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Jaebeom
A knock echoes in the room and Jaebeom looks up from his computer, tugging the headphones off his ears and down around his neck.
Mark stands in the studio doorway, drowning in a huge sweater and leaning against the doorframe.
“What’re you doing here, hyung?”
“I brought you dinner,” Mark explains, pushing off the wall and placing a plastic container on the desk away from any equipment.
“Dinner?” Jaebeom frowns, looking out the window and only now registering the dark sky. “Is it that late already?”
Mark shakes his head in exasperation. “I’ll never understand how you’re supposed to be the responsible one. It’s almost ten, but I figured you probably wouldn't have eaten yet.”
And now that he mentions it, Jaebeom realizes how hungry he really is. He takes off his headphones completely, and makes sure to save the beat he was working on before cracking open the container.
His stomach growls as the scent of warm soup inside reaches his nose.
“You made me miyeok guk?” Jaebeom asks, voice full of surprise.
Mark laughs. “Of course not, I’m trying to nourish you, not poison you. No, Jinyoung made this earlier but I managed to sneak some while he wasn’t looking.”
Jaebeom grins and accepts the spoon that Mark hands him. He eats his soup and Mark messes around on Jaebeom’s laptop, going through some of the demos he was working on.
“These are really good,” Mark comments, nodding his head along to the music.
Jaebeom smiles. “Thanks. I’ve been working on that all day, but it’s not quite right yet. I can’t figure out what to do with the bridge.”
Mark scrunches up his nose and hums a bit of the song. “Want me to take a stab at it?”
Jaebeom shakes his head. “No, no, you’ve already come out of your way. I don’t want to hold you up, I’ll be home soon anyway.”
Mark raises an eyebrow sceptically. “Sure you will. I know you Beom, and you’re not gonna leave tonight unless you perfect this.”
Jaebeom smiles guiltily and rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, I guess if you’re already here...”
They shoot out ideas, brainstorm together, and end up adding different layers and taking out some of the others.
Minutes turn to hours, and soon it’s well into the morning and both boys are struggling to keep their eyes open.
It’s not the first time Jaebeom’s pulled an all nighter to finish a song, and it certainly won't be the last. Their fans are so loyal, and the least he can do is repay them with music that is up to his standards.
Sometimes, Jaebeom thinks he doesn’t deserve it. Millions of people around the world listen to him, and praise him, and he still can’t wrap his head around it. He’s imperfect, and angry, and so flawed.
Yet the fans take his open wound that gushes with insecurities and doubts, and stitch it together with the purest kind of love.
“You deserve it, you know,” Mark tells him quietly, eyes droopy and smile soft. “I wish you could recognize how hard you work.”
Sometimes, Jaebeom thinks he doesn’t deserve Mark either.
Mark has always been able to read him too well, been able to see through his carefully crafted lies. He says things that are so scarily well timed, that Jaebeom thinks he can read minds.
And maybe it’s because he’s the eldest, or maybe it’s because he’s Mark, but Jaebeom has always been able to rely on him the most.
Vulnerability is like, hard, okay? But somehow with Mark, he makes it easy to be cared for, to take a step back and put his trust in someone else, accept that maybe he can’t do everything by himself.
You deserve it, you know.
It’s bittersweet, this feeling. Jaebeom almost feels guilty for accepting help.
But then he sees the empty soup container, and he sees Mark with his eyebrows furrowed as he reviews the last vocal layer Jaebeom recorded- completely ready to spend all might cooped up in the studio until the song is perfect- and he thinks that maybe he doesn’t have to feel so guilty any more.
Instead of thanking the older boy, Jaebeom turns back to his computer.
The sun is just beginning to rise when Jaebeom jumps up in his seat. “This is the one,” he exclaims around a yawn, turning around to grin at Mark. “The extra bass layer you added on the counter melody is perfect. I really think we can pitch this for the next album, it’s-
He trails off, words dropping off mid sentence. Mark is turned towards him in his chair, head pillowed in his arms as his body leans heavily on the desk.
