SO THIS IS BASED ON A PIN I FOUND LITERALLY THIS MORNING (12/22/15). IT WAS BASICALLY TELLING SNIPPETS ABOUT EVERYONE HAVING A TIMER ON THEIR WRISTS THAT COUNTS DOWN UNTIL YOU MEET YOUR SOULMATE. IT WAS REALLY COOL, AND SO...MY BRAIN MADE ME WRITE THIS. NO SHAME! OBVI, BUT THIS IS AN AU FOR THIS UNIVERSE.
GOD BLESS AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
~MRS. SEPTICMARKIPLITE
They told me that the timer attached to my wrist meant something incredibly special. It meant that I only had 1 hour, and 15 and a half minutes left until I met my soul-mate. I wasn't nervous. I was actually quite calm. I knew that it would all happen as it was meant to. There was nothing I could do about whatever would happen. I sighed as I pulled my hair into a messy bun, and slipped into a sweater dress. It was getting a bit colder at night, and I had no intention of being cold tonight.
=#=#=#=#= Mark
How could this have happened? Daniel...if I could ask you one thing...it would be 'what did we do wrong?'. What did we do to you that put you so far down the rabbit hole, you killed yourself? Did you mean to go through with it, or had you always meant to live? Were we supposed to be able to save you from yourself? If so...we failed miserably. We tried so hard to get you to the hospital in time, but...we still failed. You still died. And now we're left with the guilt and shame of having failed such a close friend. I can't help but think that if we had only talked more (although we talked so often), you wouldn't have died. But maybe that's not true. Maybe this was meant to happen.
The saddest part was...you only had a month left on your timer. If you could have hung on, your life would have gotten so much better. You would have found your soulmate and then you'd be happy.
But instead, you left this world for a hopefully better one, though I've never really thought about that kinda thing before.
So here I am, wondering around in the darkness you left us in, wondering what we did wrong. Alcohol doesn't help. It really only makes the pain vanish for a few hours, tops, but...I can't seem to stop myself from taking another shot. It doesn't help anything, but...I still do it.
=#=#=#=#= OC
I thought I could handle it. I thought I could play it cool.
It wasn't until I pulled up to some bar from some reason, though, that I actually almost had a panic attack.
What if I missed my soulmate? What if I didn't have one, and my timer was counting down until I died or something? I mean, who'd be Paired with me, anyway? I have an Early Education degree and a Fan-fiction account. And that's pretty much it. I don't really even have a job. I was still looking. I had decided that I may as well go out on the town while I remembered my dear friend, Natalie. She's dearly missed.
She's not dead, though. She's just...in some other country, teaching children around the globe. I wanted to be able to have a drink with her, and she'd know when my mate appeared just by looking at him. She's great like that. Maybe we'd meet our mates together, I'd thought.
But no. I'll have to call her and tell her how it went. I feel awful that I never asked when hers was going to deactivate. We'd kind of just glossed right over that. No need to make others jealous if you meet your mate long before your friend. It was common courtesy. But Natalie insists on hearing every detail about the Meeting once it had happened. I sat down heavily at the bar, and ordered a beer. Samuel Adams held a special place in my heart. Don't know why. It just does.
A hiccup beside me alerts me to the drunken man a few stools down, and then...something tells me to talk to him. Something was dreadfully familiar about him. That pink hair...that flannel shirt...those glasses...no way. What was Markiplier doing...oh. His last video. Of course.
=#=#=#=#= Mark
The alcohol was kicking in, and with my condition, it's slamming me hard.
That's the point of my being here, anyway. To get drunk, be blissfully ignorant of the world for a while, forget the pain.
So far, it sucks. It's not working. My condition's making drinking painful, and so it merely adds a layer or torture. It doesn't numb anything. It's pointless, but I can't seem to stop.
I hiccup from crying and drunkenness as I pour another shot, ignoring the look the bartender gives me before some lady sits down a few stools away, ordering a beer. She seems nice. I happened to glance down at my wrist. I blink. The timer says '30sc Remaining' in a clear, bold print. The woman swigs her beer, and glances over at me, pain flickering in her eyes as she takes me in. I huff, and take another shot. Why can't I stop?
=#=#=#=#= OC
Tears pricked my eyes as I remembered the pain so vivid in Mark's eyes as he described Daniel, and talked about leaving for Cincinnati. I could only assume that he was leaving for Ohio in the morning. I sighed, and took another swig of my beer before I felt the sudden urge to talk to Mark. I tried so hard to ignore it, but it almost seemed like my body suddenly disobeyed my head.
I had no right to even dare to think about talking to Markiplier. Certainly not when he was in this state. It wasn't right, and yet...I tapped his shoulder. He took a split second glance over his shoulder, then flipped me off before turning back to his whiskey bottle. His hands shook as he poured another shot. I sighed. This was depressing. I needed to help him out. I swallowed, sitting down.
"Come on, man. I'm just trying to help." I grumble without thinking. How bloody cliché. Geez, what's wrong with me?
