Chapter Text
His hands gripped tighter around the steering wheel, letting the tires glide over the freshly paved highway roads as he looked straight ahead. The mountains were blue, navy blue against a slightly lighter sky.
Dark blue light reflected over his face. Messy blond hair fell into his eyes, billowing in the wind that shoved its way through the windows.
Wind roared through the windows. His music was hard to hear, near impossible, but he still strummed his fingers alongside the steering wheel to the beat.
A sharp inhale.
The trees always smelt nice this time of year. Strong, calm, and organic in his lungs alongside the highway. The smell was a mixture of calm and aching nostalgia for the days of summer camp long gone, the way the sun would dip behind the mountains and the lake as the campers and counselors alike lined up for the nightly campfire.
Mark Lee inhaled and let the smell consume him, his nerves tingling alongside his hands and his brain ringing with what felt like the after effects of drugs or nerves. Nerves were an odd experience for Mark, he hadn’t experienced the feeling since he was 16 and performing for the first time. It’d been years since.
His mom thanked God for his talent. The company thanked themselves. Mark wasn’t sure what part of his success was him and how much of it was the grooming he’d received since age 12.
It was a silly question would people still like me if I wasn’t like this. Because: he would always be like that.
His dad was a pastor, his mom a good Christian woman. Mark wasn’t sure what he believed in, but he was sure at one point he had danced with the devil.
The closest thing Mark felt to religion was the whip of the mountain air and the pull of his heart strings as the number next to the town’s name ticked lower and lower on every nearing exit sign.
He could afford any car he wanted with no strain to his wallet, but no car could replace the special place in his heart that belonged to the white pickup truck of his. The familiar scent of his father’s cologne and leather seats welcomed him home every time, and the rumble of the engine never failed to make him melt further and further into the seats.
It was fitting. Mark Lee, by far the most famous child of the town Ashton Knoll, had returned home- not by a fancy limo, SUV, or entourage. Mark Lee returned by himself in the same beaten down pickup truck that no one outside of Ashton Knoll knew about.
The small town was asleep by the time he escaped from the rolling hills of the highway. The local roadside ice cream store had lowered the umbrellas and turned off the neon lights, while the homes lining the road only had their front porch had lights on.
The roads came to him like the back of his hands- he knew where to take the left turn without a second thought and he knew when the paved road turned to brick road and he knew when he was home. His parents’ house was small- much smaller than his home in LA. It was one floor, forest green with a wrap around porch surrounding it. His mom’s red SUV sat in the driveway, his dad’s old Cadillac probably in the garage.
He parked across the street, allowing the engine to cut off and the headlights of the truck to cut off as well. He was home. In the first time since he had left for LA, he stared down the house he had grown up in. In LA, Joy had asked if he was nervous to go home.
Mark wasn’t nervous. Mark wasn’t even sad. It was what it was: Mark was home, and regardless of how much he worried about his mother or father’s reaction, he couldn’t change it. He reached into the back seat, pulled the navy duffle bag forward, wrapped it over his shoulder, and led himself up the path of stones toward the house.
One of the stone’s had his hand print from when he was five years old. Under one of the rose bushes was the remains of his old dog, Macey. One of the stones had his mom and dad’s alma mater’s symbol on it. The stone closest to the door was hand crafted from Japan- Mark had sent it last Mother’s Day, a poor attempt at him not coming home. Mark Lee inhaled.
The door opened without a struggle- back home in LA, Mark always made sure his door was locked. His parents didn’t do the same. The house still smelt of his childhood memories- the sage candles his mom burned and the soft smell of the oven baking. It was less child friendly now- nicer couches, wooden floors Mark had never seen before, and framed photos instead of child drawn art.
“Mom!” He was engulfed. Renee Lee wrapped her son in her arms, clutching the back of his head with her palm and burrowing her head into his neck. “Markie! You’re home!” She inhaled deeply, trying to produce a memory of his smell. He smelt different now. She stepped back, wiped a forming tear from her face, and kept both hands on his shoulders. “You look so skinny!”
She looked different too, though. His mom had let her skin tan over, something she would have never done ten years ago, and had let her brown hair develop soft silver streaks. Her face was still the same round, warm one he remembered, though.
“Mom,”. He rubbed the back of his head, letting their hands touch, as he chucked slightly to himself. What could he say? Hey mom, people in LA don’t eat. He was saved from saying anything else as his father bounded down the stairs, presumably from his office.
Mark’s father, William, resembled what Mark would have looked like if he could grow facial hair. He had a soft stumble around his thin face and a large sweatshirt on- the merchandise from Mark’s latest tour. “Mark!”
