Floor 5 (septiplier)

chapter 3

Lmao I knew this story was gonna flop bu t idrc I'm gonna keep writing it :') also sidenote but my literal favoritE Septiplier account followed me and I feel like I have to start writing better omg pls stay :^)

(I know I said it's always gonna be in marks pov but just for memory refreshment of whatever the fukc this is your lil footnote)

- Hour One: Starting -

I shove my phone hastily into my back pocket, running a hand through my hair and adjusting it. I stride over to green hair boy with a mild amount of confidence, slowly lifting his chin up into my hand. I ease my lips onto his and a soft sigh escapes his mouth as he melts into me-

"So.. what's your name?" A light, spritely irish accent lifts me out of my thoughts, making me realize I was beginning to doze off against the cold wall of the elevator. This is why morning classes suck.

"Oh um.. I'm Mark, hi." I say, shaking the last of my dream out with my best attempt at a post doze 7 am smile. I'm trying my hardest not to blush as I remember my little nap fantasy. Good grief, Mark you just met the guy.

"That's a nice name. Mark." He parrots the name back at me, smiling. I like how he says my name in his accent, it sounds sharper. I bet he also sounds sharper when he- um. Never mind.

"I'm Sean, call me Jack though. Not sure why everyone calls me that but I've become accustomed to it by now." He says, smiling again but smaller this time. Over analyzing the decline of the smile for a second, I begin to worry that he read my thoughts somehow and was now uncomfortable. My worry washes away like a calm wave when he looks back up at me with the intent of a conversation in his eyes.

His beautiful blue eyes.

"Off to a morning class? Those are the worst, man." He says with a hint of sympathy in his voice. I just nod, rolling my eyes playfully, and he chuckles slightly. Holy mother of pearl I made him laugh.

Stop that. It's normal to make people laugh, for gods sake Mark stop being so damn over analytical.

"Pretty important presentation actually, I'm internally screaming but it's all good." I say, attempting to contribute to the conversation with more than my name and nods.

"Ah, so you have Baker. Heard she's the only professor here that gives out literature presentations. I had her last year, witch of a teacher." He says, his lip slightly snarling up in disgust with the last sentence.

Oh, so he's a sophomore here. It's not that an age difference like that really matters, but I suddenly felt small. Insignificant, almost rejected.

I brush off those heavy thoughts, replying with a small laugh and a "right?" in agreement.

"But yeah, I'm off to a trig class myself. Fun fun fun." He says, miming a gun with his hand and pulls the thumb trigger to his head, sticking his tongue out.

He looks cute when he sticks his tongue out.

Jesus christ Mark stop.

I'm about to say something, what it was I'm not really sure, when the intercom beeps again, a reminder that our lucky elevator was still broken. Thanks for the refresher.

As much as I love this stalling time from my presentation, as the first 10 minutes of this elevator trip pass by, I begin to believe less and less that that's why I'm glad the elevator broke down.