Chapter Text
When Jackson blinks open his eyes hesitantly, his heart trembling for some reason, Mark is still female and still beautiful.
They both jerk apart in abject embarrassment, too close for comfort. Jackson can still feel the lingering ghost of Mark’s soft lips on his, and tries to keep his eyes steady on Mark’s. His heart is still pounding with surprise. Mark is looking down at his body in dismay and building panic, and Jackson can read the thoughts racing through his wild eyes.
What if Jinyoung’s solution was just a fluke? What if — fingers crossed — he can’t change back?
In the fluster, Jackson dimly registers a feeling of golden warmth spreading in his chest, and recognises it as pride, a strange sort of honour. Out of all six of them, Mark chose him.
As Jackson, deep down inside, had hoped he would.
Not that he had been thinking of getting to first base when he flirted with Mark, casually and boldly. The overtures and compliments he paid had tumbled out of his mouth so easily and naturally, he hadn’t even realised he was flirting with Mark like a pretty stranger he was chatting up at a bar, until Mark lowered her head and blushed in a way she never did when male.
Pronouns were one of the many things confusing him right now, too. He knew Mark probably still thought of himself as very much male, but Jackson couldn’t help referring to him as she and her in his head. At least until he turned back into a true and blue boy. Somehow this made it all slightly less bewildering and alarming, the feelings swirling around messily in his head, smothering his senses. To separate this girl standing before him from the hyung he knows better than any other, Mark Tuan.
He didn’t want Mark to think he’s being here for him, wants to kiss him, just because he makes a shockingly pretty girl. Jackson is here because Mark is his best friend, and if he entertained any thoughts of kissing Mark, it’s because he only wanted to help him change back as quickly as possible.
Right. Jackson suddenly feels much better correcting his pronouns back to him and he, reminding himself with every thought that he just kissed the first boy in his life.
Technically, Mark isn’t the first boy he’s kissed, but all the other guys he’s cheek- or mouth-kissed before this were as jokes. None of those kisses had ever felt like this before, although some lasted longer.
He’s shaken by how wrong it doesn’t feel.
Mark is gazing at him silently, his face red and eyes studying Jackson’s with something other than worry and upset — a tentative uncertainty, as if he’s afraid of Jackson’s reaction.
Maybe he’s regretting initiating the kiss with uncharacteristic recklessness, since Jackson hadn’t plainly expressed like all the other boys his willingness to help Mark out, although he had joked about it a few times at the start.
Even looking like the world is crumbling around him, Mark is breathtaking. His hair is princess blonde and felt like cornsilk to the touch. His hand, when Jackson held it at the crosswalk, was like satin. All seven of them have cross-dressed for the fans at various points in the past, but Jackson never remembered Mark looking so made to be a female in his wig and padded dress.
Of course, there’s nothing except magic that can explain the whole phenomenon.
“Uh,” Jackson breaks the protracted silence with a brilliant ejaculation, then kicks himself. Mark snaps his head up, looking close to breaking down again.
“Sorry,” he mutters, still more concerned for Jackson’s feelings than his own. “I should’ve asked your permission.”
“No no, it’s okay! Don’t worry at all. I didn’t mind,” Jackson babbles, then stops himself before he finishes, I liked it.
“I was flattered,” he says instead, and Mark breaks into a surprised, tremulous smile.
“Really?” He’s pale with relief.
Jackson nods, refraining from touching him as he usually would. He smiles back. “Really.”
Mark frowns. “But… I didn’t change back. Why?” He studies his arms and body again, as if he’ll be able to find some changes, at least.
Jackson shakes his head sympathetically. “I don’t know. Sorry. Maybe I’m not the right person.”
Mark looks up at him then, and half-smiles reluctantly. He places an easy hand on Jackson’s elbow. “Don’t say that.” His voice is soft. “But — what should I do?”
Jackson shrugs, feeling frustrated at his inability to be Mark’s superhero and resolve his problem immediately and singlehandedly.
“I guess you should try it with the others and see.” Saying the words gives him a slight pang, at the thought of Mark’s plush lips being covered by their other six friends. He shakes off the odd feeling of possessiveness.
Mark sighs helplessly, his shoulders shrinking into himself and making him look even more tiny. Jackson has felt the urge to protect Mark any number of times through the years, but never like this. Never so intensely.
“Are you tired?” he asks sensitively. “You look wrung out.”
Mark nods. “I was so sure this would work.” Jackson can tell he’s struggling to keep his composure from falling apart.