Lips parted, face lax, Mark sleeps through the finalisation of defsoul’s latest song.
Jaebeom smiles fondly, his hand reaching out to push Mark’s messy hair from his forehead, his dull nails scratching lightly against the boy’s scalp.
Mark mumbles in his sleep, nuzzling closer to the leader, and Jaebeom saves his song, then saves it again for good measure before shutting off his computer completely.
He scoops Mark up in his arms and puts him down on the couch in the back of the studio so he doesn’t wake up with a crick in his neck. Mark hums and shifts around, getting comfortable. He burrows further into his sweater, and doesn't look like he’ll be getting up any time soon.
Jaebeom snorts before settling down beside the smaller boy, squishing him into the couch.
Mark is warm, pressed up against him like this, and Jaebeom smiles, closing his eyes. He hums his newly finished song as he drifts off to sleep.
_
Jinyoung
Jinyoung is playing on his phone in the dressing room when Mark shuffles into the doorway.
He should be dressed and going through makeup already, but he looks a little miserable and Jinyoung understands what’s going on as soon as Mark sniffs his nose disgustingly.
“Gross,” Jinyoung complains, and changes the song on his phone to play something a little less upbeat.
He watches as Mark shuffles smoothly across the floor towards him, wearing only a pair of ankle socks on his feet. Jinyoung sighs and moves over on the couch to make room for Mark.
Mark plops down unceremoniously, leaning against the younger boy’s side. He should be in his stage outfit, because they are performing in a little bit shy of an hour, but he’s still in sweatpants and an oversized band t-shirt.
Jinyoung sighs again, because he really cannot afford to get sick, but Mark is warm and soft against his side as he presses his cheek on Jinyoung’s arm. Jinyoung reaches a hand up to feel Mark’s forehead, and sure enough, there’s a fever burning up his skin and spreading down his neck.
Mark leans into Jinyoung’s hand unknowingly, his eyes fluttering shut.
“Is your head okay?” Jinyoung asks. Mark has a bad history with migraines, and if he’s feeling too poorly Jinyoung might try to make him sit this show out.
Mark grunts, which in Mark-speak could be either a yes or a no. Jinyoung isn’t quite sure which one it is, but he rubs the boy’s arm in sympathy anyway.
The thing is, he’s noticed this pattern with Mark. Whenever he’s sick, he always goes to Jinyoung. Never does he request he look after him or nurse him back to health, but simply cuddles up to him, content to let Jinyoung continue with whatever he’s doing at the moment.
“We’re not filming our performance tonight, right? I look like shit.” Mark’s stuffy, mumbled words are warm against his skin.
“We filmed the last performance,” Jinyoung muses. “But you’d be crazy to think that all the fans won’t film you.”
Mark hums and nestles closer, turning his face for a second to push his cold nose against Jinyoung’s arm. “Wake me up before the makeup noonas yell at me okay? And don’t let Jaebeom see me like this or he’ll worry the whole time.”
Jinyoung agrees, even though they both know that Mark will get yelled at sooner or later when they find him barefaced and in sweatpants, and that JB will definitely notice at some point and inevitably worry the whole night.
“I’m gonna be right here,” Mark says softly.
Jinyoung knows what Mark wants him to hear.
See, Jinyoung has this habit of internalizing things. Locking worries up in his mind until even a split second of silence where he’s left without stimulation can be dangerous. It’s isolating in a mental way. Alone with only your own thoughts.
Mark seems to get that. Whenever Jinyoung feels lonely or sad, Mark is there to listen, or distract him, or just sit- so they can be alone together.
I’m gonna be right here.
Mark slumps completely on Jinyoung now, but his weight against Jinyoung’s side isn’t as uncomfortable as it would seem.
It’s something solid, something comforting.
Something welcome.
Jinyoung may be the stand-in mother of the group because of his fierce maternal instincts, but it's times like this that he feels equally as cared for as he is caring.
