Archive of Our Own

It mostly, however, has to do with Jackson Wang and his strange behavior. 

Mark can't exactly pinpoint when exactly he and Jackson got so close since it was so long ago. Maybe it was the second week of school when both of them, struggling to keep up with classes in their non-native language, had discovered that they could more effectively communicate in English. Or maybe it was the end of their freshman year, when Mark found Jackson sobbing in the bathroom at a party because his grandfather had just passed away. 

Either way, they'd become extensions of each other--if Mark was there, Jackson probably wasn't too far. Mark's one of the only ones who can tell the difference between Jackson's real smile and the one he puts on to pretend he's not hurting, or when his behavior shifts just enough, telling Mark more than Jackson's words ever could. 

He wants to corner Jackson and force the truth from him, because it's been going on for a week now and it's driving Mark insane. But it's not in Mark's nature to be confrontational, so instead he grits his teeth and curses his lack of courage.

Mark watches Jackson fidget uncomfortably, probably because he can feel Mark's eyes boring a hole in the back of his head. But instead of looking up and cracking a joke, Jackson remains focused on his homework, studiously ignoring the way Mark is staring at him. 

But patience and focus have never been Jackson's strong suit. Mark knows this. Jackson knows Mark knows this. 

So Mark waits, arms crossed. Jackson's shoulders get tighter and tighter, rising up towards his ears, and the back of his neck turns a telltale red. Mark allows himself a quiet smile of victory that's gone when Jackson finally spins around in his chair. 

"What?" He demands, ears as red as his neck. "Why do you keep staring at me?" 

Now or never, Mark Tuan, he thinks, and steels himself. "You're acting weird," Mark replies evenly, and watches Jackson's face get redder as he fights to keep his expression neutral. "Are you alright?" 

"I'm fine," Jackson says, too quickly. "Is that all?" 

Mark hums, not believing him. He indulges Jackson, though, and changes the subject. "Were you gonna ask me something?" 

Jackson tries to keep the relief off of his face. "How did you--" 

"You literally burst through the door and told me you had 'a huge favor to ask'." 

"Oh," Jackson says, brow furrowing. "Um, what did I want to ask you? Shit, I told myself to ask before I forgot--oh, right!" He snaps his fingers and points at Mark. "You wanna be a bouncer again? For Wonwoo's party tonight? Did I tell you about that?" 

Mark blinks. It's only with a lot of practice that he's able to keep up with Jackson's habit of jumping from one thing to the next, or the way he talks too fast, or gets worked up to the point his Korean becomes unintelligible and he has to switch to English to keep going.  

"I don't really feel like going to a party," Mark says, flopping backwards on the couch. 

"You wouldn't be going to the party," Jackson says, and Mark is already giving in at the tone of his voice, but for the sake of appearances, pretends like he's ignoring Jackson. "You'd get paid. All you have to do is make sure nobody's coming in drunk, and that the party doesn't get overfull, alright?" 

Mark gives him a flat look. Jackson pulls out the puppy eyes in return, and Mark can feel any remaining resistance melt away. "I guess I'll do it," he reluctantly admits. "But only because someone needs to watch out for you." 

Jackson lets out a whoop of delight, all previous awkwardness gone as he all but flings himself onto Mark. 

"You are the absolute best," Jackson crows. "Thanks." 

Mark buries his face in Jackson's shoulder, simultaneously relishing the physical contact and hating it.

Jackson gets back to his feet, eyes twinkling. "So we'll leave in about," he starts, and checks his phone, "two hours?" 

Mark's the one that's awkward now in the light of Jackson's smile. Sounds good." 

He watches Jackson go as he scrubs the red from his cheeks. "Really," Mark huffs, though Jackson is well out of hearing range. "Why'd you even ask if you knew I'd say yes?" 

Because Mark always, always says yes to Jackson. He's convinced himself that it's stupid infatuation, and that of course it makes sense, because who could resist falling in love with beautiful, bright, charismatic Jackson Wang? 

It was a realization that had slid into place about nine months ago, like a puzzle piece finally clicking into place. There wasn't any emotional turmoil, or inner rejection. It was simple, really: Mark Tuan loves Jackson Wang. 

At the same time, Mark had quietly come to the heartrending conclusion that Jackson didn't--and never would--love him back in the same way. 

