Septiplier One-Shots

Unwavering

*hands out tissues* Don't worry, we'll get through this torture author144 has prepared for us together...

Alright, yeah, I'll admit it. I've been slacking off with my writing, and I feel terrible that author144 is doing most of the writing that's being uploaded. I swear I'll try to get a chapter out by the end of the week, cause all I need is the time to write.

Well, let's forget about that for a moment, and rewind back to a little over a week ago. We hit 7k votes, which was fucking incredible! If you fast forward to today, however, you'll find that we've hit 8 THOUSAND MOTHER FUCKING VOTES!!! Guys, you are seriously the fucking best! It's phenomenal to see how much live and support you guys show each and every one of these one shots, and you all always tend to brighten my day with your lovely comments. This story has grown so much, and it's still shocking to see how many people actually read it.

Thank you all so damn much. I love each and every one of you <333

And so it continues...

The day that Mark dreaded most had finally arrived. He felt his breath catch in his throat every time he looked at Jack, and they both wore a similar somber expression. He felt as though he had energy enough to run for miles but at the same time was sorely exhausted and never wanted to leave his house again. The last thing he wanted to do was drive Jack to the airport to send him off, but that didn't matter because Ryan and Daniel appeared the next morning to do the driving and seeing off as well.
Mark sat in the back of the car with Jack, sitting right next to him and clasping their hands together, tight. Jack looked a bit uncomfortable with this, but if he was, he said nothing of it, instead he just massaged Mark's hand. Mark leaned his head on the Irishman's head throughout the entirety of the car ride, listening to the man's heartbeat, his breathing, noticing the difference between how calm he looked on the outside versus how how he was on the inside.
The airport was large, bustling, and in full swing despite how early it was in the morning. Mark had never felt so deflated upon entering an airport, and he continued to hold Jack's hand as they walked through the building towards Jack's terminal. Ryan and Daniel led the way, looking around and pointing things out, laughing and cracking jokes with Jack who laughed and returned them. Mark was the only one in silence; he didn't want to speak for fear of saying something he shouldn't.
Mark did all of the heavy lifting as well. He lifted Jack's bag, carefully at the man's request, onto the belt to be weighed and watch it send off towards the loading station. Then he heaved Jack's carryon bag over his shoulder, and carried that despite the Irishman's ability to carry it himself. They walked to where Jack would wait to board, and for a few moments sat in an awkward, saddened silence. Ryan nudged Jack, and the man nudged back, starting a small shoving war, to which Mark only watched. He grinned, hearing Jack laughing and playing. All went quiet again as his flight was called to board.
Mark stood, and Jack did at the same time, the pair glancing at one another. Jack embraced the Cyndago guys first, giving them each a hug and thanking them for spending time with him. They then walked a ways off, letting Jack and Mark have their own personal moment to which Mark gripped his shirt, pulling him in for a tight hug. His fists were balled up, Jack's shirt held there, and he pressed his face into the Irishman's shoulder. Jack said nothing, only ran his fingers through Mark's hair and pressing his lips against his forehead.
"We can get through this." Jack whispered into his ear, holding him. It was unknown how long the pair stood like that, but it couldn't have been long as the plane wasn't going to wait just for Jack. Jack pulled away, giving Mark the smallest, most gentle kiss on the lips before backing away and heading to the lady waiting to board him. His eyes displayed words beyond what he could actually say, and Mark wanted to know everything he was thinking; he wanted to hear him say these things to him, once more before he left. Jack showed the lady his ticket, and she passed him through. Jack turned at the last moment, giving a small wave and a smile before disappearing around the bend in the tunnel to get on the plane.
Mark felt his heart drop through his chest into his feet and through the floor. Why was he even trying to pretend he would be okay with this? He felt like someone had taken a huge part of him and run off with it, or taken it onto a plane that would land in Ireland in a few hours. Heaving a large sigh, Mark turned and headed back to Ryan and Daniel. Even with Jack's last kiss, Mark had a feeling it would never be enough for him.
The trip home was silent, or at least it was for Mark. Even with Ryan and Daniel trying to joke with him and giving up, he had managed to tune out every single noise in the background. His eyes were out the window, searching, gazing, looking for something to think about other than the fact that the one person he cared for truly was on a plane headed to another continent right now. Or course, with the way Mark's brain was working, he was lucky enough to keep his gaze even focused outside the window without zoning out and thinking of a certain Irishman.
Upon his arrival at home, Mark thanked both Ryan and Daniel. Even against their word, he paid them for driving him to the airport with Jack, and hugged them before sending them off. They had been worried, and offered to stay, but Mark wanted to be alone.
His house felt empty, and he found himself wandering through it just to see whatever traces of Jack had been left behind. He found himself at Jack's room, the guest one he had used, and opened the door slowly. The smell of the Irishman hit him, hard, and Mark found himself crying before he could stop it. He walked into the room carefully, as though afraid to upset anything in it, and noticed its emptiness save for one thing.
Jack's lucky flannel was draped over the chair by the desk.
Mark grabbed it carefully, running his fingers through the fabric before sitting on the bed. He brought it up to his face, inhaling what little scent of Jack was left on it, and stared around the room before looking back at the shirt. Was he really going to be okay? He wasn't sure anymore, and he was only furthered convinced he wasn't going to be once he realized just how hard he was crying. He missed the Irishman already.
"Oh, Jack." Mark croaked out, his voice cracking and tears spilling over his mouth and chin.

To be continued...