Whisk Me Away (Septiplier)

~ SEVEN ~

We both stared at the box, a faded blue shoe box coated with dust and a yellowing paper taped to the top labeled 'TIME CAPSULE: DON'T OPEN EVER' Mark chuckled, ripping away the paper. "Well, that rules broken."

"Old you is gonna come back and slap this thing right out of your hands."

"Ha," Mark gave me a cocky look, making me giggle. "I'd like to see him try."

"Well, what are you waiting for?" I motioned to the box. "Pop that sucker open." Mark didn't hesitate to tear away the tape on the lid and open the box. He gasped as the lid went off, revealing it's contents.

"Oh my shit!" Mark grabbed the thing that laid on top, a shiny yellow plastic trumpet.

"What?" Mark turned to me excitedly. I stared at the toy in confusion.

"This here," He held up the piece of plastic as though it were a precious treasure. "Was my first ever trumpet."

I raised my eyebrows, "You can play the trumpet?"

He laughed, handing me it. "I was in Band for most of high school," I studied the initials drawn on it with a faded sharpie. M.E.F. "Though if you're expecting me to amaze you with some of my sweet tones, I'm afraid that toy probably broke back when I was five."

I laughed, looking back up at him as I set it down. "Excuses are excuses, Markimoo."

He raised an eyebrow, not taking his eyes off my as he dipped his hand back in the box. He smirked. "'Markimoo'?"

I blushed, looking away as he laughed. "Don't be so jealous of my amazing nickname making skills."

"I'm not," He pulled something free from the box, an old book. "In fact, I'm gonna start calling you Jackaboy."

"Pshhhh," I crossed my arms. "Mine's better."

"Mhmm," he flipped open the book. "Woah! These are old!" I looked over, seeing that the book was a photo album. Mark's eyes twinkled as he flipped through it, admiring all the photos of him as a kid. He must have noticed me looking, because he moved next to me, placing the book between us. He pointed as a photo of a baby with black hair chewing on a rubber chicken doll. "That was me."

I laughed, looking at the photo. "A real bright one you were."

"Don't judge me."

I laughed, "I'm free to judge who I wish."

Mark pointed to another picture, one of him and a woman and man. "That's my mom and I."

"Who's the man?" I could feel Mark tense next to me, and I looked at him quickly. He was staring at the picture with an unnamed expression. "Mark!" I wrapped an arms around his shoulders, ignoring the pain as I pulled him from his sudden trance.

"S-Sorry," He relaxed, letting the photo album fall gently into his lap. "That's, uh, that's my dad." I didn't take my eyes off him, and I knew they were bright with worry. "He...he died. A while ago."

"Oh god," I didn't take my arm off him. "I'm so sorry Mark."

He shrugged, sighing. "It's okay...it just still gets to me sometimes." He looked up at me, making me realize how close we were. "It wasn't fair, that he left so soon."

"Oh Mark," I sighed, wrapping my other arm around him and pulling him into a surprising embrace. "You know he didn't want to leave you-"

"It wasn't unfair to me," He mumbled sternly, wrapping his arms around me too and resting his head on my shoulder. "Him. He was...such a great man, Jack."

"I bet he was, Mark. I bet he was."

Mark pulled away, smiling weakly at me. "You'd like him, in a way you remind me of him." He looed back down at the picture. "Both really stubborn."

I let my eyes wander down to the picture once more, a chill running down my spine, reminding me of the short amount of time we call life. Mark sighed once more.

A/N: Even as my city is in the midst of a tornado I am determined to bring forth some beautiful Septiplier fluff