And here he is today, Jackson's touch lingering far longer than it should on his skin and the red in Mark's cheeks betraying his heart as he pictures the day when he'll wake up and not feel his heart race when Jackson looks at him and smiles.

~~~~ 

Wonwoo's party has just started when he and Jackson arrive, but it's already packed with people.

"This guy's got bank," Jackson says in English, almost a habit. "Man, I wish my parents gave me a credit card and an endless budget. That'd be awesome." He evidently spots someone behind Mark at that exact point because his eyes widen in recognition.

"Mark-hyung!" Yugyeom says in surprise, coming up behind them. "Wow, I didn't know you liked Wonwoo's parties!" 

"I'm here to bounce," Mark explains. "Wonwoo offered to pay me." 

"Ah," Yugyeom says, giving Mark a knowing look. "It's for the money, right? Not because you love J—" 

Mark lunges forward, clapping his hand over Yugyeom's mouth before he can mess literally everything up. "Shut up," Mark hisses. Luckily, Jackson's too busy ringing Wonwoo's doorbell to notice Mark trying to murder their dongsaeng. 

Wonwoo opens the door a second later and Mark straightens, giving Yugyeom an evil glare. Yugyeom returns it with a shit-eating grin. 

"Ah, hyungs," Wonwoo greets."Cool, and Yugyeom. Come on in—sorry for the mess at the door, Soonyoung's a disaster." 

Wonwoo's house is purple and blue under the lights, the music loud enough for dancing but not blasting. There are beer cans littered all over, opened and unopened. A couple dances past them, nearly knocking Mark over. 

"It's getting pretty full," Wonwoo says loudly over the music. "Mark-hyung, that's where you come in--I need you to stop anyone you don't recognize at the door, or anyone that looks really drunk. I don't want anyone getting hurt, alright?" 

"Right," Mark says. "Nobody that I don't recognize and nobody drunk. Got it." 

"Thank you," Wonwoo says, relief evident. "If you want a beer, go ahead, but if you plan on drinking more, let me know so I can find a replacement." 

"I don't really drink," Mark says, patting Wonwoo on the back. "Don't worry about me, though. I'll be fine." 

"You just saved my life," Wonwoo responds. "Jackson talks about you so much, but I can see that he's got a good reason to."

Mark hopes the lights are low enough so Wonwoo can't see the pleased flush that colors Mark's cheeks. He knows he's Jackson's best friend, but it's always nice to hear it. 

Dragging a chair next to the door, Mark takes a seat and is about to settle in when Wonwoo makes a noise and snaps his fingers. "Ah, hold on, let me pay you," he says, fumbling at his pockets for a second before pulling out his wallet. He extracts two 50,000-won bills and presses them into Mark's hands, ignoring the protests of the older. 

"Take it," Wonwoo insists. "Or I'll feel bad for underpaying you." 

Mark reluctantly folds the money and tucks it into his pocket. "That's too much, really." 

Wonwoo waves it off casually. "Don't worry about it." He turns to Jackson, who's already starting to drift, getting sucked into a conversation with a couple girls with sly, purposeful smiles. "Hey, hyung," he says, and Jackson excuses himself, giving his attention back to Wonwoo. 

Mark pretends something in his stomach doesn't unclench as soon as the girls leave, their lingering glances lost as soon as Jackson’s back is turned.

He feels eyes on him and looks up to see Yugyeom watching him carefully, that stupid smile back on his face again. "You should really tell him," Yugyeom says, wiggling his fingers. "He'd really like it if you did." 

"No," Mark says shortly, and that's the end of the discussion. Yugyeom has enough tact to let it be. 

Wonwoo's saying something to Jackson when Mark jumps back in the conversation. "--upstairs," Wonwoo finishes. "Yugyeom, you in?" 

"For what?" Yugyeom asks, looking up from his phone. "Hanging out upstairs?" 

Wonwoo shrugs. "It's quieter and it's got better booze. And I need to keep an eye on Soonyoung." 

"Maybe later, hyung," Yugyeom says. He holds up his phone. "Park Jimin is coming in a little and he's bringing his hot friend, if you catch my drift." 

"Oh," Wonwoo says, raising his eyebrows. "Alright. Woo Hyein is bouncing for upstairs--you've met her, right?" 

"Yep," Yugyeom replies. "Hey, Jackson, are you staying down here?" 

"For now," Jackson says. "I wanna dance, but I also wanna make sure Mark doesn't get lonely." 

Mark's heart squeezes and he's unable to help the affectionate, grateful look he shoots Jackson's way. 

"I'll dance with you," Yugyeom says, "and keep creepy guys away." He winks at Mark as he says this. Mark glares—he really has no idea how Yugyeom figured out his stupid crush on Jackson, but he hates the day that he confirmed it when the younger boy asked. Mark is a trained professional at hiding his emotions, but Yugyeom is smarter and more observant than everyone gives him credit for. His sense of humor is ridiculous enough that it hides the way his eyes catch on small details. 

"Ah, don't be like that, Yugyeommie," Jackson complains, but Yugyeom's already wrapping a hand around Jackson's arm as he pulls him into the crowd of people. Mark watches them until they disappear from sight, fighting the disappointment and feeling of loss that immediately follow. 

Wonwoo gives Mark his number and makes the older promise to text him if anything goes wrong or if he needs anything. Then he's off with a small smile, and Mark is alone in his chair. 

There's a steady influx of people after that--Mark only has to decline a couple of freshman so drunk they can barely stand. He calls them a cab, though, and hopes one of them is sober enough to get them home. 

His sister texts him, and it takes a second for Mark's brain to click over to English as he changes his keyboard to respond. 

    Any progress with Jackson? Lol miss you tons! Good morning from California 

Mark sighs, waving Jinyoung's ex-boyfriend Lee Hansoo and Kwon Kyungri from his English class in. They both give him polite smiles as he types out a response. 

    I only told you about that because you threatened me 

His sister's reply is immediate. 

    Aww Mark it's only because I love you. What are you doing right now? 

He looks around at the mass of people. It's gotten hotter with all the new bodies packed in, and it's so loud he can barely think--in Korean and in English both. 

    Bouncing for a party. I made 100000 won doing it too 

The reply is a little longer this time, so Mark switches back to the game he was playing. He's about to pass the level when the door is thrown open again to reveal Park Jimin, a sweet guy that he knows solely because Jimin shows up at every single party. 

"Oh, Park Jimin," Mark says, smiling slightly. "Kim Yugyeom's looking for you. He's in the back." He has no idea if Yugyeom really is in the back, but Mark knows that he and Jackson stopped dancing a little while ago, because he saw them grab beers from the kitchen. 

"Thanks," Jimin says, and Mark notices the broody-looking kid standing behind Jimin. He does not look pleased to be here, a bored expression plastered on a face that Yugyeom would most definitely like. "Mark-hyung, this is my friend Jeongguk." 

Mark gives Jeongguk a small nod, and then goes back to his game. Jimin drags Jeongguk into the party, and they're alone again. 

His sister finally texts back. 

    I had to convert won to dollars but haha wow that's almost a hundred bucks! 

Mark smiles. 

    I guess. I mean I don't really like parties?? but someone has to watch jackson or he'll hurt himself 

Before he can read his sister's reply, he picks out Jackson's voice, loud and a little loose from the booze. 

"--get off of me, I asked you once already," Jackson is saying. Alarms go off in Mark's head and he stands abruptly, sending Wonwoo a text to tell him something came up. Jackson has to be nearby if Mark can hear him this well. 

He pushes through crowds of people, shoving aside a girl with what is probably an excessive amount of force. Finally he gets to Jackson, who's being crowded up against a wall by a taller man whose face is most definitely too close to Jackson's, despite his protests. 

"Hey," Mark says tersely, reaching up and shoving the guy backwards. "He said get off." 

The man turns around, an annoyed look in his eyes at the same time Jackson sighs in relief. "And I say you should mind your own business."

"Hyung," Jackson slurs, reaching out. "It's fine. Look. He's getting off of me." 

Jackson gives the guy a push, ducking out from underneath his arms when the man stumbles backwards. "See? It's okay." 

Mark lets Jackson slump onto him as he gives the stranger a sharp look. "Pull your head out of your ass and learn what no means," Mark snaps, and something in his chest warms in satisfaction when the man looks a little ashamed. 

"Come on, Jackson," Mark says, tone softening. He fumbles for the door, letting them out into the cool night. "Let's go home, okay? I think you've had enough for one night." 

He doesn't know when he switched to English, but Jackson answers him in the same language, the words soft and familiar on ears so used to hearing Korean. 

"Always to my rescue, Mark," Jackson warbles drunkenly. "I go and and, like, fuckin' get drunk, and you never drink and you have to babysit my sorry ass--" 

"Jackson," Mark cuts in. "Hey. Jackson. It's okay. I don't mind looking after you." 

"It's not your job," Jackson says, but his arm tightens around Mark's shoulders. "I don't want you to feel obligated, or whatever." 

"I'm not obligated to do anything," Mark says firmly, though he doubts Jackson is listening. "I'm here because I want to be." 

And because I love you, he doesn't say. If Jackson wasn't as dense as a brick wall, maybe he'd pick up on the unsaid message. But he doesn't, opting to sigh softly, breath brushing Mark's ear and neck and raising goosebumps on the older's arms. 

"You're such a good person," Jackson mumbles as Mark piles them both into cab. "I don't deserve you." 

Mark's heart speeds at the simple words, pulse fluttering under Jackson's chin, propped on his neck. The taxi driver gives them an odd look, especially when Jackson tucks his face into the crook of Mark's shoulder and promptly falls asleep. 

Mark leaves him there, careful not to disturb him. This really is becoming a problem--he doesn't know how much longer he can hold things back before he slips up and tells Jackson everything. He can't help it. Jackson makes him want to be open, makes him feel safe, makes him feel like he can be vulnerable without being judged. It's a terrible environment to be in while he's trying to get over casual unrequited love. 

The taxi pulls up in front of their tiny campus house and Mark throws down a couple won bills he fishes out of his jacket pocket. "Thanks," he says, and nudges Jackson gently. 

"Jackson," he murmurs. "Hey. We're here." 

"Mmm," Jackson sighs, still mostly asleep. His feet drag uselessly behind him as Mark drags him up the stairs. The actual house sits on top of a small piano studio, long-closed since it's nearly midnight. Luckily, by the time they get to the front door, Jackson is alert enough to toe off his own shoes and makes it two steps before collapsing on the couch, pulling Mark down with him. 

They lie there for a second, Mark allowing himself to (selfishly) enjoy the feeling of Jackson's arms around him before he sits up, prying Jackson off of him. "Jackson," he prods softly. "You're drunk. Go to bed." 

"Don't wanna," Jackson whines, throwing an arm over his face.  

"You have to." 

"I'll just sleep here," Jackson says, sighing and settling into the couch. 

Mark stands and crosses his arms. "You're going to break your back." 

"Mmm," Jackson responds, eyes already drifting shut. Mark huffs. Honestly. Sometimes he thinks Jackson's extra annoying on purpose, because he knows that while it pisses everyone else off, he'll always get attention from Mark. 

Stupid soft heart and its stupid love for Jackson Wang. 

Mark manages to finally coax Jackson off the couch, helps him out of his jeans and shirt and even peels back the covers on his bed like the saint that he is. 

"Stay," Jackson immediately says when he's settled, patting the spot next to him. Mark's pretty sure he's totally out of it, not to mention absolutely hammered, and close proximity to Jackson is a bad idea because it makes his mind go foggy and his heart speed. 

"I can't," Mark says, unable to keep the desperation out of his voice. 

"Aw," Jackson says, but his voice is distant, eyelashes dark against his cheeks. 

"I can't," Mark repeats in a mere whisper. "Because I'm in love with you, and I have to stay away or I won't be able to keep it in. You don't deserve to have a confession forced onto you like that. Especially not from me." 

Jackson's obviously very asleep, clearly missing every single word Mark had just said. 

"Goodnight," Mark says quietly. Unable to help himself--there's something about the softness and openness about Jackson's face when he's sleeping--Mark bends over and brushes a quick kiss to Jackson's forehead. It's something he used to do a lot more frequently before--well, before he caught feelings like an idiot. 

Mark crawls into his own bed, a little miserable. He texts Jinyoung on a whim, even though he knows his friend is either asleep with Jaebum, making out with Jaebum at home, or making out with Jaebum at a party.

    how do you remove feelings? 

He rolls over and turns out his lamp when his phone buzzes with Jinyoung's entirely unhelpful reply: 

    you dont. honestly just make out with jackson you'll feel better worked with me and jaebummie and look now we're dating

Mark rolls his eyes and plugs his phone in on the nightstand. He doesn't know why he thought Jinyoung would be helpful--he's a devious person by nature, incredibly meddling and says more death threats than actual sentences. Jinyoung's been trying to "accidentally" trigger something between Jackson and Mark but it's only made things increasingly difficult for Mark while Jackson floats around in his brick bubble, not paying attention to anything. God, he needs new friends. And new feelings. He's tired of the ones he has now. 

Jackson's snoring a little bit; Mark's door is open enough so he can hear it. It's soothing in an odd, nonsensical way, and it rocks Mark gently to sleep, worries about his best friend's behavior and school and his own problematic feelings fading from his mind. 

Mark's last conscious thought flickers through his head: for now. 

Either way, he'll deal with it in the morning.

