Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It all started with a coincidence, really. A convenient coincidence, Jackson would say.

The group had just finished a recording session that lasted longer than they had planned it to be, because it was Jinyoung’s song and Jinyoung doesn’t accept anything less than perfect (Hyung’s a fucking tyrant, Yugyeom had whispered to Jackson once, only to get smacked on the back of the head by Jinyoung a beat later because apparently God loves Jinyoung so much to also add superhuman hearing to Jinyoung’s extensive list of aptitudes).

They all made a beeline to separate cars—Jaebum, Jinyoung and the maknaes piled into one car because Jaebum and Bambam needed to record a scheduled Vlive together and the four wanted to grab dinner afterwards, and Youngjae climbed into his sister’s car who was kind enough to pick him up as the recording studio was in her route home. Which left Jackson and Mark, who were both a bit homesick for not going home for so long that they craved one of their homeland’s delicacies. “It’s Chinese bonding night,” Jackson had proudly announced to the group, completely ignoring Mark’s jab of “I’m kinda legally American” as he practically dragged the lankier boy to the basement where he parked his trusty Lexus.

As Jackson unlocked his car with a beep, Mark incredulously gaped at him when he saw Jackson opening the passenger door and slid into the right side of the car instead. “Last time I checked, I am the guest,” Mark deadpanned, opening the door on the driver’s side and sat himself down with a dramatic huff. Jackson tried his best to feign innocence, but failed when he saw Mark desperately trying to come off angry yet ended up grimacing when he tried to hold back his laughter.

“But I provide the car, so you drive,” Jackson replied.

“That doesn’t even make any fucking sense.”

Jackson blinked up at him, mustering the most pleading puppy eyes he could manage, because he knew the technique is powerful enough to even make his best friend of six years melt at his gaze.

And sure enough, Mark’s jokingly accusing glare softened. “That’s not fair.”

Jackson smiled, slotting his seatbelt into place. “You love it.”

Mark snorted at that, but started the engine anyway. “But I get the aux cord.” Jackson just shrugged, a little smile dancing on his face as he scrolled down the notifications on his phone.

Suddenly, Jay Chou’s Silence blasted through the speakers and Jackson swore his head snapped up from the blue light of his phone so quick to find Mark grinning, all cute canines showing without taking his eyes off the road.

“It’s Chinese bonding night,” Mark supplied, and Jackson laughed uproariously at his friend’s attempt to hit the high notes. Mark sounded like a fucking horse.

“You sound like a fucking horse.” Jackson’s brain-to-mouth filter worked a beat too late, as usual.

“That’s still tragic but it’s an upgrade from Bambam’s claim of me sounding like a comatose whale, so I’ll take it,” Mark quipped back, nonchalantly. Jackson really didn’t understand the comments he’d seen online about Mark being dull and boring. His friend can be ridiculously hilarious if he wanted to.

Another high note in the song was nearing and Jackson could see Mark inhaling in preparation. And Jackson was glad he wasn’t the one driving because Mark’s scream some seconds later sounded almost ultrasonic he would’ve swerved their car onto a tree. “Oh my god, just stick to rapping,” Jackson grumbled as he reached down to pick up his phone, which he might or might not accidentally threw into the air in appreciation (or shock) of his friend’s…impeccable talent.

If the Korean music industry failed Mark, he would have no problems doing screamo in like some rock band or something.

Mark cackled, and schooled his face back into a deadpan expression as he glanced to Jackson when he said, “yeah. Wouldn’t want Jaebum or Youngjae to lose their job if I were to seriously take up singing, would we?”

“You’re insufferable,” Jackson dramatically slumped in his seat as Mark drew his attention back to the road, laughing even harder as he pressed the rewind button to the same Jay Chou song and at Jackson’s attempt on throwing himself out the car window.

-

Dinner itself was pretty uneventful, actually. They went to their favorite hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaurant where they visit often enough to be considered regulars. The owner was the one who greeted him that night, and they were thankful to be escorted into a private room without them asking to.

They chatted idly about, well, everything, as Jackson ordered his third bowl of wonton and Mark practically inhaling the dimsums. They always do this, Mark and him, Jackson thought, as he watched his usually docile friend chatting animatedly over his dinner, talking about something from Overwatch that Jackson didn’t really care about. But talking Mark is a happy Mark, and a happy Mark brings a happy Jackson so Jackson let him drawl on.

Hours later, Jackson drove a sleepy, contented Mark home, smiling as his friend practically dozed off right after his butt hit the passenger seat. But then Jackson heard a rumble, and another, and suddenly the drip, drip, crash of torrential rain obscuring his view from his windshield.

The particularly loud thunder probably woke Mark up too, as Jackson heard rustling from the seat beside him. He turned his head to find a bleary-eyed Mark staring sleepily at him, and then the windshield. “Fuck,” Mark croaked, eyeing the heavy traffic ahead. Jackson nodded in agreement.

Jackson pulled up the maps on his phone to find that they were only a short fifteen minutes away from his apartment. “Do you wanna just crash at my place?” Jackson suggested to Mark, who was fiddling with the tangled aux cord. He dropped the cable, suddenly clutching the area where his heart is as he gasps dramatically. “My prince,” Mark sighed, dreamily, and Jackson threw a light punch to his arm.

“I don’t think anyone in the dorm has ever gone to your new place before,” Mark quipped after a while, a slow, lazy ballad playing in the background. Jackson hummed. “Yeah, I’ve only gotten all the furniture installed, like, a week ago and I haven’t sorted everything yet. I think I saw my boxers on top of the fridge this morning. Don’t ask,” Jackson interrupted quickly as Mark giggled at the mental image.

“The one Younghyun bought you because you lost that dare? The one with Pororo’s face smack dab on the crotch?” Mark cackled even harder as Jackson let out a long oh my gooooood while smacking his forehead onto the steering wheel. “Shut up, Jaebum has a Bart Simpson boxer in piss yellow color. And he bought it himself, with his own consent,” Jackson screamed, incredulous as he recounted that episode where he caught their leader red-handed while trying to stuff the damned boxer onto the very bottom of the laundry basket. He could never forget the look on Jaebum’s face then, he looked like he actually kicked Youngjae out of the dorm on purpose to raise three cats and felt guilty about it (and no, Jaebum didn’t kick Youngjae out for cats. He just wished it was Bambam who was allergic to cats so he could claim that he really kicked the Thai guy out instead.) “And anyways, it’s not that boxer, it’s the one with Winnie the Po—why am I even telling you this,” Jackson groaned and Mark was practically wheezing.

They made it to Jackson’s apartment a bit longer than fifteen minutes because of the rain, but they made it there in one piece. Mark smiled politely at the guard and Jackson gave the man a little friendly wave before they both step into the elevator.

”I’m actually honored that I’ll be the first one of the kids to step inside your apartment,” Mark said as the elevator dinged on one of the top floors. Jackson swatted his hand. “Don’t be dramatic, it’s just a single guy apartment,” he said, gaze flicking to meet Mark’s, “don’t put your expectations up too high.” But Mark has known him for years for Jackson to know that he sensed the bubbling feeling to show off a bit, and Mark didn’t comment on that except for a small smile on his lips.

As Jackson tapped his keycard and punched in the password onto the dial on his door, Mark held his breath expectantly while waiting for Jackson to push the door open. Jackson flicked the lights on, and he couldn’t hide his grin when he heard Mark exhaling in awe.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” he teased, and Mark rolled his eyes because nothing from the tone of Jackson’s voice sounded humble at all.

And Jackson had pretty much all the right to brag, anyway, because his apartment is actually a more than decent bachelor pad, spacious and homely with the combination of white, grey, and brown. The walls are decorated with wooden panels and a bit of suede, while the floors have natural stone and oak finishes. The dynamics in colors—the subtle white, light brown, and beige tones—are prominent and contrasted with a burst of green from the houseplants by the dining area and the hallway to the bedroom. A huge TV is mounted on the wall opposite of the plush, light grey sofas with a long credenza underneath it where Jackson put frames and frames of his family pictures. Families, Jackson corrected himself under his breath, he has two families now, one back in Hongkong and one whom he sees in Korea everyday.

The kitchen area had a white, sleek counter with two chairs with a window overlooking the bustling streets of the city below while also filtering in the soft moonlight beneath the blinds. Jackson smiled softly at how Mark didn’t even try to mask his amazement, but then Jackson glanced to the direction of the fridge and groaned as he spotted the offending Winnie the Pooh boxer still on top of it. He was moving to pick it up but Mark, the ever perceptive Mark, let out a shrill sound between a scream and a cackle before making a mad dash past Jackson to grab said boxer. He stared at Jackson, and back to the boxer in his hand, the monstrous combination of red and yellow and the prints of Pooh licking his paw full of honey (who the fuck designs these things) staring back at him.

“Okay, before you say anyth—mmpf,” Jackson didn’t even get to finish his sentence before Mark wadded the offending garment and threw it square in his face. Jackson opened his eyes to an absolutely wheezing Mark, the red-haired sinking down on the floor clutching his stomach, his mouth open with silent laughter, and as much as Jackson wanted to stay mad at him, he couldn’t because it was actually one of the most beautiful sights Jackson had ever seen in his life.

