To drive along roads at night, watching as the headlights flickered over the edges of the road and brightened the dark in a halo across the ground, was the best way for Mark to get some sleep. The soft bumps on the ground helped to relax his body, rigid and structured tensely from a day of stress, and the quiet hum of the engine served as a soft lullaby. It was a wondrous experience, to let music fill the silence and to breathe in the air that flooded in through the open windows around him. It didn't matter whether it was twenty degrees or four, it was all cold and caressing as it grazed across his skin. He never didn't get goose pimples. It wasn't the thrill of driving fast that drove him to the deserted night roads, it was the cool air and the white-noise that made everything better.
He didn't have to focus or give any special attention to what he was doing, it was second nature to change lanes or take off through the smaller lanes of roads in the countryside. There was no pretence, nothing that weighed him down as he watched the white lines on the tarmac speed towards him and passed under the bonnet where they framed the car.
Nevertheless, it didn't mean that he wasn't careful, he always was. His hands always stayed on the wheel, except when he changed gear, and his eyes never got distracted by the road signs that pointed in every direction with hoped of taking him to a new place. If anything, he was more vigilant. It was that ability to remain hyper-aware for so long that allowed him to rest peacefully at night, his eyes scanned and stared until they felt the familiar tethers of sleep try to draw them closed. The light gleamed into his eyes, ensuring that he wouldn't stray from his well beaten path until he reached his home.
That night, however, was one of the many times when Jackson hadn't asked to come along. His incessant chatter was what made Mark smile, what made him want to drive on until Jackson had told him everything about everything. He could get lost in the workings of the younger man's head and feel everything that was described in such minute detail that he could feel it embedding itself as a memory he could have lived himself. He loved to hear Jackson talk, to fill the quiet spaces in Mark's mind that no music or engine rev could never even get near. Jackson kept Mark grounded while letting his head run through the clouds, it was something that nobody had ever done for him before.
It was as though Jackson knew that Mark needed that, that beneath the silent moments were thoughts as loud as thunder and an imagination that needed to be worked into something tangible. If there was one person to understand him, it would be Jackson and he's like to think that it was the same when the situation was reversed. He hoped that what Jackson needed was for somebody to listen to the nonsense he spouted and to take things in but not always respond, as if Jackson had so much going on in his mind that he just needed it out to be able to function properly.
Mark found it harder to go home, to drive into his garage and escape up the apartment building to his bed. There was nothing pleasing about a bed that was bare of any other life or even golden warmth that played in his dreams as he slept. He felt robbed. There was nothing to break his fall or cushion the blow of being alone.
He shifted out of his thin jacket and shoes at the door, hating that there were no others lined up beside his and he just wanted to curl up on the sofa to sleep. It was difficult, everything was so much harder without Jackson there and it was easy fro him to want to give into the urge to run back out to his car and head down one of the long winding roads. He placed his keys on the hook that was empty, the quiet clinking echoing around the lifeless apartment and he tiredly stretched out before retreating down the hallway to his bed. The soft cotton didn't appeal to him, not when it was colder than the taste of mint and he hoped that sleeping on Jackson's side would help to ease off some of the feelings of isolation that crept up in his absence and in the dark.
Mark closed his eyes, hating how hard it was do so without having somebody looking back at him to make sure he drifted of nicely. There was something bright and equally as noisy in his bedroom, smiling faintly at how much it reflected the man he missed more than anything. It was with that hope of keeping the light and the sonance around him that he picked up his vibrating phone and answered it with sealed eyes.
"Don't be lonely," the voice came over the crackling speaker, "I can feel it from here, stop it."
Smiling was second nature when talking to Jackson and he felt his lips open to show his teeth in the most affectionate manner, "I can't help it."
"But talking to me makes it better, right?" Jackson asked, his voice toning down to what he thought was a whisper. "Or rather, me talking makes things better. It saturates your mind until my thoughts are all you can think