Bully || Septiplier

Chapter Thirty-Two

this is like the last chapter before the epilogue. hope you enjoy it bc it took hours to write. thank you for staying around, waiting for my slow ass updates, and reading my shit! <3 love ya

enjoy

JACK'S eyes widened the moment Mark hit the ground. He knew the two of them weren't on good terms, and it wasn't in his place to do anything for or to him, but when the redhead's body left a thud on the hallway floor his muscles reacted before his mind.

"Mark!" Jack shouted on reflex, throwing his body onto the ground beside him. He shook his shoulder. "Mark?"

Jack looked around, blue eyes set afire with worry and a few other indescribable emotions that surged through him. His heart was racing. Nobody else even turned an eye at the scene, the crowd just walked past them and carried on with their normal, everyday routines. Were they this heartless? Mark Fischbach or not, there was a person unconscious.

Jack checked his pulse, putting two of his fingers against Mark's neck. Relief surged through him when he feat a steady heartbeat; but when he felt a scab under his finger, and bothered to look, Jack gasped. There were scabbed cuts grazing the sides of his neck and running up along the vital veins, not deep enough to do much, but just enough to hurt like hell.

He saw the prominent bags under Mark's eyes. He looked uncared for, between the scars and his appearance, and it caused anger to set loose in the pit of the Irish boy's stomach. Anger at himself, mostly.

He'd spent too long keeping his distance from this boy. He couldn't do that anymore; he had to be there for him. He had to help him.

"It's going to be okay, Mark," he whispered as he put his arm around Mark and picked him up, carrying him to the nurse's office.

"It's all gonna be okay."

-

MARK awoke to a white room. He knew where he was the moment he opened his eyes; this wasn't a movie, and he wasn't clueless on medication. He was at the hospital, he was perfectly aware, and he knew why. Not because of the sleep deprivation; because of everything else. The light cuts, the deep cuts, his ribs- everything.

His parents wouldn't be too happy that he was in the hospital. Then again, as far as Mark was concerned, his parents were going to be an issue. He was still fucking terrified of them, of course - after what he'd been put through - but he was going to tell somebody. He had to, right now, before they heard the news and showed up.

Mark jumped as the door opened, heartbeat racing and then gradually slowing down. He felt rested, and wondered how long he'd been asleep; that was the first thing he'd asked.

"How long was I.."

"Asleep?" The doctor looked up at the clock hanging on the wall. "A good seven hours. Definitely not as long as you need to sleep, son."

The redhead arrogantly looked off elsewhere. There was a brief silence.

"You're aware you haven't slept nor ate in days? Your body has been running on nothing." He seemed stern.

Mark wondered if he was going to hurt him, because whenever someone was angry with Mark, that was always the output. He shifted farther away from him in what little space he had on the bed.

"Yes," he said evenly. "I'm s-sorry."

This seemed to confuse the doctor, because he gave Mark a quizzical look. "Sorry?"