- - - ลาก่อนครับ - - -

goodbye

 

Jackson returns to the apartment to his boyfriend waiting for him by the door, arms folded over his chest and an increasingly tart look blossoming across his face. It sours his own mood at once. He grunts a greeting at the other boy without casting a second glance at him, dropping his briefcase against the wall before stooping down to undo his shoes.

 

“Why are you home so late?” His boyfriend demands accusatorily.

 

“I had work, duh.” Jackson snaps. The thought of the impending promotion everyone is vying for and the mounting pressure it comes with suffices to make his mood turn for the worse. “What else do you think I leave the house dressed like this everyday for?”

 

“I’m so done with your blasé attitude.” The honey blonde bites. “Do you even know what today is?”

 

The platinum blonde lets out a drawn-out breath through his nose as he tries to control his temper. He hates it when his boyfriend tries to be passive-aggressive. Why can’t he just say what’s on his mind? “What did I do this time? Or rather, forget to do?”

 

“You are such a !” The other screams, face red from anger, grabbing the closest object and hurling it at Jackson which, unfortunately for him, is the priceless antique vase the blonde’s father gifted him after his previous work promotion. Jackson is barely saved from permanent disfigurement by his feline-like reflexes, ducking just in time for the vase, fresh stalks of flowers and water and all, to fly over his head and smash against the door behind him, shattering into a million pieces just like his heart at the thought of his money flying away.

 

God damn it, that vase had been expensive.

 

Jackson does not hesitate to voice that out. “What the actual is wrong with you, Kunpimook? Are you trying to ing kill me? Do you even know how much that vase that you smashed into smithereens cost?”

 

“ you, Wang Jackson! I’m through with you and your !” The younger storms into the bedroom and comes out wheeling two luggage bags. “I’m leaving you for good.”

 

Well, looks like someone has been preparing for this.

 

“Okay,” Jackson shrugs and bends down to retrieve his briefcase, brushing past the younger when he pads into the living room. His indifference takes Bam Bam by surprise, who stills in pulling his shoes on by the patio.

 

“You’re not even going to try to stop me?” Bam Bam demands incredulously as though he is the one being dumped and not the other way round, and Jackson has to fight the innate urge to roll his eyes.

 

“Should I be? I am a , after all.” Jackson shoots back readily from the couch, one leg crossed over the other as he tries to dig his phone out from his back pocket. He unlocks his phone and begins browsing through the text notifications he’s received. He’s become so immune the flash of hurt that crosses the younger’s face at his nonchalance doesn’t even stir up a twinge of guilt in his chest anymore.

 

Bam Bam drops the bags he’s clutching in his hands and folds his arms across his chest. “Did everything we’ve been through together the past four years mean nothing to you?”

 

This time, Jackson does roll his eyes, lowering his phone to his lap to stare straight into the younger’s eyes. “Trust me, you definitely meant a lot to me, judging from the mile-long credit card bills you chalk up every single month. A lot, Kunpimook,” Jackson emphasises, “A lot.”

 

“You,” Bam Bam hisses with narrowed eyes. “Are an .”

 

Jackson snorts. The younger must be running out of comebacks because this is by far the weakest he’s received so far in the past weeks. “So tell me something you haven’t already told me.”

 

The fire in the other boy’s eyes snuffs out and is replaced by a melancholic sadness. Bam Bam heaves a sigh, long and drawn out, dropping his arms to his sides and looking down at the scruff of his shoes with lips pressed together. “I really loved you.”

 

It’s the first emotion Jackson’s seen in the honey blonde besides disappointment, irritation and resentment in a really long time. The elder suddenly feels like he’s back into the past, where the only times they fought were over who loved each other more and they couldn’t stay mad at the other for more than five minutes. It is regretful how four years of bliss is ending this way but it is the right thing to do; they’ve long stopped being, and making each other happy.

 

Jackson finds himself standing up from the couch without realising, feet shuffling across the parquet floors and bringing him closer to whom he once regarded the love of his life.

 

“I… I know.” Jackson lifts a hand to cup the younger’s face and gently runs his fingers over smooth skin, mapping the younger’s sharp features our under the pad of his thumb for the very last time. “And I really did too; Bam Bam, you were my first love. I used to think I would move mountains for you. But clearly our relationship has reached its limit.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Jackson adds. For not trying harder.

 

“I’m sorry too.” Bam Bam draws away from the homely warmth that is no longer his to keep. “Goodbye, Jackson.”

 

“Goodbye, Bam Bam.” The door closes behind the person he’s spent the past four years of his life together with, and the apartment lapses into near complete silence that Jackson isn’t used to. Without the younger boy’s rambunctious laughter and tinkering in the kitchen when he attempts to prepare dinner and loud clacking of phone keys from the bedroom where Bam Bam likes to hole himself up in, every other sound in the apartment seems amplified, echoing hollowly in his ears.

 

It feels a lot less liberating to be single again than Jackson thought would be.

 

The ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall seems to grow increasingly louder with every passing second and it’s barely passed half a minute when Jackson already feels claustrophobic and driven up the wall.

 

this , Jackson thinks, as he whirls around and marches into the bedroom resolutely, swiping his blazer jacket from the back of the couch. He has a party to attend tonight and he isn’t going to lie around moping when he could be plying himself with alcohol to beyond consciousness and convincing himself he is okay with this new arrangement.

 

- - - se acabó - - -

we’re over

 

Jelly bracelets, beer and loud music are so college-y, Jackson thinks as he steps into the mansion and nearly gets his eardrums blasted off by the amplifier situated right by the door, but he accepts the proffered beverage with grace and picks out neon blue, gold and brown from the assortment of colours on the tray.

 

.

 

Whatever the boy wants.

 

Toss my salad.

 

He figures this trio combination is a sign that he’s as gay as gay gets, sufficient to ward off any faced, too giggly and way too touchy college sophomore seeking to have a good time – because you got to admit, sober or piss drunk, Jackson’s one hell of an attractive-looking guy. As for any potential male suitor, the blonde believes his heavy built and bulky muscles will be able to hold them off before they can advance on him.

 

Jackson isn’t looking to get laid; he’s just gone through a breakup, for ’s sake, and no matter how indifferent he may appear he’s not a complete douchebag. He respects his (ex) lover enough not to, and he knows Bam Bam will do the same. Tonight, he’s just planning to vent his frustration on the dance  floor and then get intoxicated before stumbling home, alone, to his cold, empty apartment.

 

The air smells of the sourness of sweat, alcohol and stale cigarette smoke. The blonde greets some familiar faces and waves to others as he weaves his way further into the mansion. He finishes his beer along the way and exchanges his empty cup for another full one, but doesn’t stop in his tracks until he reaches the side near the kitchen where he’s close enough to observe the action on the dance floor but not too close to be embroiled in it.

 

A dance battle seems to be engaged in the centre of the room between Yugyeom – the host of the party as well as the sooner-or-later-to-be heir of this excessively lavish mansion – and another guy Jackson doesn’t recognise nor can see clearly over the heads of the other partygoers that crowd around the pair in a circle.

 

It is in the midst of the commotion that a hand falls onto his shoulder before trailing down his arm, fingers teasingly running over his bicep. The blonde doesn’t need to turn around to see the owner’s face to recognise the come hither sign.