~~~~

He doesn't deal with it in the morning. Or the morning after that, or the morning after that one. Mark lets it sit inside of him, and he monitors his every word and every action so nobody can even begin to guess what's happening internally. 

Jackson knows Mark like the back of his hand, well enough that Mark thinks he notices the tightness in his smile or the way his eyes hide something when he hesitates before saying something. 

"You're keeping something from me," Jackson says one morning when they're sitting on the couch, unnatural space between them. 

Mark doesn't move his eyes from the TV. "I'm just tired," he answers mechanically, ignoring the raw throb of his heart. "School's picked up for me recently." 

"Oh," Jackson says. Mark can hear the hurt in his voice, but there's nothing he can do. "Hey, I'm going to Kim Seokjin's for dinner soon," Jackson says, and Mark is grateful for the subject change. "Bambam invited me. Did you wanna come? I heard he gives really good advice." Jackson gives Mark a pointed look, one that cuts a little too deep.

"No thanks," Mark says, and stands before the conversation can get any more out of hand. "I have some homework to finish up." 

He flees the room before Jackson can ask him anything else, shutting the door to his room. After a moment, he hears Jackson putting on his shoes and jacket, followed by the sound of the door opening and closing again. 

He lets out a sigh of relief, groaning and letting his head fall back against the wood. He's so screwed. He's so, so screwed. He's so shut up about this whole thing that he's hurting Jackson, too, which is exactly what he had hoped to avoid. 

Mark flops down on his bed, a headache pounding on his head. Just as he's about to give in and continue his marathon of Stranger Things his phone buzzes with a name he hasn't seen in a long time: 

    hey hyung! this is kim taehyung! i know we haven't talked recently but you're the only one i think will get this. want to catch up, get dinner maybe? 

Mark stares at the text. The last time he saw Kim Taehyung was seven months ago, when he'd been sitting on in a park at two in the morning with a shattered look on his face. Mark had called him a cab, and Yuygeom had told him that Taehyung's boyfriend had cheated on him and thrown his heart back into his face. 

He seems very different now--happier. And clearly excited about something. 

Mark debates for a moment before he sends a yes back to Taehyung. It's not like he was going to do anything other than feel bad for himself and watch American TV. At least he'll be getting out of the house, where everything reminds him of Jackson. 

Taehyung gives him the name of a restaurant, and fifteen minutes later Mark's walking into a small homestyle joint, the walls painted a warm yellow and the tables pushed closely together. Taehyung himself is sitting by the window, and, upon spotting Mark, gives him an enthusiastic wave.  

Mark takes a seat opposite him. "Hi, Taehyung-ah," he greets, heart warming at the sight of him. "I haven't seen you in forever. Are you doing well?" 

"I'm great," Taehyung breathes, light in his eyes. "I met the best guy ever. His name's Jeon Jeongguk and oh my god, hyung, I think I'm in love," Taehyung gushes. 

"I'm so happy for you," Mark says honestly, though he's unable to stop jealousy from sparking in his stomach. "Are you guys together?" 

"We haven't put a label on it," Taehyung says, "but he's so great to me. There's this way he looks at me when he thinks I'm not looking back, like I'm the greatest thing that's ever happened to him. He makes me feel so special. Loved, even. I forgot how much I missed that." 

Mark leans forward to ruffle Taehyung's hair. "Sounds like you're in pretty deep, huh." 

"I am," Taehyung sighs happily, putting his hands against his cheeks. "He's so great. Did I already say that? He's got this incredible smile and he tries to hide how much he cares about people but I can see right through him. And even if he's a little awkward, he means so well." 

Taehyung takes a deep breath and flaps his hands. "Enough about me, though," he says, turning bright eyes to Mark. "How are you doing?" 

"I'm alright," Mark admits. "Tired, mostly. I miss my family." 

"They're in California, right?" Taehyung asks. 

"Yeah," Mark says. "It's hard to talk to them because of the timezones." 

"Luckily you have Jackson," Taehyung points out, nodding. "I wish I had a best friend like him. He's such a good hyung." 

Mark's smile freezes in place at the mention of Jackson. Taehyung notices, eyes going wide. "Are you not friends with him anymore?" 

"No, no," Mark says hurriedly. "It's just...well, I'm being stupid and it's hurting him. And I really, really hate hurting Jackson." 

Something like understanding flickers across Taehyung's face. Goddamn, Mark thinks, exasperated. I need to find less observant dongsaengs. 

"Ah," Taehyung says. "I heard that Jackson went to Seokjin's dinner tonight. Jeongguk started going too. He cooks really well, and gives even better advice." And then, like he can sense Mark's growing panic, Taehyung is switching the subject. 

The conversation doesn't turn to Jackson again. Taehyung spends the rest of the time talking about Jeongguk, mostly, and Mark smiles and listens to him. It's nice, for once, to not have to speak, to monitor every word he says. And Taehyung seems to have enough to say for the both of them.

Their plates have just been cleared when Mark gets a text from Jackson. 

    went home w someone tonight. 

The text is short and brutal, packing a punch so powerful that something in Mark's chest crumples. His throat closes and his phone screen blurs as traitorous tears fill his eyes. It's my fault, he thinks before he can help himself. I hurt him. I pushed him away. 

Taehyung stops mid-sentence, eyes going wide. 

"Mark-hyung?" He asks worriedly, leaning over the table. Mark knows Taehyung can't read his phone because Jackson's text is in English, but he clutches it to his chest anyway. 

The rational part of his brain tries to calm him down. Jackson's not yours. It's not your fault. He just wants to relax. 

But why now? Mark can't help but wonder, eyes watering. Jackson goes weeks without hooking up, but as soon as Mark starts to withdraw, Jackson starts going out again. There’s a connection there—Mark can’t see it yet, but he can feel it, tugging insistently at his heart. 

A tear leaks from his eye and Mark wipes it away before Taehyung can see it. "I have to go," he chokes out, fumbling around for his wallet and throwing a couple bills onto the table. "I'm really sorry, Taehyung." 

"Don't worry about it," Taehyung says immediately, still concerned. "Get home safe, alright?" 

