Bomi/Mark, pg, 2.3k, romance, from prompt No. 28 Children’s Games

for sobbieheartz 

They always played games, the two of them. This time, too, in the closed space of Jiae’s closet with Jiae’s rotating nigh lamp as the only source of light, this was also a game.

But they had been playing games for too long.

***

Five years old was the age when he moved to South Korea and the age when they first met.

She was playing tag with her friends at the daycare when she noticed a boy with pale skin, chubby cheeks, and silky black hair, standing by himself in the shade of a tree. And it’s not even the tree in the middle of the field, it’s the one secluded in the back.

Curious, she approached him, pigtails swaying on her way, and he flinched, panic evident in his face seeing she came over.

“Why you’re here alone?” she asked. “Are you sick?”

He didn’t reply, fiddling with his fingers nervously, and a confused her decided to step forward to check the boy’s temperature – because that’s the first thing her mother did whenever she said she didn’t feel like running around.

But seeing her stretched out hand, the boy widened his eyes and stepped back. The girl’s hand was left hanging in the air, and their eyes met. She blinked once, twice, thrice. He didn’t blink at all, still staring at her in panic.

Then he opened his mouth, but she had no idea what he’s talking about. His eyes flickered to her hand before he brought up his own hand to his forehead, and he shook his head, all while babbling in a language she couldn’t understand. Maybe it meant he’s not sick. Or she’s not allowed to touch his forehead?

She supposed she wouldn’t like it either if a stranger touched her forehead. So she gathered her hands together on top of her stomach and bowed, just like her parents taught her. “Annyeonghaseyo, Yoon Bomi imnida.”

His face lightened, as if he remembered something, recognizing the words, and he stretched out his hand with a gleeful smile. “Mark Tuan!”

She, Bomi, stared at the hand.

“Oh, this not right. Umm.” He retracted his hand and copied Bomi movements, bowing politely. “An-nyong. Haseyo. Mark…imni…da,” he said in broken Korean, but at least he talked in a language Bomi understood.

“… Ma… keu?”

“No, no, Mark,” he, Mark, said, emphasizing the ‘r’ in his name.

“Mak-ku?” she tried again, and little Bomi swore she said it right, but seeing her new friend’s face, Bomi knew she didn’t.

Yet, she was the first kid who approached him, and Mark felt so scared and lonely in this place where no one knew English, and he didn’t want to let down his potential first friend. So he nodded in the end. “Mak-ku.”

Bomi knew it’s not Mak-ku but Mak-ku seemed to accept it. He’s nice. Bomi liked nice people. “Mak-ku, let’s play with the other kids! We’re playing tag, and it’s easy, you just have to run away as fast as you can! Here, let’s run together!” she offered her hand.

Mark didn’t understand what she said, but he understood her body language when she pointed at the kids and pretended to run.

So he nodded and took her hand.

Five years old was the age when they started play games together.

***

Eight years old was the age when Bomi would rush to the studio where Mark learnt martial arts after she finished her taekwondo practiced. Her dojang wasn’t that far from his studio, and she finished her practice fifteen minutes earlier than him. She always rushed so she could take a glimpse of the cool stunts performed by older kids.

Bomi’s mother would pick her up at the studio, already knowing about her daughter’s habit, and then when Mark’s mother came, they would chit-chat while the kids played. Most of the times it’s just them bragging about what they learnt today. Sometimes it’s as random as, “Staring contest!”, Bomi yelled out of the blue and then the two kids widened their eyes as wide as possible.

On a play date they would run around the park, chasing the butterflies, counting the passerby, making up stories based on the cloud shapes.

Eight years old was the age when everything was exciting – as long as they’re together.

***

Eleven years old was the age where Mark often knocked on Yoon’s residence’s door to ask Bomi to play. The main reason was because Bomi’s brother had console games, and he’s cool. Doojoon was older than them by four years, he often teased Bomi, but then he would let her take his chance to play, opting to watch the younger played instead.

