Mark paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair as silent sobs left his throat. Everything hurt. His throat was ripped up from screaming and sobbing. His head hurt from stress and banging it on the wall when C... when she left. With him. His feet and knees were starting to hurt from the constant walking around he'd been doing for the past few hours. His chest... his heart hurt because of the love of his life, the woman he pledged said life too, just...

He swallowed and shook his head. He wasn't ready to admit that to himself yet. He grabbed his hair and screamed again, throwing himself into the nearby wall in some sort of insane hope it would knock the pain out of him. He sobbed, curling up into a small ball against the wall, clutching her ring to his chest.

He was... he was exhausted. The day... the week... the month- months... years even... Had been so hard. He'd truly loved her. He thought she was the one. He thought they would be together... till death do us part... He made a small whining noise as his tears started to dry, having cried them out for now. He could see it now, as they said, hindsight is always 20/20. She never loved him the way he loved her. She left me for him. He sat there for what felt like forever, heaving short breaths as he held the ring in his hand, close as he could.

He was utterly spent. And soon, he was asleep, curled in a ball against his wall, tear stains on his cheeks, rumpled clothes covering him, a ring clutched in his hands so hard, his knuckles and fingers were white, even as he slept. His butler, an old man by the name of Zadomin Warf, whose family had been serving, and become close friends to the Fischbach's, for years, found him three hours later. A soft, pitying smile crossed the old man's mouth, his wrinkled, weathered face crinkling even more as he bent down to the man he considered a second son.

Zadomin tried to wake the distraught man, but inevitably gave up, and used all his strength to lift the man, calling for his friend, the chef, to come and help. The two managed to carry their master up to his bedroom and get him situated on his large bed. Zadomin was surprised by how heavy a sleeper Mark was, remembering him to be twitchy and jumpy in his sleep, having constant night terrors and being woken at the slightest disturbance.

He was rightly worried for his boss. He sighed as he brushed the tear and sweat-slicked hair back from the young man's face. He was gentle about it, his old, callused hands running through his hair. Zadomin smiled, remembering how he used to do this to both boys, Mark and his own son when they were small. He sighed again before turning away and leaving the room, taking one last look at the boy sleeping on the bed, before closing the door behind him.

Mark shifted in his sleep, a soft whine leaving him as he subconsciously reached out to her side of the bed, grasping nothing. He stayed sleeping as he pulled her pillow close, burying his face into it before stilling, and drifting off to a peaceful sleep, dreaming he was still happy with her.

...

Mark awoke with a groan, his back sore and his face stiff. He rubbed his face a little and turned with a smile toward C- toward her. His sleepy smile melted away when he was met with an empty bed and a truckload of painful memories. He took her. She left with him. He swallowed thickly, rubbing his eyes again in hopes of keeping the returning tears at bay. He sighed softly, grabbing her pillow and curling himself around it, inhaling her lingering scent deeply.

He stayed like that for hours, holding her pillow and pretending it was her. That was how Zadomin found him, pitifully curled around a pillow, silent tears streaming down his face. The butler had brought a plate of food, a small portion of eggs and bacon for breakfast, as Mark had never come down for the meal. He knocked lightly on the doorway, more as a way of telling Mark he was coming in then asking permission before he entered the room. He tutted quietly setting the plate down on the table and sitting on the edge of the bed. He reached out and brushed the broken man's hair from his face.

"You know you can talk to me," he said softly, his old voice quieter than he'd meant it to be, "I know how you feel. You remember how my wife left us all those years ago, don't you? You don't have to be afraid of telling me how you feel..."

Mark didn't move, though a small whimper could be heard, though it was muffled by the pillow. Zadomin smiled sadly, petting the younger man's hair as he had done for many years. He'd always seen Mark as a son, having to care for the boy since he was very small. The boy's own parents were always busy, always working on something new. When they passed away in a boating accident when Mark was only 10 years old, Mark barely suffered, having never really known them. Of course, that didn't mean the boy wasn't shaken by the news.

Years after that, Zadomin was a sort of 'master' over the house and those who worked there, being both the oldest and the one put in charge till Mark was old enough. His family became a sort of honorary Fischbach family, and he knew his actual son truly felt he belonged here, with his brother-like best friend. When Mark came of age, the Warf's stayed, as well as other close workers, like the chef and the groundskeeper, George.

And now... now his son had left, and taken Mark's wife with him. This left Zadomin with his grieving honorary son, and no way to contact his own son. He sighed and gently maneuvered Mark's body so his head was on Zadomins lap, the pillow Mark refused to let go of crushed between Mark's face and his stomach.

"Mark... if you won't talk for now... will you at least eat? I brought you some breakfast," he asked softly. Mark just shook his head, his head burying farther into the pillow. He looked like a small child, wrapped in a bathrobe and snuggling a pillow. Zadomin sighed, "And why not?"

"'m not hungry, Zadomin..." Mark said, lifting his head from the pillow so he knew his voice would be heard. It was then, promptly, back in the pillow. Zadomin sighed and readjusted Mark so the man was back where he'd started, and he stood. He was glad he'd brought a cover for the plate, hopefully, the food would stay warm.

"Alright. I'll leave it for you here, for when you do get hungry," he said before turning away and leaving the room. He made his way downstairs, a sad look on his face. He saw the chef, waiting for him by the kitchen. He shook his head sadly, knowing what the chef had wanted.

"He refused to eat it, said he wasn't hungry. I left it there in case he starts to feel hungry later."

