Septiplier One-Shots

Warm

GUESS WHO'S BACK

BACK AGAIN

author144 and her beautiful face ;D

YES! A fantastic update from your favorite author! It's been a struggle to update, but author144 was able to pull through and create a new chapter. I'll never be able to thank her enough, and it's so amazing to be working with her :)

We're both very sorry about the time we had taken off, and we really wish we didn't have to make you guys wait so long. But here we are!

Also, guess what this story reached... NINE THOUSAND VOTES! If I wasn't on my way to school right now, I'd be screaming! Guys, seriously, this is fucking incredible! This story is growing so much and I can't believe how many people enjoy reading our one-shots. Thank you so much to those who have read from the very beginning, or to those who had dedicated their time to reading this story to catch up. Thank all of you for reading, commenting, voting. Thank you guys for being so goddamn amazing and helping us. Thank you guys just for existing!

We love all of you so very dearly <3 I hope you all have a wonderful day!

And so it continues...

Mark sighed, staring at his computer several moments after the Irishman had already ended to call. It had been not even a month, and Mark was still wishing that he hadn't gone. He had found remnants of Jack around the house, little tidbits of him that reminded Mark he was once there, but now they were fading, Jack's memory leaving. Mark nearly choked every morning that he awoke and found that cup he always saved for Jack. It started to scare him, and one morning he even awoke with it on his nightstand and no knowledge of how it got there.
Bob and Wade tried to do what they could to be comforting, inducting Mark into some more drunk Minecraft and gaming with them even when Mark didn't want to. He was grateful of his friends, but it only reminded him of the Irishman. The drinking, despite messing with his thoughts and emotions, reminded him of when he and Jack had gotten drunk, their first sloppy kiss shared in the late evening hours only to wake up to Mark making his biggest mistake.
Even then, Mark could replay each and every happy moment from then up until Jack had left, and the last Mark saw of him was his blue sweatshirt disappearing around the tunnel leading onto the plane that would remove Jack from Mark's physical surroundings. He constantly choked, thinking about any happy memory with Jack, as it was a reminder that reminded him the Irishman was gone.
Mark mentally kicked himself as he realized that the recording he had been doing for that day had stopped completely as he sat there in silence, staring off at nothing in particular and thinking. He shook his head, making a mental reminder to cut that part out. He wrote it down on a post it note, leaving it for himself before ending the video and stopping his recording. He sat back in his chair, heaving a large sigh and letting his thoughts simply run, rampaging through his head.
Suddenly, he was moving through his house. He wasn't sure what he was doing, but at the same time he knew exactly what he was doing. His brain was on autopilot, and he quickly moved through his house. He obtained a jacket and his car keys before he locked his house and was on his way, somewhere. The next few minutes passed by in a blur, moving by him without any sense of direction. Before he was aware of what he was doing, it was about 10 o'clock at night, and he had locked his car and was now wandering onto the beach.
The sand was just cooling from the sun's hot rays overhead, and the place was deserted. Mark made his way onto a larger dune, overlooking some of the beach and staring out at the tide that was slowly washing back out to sea. The water would be cold, no doubt, but Mark had a feeling that he had brought himself here for reasons other than swimming. His feet carried him at a leisurely pace over the sand, and Mark simply went through memories in his head when he and Jack were here.
The sun shone down on Jack, almost perfectly. His smile was wide, perfect, and his laughter, contagious, filled the air. It made Mark smile in the present as he remembered the way that Jack always tipped his head back to laugh, as he wasn't afraid of the sound. The way that he had a light in his eyes when he spoke of something that he loved. He remembered the way that Jack always placed a hand on his throat when he was nervous, or concentrating on something. The way that he would chew on a single finger, or tap two fingers together when he was sheepish and embarrassed. These small antics that made Jack who he was nearly made Mark cry again, and so instead, he sat down and opened up YouTube on his phone.
He spent a solid hour, sitting by himself on the beach, watching Jack play one game after another. He laughed along with Jack, giggled at his frustrations, watched intently when the games suddenly got deep, or realistic. Best of all, Mark could completely lose himself in the sound of the Irishman's voice. He listened to it, feeling a warm, fuzzy feeling creep its way through him and settle in his chest. A small reminder that he would be okay for now at least.
As he headed home, he wondered how the Irishman was doing, how his day had been. He knew that he should also be focusing on his work, but Jack was so damn distracting; he couldn't help it. Mark was ready for bed, and when he finally managed to get there after editing and scarfing down the last bit of food he could, he noticed Jack's coffee cup still resting on his nightstand. Instead of feeling sad, he smiled. He cherished the memories that it brought him. He was warm; it was alright.
Or maybe it was exactly what would finally break him.

To be continued...