The proximity, the sleepy flutter of eyelashes against his bicep, the steady rise and fall of a chest pressed against him; this feels like what friends do, what family does.
It’s nice to think that in a time of vulnerability, Mark wants to be around Jinyoung.
The older boy is not unlike himself, wherein he has these walls built up around him, that serve to not only keep harm from getting in, but sometimes prevent him from getting out, locked inside the fortress of your own imagination.
The fact that it’s always him that Mark lets his walls down around makes him feel special; needed.
It might’ve seemed like that from the beginning, that Mark had always needed Jinyoung. He was Korean after all, and Mark barely spoke a word of it back then.
But really, Jinyoung thinks he’s always needed Mark.
Mark just- he has this way of listening that makes you feel like you’re not only being heard, but being understood. Jinyoung’s gone through some times in his life where he felt so completely alone, that maybe even if he screamed for help, no one would hear.
Until Mark.
Jinyoung doesn’t voice his feelings or thankfulness, but instead grabs a stray jacket from the side and pulls it over Mark’s shoulders, deciding that Mark knows him well enough now to get what he means.
Jinyoung and Mark’s legs tangle together loosely, their little pile warmed by Mark’s fever. His fingers twitch where they rest on Jinyoung’s arm. His elbow is kind of digging into Jinyoung’s side, but he lets him sleep.
A slow song starts to play and Jinyoung places his fingers over Mark‘s.
No worries plague him as his thoughts drift, because he’s not alone anymore. He has Mark.
_
Yugyeom
The adrenaline rush of performing live starts to fade, and Yugyeom can feel it in his bones, that deep ache all over from years of pushing his body to its physical limits. He’s almost 100% sure that every kpop idol has this ache, and he’s not sure if it’ll ever go away.
All the other members must be feeling the ache too, because the dressing room is quiet, everyone just sitting down until their manager-hyung brings around the van and they can go to the hotel.
The venue they played at was small, which is great because it means that the show is more intimate, but also bad because it means that the dressing room and backstage prep area are less than ideal.
There aren’t enough chairs in the room, and Youngjae is already sprawled out on the floor, so Mark eyes each one of the boys, calculating.
He finally makes a decision and unceremoniously plops himself down on Yugyeom’s lap.
Yugyeom laughs. “Please, make yourself at home,” he teases.
Mark wiggles his eyebrows, and then because he’s annoying, he does, in fact, make himself at home; snuggling down in Yugyeom’s lap and resting his head on the maknae’s shoulder.
Yugyeom snorts. Sometimes his hyung is so silly. Nevertheless, he subconsciously starts rubbing Mark’s back, enjoying the calming presence of Mark’s added weight.
“Tell me if I get too heavy,” Mark reminds Yugyeom.
Yugyeom snorts. “You’re a twig. I think I’m gonna be fine.”
Mark’s face does something funny, and Yugyeom feels kinda bad all of the sudden.
“Your English is so good now,” Mark says randomly, his back firmly pressed against Yugyeom’s chest.
For a split second, Yugyeom almost thinks Mark is making fun of him. That this is payback for the twig comment.
But he’s not of course. He wouldn’t.
Still though, when you hear people degrade you everyday, it’s hard to see when someone is being genuine.
“Yeah, man. So amazing,” Yugyeom jokes in English.
Mark shakes his head. “I’m serious. Your ending comment was perfect, you must’ve been practicing a lot.”
Yugyeom blushes at the words. “It was nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing. You’re smart, and you worked hard, and here are the results to prove it.”
You’re smart.
Whether he knows it or not, Mark is actually one of the only people who has ever called Yugyeom smart. It’s just for some reason people seem to think he’s dumb. They’re like, ‘Sure, he’s a good dancer, but there’s not a lot going on up there’.
And it hurts.
It makes him feel like a little kid; too dumb to understand, too naive to ask.
And that’s another thing, Mark has never once made Yugyeom feel like a kid. A little brother maybe, but he has always treated him with respect, has given him equal opportunity as everyone else.
Yugyeom is still blushing and thinking of how to thank Mark when their manager calls for them.