Then, I feel something detach from my wrist, and clatter to the floor.
=#=#=#=#= Mark
The lady taps my shoulder, looking at me with pity and concern in her eyes. I huff irritably. I don't need pity. I just need to be alone. I shouldn't be here, anyway. I need to get home. I need to text Wade...tell him where I am, ask him to pick me up.
The woman's still here. I flip her off to discourage her. I don't need company, and I don't need any more pitying glances. She huffs, and sits down anyway. Stubborn girl. Don't know when to quit...
"Come on, man, I'm only trying to help." She grumbles, crossing her arms. The sound of something clattering to the floor rings in my ears. I blink, hardly registering the fact that I now hold my detached timer in my hands. Or the fact that the woman holds hers in her own hand.
=#=#=#=#= OC
'Mark Edward Fischbach'. That's the name left behind on my skin in permanent black ink as I dazedly pick up my timer. I blink. There must be some mistake. There's no way...and yet...I'd had my usual check-ups on my timer, and it was always fine. My heart skipped a beat. I looked up to find that Mark had the same face as I did. He was just as confused as me. Our eyes met. We looked away at the same time, a thousand emotions and thoughts flicking through our heads. I focus on the beer I'd brought over, on the counter in front of me, anything but the man beside me. I wasn't ready.
"...I'm going to get you home." I whisper, still not looking Mark directly in the eye. I swallowed. This was the guy I was destined to be with? I mean, I've been watching him for awhile, but I guess the timer only stops once you meet in the flesh. Now that I had, I felt oddly calm. I knew I needed him, and he needed me, but this didn't seem like the right way to do this. I wanted to meet normally, without the pressure of knowing you were meant to be together. I'd rather feel that I could be with him forever. I'd rather meet him, go on dates, and discover more and more about him that I found attractive, or unattractive and choose to stay anyway. I mean, I could still do that, and I will, obviously, but...not like this. This was forced. I'd rather fall for him naturally than because a clock said I was going to. But it was the way things were. No choice.
"You are not." He replied, slurring slightly.
"Not like that. I just meant that I need to drive you home. You're far too hammered to even be thinking about driving. Come on." I said, slipping my arm under Mark's and heaving him up. I walked with him out to the car, and settled him in. The drive was silent and awkward. We both knew we were fated to be together, but...we'd only just met. I suppose that's how everyone is at first, but still. I helped him inside and to the bathroom, making a cot for him in a few minutes as he bent and hurled in the hallway. I sighed. Just great. Guy can't help it, though. It's how anyone reacts to alcohol. He got to the bathroom before he hurled again. I cleaned the puke up as best I could, trying not to get the vomit all over me.
"So...you're Aisling McLoughlin, huh?" Came Mark's voice from behind me as I threw the bag with the paper towels I'd used away. He was leaning against the doorway, looking green around the gills. I straightened. Suddenly, I felt exposed and shy.
"Yeah. Nice to meet you. You need rest now, though. We can talk in the morning." It was a testament to Mark's condition that he had no rebuttal and sank into the cot I'd made without further ado. I swallowed, and moved to my bedroom, slipping into my pajamas and crawling into bed with a sigh. Mark slept in the attached bathroom, so brushing my teeth was slightly awkward.
"...goodight, Aisling." He whispered. I hardly heard it at all. I swallowed.
"Goodnight, Mark." I said, nearly letting my eyes slip close. Then, a thought occurred to me. "...Wait...did you let anyone know that I, uh, drove you home?" I said, nearly saying 'took you home'. What a mistake that would have been, eh? I fell asleep almost instantly, dreaming of Mark's life.
This was standard after a Meeting. The couple would be given information about their mate in dreams. There wasn't much new for me, though. Like I said, I watched his channel regularly.
=#=#=#=#=
The next morning, it shocked me for a second that there was someone in my bathroom. He was in the shower. I sighed. Probably good for him. I need one, too. I waited on my bed, painfully aware that my pajamas consisted of a handmade Warfestache tank top with black Spandex shorts. Natalie had made me the shirt, and I'd loved it, never thinking I'd ever meet Markiplier, much less...getting Paired with him?
I was so lost in thoughts, I never noticed that Mark got out of the shower. I blinked, it seemed, and found that Mark was standing in my doorway, towel the only fabric on him. He clutched it nervously. I blushed furiously, clapping a hand over my face.
"...I just realized that I don't have any clothes here besides the ones I was wearing yesterday...heh...and those I've worn since..." He swallowed, looking down. I bit my lip, unsure of how to respond. Then, out of nowhere, an idea occurred to me.
"Wanna go get something to eat?" I asked. "There's a McDonald's just down the street." Mark smiled through his blushing cheeks and glistening eyes. I smiled back. Maybe...this'd work out just fine.
SORRY FOR THE CRAPPY ENDING. IT NEEDED TO END SOMETIME. LET ME KNOW IF Y'ALL WANT MORE OF THIS STORY.