Skaterboi
Pairing: Markjin
Rating: PG
Genre: skaterboy!au, fluff
Word Count: 3.4k
Summary: Jinyoung's got a crush on a certain red headed skater. The only problem is, he doesn't know Jinyoung exists.
Friday afternoons when kids rush home and moms and dads and teachers rejoice the coming of another long awaited weekend, Jinyoung likes to take the long way home; drag his feet along the pavement, soak in the warmth of the sun, stop and stare and relish in the last few days of spring.
It’s soothing, therapeutic, but if he’s being completely honest with himself, he does it because it gives him an excuse to pass by the skate park near his house.
Not that he actually skateboards or anything. Jinyoung prefers to take on more of a spectator’s role; watch the boys glide across grind rails, weave in and out of half pipes. And though some might call it stalking to sit on a park bench and watch sweaty boys perform tricks on skateboards, Jinyoung likes to think of it more as…“silently admiring.”
Because what’s not to admire really? The boys are masters at what they do; defy-ers of gravity, lords of the board, and okay maybe - just a little bit - cute too.
None compare to the red head with the bright blue skateboard though.
In all his life Jinyoung doesn’t think he’s seen a more perfect human being; tall, lithe, slender, gorgeous, and with the most beautiful set of cherry red lips he’s ever laid eyes on.
Sometimes he likes to imagine what they’d taste like, what they’d feel like against his own.
Probably sweet. Probably soft. Probably fucking fantastic.
But sadly he’ll never know.
Because Jinyoung is invisible. Not in the superhero, Susan Storm kind of way though. In the Peter Parker, pre-Spiderman kind of way. He’s a loser, a geek, a dweeb, and totally not in the red head’s league. Besides, boys with faces like that definitely did not kiss boys with social lives as dull as Jinyoung’s.
And even if by some miracle of God, the red head did notice him, Jinyoung’s pretty sure he would only make a fool of himself. Or internally combust. Whichever came first.
So for now, he’s content to just sit, and watch, and fantasize from afar. Because in the fantasy world there is no rejection. In the fantasy world he has a chance.
Jinyoung likes to think that one day his fantasies might come true. That one day the boy might look over, smile, and instantly be compelled to walk over and ask him on a date. Then they’d talk and laugh and bond over their shared love of comic books and cheesy slasher films. Maybe share some stories. Maybe share a kiss. Maybe live happily ever after.
But every day is exactly the same.
Every day Jinyoung sits in the same spot, on the same park bench, under the same oak tree. And every day he goes unnoticed.
It’s become routine, predictable, and almost - just a little bit - boring.
Which is precisely the reason he nearly jumps out of his skin the moment he gets to the skate park and sees the red head in his spot, on his park bench, under his oak tree.
“What are you doing here?” Jinyoung almost asks, until he realizes how psychotic that sounds. It is a public park after all, and besides he’s pretty sure he knows the answer.
He noticed. All the staring, all the “silently admiring.” It probably freaked him out. So now he’ll probably beat him up, call him a creep, a loser, a fag. Jinyoung knows the drill. It’s happened to him more often than he'd like to admit.
But maybe he still has a chance. The red head hasn’t noticed him yet. Maybe if he turns and runs and never looks back he’ll-
“Hey you.”
Jinyoung freezes in his tracks. Oh crap. Here it comes.
He cautiously turns his head, praying to every deity he can think of that the voice doesn’t belong to who he thinks it does but curses under his breath when his eyes are met with red hair and a steely expression.
“Come here,” the boy says, voice gruff and demanding. And if Jinyoung wasn’t so scared for his life he probably would’ve found it sexy.
“M-me?” Jinyoung lamely points a finger to himself, hoping beyond hope that this is just a mistake, some kind of misunderstanding that they can both walk away from. However it’s hard to misinterpret the look of contempt in the boy’s eyes, and any hope he might’ve had of making it out of this unscathed die as quickly as wind to a flame.
“Yes you. With the Spock hair. Get over here.”
Jinyoung gulps, carefully making his way towards what he knows will be his imminent doom before cautiously taking a seat next to the red head. He’s never been this close to him before, so close that he can count the number of eyelashes on his lids and the moles that dot his pale skin. And while normally that’d be enough to send him into a fit of celebratory hysterics, right now he’s too busy trying not to shit his pants to realize how momentous of an occasion this is.
“I know who you are,” the boy says, to which Jinyoung nearly chokes on his own saliva because never in a million years had he expected him to say that.