He waits for Mark to shimmy himself off his lap, but he never does. Craning his neck to look down, Yugyeom sees Mark with his eyes closed, his dark eyelashes pillowed on his cheeks.
He giggles a bit and moves slowly, trying not to wake the boy. He gathers Mark up in his arms and holds him bridal style, Mark’s face tucked into Yugyeom’s neck.
No one says anything as they make their way to the van, either too tired or too used to it.
Yugyeom claims the backseat, and tries to deposit Mark down beside him, but the older boy latches on like a koala and has a surprisingly strong grip on Yugyeom’s shirt, even when he’s asleep.
“Fine,” Yugyeom mumbles, and let's Mark stay where he is, awkwardly doing up the seatbelt so it’s protecting both of them.
The van rumbles to life and the night flashes by through the window, but Yugyeom’s focused on the boy in his lap.
It’s sort of an unlikely friendship he figures, although except for the age gap, Yugyeom isn’t really sure why.
Sure, Mark is the eldest. Sure, Yugyeom is the youngest.
But they’re so much more than that. Mark’s family treats him like their own, and Yugyeom’s mom loves when Mark visits. They also both have that weird mix of introversion and extraversion, where sometimes Yugyeom gets shy and Mark gets in the mood where he won’t talk for days, and other times they're both so loud and rambunctious that even Jaebeom can’t handle them.
Yugyeom knows that Mark hates it when people call him small, but he can’t help but think that he is when he’s curled up like this, so little in Yugyeom’s lap. He runs a hand through Mark’s messy hair.
Maybe Yugyeom is scared that people think he’s dumb and naive. Maybe Mark is scared that people think he’s small and weak.
Maybe everyone is scared of something.
Yugyeom thinks that as long as Mark is with him, maybe he’s okay with that, because at least they can be scared together.
_
BamBam
One evening, when the weather is nice and everyone else has already started getting ready for bed, BamBam and Mark sneak out onto the rooftop to hang out.
BamBam’s superhero comic book lies open in his lap, and he pops open a bag of chips, careful not to get any crumbs on the pages.
From beside him, Mark takes a sip from a can of coke. BamBam shoves a handful of salt and vinegar chips into his mouth.
They switch.
BamBam likes doing this with Mark; staying up late and binging on junk food. With the other members it’s different, and BamBam always feels a bit guilty when they have a weigh-in and he stays the same, while everyone weighs more even though they all ate like pigs. Mark is like him in that way, that they’re both simultaneously blessed and cursed to stay skinny their whole lives.
An hour later and the sun has mostly set behind the buildings ahead of them. The dark blue sky begins to darken into a bruised purple. With each passing minute, the moon begins to glow more brightly above them.
“Man, I wish we could be up here more often,” BamBam muses. “It sucks that we’re too busy travelling the world to enjoy living in it for a second.”
Mark flips his page, and Spiderman stares up at him from the picture. “You’re too young to be saying shit like that,” he chides.
BamBam shrugs. “It’s true. People spend lifetimes trying to be famous like us, when we spend lifetimes trying to be normal like them. Sometimes I wish everyone could just be happy where they are. I wish I could.”
Mark doesn’t say anything for a long time.
And then, “I’m really proud of who you’ve become.”
The words take a minute to register, but when they do BamBam has to blink away the wetness in his eyes.
“You’re so much more than what people give you credit for,” Mark continues.
BamBam struggles to sort through the thoughts in his head.
He might be the Prince of Thailand, but that’s back home. Korea is different, rougher around the edges. There will always be people who think he’s just a pretty face, and is only there for comedic relief.
I’m really proud of who you’ve become.
It’s one thing to say it, and it’s another thing to mean it. BamBam knows in his heart of hearts that Mark means it.
He also thinks maybe he doesn’t give Mark enough credit for his creepy mind reading thing, because he always seems to say the right thing at the right time.
“I don’t regret it though,” BamBam says slowly, “Not for a minute. We’re gonna change the world, you know.”
