milk bottles
title: milk bottles
pairing: mark/jackson
rating: nc-17
summary: jackson was the only one who saw mary when she was invisible.
warning: !genderswitch
Mary meets Jackson Wang in her third year of high school. Technically, she's known of his existence since the beginning of second year, when he entered their school as a freshman. It's hard not to, with him renowned for being the hottest guy in school and all. He has an infamous reputation for being a player, having broken the hearts of countless girls in their school. But even so, this doesn't seem to put off girls from continuing to fall hopelessly for him. There isn't a single female in school who isn't infatuated, whether publicly or secretly, with Jackson Wang Ka-yee.
Except Mary.
She has never thought she would ever register on Jackson's radar, that he would even notice her insubstantial existence. She has never in her wildest dreams imagined that she might one day come face-to-face with him. They are, simply, in completely different worlds. He's totally out of her league. (Not that she cares or anything.)
The way that Jackson walks into her life is like a fairy tale, unbelievable, incredibly surreal. Actually, it's kind of cliche. Their first encounter is unwittingly arranged by Park Jinyoung, a fellow senior on the student council and the head prefect, who Mary has been nursing a raging crush on since the first day they met and found out that both their favourite books were The Unbearable Lightness of Being, and been tragically friendzoned ever since. So when Jinyoung asks her for a favour, she agrees eagerly before even hearing what it is.
Jinyoung smiles at her gratefully. "I have to attend a meeting with the principal this afternoon. Can you help me supervise detention for an hour?"
Mary's mouth falls open. She was expecting Jinyoung to ask to borrow her copy of the latest Kundera, take notes at the next council meeting, or to help deliver a stack of worksheets to the staff room. But this -- this is entirely out of her depth.
These are the thoughts racing through Mary's mind at lightspeed as she gapes at Jinyoung's hopeful, handsome face, but of course she doesn't voice a single one of them. She's way too shy to. So she just stands there, immobilized, as Jinyoung takes her silence as agreement and smiles broadly. "Thanks, Mary," he says warmly, clapping her back. "You're such a good friend."
The word burns like his touch, and Mary promptly proceeds to blush profusely. "It's n-no problem," she stutters, the smile frozen on her face until Jinyoung strides away breezily.
Then she starts panicking. Detention? The only students who get detention in their school are the really scary delinquents who play hooky and dye their hair blond and pick fights with the teachers. Students like...
Mary stifles a gasp as she walks into the classroom Jinyoung had told her to report to that afternoon after dismissal to see only one boy sitting in the second row to the back. Even though she's never spoken to him before, it doesn't take a genius to instantly recognize Jackson Wang's notorious devilishly handsome face.
Up close, Jackson is slightly shorter and buffer than she expected, his skin fairer, shoulders broad and masculine, arms densely muscled. But the most breathtaking part of him is his eyes. When Mary walks through the door and he looks up, they pierce right into her, boring holes into her face like lasers and combing down her body like a razor.
Mary takes a stuttering step back as he stands up, rising to his full height and towering over her as he advances towards the front of the classroom.
But when he speaks, his voice is unexpectedly gentle. "Are you in detention too?" He sounds genuinely curious.
Mary nearly snorts at his misunderstanding. She feels kind of offended, unable to believe that anyone could mistake her as a bad girl. She looks so utterly wholesome, so plain and studious and geeky. At the same time, she feels inexplicably flattered. A foreign thrill runs down her body that Jackson Wang, the Jackson Wang thinks she looks badass enough to get detention.
Mary's mind races as she imagines a thousand ways she could reply this leading question -- sassy, witty, sarcastic, annoyed, coy, flirtatious.
But in the end, what comes out of her mouth is a mousy, pathetic, "No."
She doesn't even say it loudly enough to carry across the room, and Jackson leans forward, straining to hear her timid voice.
Mary has never felt more boring in her life than she does at this second. She imagines she can see disappointment in Jackson's eyes, his attention already drifting away as he shrugs unimpressedly and settles back onto his chair.
"I'm in charge of detention today," Mary blurts out, her voice louder but still shrill. Jackson looks up at this, his eyes half-amused, half-confused. "Okay," he says matter-of-factly, proceeding to recline in his chair and prop his legs up on the desk like a hooligan.
Mary clears her throat. "Sit properly," she squeaks.
