Chapter Text
Mark loved what he was doing. He really did. It was more than his job, it was his passion, his life.
Be it performing on stage, fan contact, promoting, spending endless hours in the recording room and even more hours training, practicing their dances over and over and over again, falling into bed at night exhausted and spent, but happy. Happy. He loved everything about it. Living together with his band members, his best friends. Giving concerts. He even loved the days and hours of almost panic before a comeback, before they knew whether their new song would be a success or ruin their careers.
And even if sometimes he wished to have more time to sleep, a little time for himself, to do whatever he wanted to do at the moment, or when he got annoyed at having to perform the same song over and over again for their comeback, the second when he was rapping, dancing or doing a flip, he forgot all about it and just enjoyed with all his heart that he was able to do what he had dreamt of for so long for a living.
But still, there were moments when he just couldn’t help hating what it did to them. Not for himself, no, he was fine with the way things were. He always had been a very balanced and grounded person.
He hated it on behalf of the others. For Youngjae, when they came home after a long day of training where he had been yelled at for not getting the choreography right on the second, third or even fifth try, and he went to bed early, telling them, with a weak smile, how tired he was and that he just needed some sleep, but they all knew he just didn’t want them to see him crying. For JB, when the responsibility that came with being a leader put so much pressure on him that he had a hard time keeping himself from snapping at anyone who talked to him but he still tried his best to be there for every single one of them.
For Jackson who had the fullest and most demanding schedule out of all of them. Jackson who was always the first to be up in the morning and the last to come home at night. Jackson who had been getting more and more quiet over the last couple of months, whose once always present smile had been getting rare until it almost disappeared completely, only showing itself when he was directly faced with a camera, recording for one of his many shows or Real Got7. He had been getting paler, too, the bones of his face sharper and more pronounced. Mark was not sure how much of that last part had to do with Jackson’s hairstyle, the platinum blond making him seem older, more grown up. But he had been blond for a while now, since the promoting cycle for “Just right”, and he had been fine back then. Exhausted, yes, but promoting periods had always been hard on Jackson. This time was different. He had taken to styling his hair back lately, the sides of his head shaved, the hairstyle more fitting for their current concept than the tousled, soft mop of hair he had had before, and it suited him. He looked good. But at the same time – was it the hair that made his cheekbones seem so sharp and delicate, the shadows under his eyes so dark, or the stress he was under?
Mark remembered when he first got to know the other, Jackson had always been smiling, laughing, making stupid jokes. He had been so loud and energetic all the time that Mark had wanted to strangle him sometimes, hit him over the head and knock him out, just to get a few hours of peace, or just suffocate him and be done with it. But at the same time he couldn’t deny that he had always been grateful for Jackson’s presence, the energy he brought to the group, the way he always tried his best to make the other group members feel better, how he could cheer all of them up with his stupid, high pitched laugh.
A laugh Mark had barely heard for weeks. He missed it so much.
The worst of all was that Mark felt so, so helpless. There was nothing he could do for Jackson who had become so much more distant lately. In the past, when things were rough, he had always felt like he was at least able to give some measure of comfort to his fellow rapper. When Jackson seemed completely done with everything, he had come to Mark who had never hesitated to give the younger a hug, sometimes staying like that for minutes and minutes, Jackson’s head on Mark’s shoulder, until Jackson’s breathing was slow and steady, so tired he had to fight to keep his eyes open.
Mark could not remember the last time Jackson had come to him for something as simple as that. Actually, he couldn’t recall the last time the two of them had been alone together except for the nights in their room, sleeping, and even in front of the cameras, they had been more distant, touching less, Jackson doing fan service with Junior rather than him. When had that happened?
Markson had always been a fan favorite, the times they had taken over ASC for the so-called “Markson show” had proven that. The last time they had done that was shortly before they started promoting “Just right” and even back then… Mark remembered Jackson being less hyper, less bent on initiating contact between the two, always staying a few inches more away than before. Mark hadn’t known how to react to that, so used to Jackson taking the lead in those situations. It had been awkward, actually. Their relationship had never been awkward before.
Had it really been that long?
Mark turned over, opening his eyes. It was dark, only a few strands of moonlight able to get past the drawn curtains of their dorm room. Still, he had no problem making out the platinum blond head on the bed on the other side of the room.
