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Mark Lee expected many things from this upcoming season with the Rangers. He had a list on his phone notes, courtesy of one of the many late best-friend nights with Hyuck, where alcohol and the power of manifesting were involved. Making the playoffs was at the top of said list, followed closely by learning how to cook one (1) edible meal and finish furnishing his condo.
He didn’t expect to meet Vernon Chwe.
And yet, that’s exactly what happens.
The set up is kind of precarious, as they are in the middle of the pre-season training camp, rushing from activity to activity. The studio lights that surround Mark are a little blinding at times, a little too harsh on his sensitive eyes, but they are in no way as powerful as the smile that Vernon Chwe had aimed at him upon their introduction.
Mark thinks he can’t be really blamed for how sweaty his hand was when he shakes Vernon’s, introducing himself. He felt shy as soon as Vernon’s smile grew impossibly brighter and he said(in a really nice voice that makes Mark feel warm all over) it’s nice to finally meet you! with the enthusiasm of someone who’s a Rangers fan but discreet enough about it to not make Mark feel awkward. He can appreciate that.
In fact, Mark Lee is happy to appreciate a really handsome dude who smiles with stars in his eyes and has an aura that seems to put almost everything and everyone at ease (and he can say this after the stellar review of the one player that had gone in right before him). Or, almost everyone. Everyone but Mark, whose heart is trying to beat out of his chest as he watches Vernon encourage him to answer the question he had asked moments before.
Right. He had been talking. "So what I mean is that like, even if I grew up far away, New York feels like it will be home, like it really is home for me now, you know? I really love it here," Mark struggles with his words, rubs at the nape of his neck trying to comfort himself before abruptly bringing his hand down, remembering that they are recording. "Gosh, sorry—I'm not the best with cameras," Mark apologizes, wide-eyed, heart racing at the sound of Vernon’s deep rumble of a laugh.
"It's okay man, take your time," the angel behind the camera says, gently cutting off Mark's nervous rambling and smiling brightly enough to power a small country. Mark can feel the way the tips of his ears turn red. Maybe if they weren’t the only ones in the room, Mark’s heart would stop trying to leave his body.
"Okay," Mark croaks out, internally mortified at the sound of his own voice failing him like that, right in front of the most beautiful guy he's ever seen in his life. It's an incredibly unfair situation. Mark feels gross all over—the first proper training of the pre-season always takes the life and brain cells out of him—and he didn't even have time to tame the overgrown mop of hair on his head into something more presentable before coming to record.
Had they always had Vernon on their communications team? He feels like he should get home and do some looking around. He doesn't think he's ever seen him, but then again, Mark is a pretty absentminded guy when it comes to, well, everything except playing hockey.
"So, what do New York and the Rangers mean to you?" Vernon asks now, and Mark steels himself to answer, discreetly coughs in an attempt to clear his voice.
"They mean everything—the city, the team," Mark says, and means it with every fiber of his being. He remembers the call from the stage in Dallas like it was yesterday. Three years later, it still feels like a dream. The red, white and blue had felt foreign at first, but Mark had expected that. The people who get to play for their favorite teams are few and far in between, and Mark doesn’t mean to sound cocky, but the Rangers kind of really needed a player with his credentials.
"You're going first," his brother had said minutes before the drafting began, and Mark had laughed, a nervous little thing. He had punched his brother's shoulder with no real heat behind it, right leg shaking madly as the members of the New York Rangers organization took the stage.
From the Victoria Royals, the New York Rangers are proud to select Mark Lee, the GM had said into the mic. And in that moment, Mark's dream turned into a reality, clad in red and white and blue and smiling for the cameras. And sure, he grew up in blue and white and green, Sedin jerseys being his favorites. He knew New York, of course. He watched their games, in the same way he watched most teams. But right then and there— Mark knew that New York was going to mean so much more to him than he could’ve imagined a couple years ago.
"This is where I get to fulfill my dream day in and day out. This is where I get to make a place of my own, for myself and for my people—it's pretty awesome, yeah," Mark adds after his short trip down memory lane, rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand in embarrassment.
Vernon's smile remains just as bright, and Mark finds himself thinking holy fuck, even his teeth are cute, what the fuck.
“And what are you expecting of this season?” Vernon asks, encouraging Mark to continue speaking without even trying, because he’s just staring at Mark like what he says means something, and Mark wants nothing more than to say something that will make Vernon slightly curious about him.
“I want us to win,” Mark answers, no hesitation. “We have everything we need to do that, we just gotta—win. Our fans deserve it, we deserve it—yeah,” Mark adds, voice confident right up until the end, where he grows perhaps a little too self-conscious of the way he believes in things, in this, lets a shy smile take over his lips, and hopes that it’ll be enough to mask the redness on his face, or distract from it.
Vernon is still smiling, but there’s something like a soft edge to that immaculate smile—Mark is not sure if it’s wishful thinking, or if it’s real, but he kinda loves it.
“And that’s a wrap—thank you, Mark,” Vernon says, voice sincere, and Mark stands up from the chair with shaky legs.
“Nice to meet you, haha,” Mark says, his whole face red as he shakes Vernon’s hand. “Hope to see you again!” he adds, and can picture Taeyong laughing at him so vividly when Vernon’s voice startles him out of his reverie.
“Definitely, man, you’re gonna get tired of seeing my face,” Vernon laughs as Mark steps away, shuffling backwards so he’s able to see Vernon. Before Mark can do something as mortifying as saying he could never, or flashing Vernon one of his toothy grins that Hyuck calls the Lion Tries To Flirt Smile—he promptly trips over one of the cables once again, effectively knocking a studio light down and shattering it.
Because of course.
Mark is in the middle of a (mostly not serious) heated debate about where they should eat after landing in Pittsburgh when he notices a familiar figure walking past him.
"He's flying with us?" Mark turns to the side where Mika is walking towards the plane with him, voice low, effectively interrupting the older man's rant about the benefits of trying new food in new places.
It takes Mika a moment to realize that Mark is referring to Vernon, who’s just a couple of feet ahead of them, silently bopping to music only he can hear through his headphones. "Of course," Mika says, a strange look on his face. Mark feels judged, and sputters for a moment before the older man guffaws a laugh that has him turning red. "You really tuned out that whole spiel about the team taking a new approach to social media and content, followed by the spiel about young blood bringing this team back to what it was— though if you ask me, that whole bit sounded more like a satanic baby sacrifice rather than a plan about engaging with the fanbase," Mika adds, smiling in a way that makes Mark feel a little scared about what Mika might do with this knowledge.
