In Five Days (Septiplier)

Chapter 4: Awkward Coffee and a Confession

"What do yeh want?"

Definitely Irish. The question wasn't said out of malice or hatred, if the man's eyes were any indication of that, puffy and red but still a gorgeous blue. His lips were drawn into a thin line and he wore a worn out expression trying to pass as indifference. He looked hurt...

That and he also looked insanely gorgeous with his wet hair and his lithe body poorly covered by the towel wrapped around his waist that made Mark's face heat up. His eyes wandered without his permission, probably less discreetly than he would have liked. He heard a gasp and a small mumbled 'sorry' before the door promptly shut in his face.

After a minute the green haired man opened the door back up with a tight white t-shirt and a pair of black skinny jeans that left nicely displayed every curve of his body. Was he trying to look this way to Mark or was Mark just overly caught up in his staring?

The man coughed, signaling Mark to look back to blue, out of his daze. "Sorry 'bout that, just got out of the shower."

"That's, that's fine.... I-" Mark didn't know where to begin now, but an apology seemed like the safest route. "I'm sorry that I ran out on you like that... I just... I didn't..."

"It's fine," replied the shorter man quickly. Mark could see he was pushing away old tears.

No, it really isn't fine, is it?

"Um," Mark rubbed his neck awkwardly, his eyes trailing the ground, trying not to picture the pale skin, nearly hairless chest he saw just a minute ago. Now how was he supposed to say 'I don't want to be with you' in the least hurtful way? "Um..."

"Do you, want to come in?" Mark eyes snapped back up to the blue eyes, still sad but now hopeful. Mark almost didn't catch the whisper, like it was just a quiet thought and spoken as if saying it too loud would have earned a refusal.

"Uh, sure." What else was he supposed to say?

The green haired man only nodded once slowly, opening the door enough to let the broader shouldered man in. Mark gave him a small smile, hoping it'd be more comforting than awkward, walking past the door frame. He saw the Irishman's eyes brighten like that smile gave him life and he returned it.

With the door shut behind him Jack led him into the main room that just so happened to be the bedroom because it was, after all, just a hotel. Mark found himself sitting down in the nearest seat once Jack sat on his bed, not wanting to appear intimidating standing alone with the way he was dressed. Fuck, you're still a cop, don't forget that, you can do this.

Mark opened his mouth but no words came out. I can't do this, I can't do this.

Suddenly there was a hand waving in front of him and he realized the man wasn't sitting on the bed anymore. "Uh, hey, earth to-"

"Mark."

"Merk?" Mark snorted at the pronunciation, trying not to think about how cute his name sounded when he said it.

"Yeah, and you?"

"Jack, I mean Sean," The Irishman, Jack/Sean, corrected himself with a blush creeping up his neck.

Mark fought off a smile. Damn he is cute. "Which is it?"

"My birth name's Sean but my friends call me Jack," he-- Jack-- clarified.

Mark coughed, his voice stuck in his throat. "I-a, which would you prefer I call you?" Fuck. Why does it matter? You aren't going to see him after today...

He needed to get this over with, needed to tell Jack, Sean, whatever his name was, that he didn't want to be with a guy like Mark. Mark was a cynic when it came to fate, they didn't believe in the same things. He was a cop, he hated his job, he had panic attacks, he wasn't gay. But something told him neither was Jack, at least not till now. And as soon as Mark, who believed his whole life he was straight, locked eyes with blue he knew that wasn't exactly the case.