After Mark had finally grown some balls and applied for a university transfer, he thought he would feel lighter. And for a while, he did.

Working was not as annoying. He didn’t really have friends there, but some people had started speaking to him after he had requested to become a stocker. He now worked with people closer to his age and thus, better at English, and this mundane job melted into a boring- routine and honestly, Mark was getting to a point where he was fine with that. He saw Jackson even less with his new schedule, but he didn’t mind either. At least he would spend his days worrying about his girlfriend and the farewells that were coming at a dangerous speed rather than picturing Jackson .

Everything was falling into pieces but everything felt like it was falling apart. It just felt silly to a point of borderline absurdity how life managed to get him back down every single time he had a tiny win. Leaving was not exactly something Mark was accustomed to. Despite having done it in the past, leaving people behind just felt like he was not only being a selfish , but also an undeserving kid who is never satisfied with what he has. It felt like being on board a train heading full speed for a brick wall. Mark was just ing stupid for letting everything wash him over when things on the surface would be going so well if it wasn't for him and him only. Despite everything, Mark couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe…

“Ouch! …” Mark exclaimed upon feeling a sudden sharp pain in his thigh. “What the ?” he added as he looked down in horror at his jeans, ripped open by the knife he was holding, getting progressively stained with blood. A lot of blood.

He wasn’t paying attention to what he was doing. He had always joked that if he kept being careless while cutting down the thick plastic wrap around the products he needed to stock like that would happen. His boss had even scolded him more than once about him going too fast with that knife. And now it was bloody. Mark let the knife fall to bring both his hands on the open wound that was pouring in blood. He looked up to meet eyes with someone around who would come to help.

“Oh my god,” his nearest colleague, the only one in this section with him, breathed before he dropped everything and rushed to Mark. “Wait here.”

He ran away, yelling at someone to find the manager. Others were attracted by the chaos and came into the row of crackers. They started asking him what happened, but his brain could not come up with Korean at the time.

Mark wasn’t really paying attention at this point as he started to feel dizzier and dizzier, his body unexplainably drowning in heatwaves that made him sweat and the blood out of his face, but no one seemed to notice so he told himself he was okay. He just needed to breathe a little deeper. He blinked to shake himself out of that state, and suddenly all he saw was the cement on the vertical meeting the wall as he heard the supervisor ordering someone to turn his body. Oh, that’s strange.

Oh. That’s what’s happening now.

Mark grunted as he rolled on his back with a hand up as if to tell people around he was okay. Really, he was. It wasn’t the first time he had passed out. In fact, he remembered very well his first night in Seoul when he passed out in the shower and Jennie nearly lost her voice for screaming so much through her tears because she thought he had just died of a heart attack. Considering the fact that he was exhausted, and that he couldn’t remember the last meal he had, Mark wasn’t too worried about fainting now but Jesus, everyone else was.  His supervisor bent over him, his boss shouting something in English like he was deaf and another manager running behind him to give him a bottle of water that he took without even looking at where his hand reached. He sat up and took a sip, frowning at the chaos around him because one of his ears was still buzzing, and tried to just determine if he felt good enough to stand up so he could prove them it was nothing to worry about, but for a second he swore he was about to vomit on top of that.

“I’m fine, I just need a trashcan,” he blurted out in Korean when he remembered where he was.

“Mark, you put hand on my neck,” his boss tells him in an accent so strong the other barely got it at first.

“O-okay.”

They were exaggerating. If only they knew how little it stressed him to faint over a bleeding wound, maybe he wouldn't be crossing the room on a damn wheelchair like an incapacitated man. his life.

He let himself be lifted and sat on a wheelchair. The way from the spot where he fainted to the infirmary was a blur: his head was pounding from the fall in his ears were ringing, one of them almost deaf. They left him alone while they talked amongst themselves in the hallway, whispering as if Mark wasn’t too out of it to listen, and three of his colleagues came back to the room. They looked at each other before the youngest stepped forward and asked in English:

“Do you need 129?”

 “911,” corrected another in Korean. “It’s 911 in the US.”

“No,” Mark paused to cough the raspy voice away. “I don’t need an ambulance.”

