#character:mark

~~

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.

White. That’s the color of the first petals that sway to the mahogany dining table from the confines of Youngjae’s mouth like confetti. Mark looks up at Youngjae from underneath his eyelashes, the two were sharing another one of their peaceful post-lunch reads, both concern and confusion present in his visage.

astilbe - “I will be waiting for you.”

His thin fingers pick up a few petals delicately, thumb and index finger running back and forth over the silk corollas, before dropping them to contrast with the wood of the table once again.

 “That seemed pretty painful.” Mark purses his lips, looking up at Youngjae with his whole head now, not surprised to see the bewildered look on the blonde’s face. “Are you okay?”

 “I think so? I didn’t feel it, I just felt an itch in my throat, and poof. Flower petals.”

 “What do you think caused it? You’re not some ridiculous flower eater, are you, Jae?” Mark jokes, neatly placing his bookmark in his book and shutting it to pay full attention to his best friend.

 “Not that I know of.” Youngjae runs his fingers through his hair in confusion and frustration. “Should we look it up?”

 “Do you think the internet would have something about coughing up flower petals?”

 “The internet has some really weird things, Jae. You’d be surprised.” Mark stands to grab his laptop and comes back to sit right next to Youngjae, powering it on and typing in carefully: I coughed up flower petals. What does it mean?

 They scroll through about three pages of Google search before giving in. “We’re out of luck. Should you see a doctor or is that too ridiculous?”

 “It might be my only option.” Youngjae lays his head on his arms and looks at Mark sadly, to which his best friend frowns.

“Don’t be so down. I mean, I would love to cough up flower petals. That seems so cool. And there’s gotta be a cure for this, we just need to find out what it is first.” Mark runs his fingers through Youngjae’s hair comfortingly, hand eventually coming down to rub the younger boy’s back. “It can’t be that bad, right?”

 Mark regrets speaking too soon when Youngjae throws up the bulbs of flowers one day instead of petals, which happened to be much more painful than the silk petals passing through his throat. “Jae, let’s just go see a doctor. Today. A walk in. It’s clearly getting worse and more painful.”

 He’s sitting next to Youngjae who’s still hunched over the toilet, patting his back gently and rubbing soothing circles. Youngjae sits up eventually, nodding in agreement. Mark’s fingers brush over the blonde’s neck briefly. “Is your throat okay?”

 “Yeah. A little raw, but it won’t kill me. Just feels like a common cold.”

 Mark sighs and stands up, offering his own to Youngjae before forcing him out the door of their apartment and into the car, driving him to a nearby clinic. By the time they arrive, Mark’s car is scattered with flower petals and bulbs - Mark doesn’t mind all too much, and Youngjae is more than upset about dirtying his best friends’ car.

“Don’t worry about it.” He waves off Youngjae’s apologies, getting out of the car and locking it when the younger follows suit. 

Youngjae swings his feet as he sits on the examination table, Mark sitting in the uncomfortable plastic chair across from him as they wait for the doctor to come in, a nervous tick in the elder’s right leg, dark hair falling over his face as he glances down at his phone, still searching for answers about what could have been going on with Youngjae. There’s a rapping at the door before it swings open, a young doctor stepping inside with a friendly smile.

“Choi Youngjae?”

Youngjae returns his question with a meek nod, holding back the cough he felt itching in his throat, not wanting to weird the doctor out in anyway before explaining his situation and symptoms.

“Doctor Park. So what brings you here today?”

“This is going to sound really weird, but hear me out before you jump to any conclusions.” The doctor nods in agreement, and Youngjae lets out an exasperated sigh before continuing. “So one day I just like, coughed up flower petals. I have him,” he glances at Mark, “to vouch for me. It was like that for a few days, and then one day I threw up unblossomed flowers along with the petals.”

The doctor furrows his brows before opening his mouth to speak, typing away at his computer as he speaks. “It’s rare, but it happens. It'’s something called Hanahaki Disease. It’s caused by unrequited love. The only way to stop it is for the person to love you back, or a surgery. The downside of the surgery would be forgetting that person.”

“Love?” Mark raises a brow, nudging Youngjae. “Is there something I don’t know about?”

“So if I decide to get the surgery, said person would be wiped from my memory.” 

“Correct.” 

Mark looks at Youngjae worriedly. “Why don’t we find out who this person is and then we can figure out if pulling through with the surgery would be the better option. Right, Jae?”

The two leave in deep thought, a heavy sigh from Youngjae pulling Mark from his thoughts. “What’s up?”

“Jackson.”

“It’s Jackson? 

“I think so.”

“Well what are we waiting for? It’s Jackson! That boy is already so whipped for you as it is. We just have to solidify it.”

Mark sends Youngjae and Jackson on a lot of dates from then, excusing himself out of it by saying he’s busy or has other plans, and the amount of triumph Mark feels when Youngjae and Jackson announce their relationship to him is beyond words. Finally - Youngjae is happy, he’s stopped coughing up flowers, and he’s in love.

Mark smooths his suit out in the mirror before turning to his best friend - heart a bit heavy, he’ll admit - and straightening Youngjae’s tie for him. “Today’s the big day.”

“And it’s all thanks to you.”

“Lies. I just helped a little bit.” Mark pats Youngjae’s shoulder and ends it with a squeeze, slinging his arm over him and looking at the two of them in the mirror.

“You look great. Jackson will probably cry.”

“If anyone’s going to cry, it’s going to be you. Hard to let go of me, isn’t it?”

withered flowers - rejected love

Mark offers Youngjae a half smile before patting his shoulder and walking away to the bathroom and crouching over the toilet, clutching his stomach with one hand and coughing out whatever is left. His heart sinks to the floor when he realized what had come out instead of vomit: petals. It was a variety - he recognized the same white flowers Youngjae had coughed out on the first day - astilbes, red carnations, pink carnations, yellow carnations, but there was one that hurt the most to see - the withered flowers.

“Fuck.” Mark curses, hot tears forming at the corners of his eyes, chest heaving and back against the bathroom door.

“Mark, are you in there? It’s about to start.”

“I’ll be out in a few, Jae.”

“Alright. Don’t be too long.”

Mark pulls through with the wedding with a forced smile, socializing and trying his best to stay away from Youngjae to keep his heart from aching and pouring his angst and heartbreak out and ruining the wedding. That’s the last thing he wants. To ruin things for his best friend. But it’s hard to stay away when Jackson keeps pulling him over and introducing him to everyone as the man that brought them together, or the man who made it happen, Jackson who lets him see that bright and vibrant smile on Youngjae’s face that he wishes so much could be for him.