Mark can only manage a nod before he's pushing out of the restaurant, air cool against his flushed cheeks. He manages to hold back his tears until he's back inside the house: cold, empty, and absent of Jackson's unwavering, comfortable presence. It's only then that Mark lets the sob in his chest escape and he breaks down, shuffling forward into his room and burying himself under the covers. 

Everything hurts. He's not sure why love has to be so painful, or why it has to be locked away. He's not sure why he's even still trying anymore.  

He's not sure of a lot of things, and it only makes him cry harder, tears staining his pillow and his cheeks until he's finally asleep.

~~~~

Mark doesn't see Jackson until Thursday afternoon, when he comes back from his Psychology class and Jackson's sitting on the couch in sweatpants, scrolling through his phone. 

He looks about as wrecked as Mark feels, shoulders slumped like something far too heavy rests on them. 

"Hi," Mark says stiltedly, and Jackson looks up. He looks guilty, for some reason, but also resigned. Mark hates that this awkward formality between them has become normal, something expected. 

"Hey," Jackson responds. "So, um, I was thinking of throwing a party here on Friday." 

Mark rubs his eyes, still a little swollen from last night. "I don't want to," he responds. "I'm too tired and I don't feel like cleaning up the mess it'll be." 

I also don't want you to hook up with anyone again, Mark thinks selfishly, but most definitely doesn't say that out loud. 

"It'll be closed-invitation," Jackson says, "and people can only stay as long as we still have beer." 

"We have beer?" Mark asks, finally taking off his shoes and jacket and sitting down at the island in the kitchen. 

"Jaebum does," Jackson says. "He had over a hundred dollars of it stashed in his dorm and almost got caught so I took it off of him. Since we're not technically on campus, we're allowed to drink." 

Mark doesn't reply. He really really doesn't want to have a party, but Jackson's looking at him with those stupid puppy eyes and no matter the distance between them and no matter the thick tension that keeps building, Mark will never be able to say no to Jackson. 

"Fine," he says at last, and Jackson fist-pumps excitedly. 

"Thanks, hyung," he says. "You won't regret it. You're the best." 

Mark waves a hand at Jackson, a little pleased. "I know. By the way, did you turn the heat on in here? I'm baking." 

"I might've," Jackson says, his words muffled as Mark attempts to extract himself from his sweater. His hair is all mussed up when he emerges and he pulls his shirt down from where it's gotten rucked up around his ribs. 

Jackson drops his phone with a clatter. When he retrieves it, his ears are uncharacteristically red. "I'll send you the guest list," he mumbles, and all of a sudden it's awkward again. 

Mark clears his throat, already heading towards his room. "Cool," he says lamely. "I'll just be in here." 

"Right," Jackson responds, voice tight, eyes downcast. "Good luck with your homework." 

Mark shuts his door with a snap, already regretting saying yes. Stupid Jackson and his stupid face. Stupid traitorous heart. 

An ominous feeling settles over him and he just knows he's going to screw up tomorrow. 

He can feel it. 

~~~~

It starts out well enough, and for a couple hours Mark is sure his gut was wrong. He’s able to avoid Jackson by sitting in a chair by the door, checking people's invitations as they come in. Park Jimin--accompanied once again by an extremely reluctant Jeon Jeongguk--shows up around nine with a cheery smile while Mark is halfheartedly scrolling through Twitter. 

"Hi again, Mark-hyung!" Jimin says, laughing a little bit. "Why're you bouncing at your own party?" 

Mark casts a look at Jackson out of the corner of his eye. The latter's got his arm around some pissy-looking blonde guy, a drink in his hand and a smile on his face. It's a classic Jackson smile, one that says don't you love me? and won't you kiss me? and why would you ever want to leave me? 

Mark clenches his jaw against the wave of bitter pain that swells in his chest. He works on keeping his face neutral as he answers Jimin. "It's better over here," he says simply. "Hurts less." 

Jeonnguk gets this innocently confused look on his face. "Do you have a headache?" He asks sweetly, and Mark's almost tempted to laugh. He wishes it were merely a headache. 

Jimin nudges Jeongguk and gives him a sharp look. Mark waves them both in and goes back to his phone, purposefully ignoring Jackson, who he can still see out of the corner of his eye. 

I will not look at him, he recites. I will not get jealous. I will not feel hurt. 

The words sound empty and recycled, even to his own ears. Distantly, he wonders how much energy he has left. It doesn't feel like much; Mark has no desire to do this for any longer. 

A bottle of soju makes its way into his hands somehow and it's gone in an instant, filling him with a warm buzz. He's always been a bit of a lightweight, and he didn't eat anything for dinner due to the nerves tangling in his stomach. 

He manages to keep staring at his phone for five minutes longer before his willpower shrivels and he looks up, unable to keep his eyes off of Jackson for a second longer. 

He immediately wishes that he'd kept his head down. The blond boy's got his fingers in Jackson's hair and they're kissing against the wall, entwined so closely that it makes irrational anger spike in Mark's stomach. Before he knows what he's doing, he's out of his seat, bottle smashing on the ground as he stands too quickly. 

He shoves past people, past Taehyung and Jeongguk, past Yugyeom and his transfer student, until he gets to Jackson. Hot, relentless jealousy floods his veins, alcohol and exhaustion making it impossible for him to stop it. 

He clamps a hand down on Jackson's shoulder and rips him away from the blond boy. 

"Whoa, Mark," Jackson says, vowels tripping over themselves in his inebriated state. "What are you--" 

"Get off of him," Mark hisses at the blond boy, ignoring Jackson. 

The blond boy smirks. "He's not yours," he taunts, looking delighted when Mark only gets angier. 

"He's not a possession. " Mark snaps. "You don't deserve to touch him."  

"Mark, you don't need to do this--" 

"Shut up," Mark seeths, hurling the words over his shoulder. He knows they've hit their target when Jackson stiffens. "It's your fault too." 

The blond boy cocks an eyebrow at them both and Mark hates the way something clicks in his eyes, like he's finally understood something vital. He opens his mouth, grinning wickedly. "Oh," he says knowingly, and Mark tenses in preparation of what's coming next. "I didn't know you wanted to fuck him as badly as I did." 

Jackson's mouth opens with an audible pop, gasping in shock. 

Mark backhands the boy, body moving before his brain can catch up. 

The boy reels back, a red print already blooming on his cheek. "What the fuck," he spits. "You're fucking insane." He looks over Mark's shoulder, lips curling in a derisive sneer. "Sorry, Jackson-ah," he says. "You're hot and all, but I don't hook up with people stained with that kind of crazy." He gives Mark a pointed look, who can already feel his palm starting to smart, cheeks heating in shame as he belatedly realizes what he's just done.  

Before Mark can hear Jackson's reply, he's shoving back through the crowd, basically diving into his room. 

He's so screwed. So fucking screwed, beyond belief and doubt and even God. He has no way out now, no choice but to face the goddamn music which comes in the unfortunate form of Jackson Wang and feelings towards said person. 

Mark slides down against the door, burying his head against his knees. He's a terrible person. The absolute worst. He's jealous, hurt, and selfish, and now Jackson knows that. He'll never want to talk to Mark again. 

Mark squeezes his eyes shut. He can't believe he's just thrown away years of friendship in one petty act of bitterness. 

He sits there in the dark, listening to the party die down as the alarm clock on his desk ticks towards midnight. 

Finally, after what feels like eons, the last guest leaves.  Silence, nearly deafening after the noise of the party, falls over the house. 

Time to face the music, Mark Tuan, he thinks, and pulls himself to his feet. He cracks the door open. Jackson's bent over, scooping empty cans into the trash with a tired look on his face. 

Mark edges cautiously out of the room, the squeak of his door opening wider making Jackson look up. He's a little unsteady on his feet, which says more about his level of inebriation than his words do, which are clear and cut straight to the point. 

"Are you going to explain what happened?" Jackson says, voice steely. Mark's confidence withers at the sound of it. 

"I don't really want to talk about it," he mutters. "I just came to apologize." 