One of them walked out to transmit the information to the manager and Mark heard her say she had no choice.

“I can’t pay for the ambulance,” he rushed to tell the remaining two employees.

“You don’t have to pay for it.”

“He is a foreigner…” whispered the girl.

“In that case… I don’t know.”

“I don’t want an ambulance,” Mark insisted.

The manager stuck her head into the room to say in a way-too-fast Korean something about the ambulance. Mark looked at them in confusion before one of them translated:

“You wait until the ambulance come and then you go home.”

“Okay.”

So he waited. He played on his phone until he nearly busted his data, and nodded politely at curious people who would stick their heads in to see who had gotten injured. It took the paramedics a good hour to arrive, and a good half hour to run useless tests to tell Mark what he already knew: he has low vital signs from the shock of slicing his thigh open, and the leg wound was superficial enough to heal without stitches. He refused the ride to the hospital, mostly because he wasn’t sure his insurance would cover it, and got up as soon as they walked out the door, ready to go home as well. But his manager shut him down right away.

“We cannot let you go home unaccompanied. This is our policy. Can you call someone to come pick you up?”

“…Not really,” he nervously chuckled.

“Find someone. Please. You can stay as long as you want, even after closing.”

The manager turned her back before Mark could answer.

“Thank you,” Mark muttered as he bowed despite knowing she wouldn’t see it, his eyebrows puckered.

He sat back down and didn’t think much before dialing Jackson’s number. It rang a few times before Mark decided that he would probably not answer at work, but he picked up at last.

“Hey, are you at work?”

“Yeah, but I might finish early today, why?”

The eldest didn’t know how to say it without sounding dramatic. “So, hum… I hum, fainted, at work today.”

“You fainted?” Jackson exclaimed, sounding suddenly interested.

“Yeah, but I’m fine. It’s just that…”

“Did they call an ambulance? Where are you right now?”

“I said I’m fine. It’s just that they won’t let me go home alone, they won’t even let me out unaccompanied. I tried calling Ten, but he didn’t pick up.”

“Okay. And… Jennie can’t come pick you up?”

Mark’s face went bright red. He hadn’t even considered calling his girlfriend over his roommate. “No, hum… She’s… working. Look, I wouldn’t be calling you if I had a choice.”

“I know, I know.” He paused to think. “I can’t really leave work right now, but I’ll figure something out. Can you give me like, half an hour?”

Mark wished he hadn’t noticed, but his heart started beating faster. “Yeah of course. Thank you.”

“I’ll text you.”

Mark slowly stood up to get his stuff in his locker and went to buy something to eat in the store because why not. It took almost an hour for Mark to finally hear his colleague say:

“Yes, here he is.”

Mark looked up expecting to see Jackson, but his face turned into a big frown upon seeing the guy he was frequently hooking up with.

“Jackson couldn’t leave the kids. He asked me to pick you up.”

“Whatever.”

He stood and threw away whatever was left of his food. He threw his backpack over his shoulder and grabbed his jacket with one hand. He headed towards the door without waiting for Jinyoung.

“Are you feeling good?” the latter asked as he followed a bit too close.

“I am able to walk.”

They kept silent while they walked to the nearest metro station, and Mark almost put his earphones in his ears because he gave zero about the guy. But his mom had raised him a bit more polite than that.

They sat on the metro, which is surprising considering the time of the day. They sat in silence and Mark started to play a game on his phone, but was glad to be interrupted by Ten’s text:

Ten, 4:04

I just got jacksons voicemail ARE YOU ALRIGHT????

Mark, 4:05

yeah dont worry abt it he sent his to pick me up

Ten, 4:07

damn you mad son? lmao

            “Is that me?” said ‘’ asked in a perfectly well-pronounced English.

            “What?” Mark answered, trying to hide his shock; he was convinced his English was at Yugyeom’s level, i.e. inexistent. 

            “The .”

            He looked down on his phone to avoid his gaze. “You checkin’ my phone now?” he mumbled.

            “I just look.”

            And that’s when Mark finally pulled out his earphones and walked out of the train without another word, knowing perfectly well he was still far from his station. The guy could his .