“Before we do this surgery, Mark, are you positive this is what you want?”

“Yes.”

striped carnation - “No, I can’t be with you.”

purple hyacinth - “I’m sorry.”

The last thing Mark remembers before he goes to sleep is the anesthesiologist putting a mask over his nose and mouth, and nothing else. When he wakes up he sees Youngjae and Jackson hovering over him - except they’re only faint and blurred memories. Faces are familiar, but friendships and feelings aren’t.

“You idiot, you had surgery and you didn’t even tell me? I heard from your mom because I hadn’t heard from you since the wedding so I called her to ask how you were doing. She said you just had surgery and were recovering.” Youngjae’s eyes were welled up with tears, and he smacked Mark gently. “Do you have any idea how worried I was after you stopped contacting? I was about to go crazy.”

“Sorry I did that to you. But… not to be rude, but who are you?”

“Stop playing, Tuan.”

“But… I’m not. You look really familiar, but, I don’t know you. I’m sorry.”

“You’re joking, right? Mark, stop. It’s not funny. I was so worried for you and you’re over here acting like you don’t know me?”

“I don’t.”

“The surgery is like that.” Doctor Park walks in, slipping a clipboard into the front of Mark’s bed.

“What surgery did he have?”

“The one for Hanahaki disease.”

Youngjae shows up later with a bouquet of striped carnations and purple hyacinths.

“Bro, you hype? First day of school jitters? Whatchu gonna eat for breakfast?”

“Shut the fuck up, Jackson, why are you calling me at 6 in the morning,” Mark groans. It’s too early for this shit. It’s always too early for Jackson’s shit, but “That’s just the impact of the Wang” or so “the Wang” says.

“It’s the first day of school! You should be up and getting ready, don’t you want to start off the school year refreshed and excited?” Mark can practically hear Jackson jumping up and down through the phone. Oh, wait, is that the sound of springs squeaking? Then never mind, Mark can legitimately hear Jackson jumping up and down.

“More like dead tired. School doesn’t start until nine.”

“Whatever. Have you looked at your schedule yet? Did you see what classes you had? Do we share any classes?” Jackson’s talking non-stop, and from the sound of it he’s also trying to chew his breakfast at the same time. Mark’s not really into that ASMR shit.

“I already sent you a screenshot last night, keep up,” he responds, groaning as he finally crawls out of bed. With Jackson this hyped up, he knows there’s no chance of falling back asleep so he might as well get ready. “We have a few classes together, I think. Check again?”

“Oh, right!” there’s a pause as Jackson scrambles to his laptop, and Mark thanks the gods above for the short moment of blessed silence. “We have the same lunch period! And Humanities and Numbers for Nerds, thank goodness. You’re going to need to tutor me again.”

“No.” Not until you stop calling “math” “Numbers for Nerds,” Mark thinks. It’s too early to voice opinions, though, so he keeps that to himself.

“And Euro, yass, this is nearly fully booked Markson, get pumped! But wait, aw man, no science together. Why would you ever take Physics? And it’s first in the morning, too!” Jackson continues.

“God bless,” Mark’s not sure if he would have been able to handle Jackson so early every morning. Especially not after the copper incident last year. “Now I’m hanging up, gotta shower. See you at school.”

“Bye~~~ Markie pooh,” Jackson calls, but by then, Mark’s already ended the call.

—

“Jaebum, please,” Mark says the minute he enters the Physics classroom that morning. “Save me.”

“Babe, what’s wrong? It’s only the first day of school,” Jaebum grumbles, barely lifting his head from his desk to greet Mark.

“Exactly. However,” Mark says, handing his phone over to Jaebum. “Some asshole thinks that I should care about his choice in sock color today.” There are somewhere around, oh, just about hundreds of new text messages, voicemails and snapchats from Jackson, updating Mark on the every second of his first day of school prep. And that’s just the preparation; the school day hasn’t even started damn it.

“Aw, yikes. I got a picture of a flowchart of first day of school possibilities from Jinyoung last night. And then earlier this morning he sent me a selfie of himself setting the same flowchart on fire, so I’m not sure what that means.”

“Seriously? It’s only the first day of school why is he stressing like it’s finals week again,” Mark groans as he lays his head on the desk. Jaebum only pats him on the back and gives a shrug in response, and Mark is eternally grateful. He decides that now is a great moment (and the only moment) to enjoy a bit of peace and quiet before the madness called “High School” and “Being Wang Jackson’s One and Only BFFL For Life” (“Jackson you repeated for life” “Shhhh”) begins.

Moments later, the beautiful calm is shattered by the sound of Kara blasting through the air. “The fuck Jackson, we’re in class,” Mark says, opting to hit decline. Jackson apparently doesn’t get the message, however, and Mark’s phone spends the rest of class buzzing violently in his backpack.

Mark of course dutifully ignores everything. (At one point, a girl in front of him freaks out because she’s sure there’s a swarm of bees in the classroom. It’s just Jackson, though.)

—

“Hey.” Mark takes his lunch tray, which is literally piled to the sky with only french fries, and slides into the bench between Jackson and Jaebum. He looks down the table and nods at the kid at the end of the table. “‘Sup?” They’re not friends, but the kid sells some fine “herbs” if you know what I’m saying. Imported. From Thailand.

Mark doesn’t drink coffee. He drinks tea. And he’s ready to beat anyone (meaning Jinyoung) who mocks him for it. It’s not like he fucking reads books like some nerds (meaning Jinyoung).

“Hey, Mork, what’s up?”

“Can you not.”

“Nope! Those are a lot of fries buddy, I’m really kind of worried about your health, you know?” Jackson says, reaching over to grab a handful.

“I hope you choke.”

Jackson doesn’t choke, but he does snort and get some caught in his nostril. While Jackson is whining and screaming for help, Mark turns to Jaebum, “Hey.”

“Hey babe,” Jaebum responds. He also takes a french fry, but actually manages to look pretty sexy eating it, so Mark will opt to forgive him this one time.

“Do you think you can get senioritis when you’re a Junior?” Mark asks, shoving the plate of fries to the side so that he can lay his head on the table. And then push the fries directly into his mouth without actually lifting anything.

“Dude. It’s been three days since we got back from summer break,” Jaebum gives him a look, although really, he has no right to judge.

“I didn’t do any of my summer Humanities assignments, so I already have a zero.” Ok, so maybe Jaebum does have some right to judge. But only a little.

“Holy fuck YOU GUYS!” Jackson screams, and then immediately makes a shushing noise, “Shhh! I can’t let him notice me!”

