Septiplier one shots

Green

A sequel to Red

Mark looked out his window and at the sky, the sun finally peaking out from grey clouds. The rain had been relentless the last couple days and while he absolutely loved the scarce gloomy days that California had to offer, it was nice to see the warm rays of sunlight dance across the city. People were littering the streets again and cars filled up the roads, busy Los Angeles traffic living up to its horrid reputation.
The young American leaned back in his seat at his work desk, stretched his limbs, and rested his head on the back of his chair, staring up at the ceiling fan. His eyes followed the racing boards of wood and he sighed. He hadn't been able to get that Irishman from the bus stop off his mind.
Without moving his neck, he looked at his desk soberly as he saw papers strewn about with messy handwriting scrawled on their faces. Mark was a writer and he desperately wanted to finish a short story that he was previously working on, but the only thing he had been able to create featured a bashful character with ice blue eyes. Leaning forward again, he picked up his green pen and chewed on it thoughtfully.
What were the chances of meeting him again? They didn't know anything about each other, not even their names. Admittedly, Mark had been throwing a few names around in his head, but none really seemed to fit.
Does he look like a Peter? No, not at all. Maybe a Jerry? A Thomas? Travis?
The American's teeth bit down hard on the edge of his writing utensil in frustration. His character had ultimately been nameless, understandably so, and it was thoroughly upsetting that he had to live out interacting with the Irishman through mere words.
Mark thought the stranger was immensely adorable, images of his soft face burying itself in his red scarf constantly running through his busy mind. The way his bright blue eyes looked so confused but appreciative was humbling and the way his mouth formed sentences was very captivating. He just couldn't get that stranger out of his mind for the life of him.
He turned his head again, his brown eyes falling upon the umbrella near his apartment's front door. Mark couldn't help but smile as he remembered protecting the Irishman from the rain with it. He knew his scarf was in the other's possession, but he truly did not mind. In a way, it made him happy that the Irishman had a token of him.
Or is that a weird thought...? He questioned himself.
Spinning around a few times, the young writer made up his mind. He pulled himself up off of his leather chair, pulled off an olive peacoat from his wooden coat hanger because of the chilly weather, and stepped outside. He needed to clear his head. For days Mark had stowed himself away trying to write so it was definitely time for some fresh air. He needed to push out the thought of those brilliant blue eyes before it drove him mad.
Mark weaved in and out of the people on the sidewalk, the heels of his boots clacking on the pavement. His face was slightly red, the chilly air still a tad cold for the Californian. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was half past two, and he held his Starbucks coffee slightly tighter. He wished that he had brought some warm gloves because his fingers were numb and Mark cursed himself for purchasing an iced coffee instead of a warmer drink.
As he took his normal route back home, he saw a beautiful figure sitting at the bus stop bench. Mark almost dropped his coffee when he realized who it was.
"Whoa! Hey!" He rushed towards the Irishman who was bundled up in multiple layers of clothing, his feet kicking underneath him. When the young writer finally reached him, he slid in next to him and grinned, probably a little too excitedly. Mark's heart warmed when he saw his beautiful scarf wrapped around the stranger delicately.
"Oh!" The man chirped, his blue eyes widening. "Hey, it's you! I feel like I just had Deja Vu!"
Mark politely but genuinely laughed and patted the Irishman's back adoringly. He took a quick look over, his heart beating so happily, and took in just how handsome this man truly was. The curve of his collar bones was so precious and the way his short brown hair was slightly tossed around was endearing. A slight pink from the cold laced his normally pale cheeks, and he was slightly slumped forward, trying to conserve as much heat as possible.
"I'm glad to see you! I never thought I would again. My name is Mark. We never introduced ourselves last time."
He stuck out his hand, the fingertips a bright, shiny red. Quirking an eyebrow, the stranger smiled at him delicately. The young American watched as he pulled off a pair of green gloves, grabbed his numb hands, and slid them on quickly.
A ray of sunshine seeped through the light grey clouds, illuminating the Irishman's gorgeous blue eyes. They both made eye contact and Mark saw that his cheeks had turned an even brighter shade of red.
"You seem cold."
"I suppose so."
"You know, this conversation seems quite familiar."
The two men laughed at the soft joke after Mark quickly pulled his hands back, slightly embarrassed when he realized they were still in the stranger's. Using a now gloved finger, the writer pushed his glasses up further on his nose and gave an award winning smile. How lucky was he that he actually got to run into this beautiful man again?
"I'm Sean but please call me Jack," he finally greeted, waving his hand around slightly. "You walking home again?"
Oh, a Jack. That name seemed oddly fitting for this individual. It was lovely.
As Mark nodded, he crossed his left leg over his right and leaned back into the bench, his elbow leaning on the top.
This was the exact position that they were in a few days ago, fondly but shyly sneaking glances at each other, and polite but endearing small talk floating between them. The only difference was the lack of Mark's umbrella and there was warm sunshine peeking out on them today.
"Yeah, I went to get some coffee because I've been stuck in my apartment trying to finish a story I'm writing."
Jack's eyes widened slightly as he gave a very interested grin. "For real? What's it about?"
"Oh! It's-" Instantly remembering that it was in fact about the dear Irishman, he froze.
Mark panicked slightly. How was he was supposed to answer such a question? Maybe I could just be vague...
But luckily, he saw something that relieved his fumble, his heart calming down slightly.
"What do you know? The bus is here again."
Jack looked out at the incoming vehicle and stood up while Mark followed suit. He walked him to the bus doors again, but paused. "Wait!"
The young American pulled out his familiar green pen and scribbled something on Jack's bare hands, a small smile on his face. He looked up at the man with brilliant blue eyes and reached up to tighten the scarf around his neck. "Stay warm," he mumbled.
The Irishman rubbed the back of his head with a bashful smile, slightly dazed, and waved goodbye. Mark watched him take a seat as the large bus took off down the street. He raised a hand to wave another farewell in case Jack was looking out the window, but he saw he was still wearing the forest green gloves he was given.
The writer smiled fondly at them. It's okay, he thought. I wrote down my number. I'm sure he'll call me if he wants them back.
Taking another sip from his now watered-down iced coffee, he began walking down the street once more, but this time with a little more spring in his step.