Mark smiles that blinding white smile of his and ruffles BamBam’s hair. “Yeah. We are. Let’s nap first, though.”
BamBam sighs dramatically. “I guess.”
Mark closes his comic book and sets it aside. He stretches and rests his head on BamBam’s shoulder.
It reminds BamBam of their trainee days, when they used to curl up on the studio floor and cuddle together when the heat turned off in the winter. Mark had immediately taken BamBam under his wing, had shown him the ropes and treated him like a friend and not a kid.
Foreigners or not, they just...clicked.
BamBam thinks it’s crazy that he met Mark; he wants to say it’s because he’s cool and genuinely compassionate, but there’s something more to him that can’t be explained.
BamBam thinks of it like this: he’s glad to have met a person who laughs with him at all the wrong times, listens to his worries and doesn’t make fun of him, shares the same movie and comic interests, and treats him to food. Someone who doesn’t mind giving him the raw truth when he has to, and still ends the day by resting his head on his shoulder.
Whatever that feeling is, BamBam’s glad to feel it.
His train of thought is derailed by a few airy words muttered beside him. Mark talks in his sleep sometimes.
He’s mumbling now, a soft and breathy whisper against BamBam’s shoulder. BamBam has no idea what he’s saying, but he humors him, answering back a few times with a, ‘Huh? Really? No way, dude.’
He snickers quietly when Mark subconsciously answers him with his perfectly-timed, incoherent rambling.
“All right, shh,” BamBam whispers with a hand lightly patting Mark’ forearm.
Mark quiets at the sound of BamBam’s voice. He sighs in his sleep. An air of contentment surrounds the both of them.
BamBam’s looking forward to spending the rest of his days with Mark and the other members. He can imagine tour after tour, and then even past that, to when they have a little Jackson running around naked, or when BamBam’s partner is laughing with Yugyeom’s as they tear up the dance floor at Youngjae’s wedding.
BamBam rests his head on Mark’s.
He came to Korea for the music; to feel the rush of adrenaline before a live performance, the roar of the crowd in his ears. But sometimes he thinks that he could give it all up. Because maybe he already has everything he’s always wanted.
Friends, a family.
He would die for every one of them.
And when Mark leans further into BamBam’s side, he thinks maybe this is all Mark ever wanted too.
_
Youngjae
Youngjae doesn’t think that the company could have chosen an earlier flight if they tried.
Seriously, who books a flight at ass o’clock in the morning and then expects them to be functioning enough to smile at the cameras that bombard them at the airport?
Youngjae finds himself pouting. He already misses Coco and they haven’t even left Korea yet.
Mark yawns loudly and pokes Youngjae in the side. “Why’re you grumpy?”
Youngjae huffs. “I don’t know. It’s too early to analyze my feelings.”
Mark laughs. “It’s too early to use words like ‘analyze’.”
Which, fair enough. It’s a well known fact that both he and Mark are not morning people, so out of anyone in the group, Mark probably understands why he’s a little cranky.
As they wait in line to check in to the flight, Youngjae notices that maybe Mark might understand a little too well.
The older boy stumbles and Youngjae wraps an arm around his waist. “Mark-hyung? Are you alright?”
Mark nods, his eyes drooping. “M’sleepy,” he mumbles, leaning into Youngjae’s side.
Youngjae laughs fondly. “I can see that. We’re almost through customs, you can sleep on the plane.”
Mark hums in response, pulling his hood up to shield him from the world even though he’s already wearing a hat. “Okay.”
He tries valiantly to stay awake, but his eyes keep fluttering shut and he sways a bit in Youngjae’s hold.
Youngjae cups his hand around Mark’s neck and guides him so he’s resting his head on Youngjae’s shoulder while they stand in line. They stand there, Mark dozing lightly in the crook of Youngjae’s neck, the younger boy’s hand wrapped around his waist to secure him.
They finally get herded onto the plane, and Youngjae let’s go of Mark after making sure he sat down okay, fully ready to go find another row.