“We’ll find a way,” he blurts out, placing an arm around his hyung’s shoulder. “I’ll fix this for you.”
Mark looks surprised by his resolute promise, and his head suddenly nestled against Jackson’s shoulder. But he doesn’t move away, although his body feels stiff like a scared bird’s against Jackson’s chest.
“Thanks, Gaga.”
Jackson lets them sit there for awhile enjoying the new proximity, until he takes charge authoritatively and fishes out his phone with his other hand.
“What are you doing?” Mark raises his head and gazes up into his eyes, and Jackson falters.
“Er… calling the other guys to let them know the plan. I’ll text Jaebum hyung and Jinyoung to come back too, in case you need them.”
Mark looks anxious. “What?” Jackson lets go of the phone and peers into his face with concern.
Mark puts some distance between them, to his disappointment. “Can we… just sit here a little while longer? I don’t want to go back just yet.”
Jackson’s heart softens instantly. Mark looks like this is one of the worst days of his life, understandably. It isn’t even noon yet and he’s been put through the wringer.
“Of course. Take your time. You should rest before we travel home.”
Mark looks slightly calmed by his gentle words. He touches Jackson’s arm again, as if he wants to repeat the words of gratitude he just said. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’d probably be freaking out right now if I were alone.”
His frank words surprise Jackson. It takes a few seconds for him to reply. “Well, I mean… you have Jaebum and Jinyoung, and the maknaes. Even if I wasn’t here, you’d be okay.” He means to sound reassuring, but immediately feels like taking back his words. Because, of course Mark doesn’t need him in a crisis. But spelling it out just makes Jackson feel sore.
“They’re great. But they’re not you.” For some reason, Mark looks slightly offended by his thoughtless words, making him wish to take them back more. But he feels the feeling of special-ness inside him grow larger, more confusing.
Somehow, they get to talking. Jackson tries to take Mark's mind off the problem at hand. They’re still sitting on that same nondescript park bench they settled down on an hour ago, but it feels like no other place Jackson has ever been before. In New York, or anywhere else. It feels surreal, and not just because he keeps looking at Mark and getting shocked all over again by the stranger he sees.
Passersby meander around them from time to time, strolling or jogging or walking their dogs. As the day grows brighter Jackson pulls his snapback on low over his eyes. He’d offer it to Mark to shield his face, if not for the fact he’s worried he’ll be recognised and put Mark in jeopardy. It’s not an egoistical statement to make that he’s significantly more popular and known in foreign countries than the rest of their band. That, too, comes with its fair share of headaches, and there’s never been any occasion he wished to look anonymous and unnoticeable more than today.
Belatedly, he realises it would have been quite awkward and possibly dangerous had Mark really changed back in a public place when they kissed. So he guesses that’s the silver lining in the cloud.
It’s been too long since they last talked, really talked without checking the time and having another appointment on either of their schedules to cut short their conversation. Jackson feels his soul releasing a sigh of blessed relief at the unexpected break from the hamster wheel of his budding career and juggling jobs he’s barely keeping afloat.
Mark was right — he had overreacted just now when he saw the stranger chatting him up, and Jackson tries to tamp down his natural urge to flirt and pepper his speech with double innuendos now, focusing on listening to Mark sincerely.
Perhaps he’s overly self-conscious about this, but in recent years especially, he’s been critical of himself for how he gives the impression of being flighty. Sometimes, unintentionally, he’s too busy to be everywhere at the same time, but he never wants to appear flaky, especially to his closest friends.
None of them had ever accused him of being so, but his inborn proclivity to magnify his faults was further exacerbated by the fans’ all-encompassing demands for him to be devoted entirely to the band.
It only took a few doubters, a few outspoken cynics, for him to start being ashamed of his actions and second-guessing himself. He hated himself for being such a people-pleaser, but couldn’t not care about their opinions. They were his precious fans who had given him everything and raised him out of mediocrity, after all.
“What’s the meaning of all this?” he had blurted out cryptically one rare free afternoon when he was crashed on the couch of their shared apartment, a few months ago. Unwittingly, he had spoken out the thoughts he had been mulling on lately.
Jinyoung, who happened to be passing through the den holding mugs of corn tea for himself and Jaebum, stopped graciously to entertain him.
“All this?” His brow furrowed delicately in confusion.
“Yeah.” Jackson gestured vaguely. “You know, the meaning of being a performer and idol. The meaning —“ he hesitated, “ — of life in general, I guess.”
Jinyoung snorted under his breath, but not unkindly. He patiently set the mugs down and offered Jackson his mug, which Jackson politely declined. Jinyoung pushed it into his hands and ordered him to drink it.