“Y-you…you do?”
The boy nods. “Yes. And I want you to know I think it’s disgusting what you’re doing.”
Jinyoung’s face falls, the words cutting deep like a dagger into his heart, and it’s then that he realizes just how stupid he’d been to think his fantasies could ever come true. Still, he feels the need to explain himself, to tell the boy that it isn’t what he thinks. That he wasn’t trying to be weird or creepy or stalker like. He just wanted a chance.
But before he can voice any of that aloud, the boy cuts him off. “I mean is Jackson seriously so desperate to win that he has to send his minions to spy on me?”
A wave of relief washes over Jinyoung, coupled with confusion and mild shock as he raises an eyebrow and frowns. “Jackson? Minions? What are you-?”
“Save it,” the boy interrupts. “Just because you’re cute doesn’t mean you can fool me with the innocent act.”
Jinyoung’s jaw drops halfway to the floor, stunned by what he’s just heard. This had to be a mistake. He had to be dreaming. There’s no way the boy actually just called him cute.
“Anyways,” the boy’s voice snaps him from his thoughts, forcing him to abandon the subject. “It doesn’t matter because I’ve decided I’m going to forgive you.”
“Really?” Jinyoung can hardly contain his joy, a giddy smile taking the place of his once pouty lips.
“Really,” the boy says with a smile, so dazzling that Jinyoung nearly misses it when he adds, “On one condition.”
Jinyoung’s smile fades. “Pardon?”
“I said I’m willing to forgive you,” the boy says, mischievous glint to his eyes. “But on one condition.”
Jinyoung really doesn’t want to ask. He’s seen this exact scenario play out enough times to know that nothing ever remotely good comes out of it. However, there’s still a part of him that’s curious and maybe a bit optimistic for how this might turn out, and before he can stop it, the question slips from his lips. “What’s the condition?”
The boy grins. “Give me your number.”
“My number?” Jinyoung echoes in disbelief, almost certain he’s misheard him. “Like my phone number?”
“No like your social security number,” the boy sarcastically answers with a roll of his eyes. “Yes like your phone number!”
“Oh,” is all Jinyoung can say, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that this is actually happening. That the red head is actually sitting in front of him asking for his number.
The boy rolls his eyes, lets out a noise that is somewhere between a sigh and a snicker, and pulls out his phone from the back pocket of his jeans before holding it out in front of Jinyoung. “Here,” he says.
Jinyoung eyes the device carefully, as if wary of it sparking and spontaneously combusting in the boy’s hand, but after a moment, tentatively reaches out to take it from his hand.
The metal feels cool to the touch, quite in contrast to the warmth of the boy’s skin and the feeling that suddenly spreads through him when their fingers accidentally brush. Jinyoung tries not to think too much of it, especially the part where he’d imagined those fingers touching places only he’d had the privilege to explore, and instead focuses on entering his name and number into the boy’s contacts. Because heaven forbid he should ruin this once in a lifetime opportunity by entering a wrong number.
“There,” he says when he’s finished, handing the device back to its owner with a gracious smile.
The boy lowers his head to look down at the screen. “Jinyoung,” he says, voice rising in pitch on the last syllable so that it sounds more like a question.
“That’s me,” Jinyoung answers with a nod of his head.
The boy smiles back, the action nearly blinding with the way his teeth reflect the light from the sun’s rays. “I’m Mark,” he says. “But you probably knew that already, didn’t you?”
Jinyoung violently shakes his head, determined to assert his innocence, but is once again thwarted when the red head suddenly interrupts.
“So what are you doing this weekend?” he says, scooting closer to Jinyoung so that the distance between them is almost halved.
Jinyoung tries his best to keep his cool, tries hard not to let on that he’s experiencing somewhat of a mini spaz attack right now but well, acting has never really been his forte. “Nothing,” he says. “I mean maybe nothing. Probably nothing. I mean I don’t know I might have plans, you know? It’s not like I’m one of those losers that sits at home on the weekends watching reruns of Firefly or anything.”
“Right,” Mark says, a slightly bewildered, slightly bemused look on his face. “Well I’m having this…thing or whatever at my house tomorrow night around 10. You should come. I mean if you’re not too busy doing nothing.”
Jinyoung cracks a smile. “Sure. Sounds like fun.”