"Poor bastard..." Chef mumbled, "Can't imagine my sweet Selome leaving me for another man, one of my best friends no less! No offense, Mister Warf, but your son is a little bitch." Zadomin rolled his eyes at the crude language, but nodded his head, fiddling with his white gloves.

"I know, Chef, no offense taken. I really didn't think Will would... I didn't think he'd be the type, even though I knew he liked Celine..." Zadomin sighed, and the chef placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I may be the sweetest looking angel, Zad, but if you need me to go knock some sense into your boy..." Chef held up his ladle, mimicking whacking someone on the head with it. Zadomin chuckled, shaking his head.

"Thank you, chef, but I don't think that will help..." he sighed and pulled away from his friend with a sad smile, "Now, we both have some work to do. Why don't we distract ourselves, and perhaps we can all visit with George later," the chef nodded and turned back to his kitchen, his hand absentmindedly patting his 'little buddy' as he passed by. Zadomin's shoulders slouched a bit as he turned away, heading off to clean some of the mess left behind by last weeks... poorly received and accepted event.

...

Mark stared at the plate of food with a blank expression. He wasn't truly seeing anything at the moment, lost in a daydream where she was still wrapped in his arms and he could still freely hold her and kiss her and let her name fall from his lips. A place where she didn't... where she hadn't... left me for him. She left me... for him. He... Why would she leave? We were happy... weren't we?

Mark flipped over restlessly, his eyes blinking and focusing on the world around him again. He felt strange, empty. The world felt gray. His eyes strayed to the plate of food. He'd been there for days, not moving from his bed. He knew he probably smelled by this point. He stared at the plate of food. His stomach recoiled at the thought of eating.

He sighed, knowing Zadomin would be upset that he hadn't eaten still. In the days he'd been in here, Zadomin was bringing him a constant supply of food from the chef, twice a day. And in all the time he'd been in his room, he'd barely eaten. He had a bite of soup the day before, but that was only because the butler waited in the room for a while, and Mark was starting to feel guilty.

He kept his gaze away from the food, closing his eyes. He hated feeling like this. He knew he was missing something... someone. He just didn't know how to get it back. He didn't know how to fill up again. She left... he... he took her from me... he stole her... he thought brokenly to himself, curling up into a small ball. Tears came to his eyes again. He was mildly surprised he still had tears to shed but didn't dwell on it, and soon he fell asleep once more.

...

It had been days, weeks maybe. And Mark was parched, having barely drunk anything. Surprisingly, he wasn't hungry, but his throat was starting to hurt from lack of water, and his eyes just stung harshly whenever he opened them. So, he decided to leave his room in search of water. It was dark outside, according to his quick glance out the window, so he hoped that meant everyone was asleep.

He really didn't want to deal with questions and pitying remarks right then and there. He sighed as he stood, his legs shaking a bit from little to no use in the recent days, and he had to grip his bedpost. His eyes scanned the room, and he found Damien's cane. His friend must have accidentally left it when he'd come to visit the other day. Mark felt a twinge of guilt, knowing how worried Damien must be to have accidentally left it behind. Damien never went anywhere without his cane, ever since Mark gave it to him as a 'You're getting better now' gift.

Mark grabbed the cane and leaned heavily on it, groaning as he shuffled out of the room. He made a small noise of protest when he realized he'd have to go down the stairs, craving something more than bathroom water. He slowly made his way down the stairs, pausing a lot to both stay quiet and steady his feet.

When he finally made it down, he made his way to the kitchen slowly, something seeming to press in his mind that he needed to go to the kitchen for water. When he entered the kitchen, he did a quick glance around with drowsy eyes for the chef, but he wasn't in his kitchen. He smiled ruefully when he saw the little buddy and gave a little childish wave towards it. He then put his attention to his throat and the water he so badly needed.

The sink... the cups are by the sink... he told himself, shuffling over, flinching a bit at each clack of the cane hitting the floor. His eyes trailed the cupboards for the one he remembered the cups to be in, before reaching up to pull one open. He cursed a bit when he realized he'd opened the plate cupboard instead. His eyes fell down on the counter as he absentmindedly thought about her laughing quietly behind him at his mistake.

He felt another pang of sorrow hit him, his eyes burning as they stopped moving, landing on the knife block. He swallowed, and stared, the pit in his stomach growing, consuming him. A shaky hand reached out to grasp the handle of a knife.

This will all be over soon... Just take it, slice or stab... and it will all go away... his own thoughts sounded foreign in his head, but... they also made sense. She doesn't want you anyway. She left you for him, the traitor... she never wanted you. His thoughts continued to whisper as he lifted the knife out of its block.

He held it with a shaking hand, his eyes hypnotized by the moonlight glinting off the blade. Images of slicing his arms open or stabbing his own beating heart filled his mind, and he nodded numbly, lifting the blade up.

It will all go away...

With all the momentum he could muster, he thrust the blade into himself, groaning as he fell to the floor. He groaned as he felt a numb sort of pain climbing from his stomach and up to his head. He numbly reached out to grab the cane and pull it close, as a sort of comfort. But he couldn't reach it.

He stopped his struggle quickly though, his own thoughts betraying him, whispering how everything would be okay, how it was all going to go away. He smiled a bit as the world started to fade out, an image coming to his eyes. She was standing there, smiling at him, laughing with him and nodding. He could hear her voice, though he ignored the strange deep echo he could hear, after the words she spoke.

Well done, Mark... it's all going to start going away...