God, he really is so bizarre, Mark thinks as Mika talks. But he's also not wrong about the terms they use at meetings sometimes being weird as fuck.
“Oh,” Mark says, a little deflated noise, and Mika’s booming laughter makes Mark want to curl up into a ball until the embarrassment passes.
"Henke!" Mika calls out, joyfully. A couple of steps ahead, Henke turns around, perfect eyebrows raised. "You gotta give this one some of your weird goalie awareness tips!" Mika adds, guffawing joyfully.
"I'm sure what I know is of no use to our Markie over there," Henke shoots back easily, smiling while he's at it, and Mark finds himself wishing for at least an ounce of the composure the Swede has.
"Rude," Mark says, bumping his shoulder with Mika's, using as much strength as he can muster. "You think he's going to room with us?" Mark asks, something unnamed but quickly growing rattling around his ribcage.
“Do you want him to room with you?” Mika shoots back, waggling his eyebrows. Mark cringes so hard he can feel it in his bones, cursing the fact that Mika and Taeyong got friendly during the latest All Star Game in Los Angeles and came back all buddy-buddy. Now, Mika possesses one too many stories about Mark that are only the result of drunk Taeyong oversharing.
So much for Canadian loyalty and the sworn brotherhood of Asians. Even if both pacts were heavily influenced by the strong Russian vodka the Canadian team consumed after winning Gold in St. Petersburg, Mark expected them to be honored. He couldn’t believe that Mika’s odd charm would break through Taeyong’s defenses so easily.
"I'm just asking! Stop roasting me!" Mark whines, as Mika laughs again, reaching over to pat Mark on the head, once, before moving forward to catch up with Henke.
And that’s how Mark Lee’s Making an Idiot Out of Himself (dubbed as such by one Donghyuck Lee over the phone) road trip begins:
Mark’s more than half-asleep as he stumbles across several rooms, following Mika’s sure footsteps with the promise of freshly made orange juice and good breakfast to wake him the fuck up. His bright yellow gym shorts and well-worn Ranger’s hoodie look out of place in such a fancy hotel, but it’s not his fault that this game is in the early afternoon and he struggled to sleep the night before.
He clutches the glass of juice over what seems like everyone’s prefered choice of coffee—something he has not gotten used to consuming, something he’ll never prefer over any other beverage—with his left hand, right hand carrying a plate with enough bacon, eggs and a bagel to leave him satisfied until lunch. Mika stops to talk to one of the trainers, and Mark, who has decided he doesn’t have enough brain-power to deal with that before eating, moves along until he finds one of the empty tables, plopping down and letting out a big yawn.
He downs half the glass in one go, happy to let the citrus invade his taste buds, feeling refreshed and content. He looks around to his left, to his right, sees no one is paying him any mind yet—he guesses that’s half the early hour, half the way his sleep hair looks, despite the fact that he’s got his hood flipped up—and digs into the bacon and eggs with gusto, looking perhaps a little bit disgusting with the way he’s inhaling the food.
Too focused on the task at hand, he doesn’t hear the footsteps approaching, doesn’t see the figure that’s becoming perhaps too familiar in a short span of time standing right on the other side of the table Mark had previously claimed as his. The moment that Vernon clears his throat, Mark jumps out of his seat, egg yolk splattering over the Rangers logo in his hoodie.
Mark feels, for lack of a better word, mortified. He wants to die. For a brief moment, he wishes he had never gotten into hockey, that he had never been drafted into the NHL, that he was just a regular college student who happened to stumble across Vernon Chwe in one quiet little coffee shop and had offered to share his table—
Yet here he is, face unwashed, food in his clothes, hair a mess staring up to Vernon’s quite well put together self.
Vernon, for his part, looks unfazed. "Morning, Mark," he starts, a small smile on his lips as he nudges the seat right in front of him. “Is this seat taken?” he asks, like he didn’t just see Mark Lee make a mess out of himself while looking like a mess. Like he wants to sit with Mark.
Uh.
“Not at all, dude—knock yourself out,” Mark manages to reply with an even face and an almost even voice, while he discreetly cleans the corner of his mouth. "And good morning to you too," he says hastily, syllables a little too rushed in an attempt to sound perhaps a little bit more like a regular functioning human with manners and all of that.
Vernon sits down easily, placing a plate on the table that looks very much like Mark's, and Mark finds himself internally sighing in relief. He subtly attempts to wipe away at the yellow blob that sits proudly in the middle of the Rangers logo on his hoodie, wracking his brain for any possible conversation topic that’s not the weather or hockey.
"Are your parents Korean?" Mark asks. He’s cringing internally because of course his parents are—or at least of Korean descent, based on Vernon’s last name, one that Mark has heard enough times to recognize as one of those he knows. Or maybe Vernon just doesn't like talking about his family and he's about to hate Mark forever, will start to take the worst shots of Mark off the ice and maybe this is too much for a first proper conversation topic and—
Vernon, again, doesn’t seem phased. In fact, if Mark were to describe it, he just looks like he's vibing. It's both comforting and the slightest bit mysterious. Mark finds that somehow, he digs it. Maybe it's because it's just—Vernon.
Vernon takes a sip of his iced americano (gross), and then says, "My dad is— he met my mom in New York during college, in art school; my sister and I were born there—the rest is kinda history." He smiles briefly, takes another sip from his drink and continues, "I didn't get any of their drawing abilities, but I guess I got some of their artistry, if you count the whole going to film school thing."
Vernon is talking like Mark has ever taken a single college class or has any idea what film school consists of, but Mark refuses to let that be his downfall and nods, like he understands, makes an encouraging noise in the back of his throat just so he can continue to hear Vernon talk.
"What about you?" Vernon asks, instead.
"I was born in Canada— but I'm sure you know that," Mark replies casually, digging into his breakfast bagel before stopping mid-chew, eyes like a deer caught in headlights. He finishes chewing, before adding (rather lamely), "Wait, that makes me sound like a fucking asshole. I meant that like, that's on my profile and every interview I've done and— yeah."
Despite his expectations, Vernon is smiling at him, looks like he's stifling back one of those amused chuckles that make him look adorable, so Mark’s embarrassment definitely doesn’t feel as terrible as it should.
It’s still there, sure. But there’s just something about Vernon that makes Mark feel both comfortable and simultaneously like jumping out of his own skin.