"I'll accept it when you tell me what the hell that was, " Jackson says, stepping around the coffee table and moving closer to Mark. 

Panic buzzes through Mark's veins. "I was being petty and stupid," he answers, knowing full well that's not what Jackson wants to hear. 

"I know what you felt," Jackson says irritably. "I want to know why." 

"I can't answer that yet," Mark responds, desperate. "Don't ask me why. I'll answer any other question. Just--just not that one." He can't confess to Jackson now, after all of this. Jackson would end up even angrier. He wouldn't believe Mark, would call it a flimsy excuse, or a fluke, to make himself feel better after lashing out without control. 

"Tell me," Jackson insists. "I deserve to know." 

"No," Mark repeats, and turns for the door. He'll wait until they're both sober, wait until Jackson's temper has cooled and they're both level-headed-- 

Jackson grabs Mark's wrist before he can touch the doorknob. "You're not walking out on this one," Jackson says flatly, forcing Mark to take steps backwards as he corners the latter in the kitchen. 

"I can't tell you," Mark pleads. "I really, really can't--we're not in good states of minds, Jackson. Trust me. I'll tell you later. When we're seeing eye-to-eye." 

"Later?" Jackson scoffs, and it’s his flippancy that finally sets off a spark of annoyance in Mark's stomach. "What, so we can have another two weeks of skirting around whatever's been going on? So you can go back to ignoring me and pretending that the elephant in the room doesn't exist?" 

"Don't you dare," Mark snaps, anger finally getting the best of him, "turn this on me, Jackson Wang." 

He means to shove past Jackson, but Jackson's quicker and stronger and spins him back around, shoving him hard against the refrigerator. 

Mark's chin and mouth slam into the fridge. He can taste blood--his lip has split, cut on the Los Angeles magnet Mark bought Jackson a year ago. 

The apologetic look on Jackson's face shutters when Mark turns back around, glaring. "What the hell was that for?" He shouts. 

"For whatever the hell you're not telling me!" Jackson shoots back, crossing his arms. 

Mark sets his jaw, scowling. He's trying very hard not to notice Jackson's close proximity and fails. 

Mark reaches up to prod tentatively at his lip, which has started to sting. Jackson's eyes track the movement, and the air turns metallic. Something electric shivers through Mark's bones at the unreadable, dark look Jackson's got on his face. The ever-present tension between them thickens, and Mark takes a quiet breath. 

"Jackson--" Mark starts, though he's not sure what he's going to say. Sorry, maybe. Or goodbye.

Either one isn't ideal. 

Luckily, he doesn't have to worry about what he's going to say next, because Jackson shushes him.

"Unbelievable," Jackson says, searching Mark's face for something he doesn't find. And next thing Mark knows, he's closing the narrow space between them and is pressing his lips against Mark's like he's been doing it forever. 

Every single thought, rational or otherwise, flies out of Mark's head. His body responds instantly, instinctively, looping hands around Jackson's neck and pulling him closer, hipbones fitting together as Mark's back makes contact with the fridge. 

Jackson seems as lost as Mark is, hot breath brushing Mark's lips when he opens his mouth. And then it's so much deeper, like Mark's soul is disconnecting or his body is just dissolving, soul and all. Because Jackson Wang is kissing him like it's the last thing he'll do, and Mark is gone.

Mark can't help the embarrassing whine that escapes him when Jackson pulls back, nosing at Mark's jaw and then the skin underneath. Mark jerks, fingers scrabbling at the neckline of Jackson's shirt. 

Jackson huffs a quiet laugh. "Don't," Mark breathes. "Jackson, don't, I'm sensitive there--" 

The rest of his words die in his throat when Jackson presses his mouth to Mark's neck, lips wet and hot and definitely too much against his skin. Mark lets out a breathy sound that's somewhere between a moan and a protest. Mark's hands slip into Jackson's hair and he threads his fingers through the strands, trying not to make too much noise as Jackson finally gets to the collar of Mark's sweater. 

Jackson looks up, confused and half-hoping. Mark, who hasn't had near enough, grabs the younger by his shirt and yanks him back up and into a bruising kiss. Jackson crowds even closer to Mark, so close that Mark thinks he can feel the other boy's heartbeat, fast and maybe just a tad nervous. 

Mark runs his hands down Jackson's back, fingertips dipping under the hem of his shirt briefly, before Mark decides what the hell and smooths his hands back up, this time under Jackson’s shirt. 

Jackson gives a full-body shiver and the kiss intensifies, tongues and teeth everywhere and breath being pulled hastily through noses. 

They’re losing themselves, Mark knows. He can feel it feel it in each shuddering breath that Jackson takes and in the heat that blooms in his lower belly. 

There’s nothing he can do. Not after he’s wanted this for so long, a physical desire that has dragged at his heart for ages. And finally, Jackson’s here —in front of him, responding with equal fervor. 

In the end, it’s Jinyoung that saves—or damns—Mark.

His phone goes off loudly, vibrating and lighting up from its spot on the kitchen counter. 

Mark snaps back into himself and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s shoving Jackson away. 

Jackson jerks back like he’s been burned, breathing hard. His lips are shiny and his eyes are half-lidded but quickly clearing; confusion replaces where something else had been. 

Mark wipes his mouth but doesn’t move, still reeling. 

His phone continues to ring, the only noise in the otherwise quiet kitchen. 

“Are you gonna get that?” Jackson asks, voice rough. 

I did that, Mark thinks with a jolt. I’m the reason he sounds like that. 

Mark reaches over slowly to pick up his phone, answering it on the last ring. 

“Oh, thank god,” Jinyoung says. “I thought you went to bed.” 

Mark swallows nervously. “I was just, uh, helping clean up.” 

Jackson makes a derisive noise, and Mark’s glaring before he can help it. He means it to be teasing, but Jackson visibly stiffens, expression shuttering into something cold and unfriendly and so very un-Jackson that it makes Mark’s heart freeze. 

“Are you there, hyung?” Jinyoung prompts.  

“I’m here,” Mark says nervously, watching Jackson. “Um, I have to call you back.” 

“What—hyung, hey, are you alright?” 

Mark doesn’t get to answer Jinyoung before he hangs up, heart pounding in his chest. 

Jackson crosses his arms. He’s really pissed now, anger rolling off of him in irritated waves that do nothing but make Mark want to run away. Confrontation isn’t his strong suit, and when he’s faced with Jackson in the worst mood he’s ever seen him in? 

No thank you.  

“So Daesuk was right,” Jackson accuses, voice surprisingly soft. 

At the thought of the blonde man from earlier that night, shame sparks in Mark’s chest. 

“That was an accident,” Mark says, proudly keeping his voice steady. “We’re not in our right minds. You’re drunk.” 

“I’m not drunk,” Jackson says heatedly, getting louder. 

“Well, whatever you are,” Mark replies, matching Jackson’s volume, “I didn’t, don’t and never will want to kiss you, Jackson! You’re my best friend and that’s not—that’s not what we do! Is it because you wanted attention? Or because you were bored? Do you even think about other people, Jackson? What about me, huh? Not every single goddamn thing is about you!” 

Jackson visibly recoils, and Mark immediately regrets what he’s said. He’s hit the spot that hurts most, and he can see the resulting pain harden Jackson’s face.

“At least I don’t keep so many fucking secrets,” he says, and Mark doesn’t know when they switched to English but he doesn’t like the way Jackson’s jaw tightens. “So maybe we’re not compatible. Is that what you’re trying to say? That you’re fed up with me?” 

“Maybe,” Mark snaps before he can help it. He’s angry, so angry, and so, so, so exhausted. 

“Fine,” Jackson retaliates, vicious. “Then you can fuck off and be done with me.” 

The words rip through Mark like an inferno, tearing his heart to shreds. But it’s too late now, he thinks. Too late to take back poisonous lies, to steady heaving chests and dry eyes that slowly fill with tears. 