They also liked to play board games, and they’re better played at Mark’s house because Mark had two big sisters and one little brother – the more players, the merrier. They liked to set a penalty for the loser, sometimes it’s washing the dirty dishes, sometimes it’s getting their face doodled by marker.

Even during a simple round of racing in Doojoon’s game, or an evening game of cards with Mark’s siblings, Bomi was always competitive. Her eyebrows would knit together when she’s fully concentrated, and her lips would purse. If she could, she wouldn’t stop until she won, even if it tired her out. More often than not, it tired Mark out too, since he was the one she dragged to be her opponent.

Eleven years old was the age where Mark learnt the right time to purposely let Bomi won over him.

***

Fourteen years old was the time Mark had to return to California, even if it’s only for two years. It was also the awkward age to still be friends with your childhood friend, the opposite gender on top of that. Never mind video calls, they were even too conscious for a mere How are you text.

They kept their friendship over online games, trying to beat each other’s record.

Mornings were the time Mark’s phone beeped, indicating someone sent a gift to him in the game. He learnt to wake up around six or seven just to text Bomi, Why are you still awake, because it’s around midnight there in Seoul.

I can’t sleep, she said, and Mark texted her until she’s no longer replying. Mark thought of her falling asleep while still clutching on her phone.

He often played the game before he slept, and Bomi always sent him back a gift the next second. Aren’t you supposed to be in class?

The class is boring, was the usual reply. She accompanied him until he couldn’t keep his eyes awake any longer.

Sometimes Mark asked what the current trend in South Korea was. Sometimes Bomi asked about how’s life in Los Angeles.

Fourteen years old was the age where they kept on being friends even when they’re not together.

***

Seventeen years old was the age when they had long stopped playing games.

They enrolled in the same high school, taking different clubs – Bomi with cheerleading while Mark joined the volley team – but walking the same path home. Bus 59’s seats were the loyal witness of their friendship, where they would sit side by side and talk about the day.

While Bomi guessed on how long Mark’s current relationship would last, Mark counted how many boys Bomi had rejected.

“Why you always accept them when you don’t even know them?” Bomi scolded him, again, when Mark told her he accepted a confession, again.

Mark shrugged, his shoulder pressed to Bomi’s. The bus seats were too small. Or were they? “She looks okay…”

“Well obviously, no girls want to look like Rumpelstiltskin when they confess,” she snorted. “Really, you’re too nice, Mark. And those ungrateful girls, what did they do to repay you? They dumped you.”

“I guess I’m not as charming as they imagine me to be when they get to know me,” Mark smiled. Bomi seemed annoyed with his words. He smiled again, “What about you? I heard a senior asks you out, did you say yes this time?”

“I just learn his name thirty seconds before, how could I say yes?”

“Maybe if you agree then you’ll know him better…”

“I’m saving my heart for someone special,” Bomi cut Mark off, and he knew that someone special was that one senior Bomi had a crush on since the very first time she saw him.

“Well, confess then. Before he graduates. There’s barely a year left,” he nudged her, encouraging.

“Should I?” she bit her lips, looking up to Mark. Mark nodded.

A week later, when they met after school, Bomi’s eyes were red and swollen. “Can we go to the park? You said you’ll teach me skateboarding. Teach me now,” she asked, sniffing, and Mark said yes without asking.

They spent the evening at the park, just playing around with Mark’s skateboard, befriending the kids there and accompanying them playing with the sand. Once, Bomi looked up to the sky, pointing at one cloud, “Whale.”

Mark looked up too. “What are you talking about? It’s a plane.”

Seventeen was the age they started to play together again.

***

Twenty years old was the age everyone with healthy eyes and functional feelings knew there’s something between Mark Tuan and Yoon Bomi. Something that was more than childhood friends.

It’s actually harder to not know about them, since one rarely seen without the other. They managed to get in into the same major in the university, and some friends who knew about their friendship asked, “Don’t you two get tired of each other? You’ve been together for fifteen years.”

