the office // jim&mark // king-sized problems.
Title: king-sized problems.
Summary: this was written for nobodysbizathon's drabble-a-thon. the prompt was jim/mark: "the bigger bedroom."
Rating: pg.
"Draw straws?"
Jim looks sideways at Mark. The strap of his duffel bag is digging into his shoulder and one of the many unlabeled boxes is pressing hard against his shin. Moving into a new place was a bitch and a half. He desperately wished they could afford to pay someone to do it for them, but his new job doesn't start until Monday and besides, the pay is crap. "I'm sorry, am I moving in with a third grader?"
Mark scowls and shoves him. He nearly trips over - the silverware, maybe, or it could be his CD player. He really should have marked them.
"Shut up, man. I'm trying to be fair," Mark says, hoisting another few boxes into the living room.
"You take it."
"What?"
Jim shrugs. "The bigger bedroom. You can have it. I don't care."
"Seriously?" Mark looks at Jim skeptically, but he just nods. No use fighting over it. "Sweet. Thanks, man."
"Yeah, no problem." Jim grabs his guitar (why exactly does he have one, anyway? It's not like he can play it) and a box of his CDs and heads for the smaller bedroom.
He shuts the door behind him, tosses his belongings into a corner, and then lays down on the carpet and stretches out. His feet hit the wall.
Shit, he thinks, and closes his eyes. He should have drawn straws.
****
One o'clock rolls by. And then two. By three, he's forgotten her. At four, he's forgotten himself.
The door creaks open. The door to the bigger bedroom, the one Jim passed up. The one he should have kept for himself but didn't. Mark pads into the living room, rubbing at his eyes. "You still up, Jimbo?"
Jim runs a hand through his hair, messing it up. "I am," he announces slowly, peeking up at Mark with a goofy grin, "a little bit drunk."
Mark surveys the empty bottles on the ground like he's not surprised. He perches on the arm of the couch. "More than a little bit, I think. What's up? What happened tonight?"
Jim considers this. What happened tonight? He can barely remember. "I broke up with Katy," he says, and takes a drink.
Reaching forward, Mark pries the bottle out of his grip. "You told me that already. You also said you weren't that into her."
Jim's quiet for a moment. He rests his chin on his hand, thoughtful. "What do you think about summer weddings?"
Mark's heard enough. "Come on," he says, offering a hand to Jim and then hoisting him up. "You're going to bed." He half-carries him towards Jim's room, kicks the door open, and leans against the door frame as Jim crawls into his bed. His feet are dangling over the edge.
"I hate this room," Jim mumbles into the pillowcase, but Mark is already gone.
****
Jim pulls the door open and steps into the room, blinking until his eyes adjust to the dark. "Mark," he whispers.
There's a groan from the bed (king-sized bed, Jim thinks, certainly no feet hanging off there) and then Mark lifts his head up. "What, Jim?"
"I have to tell you something." He's wearing plaid boxers, a tshirt, and socks. He probably looks ridiculous and he's not sure he's even sober yet, but this was important. He had to say it now.
"What, Jim?" Mark repeats reluctantly, pushing himself up on his elbows.
Jim pauses and clears his throat. "I wanted this room."
Mark just looks confused. "What?"
"I said you could have this room, like I didn't care. But I do care. I wanted it. And, I think I want it more than you. And I deserve it more, because I would treat it better. This isn't just an ordinary room, okay? It's - it's special, Mark. And I want it."
Mark has to suppress a snort. He's certainly not going to bring up the real subject, the P-word that he's not allowed to mention anymore. He simply scoots over to one side and nods towards the other, the way he's done many times before. "Get in. We'll talk about it in the morning."
Jim will have forgotten it in the morning, for the most part. He climbs in, rolling over and facing the wall. All of his limbs were tucked nicely into the blanket, and with room to spare.
"You take this bed for granted," he mumbles, and then he falls asleep.
Summary: this was written for nobodysbizathon's drabble-a-thon. the prompt was jim/mark: "the bigger bedroom."
Rating: pg.
"Draw straws?"
Jim looks sideways at Mark. The strap of his duffel bag is digging into his shoulder and one of the many unlabeled boxes is pressing hard against his shin. Moving into a new place was a bitch and a half. He desperately wished they could afford to pay someone to do it for them, but his new job doesn't start until Monday and besides, the pay is crap. "I'm sorry, am I moving in with a third grader?"
Mark scowls and shoves him. He nearly trips over - the silverware, maybe, or it could be his CD player. He really should have marked them.
"Shut up, man. I'm trying to be fair," Mark says, hoisting another few boxes into the living room.
"You take it."
"What?"
Jim shrugs. "The bigger bedroom. You can have it. I don't care."
"Seriously?" Mark looks at Jim skeptically, but he just nods. No use fighting over it. "Sweet. Thanks, man."
"Yeah, no problem." Jim grabs his guitar (why exactly does he have one, anyway? It's not like he can play it) and a box of his CDs and heads for the smaller bedroom.
He shuts the door behind him, tosses his belongings into a corner, and then lays down on the carpet and stretches out. His feet hit the wall.
Shit, he thinks, and closes his eyes. He should have drawn straws.
****
One o'clock rolls by. And then two. By three, he's forgotten her. At four, he's forgotten himself.
The door creaks open. The door to the bigger bedroom, the one Jim passed up. The one he should have kept for himself but didn't. Mark pads into the living room, rubbing at his eyes. "You still up, Jimbo?"
Jim runs a hand through his hair, messing it up. "I am," he announces slowly, peeking up at Mark with a goofy grin, "a little bit drunk."
Mark surveys the empty bottles on the ground like he's not surprised. He perches on the arm of the couch. "More than a little bit, I think. What's up? What happened tonight?"
Jim considers this. What happened tonight? He can barely remember. "I broke up with Katy," he says, and takes a drink.
Reaching forward, Mark pries the bottle out of his grip. "You told me that already. You also said you weren't that into her."
Jim's quiet for a moment. He rests his chin on his hand, thoughtful. "What do you think about summer weddings?"
Mark's heard enough. "Come on," he says, offering a hand to Jim and then hoisting him up. "You're going to bed." He half-carries him towards Jim's room, kicks the door open, and leans against the door frame as Jim crawls into his bed. His feet are dangling over the edge.
"I hate this room," Jim mumbles into the pillowcase, but Mark is already gone.
****
Jim pulls the door open and steps into the room, blinking until his eyes adjust to the dark. "Mark," he whispers.
There's a groan from the bed (king-sized bed, Jim thinks, certainly no feet hanging off there) and then Mark lifts his head up. "What, Jim?"
"I have to tell you something." He's wearing plaid boxers, a tshirt, and socks. He probably looks ridiculous and he's not sure he's even sober yet, but this was important. He had to say it now.
"What, Jim?" Mark repeats reluctantly, pushing himself up on his elbows.
Jim pauses and clears his throat. "I wanted this room."
Mark just looks confused. "What?"
"I said you could have this room, like I didn't care. But I do care. I wanted it. And, I think I want it more than you. And I deserve it more, because I would treat it better. This isn't just an ordinary room, okay? It's - it's special, Mark. And I want it."
Mark has to suppress a snort. He's certainly not going to bring up the real subject, the P-word that he's not allowed to mention anymore. He simply scoots over to one side and nods towards the other, the way he's done many times before. "Get in. We'll talk about it in the morning."
Jim will have forgotten it in the morning, for the most part. He climbs in, rolling over and facing the wall. All of his limbs were tucked nicely into the blanket, and with room to spare.
"You take this bed for granted," he mumbles, and then he falls asleep.