 

Jackson growls warningly, shaking off the feather-like touch on his arm. “I’m actually in a hella ty mood tonight so unless you want to be ed in the so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow, I suggest you off and leave me alone.”

 

The other boy throws his head back in a loud, throaty laugh. Even amidst his irritation, Jackson finds it mellifluous. “Well lucky for you, and perhaps me as well, I happen to like rough . It’s even better when there’s anger thrown into the mix.”

 

The blonde doesn’t know if this guy is really desperate or plain stupid. The guy easily scores an 9 on the Jackson Hotness Scale, enough to rival the man himself – which by no means is an easy feat – with his wide eyes lined with smoky eyeliner, V-line jaw sharp enough to cut and curved lips, and would have no trouble scoring himself a guy for the night. There is no reason for him to be so fixated on Jackson.

 

He really must be stupid then. “What’s your name?”

 

“Mark.” The pink-headed boy answers easily. Jackson raises an eyebrow at the English name and the other supplements with a crooked grin, “Born and raised in LA.”

 

The blonde thinks he’s heard of him before, the name being tossed around by Yugyeom and a bunch of his close friends at the mention of tricking and dance teams.

 

Mark. Jackson thinks the other fits such a name; it’s sweet and mellow yet bears hints of an unbridled wildness but is unlike obnoxiously loud boy names like Shawn or Taylor or boring, nerdy names like John or Bill. It fits him just right.

 

“Jackson,” He offers his own name, “Born and raised in Hong Kong.” and chuckles hollowly when Mark raises his own eyebrow and sends him a pointed look.

 

In the lapse of silence that ensues the other boy reaches for Jackson’s wrist. The blonde realises what Mark is trying to do too late, and the three bracelets get snapped at one go before he can react. “Well, you know the rules. Let’s go.”

 

“I already told you,” Jackson hisses and snatches his hand out of the other’s grasp, “That I’m not ing interested, okay?”

 

He turns to leave when he sees, through tunnelled vision, the familiar bob of honey blonde across the room. He’d nearly forgotten that Bam Bam too is friends with Yugyeom – in fact, it was through Yugyeom that he met Bam Bam, at a dance convention when the latter was still in high school – and would turn up to the party to congratulate his same-aged friend on graduating college.

 

What he does not expect, though, is to see said party host, having finished with his dance battle, being pressed up against the wall by his former boyfriend, mouths working frantically against each other’s and hands rapidly advancing to areas that should not be appropriate for public viewing. And everyone around them, though in various states of inebriation, doesn’t seem to care.

 

Jackson’s jaw drops from sheer disbelief.

 

So much for mutual respect, huh?

 

“I am not drunk enough for this,” He concludes and downs the rest of his lukewarm beer. He tosses the empty plastic cup aside and reaches for the new concoction they’ve begun passing around and downs that at one shot. It’s not beer; it’s dark and tastes like cherry-flavoured cough syrup and scotch that burn unpleasantly going down his throat, the remnants swirling ominously at the bottom of his cup.

 

When Jackson wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks up, he sees a stranger approach the pair and tap the taller on the shoulder. The couple breaks up and the three engage in a lively conversation which ends with the stranger walking off and the two of them going at each other with even more ferocity than before.

 

The last strand of his patience snaps.

 

“ this . this party. Kunipook Bhuwakhul Bam Bam and Kim Yugyeom. everything.” He downs the rest of his lukewarm beer and lops his arm around Mark’s waist, pulling the other forward and slamming their lips together in a bruising kiss. “Let’s .”

 

“What’s your story?” Mark asks – shouts, rather – over the booming music as he leads both of them to the back of the mansion where the spare bedrooms are. He glides through the throng of people expertly and pushes through a set of doors and suddenly, they’re alone by themselves in the hallway, footsteps echoing too loudly against the carpet and ears ringing from the absence of thrumming bass.

 

“Why do you care?” Jackson asks prickly. “You’re here just to get laid.”

 

“Well, I would love to know the cause behind the pounding I’m about to receive.” The deep, languid way Mark says pounding so casually dries the blonde’s throat.

 

Jackson purses his lips together. “I just ended a relationship with my boyfriend of four years.”

 

“Four years?” Mark winces. “Man, that’s harsh. What happened?”

 

“I don’t know. We just fell out of love, I guess.” Jackson shrugs, words tasting bitter against his tongue. His mouth turns rapidly sour, though, at the thought of the younger’s ridiculous hypocrisy. “Things haven’t been going right for quite some time already now.”

 

Mark turns to him curiously when he hears the blonde snort. “I just saw his self-righteous the face off his best friend, and that’s after he turned completely homicidal on me when I got home today, barely three hours ago, and threw a ing vase at me, preaching on and on about how I did him wrong.”

 

Mark nods, seemingly empathetic. They make another right turn before stopping in front of a closed door, identical to the thirty odd ones they passed. “At least there are no casualties in this.”

 

“No, you’re wrong.” Jackson smiles bitterly. “We were both casualties.” He places his hand on the brass handle resolutely and turns, pushing into the darkened bedroom first.

 

Mark slips in after Jackson and locks the door behind him. He finds the switch panel on the wall and flips the switch and warm orange light floods the room, causing the pair to squint. The pink-haired boy reaches over and adjusts the brightness to a more comfortable and intimate setting.

 

The room is minimalistically furnished; it’s carpeted in deep maroon like the rest of the house, a wooden four poster bed with rich covers sits in the centre, and to its side, a plain drawer stands.

 

“Well?” Jackson turns to Mark for his cue.

 

Mark holds up the broken ends of the bracelets he is still clutching onto and dangles them under the blonde’s nose. “Brown – eat my . Neon blue – you, me, wild animalistic right now. And gold – I want you to me as hard as you promised.”

 

Jackson tugs his shirt and tosses it to the side and moves to help rid Mark of his, backing the other up to the edge of the bed. “Get on.”

 

The pink-headed boy scrambles onto the mattress until he’s laying on it dead centre, the blonde crawling on and straddling him on all fours. Their mouths meet fiercely, front teeth clashing noisily and tongues lapping over each other as their lips work in rapid, rhythmless motion.

 

Through lidded eyes Mark feels Jackson’s hands trace down his sides and nestle at his hips before snaking between their plastered torsos. Nimble fingers work on undoing the metal buttons and zipper of his jeans and he aids the blonde in kicking them off.

 

“Someone’s gone commando today, huh?” Jackson trails the pads of his fingers over the taut skin of the other’s hipbone that protrudes in the absence of underwear. “What a naughty boy.”

 

Mark grabs Jackson by the back of his neck and pulls his head down for a bruising kiss, effectively shutting the blonde up.

 

Jackson grinds against Mark’s front, eliciting a moan from the other that gets swallowed down his throat. The coarse denim of the blonde’s jeans chaffs the bare, hypersensitive skin of Mark’s and has the boy canting his hips up chasing the delicious friction that leaves as quickly as it comes.

 

A string of saliva, pearlescent and glistening under the soft lighting, connects their swollen mouths when they pull away. ”On your hands and knees; up,” Mark can feel a ghost of the hot breath against his lips when Jackson whispers. “And let me eat it like a cupcake.”

 

Mark doesn’t know whether to feel offended that he was quoted song lyrics or , but he does as he’s told, turning his back on the other as he braces himself on his fours, body folded into himself as he supports himself on his elbows.

