~~

Markis a laid back, calm, and collected person.

Just in case that wasn’t clearenough, Mark is a very laid back, calm, and collected person. Sure, hegets caught in the throes of passion every so often like any other human being,but all in all he’s much more content to go with the flow.

Perhaps it’s fitting, then, thathis fiancé simultaneously manages to be a hyperbolic version of himself as wellas his exact antithesis.

“Jackson,” Mark says, his tone ofvoice exactly that of a parent whose child was teetering on the edge of somecatastrophic act, “we have an hour before the store closes. We’ve barely made a dentin our shopping list.”

It should be no surprise that theresponse he receives mimics exactly that of a petulant child.

“But Mark~ they have adult Heelys! Did you know they made these inadult sizes?”

Jackson doesn’t even look at Markwhen he asks his question, too enraptured by the pair of shoes currently in hispossession. He’s crouched down on the tiled floor, a hand in each shoe, the boxtossed haphazardly aside. Experimentally, he swipes the bottoms against the ground,whooping at the satisfying slide.

“They’re so cool!”Jackson gushes, and only now does he peer upwards at Mark, all doe-eyed anddopey-grinned.

Mark can immediately anticipate theupcoming question, and hastily attempts to cut Jackson off.

“Yeah, they are! I had a pair whenI was a kid! But they’re actually quite tricky, and I think I fell on my face acouple of times. And we still have a bunch of things we need to pick up,Jackson, so we should really-”

“Ohhh ouch! But that’s when youwere a kid, right?” Jackson’s selective hearing has conveniently kicked in, andMark sags, knowing there’s no stopping him now. “Oh my god, Mark! You know whatwould be awesome? And totally unique? If we rolled down the aisleat our wedding instead of walking!”

“Jackson,” Mark saysthrough gritted teeth. This is turning out to be a much more serious situationthan he originally anticipated. “Our wedding is in week. A week. Seven days. Wecannot suddenly decide to go down the aisle in Heelys.”

Jackson pauses, head snappingsharply to look at Mark, his pupils blown.

“Wait, it’s in a week?Seven days?!” Jackson nearly screeches, and Mark has the suddenurge to smother his fiancé’s face into a nearby rack of sweaters. He resists,however, and instead peers furtively left and right to see if they’ve managedto attract the attention of a concerned sales associate yet. Getting kicked outof the store for causing a disturbance would be a mortifying end to thisalready disastrous night.

“Yes, Jackson, our marriage is in aweek, so can we please move on and finish our shopping list before thestore closes down?” Mark hisses, ready to drop down next to Jackson to forciblypry the shoes from his hand. As a result, he is nearly headbutted when Jacksonsuddenly shoots up to standing, eyes sparkling in a way that makes Mark’sstomach turn with both serious apprehension and irrational attraction.

“That’s right,” Jackson breathesout, still looking starstruck. “You’re going to be mine forever in a week, andI’m going to be yours.”

At this, Mark can’t help but flush,shocked by the sudden confession.

“You’re ridiculous,” Mark drops hisgaze, embarrassed but pleased, “That’s already true anyways, it’d be true evenif we weren’t getting married. It’s just a formality.”

“Of course,” Jackson agreeshappily, grinning when Mark finds it in himself to meet his gaze again. “Butstill, I can’t wait. It’s going to have to be extra special.”

“Yes, yes, it will be,” Marklaughs, reaching out to grasp one of Jackson’s wrists. “And to make sureeverything goes smoothly, can we please finish our shopping now? Before thestore closes? Besides, I thought we talked about having the most beautiful, clichéwedding with a fairytale-esque happily ever?”

“Right, right, yes. Yes, ofcourse,” Jackson finally seems to snap out of it, leaning forwards to leave aquick peck on Mark’s cheek. Mark releases Jackson’s wrist, satisfied, but realizeshe’s relaxed too soon when Jackson’s eyes land on the Heelys he still has ineach hand.

This time, however, it’s notfervent pleas or excited hoots. No, Jackson is staring at him with those eyes,the sad, puppy dog eyes with his eyelashes fluttering and his lips pushed intoa pout.

It’s an all around disgustingexpression to see on a grown man’s face, but Mark is just so, so weak.

“Jackson… those aren’t even in yoursize….” Mark gives it one last, feeble attempt, but Jackson holds on strong,and Mark can feel his resolve crumbling to the ground.

“Jacksonnnnnn,” Mark groans, handscovering his face as he gives up. “I swear to god, if we can’t find Heelys inyour size, we are not delaying the wedding.”