“So, you’re finally curious about Nietzsche too.”
“Who?” Jackson sputtered on his mouthful of bitter tea.
Jinyoung smiled. “He’s a philosopher who advocates that life is essentially meaningless.” He delivered his pronouncement breezily.
“Oh, like Alan de Bottom or something? That guy you always read?”
Jinyoung chortled in amusement. “It’s Alain de Botton,” he corrected in an accent which sounded smug to Jackson’s miffed ears. For the record, his English is still way better than Jinyoung’s, although Jinyoung’s been studying it since before they left Korea.
Jaebum happened to emerge from his bedroom then, curious about why Jinyoung was taking so long. Of course, Jinyoung couldn’t resist making Jaebum laugh by telling him all about their conversation, and though Jackson loves to make people laugh and knew they meant no harm, he slightly resented being the subject of their friendly teasing.
Sure, he doesn’t read complex and wordy philosophy tomes like Jaebum and Jinyoung, but who wants to anyway? Jinyoung and Jaebum are never condescending, but he dislikes when some people regard him superciliously — yes, he does know the word supercilious — as being less intelligent than them. He’s smart too — not book-smart, but smarter than most people stereotype him as. And not just street-smart, but knowledgeable in the areas he cares about, like music and emceeing.
On that day, he made Jinyoung even more tickled than he already was when Jackson effectively silenced Jaebum’s laughter by slurping loudly from Jinyoung’s cup. Jaebum immediately, as he expected, objected jealously to him sharing an “indirect kiss” with Jinyoung, while Jinyoung reassured him that he would allow Jaebum to personally wash the cup after Jackson had finished to his heart’s content.
He was still laughing, nearly coughing on Jaebum’s cup of tea, when Jaebum left them to sidle back into his room disgruntledly. Jackson smiled in satisfaction when Jinyoung looked upon him appreciatively, still giggling. He loves making his friends, and complete strangers, belly-laugh and guffaw. He enjoys nothing more than being the only one able to break the ice in an awkward roomful of people. Entertaining is in his blood. But it smarts when people only see the side of him who is a jokester, and none of his other dimensions.
That’s the downside of being four-dimensional — most people don’t think there’s a fifth or even sixth dimension.
It wasn’t the first time he’d felt this way — from young, he’s heard his fair share of detractors and criticism. Most people adored him but for some reason it was the ones that didn’t who stood out. He never told anyone, because he didn’t want to sound ungrateful. He already had tons more friends than the average person. If he felt that most of them didn’t know who he really was, on the inside — well, that wasn’t something he knew how to tactfully express and adroitly resolve.
Today isn’t the first time he’s been tempted to confide in Mark. In fact, many times he had come close, closer than towards any of his other friends or family. It had nothing to do with all the obvious things they have in common like ethnicity and language background, and everything to do with the immutable fact that when it comes to understanding him, Mark is yards and yards before anyone else.
It’s not something he verbalises often, perhaps ever — but Jackson always trusted Mark knew. Mark’s actions and warmth told him this. Although Jackson is much more rambunctious than Mark neither of them are particularly eloquent when it comes to mushy terms of endearment or heart-to-hearts. But the fact that Mark just knew Jackson appreciated him spoke more volumes than anything could about the wordless connection Jackson felt.
Today, though, something loosens the floodgates. Maybe it’s how Mark looks almost totally like a different person altogether (yet impossibly familiar at the same time), but Jackson feels the same way he remembers feeling on the couch that day, warm and cozy, able to speak anything on his mind without being judged.
“Do you think I’m a bogus tryhard?”
Mark starts visibly, eyes widened on Jackson’s. Okay, maybe that didn’t come out right. Sometimes Jackson is embarrassed by his own bluntness.
Mark blinks, speechless, and Jackson quickly takes the chance to amend his question: “I mean, do you think I act like… like it’s really obvious I want to be liked?”
Okay, that turned out worse. He actually used the word like three times in one sentence — so much for his good English. Mark looks suitably confused, his forehead creasing delicately.
“I think… it’s normal and human to want to be liked,” Mark replies slowly after a beat, and Jackson can’t help sighing. He shouldn’t have said anything. Mark doesn’t understand.
How could he understand how Jackson used to obsessively watch and rewatch videos of the band’s performances — or more accurately his fancams, his eagle eyes zooming in even further than the fanclub’s camera on his every move, his every expression, how he looks while singing, rapping, talking.
If Mark too did such a thing, he must do it in private because Jackson has never seen it.
