Chapter Text
He hears them before he sees them, heat-dazed head unable to focus on anything other than the scratching of the carpet against his skin. "It fucking reeks out here," someone says from the hallway - Malcom, maybe? Jack's not sure and his head is spinning too much to turn around and face the door. "Told you he wasn't a beta."
"Fucksake," comes the other voice, and Jack feels something press against his shoulder- a boot, maybe? The contact makes him whine, too harsh and sudden, and the boot drops away. "Leave 'im. Waste'a time." It's only when the door slams behind him that he realises the boot belonged to his dad.
-
Jack wakes up to the sound of running water, which is decidedly not normal in his apartment that is located nowhere near any body of water. It's also unnaturally cold, so he decides to pull his pillow over his head and deal with it later. Unfortunately, Killian wades into his room a few minutes later and says, "Feckin' pipes burst, Jackso. Get up if you want'cha PC to live another day."
This is why Jack spends the morning in his underwear and welly boots, hoping to fuck that Killian knew what he was doing when he turned off the electricity because dying from an electric shock was not on his agenda. The water's only ankle height, so most of his equipment is completely untouched, but his bookcase is looking pretty fucking sad. He'll have to replace all the cables, obviously, but the cost of that is nothing compared to having to replace the equipment it's attached to. "Yer recording stuff make it?" Killian asks from where he's leaning against the doorframe. Earlier he'd claimed their apartment insurance was enough for him to not care about all the water damage. Jack's not sure he believes him, but really it's his loss.
"Just about. What, uh- the feck are we s'posed to do now? Not like we can just stay here."
Killian pulls a face that suggests what he's about to say next is not good. "Eh. My sister's roommate's on a- erm, a spiritual journey in India. Don't," he grins when Jack laughs. "She's English. But, uh, yeah, I was thinkin' of maybe going over to hers. You could always just buy a lil' boat?"
"Hotel it is then, ey." This is maybe the furthest from ideal that ever could be. Con season is right on him and he had a perfectly planned schedule of super duper high intensity recording planned over the next two weeks before flying out to America to stay with Mark. Only, even if he finds a hotel at this short notice that is 1) not ridiculously expensive, and 2) isn't an absolute shithole, it's not going to be somewhere he can properly record. Killian grabs all the dry stuff he decides he gives a shit about and bids Jack goodbye, and leaving him still stood there in the sad water and his wellies.
"Shit," he says, watching a few of the Xbox games float past him. "The feck 'm I s'posed to do now?"
The pipe guys arrive half an hour later when he's filming a vlog explaining the situation, which is very awkward considering he is still in his underwear. They probably pegged him for some kind of cam star, but he'll just have to live with it. Jack doesn't have any dry clothes other than some basketball shorts from a Halloween costume Killian tried to make him wear last year, but they'll have to do as he carts a basket full of soggy outfits down to the building's dryer. He uploads the vlog while he's waiting for them to dry without watching it back- it's eight in the fucking morning on a Saturday and he can't bring himself to care that much. Hopefully he hasn't accidentally exposed his ass or something like that.
Mark calls him a couple minutes after the vlog drops, but he doesn't realise until he's on the other side of the room to his phone with the heaviest basket of wet clothes in the world so he decides to call him later. Only, Mark calls again and then texts saying call me, dingus, so Jack thinks he probably should call in case Mark's been in some kind of deadly accident. Jack presses the dial button and sticks it between his chin and his shoulder, attempting to push as many wet items of clothing into the dryer as possible. "Alrighty, Mark?" he says, trying to sound the least stressed that he possibly can.
"Dude, is your apartment actually flooded?"
"Uh, yep. Feckin' pipes burst overnight." He feels kind of rude saying this, but really he wants to get everything out as quickly as possible. "Uh, you just call for a chat? Not that I don't love ta chat, but I kind of got a lot on my plate this second."
"No, asshole, obviously not. I was gonna ask where you were planning on staying."
"Meh," Jack shrugs, shouldering the door of the dryer shut with reasonable difficulty. "Killian's pissed of to his sister's. Gonna find a hotel, hopefully. Recording's gonna be an absolute nightmare," he laughs. It's not funny, but if he stops laughing he's going to start worrying.
