chandelier [for heart_bloom]
For: heart_bloom
Title: chandelier
Pairing(s)/focus: mark/jackson
Rating: r
Word count: 2100
Warnings: alcoholism, depression
Summary: a story about a boy who finds solace in bottles and the boy who wants to shatter them.
it's a death wish, he keeps telling mark this. it's a death wish and he has to let it go, has to find himself again. he begs, grabs mark's wrists, and tries to keep his ground with all the bodies knocking into him, dancing to the beat of such deafening music that it registers in his ears as noise. he looks at mark in the eyes; the constantly changing colours of light shining on mark's face, and he tries. he tries so hard to pull the real mark out for even just a second so he could bargain with him, knock some sense into him, and convince him to come back, but all his efforts are for naught and thrown in the trash like another empty bottle of liquor.
mark stares at him, eyes heavy with inebriation that never quite leaves, and he smiles. it's not mocking, he doesn't throw his head back and laugh at jackson; he just smiles in the most bittersweet way jackson has ever seen anyone do and he leans closer to him, shouting over the music, “that's the point, jacks, i'm drinking to die.”
out of words to say and actions to do, jackson lets mark go and he blends into the crowd, just another drunk body filled up with poison. just another person in this world meant to follow the cycle of life and death, no longer mark, jackson's friend, or mark, the boy with the bright smile and the air of softness around him; just mark, the boy who wanted to leave a legacy but ended up leaving the world instead.
-
they meet at a frat party that jackson's friend invites him to. jackson almost doesn't go because he's put off organising his new apartment for too long already, and honestly he's glad he's not living with his mum anymore because he'd have been reprimanded probably a trillion times now if she knew. but as he spends more time sitting on his couch - which is one of only three pieces of furniture assembled in his apartment (because it came that way) - the more his body tingles with want for companionship, so he finally decides to walk out of his apartment building and make his way to the fraternity house, because he knows the less people he's around the sadder he gets, and the sadder he gets the more he misses home.
he arrives at the party when it's already in full swing, and he sees that there are almost fifty people at the party, most of whom he doesn't know because he's a new transferee from a university in hong kong no one here knows about, so he's been enrolled in the school for only a week. he watches a group of boys who are undoubtedly members of the fraternity in the front yard doing keg stands, and he laughs at the view before walking into the house to find his friend. in his rush, he bumps into a red-haired man stumbling down the stairs.
“shit, sorry!” he apologises, steadying the other man by putting one hand on his hip and the other on his shoulder.
the guy's eyes widen, then he laughs and beams at jackson. “sorry, sorry! i'm a little more tipsy than i thought i was.”
jackson grins and takes off his hands from the stranger's body. “i'm jackson. you need help getting around?”
“m'fine. thanks.” he raises his head and narrows his eyes, then waves at someone nearby. “oh, my name's mark.”
+
mark stumbles around his dorm room trying to find his bed. his roommate junior just sighs from where he is, leaning on the door and staring haplessly at jackson. his eyes seem to plead for help and jackson wishes he had answers, ideas, anything, but there's nothing in his mind but confusion.
“this has to stop,” junior whispers, voice tired and displeased.
jackson almost laughs, almost replies obviously, but all that comes out of his mouth is a sigh. he watches mark in bed, all curled up and quickly drifting to sleep. he's left his shoes on, though jackson doubts he knows or cares. fully taking on the task of taking care of him, jackson pulls his shoes from his feet and rids him of his socks too, pulling a blanket over him to protect him from the autumn cold.
“thank you,” junior tells him. jackson turns around to face him and smiles sadly. “he's... he's not the same anymore.”
jackson nods, knowing the feeling of looking at mark and seeing the bruises under his skin instead.
“i'm sorry i couldn't stop him before it was too late.”
jackson thinks he means to say: i'm sorry i didn't notice.
and to both, he replies, “me too.”
-
they keep meeting in parties, because people assume jackson likes parties (he does, because there are plenty of people and though sometimes it's suffocating it's better than the quiet in his empty apartment) and mark likes having company more than he lets on.
