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“ Thank you guys, so much, for watching this video! If you liked it, punch that like button in the face like a boss ! AND high fives all around! Wapoosh, wapoosh! Thank you guys, and I'll see all you dudes, in the next video!!!! ”
With the high-pitched outro finished, Jack dropped his arms from above his head, hitting the button to stop recording. He slumped back into his chair, running his hand through his green fringe.
“What a fuckin’ day…” he muttered. Heaving a sigh, Jack stretched out, yawning. It had probably been one of the worst days for Jack. For some reason, the loneliness had hit him hard, and the low, sad feeling had lingered all through his recording session, no matter how hard he tried to push through it, and he knew some of his fans would notice. It was one of those things that was both a blessing and a curse, the fact that his fans could often tell when he was upset or something.
Jack stood up from his chair and left the room, heading for the kitchen to get something to eat. His footsteps echoed in the relatively empty rooms, and he felt the loneliness tug at him. As he dug in the fridge, he spotted some cookies he'd bought from the shop. Smiling, he took out the plate of snacks and placed them on the countertop, taking one of the large cookies, deciding to take an Instagram picture with it, with nothing much better to do. Holding the cookie beside his head and making a strange face at it, he snapped the photo, uploading it. He chuckled at how quickly people liked it, and he put them into the microwave to warm up. While he waited, he browsed through Twitter lazily on his phone, replying to fans and even taking some time to reply to a few of his friends’ posts.
When the microwave beeped, Jack removed the now-warm-and-gooey cookies, snacking on them. He continued to browse through social media, until he got a Skype message- it was from Mark.
M: Hey Jack
Jack cocked his head slightly at the sudden message; they didn't have a session planned today that he'd forgotten, did they?
J: Hey Mark. What's up?
M: Not much, out of the house right now. What are you up to? You at home?
Jack furrowed his brow at the question. He was always home.
J: Eating cookies at home, why?
M: Don't worry about it. Gotta go. Talk to you later.
Markiplier is offline.
Jack heaved a sigh. Alone again, it seemed. Jack finished off another cookie and put them back in the fridge for another day. As he moved to go upstairs, however, the sound of his doorbell ringing stopped him at the foot of the stairs. Wondering who could be at the door, he headed over to the front door, unlocking it.
“Who's there?” he called, but there was no answer. Frowning, Jack opened the door wide, and he let out a surprised noise.
Mark stood before him, holding two suitcases and struggling to set them down. A scarf was wrapped around his neck and he wore a coat and snow boots, though there was no snow to speak of. He blue hair was wild from the wind. He looked up at Jack and grinned.
“Hey, Jack,” he greeted. “Hope it's alright if I room with you for awhile?” For a moment, Jack was astonished, but then a grin graced his lips.
“Get your ass inside,” he said, “and let me take one of those.”
---
By three in the afternoon, Mark’s luggage was settled in the guest room. Five days later, two before Mark was to leave, the blue-haired man was lounging on Jack’s cock, listening to the louder man recording in his office area. It was very muffled from the soundproofing, but Mark could hear his voice faintly. He knew Jack was playing something on the scarier side, and a plan formed. Turning off the television, Mark stood from the couch and made his way towards the office area. Pushing the door open quietly, the full force of Jack's voice assaulted him.
“ WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?! ” Jack shouted at something on the screen. Mark stifled his laughter. He came up behind the blue sheet that hung up, and, without getting in view of the camera, reached out, sheet covering his hands, and grabbed hold of Jack’s shoulders, causing him to scream.
“ WHAT THE FUCK- ” he screamed, and he flew out of his chair, seeing Mark behind the curtain. Face red, Jack started hitting Mark furiously. “The fuck is wrong with you? You gave me a fucking heart attack, dammit!” Mark shielded himself from Jack's blows, grinning. “Get out, get out, ye fucking bastard!” Mark ducked away and hurriedly left the room, laughing. Jack recovered and sat down, face burning.
“Sorry about that...fucking hell. Where was I?”
--
When Jack finished recording, he marched into the living room to stand in front the television, blocking Mark from viewing the show. Mark only raised an eyebrow, smirking.