You see, normally Mark either sits with Jackson or sits alone, but today he grabs onto Youngjae’s wrist and tugs him down beside him.
Youngjae giggles and allows himself to get manhandled into the seat next to Mark. “Guess I’m sitting with you today, huh?”
Mark snuffles and curls up in the plane seat, latching onto Youngjae again. “Mhm, you’re comfortable.”
“I’m squishy,” Youngjae laughs, “I need to start my diet again.”
And just like that Mark is suddenly more awake. Shaking his head, he looks at Youngjae seriously. “Don’t. You’re in perfect shape, Jae.”
“Says you, Mr. size zero.”
And here is where Jaebeom would hug Youngjae, where BamBam and Yugyeom would make a joke to lighten the mood, or where Jackson and Jinyoung would protest loudly.
Mark does none of those things.
“I was watching your performance last week,” he says instead, changing the topic completely, yet still managing to stay on beat, “It was amazing.”
Youngjae struggles to keep up with the 360 topic change. “Yeah, I guess,” he shrugs, “I’ve improved a lot.”
He thinks back to his past and internally cringes.
Mark must see that, because he manages to open his eyes fully to give Youngjae a look, even though he still looks half asleep.
“You have,” Mark agrees, “But you’ve always been amazing. Now you just have the confidence to show it off.”
Mark fiddles with his phone and turns the volume on his music up, snuggling deeper into his sweater.
Youngjae thinks that’s it, but then, “You know that you’ll always be enough for us, right?”
Youngjae nods dumbly, and it’s enough to satisfy Mark, who settles back down onto Youngjae’s chest.
And fuck if Youngjae isn’t left speechless once again by how perceptive Mark is.
It probably started before their trainee days, is probably some deep rooted fear, but if Youngjae had to place it, he’d say it stemmed from when he was told that GOT7 couldn’t debut because of him. That he wasn’t good enough.
Enough.
Not a good enough dancer, not a good enough voice. Not enough charisma, not enough personality. Not handsome enough, or skinny enough, or talented enough. Not enough.
You know that you’ll always be enough for us, right?
Youngjae hugs Mark closer to himself, and if the little noise that escapes Mark means anything, it’s that he might be crushing him. Despite that, neither one attempts to move away from each other.
Youngjae and Mark’s friendship is the kind of thing where if you blink you’ll miss it, but once you find out about it, it’s everywhere. A smile here, a laugh there, a weird inside joke squeezed into casual conversation.
Youngjae likes what they have.
He likes that he has someone to play video games with at all hours of the night and to co-parent a dog with. He likes that he can laugh with Mark until they cry, but also sit in silence and be just as comfortable.
He likes that someone likes him, just the way he is, no makeup or flashy effects.
Mark takes out one of his earbuds and pops it into Youngjae’s ear. They’re the ones with a cord- he must have lost his new wireless ones- and Youngjae finds himself tracing the cord with his eyes.
It’s a connection, to each other, and to music.
If Youngjae was better at poetry he might try to write something about that, and if he was less tired it might make a good song lyric.
Something about how the earbuds are a metaphor for some greater force that pushed them together, that keeps them connected to each other; blanketed in music and wrapped in family.
But Youngjae sucks at poetry, and he’s already drifting off to sleep, lulled by Mark’s deep breathing and the sound of piano in his ears.
_
Jackson
“Why are you on my bed, you dork?”
Mark blinks up at him confused, before he looks around a bit. He shrugs and flops his head back into the pillow. “I honestly didn’t notice,” he mumbles. He’s beyond exhausted, and at this point it’s impressive that he even made it to a bed at all.
“Well don’t you wanna sleep in yours?” Jackson laughs.
Mark groans, pressing further into the mattress. “I’m too tired to move,” he slurs.
Jackson huffs, but ultimately he doesn’t mind. He slides onto the bed beside Mark. It’s a close fit, but not that bad. Jackson will definitely not be sleeping in his preferred position of ‘starfish’ tonight.
