Shattered Glass - Septiplier

Everyone's been cut by glass at least once, right?

The feeling of your own skin being sliced so thinly by something so fragile. The harsh shock as the cool ice causes such a large amount of pain even if the size was miniature. 

Jack was feeling that right now, but at a much larger scale. The pain was almost unbearable. He opened his eyes to check he wasn't lying on a bed of nails. He couldn't move, not even to turn his head. But he would fine, he knew he would because the last time he was conscious Mark was next to him. 
Jack was determined that his boyfriend would save him, of course he would. Slowly, Jack started to remember how he came into this agonizing position.

"Jack, did you lock the back door?" Mark wondered as the pair walked away from the house.
"No, shit. Do I really have to go all the way back and lock it? It's so farrrrrrrrrrr!" Jack moaned.
"Do you really want your shit nicked?" Mark mocked, physically stopping the man next to him with his hand. "Go back. Come on I'll be right behind you,"
Rolling his eyes, Jack ran back to the house.

The rest was hard to recall. Jack just knew that there was a lot of glass surrounding him and there was probably a lot of blood by now. Mark would grow suspicious soon though, Jack was sure. Until one thing entered his mind. Smashing glass is loud, really loud. 
How had Mark not suspected anything? How had he not heard it? 

Was Mark coming to save him at all?

Yes, of course he is, Jack thought to himself. He couldn't let himself lose hope. What was the point of that? Tears flooded his eyes, threatening to spill. Distracting himself, he tried to think of how he had got to this position. Had someone broken in? Had someone been in the house waiting for him? Or was Jack just a stupid idiot and had wound up doing this to himself? Dropping it, he tried to see if he could shout. Trying to speak only left him with an extremely sore throat and a sharp pain there. 

H-had someone choked him?

That meant someone was here, an intruder, somebody that could hurt. Jack's thoughts instantly jumped to Mark. Mark, the man that would have appeared by now and made some ridiculous joke or comical entrance. Was he hurt? Jack didn't put a thought aside for himself, only caring about Mark who might still be unharmed. A stray tear fell and Jack looked up to prevent the rest escaping. He didn't know why he didn't want to cry. Maybe because he felt it was a sign of giving up. 

The image of the room was becoming brighter and brighter, with Jack not being able to figure out why. The room looked fake. Pictures of Mark rushed through his head. The first time they met. The first time they kissed. The first time they said I love you to each other. It saddened Jack that he couldn't remember the last time he had done that. The 3 most overused words of the English language, that meant so much. His head was throbbing now, the room looking unreal. The moments he had shared with Mark seemed more real for him. He was fading from the world. 
Was he giving up? His body was probably doing that for him, the white floor now stained crimson. He needed Mark and he wasn't here. All was lost. How long had he been lying there? It felt like hours. He was immobile, even lacking the basic human ability to speak. He really was hopeless. He didn't want to look anymore, not wanted to see the ceiling staring at him blatantly. He had been abandoned, left alone to die.

Mark wasn’t coming.
For him, the world was gone.

Until of course, he heard those rushing footsteps. Ones that he would recognise anywhere, ones that were imprinted in his mind forever.

"JACK!"

His eyes shot open, the blue almost refreshed. Remembering where he was, he tried to call out and warn Mark of the glass but was again hit with pain and the realisation that he physically couldn't. 
"Oh shit," Mark muttered, desperate to get to his fallen partner. Mark couldn't help but take the blame. He would much rather have been burgled than have Jack in this mess. Reaching over to him, Mark couldn't see why Jack hadn't moved. In order to see Jack in a better position, Mark shifted to see red. The whole of Jack's left side was outlined with blood, a thick dark red line that shouted danger. He also saw the bright purple bruise covering Jack's neck like a handprint. Mark was glad he had beat the shit out that guy, but was not glad that it had taken this long for him to get to Jack. Studying his face, Mark saw the relief and fight to stay calm along with the multiple other emotions Jack was feeling. The pair knew each other inside out. Mark's hand reached to Jack's side to find the largest piece of glass, lodged into Jack's side. Mark started panicking. He didn't know first aid, he didn't know shit, all he could do was hope the ambulance and police came quick enough.

Having Mark helped. It helped a great deal. There were so many times that Jack almost left, almost decided it would be best to leave, almost failed to stay away from the light. Each time, Mark would sense it and squeeze his hand, reminding him that he was here. Reminded him that everything was going to be fine, that he was there, that he loved him. And that was plenty for Jack.
He would hang on, just for Mark.

The ambulance managed to stabilise Jack in an hour or two. Intensive care was necessary but unsurprisingly Mark was there every minute he was allowed, the guilt never leaving. Mark had beat the shit out of the burglar who had thrown Jack out of the window and tried to kill Mark. The police had caught him instantly.
Jack missed his voice, with it not restoring properly for 2 weeks. Mark silently enjoyed the peace and quiet at first before missing the loudmouth and his stupid Irish jokes. He would never admit it, though.