“Good,” Mark says as he rises to his feet, flashing Jinyoung another one of his flawless, white smiles. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.” And setting his skateboard down on the pavement, he takes off through the park and leaves Jinyoung in the dust.
-
The “thing” at Mark’s house turns out to be a party with about fifty people Jinyoung doesn’t know. Not that he’d expected much different. Boys like Mark were bound to have budding social lives. And besides, what else did teenage boys do with their weekends when blessed with an empty house and an unlocked liquor cabinet?
Still, it doesn’t make him any less nervous as he walks up to the door, bass from the stereo inside pounding perfectly in time with the drumming of his heart in his ears, and it takes a few slow inhales and exhales before he finally gets the balls to reach up and ring the doorbell.
It’s a matter of seconds before the door is ripped open and the overpowering scent of weed and alcohol hits his face, and out steps a boy wearing a muscle shirt and a backwards facing snapback.
Jinyoung takes one look down at his own attire, a white button up tucked into black slacks complete with polished black dress shoes, and suddenly realizes that when Mark had texted him to wear something nice ;) it had meant more street casual than Sunday best. But apparently, he’d missed the memo on that one.
“Nice threads doofus,” the boy chokes out between fits of laughter. “Did your mommy pick ‘em out for you?”
Heat rushes to Jinyoung’s cheeks, mortified by the situation, and he’s just about to turn on his heel to flee the scene when a familiar voice stops him in his tracks.
“I think he looks cute,” the voice says. And when Jinyoung looks up, he sees that it’s Mark; red hair tucked underneath a black beanie, dark wash jeans hanging loosely on his hips and damn if it isn’t the sexiest he’s ever looked.
“Tch. Whatever,” the boy scoffs, rolling his eyes, and just like that disappears into the crowd of sweaty teens.
With a shy smile, Jinyoung sends Mark a grateful look from beneath his lashes, thankful to have been spared a potentially humiliating experience, and wastes no time in stepping past the threshold to join the other inside.
“You made it,” Mark says, his smile still bright despite the dim lighting and smoke-clouded air. “I guess this means there weren’t any reruns of Firefly on tonight.”
“Yeah,” Jinyoung sighs sadly, then realizing he’s been caught quickly adds, “I mean not that I really care. I’d rather be here anyways.”
Mark laughs. “Good to know. I’m glad I at least place higher than a TV show on your list of priorities.”
Jinyoung opens his mouth to protest, ready to launch into an argument that hey! Firefly is not just a TV show. But then he feels something warm close over his hand, and slender fingers work themselves between the spaces in his own, and suddenly all knowledge of the human language is wiped from his brain.
“Come on.” He hears Mark say over the din of noise. “I wanna show you the rest of the house.”
And unwilling to put up any more resistance, Jinyoung lets himself be dragged out of the foyer.
Together, they go through the entire downstairs, Mark stopping in each room to show him around and say a little something. However Jinyoung finds it nearly impossible to focus. He’s too fixated on the fact that Mark is holding his hand. And not just holding it like moms do their kids when crossing the road, but like a couple, like boyfriends, like two guys that like each other in a non-platonic kind of way.
But maybe he’s reading too much into it. Maybe Mark is just being nice. Maybe this is the way he holds hands with all of the people he first meets. Whatever the case, Jinyoung can’t deny that it feels nice. Mark’s hands are warm, his skin soft, and the way his fingers fit perfectly between Jinyoung’s own reminds him of a puzzle; two pieces joined together to form something bigger, something beautiful.
But just as soon as the thought crosses his mind, Mark suddenly lets go, and Jinyoung lets out a whine that he really hopes wasn’t loud enough to be audible.
“Wait here.” Mark’s hands are on Jinyoung’s shoulders, forcing him down onto the steps of his wooden staircase. “I’ll be right back.”
“Wha-where are you going?” Jinyoung says before he can stop himself, all the while cursing how pathetic and needy he sounds. He holds back a snort. Since when did he become such a girl?
“To my room,” Mark answers, eyes alight with a certain smugness. “Why? You wanna come with?”
Jinyoung gulps, lewd images of him on Mark’s bed involuntary swirling through his mind before he wills them away with a shake of his head. “No.”
Mark chuckles, a deep rumbling sound that echoes deep in his chest, and shrugs. “Suit yourself. Just try not to miss me too much while I’m gone, okay?”
He smiles, canines glinting in the artificial light, and shoots Jinyoung a wink before trotting up the stairs and disappearing behind a large door (and no. Jinyoung definitely didn’t stare at his ass as he watched him go).