“What if we can’t find Heelys in yoursize?” Jackson responds cheekily, finally dropping the shoes to pry Mark’shands off his face, grin so wide Mark’s afraid his face will split.

Mark finally explodes.

“I am NOT getting Heelys! And I amNOT rolling down the aisle in them!”

~~

Fortunately, their wedding does notget postponed.

Unfortunately, they do end uppurchasing a pair of Heelys.

Fortunately, they are not inJackson’s size.

Unfortunately, they fit Markperfectly.

“I’m going to die, I’m literallygoing to die. There’s going to be tiny crease in the carpet and then I’m goingto slip on it and hit my head and then bleed out on the aisle of my very ownwedding.”

Mark is usually a laid back, calm,and collected person. Clearly, all the above traits have deserted himcompletely on the day of his wedding, moments before he’s supposed to walk, no,roll down the aisle to meet his fiancé, soon-to-behusband.

Except Jackson will never evenbecome his husband if Mark’s brains end up splattered all over floor insteadwhen he trips and falls and oh godit’s time.

When Mark steps out onto the aisle,there are cheers, there are gasps, there are sniffles and sobs. The church hasbeen decorated beautifully - the tall, vaulted ceilings and the wide, brightwindows allow the space to be flooded with light that hits every flower, everyface, every figure just right to make everything picture perfect.

But Mark takes none of it in, heartpounding in his chest as he puts one foot in front of the other, dreading thelast few feet where he’s promised, and even practiced, to rolltowards the pew.

Mark trips.

There isn’t a small bump in thecarpet, or even a stray flower petal. Mark has managed to trip on air, or atleast some unseen, foreign substance, and Mark is ready for the end.

And yet, he doesn’t crack his headopen.

Instead, he falls into strong, warmarms, and when he looks up, is greeted by familiar starstruck eyes that manageto reflect his own awe.

The guests all cheer, somestanding, some clapping, but again, Mark doesn’t hear them, unable to resistleaping forwards to capture Jackson’s lips in a premature kiss.

~~

“We’retrying, okay, we’re trying. But we didn’t - power didn’t completely - enoughtime - delete the - hasn’t - it - ch - tttssssss-”

Jaebum grimaced, dropping hiswalkie back into his pocket, fully muffling the static-y voices. Not that itmattered much, given he wasn’t able to understand the words being spoken eitherway. The reception was absolutely terrible within these thick, concrete walls.

“Mmmmmph! Mmph mph mphhhh! MMPH!”

Jaebum’s frown deepened into ascowl as he turned his attention to the gagged man on the other side of theroom, though the cap pulled low on his face probably didn’t allow hisdispleasure to be fully communicated to his captive.

The other man was young, strong,and stockily built, having put up quite the resistance in their tussle not toolong ago. If his security guard uniform was anything to go by, he’d probablybeen trained to deal with such situations.

Jaebum’s greater height gave himthe ultimate advantage, however, allowing him to snag a laptop charger off atop cabinet shelf and deftly wrap it around the other man’s neck, securing himinto a chokehold.

The struggle had ended promptlythereafter, and Jaebum, inspired by his apparent stroke of genius, took tofully restraining his new hostage with whatever wires and electrical cording hecould find in the small office they were in.

Oh, and stuffed a sock in the guy’smouth for good measure, too, because god did he not know how to shut up.

And that was ten minutes ago. Now,Jaebum was only becoming increasingly impatient. Taking a hostage hadn’t beenin the original plan, so clearly something had gone wrong. Jaebum was supposedto be helping to secure their exit, not stuck here babysitting this -

“MMMMMMPHHHHHHAAA! BLEH!”

His hostage finally managed todislodge the sock from his mouth, visibly wincing as he spat loudly. Jaebum’sexpression darkened, already contemplating taking off his other sock, (he wouldnot be touching the one that had saliva all over it),when the man spoke.

“Dude, what the hell? That wasgross! If you’re gonna gag me at least use something clean! That tasted sogross, man!”

“If you were able to keep yourmouth shut to begin with, I wouldn’t have had to resort to such measures,”Jaebum growled as he advanced forward menacingly, raising a hand for purpose ofintimidation.

“Aw, man, that’s so mean! I wasjust asking some questions– ohhh whoaaaaa. Whoa. Holy shit.”

The other man suddenly broke off,his already large eyes widening even further as he stared up at Jaebum, who’dcrossed the room towards him and consequently stepped into the light. For thefirst time, his features were clearly illuminated, and Jaebum tensed, his jawlocked and ready to face further resistance.

