Chapter Text
The air smelt of alcohol and cigarette smoke. Loud, booming music filled the air, mixing well with the boisterous laughter and chatter surrounding Mark on all sides. Couples making out on the makeshift dance floor, strangers grinding on one another, losing themselves in the beat of the music; it was all familiar to Mark.
He went to parties with his friends often. It was a way to relax after a stressful week of school, to forget about his life for a few moments, and enjoy himself.
All around him, the party was still in full swing. It was only midnight, after all, there was still plenty of time before sunrise to make dumb decisions.
Jungwoo had a cigarette to his lips, leaning back against the wall of the house as he watched smoke fill the air before him, swirling before disappearing into nothingness. He had offered one to Mark, but the younger had refused.
They were standing on the patio, away from the blaring music and loud sounds of the party inside. There were a few others outside: a couple making out behind a large tree, probably assuming that they were hidden from view, and a group of four girls chatting and giggling as they passed around a bottle of soju.
“I think I’m gonna go home,” Mark said.
Jungwoo turned to him, “Why? It’s only midnight.”
“I know,” Mark replied with a casual shrug, “I don’t really feel like partying today. I guess I’ll see you at school Monday? I’m assuming you guys will all be too hungover tomorrow to hang out.”
Jungwoo laughed, “Probably.”
He took another long drag from his cigarette and silence fell between them once again. It was a comfortable silence, though. Neither of them felt the need to fill the silence with useless conversations that they would never remember the next day. It was one of the reasons Mark would find himself searching for Jungwoo when parties became too loud, too much, and he needed to step away from it all.
“Hey, if you want to leave, go ahead,” Jungwoo said, “I have other things to keep me busy, anyway.”
He was eyeing a tall guy who had just walked out of the house through the patio doors, followed by a beautiful girl. He looked drunk out of his mind, laughing loudly at something the girl said, but Mark shrugged it off. It wasn’t his business who or what his friends decided to do when he wasn’t around.
Mark made his way back inside the house, pushing through the throng of sweaty bodies in order to get to the door.
On his way out, he ran into Johnny making out with a short male. They didn’t seem to notice his presence, Johnny with his hands underneath the guy’s shirt, lifting the black fabric to reveal toned muscles. Mark shook his head as he walked away, pushing away the mental image, fully ready to pretend that he had seen absolutely nothing.
When he finally made his way out of the house, he sighed in relief, feeling cool air hit his skin. He could still hear the sounds of the party, but they were muffled now.
There was a slight wind blowing Mark’s hair out of his face as he started his walk home. It rustled the leaves of nearby trees, creating a soundtrack of soft nighttime sounds around Mark, sounds familiar from his countless experiences in that very same position.
Walking home on his own after leaving his friends behind at another one of the seemingly never-ending parties that popped up out of nowhere, whenever Mark finally thought he would have a free weekend.
He didn’t mind parties, but he wasn’t always as social or comfortable as his other friends seemed to be.
They found it easy to fall into the routine of drunken nights and one-night stands, finding someone to fool around with until the night came to an end. It wasn’t that Mark couldn’t do the same, he knew that he was attractive and popular, and there were dozens of both girls and guys willing to do anything he wanted, but he didn’t feel the same need.
A sudden, rougher gust of wind blew through the air, the chill causing Mark to shiver and tighten his thin jacket closer to his body.
He noticed something, a small object, laying on the sidewalk. It was just outside his field of vision, partially blocked by the 24-hour convenience store on the corner of the street, and he had to turn the corner before he was able to see the object in its full glory.
It was a simple, plain white book.
The cover glistened white as brand new snow in the morning, before the purity was broken by numerous footsteps walking over it, destroying its beauty without care.
Mark took the book into his hands, flipping it open, revealing its empty, unused pages.
Maybe it was the alcohol running through his body, maybe it was the late hour and the lack of sleep, maybe it was a combination of both, or maybe it was simply because Mark found himself inexplicably captivated by the small white book, but when he continued on his way home once more, it was with the book clutched tightly in his hands.
- 🦁 & ☀️ -
Mark got home within the next few minutes, turning the doorknob and silently pushing the door to his house open. Inside, the living room was dark, but Mark could see light coming from the kitchen and knew that his parents must still be awake.
He hoped they wouldn't try to speak to him, to question him on where he had been or why he was out so late.
Apparently, the universe didn’t hear his prayers, and the moment he closed the door behind him, his mother crossed the threshold from the kitchen to the living room, catching sight of Mark standing by the door.
“Where have you been?” She asked, and Mark sighed.
His parents weren’t home often, and it gave Mark plenty of freedom to do as he wished. For the most part, they stayed out of his life as much as possible, and he stayed out of theirs. They may have been considered an unconventional family by others, but it worked.
Unfortunately, when his parents were home, they liked to play the act of loving, protective parents worried for their son’s future. Constantly reminding him to stay out of trouble, berating him when they smelt alcohol or cigarettes on his breath, sighing in disappointment when they caught his grades slipping, making judging remarks regarding his choice of friends. It was all fake; Mark knew it as well as they did.
Perhaps it was true that they wanted him to do well, to succeed in life, and end up with a high-paying job, but it was all for their own benefit, not his.
“Mark Lee, your mother asked you a question,” It was his father, stepping into the space beside his wife, “Were you drinking again?”
“No,” He lied.
“Are you lying?” His father asked at the same time as his mother asked,
“What’s that you’re holding in your hands?”
“I’m not lying, and it’s just a book,” Mark replied, both of which were lies, “Isn’t this what you wanted from me, to spend less time making what you consider bad decisions and spending more time focusing on my future, reading, writing, and studying?”
His mother smiled placatingly, her expression softening, “Of course.”
Mark excused himself to his room, leaving as quickly as possible. He avoided getting close to his parents as he walked out the room, up the staircase, knowing that they would be able to smell the lingering scent of the party on his skin and clothes.
His room reminded him of hours spent with his friends, of inside jokes and humid summer days when the only thing keeping them sane was the air-conditioning cooling their heated skin. It was organised chaos; decorated with pictures of moments that he wanted to remember forever, posters and CDs and a guitar stand, and other seemingly random memorabilia.
He placed the empty white journal on his desk along with all the unread books that he told himself he would read when he found the time, but the time had never come, and they stayed untouched, unopened, still in the same pristine condition as they had been when he first bought them.
He expected that the same would happen to the journal, and maybe in a few months, he would finally find a use for it, finally open it and decide to write down his thoughts in the way that always seemed so appealing to him but that he never found himself doing.
He would occasionally find himself scribbling his thoughts onto paper, but always ripped it into pieces only minutes after finishing.
Maybe it was because he was afraid, afraid to fully commit to something he found so enticing, only to fail -though he knew deep down that there was no such thing as failing, not when no one would ever be reading his scrambled thoughts.
Mark grabbed his phone, scrolling aimlessly through Instagram. Everyone he knew was posting photos of the party. Apparently, it was still in full swing, though some of its guests had decided to move to a second location, down at the beach only a few minutes away from the original house.
He lost track of time as he laid in bed, until he spotted a picture posted by Taeyong, a picture of a younger boy with sandy brown hair and a contagious smile. It was his brother, Donghyuck, whom Mark had met a handful of times when he was over at the older’s house.
He double-tapped on the picture to like it, turned off his phone, and rolled over, staring at the wall until the alcohol in his blood took over and his mind went hazy, all thoughts of the day and the white book flowing out of his mind like a bird taking flight. Soon he was asleep, fallen deep into the peaceful embrace of slumber.