A few minutes pass while Jinyoung waits for Mark to return, idly spent with a few levels of Candy Crush, and lots of cursing at the god forsaken Pudding Pagoda, but despite Mark’s instructions, he can’t help but feel a bit restless. Not that he misses the guy, he’s not that much of a loser (or at least not as much as he’s willing to admit). It’s just that he hates being alone in crowds as big as this one. It only serves as a reminder of how small and insignificant he is to the world.
Just as he begins to lose himself in the darkness of those thoughts though, Mark returns; a smile on his face and his signature blue skateboard in his hands.
Jinyoung frowns. “What’s that for?”
“Skating,” Mark deadpans. “Duh.”
“Yeah but…you’re not gonna skate indoors are you?”
“No.” Mark looks incredulous, as if he can’t believe Jinyoung would suggest such a thing. “Are you kidding? My mom would kill me.”
“You mean she won’t kill you for having a party while she’s gone?” Jinyoung asks, equally incredulous.
Mark shrugs. “As long as nobody breaks anything.”
“Then what’s the skateboard for?”
“Oh!” Mark grins, his eyes shining with a childlike excitement that borders on infectious. “I’m gonna teach you how to skate.”
“What?”
“Come on!” Mark grabs his hand before he can protest, drags him out the door and across the lawn, and within seconds they’re out on the street; the air around them cool, crisp, and clean. Jinyoung hears a thump beside him as Mark sets his skateboard down on the pavement.
“Get on,” he commands, moving behind Jinyoung to push him in the direction of the board.
Jinyoung firmly plants his feet, pushing defiantly back against the boy. “S-shouldn’t I be wearing a helmet or something?”
Mark scoffs. “You’re not gonna fall.” And Jinyoung’s not sure if he’s imagining things or if Mark really does put his lips to his ear and add, “I won’t let you.”
But real or not, he does as he’s told, heart hammering in his chest when Mark’s hands settle at his hips. And Jinyoung’s glad the other isn’t in front of him to see the embarrassing shade of red his cheeks have now turned.
“Put your feet on either side of the board.”
Jinyoung obeys, albeit shakily, and listens attentively as Mark continues on to teach him how to complete what’s called an end-over. It seems simple enough, just a lot of pivoting and balancing, and with Jinyoung’s years of ballet lessons under his belt, he feels pretty confident in his ability to execute the trick.
With a slow intake of breath, he puts Mark’s instructions into action, rotating his shoulders to turn the board 180 degrees, and when he successfully completes the trick he nearly leaps in the air.
“I did it!” he shouts and looks over his shoulder at Mark, expecting the boy to be grinning just as excitedly back. But he isn’t. There’s a look of panic in his eyes, concern etched into his brows, and it isn’t until Jinyoung looks forward again that he realizes he’s still rolling forward, headed straight towards the curb and impending disaster.
But by then it’s too late, the board catches against the small rise in the pavement, and like a rag doll Jinyoung is sent sprawling forward and tumbling rather clumsily onto the grass.
“Jinyoung!” Mark’s voice calls from a distance, his thundering footsteps pounding against the pavement before he appears at Jinyoung’s side, the same expression of shocked panic on his face. “Jinyoung! Are you-?”
“Did you see that?” Jinyoung cuts him off before he can finish, his body still buzzing with excitement despite the unceremonious fall. “Did you see me? Did you see what I did?”
“Yeah.” Mark smiles, eyes awash with relief and amusement. “Yeah I saw. You looked really cool…until you face planted.”
Jinyoung pouts, his giddiness quickly deflated.
“Don’t do that,” Mark chides.
“What?”
“Don’t pout like that.”
“Why?”
Mark’s voice is barely a whisper when he answers. “Because it makes me want to kiss you.”
Jinyoung feels his heart rate sky rocket, feels it hammering in his chest loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear, and though his mouth is dry, though his palms are sweaty, though there’s a lump the size of a golf ball stuck at the base of this throat, he still somehow manages to ask, “Why don’t you then?”
The smile that Mark returns is brighter than any Jinyoung’s ever seen, his voice dangerously low when he mutters, “Fuck it,” before he leans forward and captures Jinyoung’s lips in a slow, chaste kiss.
It’s everything Jinyoung had dreamed of, everything he’d hoped it would be. Because in that moment, he realizes he was right.
Mark’s lips do taste sweet.
They do feel soft.