*

To Mark’s surprise, Jackson had not brought up the incident. He had merely asked him if he was alright when they met in the hallway but left it at that. He guessed either Jinyoung was not as petty as Mark would have thought, or Jackson was not up for the drama. And that was more than fine to Mark.

On his day off, Mark was so engrossed by the game he barely heard Jackson throw the door open and let himself fall on his bed. He looked sideways for a split second as to mentally acknowledge his presence, but didn’t feel the need to strike a conversation. The younger sighed loudly, but remained silent, seeming like he was waiting for attention. He waited a bit more, and Mark kept pressing keys rather aggressively on his keyboard until he finally sighed again and actually asked for attention.

“How do you stay with someone for five years?”

Mark didn’t answer at first and didn’t look away from the screen. His brain processed the fact that he was being spoken to, and he hummed in response.

“How does Jennie taste?”

Mark frowned in disgust at the very inappropriate question and fully his chair as he muttered: “What the …”

The other turned his head to him with a smirk. “Now I’ve got your attention.”

The older opened his mouth but was interrupted by the sound of a gunshot from his game. He turned to check to screen and sighed when he saw he had just lost the game. He proceeded to remove his headset and to fully face Jackson, who was still laying on his back.

“Alright. What’s up?”

“How do you stay with someone for five years?”

“I don’t know. Ask your parents,” he said before he even realised how harsh that sounded.

“Damn, okay…”

Jackson raised his eyebrows in surprise and pretended to stand to leave.

“I’m messing with you,” he sighed. Mark used his legs to roll the chair closer to the bed. “Seriously, what’s up?”

“You know this guy… I’ve… been seeing?”

“Yeah?”

“Well… we’re not exactly a couple, but like… I don’t know.”

He turned his head sideways, then turned it again toward the other, but stared at a bit of skin peeling off his nail instead.

“Like he legit threw a tantrum the other day because I hung out with one of my girlfriends. As friends. And he posted a video of him tongue deep in some guys’ mouth at a par…” He looked up and paused. “What’s that face?”

“What face?”

“You just… grimaced.”

Had he? Mark brushed it off with a shrug.

“I just think that’s… mean, I guess? But are you guys… official?”

“No, I mean… I don’t think so. No.” He paused. “It feels like… He takes me for granted. You remember that girl Rebecca?”

Mark rubbed his eye. “Yeah but… that girl wasn’t here to stay anyway.”

“You’re so lucky to have such a solid relationship. That seems rare nowadays,” he sighed.

Mark kinda scoffed and looked down. Solid didn’t exactly seem accurate anymore.

“Uh oh.”

Mark let his body slide off the chair just a bit, and started to inspect his hands as well. “It’s nothing. Petty fights.”

“You’ll make it through.”

The other couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Whatever.”

He sat straighter and stretched, and Jackson suggested they ordered pizza, to which Mark agreed only because he was hungry. He just didn’t have the strength to be dealing with his heart racing at the sight of Jackson, let alone the thought that Jackson had come to him to talk about his problems. He just didn’t have time to be whipped for the guy.

Mark took advantage of his roommate leaving his room to go back to his game and update his brother about his sudden leave from the game on the chat. He took out his phone to order the pizza, but his heart stopped when he received a notification of a failing grade. What the ? Final grades had been put up a while ago, except for that one class that Mark didn’t worry about. He slid his phone unlock with a panicked pounding in his chest and the message accompanying the grade calmed him a little. Just a little. “As mentioned in emails I have sent you (those that Mark ignored because the semester was over), the file containing your final essay could not be opened. Please submit the file before May 31^st or be met with the current final grade.”

He exhaled loudly and turned to his computer immediately to fix the problem. He found the file pretty quickly and opened it, to realise that the only file he had saved was the draft containing only about half the word count. He blinked, closed the document, and joined his hands in front of his mouth. May 31^st was in three days.

He was going to need Jesus on that one.

