My American Idiot ~ Septiplier

19

Mark P.O.V

Mark was never a violent person. In fact he normally avoided fighting with his fists at all costs, mostly because he had never liked the whole 'bad boy' image. He always thought it was over cliched and landed you in far more trouble than it was worth, however over the week he'd known Sean McLoughlin you could say his view on the subject had changed rather drastically.

Come to think of it, a lot had changed about Mark Fischbach over the last 7 days.

A week ago Mark would've never dreamed he would be sitting in the school nurse's office holding a wet cloth to his forehead to try to stop the blood that spewed from his hairline, running down his face after he got in a fight with Ethan Gardener of all people. And yet, here he was, with an unconscious, green haired Irishman lying in the bed opposite him just to top it all off.

The school nurse was at least kind, helping him to drag the dead weight of the other boy onto the soft mattress before handing him his wet cloth, telling him to fetch her when Jack woke up and disappearing from the room without asking any questions. Mark had appreciated that, he wasn't in the mood to answer them.

He found himself staring at the other boy, taking in his brightly colored hair and the light shadow of stubble that lined his jaw. He looked so small and not even just in body. The Irishman no longer had that aura of carelessness or that stupid facade of a tough guy to hide behind. Instead he looked like a child who stayed up the whole night playing video games.

Mark nearly laughed as the other boy began to regain consciousness, wrinkling his nose and squeezing his eyes shut against the onslaught of light from above. He let out a little muffled groan as he moved his mouth for the first time and reached a hand up to brush his jaw gently to assess the damage. Then Mark noticed his shirt riding up a little as he shifted on the bed, revealing a display of ugly brown and yellow bruises marking the skin. He winched at the sight, unable to imagine how much they must hurt.

Jack coughed quietly and Mark snapped his gaze back up to his blue eyes, noticing how Jack quickly pulled his shirt down when he realized what Mark was staring at. Jack eyed him warily, all sleepiness gone as he began to swing his legs over the side of the bed and just sat there for a while, as though preparing himself. "Look, it's nothing." He finally said, shattering the delicate silence that Mark was too afraid to break. His voice was dry and weighed down with fatigue even though he had just woken up from a good hour of sleep.

The American's mouth opened to protest but before he could say anything he was cut off. "Leave it, Mark." The Irishman spat bitterly, looking at the floor. Mark noted how hunched his form looked, so beaten down, and he felt an urge to move closer just to give him a hug, tell him everything would be alright. "It's none of your business."

Mark adjusted his hold on his cloth as he stood, giving in to what he felt was right and moving closer to the smaller boy, sitting beside him on the bed. He was surprised when the other boy didn't move away or protest, he just sat there and let Mark give him the tiny comfort that he would allow. Mark sat there for a few seconds, not saying anything, before he opened his mouth.

"I saw what he did to you, Jack. And sure it's not any of my business but he shouldn't be allowed to do that to you and not be punished." Mark said quietly, not wanting to trigger Jack's temper with the soft arguement.

Then Jack looked up at him, confusion in his eyes. "Wait, what the hell are you talking about? You were at Ashley's party?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at the taller boy who still held a bloody rag to his head with one hand.

Mark nodded slowly. Did Jack not remember anything? Well, then again, maybe it was mixing drugs and alcohol together that did it, that couldn't be good for your brain that's for sure.