Even the way he came on too strong to Mark just earlier today — Jackson cringes just recalling it. It’s become habitual for him to enjoy recreational flirting almost as if it’s a sport — it’s one of the few ways he knows how to express his appreciation and admiration for people he likes. Unintentionally, though, he sometimes catches himself straying into smarmy territory — and then he gets so insecure he stops talking altogether, even when the other party seems to be responding eagerly. He can’t help wondering if they are mocking him privately in their minds.
He was just being himself when he created his image, but he had never expected it to stick for so long, or for himself to outgrow it one day.
To tell the truth, he was probably projecting some of his sensitivity about an anonymous online comment he had read just a day before, that day in the den with Jinyoung.
It wasn’t such a big deal. The comment had simply read, “I love Jackson, he’s exactly like me. His need eclipses the sun.”
His need eclipses the sun.
He was stunned for a few minutes after he read that. Was that really how people saw him? Was that the persona he projected?
It was just one of the numerous comments he read that day. But unconsciously, this particular one stuck with him, no matter how he tried to shake it.
It was definitely a compliment, but Jackson found it hard to feel flattered.
“Jacks?” Mark nudges him now, bringing him gently back to earth. “Penny for your thoughts,” Mark dimples innocently, not prying, just curious and concerned by Jackson’s earlier queries.
Jackson flounders, at a loss how to express everything he is thinking in words Mark can get.
“Do you think…” he tries again, undeterred, “I’m, uh, over-ambitious?”
He winces again. It’s the first time he’s put this worry into words, and yet it feels strangely freeing. Mark’s expression is open, accepting.
Jackson doesn’t need to ask — he knows he’s ambitious. He’s always been proud of it — after all, ambition is what got him to where he currently is. His parents are both ex-Olympians — he doesn’t know any other way to be. Wanting more, needing more: it’s as easy and essential as breathing to him. Perhaps that was why the comment struck a chord; because it rang true.
Mark definitely understands — they’re both in the business of being desired, and sometimes, especially when they were younger, it’s too easy to get caught up in all of it, the fame and glory and glitz and stardust.
Mark’s been quiet until now, as he usually is, but his feminine voice abruptly breaks into Jackson’s train of thought.
“I think you try so hard to be exemplary.” His voice is thoughtful, unabashed. “And I really admire that.”
The sheer straightforwardness throws Jackson off his moorings. He definitely wasn’t expecting that from Mark.
So the reply rolls off his tongue just as unthinkingly. “Sometimes I think I’m losing sight of who I am.”
His head is still reeling, because Mark admires him? He never knew that; he’s actually giddy.
“How do you see me? Tell me honestly,” he continues brazenly. He realises, subconsciously, that perhaps the answer to this question was what he was searching for when he tirelessly combed through all his videos, and less of navel-gazing.
Mark hesitates, seeming apprehensive at his direct question. He ponders for a few measured seconds before answering.
“Well, you… you’re vibrant.”
“Vibrant,” Jackson repeats.
“You — sparkle,” Mark elaborates, with difficulty. “It’s like — it’s like you’re the sun and the rest of us are just planets orbiting you.”
Jackson laughs, disarmed. “That makes me sound like the biggest egoist ever,” he jokes smoothly, tongue-in-cheek.
“No, no!” Mark hastily waves his hands, as if afraid Jackson will misunderstand. “I meant it in a good way. The best possible way.”
The best possible way. Jackson grins foolishly at Mark, irrepressibly and stupidly happy at the single compliment. “Thank you, hyung,” he says in Korean.
Mark colours again with pleasure, high on his cheeks, reminding Jackson of his girl-ness. He feels out of his element, in uncharted territory, despite usually feeling in his natural habitat around most females.
Despite his obvious awkwardness, Mark goes out of his way to continue, struggling to express himself to in a way that penetrates Jackson’s heart. He waits eagerly for what this ethereal, wispy girl has to say.
“It’s not just you… me, too… I think all of us… are struggling to find ourselves. To find our way in life. I definitely am.” Mark smiles wryly, regarding Jackson with affection, and continues more softly, “And I think you know more about your identity than you give yourself credit for.”
It’s a profound sentence, one that takes a moment for Jackson to digest. It’s surreal that Mark sees him this way — if he does. And Jackson knows Mark would never lie to him — because he never has. He trusts Mark with all of his heart, would put his life on the line for him, no questions asked. He’s one of the few people Jackson can be completely himself around, without fretting about being judged.
“So… you’re saying it’s all right to be insecure?” Jackson asks softly, a smile tugging his lips up.