Instead, he almost choked on air atthe man’s next words.

“DUDE your face is a masterpiece!”

“…What?”Jaebum didn’t even know what that meant, almost swinging his fist at the guy’s facebecause what the hell even, but forced himself to pause when he was confrontedby furious headshaking.

“No like, seriously! How do youeven look like that? Are you sure you’re not a celebrity or something? And yourjawline is unreal!”

For the first time in a long time,Jaebum was completely flabbergasted. By a hostage, at that. Ittook him more than a few seconds to find his voice again, and even longer tofind words.

“What is wrong withyou? Are you an idiot?”

“I’m Jackson! Jackson Wang,actually!” The hostage, Jackson, responded enthusiastically, having the audacity toshoot Jaebum a wink. “Nice of you to ask. And actually, yes, the only thingwrong with me right now is my circulation might be getting cut off by thesecords of yours.”

He turned slightly to show off hiswrists that were twisted behind his back, wriggling his fingers.

“Don’t get me wrong, wouldn’t wantto get in the way of doing your job and all, Mr. Jawline, totally understandthat you had to tie me up for very important reasons. Could you just loosenthem a little bit, though?”

He blinked up at Jaebum innocently,cocking his head when he earned no verbal response.

“Oh come on, just a titch? Just ateensie eensie bit?”

Jaebum took a deep breath, countingdown from ten in his head so he didn’t accidently murderthis infuriating bastard. Don’tlose it, Jaebum, the gang needs a bargaining chip that’s alive.

“You do realize that I’m holdingyou hostage, right? That I couldn’t give a flying fuck about your comfort? ThatI could literally -” Jaebum grit his teeth, reaching down to lift Jackson up byhis collar, slamming his back into wall, “kill you right now?”

“Ohhh, kinky,” Jackson grimacedslightly when his head rebounded off the wall with a painful thud, but was backto grinning almost instantly. He even went slightly cross-eyed in order tomaintain eye contact with Jaebum, whose face was now mere inches away from hisown. “You know actually, if you’re gonna stay this close to me, I think I’d befine with these cords as long as-”

“Oh what the fuck,” Jaebumhissed, shoving Jackson off to the side as he stepped back with a look ofdisgust of on his face. Kicking off his shoe, Jaebum reached down, intent onremoving his other sock because clearly he was dealing with a total incompetentdumbass, and attempting to speak with him any more was only going to spike hisblood pressure.

“Oh, dude, no, please, not anothersock!” Jackson wailed, his irritating voice sounding much closer to a whinethan fearful begging. “Oh come on, please? Oh oh, I have a better idea! Ifyou’re gonna gag me, can you just take off your shirt and use that? You’vegotta have a killer bod, right? So no need to be shy, come on!”

Having already yanked his sock off,Jaebum snarled, moving forward with a vengeful rage when suddenly, his phonewent off.

Jaebum froze, sock still clutchedin hand before he finally exhaled deeply, retreating to the far end of the roomwith surprising swiftness as his phone was retrieved from his back pocket.

“Hello? What’s -”

“Get out, now. Forget the hostage,we have what we need and police are surrounding the premises, just get out now!”

“But where -”

Jaebum swore loudly when a telltaleclick signaled the other side hanging up, but he didn’t waste any timeattempting to redial.

Shit he needed his own way out, and if police were already surroundingthe premises he needed some way to slip through undetected. Almost immediately,he started running through his options, eyes scanning the room for anythingthat could be useful.

Eyes landing on Jackson, an ideastruck him, and for the first time, Jaebum returned Jackson’s grin with one ofhis own. He strode towards him briskly, whipping out the small army knife hekept in his other back pocket.

Jackson didn’t seem to notice theweapon, appearing simply starstruck at the appearance of Jaebum’s smile.

“Whoa, dude, you should smile moreoften, it’s quite- WAIT WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Jackson let out a muffled shriek,Jaebum pressing a palm against his mouth just in time to block most of thesound. Immediately, Jackson’s hands were on Jaebum’s own, his eyes wide.

Jaebum had cut his bonds, and wasnow busy tugging off his outer clothing. His button-up was off within seconds,and Jaebum’s efficiency ensured his undershirt followed shortly after.

“Whoa, whoa, aren’t we moving a bitfast here?” Jackson babbled as Jaebum went for his belt next, but didn’t resistdue to the cold blade pressed to the side of his throat. “Like, shouldn’t youtell me your name first, at least? Isn’t that basic etiquette?”