He took a deep breath and cracked his knuckles to get ready for a few all-nighters in a row like he had done a thousand times before. He opened the doc again, faking energy to work on a ing forty pages essay again while working full-time at night, and started writing right away. It took a good half hour for Jackson to inquire about the pizza Mark had already forgotten.

“Can’t right now, something came up.”

“What’s up?” Jackson asked as he walked to the desk.

Mark didn’t look away from the screen. “They lost my essay, and I lost it too, so I have to write a new one by Friday.”

“Holy …” He stood there in silence for a bit before he dropped a hand on Mark’s shoulder which made the latter jump. “Look, I’ll order pizza anyway and bring it to you, alright? You got this.”

Mark wished he had said thank you, but all that came out was a weird sounding: “Huh huh.”

Jackson dealt with the meal and went to get it from the delivery guy outside. When he heard his roommate walk out of the apartment, Mark decided he had done enough for the night, or at least until he ate, and walked out of his room and for once, sat at the table with his two roommates.

            “Oh, are you already done?” Jackson asked with a smile upon seeing Mark sitting with Bambam at the table.

            Mark shook his head. “I need a break.”

            “Well-deserved if you ask me!” He put the pizza carton on the table, and the smell filled the apartment. “Okay so we have all-dress and four-cheese, your pick guys.”

            Ten took a piece first, struggling to rip the crust, and immediately started to pick on the veggies on the pizza. “Ugh, I hate papers,” he mumbled.

            “Peppers,” Mark corrected him before he took a bite.

            Ten looked up and clicked his tongue with a sigh, making the two fluent English speakers laugh.

            They each had three pieces, laughing, and talking about random stuff in between bites, and Mark realised he felt good despite everything that was falling on him at the moment. He had missed those evenings when they were all too stupid to cook and too much of losers to bring anyone to this shabby apartment. For a moment, he felt like he had lived with these guys forever.

            But then, someone knocked at the door. Mark already knew it wasn’t someone he wanted to see.

            “Jinyoung? What are you doing here, come in!” he heard Jackson exclaimed from the front door.

            This was worse than he had imagined.

            Jinyoung sat with them, in between Mark and Jackson, and Mark’s mood went back to his normal state of being pissed for no reason 24/7. He couldn’t help but look at him like he was a piece of . Because in Mark’s opinion, he was.

            “I wanted to surprise you as an apology for cancelling our date last weekend,” Jinyoung explained with a hand on Jackson’s thigh.

            “Aww,” the other replied half-heartedly. “Have some pizza, we’re full.”

            He picked a piece, and there was a painfully awkward silence. Mark kept looking at Bambam to see what he would do, but he was busy rearranging the pepper pieces on his plate.

            “Mark, how’s your head?”

            “What’s with my head?” he replied dryly.

            “I thought you had hit it pretty bad when you fainted at work. I was wondering how you were.”

            “I’m fine.”

            He didn’t want to appear angry, for he had no reason… well, none that were apparent at least, to hate the guy. Until he pulled out ing Grindr to reject a booty call.

            Mark noticed. Jackson noticed. Jinyoung smiled at the pic he had just received and Mark couldn’t help but frown in disgust. Jinyoung finally noticed the tension and tried saving his with a:

            “Yours is bigger,” he smiled at Jackson.

            “I thought so too,” he joked.

            Mark knew he was lowkey hurt. But he couldn’t say anything about it. He pushed his chair away from the table and decided it was time to go back to work on his essay. He wished he had spoken Thai to be able to urge Bambam to do the same.

*

He hadn't slept for three days straight, but Mark had Redbull-induced energy that was almost inconceivable. At least, that's what he thought.

He had submitted his essay on time. It was probably filled with typos, but at least it was done. Mark had reached so low when it came to schooling that he had come up with his own motto: it doesn’t have to be good, it just has to be done. He had shown up to work with his dark circles being darker than he had seen when washing his face in the morning, with his face paler than he had imagined. He would be lying through his teeth if he didn’t fall asleep over a tear-stained pillow. But this had almost become a daily routine.

So he was thrown off by his manager coming at him out of nowhere.

“Mark, do you think that you’re helping us right now?”