Mark grins back, flashing his famous incisors. God, that’s bad for Jackson’s heart because he kind of looks like one of those super cute Japanese AV idols with crooked teeth Jackson used to watch as his guilty pleasure. He bites his lip to keep from blurting out a stupid compliment. More than anybody, he doesn’t want Mark of all people to think he’s superficial.
“It’s perfectly natural,” Mark reassures him, his voice impossibly soothing. “Geez, if you knew the whole list of my insecurities, you’d probably laugh yourself silly.”
“And,” Mark adds slyly, catching him off guard, “It would be kind of unfair if someone as perfect as you didn’t have any insecurities.” His words come out in a rush, the effect somewhat dampened by the visible blush staining his cheeks, too pretty to ignore. Jackson feels so bad about it, but he’s really, really attracted to Mark as a girl, physically.
Obviously, it’s beyond heady when such a girl calls one perfect. Jackson isn’t fooling himself into believing it, but it’s pretty damn nice to hear. Mark really outdid himself and went the extra mile to comfort Jackson, sensing his preoccupation just from two brief and incoherent questions. That’s how deeply he knows Jackson. And that’s how observant he is, has always been, sensitive and attuned to Jackson’s every passing emotion.
For the first time in a long time, Jackson feels understood.
“And Jackson…” Mark says his name for the first time since he became a girl, sending a jolt through Jackson’s sternum, “Fuck the haters. Life’s too short for them.”
He looks straight at Jackson when he says this, a defiant smile lacing his lips, almost as if he knows what Jackson’s been brooding about, even though he never spelled it out in so many words.
Sometimes, Jackson believes Mark knows sorcery.
“Now tell me what’s up in your life.” Jackson leans back and smiles in anticipation, thoughtlessly draping a familiar hand over the back the bench, bracketing Mark’s shoulders. His heart leaps to see Mark tremble a little but not move away, looking happy about his advance.
It’s horribly unfair to Mark, because he must be frantic with worry, but somewhere along the way Jackson had started hoping he would stay a girl longer. Longer than a few hours; a day. He knows this can’t last, is painful and uncomfortable for Mark, but he selfishly is enjoying their time spent in each other’s company. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world right now. But does Mark feel the same way?
He’s probably only indulging Jackson, as he does way too often. Jackson feels spoiled rotten by Mark’s showered attention and unconditional friendship, his rock-solid alliance.
When Mark starts talking, first haltingly and then more fluidly, seeming glad to share about his life and his own quotidian worries, Jackson has the chance to covertly observe him. Not just his looks, but his unique mannerisms and expressions Jackson knows more familiarly than home, his pleasant laugh and perfect smile.
While one part of him is enjoying this thoroughly, the other part feels increasingly disquieted and unsettled. It frightens him how arbitrary he discovers the line between them is, as if it was always drawn in sand, since the beginning. A tenuous boundary easily erased cleanly by the smallest wavelet. Flimsy, and now nowhere to be found. Gone.
Many times from when they were teenagers, through the years, they had play-kissed, mock-hugged, dialled up the fanservice to make girls scream themselves hoarse. But that had always felt safe, an inside joke between them.
Nothing about the distance between them feels safe now. It feels charged, electrified, like after Mark leaned forward out of the blue and kissed him. It feels like anything could happen.
And it must be wrong, even if it doesn’t feel so, because Mark is still the same Mark he’s always been, utterly and completely masculine, a man’s man — even if he looks like the most attractive woman Jackson’s ever laid his eyes on. Jackson holds his outpouring of emotions back consciously. He mustn’t be deceived by physical appearances, and do something feckless and irreversible. After all, it’s already been confirmed that he can’t be of service to help Mark, and now must gallantly and willingly give up the role to any other guy Mark chooses.
He’s not used to being near Mark feeling dangerous, sinful; because Mark has always been the embodiment of security to him. And it’s crazy and senseless, even this overwhelming physical attraction, because girl-Mark has the same stick figure boy-Mark has, the kind of girl some tactless guys would tease as having the same front view and back view. Jackson personally prefers women with more curves, badass, sexy ones. Mark is anything but badass, as a girl.
But — Jackson doesn’t know if it’s because girls mature faster than guys, but female Mark seems even more avuncular than male Mark, if that’s possible. The way he talks; the advice he gives, Mark suddenly seems light years more grown-up than Jackson. Mark has always been enormously thoughtful and gentle and steadfast, fiercely loyal to his friends and faithful to a fault — but what Jackson always privately admired is the way he’s so quietly sure of himself, never seeming to change from the start, never seeming to go through the awkward phases they all underwent in early adulthood. More than anything else, though, what drew Jackson to him was his capacity for giving.