“Jackson. You are the loudest one in this group right now.”

“Ah, sorry, I forgot. But look!” Jackson whisper shouts, vaguely gesturing toward some corner of the cafeteria. “Look at that!”

Mark squints, but isn’t really sure what Jackson’s freaking out over. He doesn’t see any signs for free pizza, or anything remotely worth getting hyped up over.

“That kid! Over there!” Jackson’s voice is steadily rising, but they’re in the middle of a public school cafeteria so Mark decides to not give any fucks for now. “The one that looks absolutely beautiful and basically is probably the Sun on the Teletubbies but all grown up! He’s in my Bio class and I swear you guys, I am in love.”

“Oh hey, that’s Youngjae,” Jaebum remarks.

Hmmm, Youngjae. Mark’s sure he’s heard that name somewhere.

“Remember? He’s the really loud tenor in my choir class. Tried to bring his dog to school last year.”

“Oh yeah. Coco. He’s my neighbor.”

“You know him?” Jackson gasps. He crawls over Mark and grabs Jaebum by the collars. “Please. Tell me more. I must know.”

And so the rest of lunch continues just like any other day, with Mark trying to ignore Jackson and continue eating french fries. It’s a hard task, but nothing that Mark can’t handle.

—

Another week of dozing through classes has passed in a blissful blur, and Mark settles into Physics, pulling out his notebook. He’s just trying to decide whether he should use the book as a pillow or what it’s actually meant for when his phone goes berserk again.

from: wangster

holy sheet mark

do u remember that incredibly cute ball of sunshine underclassman I was talking about

the one that probably farts pixie dust

and is CuTE as bALLS???

YOUNGJAEEEEE god kill me now even his name is lovely

he just got assigned to the same lab group as me

ME

the fuq is this, a fucking rom com??? i M SO READY to NOT embarrass myself infant of this kid

**in front ha fuck u 2 autocorrect

“What is that?” Jinyoung asks, peering over Marks shoulder.

“It’s just Jackson, talking about his new crush. I’m just gonna ignore it,” Mark concludes, setting it on vibrate and then tossing it to the corner of his desk.

“He just texted you again,” Jinyoung says, picking up the phone. “What does he mean by ‘THE THING’?”

“Shit, give me that,” Mark says, suddenly alert and scrambling for the phone.

from: wangster

do you think he’d think i was cool if i did THE THING again?

Mark furiously types.

from: mark

NO!

DO NOT. DRINK. THE COPPER. SOLUTION.

It takes a minute for the reply to come back.

from: wangster

aw cmon man, it wasn’t that bad

and don pretend like u didn’t take a taste too, i’m not the only criminal here

anyway i wasn’t talking about that

like

what if i “accidentally” spilled a chemical on my hot bod

and then i have to rip off my shirt and show off my sexy abs ;)

Mark groans and lays his head upon the desk. “Help. I think I have a migraine coming on.”

“What’s wrong?” Jaebum asks, sliding into his seat with 34 seconds to spare. Mark just holds up his phone in response. Jaebum sighs and formulates a response in Mark’s stead.

from: mark

your abs won’t be sexy anymore with a god damn acid burn on them. don’t do that shit. —JB

Before Jaebum can hand the phone back to Mark, Jinyoung snags it out of his hands. “Oh boy,” he giggles. “This is gold. Do you mind if I screenshot this and airdrop it to myself? Just for when I’m sad, I promise.”

“Go ahead,” Mark waves him on. At this point, he doesn’t think Jackson has any dignity left to muster up. “Just don’t accidentally send it to Youngjae or anything.”

There is a beat of silence, as three pairs of eyes meet. Then they all break, chuckling to themselves. Mark wheezes a little. “Nah, I wouldn’t. I’m not that kind of friend.”

There’s another moment of silence, as Jinyoung takes one long look at the messages, and then back up at Mark, then Jaebum, then back at Mark. “Aren’t you?”

“I mean, we’re best friends, come on,” Mark says. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly sweating in this freezing air conditioned classroom. “Right. Best friends. Who forgive each other no matter what,” Jaebum muses, half to himself. They meet eyes, and then break. Nervous laughter fills the air around them.

“Nah, nah, nah. We’re cool,” Mark says, taking back the phone and going to delete the screenshots. But, Jinyoung is right. This is kind of gold. “Maybe I’ll just start a message to Youngjae, but not actually send it, just to freak Jackson out.”

“Oh yeah!” Jinyoung agrees, aggressively nodding. “Take a screenshot of you you pretending to send those to Youngjae. Jackson would die. And it’s good revenge for him stealing my last twizzler.”

“Alright, I’m doing it,” Mark says. They’re all three cackling at the message, Mark’s hand hovering over the phone, when the teacher walks in and slams the door shut. Hard.

All three students jump in their chairs simultaneously. “Put you phone away!” he demands, and Mark sheepishly pulls his phone off his desk, but not before seeing what’s on the screen.

“Oh shit,” he looks up at Jaebum, wide-eyed.

“You hit send, didn’t you?”

—

Three hours later, Mark finds himself on the floor of the cafeteria, groveling at Jackson’s feet. “It was an accident, I swear, you know I would never do that to you. I would never even think of doing that to you!”

“How. The fuck. Do you accidentally send screenshots of my text messages to the guy who just happens to be the subject of my messages?” Jackson asks. His eyebrows are halfway up his face at this point.

“Ok, fine,” Mark concedes, “Maybe I did think of doing that to you. But I swear I only thought! I never actually meant to hit send. Tell him, Jinyoung!”

Jackson’s menacing eyebrows swivel to face Jinyoung, who currently has his nose buried in a book, with only his ears peeking out. No matter how much of a bookworm everybody says he is, no books are that interesting. “Well?” Jackson asks, leg shaking the table.

“Uhh… It was Mark’s idea!” then he slams his book shut and bolts.

Mark gasps, “That bastard.”

Jackson grabs at Mark’s collar, and as Mark flails, he looks over to Jaebum in an attempt at one last plea for help. Jaebum just raises his eyebrows, and scoots his tray further away down the table.

Just as Mark resigns himself to his fate, he is saved by the bell. More specifically, his text alert, which is actually a four second clip of a recording of Jackson screaming for five minutes straight. Everybody in the whole cafeteria looks over at them, including Youngjae (an important detail for Jackson) and the security guards and other adult staff (an important detail for Mark). “Dude get off of me before we get in trouble,” Mark whispers. Jackson only complies because Youngjae is looking and he can bet 99.999% that Youngjae probably hates violence and sings about flowers growing as a past time.