So Mark leaves. It’s the only thing he can do. He picks up his phone and his coat and slides on his shoes. He leaves, and Jackson’s alone in the terrible hole that he’s ripped in their friendship, the empty kitchen soundless and heavy and horrible. 

He opens the door and for a moment he lets himself hope for a word, a sign—anything, really—that Jackson wants him to stay.  

There’s nothing, though. Of course there’s nothing.

The door closes. 

Mark doesn’t look back. 

~~~~

Cold air hits him like a slap in the face, bringing him back to reality. 

“What have I done?” Mark asks himself, unable to help the bitter swell of emotions that fill him to the brim. 

What have I done? He thinks desperately. He's heartbroken and guilty and embarrassed and he hurts, holy shit does he hurt. 

His fingers shake as he dials Jinyoung again, who picks up immediately. 

“Hey, why’d you hang up?” 

Mark swallows around the lump in his throat. “Can you—can you come get me?” He asks thickly, voice trembling as much as his hands. He’s cold and hot all over and his heart feels like a soggy mess inside of his chest. “I messed up, Jinyoung-ah. I messed up so badly.” 

Jinyoung is only silent for half a second before he asks where Mark is, and that he’ll be there in five minutes in Jaebum’s car. 

Mark closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Jackson’s face is burned into his mind, his look of shattered hurt so acute—so vulnerable —that it makes Mark’s eyes prick uncomfortably. 

Jinyoung, as promised, drives up five minutes later and explodes out of the car, pulling Mark into a hug just as the severity of his actions finally catch up to him and he no longer has the energy to hold back the tears. 

Great, convulsing sobs tear their way out of his body, raw and pain-stricken. He doesn’t recognize the sounds he’s making—they sound faraway and far too potent to be his. He doesn’t deserve to feel bad, after what he’s done. He hurt Jackson, dug his fingers into old wounds and said things that he so desperately wants to take back. 

He thinks he tastes this regret in his tears as he sobs into Jinyoung’s jacket. 

“Shh,” Jinyoung says after a little bit, smoothing a hand down Mark’s back. “I’m here, hyung.” 

Mark’s tears slowly let up and he wipes his nose, afraid to take his head off of Jinyoung’s shoulder, embarrassed at what just happened. Jinyoung’s one of his best friends, sure, and he’s seen Mark cry before but…not like this. 

Then again, Mark hasn’t ever felt pain like this. 

He lets Jinyoung bundle him into the car and buckle him in. Jinyoung doesn’t ask questions, which is nice, because Mark isn’t sure if he’s capable of answering. 

Jaebum is awake when they get back to Jinyoung’s apartment. He’s even made tea, which helps considerably and almost brings Mark to tears again. 

He wraps his fingers around the mug and listens to Jinyoung and Jaebum talk quietly—something about Jackson having called Jaebum. They both turn to look at Mark at this comment, and Mark feels his heart drop into his stomach, tea souring on his tongue. 

“It was a mistake,” is all Mark offers. “And I wasn’t honest.” 

Jinyoung sighs, but lets Jaebum press a kiss to his temple before he gives Mark a blanket and a pillow and shuts off the lights. 

Mark doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep, but he’s so emotionally spent and physically drained that he’s drifting off as soon as his head touches the pillow. 

His sleep is cold, and Jackson’s voice— then you can be done with me —plays on loop the whole time. 

~~~~

It takes a week of coaxing to get Mark out of Jinyoung and Jaebum’s apartment. He bad for occupying their couch for that long—they’re clearly showing a lot of restraint now that Mark’s around and he appreciates it, he really does—but there’s only so long he can curl up on his friends’ couch.

Jinyoung finally forces Mark to go down to the cafeteria for dinner, refusing to let Mark skip another meal. 

“You can’t live like this, hyung,” Jinyoung had said, shoving Mark out of the door. “I get it, you’re heartbroken, but at this rate you’re going to starve to death.” 

So now he’s here. He doesn’t really feel like eating—he knows he should— but the thought of food makes his stomach pinch uncomfortably. 

He hasn’t even opened his text chat with Jackson, much less hoped for a word from the younger. Jackson’s stubborn, and Mark had seen the way he’d recoiled at the cruelty that had spilled from Mark’s mouth. 

No, Jackson won’t say anything. Not this time. 

This time, it’s up to Mark. 

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he nearly runs into someone and he startles back. 

“Mark-hyung!” A familiar voice says, and there’s a brief touch on his shoulder that Mark jerks away from reflexively.

He looks up from under his hood, embarrassed, to see the kid Jimin brought to the parties looking back at him. 

“Jeon Jeongguk, right?” He asks, and remembers Taehyung’s face lighting up when he’d spoken the same name. “You’re dating Kim Taehyung?” 

Jeongguk’s ears turn pink and he mumbles something under his breath. Then he sees Mark’s face—or more likely, his throat—and his eyes go wide and he makes a sympathetic face.

“Whoa, hyung, what happened?” 

Mark is tired of that question. Jinyoung, curious as he is, has asked numerous times. “It’s nothing,” he says, resigned. 

There’s a question in Jeongguk’s eyes that he doesn’t ask, opting instead to apologize. 

Mark blinks, startled, but something about the kid’s eagerness warms his heart just a little bit. “Thanks, Jeongguk,” he says quietly. “I’ll see you around?” 

“Sure,” Jeongguk replies, and Mark lets out his breath, ready to go back to slumping around the cafeteria until he’s hungry enough to stomach some rice. 

“Wait, hyung,” Jeongguk calls out, and Mark stops, looking over his shoulder. “Do you know Kim Seokjin?” 

Mark backpedals slowly. “The name sounds familiar, I guess. Why?” 

Jeongguk takes a breath, turning redder. “Um, if you wanted…to talk or get advice, he’s a really good listener. He’s helped me out a bunch of times.” 

Mark purses his lips. “I'm listening.” The truth is, he could really use some advice right about now. Jinyoung is only so helpful (he'd told Mark to suck it up) and Yugyeom is younger than him. 

“He has a dinner thing every Wednesday,” Jeongguk says. “If you're interested, I can tell him you're coming and give you his address. He and his boyfriend are really nice.” 

“Yeah, I think Jackson’s been to one of those,” Mark says, and even the sound of Jackson’s name makes his heart pinch. “Will you do that for me, Jeongguk-ah? I think I'll go.”

Jeongguk gives Mark a relieved smile. “Of course, hyung,” he says.

Once Mark has Jeongguk’s number and Seokjin’s address, he finds that the knot in his stomach has loosened just enough for him to swallow some rice. 