“mark, right?” jackson greets him, sitting down on the couch with a can of beer in his hand. “i'm that guy you had a drunk encounter with, like, a week ago.”
jackson can see from the side of his eyes that some of mark's friends are raising their eyebrows, and jackson doesn't understand until he realises the things his words imply. mark seems flustered so jackson laughs and clarifies, “i bumped into you on the stairs.”
the other boy smiles, albeit a little awkward, fiddling with his own can of beer. “sorry, bad memory.”
jackson opens his mouth to reintroduce himself but jaebum interrupts, “this is the guy i've been talking about, jackson.”
wishing he could find it in himself to be surprised he's being talked about, jackson tries to hide his smile. “what've you been saying about me, jb?” he asks, tone accusatory.
“just that you'd be good for our frat.” jaebum downs a glass of vodka and looks at jackson. “so, you want in?”
+
it hurts to see mark struggling to get up in the morning, head too heavy for comfort. jackson wishes he knew how to help, but all he's been doing is staring at mark and walking around in a mix of frustration and concern.
“morning,” mark greets as if nothing had happened - as if nothing is happening. jackson knows he should be used to this, yet after several months the bite is still there. he almost hopes he could forget how mark is a mess disguised as the man he's learnt to care about the most, but he knows that no matter how ugly the memory is he wants to keep it; forgetting is a curse he wouldn't wish on even his worst enemy.
jackson shakes away his sorrow and puts on a grin. “morning, sunshine. breakfast?”
mark nods happily, but when jackson turns away to make pancakes he hears mark sigh deeply. “s'cold,” he complains.
“hot chocolate?” jackson offers when he sees mark shivering.
“sure.” mark pauses, licking his lips and looking down. “hey, uh - thanks. for taking care of me.”
“it's nothing.” jackson sets down mark's breakfast on the table, taking the seat in front of him. “it's what friends do.”
-
it first happens at a party, as jackson learns everything does. mark is drunk and quickly proves to jackson that people do change with liquor in them. mark laughs at everything when he's drunk, he's incredibly clingy, has no respect for personal space. jackson wishes he were just a more hyperactive, ten times worse version of himself when he's drunk, but as it is he's the type of drunk who professes his love for people and kisses them square on the mouth. (somewhere in the house they are making a drinking game out of him: take a shot every time jackson kisses someone, take two when they kiss him back. a half hour into the game and they've already taken thirteen shots.)
jackson finds mark in a room, lying down on a bed and staring at the ceiling, pointing his finger at it as if he were pointing at the stars. there are several bottles of liquor on the bed and jackson watches as mark swigs each in a pattern he can't yet decipher.
“lemme have some,” jackson whines, reaching out for the bottle that mark doesn't hesitate to give him. he moves to the bed, sitting down with his back pressed against the headboard.
“the stars... they're pretty,” mark states, pointing again at the ceiling and smiling to himself.
“mmm,” jackson agrees, blinking slowly as if he'd just woken up. he looks up and belatedly realises, “there're no stars here.”
mark laughs like he'd said something absurd, a hundred percent sure that the blank, white ceiling above them is a canvas of shining stars. he sits up and faces jackson. “m'glad you're part of us now.... i've always liked you.”
“thanks,” jackson replies, patting mark's shoulder in a way he doesn't know is awkward but definitely is. “like you too.”
somewhere in the house, they are taking two shots of vodka and laughing.
-
the second time is worse, because this time jackson isn't drunk enough to kiss everyone in sight, but apparently strawberry-flavoured vodka makes mark do weird things and they end up in a closet with mark pushing jackson's wrist on the walls.
there are no words exchanged, just the taste of strawberry on mark's tongue that burns in jackson's mouth, the sounds jackson makes at the back of his throat, and mark's hips grinding against jackson's.
for a second jackson wonders what he should do, but mark lets go of his wrists and he finds answers in the way his hands move to unbutton mark's pants as if on autopilot.
-
two weeks later jackson finds himself in bed with a massive hangover and aching legs. he's still wearing a shirt so he guesses he's safe but then he lifts the blanket on him and finds his shorts halfway down his thighs. he's almost sure it's mark, knows it deep in his chest because mark is the only one jackson would do this with, and when he gets out of bed his thoughts are confirmed by the shoes beside his.
when he gets down he sees mark passed out on the couch with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. deciding it's a matter that can be discussed later on, jackson lets it go.