 

Jackson has his hands on the other’s lower back for support as he a strip up his inner thigh and his hands slide down and splay across mounds of Mark’s . He noses into the soft muscle and nips at the skin before completely burying his face between Mark’s legs. The blonde runs his tongue over and around the other’s puckered entrance before delving in, hot muscle pushing through the sphincter ring. He trails down his perineum before taking one of the ball sacs into his mouth Mark’s breath hitches and Jackson can feel the other’s back muscles tense under his palms and he pulls away.

 

 “Uh…” Jackson begins awkwardly, looking around the sparsely filled room. “Do you have… supplies?”

 

Mark barks out a laugh as he draws to his knees. “Supplies?” He echoes. “What are you, five? The condoms and lubricant are in the first drawer.” He rolls onto his back and jerks his head at the nightstand.

 

“Well I’m sorry I’m not a frequent partygoer unlike you.” Jackson huffs but crawls over to the nightstand to grab what he needs. “How did you even know those things are there anyway?”

 

Mark takes the lubricant from him and pops the cap open, spreading the substance over his fingers. He brings his hand to his entrance and pushes the first finger in. “I take it that it’s your first time coming to one of Yugyeom’s parties?”

 

“What can I say? I’m not really a party person.” Jackson coats his fingers liberally and buries two knuckle-deep next to Mark’s. “I only came as a favour.”

 

The pink-headed boy grunts when the other begins to scissor his fingers. “Yet you’re here, doing this with me.”

 

“Is this where I say a cheesy one-liner along the lines of how you bring out the wild, animalistic side of me?” Jackson teases. He slides in another finger and Mark withdraws his own, arms falling to his sides. He supports his torso on his elbows as he observes Jackson in his ministrations.

 

The blonde probes more, digits sinking in deeper until the tip of his middle finger glances over a bump inside the other male that has his back arching off the mattress. Jackson smirks and presses the pad of his finger harder against the bundle of nerves. Mark keens, strains against his abdomen, engorged tip of his curved beading with pearls of pre- that leave behind faint trails of white in its wake.

 

The blonde thinks Mark looks absolutely beautiful when wrecked.

 

“Jackson, Jackson,” Mark pants, breathing ragged. “Stop.” The blonde pulls away and regards the other with curious eyes. “I was about to .” The pink-headed boy explains sheepishly, dropping his head and shoulders sagging as tension bleeds from them. His cheeks are flushed and chest heaves as he struggles to catch his breath from being overstimulated.

 

He finally sits up when he thinks he can continue without the threat of possibly shooting his load the next second and pulls Jackson towards him by his belt loops. The blonde still has on his pants throughout the entire duration; they’ve been so caught up with trying to make Mark they didn’t even notice.

 

Mark’s hands make their way to the front of Jackson’s jeans. One hand cups the visible bulge that’s straining the material, palm pressing on the impressive length, while the other gets started working on relieving said bulge from its constraints. His fingers tuck under the waistband of Jackson’s underwear and pull both articles of clothing off at the same time, the blonde shucking the items to the side carelessly. His springs free, hot and hard, angrily red at the tip.

 

Jackson grabs the he’s taken out earlier but neglected and tears open the foil wrapping. He pinches the tip and rolls it on over his while Mark warms up some more lubricant and spreads it over the thin rubber.

 

Mark lies down on his back and parts his knees for the other as though the blonde’s always supposed to belong there. Jackson situates himself between and looks up at the other for confirmation.

 

“Ready?” Mark nods his signal.

 

One hand gripping the base of his , Jackson pushes himself in. It is a tight fit; the blonde watches, mesmerised, as the head of his first disappears inside, Mark’s body stretching to accommodate his wide girth until he’s completely seated. He draws back until he nearly pulls out and slams into the other.

 

Mark gasps. His eyes that fluttered shut shoot wide open when Jackson glances over his prostate. His blunt nails dig into the blonde’s biceps and leave behind angry red crescents when they trail down the other’s taut, muscular arms.

 

Mark’s knees are pushed to his chest as Jackson pounds into the other with fervour. Their bodies rock in sync, each slap of his hips against Mark’s bottom jerking the connected pair up the mattress. Mark braces his hands against the headboard and pushes back, meeting the blonde’s powerful s halfway.

 

Jackson drops his grip on Mark’s thighs and allow them to fall open to the side, bracketing his hips. He grabs onto the pink-haired boy’s hips with a bruising force, Mark looping his sinewy arms around his neck a split second later, and they fireman roll until Mark becomes on top of him.

 

His s slow and melt into sensual rolls of his hips. Mark plants his hands on both sides of the blonde’s face and swivels his hips down as Jackson works his up and they meet halfway, establishing a slow, deliberate rhythm that builds up.

 

Jackson angles Mark’s neck up and presses his lips against the long stretch of flawlessly milky white skin. He mouths against the perspiration-slick skin, teeth sinking into patches as he nibbled his way down the other’s neck to his jugular. He pulls his head away and surveys his handiwork, an array of purples and blues that have begun blossoming under the alabaster.

 

Their s creep up on them much more subtly than imagined. Mark barely registers the tightening in his abdomen as he continues to grind down on Jackson’s . The feeling mounts and when the hits, the intensity blinds his vision momentarily. All he sees is white and for a split second it feels like his brain has short-circuited. With a breathless gasp he spills amply over Jackson’s abdomen before his arms give out from exhaustion and he collapses onto the blonde’s chest.

 

Jackson is fixated on Mark the entire time, s not slowing as he works the other through his , eyes catching every fleeting emotion that crosses the pink-haired boy’s face. It spurs him on as he chases towards his own peak.

 

He rolls them over again and rocks their bodies together and reaches his end half a minute later. He is much more vocal than his partner, letting out a loud groan as he spills into the inside Mark.

 

“Feeling better?” The pink-haired boy breathes out once they’ve both come down from their highs.

 

“I should be the one asking you that.” Jackson mumbles against the damp skin of Mark’s neck. “I wasn’t the one ed till tender.”

 

Mark barks out another laugh, short and sweet like the tinkling of bells. “I’ll be fine, tiger.” He uses a finger to poke Jackson on the forehead, causing the blonde to roll away and off him. The greasy slide of the other’s flaccid out of him is uncomfortable but not unpleasant. “You’re so cute when you worry.”

 

Jackson removes the spent and knots it up. Mark watches with sleepy eyes as the blonde climbs out of bed and tosses the into the trash bin by the door. He holds his hand out to the other when he returns and climbs back into bed.

 

“Hug?” Mark offers, hand still held out. The blonde looks to see a single yellow band decorating the elder’s bony wrist. It’d been so indistinguishable Jackson hadn’t noticed its existence till now.

 

“Seriously?” Jackson puts on his best Judgemental White Girl look. “Yellow, at a party?”

 

Mark shrugs. “It’s boring enough to keep prying vultures away so that I can hunt for the people I’m actually interested in.”

 

It is a logic Jackson doesn’t think he can comprehend. “What if they just think that you give fantastic hugs instead?”

 

“I have my Resting Face on all the time and I stand off at the side, away from the action, with my arms crossed in a manner that’s off-putting. Nothing about be reads, ‘I’m cute and cuddly, hug me!’.”