Because he feels childishly slighted to be the only one caught up in this tumult of emotions, while Mark beams serenely, almost looking pleased about his transformation too, Jackson thinks of what he can say to throw Mark into a tizzy too.
Or if he’s honest with himself, maybe he just wants to pretend he’s able to make Mark blush more, while he’s still female. Heaven knows Mark will stop blushing so coquettishly the moment he turns back to his taller-than-Jackson, gruff self.
“Could you sing me a song?” he says randomly, making Mark look up in surprise at his conclusion to their serious, deep talk. Jackson feels triumphant.
“Why?” Mark giggles nervously, unsure if he’s kidding.
Jackson grins, enjoying every minute. “Because your voice is really pretty. It would be a waste if no one heard this voice sing.”
Smoothly played, Wang, he congratulates himself. Obliquely complimenting Mark through his voice, what a stroke of genius.
It’s true, though. Mark’s deep voice is still husky as a girl’s, but now saccharine and melodic at the same time. The kind of voice that would drive any guy out of his mind. Jackson tries to keep his thoughts clean and pure.
He clears his throat and pushes a bit more, because Mark looks embarrassed but hasn’t said no. He also looks bowled over by Jackson’s praise and Jackson grabs the in.
“Please?” he wheedles. “I’ll even do aegyo if you want to see it. You love my aegyo, right?” He bats his lashes shamelessly, and Mark sputters in indignation.
“I do not!” he protests hotly.
“Okay, then I won’t do it if you sing,” Jackson swiftly changes tack. He sweetly softens his merciless teasing with his signature persuasive puppy eyes which have worked on every woman he met thus far.
He is thrilled to note that Mark is no exception.
“Okay, fine. But in exchange, you have to sing me a song too.” Mark’s eyes gleam.
Jackson didn’t see that coming. Mark certainly drives a hard bargain. But it’s worth it.
“Aww, why?” he whines, pretending to be petulant. “You’ve heard me sing a million times.”
“Yes, but never in a park, to me alone, right?” Mark refutes calmly, smiling like he knows Jackson’s just playing hard to get.
“I’ve sung to you one-on-one before,” Jackson corrects stoutly. “But you’re right, never in a park…”
“You first.” Mark settles back comfortably on the hard bench, looking for all the world like he’s anticipating a concert. Jackson would sing a million songs until his voice failed him if only Mark continues smiling so artlessly like that.
He coughs and clears his throat again, stalling as he decides impromptu what song he should sing. Mark waits patiently.
He starts out with his voice a little rusty and shy, and it takes Mark a few verses to realise what song he’s singing. His almond eyes round.
Looking back on the things I've done / I was trying to be someone / Played my part, kept you in the dark / Now let me show you the shape of my heart
Jackson finishes the verse and stops, and Mark looks disappointed that he didn’t complete the song. But he claps with genuine appreciation.
“That was amazing,” he gushes. “Why don’t you sing your cover at our next gig? The girls will love it.”
“It’s only for one girl,” Jackson shrugs, then realises what he just said and flushes himself. Mark’s so transparent, he can almost see the words flashing across their forehead as they dawn on him. Me. I’m a girl today.
Jackson hurriedly changes the topic to save face. “It’s your turn, noona.” He smirks impishly when Mark jumps comically at the term.
Mark huffs at his mischievousness. “Any requests?”
Jackson thinks for a minute. “Um… how about Naturally?”
Mark looks blank. “Who’s the artist?”
“Selena Gomez.”
Mark’s expression is priceless. “That’s… a random choice,” he manages to reply.
“Come on. Your voice would suit it so well. I’ll join you after a few verses,” Jackson coaxes encouragingly.
“Uh, okay. Here goes. Don’t laugh at me!”
Gamely, Mark begins, fumbling a little with the lyrics.
You are the thunder and I am the lightning and I / Love the way you know / Who you are and to me / It’s exciting when you / Know it’s meant to be
Everything comes naturally, it comes naturally / When you’re with me baby
Mark falters at the end of the verse, and Jackson wordlessly urges him on, joining in but not overpowering Mark’s mellow voice.
When we collide, sparks fly / When you look in my eyes it / Takes my breath away
He finds himself catching Mark’s eyes while singing the awkwardly appropriate lyrics, and Mark halts abruptly, breaking their connected gazes.