Jaebum didn’t respond, directingall his attention towards stripping Jackson down. There was a large amount offumbling, but the knife pressed against Jackson’s skin never wavered.

“Oh come on, now you won’t eventalk to me? You’re just gonna - hey, hey, I thought we were over the bondage!”

Having stripped Jackson down topretty much just his underwear, Jaebum quickly restrained him once more withthe cords, shoving him off to the side when he finished.

“Aww, really? You’re just going toleave me here? Naked?”

Jaebum couldn’t help but smirk ashe pulled off his own clothes, switching into Jackson’s uniform instead. It wasa tight fit, and the pants were definitely too short, but it’d do - no oneshould question a security guard wearing the company badge.

“You’ve got your underwear, haven’tyou? You’ve got quite the killer bod yourself, so no need to be shy, right?”Jaebum didn’t even try to keep the smugness out of his voice, mood instantlylifted by Jackson’s pitiful state.

Jaebum gathered his own clothesnext, stuffing them into his pack, and therefore missed the mischievous gleamthat lit up in Jackson’s eyes.

“Why, thank you. Does that count asyou flirting back, Mr. Jawline?”

Jaebum snorted, striding towardsthe door to make his leave without a single backwards glance.

By the time the door finally swungto a close, Jaebum was already halfway down the hall. So the faint “Call me!”that was yelled out right before it clicked shut just barely made it toJaebum’s ears.

He’d merely scoffed, shaking hishead as he broke into a determined sprint.

~~

Just as Jaebum predicted, slippingthrough the crowd of police had been a piece of cake with his security guardgetup. Arriving back at their base was easy enough after that, and Jaebum wasrelieved to find out that despite the many hiccups along the way, the heist hadbeen an overall success.

It wasn’t until much later, aftermany hours of drunken celebration and feasting, that Jaebum finally returnedhome to his apartment, slipping off his shoes to find a tiny slip of paperflutter up and out of the left heel.

It was a haphazardly folded note, with equally haphazard handwriting that was still somehow legible.

First, a series of digits that wereclearly a phone number. Then, a signature:

~ JW :)

~~

The other stablehand, however, didn’t seem to share his enthusiasm, not even bothering to look up from the pile of dung he was currently shoveling.

“They’re trying to find a suitor for Prince Jinyoung?” Yugyeom wrinkled his nose, clearly unimpressed, “Would anyone even want to marry him?”

“Why would anybody not want to marry him?” Youngjae sighed. “He’s so pretty, and sweet, yet also a little bit sharp. Like a perfect tart!”

“Ugh,” Yugyeom groaned, snatching away the small engraving of Jinyoung’s profile Youngjae was drooling over. “All you have to do I bake him some sweets when he asks. I have to clean his room.”

“It would be an honor to clean the Prince’s room!” Youngjae pouted. “I bet it smells like roses.”

“It’s a pigsty,” Yugyeom deadpanned.

Youngjae gasped, “Do not slander the great Prince Jinyoung’s name!”

“I’m sorry, what about my name?” a new voice inquired.

It was the same voice that Jinyoung heard in his nightmares. The ones where he’s pantless in front of his high school crush, slave to a village of unicorns, or some other acid dream he had after binging anime while eating ice cream straight from the bucket and fell asleep on the couch.

But Jinyoung wasn’t dreaming. He’s standing in the kitchen, smuggling ramen from the cabinets, stuffing them in his shirt in preparation of his all-night cram session for Psych. And the new voice wasn’t a dream-like apparition, but a breathing body waiting for some type of explanation.

When Jinyoung turned back to greet the new voice with a sinking sense of something like regret and guilt morphed together, he dropped all his ramen and gaped because he was not expecting that.

He’s not quite sure if anything could’ve prepared him for whatever strange thing was lurching in front of him, his heart hesitating just as his bowl shattered to the ground. Jinyoung vaguely registered something hot against his feet, barely protected by thin socks covered in faded thread and dust, and he blinked. His eyes were frozen wide, unblinkingly caught between gears as his mind worked desperately to apply logic to the situation. It was impossible, he knew that, but he’d always been a skeptic. Panic started to filter into Jinyoung’s thoughts as the figure stalked forward, feet scraping against the ground.

He quickly turned to run, the sound of his steps echoing against the pavement. It only took him a moment to realize that whoever was following him had begun to chase after him as well. He willed himself to run faster, desperately trying to ignore the burning in his lungs and the way his legs began to protest with each step, but it was so hard. His body began to slow down, despite his internal pleading, and soon he was collapsing onto the pavement with a pained gasp, tears already springing to his eyes.

