Bully || Septiplier

Chapter Eleven

get ready for a special chapter in markimoo's point of view. ;^) also 300+ reads?? It's been a day since we hit 200, thank you so much <3 you're all too nice, I swear. anyways enjoy the chapter and with it, my overstretched sentences.

MARK stood in the cold. It wasn't as cold when he left to the park twenty minutes ago, but at this point the cool air was brushing against the surface of his skin and he was tempted to give up and walk back home. He'd started to doubt Jack was coming around five minutes ago, but then he figured he just lived far away. Then he wondered, if this was the case, then why would he walk home from school? Conflicting thoughts flashed through Marks head as he rubbed his temples, trying to warm up.

He probably looked like an idiot out in the park, at this time and in this weather. Fuck, why wouldn't he just go home and let it go? Jack obviously wasn't coming, he's waited long enough and this was a stupid idea anyways. Just as he began to walk away, however, he stopped at the sight of a figure in the distance. Upon closer inspection, he judged that by 1- the short structure of the boy and 2- the fact that he was waving Mark down, this was in fact Jack and he had showed up.

For a second Mark smiled - one of those crooked, soft smiles where it takes you a moment to realize you're smiling at all. Mark hadn't smiled that way in a long time, he didn't think he was able to anymore so perhaps in shock he removed it from his face.

Soon enough Jack was close enough to see the minor details in the Irish boy. Mark kind of watched him near for a few heartbeats - then he realized just what the fuck he was wearing, and alarm flashed through him. Was he insane? Jack was wearing simply a sweater - yes, you read that right. Here Mark was, bundled up in a coat and two layers of clothing underneath that, and Jack strolled down the street wearing a sweater.

"What the fuck are you wearing," barked Mark when the Irish boy was close enough.

"My sweater," replied Jack, who stared at Mark as if he was a ghost. Upon closer inspection, Mark stared into his beautiful blue eyes and could tell he was worried about something, distraught and when he shifted nervously this only confirmed it. Mark wanted to ask what was wrong, but he resisted, like he always did around Jack.

"Like hell Im letting you wear that in this." Mark signalled to the wet mess around them from the rain, the cold and the puffs of smoke their breath left in the frozen air. And then before Jack could protest, he took off his jacket and handed it to the other male with a frown.

"You don't have to let me." Jack pushed away the coat and huffed, this action leaving a puff of breath visible that, after a moment disintegrated. "I'm not going to die."

"Don't make me say anything more cliche," Mark grumbled, again offering the coat. "Just take it, or you'll catch a cold and Ill have to deal with that and I won't want to catch whatever sickness you have."Jack said nothing, but with a self explanatory sigh took the coat and put it on, zipping the zipper and studding his hands into the pockets. It was a black button-up jacket, and Mark couldn't help but notice that he looked good in it.

"So, why exactly am I here?" Mark recognized this as a conversation starter, and shrugged. He did get the hint, but wasn't very good at carrying a conversation so he dismayed the attempt.

"I don't know. I didn't really expect you to actually show up, or if I did, then I didn't really plan past this point."

"Well that's fantastic," said Jack sarcastically. "If you want to make something up to me, standing in the cold is a great way to do it." And then, with his words rounding off in his perfect little accent, it began to snow. In Los-fucking-Angeles. "Would you look at that."

"It's snowing," concluded Mark, seeming confused. Why was it snowing? First rain, which on its own rarely happened, but snow - as far as Mark was concerned - didn't exist. In fact, he was pretty sure the only other time he'd seen snow was when he was a child in his hometown in Cincinnati. And then his family moved to LA, and the mere word snow was never spoken again. "It snowed sometimes in Cincinnati."