“Ugh, whatever, I’m still mad. You better buy me chocolate milk for the rest of the school year.”

“What are you, Kim Yugyeom?” Mark scoffs, but knows that he probably will, even if only for a few weeks instead of the whole school year. Anything to get his friend back. Even so, he slaps Jackson’s hands away as they drift toward his tray of fries. While battling Jackson over his lunch with his left hand, Mark unlocks his phone with his left (unnecessary AN: this was supposed to say right, but I was totally zoned out when typing this, and, my dudes, it is so wicked funny to imagine Mark with two left hands). “Oh my god, Jackson!”

“What now?” Jackson grumbles, slipping through Mark’s defenses and filching a fry or two or three or twelve.

“Jackson, look,” Mark gasps breathlessly, handing his phone over to Jackson.

“Holy fuck.”

Right there, on the screen (surrounded by way too many emojis and stickers) are the following words:

from: c youngjae

aww, can you tell jackson hyung thank you for the compliments

and also that i don’t want him hurting himself!! i’m sure he looks better shirtless on the basketball courts than in a science lab *winky face blushing emoji*

oh! also mark hyung, my family is going out of town for labor day, can you watch coco? thanks!

Mark grins, looking up at Jackson’s shining face. “Am I the best wingman ever or what?”

“Yes!” Jackson shouts, drawing looks once again. “But you still owe me chocolate milk for the stress that you put me through for this past hour.”

“Youngjae.”

Mark leans over the bundle of blankets and pillows, lifting the covers to find Youngjae’s peacefully sleeping face amongst the sheets. He pokes a cheek. Youngjae doesn’t stir. He pokes the other. Still nothing.

“Youngjae!” Mark’s voice is now a little whiny, his lips jutted out in a pout. “Youngjae wake up!”

There is still no reply, and Mark huffs in disappointment.

“Youngjae! We’re going out today, remember?”

For some reason, that seems to do it, as Youngjae is blinking his pretty brown eyes open and grinning back up at Mark warmly, albeit a little sleepily, his eyelids already beginning to droop again. “G’morning,” he mumbles, eyes winking up at him as his jaws open in an enormous yawn.

Mark runs his fingers through his soft blonde-brown hair and grins back at him. “Morning, sunshine. Rise and shine.” He leans in to place a soft kiss on Youngjae’s lips. “Time to get up and get ready for the day! You remember your promise right? We’re going out today!”

That seems to ring a bell, as Youngjae’s eyes are shooting wide open and he gasps. “That’s today?” He tugs the covers over his legs and flings himself out of bed. “I’ll be ready in five! Thanks hyung! Love you!”

Mark chuckles, pulling on a thick coat and mask as he waits for his forgetful boyfriend get ready for their date.

-

Their coffees are set before them in steaming mugs, and a small display of various pastries, from cakes to macarons, presented. Youngjae grins before sipping his coffee, a cream mustache decorating his lips as he sets the cup down.

“You got a little something.” Mark chuckles, motioning towards his mouth and offering a clean napkin, which Youngjae accepts gratefully.

As Youngjae dabs at his lips, Mark thinks he really wants to kiss him. He’s leaning in to do just that, but Youngjae stops him before he can do so.

“Hyung! Not here!” His eyes are gentle but reprimanding, a silent reminder that anyone could recognize them caught in the act.

“I don’t care.” Mark leans in anyway, tugging at the fabric of Youngjae’s turtleneck. The lower half of his face is buried in it, and Mark pulls it down to press soft kisses against his lips and cheeks.

“Hyung,” Youngjae whines, but his eyes sparkle and his cheeks are dusted the slightest shade of rose.

Once their coffee mugs are dry and the plate of pastries left in crumbs, Youngjae stands up, the legs of the chair squeaking against the cold tile. “I’m going to the restroom, I’ll be back in a bit,” he explains, catching Mark’s questioning expression.

“Then I’ll go with you,” his boyfriend offers, standing before he can take ‘no’ as an answer. He waits for Youngjae to wash his hands and check his hair, grinning as he makes his appearance once again.

“Shall we take our leave?” Youngjae smiles in return.

However, Mark seems to have other ideas, as his eyes darken and his smile morphs to one of a smirk. He lightly pushes Youngjae up against a corner, conveniently located away from the range of security cameras and potential prying eyes. Youngjae’s eyes are anxious and alert, always the worrisome of the two.

“Hyung, can’t you wait till later…” His words trail off as he melts into a kiss, and Mark thinks nothing in the world matters when his lips are pressed up against Youngjae’s.

“No time like the present, hm?”

Youngjae flushes, bumping his shoulders against Mark’s when they break away. “Let’s go, hyung. You’re being embarrassing again.”

They’re on their way out of the shop, feet barely making it past the doorway when a shrill female shriek resonates throughout the cafe, and the baristas have to remind the girl to keep her voice down for the other customers (to no avail, as her scream must have been some special fangirl call for the specific purpose of attracting her fellow fangirls, and in some cases fanboys, nearby).

The couple freeze for a moment, before Mark tugs his beanie to fully cover his ears and hair and pulls up his mask until only his eyes are visible; he proceeds to shove Youngjae’s head into his open zip up jacket, ignoring his whines of, “Hyung, I can’t see!” and together they sprint at top speed in the direction of their dorm.

-

Jinyoung doesn’t so much as look up from the book he’s reading as they burst through the front door, breathless and hair mussed, Youngjae leaning against Mark as he struggles to catch his breath. Jackson and BamBam stare at them for a moment before returning to their much more important game of Overwatch, while Jaebum tsks from where he sits on the couch with their youngest, watching some action movie. “Caught again?”

august nights in los angeles are the reason why mark hasn’t moved down to chicago like tyler is always pressuring him to. sure, he misses his best friend of over six years and would like nothing more than to kick it with him on the daily. but it’s the warm breeze blowing across his front porch, tickling the leaves and making them rustle, the taps and crunch of his penny board rutting over smooth sidewalk, and the umami smell that always hits him in the face when he rolls past tj’s skinny dump, the best place for chinese-korean fusion this side of seventh street, that anchors him here. he wouldn’t trade this feeling, the feeling of waking up to home and going asleep to home and being home, for anything in the world.

he usually takes a quick ride after a heavy night of studying to drain the caffeine from his system and wind down enough to get some type of quality of sleep. good or bad, that’s up to the tides and the moon and black magic because it’s finals week and rest comes around in short, clumsy spurts when the exhaustion finally does his ass in.