It’s a start. 

~~~~

“Ah, Mark Tuan,” Seokjin says as soon as he opens the door. “Jeongguk told me you might be coming.” 

Mark ducks his head. “Thank you for inviting me.” He walks past Seokjin and takes his shoes off. There’s a girl and a boy he doesn’t recognize on the couch, playing Super Smash Bros with a guy Mark’s pretty sure is Yugyeom’s boyfriend. 

“Joonie,” Seokjin says, and another guy sticks his head out of the kitchen. “This is Mark Tuan. He came for dinner.” 

“Ah,” Namjoon responds, and he and Seokjin exchange a knowing look. “Mark, welcome. Do you know all the kids on the couch?” 

Bambam chooses that exact minute to erupt into violent screaming as whoever’s playing as Mario knocks him off the map.

“I know Bambam,” Mark says over the noise. “Is he dating Kim Yuygeom?” 

“You’re friends with Yugyeom?” Namjoon exclaims delightedly. “I love that kid.” 

Seokjin nods at Bambam. “That’d be his boyfriend.” 

Namjoon leans over the back of the couch and taps the girl on the back of the head. “This is Kim Yerim, and the other guy is Choi Youngjae. Jung Eunbi will be along in a second, as well as Taehyung and Jeongguk.” 

Eunbi—who introduces herself to Mark as Eunha—smiles delightedly when they bow to each other. 

“Mark Tuan, as in Jackson’s Mark?” She asks, and Mark tries desperately to keep his smile from sliding off of his face. Based on the way her eyes go wide in apology, he guesses he didn’t succeed. 

“Eunha,” Namjoon says, grasping her elbow, “come help me set the table. Let the hyungs talk.” 

Eunha mouths sorry at Mark, who offers her a weak grin. 

Seokjin wheels on Mark immediately. “Are you doing alright?” He asks. 

Mark shrugs. “I’m fine.” He doesn’t particularly want to bother Seokjin with his silly problems.

Seokjin gives Mark a sharp look. “You’ve got five hickeys, a split lip and under-eye circles so bad they remind me of finals week.” 

“I’ve been better,” Mark amends. “I’ve had a bit of a fight with someone really close to me.” He doesn’t say who, or over what, but Seokjin’s got a knowing look in his eye anyway.

Over by the door, Taehyung presses a gentle kiss to Jeongguk’s mouth. As he spins away and skips towards the table, Mark fights the aching jealousy that pounds weakly at his heart. He wishes he could have that kind of carelessness with Jackson. 

Maybe in another world, another universe—another life, at the very least, where he hasn’t screwed everything up—he and Jackson have something like that.

Voices start to raise over by the TV, where they’ve switched to extremely competitive Mario Kart. 

“And that’s the cue to start eating,” Seokjin announces. “I do not want anyone to lose an eye to a Wii controller. Dinner time!” He says, shouting the last sentence. 

Youngjae whines, his Mario Kart character getting dragged out of the water. “Wait, I haven’t crossed the finish line!” 

He’s quick to abandon his controller, however, when Seokjin leans over to take the lid off the pot of jjajangmyeon. Mark settles in between Seokjin and Bambam, who’s got his chopsticks poised over the side dishes, waiting for the last person to sit down. 

Seokjin dumps kimchi and noodles into Mark’s bowl before passing both around the table. It’s delicious—Kim Seokjin really lives up to his name—and Mark finds his appetite returning with each bite he takes. He doesn’t say much, opting to listen instead. He doesn’t think he has much to talk about, either. Nobody really wants to hear a sob story about how he managed to kiss Jackson and break his heart and their friendship within the span of fifteen minutes. The whole table, however, seems to understand his unwillingness to talk, and nobody pushes him. After days with Jinyoung (who really does care for Mark, despite it all) Mark appreciates the non-nosiness of his company. 

“Mark,” Seokjin says at the end of the dinner, hand on Jeongguk’s shoulder, “can you help me with the dishes?” 

Mark supposes it’s because he’s the guest, but also because Seokjin has something to tell him. Either way, he’s got no qualms against doing dishes so he stands and meets Seokjin at the sink. 

“I’ll wash if you can dry,” Seokjin says, turning the sink on and sliding the first couple bowls under the water. Mark picks up a towel and they work like that for a couple minutes, the running water and the clink of forks against bowls the only sound. 

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Seokjin says at last, “did you fight with Jackson?” 

Mark tenses. It’s probably not hard to figure out, but knowing that Seokjin’s already guessed what’s wrong with him makes him a little uncomfortable. 

You have to talk about it sometime, a voice in his head says. It sounds a little like Jinyoung.  

Mark takes a deep breath, gathering all of his courage and fighting the overwhelming desire to shy away. “Yeah.” 

Seokjin hums. He doesn’t seem surprised—he’s got a patient look on his face instead, like he’s waiting for Mark to say more. 

“I mean,” Mark starts hesitantly, “it was my fault. But it escalated out of control and I think I might’ve ruined everything forever.” 

“Did you really, though?” Seokjin asks shrewdly. “Or are you saying that because you don’t know how to apologize?” 

Mark’s mouth drops open. “I—well, I know how to apologize, it’s just…” 

“Where you should start,” Seokjin answers. “That’s the second-hardest part.” 

“What’s the first hardest?” 

“Telling the truth.” 

It’s that simple? Mark thinks. “He’ll forgive me if I…tell the truth?” 

“That’s what he wants, I’m guessing,” Seokjin says, holding out a glass for Mark to dry. “When I first met Namjoon, I lied and told him I majored in Korean Literature because I thought he’d like me more. I had to make up a whole fake class schedule and do a bunch of unnecessary research so I’d know what to talk about.” 

Mark blinks at Seokjin. He’d never think Seokjin—level-headed, warm-hearted Seokjin—would be the kind to try to make himself more likeable by lying. “Did he find out?” 

“Of course,” Seokjin says, laughing. “I’m terrible at Korean. I’m a physics major—I haven’t had to write a thematic analysis in years.” Then he sobers. “It really hurt his feelings and I didn’t know if he’d ever want to see me again. But, as it turned out, all he really wanted was the truth.” 

Mark digests this bit of advice. “I’m scared,” he admits. 

“Understandable,” Seokjin says, nodding. “Jackson looks like he can punch through walls. But he won’t, Mark.” 

“How do you know?” 

Seokjin’s eyes get this mischievous twinkle. “Jackson’s been here too, Mark. And he’s not very subtle.” 

WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? He wants to scream at Seokjin. But the elder has said his part, rolling back his shoulders and shutting off the water. “Start with the truth,” he reminds Mark once more. “And thanks for helping with the dishes.” 

Mark takes a moment in the kitchen to mull over what Seokjin’s told him. He knows he’s got to say something to Jackson—and soon, otherwise the damage really might be irreparable. He also knows Jackson deserves the truth. 

You can do it, another voice says. This time, it sounds a little more like him.

~~~~

Winter break comes and there’s a mass exodus from the campus as everyone goes back to their parents’ houses to celebrate. Everyone except Mark and Jackson, of course, whose families are in the United States and China, respectively. Mark’s parents couldn’t afford to bring him home this year and Jackson—well, Jackson didn’t have the best relationship with his family, who still shunned him for being gay. 

Jinyoung and Jaebum kicked Mark out of their house in the kindest way they could possibly manage. Jaebum even drove Mark back to his apartment. 

“I don’t want to do this,” Mark mumbles, rocking a little in the passenger seat. “I’m going to vomit.” 

“Not in the car,” Jaebum says flatly. Then his voice softens. “Come on, hyung. You can do it. I believe in you. If I did it with Jinyoung, you can do it with Jackson.” 

Mark scoffs. “We are in entirely different situations, Jaebum-ah. I can’t just ask Jackson if he’s down to hook up and then start dating him twelve hours later.” 

Jaebum sighs. “For the last time, it was a day—you know what, this isn’t about me. It’s about you and Jackson. And I’m not supposed to tell you this, but Jackson’s really torn-up about it. He’s been texting me almost nonstop, hyung. And I know you’re emotionally constipated—” 

“Not as bad as you,” Mark mutters. 

Jaebum ignores him. “--but it’s getting annoying and my data is running out so get in there and do something about it.” 

Mark sits for another second, looking at his friend. Jaebum’s words have eased his nausea but he’s more nervous than before—partially because he knows Jackson’s inside, waiting for him, but also because Jaebum’s terrible at pep talks. 

He tells Jaebum this, who gives him another flat look. “Go, hyung. You can’t stall any longer.” 

Mark supposes he can’t. 

So he thanks Jaebum and walks up the stairs to their house, listening to the car pull away. Snow is coming down softly, freezing his fingers when he fumbles for the house key. 

He opens the door slowly, wanting to give Jackson plenty of time to react. But by the time he’s inside, he sees that Jackson’s passed out on the couch, an arm draped over his face. 

Mark can’t help the warmth that fills his chest. Jackson looks about as bad as he feels—skin pallid, lips dry, and eyes ringed with purple and blue. But there’s something about sleep that softens him in just the right way, making Mark’s abused heart squeeze affectionately. 

Jackson stirs when Mark starts taking off his jacket and shoes, and there’s a lot of different emotions that flicker over his face when he recognizes Mark. 

“Hi,” Mark says quietly, unsure now that Jackson’s eyes are on him. 

Jackson sits up, rubbing his face. “I didn’t think you’d come back,” he says. 