"I was born in Vancouver," Mark starts again, "We visited Korea a bunch in the summers, though—half of my relatives are there—and my parents met during college, too, but in Seoul," he adds, happy to find some common ground with Vernon.
"I used to do the same—we visit as often as we can, but—" Vernon starts, but finds himself struggling with words as he cuts a piece of bacon with eggs.
"But New York is home?" Mark suggests, and he's glad that his genuine curiosity seems to carry over in his voice, or perhaps even in his face.
"You can have more than one home," Vernon earnestly points out. Mark thinks of BC, thinks of the place he's making for himself in New York. “And now that I’m getting started on working, I can’t really afford to take time off.”
Mark hums in understandment and doesn’t say anything else, flashes a smile that Vernon returns in kind and goes after the uneaten bite of bagel he has left.
The knock on the door startles Mark and makes him almost drop his phone on his face. Mika had gone somewhere, he wasn’t sure where, which meant that Mark had enough time to take a shower and get ready for the game without his attempts clashing with Mika’s. He had so much time, in fact, that he had decided to lay down on the hotel room bed for a little while, fucking around on his phone until he felt like he was ready to put on a suit and wait his nerves off.
The knock on the door had thrown his plans off-kilter.
Maybe Mika forgot the keycard, Mark thinks, carelessly wrapping a towel around his hips as he jumps off the bed.
“You’re not Mika,” Mark says, dumbfounded once he opens the door.
Vernon laughs. A piece of Mark’s soul seems to want to shrivel up and die.
“I’m Vernon,” he says. Mark wonders if the earth splitting and swallowing him whole is something that can happen if he prays for it hard enough.
“I know that,” Mark shoots back, confusion evident in his face.
“Can I come in? I'm supposed to film you today," Vernon replies, and of course. Everything makes sense now.
“Oh yeah, sure thing man,” Mark replies, stepping back so Vernon can step in.
"You didn't get the email I sent to everyone that I was going to film on this road trip?" Vernon asks as he lowers his camera case onto the decently sized table in the room.
"Uh, you see—my inbox is kinda flooded—" Mark mumbles, scrambling for an excuse that is not I binge watched a season of Avatar: The Last Airbender because my anxiety was off the charts and therefore didn’t look at my phone. "No, I didn't see it, I'm so sorry," he ends up saying, because he’s really not a good liar and Vernon’s frowny face at the prospect of having gotten Mark’s email address wrong makes Mark want nothing else but to wrap his arms around the other’s shoulders and soothe the furrowed brows with the pads of his fingers and press a kiss in the corner of Vernon’s mouth and—
Haha, Mark’s internal voice tells him. The laughter somehow sounds both mocking and a little bit terrified. Okay! Calm down, cowboy!
"It's okay, thank God I caught you at the right time, huh?" Vernon says, the tiny dimples of his—the very ones that Mark had noticed after subtle stares thrown in Vernon's direction and some Instagram research—in display as he smiles.
Mankind is really not worthy, Mark thinks, as Vernon walks further into his room, mindful of the way the towel sits on his hips, praying that it won't fail him and fall, leaving him exposed and forcing him to move to his uncle’s cabin in Halifax out of shame and embarrassment.
You’re being ridiculous, a voice that sounds suspiciously like a mix of Hyuck’s and Taeyong’s rings through his mind. Where the fuck is my actual conscience, Mark thinks back. His mind paints a pretty funny picture of Taeyong and Hyuck wearing matching expressions, sticking their tongues out to Mark.
“Let me go to the bathroom and uh, put some clothes on?” Mark says, pointing towards the open door.
“Of course, take your time,” Vernon replies, and Mark rushes towards the pile at the foot of the bed, carefully taking his neatly pressed black suit-pants and walking towards the bathroom, that in Mark’s mind is something more akin to an oasis for a thirsty man right now. “I’ll be right here setting up—not that there’s much setting up I gotta do—this will be quick and painless, I promise,” he adds, and Mark says something along the lines of of course, man, before rushing towards the bathroom and gently closing the door.
As soon as the door closes, Mark takes a deep breath, deposits his clothes nearby and turns to face the mirror in a desperate attempt to tame his hair into something that’s, well, less messy. He really ought to cut his hair soon, he thinks, as he scoops some of his moisturizer onto his face, hoping it will make him look better in front of the camera.
He pats himself dry once again, quickly puts on his briefs, feels extremely grateful that this time he remembered to bring an undershirt with him as he puts that on next. He carefully gets into his pants, praying that they don’t get messed up. He can take care of his socks later, he reasons, once Vernon is gone. He really doesn’t want Vernon to film his ugly feet.
Now go out there, lion, he tells himself, straightening his back with a huff. Get dressed like a normal person, make small talk with Vernon, and don’t make a fool out of yourself like you did this morning.
Easier said than done, Mark thinks, as soon as he’s out of the safety of the bathroom, standing near Vernon, hesitating with his white dress shirt in his hands.
“Let me just shoot you like, buttoning up your shirt, fixing your cuffs, maybe putting on your tie, the suit jacket.” Vernon gently directs, camera waiting in his hands, looking slightly intimidating.
“Do I have to do it...in a certain way? Any directions?” Mark asks, gesturing at the camera.
“Have fun with it,” Vernon says, amused. “Don’t worry, I’m going to edit it later—put some sick beats in the background, some slow-mo, it’s going to be fun.”
“Fun,” Mark echoes, smiling a little when Vernon nods, a grin playing on the corner of his lips.
He starts with putting on his shirt, of course. He does the buttons, from top to bottom, going slow to make sure he doesn’t do one of them wrong like he usually does. He fixes the cuffs next, refusing to look at where Vernon is standing with his camera pointed at him, not wanting to think about how intimate this feels despite the circumstances.
Or maybe there’s just something about Vernon recording Mark doing something so mundane that gets him right into that domestic-craving part of his being, the one that wants nothing more than lazy mornings and candid pictures and love.
Once he’s done with that, and only then, does he dare risk a glance at Vernon’s focused shape. Vernon smiles at him behind the camera, and only then does Mark smile back, eyes crinkling as he lets out a little embarrassed laugh, going for the navy tie he left at the foot of the hotel bed right before getting into the shower.
“How are you feeling for the first roadtrip of the season?” Vernon asks, as Mark turns to grab the black suit jacket he hung in the hotel room closet.