“You can never—” Mark managed between his breaths, grinning so hard Jackson couldn’t stop the smile creeping up to his face too, “—ever mock Jaebum about his Bart Simpsons boxers ever again because this is far worse than anything I’ve ever seen in my life.” Jackson playfully grumbled as he threw the stupid garment back to Mark, which he completely avoided with agile, deer-like grace. “Fucking loser,” Mark sing-sang as he slinked back into Jackson’s living room.

His slipper-clad feet padded on the warm floor, and he arrived just in time to witness Mark throwing himself onto one of his brand new sofas, his body bouncing as he did so. “You sly bastard,” Mark said from his place on the couch, “now I know why you’ve been keeping this place to yourself—and us out of it. The kids would literally have a field day here in this, this—” Jackson watched as Mark flapped his arms around almost comically, looking for the right word to say, “—this castle. This is every young man’s dream, I can’t believe you, holy shit.” Mark then piped up. “Oh, better shoot Jaebum a text that I’m staying over,” he said, already pulling his phone out and tapped on the screen.

Jackson’s phone dinged, because Mark sent the message into the groupchat, along with a selfie of him with his thumbs up and Jackson’s lush living room in the background. dont wait up, im staying over @ jacks, the text read, and the rest of the group sent an affirmative (well, except Yugyeom, because he sent that fucking weird dancing sticker that no one likes but there is kind of an unspoken rule in GOT7 that maknaes reign supreme, although no one in the hyungline would admit that as long as they’re alive), but Bambam sent back a single side-eyes emoji that Jackson wouldn’t want to know what the younger was implying at.

Jackson let his gaze linger a few beats longer on his best friend, who was then back to admiring his huge flat screen TV and babbling about a PS4 is the only thing missing from his otherwise perfect living room. Mark is such a fucking game nerd, and Jackson couldn’t help but find it adorable.

Adorable? Jackson shook his head. Huh.

“You haven’t even seen the best part yet,” Jackson said instead, and Mark stopped talking, turning his head so quick Jackson swore he could’ve snapped his neck.

Jackson snorted. If Mark were a puppy, he would’ve had his tongue out in a very expectant expression with his tail wagging incessantly, like a puppy waiting for a treat. He then gestured for Mark to follow as he made his way down the hall and opened the door to the far right.

He found himself letting out a gasp along with Mark as he flicked the lights on, even though he himself was the one who designed the room. He felt a surge of pride as his eyes roamed, taking in the entirety of his creation. Jackson really didn’t mean to brag but this room is literally his masterpiece. His haven.

The room is his own home studio, the very first room he planned and designed when he decided that he wanted to try living on his own. The room was warmly lit, the dim glow reflected on the spotless iMac screen that greeted them opposite the door. It sat on a sleek, mahogany table, with two speakers sitting on either sides of the screen. On the right is a table microphone, Bose headphones on his its left. A swivel office chair was parked in front of the table, making whoever uses the studio easy to transport himself around the room without even getting up from the chair.

The rest of the room is filled with other recording essentials, and Jackson tried not to stare as Mark ran his pretty fingers on the pristine ivory of his keyboard. Has Mark always had pretty hands?

Jackson mentally slapped himself. He swore the restaurant’s chef put something funny in his wonton today.

“I’m going to say this again, I’m truly honored to be the first one among GOT7 to witness…this,” Mark mumbled, an honest awe lacing every word that tumbled out of his mouth. Jackson’s heart swelled at his friend’s honest display of emotions.

“Comments?” Jackson teased, wanting to see whether he could fish any more reactions from him. Mark looked at him fleetingly, but Jackson knew the glint in Mark’s eyes and he suddenly regretted asking.

“Well,” Mark drawled, trying to hide the smirk forming on his lips as he schooled his expression to one that made him look like he’s thinking long and hard, “this is a great studio and all but the red walls kinda remind me of the playroom in Fifty Shades of G—”

Jackson locked Mark in the studio, incredulous at how Mark’s cackle and yells of half-assed apology still could permeate through his soundproof studio walls.

-

Jackson absentmindedly scrolled down his Instagram feed, and liked some of his tagged photos from the music show prerecording earlier that day. A notification popped up that Yugyeom had just shared a post, and a tuft of mustard blonde hair took up a square space on his screen as soon as he clicked it. It was a selfie, the youngest taking it from his signature angle and tilted his camera in a way that it teasingly showcased his bare shoulder. Jackson snorted. The fans would have a field day over that.

He quickly typed in a cheeky comment along the lines of “This brat…setting a bad example >:( Don’t forget to bundle up for the Fall weather, Ahgases! My heart hurts to see you getting cold ♥”, chuckling to himself as he pressed send. He could be cheesy as fuck if he wanted to, and people would still swoon no matter how cringy it is anyway.

He turned to his left side under his warm duvet, just in time to see Mark stepping out of the bathroom. “Hey, I found a travel toothbrush in your cabinet so I used it, hope you don’t mind,” Mark said, closing the bathroom door behind him. He was shirtless, only clad in Jackson’s sweatpants as he dried his hair with (also) a borrowed towel. Jackson couldn’t help but let his gaze linger and roam along Mark’s lithe frame. Mark might look especially skinny, but Jackson swore that beneath all those oversized clothing he wears, Mark’s body was all but. His muscles are firm and taut in all the right places, but he’s just naturally slim and slender that it kind of takes double the effort for him to buff up.

Mark’s back was facing Jackson now and wow, man, holy shit, Jackson thought, I would absolutely love to map all those muscles and veins beneath my own fingers and feel him shudder beneath m—

“I will never go to that Chinese restaurant ever again,” Jackson said, and it took a beat to realize that he just said that out loud. Mark stopped rubbing his hair furiously to stare at his best friend on the bed. “Impossible. You love that place. Mrs. Chang also treats you like her own son at this point that you get free pudding every time you visit.” He scrunched his nose, “and what’s that got to do with the toothbrush?”

Mark has a point and Jackson wanted to throw a pillow at him for it.

“The food there makes my brain act funny,” Jackson pouted, suddenly feeling like he wanted to be babied. Mark’s eyebrow knitted at that, and he opened the wardrobe door before disappearing behind it.

“Huh,” Mark replies nonchalantly, “probably the MSG.”

After rummaging Jackson’s closet for clothes he could borrow for the night for what seemed like hours, Jackson heard Mark make a satisfied hum as he closed the wardrobe door. Now that Mark was in full view, Jackson could see that Mark was—

Oh. Oh.

The first thing Jackson noticed was how Mark ended up choosing a hoodie that matched the color of his hair. Mark was literally glaring red, such a contrast to his otherwise white and light brown-themed bedroom. The symbol of the five-petal orchid one can find on the flag of Hongkong was embroidered on the left chest of Mark’s hoodie, which was why it was one of Jackson’s favorites as it reminds him of home, other than the fact that the cotton was especially soft against his skin.

Okay, that, Jackson could handle. Mark is just his best friend, staying over for the night, dressed in his favorite hoodie and is waddling his way sleepily to climb onto bed with him, no big deal, right, where’s the wrong in that?

What Jackson could not handle was the fact that Mark was practically drowning in it. Jackson’s heart did a funny flip—he swore he’s left martial arts tricking for years, the fuck—when he saw Mark rubbing his eyes sleepily with the sleeve of his hoodie, and Jackson wanted to scream at how soft and cute his friend looked right there and then.

Mark dropped his hand back to his side, blinking blearily before giving a soft smile to Jackson’s direction. Jackson looked anywhere but Mark’s eyes, and he knew he made a mistake when his gaze dropped to the sleeves of Mark’s hoodie.

Mark’s fingers didn’t even go past the sleeves, and Jackson kinda wanted to die.

“Fucking MSG,” Jackson cursed under his breath, but apparently it was still loud enough for Mark to hear.

“Can you stop being weird in like—” Mark grumbled as he pressed the button on his phone, making his lock screen light up—Jackson stole a glance and it was a picture of Mark himself, in one of his latest magazine shoots, “—ugh, 11:44 in the evening?”

Jackson couldn’t help but shot back. “You usually stay up with Youngjae until like 4 for Overwatch.” His tone was strange when the sentence came out of his mouth. What was that? A hint of…jealousy?

Jackson felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment, and he locked gazes with Mark to see whether he picked up on that as well. But Mark just blinked sleepily at him, once, and plopped almost completely face down on Jackson’s plush pillow.

“Mhm,” Mark mumbled, sounding oddly content, “but not tonight. M’sleepy. Warm. This pillow smells good.” He nuzzled his nose further. “You smell good.”

“Alright,” Jackson snapped, and he didn’t know whether he was saying it to Mark or himself, “that’s it, bedtime.” He rose up from his comfortable position to cover Mark with the duvet, as the other seemed to not have it in himself to do it, especially when he was already drifting off like that.

But as Jackson settled back to a comfortable position on his side of the bed, Mark suddenly turned to face him with surprising clarity in his hazel eyes. “Thanks for letting me stay the night, Jiaer.”

Jackson’s heart melted at the sound of his Chinese name rolling out of the other’s tongue. “You would do the same,” Jackson replied, gazing fondly at Mark who was clearly on the verge of falling asleep, again.

Mark hummed. “I would. But I still feel like I’m intruding, since you never invite anyone up here that I thought maybe you want this place to be your private little bubble and then just, well,” Mark’s hand made a weird weak gesture, “here I am.”

A strand of hair fell in front of Mark’s eyes, and it took an ample amount of willpower for Jackson not to gently brush it away from his forehead.