He had been lying awake for hours, restless, trying to sleep, but sleep had not come. Instead, he had been thinking about Jackson, getting more uneasy by the minute. Biting his lip, Mark slipped out from under his blankets, trying to not make any noise. Jackson didn’t get enough sleep as it was, he didn’t want to be the reason his roommate woke up in the middle of the night. Quietly, he made his way over to the other bed, crouching in front of his friend’s bed.
A few strands of almost white hair fell over his face, but they could not hide the deep circles under Jackson’s eyes, so dark they almost looked painted on, that remained even in sleep. Still, Jackson seemed different asleep. The hard lines in his face softer, making him look younger, even peaceful. Unguarded.
Mark could remember Jackson looking like that even when he was awake, years ago in front of everyone, later at least in front of him. But not in the past few months.
The oldest member of Got7 could not suppress the soft sigh that came out of his mouth. He ruffled his hair with one head, closing his eyes. What the hell was he doing, watching Jackson sleep at 3 a.m.? He was supposed to sleep himself, rest, they had a tiring day ahead of them, and he owed it to the others to be at his best, always trying his hardest for the group. Instead, he kneeled in front of his sleeping best friend. Or were they? Best friends? It hadn’t seemed like it in the past weeks, even months.
The grip in his hair tightened. There he went again, worrying instead of being sensible and just going to sleep. He was probably stressing over nothing. Jackson was just under a lot of pressure. He’d come around.
“Mark?”
The sudden voice breaking the silence made Mark jump and lose his balance. With none of his usual athletic grace, he fell back, landing on his butt with an audible thud.
Jackson had opened his eyes, black in the sparse light, and looked at him, frowning. With one hand, he pushed the hair that Mark had just found so endearing out of his face. “What are you doing?” Jackson’s deep voice was rough from sleep, even more so than when he was rapping.
Mark could feel goose bumps raising on his arms and had to suppress a shiver. “N-nothing,” he answered, clearing his throat. “I woke up and wanted to make sure you were sleeping well.”
Jackson raised one eyebrow, disbelief clear on his face. “I’m sure my snoring was enough proof of that. You didn’t have to hover in front of my face like a creep.”
“You don’t snore,” Mark mumbled, feeling heat rise in his face.
“You’ve been telling me otherwise for years now,” Jackson retorted. “Out with it, what’s going on?”
Mark bit his lip and looked away. “I couldn’t sleep,” he confessed, embarrassed. “And… I’m worried about you.”
Jackson sighed and let his head fall back on his pillow, yawning. “Don’t be. I’m fine. Why are you worried, anyway?” Already, his eyes were threatening to fall shut again. Damn, he needed to sleep more. When had his last day off been? He couldn’t remember. Not a good sign.
“You’re overworking yourself,” Mark answered quietly. “I’m scared that you’ll just collapse one day. And…” He hesitated, breaking off.
Jackson groaned and opened his eyes again. “Mark, I’m too tired for this crap. Just tell me.”
“You’ve been distant lately,” Mark whispered, barely audible. “I was wondering if I had done something to drive you away.” The next moment, he wanted to slap himself. How pathetic was he, really? For some reason, he felt tears rising in his eyes. Crying, was he now? What the fuck was wrong with him? Swallowing, he fought the tears back, but the hot, uncomfortable feeling didn’t leave. “Sorry,” he mumbled, getting up from the cold ground he’d been sitting on. “It’s nothing. I just had a bad day.”
He was already turning away when Jackson sighed – again – and stopped him. “Wait.” He lifted one corner of his blanket in a clear invitation. “Get in.”
Mark stared at him, astonished. “What?”
“You heard me. Get in. You’re worried about me, so much it’s costing you sleep, right? Well, I’m right here and I’m fine. So get in so we can both get some rest.” His voice sounded like he was already half asleep again. “And don’t creep around in front of my bed again, seriously. Nearly gave me a heart attack seeing you directly in front of me when I opened my eyes.”
Mark could feel his blush returning. “I’m not a creep,” he murmured in protest, but Jackson ignored him.
“In. Now.”