“I’m excited to get out there, to play with the boys,” Mark starts, and that much is true. If Victoria is his first home, then the ice that is his second. He fell in love with it when he was four and the Sedins went zooming right in front of his awe-struck gaze. While playing in an arena that is not MSG is not always the most fun, there’s a certain thrill to it. “Ready to keep the winning streak going—you can totally cut that out if we lose, haha,” Mark adds, scratching the back of his neck with his index and middle finger.
“Relax, Mark—I solemnly swear I’m not going to bite you,” Vernon chuckles, and Mark is a goner.
You could, Mark’s gremlin-brain says. Mark, if you don’t stop being so thirsty, I swear to God, the Hyuck-Yong voice on the back of his mind threatens back. Mark wants to whimper.
“I’ll take your word for it, then,” Mark replies. He takes a deep breath, rolls his shoulders before straightening them, showing the camera the most serious face he can manage. “I’m excited, I hope we can continue like we started, take home all of the points.” Behind the camera, Vernon smiles.
Mark looks down as he straightens out his tie, makes sure there’s no wrinkle in it. He thinks maybe that’s some more footage for Vernon, too. “How do I look?” He asks, and watches as Vernon takes his eyes off from behind the camera for a brief second before focusing on it once more, slowly moving until he pans to the hotel window, curtains wide open and sun shining through.
“Dashing, of course—maybe not as good as Henrik,” Vernon says, once he’s satisfied, once he’s turned off the camera.
“No one looks as good as he does,” Mark replies. There’s something about him that, as Nana had once said, screams DILF. Not that Mark is, like, trying to get any from there. Henke is his teammate.
Objectively speaking, though—he agrees.
“Well, I gotta go—players to film, pictures to take, you know,” Vernon says, carefully putting his camera in its very professional looking case.
“Sure, man—have fun with all of that,” Mark says, walking towards the door with Vernon.
“I will,” Vernon says as Mark opens the door for him, and Mark finds that he believes Vernon’s enthusiasm wholeheartedly. “Hey, Mark?” he turns around, and Mark jumps a little in his place, hand on the door handle.
“Hm?” he mumbles, trying to be as casual as he can.
“Good luck tonight,” Vernon starts, right hand combing through the front of his hair in one swift motion. “I’ll be cheering for you,” he adds, like he’s saying something as casual as the sun is out or water is wet.
Oh.
“Thanks!” Mark says, ears pink. He waits until Vernon is out of sight before he slaps the palms of his hands against his cheeks, hoping to shake himself out of his stupor. He closes the door and leans against it for a moment, counting down from five, waiting for his heartbeat to calm.
Hockey, he thinks, walking to his bed and fetching his phone. Mika should be getting here anytime soon. Think about hockey. Statistics. That time Jeno cried when you chipped his front tooth when you were kids. Your last season goals per game average.
Literally anything that is not Vernon Chwe.
Mark sits down on the bed, careful to not mess up his clothes too much, and finds that no matter how hard he tries to stop thinking about Vernon, the other man won’t leave his thoughts.
“I can’t believe I watched you almost fight Big Rig with my own eyes, in my own arena and all—Johnny had to step up and stop it!” Taeyong says as soon as Mark takes his call from the comfort of his bedroom.
“Hello to you too, Tae, I’m good, thanks for asking, how are you?” Mark starts, sarcastically. “Oleksiak was on my ass for the whole game, okay, I was annoyed,” he adds, pointedly avoiding mentioning how badly the bruise on his cheekbone the roughing had earned him hurt right now.
“Hope you’re good, Markie,” Taeyong replies, voice impossibly fond. “He’s quite literally twice your size,” he continues, and it sounds smugly amused.
“Fuck off, you’re smaller than me you asshole,” Mark says, satisfied at Taeyong’s huff of disapproval. “And besides, Vernon said—”
“Vernon, huh?” Taeyong asks, and Mark can tell from his tone of voice that he’s up to no good. “Who’s Vernon? What did he say?” Taeyong teases.
“No one,” Mark squeaks out. He said it was cool how I tried to protect one of the younger guys.
“You know I do talk with Mika sometimes, right,” Taeyong replies. In the background, Mark can hear some off-key belting that sounds a lot like Johnny singing along to country music. Fucking Dolly Parton loving weirdo.
“Traitor,” Mark gasps. “I can’t believe you’d go behind my back like that,” he says, and clutches at his chest, even if Taeyong can’t see it—Mark is sure Taeyong can imagine him doing that, that it’s the reason why he’s chuckling now.
“Don’t be dramatic, it’s not my fault that you have a crush and even Mika can see it,” Taeyong says. “Besides, it’s not like he texted me to tattle on you, we were already talking when you apparently tripped on a stick because Vernon did something.”
“Me? A crush? Ha,” he scoffs.
“I changed your diapers, Mark Lee, you can’t lie to me,” Taeyong replies, and Mark’s brain short-circuits.
“You did not change my diapers, what the fuck Taeyong,” he complains, the mental image entirely off-putting.
“Sometimes it feels like I raised you,” Taeyong says, molding his voice in a way that makes him sound older.
“I fucking hate you,” Mark whines, a he feels the amusement from the other side of the line coming off in waves.
“Don’t lie Mark-yah,” Taeyong tuts, falling into that familiar Korean when he says his name, strangely reminding him of being chided by his family. “Tell me more about him!” He adds, sounding enthusiastic.
“I hate you so much,” Mark groans, considering whether stretching this out would be more torturous to him or to Taeyong. He figures it really isn’t the best to let Taeyong go on more tangents about raising him and parenthood or whatever the fuck, so he continues, “He’s cool, like a year older than me and we are kinda...hanging out now? Mostly on roadtrips, when I have time, and, well, yeah.” Mark is sure that he sounds just as embarrassed as he feels.
“Is he cute?” Taeyong asks. Who is cute? Johnny’s voice booms in the background. All Mark can hear for a while after that is some rustling, and Taeyong possibly telling Johnny to wash the clothes or take Beauty for a walk.
“He is objectively attractive,” Mark says, even as his brain conjures a slideshow that could be titled something like Vernon Chwe’s Most Attractive Moments, including that one time more than one of his shirt buttons were popped open when a part of the team went out to grab some beers at the hotel bar after a well earned victory.
“Mark,” Taeyong calls him out, just like that.
“He’s cute, okay! Very cute!” Mark easily concedes, grumbling. “But it’s not like I have any chance, I’ve made a fool out of myself one too many times for it to be redeemable,” he continues, thinking of that fucking studio light that he broke during their first meeting.
“Tell me about it?” Taeyong asks, a peace offering.
“You’ll make fun of me,” Mark whines, voice cracking slightly at the last word.