“You’re hogging the covers,” Jackson whines loudly, reaching out to tug some of the blankets back to his side of the bed.
Mark reluctantly lets them be pulled away. “Fine, take them, but be quiet. I wanna sleep.”
Jackson does quiet down, and takes the moment to run through his day. It was a long one, filled with lots of press and being in the public eye. They were featured on a popular variety show.
If he had to describe it in a word, it would probably be draining.
Draining?
But he’s the Jackson Wang, reality show extraordinaire and all around funny guy. He doesn’t have bad days. Right?
Jackson is good at a lot of things. He’s really good at being loud, and really good at being funny, and really good at being nice. But sometimes, he wonders if he’ll ever be good at just being himself.
“You did good today,” Mark whispers, words muffled against Jackson's pillow.
Jackson's lips lift up slightly. “Yeah? Made it a funny episode?”
Mark hums non-committedly. “Always, yeah. But you showed yourself today too. It was nice.”
Jackson looks down at the feeling of Mark resting a hand atop his.
The touch quells any anxiety that was beginning to brim in Jackson, the worries he’s had for a while but never voiced. He doesn’t feel like he has to as long as he and Mark are together, because they’re family, and family gets each other.
The things about labels, is that once you get one, it never really goes away.
So now BamBam is a meme, and Mark is quiet, and Jackson is funny, and there you go, your whole personality summed up in one word, dumbed down to fit inside the box that everyone expects you to fill. .
Jackson turns his hand over so their palms are pressed together. Mark lets his long fingers fall in the spaces between Jackson’s.
Jackson used to be bullied in grade school for being weak.
Holding hands with Mark doesn’t feel weak for some reason. It doesn’t feel extraordinarily strong either. It just...is.
It feels private, like who the fuck cares, it’s their business. It feels more like a whisper or a brief smile.
It tethers him to this moment right now. Their fingers intertwine.
“You’re turning me soft, Yien,” Jackson murmurs, conscious of the fact that the elder has already fallen asleep.
Jackson’s thumb strokes the top of Mark’s absently as he looks up at the ceiling and thinks about how he used to be like him, how he is still like him.
He was so scared to come to Korea, to abandon everything he knows to pursue a pipe dream.
He’s still scared.
Maybe it’s a foreigner thing, or maybe it’s a Mark thing, but with the older boy, Jackson doesn’t even have to speak for his concerns to be heard.
Jackson sometimes feels like a fraud. There’s only so much you can mask behind a joke, or cover up with a smile. Mark is authentic.
You showed yourself today too. It was nice.
But he knows. Mark knows that Jackson is more than what the media paints him as. He knows, and the members know, and his family knows.
And that’s enough for tonight.
Jackson’s fingernail follows a faint scar on Mark’ thumb. He catches whiffs of the cinnamon candy Mark was eating earlier every now and then because they were too tired to even brush their teeth. When there’s a soft squeeze of his fingers, Jackson squeezes back twice as gentle.
He says nothing when Mark snores lightly, and only tugs their joined hands closer to his heart.
_
+1 one
Mark smiles to himself.
It’s his birthday.
The seven of them had spent all day together, starting with hiking up to a waterfall where only Mark and Yugyeom were brave enough to jump off, and ending with Mark’s favourite spicy noodles. Now they’re back at Mark’s place, having a video game tournament.
He’s sitting on the couch, watching a heated game of Mario Kart between Jackson and Yugyeom, when Jinyoung comes into the room carrying a cake that’s lit with candles, glowing in the dim lighting of the room.
Youngjae sees it first, and for a second it’s just him and Jinyoung singing a duet version of Happy Birthday. Jaebeom notices second, and his voice adds to the mix, filling in the gaps with his smooth tone. Those first few blended harmonies are so beautiful that it makes Mark long for something even though it’s right in front of him.
But then BamBam is joining in- purposely high pitched and squeaky- and Jackson does a weird british accent, and Yugyeom is laughing so hard that he can’t even sing.
It’s perfect.
