Everything's Alright

Jack

AhhhhHhhHhHHHhhHhHh. Hhhh. H. I feel my heart practically bursting from my chest. I'm leaving for PAX Prime today. Mark invited me to be on his panel with Ken! I've been packing for a week. Even if Mark and I aren't technically out to the public, we're still definitely best friends. Also, the panel falls on our "super official deca-versarry of stardusttttt" as Mark says. I still find it hard to wrap my head around the fact that we've been together for nearly 10 months. We've seen each other in person 6 times. There's been many nights where he had to coax me out of my mental state and have me eat something, but I've been alive for 10 months more than my planned... date. I've somehow reached 4 million subscribers, gotten a cat, and still not came out to the public. I know I shouldn't be hiding shit like this, but every time I try to make the video, my throat goes bone dry. Mark's made his video, but luckily didn't out me. As always, both fan bases have had their suspicions, but they don't know it's canon. My hands are shaking as I drag my suitcase out the door, out of the lobby, and onto the dull grey streets of Ireland.
-
I've been painting this gosh-diddly-darn thing backstage for an hour. I needed something cool to do for the panel, but mostly something to quench my anxiety. I've never actually been able to publicly speak. Of course, speaking in front of a camera is much different. I'm painting a banner, entailing Wharfstache, Mark, Ken, and I. I'm painting on a mustache with trembling hands and, when I go back to dip the brush in the electric pink paint, a sudden tremor goes through my body and I spill the paint. I watch it go on my protective plastic cover- thank god for my not trusting myself- and fall forward, balancing myself on my hands on my knees. I shut my eyes tight, hoping nobody decides to randomly come into the large, black painted space. I try to hold back tears, but some escape my eyes and make their way onto my still-wet mural. I hear Mark clear his throat.
"Uh." That's all he needs to say. Just knowing he's here somehow gives me a sense of unease. I hate making him see me like this, so I force myself to stop. I stand up and walk to him. I sigh and he puts an arm around me. I turn towards him and he clasps his hands in mine. Neither of us really care about the paint.
"15 minutes." He tells me. I leave the banner as it is, telling myself it looks okay. I go out to hang it, slouching and silent. I hang it on the three combined desks we will most likely neglect to use. It fits perfectly. People are already filing in, and they give a roaring cheer as I bum around onstage, admiring it. I turn and smile sheepishly, then hurry back. I have wet paint still on my hands, but I don't wash it off. Once I'm back, Ken has arrived and two others who I don't know are fitting them with mics. A third person, a short, stubby-fingered man with a beard and a pugnacious face fits me. Somebody with a gentle, lilting voice mentions we have 5 minutes. Soon enough, we have less than 60 seconds, and they've left. There's a countdown clock to when the panel officially starts. Forgetting the microphones, I cup the side of Mark's face with my paint-covered hand and kiss him somewhere around 30 seconds until showtime.
"I love you." I whisper. He nods. Mark was never one to really mention that, as affectionate as he is. We hear shouts from the crowd. It sounds like one collective "aww". I forgot the mics were on. I just confessed my love in front of hundreds of people. 10. 9. 8. 7. 6. My pulse leaps alarmingly. Mark is the first to step out, a bright pink handprint all over his stubble and partly in his hair. I'm almost deaf by the time I step out, after Ken, the crowd probably shouting themselves hoarse. I see many people's eyes dart from his face to my hand as I wave to the crowd. My knees are jelly, and I grip the edge of the table for dear life. Mark, as per usual, is making the crowd go head over heels. I stay silent and smiley, and we start the questions five minutes in. I run out into the crowd and choose a nice looking young girl, sitting with some obvious friends. She has glasses, a large Cornell University sweatshirt, and a big smile. I hold the microphone to her lips.
"Uhm," she stammers out, "right before the panel started, why did you say 'I love you'?" I feel my face flush and turn to the stage.
"Uh, M-ark?" I stammer out, "Care to answer that?" I look at him helplessly and see him struggling for air.
"Well, we've kind of been keeping a secret from you guys," he leads on. I cower away from the audience, readying myself for what's to come. "Uh, since exactly ten months ago, Jack and I have been dating." And the crowd goes wild. The girl who asked the question congratulated with me and all her friends smiled. Eventually, they settled, and Ken took a question. Mark eventually strapped on the crotch cam (FINALLY) and the panel ended all too quickly. When we had 5 minutes left, Mark saw people file out. All 3 of us were on the stage.
"To all you people filing out," he said, "You'll miss the... surprise." I had no idea what he was talking about, but at the end he got really close to the mic and used his super deep voice, making my knees go wobbly again. Once we reach 3 minutes the real show begins. We take our final question, about our favorite films, and I think it's over. Mark gets back up next to me, and I'm surprised at what he says next.
"Now, I've got a question," he runs to me, so I turn and hold his gaze. His eyes look watery, "for you, Jack."
"Fire away," I say, giving him a confused look. He reaches into his pocket and the audience screams as he lowers himself to a knee.
"Uh," I feel my heart stop as he offers me a box. "Sean William McLoughlin," he holds the mic to his mouth, making sure he's heard over the din, "I've been undoubtedly in love with you since the first day. Now, ten months later, I have to ask. Will you marry me?" I put my hood over my head and draw the strings so nobody can see how inevitably red my face is. I see him get up through the small hole. A chant breaks out in the crowd.
"SAY YES! SAY YES! SAY YES!" Over and over again. I slowly nod my head and feel Mark's arms swaddle my body. The crowd has turned into a constant noise machine. I feel him kiss the top of my head through the fabric. I feel a pit in my stomach. How will people feel about my channel? About my hiding this for so long. Where are we gonna live? America or Ireland? A thought tornado rips through my little Kansas of a mind.