you stare at your reflection, looking at the bland way that your hair lays, the soft strands turning into somewhat of a mess, with all of the dying that's been traced throughout it during the last couple of months.

your eyes stick out in an odd angle, the color that laces around the dark, intense pupils being a laxed shade of brown, with none of the usual spark in them as they usually hold.

you've always been in shape, your body well muscled and toned with how many sports and fencing activities you took part in when you were younger. (and take part in even now, also, when you have the time for it. free time doesn't come nearly as often as you would like, but you take what you can get and don't complain out loud nearly as much as you could).

your body doesn't seem as it used to. before you could see the appeal, could see the idea behind why other people would like to look, like to touch at whatever they could get their hands on. you are no saint, but you're definitely not a tease, either. you've been with a few people, all of them girls, but now you're starting to change, something in your mind is shifting, and while you wish you could stop it, you know that that is not how this works.

now as you stand there and scrutinize yourself, it's kind of like looking at a stranger. you don't know how that's possible, you were so sure of yourself just a few days ago - so sure of who you were, and all that.

but then that happened, and everything just kind of... fell off. went disarray. whatever you want to call it.

because now, now when you see yourself you want to hide away, you want to move so that you don't have to see who've become. and you're fine, you really are; you're the same jackson that you used to be, you know that. there's this underlining of doubt that swells deep within yourself, situating itself wherever and whenever it wants.

you don't like it. (i mean, who would?) you've told yourself to get over it, stop being such a cry baby, you're fine as you are. you believe these words, but it doesn't stop the feeling from bursting every once in a while, leaving you in shambles, a mess that you're not quite sure how to get yourself out of, but do, regardless.

you're alone. the other members are out doing god knows what (you were listening, you really were. you could see jaebum's words forming as he spoke, but nothing registers within your mind like it used to. you nod when you see the movement of his lips stop, and respond that you just want to stay at the dorm by yourself. you'll go out with them the next time, you promised).

but now, you wish that you would've gone out with them. being distracted and having some of your favorite people around is something that you should want, something that you do want, but your mind is on autopilot, and according to your brain, you want time alone.

you hear your phone ping in the background, somewhere inbetween the couch and the side table in the living room. you walk quickly over to it, careful not to make a sound. you're the only one at the dorm, yes, but the silence is too loud, too unusual, and you want something around to keep you grounded.

you see a text from mark, the letters blurring on the screen for a moment before your eyes focus. it reads that he won't be home tonight, and you don't read any further on from there. you already know what the rest of it says.

you respond with a simple 'okay', and hope that he makes it home safe the next morning.

~

he does.

somewhat.

he's still wobbly on his feet, his balance uncoordinated (even for his sober standards, which is saying something), his eyes glazed over, a slight tipsy yet appearingly happy smile on his face, and you want to say something, you really do, but. it's mark. he'll come to you if he's having issues, you're sure of it.

(okay, so you're not that sure. the dissapointments that you've been seeing and feeling lately are adding up, and you want to make sure that's he's okay. but he's his own person, he makes his own decisions based on how he wants to, so you stay out of it. it's not your bisuness, but it is the groups bisuness, on most levels).

jaebum and mark got in a fight that night. well alright, not really a fight, i mean, there weren't any punches involved or anything (thankfully, because with the way that things have been going lately you wouldn't be surprised if someone accidently blows their top), but there was a lot of yelling, a few choice words bouncing off the walls and falling on the minds of the other members from their own rooms.

when mark comes bounding in, about an hour later, his happy expression is gone almost as if it wasn't even there in the first place (and maybe you just imagined it - you just want him to be happy, dammit, and how difficult can that be?), his eyes seeming to have a glazed over look to them now that you can tell isn't from his alcohol intake, but from the sheer onslaught of tears that have been clouding his vision.

he sniffles, and your heart breaks. with everything that he's done to you lately (and that you've done to him, also - you're not exactly the most elegant person when you're fired up, mad to the brink of not even caring anymore about what you say or how you say it), you find the feeling still bubbling inside of you to be sickening.

he's still mark, still your best friend, but god - how much can one person handle? how much can one person try, again and again, with no break throughs, without giving up somewhere inbetween? how much does one person have to mean to another person for them to put everything on hold for them, to make their happiness your own?

(you realize that you've done all of these things. you're not holding on, yet you're not quite letting go, and his happiness is your own - no matter how stunned or how far in between the emotion might hit him.)

he stands there for a moment, near the door, and for a second it looks like he's going to say something. his mouth closes, eye lids fall shut, and you think that maybe he's going to pass out right then and there. your reflexes are telling you to get up and check on him, shake him until you're sure that he's okay, but you continue to lay on your bed, your hands above your head, gaze fixated on the other in the room.

he moves, and you nearly jump because it's so unexpected, but you manage to stay where you are. he trudges over towards you, sits and then lays down, curling into your body like an affectionate cat. his eyes are still closed, but he maneuvers his arms around you, pulling you close, his chin just above your head, your legs intertwined with each other's.

you hum, casting a side ways glance at him, not moving. your body is consumed by fire, and the water within you is subsiding, leaving a burning in it's wake.

the tides are with you, once and for all.

~

"i like you."

first confession. hearing these words coming from anyone, especially mark, of all people, makes your heart skip a beat, your cheeks lighting up the moment that the syllables leave his lips.

"i want to be with you."

second confession. this one causes your mind to race, your heart nearly bursting out of your chest. you can't think back to a time that you were this happy.

"i'm sorry."

third confession. this one causes a sigh to leave your lips, your mind quieting itself for a moment, and you wonder when you got this affected by something that someone has told you. this is mark though, and he's here, now, and he's in his right mind, which doesn't happen that often nowadays - you decide that these words have a different, deeper meaning.

it seems that this is all that he's able to say, willing to say at this moment, as his words stop, an expected glint in his eyes. he looks at you like you put the moon and the stars in the sky, like your existence is heavenly, like his life is changed forever since he's met you - which, you suppose, it is. or you hope so, because yours is definitely and eternally changed by his coming into your life.

"it's okay. i like you, and i want to be with you, too. i'm sorry."

what you apologized for exactly, you still don't know. it's not your fault that he comes home like this, drunk off of his mind, nicotine sticking to his jackets, it's not your fault that he decides to be a bit too sharp witted with the other six of you, it's not your fault that he left that one day, it's not your fault, not your fault -

the feeling of his lips touching yours doesn't stop the thoughts, nor does it stop the constant doubts of what could (and has) happened from this before.

the feeling doesn't stop the ache, but it does a pretty good job covering for it.