“Please,” he whispered as they approach, feeling the eerie presence of the figure staring down at him.

“Please what, pretty boy?” The figure was still hazy in his sight, still none but a silhouette as he swallowed down the nervous pool of saliva in his mouth.

The footsteps came to an abrupt halt, leaning over him dauntingly as he tried to find the words lodged in his throat. The figure tilted its head curiously, shuffling was heard, and it’s voice was a little closer this time.

“What is it you wanted to tell me, hm?”

His body trembled and quivered out of fear, still wracking his brain to find his pleading words in hopes of getting his way.

Defeat weighed his shoulders down as he came to realise his impending doom. Slowly, slowly the arm of the the Masked Singer™ lowered itself down onto his shoulder. There would be no turning back now.

“I am your father” the distorted voice intoned.

Shock filled his body. Trembling, he made his demand.

“Prove it. Sing to me the songs of my people.”

Jackson took a deep breath and paused for a moment to gather himself, heart pounding in his chest, blood rushing in his veins. He opened his mouth, hand resting over his frantic heart, and to the tune of Pompeii by Bastille, sang, “Paul-Paul Blart: Mall Cop, Paul-Paul Blart: Mall Cop–”

A single tear rolled down Jaebum’s cheek as he watched, and Jackson blinked away his own tears. Then, very suddenly, Jaebum fell to his knees in front of the two-storey tall Paul Blart: Mall Cop poster and began to cry, “Paul-Paul Blart: Mall Cop, Paul-Paul Blart: Mall Cop, Paul-Paul Blart: Mall Cop–”

“Oh, praise thee,” Jackson shrieked, “praise thee Paul Blart: Mall Cop!”

He fell to his knees.

“What are you doing.” It was phrased as a question but the words fell from his mouth as a statement. Jinyoung had heard a shrill, panicked scream as he passed by the room, and immediately regretted following his curiosity to find a writhing Jackson on the floor, panting and shrieking.

Jackson did not answer; instead, he proceeded to scream different variations of “praise” as Jinyoung slowly backed away. His Plan A was originally to run away as far as he could, rename himself “Junior,” and live his life peacefully in a small country town where no obnoxious young adults by the name of Jackson could ever disturb him again. His goal, however, was shattered as he backed away straight into Jaebum’s sturdy chest and questioning, narrowed eyes.

“What the hell is going on in there?” Jaebum demanded, startled by the fear reflected in Jinyoung’s eyes.

“Hyung!” his voice was warbled, strained and pitchy and his knuckles were gripped white from where he was clenching his hands. Jaebum tried to stitch the whole scene together, eyes frantically darting around every incriminating corner of the room.

Jinyoung was by the open window, its curtains billowing out. The toppled lamp stand on the other side of the room, Coco petrified and shivering behind it. The amassment of dirty laundry across the furniture (not that that was particularly new). Yugyeom curled into a ball in the centre of the room. A figure covered by a blanket, unmoving.

Jaebum’s eyes bulged open, “Why is there a dead person in our dorm!??” The stress he felt, it was consuming at this point.

Despite the completely, very goddamn serious moment, Jinyoung scoffed and rolled his eyes. “That’s not a dead body, hyung. That’s just Jackson. he’s taking a nap.

“A nap?” He questioned. The doe-eyed youth only threw him a halfhearted nod. Jaebum squinted his eyes narrowly at Jackson’s figure before looking up suspiciously back at Jinyoung. He ultimately decided to let the questions in his mind stay unvoiced, opting for a small shrug and smile. He’d known the younger male for too long to question his antics, especially since he’d witnessed the wrath of Jinyoung for all this time. Jaebum reckoned that obliviousness was the true key to a peaceful and long life. “I don’t even want to know,” he let out.

“What are you talking about,” Jinyoung questioned. “Are you trying to evade this conversation?”

Jaebum laughed nervously, gaze still looking back and forth from the boy in front of him to the boy lying splayed out on the ground. “Just pretend I was never here today.” He blurted out, “We can save this conversation for another day.”

He threw the younger male what he hoped was a convincingly amicable grin before hurrying his steps towards the door. He should’ve known that he didn’t drop toothpaste on his shirt this morning for nothing—t’was all a warning from the deities above. And so Jaebum stumbled his way out the door, leaving behind Jinyoung to dwell on unfinished conversations.