mark hits up his neighborhood convenience store for some ramen and monster, truly staples of his diet. he microwaves the ramen in some water and stirs in the soup packet, stuffing noodles in his mouth with some chopsticks as he gurgles out a goodbye to the store’s owner mr. den, a wrinkled vietnamese man of sixty-two with a drinking problem and swearing addiction. nevertheless, mr. den fixes his green polo shirt with a rough hand and waves with the other, always a nice dude as long as no one’s asking for any trouble.

the block mark lives on has a reputation of being that ‘rowdy frat block’; true to the rumors, parties happen on a bi-weekly basis, more often during festive seasons, but regular enough as it is. on a good day, they end in some sick-covered laundry to do and booting of wasted stragglers. fortunately, kappa alpha theta is the preferred spot to throw the craziest rangers, as they are sponsored by one of the members’ insanely rich parents and have a huge swimming pool and alcohol bar. parties occasionally break out at delta tau delta and run into the deep night, but they never make campus news for being the best or greatest. which is okay with mark because he gets to sleep in his own bed most nights and rarely faces sick cleanup duty.

even so, parties or any social gathering of any kind are almost unheard of during finals week. the same week responsible, capable students are reviewing for their exams, party-addicted knuckleheads are blowing their brains out to get something done, and in-betweeners like mark are working moderately hard, not sweat inducing, life contemplatively hard, but hard. with the brain and instincts mark has, pursuing a journalism major and korean minor, he finds a nice ratio of him working it and it working him.

this all said, the streets are usually a ghost town by this hour. which is why he finds a hunched body trembling in the orange glow of the streetlight more than an oddity. some part of his brain is urging him to ignore it. superhero mark is nice and all in the daylight, but a creepy dude under a streetlight past midnight is psychopath serial killer territory. he has some exams in the next few days that he probably needs to be alive to take. but another part is telling him, as he gets closer and hears the quiet sniffling coming from the figure, that he doesn’t look like a serial killer at all. if he is, either he’s a real good one, or mark is a damn sucker, or both.

even if mark wants to pass him up, just feet from his house, almost at the finish line, the guy’s shoulders shaking and his endless crying has mark slowing his steps and eventually stopping right where he is.

against all his better judgement, mark says, “hey, you alright man?”

the guy, boy really, once he lifts his head and mark gets a good luck at his soft features and young face, looks up. his glassy eyes find mark in the dusty glimmer of the light and mark sucks in a heavy, important breath as he discerns a current of fear so thick it nearly shocks him. he hopes this isn’t some trick serial killers use to get their victims to soften up, because mark is falling for it, hard.

but what really hits mark like a frigid ocean wave is the velvet, auburn ears twitching softly in his equally dark hair and the matching tail flicking languidly behind him. he’s a catboy. mark’s never met one before. it’s kinda cool. but the situation itself overshadows the revelation.

the young catboy has a bulging backpack weighing on his shoulders, his entire life probably inside, along with a black suitcase on wheels that he’s using as an impromptu seat. if jaebum hadn’t schooled jackson on the finite differences in physiology of the east asian races, after the ladder let his ignorance slip (something not to be done in jaebum’s company) and mark hadn’t been suffering through every waking minute of it with a dead phone battery and no fake appointment to excuse himself to, he wouldn’t be able to tell that this guy looks korean as hell. and by the ‘america rocks’ button pinned to his thin jacket and the sadness in his pretty eyes, mark can tell he’s a tourist that’s having a strike of very bad luck. to mark, los angeles is his home. but to this poor guy it’s a jungle of unfamiliarity and he must be scared shitless.

that’s gotta suck.

“i’m lost,” he admits finally in a heavy accent. mark shouldn’t be thinking that it’s cute and melting a little because he’s still not out of the danger zone. he could be carrying murder tools in his backpack, it’s definitely big enough.

“and they stole my money,” he adds miserably in elaboration. “i have no money, and i’m lost. i’m stupid.”

“you’re not stupid,” mark can’t help but say, rubbing the back of his neck with the hand holding his black plastic bag, fingers looped through the handles. “uh, what’s your name?”

the guy clears his throat, sucking up his sniffles. “youngjae. choi youngjae.”

“nice to meet you, youngjae. i’m mark.” don’t tell him your last name, idiot. i swear for the love of all that’s good and pure, don’t- “mark tuan.” he points behind him, kind of guessing the direction so he has his eyes on youngjae, gauging his comprehension of the situation. “that’s my frat over there. since you don’t have money, you can crash there tonight and we can figure things out in the morning. what do you say, youngjae?”

youngjae looks troubled, uncomfortable. “how do i know you’re not going to harvest my organs and sell them on the black market?”

mark is equal parts amused and deeply mortified. “american television is crap. it’s all crap, okay? read books, youngjae. i promise not to harvest your organs and sell them on the black market. so come, yeah? i’d hate to have you sitting out here because i can guarantee i’m the nicest person you’ll encounter in downtown la in the middle of the night.”

youngjae’s eyebrows furrow in thought. he casts one long glance at the street before turning back to the hand mark has out stretched to him, a very transparent question: risk it for a cool bed or play it safe and end up roaming downtown la in the dead of night, susceptible to god knows what? for some reason, when youngjae takes mark’s hand and allows him to pull him up, he gets a weird sense of accomplishment, as if youngjae hadn’t just chose short-time survival over very possible long-term suffering.

“let me get that.” mark pulls up the handle of youngjae’s suitcase and rolls it alongside them as they walk, closing the distance between the street and the house with each anticipated step. mark has clocked out his good deed meter and is ready for some blissful, air-conditioned sleep. again, up to the moon and the tides and good ole’ black magic. but nobody can tell him not to dream.

“why are you out here, youngjae?” mark asks curiously as they step through the front gate, barb wire swinging closed with a clink and clack, whining like the antique it is.

“america is very beautiful,” youngjae says wistfully, slight smile visible underneath the porch light as it hums to life. “i’ve read about america in books as a child. the land of opportunity. i never thought i’d get to go. then my mother committed suicide just a month ago. i dropped out of university and worked full time at a cafe, saving money to come here. looks like i’m back at square one.” his coy smile doesn’t hide the tsunami of pain roaring in his eyes, suddenly too much for mark as he looks away.

“i’m sorry...uh, about your mom,” he mutters uselessly. “i’m sure she’s in heaven.”

