You're Up Awfully Late {Septiplier}

Just for the Confession

Jack sits alone on Mark's bed, tapping his fingers against the bedspread. He's been alone for more than an hour, silently pep talking himself, fingers rubbing the shiny metal pendant dull. Reaching for his cellphone, left abandon on the covers, he glances down at the bright screen. It would be the middle of the night in Ireland. Would Signe even be awake?

Jack finds her name on his phone, clicking the call button before he can talk himself out of it. He watches it ring for only a second, placing it to his ear to hear the second bring of the phone.

"Jack?!" Signe calls, sounding panicked and out of breathe. "Jack, where are you? Are you okay?"

"Please, calm down," Jack replies quickly, stress multiplying at her frantic words. "I'm fine, okay? Everything's fine."

"What happened?" she asks, voice a whisper. "I was so worried. I thought... god I don't know what I thought happened to you."

"I'm fine," the Irishman insists, tugging at his hair. He never read the sea of texts she sent him, certainly didn't prepare for her panicked voice. He swallows hard, forcing himself to speak again.

"I... I have something to tell you," Jack admits slowly. His heart is beating a painful rhythm against his ribs, his rushing blood squeezing his lungs breathless.

"What's wrong?" she asks, so quiet and innocent.

He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt. This is for me Jack reminds himself, forcing words towards his lips. This isn't for Mark or Signe or anyone. It's for me. I deserve to be happy.

"Signe, I," he pauses, trying to put his thoughts into words, "I... I can't be with you anymore."

"What?" she asks, a broken whisper.

"I'm not happy, Singe," he admits. "I don't know if I was ever happy. And that's not your fault. But, I think we both know this has been over for a long, long time."

"After all these years?" she questions, voice upset and awestruck. "You want to throw away all these years? For what? For who?"

"Come on, Signe," he sighs, trying to keep his defenses down, his voice from raising. "You can't say that you're actually happy like this."

"Don't tell me how I feel!" she shouts. He can hear the tears in her voice, the strain in her throat. "Don't you dare tell me how to feel, Seán! You have no idea what it's like to wait for you for years... years... and then hear you say this!"

"I'm sorry," he offers meekly, knowing it will fall on deaf ears.

"How could you do this to me? To us?" she cries. "Just walk out on the life we made together? What am I supposed to do now, Seán?"

"I don't know," he admits. "But I can't be unhappy anymore, Signe. I just won't let myself live like that. I'm sorry, I really am, but I'm finally making the decision I should have years ago."

She's sobbing through the phone, breaking Jack's heart with every sound. When he closes his eyes, he can perfectly picture her sitting on the edge of what was once their bed, tears streaming down her cheeks and hair falling into her face. She's hunched over herself, a hand supporting her crying face, utterly broken.

"I'm so, so sorry," he breathes, a tear falling from his eye. "I never meant for this to happen. And I'm sorry... I'm sorry I couldn't say it to you in person."

"I h-hate y-you," she weeps, broken.

Jack's heart lurches in his chest, a horrible pain spreading through his entire body. He tries to understand her misery, tame his own anger. The confession brings up an ugly rage. Because he hates her too: hates that she keep him so long, didn't let him go, couldn't see their pain. He hates her for not being brave enough to walk away earlier: for all the same reason he hates himself.

"I know," he sigh, voice calculated. "I'm sorry."

"Who did you run off to?" She demands, anger overtaking sadness. "Oh god... it's not Mark is it? Please, god, tell me it's not Mark."

She takes a quick breathe, lungs sounding stiff and pained. "I didn't even know. Didn't even know you were gay. H-how could you be gay? We were together f-for years."

"There's... a lot of things you don't know about me, Signe," he admits, cheeks heating in embarrassing. "I'm bi, Signe. I've always been bi. You... well, you just never asked."

"Asked?!" She hisses. "When was I supposed to ask, Seán? When we were having sex?! And now look at you! Running off to Mark like we were nothing!"

"This is for me, Signe," he growls back, pain and anger and grief churning inside him. "I'm sick of being miserable with you! Goddamn it! Mark and I aren't anything, but you know what, I would chase him for a lifetime before I would ever consider going back to you."

"Well that's just great!" She snaps, sarcastic. "Because I cannot stand another minute with you. It's always about you and your stupid fucking videos and your goddamn conventions. Always running off to wherever and leaving me to catch up. And I'm fucking sick of it! You're right, Seán, this was a long time coming."

Jack bites his lip, trying to hold back a spew of terrible, terrible thoughts in his head. "I'm glad we finally agree on something," he spits, ending the call with a smash of his finger onto the screen.

He drops his phone onto the bed, breathing deep, pained breaths. Tears roll down his cheeks, anger causing his clenched fists to shake. But, then he unclenches his teeth, unfurls his hands. A mix of pain and relief washes over his entire body, and he cries harder. After years, years, they're finally over; he can finally move on.

He paws for his phone, snatching it from the comforter and blindly dialing his brother. It rings a few times before switching to voicemail, Jack drying his tears as he waits for the beep.

"I did it, Malcolm," Jack speaks quickly. "I finally did it. I'm about to do a big, big thing, and everything could still blow up in my face. But, fuck, for once, I'm going to really try. I'll call you when it's all over."