“I’ll give you advice,” Taeyong replies, but Mark remains unconvinced.
“I can’t stress enough that you are not qualified for that in any way after it took you like a year to get your shit together with Johnny,” he says, feeling vindicated at Taeyong’s grunt of displeasure.
“Hush, you sweet summer child, and tell me just how badly you think you fucked up,” Taeyong tells him.
“Fine,” Mark replies, sinks into the pillows of his bed, and begins talking.
“Yeah, baby!” He yells at Vernon’s camera from the ice, knows his smile is big and will be caught despite the glass between where Vernon and Mark stand. The next thing he knows, Henke crashes onto his back, wraps his arms around Mark, and skates away with him as the crowd effectively loses their shit over this victory against the Isles. “How about that!” He yells, to any of his teammates who will listen.
When Mark is on the ice, when Mark is in the zone like this, when goal chances seem to rain down on him and the puck goes right where he wants it to go—this is when Mark feels like he’s soaring, flying without wings for an Arena to see.
The building vibrates with the energy he loves, not a moment of silence when he comes out to the ice briefly after leaving it to receive the first star of the game for his hat-trick and two assists. His jersey clings to the wet bits of his back once he skates around, raising his stick as the fans chant for him.
This is what I was born to do, Mark thinks, basking in the glory, however brief it might be.
This is me at my best, Mark thinks, and tells Vernon exactly that when he holds a camera to Mark minutes after he gets off the ice, right before entering the locker room to take off all of the sweaty equipment weighing him down. For once, he’s tall on his skates, finds that he has to look slightly down to meet the lens of Vernon’s camera.
Vernon purses his lips, like he wants to disagree, like he has a catalogued list of his own ranked very-best-Mark-moments, but says nothing. Mark giggles at the thought, at the surreality of having scored three goals in the first period. His eyes shine with enthusiasm as he tells Vernon, “We’re doing this tomorrow, too!”
"He's so cool," Mark says, days later, not appreciating the amused snort from the other side of the line. He’s calling Taeyong again, and the older man probably just wants a little peace in between games but Mark feels like he owes him this for what happened a year ago in Prague. "He loves Marvel, has read so many comic books in between doing all that like, studying and interning at a marketing company before coming to work with us," Mark sighs dreamily into the receiver, choosing to ignore the amusement on the other end of the line.
"Bet," Taeyong says, while Mark can hear some unidentified rustling from the other side of the line, then a laugh before Taeyong adds "like literally half of the world loves Marvel? Wait, since when is liking Marvel an indicator of coolness—"
"You don't understand, he got so fucking starry-eyed when he started talking about it? It was awesome," Mark continues, resting his hand on his chin as he stares out of the floor-to-ceiling windows of his condo. The sun is shining bright, he can hear imaginary birds chirping—life is good.
"I'm sure it was," Taeyong agrees with him on the other side of the line, but he sounds a little bit distracted. Maybe Johnny is burning his latest attempt at cooking. Maybe Johnny is trying to lure Taeyong away from the conversation by like, flexing his biceps as he leans against a doorframe. Both things seem incredibly plausible. "Mark, you only know Spiderman, and that's only because Nana keeps comparing your freaky reflexes to his." Now Mark can imagine Taeyong’s impressive eye-roll, can hear it in the intonation of his voice, but he doesn’t let that dampen his spirits.
"So now I have to watch all the Marvel movies, right?" Nothing Taeyong says can bring him down from cloud nine (thanks to the twenty minute conversation he had with Vernon right after practice, where he didn’t stutter once and was able to crack a couple of jokes that had made Vernon laugh). His day is good.
“I mean, you don’t have to—but you could ask Vernon to watch some together, eh?” Taeyong inquires, sly.
"Well, yeah—I can learn! There can’t be that many movies," Mark reasons, and feels the tip of his ears grow pink with the way Taeyong laughs, loud and carefree, delighted at the fact that Mark is being embarrassing.
"Let me guess, he offered to watch movies with you or to lend you his collection of comic books," and before Mark can defend his honor, before Mark can tell Taeyong that he kind of made the first move there by suggesting that he wanted to watch the movies with Vernon like the big boy he is, Taeyong continues by saying, "you are literally so whipped that it's embarrassing."
"Hey! Look who the fuck is talking about being whipped," Mark says, paying no mind to Taeyong’s noise of protest at his words. "And yeah, he offered to watch the movies with me because apparently he has them all on blu-ray—but I'm pretty sure he said it in like, a friends-only way, because he said dude, and patted my back in the most buddy-buddy way I know,"
"I literally call Johnny dude half of the time," Taeyong points out, very pointedly not replying to Mark's comment about him being whipped for Johnny. Coward, Mark thinks to himself.
"But you guys are practically married!" It's not like Mark is trying to embarrass Taeyong, but after he heard the man's drunken rambling about how much he loves John Suh and how he wants to be with him forever—well, he can't help but tease a little. But also, he's absolutely right. His situation with Vernon is completely different.
"I'm hanging up now," Taeyong says, and Mark can picture just how red his ears must be because Mark said the m word.
"Why," Mark whines, because who else is he supposed to talk about Vernon with, if not Taeyong? Xuxi? He didn't even know Xuxi was into Yangyang romantically until he heard from Donghyuck who heard from Jaemin that Yangyang didn't know how to approach the other man. And he didn't want to involve the '00 draftees into this situation because then that would mean too much teasing. And Hyuck is absolutely out of the question now, because last time Mark called him to talk about Vernon he laughed for five minutes straight and all Mark could do was hang up on him and ignore his messages, which means they are now doing their stupid iteration of fighting.
"Because you are embarrassing, and Johnny just finished cooking," Taeyong replies, groaning as Mark guesses he stands up from wherever he’s sitting.
"Gross, you are the embarrassing one—embarrassingly domestic," Mark shoots back. He’s smiling, though, because he can perfectly visualize Taeyong and Johnny working in tandem in the kitchen like they did last summer, when some of the Canadians went to Dallas as one last hurrah before they all started their respective training sessions.
"I literally live with Johnny, we kind of have to be—you know what, I don’t have to explain this to you! I will block your phone number, fucker," Taeyong says, no real heat behind his words. "Bye!" Taeyong's voice is cheerful right before he abruptly ends the call, leaving Mark grumbling under his breath.
Mark is not sure when talking with Vernon on road trips and texting him to find the good hole-in-the-wall Korean food places turned into Vernon coming to his condo to hang out, but he’s not about to complain about it.
