The drive back seemed to stretch on forever.

Of course, you'd thought that of the last one, but this was a new kind of fresh hell, to excuse your French. Your mind ran rampant with memories of Michael and how you two had always fought, of how you'd started your fair share and so had he. The only difference was that you blamed it on him and didn't take up for it yourself. That had always ate at you just like it did now.

"Hey."

You looked over at Mark. Your lips were pressed together and your brows ached slightly from being furrowed. It didn't help distract you from your thoughts, though. That is, until you looked at him, then they stopped.

"Ease up, (Y/N). You're thinking too hard."

How could you be thinking too hard? You were thinking about one thing and it wasn't even a tangible object so how could it be hard? Was there such thing as thinking too soft? What could thinking hard possibly-- oh.

"Alright that's it," the dark haired man said as he turned the wheel.

You just stared at him confusedly, starting when the car stopped and was shut off. You hadn't realized he was parking the vehicle.

"Out," he ordered, opening his door and exiting, looking at you expectantly from the other side of the window. He'd learned his lesson already with getting your door. The bruise on his shin attested to the fact that getting your door was dangerous.

You slowly opened your door, standing and shutting it to look at him from across the roof.

"Okay, Now what?"

"Come here," he walked over, took your hand, and began leading you forward. When you looked up, you saw an empty playground.

"Mark, what are you doing?" you asked exasperatingly. You wanted to go home, curl up in a ball of blankets on the loveseat, and just mope and nap the day away, not get pushed down some kiddy slide by a gigantic toddler with a vice grip on your wrist.

"You need to calm down, (Y/N)! You're so dark and serious. Have some fun!"

He tossed something at you that got caught in your hair. You picked it out and looked at it disbelievingly.

"Is this... a woodchip?"

"Just what you're standing on!" Another of the bits of wood bounced off your shoulder.

You narrowed your eyes, a challenging smirk playing across your face as you crouched and swept up a handful of them before standing again.

"My dear Markiplier," you taunted, "is that a challenge?"

"Challenge? Ha! It's an attack!"

He let go of your wrist, spinning around to face you as he launched chip after chip at you and your laugh joined his contagious one.

"I will exact my revenge, you fiend!" you cried, throwing several woodchips at the man's head as he ducked under them and began bombarding your legs. A well aimed missile of wood got him square in the forehead and he reeled back.

"Pull back!" he cried dramatically. "We're loosing too many troops!"

You laughed again and threw another handful at him as he ran away, seeking cover amid the jungle gym, a dome-like structure of bars in the shapes of hexagons. Why he picked such poor cover, you weren't sure, but you weren't about to let a good opportunity pass and so launched into another ceaseless attack on the poor man.

"Mercy! Mercy!" he cried, his hands flying up to shield his face.

"On what grounds?" You paused midswing.

"On the account that you're a better Army Chipper than me?" he tried, sheepishly shrugging as he backed up.

"Please," you scoffed, "You started this mess and I'm gonna finish it!"

You tossed another woodchip and it bounced off his back as he scrambled out of his poor shelter and ran down a grassy hill behind the playground.

Soon running out of ammo, you picked up speed as you charged towards him. You weren't about to loose this battle without a fight. With your arms opened wide, you called out his name, "Hey, Mark!" and smacked squarely into his broad chest as you both were sent tumbling down the hill from your tackle.

"Mayday! Mayday! I've been hit!" he managed to get out amongst the multitudes of laughter being shared between the two of you as you came, tangled, to a rest at the bottom of the hill.

"Victory!" you cried triumphantly before collapsing down to lay with your head on his chest. His big breaths were fast and deep and the deep, tumbling chuckle from his chest tickled your eardrum as he rested a gentle paw on your head.

"Good job, (Y/N)," he commended. "I dub thee commander of yon own platoon of soldiers after such exemplary showmanship of solo battle."

He groaned softly.

"Now let my brain rest after that exhausting English grammar thing."

"A sentence?" you suggested.

"Yeah, yeah, that thing."

Still breathing heavily, he waved a hand dissmissvely in the air before it fell back down to rest on the cool grass under you.

"Mark?" You turned your head so you were looking at his chin and the direction of his face rather than the way you'd tumbled.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For cheering me up. I really was thinking too hard."

He made to sit up and so you removed your head from his chest, both of you now sitting to the side of one another, but facing each other at the same time. He gently placed a hand at your cheek, tracing his thumb carefully against your cheek bone.

"How could he hurt such a beautiful flower?" he whispered, and it was obvious that he hadn't realized he'd said it out loud before smiling almost sadly. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to help."

You leaned in towards his hand barley to show that you appreciated the contact before offering a smile of your own.

"It's okay, Mark; you're here now. You cheered me up when no one else could. Thank you."

He came closer to your face, leaning forward to where he was an inch, if not less, away from your face. He inclined his head and pressed his forehead against yours before you both closed your eyes and just sat there, enjoying each other's reassuring company.

"You're welcome."