There is an oppressive silence before Jackson swings his legs down in one graceful motion, the chair scraping across the floor like nails on chalkboard. His expression is impenetrable and impassive as he leans forward to study Mary, eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"
Mary feels a bead of sweat rolling down her temple. "N-nothing," she croaks, and tears open her backpack, grabbing the first book she reaches for and burying her face in it.
She doesn't dare to look up for five minutes. When she does, Jackson's feet are back down on the floor, and he's not looking at her but a faint smirk of satisfaction is stretching his lips.
The rest of the hour is spent in startlingly companionable silence. Mary is surprised to find herself relaxing gradually, absorbed by the text she is reading, and Jackson is good as gold too, not doing homework but at least quietly listening to music with his headphones pulled over his ears.
Approaching footsteps make Mary look up to see Jinyoung standing in the doorway, with his toothpaste-commercial smile, not a hair out of place even after hurrying back from his meeting with the principal.
"Thanks for your help, Mary," he says affectionately as he walks towards the teacher's desk where Mary is sitting. "You can go back now."
"You're welcome," Mary beams back at him giddily, getting to her feet and slinging her backpack over her shoulders. On the way out of the classroom, she becomes aware of the weight of a gaze and turns to find Jackson staring at her incredulously, eyes knowing and mocking and... disgusted?
Mary flees down the corridor before she can find out.
Mary tosses and turns that night, her heart thudding too rapidly for her to sleep. She thinks of Jackson's bold, direct gaze and his fathomless eyes, seeming to see right through the thin gauze of her uniform, into the very depths of her heart, and her stomach knots.
The next day at lunch, Mary is huddling in a corner of the library and trying to be invisible. It has become a habit for her to spend every break at the library, eating the sandwiches her mother packed for her and sipping a carton of lukewarm milk. She is too embarrassed to eat her shabby sandwiches at the cafeteria, in front of a million judgmental eyes and gossiping mouths, and besides she has no one to sit with. She has no friends except Jinyoung, who she doesn't dare to presume to call a friend. It's more like he takes pity on her because he's too nice. Jinyoung has a whole army of friends and usually sits at the popular table with the other prefects and honour students. Jackson sits at the popular table too, with the jocks and stoners.
It's not that Mary can't afford the cafeteria meals, but she's on a diet. Actually, she has been on one since she was twelve and suddenly gained ten pounds in a year. Her mother started nagging her to exercise and stop eating potato chips and junk food and her father stopped hugging her. She had to start wearing bras and couldn't fit into her prepubescent clothes anymore, only tent-like blouses that looked like maternity wear. When she went to buy jeans, she couldn't find a suitable size in shops because those that fit her waist were too tight around her hips and those that fit her hips hung loosely around her waist. The saleswoman explained that she had a pear-shaped figure, but Mary suspected that that was just a polite term for plus-sized. Mary sometimes wishes she were stick-thin like the popular pretty girls and cheerleaders in school, their twiglike arms and legs looking so frail and delicate it gives all the guys the urge to protect them.
Said diet hasn't been successful so far. Instead, she's steadily continued gaining weight, in all the worst areas like her hips and bottom and tummy and breasts. Her brother Joey took to calling her thunder thighs and the acne-ridden sleazy older boys in the neighbourhood began catcalling whenever she walked past. Her skin was flabby and bumpy with cellulite, and she stopped looking in the mirror because it only made her more depressed.
Somewhere along the way, it had become routine for her to conceal her body within the folds of baggy clothes, wearing an oversized cable-knit sweater over her gauzy uniform blouse and pulling the sleeves over her wrists so her fingers disappeared into them. She didn't alter her skirt like all the other girls in school so it was dowdily long, covering her knees. She only wished it was long enough to hide her thick ankles too.
But the feature Mary hated most about herself was her eyes. She felt that they were too big, freakishly instead of attractively so. They made her look like she was permanently in shock. So it was a relief that she was severely myopic, and had been wearing the same pair of milk-bottle glasses since young. The lenses were so thick, they refracted light and magnified her eyes sometimes. So she grew her bangs so long that they hung over her forehead like a curtain that she could conveniently flip over her eyes with a lowering of her head. This effectively completed her disguise.
It was weird that Mary detested her eyes so much because eyes were usually the first feature she noticed in a person. Jinyoung's eyes were single-lidded but wide and almond-shaped, kind, warm, friendly and humble. She had been attracted to them almost immediately.