“Yien, I was the one who asked you to stay,” Jackson said next, slipping into Chinese, and the soft smile Mark was wearing spread a little bit wider. The sentence besides, if I were to invite anyone up here, I would only want it to be you got stuck in his throat, so he didn’t say it.

“Okay,” Mark settled, as soft as a whisper after a few beats of silence, because all they did was stare into each other’s eyes. Jackson couldn’t even start to make himself to look away. “Then I’ll definitely come back next time.”

And just like that, Mark drifted off into slumber, a small smile still on his lips. A fleeting curiosity of what that smile would taste like passed through Jackson’s mind, and he blamed it, again, on the fucking MSG.

As expected, Jackson couldn’t get any sleep that night, his head swimming with the thoughts of what he had been feeling for the better part of the day. Jackson mentally chided himself.

There was nothing weird about the situation he was in at that moment—Mark is his best friend since, well, practically forever, the first person he had spoken to when he first stepped foot on the Korean soil. He was his first dance practice partner, also his first roommate. Jackson recounted the time when he learnt that Mark was also of Chinese descent, how a simple, soft-spoken 你好 from the older could lift the invisible burden Jackson didn’t know he had been carrying. Jackson remembered excusing himself to JYP’s company restroom instead of taking up his new friends’ offer to take him out to lunch, and tried very hard to restrain his otherwise uncontrollable sobs as he cried at such a simple, familiar phrase. He thought of home, of sunny, sunny Hong Kong, of his mother’s homemade stew, and of the quiet boy who offered him said greeting in the language he knew all too well.

Mark Tuan. Tuan Yien.

If Jackson wasn’t that afraid of needles, he would’ve tattooed Mark’s name, small, on the inside of his wrist, so that he could have something to ground himself with whenever he felt he was drifting too far.

Mark and Jackson had been inseparable ever since. Attached by the hip, people said. They had spent a ridiculous amount of time together, just the two of them, one for the familiarity, the other for comfort, for someone who wouldn’t laugh whenever he gets his tongue twisted trying to say a foreign Korean phrase.

Mark took Jackson home to LA. Jackson took Mark home to Hong Kong. No big deal.

Mark’s family absolutely loved him. Jackson’s mom took Mark in like his own son as soon as she saw him fumbling by Jackson’s doorway. (She doted on Mark just a little more than she did Jackson but he would never admit it.)

Jackson had known Mark for years. Nothing should be weird…right?

Jackson tossed and turned, huffing out his breath as he realized he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep at all.

Seeing Mark in his house today was just…overwhelming, as Jackson lacked a better word. Mark was right, Jackson had promised himself not to bring anyone to his private haven, his solitary bubble. Well, at least for a few months after he got everything in his apartment installed and sorted. Their line of work required them to interact and work with swarms of different people, everyday, and even a social butterfly like Jackson needed some time on his own.

But then there was Mark, bustling about in his apartment and Jackson surprisingly (or unsurprisingly) didn’t find anything out of place about it. He didn’t find it weird to learn that Mark just knew where to find anything and everything, as if he had been living here even before Jackson did. He also didn’t find it weird to see Mark, with his obnoxious red hair and his obnoxious red hoodie he was drowning in, sleeping soundly just an arm’s length away from him, making little to no noise save for the little puffs of breath from between his slightly open plump lips.

It was as if Mark just belonged there all along.

Jackson’s heart did a funny flip again, as he squeezed his eye shut to try and forget the sleepy lilt of Mark’s mumbled good night just before he fell asleep. Don’t think about Mark, Jackson you dickwad, go to sleep, stop thinking about him, stop thinking abou—

Jackson didn’t know when Mark had scooted closer to his side of the bed, but as he looked down, he found a soft tuft of red hair tickling his nose as Mark snuggled further onto Jackson’s chest.

“Um,” Jackson croaked. Mark was too dead to the world to notice.

Jackson let out a breath after what felt like forever, the breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, and he made a mistake of inhaling a whiff of Mark’s hair.

Mark’s hair smelled exactly like Jackson’s shampoo.

The amount of willpower he needed not to fling himself off his window was amazing.

His left hand hovered awkwardly over Mark’s shoulder as he contemplated the pros and cons of the two things he could do at that moment. He could either tuck Mark back into his original position on his pillow (and miss Mark’s warmth curling against his side), or simply try to ignore said boy on his chest and get some sleep. It wasn’t rocket science, really, Jackson knew the right thing to do was to return Mark to his own pillow (however missing his warmth in the process). And Jackson was a just man, so he would do whatever is right.

But then Jackson took another involuntary whiff and well, there goes his ability to reason! Having Mark, his best friend, in his hoodie, smelling exactly like him, on his chest, in his own apartment made his brain temporarily short-circuit.

Mark let out a soft hum of appreciation when Jackson finally cuddled back to him, his clutch on Jackson’s shirt (which Jackson couldn’t see because fuck, the fucking sweater paws, man) tightening involuntarily because of his action. Jackson just hoped Mark wouldn’t wake up from the hammering of his heart against his ribcage.

Sleep finally overtook him, and he thought about how Mark’s voice would sound like the next morning as he started to fall into slumber.

Chapter Text

Jackson woke up the next morning to a phonecall, from Jinyoung, that their van was going to pick him and Mark up within the hour. They had a photoshoot scheduled for the day, for a magazine that promised them a full coverage article and a front cover, an interview for said magazine, and a company meeting afterwards. Jackson sighed, long and hard. The day hadn’t even started yet he already felt pretty awful.

On a mission to make himself some coffee, Jackson tried to get out of bed, completely forgetting the fact that Mark was still sleeping soundly, a welcome weight on his chest. Jackson’s sudden movement elicited a weak groan from Mark, and Jackson scrambled a panicked sorry as he quickly cushioned Mark’s head with a pillow, in which the latter just plopped back down snoring as if nothing ever happened.

“Mmmh, five more minutes,” Mark whined sleepily into his pillow, and Jackson grabbed another pillow nearest to where he was standing to muffle his scream. After he was done with his morning screamo exercise, Jackson removed the pillow away from his face only to find Mark, now with his back facing Jackson, still curling into himself…but the back of his hoodie rode up with him rustling about and now Jackson was stuck staring at the smooth, milky-white exposed patch of skin. Jackson absolutely felt a physical itch on the tips of his fingers, suddenly wanting to feel whether it feels as soft as it looks.

“Coffee,” Jackson resolutely said to himself, snapping back from his trance. He was about to take a step away from where he was rooted in when Mark moved again, now bringing one of his legs up, and Jackson didn’t know whether it was God or Satan yesterday who led him to lending Mark one of the tightest pairs of sweatpants he owned. He could then clearly see the round and the firmness of Mark’s ass, for crying out loud, and his traitorous eyes couldn’t help but glance back over and over.

Jackson could really use some coffee right now.

It was when Mark kind of let out a noise that sounded like something between a moan and a whimper that Jackson decided that yep, make that a double-shot, as he exited the room with all but grace.

Jackson let out a breath of relief as he entered the kitchen without any other hitches. He flicked the stereo switch on (what, Jackson’s a rich man, if he wanted to have a fucking stereo system in his kitchen then so be it) and a song played softly through the speakers, slowly waking his otherwise quiet apartment to life as a greeting to the morning sun.

He was too immersed in juggling between brewing a cup of coffee for himself and making waffles that he didn’t hear the soft pat pat pat approaching him from outside the kitchen. And all of a sudden Jackson felt a pair of arms snaking from behind his back and a gust of breath tickling the hair on his nape, and it took him a while to register that it was just an overly clingy Mark, a side of the older man he was used to seeing after six years of living together. His tensed body relaxed visibly, as Mark mumbled a sleepy good morning and Jackson said it back, voice brimming with strange fondness.

“Pancakes?” Mark’s voice was muffled, and Jackson actually felt the word more than he heard it because apparently Mark’s lips were on his shoulder blade, as the older snuggled further into the backhug. Jackson didn’t even need to look at him to know that Mark’s eyes were still positively closed. “No, waffles. Sorry to disappoint.”

Mark huffed a laugh at that. “As long as there’s strawberry syrup, anything’s fine.” Jackson reached back blindly with one hand to ruffle the other’s hair, in which the older retaliated by blowing a raspberry to Jackson’s nape, making him laugh.

“Go sit down,” Jackson offered, his waffles only halfway done as he needed to make two portions today. He felt Mark shaking his head no. “Dun' wanna,” he whined. Jackson started to question if Mark was really the oldest one in the group. Mark then tightened the hug around Jackson’s waist, a clear reminder of no, I’m staying, and Jackson was glad Mark had his eyes closed because he probably looked constipated as fuck right now with how ridiculously red his face had become.

So Jackson had no choice but to continue making waffles with Mark practically clinging onto his back. Jackson should be used to this now, and he knew Mark was the worst morning person he’d ever met in his life and that he needed to cling to someone for an amount of time to get his bearings. It wasn’t the first time Mark did this to Jackson, either, remembering all those years when they were roommates. Mark had once even clung onto him in the shower during the early Girls Girls Girls days so this one wasn’t even remotely worse.

But there was something different about Mark being in his private apartment, in borrowed hoodie that started to smell like Mark, half-sleeping-half-backhugging him while he made them both breakfast, and the whole ordeal made something in Jackson’s stomach do a funny flutter.

