Jacksepticeye Imagines

Rock Star

Note: This is going to have Mark being a bit of a douche for the sake of the story. I'm sorry.

[Jack's POV]

We finish the song and everyone cheers. The crowd goes wild. Hands are raised, screams are heard, etc.

"I think we killed it," Mark says when we stroll backstage and a bunch of fans are lined up, waiting to get their pictures taken with us.

"I don't know," I decide to put in my two cents, "I think that last song was a little exaggerated."

"Really?" Mark coos, "I thought it wasn't exaggerated enough."

I chuckle, "Jezzus, Mark, you really are the supreme showman."

As we near the 'red carpet,' where our fans will get pictures with us, Mark faces me and does an extremely goofy bow. His red hair flops toward the floor, as if wanting to run away. It's all I can do not to mess it up, when he flips back up.

"First fan," he announces and they all go crazy.

This is the life.

Later, when we get back to the hotel, I toss myself onto the bouncy surface of my bed.

Mark walks up to me and leans over me, "Tired?"

I nod, closing my eyes, "This last performance was a bitch." I open my eyes and rethink my words, "Well, I mean, I love the fans and all, but....."

"But......?" Mark gazes at me with curiosity.

I sigh, "I don't know, I just....." I glance into his smooth brown eyes, "Things never used to be this hard."

Mark starts to walk towards the door, "Yeah, well, that's the life of a rock star."

"You mean, rock band?" I correct him.

"Yeah," he gazes at me, innocently, "That's what I said."

"Mmhm," I roll my eyes.

"I'm going down to the bar with the guys," he tells me, opening the door, "You rest. You need it after rocking out on those drums."

I smile, "Thanks, Mark." And he leaves the room. The door shuts rather loudly behind him.

Mark hasn't always been the leader, but he always has been this involved in all of our well beings in the band. Thus, he became the leader. I never thought he'd gain this whole....rock star persona, though. He gained that through time and experience, I think. And ignorance.

I think.....I think.....................I think..............................

I close my eyes and fall asleep.

I wake up to a loud crash. I jolt awake and glance around. The room is dark. I can barely make out the shape of the guys carrying Mark into the room. He's clawing at everything he can reach.

"Ooooooo," he moans, exhaustedly, "Preeeeetty...."

"C'mon, Mark, you'll be fine," Wade pulls Mark over to his bed and lays him atop it. His brown eyes find me and they look like melted chocolate.

"Jaaaaack, you - " He hiccups once, "You goofy Irish man, I - " Another hiccup escapes, "I love you, man."

I get up off of my bed and help Mark get tucked into his. He doesn't complain or protest at all. In fact, he doesn't say anything at all until I get him covered with the top blanket.

"C'mere, Jackaboy," He pulls me onto him and then he kisses me. ON THE LIPS. I try to get away, or breathe, or something, but he has an iron grip on the back of my head. Finally, the guys come in and save me.

Wade and Bob pull me off of Mark and he play-pouts, "Oh, come on, you know you enjoyed it." I wipe my mouth, disgustedly.

Suddenly, Mark gets mad, "You stupid asshole, you don't even care! Why are you still standing here? I hate you! Get the fuck outta here, you fucking jerk!"

This starts to get me mad, which Bob and Wade notice. I feel my face burning, so I grab my jacket and open the hotel door. Bob stops me, "Where are you going?"

"Out," I reply, emotionlessly. Why show emotions when you don't want to feel any?Like anger or sadness or defeat?

"You know he didn't mean it," Wade joins in, "He's just drunk. He's had one too many drinks."

"I don't care," I glare at Mark, watching me from afar with his arms crossed like a little baby.

And I walk out, closing the door behind me, loudly. I don't know where I'm going, but I don't care. I just want to walk.

I stroll through the local park. It has a curly slide, a few benches, and a swingset. Out of all thos options, I pick the swings.

I swing lightly, with my feet never once leaving the ground. I'm trying to think of what I could say to Mark when he's sober again. He never used to do this when we first started the band. But, no. He had to get the whole rock star thing going and make himself think that he's this famous guy who everyone in the world would kill to see or be seen next to. Why did he have to go and change?

"Jack," I glance over my shoulder, and see Wade.

"You know he didn't mean it," he tries to explain.

"I know," I mutter, softly. A moment of silence separated us until Wade speaks up again.

"I talked to him, and he wanted to apologize," Wade attempts a small smile.

I try to smile back, unsuccessfully, "Well...." Should I tell him?

Oh, hell, why not? It's not like he's gonna tell Mark, right?

"I'm just tired of him acting like he's the most important person in the world!" I find myself yelling, filling the park with clamor, "What happened to our friend, Mark who used to shoot milkshake out of his nose when he laughed so hard?" Wade starts to laugh at the memory. It was a late night at performing at our local cafe. We did so good that the cafe gave us free milkshakes, whatever flavor we wanted. We started telling jokes and whoever laughed first, lost. And Mark lost.

"And what happened to the Mark we knew who used to help us write songs about the troubles of high school in our tree house?" Wade gazes at me, somberly.

"What happened to that guy?" I finish talking and Wade simply stands in utter silence. He glances at the ground a couple of times and then back at me. His eyes are searching mine, like I'm gonna keep talking about the Mark we once knew.

"We can make him change," Wade tries to convince me, but I know he won't. I tell this to him.

"Yes, he will!" He counters, "If our friend is truly still in there somewhere, then he'll change," Wade steps forward and lays his hands on my bony shoulders, "I promise."

I stand up and glare at him with an angry expression. Why is he so damn stubborn?!

"Don't make promises you can't keep," I growl at him and Wade looks hurt. I sigh, knowing what I have to do.

I start to walk away and Wade speaks up, "Where are you going now?"

"Home," I answer. I hear Wade gasp.

"What? Where are we gonna get a new drummer?" Wade exclaims.

I have just enough patience to retort with a smartass reply, "Look on Craigslist."

I leave Wade speechless, still standing in front of the swing I sat on. I fade into the shadows of the ever-growing dusk. And I plan to never return.

Goodbye Mark.