Jackson Wang's eyes were deep-set, striking, darker than obsidian, expressive, intense, dynamic. They were like... like lightning.
Mary wonders where that came from. She quickly erases the image from her head. It's not like she'll ever be seeing that pair of eyes again anyway.
She had spoken too soon. A shadow abruptly looms over her, blocking out the light, and Mary looks up, squinting, to see none other than Jackson Wang in the school library, at the most unnoticeable desk in the most unnoticeable corner, looking down at her.
For a millisecond, Mary thinks that this is a dream. It's too impossible to be reality.
Then Jackson is speaking, his voice deep and resounding and unnervingly real. "Noona."
Mary chokes on her mouthful of sandwich and starts wheezing and hacking violently.
Jackson looks concerned and amused at the same time, if that is possible. He waits patiently for her coughing fit to finish and for her to take a sip of milk and pound her chest, tilting his head like he's waiting for her answer.
"W-what... what are you doing here?" Mary rasps helplessly.
"I'm looking for a book," Jackson replies smoothly with a feline smile. Mary doesn't believe a single word of it but she just says, "Oh. Go ahead, then..."
Jackson's smile widens, now positively feral. "Can you help me?"
"Uhh..." Mary panics as she tries to figure out how to extricate herself from this situation. In the end, she sighs long-sufferingly and gives in. "What's the title?"
Jackson beckons to her to lean forward with a finger, and Mary obliges hesitantly. When Jackson's lips are right beside her ear, he whispers, breath hot against her skin, "The Joys of Sex."
Mary nearly chokes again for the second time in five minutes.
"Excuse me?" she practically shrieks as Jackson pulls back, smirking in a way that makes her want to slap him. Her face feels like it's on fire, and she has no doubt that it looks the same.
Mary stands up with a clatter, the chair legs scraping loudly across the floor and nearly toppling over. She's so outraged and indignant, she's shaking. "I have to go," she says stiffly, gathering up her lunchbox and stuffing her books into her bag.
Jackson is laughing out loud now, as if he is immensely entertained by this. By Mary. Mary feels acutely mortified.
But there is something about Jackson's eyes that makes her shame recede a little as he encircles her wrist loosely with his fingers. "Hey," he says placatingly, and his eyes are beseeching. "I'm sorry. I was just joking. Don't go."
Mary feels like her heart is an ice-cream and Jackson's smile is the sun, melting it effortlessly. She quickly wrenches her hand out of his grasp, but Jackson doesn't let go. Instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a slightly squashed bar of chocolate, sliding it into Mary's palm. "I thought you might be hungry," he says lightly, then stands up, finally letting go of her.
Mary watches him lope out of the library with his long, lithe strides, trying to catch her breath. When she opens her palm, the bar of chocolate still retains the warmth of his pocket, radiating into her skin. It is slightly melted out of shape when she tears open the wrapper, but still deliciously, diabetically sweet.
The next day, Mary is ensconced in a more obscure hollow of the library, behind the labyrinth of bookshelves and maze of dusty stacks. She is so engrossed in her Algebra homework that she doesn't even notice Jackson's presence until she reaches blindly into her lunchbox to find it empty.
Mary frowns, looking up with a lurch of her heart to see Jackson sitting opposite her on the hexagonal table, watching her with a big indulgent grin like Mary is an amusing pet, casually nibbling on the other half of her sandwich.
"YAH!" Mary bursts out incredulously. "Did you just steal my sandwich?"
Jackson's eyes light up with surprise, and his high-pitched, appreciative laughter makes Mary realize that she's said something witty and humorous.
"Sorry," Jackson drawls, looking not the least bit apologetic and chewing on the bread shamelessly loudly. He licks his lips. "This is yummy."
Mary tries not to stare at his reddened lips too obviously and clears her throat, affecting a frown of annoyance.
"That was my lunch," she whines. "I'm hungry."
Then her stomach abruptly drops as she realizes what a pig she sounds like. She looks up with sinking dread, prepared to see Jackson's pitying and disdainful eyes, not expecting to be greeted with only laughter and warmth in those midnight orbs.
"Of course I brought something for you in return," Jackson says, his smile like a promise, and produces a paper bag from behind his back with a flourish. Mary watches with round eyes as he takes out two Winnie-the-Pooh lunchboxes from inside the bag, seeming unconcerned about their dorkiness. Jackson eagerly opens the boxes and a mouthwatering aroma wafts out.
