid to Ace's still-bleeding wound.
Sabo isn't expecting to see Marco the weekend after that conversation, but while he's shopping he finds himself almost quite literally running into Marco. It takes him a moment before he jumps to the realisation, and then he grins, feeling the slight strain. His hands tighten on his shopping basket, and he's glad that he wore a jumper today, not just because it was cold.
They chatter as they pick up their groceries, discussing everything but Ace, skillfully dodging what'd happened at the theme park with a skill that was almost impressive.
As they walk out and realise they're both going the same way, however, the ominous gray sky of the morning finally breaks and sends rain pouring down.
The rain strengthens from a drizzle to a full thunderstorm in a matter of seconds, and Sabo can't help his sudden, scrambled squawk. Laughter pours from his lips, and Marco ends up standing there and staring at him.
"C'mon then!" Sabo shouts, grabbing Marco's hand and pulling him to the closest shelter, which happens to be his bus stop, "Unless you want to get soaked."
Marco doesn't hesitate after that, and Sabo can feel Marco's hand slip more firmly into his own, fingertips pressing to the back of his hand. They sprint the last stretch to the bus stop, hands entangled, and then finally skid to a stop, the rain roaring down around them and wind still whipping through the open-aired shelter.
It sends Sabo's hair askew, even as he tries to wring some of it off and comb it into some semblance of order, and he can't help but give up after only a few seconds of struggle. There's no way his hair will lie flat after that sprint.
Marco shifts quietly next to him, already trying to get rid of some of the water clinging to him, and Sabo realises with a sudden start that they're holding hands.
Still holding hands, and Marco isn't wearing gloves. Sabo's mouth suddenly feels dry, all his senses gently on edge, like somehow this moment has gained some sort of strange clarity.
Marco has soft palms. Soft palms, with only tiny callouses, and his fingertips are cold. Two of their fingers are just barely interlaced, and Marco's hand twitches as he catches his breath. Pleasant shivers warm Sabo from the inside out, racing through his hand and up and down his spine, igniting butterflies in his stomach and sending tingles like sparks of electricity racing through him.
Sparks, he muses almost idly, and then thought erupts in his brain and his head jolts to his and Marco's clasped hands. Blue flickers gently along the edges, popping and crackling silently like a mimicry of the lightning outside, and Sabo can't help his instinctive reaction. He yanks his hand away, a low cry on his lips as he stumbles backwards and shakes his hand, trying to get rid of the stubborn Sparks still clinging to his skin.
Marco, eyes wide with surprise, jolts forwards to catch him until he sees what Sabo is doing. Then, he stops, hands frozen to help before he returns them to his side.
Sabo's throat feels tight when Marco turns away from him to stare out at the rain, rubbing his thumb along the side of his knuckles. Sabo can almost imagine him still feeling the phantom tingle of Sparks upon his skin, thoughts consumed by the smallest sensation of them that still remains.
The slate grey light makes it hard to see Marco's face; the shadows cast by the roof make it even harder, and yet-
Yet, Sabo can still see the tiniest downturn to Marco's mouth. It pulls at his heart, plucking sinews out of place and resettling them into some sort of unidentifiable, painful shape. He doesn't know what to say. It's a weird feeling for someone with such a clever tongue, and he latches onto the first thing that he could think of to cheer Marco up;
Ace.
"I- I think he likes you," Sabo admits, the barest lie colouring his words because he doesn't think, he knows. He doesn't have to specify who he means, because Marco's head has already jolted backwards, and Sabo can see the streetlights reflected in his wide eyes as Marco stares. "I mean," he continues, "I mean, I'm not saying that because I don't want to date him, because I do and he makes me happy and I know he likes me but I- he- likes you too?"
Marco's face twitches, lip curling just barely into an almost-shown snarl, and then Sabo watches him take a shaky breath, gritting his teeth. "Sabo-" he starts, long, angry, his voice gravelly and eyes squeezed shut. "If you think you're doing me a favour by trying this. By- throwing me a bone, or whatever you think you're doing-" he sighs this time, pure exhaustion pulling at his shoulders, "it doesn't help, Sabo. It just hurts. A lot. So- just don't, alright?"
Sabo's heart twists again, tighter and more painful at the soft tone in Marco's voice. The quiet waver at the end, the defeat that seeps into every word. All at once, he can imagine how this must feel to Marco, torn for years between being someone's friend and being hopelessly in love with them.
