warnings: lots of nature metaphors that include mentions of drowning/insects + there are a few angsty bits even though this is mostly romantic but i promise they end up okay!!

author: phi

word count: 1.9k

a/n: whoo another new writer w their first fill ! (that’s me,, i’m th new writer,,,, hi) anyways!! this was such a sweet prompt n idk if i made this as romantic as u wanted me 2 but i hope u like it regardless !!! this was so so fun to write n i look forward to filling more prompts :’))

to be honest, no one really saw it coming.

that was probably one of the most unnerving aspects; group meetings were really little more than excuses for lonely members to force everyone to spend time together and talk about their feelings, two things that mark had never seemed to be too fond of initiating. in fact, in the years that they had all known each other, jackson can only count a handful of times when mark had called for a group meeting, and most of it had been because the oldest boy had bought everyone ice cream.

they’re settled around a few couches, and where they’d normally be a haphazard mess of limbs and laughter, a layer of static has covered their legs, every brush of skin against skin electrifying. no one speaks up, all eyes trained carefully on the floor, not quite daring to watch the oldest boy until he speaks.

“i, um,” mark coughs, shifting, and jackson knows he appreciates everyone’s distance, “i wanted to talk to you guys about something.”

paranoia, thick and sticky, drips down jackson’s throat; his tongue is weighed down, all too heavy in his mouth. a hundred butterflies carve a pathway from his stomach into his head, each flutter of wings another fear, another worry. a swallowtail, all vibrant yellows and sharp blues, leaves behind a trail of what if he’s leaving the group?

his stomach twists, empty of every insect and caterpillar that mark has given him over the years.

“please just say it.” bambam says, and jackson has to blink to focus on the way bambam’s expression wavers, every hesitant flicker of doubt a reflection of jackson’s own thoughts. it makes the butterflies still, even if only for a moment; jackson isn’t the only one here, he isn’t the only one who cares about mark and the group. stop being selfish, he chides himself, and reaches over to squeeze bambam’s hand. the younger boy doesn’t acknowledge the gesture, but his leg stops bouncing, and that’s all the reassurance that jackson needs.

mark still looks as uncomfortable as ever, tense and distant; even if everyone else wasn’t purposefully avoiding his eyes, jackson figures it wouldn’t do much to smooth the edges of the older boy’s shoulders.

“uh,” jaebum cuts in, and jackson can’t help but feel like there’s something frantic in the way that jaebum chances a glance at mark, “he’s not leaving the group.”

he says it like he’s sure of it, like he already knows what mark’s going to say, and as the rest of the group dissolves into a bundle of murmurs and relief, something uncomfortable settles against jackson’s ribs. he should know better than to think he’d be the first person that mark would come to to talk about something, but leaves, green and always new, rest along his ribs with every breath. it makes sense that mark would talk to jaebum; they’re the oldest members, and jaebum’s the leader. in fact, confiding in jaebum is probably the best option that any of them have, but that doesn’t stop the seasons in his chest from turning every plant into something too burnt to be recognizable.

silence returns to the gaps between their bodies, too cold and too close. it’s stifling, but mark must be drowning in it, washed over with layers and layers of quiet until mark is swallowed whole. jackson wishes he could reach out and do something, lean forward and pull mark out from under the waves, but there’s seaweed, green and ugly, wrapped around his legs that makes him think jaebum should be helping mark instead.

it’s a selfish, horribly jealous thought, one that makes jackson wince; he swallows it down alongside seawater and his pride, reaching out to press a hand against mark’s leg. the action isn’t much, but jackson doesn’t know any other way to express every current of emotion inside his chest, so he settles on rubbing what he hopes is a soothing circle against mark’s thigh and hoping that mark understands.

jinyoung clears his throat, and jackson is struck with how composed the other boy is; it’s not something unusual, not when jackson has helped the younger boy rehearse for dramas and acceptances and business meetings, but it’s a new face in an old place, and it catches him off guard. they’re never like this in the dorms, never so distant from each other and from themselves.

“don’t think too much about it,” jinyoung suggests, “just say what you want to say and you’ll be done.”

a few breaths, struggling past the crest of a wave, and then mark speaks up.

“i’m nonbinary.” mark manages, and the room falls back into silence.