“I couldn’t just leave forever,” Mark responds. He takes a step into the living room. “I just…I needed some space to think.” 

Jackson looks at Mark, face bleak. “And you’ve thought?” 

Mark swallows hard. If there’s ever been a moment where he needs determination and strength, this is it. 

“I’ve thought,” Mark confirms, fidgeting with his hands. “And I think—if you’ll listen, of course—that I owe you the truth.” 

Something changes in Jackson’s expression. Hope, maybe? Or expectation? It’s cautious and small, but it’s enough to to spur Mark into motion. He sits down in the chair across from Jackson, tucking his hands under his legs so he stops picking at his fingernails. 

“I, um, don’t really know how to say this,” Mark starts haltingly. “First, I want to say I’m sorry for storming out on you, and for slapping your friend, and for ignoring you and pushing you away and not telling you how I felt.” 

He takes a long pause here. Jackson’s face is impassive—he’s waiting for Mark to say the big piece of his confession. He’s waiting for the truth—almost like he knows it’s coming. 

“And this isn’t an excuse,” Mark clarifies quickly. “It doesn’t excuse anything.” 

Another beat. 

“I love you.” 

He blurts it as quickly as he can, heart stuttering in his chest, too fast and too hard. His face is too hot and he feels like he’s going to break into a million pieces, because Jackson’s not reacting, isn’t saying anything, and he’s really screwed it up now and their friendship can never be salvaged— 

“Well,” Jackson says quietly, “that’s good, because I love you too.” 

—and what did he just say? 

“What?” Mark asks dumbly, brain coming to screeching halt. 

Jackson looks him in the eye. “I. Love. You. Too.”  He says it in English too, like Mark somehow will understand better. He continues in the same language: “you think I kissed you because I thought it would be funny?” 

“No—I mean—” Mark blinks and shakes his head a couple of times, trying to right his world. “I just—I didn’t expect for you to feel the same way.” 

Jackson gives him a look. “Jesus Christ, Mark, and they say I’m the dense one.” 

“I was so busy repressing it,” Mark says, amazed. He still can’t believe this is happening, that Jackson Wang—the actual love of his life, Jackson Wang, his best friend—is sitting here, on the couch, telling him that he loves Mark back. “I didn’t think—I didn’t notice—” 

“Which is why it hurt when you kept pushing me away,” Jackson cuts in. “I thought you’d figured it out and you were trying to let me off easy.” 

“I saw you hurting,” Mark admits. “I knew I was hurting you. I kept doing it anyway, though, because I didn’t want to get hurt too. So I’m sorry for that. Really.” 

“I forgive you,” Jackson says easily, and that problem is cleared in an instant. Mark is once again surprised by how easily Jackson forgives when apologized to. “That’s all you had to say in the beginning, Mark.” 

“Oh.” 

They sit there in silence while Mark struggles to organize his thoughts. “This is way easier than I thought it was gonna be.” 

“That’s good,” Jackson says, and breaks into a grin so bright Mark can almost feel it on his cheeks. “But can I ask why you slapped Daesuk?” 

Mark turns red. “I was jealous.” 

Jackson’s smile only gets wider. “You slapped him because you were jealous?” 

“I wasn’t thinking right and I was drunk,” Mark protests desperately—he can feel the teasing coming and he wants to spare himself from more embarrassment. 

“I think that’s hilarious,” Jackson says, and means it. “You, the jealous drunk kind? I didn’t know you knew how to slap people.” 

“Stop,” Mark mumbles weakly. “I let my emotions control me, and besides. What he said to me was unfair.” 

Jackson raises an eyebrow. “But true?” 

Mark doesn’t know if it’s possible for his face to get any redder. “I’m not answering that question. You’re making fun of me.” 

“Okay, okay,” Jackson concedes, holding up his hands. “I’ll stop.” And then, before Mark can react, he lunges forward off the couch and presses his lips to Mark’s. 

“But only,” he adds on, looking amused at the way Mark’s face goes blank, “if I get to do that.” 

Mark looks up at Jackson. “Does this mean—” 

“Please date me.” And this time, it's Jackson's turn to blurt and turn bright red.  

“Okay,” Mark says, because with Jackson, it should be easy. There are still things they need to talk about, of course—problems they need to sort through and emotions they need to come to face with—but now is what matters. 

This, Mark thinks as he takes his turn to kiss Jackson, slow and long like he’s always wanted, is how it is supposed to be.

~~~~

Jinyoung gives them both a lot of shit when he finds out a week later. 

“What you do mean, you worked it out in a day?” He shrieks, grabbing Jackson and shaking him. “I hate both of you, honestly. Especially you, Mark Tuan. You did all this moping for nothing and nearly gave me a heart attack.” 

“Well, I did get hurt,” Mark points out, and Jackson takes his hand. “So it was pretty nice when we decided we didn’t want to fight anymore.” 

“You know us, Jinyoung-ah,” Jackson says, lilting. “We’re not complicated.” 

Jinyoung huffs. “Not fair. It took me two months to figure out that Jaebum even liked me.” 

“You guys hooked up on the first night,” Jackson points out. 

“Yeah, but did he ever say he wanted to be with me? No,” Jinyoung rebuffs, and eyes their interlocked hands. “Meanwhile, you both get love confessions on the first day.”

Mark snorts, and Jackson gives him a big, sappy smile. 

Jinyoung makes vomiting noises when they kiss. 

~~~~

“You can’t just tag me,” Jackson complains, hooking his chin over Mark’s shoulder. “You have to be subtle about it.” 

“Oh, like we’re so sneaky,” Mark scoffs. “The whole world must know we’re dating by now, thanks to your loud mouth.” 

“I didn’t say I was subtle,” Jackson says, digging his fingers into Mark’s side and tickling him. “I just said you have to be.” 

“It’s just an Instagram post,” Mark says. “Not a marriage proposal.” 

“If it was a marriage proposal then you’d really have to be smooth,” Jackson responds, worming his way under Mark’s arms and into his lap. “Or I’d say no.” 

Mark elbows Jackson in the stomach. “Don’t be an ass and let me post this.” 

“Just don’t tag me. Let everyone guess.” 

“Jackson, there’s literally no reason to do that. Everyone who will see this knows we’re dating.” 

“Aw, come on. Just do it for fun. Please?” 

“I’m tagging you,” Mark huffs. 

(He doesn’t tag Jackson in the end because he forgets to post the picture as soon as Jackson kisses him). 

“I love you,” Jackson says, pressing his lips to Mark’s jaw, his nose, his eyelids—everywhere, basically, that he can reach. 

“I love you too,” Mark says, smoothing a hand through Jackson’s hair. “I honestly still can’t believe this worked out.” 

Jackson’s face goes soft. “Me too. It would’ve really sucked if we’d stopped being friends. But we fixed it, right? And now I get to kiss you all I want.” 

“Mmm,” Mark says, and lets Jackson do just that. “Just do me a favor, huh?” 

“Anything,” Jackson answers. “Well, besides messing with Jinyoung. I’ve made that mistake already and I don’t want to make it again.” 

“Don’t invite Daesuk to the New Year’s party,” Mark says, only half-joking. “Or I’ll punch him this time.” 

“Duly noted,” Jackson says, laughing. “Though I’ve never seen you punch someone before and I have to say I’m interested.” 

“Don’t push it, Wang.” 

“So scary,” Jackson says, grinning. “Look, I’m quaking.” 

Mark glares. “You’re so lucky that I like you.” 

“Yeah,” Jackson says, surprising Mark with his sincerity. “I am.” 

I'm lucky too, Mark thinks. He doesn’t need to say it aloud; Jackson can read it on his face, in the set of his mouth and in the line of his shoulders and in the way Mark puts a hand tenderly on Jackson's face.  

There is very little on Mark’s mind tonight—partially because Jackson’s warm and heavy against him, partially because he’s happy beyond belief—but mostly because of the way Jackson’s heart sounds against his chest, a steady beat of I love you forever, forever, forever. 

And that, Mark decides, is more than enough for him.