Mary swallows as she sees one of the lunchboxes filled with bulgogi and assorted grilled meats, the other with fluffy steamed grains of rice. How did Jackson know that this is her favourite food? Mary's stomach grumbles audibly, and she turns as red as a fire extinguisher when Jackson laughs.
"You can't eat this in the library," she snaps, but Jackson only gazes at her imploringly, lifting a finger to his lips. "Don't tell on me."
Jackson makes a show of bringing the meat to his nose and inhaling deeply, sighing in bliss. Mary attempts to ignore him and return to her homework, but she is painfully aware of his intent gaze fixated on her.
Finally, she slaps down her pen on the table. "If I eat this, will you go away?" she growls.
Hurt flickers across Jackson's face for a second, before it is replaced by his patented smile. "Of course," he scout-swears, eyes glinting mischievously.
Mary huffs and pretends to reluctantly pick up the chopsticks he offers her and digs into the rice. It's as tasty as it looks, and Mary has to control herself from gobbling it down. It's been such a long time since she's eaten any real, solid food.
Jackson watches her with oddly tender eyes as she scarfs down the food and, as if just remembering, reaches into his pocket to fish out a small carton of strawberry milk.
He tears the wrapper off the straw and pokes it into the carton, offering it to Mary, but the declination instinctively rises to her tongue. "I don't like sweet things."
"Really?" Jackson looks genuinely surprised. "I thought you did."
"I don't," Mary says more empathetically, through a mouthful of rice. "I only drink low-fat milk."
Jackson laughs easily and takes her carton of lukewarm low-fat milk, opening it and chugging it back in one big gulp. "Screw that," he says. "This is better. Trust me."
Mary finishes the last mouthful of rice and sets down her chopsticks, taking a deep breath. She does, and Jackson is right.
True to his word, Jackson leaves with the lunchboxes after Mary has polished them clean, but not before cheekily throwing over his shoulder the cryptic remark, "I like peanut butter."
Mary resists the urge to holler after him, "Who cares?" She scowls fiercely at his retreating figure and tries to focus on her Algebra again, but her mind is hopelessly distracted and the taste of salty bulgogi on her tongue is as fresh as his smile behind her eyelids.
The next morning, for some reason, Mary requests her mother to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Her mother smiles in pleased surprise. "You haven't wanted to eat that since you were a kid."
Mary stammers guiltily. "I'm suddenly craving it," she mumbles.
At the library that afternoon, she unpacks the Power Rangers lunchbox that she's usually so ashamed of, her eyes filling with tears to realize that her mother has packed twice the usual amount of sandwiches, spread with marmalade and chunky peanut butter and strawberry jam. She has even added an apple and a juice box and a little note saying, It's okay to break your diet occasionally! You deserve it! :)
Mary is wiping the moisture away from her lashes when Jackson creeps up behind her with his usual stealth, making her leap out of her skin.
Jackson's goofy smile slips when he sees her damp eyelashes and red-rimmed eyes. "Are you okay? Who made you cry? Did someone bully you?"
Jackson's voice is tense with worry, his eyes tight with concern and Mary feels a lump in her throat. They don't know each other well enough to care for each other's well-being yet. And yet, Jackson does. He cares.
She shakes her head reassuringly with a watery smile, showing him the note because she doesn't know how to explain. Luckily, he apparently understands, his eyes softening as he reads it.
"You..." he raises his eyes to her, containing the first hint of shyness she's ever seen him display. "You prepared peanut butter sandwiches for me?"
Mary abruptly realizes what she has confessed to, and hastily crumples the note up, shoving it in her pocket and avoiding Jackson's searching gaze.
After a few minutes of silence, she sneaks a glance from beneath her bangs to see Jackson quietly nibbling at one half of a sandwich, chewing thoughtfully like he's savouring the taste. When he senses her watching, he meets her gaze and his eyes are smiling. "It's absolutely delicious," he says softly. "Thanks, noona."
After the satisfying meal, Jackson produces the usual packet of strawberry milk from his pocket and exchanges it with Mary's juice box, which he slurps happily with a look of contentment. For dessert, they split the apple in two, taking turns to crunch juicy bites from opposite sides. The way their mouths get steadily closer to the apple core and their proximity, close enough for Mary to see a drop of juice trickling down Jackson's chin, feels disconcertingly intimate.