Is this a ing joke? Mark crossed his arms. He was half-insulted, the feeling of anger growing in his chest, but also half thrown off-guard: he inexplicably felt vulnerable.

“I’d like to think so, yeah,” he answered nonchalantly, trying to sound composed but ending up sounding cocky.

“Well you’re not. You’re slow. In terms of productivity, something is not working here. Maybe it would be a good idea for you to go home.”

For no ing reason, Mark’s anger dissipated entirely to make place for… something between sadness and despair, although despair sounded too serious. Mark felt like his heart had just cracked. That is just how tired and ing done with everything and everyone he was. But he still felt like he could hold on a bit longer.

“I’d rather not. Financially.”

“Looks like we have a problem because if you plan on slacking like that we can’t pay you for not doing the job.”

There it was, the right blow. Mark hated himself for it, hate was not strong enough of a word, but he let the tears fall.

“You know what, sir? I’ll go home. See you tomorrow.”

“What’s going on?”

At this point, Mark was that close to turn around and punch him in the face, but as a foreigner, he couldn’t do that. All we could do to release some frustration was to throw the half-empty bottle of water he was carrying in his back pocket at the wall and furiously take off his work gloves and shove them in his vest’s pocket. He would have thrown them across the floor, but he actually needed them since he was too desperate to quit that ty- job.

“Mark, talk to me.”

It took every ounce of Mark’s willpower not to tell him to off. But he chose to keep some dignity at last and walk outta there before he did something he would regret.

He had come back from work completely drained, and so done with his day he did not even take the time to take off his shoes at the door. He kicked them off his feet, at least one of them as the other stubbornly stayed on his foot. He sighed, just how painful would today get, and angrily ripped his remaining shoe opened to kick it at the other side of the kitchen. Like he gave a .

He went to his room and took off his shirt and pants before he slid under the cover. All he wanted, was to sleep and forget he was even alive. For a short while, he allowed himself to breathe, and to stop thinking about that of a manager and the look on people’s faces as he rushed down the row of oils with teary eyes like a , and thought he would fall asleep faster than he had first imagined. But then, his roommates came in.

Mark kind of winced upon hearing their voices. He was just that annoyed with anyone, regardless of whether said people had annoyed him or not that day. He just didn’t want to hear anyone.

“He’s clearly homophobic. Like, I don’t see why else he would hate me so much.” Jackson said.

Mark sighed and kicked his blanket off, rubbing his eyes. The more he listened, the more he grew interested in the conversation taking place in the living room. Maybe it was the anxiety, maybe it was this voice talking trash as usual, but he had a feeling they were talking about him.

Jackson continued: “Like I know he’s going through a rough patch, I’m not blind. But that doesn’t allow him to be a . Plus, he’s only a with me and Jinyoung, never with you. I’m not blind, man.”

Mark slowly let go of the door handle to eavesdrop on the conversation.

“Since the day I brought a guy in. I am not ting you. The very next day, the guy flipped. I thought our friendship was worth more than that.”

“Nah, I mean… His sister’s gay, that makes no sense.” Bambam answered.

Oh, they were so talking about Mark.

“I know, I don’t get it either! What a ing two-face that guy, after two years I would’ve never thought…”

So that’s what he thinks. Mark’s heart started racing, his face showing disgust, pure ing disgust at how quick to judge these ers were, and he cracked his joints hoping to release some frustration. But it wasn’t enough. Mark knew it wasn’t enough. While staring at his reflection in the mirror hung on his door, he even started to feel grossed out by himself, by his cowardice, by his jealousy, by his childishness, by him not being enough or doing enough anything and , Mark just wanted to punch something.

So he did. And it hurt.

The glass shattered in a loud crack under his burning knuckles and fell to the floor faster than the drops of blood. Bloodstained the glass on impact, dripped down along the fissures and Mark didn’t want to take a look at his hand as it hurt so much and he didn’t need to see the cuts to feel the warm liquid running down his fingers. He cursed under his breath, and could barely focus anymore on his roommates’ conversation but he knew it had fallen silent on the other side of the door. Damn it, Mark needed ice, and rubbing alcohol, and probably someone to get those tiny bits of broken glass between his fingers because he might pass out if he kept looking.

