Catlateral Catastrophe (Septiplier/MarkiplierxJacksepticeye)

Chapter 6

"Hey, Matt? Can I talk to you about something private?"

The sound of a voice so deep and husky, serious and focused awoke me from my planned afternoon slumber on the armrest of the second shared couch; the one that originally came from Mark's.

I preferred to sleep on that one because there was always a faint smell of him on each cushion, imprinted for as long as the couch may live.

The moment his voice rang through the room, my fragile head raised with a delighted purr, my electric blue eyes would crack open a tad, and I would stare graciously at the man I called my 'owner' (until further notice), borderline inviting him to sit with me using only my loving stares.

That sounds really creepy, trust me, I know, but I fuckin' loved the guy...—in a totally platonic and domesticated way, of course!

Either way, with the time I'd spent with the masculine YouTuber and his two friends, it was pretty easy to say I'd been trained to respond to the sound of Mark's voice. I could even identify his sounds—sneezing, sniffling, sighing—against the other two household members.

Right now, the man drummed on the rim of the door, leaning against the outer wall with a deeply concerned expression. His patterns of drumming were an unusual pattern, one an ex-drummer couldn't even pick up, meaning this was obviously a drum to release tension on whatever was bothering him.

Whatever was bothering him, I decided, was bothering me too.

"Sure, Mark," Matt, who was toying with his phone on the couch he and Ryan usually sat on, replied with a subtle curiosity—but he conveyed it well enough by sitting up and looking more approachable that Mark believed the curiosity was a shared concern.

I'm not sayin' Matt didn't wanna sit and listen—he seemed eager to let some stress off his friend's chest. What I was sayin', was that he seemed like he suspected whatever Mark was about to say to him.

I sat on those bushy hind legs, resting the thinner appendages in front of my exposed chest and stomach, then let out an audible meow as an invite for Mark to come, sit beside me and talk it out.

When the chocolate-y eyes met my own, I let out a riffling purr, straightening my back and adjusting myself. Much to my delight, the floofy-haired man sauntered into the room before anxiously resting his behind on his previously singularly owned couch.

'Yes,' I thought to myself in success, stretching my paws in front of me and yawning before padding over to his broad lap, which looked comfortable and warm; perfect for ol' Irish Jackaboy's current condition.

"Well?" Matt encouraged, smacking his hands on his laps and shifting closer on the opposing couch, looking more engaged in the newborn conversation. I used the opportunity that Mark wasn't looking at me to dig my sharp little weapons into the thighs of the man I used as a couch-cushion.

"Well, I—ow! Jack, stop! Agh!"

The reaction I expected was executed. Heheheh.

"... Jesus, okay. What I was trying to say before this rude little reminder decided to use me as a scratching post," Mark spoke between clenched teeth, "was that I'm getting a little worried for one of my YouTube friends."

The blonde-haired boy blinked, taking a moment to process what had been said before replying. Of course, I, now settled between the two thighs I so rudely attacked, allowed my ears to perk fully as I glanced between Matt and Mark.

'Oh god. Please say he's talking about me. Mark, I'm here!'

It was a little painful that I couldn't tell him that straight out, and I instead had to just sit quietly and wait.