-
jackson walks into the frat house and sees cardboard on the stairs. he's halfway around saying “what the hell” when junior passes by and pulls him away to the living room.
“i need your help,” he says, too concerned for this to be about schoolwork or a prank gone wrong.
“what's up?” jackson takes a seat on the couch, looking intently at junior, whose feet are nervously tapping on the floor.
“it's mark. he doesn't remember.” jackson furrows his eyebrows, asking junior to explain further. “i was - i know about you and him. he... doesn't.”
jackson huffs, confused. “i don't - understand.”
“he doesn't remember anything. i-”
his words are cut off by jb shouting, and at first they think it's just them playing, but the man appears in the living room, running.
“guys,” he starts, forlorn. “it's mark. he's missing.”
-
a week after they find mark passed out on the other side of campus, jackson finds him in a club drinking. he almost just punches mark in the face, but he knows this is a problem that has to be taken care of.
“mark! mark!” he calls, but the other man is immersed in the music, in the bodies around him dancing. “fucking - mark tuan!”
he joins the crowd, and when he finds mark he grabs his wrists in a tight hold. “stop! just - fucking stop, please, mark.” with no reply from the other man, he continues, frustrated, “you're gonna die. keep doing this and you'll die. mark, please, i - i don't want you to leave.”
mark smiles. “that's the point, jacks, i'm drinking to die.”
-
it takes a bar fight and an almost broken nose for mark to realise what he's doing.
“i'm sorry,” mark whispers when jackson walks into the campus clinic. “i'm sorry.”
“it's okay,” jackson forgives, even when it's not, even though he shouldn't.
“i actually thought i was gonna die today.”
jackson laughs bitterly. “isn't that what you want?”
“not anymore.”
+
at night, when mark is shaking under his blanket, jackson crawls into bed with him, wrapping his arms around mark. finally, his warmth lets mark sleep.
[readers, don't forget to leave a comment! anonymous is on if you're shy.]
Title: chandelier
Pairing(s)/focus: mark/jackson
Rating: r
Word count: 2100
Warnings: alcoholism, depression
Summary: a story about a boy who finds solace in bottles and the boy who wants to shatter them.
it's a death wish, he keeps telling mark this. it's a death wish and he has to let it go, has to find himself again. he begs, grabs mark's wrists, and tries to keep his ground with all the bodies knocking into him, dancing to the beat of such deafening music that it registers in his ears as noise. he looks at mark in the eyes; the constantly changing colours of light shining on mark's face, and he tries. he tries so hard to pull the real mark out for even just a second so he could bargain with him, knock some sense into him, and convince him to come back, but all his efforts are for naught and thrown in the trash like another empty bottle of liquor.
mark stares at him, eyes heavy with inebriation that never quite leaves, and he smiles. it's not mocking, he doesn't throw his head back and laugh at jackson; he just smiles in the most bittersweet way jackson has ever seen anyone do and he leans closer to him, shouting over the music, “that's the point, jacks, i'm drinking to die.”
out of words to say and actions to do, jackson lets mark go and he blends into the crowd, just another drunk body filled up with poison. just another person in this world meant to follow the cycle of life and death, no longer mark, jackson's friend, or mark, the boy with the bright smile and the air of softness around him; just mark, the boy who wanted to leave a legacy but ended up leaving the world instead.
-
they meet at a frat party that jackson's friend invites him to. jackson almost doesn't go because he's put off organising his new apartment for too long already, and honestly he's glad he's not living with his mum anymore because he'd have been reprimanded probably a trillion times now if she knew. but as he spends more time sitting on his couch - which is one of only three pieces of furniture assembled in his apartment (because it came that way) - the more his body tingles with want for companionship, so he finally decides to walk out of his apartment building and make his way to the fraternity house, because he knows the less people he's around the sadder he gets, and the sadder he gets the more he misses home.
he arrives at the party when it's already in full swing, and he sees that there are almost fifty people at the party, most of whom he doesn't know because he's a new transferee from a university in hong kong no one here knows about, so he's been enrolled in the school for only a week. he watches a group of boys who are undoubtedly members of the fraternity in the front yard doing keg stands, and he laughs at the view before walking into the house to find his friend. in his rush, he bumps into a red-haired man stumbling down the stairs.