When the bell rings, Jackson gets to his feet reluctantly. It must be Mary's imagination that he looks disappointed, because he doesn't say anything as he leaves the library, leaves Mary amidst the maze of shelves and stacks of dusty books, her head spinning and her chest pounding.
Mary doesn't know or remember when -- but gradually, it becomes natural as breathing for Jackson to show up in the deserted library during breaks, bearing strawberry milk and a surprise dessert of some kind, occasionally unhealthy, always sinfully sweet. They share ripe peaches and soft bananas and granola bars, gummy bears and marshmallows and milk chocolate fingers with sticky caramelized toffee insides. Jackson looks uncannily like an adorable hamster hoarding sunflower seeds in its cheeks as he stuffs his mouth full of bread. Mary finds the way he eats absolutely delightful, the way he licks his fingers with relish, the way his eyes darken when he's hungry and sparkle when he's full, the way he so obviously enjoys food and eating and... and living.
Jackson is undeniably confident, but contrary to what Mary had thought at first, there is nothing cocky or narcissistic about his pride. He's just extremely comfortable with himself, inhabiting his body with an ease that Mary can only envy. But really, he's just a mischievous little boy at heart, and Mary feels the protective instincts of an older sister rear inside her, the doting indulgence as she reaches out thoughtlessly to wipe a corner of his chocolate-smeared mouth with a finger.
Jackson leans into her touch, beaming so unguardedly back at her that Mary doesn't even have the time to be amazed by her own bravery. Once, she had never dreamt that one day she would be able to touch and talk to the most good-looking and intimidating boy in school so easily. Their afternoons together have the hazy, unfocused quality of a dreamscape, transient and evanescent, a fragile and tenuous arrangement to meet. That daily hour seems as if it might pop like soap bubbles at a touch, as if it only exists within the sleepy confines of the labyrinthine library, between the slats of 1pm sun illuminating dust motes suspended in space, separate from the outside world.
When she's with Jackson, Mary feels like she can be herself. She feels free to talk about anything and everything, and she thinks that maybe this is what Jackson symbolizes to her, what he has unwittingly given her: freedom. And Mary hadn't known how intensely she had thirsted for this, how she had been hemmed in by her restrictions and her lifestyle and her personality, her unhappiness growing slowly but surely.
She likes the way Jackson calls her Noona, rolling the word around his tongue with a playful, caressing drawl, but to be honest it makes her feel old. So she tells Jackson to call her simply by her name instead. Strangely, Jackson seems to be the one who feels awkward to address her without honorifics. There's something about his lack of confidence in this area in contrast to his overwhelming ego in all others that goes straight to Mary's heart.
Since Mary spends all of her time in school shuffling between the library and class, their paths never intersect outside lunch breaks. But once, she is walking along the corridor back from the restroom when she hears an unmistakable hyena-like laugh and looks down to see Jackson on the second storey, surrounded by a group of friends who are all hanging adoringly to his every word as he talks and gesticulates gregariously.
Mary gulps, feeling a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she lowers her head, hiding behind her bangs and hurrying back into class.
She wonders what excuse Jackson has given his friends about not joining them for lunch at the cafeteria, but senses that he won't be able to maintain it for long. If he even wants to. Mary isn't stupid. She is aware that she's only a fleeting novelty for Jackson, that he's only taking pity on her friendless plight and doing a kind deed. She knows with cold certainty that soon he will lose interest in her and abandon her to her lonely existence again.
One morning, however, her worst fears come true. She is trudging back to her classroom in her gym shirt and shorts, having just changed for physical education class, and feeling self-conscious as she always does in skimpy clothing. She hates sports, not only because she is unathletic but because she can't hide her burgeoning figure behind the loose layers of her uniform.
Mary is so deep in thought that she doesn't even see Jackson until she senses a plunging silence in front of her, footsteps scuffed to a halt. When she looks up, eyes wide, Jackson is standing with a group of his friends, looking stricken as his eyes rove down her body, lingering insolently on the chest of her shirt stretched tightly over her bust and the pale, pasty expanse of her bare thighs flowing out from her shorts.
The other boys with him follow the direction of his gaze and give her an assessing once-over, and one of them, who Mary vaguely identifies as Im Jaebum, another jock and Jackson's best friend, leans over to whisper something in Jackson's ear.