“You...I don't even know what to say,” Jack said, irritation clear on his face. “Why?”
“It was funny,” Mark replied, smirk gone. “I didn't mean to make you upset. Are you upset?” Jack shook his head.
“Not really. But I didn't appreciate it, Mark.” Mark nodded.
“Then I'm sorry,” he said genuinely. “How about I make it up to you?” Jack smiled at the thought of Mark doing something for him.
“Like what?”
“Let's go out to dinner- on me.” Jack couldn't help but grin.
“Let me get my coat.”
--
The place they went was much fancier than Jack had expected, and it was really only there that Jack realized how sharp Mark looked, in a pristine sweater and tight pants. Take away the blue hair and he could model for a fashion magazine. Jack immediately felt under-dressed as they approached the doors.
“Christ, Mark, isn't this place expensive?” Mark flipped his hand in a dismissive way, holding the large door open. Jack stepped inside, stomach grumbling as he smelled the delicious aromas of the restaurant, making his mouth water. Mark headed up to speak to the host.
“Reservation for Fischbach, please,” he said, and Jack glanced at him in utter surprise.
“You reserved it?” he asked, and Mark shrugged.
“You seemed down lately, and I wanted to do something to cheer you up.” The host led them to their table, and Jack followed Mark quietly. When they sat down, it was silent, save for the sounds of the other people around them, but even they were subdued.
“So you planned this all, then,” Jack finally said. Mark smiled.
“Of course.” His smile faltered. “You aren't mad at me, are you?” Jack shook his head quickly.
“No, no, I couldn't be. I just...find it hard to believe you'd do that for me.” Even saying those words made his face heat up, but Mark only chuckled.
“What are friends for?”
That's right, Jack thought. Friends.
--
The dinner went smoothly. A nice entree and dessert. When it was time to leave, Mark held the door open for Jack, who stepped out into the chilly air with a shiver, his lighter jacket doing little to shield him from the cold. The two talked as they walked, having taken a taxi to the restaurant and deciding to walk the thirty minutes instead. When Mark noticed Jack shivering more frequently, he moved discreetly closer, and when they didn't stop, Mark removed his rather fluffy coat and demanded Jack have it.
“What?” Jack said in confusion as Mark, face lightly dusted pink, held out his coat, waiting for Jack to take it.
“You heard me,” he replied. “You're colder than I am, just take it.” Jack could tell it would be pointless to argue.
“Weirdo,” Jack commented as he took the coat, sliding into it. Almost immediately, he was warmer, and he could smell the faint scent that was undoubtedly Mark, a hint of cinnamon to it.
--
When the day came for Mark to leave, it was clear to Jack that he wanted nothing more than for the blue-haired man to stay. The loneliness was a promise, sure to return, and Jack wanted no part of it. Nevertheless, he drove Mark down to the airport after lunch, and he sat with him while they waited for him to be called fo board.
It was a quiet affair. Mark was also consumed by his desire to stay, but Jack couldn't possibly know this; all Mark did was play on his cell phone, while Jack sat dejectedly beside him, trying to keep from losing it, holding himself together at the seams.
When the flight was called, Mark stood. He looked at Jack with dark, warm eyes, smiling at the green-haired man, and Jack broke.
He shot up and his arms went around Mark’s middle abruptly, burying his face in Mark’s chest. Mark seemed surprised, but he hugged Irish man back.
“Jack?” Mark said gently.
“Please...don't leave.” Jack's voice was soft, fragile. Mark frowned. “I don't...I don't want to be alone.” Mark squeezed the other, and then he pulled away.
“You aren't alone, Jack,” he murmured. “You won't ever be alone.”
Because he stepped forward, and he placed his lips over Jack’s gently, and Jack’s tears spilled over. They could taste the salt of his tears as they kissed, but neither cared. Jack's arms went around Mark’s neck, and Mark's hands settled at Jack’s waist, pulling him close. When they pulled away, Mark remained close, hovering just over Jack’s lips.
“You'll stay?” Jack whispered pleadingly. Mark smiled warmly, pecking Jack’s lips again.
“I'll stay.”