When Mark wakes up the next morning it’s not only with a throbbing headache that makes him want to jump off the window to end his misery, but also strong arms around him , pulling him close to an equally strong and warm body. The scent is familiar and Mark knows he’s with Jackson in bed before he opens his eyes. His body unconsciously scoots closer, wrapping himself around the younger boy still asleep.

It’s a few seconds later when he recalls the events of the previous night: the alcohol, the ness of some members, and Jackson.

Jackson hugging him tight. Calling him beautiful. Struggling. Leaning in for a kiss.

That actually happened, Mark remembers all of it and his stomach is filled with butterflies. With a sober (although aching) head, his heart beats even faster at what could’ve happened. Although he’s grateful that it didn’t happen there and then, with all the others around and both drunk.

Yet… Mark still wonders how kissing Jackson would’ve felt.

His eyes flutter open and he focuses his gaze on the sleeping boy next to him, the relaxed features, the light outlining his profile, making him look eerily beautiful and cute, with his black hair in such a mess, stubble growing and darkening his skin.

Jackson called him beautiful the night before, but Mark thinks Jackson is far more beautiful, breathtaking, mad driving. Mark’s chest aches every time he stares at the younger, feeling like his heart is going to burst.

In the daylight of a new day, Mark wonders if Jackson said those things out of envy. It’s not a secret Mark is considered the visuals and Jackson is extremely insecure because he’s always comparing himself with the others. Does Jackson feel angry when he compares himself with Mark? That actually breaks the older’s heart, that Jackson has to make such comparisons.

But Mark’s face is so small and mine is like twice larger!

BamBam’s legs are so long and mine are so short!

He’s always doing that, and even if it sounds like a joke, Mark knows Jackson feels the others are more handsome than him. Mark doesn’t know how to make Jackson think otherwise. He wishes he could tell that in Mark’s eyes, there’s no one more handsome and perfect than Jackson.

But that’s not something he’s going to do. Even if he’s dying to know what it would feel to actually kiss Jackson, he knows the topic shouldn’t be brought up. If things get awkward, Mark won’t even be able to cuddle or have skinship with Jackson, and that would break not only his heart but also his soul.

So Mark does what he’s best at: stay quiet.

The older doesn’t make a sound, just stays lying in Jackson’s arms, enjoying the moment until the younger stirs with a groan, announcing he’s also awake. Mark takes a deep breath, preparing himself for whatever will happen.

Jackson takes a few seconds to stir, stretch and open his eyes, and when he does, he immediately focuses on Mark. Five heartbeats, that’s for how long Jackson just stares at him as if putting the pieces together of all that happened.

Slowly but surely, a smile comes to Jackson’s lips and Mark’s heart is beating wildly, not knowing how to take that expression.

What if Jackson does remember? What if what almost happened actually means something and it wasn’t just the younger being drunk?

The possibility is making Mark’s head spin.

“How much did we drink last night?” Jackson asks in a low and hoarse voice, raspier than usual. “My head is killing me.”

Cue to his words, he winces and presses his fingertips against his left temple, massaging softly while his other arm is still around Mark, keeping the older close.

“A lot, but not as much as the others,” Mark replies because even with the headache, his memories are clear. He wasn’t that drunk.

“How did I end up in your bed again?” Jackson asks next and Mark does his best to stop the jab of disappointment and hurt from making him wince. He isn’t sure if he succeeds. 

“You don’t remember?” It’s not nice to ask, Mark feels sick to the stomach and wants to scold himself for having hopes when he knew he shouldn’t have. He told himself, he warned himself not to expect Jackson to remember, to expect the opposite and want that because it was the best.

And yet, here he is, wanting Jackson to remember and actually mean what he almost did.

But Jackson doesn’t remember, he just shakes his head and watches Mark, expectantly waiting for an answer that the older doesn’t know how to word yet, his heart is aching too much.

“You drank a lot,” begins the older boy. “Whined a lot about unfair matters and then got sick and threw up. Not on anyone, though, you made it to the bathroom.”

Jackson’s face tenses, his whole body does, as if he didn’t expect that answer, as if he disapproved of it.

“That’s all?” Jackson asks, his eyes so intense. Mark feels his heart wants to burst out of his chest, and suddenly, they are too close and Mark can’t take it anymore, so he pulls back, away from Jackson. 

It’s cold without their bodies pressed together, but it’s better than the suffocating feeling that he’s being caught lying. He hasn’t, though, that’s what happened. It’s not all, but it’s not a lie.

“I brought you here and you made me get in bed with you,” Mark continues, sitting on the mattress and breaking the eye contact, t