Jaebum laughs loudly, and Mary flushes blotchily from head to toe, hugging her uniform in front of her chest to cover it. Jackson's eyes are still on her, but blank and devoid of their usual warmth. He looks angry for some reason, standoffish.
Mary hangs her head and hunches into herself, sucking in her stomach to squeeze between them and sidling back to class. As Jackson and Jaebum part to make way for her, her arm brushes against Jackson's for a brief moment, the hairs standing up with a charged electricity. But Jackson doesn't acknowledge that he knows her, or say anything. He doesn't even look back as he walks away with his friends.
As Mary steps into her classroom and slinks unseen to her seat, she feels an icy vice gripping her gut. Jackson had pretended not to know her. He had acted like they were strangers.
He was ashamed of her.
For the first time in her two years of high school, Mary doesn't go to the library for lunch. Instead, she secludes herself in a cubicle in the girls' toilet to eat her sandwiches. Her mother has packed peanut butter and jelly again. She had gotten used to packing this often because Mary always requested it. But now, the strawberry jam tastes bitter and tart on her tongue, like acidic tears at the back of her throat when she tilts her head back so they won't fall.
After school, Mary is stowing her books into her backpack when the other girls in class start whispering and giggling in excitement. Mary looks up to see the source of the commotion -- Jinyoung is standing sheepishly in the doorway, searching the students. When he spots her, he looks relieved and gestures to her to come out for a minute.
The other girls return to their conversations, seeming bummed that Jinyoung is only here on prefectorial business, but not jealous because Mary is on the class committee and so unthreatening that no one believes she could be of any interest to Jinyoung as a female.
Jinyoung is leaning against the parapet when Mary exits the class, his hands shoved in his pockets. The noose of his school tie is loosened around his collar, although the top button is still buttoned neatly, as befitting the head prefect. He looks as gorgeous as usual, but Mary is in no mood to swoon over his matinee idol looks today.
"Hi, oppa," she smiles weakly, approaching. Because Jinyoung is a few months older than her, he had told her to call him that. But she never really got the hang of it, the honorific always seeming a little too intimate for their non-friendship. Then again, she felt even more uncomfortable calling him plain Jinyoung, because she felt she didn't deserve to address someone she idolized so much so directly.
"Mary!" To his credit, Jinyoung seems sincerely thrilled to see her. His eyes run over her face affectionately. Of course, Jinyoung is always the perfect gentleman, never allowing his eyes to stray beneath her neckline. Not like someone else. Mary could bet that even if she appeared in her underwear before Jinyoung, he would be equally chivalrous and decent.
"How have you been?" Jinyoung continues, looking into her eyes. "I haven't seen you around."
"Oh... just... busy," Mary mumbles vaguely.
Jinyoung leans forward, his eyes intent. "So... listen, are you free today? Do you want to go to the bookstore together?"
"Like... on a date?" Mary blurts out unconsciously, cringing in horror when she hears the words she's saying.
Jinyoung looks taken aback. They have visited the bookstore a few times together, but they never really quantified the outings as anything more than friends.
But then Jinyoung looks down bashfully, rubbing his neck, and the tips of his ears redden. "Yeah," he says, peeking up at her through his eyelashes. "I guess you can call it that."
Mary's head is blank as she opens her mouth to reply, not knowing what she is going to say, when she is interrupted by a grating noise of metal being crushed. They both turn, startled, to see Jackson standing a distance away on the corridor. There is a soda can clenched in his right fist, liquid spilling out and dripping into a puddle on the floor. His knuckles are white, tendons straining in his arms and from the amount of soda gathering on the floor Mary is pretty sure that was an unopened can. Her heart flips.
When she raises her eyes to Jackson's face, those lightning eyes are hard and flashing, a muscle ticking in his clenched jaw. His glare slides coolly over her to fix on Jinyoung, and something frightening darkens Jackson's face for a moment, a violent rage that sends a chill rippling down Mary's spine.
Jackson hurls the can on the ground with a smash, soda splashing, and gives them one last scathing look before pivoting on his heel and stalking away, disappearing down the corridor before Mary can even say anything.
Jinyoung turns to meet her eyes wordlessly, stunned and baffled, and Mary feels a twinge of sympathy for him. Jinyoung doesn't deserve to be treated so rudely by Jackson when he's innocent and has no idea what's going on. Mary hates the way Jackson is so tyrannical, so spoilt and selfish and always used to getting his way. But then... but then she remembers the warmth of Jackson's smiling eyes, his generosity and sensitivity, and knows that Jackson is anything but any of these things.