“I know it was you! Don’t try to deny anything!” Jackson shouted.

“I swear! Let go of me or you’ll really regret it this time,” Bambam grunted. “It’s not as if anything you own would even fit me anyway,” he mocked.

“You bastard, you did not just say that to my face.”

“Oh yes I did,” Bambam sing-songed.

At that, Jackson had had enough, and charged at Bambam with the full force of his body. As they flew out the window, Jinyoung could be heard in the background, lamenting, “We just had the new glass put in last week!”

As if Jackson cared about the new glass put in when he was sitting on top of Bambam’s chest, all his weight balancing on the younger’s ribs in a way that had to be painfully uncomfortable. Luckily they had landed on the fire escape, or there would’ve been hell to pay.  

“Tell the truth,” Jackson demanded roughly.

“I didn’t do it!” Bambam insisted angrily.

“I’ll make Coco pee in your slippers,” Jackson warned.

Bambam stilled at this threat, face falling immediately.

“No, not the Gucci! What kind of sick world do we live in when a dude can’t even have some decent Gucci? ” he wailed miserably, sucking in his bottom lip as he glared up at Jackson. “Fine, jerkoff. I wore your leather kitten suit and I ripped it. You would have been way too big in it anyway.”

“It wasn’t for me,” Jackson admitted, uncharacteristically chagrin.

Bambam rolled his eyes, ignoring the way the older boy glared at him.

“Sure it wasn’t.” He pushed at Jackson’s shoulders, relaxing a little when Jackson finally moved off of him. After a few moments of unusual quiet, Bambam sighed, watching as Jackson stared over the edge. “Fine, who was it for?”

“None of your business!” Jackson snapped quickly, and Bambam had to fight the urge to laugh.

“Who else would wear a kitten suit?” Bambam countered, and when Jackson opened up his mouth to respond, Bambam held up a hand, “A leather kitten suit?” At that, Jackson went silent.

“Ya’know,” Bambam spoke up after a moment, leaning back onto his palms and crossing his legs at the ankles. He waited until Jackson met his gaze before continuing, “I’m not surprised Jinyoungie is a freak, I mean, the guy reads erotica novels for fun, but you,” he giggled as Jackson shot him a glare, “You always seemed like the vanilla type to me, hyung,” he finished, a teasing grin on his face even as Jackson quickly leaned over and dead legged him.

“It’s not like that, you brat!” Jackson shouted as he plopped back down on the floor, brushing the hair out of his face with a huff.

Bambam groaned, leaning over and smacking Jackson’s arm. That didn’t stop him from snickering at the elder, a smug smile tugging at his lips. “What’s not like what? You being vanilla isn’t like that? So after all this time, my assumption that you weren’t kinky was wrong?”

Jackson glared daggers into Bambam’s profile, hand quickly finding his way to the younger’s slim thigh, giving it a squeeze - nails included. “You mention this to anyone else, you’re dead to me, you hear me?”

“I can’t make any promises, hyung. This is just way too good not to share. I’m sure Jinyoungie hyung wouldn’t mind the word getting around anyway…”

Unfortunately, Jackson wasn’t joking. Right as Bambam had begun to turn away to inform the masses of Jackson’s intimate escapades, Jackson began to morph into a creature of pure menace. Skin turning green and nails lengthening, all trace of Jackson’s amiable demeanour fell away as his true self was revealed in the face of imminent danger.

“You will not tell anyone of what you know!” Jackson thundered. Bambam swore he felt the entire house shake. So in awe of Jackson’s unveiled power was he, he fell to the ground immediately and began to beg for forgiveness for the error of his ways.

Bambam could not raise his eyes, would not raise his eyes, in fear of Jackson’s festering rage. For an excruciating moment all Bambam could hear was the air flushing in and out of his lungs, the muffled clop clop of cloven hooves behind the door. “I won’t tell a soul,” Bambam promised and for a while, Jackson said nothing.

Then, with a suddenness that had Bambam’s whole body jerking, Jackson spoke, “Ogres are like onions. We have many layers.”

Bambam raised his head to look at Jackson who had visibly softened. “You have seen too many of my layers. Tell no one.”

Bambam stared deeply into his eyes, and he spoke with an unusual seriousness to his tone. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Jackson was, however, not yet satisfied. He took Bambam’s hands into his own and squeezed them with as much strength as he could muster. “You must swear on it. Swear on Coco’s life.”

Bambam gasped audibly. “How could you say such a thing? Do you not trust me that you would make me swear on the life of a living fluffball?”