He clears his throat this time, quietly and warily regarding Jackson, like he doesn’t know what Jackson wants from him. Jackson catches himself and backs off, feeling like he went too far, read the hints wrongly again.
Mark jolts him out of his reverie with a soft interjection.
“Do you want another song?”
“Oh, er, okay.” Jackson feels ridiculously delighted by the generous offer.
The final song Mark chooses to sing doesn’t seem to have any underlying meaning, but it resonates in Jackson’s heart the most. Partly because of Mark’s mellifluous voice, surprisingly suited to the song even as a girl’s, and partly because, unexpectedly, the song dredges up beautiful and treasured memories of childhood for him.
“Dao Xiang?” he says unnecessarily after Mark has finished, sounding absolutely sublime. Jackson vows to make sure the fans, and possibly the record label, hears this cover.
Mark nods, smiling and looking pleased by Jackson’s obvious emotional response.
“If you wanted to sing it, you should have told me back in 2015. We could have covered this instead of Silence.”
Mark laughs then, and Jackson glows.
“No, how should I put it — it’s kind of like, the kind of song to sing privately to a friend? A best friend,” Mark says without any trace of shyness, meeting his eyes finally.
“True,” Jackson hums, still fondly savouring the acoustic echo of Mark’s rendition.
“It makes me feel nostalgic,” Mark adds, “For the past. I used to listen to this song alone in my room all the time, back before —”
“Before we blew up,” Jackson finishes his sentence.
Mark smiles, eyes knowing.
“I think it would be weird if we knew where we’re going,” Mark says, apropos to nothing. “And kind of unfair, too. Seeing as we’re so lucky and all. We have so much at such a young age. Not only our careers and financial security and success and music and fans but… each other.” He smiles, finishing awkwardly.
“I know what you mean,” Jackson reassures him. “I totally feel the same.”
“You do?” Mark lights up radiantly.
Jackson nods, smiling dazedly at him.
“Good,” Mark enthuses, seeming to have forgotten that he’s still uncertain if he’ll ever be a man again. Jackson shakes his head and chuckles; it’s exactly like him to forget himself for the sake of others. “And,” he reminds Jackson, “Remember when we debuted, and we had no guarantee anyone was going to like us or our music? Look how far we’ve come.” He looks as amazed as Jackson suddenly feels, as wide open with gratitude.
“We’re blessed,” Jackson affirms, feeling the last shadow of doubt about the future flutter out of his mind.
They share a companionable silence in the warm light of the sun before Jackson leans closer, holding his breath.
“I’m scared.”
“Still?” Mark murmurs, and Jackson quickly shakes his head, laughing a bit.
“No, I mean right now.”
Mark leans closer too, his eyes like dark orbs peering into Jackson’s. “Why?”
Jackson has been trying to control his impulses all morning. He’s been on his best behaviour, but now he feels on the verge of breaking all the rules, and not caring. Mark is sitting just an inch away from him, looking so ineffably kissable that all of Jackson’s nerves are alight and tingling. He’s never wanted anything more intensely than he yearns to give in against his better judgment right now. But —
“Mark,” he whispers, “I don’t want our relationship to change. I don’t want us to stop being bros.”
Mark laughs then, with surprise, as if Jackson’s reliance on their solidarity is funny.
“I love you,” he reminds Jackson, gently bopping his nose.
They’ve said the three words to each other in so many different languages, countless times, until they became almost meaningless. But now, the same sentence feels charged with meaning, entirely new. Jackson’s heart skips a beat.
“That’ll never change. Ever,” Mark says simply.
“You’ll never hate me?” Jackson whimpers, voice hoarse.
Mark looks amused and tender. “No.”
“Even if I do this?”
This time, Jackson is the one who surges forward to press his lips more clumsily than Mark against his best friend’s. He doesn’t think of anything while doing it; not the consequences or repercussions or fallout. He doesn't think that there's no reason, no excuse to justify his actions. He just feels the desire licking through his veins, red hot.
“Jackson,” he hears Mark’s wobbly voice, quavering.
When he opens his eyes this time, Mark is back before him, fully male, still dressed in girl’s clothes, and oh shit, Jackson quickly does a scan of their surroundings to see if anybody noticed. His heart slides back into place to see, miraculously, no one around.
“Mark — I’m sorry — I didn’t think —“
He’s stammering, thrown off balance, unable to face the suddenly beloved face of his most familiar hyung inches away from him, his lips red and kissed.
“Jackson,” Mark says, sounding overjoyed. “Thank you.”