“or hell,” youngjae blurts out unceremoniously. “suppose you go to hell for that sort of thing. or purgatory. maybe she’s there.”

all other generic, commercialized words of condolence burn at the back of mark’s throat, dying right where they are, cold, metallic niceties that slide down as heavy as iron and drop resolutely into his gut. he coughs out a meaningless “yeah”, like he gets it. he doesn’t.

this is weird.

they walk inside. as jackson is the only one with a car, there’s no way to tell if the others are home. mark’s quiet anyway. always is.

“this is the living room,” he says, and flips a table lamp on. light blooms in the crowded space. the black, suede pull-out couch is swimming in clothes, a mixture of clean and not. empty cans of monster and beer litter the squat coffee table, rings of moisture already leaving their presence on this little piece of the earth where jackson lives to irk mark’s patience. he always tells that slob to get tidy or get out. of course since mark holds no ownership over the house he’s a little out of his jurisdiction to call those types of shots, so jackson mostly ignores him. but he still says it and occasionally jackson likes to play human, doing human things like having some dignity and not crapping where he eats.

mark points to the darkened room right off the living room, left of the staircase, “kitchen”, and then to the room left of that one, “first floor bathroom. help yourself to anything in the kitchen as long as you clean up. i hate messes because no one cares enough to fret but me. need anything and i’ll be upstairs, preferably sleeping but probably not.”

for the first time since he’s seen him, youngjae actually smiles. not a tight grin or nervous twitch of his lips, but a real smile. the kind of smile that is raw and panic inducing and something mark wants to lock in a box forever.

“thanks, mark.” youngjae drops his backpack on the floor and goes over to the couch. mark regains his senses in time to run over and knock all of the clothes on the floor, pulling out the couch into a bed and dragging some pillows and a comforter from the surrounding furniture to make it look somewhat like a decent place to sleep and not just a filthy couch stained with caffeine and virginity.

“no problem.” he waits awkwardly as youngjae toes out of his shoes and lies his jacket aside in quiet task, content.

“do you need some sleep clothes?” mark asks, surveying youngjae’s remaining cotton graphic tee and blue jeans.

youngjae smiles meekly. “would it be trouble?”

“not at all. wait here, okay?” mark goes up the stairs, all nervous and jittery for some reason. he bangs around oafishly in his black room for a few minutes, not having the sense to turn on some light as he focuses on finding youngjae something comfortable to sleep in. he finally decides on some green basketball shorts and a plain white sleeveless shirt.

this is weird, mega weird. he’s letting a stranger sleep in his house, wear his clothes. jaebum’s gonna chew him out for this. it’s almost not worth the headache. he goes back downstairs and hands youngjae the stuff.

“thanks.” youngjae does that thing again where he smiles and mark doesn’t know what to do with the raw and genuine sensation.

“yeah, sure.” oh, jaebum’s definitely gonna chew him out.

he goes back up to his room and collapses in his bed. whatever happens in the morning is for the morning. the caffeine cleanse apparently worked, as he passes out much sooner than expected.

                                                  *   *   *   *

“yo, tuan!”

mark rolls over in his bed, groaning at the bomb of luminescence bathing his room in unrepentant shine, unamused. if jaebum didn’t haunt his dreams on a regular enough basis he wouldn’t be doubting his actual presence. but after a door--his door--slams open, mark groans again, but no longer doubts that the real jaebum is in his room, and angry for some reason lost to his drowsy conscious.

“tuan, i swear to god-”

“jaebum,” mark says in a mock conversational tone, sitting up and kicking his thin sheet off his legs, blinking his eyes open slowly. “to what do i owe this unexpected visit?”

“i could say the same,” jaebum grits out, livid. “what’s a stranger doing on my couch?”

that’s when the gears get spinning and mark looks over at his seething friend, who has what he remembers to be youngjae’s bag gripped roughly in one hand, the other screwed on his hip in impatience. mark understands why he’s mad, knows there’s a dude sleeping on their couch who could still be a serial killer despite his completely disarming smile and shy tendencies. but he’s not one to lose to jaebum.

so he says, “you mean our couch?” even if just to save face.

as expected, jaebum is less than amused at the quip. “i’ll give you two seconds to talk, dumpling face. who is that guy?”

mark stands up finally, and shivers off the rest of his sleep. he refuses to flinch at jaebum’s unrelenting glare. “his name is youngjae. he’s a kid from korea, and he got mugged last night, so i let him sleep here. i couldn’t just leave him outside so something worse could happen to him, jaebum. that’s just cruel.”

jaebum visibly softens, the grip on youngjae’s bag handle loosening and his stare melting a bit, not as hot and unforgiving as before. “he understood you?”

“yeah.” mark shrugs. “he speaks perfect english.”

“dammit, mark.” jaebum’s frustrated more than mad now, which really is an approvement. “you couldn’t be your normal nonchalant i-don’t-a-flying-fajita self?”

“flying fajita?” mark stage whispers.

“whatever.” jaebum waves him off, tossing him the bag which mark catches easily. “take care of it. if he’s going to be staying indefinitely, i want some background info.”

“got it.” mark nods firmly.

“you’re just a regular ole’ clark kent,” jaebum grumbles to himself all the way to his room, closing the door and leaving mark standing in his open doorway with youngjae’s bag and at a loss for what to do next. he loops the bag over one shoulder and pads down to the living room. his fear of youngjae possibly being awake to suffer jaebum’s wrath and feel all unwanted is dissipated when he sees that youngjae is still in deep sleep, half of his face buried in the pillow, softly twitching ears and rising back the only sign of movement. he then sneaks a peek over at the den adjacent to the living room. jackson is knocked out, pacified in slumber by some beer that reeks its way all the way over here.

mark crinkles his nose and moves closer to youngjae, dropping the bag softly as he takes a tentative seat at the sleeping boy’s feet, gazing curiously at his peaceful face. youngjae looks so young that mark is immediately guilty for some reason. he has these soft looking, peach-hued lips and a cute nose. being able to stare so intently, mark also notices a beauty mark under his left eye--well, mark’s left, but youngjae’s right. he’s very pretty; so pretty that mark is lost in him, only aware that he’s being just a bit creepy when those sweet eyes blink open and fix him a perplexed stare.

“uh, sorry.” mark backs up, actually blushing like some chastised schoolgirl. youngjae barely responds, still mostly sleep, only blinking curiously at mark so blankly that mark is forced to ask his next question. “how old are you, youngjae?”

“18,” youngjae says sleepily, rubbing his eyes and fixing to sit up. he’s a baby, mark thinks solemnly to himself.

“you graduated early?” mark asks after remembering some stuff jaebum told him about the age of university in korea being 20 instead of 18 like in the states. he smiles. “you must be smart.”

