Septiplier High School

I cant forget about you

Marks pov

I'm tired. I should've waited at the party until someone could give me a ride but there was no way I was staying with her.

She won't give up. Most of the boys say I'm lucky but I don't feel the same way. I don't know anything about her.

The only thing I know is that she supposedly has D cups. I don't particularly care but the boys seemed pretty insistent that it was essential knowledge. But the size of the meat blobs on her chest doesn't tell me what movies she likes. Or what her favorite color is. Or what she likes to eat for breakfast. It won't tell me the little things that make a person who they are.

Stop being so picky.

Maybe its because I haven't been in a relationship in ages. The last one set the bar pretty high.

Well that's no longer an option.

The suns gone now.

The sidewalk is lit with faded orange lights, making everything look warm and welcoming. The trees are fully bloomed now. Its a nice night. Walking isn't too bad.

Jacks pov

Autopilot only lasts so long. The days work has taken its toll.

I probably look disgusting.

It doesn't matter if I look disgusting. There's no one here to see me.

The sidewalk is painted a gentle amber color from the streetlights and the road is lined with dormant silver machines, waiting for the next journey, the next day. Its beautiful. But it doesn't make me feel better.

I miss home.

Maybe it was the intense workload or the sudden unfamiliarity of America but the thought of my log cabin nestled in its familiar little hole in the earth made my eyes burn.

Maybe if I had someone to hang out with it wouldn't be so bad. But school has social groups and I haven't been allocated one yet.

Focus on your surroundings doofus.

Houses lined the side of the road, the only sound my footsteps. Not just my footsteps.

There's someone across the road.

They're walking parallel to me. I don't want to look obviously but the probability of me having to see them again is pretty small. I'll take that chance.

They have red hair and glasses and a tight fitting shirt that highlights their arms and skinny jeans that should be illegal and a face that almost made me believe in god because nothing that perfect could've been created by chance.

It's Mark.

And you look disgusting.

My sloppy clothes and messy hair suddenly felt like a crime. If he notices me how am I going to explain? That I can't afford to live where I live and have to work two jobs to keep up with the rent?

Don't you sound pathetic.

If I walk faster he'll look over. If I slow down then I'll get home late. What's he doing out here? Why do I care?

Ever since my first day of school he's a star feature in every daydream, every doodle, every silly fantasy of my sudden popularity. Maybe because he was the first person in this country who didn't treat me with any hostility.

He reminds me of my ex-girlfriend. I'm not sure what about him. Maybe his eyes, this freshly baked brownie color, maybe his confidence, the way he knew what the answer was before someone could ask the question.

Does this matter right now? If he sees you looking like this....

I keep glancing over at him. I should probably stop. But he's so pretty.