You're My Everything (Septiplier)

"You can't make a pasty Irishman run in the California sun!"

-Mark's POV-

"Jack?"

"No, I absolutely refuse!"

I sighed and leaned my head against the bathroom door.

"Bright Eyes, if you are going to force me to eat seven layer chocolate cakes, then you have to at least be willing to go jogging with me."

"It was only three layers," he screamed, his voice muffled from the other side of the door. "And I hate exercising!"

"Fine," I said, moving away from the door, "but if I have to go jogging by myself that means I'll be eating less of your desserts."

The bathroom door opened slowly, and he poked his head out. His blue eyes scanning my face for possible bluffing signs.

There were none. I was serious.

"But I love making you desserts," he said, still firmly behind the door.

"And I love eating them," I said softly, "but unless you no longer like the shape of my ass, I either need more exercising or less sweets."

His eyes narrowed menacingly at me, but I stood my ground.

"Your choice," I said, hearing Mexican stand-off music in my head.

He groaned and came out of the bathroom, looking slightly defeated.

"Fine," he said sourly. "How much?"

"Three seems like a good start."

"Three minutes?" he asked, sounding delighted. "I can do that!"

I laughed. "No, three miles."

He turned around to head back into the bathroom, but I grabbed him by the arm. "Tell you what? We will start off with 15 minutes, but I want real jogging, not that Baywatch slow-motion bullshit. Deal?"

He sighed and nodded. "Deal, but I'm complaining during the entire 15 minutes."

"Fair enough," I said, throwing him a pair of jogging pants from the dresser.

***
-Jack's POV-

This was a mistake. Every part of my body is screaming that this was a mistake to agree to jogging.

"Hey," he yelled, "pick up the pace! You promised to really jog."

"I am jogging," I said, feeling my heart in my throat. "If I die out here, I'll come back as a ghost and haunt you for the rest of your life."

He turned around and headed back over towards me, his black hair rippling in the wind and not a drop of sweat on him.

"Honestly," he said as he got closer to me, "you as a ghost would be kind of hot. You would make a great Patrick Swayze."

"You realize that would make you Demi Moore, right?" I asked, slowing down.

He paused, and frowned deeply. "We both have sultry dark eyes and pouty lips. I can pull it off."

I stopped in place and hunched over. My hands on my knees and breathing as if I had run an Olympic race. My face and arms were burning like fire, and my lungs seemed to resent needing to be used right now.

"How in the hell can you look like you haven't run at all?" I asked, looking into his flawless face.

"Jack," he said, trying not to grin too much. "We've only been out here for five minutes."

"Lies," I wheezed. "You clearly have built a device that slows down time. We started jogging at least three months ago according to my heart rate."

He laughed and gave me a hug. "Ok, how about two more minutes and we'll head back inside?"

"You have no idea how much I love you for saying that," I said, relieved.

He chuckled, and he hugged me tighter. I inhaled his aftershave as I was pressed against his firm chest. In these moments I could remember clearly why I loved being so close to him. His warm embrace surrounding me and helping me feel so incredibly loved and protected.

"Does the two minutes count if we just stay here on the side of the road and hug?"

"No, babe...it does not."

"Damn it."