“dumb enough to get robbed,” youngjae answers cynically. mark’s smile vanishes. he doesn’t know what to say to follow that up. move on.

“do you know anyone out here?” mark asks. “anyone you can call, or ask for a favor?”

“it was really a whim decision,” youngjae admits sheepishly. “i hated being in that apartment by myself. everything reminds me of her. her clothes, her bills, her favorite spot on the couch. everything smells like her.”

mark is really at a true loss when youngjae becomes visibly shaken, choking up on his words and eyes watering. if mark is good at anything, it’s giving people space and letting the dust settle. but he can’t exactly leave youngjae while he’s on the brink of crying, doesn’t want to leave him. he wants to hug him and whisper hushed comforts until he stops crying and making mark feel like an unfeeling ogre as he continues to sit by and do nothing.

who has he let into his house?

“youngjae,” mark says gently, biting his lip in awkward anticipation. “come here.”

youngjae looks up at him then, glassy eyes the same ones that had warped him the night before when mark first saw him, sitting like a sad puppy on the curb and waiting for a sucker like mark to stroll by. his bottom lip is trembling a little, and mark cracks at that. youngjae inspects mark’s open arms for a moment, not too sure what to do with him, and then, to mark’s bittersweet triumph, actually crawls into them.

youngjae sits cross-legged next to him, head cushioned on mark’s shoulder as the man rubs his back, hating the hiccups and shivers that rattle through him. mark’s never been the most clever or timely with words, so he keeps his mouth shut until youngjae calms some time after, shoulders stilling and crying fading into the early morning birds’ orchestra.

“i’m sorry,” youngjae whispers in a quiet rasp. “you don’t even know me. i don’t know you. but look what i’m doing in your house. i really am stupid for coming here. you know, the really sad thing is i realize that after i’ve had my money stolen and have no way to get back. i’m an idiot. i’m so stupid. i’m the biggest dummy-”

he’s knocking his knuckles against his temple so hard that mark worries he’ll crack something, and he swoops in to grab his wrist impulsively. the boy looks up at him quizzically.

“you’ll hurt yourself,” mark answers his unasked question. “and you’re not stupid. you’re grieving. you can stay here as long as you need, or want. as long as you want.”

youngjae smiles finally. “you’re really nice, hyung.”

mark stiffens unintentionally. “hyung?”

“is that not okay?” youngjae sits up in a flash, face suddenly contorted in panicked apology. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to. it’s just, i’m pretty sure you’re older than me. is it weird? should i just call you mark?”

“no, no, no.” mark laughs. “hyung is okay.”

youngjae’s smile returns, and mark knows it’s gonna be the end of him one day.

that’s when jackson’s loud grunt breaks through the peaceful silence, taking youngjae’s attention, something mark didn’t think he would mind until now (because he does).

“jesus fu-”

“idiot.” jaebum comes skipping skipping down the stairs with a joyful smirk, books ladening his arms and backpack slung on his shoulder. he looks much happier than about ten minutes ago. he must have a stash of chocolate in his room. mark wouldn’t put it past him.

“who’s this?” jackson’s irritated frown turns into a curious smile at the sight of youngjae. he’s looking at him the way the man looks at anyone he’s preparing to swoon, and for some reason mark is ready to spring between them because of it. he doesn’t, though. they just met. mark has no claim over this beautiful catboy named youngjae.

that would be weird.

“youngjae,” mark says a bit sullenly, already resigned to this quiet fate. “he flew from korea.”

“i didn’t fly,” youngjae interjects, looking over at mark.

“bus then…?”

“some very nice men and women drove me here,” youngjae says vaguely. mark’s eyebrows pinch.

“you hitchhiked?” mark’s voice raises before he has any control over it, almost hysterical in that instant. “youngjae, that’s so dangerous. you can’t just trust anyone. strangers are off limits, okay?”

“you’re a stranger,” youngjae says cheekily, a very clear smile on his face. mark is disarmed for a very long second, again at a loss for what to do with youngjae. this strange catboy who is lying on his pullout couch, apparently an orphan (though he’s not sure about his dad, maybe that’s too personal though). he doesn’t know what to do with any of it.

“i don’t count,” mark says after a long time.

“okay.” youngjae shrugs indifferently, faint smile still etched on his lips.

                                              *    *    *    *

somehow, mark is able to convince jaebum that youngjae is not a serial killer, despite his own doubts, and he has agreed to let him stay indefinitely. youngjae has his own special magic. maybe it was between the behind-ear-scratches and the content purring; regardless, jaebum and jackson are both infatuated. jackson is more vocal, but when is jackson not more vocal in general?

mark is happy. he really is. but he has no idea what he’s doing at all. youngjae seems fine, most of the times. he’s smiling and munching on jaebum’s secret stash of chocolate (which jaebum doesn’t mind at all, the discrimination!) and being all obliviously cute as he floats around in mark’s slightly too big clothes like everything’s hunky dory.

(it’s not.)

then he’s crying quietly in a corner of the bathroom before startling as mark purposely clears his throat, feigning ignorance as he stomps inside to throw a thin greeting his way.

he thinks they have built up a system that isn’t perfect, but functions somewhat smoothly. youngjae vents to himself, and mark intrudes after some time to keep him from drowning in his own anguish. it’s good. it’s a good system.

then the systems breaks about a week after that.

one day mark actually does walk in on him as he’s crying far too quietly to even be picked up. mark doesn’t even notice him until he’s halfway in his room, shirt already off and hand digging around in his drawer for something less sweaty.

their ac’s old and uncooperative sometimes.

youngjae is wrapped up in mark’s blankets despite the increasing wave of heat blowing through the house, lasting as long as the ac decides to spazz. his ears are flattened against his fluffy hair and he looks so small and sad that a piece of mark dies. the older’s puny desire to hurriedly pull on another shirt to cover his bare torso is disintegrated under the need to move closer to youngjae. which he does.

his shirt is dropped somewhere on the floor on his way to the bed.

“hyung,” youngjae sniffles quietly, big, pretty eyes full of tears.

“do you want me to leave?” mark asks stagnantly. he doesn’t want to at all. but if youngjae says so then he will.

“no.” youngjae shakes his head while looking all vulnerable and hurt. mark slides in next to him, pulling him instinctively into his lap without fretting if this is too intimate. youngjae wraps around him. the top of his head slots perfectly against mark’s warm throat and the little breaths he’s blowing from his nose tickle the skin there. the boy’s tail floats down across mark’s thigh and coils loosely.

“your mom?”

“my mom.”

“what was she like?”

