You're Up Awfully Late {Septiplier}

Just for the Comfort

Hanging on each other, the four men stumble to the elevator. Ken jabs for the button, missing horribly, before a successful second attempt. Felix giggles obnoxiously, an arm secured around Ken's waist.

The Swede's other hand is around Jack's wrists, as if he fears the Irishman may make a break for it. Jack's cloudy eyes and alcohol flushed cheeks say differently, but Felix can't think far enough to realize that.

Mark has a hand on the green haired man's elbow, where his sleeves are still bunched up. He tries his best to shove his card back into the pocket of his jean with his free hand, but it is much harder than he bargained.

The elevator doors swing open, and Ken steps in, with little consideration to the preparedness of his line. The other three are pulled in, stumbling and falling against the walls of the small box. They giggle, bracing themselves on the handrails surrounding the elevator.

"I got it!" Felix shouts when Ken reaches for the buttons. With an arm still hooked around the American's waist, he sways forward, throwing an open palm at the control. He presses a multitude of buttons, but one of them is for the fourth floor.

Ken pulls him back, so the drunk Swede can brace himself for the move. Felix laughs, carefree and pliable. He throws both arms around Ken's waist, rubbing his forehead into the American's upper arm while chuckling.

Jack and Mark brace themselves on the metal rails, clumped together near the back. Jack is stuck inside his head, alcohol too heavy on his brain. The others lasted far longer than he expected, and he can't remember the last time he got this drunk.

Mark is a bit more aware, maybe accepting defeat too early. His hair is a mess, his cheeks pink, and eyes a bit wide. When his tongue flicks across his lips, he can still taste the bitter alcohol.

The elevator opens a few times, but Ken doesn't move. Neither do the other men, as they trust the squinting American to find their floor. When he does step out, Felix is pulled with him while Mark scurries after them, arm outstretched to grab the back of Felix's shirt. His other hand grabs Jack's, pulling the Irishman along.

Stumbling, Jack fishes around in his pocket for his key card, trying to match pace with Mark. Jack scowls at the number, trying to find the door which matches. The hallways spins and the numbers mesh, but he finds a match, digging his heels into the carpet.

Mark is pulls back, yanking on Felix who drags along Ken. The huddle together, arms around each other while swaying drunkenly. Pressed side to side, they can smell the alcohol on each other's breathes, the center smelling like a frat party.

"You guys are, like, my best friends," Felix draws, grip tight on the men at his sides. "We should do this all the time."

The other men nod and laugh.

Ken takes a step back, and Felix disconnects from Mark, moving down the hallway with the Southern. Jack presses the card against the sensory, nearly falling in when he shoved the door open. Throwing his hands against the wall, he carefully navigates his way to the bed, dropping carelessly onto the comforter. He gives a pained yelp when his phone digs into his hip, fishing it out desperately to relieve the ache.

Mark stumbles into the bathroom as Jack is blinded by his phone screen. The green haired men focuses on the screen, finding messages from Signe. His heart jumps, but he tries to remain optimistic as he opens them.

The first message is a picture. It's a selfie Felix must have taken down in the bar, though Jack doesn't remember it. He and the other two lean into the picture, over a counter full of glasses: some empty, some full, and most somewhere between. The alcohol is already in the glint in their eyes, the color of their cheeks.

Signe: A few beers, huh?

Signe: I don't even know what to say to you right now. Don't even try to explain. I'm tried of all of this. When you get back we need to talk.

Signe: Your brother is going to pick you up from the airport.

Jack locks his phone, tossing it across the bed. Tears prick at his eyes, and he pulls down his sleeves, grabbing them in his fist. He rubs the gray fabric against his eyes, trying to keep tears from streaming down his face. He normally would hold it in, but the alcohol is making him feel open, vulnerable, and oh so sad.

Jack doesn't notice Mark has returned until he flops onto the bed, shoulder to shoulder with him. Jack tries to dry his tears, but only ends up sniffing, crying harder, much to his embarrassment.

"Woah, Jack, what's wrong?" Mark asks, soft brown eyes offer his deepest condolences.

"N-nothing," Jack tries, stuttering with a sob.

He feels a bit like he is suffocating, trying to hold everything. He squeezes his eyes and mouth shut, pressing the emotions down inside him. But his drunkenness intensifies the harsh swirling in his stomach, twist his lungs as he tries to breath through his nose.

Mark reaches a comforting hand over to Jack's shoulder, and the green haired man bursts into tears, rolling into the American to sob into his shirt. Mark wraps his friend up in his arms, rubbing his back as the cries tear through his body. He whispers soft words of comfort into his hair, promising so many things he cannot guarantee. Yet, it makes Jack feel better.

Eyes itchy, lungs pained, heart aching- Jack can't tell how long he bawls into Mark's chest. Tears drop onto his flannel, but Jack sniffles to keep the snot away, try to breath without hiccuping.

"I-I'm sorry I'm a m-mess, M-Mark," Jack cries, burying his face deeper into Mark's comforting form.

"Don't you dare apologize," Mark scolds. "Just get it all out, okay? You're okay. I've got you."

Mark presses a soft kiss into Jack's hair. Jack's stomach flips a bit, not from the tears or alcohol this time. He releases a shaky breath: feeling so warm and safe and loved with just an embrace. He places a small peck against Mark's rising chest, causing Mark to stiffen a bit. A shard of ice cold fear tears through Jack's heart. He bursts into a fresh flood of tears. Mark continues to pet his hair, giving him time, though Jack knows he won't forget about it.