 

“Okay fine, it’s a pretty good strategy.” Jackson agrees, albeit reluctantly.

 

“I know,” Mark smirks, knowing he’s triumphant. “So do you want that damned hug or not? The offer expires in 5… 4… 3… 2…”

 

Jackson immediately reaches over and snaps the bracelet off, pulling Mark towards himself. The elder wraps his sinewy arms around Jackson’s broad frame, tucking his chin into the younger’s shoulder. “There, there, you little fighter. Everything will be alright.”

 

Locked in the embrace of a stranger, Jackson lets his anxieties and frustrations melt away into the white noise of the surroundings. He can feel Mark’s body heat seep through the single layer of duvet between them, the slow rhythm of the elder’s heart thumping in his chest cavity against his own, he can scent the heady mixture of the pink-haired boy’s cologne, his natural musk, and the smell of .

 

Everything else can wait; right now, he’s simply going to enjoy this moment.

 

- - - お前が大嫌い - - -

i hate you

 

Jackson definitely does not expect to run into Mark again, not in the near future, and definitely not within 48 hours of sneaking out of Yugyeom’s mansion in the wee hours of Saturday morning.

 

Seoul is big; he’s not even within vicinity of his workplace, former university, apartment, or even Yugyeom’s place, and yet at this secluded establishment tucked away in an unfamiliar neighbourhood that he’s decided to visit on a whim, he manages to run into not only Mark, but Mark having brunch together with his best friend Im Jae Bum.

 

Jackson considers forgoing his order and simply hightailing out of the café, but before he could suit action to word Jae Bum spots him from afar and calls out to him, and he has no choice but to go over.

 

“Mark, I’d like you to meet Jackson. He’s my best friend. We’ve known each other since high school.” Jae Bum loops one arm over the elder’s shoulders and grabs the blonde’s limply dangling hand with the other. “And Jackson, this is Mark. He went to Seoul University as well and was a year ahead of us.”

 

“Hey,” Mark greets with a small, timid smile.

 

It might be the soft backlight filtering in from the glass window, glowing like a halo over the crown of the elder’s pink head, or the fact that Jackson had drunk himself to the point of half-unconsciousness that night at the party, but the Mark before his eyes now is a hundred times more breathtaking than his deceitful memory portrayed.

 

The blonde had spent the rest of the day after returning to his apartment – he’d left the -, soundly sleeping elder, buried under swaths of comforter in bed, nothing but blossoming love marks and his scent that lingered in the sheets and walked the Walk of Shame right out of there – moping, taking power naps and snack breaks in between.

 

The mixture of sugar, caffeine, and excess rest kept him up till 4AM. And thinking that he’s simply going to go people-watching in a random part of the city where he wouldn’t be recognised, he hadn’t taken a shower nor changed out of his sleepwear before stepping out of the house this morning. Great, Jackson groans internally, the first time I meet Mark again and I’m looking like a complete mess while he’s semi-resembling a Greek God.

 

The elder’s grin falls a little when he realises the younger isn’t responding but simply staring at him and he his lower lip in between his teeth, chewing on it nervously.

 

Jae Bum nudges Jackson none-too-gently in the side and it snaps him out of his reverie.

 

“Oh, uhm,” Jackson scratches his nape awkwardly. He’s never been too good with dealing with ex-lovers – or in this case, ex one night stands – and he doesn’t know what to say. Hey, I didn’t manage to ask you previously but how did I perform that night? “Hi.”

 

“Yugyeom, Mark and I were in the same dance crew together.” Jae Bum adds. “You know, DNZ.”

 

Jackson’s eyes double in size and his brows shoot up so high they disappear beyond his fringe.

 

DNZ, consisting of talented and good-looking individuals each specialising in their own genre of dance, had been extremely popular back in their college days. They did lots of street performances and participated in underground battles (which they almost always won, Jackson notes proudly), thus gaining a strong – mainly female – fan base amongst giddy teenage and college girls. Despite him always promising to eventually head down to a showcase to support them, Jackson never managed to do so. The blonde realises that if he did, he would’ve met the elder way earlier.

 

Jackson briefly wonders what role Mark played in the team before dismissing the thought as irrelevant.

 

“That’s… Cool.” Jackson doesn’t know how to respond. He’s feeling kind of stupid now, because it never occurred that even though they’ve hugged and kissed and ed he doesn’t know anything about the pink-headed boy besides his name and birthplace.

 

Jae Bum narrows his eyes, and for a split second Jackson feels as though the brunette’s scrutinising gaze is penetrating into his soul and it makes the blonde feel hot under the collar, as though Jae Bum’s already caught onto his secret. The elder is creepily psychic this way. “Are you feeling okay? You seem a bit off.”

 

The blonde is saved from answering when his name gets called by the barista behind the counter and he nearly heaves a sigh of relief. “Well, that’s my cue to go.”

 

“Actually,” Jae Bum gathers his belongings and stands up, Mark following suit. “We’re about to head off as well. You don’t look like you drove here, so let me give you a ride.”

 

Jackson is about to reject the offer when he sees the deadly glint in the other’s eye, as though challenging him to decline, and he gulps. Jae Bum is clearly out to make his life miserable and there’s nothing he can do to stop him; the elder can get really scary when he wants to be. “Sure,” The blonde plasters on the brightest smile he can manage. “Let’s go.”

 

The car journey is awkward, to say the least. Jae Bum’s behind the wheel, Mark sitting at the back directly behind, and Jackson’s upfront riding shotgun staring at the takeaway cup of rapidly cooling cappuccino clamped between his thighs. They travel in silence, the dull drumming of Jae Bum’s fingers against the steering wheel and hushed hum of the car engine the only sounds that can be heard.

 

Jae Bum turns to scrutinise his best friend when the sedan rolls to a stop at a red light. “What were you doing there anyway?”

 

“I’m just, well,” Jackson gestures to his sloppy attire and shrugs. “It’s a lazy day.” He thinks he spies a crooked grin from the passenger sitting behind through the rear view mirror.

 

The atmosphere grows increasingly tense when the silence stretches. In moments like this where conversation lapses it is usually Jackson who fills in these gaps with terrible jokes and body gags, but said boy is too preoccupied with his fiddling with his coffee to even realise no one is talking anymore.

 

Jae Bum’s phone suddenly rings with a call from his boyfriend, the shrill sound piercing the web of awkward silence in the car and making both Jackson and Mark jump in their seats.

 

Jae Bum is still on the line when they pull up under Jackson’s apartment, the former humming and hawing over the phone as he placates Jin Young who is apparently facing some technical issue with his air conditioner. The blonde seizes the opportunity to alight, escaping from the elder’s clutches unscathed. Mark does the same, mouthing to the busy Jae Bum that he’ll catch the subway instead and sliding out from the car after Jackson.

 

The pair is left on the sidewalk when Jae Bum drives off, watching the latter’s car grow smaller with increasing distance. They only turn to each other when Jae Bum completely disappears from sight, both unsure of what to say.

 

Jackson is looking at everywhere but Mark.

 

“Jackson,” It’s the first time the elder’s calling him outside the bedroom. His voice, when not hoarse from want, is deep and inviting, like a spoonful of treacle that slides down one’s throat easily. The single two-syllable word sends a jolt surging through the younger, running straight down his spine and out into his limbs, leaving the nerves in his entire body tingling. It is only then that the blonde fixes hsi eyes on the elder.

