You're Up Awfully Late {Septiplier}

Just for the Exchange

"See ye tomorrow," Jack waves, Mark and Felix leaving him behind in the elevator. Ken stays, though, riding it up another floor. They both get off on the fourth, walking together down the hall.

"How ya been, Jack?" Ken asks, making small talk.

"Pretty damn good," the Irishman replies, his lips upturn. "How about you? I saw that little announcement ye and Mary gave. Congratulations, man. Yer going to be a great dad."

Ken gives a shy smiles. "Thanks, man. It's been busy. I never realized you needed so much stuff for parenting. And I mean so much stuff. Honestly, I'm glad to spend a few days without having to go shopping."

Jack chuckles, giving Ken a nudge. "This is just the beginning."

"You're telling me," Ken agrees, stopping at a door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See ye tomorrow," Jack calls back.

He walks past a few more doors before getting to his own. He opens his door, giving a yawn as he flips the light on. With a huff, he puts his suitcase on the bed, unzipping it to retrieve pajamas. He pauses when a flannel is on top: Mark's flannel.

His memory snaps back at the sight, and he remembers his missing Berlin shirt. With the bed a mess, he takes himself to the bathroom, spreading the shirt across the counter. Snapping a picture, he sends Mark a text with the photo attached.

Jack: Missing something?

Jack jumps onto the counter, sitting with his legs swinging idly. He gives Mark a moment, scrolling through twitter, sending a witty reply to Felix's usual shenanigans.

He glances back to the messages between he and Mark, frowning when it has yet to be read. He gives an impatient sigh, never having been one to sit and wait. With a mischievous grin, he grabs the flannel, holding it over the open toilet.

Jack: should I wash it before I return it?

With the second picture and the text, he places the shirt back on the counter, waiting again. He scrolls through tumblr until he yawns, finding himself tired after the long flight. He glances at the messages again, finding them still unread.

Jack huffs, chewing his lip in thought. He glances at the messages another time before leaving his phone on the counter with the shirt. He goes back to his suitcase, grabbing a pair of pajama pants and a new shirt.

He returns to the bathroom, stripping until he is in only boxers. He pulls on the loose pajama pants before an idea hits him. With a laugh and a smirk, he pulls the flannel over his bare shoulder, buttoning it up.

It's quite big on him, though still cozy. The flannel hangs off his shoulders, sleeves finding his palms. Somehow, despite all the time, the red shirt still smells like Mark. Jack can't help but drop his nose into the collar, taking a deep breath to surround himself with the scent.

Bittersweet memories flood back to him, sending a mix of conflicting emotions through his heart. He tires to shake off his confusion, considers removing the shirt and pretending it never happened. But, somehow, that feels wrong, as if he would be admitting that Mark still has such an effect on him. He continues with his plan.

With the flannel hanging from his form, Jack takes a quick selfie in the mirror, his face squished into a silly expression. He sends the picture to Mark with another text.

Jack: Looks like it's mine now! I'll consider it a trade for my Berlin shirt. I think it looks better on me anyway

With a yawn, Jack closes the messages, taking himself to bed. He turns off the lights of his room along the way, leaving himself with nothing but the bright screen of his phone.

He falls into bed, pawing for the charging cord on his nightstand. With a bit of luck, his fingers find it, and he plugs his phone in, giving a final sleepy glance at the screen. With no new notifications, he puts the device down.

Before his head can hit the pillow, the phone's screen lights up, a short tone playing. Jack gives a bit of a jumping, surprised to be getting a message at this hour. He turns the phone towards him, a sly grin growing on his face when he sees Mark's name on the screen.

Mark: So you are the one who stole my shirt! Get your pale ass down here and give it back! If anything happens to that flannel, your shirt is going straight into the toilet!

Jack chuckles, rolling his eyes at the empty threat. He flips on the lamp on the nightstand to find a keycard, sliding it into the pocket of his pajama pants. He leaves his phone to charge, knowing he should not be gone for long. With an easy step, he leaves the comfort of his hotel room, flannel still falling across his narrow shoulders.