“It just hit me that I won’t have anything to wear to work today,” Mark said with a mouth full of waffles some minutes later. He walked around the counter to grab a juice for himself in the fridge, without even asking the owner of said juice. Jackson snorted. “Since when does that become a problem? You practically lived off my clothes years ago when we went to Hong Kong because we extended our stay for over a week.” Mark was bending down in front of the fridge to grab a juice bottle and Jackson tried really hard not to ogle.

“Make yourself at home, by the way,” he teased, as Mark kicked the fridge door close and started chugging down the pulpy orange liquid. Mark just rolled his eyes.

“You have a point,” he said after he sat back down on the counter, legs swaying as he playfully nudged Jackson’s thigh with his toes, “about the clothes thing. Man, I feel sorry about the double amount of laundry your mom needed to do.”

“Don’t be, she loves you. Kinda more than she loves me but just pretend you didn’t hear me say that.”

Mark laughed, shaking his head. “You know what’d be interesting? I’m gonna dress up like you today.”

Jackson almost dropped his plate. “Huh?” he managed, after a few seconds of willing his face not to redden at the idea.

The other just shrugged. “Y’know, no slacks, all-black, snapback—wait wow that rhymed, what the fuck.” Jackson really wanted to go along with Mark laughing at his lame-as-fuck joke but it was as if all he could hear was I’m gonna dress up like you.

Physically, Jackson is a strong guy, but mentally? Dealing with shit like this? He wasn’t very sure.

“Whatever,” Jackson replied finally, trying to sound nonchalant even though his heart felt like it was tossed around inside a blender, “I call dibs on the shower.” He then turned to Mark and gave him a wink. “Those plates aren’t gonna wash themselves, though.”

The way Mark gaped at him was really comical it was almost laughable. “I’m gonna have to remind you again that I am the guest.”

“Then be a good one,” Jackson replied over his shoulder, as he was already walking away, laughing to himself as he heard Mark yelling a loud fuck you. “Love you too!” He shouted back, and he could still hear Mark’s shut the fuck up over the sound of water hitting the sink.

They only had less than an hour to spare, so Jackson showered quickly, trying to guess what Mark would pull out of his closet to wear this time. Heh, he thought, probably a nondescript hoodie.

-

Mark showed up to work wearing his WANG t-shirt.

Jackson didn’t even have the time to comment on it because they were almost running late, and he could literally hear their pick-up vans honking floors below. Mark threw him a smile as he climbed into one van, and Jackson could practically see Bambam’s eyebrows going up past his hairline from the van Mark climbed into (which was full so he needed to get on the other one) after seeing what the other was wearing. Jackson decided he would just deal with him later.

The drive to the photoshoot location was uneventful. Jackson rode in a van with Youngjae, Jaebum, and Yugyeom, who were too busy with either minding their own business or snoring to give Jackson more than a little grunt of hi. He could understand, though, it was only a little after 7 in the morning. So, naturally, after scrolling past all the notifications on his phone and finding nothing to pique his interest, his mind just backpedaled to this morning.

Honestly, Jackson was almost, almost disappointed when he saw Mark walking out the bathroom with just a plain, black t-shirt and the ripped jeans he wore the previous day. Not that he was expecting anything, but deep down in the darkest part of his brain Jackson kind of wished Mark would pick something a bit more, well, not plain. Not that he doesn’t look good in just about anything, Jackson thought, and slapped himself on the cheek. He tried to make sure that he wasn’t blatantly staring as Mark made his way to sit beside Jackson in front of the mirror, wanting to quickly go through his morning facial routine.

They worked quickly and silently, Jackson was finishing up with applying a lipbalm (why, because his lips were chapped, okay. The fact that the lipbalm is strawberry-scented was purely coincidental to Mark’s favorite flavor) when Mark suddenly got up from his seat. “I left my phone in the bathroom,” he said, already walking back to retrieve it. Jackson looked away from the mirror to his friend’s retreating back, saying “why would anyone even bri—“

—ng their phone into the bathroom, was what he’s about to say, but the rest of the sentence died in his throat when the four, block white letters of WANG glaringly stared back at him from the back of Mark’s t-shirt.

Jackson had kind of wanted Mark to borrow one of his tight-fitting sleeveless shirts to wear under an (also) tight-fitting denim jacket (because blue is a good color on Mark) but this was even better.

Or worse.

The corner of Jackson’s left eye caught Mark rushing out of the bathroom wearing a slightly alarmed expression, which was understandable because Jackson had just fallen out of his seat with a cluttering noise that might’ve woken up the entire neighborhood. “What happened?” Mark’s voice was always a bit pitchy whenever he panicked. Not that Jackson had been taking notes.

“I fell.”

“You were just sitting when I left.”

“…I know.”

That moment could probably make it to the number one spot of Times When Jackson Wang Makes a Total Fool of Himself, as the thought about how Mark threw his hands up in the air in both incredulity and exasperation.

Jackson felt a little jab from his side. “Hyung,” Yugyeom whispered, not wanting to wake up Youngjae who were sitting right in front of them, whom, if he were really woken up, would in turn wake up Jaebum because he would just start his impromptu, very loud vocal exercise, which Jaebum would highly likely not appreciate so early in the morning. Jackson turned to his side and saw mirth etched on Yugyeom’s expression, as if he was holding back the biggest laughter that he almost couldn’t contain, that Jackson couldn’t help but smile too even though he didn’t know what the younger was going to even talk about.

“So I’ve found this—pfft—video,” Yugyeom started, already snorting into laughter in the middle of his sentence. “Another weird rapping rhyming shit you’ve been into these days?” Jackson whispered back, and Yugyeom shook his head almost too excitedly.

“No, no, it’s—you know what, just see for yourself,” Yugyeom moved his position so he was kind of leaning on Jackson’s shoulder now, tilting his phone a bit to the side so Jackson could see whatever’s on the screen too. As Yugyeom pressed play, the initially blank screen was filled with Jinyoung, years younger, lying on his bed while fiddling with his iPad. “The song is called “Turn Up the Music”, by Chris Brown,” Jinyoung said in the video. Jackson snorted at the sound of his baby voice. He turned his head a bit towards Yugyeom to say, “Jinyoung sounded so—”

But then Jinyoung, on the screen, started making these weird dance moves and lipsync-ing very expressively towards the camera. Jackson gaped, incredulous, “literally what in the wo—” but Yugyeom shushed him and gestured at him to look back to the screen. “You’ll regret missing this one,” Yugyeom said, and Jackson doubted there could be anything worse than the video’s first fifteen seconds.

And surely, soon enough, he was proven wrong.

The next scene, Jinyoung started moving about while holding the camera, still lipsync-ing as if it was the only thing he knew how to do in his life. And then he started to actually mess up his own hair for literally no fucking reason and grabbed a pair of sunglasses to put on. The camera went out of focus for a bit before Jinyoung moved it back into place, showing him looking all smug while doing absolutely weird things with his lips.

“It’s coming it’s coming it’s coming,” Yugyeom whispered, giddily, voice laced with incoming laughter, and Jackson couldn’t help but ask “there’s fucking more?” under his breath as he knew the climax of the song was approaching.

The laughter that came out of both his and Yugyeom’s mouth were loud and unrestrained, and Jackson thought he heard Jaebum groan but he really couldn’t help it because Jinyoung was literally headbanging from side to side to the beat drop, almost sending the sunglasses flying off the bridge of his nose and while Yugyeom was both crying and shaking with laughter for watching it the second time, Jackson was absolutely losing it. The video ended abruptly while Jinyoung was taking off his glasses saying, almost innocently, “ah…I just went crazy, it seems.” Jackson and Yugyeom turned their heads to look at each other almost at the same time, and the grimace they were both sporting broke into another round of cackles.

“Where the fuck—” Jackson managed between his wheezes, “—has that video been hiding all this time?” Yugyeom nodded in agreement, still with a huge grin on his face. “That video deserves to be aired on that Weekly Idol episode we did the other day, the one where we were shown videos of our dark pasts.”

Yugyeom was practically howling. “Jinyoung-hyung would probably rather die than see that video again.”

“What video?” Jackson heard Jaebum say from his seat beside Youngjae. his eyebrows were knitted. “You guys were so loud.”

Yugyeom threw the leader a not-so-sincere apologetic expression. “It’s Jinyoung-hyung.” A grin. “You might really wanna see this.” Jaebum grunted, his expression still a bit miffed but he turned his head to look at Yugyeom’s phone screen as the youngest pressed the rewind button. “This better be worth it for waking me up from my cat-cafe dream.”

A minute later, Jaebum was throwing his head back in a particularly loud guffaw, a bit too loud for someone who was just roused up from a fitful sleep by accident. “Send that to me,” Jaebum demanded, tears of laughter brimming in his eyes, “that has got to be the best blackmail material ever.” He then turned to meet Jackson’s gaze, smiling mischievously as he clasped one tiny hand over Jackson’s shoulder. “You can rest ease now,” Jaebum said solemnly, “there’s finally something worse than your predebut dancing video.” Jackson had a flash of himself in a pink sweater, baggy jeans, and the worst haircut he’s ever seen, before punching a laughing Jaebum and a wheezing Yugyeom on the arms. “Honestly I should fine you all a dollar everytime one of you reminds me of that video,” Jackson sighed, exasperated, “I could probably afford another Cartier in like, a week.”