Jackson jerked on his arms with an unnecessary harshness. “Promise me!” he begged. “No one must ever know.”

“Fine, I will,” Bambam huffed. “But if you tell anyone I was the one who stole Youngjae’s stuffed bear I’m telling on you,” he leaned in to whisper sinisterly, “to JYP-hyung.”

What feels like the combined power of twelve freezers shivers violently down Jackson’s spine.

“You wouldn’t.”

The sudden stillness in Bambam’s eyes, that emotionless, borderline-cruel blanket that covers his face speaks on the contrary. Betrayal is gripping. To think all those cumulative years of Jackson thinning his wallet out, meal after meal after meal - spontaneous ramen, the priciest meat, window shopping that never stayed window shopping and that already boyish voice reaching a squeaky hyung, please - would account for this kind of ridiculous threat.

Jackson feels his over-dyed brittle hair thinning.

“If I swear on Coco’s life, and if I fail still, don’t you think this is still really unfair to Youngjae? A dog and a teddy bear, how much can a grown man take!?”

“A swear is a swear hyung. PD-nim,” Bam shakes his head nervously, “there’s more to that man than meets the eye.”

A solemn, rigid nod. Jackson fights another shiver. “That’s why he wears sunglasses, Bam.”

And it’s with a swing of a door and a small breeze before Bam Bam leaves the room and Jackson to wallow in his thoughts. The traitorous image of the younger male’s backside burning into his mind. Jackson takes a small sigh, tugging at the ends of his—coarse, overdyed—hair. It’s then and there that Jackson considers the repercussions of failure and just how much compensation would be. Would it be the monetary equivalent of a pet dog? Or would it be some unmeasurable emotional equivalent that he’d spend this life and the next paying back. He considers asking Mark just how much getting Coco was, or maybe he could ask Jaebum what the best consolation for letting go of a dear pet be.

Everything seemingly falters along the slippery slope, “what-if’s” avalanching into a massive figure ready to roll across his aching (aging) body and leave him buried in the harsh, cold snow. “It’s okay,” Jackson tells himself, “I just have to not fail.” He reassures as he steps upon empty ground, gravity turning upside down as he tries not to succumb to his wavering vision. He places a hand on his chest, as if he could ease the restlessness of his heart. He wonders how much karma of all his past lives he needs to accumulate just enough luck for success. Or whether or not God would borrow him some to pay back in the afterlife.

It’s foolproof. Unfortunately, for Bambam at least, Jackson is the personification of stupidity, and knows that well. He is nothing if not self-aware (and health conscious).

He turns up the next day at the same shabby house with a crate under his arm, stubbing his toe on a step as he makes his way up. The sky is as putrid grey as his soul and the sun’s rays like feeble, unmotivated feelers poking through pathetically- it’s not a good day for an apology, but it’s now or never to change the course of Jackson’s shitty fate.

The door opens, and Bambam looks surprised and slightly discouraged- there’s also a Froot Loop on the front of his shirt that Jackson neglects to point out.

~~

Youngjae couldn’t remember the last time he felt so terrible. Sure, his health had never been particularly great, but being bogged down by a lingering cold was still infinitely better than whatever plague he’d managed to contract this time.

He knew he had a fever - the thermometer he’d stuck under his tongue minutes before had confirmed as much - but he still couldn’t stop shivering. The hyungs had been all too happy to heap the blankets from their beds on top of his own, but buried under three or four comforters, his body still wouldn’t give up the embarrassing trembling.

His head, however, was suffering from the exact opposite symptoms. His skull was throbbing from his overheating brain, just bordering on being outright painful. His eyes were watering even while shut, cheeks flushed as he struggled to suck in air past his congested airways. Even just lying there immobile was exhausting, and unfortunately, sleep wouldn’t come so easily now thanks to the long afternoon nap he’d taken earlier.

But perhaps the worst of it all was the anxiety knotting his stomach, a gnawing worry about his condition. He needed to perform soon, but how could he when he could hardly make it to the bathroom without vertigo sending him sprawling? He couldn’t afford to be sick, not now, and god just the thought of letting everyone down was enough to make him gag.

Quite literally.

Which was bad. Very, very bad, Youngjae soon realized, his throat seizing once his gag reflex had been involuntarily activated. He was regretting thinking about anything at all once stomach acid started to rise up in his throat, chest heaving as he all but fell out of bed, one shaky hand coming up to cover his mouth as the other frantically searched for something to help stabilize himself on his stumble across the room towards the bathroom.