 

The air between them is electrifying when their eyes meet. It feels as though someone’s cranked up the thermostat with how dense the air has become, sizzling with . The wanton desire that burns in their gazes parches their throats; they can’t bear to look away but they have to because it scalds.

 

The second time their eyes meet, it ends with Jackson dragging Mark upstairs by his collar with their lips interlocked and slamming the apartment door shut behind their entwined figures.

 

- - - ich bin verrückt nach dir - - -

i'm crazy about you

 

Jackson decides it is too early to have Im Jae Bum hanging over his cubicle at 9.30 in the morning – Monday morning, he adds – grilling him when he’s running on three hours of sleep and his head throbbing like he’s still nursing a hangover.

 

He hadn’t realised how emotionally strung up he was – is – until the revelation hit at 3AM while sprawled upside down on the couch that he has work the next day, that life is going to resume in six hours no matter how unprepared he is. He then washed up and dragged his sorry to the bedroom, even though it took him an additional hour and a half tossing and turning on the too-big bed before he finally drifted off to dreamland from pure physical exhaustion.

 

He really can’t deal with Jae Bum’s rapid-fire questions right now but he knows the elder will never relent until he does.

 

“Yah! Are you pretending to not hear me?”

 

Jae Bum can be harder to pacify than a whiny girlfriend sometimes, really. Thank God the blonde bats for the other team. “I heard you,” Jackson reassures the elder. “I heard you.”

 

“What was up with you yesterday?” Jae Bum asks again anyway. “You made the atmosphere so awkward. You’re never like this.”

 

“I, uhm,” Jackson stills. He has never been good at lying. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

 

“Sure you did. And I’m also five.” Jae Bum gives Jackson the look that the blonde has only seen directed to Paris Hilton and Honey Boo Boo. It is extremely demeaning. “Spit it out.” The elder commands, and Jackson can’t help but feel obliged to confess.

 

“I slept with him at the party, okay? I slept with Mark.” Jackson deflates like a balloon. “It’s just, I saw Bam Bam making out with Yugyeom and completely flipped out and then there was this guy hitting on me so I just thought, to Hell with this, why the not? And that person turned out to be Mark.”

 

Jae Bum is oddly calm. Jackson points the fact out. “Oh, I already knew. Mark told me over brunch.” He what. “But even before he did, I already saw the two of you leave the dance floor hand in hand that night. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what you two were up to since I’m pretty sure you weren’t just showing him where the bathroom was.”

 

“What about yesterday then?” Jae Bum immediately demands to know like the gossip queen that he is.

 

“What do you mean yesterday?” Jackson protests indignantly, and is served with the look again. He hates how the elder is able to see through his act. “Okay fine. We, uhm, slept together again.”

 

Jae Bum brightens up as though he’s won the lottery.

 

“What are you so happy about?” Jackson grouches.

 

“Nothing,” Jae Bum laughs. He’s definitely hiding something, the blonde can tell, but it’ll be impossible to weed it out of the elder. “I just can’t believe you slept with him. Mark was really popular back in college, you know? Never had to lift a finger to get all the ladies and gentlemen but he never showed any interest towards any of them. You got game.”

 

“For your information, it was him who approached me first.” Jackson corrects haughtily, ego at the thought of having Mr. Popular practically begging to have with him. “I mean, just look at this piece of fine . Who wouldn’t?”

 

“Mm, I’m sure it is,” Jae Bum answers patronisingly, clearly not buying any word of it. He pats the younger on the head before finally heading off to start his day – Jackson notes that Jae Bum wasted nearly 40 minutes of his time interrogating him – leaving behind a vehemently but fruitlessly protesting blonde in his wake.

 

- - - Я не могу жить без тебя - - -

i can’t live without you

 

Jae Bum appears to have written Mark and Jackson off as having achieved a new level of friendship through , because ever since that fateful Monday the blonde told him they slept together (twice), Jae Bum has decidedly concluded it is appropriate to invite the pink-haired boy along whenever the pair of best friends hang out.

 

It’s a completely warped notion stemming from misunderstanding. Mark and him aren’t even in any kind of relationship. They’re not friends with benefits, because they’re not friends. They’re not buddies either, because they’re not buds. The closest Jackson reckons can describe them both would be multiple night stands.

 

It leaves them in an awkward limbo, straddling the fence between acquaintanceship (they know each others’ bodies well) and being strangers (they don’t know each other well), especially when Jae Bum conveniently needs to leave halfway through and they sit staring at each other for two seconds before they end up in the nearest bathroom with one person’s pants around his ankles and the other on his knees. And then again in the privacy of either one’s apartment.

 

Why would Im Jae Bum call the both of them out when he’s made prior plans with his boyfriend anyway? It’s redundant if he’s just going to ditch them both and leave them by themselves–

 

Oh.

 

They’re so clueless about life in general they’re going to make a great movie plot or fanfiction storyline some day.

 

(Speaking of which though, there’ve been times where Jackson dreamed of him, Mark, Jae Bum, Yugyeom and the whole lot born in an alternate universe where they were part of a seven-member Korean idol boy group with a tacky name. And then there’s this thing called OTPs and shipping where fan girls link them up with each other romantically. He’s apparently the most popularly paired with Bam Bam – eww, the blonde thinks – and Mark, and during times of extreme boredom where he curiously and very adventurously ventured into the world of fanfiction, discovered the very naughty things some of their fans fantasise them doing. Yeah, he’s got a creative imagination like that.)

 

The epiphany that Mark has fallen in love with Jackson comes when he is pinned under the other one Tuesday night, and instead of the usual ing-into-the-mattress affair he suddenly desires for the younger to make slow, sweet love to him like in the movies.

 

He wants to feel every single inch of the blonde’s hard length pressing slowly into him, the delicious burn of being stretched open blending into a perfect harmony with mind-numbing pleasure until he’s a wrecked mess writhing in Jackson’s arms, calling out the younger’s name in a scream-hoarse voice. He wants Jackson to love him.

 

It doesn’t surprise him as much as he’d expect it to have. If he thinks back on the past weeks they’ve shared – the beautiful glow that seems to emit from him (not just from after , too) he gets complimented for at work the next day after meeting Jackson, secretive smiles that seem to grow brighter in the blonde’s presence, the faint rose that dusts his alabaster cheeks at Jae Bum’s offhanded mention of the younger – he can’t believe he took so long to catch on because the signs were already there; he was simply too caught up in the motion of things to notice.

 

Now that he’s put a definite name to the fluttering in his stomach, he sees the world with a clarity like never before. His emotions are magnified tenfold. There’s love swelling within his chest that he wants to share with the world and it threatens to burst through its fleshy confines and spill out onto the streets because he’s kept it bottled up all this time.

 

He feels like a whole new person reborn into his old skin.

 

“What took you so long?” Jackson whines from the couch. “I had to rewind the start of the movie twice!” He scoots backwards to make space for the elder anyway. “Come here, I’m cold.”

 

“Maybe you should stop lazing around in just your pants, then.” Mark retorts, but he hurries over – setting the popcorn bowl on the coffee table – and lies down next to the pouting blonde. Jackson leans forward and drapes his arm over Mark’s abdomen, drawing the elder even closer. “Better?”

