AN: This is a drabble, meant to be extremely short (200 words), so don't complain about length. Written in Mark's POV…and I willingly admit I have a sick mind. Don't own, don't ask, don't sue.
Five hundred, twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes of "no day but today" condensed into a few ribbons of celluloid. The magic of cinema. Let me rephrase: the magic of a pathetic, penniless wannabe-filmmaker's laughable attempt at art.
But magic nonetheless – one of those nausea-inducing Hallmark moments manifests before my eyes as our resident lovebirds celebrate…well, love. Roger and Mimi in the throes of passion on my worktable and Joanne flirtatiously grabbing Maureen's ass.
Of course I'm happy. But as my teeth tear through the glossy fruit of empathy and embed themselves in the rind, pangs of envy stream through my veins in slow, hiccupping eruptions. Alone again…naturally.
Collins's hand still cups my shoulder. We stand apart – castaways in the overwhelming sea of love.
"You know, you remind me a little bit of her in the moonlight." Collins is peering at me strangely, his hand sliding down to my thigh.
"Um…Collins…" This cannot be happening. I don't look like Angel at all (right?) And, in case everybody forgot, I'm straight. Is that really so hard to believe?
"There's only us…only this…"
"Oh no."
"I know." His lips begin a shy arc towards mine. I close my eyes and wait for impact.