He didn’t move as fast as his wife did, but he didn’t take much time either to sneak past Renee and pull his son into him. Over the years, their height difference had decreased then increased yet again, and now Mark was the taller one.
“Long time no see.” William pushed his glasses up on his nose, smiling brightly to his only son. It wasn’t an understatement. The only time his parents had seen him had been through the TV, on whatever gossip channel they had accidentally flipped to.
“I’m home now.” Mark agreed, smiling shyly to the two people who adored him most in the world. His parents beamed back at him. If his parents weren’t his world, he was there’s: Mark Lee, their long lost only child, home at last.
He didn’t want dinner- he had insisted it as his mom still forced at least five cookies down his throat. It was dumb, he had decided, but still chewed happily on them. He didn’t need to talk much- his mom filled him in on everything she knew about the high school and the town.
“You should get involved, Markie! I’m sure there’s a glee club or something, or maybe even skateboarding! You love skateboarding!” He looked around the kitchen- the photos of him at the beach as a baby, the photo of him with ice cream dripping down his face while he cried, and the photo of him sitting on his dad’s lap at the carnival were all framed above the sink.
He had quit skateboarding when he moved to LA.
“Do you remember Jeno? The next door neighbor? He’s sweet- he’s in your grade, he’s the quarterback. You should talk to him, maybe you could last minute join football. I’m sure coach would make an exception for you!” She handed him another cookie in between breaths, putting her hands on the kitchen island and letting her wedding ring knock into the granite.
“I’m not sure, mom.” Mark said. He was sure coach would make an exception, but sports had never really been Mark’s thing. He saw her face deflate. “I think a volunteer club would be cool, though!” If he mom could tell the blandness in his voice, she didn’t admit it.
His mom perked up again. “Oh Markie! That would be perfect for you!” He nodded, looking down at the familiar counter tops.
“I’m tired.” He admitted at last, before his mom could head into the members of the student body at school. He wanted to listen, he wanted to care because she cared, but he couldn’t seem to get his mind out of LA mode- you’re here to get better he told himself.
“Oh, ok. Well, your room is in the same place it’s always been.” His mom walked around the counter and placed a kiss onto his cheek. “Goodnight, Markie. We love you.”
The walk upstairs felt shorter than ever, his legs longer than before. His body knew the way when he didn’t, stopping and turning into the bedroom where he had spent nights upon nights dreaming of the life he had now. The color was the same forrest green as the outside of the house- a single double bed sitting in the room with his duffle bag on top and a small desk in the corner. His first guitar, a soft colored acoustic, was mounted to the wall next to his first Grammy.
Mark fell asleep while staring at the award.
☽
Being home meant for the first time in years, Mark was expected to attend real high school. He didn’t really want to, but it was a strict condition his father had proposed with the idea of him coming back home- ‘if you want to be normal’, he said, ‘you have to go to school like normal’.
So here Mark, Grammy winning 18 year old, was: the senior lot of Ashton Knoll High School. The white pick up truck was still running, the local country station playing some stereotypical love song. His new schedule in his hands, his Supreme book bag thrown over his shoulders.
His mom had made him stand in front of the front door and take a photo that morning, something he hadn’t done since age 11. There was no saying no to her: she squealed and ran across the yard, letting her smile overtake her face as she held her IPhone 4 in front of her face. A few photos later, and she was hugging on Mark while his dad patted him on the back.
“I gotta go, I don’t know where anything is and I don’t want to get lost.” He said, pulling the straps to the red bag tighter over his chest. His mom stepped back and smiled again. Tears brimmed at her lash line.
“Dry safely! Have fun!” She waved as he pulled from the driveway, looking over his shoulder as he backed up. He waved back once he got the chance, and drove down the one main road in town until the high school appeared.
Now or never.
He pulled the keys from the ignition and grabbed the key chain, spinning it around his hands once, twice, three times before finally pressing a finger to the lock key. A honk later and he was walking in the direction of the front door.
Welcome to Ashton Knoll High School, Home of the Ashton Kings.
His first class was easy to find. As much as he had worried about it, the building was split into wings: English, History, Math, and Sciences were all branches of the main building with the arts were in the separate, older building.
No one was there yet, in Chemistry. Mark had done his best to beat the crowd. The room was derived of even a teacher- only five clumps of tables that could fix four students each. Mark found the first lab table closest to the door and took it, slumping in the seat and taking in the room.
Posters of cartoon characters washing their hands and pouring green liquids into vials lined the yellow walls. A few diagrams of the planets hung from the ceiling, with another poster of “RIP PLUTO” hanging in the back. It felt like how a classroom should have felt, if Mark knew anything about high schools.
He’d seen the movies and TV shows of what high school was- the uniforms that were too short (he went to public school, they didn’t wear uniforms) and the cute jocks and the preppy cheerleaders who walked around school in their cheer uniforms. This didn’t feel like a movie, though.