"Do you know him?" Jinyoung asks tactfully, and Mary flounders, before nodding hesitantly.
"I'm sorry, oppa," she says with genuine regret. "I... I can't go out with you today."
Jinyoung studies her for a long moment, the way her cheeks are flushed, her eyes glazed and her skin glowing with an inner light source that he had noticed recently and made him start to see her as more than a friend. Then he melts into a gracious smile, and says simply, "It's okay. I understand. Can I take a rain check on that, though?"
The resignation in Jinyoung's earnest eyes nearly breaks Mary's heart. "Definitely," she promises, hating herself for the way his face lights up. She must be crazy, Mary thinks, out of her mind. Stark raving mad. What else could explain why she is giving up the date that she has dreamed of with Jinyoung for years, just to go look for Jackson, whom she has barely known for weeks, who is immature, bratty and incapable of gentleness?
She has as little in common with Jackson as she has as much with Jinyoung. Jinyoung is tall, handsome and nice, perfect in every way. They have the same hobbies, like the same books, share the same thoughts. She has no idea what Jackson is thinking ninety-nine percent of the time.
But -- but Mary can't ignore the fact that Jackson was the one who had seen beyond her excruciating shyness, her low self-esteem. He was the only one who had seen her when she was invisible.
These are the thoughts racing through Mary's mind as her feet pound the corridor. For years, Mary has been trying to fade anonymously into the background, to draw as little attention to herself as possible. But now, heads are turning as she flies down the school hallways, mindless of stares, and the wind is running its fingers through her hair in an exhilarating way that she hasn't felt in years, loosening her lank, mousy ponytail and finally snapping the elastic, her hair streaming like a banner behind her. All of this had happened because of Jackson. All this happiness, all this courage. He had walked into her life and altered it forever.
Even without thinking, Mary knows where she is going. Her feet lead her on the path she has trodden for two years, but always with a heavy heart, never with such anticipation, such desperation. Mary bursts through the library doors, the smell of books and mildew assaulting her at the same time as the visage of Jackson standing at the window by their usual table, looking out onto the football field. His back is facing her and his built figure is haloed by the rays of the late afternoon sun filtering in around him.
When the doors bang open, Jackson turns around, face looking uncharacteristically forlorn and lonely without his omnipresent smile. His eyes widen with disbelief and guarded hope when he sees her, before quickly recovering and composing himself once again. "What are you doing here?" he says bitterly. "Don't you have a date to go on?"
"You idiot," Mary shouts. "How could I... when you left like that? What's wrong with you?"
Jackson spins around again, eyes narrowed. "What's wrong with me?" he repeats, voice dangerously low. "Where were you at lunch? Do you know how long I waited? How worried I was?" His voice breaks. "I rushed to find you immediately after school -- bought a drink in case you were anaemic again -- and what do I see? You looking like nothing is wrong with the world and flirting with Mr Head Prefect like it's an Olympic sport."
Mary sputters, speechless with indignation. "Hello, who was the one who ignored me on the corridor because he was ashamed of me first?!" she screeches unattractively, dimly aware that they have sunk to the level of squabbling preschoolers but too frustrated to care.
Jackson's mouth drops open. He takes a step closer to her, eyes dark with an unsettling gravity as they drill into her. "Ashamed?" he repeats incredulously. "You think I ignored you because I was... ashamed?"
Mary doesn't know why Jackson is shaking his head hopelessly and looking at her with so much exasperation and unbearable tenderness, like Mary is the stupidest fool in the world and the most precious jewel at the same time.
"Mary," he says huskily, advancing, reaching out a hand to caress her face tentatively. "Don't push me away," Jackson says, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Please."
Jackson lifts her effortlessly off her feet with his hands beneath her arms, settling her down gently to sit on one of the library tables. Mary shudders, Jackson's touch spreading down her entire body like electricity, blazing through her blood like a wildfire. Jackson's eyes are gleaming fever bright. "Do you have any idea --" he begins hoarsely, carding his fingers through her hair, stroking the nape of her neck and the bare skin beneath her collar, "how..." finding the sensitive spots behind her earlobes with his thumbs and unhooking her spectacles, "how beautiful you are?"
