It had been a few weeks since Chicago, and Mark had been radio silent.

You didn't even know if he was okay, he only talked to you once, and it was over the phone while he was still in the GDA's hospital. You just wanted to be there for him, help him through this however you could.

You texted him until you felt annoying, asking if he wanted to go out or come over, just to talk, just to see each other, but he left you on delivered. He was going through a lot; you had seen the clips of the fight between him and his father circulating around YouTube and the news. Who hadn't?

It was late, you were studying for midterms next week (because unfortunately life had to go on) when you heard a knock at your door. It was nine o'clock, who the hell was at your dorm at this hour?

You opened the door to see an almost fully-healed Mark at your doorstep. He looked a little different, not just because of the eye bags, but because of the fact his face had probably been reconstructed at the hands of his father.

"I... I got your texts. I'm sorry I didn't respond." He started, almost hesitantly, and brought a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. "But I thought you deserved to see me."