He just looks so sad, and so small, in a way that Sabo's never seen before and though he knows it's silly, Sabo can't help but think that he'd do anything - anything - if he could just get Marco to stop looking so heartbroken. He wants to wrap his arms around Marco's shoulders and pull him close, press a comforting kiss to Marco's forehead-
His thoughts jolt to a sudden, brutal stop.
Kiss-? he inquires to the idea, the thought half-formed, but even as he thinks it he tries to shove it from his head.
It's the Sparks, the Sparks have to be affecting him-
And yet, Sabo can't help but wonder why the Sparks are even there at all, if they don't mean something. He still doesn't believe that they're perfect, like with any system they have flaws but-
Marco is Marco, the same person who couldn't stand Sabo walking home in the rain. The same person who treated him civilly, even as Sabo stole his soulmate - one of the only things he'd dreamed about and longed for - away from him. The same person who just now showed Sabo something purely vulnerable, without expecting anything in return, without even wanting Sabo to do anything.
Marco just wants to be happy and Sabo wishes from the very bottom of his heart that he could help.
I think I like Marco, Ace had admitted, but Sabo hadn't said back, I think I may too.
"What bus are you catching?" he asks, instead of following that thought, and Marco's eyes flick to him, something shining on his cheek that Sabo can't look at, instead rooting through his shopping bags to find his umbrella.
"I live close by. I was going to walk home, before- this."
"I have an umbrella in here somewhere," Sabo says, "I could walk you home?"
For a moment Marco looks like he's going to protest, but just then Sabo finds the umbrella and snaps it open with a decisive 'ah-ha!' He steps into the rain and tilts the umbrella so that less water can sneak under the edge. Marco hesitates for another moment before he steps under the umbrella, his jacket doing little to hide the warmth that radiates off him as they are pushed together, trying not to get wet.
"Lead the way!" Sabo says, trying to stay chipper, trying not to think about how easy it would be to sneak his hand into Marco's pockets and tangle their hands together again. It's a stupid thought, a stupid, stupid thought, and he doesn't know why he can't get rid of it. He grips the shopping bags just a little tighter, hurrying along in the rain with Marco quietly directing them, his voice smooth and soft.
Gold glimmers on the pavement and the puddles as they draw up to Marco's house, well-lit and welcoming, and the sight almost takes Sabo's breath away. It's a lovely place, with a slightly ramshackle garden, and it looks even lovelier in the cold rain.
"Marco-" he starts, then aborts what he was trying to say, unsure why he'd even started.
They pause on Marco's doorstep, rain still pouring down around them and pattering loudly on the umbrella and Sabo bites his lip, breathing out slowly. Marco's whole face is flushed from the cold and their walk, lips as red as one of Ace's bracelets, and Sabo's throat feels tight.
I want to kiss you, he thinks, and the desire surges in him like a tidal wave, so strong that it knocks him off his feet and he can't think. It doesn't even feel like his body is his own anymore.
He leans forwards, just slightly, can see how Marco's breath hitches and his chest seems to jump. He can feel Marco leaning forwards too, watches from the corner of his eye as Marco's hand grabs the umbrella as well, falling neatly over his hand, warm and bringing with it that same tingle as before. This time, he knows without looking that there are Sparks racing along their hands.
His fingertips graze Sabo's wrist, gentle and soft and Sabo wonders if Marco can feel his thundering pulse through that simple touch even as he rocks forwards to the balls of his feet. They're so, so close, now, close enough that Sabo can hear the tiny puffs of Marco's breath, the warmth of it on his lips-
Marco turns his face away.
Sabo freezes, heart in his throat, and when Marco quickly moves his hands away and won't look him in the eye, Sabo can feel it sink and sink and sink.
"Thanks for walking me home," Marco mumbles, and then he slips through the door and closes it with a quiet click.
Sabo is left standing on the front step with rain trickling down his neck, an icy tendril seeping away the warmth that Marco has left behind.
Izo's standing on the other side of the door, just like Marco knew he would be. He looks like he's trying to hide his hopeful expression, in a way that makes the anger in Marco's chest grow. He narrows his eyes into a glare, and can see Izo flinch back, confused.
"So..." Izo starts, trying to hold onto that optimism. "That was Sabo outside, wasn't it? Are you going to invite him in?"