“Oh, cmon, drama queen, we don’t make fun of you that much,” Yugyeom rolled his eyes jokingly, “it’s a sign that we all love you.” Jackson’s eyes squinted dangerously at him, as he pulled up Naver on his phone and typed. Seconds later, he shoved his phone onto Yugyeom’s chest, watching as the smug grin of the youngest member drop in a matter of seconds. “So what do you say if I ask everyone to change their Kakao icons to this photo of you?” Jackson batted his eyelashes with the most innocent expression he could muster, as Jaebum snickered into his hand, “wouldn’t want the maknae to not feel loved, now, would we?”

“I want that picture banished from existence,” Yugyeom wailed, burying his face into his hands as Jackson and Jaebum went through another round of laughter.

-

The hour-long ride to the photoshoot location didn’t feel as long as he thought it would be, because Jackson was really too busy laughing until he heard their manager inform them that they were arriving really soon. Jackson schooled his expression back into a more serious expression, even though he still couldn’t get the smile completely off his face. He had to look at least professional for work.

The seven of them then alighted from the two vans, and Jackson’s eyes immediately went to search for Mark, who gave him a little wave with a toothy smile that made Jackson’s heart somersault. Honestly, he thought he might need a heart checkup soon.

But then he saw Bambam, who was basically latching onto Mark, looking to and fro between the both of them with an absolutely conspiratorial smirk. The eyebrow wiggle that followed didn’t exactly help, too. Jackson made a face when Bambam looked at him with an expression that said I know what you don’t know and Jackson hated it whenever he didn’t know. Bambam kept on wiggling his eyebrows until Jackson mischievously wiggled his own, to which Bambam rolled his eyes and tightened his grip on Mark’s arm.

A fleeting thought of that should’ve been me flashed through Jackson’s mind for a split second, but he shook his head to dismiss it, confused as to why he even thought about it in the first place.

They were sent into hair and makeup after a short briefing about today’s photoshoot theme, and an arm that was thrown around Jackson’s shoulder with a force sent him almost tumbling forward. “Morning, dickwad,” Jinyoung said, and Jackson got reminded of the video he watched in the car, unable to help but snort in front of his (other) best friend’s face. “You were literally so fucking ugly,” Jackson mused, shaking his head, actually in awe about how puberty did wonders to make Jinyoung be the man he was now. Jaebum, who was walking alongside them, burst into laughter overhearing their conversation.

“What? What?” Jinyoung’s expression grew increasingly perplexed with every passing second, and he resorted to hitting Jackson square on his chest when Jackson didn’t elaborate. “I don’t even want to know what you’re talking about, but last time I checked, I was the face of this goddamn group,” Jinyoung huffed, ever the drama queen, throwing himself onto the dressing room couch.

“No, that’s Mark, actually, it’s even written on the official website,” came Bambam’s casual remark, grinning when Jinyoung gave him the finger as he approached the same couch and nodded at everyone else. “Mornin’.”

At that moment, a shudder coursed through Jackson’s body, and his first reaction was trying to slink away from his perch on the sofa. But before he could even move an inch, Bambam turned his head to face him and Jackson gulped as he saw the conspiratorial grin back on the Thai’s lips.

“Good morning, Jackson-hyung,” he said, sweetly, “care to explain why Mark’s wearing your WANG t-shirt to work today?”

Just then, the other members went into chaos. Jackson’s eyes darted around in panic, trying to spot Mark amongst the ruckus the other kids were making. Thankfully, he wasn’t anywhere in sight.

“What the hell, hyung?” Youngjae nudged him on the ribs with his elbow, eyes glowing in curiosity. Jackson saw Yugyeom whisper an I didn’t even realize scandalously to Bambam’s ears, and suddenly his palms were clammy with sweat. “It’s not a big deal, okay?” Jackson hissed, hoping his voice didn’t betray him. But Jinyoung saw right through his act. “You’re not good at this lying thing.” He’s right.

“What happened last night, anyway? I mean I know Mark-hyung probably stayed because of the sudden downpour, but what did you two actually do?” Yugyeom piped up, curious, a hint of a teasing smirk present on one corner of his lip. Suddenly five pairs of eyes were on him, and Jackson rolled his eyes, faking nonchalance as he got suddenly reminded of how he woke up spooning Mark this morning.

“Gave him an apartment tour, slept, and ate waffles,” Jackson said, shrugging. He would never go into detail about how he could finally fall asleep to Mark’s warmth, and how he woke up to an ethereal sight of the other man as slivers of the morning light danced on his face, making Mark look almost angelic that Jackson couldn’t help but chant oh lord, oh lord, I truly feel blessed internally at the view. He forced himself to look at his friends, who were all sporting an unimpressed expression.

“Is that what people call it these days?” Bambam shook his head, sighing dramatically, “oh, youngsters”, before he got interrupted by a simultaneous “he’s older than you” that made him shrug. “I mean, if that dumb blush on his face doesn’t tell you he’s hiding something, I don’t know what will,” Bambam snickered, and Jackson’s hands flew up to his face just a tad bit too late because the other members looked ready to rain another round of questions on him.

“What, did you show him the view from your bedroom too?” Jaebum started with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle.

It was a blessing in disguise, almost, when a widely yawning Mark walked into the room, seemingly from the direction of where the restroom was. Jackson almost let out an embarrassingly loud sigh of relief but he held himself back. Mark blinked at the five pairs of expectant eyes directed at him, and blinked once again when he saw Jackson ducking his head almost comically just to avoid eye contact. “What?” Mark asked, suspicious.

“Coco misses you,” Youngjae chirped from his place in the sofa, and everyone almost facepalmed at the lame excuse. Either Mark was too sleepy to be aware of the awkward tension lingering in the air or just blatantly ignoring it, Jackson might never know. “Oh, aw,” Mark’s expression melted into a genuine smile, “tell her I miss her too.” He then turned and walked away, and the rest of the group didn’t even try to hide their blatant staring at the boldly printed WANG on the back of Mark’s t-shirt before the oldest plopped down on one of the makeup chairs and two makeup noonas started fussing with his hair.

“Can’t believe he bought it,” Jinyoung said, tongue clacking at Youngjae’s direction, and the younger just threw him a sheepish smile that made it impossible for anyone to stay mad at him for longer than five seconds. “I’m out of here,” Bambam announced, dragging Yugyeom along while Jinyoung followed closely behind them to start getting his makeup done. Only then did Jackson let out a relieved sigh, plopping down on the couch next to Youngjae and Jaebum, waiting for his turn to get his look done and maybe catch a few more precious minutes of sleep. He closed his eyes as he saw both Youngjae and Jaebum preoccupied on their phones, with no intention of engaging him into a conversation.

But as he started to doze off, he heard Youngjae say, “if we compare Mark-hyung to a dog,” and Jaebum let out a hum to signal Youngjae to continue, “him wearing Jackson-hyung’s WANG t-shirt can be compared to a dog taking its territorial piss.”

Jackson tuned himself out of the conversation immediately.

-

An hour or so later, after everyone was ready, the photographer finally started to direct everyone to their positions. The shoot set this time was pretty much plain and simple, as they were asked to pose against blank but vibrant colored backdrops. The challenge in shoots with this kind of theme is that they need to put in double the effort, in both their expressions and their pose and how it would go well with the vibe and the clothes they were wearing, in order to make an otherwise plain photo interesting to look at. It was nothing new to them, though, so the shoot went on rather smoothly.

It was then Jackson’s turn to do the shoot for his solo spreads, and he walked onto the front of the bright blue backdrop thinking about what pose he should go with, until he decided that he should just wing it. The camera blitz went off along with his rapid changing of poses. “Tilt your head a little bit to the right, Jackson,” the photographer said, the end of his sentence lilting up so it almost sounded like a question instead. Jackson did so, and the flash went off once again, but then Jackson thought he could hear a mumbled we’re missing something from the photographer. He initially assumed that he was hearing things, however the photographer’s assistant was seizing him from head to toe, and nodded in confirmation. Jackson deflated almost visibly.

“Try to be a bit more creative with the poses, though, yeah?” The photographer was turning his head back to him, and Jackson exhaled a shaky breath. “Okay,” he answered, nodding, “I’m sorry.”

At that, the photographer smiled. “Don’t be. We just haven’t found the shot, is all. Sometimes it just takes a while.”

Guilt rising up to his throat, Jackson tried to muster a genuine smile as he went back to trying more poses. The corner of his eye caught a movement behind the photographer when he was tilting his head to one side, and he saw Mark standing behind the computer screen, monitoring him. Jackson didn’t know whether he should feel glad or nervous.

The fumble in his movement was pretty obvious, apparently, because the next thing he heard was the photographer saying, “hey, let’s take five,” leaving the seat where he was perched on before and talking to his assistant as they both walked out of the room, leaving Jackson and Mark to themselves.

Jackson let his shoulder sag, rubbing his temples in frustration.

“Hey,” he heard Mark say, and the next thing he knew his chin was being lifted up by delicate fingers, “you okay?”

Jackson was in no mood to put up a defense. “Not really,” he breathed out, honest. Mark frowned at that.

“Okay. Wanna tell me why?” He prompted. Jackson shook his head no. “Just got a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

“What are you thinking about?”

You, Jackson almost blurted out, but he stopped himself. “A lot,” he said instead, purposefully vague, and Mark scrunched his nose at him being difficult. “Okay, tell you what, let’s get you a drink,” Mark said, dragging him to the conveniently installed vending machine in the studio. He produced some change from his pocket and put it in the machine, pressing the button for a can of cola before turning his head to address Jackson, “what do you want?”