 

“Much,” Jackson affirms. The blonde tucks his chin into the crook of the elder’s neck, plastering his cheek to the side of the pink-haired boy’s face. Mark sinks into the touch, nuzzling into the safety of Jackson’s embrace, bodies fitting together perfectly like two pieces of a puzzle.

 

They don’t need words to express, because the language their bodies speak speaks for itself.

 

- - - i love you - - -

 

Like many other things Jackson doesn’t realise, it never occurs to him that despite knowing Mark for slightly under three months, he still doesn’t have any way of contacting the elder.

 

Seriously.

 

It sounds so absurd it doesn’t even make sense in his head, much less when he voices his thoughts aloud.

 

The only times they’ve met was via, and in the presence of Jae Bum, and it is only recently that they’ve set up an unspoken schedule of waiting outside each other’s apartments – Jackson’s on Tuesdays and Mark’s on Fridays – after work. They meet outside the apartment, have dinner at some diner down the block, and head back to the apartment to work off the calories they consume. Their post-coital routine consists of ordering takeout and either watching movies or playing video games while waiting for said takeout to arrive, pigging out on the food like they haven't eaten in weeks, continuing with their video game/movie marathon and then only leaving for their own houses after the next day arrives. Sometimes they even cuddle, one person in the embrace of the other, legs tangled as they snuggle under swathes of thick blankets, when Jackson’s heater starts acting up and the cold of November seeps in through the cracks under the windows.

 

They’re ironically acting like a dating couple even though they’re anything but.

 

(Jackson thinks they shouldn’t do that – the cuddling and innocent touching, that is – because it makes him feel weird things and it throws him off-guard.)

 

Anyway, like he was saying, Jackson doesn’t know what possessed him to even consider wanting to ask for Mark’s number.

 

Mark is annoyingly straightforward to the point of borderlining rude. A man of little words he is (or perhaps, his mouth is simply too occupied to speak whenever they’re together), and even when he decides to use them he’s still as brusque and off-putting as ever. The elder’s a complete polar opposite of what Jackson is and all the opposites attract bull aside, there’s no logical reason why he should be doing this.

 

Maybe he’s really as dumb as all his friends make him out to be.

 

But knowing the blonde, once he’s set his mind to do something, he doesn’t stop until he manages to complete the task. Nothing can convince him otherwise.

 

Jackson eventually decides to get it from Jae Bum, because there is no way in Hell he’s going to ask Yugyeom after the whole violation of the Bro Code, and since the elder already considers him to have the IQ of a micro-organism, he might as well take it to the extreme and go all out stupid.

 

He approaches the elder with puppy eyes, explosive aegyo and the promise of lunch, earning himself another one of Jae Bum’s now-infamous looks (“I figured since you know Mark and I, uh, kind of know him as well, we should just all be friends! No ulterior motives. Pinky promise!”) – though Jae Bum does gladly accept the offer of free food – but he emerges triumphant.

 

His chest swells with pride and he lets out a victorious whoop as he holds up the slip of paper bearing the eleven-digit number, waving it about in the air as he does something that resembles a victory dance once out of sight (and hearing range) from Jae Bum.

 

Achievement of the Year.

 

He then spends the next two days stressing over how to craft the perfect first text that is nonchalant yet friendly at the same time, without sounding like a stalker (he did get the number of his multiple night stand from someone else, after all). During the day the drafts in his message inbox grow in number with each passing hour but they all end up deleted by the end of the day when the clock strikes 5PM.

 

Finally after three days of suffering, Jae Bum decides he simply can’t and won’t deal any longer and ends Jackson’s agony by directly texting Mark the younger’s number, informing the elder of the blonde’s wish to “become friends”. It results in Jackson going on a rampage and nearly tearing the office apart while dramatically declaring his life is over, but it quickly ends when his inbox beeps with a new message from Mooooork (yes he’s already saved the pink-headed boy’s number in his phone), LOL hi you loser. Took you long enough.

 

Jackson’s over the moon.

 

If Mark had felt annoyed at Jackson talking to Jae Bum about him he doesn’t show it, with his quick, witty replies and abuse of chat emoticons. The elder is easy to converse with and before he knows it, Jackson’s meeting the other for coffee on Friday.

 

Achievement of the Decade.

 

When Jackson tells Jae Bum the great news over lunch break, he half-expected the other to give him a condescending look again, but the elder merely smiles a fatherly smile and pats him on the back. “Mark’s a great guy. Don’t make him wait too long, okay?”

 

“What are you talking about,” Jackson splutters, nearly choking on the last mouthful of his whole grain, no wheat, purely organic turkey sandwich. “There’s nothing going on between us.” Nothing romantic, anyway.

 

“I know you feel the same way,” Jae Bum says in the same frustratingly cryptic manner.

 

Jackson stands up as he crumples up his sandwich paper. He shoots the elder a look – because hah, he finally got the last say – as he goes to dispose of his trash and return to his cubicle, leaving Jae Bum behind in the pantry laughing so hard around his mouthful of tuna wrap he’s spitting chunks of half-chewed fish out.

 

Gross, Jackson thinks as he walks away. Why am I even friends with him?

 

- - - 我喜欢你 - - -

i like you

 

There is an unidentifiable knot in his chest that Jackson can’t put to words when he turns up for work on Friday morning. For the three arduous hours leading up to lunch he’s restless, fingers drumming along his work desk and leg jerking underneath. He tries to focus on the black and white figures in his computer screen but his mind goes off after a few seconds. He gives up on attempting finishing any work after the first hour.

 

Jae Bum tries to strike up light conversation, draping himself over his cubicle as per norm, to keep his easily distracted mind from wandering too far (God knows Jackson has a terribly short attention span), but the blonde’s so far gone in his own thoughts the elder soon gives up and retreats to his own desk to do some actual work.

 

The moment the clock strikes twelve, signalling the commencement of their two-hourly lunch break – or rather, the moment his phone beeps with a text from Mark, a minute before noon arrives – Jackson is on his feet, phone, wallet and car keys (wouldn’t want to exhaust himself even before he arrives, or even worse, turn up with unsightly pit stains, would he?) at hand and dashing through the maze-like floor pattern to the lift.

 

They’re meeting at a small Chinese diner down the street from the choreography studio where Mark works at. Jackson would’ve chosen a fancy French restaurant or quaint vintage café because that’s what Mark deserves, not a dingy old shop house with too-loud ahjumma waitstaff and stuffy, ventilation-less interiors but the elder only has an hour to spare and “the food’s not entirely bad” (according to the other) so they’ll have to make do.

 

His phone pings again when he’s manoeuvring his car through the narrower back alleyways – it saves so much more time than to travel around entire neighbourhoods on the main roads and freeways – and when he opens the text, it’s a self-taken picture from Mark, complete with a pout, puppy dog eyes, black beanie tugged over his ears and a caption below that reads “Hurry up I’m hungry”. Jackson’s heart skips and he nearly runs a stray cat over in his shock.

 

It must be illegal for a grown man to look that adorable. Jackson steadies a hand on his chest (the other remains on the steering wheel) and takes deep breaths to calm his palpitating heart and clear his mind.

 

Guess this is what people call traffic-stopping beauty, Jackson muses to himself as he turns back onto the main street into Mark’s neighbourhood.