Mark got lost in his thoughts- his mind finding itself somewhere between his LA apartment and the way his manager told him he should “take a break”. He didn’t want to take a break at first, a break meant less money pouring in. A break meant one less shot of getting another Grammy to make up for Holidays missed with his family. To Mark, a break meant weakness. Mark did not have weakness.
His thought train was interrupted when the first student walked in the door. A boy about his age with a lazy but genuine smile and a black Justin Bieber haircut came into the room, wearing a large blue jersey and fitted black jeans. A girl held his hand and had her other hand around his arm. The boy’s lazy smile faded, but quickly returned. “Hi!”
He shook the girl out of his grip and strided over, taking the seat next to Mark. “My name is Jeno, I’m on the football team.”
If he did know who Mark was, he was good at disguising it. Maybe he didn’t care. His girlfriend didn’t seem to get the hint, however, as she stood before Mark. “You’re Mark Lee.” She scoffed, pulling slightly at the tight sweater she wore.
“That’s me.” He sounded harsher than he meant to, his throat still congested with sleep. “We used to live next to each other, well, we do again I guess.” He tried to make his voice as light as Jeno’s, turning to him and trying to press a smile to his face. He was good at that- making himself smile.
“Yeah! Your dads the pastor, right? Your mom is a doctor?” Jeno leaned in casually. Mark tried to sneakily scoot his chair back. Jeno’s voice wasn’t edging in want- his smile and light tone surprised Mark.
Mark nodded. “Why’d you come back from LA? Aren’t you like, a millionaire?” The girlfriend snapped, not in the same tone of genuineness. Jeno ignored her, not even batting an eyelash. Mark tried not to scrunch his face too much and tried to keep the smile a little longer, but it was getting harder.
“I’m going back.” He started. “I just- I’m only eighteen once, you know?” His voice betrayed him, but Jeno didn’t seem to question it. The girlfriend scoffed, and opened her lip gloss coated mouth to begin to speak, but he was cut short by the ringing of the bell.
Mark’s mouth opened into an ‘O’ as he looked between the two: he didn’t know schools actually did that.
“I have to go now, Jeno.” The girlfriend batted her lashes. She stood there, waiting for something that never came. “Aren’t you going to kiss me goodbye?”
Jeno didn’t move a muscle, rather he relaxed into his seat and threw his book bag back onto his side. “I don’t want to mess up your makeup.” He smiled gently, but the silent scream in his eyes betrayed him. The girlfriend didn’t seem to notice, as she rolled her eyes and strutted from the room.
“I’m sorry.” Jeno whispered to Mark. Mark just nodded, it wasn’t really a big deal. He was used to it. “You should try out for football!” He whipped to Mark, his smile returning.
“No way in hell.” Mark returned. It was hard to, though, Jeno had big puppy dogs and had been nothing but nice to Mark of all people- he didn’t really deserve it.
“Why not?”
Mark shrugged. “My moms a doctor, you know, she’d be worried about head injuries and shit.” It wasn’t true, but unlike his previous lie it wasn’t apparent. Jeno nodded along like he understood, before waving hello to one of the other students in the class.
Everyone seemed to know Jeno and not in the same way that everyone seemed to know Mark- Jeno knew everyone’s names and their summer plans and their plans for after high school. He sent the same genuine smile in everyone’s direction, nodding in agreement when anyone complained about summer jobs or vacation coming to an end. “Hey! At least we have football!” He said to the last boy, who only rolled his eyes and returned Jeno’s smile. The boy shot Mark a look- a knowing, skeptical look- before he slid past their table to find an open seat in the room.
“This is my first day of high school.” Mark felt the need to admit to Jeno once the crowd by their desk had finally settled. It came out in a fit of excited, nervousness, one that Mark instantly bit back. He had to remind himself that he wasn’t in LA anymore- here, people actually felt things. His doctor had told him he needed to be allowed to feel things.
“I know.”
“What? How?”
“Mark, you’re really well dressed. No high schooler is that well dressed.” Jeno took one look up and down at Mark. Mark did the same, lowering his head. He wasn’t that well dressed- not even well dressed by LA standards. Jisung Han would have roasted the hell out of him for his poor fashion taste- ripped black jeans with a tucked in white button up and red vans. His mom had helped him pick it out last night. His hair was still blond from his last music promotion period, the edge of his black roots starting to peek through.
“You look better than I do.” Mark shot back to Jeno, cautiously picking at the material of his jersey. His smile didn’t feel forced at this point. Jeno rolled his eyes, but turned to the teacher who had entered the room.
Welcome to Senior year, Mark Lee.