"You could always just come here a couple weeks earlier- I know you'd have to pay to push your flights forward, but I'm sure it'd cost less than- y'know, having to stay in a hotel for two weeks and then flying out."
"Oh- woah, dude, I can't make you do that. I'm sure I'll find somewhere-"
"Stop being a dick and come! I can pick you up from the airport today, it's hardly like there's no space for you- dude, d'you want me to rebook your flight now? We-"
"Slow down, fuckin' eager beaver," he chuckles. "You're really sure I can stay? I'll have ta bring all my recording shite, dunno how I'm really gonna do that, but-"
"Sort out whatever you need, rebook your flight and just let me know," Mark interrupts, and he sounds warm and friendly and Jack's stomach does that stupid thing it wouldn't stop doing last time he stayed in LA.
There's a pause, but it's nice. Jack loves meeting new people, but he's never been entirely the best at it - he's too loud, speaks too fast to fill the silence - and he always ends up feeling like they'll think he's trying too hard. With Mark, even back when Jack was still just a fan who had a stupid crush on his YouTube idol, it was never like that. Talking to him was never difficult or awkward or anything like that. "If ya really don't care, that would be great. Uh- I can call you when I'm leavin' for the airport?"
"Awesome, dude," Mark says, hanging up before Jack can say bye.
This is not where Jack thought his Saturday would go. It could definitely be worse.
-
Mark meets him at the gate. Jack didn't even think that was allowed in today's airports, but that doesn't mean he's not standing there with a beanie on like it's not the middle of summer in California. When he sees Jack, he grins widely, and Jack firmly tells his stomach to get over itself. Nothing can possibly go wrong. He's taking suppressants and blockers at twice the recommended rate and he never forgets. This isn't going to be any different to any other time.
"Hey, dude!" he says, pulling Jack into a solid hug. Mark smells like sandalwood and mint and him. "Good to see you," he says, mouth right next to Jack's ear, and maybe this isn't going to be as easy as he had thought it was. If Jack pulls away a tiny bit too quickly, Mark doesn't say anything.
"You too, man! Sorry to make you get up so feckin' early."
"Nah, it's not that bad. How long you been awake for?"
Jack shrugs, starts walking and Mark follows without asking where they're going. "Probably around nineteen hours? Twenty at a push?" Mark pulls a face and he laughs, shrugging again. "Hate sleeping on planes. Too loud." They walk to baggage claim mostly in silence, Jack complaining about the pipes and Mark complaining about the racoon that got into his crawlspace but mostly just being comfortable. Jack hates planes enough that this is relieving to him, even though he's pretty much falling asleep standing up. Maybe it's a good thing Mark met him at the gate- he spots Jack's luggage well before he does and Jack doesn't even realise until he's lifting it off the wheel for him.
"You can sleep in the car, dude- you hungry?"
"Feckin' starving, man. Plane food made me chunder."
"Gross," Mark says, but he's laughing. As soon as they get to the car, Jack balls up his hoodie as a makeshift pillow and leans back against it. "Night night, Jackaboy."
"Am not sleeping. Just resting my eyes," he yawns, closing his eyes. That's completely his plan, so he's a little surprised when Mark shakes him awake and the sun is in a very different position in the sky. Also, they're sat in Mark's driveway. "Oh, what?" he frowns, rubbing his face with his hoodie. "Shit, man. Some company, hey."
"Nah, you were fucking tired. Would've been shit company anyway," he says, swatting at Jack when he elbows him. "We can order takeaway when we've got all your shit inside?"
"I can cook if you-" he tries, stopping to yawn. "If you've got like, cooking shit."
"When have I ever had food in my house? You know I'm possibly the worst cook in California. Also, you're so tired that I wouldn't put it past you to accidentally put your hand in the frying pan or some shit like that."
"Piss off," he says, but he's kind of smiling like an idiot. There was only so much recording stuff he could logistically bring - Killian's looking after the rest of it at his sister's because Jack's hardly going to leave a thousand quid computer in an empty house. "What we eating?"