 

His heartbeat grow increasingly erratic when the diner comes into sight and Jackson thinks, for a fleeting moment, that he might pass out before he even gets to meet Mark.

 

It’s their first time meeting up, by themselves, outside their apartments (or within their vicinities). Venturing beyond their little bubble into the unknown is scary. Will Mark be subtly as touchy as he is at home or will he act all cool and nonchalant like when they first met via Jae Bum? Jackson doesn’t know what to expect.

 

He enters the establishment and is immediately greeted by the smell of food. His stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl. He didn’t even realise he was hungry until stepping food into the restaurant, too caught up with suppressing his nerves. He weaves his way past the awkwardly arranged tables and chairs to the corner Mark’s tucked himself in.

 

The elder looks up from his phone and when he recognises the face who called him, the bright, toothy smile that greets momentarily stuns Jackson into silence. “Hey.”

 

“Hey yourself,” Jackson recovers quick enough to throw a cheeky grin back at Mark and slide into the booth opposite, settling himself in comfortably.

 

The elder is dressed in a loose tank top, black denim jeans and worn sneakers, a stark contrast to the blonde’s collared shirt, pressed slacks, Oxfords and coiffed hair, and seems to fit right in with the casual backdrop without looking sloppy unlike Jackson who sticks out like a sore thumb.

 

The blonde clears his throat and picks up the unnecessarily oversized menu and props it up in his lap, eyes scanning over the black and white. “Have you ordered?” Jackson sinks into the synthetic leather seat, sliding down until only his eyes can be seen over the menu. Mark shakes his head. “What’s good here?”

 

“It’s a diner, Jackson.” Mark emphasises, raising his hand to catch the attention of a waitress. “Nothing is good. Just get whatever.”

 

“Hi there,” Mark greets when the heavyset middle-aged lady approaches snapping her gum, scowl prominent on her aging features. “I’d like to get the spicy seafood noodles. What about you, Jackson?”

 

“I don’t know…” Jackson struggles to answer as his eyes dart across the extensive menu. “I…”

 

“He’ll get the same. We’ll also get a side of sweet and sour pork to share.” Mark answers for him, plucking the menu from Jackson’s hands and placing both in the outstretched hand of the grumpy waitress. “Oh, and he can’t take spice very well, so make his noodles less spicy please.”

 

“Aww,” Jackson coos, reaching over to pinch the elder on the cheek. “You know me so well.”

 

The waitress huffs at the intimate gesture and waddles off, already yelling instructions out to the kitchen staff. It leaves them looking sheepish at getting caught but the tension is broken when Mark starts giggling, which sends Jackson into peals of hyena-like laughter.

 

“What’s up?” Mark asks first.

 

“Nothing much, just the usual.” Jackson shrugs. “Work’s pretty slack because we’re in the final stages of wrapping up the quarterly report.” He intelligently decides to leave out the part where he spent most of today daydreaming about the elder. “What have you been up to?”

 

Mark runs a hand through his pink locks that has faded back to an ashy blonde – a statement to how long they’ve known each other. “Ah, well, I’m currently collaborating with one of the hyungs to choreograph a piece. It’s for an idol group’s debut song.”

 

“Neat,” Jackson whistles.

 

“It’s tough though. Their company keeps rejecting whole portions of it because it’s not tough-looking enough, not visually appealing enough, yada yada.” Mark rolls his eyes as he mimics his client being difficult. “Hyung and I had to stay back re-choreographing so many parts because of those last-minute changes.”

 

“You can do it!” Jackson cheers. “I have faith in you.”

 

“Thanks,” Mark chuckles. He didn’t expect the conversation to turn him-centric that quickly and he hopes it doesn’t make him come across self-centred. He’s wracking his brain for ways to steer the conversation back to Jackson when their food arrives and they dig in at once, wolfing their meals down in comfortable silence.

 

When Mark looks up from his half-eaten bowl of noodles, he sees that the younger is already nearly done with his food. Jackson is heartily munching on his noodles, cheeks puffed up like a hamster’s. The blonde looks up and meets the elder’s gaze, his eyes seemingly wider and mouth contorted mid-chew – Mark nearly coos at the sight because can Jackson get any cuter? – as he snags a piece of pork with his chopsticks, and fits it into his already-stuffed mouth, the corner of his lips catching a dollop of sauce.

 

Mark places his chopsticks down and reaches across the table to wipe it away. “You are such a messy eater, Jackson. You’d think you’re four and not twenty-four.”

 

Jackson nearly drops his chopsticks at the contact, blushing a bright pink. Mark turns red too, after he realises what he’s unconsciously done. They turn back to their food, only the sounds of slurping and chewing between them as they finished their meals.

 

Mark lets out a content sigh as he finishes the last of his noodles and sets his chopsticks down. “I am so full right now I feel like my stomach’s going to burst anytime.”

 

Jackson groans his agreement, wiping his mouth clean with a napkin. He tosses the used napkin on the table and slides back down the booth seat, hands cradling his stomach. “I am stuffed.”

 

Mark nods slowly, feeling the lull of a food coma setting over him. “You know, I never got to ask previously, but how do you know Yugyeom?”

 

The blonde hums, head flopping to the side as he considers the question. “I first met him in high school. He was a junior member in the fencing club and we kinda continued the friendship from then.” Jackson looks down to where his fingers are drawing lazy circles on his thighs. “I’m contemplating ending that friendship though.” He adds for good measure.

 

Mark snorts. “You, fencing?”

 

“Hey, I take offense to that!” Jackson protests indignantly, wrinkling his button nose, and with good reason so. He sits upright and crosses his arms over his chest. “I was the president of the fencing club, okay? The team won the overall national championship that year under my leadership!”

 

Jackson crooks a grin when Mark wolf-whistles appreciatively.

 

“So what else do I not know about you?” Mark takes a sip from his water glass and leans back – as far as he can on the backless stool.

 

“Too much,” Jackson answers, only half-jokingly. He folds his arms on the table and leans forward to rest his weight on them. “I’m too fabulous and it’ll take forever.”

 

There’s really so much more they haven’t explored about each other. Too much more.

 

Mark casts a subtle glance at his strap-on watch; it reads 1:45PM. They’re a seven-minute walk, five-minute run away from his studio. He needs get himself warmed up and then wrap up the new draft for the choreography he’s been working on, all before teaching his 3PM class.

 

Still, he props his elbows up on the table and rests his chin on the heels of his palms and leans forward as though the other has the most interesting story to share. “Better begin now, then.”

 

Everything else can wait.

 

- - - vamos ser amigos - - -

let's be friends

 

Their first (and only) fight occurs earlier than expected, four and a half months after knowing each other. It happens because Jackson got tired of feeling what he’s been feeling. The ache that seems to seep into his bones hurts deeper the more they meet. It hurts so much he can barely look the other in the eye anymore and it makes him feel guilty like he’s hiding a well-guarded secret because of the stricken look in Mark’s eyes even though the elder shrugs his indifferent gestures off.