“sometimes she was mean to me,” youngjae breathes unsteadily, wet cheeks signalling to mark that he’s crying again, or more, since he never really stopped before. “she called me mean names and hit me. dissociative identity disorder, the doctors called it. it’s like she had more people than just her living in her head. sometimes she was really nice. she baked my favorite cookies and rocked me to sleep. then she was being mean again,  pulling my tail and tugging my ears until i was so dizzy that i passed out. when i woke up she would often be crying with a new batch of cookies in the oven. she was my best friend and my worst enemy.”

“youngjae, i’m--uh, youngjae--”

“you don’t have to say anything, hyung,” youngjae whispers. “can you please just hold me?”

so marks shuts his mouth, which is the best decision he’s ever made in his life, and holds youngjae in his arms, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. he’s not sure if that’s okay at all. but youngjae purrs like he does when he really likes something, and so mark doesn’t apologize about it.

                                               *    *    *    *   

taking him sightseeing had been made a thing with jaebum’s offhanded suggestion and youngjae’s enthusiastic approval of the idea. he sees how youngjae slugs around the house in boredom, pressed thin between the thoughts of his mother, which are so obvious mark can almost drown in them along with him, and youngjae’s own restlessness.

mark is more than apprehensive about it all because as much as the right side of la can be a  plethora of all good things; the bad side can be the complete opposite.

even though mark doesn’t mind seeing youngjae walk around in his clothes, small frame swallowed by the fabric, loves it actually, he would rather other people never have the pleasure. he takes the boy shopping at a high-quality and wallet friendly shop in the mall as a segue to the afternoon leg of their downtown adventure.

the morning had been a rush of breakfast, window shopping, and youngjae touching everything they passed, never letting a single thing go without mulling over it first, endlessly excited and curious and so new to everything. mark thinks he’ll fall asleep to youngjae’s voice going ‘what’s this?’ and ‘what’s that?’ and ‘is that what this thing does?’ because he’s heard it enough to absorb the sweetly pitched tones into his bloodstream. as if he needs anymore of youngjae running through his system than there already is.  

“hyung!” youngjae tugs his arm and drags him over to a shop after they’re done picking out a few bags of nice, cheap clothes that should get youngjae by for at least a few weeks, paired with items from mark’s wardrobe since he won’t ever get over seeing youngjae wear his clothes.

mark isn’t partial to shops with ‘pink’ or ‘stuffed’ in the name just because those things creep him out. also, his sisters used to force him into dresses and makeup when he wasn’t old enough to toddle away by himself, so the trauma’s still there. he’ll brave if for youngjae, though.

he’d brave so many things for youngjae.

“isn’t this one cute?” youngjae holds up this bear thing with freakishly huge eyes and the cheesiest smile mark has ever seen. it’s this pastel purple color that makes the older’s skin crawl. it’s not only cute, but creepily so. killer china doll cute.

“yeah…” mark lies uncomfortably, trying to appease youngjae’s smile with a tight grin. “really cute.”

“you hate it.” youngjae drops the thing with a sigh. his eyes search around quickly after that, widening in delight when he sees something else he likes. he rushes over and mark trudges along behind him.

“what about this one?” he holds up a baby blue pikachu with white blushing cheeks. it’s actually cute and doesn’t look like something he’d open his eyes to at 2am trying to harvest his insides. because mark tends to be as easy to read as black and white print, his approval spills out onto his face and youngjae beams.

mark actually gets the thing because his tight wallet becomes a little looser with youngjae giving him these pretty pouty eyes and pushing his bottom lip out like the sun will stop shining or water will stop being wet if he doesn’t get this blue fuzz thing with the white cheeks, ears twitching something furious.

they have a pair of burgers and fries at the food court before leaving for their next stop. mark won’t forget how youngjae looks at everything like it’s earth’s saving grace, can’t forget how the sweet kitty touches everything with an innocent wonder and amusement not easily replicated by hands that have touched and eyes that have seen and chests that have burned for reasons beside the scorching love for one’s love lost.

the original plan had been to catch the fireworks at six, grab some snack to take home, and be done with their adventure. however, mark’s perfectly scheduled conclusion to their day is derailed when youngjae stops him as they’re walking over to the park, pointing excitedly at a crowd of people huddled around something. upon wandering closer, mark recognizes this man as the one that usually sets up his street magic a few blocks from his house and amuses groups with tricks difficult enough to entertain the average person, but simple enough that mark was able to memorize them in just a month after a dumb bet with jackson that cost him time better spent. he’s not at all impressed, but youngjae is engrossed, gasping generously enough for the man to come closer and let him get a better look at some tricks.

“is it that fun, youngjae?” mark asks with an easy grin, never not fascinated by how the kitty manages to find boundless excitement in the near mundane.

“look at that!” is youngjae’s enthused reply, eyes sparkling and hands mimicking the man’s motions sloppily, completely focused. that’s when mark thinks to himself, infatuated beyond belief, that if spring were a person, it’d be youngjae. he has such a fresh attitude; that paired with his teeming exuberance and virginal glee towards most of anything has mark swooning, falling so hard he’ll need someone to scrape him off of where’s melted in a puddle for this sweet, pretty catboy with bright eyes and a childishly pure trust in others.

dammit, dammit, dammit.

as they’re walking home mark is internally pleased at how they can still still see the fireworks from across the lake and youngjae is ‘oohing’ and ‘ahing’ again as if he has the sole power to see everything in existence through rose-colored glasses. he wants to ask youngjae how he’s feeling about his mom and just talk to him to see if he’s still hurting because mark gets sappy at the curling at dusk when the warm wind is whistling past his ears and making everything loose and quietly blissful. he also wants to press him into his chest and kiss his cute, squishy face until everything else loses all meaning. the only concrete necessity being youngjae cradled in mark’s arms.

none of these things come to pass because youngjae slips his hand in mark’s and the older forgets how to breathe momentarily, exhaling when he needs to inhale and almost passing out before he gets the hang of it again. he spares a sideways glance in the kitty’s direction to see his tail swaying happily in the breeze and a soft smile on his clear, bright face.

not to be dramatic or anything, but it’s a smile that could cure the world of all of its impurities.

“can i stay with you?”

mark startles at youngjae’s honey-slick voice, staring down at him more focused. he must look like a puppy on a leash, but he’s okay with it being youngjae who’s seeing him like this, will always be.

“can i stay with you, hyung? for a long time?” he asks again, tightening his grasp on mark’s hand just the slightest and blinking up at him like this is all he needs. mark doesn’t even need to think, doesn’t care about the implications or strings attached because it’s youngjae.

“for a long time.”

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.