You're In Awfully Early {Septiplier}

Just Too Panicked

Despite how heavy his eyelids feel, Felix can only yawn. He curls into his seat, thankful to be sitting in an aisle alone, headphones on his ears muting the soft murmur of the airplane. He pulls his knees close to his chest, arms resting on his propped legs.

He taps mindlessly on his phone, already having exhausted a majority of social media. He's made it to YouTube, scrolling endlessly through his newsfeed. When he's reached videos posted over two weeks ago, he refreshes the app.

He scrolls again, his eyes drifting to a video from Jack. The Irishman's smiling face beams from the screen, the video title a mess of exclamation marks. With a light chuckle, his nimble fingers tap on this video.

"Top of the morning to ya!" Jack screams immediately, his voice blaring directly into Felix's poor eardrums. The Swede jumps, shuffling to turn down his volume, though Jack is quickly moving on without a care.

When Felix feels like he may be able to preserve his hearing, he looks back to the Irishman on the screen. His attention drifts quickly as Jack focuses on logistics, where he will be at certain times during PAX and how his fans can meet him. His eyes wander to the sidebar.

His throat dries a bit at the sight of Ken's face, a small smile playing on the lips Felix used to know so well. Though the blonde unsubscribed from his channel long ago, in some effort to have a clean break, the raven's videos still pop up under his recommendation. He would normally ignore them, after spending just a bit too long eyeing the thumbnail, but the title catches his attention: PAX?

Felix frowns, a bit of anxiety making his fingers twitch. He shakes his head, assuring himself that Ken couldn't be heading to the same convention. Jack would surely have mentioned that. Plus, Ken's been avoiding conventions as long as Felix has. Yet, his thumb still hovers over the thumbnail, and he allows himself to click on it for peace of mind.

Felix's heart does summersaults in his chest when the American appears on screen. The video is clearly taken from a handheld device, the picture just a bit too close to his face. There's a slight bounce to the screen, as if he's walking, and the background is far from the man's cozy home.

Even from the less than flattering angle, Ken still looks amazing, tan and healthy and smiling. His jaw is stronger than the blonde remembers, and Felix blames it on the presence of only a five o'clock shadow, pretending he cannot feel the ghost of stubble on his fingertips. Despite his efforts, he relaxes on instinct at the sound of his voice, the smooth tone soothing, especially with the deep American accent twisting a light southern drawl.

The Swede nearly misses the entire first minute of the video, too focused on just listening to the voice through his headphones. He snaps out of his daze when the screen flips, giving him a better view of the airport.

"Obviously it's been a while since I've flown anywhere," Ken finishes whatever story he was telling. "But, gosh darn it, I don't remember people being this dang mean. Swear to god they were nicer a few years ago."

Felix chuckles lightly, drinking in Ken's features as the camera turns back to him. The smile on his face, in his eyes, makes Felix's heart feel a bit lighter, though it's so strange to see him again. Even if just over recording, the image does strange things to his heart.

"Anyway!" Ken continues, attention focused elsewhere as he navigates the maze that is the airport. "I'm on my way. My flight leaves soon, probably."

The raven's dark eyes glance down at a watch on his wrist, and he frowns. "Actually, I should probably run. Mark will probably kill me if I miss my flight to LA. He's been-"

Felix paused the video, his throat going dry and his eyes blowing wide. He shakes his head, not allowing himself to believe it. He drags the progress bar back to the beginning, promising to focus this time as the video starts.

"How's it going everybody?" the recorded Ken greets cheerfully. "I'm currently in a lovely airport about to fly out for PAX. Thanks to your good friend Markiplier-"

Felix's shaky fingers pause the video, shaking his head. It feels like each breath he takes scratches down his throat, each exhale flying from his lungs. He can't believe it, deciding it must be an old video. Heart thumping in his chest, he checks the date.

The numbers jumble together, his head swirling with dizziness when he deciphers today's date from the mess. The beginning of a splitting headache pounds gently behind his eyes, and he breathes a bit quicker to get enough air into his lungs. He blames the attitude, fanatic breath only speeding up when his lungs burn.

Felix nearly topples from his seat when he feels a tap on his shoulder, whipping around. His eyes find a startled flight attendant, her dark features pulled into a concerned frown. She taps her ear, and Felix takes off his headphones. Only when he can hear again does he realize how hard he's breathing.

"Are you alright, sir?" she asks gently.

Felix nods quickly, standing up. He tires his best to slide past her, rushing to the bathroom before she can say anything else. His head feels like a block of cement, the quick pace only worsening the problem in his lungs. He's sure everyone on the plane is staring by the time he makes it to the restroom door, yanking it open and shuffling inside. He shuts it tightly behind him, sealing himself away.

Though it smells absolutely horrible inside the small space, a septic mix of body fluids and cheap air freshener, he breathes a bit easier. His throat doesn't seem to be closing around the air entering his lungs, and whatever breath leaves his lips doesn't feel like it's fleeing. He sits down on the toilet lid, focusing on his breathing.

He counts quietly to himself, a tactic taught by the self help books. He inhales, counting slowly. One, two, three. He exhales, counting slower. One, two, three. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale until his body naturally falls into the rhythm.

When he feels like he has control again, he looks back to his phone, the video still open. Teeth pressing together, a thorn of white hot rage grows in his chest. He almost can't believe Jack would pull a stunt like this, set him up for such a bitter surprise.

His fingers tap on their own accord, bringing up Jack's name. A mess of shouts sits just below his vocal cords, and his mind races thinking of everything he wants to say to the Irishman. He just can't believe it, can't believe he's on this plane, can't believe he has to see that part of his past again.

He almost presses the call button, almost releases the boiling anger inside him, but he give a heated sigh. His rage dissolves to guilt, the thought of screaming at his best friend nearly bringing shameful tears to his eyes.

With a shake of his head, he murmurs quietly to himself, "I'm better than that." As if saying to out loud makes it true, he locks his phone, focusing again on breathing.

Inhale one, two, three. Exhale one, two, three.

"I'm different now," he whispers, to convince himself. "Internalized and in control. I'll make it through this week."