He won’t complain, even if it means that he has to clean up his place and put up a couple things to make it look more lived in every single time he visits, because according to Vernon his roommates are too noisy for them to just chill in peace.
Even if it means that Vernon teases him from the moment he steps through the door, backpack full with the Xbox he’d been surprised to discover that Mark didn’t own.
“I can’t believe you don’t own a console,” Vernon says as he settles down on the sofa, after he finishes hooking up his Xbox to Mark’s ridiculously huge TV screen.
“Well, I’m kind of really bad at playing games,” Mark replies, locking his phone and putting it in his pocket, giving Vernon his full attention.
“Even the NHL games?” Veron inquires, and he manages to look both disbelieving and completely used to it. Maybe it’s because he’s seen Mark try to shop online for all of five minutes before giving up completely.
“Especially those,” Mark says.
“Shocking,” Vernon replies, deadpan. Mark pouts, can’t help it, really, and the way it makes Vernon smile has him feeling all light inside. “Now that you said that to me, I could convince the higher ups to run a video on you being bad at gaming. People would eat that up, maybe the chirps on the ice would be so good for when I inevitably mic you up,” Vernon reaches for his phone, like he’s going to write the idea down, and Mark groans, moves to take Vernon’s phone from him, somehow ending half sprawled on Vernon’s lap as the other man tries to keep his phone out of reach.
Mark looks up, hand still outstretched for Vernon’s phone, and finds that his breath gets stuck on his throat as he meets Vernon’s eyes. Holy shit, he has so many eyelashes. I could count them all from here, Mark thinks, blinking twice. Vernon is looking at him with something that looks very much like fondness, something that makes Vernon’s eyes sparkle beautifully.
“Stop teasing me and let’s just play Mario Kart or something,” Mark says, breathless, giving up on grabbing Vernon’s phone and maneuvering himself into a more respectable position. He feels a thrill run down his spine when Vernon inches closer, their legs touching.
“Fine, you big baby,” Vernon replies, laughing when Mark punches his shoulder without any real heat behind it.
“Keep it up and I won’t order from that pizza place nearby that you love,” Mark threatens.
“Cruel,” Veron says, leaning forward to grab his own controller “You’d let me starve?” He asks, tilting his head, eyebrows raised.
I’d let you eat me, haha, Mark thinks for a split second. There’s nothing he wants more than to slap his face after that thought, but he can’t do it without looking like he’s crazy, and effectively ending any chance of anything with Vernon.
No. Bad Mark. Very bad Mark.
“I’d think about it, but only because you’re being mean,” Mark replies with a little bit of difficulty. “Best of five and the loser pays for dinner?” he asks, hoping to diffuse whatever is in the air that’s making his gremlin brain act up.
“You’re on, eh,” Vernon says, last word slightly mocking Mark’s accent, and Mark laughs, reaching over to hand Vernon the other controller.
“Mark Lee, what’s up!” Taeyong’s voice booms through his silent living room, and Mark smiles, comforted in the little piece of home-away-from-home that Johnny and Taeyong have managed to give him, despite the fact that they come from wildly different places all over Canada and the States.
“Hey man,” Mark waves, laughing when there’s a little of shakiness on the other side of the camera and Johnny pops into frame, arm wrapped around Taeyong’s shoulders. “Hey Johnny!”
“Man, when the fuck are you getting an iPhone? FaceTiming is so much better than this shitty WhatsApp video call shit.”
“Don’t hate the player, hate the game,” Mark says, nonsensically. Johnny snorts, and Taeyong simply rolls his eyes.
“Weird for you to call at this hour—you’re usually with Vernon, aren’t you?” Taeyong digs, and it’s cruel, really, how easy it is for Taeyong to tease Mark. He guesses he kind of brought that upon himself, what with the lovesick calls, and the “tragic pining” he’s engaged in. But still, he expected better from a supposed brother figure!
“Hush,” His stomach growls loud enough for him to feel embarrassed. Lazily, he strolls towards the fridge while holding his phone with his left hand, his sock-clad feet barely making noise on the linoleum. “He’s not with me every day—he has a life.”
“And you don’t, clearly,” Johnny quickly shoots back, making a what-can-you-do gesture with his free arm.
“Hey!” Mark’s indignant squawk makes both Taeyong and Johnny burst out laughing.
"We went for dinner in Boston," Mark says, contradicting his previous statement about just how much time he spends with Vernon. If Taeyong and Johnny don't know, Mark is less at risk of being teased to levels unknown to mankind. He opens his fridge with his free hand, careful to not let the older men see exactly what he’s doing. A half empty bottle of ketchup and two lemons greet him. "Ate some really nice clam chowder," Mark continues, salivating at the thought of that meal. He looks at his barren fridge once again, and walks over to the kitchen cabinet that holds almost every single delivery menu in the area.
"You went on a date with Vernon?" Taeyong asks, and Mark can hear Johnny, the cheeky asshole, yelling no way in the background and then a grunt of pain. Taeyong must've elbowed Johnny as Mark was distracted by the contents of the drawer he just opened. Good. "Congrats!" Taeyong says, voice sincere, and Mark feels affection swooping over him as he ponders between two different take out menus.
"Well, you see—it was a date, kinda? But like, I didn't tell him it was a date, haha," And Mark was totally going to do that. Tell Vernon it was a date, that is. But then Vernon had smiled, and his eyes were twinkling under the streetlights as they walked towards the restaurant, a nice little place near the hotel they were staying at, and all of Mark’s words got stuck in his throat.
"Mark…" Taeyong starts, and Mark can hear Johnny muttering across the line.
"Yeah?" Mark asks, blinking owlishly as he focuses the front-camera on himself again.
"Are you trying to romance him without saying anything? How is he supposed to know!" Like this, Mark has a perfect view of Taeyong pinching the bridge of his nose as Johnny makes a coo-ing noise and holds him closer. Gross.
"Didn't that work out for Johnny just fine?" Mark replies, innocently, and now it’s Taeyong’s turn to squawk indignantly, while Johnny seems like he’s about to bust a lung with how hard he’s laughing.
"Hey! Do not hang up on me!” Mark begs, as Johnny tries his best to wrestle the phone away from an extremely embarrassed and slightly outraged Taeyong. “Tae—fuck," Mark curses, amid more ruckus and movement from Taeyong’s phone, then the call disconects.
SRSLY BRO, Mark texts Taeyong after he stops gaping like a fish. Taeyong texts back the middle finger emoji.