“shit, sorry!” he apologises, steadying the other man by putting one hand on his hip and the other on his shoulder.
the guy's eyes widen, then he laughs and beams at jackson. “sorry, sorry! i'm a little more tipsy than i thought i was.”
jackson grins and takes off his hands from the stranger's body. “i'm jackson. you need help getting around?”
“m'fine. thanks.” he raises his head and narrows his eyes, then waves at someone nearby. “oh, my name's mark.”
+
mark stumbles around his dorm room trying to find his bed. his roommate junior just sighs from where he is, leaning on the door and staring haplessly at jackson. his eyes seem to plead for help and jackson wishes he had answers, ideas, anything, but there's nothing in his mind but confusion.
“this has to stop,” junior whispers, voice tired and displeased.
jackson almost laughs, almost replies obviously, but all that comes out of his mouth is a sigh. he watches mark in bed, all curled up and quickly drifting to sleep. he's left his shoes on, though jackson doubts he knows or cares. fully taking on the task of taking care of him, jackson pulls his shoes from his feet and rids him of his socks too, pulling a blanket over him to protect him from the autumn cold.
“thank you,” junior tells him. jackson turns around to face him and smiles sadly. “he's... he's not the same anymore.”
jackson nods, knowing the feeling of looking at mark and seeing the bruises under his skin instead.
“i'm sorry i couldn't stop him before it was too late.”
jackson thinks he means to say: i'm sorry i didn't notice.
and to both, he replies, “me too.”
-
they keep meeting in parties, because people assume jackson likes parties (he does, because there are plenty of people and though sometimes it's suffocating it's better than the quiet in his empty apartment) and mark likes having company more than he lets on.
“mark, right?” jackson greets him, sitting down on the couch with a can of beer in his hand. “i'm that guy you had a drunk encounter with, like, a week ago.”
jackson can see from the side of his eyes that some of mark's friends are raising their eyebrows, and jackson doesn't understand until he realises the things his words imply. mark seems flustered so jackson laughs and clarifies, “i bumped into you on the stairs.”
the other boy smiles, albeit a little awkward, fiddling with his own can of beer. “sorry, bad memory.”
jackson opens his mouth to reintroduce himself but jaebum interrupts, “this is the guy i've been talking about, jackson.”
wishing he could find it in himself to be surprised he's being talked about, jackson tries to hide his smile. “what've you been saying about me, jb?” he asks, tone accusatory.
“just that you'd be good for our frat.” jaebum downs a glass of vodka and looks at jackson. “so, you want in?”
+
it hurts to see mark struggling to get up in the morning, head too heavy for comfort. jackson wishes he knew how to help, but all he's been doing is staring at mark and walking around in a mix of frustration and concern.
“morning,” mark greets as if nothing had happened - as if nothing is happening. jackson knows he should be used to this, yet after several months the bite is still there. he almost hopes he could forget how mark is a mess disguised as the man he's learnt to care about the most, but he knows that no matter how ugly the memory is he wants to keep it; forgetting is a curse he wouldn't wish on even his worst enemy.
jackson shakes away his sorrow and puts on a grin. “morning, sunshine. breakfast?”
mark nods happily, but when jackson turns away to make pancakes he hears mark sigh deeply. “s'cold,” he complains.
“hot chocolate?” jackson offers when he sees mark shivering.
“sure.” mark pauses, licking his lips and looking down. “hey, uh - thanks. for taking care of me.”
“it's nothing.” jackson sets down mark's breakfast on the table, taking the seat in front of him. “it's what friends do.”