They are fucking fantastic.
Rating: PG
Genre: skaterboy!au, fluff
Word Count: 3.4k
Summary: Jinyoung's got a crush on a certain red headed skater. The only problem is, he doesn't know Jinyoung exists.
Friday afternoons when kids rush home and moms and dads and teachers rejoice the coming of another long awaited weekend, Jinyoung likes to take the long way home; drag his feet along the pavement, soak in the warmth of the sun, stop and stare and relish in the last few days of spring.
It’s soothing, therapeutic, but if he’s being completely honest with himself, he does it because it gives him an excuse to pass by the skate park near his house.
Not that he actually skateboards or anything. Jinyoung prefers to take on more of a spectator’s role; watch the boys glide across grind rails, weave in and out of half pipes. And though some might call it stalking to sit on a park bench and watch sweaty boys perform tricks on skateboards, Jinyoung likes to think of it more as…“silently admiring.”
Because what’s not to admire really? The boys are masters at what they do; defy-ers of gravity, lords of the board, and okay maybe - just a little bit - cute too.
None compare to the red head with the bright blue skateboard though.
In all his life Jinyoung doesn’t think he’s seen a more perfect human being; tall, lithe, slender, gorgeous, and with the most beautiful set of cherry red lips he’s ever laid eyes on.
Sometimes he likes to imagine what they’d taste like, what they’d feel like against his own.
Probably sweet. Probably soft. Probably fucking fantastic.
But sadly he’ll never know.
Because Jinyoung is invisible. Not in the superhero, Susan Storm kind of way though. In the Peter Parker, pre-Spiderman kind of way. He’s a loser, a geek, a dweeb, and totally not in the red head’s league. Besides, boys with faces like that definitely did not kiss boys with social lives as dull as Jinyoung’s.
And even if by some miracle of God, the red head did notice him, Jinyoung’s pretty sure he would only make a fool of himself. Or internally combust. Whichever came first.
So for now, he’s content to just sit, and watch, and fantasize from afar. Because in the fantasy world there is no rejection. In the fantasy world he has a chance.
Jinyoung likes to think that one day his fantasies might come true. That one day the boy might look over, smile, and instantly be compelled to walk over and ask him on a date. Then they’d talk and laugh and bond over their shared love of comic books and cheesy slasher films. Maybe share some stories. Maybe share a kiss. Maybe live happily ever after.
But every day is exactly the same.
Every day Jinyoung sits in the same spot, on the same park bench, under the same oak tree. And every day he goes unnoticed.
It’s become routine, predictable, and almost - just a little bit - boring.
Which is precisely the reason he nearly jumps out of his skin the moment he gets to the skate park and sees the red head in his spot, on his park bench, under his oak tree.
“What are you doing here?” Jinyoung almost asks, until he realizes how psychotic that sounds. It is a public park after all, and besides he’s pretty sure he knows the answer.
He noticed. All the staring, all the “silently admiring.” It probably freaked him out. So now he’ll probably beat him up, call him a creep, a loser, a fag. Jinyoung knows the drill. It’s happened to him more often than he'd like to admit.
But maybe he still has a chance. The red head hasn’t noticed him yet. Maybe if he turns and runs and never looks back he’ll-
“Hey you.”
Jinyoung freezes in his tracks. Oh crap. Here it comes.
He cautiously turns his head, praying to every deity he can think of that the voice doesn’t belong to who he thinks it does but curses under his breath when his eyes are met with red hair and a steely expression.
“Come here,” the boy says, voice gruff and demanding. And if Jinyoung wasn’t so scared for his life he probably would’ve found it sexy.
“M-me?” Jinyoung lamely points a finger to himself, hoping beyond hope that this is just a mistake, some kind of misunderstanding that they can both walk away from. However it’s hard to misinterpret the look of contempt in the boy’s eyes, and any hope he might’ve had of making it out of this unscathed die as quickly as wind to a flame.
“Yes you. With the Spock hair. Get over here.”
Jinyoung gulps, carefully making his way towards what he knows will be his imminent doom before cautiously taking a seat next to the red head. He’s never been this close to him before, so close that he can count the number of eyelashes on his lids and the moles that dot his pale skin. And while normally that’d be enough to send him into a fit of celebratory hysterics, right now he’s too busy trying not to shit his pants to realize how momentous of an occasion this is.
“I know who you are,” the boy says, to which Jinyoung nearly chokes on his own saliva because never in a million years had he expected him to say that.