He brushed the broken pieces away with his foot and swung the door open, bracing himself for their reaction. Their faces went pale.

“Mark, we didn’t hear you come in,” Bambam said with a fake- smile.

He ignored him and headed straight to the bathroom.

“, his hand…”

“Oh my god, dude, are you okay?”

His roommates rushed to his side, forcing Mark to spin around and to put his hands in front of him as to tell them to back off.

“Leave me, the , alone,” he growled while staring at Bambam like he could very much kill him on the spot if he didn’t.

Jackson took a full step back, but Bambam only pulled his head back with wide eyes and blinked hard when the bathroom door was slammed at his face.

He was shaking. His ribcage suddenly felt tighter and he forgot how to breathe. The world spun with him, and he had to grab the edge of the sink and squeeze as hard as he could to feel like he was still holding on to something, anything, and it opened his wound a bit more and allowed more blood to flow. He let go in a painful moan and looked down at his injured knuckles and got dizzy at the sight of blood. He turned the faucet on, not without struggling to turn the damn handle the right way and let the pressured water sting his wound like ing hell. Whatever he did hurt.

His legs gave out under him and he had no choice but to crouch down as the tears blurred his vision. He kept holding onto the edge of the sink, his short-bitten nails digging in the crack between the ceramic and the porcelain, because he couldn’t let go for dear life. Not before he could breathe again, no. He breathed in, and out, and halfway in, and choked until he finally managed to calm himself down enough to remind himself that he could not appear vulnerable when walking out of that bathroom.

His eyes were puffy and red, but Mark decided he didn’t care. He stood back up, rinsed his hand more gently this time to properly clean the wound with what he had, and rummaged through the drawers looking for anything he would normally find in a first aid kit. Mark and his roommates being the irresponsible college students that they were, he did not find anything useful enough. He grabbed a hand towel and wrapped it around his fingers, thought to himself that it might leave a stain considering the amount of blood that was still stubbornly pouring out of his knuckles, but oh well, Mark had other to deal with.

It took him a solid minute of staring at his reflection in the mirror to finally find the strength to open the door. He caught a glimpse of his two roommates staring at him from the living room, one with his chin on his joint hands and the other slouching heavily in the armchair, but gave in to his reflex of looking down to make it to his room safely where he closed the door almost as soon as he slipped in. His hand still hurt, his eyes were still stingy, and he lowkey wanted an icepack, but Mark chose to start a game on his computer with the hope that it would distract him from all the bull.

After half an hour, Mark had grown to believe he would surprisingly be left alone after this little tantrum of his, but he should have known better. For once in his relatively short existence, Jackson Wang actually knocked and waited for permission to come in.

“Mark… Can I come in?”

Mark just stared at the door for a long minute. He knew he was still too pissed to have any conversation the other intended to have: from the low and unsure tone of his voice from the other side of the door, he knew it was serious. Did Mark want – let alone have the mental capacity – for such a talk right now?

“I’m coming in, okay?”

Of course he would.

Mark rolled his eyes and stared back at the screen as to pretend he could not care less about Jackson’s carefully opening the door to stick his head in. He didn’t say anything at first, making the oldest almost turn to look at him to have him out of his room as quickly as possible, but he finally asked in a small voice:

“What are you doing?”

Oh my god. Mark was not a child. He was not ing fragile. He didn’t need to be babied just because he had a minor emotional outburst. The did he want now?

“Jackson what do you want?”

“Can we ta- o-oh…”

Mark finally spun on his chair to see what caused Jackson to stop midsentence. He had opened the door a bit more, and tried to step in the room, but stopped himself just in time before he stepped right into the broken glass and drops of blood Mark hadn’t bothered to clean up just yet. It was like his room had its own minefield to protect its entrance.

He looked up and stared at Jackson, unfazed. Jackson could talk all he wanted, but Mark wasn’t up for pretending anymore.

“What?” he said, stern.

The younger sighed. “Are you okay?”

“Hm.” He looked down for a split second before he reminded himself to stop thinking about his throbbing open cuts.