-
it first happens at a party, as jackson learns everything does. mark is drunk and quickly proves to jackson that people do change with liquor in them. mark laughs at everything when he's drunk, he's incredibly clingy, has no respect for personal space. jackson wishes he were just a more hyperactive, ten times worse version of himself when he's drunk, but as it is he's the type of drunk who professes his love for people and kisses them square on the mouth. (somewhere in the house they are making a drinking game out of him: take a shot every time jackson kisses someone, take two when they kiss him back. a half hour into the game and they've already taken thirteen shots.)
jackson finds mark in a room, lying down on a bed and staring at the ceiling, pointing his finger at it as if he were pointing at the stars. there are several bottles of liquor on the bed and jackson watches as mark swigs each in a pattern he can't yet decipher.
“lemme have some,” jackson whines, reaching out for the bottle that mark doesn't hesitate to give him. he moves to the bed, sitting down with his back pressed against the headboard.
“the stars... they're pretty,” mark states, pointing again at the ceiling and smiling to himself.
“mmm,” jackson agrees, blinking slowly as if he'd just woken up. he looks up and belatedly realises, “there're no stars here.”
mark laughs like he'd said something absurd, a hundred percent sure that the blank, white ceiling above them is a canvas of shining stars. he sits up and faces jackson. “m'glad you're part of us now.... i've always liked you.”
“thanks,” jackson replies, patting mark's shoulder in a way he doesn't know is awkward but definitely is. “like you too.”
somewhere in the house, they are taking two shots of vodka and laughing.
-
the second time is worse, because this time jackson isn't drunk enough to kiss everyone in sight, but apparently strawberry-flavoured vodka makes mark do weird things and they end up in a closet with mark pushing jackson's wrist on the walls.
there are no words exchanged, just the taste of strawberry on mark's tongue that burns in jackson's mouth, the sounds jackson makes at the back of his throat, and mark's hips grinding against jackson's.
for a second jackson wonders what he should do, but mark lets go of his wrists and he finds answers in the way his hands move to unbutton mark's pants as if on autopilot.
-
two weeks later jackson finds himself in bed with a massive hangover and aching legs. he's still wearing a shirt so he guesses he's safe but then he lifts the blanket on him and finds his shorts halfway down his thighs. he's almost sure it's mark, knows it deep in his chest because mark is the only one jackson would do this with, and when he gets out of bed his thoughts are confirmed by the shoes beside his.
when he gets down he sees mark passed out on the couch with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. deciding it's a matter that can be discussed later on, jackson lets it go.
-
jackson walks into the frat house and sees cardboard on the stairs. he's halfway around saying “what the hell” when junior passes by and pulls him away to the living room.
“i need your help,” he says, too concerned for this to be about schoolwork or a prank gone wrong.
“what's up?” jackson takes a seat on the couch, looking intently at junior, whose feet are nervously tapping on the floor.
“it's mark. he doesn't remember.” jackson furrows his eyebrows, asking junior to explain further. “i was - i know about you and him. he... doesn't.”
jackson huffs, confused. “i don't - understand.”
“he doesn't remember anything. i-”
his words are cut off by jb shouting, and at first they think it's just them playing, but the man appears in the living room, running.
“guys,” he starts, forlorn. “it's mark. he's missing.”
-
a week after they find mark passed out on the other side of campus, jackson finds him in a club drinking. he almost just punches mark in the face, but he knows this is a problem that has to be taken care of.
“mark! mark!” he calls, but the other man is immersed in the music, in the bodies around him dancing. “fucking - mark tuan!”
he joins the crowd, and when he finds mark he grabs his wrists in a tight hold. “stop! just - fucking stop, please, mark.” with no reply from the other man, he continues, frustrated, “you're gonna die. keep doing this and you'll die. mark, please, i - i don't want you to leave.”
mark smiles. “that's the point, jacks, i'm drinking to die.”
-
it takes a bar fight and an almost broken nose for mark to realise what he's doing.
“i'm sorry,” mark whispers when jackson walks into the campus clinic. “i'm sorry.”
“it's okay,” jackson forgives, even when it's not, even though he shouldn't.
“i actually thought i was gonna die today.”
jackson laughs bitterly. “isn't that what you want?”
“not anymore.”
+
at night, when mark is shaking under his blanket, jackson crawls into bed with him, wrapping his arms around mark. finally, his warmth lets mark sleep.
[readers, don't forget to leave a comment! anonymous is on if you're shy.]