 

His distress is starting to surface at work. He can’t handle Jae Bum mentioning the eldest’s name – he either sees green or red – even in the passing and when the brunette does, it leaves him snappy and irritable for days at end. Everything on his work table seems to remind him of Mark – the desk computer of how they huddled together under the blanket to watch lame cat videos on Jackson’s laptop, the post-its of how quiet and non-vocal he (still) is, the pens of how he attempted to draw the blonde once and ended up with a faceless stick figure dressed in all-black, the mug of how he likes his coffee black with no creamer or sugar, everything. It adds to the mounting pressure he’s already under until he feels like he’s a rubber band stretched so taut he’s about to snap.

 

He nearly has a mental breakdown when Jae Bum sits him down seriously and tells him that he’s in love with Mark.

 

In love with Mark? Jackson echoes a bit too loudly. That’s preposterous. What they share is a purely physical relationship. They need not be exclusive, even (but as far as Jackson knows, the elder isn’t sleeping with anyone else, nor is he).

 

The idea that someone (he) could fall in love with another person (Mark) simply via physical contact is ridiculous, but it also shakes Jackson to the core because he knows Jae Bum is right. The emotion he’s been fervently denying all this time was love.

 

He’s in love with Mark.

 

“What are you going to do about it?” His best friend interrogates. Jackson shrugs, entire mind a blank.

 

Jae Bum sighs, as though he’s seen this coming, but doesn’t push it. He lets it slide and they finish their food in silence.

 

Jackson rings the elder up after sneaking to the bathroom to throw up the contents of his lunch and shakily asks him to come over after work (it’s a Wednesday). He spends the rest of the afternoon practising what he wants to say to Mark. When they meet at the foot of his block though, everything that he’s rehearsed flies out of his brain and he’s left staring blankly at the elder, growing paler by the minute.

 

“Mark…” He manages to croak out when the elder covers the distance between them in three firm, unfaltering steps.

 

Mark presses his mouth to Jackson’s with a tenderness he hasn’t shown the other before. When he pulls away and flutters his eyes open, he sees that the blonde’s own pair is blown wide. The younger boy brings a hand up to his lips slowly, tracing the kiss-swollen skin as though he can’t believe what just transpired.

 

“Jackson…” Mark says lowly, taking a step forward as he reaches for the other. He pretends not to wince when the blonde instinctively takes a step back, an unspoken rejection. “Listen…”

 

“No, Mark. You listen. You don’t understand. I’ve… I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. I’m just– I’m so out of my depth.” Jackson sighs despondently, burying his face in his hands. “I don’t know what to do anymore but I know I can’t. I really can’t do this.”

 

He drops his arms to his sides and turns away to walk into his apartment without looking back.

 

You , Mark thinks forlornly as he watches the blonde’s silhouette grow smaller and eventually disappear into the distance, don’t you know I feel the same?

 

- - - heureuse de faire ta connaissance - - -

nice to meet you

 

It’s been two weeks since Jackson last made any kind of contact with Mark. Granted he had been the one who walked out on the other first, but he figured the elder will simply write it off as one of his nonsensical tantrums and let things go like he usually does.

 

But then came Tuesday, and Mark isn’t waiting under his apartment block like he’s done so for the past five months. He didn’t text the younger to explain his absence. He hadn’t returned home – Jackson had waited three hours in vain – on Friday. He didn’t text the younger to explain that either. Jackson didn’t know what to do. He was too prideful to admit that he’s wrong, and too cowardly to confront Mark about it; he allowed things to retrograde to this point.

 

Jae Bum gives him the stank eye and cold shoulder for the first two days before magnanimously forgiving him, telling him that Mark’s become increasingly busy with his choreography project – Jackson remembers this. They talked about it over lunch that day – and had even been sleeping over at the studio to make up for lost time. The blonde heaves a sigh of relief when he hears this; perhaps the elder hadn’t been purposefully avoiding him then. But Jae Bum sends him a look that challenges his IQ and tells him otherwise, and he’s feeling guilty again.

 

He knows he’s hurt the elder in more ways than one but he doesn’t know where to begin to pick up the pieces.

 

His apartment feels claustrophobically stuffy and suffocating and Jackson decides to take a stroll outside to clear his mind. He shrugs on a thin jacket over the hoodie he already has on and stuffs his feet into a pair of worn sneakers and shuffles outdoors into the wintery February.

 

Few people are on the streets at midnight. The sparse few who remain busy themselves with shuffling back home, heads ducked and hands tucked into their down jackets. Jackson’s the only one lumbering along at a leisurely pace, seemingly entertained by the breaths of water vapour escaping from his chapped lips, as his feet take him to the park nearby. He climbs to the top of the jungle gym and stretches himself out, trying to get as comfortable as he could on the freezing cold metal.

 

The stars are out tonight – shining no brighter nor less than usual.

 

He lays there in semi-darkness, listening to the sound of chirping crickets and reflecting on his failure of a life.

 

There’s a reason why Jackson has many acquaintances but few he can truly call friends.

 

He’s loud-mouthed and annoying and uncontrollably touchy and embarrassing to be in public with. He’s overconfident and larger than life and speaks without thinking. He puts up a bluffing front only because he faces issues with his low self-esteem. Who would want to befriend someone like that?

 

Mark sees through his façade as easily as day but never calls him out on it. The elder puts up with him time after time without ever voicing a single word of dissatisfaction. Mark’s a friend, a treasure he never expected to find, and he’s risked it all by nearly throwing everything away.

 

He doesn’t need things to change; he doesn’t want things to change. He’ll be content with their movie marathons and childish sleepovers and silly food-eating contests even if it meant Mark never seeing him as more than a friend. Heck, he’ll be fine with them never having again and he’ll even become celibate for life if it meant the elder talking to him like before.

 

Jackson finally decides to rid the niggling feeling in his chest and pulls out his phone to compose a text to the elder. I was being stupid. I’m sorry. He sends the message out before he can have second thoughts about it.

 

His phone pings. I love you. And pings again. Always, all ways.

 

Jackson’s heart nearly leaps out of his chest, both figuratively and literally because screw butterflies, he feels like his entire self could fly with all the elation he’s feeling right now. Mark loves him. It’s one thing to hear it from someone else and it’s another to hear it directly. Mark really loves him.

 

Where are you? He types with shaky hands and waits with bated breath for the reply.

 

Downstairs is the single-worded response.

 

Jackson leaps to his feet and sprints. He runs like he has never before. Two blocks never felt longer as he thunders down the empty concrete pavement, crisp winter air whipping across his face painfully. His eyes sting and his lungs burn. He doesn’t slow down even when he turns the final corner to his apartment and the figure of a petite boy squatting by the steps, dressed ridiculously skimpy for the weather in only a thick sweater and jeans, comes into sight, but picks up speed until he skids to a stop in front of Mark.

 

He squats down, still panting heavily. It takes two seconds for the elder to notice his presence and jolt out of his stupor and look up. Jackson smiles tenderly when their eyes meet. “Hi.”

 

- - - 안녕 - - -

hello

 

 

A/N: Hi hi, I'm glad you made it to the end! :)

Thank you for supporting this story; do leave a comment to let me know what you think of it~! :)

#Happy22ndMarkTuanDay everyone! ♥

 

Lots of love,

HelloBB ♥

 

** quote credits:

"I love you always, all ways." - @septupled on Twitter ㅋㅋㅋ

(I think I will straight-out die from embarrassment if she ever reads this #>.<# but it's just such a simple yet beautiful phrase, isn't it? :3)