• ν α η ι s н •

23

|||||||

Sunday 26th November ~ 11:53am

Jack's POV:

It soon became apparent that I couldn't walk by myself.

I'd been unconscious for two days and yet when I attempted to stand my legs buckled beneath me, leaving Mark to help escort me around the house.

"Sorry..." I mumbled. Mark adjusted his grip on my shoulders, almost seeming effortless in holding up my weight.

"Hey, quit it with that." Mark said, giving me a sad smile. "C'mon."

I was able to wash myself alone, which was a relief after two weeks without showering. I was reduced to using hot water with soap over my face, hair and hands only - since I couldn't get the bandages on my chest and arms wet - but I made the most of it.

After having been cleaned and redressed I started to feel more like myself.

"Can we get to the food noooow~?" I whined, smoothing out the cyan hoodie I was now wearing. Mark stopped at the stairs, still supporting me as I stood next to him.

It was too narrow for him to help me down.

"Uhhh... give me a second to figure this out...?"

"I can make it down the stairs!" I insisted, Mark giving me a doubt filled gaze. I pouted. "Pweeeease?"

"It's like you want to end up facedown at the bottom or something!"

I scoffed. He was being a tad over dramatic.

"I don't see any other waa-A-HEY!"

Mark used his other arm to scoop me up from the ground, holding me bridal style with a smirk.

That was unexpected, and I didn't know what to make of it.

"What the fock-!" I said - though I couldn't help but giggle as the man carried me down the stairs. The whole exchange made me giddy, Mark laughing at my inability to stop blushing. "Septiplier is dead y'asshole!"

"I'm not the one that's making it about romance!" Mark pointed out, reaching the bottom of the staircase.

I couldn't fault his logic.

"Yeah, well... fuck you?"

He chuckled, his goofy grin widening as he carried me into a living room.

"I think the words you're looking for are-" Mark set me down on a plush cream couch. "Thank you Markiplier, for being such an oh-so-strong and noble friend of mine!"

He flexed for dramatic affect as he made his way to the kitchen, meanwhile I rolled my eyes. "You're always so extra."

I could hear Mark's laughter even when he went into the other room.

I let my eyes wander as I sat, from the Victorian style patterned wallpaper to the random antique vases and ornaments.

The place reminded me of somewhere old people would live, yet the clothes upstairs fitted mine and Mark's styles pretty well. (Unless we dressed like old people). The outfit I had picked out had been a size or two too big for me, but I was thankful that my chest wasn't constricted in any way.

Wearing different clothes was a welcome change. Plus the oversized hoodie was cozy.

"I tried the phones but the signal's dead," Mark called through from the kitchen. I rested my head on my palm, glancing around. "Food's gonna be a couple minutes."

Chef-Markiplier returned finally with two bowls of pasta - each with an assortment of spices. His warnings of how bad it may taste meant nothing one I'd tried the first mouthful.