Fandom: Blink 182
Pairing: Tom Delonge/Mark Hoppus
Rating: PG 13
If you have some time this week, it would be good if you bring my stuff back. I should be at home Thursday afternoon/evening, so if you can drop it off to my house that would be great. I really need it back and it’s not like you need it or anything.
Just incase you have forgotten, I need the cds, my guitar bag... that one I used to use all the time, the guitar pedal, the photo that I gave you to put in your wallet, the fender (or you can give me $$ for it and forget it if you really want it), my favourite boxer shorts which I’m certain I left at your house. I can't think of anything else right now but if I do I'll let you know.
I have your razor to give back as well when you come. And your toothbrush.
Please reply to this asap to let me know you can drop it off or whether we need to work out other arrangements.
What’s wrong with a phone?
Mark sighed, staring at the letter that offered no reply, no emotion, nothing. Typical Tom. And it was scrawled messily on Macbeth paper. As if he intended to piss Mark off. Tom was hard to deal with.
I thought I was pretty civil with my request. Don’t make this harder.
Tom rolled his eyes, scrunching the letter in his fist. He threw it over his shoulder in the general direction of the bin. He picked up his guitar and resumed what he had been doing. He didn’t bother starting a new letter. It could wait. Mark could wait.
It had been three months now, since they’d spoken. Tom still called Travis every third weekend, to make sure his friend was holding up. The phone was dead to Mark’s number, though. The only words they’d exchanged had been useless banter via snail mail, with Mark’s stupid requests for personal items to be returned. Mark could wait. Tom was busy, too busy for the bassist.
Sent your shit via Fed Express.
Tom wasn’t sulking. He wasn’t acting out, or interfering with anything as far as he was concerned. It had been Mark’s decision to stop everything. All contact, all words, all music. It was the end to the music that Tom had hated. It pissed him the fuck off.
Got everything. You decided to keep the guitar, then? I noticed you forgot to send my favourite boxers back. Can you look for them again? Can’t be assed shopping for more, and those ones were good.
Perhaps we could catch up soon.
Seven months and then this? Funny how things changed. Maybe he could see a brief reunion in ten years time, but lunch? A little too personal for Tom. He dismissed the urge to send a cheesy reply; instead he picked up the nearest pen. Eh, a permanent marker would do. It wasn’t like Mark really gave a shit. He scrawled a half-hearted reply.
Little busy at the moment. Maybe next year.
Mark frowned. It was a lost cause.
And so it was, Goodbye Mark. Goodbye Blink.
He had a future to get on with.