But of course, his right knee decided to buckle halfway there, so Youngjae was quite resigned to puking his guts out on the hotel carpet when his weight was suddenly lifted, two arms coming to scoop him up from under his armpits and force him back upright.

Youngjae didn’t have the mental capacity to register anything else before he was upending the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl, throat burning. There was relief somewhere at the back of his mind at somehow making it to the bathroom, but he wasn’t able to dwell on it much, too busy with his violent retching.

It was a trying few minutes, the hand patting his back through the whole ordeal managing to make it marginally better. Youngjae was dripping sweat by the time the gagging finally stopped, sinking down to sit on the tiled floor with a relieved sigh. It took all his self-restraint to not press his burning forehead against the cool porcelain of the toilet.

He leaned his cheek up against it instead.

“You okay?” Bambam’s concerned face came into view, along with a wad of proffered toilet paper. Youngjae blinked once, clearly surprised, though unsure what exactly about the situation had caught him off guard. Nonetheless, he took the toilet paper from Bambam with a half-groan as thanks, wiping his mouth off with disgust before tossing the now soiled wad into the toilet.

Youngjae just breathed for a few more moments, Bambam padding away to return with a cup of water.

“Can you get up?” Bambam might as well not have asked the question, already proceeding to pull Youngjae up to his feet without waiting for a response. “You wanna rinse your mouth out first?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Youngjae croaked, leaning heavily against the bathroom counter as Bambam went to flush the toilet. While he felt even weaker than before, it was also undeniable that his stomach felt much better, and after ridding his mouth of the terrible aftertaste, Youngjae almost felt refreshed.

“Why are you here?” Youngjae’s brain, no longer preoccupied with vomiting, finally managed to process his previous confusion at Bambam’s presence. “Aren’t you guys going to do a vlive?”

“We thought leaving you alone would be a bad idea,” Bambam slung an arm around Youngjae’s waist, allowing him to lean up against Bambam comfortably as they slowly made their way back to the bed. “All the staff went out for a late night snack, and the vlive’s going to be pretty spontaneous, anyways.”

“Ah.”

Upon reaching the bed, Youngjae groaned as he sank down onto the mattress, burying his hot face in the now-cooled pillows as enthusiastically a sick person could. There was a faint giggle that must’ve come from Bambam in reaction, but Youngjae didn’t care - his ears were half-plugged, anyways.

“Hyung, you wanna get under the covers?” Bambam finally asked after a few moments, amusement still lacing his voice. Youngjae whined, kicking his feet weakly.

“The pillows aren’t cold anymore…”

“Oh come on, get under the covers,” Bambam forcibly rolled Youngjae over, lifting up the blankets before rolling Youngjae back underneath. “And just flip the pillows, see? The other side is nice and cold again.”

“Ahhhhhhh…”

Cheeks once again soothed by the cool cloth, Youngjae blearily blinked his eyes open, staring up at Bambam hazily.

“When did you become so smart?”

“What do you mean, when did I become smart? I’ve always been smart, okay?” Bambam was immediately indignant, cheeks puffing and Youngjae laughed, though it ended more on a wet cough. “Smart enough to stay healthy, too.”

“Aw man, now that’s a low blow,” Youngjae grumbled, eyes slipping shut once more, finding the darkness of his lids much less aggravating for his headache. “But thanks, Bam. You can go join the everyone else now, I’m okay. I think I’ve puked everything up now, anyways.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” There was the sound of something scraping against carpet, and the proximity of Bambam’s voice when he next spoke made it clear he’d dragged a chair to sit beside Youngjae’s bed. 

“I’ll stay with you. It’s not an official schedule, so it doesn’t really matter if I’m missing. And the fans will think it’s weird if you’re the only one not there.”

“Are you sure?” Youngjae felt like he should be protesting more, because he was fine alone, really. The fans would be disappointed already that he was missing, there was no need to take Bambam away, too.

But it’d be a lie to say he didn’t feel more comforted with someone at his bedside, and speaking more words to convince Bambam otherwise seemed to require too much energy he just didn’t have.

He was far too sleepy, and goddamn it the pillow was getting too warm again…

“I’m sure.”

Bambam’s voice sounded vaguely distant, but the shifting of his pillows was all too close and real, the fingers combing through his hair to massage his sore scalp sending tingles down his spine. The satisfied sigh at the renewed coolness against his face was entirely involuntary as Youngjae slipped further towards slumber, his exhausted body finally coming to a rest.

He would worry about everything else later.