You're Up Awfully Late {Septiplier}

Just for the Fans

Breath a little heavy, Jack stands behind the curtain. The buzz of the audience can be heard through the thick, black fabric. The tiniest bit of sweat collects on his brow, and he hopes he doesn't look as sweaty when he steps out.

His thumb and forefinger have been rubbing circles into the puzzle piece pendant since he was left to wait. The cold metal feels calming beneath his touch. Each time he slides across the engraving, the few short letters of Mark's name, his heart stops beating so hard.

"Jack?" Mark calls, peering into the shadowy corner the Irishman was told to wait in.

"Mark?" Jack calls back, relaxing immediately.

Mark steps around the curtain, making his way into the dim light by guide of the neon green hair. Jack takes Mark into his arms as soon as he is close enough, inhaling deeply to surround himself with the calming scent of Mark's cologne.

"How you feeling?" Mark asks gentle, holding the other tight against his chest.

"I'm so fucking nervous," Jack admits, though he has calmed considerably in Mark's arms. "How many people are out there? I'm terrified no one is going to show up, but I'm terrified that everyone is going to show up, and I'm just terrified."

"Deep breathes," Mark suggest, hand coming up to comb through dyed locks. "You're going to do so well. So, so well."

"Do you still get nervous?" Jack asks.

Mark chuckles, swaying them softly. "Of course. I'd be willing to bet that everyone does. But it's going to be okay, okay? Because everyone out there is a fan... including me."

Jack's cheeks heat up. "Really?"

Mark chuckles. "Yeah. You've always been too cute to not like."

The Irishman blushes fully, hiding his face in Mark's chest. The American laughs gently, holding the other more firmly in his arms. Jack raises his head when he feels something cold on his skin. He finds the puzzle piece around Mark's neck, the pendant catching the soft light.

"Are you still going to wear the necklace? Even when we go back home?" Jack asks, eyes tracing the engraving of his name.

"I won't if you don't want me to," Mark says.

"But do you want to?" Jack presses.

"I think they're cute," Mark admits. "I would like to. But only if you do too."

Jack smiles, heart fluttering. His name does look especially good on Mark. And he likes having the comforting pendant around his neck.

"Excuse me," a voice calls.

Jack jumps from Mark, cheeks blazing in embarrassment and stomach turning with terror. However, it is a only a staff member, black shirt allowing him to disappear easier into the shadows. The older gentleman doesn't look interested in their affairs, glancing back down at the clipboard, as if to check which of them he is to fetch.

"We are about a minute from starting," the man informs them, looking up to settle his eyes on Jack.

Jack nods, turning back to Mark. He opens his mouth to say a goodbye, but the American catches his chin, bringing their lips together for a breathless kiss. Jack falls into the kiss without protest, only remembering the staff member when Mark pulls away.

"Good luck," Mark smiles softly, giving his hand a final squeeze. "I'm going to go find my seat. You'll do great, okay?"

"Okay," Jack smiles, head reeling from the raven's lips. He watches Mark turn and disappear, missing his warmth.

"Ya know your boyfriend can come on stage with you," the man says.

"Oh, no, that's okay," Jack laughs, stiff.

"It's your choice," the man shrugs. "Follow me."

Jack is lead only a few feet away, where the curtain divides. The man glances at his watch, watching the hands tick. Finally, he opens the divide, waving Jack through.

The Irishman steps into the lights, deafened by the roaring crowd. A smile naturally forces itself onto his face as he finds his way to the podium. Scanning the crowd, he waves to the shining faces, surprised to see fans already in tears.

Jack pauses when he sees Mark, his heart even happier. The raven is on his feet, clapping with a bright smile stretching his cheeks. To his side is Bob and Wade, clapping and grinning as well. Jack places himself behind the podium, trying not to grip the wood, as the crowd takes a seat.

"Hello," Jack starts, leaning into the mic. The crowd screams a hello back.

Jack chuckles, eyes scanning the crowd. His gaze flickers to the very back at the swing of the door, easily seen among the sitting crowd. He almost looks away as quick as he saw, but he lingers when a familiar head of black hair slides through the opening door.

It's Ken, of all people. He's running his fingers through his hair, doing little to fix the complete mess on his head. He pushes his glasses up on his nose, smoothing his crumbled shirt and tugging his jeans into the right orientation.

Jack doesn't want to think where Ken came from. Doesn't want to think about the fact that there really is nowhere else he could have come from, looking like that at least. But his mind runs through a hundred different scenarios, believing no others.

"Jack!" someone screams, drawing the Irishman back to the front of the audience.

Jack gives a weak laugh, ignoring the Ken stepping his way through the crowd to sit down next to Mark. It's hard, though, especially when Mark's eye catch his, worry in his dark irises and a frown on his slim lips.