Scanning the choice of beverages, he couldn’t help but smile when he saw Mark’s finger hovering over a button that would dispense a can of organic green tea of his favorite brand. It’s his favorite drink, sure, but Jackson felt like he could use some change today.

“Choco milk,” Jackson replied, and Mark’s eyes widen momentarily before staring at him with something akin to fondness.

“Cute,” Mark said, so quiet that Jackson thought he wasn’t supposed to hear it, but he felt his cheeks heat up anyway.

A cluttering noise was heard, and Mark bent down to pick up their cans, handing the chocolate-flavored milk to Jackson. He then walked to the nearest wall and leaned on it, right leg bending up to lean against it as well so he was left standing on one foot to support his weight. Jackson walked to the opposite wall so that they could stand face-to-face, and he was glad Mark was too busy fiddling with his can to notice his blatant ogling. Mark really looked like a model only by standing casually like that.

“Jacks,” Mark’s voice snapped him out of his reverie. Jackson blinked. “Huh?”

He could hear the smile in the older’s voice. “You’re staring.”

“I mean, you do realize you look really nice right now,” Jackson shot back, furiously willing himself not to blush as he said it. Mark’s hair was stylishly mussed in a way that it looked naturally windswept on his head. He was wearing layers of gray (which, by the way, is a good color on him, but then again any color Mark would look good in any color, Jackson mused to himself), looking unbelievably snuggly with his oversized turtleneck, layered with a thin olive coat under another layer of outerwear. His pants were unbelievably wide-legged, something that would probably look weird on a wrong person but Mark could somehow totally make them look good.

What do you call this, flirting? Jackson mentally shook his head. The kids would have a field day if they heard me.

After going through half the day being the one who was flustered, seeing a hint of a blush tinting the apple of Mark’s cheeks was a really refreshing change. Jackson giggled when he saw Mark tucking his chin into his turtleneck, trying to hide his face, but he seemed to forget about the fact that the tip of his ears never lie when he blushes.

Jackson decided that flustered Mark is a really cute Mark and he would definitely want to see that more often.

“I was about to give you a little cheer up pep talk,” Mark grumbled, the pink of his cheeks already dissipated a little but not quite, “but then I realized I’m not good at it.” Jackson swore he would’ve melted to the ground if he weren’t standing firmly on two legs. “What exactly were you gonna say?” Jackson prodded, not even bothering to hide his smile anymore.

Mark fumbled, fiddling with his now half-empty can of soda. “W-well, I was going to remind you about how you cheered me up years ago when we were exactly in the same situation as we are now, only the roles were switched.” His eyes flitted from his can to meet Jackson’s, almost shyly. “Do you remember?”

He did.

Back then, Mark wasn’t exactly as confident in front of the camera as he was today. He remembered the way Mark was always dreading whenever they had a photoshoot scheduled, worrying that he would do so bad that everyone else would have to wait for him for hours to get his shots right. Until one day, Mark almost broke down in the middle of the set in frustration of never nailing his poses, immediately excusing himself to get some fresh air. Jackson had seen that as a cue for him to go after his best friend.

And sure enough, Mark had been outside the studio, furiously rubbing his eyes as tears had started brimming in them. Jackson knew Mark had seen him coming, so he didn’t say anything, only slumping down to sit with Mark on the floor, nonverbally offering Mark a shoulder which Mark had been more than glad to lean onto.

“Remember what you did when I was crying?” the present Mark asked again, and Jackson nodded, reminiscing with a smile.

They had stayed sitting on the floor like that for a few minutes, until Jackson stood up, startling Mark who was very much baffled by the sudden movement. “I did a stupid dance in front of you, and you were so fucking confused so you stared for a moment before you tried to trip me until I landed on my butt,” Jackson recounted, laughing along with Mark. “It was dumb, but at least you weren’t crying anymore,” he continued, his voice almost hitching at the end of the sentence because the smile Mark threw at him was nostalgic and beautiful.

“And then?” Mark prompted him to continue.

“I launched into a pep talk of how you should just let yourself loose and be yourself because that’s what the fans would like to see,” Jackson smiled, finally seeing where Mark was getting at.

“And I hope you can listen to your own words now that you remember it,” Mark said, sheepish. “I’m not good with words myself, but I just thought it would be nice for you to remember how you were such a big help to me and make you recall your own advice.”

His face was solemn when he said, “uh, this would sound really cheesy and lame but I probably wouldn’t be who I am now if I weren’t for you.”

Jackson couldn’t help it. One long stride and he was suddenly there to where Mark was standing. He threw an arm around the younger’s neck, basically manhandling him as he ruffled his perfectly styled hair with fondness, ignoring the yelps from the red-haired man which then dissolved into a cute fit of giggles.

“Dude, the fuck! We still have a group shoot after this!” Mark whined, but Jackson only kind of hugged the smaller man tighter. Mark then started retaliating by jabbing his fingers onto Jackson’s waist, and Jackson’s yowl echoed throughout the empty studio along with Mark’s roaring laughter.

Their friendly bickering ended soon enough, as they parted a bit out of breath from laughing too much. The smile that bloomed on Jackson’s face afterwards was genuine, his first one for that day.

“Thanks, Mark,” he said, gazing fondly at the other man who was still fussing with his now unkempt hair. If Mark were to be scolded by the stylist noonas afterwards, Jackson was ready to take the blame.

Mark glanced back at him, his pout dissipating into a small smile. “I barely did anything.”

Jackson made an act of how he flung his now empty can of chocolate milk into the nearest trashcan, acting like he was doing a three-point shoot in a basketball game. Mark just snorted in amusement.

“Break time’s almost over,” Jackson announced almost dejectedly, slowly coming down from his high, “I should probably get going.” He was already walking away when he felt a tug on his wrist. “Wait,” Mark said. Jackson turned his head to look at him questioningly.

Then suddenly Mark was so close, too close that alarms went off in Jackson’s brain as he could literally feel Mark’s breath ghosting on his skin.

“Uh,” Jackson started intelligently, but then Mark’s eyes were half-lidded and Jackson kind of short-circuited when Mark’s face leaned impossibly closer.

He could feel his knees going jelly as he backed himself against the vending machine, and Jackson had never been more thankful for a piece of stupid goddamn technological contraption before in his life.

A flurry of thoughts went through his mind simultaneously at that point. Should I close my eyes? Does my breath smell good? Fuck, I should’ve chosen the strawberry milk instead, so Mark would enjoy it more when I let him deepen the ki—

“You’ve got chocolate milk stain on your lips, dummy,” Mark said, softly, but Jackson felt like he was crushed by a particularly heavy metal lead that he thought the vending machine collapsed on him. He felt a swipe of a delicate thumb running over the corner of his lips, and then warmth was gone. Jackson opened his eyes he didn’t realize was squeezed shut tight only to find Mark staring at him funny.

Yeah, Jackson thought, I’d rather be crushed by a vending machine anyday.

However, Mark’s face was still pretty much close to his, and Jackson couldn’t help but drop his gaze to his soft, soft lips, and made a mistake by looking back up to meet Mark’s eyes again because holy fuck the look in those eyes deserved to be immortalized in Jackson’s overflowing wank bank.

“Mark,” Jackson breathed, not daring to make a sound as if the other would fade away if he made a noise. I’m dreaming, Jackson thought to himself, hell yeah I’m definitely dreaming. He dropped his gaze onto Mark’s lips again. Someone’s lips absolutely can’t look that nice in reality.

But then Mark let out a soft hum and Jackson watched as the other cocked his head a little bit, and there were those breaths again tickling his chin, and Jackson braced himself for what was about to come, as he watched Mark finally leaning forward and closer closer closer—

“Myungsoo-hyung, Yugyeom asked whether we’re allowed to go out for a bit for some Jilhal Bros down the stree—oh.”

The door flew open and came in Youngjae, oh sweet, sweet Youngjae, and if it weren’t for Mark’s quick wit Youngjae would’ve seen…things.

That didn’t get to happen, Jackson thought, a murderous gleam in his eyes towards Youngjae that completely dissipated into nothingness in the count of three because nobody can ever stay mad at Youngjae for longer than half a minute.

Mark, however, was practically fuming, as Jackson could see the imaginary smoke coming out of his ears as the older schooled his expression into a forced, albeit rather convincing, smile. “Youngjae,” he crooned sweetly, scarily so, and Jackson quickly moved away from the vending machine because he would rather see the machine dented with Mark’s fist than his own head.

“Hi,” Youngjae chirped, and it was hard to decide whether he had seen or realized anything at all from his response. Jackson ran a shaky hand through his hair in nervousness. “I’m looking for Myungsoo-hyung.” The photographer.

“I could hear that,” Mark replied, and Jackson would’ve bursted into laughter if the moment were appropriate, because Mark was so obviously struggling to keep his cool.

A pause. “Okay, do you know where Myungsoo-hyung is?”

“No I do not.”

Jackson masked his laughter with a cough into his hand. Mark kicked him on the shin.

“Uh, okay, well, guess I gotta go find him myself, then,” Youngjae said, mostly mumbling to himself, waltzing out of the door not before offering the two of them a little wave, leaving them both staring dumbfounded on the spot where Youngjae was mere seconds ago.