Sushi it fucking is, Mark thinks, shutting the cabinet with a little bit more force than necessary. The sound rumbles all the way across the empty apartment.
It’s a completely normal day when it (it being Mark Lee getting his shit together) happens.
“Hey, Vernon!” Mark exclaims, once he catches sight of Vernon near the changing rooms. It’s by pure chance, really, that they’re seeing each other today, when Vernon wasn’t meant to film them. Practice ran longer than usual, and Mark is lucky that he’s fully clothed this time he manages to catch Vernon, bag on his shoulder and ready to head to the parking lot and drive home.
“Hey yourself,” Vernon turns around and smiles widely when he sees Mark, making Mark’s heart race. He’s dressed as good as he always does when he means business, which is a far cry from what Mark sees whenever they spend time with each other.
Mark can’t figure out if he loves it more when Vernon is dressed down, wearing tie-dye hoodies and ridiculous sunglasses or when he’s all pressed-shirts and formal slacks. It really doesn’t matter what he’s wearing, though, because Mark just loves Vernon.
Oh.
He loves Vernon? Loves loves Vernon Chwe?
Talk about timely revelations, Mark thinks, subtly eyeing the practically empty hallway.
“Are you busy?” Mark asks. “Would you walk with me to the parking lot?” He adds, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.
“I have a meeting, but generally? No—I always have some time to spare for you,” Vernon replies, raising his eyebrows, and Mark groans, ears turning pink.
“Cheesy,” he complains, reaching over with his index finger and poking Vernon’s cheek as they walk down the hallway. “I was wondering if maybe tomorrow you wanted to try this restaurant that Mika suggested? I’m kinda scared to go alone, and I like spending time with you, and, yeah,” Mark rambles, sure that his face is getting redder and redder as he speaks.
"Sure!” Vernon agrees easily. “It's a date," he adds, easily, and Mark turns around to look at him, gaping a little as they near the door that leads to the parking lot.
"It's, uh, a date?" Mark stares for a moment. "Oh my God, it is a date," Mark says, imaginary lightbulb lighting up, amazed at the second realization of the day. Talk about personal growth and development. It feels much more like a nudge in the right direction instead of the colliding force he was secretly waiting for.
Vernon takes a look at his watch and points towards the side from which they walked from. "I'd love to stay and talk but my meeting’s in, like, two minutes," Vernon says, rolling his eyes, but his smile betrays his actual mood, which seems to be...happy? Because Mark asked him out? Or because he agreed to calling this a date? Mark is not super sure. He has to fight every instinct to not pinch himself, instead offering Vernon a soft smile that he hopes conveys all the good things he feels rather than the sheer panic.
"Text me the directions and the hour and I’ll meet you there. See you tomorrow, Mark," Vernon’s hand rests on Mark’s shoulders for perhaps a little longer than would be considered friendly, and Mark wants to scream.
"See you tomorrow, Vernon," Mark squeaks out, waving back when Vernon waves to him. As soon as Vernon is out of sight, Mark double checks to make sure there's no people around, then pinches his forearm, hard.
This is definitely not a fucking dream, Mark thinks, cursing under his breath because now his forearm hurts.
Uh.
“Taeyong…. We are going out?” Mark says onto the receiver, laying flat on his bed. His eyes are half-focused on the ceiling.
“We? Mark, I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’m dating Johnny,” Taeyong replies, half apologetic, half amused.
“Quit it, oh my God, I’m going out with Vernon,” Mark tells Taeyong, and at this point his heart is about to race out of his chest. ”Tomorrow.”
“Holy shit, Mark, you did that,” Taeyong all but yells, sounding as excited as he must’ve been when he went on his first proper date with Johnny or some shit. Mark is literally sweating.
“More like he did it,” Mark starts, placing the hand that’s not holding his phone on top of his chest. “I asked if he wanted to eat at this restaurant and he looked at me all cutely and said it’s a date,” Mark says, imitating Vernon’s voice poorly. “God, I think I love him.”
“Proud of you for realizing that,” Taeyong says, snorting in clear amusement.
“What if I fuck this up?” Mark’s voice is small as he confesses his fears to Taeyong.
“You’ve been stealth dating him for long enough that I know you won’t,” Taeyong says, confidently. Mark wishes he had just a quarter of the confidence Taeyong seems to have in him. “You might even get a kiss out of this!” Taeyong says, and follows his words with smooching noises. Mark wants to reach over the phone and punch his shoulder more than he wants to do anything else in the world right now.
“But what do I wear?” Mark asks, trying to push the dozens of thoughts he’s had about kissing Vernon over the past few months out of his brain to focus on the important things.
“Just text Johnny your possible outfits and he’ll tell you,” Taeyong replies, rationally. Mark really dislikes feeling like he’s the only person who’s losing his mind at the prospect of going on a date with the man he’s been thinking about, the man he thought he had ruined all chances with.
“And what if he hates the food?” Mark asks, mind racing through more than enough scenarios that all end up in him fucking up so bad that Vernon won’t ever look his way again. “What if he hates me?”
“Mark, my dude, I can’t stress how silly you sound right now. Vernon likes you already, he won’t hate you if you end up spilling wine or whatever,” Taeyong’s voice is placating, comforting yet firm.
“Aw, man, I’ll spill the wine,” Mark groans. The image of spilling a wine worth like 100 bucks all over Vernon is scarier than that one time he saw Hereditary.
“You can’t see me, but I’m pinching the bridge of my nose so hard it’s going to bruise,” Taeyong replies, and Mark knows he’s not lying. “Mark, everything will be fine. I promise. I have never met Vernon and even I can tell that he’s into you—”
“But—” Mark starts.
“No buts, Mark Lee. You will go out with him tomorrow and you’re going to have a great time. Who knows, you might end up confessing your sappy love to him!”
“Taeyong,” Mark whines, positively mortified. “I hate it when you’re right,” he mumbles into the receiver, hoping Taeyong doesn’t really catch the jumbled words.
“Yes, I know, I’m otherworldly, Johnny says that all the time,” Taeyong replies, laughing at Mark’s exaggerated retching noises. “You’ll be fine. Call me once you come back home tomorrow and tell me how it goes, eh?”
“For sure,” Mark says, fond. “Hey, Taeyong?”
“Hm?” Taeyong hums, sounding a little distracted. There’s a rustling noise, and then a tiny bark, and Mark smiles, thinking of Beauty curled up against Taeyong’s frame on the sofa.