“Did… something happen, today?”

Mark took off his headphones like they were suddenly bothersome. “’Kay just say what you wanna say so I can go back to my game.”

“Are you mad at me?”

No . As an answer, Mark simply leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“I guess you heard everything. Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

Mark almost gave him attitude but chose not to answer this time. He knew the other had more to say and he actually wanted to hear it.

“Why did you call Jinyoung a ?” Jackson asked with a small voice, looking at the ground.

“Why does it matter?”

Jackson opened the door a bit more to lean on the door frame. “Well, you… you just don’t say that. Did he do something wrong? Or did I do something wrong? Because ever since I introduced you both the vibe is tensed as .”

“I just don’t like the guy. I don’t see why you care so much.”

Truth to be told, Mark had nothing against Jinyoung. Really, they had barely spoken. All he knew is that he was playing with his roommate’s feelings and that was something Mark absolutely hated about people. Oh, and he was a superficial tool whose only goal in life was to impress men just enough to get his .

Okay, Mark did have something against Jinyoung.

“I care because you’re my friend. And he’s… also, my friend. Can’t you just be mature about it and try to at least pretend you two could get along?” Jackson replied.

“Mature? off Jackson.” 

Mark used one foot to spin on his chair to face his desk, but facing anything other than his roommate would have been fine at this very moment.

“Wha… I’m tryna be nice here, what the .”

Mark tapped his fingers on the desk, biting the inside of his cheeks before he spun back: “The is that after all he’s done to you, you still choose to take his side over some bull, and then you dare to come to me after talking behind my back without even getting my side of the story,” he barked.

“What has he done to you? What’s all that drama about?”

“I’m just saying, as a friend, that you shouldn’t be dating such a douche, how can you not see that?”

Jackson rose an eyebrow, his expression now harder. “Because he’s a man.”

Mark had to take a pause and close his eyes not to slap some sense into his friend’s head.

“Oh my God, Jackson,” Mark grunted as he rubbed his face with both hands. “Get your head out of your for a minute. You are not… in love, with this guy. And he’s definitely not in love with you. At some point, you’ll have to-”

“You know what, Mark? I think I might have meant what I said. You are ing homophobic,” the other spat, pointing a finger at Mark. “And I know from experience people like you can’t be changed so if you have a problem with seeing me and Jinyoung together you might as well go pray your God it saves you from all my sins.”

At this point, it could be said that Mark was practically shouting, and Jackson matched the increased volume of the conversation.

“In what world do you live? Homophobic? I didn’t know you could be that stupid.”

“Well I don’t know it’s either that or you’re being a because you can’t stand seeing happy couples around when your girl is probably getting the love she deserves somewhere else.”

Mark’s jaw clenched so hard he felt it could break. He would have done anything for Jackson not to notice, but he was trying hard to stop the trembles of his lower lip to not give away the fact that the other had pretty much checkmated him by saying exactly what Mark’s mind was battling to repress. 

“The do you know about my love life, Jackson Lau?” Mark said through his teeth.

Jackson stared at the other in the eye and said in a lower voice: “I know enough to tell that you hold on to that love life of yours because otherwise you’d be alone. You are pitiful.”

The other couldn’t help but break the stare and look anywhere but in his eyes for fear it would let him know how ing small he felt. Careful not to hesitate too much, he muttered: “And you are disgusting. Get the out…”

Jackson scoffed and his heels to leave, his footsteps so heavy and fast Mark could hear him walk to his room and slam the door shut. The apartment finally fell silent, and like a cue to Mark’s brain to stop the act and to express the only emotion he was truly experiencing: pure, absolute, despair.

A tear fell, then another, then something closer to a torrent, and he had to bring a clenched fist to his mouth to keep the sobs in so that no one would hear. What was he doing? Why couldn’t he grow some balls and get over it? Tough guys don’t cry. Tough guys don’t break over being called out on their bull. Tough guys don’t need to break things to prove that they are tough. Tough guys don’t push people away simply because they cannot admit to themselves that they are sickeningly jealous, and bitter, and maybe lonely too.

Tough guys… tough guys don’t fall in love with other guys.