Now that the sunshine equivalent of a guy was out of his sight, Jackson could feel his rage bubbling up again. Mad for what, he couldn’t even fathom.

“Can I kill a fellow band member in some way that I won’t have to go to jail,” Jackson deadpanned, eyes straight to the door. Mark, beside him, laughed so openly as if nothing was wrong in the world but Jackson knew Mark long enough to hear the nervousness flowing out of his system along with that laugh.

“I can help you hide the body,” Mark said lightly as if he was talking about the goddamn weather.

“But that’ll make you an accomplice.”

Mark took one look at him, and put a hand over his heart dramatically. “I would do anything for you,” he said with a theatrically mocking tone, and cackled when Jackson swatted him on the chest.

“I can’t stand you,” Jackson sighed, also dramatically because two can play that game.

“Then sit the fuck down.”

Jackson smiled. There we go.

Just then, the door swung open again to reveal the photographer—Myungsoo-hyung—walking into the studio looking apologetic. “Sorry, I said five minutes but I came back a little late.” He spotted the two of them by the vending machine, and if he realized the two boys’ slightly disheveled state, he didn’t comment on it. “Come along now, Jackson, back to work.” Jackson nodded like an obedient puppy, lightly jogging to his spot in front of the blue backdrop with Mark following leisurely behind him.

And the photographer could clearly sense Jackson’s change of mood, as he was directing rather more energetically than before they took a break. Jackson struck his poses more confidently, now, and Myungsoo’s encouraging streams of yes further fueled his determination.

Mark was still there behind the monitor, a soft smile on his face as he observed the pictures taken straight from the camera. Jackson felt somewhat at ease because of his presence there, as if seeing the red-haired man made him gain strength. That’s a weird thing to say, Jackson thought to himself, but he decided to file that for something to ponder about later.

Some time later, Jackson saw Mark signaling something from the corner of his eyes, amidst the repetitious blitz of Myungsoo’s camera. Still posing, Jackson looked over to Mark’s direction. And when the guy was sure Jackson’s attention was on him, he immediately went to doing the sloppiest, dumbest rendition of a famous girlgroup choreo Jackson’s ever had the chance of witnessing in his life for no fucking reason, but then Jackson realized that Mark was simply doing what Jackson did to him all those years ago: cheering him up with a stupid dance.

Unable to fight the grin that was growing on his face any further, he changed his pose to something that would look good with a bashful smile as Myungsoo kept on clicking the shutter. But Mark was still doing that stupid dance while pulling weird faces on him, and suddenly Jackson couldn’t contain the laughter that was spilling out of his mouth.

Jackson was full on giggling then, eyes scrunching and teeth showing as his smile just grew impossibly wider at his best friend’s antics. He turned a bit to the side now, unable to help but clutch his stomach as he felt a giddy kind of happiness bubbling through his system. He heard the final shutter click, and then Myungsoo let out a very satisfied whistle.

“Wow,” Myungsoo mused, pressing buttons on the camera to see the last of his shots, and then back again to a still laughing Jackson, “I don’t think I’ve ever captured happiness as heartfelt and genuine as your laugh just now and I’ve been a photographer for years.”

Jackson, finally coming back to his senses, had the decency to blush a little at the compliment. He then walked to the monitor to see what the picture turned out to be like. And boy did he look like he was the happiest man alive. “No matter how happy I am, hyung, it wouldn’t be captured perfectly if it wasn’t for the photographer’s skills,” Jackson finally said, expressing utmost gratitude and Myungsoo just laughed at the reply. “You always know the right words to say, huh, kid?”

Jackson glanced to Mark, who was standing some distance away beside him, to find his gaze still rooted to Jackson’s last photo displayed on the monitor. Jackson couldn’t tell what the other was thinking about, but he still could make out the contentment in Mark’s enigmatic expression. At least the guy looked happy.

“Alright, call Bambam in, we only have his solo shoot left before we take the group picture,” Myungsoo ordered, a wave of his hand meant Jackson was dismissed. He then turned to Mark, finally taking in the rather unruly mess atop of his head. “And what the everloving hell happened to your hair, Mark? Get back to hair and makeup quick when you still have time.” Mark just nodded dumbly at him, that Jackson needed to physically drag Mark back into the dressing room, smiling all the while when he messed with Mark’s hair, again.

-

The magazine interview went on rather smoothly, as the group sat with a young, cheerful interviewer that put them all at ease. Jackson dutifully sat himself beside Mark, who threw a friendly arm around his shoulder as soon as he plopped down on the sofa, which had definitely never been out of place before until the WANG t-shirt incident that morning. Yugyeom threw kissy faces towards Jackson when Mark wasn’t looking, and Jaebum gave him a more than suggestive eyebrow wiggle, so Jackson blatantly ignored all of them and focused instead of how warm the side of his body that was pressed against Mark’s arm.

They were asked questions about—predictably—their new album, and Jackson could see that they all answered the questions with joy and pride. “Even though this is technically our seventh, no matter how you look at it, I still feel like this is our very first album. An album by GOT7. Made by only us,” Jackson said, proudly, and the smile the other six threw at him made his heart feel warm.

The rest of the questions felt generic until the interviewer brought up questions about their new living arrangements. “A little birdie says that you guys moved dorms recently,” she said, and everyone started to talk excitedly on top of each other until Jaebum cleared his throat and answered, “yeah, we moved to a bigger dorm around a month ago. It’s really big, and we all have our own rooms now.”

“We were kind of used to share a room with someone before so sometimes it felt quite empty,” Jinyoung followed, and Yugyeom jokingly clacked his tongue and said, “that’s not something for you to say, hyung, you’ve had a room to yourself even in our old dorm.”

Jinyoung huffed. “But my room was in your room and—honestly does it even count as my own private room when you and Bambam could just barge at random times as if it’s your own? Give a man some space,” he grumbled, his lips in a pout that elicited a coo from the lovestruck interviewer and laughs from the rest of the members.

“Oh, yeah, and some of us moved out recently, too,” Youngjae piped up, and that caught the interviewer’s attention. “Oh? I haven’t heard about that. Is this something I can write for the magazine or do you prefer it to remain unknown?”

Their manager, who was in the room, just gave a shrug. “Fans would find out either way, so it doesn’t really matter.”

Youngjae gave their manager a smile before continuing. “Okay, so I moved out recently. I live with my brother and sister who just moved from Mokpo into the city. My brother is going to be married soon, though, and my sister refuses to live alone so, yeah.”

“He brought Coco, our dog, along with him,” Mark interrupted, and Jackson almost protested because Mark’s fingers just stopped fiddling with the hole on his ripped jeans, “but that’s also another reason for me to visit Youngjae.” He gave Youngjae a cheeky wink. “Nice house, by the way,” and Youngjae gave a Mark a toothy, beaming smile back.

It was then Bambam’s turn to talk. “Me and Jackson-hyung moved out too soon after. Of course it’s nothing personal, we just happened to have invested in apartments around the area and we want to try living on our own.” He chuckled. “And I’ve recently been somewhat interested in, like, interior decorating and stuff like that so I’m ecstatic about having a blank canvas I can decorate from scratch.”

“That’s amazing,” the interviewer said, awe lacing her voice, “I mean, better explore every field possible when you’re still young, right?”

“Young and rich, you mean,” Jinyoung commented from the side, a jab to their upcoming Japanese album, and the interviewer just looked around questioningly when the members shared knowing giggles among each other.

Bambam rolled his eyes jokingly. “But since it’s not quite done yet, I still end up sleeping in the dorm more often. It’s just a short walk away, anyway, so I can still go there from time to time until everything’s tidy.” The interviewer nodded, satisfied with the insight.

“And what about you, Jackson-ssi?” she regarded Jackson this time, and Jackson cleared his throat. “Well, one of my dreams since I was a kid all those years ago was to have my own living space in a foreign country, and I thought this is a good time to actually, well, get one. I live in an apartment around half an hour away from the kids’ dorm and it’s only been entirely tidy like a week ago, so,” he trailed off, smiling. He was so proud of finally fulfilling one of his childhood dreams.

“So I assume no one’s ever stepped foot in your apartment yet since it was very recently done?”

“Oh,” Bambam piped up even though the question wasn’t directed to him, “Mark actually stayed there last night. He’s the only one among us who’s ever been there other than Jackson-hyung himself.”

The interviewer fully turned her body to face both Mark and Jackson now, and Jackson was torn between wanting to scoot closer to Mark due to the sudden attention or to peel himself away from the other entirely.

(In the end, he scooted closer because Mark was really warm, but Jackson decided not to think too much into it.)

“So what do you think about his abode, Mark-ssi?” The interviewer questioned the red-haired man, who hummed in thoughtfulness before giving her a reply. “Well,” he started, “if I were to describe it in a word, I think castle is the most fitting noun to describe it.” Jackson rolled his eyes fondly at the compliment but he couldn’t help the surge of pride coursing through him at Mark’s words.

“He has his own recording studio, pretty neat if you ask me,” Mark drawled on, “he’s got a nice city view from his bedroom, too.”

Jinyoung promptly choked on his glass of water, Bambam’s eyebrows shot up past his hairline and Jaebum was coughing into his fist with the tip of his ears tinted red. Jackson was very much sure his face was beet red at that point, but honestly Mark’s nonchalance about the underlying meaning of his sentence was amazing.