“Thank you, for like, you know—everything,” Mark replies, a little rushed and completely embarrassed, but heart full nonetheless.
“Of course, man,” Taeyong replies. His voice is affectionate, and Mark feels even more embarrassed, but also even more loved. It’s nice. “I’m here for anything you need. Do you want me to tell you how terribly oblivious Dejun and Jeno were last time they had dinner with Johnny and me?”
“Please,” Mark almost begs. Taeyong laughs, and starts talking. Mark lets his friend’s voice wash over him and comfort him despite all of the miles between them, feeling grateful and loved and safe. Happy.
Holy shit, I’m kissing Vernon is the first thought running through his mind when Vernon stops him mid sentence, pulling him into a bruising kiss as soon as Mark closes the door to his condo. He doesn’t even mind that Vernon’s just interrupted his story about the time Jaemin’s slurred Quebecois had almost gotten his friends and him into a bar fight. Vernon’s lips are plush and feel so incredibly soft against Mark’s. He's sure that if he were to be taken out right now, he’d die a very happy death.
The date had been, well, good. Great, even, if you ignore the fact that they took one look at the menu, a second look at the lack of prices listed and bolted out of the place as subtly as they could. They ended up in that one pizza place that they both loved, sharing a table in a hidden corner and playing footsie for most of the night, because apparently that’s just how life is once you’re dating Vernon Chwe.
They hadn’t exactly held hands as they walked towards Mark’s place, but it was a close thing, something that had made Mark feel like he was literally walking on clouds.
That feeling can’t be compared to what is currently happening, Mark thinks, as Vernon’s hands clutch at his waist, as he holds the back of Vernon’s head and kisses back with fervor.
“I wanted to do that for so long,” Vernon confesses, breathless, as he presses his forehead against Mark’s. His hand’s haven’t moved, and Mark feels overly warm. He didn’t even have time to take off his coat before Vernon had decided to sweep him off his feet, but God, he feels so fucking happy, index finger gently tracing the shell of Vernon’s ear.
“I wanted you to do that for a long time, too,” Mark replies hushedly, can’t help himself when he presses a gentle peck on Vernon’s lips. He’s never been happier to be the same height as someone in his entire life. Vernon’s smile is positively blinding. Mark feels proud that he’s the one making him smile like that, carefree and happy.
They stay like that for a couple of moments, right until Mark attempts to take off his heavy-ish winter coat and Vernon giggles, embarrassed, moving to do the same with his own coat.He hangs it up right next to the door, where Mark had done a semi-decent job of drilling some hooks into the wall. While they are at it, they toe off their shoes, too, and Mark finds himself grinning as he leans down to put his shoes right next to Vernon’s, attempting to line them neatly.
“Sorry, I just couldn’t help myself,” Vernon tells Mark as he approaches again, wrapping a hesitant arm around Mark’s shoulders as they easily move towards the sofa in the living room area.
“I’m not even close to complaining,” Mark replies, giggly. He leans his head on Vernon’s shoulder for a moment before pursing his lips. “Can I kiss you again?” He asks, voice small, but feeling bold and brave at the way Vernon’s lips part.
Vernon looks speechless for a moment, before he laughs, a chuckle that rumbles all over Mark’s body. “Of course,” he replies, and waits until Mark leans forward, until Mark’s lips are in his once again to let out a small, content noise that Mark is more than happy to swallow.
They kiss for a long time, but maybe not enough time. Mark is not sure anymore. Everything he can think or see or touch is Vernon, and he feels so great that it’s just a little bit disorienting.
“Do you maybe want to watch something on Netflix?” Mark asks once they part, sheepish. It takes him a grand total of 1.3 seconds to realize that what he just said sounds very much like a Netflix and chill invite, and that’s where he starts fumbling with his words like he’s trying to juggle a couple of oranges and a couple of kitchen knives. “God, I just meant like, um, actually watch something on Netflix and like, we can sleep here together and go to the rink tomorrow and—”
“Mark, baby, relax,” Vernon says, thumb caressing Mark’s cheek. Mark’s brain is fried after hearing that term of endearment drip from Vernon’s lips. He feels like he’s molten lava or he’s fucking melting or some shit. It feels good. Even if Vernon looks like he wants to laugh a little at the way Mark stumbled over his words like.
Maybe he does. Mark is absolutely not going to be angry at him for that.
God. Taeyong is right. Mark is whipped.
“I’d love to stay. I’d love to do anything you want to do, okay?” Vernon says, voice full of sincerity, a kind smile on his lips. Mark can’t do anything but mirror Vernon’s smile, can’t do anything that isn’t snuggling even further into Vernon’s frame. “Wanna watch Brooklyn Nine Nine?”
Mark blinks.
“I have never watched that series,” Mark confesses, and Vernon looks a little taken aback.
“We can start today, then,” he nods, seriously, like Mark knowing what Brooklyn Ninety Nine is is of vital importance. “We have plenty of time for you to learn about Jake Peralta!” Vernon says, and he sounds so excited at the prospect that Mark can’t help but press a tiny kiss right on the tip of his nose.
He’s right, Mark thinks, getting comfortable in Vernon’s hold as the older man navigates Mark’s SmartTV. He glances at Vernon’s focused face once and smiles, warmth washing over him. I want to learn more about him, though, continues his train of thought. Vernon’s happy noise of success at finding the show on Netflix makes Mark’s stomach do a small somersault.
“‘Ello?” Mark’s voice is thick with sleep once he succeeds in grabbing his phone and blindly takes the call that roused him from a deep slumber.
“You didn’t call last night,” it takes Mark a couple moments to recognize Taeyong’s chirpy voice.
“I was distracted,” Mark says, keeping his voice down as to not wake Vernon. They are close enough that that doesn’t really help.
Mark feels Vernon’s grip on him tightening for a moment, before he hears him utter a very confused “Mark? It’s early,” right before he snuggles further against Mark, making his sleepy heart full.
“Oh shit,” Taeyong starts. “Call me later, you freak,” he adds, and Mark can practically hear the devilish smirk on his lips. Taeyong doesn’t give Mark enough time to defend himself before he hangs up.
Mark sighs, throwing his phone in the general direction of his night table, but there’s a tiny smile on his own lips as he grabs a hold of Vernon’s hands. “I’m here, we don’t have to be up yet,” he tells Vernon.
“Good,” Vernon grunts, pressing his lips against the nape of Mark’s neck for a brief moment before he allows slumber to take him.
Great, Mark thinks, and closes his eyes.