The older rapper gave himself a mental push and followed the order, slipping in under the warm blankets, before lying there awkwardly, not knowing what to do with his hands, arms, legs or any other body part.
“Finally.” The younger’s voice was barely a sigh, his eyes already closed and drifting off to sleep. “Just relax,” were his last words before his breathing steadied again.
Mark on the other hand didn’t have such an easy time going to sleep. Why, exactly, had he ended up lying in Jackson’s bed? How was that supposed to help him sleep?
Still, he had to admit there was something comforting in the slow, even breaths next to him and the heat the other body emitted. And it definitely showed Jackson did not have a problem with having Mark near him. He really had made a fool out of himself, hadn’t he? Slowly, he turned to his side, trying not to rustle the bed too much. Jackson’s face was directly in front of his own, white in the moonlight. His eyelids seemed nearly translucent, his lips slightly parted. He was beautiful, actually.
“You’re staring again,” Jackson stated dryly, without even opening his eyes.
Mark flinched. He hadn’t expected the younger to still be awake. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Go to sleep. You need it.”
“Yeah, well, that’s hard to do when I feel you practically burning holes into my face with that stare of yours.” Finally, he opened his eyes again which seemed so much darker in contrast to his pale hair and skin. Like deep holes Mark could fall into. “Anything I can do to help you fall asleep?” Jackson asked softly.
Mark hesitated, his thoughts wandering back to the memories he had gone through earlier. “Can I… hug you?” he asked, uncertainty in his voice. Honestly, those hugs always had comforted Mark just as much as they had Jackson.
“Whatever,” the younger rapper agreed. “C’mere.”
Slowly, Mark shifted closer to Jackson’s body, frowning at himself when he felt his heart speed up. What the hell? He didn’t know what was happening to him anymore.
When he got close enough, Jackson slung an arm around his waist, pulling him closer until they were right next to each other, Marks head on Jackson’s arm, their foreheads touching. Those dark eyes were already closed again. “Now sleep,” Jackson grumbled.
Mark felt a smile tugging at his lips. Jackson still was the same. Going out of his way to make the others feel better, all the while acting like it was nothing.
Carefully, he placed one arm around Jackson’s waist, returning the embrace, and closed his eyes. For the first time this night, he felt at peace enough to consider sleep.
Mark woke up to the unfamiliar feeling of foreign arms around him, another body pressed to his. Opening his eyes, he blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision and identify what it was he was seeing, only inches from his face. And then he blushed a deep, crimson red, as he remembered what he saw, where he was and how he had ended up there.
Jackson was still deeply asleep, his every breath brushing over Mark’s cheek and ear. Of course he was. Mark had been tired, that was true, but Jackson had to be exhausted. And then Mark had woken him up from his well-deserved sleep in the middle of the night for basically no reason, kept him awake for about half an hour, and then taken up half the space in his bed.
Mark felt mortified.
Seriously, what had been wrong with him last night? Mark bit his lip, remembering the weird, panicky feeling in his stomach that thinking about the distant way Jackson had been acting had caused. The feeling had eased, somewhat, but he felt like it was still there at the edges of his mind, in his fingertips and the tips of his toes, waiting to come back.
Across from him, Jackson sighed and muttered something in his sleep, simultaneously tightening his grip on Mark, pulling him closer.
Good thing his blush hadn’t yet vanished: It would have been a wasted effort, since it returned in full force when Mark felt Jackson’s body pressed that close to him. They were touching from their knees up to their shoulders, Jackson’s head resting against Marks shoulder.
Still, he tried not to move, not wanting to wake Jackson from his much needed rest – again. And, if he was completely honest… It didn’t feel bad. Not at all. Though he did ask himself how they would explain this situation when someone came to wake them up.
Again, Mark found himself studying the lines of Jackson’s face, or what he could see of it, snuggled into his shoulder the way it was. The dark circles beneath his eyes seemed to have gotten a bit lighter, thankfully. Carefully, Mark raised a hand and brushed a few pieces of hair out of Jackson’s face, his touch light as a feather. Beautiful, his thought of last night returned. Jackson was beautiful.
And then, when Jackson’s eyes fluttered open, black against his white skin, and he returned Mark’s gaze with sleep still in his eyes, Mark considered for the first time the possibility that he might be in love with his best friend.