The singing dies down after they drag it out far too long, and Jinyoung comes closer, presenting the cake to Mark.
Mark’s eyes are shiny even as he laughs. “Where were you hiding that?”
They’re at Mark’s house, and he definitely didn’t see Jinyoung walk in with it.
Jinyoung holds his nose up. “A lady never reveals her secrets,” he teases.
Mark laughs and then looks at the candles, watching the flames dance. There’s seven. It could be because he’s turning twenty seven, but he likes to think it represents the seven of them, one flame for each boy.
“C’mon hyung,” Yugyeom urges, “Make a wish.”
Mark obliges, and closes his eyes, blowing out the candles. He opens them and watches the smoke rise for a second, lost in thought.
“What’d you wish for?” Youngjae demands, leaning forward and crowding Mark’s space.
Mark shakes his head, still watching the tendrils of smoke as they dissipate. “I can’t tell you or it won’t come true.”
Youngjae pouts. “Fine. But just don’t wish to get even more famous and leave us or something.”
“Yeah,” Yugyeom exclaims, “We want you here.”
And that's... it’s a lot.
To be wanted. To have people see you at your worst and still stick around, because to them, you’re still worth it.
Sometimes, Mark thinks that no one will ever want him. And sometimes, he thinks that maybe they’d be right. Mark could fill pages upon pages with his flaws, but when asked for his qualities, only a sticky note’s worth comes to mind.
It’s always easy to blame people, right? To put a face to a deed, to have someone to point a finger at?
Well sometimes it’s even easier to blame yourself.
So Mark piles layer after layer of blame onto his own shoulders, until he’s staggering under the weight, hoping for someone to come help him, but pushing them away if they do.
Who would want that?
Jaebeom flicks Mark’s chest gently. “Don’t do that thing where you get lost up in that head of yours.”
Mark doesn’t deserve to be wanted.
We want you here.
But then there's that. And suddenly the six most important people in Mark’s life want him, and it's all too much.
He tries to joke back, but the words get caught in his throat and his vision becomes blurry with tears.
BamBam frowns. “Hyung, don’t cry, what’s wrong?”
Mark shakes his head again, motioning BamBam closer so he can squeeze the younger boy’s hand.
“Nothing. I’m just really happy is all.”
Yugyeom cooes, and Jackson rushes forward, crushing Mark in a bear hug. Jinyoung puts the cake down on the coffee table and bustles about, dabbing at Mark’s tears. Soon everyone is piled in a group hug, skin on skin, and when Mark feels tears on his shirt he realizes he isn’t the only one crying.
They break apart eventually, and everyone looks a mess, tear stained and rumpled, and Mark loves them even more because of it.
They eat cake, and Mark whoops everyone’s ass in Battleground, and they laugh so hard that Youngjae almost pisses himself.
When Yugyeom starts to yawn, they finally decide to call it a night, and Mark brings out his extra blankets and pillows, arranging them on the living room floor so they can all sleep together.
He ends up squashed smack dab in the middle, in the ‘place of honour’ as so named by BamBam.
Mark watches them drop off into dreamland until he’s the only one left awake. He can’t sleep though, not with this feeling bubbling up inside.
The feeling is so warm and all encompassing that it makes Mark wonder why there aren’t any songs written about this kind of thing.
Sure there are thousands of love songs, but none of them quite capture the way it feels to have BamBam’s knobby knees digging into his side and Youngjae’s soft hair tickling his neck. They don’t describe the little sounds Yugyeom makes when he sleeps, or the squirtle smile that stays on Jackson’s lips. Not one could compare to the smell of Jaebeom’s cologne washing over him, or the way Jinyoung holds onto Mark’s hand as he sleeps.
Thousands of love songs that pale in comparison to the real thing. Because at its core, that's what it is. Love.
A kind of love that will stay with them forever, and then even after that, a legend told by elders to awaiting children.
The story of seven boys who loved each other so much, that they learned to love themselves too.
Mark doesn’t sleep that night, and that’s exactly how he wants it.