You're Up Awfully Late {Septiplier}

Just for the Chance

Jack's hands shake as he reaches for his mug, filled to the brim with lukewarm coffee. He takes the cup, bringing it to his lips to sip at the dark liquid. It nearly burns sliding down his throat, his stomach growling in protest, but he barely notices. A small smile creased his lips, his eyes drinking in the tan skin of the beautiful man on the screen.

"Mark," he hums to himself, taking another drink, smiling on instinct when a grin creases the American's face. "So handsome, so pretty. Too pretty for this world. Too pretty for Jack."

The Irishman has been awake for days: three he thinks but he may have lost track. He can't remember the last time he ate, and he fears his teeth may be stained brown from all the coffee he has been drinking. But it doesn't matter. He can't sleep, even if he wasn't pumped full of caffeine. He has Mark, needs Mark. He doesn't know what he would do without his smiling face and smooth voice.

When the video ends, Jack blinks rapidly, distress immediately seizing his heart. His mind races as he dives for the mouse, shakily guiding it to another video. Reality is too bitter for him to face, and he can easily ignore it with just the click of his mouse.

He clicks on another one of Mark's videos, sighing contently when the American pops on screen. He relaxes again as his voice fills his ears, lulls him back to a soothing haze. He's made it to Mark's earlier play throughs, when he was still finding his voice. But, Jack likes them anyway: thinks they're cute.

Jack lost track of his own videos, leaving it to Robyn. He sent Robyn a sea of videos to edit and posts, warning him to only reach out when all are posted. He hasn't touched his phone since he talked to Mark, hasn't even glanced at social media. He's just been doing this. Chugging coffee and watching Mark's videos until he passes out in his chair. When he wakes up from a nearly day long blackout, he picks up where he left off.

A notification pops up on his screen: Markiplier is live streaming! Jack nearly squeals, delirious joy running through his body. He clicks immediately, coming to a view of Mark's shining face.

"Mark," Jack coos softly, smiling widely. The American looks so good, hair freshly washed and dressed for public. Jack fingers the pendant around his neck, rubbing his fingernail along the indentation that is the other's man.

"Welcome to PAX!" Mark calls, his voice echoing.

Jack titles his head, confused, as Mark's camera switches to show the huge convention center. He can't believe another PAX is already upon them.

"Obviously it hasn't started just yet," Mark continues, pulling Jack in with his smooth voice. "But, it's only day away. And let's not forget about my panel! I'm always so excited to preform for you guys."

Jack's heart jumps into his throat, his mind racing. Mark's having a panel. And he's going to miss it!

He jumps up from his desk, knocking over his cup in the process. The mug shatters on the hardwood, but he pays no mind, rushing out of his office. He runs into the bedroom, flipping on the lights and grabbing a backpack, tearing open the closet to stuff the bag full of clothes.

"Jack?" Signe questions, squinting against the harsh light. She was sleeping soundly, curled in the middle of the bed as she never has to share with him anymore.

"Jack, what are you doing?" she grumbles, glaring at him from beneath her mop of hair.

"I have to go!" Jack explains, frantic. "Mark is having his panel tomorrow and I have to be there but I'm going to miss it if I don't leave right now!"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" she demands.

"It's not me!" he insists, moving to the dresser to stuff more clothes in his bag. "It's Mark! Mark's panel, Signe!"

"Who cares about Mark?" she nearly hisses.

Jack paused before turning to look at her. It's been months since he has actually looked at her, for more than a quick glance or a few spare words. Her face is creased with a terrible frown, her blue eyes livid. And, when he looks at her pale face, he can't remember what he ever saw in her.

"I do," he admits. "I care about Mark."

"Why?" she groans, shoving her head back into the pillow. She thought Jack was a chore earlier in the year, but now, he's a nightmare: up all night, distant, strangely obsessive. She stays because it is easier than leaving, because maybe there is a small part of her that thinks things could still go back to the pleasant memories she returns to at times like this.

"Because I love him," Jack says.

Signe's eyes flash open, her eyebrows drop heavy across her tired irises. "What?"

"I don't love you," Jack states, matter of fact. "You don't love me. But I love him. And I really hope he still loves me."

Jack returns to throwing things in his bag, finishing quickly and dashing from the bedroom. Signe's face is complete shock, unable to think past the exhaustion.

The Irishman snatches his phone from his office, stepping across the mess of coffee without a second glance. In the living room, he shoves his feet into a pair of shoes, pulling on the jacket his fingers find first. Backpack stuffed, he searches for his keys, glancing frantically at the time.

"Wait! Jack!" She calls, jumping out of bed when she hears him jingling a set of keys.

"I'm sorry!" he calls as he slides out the door, closing it with a firm thud. He nearly runs down the hall, taking the stairs two and three at a time as he buys a plane ticket on his phone.