“Y-you…you do?”
The boy nods. “Yes. And I want you to know I think it’s disgusting what you’re doing.”
Jinyoung’s face falls, the words cutting deep like a dagger into his heart, and it’s then that he realizes just how stupid he’d been to think his fantasies could ever come true. Still, he feels the need to explain himself, to tell the boy that it isn’t what he thinks. That he wasn’t trying to be weird or creepy or stalker like. He just wanted a chance.
But before he can voice any of that aloud, the boy cuts him off. “I mean is Jackson seriously so desperate to win that he has to send his minions to spy on me?”
A wave of relief washes over Jinyoung, coupled with confusion and mild shock as he raises an eyebrow and frowns. “Jackson? Minions? What are you-?”
“Save it,” the boy interrupts. “Just because you’re cute doesn’t mean you can fool me with the innocent act.”
Jinyoung’s jaw drops halfway to the floor, stunned by what he’s just heard. This had to be a mistake. He had to be dreaming. There’s no way the boy actually just called him cute.
“Anyways,” the boy’s voice snaps him from his thoughts, forcing him to abandon the subject. “It doesn’t matter because I’ve decided I’m going to forgive you.”
“Really?” Jinyoung can hardly contain his joy, a giddy smile taking the place of his once pouty lips.
“Really,” the boy says with a smile, so dazzling that Jinyoung nearly misses it when he adds, “On one condition.”
Jinyoung’s smile fades. “Pardon?”
“I said I’m willing to forgive you,” the boy says, mischievous glint to his eyes. “But on one condition.”
Jinyoung really doesn’t want to ask. He’s seen this exact scenario play out enough times to know that nothing ever remotely good comes out of it. However, there’s still a part of him that’s curious and maybe a bit optimistic for how this might turn out, and before he can stop it, the question slips from his lips. “What’s the condition?”
The boy grins. “Give me your number.”
“My number?” Jinyoung echoes in disbelief, almost certain he’s misheard him. “Like my phone number?”
“No like your social security number,” the boy sarcastically answers with a roll of his eyes. “Yes like your phone number!”
“Oh,” is all Jinyoung can say, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that this is actually happening. That the red head is actually sitting in front of him asking for his number.
The boy rolls his eyes, lets out a noise that is somewhere between a sigh and a snicker, and pulls out his phone from the back pocket of his jeans before holding it out in front of Jinyoung. “Here,” he says.
Jinyoung eyes the device carefully, as if wary of it sparking and spontaneously combusting in the boy’s hand, but after a moment, tentatively reaches out to take it from his hand.
The metal feels cool to the touch, quite in contrast to the warmth of the boy’s skin and the feeling that suddenly spreads through him when their fingers accidentally brush. Jinyoung tries not to think too much of it, especially the part where he’d imagined those fingers touching places only he’d had the privilege to explore, and instead focuses on entering his name and number into the boy’s contacts. Because heaven forbid he should ruin this once in a lifetime opportunity by entering a wrong number.
“There,” he says when he’s finished, handing the device back to its owner with a gracious smile.
The boy lowers his head to look down at the screen. “Jinyoung,” he says, voice rising in pitch on the last syllable so that it sounds more like a question.
“That’s me,” Jinyoung answers with a nod of his head.
The boy smiles back, the action nearly blinding with the way his teeth reflect the light from the sun’s rays. “I’m Mark,” he says. “But you probably knew that already, didn’t you?”
Jinyoung violently shakes his head, determined to assert his innocence, but is once again thwarted when the red head suddenly interrupts.
“So what are you doing this weekend?” he says, scooting closer to Jinyoung so that the distance between them is almost halved.
Jinyoung tries his best to keep his cool, tries hard not to let on that he’s experiencing somewhat of a mini spaz attack right now but well, acting has never really been his forte. “Nothing,” he says. “I mean maybe nothing. Probably nothing. I mean I don’t know I might have plans, you know? It’s not like I’m one of those losers that sits at home on the weekends watching reruns of Firefly or anything.”
“Right,” Mark says, a slightly bewildered, slightly bemused look on his face. “Well I’m having this…thing or whatever at my house tomorrow night around 10. You should come. I mean if you’re not too busy doing nothing.”
Jinyoung cracks a smile. “Sure. Sounds like fun.”
“Good,” Mark says as he rises to his feet, flashing Jinyoung another one of his flawless, white smiles. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.” And setting his skateboard down on the pavement, he takes off through the park and leaves Jinyoung in the dust.