Mark just smiled like he always did while Bomi stuck out her tongue, and then the two continued their conversation like nothing happened; as if Bomi’s hand wasn’t on Mark’s arm, as if Mark’s eyes weren’t on Bomi attentively.

He stopped accepting confessions, she stopped longing for that special someone.

Twenty years old was the age where each other’s presence was enough.

***

But twenty years old was also the age where Min Yoongi swore to himself, “I’ll make Mark and Bomi happens this week or don’t call me Yoongi ever again,” he said while putting his hand on top of his chest. He’s a classmate, a bystander who couldn’t stand the two playing best friend any longer.

And Yoongi had an army full of impatient bystanders, friends who, whenever they saw Mark and Bomi together, wanted to smash their heads together and said, “NOW, KISS.”

Honestly, the only reason why the quiet, ever shy Yoo Jiae suddenly threw a party at her house was because of the whole ‘Let’s make Mark and Bomi happens’ plan – even she got upset that Mark and Bomi was not official yet.

The plan involved a fake lottery, won by none other Mark Tuan and Yoon Bomi (“What a coincidence!” Yoongi gasped loudly), and the prize was, none other than Seven Minutes in Heaven.

“Don’t get out before your lips all nice and swollen!” Bang Minah said, pushing the wide eyed Bomi inside the closet they had prepared beforehand.

“Grow a pair, dude,” Kim Wonshik told Mark, also pushing him inside after Bomi.

And then they locked the door.

***

Twenty years old was the age where Mark got trapped in a closet for the first time.

It’s cramped and it’s dark, and Mark was pretty sure it’s not a coincidence that there’s a romantic rotating lamp inside the closet; how convenient.

He looked down to his best friend who stood right in front of him, almost chest to chest with him in the small space of Jiae’s closet. Occasionally, the light from the lamp would fall on Bomi’s face, and Mark could see her. She’s biting her lips, shoulders tensed. She’s nervous.

Mark was, too. Why, he briefly wondered, considering that it’s Bomi in front of him, his friend for fifteen years. The one who always played games with him. This time, too, in the closed space of Jiae’s closet with Jiae’s rotating nigh lamp as the only source of light, this was also a game.

But they had been playing for too long.

Grow a pair, suddenly Mark could feel Wonshik’s pat on his back, could see the wink Yoongi sent to him before Wonshik pushed him to the closet.

Maybe it’s time to stop playing.

“… I’m going to kiss you,” Mark said all of the sudden, shocking Bomi. She finally looked up, and their eyes met in the dark. He’s not smiling. “… I will give you ten seconds to say no. Ten…”

Startled with the sudden countdown, Bomi stepped back, only to be stopped by the pile of boxes behind her. Mark tried not to pay attention and kept on counting.

“… Nine.”

Nine years ago, was the age where Mark learnt to relent to his childhood friend, letting her won on their games, because the taste of victory was rather unsatisfying when he didn’t get to see her smile.

“… Eight. … Seven. … Six.”

Six years ago, was the age where Mark secretly admitted to himself that the real reason he kept on playing the online game was not because it’s entertaining; it’s because the game was his excuse to keep in contact with her.

“… Five. … Four. … Three.”

Three years ago, was the age where Mark finally realized that no amount of confessions could make him felt the way he felt around her.

“… Two…”

Bomi stayed still, not speaking yet, looking up to him again, and there’s a certain look on her eyes that told him; she already made up her mind.

Swallowing, Mark took a step forward, closing whatever distance left between them. He held his breath, whispering the last count.

“… One.”

*The title means ‘fifteen’.

This is the first time I wrote about Mark and this is also the first time I write based on request with a prompt, heol it was harder than I thought, but it’s kind of fun too (this is probably not what you imagine what you'll get from children's game but ugh my brain can only squeeze this). I’m sorry that nicorobin is a synonymous of cliché, I can’t seem to write other things… (But honestly I do like romance hs!au?)

Hope you like it, thank you for reading!