“What’s wrong?” he asks after a few seconds when Jackson doesn’t reply, too abashed to look up suddenly. It’s stupid when he was the one who just aggressively kissed Mark mere moments ago.
Jackson looks up just in time to see Mark looking uncertain. “Do you… prefer me as a girl?”
“No, no! Of course not!” Jackson replies too loudly. Mark looks half-hurt, half-hopeful. He looks more gorgeous than he has all day, even in the ridiculous outfit.
“I much prefer you as a guy,” Jackson tells him firmly, holding his shoulders, then whips off his jacket and drapes it over Mark’s shoulders.
“Wait here for me, okay? I’ll be back in a few minutes after buying you a set of clothes. And ignore strangers if they try to flirt with you!”
Mark laughs out loud at his last, half-serious remark.
“Are you going to get ice cream too?” he teases right back, seeming restored to himself. Jackson is flooded with knee-weakening relief. He’s so happy to have his Mark back, really.
Just to hear that incredible laugh again and know he’s responsible for it, Jackson splurges with no regrets on an ice-cream hoodie. Mark is absolutely taken with it, and heads to the nearby restroom to change. Jackson sprawls back on the park bench in satisfaction, stretching out and texts the gang while waiting for him to return.
He laughs his head off too at the influx of outraged, excited, relieved and shocked messages. Then the chat turns to discussing who this “disaster” will befall next. Bambam and Yugyeom guess each other. Bambam insists that since he played the girl in their April fools joke, irony declares that Yugyeom will be the transformed. Yugyeom squawks defensively, questioning all of them, “Wouldn’t you rather see Bambi though???” Jaebum replies smartly that Yugyeom is the only one who wants to see that. Youngjae keeps repeating “Kekeke”.
But… what if it’s Jackson?
Of course, it’s the ever-delightful Jinyoung’s suggestion again. The chat goes crazy with hilarity and Jackson shuts it with a feeling of unease as Mark sits back down beside him.
“You look good,” Jackson praises him without batting an eyelash. It’s easy to say because it’s true.
Mark smiles modestly. That’s why Jackson likes him — because he’s someone who gets complimented on a daily basis, but never acts like he’s used to it. Grounded, the way Jackson aims to be. There are so many things he likes about Mark that it would take Jackson a week to list them all — but one day, he promises himself, he’ll sit down and do it. Mark deserves no less.
“You must be hungry,” Jackson swiftly transitions. He can barely believe that all that transpired today went down on an unremarkable and shabby park bench. It seems like everything has changed. And it has. “Do you want to go and grab lunch for our first date?” He slings an arm around Mark’s bulky shoulders, and feels the static between their bare skin.
Mark’s smile deepens. “Sounds cool.”
They continue chatting at the diner, seeming never to run out of banter.
“Jackson,” Mark reminds him again as they’re finishing up the food, “Remember that it’s okay to want to better yourself; it’s okay to never be satisfied. It’s a good thing. But it’s also okay to feel tired, or burnt out at times. Just make sure you talk to me, like we did today. I know you better than anybody, right? So trust my judgement. And don’t ever forget how outstanding you are.”
Mark blushes, defying Jackson’s expectations that he wouldn’t continue to as a guy.
“Outstanding?” Jackson raises his eyebrows, basking in the heaping praise. “I could get used to hearing that.”
He’s kidding, but Mark says seriously, “I’ll tell you again anytime you want. Just ask.”
It’s nice, walking alongside Mark, just talking and laughing about nothing at all. It feels like one of the mundane pleasures Jackson once lost and has rediscovered anew. It’s more than nice — in fact, it feels like something that makes life worth living.
He still hasn’t read Nietzsche — but maybe, just maybe, he’s found some meaning.
“Today was really fun. We should come out for walks more often,” Mark says, as if reading his mind.
“You bet,” Jackson tells him.
“Hey,” Mark murmurs after a few more steps, his hands in his pockets. “Why do you think the second kiss worked?”
Jackson has been wondering about that too. And the only reason he can think of is that —
“Maybe because the second time, our feelings were…” He stops, unsure. He doesn’t want to hurt Mark, doesn’t know when Mark started having romantic feelings for him. Hell, he isn’t even completely sure they’re officially together now.
“Mutual?” Mark finishes, looking dead into his eyes, and Jackson just nods, stymied.
Mark smiles, and his smile tells Jackson everything he needs to know. All his doubts spontaneously evaporated, his heart soars weightlessly into his throat.
“Let’s go home now. The others must be worried about us.”
“I already told them,” Jackson informs Mark, taking his hand, “But yeah, let’s."