-
The “thing” at Mark’s house turns out to be a party with about fifty people Jinyoung doesn’t know. Not that he’d expected much different. Boys like Mark were bound to have budding social lives. And besides, what else did teenage boys do with their weekends when blessed with an empty house and an unlocked liquor cabinet?
Still, it doesn’t make him any less nervous as he walks up to the door, bass from the stereo inside pounding perfectly in time with the drumming of his heart in his ears, and it takes a few slow inhales and exhales before he finally gets the balls to reach up and ring the doorbell.
It’s a matter of seconds before the door is ripped open and the overpowering scent of weed and alcohol hits his face, and out steps a boy wearing a muscle shirt and a backwards facing snapback.
Jinyoung takes one look down at his own attire, a white button up tucked into black slacks complete with polished black dress shoes, and suddenly realizes that when Mark had texted him to wear something nice ;) it had meant more street casual than Sunday best. But apparently, he’d missed the memo on that one.
“Nice threads doofus,” the boy chokes out between fits of laughter. “Did your mommy pick ‘em out for you?”
Heat rushes to Jinyoung’s cheeks, mortified by the situation, and he’s just about to turn on his heel to flee the scene when a familiar voice stops him in his tracks.
“I think he looks cute,” the voice says. And when Jinyoung looks up, he sees that it’s Mark; red hair tucked underneath a black beanie, dark wash jeans hanging loosely on his hips and damn if it isn’t the sexiest he’s ever looked.
“Tch. Whatever,” the boy scoffs, rolling his eyes, and just like that disappears into the crowd of sweaty teens.
With a shy smile, Jinyoung sends Mark a grateful look from beneath his lashes, thankful to have been spared a potentially humiliating experience, and wastes no time in stepping past the threshold to join the other inside.
“You made it,” Mark says, his smile still bright despite the dim lighting and smoke-clouded air. “I guess this means there weren’t any reruns of Firefly on tonight.”
“Yeah,” Jinyoung sighs sadly, then realizing he’s been caught quickly adds, “I mean not that I really care. I’d rather be here anyways.”
Mark laughs. “Good to know. I’m glad I at least place higher than a TV show on your list of priorities.”
Jinyoung opens his mouth to protest, ready to launch into an argument that hey! Firefly is not just a TV show. But then he feels something warm close over his hand, and slender fingers work themselves between the spaces in his own, and suddenly all knowledge of the human language is wiped from his brain.
“Come on.” He hears Mark say over the din of noise. “I wanna show you the rest of the house.”
And unwilling to put up any more resistance, Jinyoung lets himself be dragged out of the foyer.
Together, they go through the entire downstairs, Mark stopping in each room to show him around and say a little something. However Jinyoung finds it nearly impossible to focus. He’s too fixated on the fact that Mark is holding his hand. And not just holding it like moms do their kids when crossing the road, but like a couple, like boyfriends, like two guys that like each other in a non-platonic kind of way.
But maybe he’s reading too much into it. Maybe Mark is just being nice. Maybe this is the way he holds hands with all of the people he first meets. Whatever the case, Jinyoung can’t deny that it feels nice. Mark’s hands are warm, his skin soft, and the way his fingers fit perfectly between Jinyoung’s own reminds him of a puzzle; two pieces joined together to form something bigger, something beautiful.
But just as soon as the thought crosses his mind, Mark suddenly lets go, and Jinyoung lets out a whine that he really hopes wasn’t loud enough to be audible.
“Wait here.” Mark’s hands are on Jinyoung’s shoulders, forcing him down onto the steps of his wooden staircase. “I’ll be right back.”
“Wha-where are you going?” Jinyoung says before he can stop himself, all the while cursing how pathetic and needy he sounds. He holds back a snort. Since when did he become such a girl?
“To my room,” Mark answers, eyes alight with a certain smugness. “Why? You wanna come with?”
Jinyoung gulps, lewd images of him on Mark’s bed involuntary swirling through his mind before he wills them away with a shake of his head. “No.”
Mark chuckles, a deep rumbling sound that echoes deep in his chest, and shrugs. “Suit yourself. Just try not to miss me too much while I’m gone, okay?”
He smiles, canines glinting in the artificial light, and shoots Jinyoung a wink before trotting up the stairs and disappearing behind a large door (and no. Jinyoung definitely didn’t stare at his ass as he watched him go).
