Oneshots » Septiplier

December - Rewritten

» 3064 words
This is the longest oneshot I've written yet.

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"Pain is never permanent but tonight it's killing me."

~~~

It wasn't new to him. The slippery sidewalk covered in freezing snow; the air that was now visible escaping his slightly parted lips; the small, crisp gusts of wind that'd tug on his hair and slide against his skin like a hot knife against butter every so often: it was all too familiar to the Irishman that was treading down the sidewalk, dreading the moment he'd actually step inside a warm, heated building for he wasn't all too happy with what he'd meet in the building itself.

Blue mixed with browns, blues, grays and greens as he met the gaze of any passerby; their cold, blasé eyes parallel to his. Everyone he'd eye had their own story, their own destination to proceed to, but the green-haired man was egotistical to think his story, his destination was the worst of all, for his words still lingered in his head, or more specifically, his actions.

He hadn't done any physical harm though, forhe'd never even hurt a fly (he'd always let the 'smol leprechaun' do it), it was the younger man's own fault he had become like this; raised voice, balled fists, eyes flaming with anger while the other man couldn't do anything other than plead it'd all be over soon.

He regretted everything about that day, or the night prior to be exact, and he wished he could've just at least listened to his boyfriend. He knew his opinion on pubs was strong and well known in that cute little apartment of theirs; it was exclaimed so many times after he had read yet another article in the paper about two teenagers swiveling and crashing into a tree after a night drinking too much, and all Seán could do was nod, hugging Mark closer to his chest and whispering in his bright red hair that he wouldn't ever drink.

From the moment that statement rolled off his lips – too easily for his liking – he knew it was a lie. Yes, a glass of Jack Daniel's or a bottle of Guinness at time to time was helpful for his stress concerning YouTube, and he had been drunk off his arse too (he still regret he didn't stop his friend from putting it online) but those were his teenage years, when he felt responsible but wasn't.

And now, now all he felt was guilt. Guilt over so many things; so many things he regret and so many things he'd do differently if he just had the chance to. He'd often wish it was all a nightmare and he'd wake up next to the American, cuddled into his chest. He'd often pray his life was fictional and whoever wrote the story of his life would be a little more compassionate.

He'd needed it.

All too soon the small yet snug coffee shop came into view. The one he had been to so many times before; alone, with Mark, with friends. The Fumbally as it was called; the Irishman still didn't know why that was the name but he decided not to question it before he had had his morning coffee – an unspoken rule both Mark and Seán had learnt over the first few months after Mark moved to Ireland.

Mark's friends and family weren't very keen regarding his move, for, as they'd had repeated so many times – all his friends, family and any other YouTube related business were in the United States itself, so 'it'd be so silly to move to a lonesome country like Ireland'.

That could've been true, yeah, but the German-Korean needed the stress-relief, not only from Ireland's calming flora but from his boyfriend as well. Mark and Seán had occasionally made a stroll, hand-in-hand, not too far from the secure boundaries of Athlone, without a care in the world.

All the worries from the people Mark had left behind were soon forgotten as they watched him grow into his laid-back figure again, the only real stress he had was whether the internet would go down or not when trying to upload his videos; which was just pure bliss, for both males (as Mark would occasionally ramble and rant about everything going on in his life leaving mere space for them to actually talk).