"No," Marco says shortly as he pushes past Izo and into the kitchen. "I don't want to run the risk of someone casting a spell on him, yoi." He dumps the groceries and then pauses as though a thought has occurred to him, turning to Izo and snapping, "Oh wait. Too late."
Izo's lips press together tightly, and all Marco can think, viciously, is that he should look more like he regrets what he's done. That he should feel the same hurt that hit Marco's chest at the moment when he realised that Sabo wasn't planning to kiss him of his own free will.
"I am not in the habit of casting random spells," Izo says, still holding onto this veneer of innocence, and Marco laughs hoarsely, wishing he could rip his nails through the shield Izo is trying to present.
He shakes his head, and then fastens Izo with the most deadened, angry look he could muster, and articulates it slowly, so that his brother will feel every word. "I hate you, Izo."
Izo flinches, a shiver racing up his spine, and he immediately spits, "Marco, that's not fair!"
"You forced him to try and kiss me!"
"I can't force anything!" Izo bites back, teeth bared. "That's not how it works!"
"Yeah? Then explain why Sabo's eyes weren't blue."
Izo flushes under his makeup. "I- okay, well I technically did something, but-"
"Something?" Marco says with a derisive snort, "You used your magic on him, and got him to do something he never normally would've thought about."
"Well he must've, because Magic can't just force people to do things, Marco! I mean, there are spells that can change the way someone feels, but the one I used- it just helps you figure out things that might've taken a little longer than normal to figure out."
"Yeah? Well I can figure out pretty fast what I'm feeling about you right now. Don't need to force me to 'figure it out' with your stupid, useless magic!"
"Marco-" Izo says, and he looks heartbroken, but Marco just can't find it in himself to care right now. "I just wanted to help."
"I don't care, Izo. I never wanted your help!"
Anger races like electricity along his limbs, buzzing and buzzing and supercharging his muscles, but no matter how upset he is he still can't find it in himself to hit Izo. Instead he slams his fist down on their table, and lashes out at the wooden chairs, a soundless cry of fury leaving him.
He knows it's irrational, knows that half of this anger isn't even directed at Izo, but he rips through the kitchen, forearms clattering against the doorframe, pots and pans and plates thrown and shattered, and then, finally, he hears Haruta's tiny voice, tentative and scared, and slowly collapses into the middle of the mess he's made, resting his head in his knees.
"Marco?" Haruta asks again from the door, and then hears Izo whispers to her evenly, voice refusing to betray the fear he knows is rolling off Izo's posture.
Marco sinks his head deeper into his knees, wrapping his arms around his body, and tries to deny how his breath is starting to hitch.
He's not good at denying anything, though, and the first shudders hit in a way that makes Marco wish, more than anything in the world, that he couldn't feel anything at all.
That there was no such thing as Sparks, or soulmates, that he'd never fallen for his best friend or then managed to fall for his best friend's boyfriend, that he'd never longed so dearly for a Spark because now he's had two and-
The only thing they've given him is heartbreak instead of the fairy tale ending he'd been promised.
Marco feels tears begin to drip down his cheeks, landing on his thighs, and he finds he can't stop them. Izo curls around him silently, pulling Marco to his chest, and then a mournful sound fills the kitchen, low and plaintive and heartbreaking, and it feels, finally, like Marco's heart is breaking and slowly pulling itself out of his chest piece by piece.
It feels, finally, like the months of silence have finally gathered enough strength and are marching their army along the battlefield Marco's been trying to win, leaving bloody footprints in their wake and a cry of sorrow to sow the first seeds of grief over what could have been – what never will be – behind them.
They stay like this, curled around each other, until Marco is finally silent and exhausted, slowly drifting off in Izo's arms.
"I'm sorry," Izo says quietly, and Marco gives a tiny sigh, refusing to move like he knows he should.
"Me too."
He doesn't specify what for, because there's a lot of things he's sorry for.
He's sorry for meaning it when he'd said I hate you to Izo. He's sorry for ruining their kitchen, he's sorry for never taking his family's advice when they'd started to see how torn up Marco was becoming because of his situation with Ace. He's sorry for even thinking he had a chance.
He's sorry he'd ever Sparked.
It is better to have loved and lost to have never loved at all, floats to the forefront of Marco's mind, but Marco only lets Izo pull him closer and thinks about all the disasters that love has caused.
There is no benefit to falling in love.