He Talks Too Much ~ Septiplier

10

Jack was not what you'd call a 'morning person'.

In fact if his job and his doctor didn't declare otherwise he'd happily sleep right into the middle of the day and eat breakfast for dinner like he used to when he went to college. Instead he was forced to drag himself out of bed at unholy hours of the morning and shuffle around his apartment like a damn zombie until he worked up the energy to pour himself some coffee.

It was one of the definite downsides to working under Georgia Fischbach, her and her stupidly strict policies on tardiness that made him feel like quitting altogether for just a nice lie on once in a while. It was like being back at school again and he hated it, no loathed it, with a bright and burning passion. He hated his alarm clock, he hated the piercingly bright early morning sun and he generally despised just about anything that dared cross his path before the clock struck 8AM.

If Mark thought he was grumpy during the day, by God he should see him at 7AM.

Anyway, this is why Jack was so surprised to find himself wake up before his alarm the day after his meeting with Mark, the normal weight of exhaustion gone from his shoulders leaving him feeling oddly light and airy, practically floating around his kitchen as he poured himself a bowl of cereal. His good mood stayed with him all through his shower and his light jog around the block, his high spirits only dampening a little when he opened his laptop to begin his report on last night.

After about 10 minutes spent just staring guiltily at the screen he closed the laptop altogether and went off to do something more productive, like watch half a season of some new crime drama on Netflix while steadily eating his way through the half the contents of his fridge.

All things considered, it was turning out to be quite a good day, and Jack was feeling incredibly relaxed, full and sleepy by around the sixth episode, his early mornings and late nights slowly catching up with him and making his eyelids heavy.

Of course it didn't last. Just as Jack was starting to drift off, convincing himself it'd definitely be worth the neck pain later, there came a loud knock at his door, startling him so much he nearly fell off the couch altogether, his heart suddenly hammering in his chest.

The Irishman eventually made it to the door and opened it with an indignant sound, not particularly caring that his clothes were crumpled and covered in crumbs and his hair was probably a complete bird's nest by this point.

You wake him up; you get to see him walk around like a hobo for the next half hour or so until he bothered to change. It was like a rule.

Standing on the landing outside his door was none other than Aiden McLoughlin, looking pretty much exactly how Jack remembered him, if with slightly longer facial hair. His skin was a little more tanned than Jack's and he was far stronger, his jersey obviously straining against his biceps as he held onto the duffel bag slung over one shoulder. He had his dark hair in the same gelled up hairstyle he'd favoured since he was 10 and there was still that dark glint of intent in his brown eyes that he'd had for as long as Jack could remember.

Aiden offered him a cheerful, if a little tired, smile. "Hey Jack, long time no see."

Jack leaned against his doorframe, looking his cousin up and down with a hint of confusion on his face. He didn't even have the energy to bother worrying about how he looked. "What are you doing here?" He grunted.

Aiden frowned. "I thought your Ma told you I was coming?" His voice was considerably lower than Jack's but they had the same familiar accent. Jack had missed hearing it.

Jack snorted, admittedly rather rudely. "Yeah she did but you're not supposed to come until Friday." He muttered, rubbing a hand over his face and through his hair, debating whether or not it'd be worth facing the wrath of his mother to just close the door and ignore the man until he went away.