It was Friday. The alarm on your phone woke you in the morning, but you didn't want to get up. You were exhausted.

Your face was wet with tears and you wiped them away, forcing yourself to stop. They were back. They had found you, but his time it was different.

You had been sitting at your mother's side in the hospital, right beside her bed, when you saw that you were holding a gun to her head. She was whispering something.

"Stupid girl. I could have made it. I could have made it. Why did you do it? Why did you do it?"

Then you pulled the trigger and the dream ended. You'd lain awake for two hours now crying, or maybe it was more than that. You were too preoccupied to pay attention to the time.

You wished now more than ever for someone that could just hug you. Not say anything, but just hold you; someone to keep you rooted to reality, but there wasn't. He was gone just like your mother and it was your fault.

You hugged your pillow close to your chest tightly for a few minutes, whispering regrets to it before fluffing it up and setting it back down at the head of your cot. Time to practice that smile from yesterday.

You dragged yourself to the small bathroom where you splashed some cold water on your face to lessen the blush on your cheeks that showed signs of weeping.

You checked on your knee and were happy to see that it was better, rewrapping it with a fresh set of vetwrap, but used a tissue paper pad instead of a gauze this time.

Returning to your canvas bag, you retrieved a beige pair of Capri cargo pants and a white T-shirt over which you had your gray jacket. You set your hair into a ponytail and took a deep breath.

You had never bothered with makeup; it was too much of a hassle. So many people that you passed had proof that they'd tried to look better, but failed miserably and you'd decided a long time ago that you'd rather not risk that result. Makeup was for very special occasions only.

Like your mother's funeral...

"Stop it, (Y/N)," you chided yourself. "Thinking like that won't help. You can wallow later. Right now you've got work to get to."

Picking up your phone from the floor next to the outlet beside the cot, you quickly pocketed it and picked up your leather satchel, leaving the apartment and locking the door behind you.

Now it was feeling like routine. You'd done this yesterday so it felt familiar, comfortable. Now you'd check on the car, go across the street, and start work. Just like yesterday. At least, that's what you'd planned on doing.

As you walked past a door, it opened, smacking you square in the shoulder and someone fell on it from the other side, causing you both to fall over to the ground.

"Ow, shit!" came the curse.

"Language," you corrected softly and under your breath.

"(Y/N)? Hey, it is you! We gotta stop running into each other like this."

You looked up to see no one other than Mark untangling his arms from your legs.

"Yeah, I don't think that 'run into each other' thing was meant to be taken seriously."

"Probably not," he said with a chuckle.

It took some time last night, but you'd finally remembered who this man actually was and why he looked so familiar.

It was Mark Fischbach, A.K.A Markiplier. He was a famous YouTuber that many people loved and adored. It took a long time for you to calm down after that as well. After all, meeting a celebrity adored by millions was pretty exciting.

In those last five months your mother and you had thoroughly enjoyed his many videos and whatnot, watching and laughing together when he did something ridiculous and made fun of himself for it or did something stupid on purpose just to get people to smile. You admired him, really, but right now you were a little miffed that both times you got to meet him it was through him running smack into you.

"It's alright though," you said. "No broken bones and I don't see any-"

"Sweet Jesus, you're bleeding! Again!"

"What? Where?!" you looked yourself over, but found no wounds to speak of except your still bandaged knee. Then you looked up at his smiling face and scowled.

"Lier."

"Sorry, I couldn't resist. I wanted to see what your reaction would be."

You crossed your arms from where you still sat and shook your head.

"I question you, Markiplier," you said, using his YouTube name to see how he would respond.

What you got was a look of shock.

"You know who I am? You didn't seem to recognize me!"

You nodded. "Yeah."

"And you aren't freaking out?" His eyes widened even more.

"No, not really. It feels pretty good to know that a famous person would take time out of his day to talk to me but otherwise no," you answered with a shrug as you stood up. Mark joined you a few seconds later, still looking dumbfounded.

"Wow, I- I don't know what to say."

"'I'm sorry for running you over twice now' would be a good start," you interjected gently.

No sadness. Don't let your heart feel it. Not now. You're doing so good at being happy!

"Oh yeah! I really am sorry about that... I've been such a klutz recently. First I break my computer and then your knee-"

"-Skinned my knee actually."

"Yeah, that, and now this? I think I'd loose my head if it wasn't attached."

"Could you loose something that big?"

He playfully glared at me. "Oh ha, ha, ha. Little Missy has some comebacks now doesn't she?"

"A few," you admit nonchalantly, shrugging again. "It's a gift."

"Well, Miss Comeback Queen, don't you have work or something like you mentioned last night?"

"Oh crap!"