You're Up Awfully Late {Septiplier}

Just for the Confrontation

Jack has been stationed in the hall for almost an hour, tapping on his phone. Back against the wall and legs pulled close, his arms rest on his knees. Ken has still not come back, though he must pass the Irishman eventually, as their rooms are only a few doors away.

He hasn't spoken to Mark about Ken coming in during the panel, nor has he told him of his position. Honestly, he is still talking himself into confronting Ken, wondering if he will have the courage to speak when the time comes.

Mark: come to my room?

Jack: can't. Waiting for Ken.

Mark: jack please don't

Jack looks at the message but doesn't respond. He glances at the time, wondering when Ken will return. The black haired man did not return with them, as he could not be found as they were waving down a taxi. Mark and Jack left late, but even then, Ken must have left later. Notoriously bad at answering his phone, calls and texts were ignored, and though Jack pounded on his door, he received no answer.

Jack tries his best to past the time without losing his nerve, replying to comments and posting on Twitter. He can't help but take a moment to scroll through Ken's page. He finds little but updates, silly retweets, and petty arguments with Felix.

The elevator dings, though Jack hardly pays any mind. Despite the hour, quite a few people have been coming and going. He only looks up when the person stops at his side.

"Jack?" Ken asks, looking down at the green haired man.

"Ken!" Jack replies, standing and dropping his phone into his pocket. "You're up awfully late."

"What are you doing in the hallway?" Ken asks, confused. "Did you get locked out or something?"

"No, no, I'm here by choice," Jack assures, pushing himself to not back down. "I wanted to talk to you."

The black haired man quirks his eyebrow, pressing his lips together. "Okay, what's on your mind, buddy?"

"We shouldn't do this here," the Irishman sighs.

"Why not?" Ken asks, almost snaps, mood shifting considerably.

Jack takes a step back, almost losing his nerve. But he remembers Ken coming into his panel late and being out at all hours of the night and the mark on his shoulder. And he just has to know. He can't forget it. He has to ask Ken or he will surely let it slip to someone else.

"I know," Jack says, with almost no emotion.

"Know what?" Ken presses.

"Why you are out so late," Jack nearly accuses. "What you've been doing. Ken... how could you do that to Mary?"

Ken's eye drop with a frown, a small sigh coming from his lips. Jack opens the door to his hotel room, motioning the taller man inside. Ken steps in, standing near the bed but not sitting on it or the couch.

"Felix told you?" Ken sighs.

Jack's eyebrows crawl up his forehead, confused. "I didn't know Felix knew."

Ken copies his expression. "What exactly do you know? Or, think you know?"

"You're cheating on Mary," Jack nearly whispers, almost ashamed to have to say it out loud. The world feels dirty falling from his lips.

Ken nods slowly, but he doesn't get another word in before Jack's tired brain makes the connection.

"You're cheating on Mary," Jack repeats, strong. "You're cheating on Mary with... with Felix!"

"I never said that," Ken declines quickly.

"Why else would Felix know?" Jack nearly accuses, head spinning. "Felix is the last person anyone would ever tell a secret. Oh my god, Ken if you can deny it, then you better do it quick. Because how, how, could you and Felix?"

"It started a long time ago," Ken explains, calm despite the Irishman. "Before Mary."

"But not before Marzia?"

"Well, I didn't know Felix before Marzia."

"You and Felix?" Jack mutters, sitting down the couch, trying to wrap his head around it. "Oh god. But Mary. But Marzia. Oh god."

Jack feels as if he may be sick, stomach churning and head turning. He shouldn't have asked. He should have forgotten.

"I shouldn't have said anything," Ken mutters. "But, if Felix didn't tell you, then how did you know?"

"I saw a hickey on your shoulder last night," Jack admits.

"Fuck," Ken groans. "Why didn't you start with that. Goddamn it Jack, I could have played that off."

"I didn't know!" Jack snaps. "How was I supposed to even guess you and Felix were sneaking around behind our backs? For what? Years?"

"It's not even your business," Ken growls back. "And why were you out anyway? There's only one reason anyone leaves their hotel room in the middle of the night, and it isn't for a stroll."

"What makes you think I'm lying?" Jack frowns.

"You're a piss poor liar," Ken nearly laughs, rolling his eyes. "Now out with it."

"This isn't about me," Jack mutters.

Ken laugh, low and mocking. "So what? You're life isn't my business, but you just have to stick you nose into mine?"

Jack's phone dings, and Ken looks to the Irishman's pants pocket. "Only one person that could be bothering you this late."

"This isn't about me," Jack demands, getting more upset by the moment. He didn't want to believe Ken was cheating, certainly didn't want to know it was with Felix. He wanted ease of mind, not a whole new can of worms. But, when poking around in other people's lives, that may be too much to ask.

"I swear to god Jack. Who the hell are you sleeping with?"

"None of your fucking business."

Ken throws an arm against Jack's chest, shoving him back against the couch. The Irishman jerks back, hands throwing down to cover his hip. The impact sends a shock of pain through Jack's torso, but he pretends he can't feel it.

"Get off!" Jack cries, staring Ken in the face.

"Give me the phone," the black haired man demands, pressing the other back further, at quite an advantage due to his size. Jack's face screws up, Ken's elbow digging into his sternum. But he is nothing if not stubborn.

"No."

Ken grabs Jack's shoulders, tossing the smaller fully onto the couch cushions. Jack squirms, twisting to get to his hands and knees. But Ken drops his hand onto the Irishman's back, using his weight to smash the smaller into the sofa. Jack cries out, a spider web of agony radiating from his back to the tips of his fingers.

Jack grits his teeth, forces himself to stay focused. He pulls his phone from his pocket, lodging it beneath his stomach. However, Ken follows his hand, snatching it from him before releasing the younger with a huff. Jack groans, the release of pressure sending a fresh wave of pain through his body.

Ken glances at the screen, scoffing when he sees the name. "Mark? Really? Fucking Mark? You're such a goddamn hypocrite. Why don't you step down from your high horse? Or can you not get down at this point? Because we all know precious little Jackaboy never makes any mistakes."

Ken tosses the phone in Jack's general direction. The Irishman doesn't move to catch it, letting it bounce from the couch cushion to the floor. "God you are such a fucking fake. Always trying to stick your nose where is doesn't belong. Can't handle other people being happy, can you Jack?"

The Irishman's temper is boiling, though he doesn't know what to say. Hands clenched into fists, he feels a scream building in his throat. But somewhere in his rant, Ken struck a nerve, and Jack only realizes his scream is actually a sob when tears start streaming down his face.

He doesn't want to cry, especially not in front of Ken, but his vision has already blurred. His clenched fists turn into shaking hands. His throat is no longer braced for yell, instead trying to hold his sobs. But I doesn't work.

He drops his head into his trembling hands, bawling, wishing he had never saw the bruise. Wishing he had never asked. Wishing he was nestled in bed, cuddling with Mark.