“oh, uh.” bambam says eloquently, and jackson’s head is swept underwater. he doesn’t even know what that word means, not when it’s only one phrase out of thousands thrown at him from the glaring brightness of his phone day after day. (maybe though, maybe if he knew it was something relevant to mark, he would’ve looked into it more. okay, he definitely would’ve, but whatever.)

“non- what?” youngjae blinks, voice echoing across the wooden floors and thin walls. he doesn’t sound shocked or upset, just confused, and jackson hopes that mark can tell, because that’s exactly what the rest of them feel.

“i’m not a guy.” mark fumbles with the edge of their shirt, always just a few sizes too big. a few pages on urbandictionary, a ridiculously long post on tumblr, flicker through the back of his mind, unkempt and unrestrained. a night spent awake, poring over internet confessions and confused fans and strangers, and jackson is finally starting to piece together what mark is trying to say.

he should be relieved, because he thought mark was going to say something life shattering (like that they had been harboring a secret hatred for jackson and/or organic tea), but jackson can’t quite find it in himself to be relieved.

instead, he finds himself thinking about every single time mark has ever hinted that they’re not quite so snug in the gender binary, every time that jackson just wasn’t paying attention or didn’t look closely enough.

he can barely make out the rest of the group’s chatter, a chorus of questions on names and pronouns and clothes and preferences; every carefully worded concern a cover over time and incidents where jackson should’ve known.

a flood of memories; a flinch after one of the members called them hyung, a shy smile at the group’s growing collection of silly wigs and over-the-top feminine clothes, the handful of times that they had called the other members oppa without the usual teasing lilt. there had been so, so many signs, carefully handcrafted and glaringly obvious, and jackson honestly wonders how he never saw mark differently.

there are silly questions and serious concerns and as the rest of the group does everything they can to understand mark, jackson vaguely realizes that mark is becoming a little more comfortable, cheeks flushed as they try and answer each and every question as best as they can. bambam and jaebum, god bless their hearts, do their fair share of explanations whenever mark starts to stumble over their words.

the entire situation finally starts to actually register in his head a few moments later when mark starts to try and explain their preferences, jackson’s brain snapping back to hear the eldest speak up,

“i’m just not quite a guy.” mark shuffles, biting their lip as they try to piece together what they’re thinking with what they’re feeling, a feat that makes jackson want to stand up and applaud. “like, sometimes it’s okay, and most of the time it’s fine, but sometimes it’s just not.”

“so you’re okay with still be calling mark,” jinyoung says slowly, always so, so gentle with his words, “do you want to use any other pronouns? at least at the dorms?”

mark blinks a little at that, like they hadn’t quite expected that sort of prospect to be brought up so early on, but they nod a bit, shyly and softly and somehow really, really cutely. (jackson is in awe. how could someone do something so mundane and yet still look like an angel?)

“they and them is good.” mark manages, and when yugyeom pipes up with an enthusiastic yell of support, mark hides their grin under the collar of their shirt, crimson tints only just visible on the tips of their ears. jackson is struck all over again with how beautiful mark is; it’s a fact that the other members know well, something that by now, even mark has grown to accept, but sometimes mark just goes around and looks the way they do and acts the way they do and jackson is just left in awe.

“wait-” bambam pipes up to add his own question, but he’s quickly cut off with another uncertain exclamation from youngjae, and when mark is left struggling to reply, jaebum steps in to try and help.

everyone dissolves into another collective rush of confusion, jinyoung audibly groaning over yugyeom’s complaints that do you even listen, hyung? and jackson is left reduced to another explosion of insects, swarming alongside his bones in a mess of wings and questions. he’s not even sure if he can place the individual thoughts sputtering around his head, instead stuck leaning back in his seat, overwhelmed. he doesn’t even realize how uncharacteristically silent he’s been until he hears a small cough.

“jackson?” mark mumbles, the younger boy’s name an anxious question on their lips. it’s enough to bring jackson back to reality startlingly fast; mark’s voice always grabs jackson’s attention, even when their hesitance tries to hold them back.

jackson’s eyes are caught, ridiculously fixated on the reticence in mark’s smile, an awkward and unsure upturn of lips that never ceases to make jackson’s heart stop. even when his head is spinning, all it takes is a glance from mark’s direction, and suddenly gravity finds him again.

“are you okay?” mark asks, but jackson can hear the underlying, are we okay?

he nods, so abruptly he’s surprised that he doesn’t give himself whiplash, but the smile that spreads across his face is natural.