An hour later, they're sat watching South Park on Mark's sofa. Chica's head is resting on his thigh and he's shovelling Chinese food into his mouth like his life depends on it. They haven't hung out in such a long time, not like this- Jack stayed last year for PAX, but he came a couple days before and left straight after - between video recording and cons, they hardly had much time just to sit. "This is the shit," Jack says around a mouthful of bok choi, sneaking tiny pieces of chicken to Chica whenever Mark seems like he's not looking. "Chinese food is shite in Brighton."
"Uhuh," Mark says, mouth full of chilli beef. Jack's glad they're both as gross as each other. "Love this place. I can't believe how shit it was when I came to the UK."
"Yeah," Jack says, necking half of his beer. It's kind of weird that Mark has so much beer in his house for someone that only drinks on special occasions and never beer. "'s been a while since we've hung out, huh."
Jack's not really sure why he says it. It's hardly a lie, that they kind of drifted apart since they saw each other last year. It wasn't anyone's fault, necessarily- YouTube is moving away from collaborative work and they just didn't find a reason to talk for a little bit. Jack minded, obviously, but there was just so much going on last year that there wasn't time to sit and think about it. By the time he finally got his shit together and called Mark, it kind of felt like the damage had already been done.
"Yeah," Mark says, a little quieter than before but not necessarily sad. "Glad you're here now. It's gonna be fun." Maybe the damage isn't irreversible. It won't be the same as it was when they first met, but that was never going to be the case. They're both different people now.
"Yeah," Jack agrees, bumping his shoulder against Mark's. He's exhausted, so the second he puts his takeaway on the coffee table his body is slumping back down into the sofa. "Feck me, I'm tired."
"Go to bed, dude. And stop feeding Chica, I've been watching you do it this whole time."
"Meh," Jack yawns, tucking his arm around Chica's head to scratch her ear. "In a sec."
"Eh?" he yawns, stretching until he realises Chica is still lying next to him. "You just left me conked out on your sofa for six hours?"
"Dude, I tried to wake you up. I went to the grocery store for both of us, but you wouldn't wake up. Hope you like the shit I bought."
"Pasta?"
"Yeah."
"Good enough," he decides, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. "A'right, I'm off ta bed."
"Night, dude," Mark says, dropping down into the sofa where he'd been sat. Jack turns to look as he leaves and Mark's head is thrown back against the sofa as he looks at his phone. Maybe he lingers on Mark's neck a little bit too long.
Jack's always known that Mark was an alpha. Even back in the early days on YouTube when nobody cared about their own privacy, Mark was never super open about being an alpha- but then again, he's hardly a typical alpha. Take Felix, for example: Jack loves him to pieces, always will, but he can hardly deny that he's a bit of a knothead. Him and Ken are always joke-fighting, shouting over whatever to be the dominant alpha of the video. Jack fights tooth over tongue to have a voice in those videos (that alone is part of the reason nobody's ever pegged him for an omega despite how small and soft in the face he is.) Sometimes there's comments of people accusing Jack of trying to keep up with the alphas, and whilst they piss him off because Felix and Ken and even Bob or Mark aren't better than him just because of their secondary genders, he doesn't say anything because they're not accusing him of being an omega and that's good enough.
When Ethan and Mark became friends, Jack wasn't sure what to make of him. Before him, there weren't really any omega gaming channels that people would take seriously - sure, Mark and the others endorsing him helps, but he's got his own standing now. Obviously, he was kind of jealous of Mark spending pretty much every day with someone who was the walking stereotype of an omega, but then Ethan actually came out about being an omega and things changed.
Felix and Ken stopped making sexist jokes in videos, and Jack stopped living in fear of when they were all ridiculously drunk that he'd accidentally out himself by defending omegas. Now it makes more sense for him to stand up for omegas, both online and with anyone he meets. Part of him has this like, super painful underlying guilt that he didn't ever stand up to it before, but overcoming that would involve reaching internal peace with being an omega. That's not happening anytime soon.