A few minutes pass while Jinyoung waits for Mark to return, idly spent with a few levels of Candy Crush, and lots of cursing at the god forsaken Pudding Pagoda, but despite Mark’s instructions, he can’t help but feel a bit restless. Not that he misses the guy, he’s not that much of a loser (or at least not as much as he’s willing to admit). It’s just that he hates being alone in crowds as big as this one. It only serves as a reminder of how small and insignificant he is to the world.
Just as he begins to lose himself in the darkness of those thoughts though, Mark returns; a smile on his face and his signature blue skateboard in his hands.
Jinyoung frowns. “What’s that for?”
“Skating,” Mark deadpans. “Duh.”
“Yeah but…you’re not gonna skate indoors are you?”
“No.” Mark looks incredulous, as if he can’t believe Jinyoung would suggest such a thing. “Are you kidding? My mom would kill me.”
“You mean she won’t kill you for having a party while she’s gone?” Jinyoung asks, equally incredulous.
Mark shrugs. “As long as nobody breaks anything.”
“Then what’s the skateboard for?”
“Oh!” Mark grins, his eyes shining with a childlike excitement that borders on infectious. “I’m gonna teach you how to skate.”
“What?”
“Come on!” Mark grabs his hand before he can protest, drags him out the door and across the lawn, and within seconds they’re out on the street; the air around them cool, crisp, and clean. Jinyoung hears a thump beside him as Mark sets his skateboard down on the pavement.
“Get on,” he commands, moving behind Jinyoung to push him in the direction of the board.
Jinyoung firmly plants his feet, pushing defiantly back against the boy. “S-shouldn’t I be wearing a helmet or something?”
Mark scoffs. “You’re not gonna fall.” And Jinyoung’s not sure if he’s imagining things or if Mark really does put his lips to his ear and add, “I won’t let you.”
But real or not, he does as he’s told, heart hammering in his chest when Mark’s hands settle at his hips. And Jinyoung’s glad the other isn’t in front of him to see the embarrassing shade of red his cheeks have now turned.
“Put your feet on either side of the board.”
Jinyoung obeys, albeit shakily, and listens attentively as Mark continues on to teach him how to complete what’s called an end-over. It seems simple enough, just a lot of pivoting and balancing, and with Jinyoung’s years of ballet lessons under his belt, he feels pretty confident in his ability to execute the trick.
With a slow intake of breath, he puts Mark’s instructions into action, rotating his shoulders to turn the board 180 degrees, and when he successfully completes the trick he nearly leaps in the air.
“I did it!” he shouts and looks over his shoulder at Mark, expecting the boy to be grinning just as excitedly back. But he isn’t. There’s a look of panic in his eyes, concern etched into his brows, and it isn’t until Jinyoung looks forward again that he realizes he’s still rolling forward, headed straight towards the curb and impending disaster.
But by then it’s too late, the board catches against the small rise in the pavement, and like a rag doll Jinyoung is sent sprawling forward and tumbling rather clumsily onto the grass.
“Jinyoung!” Mark’s voice calls from a distance, his thundering footsteps pounding against the pavement before he appears at Jinyoung’s side, the same expression of shocked panic on his face. “Jinyoung! Are you-?”
“Did you see that?” Jinyoung cuts him off before he can finish, his body still buzzing with excitement despite the unceremonious fall. “Did you see me? Did you see what I did?”
“Yeah.” Mark smiles, eyes awash with relief and amusement. “Yeah I saw. You looked really cool…until you face planted.”
Jinyoung pouts, his giddiness quickly deflated.
“Don’t do that,” Mark chides.
“What?”
“Don’t pout like that.”
“Why?”
Mark’s voice is barely a whisper when he answers. “Because it makes me want to kiss you.”
Jinyoung feels his heart rate sky rocket, feels it hammering in his chest loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear, and though his mouth is dry, though his palms are sweaty, though there’s a lump the size of a golf ball stuck at the base of this throat, he still somehow manages to ask, “Why don’t you then?”
The smile that Mark returns is brighter than any Jinyoung’s ever seen, his voice dangerously low when he mutters, “Fuck it,” before he leans forward and captures Jinyoung’s lips in a slow, chaste kiss.
It’s everything Jinyoung had dreamed of, everything he’d hoped it would be. Because in that moment, he realizes he was right.
Mark’s lips do taste sweet.
They do feel soft.
They are fucking fantastic.