“Uh,” the interviewer started, sensing the lingering awkwardness in the air, “so what you’re saying, Mark-ssi, is that you definitely would like to visit Jackson-ssi’s apartment again for a sleepover someday, am I correct?”

Mark nodded at that, beaming. “I would love to,” he said, nudging Jackson playfully with his elbow, “if he allows me to, of course.”

Jackson racked his brains to make the sentence hey uh I’m starting to think that it’d be great if you stay over forever yeah I won’t mind that one bit to not sound weird but he decided to just keep his mouth shut, save for a little smile he offered to Mark in return.

Soon enough, the interview was a wrap and the members file into their respective vans to be driven to the JYP building, for a short meeting regarding their comeback promotions. They head downtown for dinner afterwards.

Some hours later when they were all full and sated, Jackson made sure to climb into the same van as Mark, so they ended up sharing it with Bambam and Jinyoung. Of course, Jackson huffed, as the two broke into a knowing grin when they see Mark and Jackson climbing into the car.

Jackson didn’t know what he was expecting that night, really, as the van slowly crawled its way in the late-night traffic jam in the ever-busy streets of Seoul. Mark was dozing off to his right, his ears plugged with earphones. It was almost painful to see his head nodding off with every bump in the street due to his sleeping position, so Jackson kindly guided the older’s head to rest on his shoulder, making him open his eyes to smile at him blearily in gratitude before falling back to sleep.

“You guys are so disgustingly cute it’s disgusting,” Jinyoung commented without even glancing back, and Bambam laughed quietly beside him.

“You’re disgusting,” Jackson retorted childishly.

The ride home was quiet, and Jackson himself felt like he drifted off to sleep at some point before the van finally pulled up in front of his apartment building. He glanced at Mark who was still snoring lightly on his shoulder. He really felt bad for having to wake him up, but really, there was no other way.

“Mark,” he nudged the sleeping boy gently, “hey.”

Mark let out a weak groan, blinking a few times before lifting his head from Jackson’s shoulder. The sudden lost of warmth almost made Jackson reach out to guide Mark’s head back on it.

He smiled apologetically. “It’s my stop.”

A blink. “Okay.”

Okay? Jackson frowned. Just okay? He stared at Mark a few seconds longer. Just okay?

But then again, what was he expecting? Jackson reached out to his bag and hoisted it over his shoulder, brain muddled with the flurry of thoughts that ran through it. What do you expect him to say? That he’s gonna tag along?

Jackson mentally chided himself as he slinked his way between Jinyoung and Bambam’s seat. You of all people should know that him staying over last night was a one-time, coincidental thing. He wouldn’t have stayed if it weren’t raining anyway. Mark had a room all to himself in the dorm, too, so why would he even consider staying over to share a room instead?

Tallying up every single reason for Mark not to choose to stay over, he finally stepped out of the car, turning once again to give his friends a small wave. His eyes couldn’t help but find Mark’s again, feeling oddly hopeful and forlorn at the same time when his gaze met Mark’s sleepy ones. As if he was hoping for Mark to say something, or like, suddenly step out of the car with him. Again, Jackson scolded himself inwardly at the weird thought.

“Bye, Jiaer,” Mark mumbled sleepily in Mandarin, a soft smile on his lips as he waved, and Jackson didn’t know why he felt utterly disappointed. Bambam pulled the van door closed, and soon, the car drove away, leaving Jackson alone with his jumbled train of thoughts.

-

An hour later, Jackson found himself lying down on the plush couch in his living room, scrolling down on his phone. The TV was playing a re-run of a drama he didn’t follow, but it mainly served as a background noise in his otherwise silent apartment.

It really felt uncharacteristically silent, his apartment that night. Jackson recalled how both his and Mark’s laughter echoed through the halls as they were bickering about his stupid pair of boxers last night, and sighed. Almost angrily, he cranked up the volume of his TV to fill in the silence, but it just wasn’t the same.

He chuckled to himself, frustrated as he threw an arm over his eyes. “I’m fucked, aren’t I?” He said to nothingness.

Just then, he heard a soft knock from the direction of his front door, and he sat up in slight alarm. “Who the hell—” he glanced at the clock hung on the wall, which read 12:43AM. He decided to just ignore it until the knocking became more incessant.

Irritated, Jackson got up from the couch ready to face anything at that point. Be it a lunatic sasaeng or a murderer, he was so ready to just bark at them to fuck off, politeness be damned. If someone were to interrupt him in the middle of sorting his feelings in the wee hours of the night, it better be something important or he would throw a fit.

Unlocking his door almost too aggressively, he took a deep breath, ready to yell at whoever’s in front of his door, only to find every will for him to do so die in his throat because fucking Mark was standing there, smiling sheepishly with an overnight bag slung on one of his shoulders.

“Hi,” Mark breathed out, lifting one of his hands in a small wave, and Jackson could finally register that he was wearing a very comfortable-looking sweater, paired with an equally comfortable-looking cotton pants.

“Guh,” Jackson managed, and facepalmed himself both physically and mentally. Jackson Wang, a man of many words, tongue-tied at the sight of his bandmate and best friend of six years? He could see that printed as a news headline in big, bold letters.

Mark scrunched his nose. “That’s a warm welcome.” They both stared at each other, still standing in Jackson’s doorway for a while until Mark said, “um. So are you just gonna let me stand here all night or are you gonna let me in...?”

Jackson groaned at his own stupidity, something Mark found funny as he could hear the red-haired giggling. He quickly stepped aside, still very much perplexed as he watched Mark plop down his couch and put his overnight bag on the table.

Jackson stayed there by the doorway to the living room, trying his best to phrase what are you doing here to ask Mark without sounding rude, but Mark was kind enough to fill him in without him having to ask. “The kids are having movie night right now,” Mark said, grabbing the remote to lazily flick through the channels, “they’re noisy and I’m not in the mood for one.”

Oh. Jackson blinked. “Okay.”

Silence engulfed the both of them as they looked at everywhere but each other for a few moments. “I brought my own clothes this time,” Mark tried, gesturing to his bag, “and my own toothpaste. Who the fuck uses charcoal toothpaste, Jackson, the hell.”

That managed to gain a laugh from Jackson, albeit a nervous one because okay, how can he be so casual about this when I’m right here trying to sort out my feelings. “Oh, I don’t know, people who are health-conscious and those who don’t want ugly, yellow teeth?” Jackson retorted playfully instead, the tenseness in the air slowly melting to something familiar and comfortable.

“Never say that to my beautiful canines ever again.”

“Charcoal prevents my teeth to look like they’re made for vampire roleplay.”

Mark threw him a pillow. Jackson shook his head at him, laughing when the other stuck his tongue out at him. “As much as I want to be a good guest and entertain you with our pointless conversation, I’m really sleepy right now and I would be very grateful if you just let me just go straight to sleep,” Mark said. A yawn followed afterwards, emphasizing his words, making Jackson who was staring yawn as well.

“Alright, cmon, Vampy, let’s get you to bed,” Jackson stretched his arms and back as he nonchalantly walked towards the direction of his bedroom.

Mark groaned at the nickname. “Don’t make me bite you.”

“Ohhh you’re into that?”

“Jesus Christ, that’s it, I’m brushing my teeth,” Mark got up, grabbing his bag and dashed past Jackson to his bedroom. Jackson couldn’t help it. “Keep those teeth pearly white before you feed on my neck!”

“I knew I should’ve stayed at Youngjae’s,” came the muffled reply from his bathroom, but Jackson smiled when he didn’t sound serious at all.

Jackson threw himself on his bed, pulling out his phone to see a Kakao notification from Jinyoung.

pepi_jy: did mark run off to your place

wangpup: yea

pepi_jy: oh ok i was worried bc hes not in his room

Jackson’s eyebrows shot up, incredulous. Did Mark not tell anyone he’s going to stay over at his place? He glanced at the closed bathroom door as if it could give him the answer.

wangpup: lmao

wangpup: have fun at movie night btw

pepi_jy: ? huh?

Right then, Mark emerged from the bathroom, waddling over towards the bed. Jackson locked his phone without replying, getting up from the bed to turn the lights off. Mark sighed contentedly at the darkness that engulfed the room, the only source of light being the soft streams of moonlight that danced through the window blinds.

In the middle of his bed, Mark looked really small, and Jackson didn’t know what to make of it.

As he crawled back under the duvet, Mark was already turned onto one side, eyes fluttering closed. There was a reasonable distance between them, and Jackson was too scared to move.

“Goodnight, Mark,” he said, eyes glued to his friend’s peaceful sleeping face. Mark was clearly already drifting off, when all he could say back was a distant, garbled mumble.

Jackson let himself exhale a shaky breath. After making sure that Mark was already sound asleep, he reached blindly beside his pillow to locate his phone, suddenly remembering that he left Jinyoung on read. When he was unlocking his phone, however, he spotted a notification on his lockscreen that made his jaw drop in shock.

pepi_jy: we’re not having movie night, jackson.

Eyes wide, he turned his head to look at his blissfully sleeping friend, who was strangely wearing a soft, contented smile on his lips.

So Mark, today, he—

What Jackson felt next was probably what people call butterflies in one’s stomach, and he felt a giddy giggle bubbling up his throat as he clamped two hands over the wide smile on his lips. Jackson was happy. Very fucking happy.

He slept with a smile that night, and if either of them realized they scooted closer to each other at some point of the night and woke up with tangled legs the morning after, they both didn’t mention it.