Mary can't see a single thing without her glasses, and Jackson's face swims into a kaleidoscopic blur before her vision. But then Jackson comes closer, closer, close enough so that she can see him clearly again, so close that she can see every pore on Jackson's skin, every mole and every separate eyelash curling from his depthless eyes.
"Your incredible eyes," Jackson breathes, his own gripping hers for one sensuous, heart-stopping moment, before they flicker down to her lips, distracted and darkening with that hunger she has grown to know so well. But this time what he's longing for is not food, but her mouth. Perhaps it always was.
"Your adorable vampire smile," Jackson whispers. They are so close that Mary only needs to breathe to meet Jackson's plush, moist lips; so she does, and finds that it's true -- kissing Jackson is as easy as breathing, easier.
It's the easiest thing Mary has ever done.
Their mouths press chastely against each other at first as their noses bump awkwardly, finding the right angle, before Jackson parts his lips like it's the most natural thing in the world and his tongue slips out to lick the seam of her closed lips. Jackson's tongue is patient but unyielding as he coaxes her mouth open, sighing when he gains entry and boldly brushing against hers. The contact, so filthy and wet and hot, sends a tremor through her entire body and Jackson's firm arms hold her up against him as her knees buckle weakly.
Jackson scrapes his teeth over Mary's bottom lip and sucks sensually on her tongue. His body is hard and rippling against hers, feverishly warm, his biceps sinuous and taut. Even as one of his hands spans her back, supporting her, the other rises up to cradle the back of her neck and pull her further in, then further still, until the full lengths of their bodies are pressed against each other at every part and Mary can no longer tell where she ends and Jackson begins. Their mouths slot together, tongues sliding against each other urgently.
Jackson tastes like strawberries and milk and spearmint and the faintest bittersweet tinge of cigarettes, and everything Mary had ever imagined he would taste like. Mary is so preoccupied with fighting for oxygen with Jackson's mouth consuming hers, his tongue so far inside her mouth it's almost down her throat, she doesn't notice that her bra is unhooked until the tightness around her breasts loosens and Jackson's hand slides beneath the hem of her blouse, huge and callused on her back as he breathes heavily.
Jackson's fingers stray over the bare skin of her back, up her spine, grazing the sides of her breasts and Mary hears a low, wanton moan. It takes her a second to realize that it's coming from herself. Alarmed, she struggles against the iron of Jackson's grip, trying to overpower him to no avail. "S-stop," she gasps breathlessly, and is relieved when Jackson pulls himself together with an effort and his frisky hands pause their wandering, his eyes glazed over with lust when he breaks away.
"Mary," Jackson pleads desperately, voice rubbed raw. "I need you." He grabs her hand and guides it down to his crotch, and Mary nearly recoils when she feels his erection, hot and pulsing through the fabric, breathtakingly hard. Jackson inhales sharply and abruptly spreads her legs with his hands on her knees, crowding between them and grinding up between her thighs, breathing growing ragged.
His hand moves beneath her skirt and he presses the heel of his palm against her crotch, rubbing it. Mary chokes back a loud gasp. "You're so wet," Jackson moans, sliding a finger under the fabric to crook it into her. "Ah!" Mary cries out, clinging to Jackson's shoulders and wrapping her legs around his waist. "More."
Jackson obligingly works his finger deeper into her softness, then another, scissoring them and stretching her open. By now, Mary is mewling in agony and it seems to push Jackson over his limit as he roughly rips her panties off with one swift motion. He hitches her skirt up around her waist and drags his hands down her inner thighs, unbuttoning and unzipping his fly. The head of his erect cock pushes through the opening of his boxers, swollen and leaking.
"W-wait!" Mary protests, still the goody-two-shoes even when she has lost sight of her senses. "Do you have a..." she blushes furiously, which is ludicrous considering what they are about to do.
Mercifully, Jackson spares her the humiliation. "I have a condom," he hisses, groping in his back pocket for his wallet, cards and cash tumbling out as he fumbles for the packet. He rips the foil open with his teeth, hands shaking as he struggles to roll it on. They are both panting loudly, and the sound of their harsh breathing is deafening in the hushed library. Mary realizes like a bolt of lightning that anyone could walk in any second and see her wrapped around Jackson; Mary Tuan, the biggest nerd, top student and teachers' pet, half-naked and being fucked on a table by the hottest boy in school.
Strangely, for the first time, she doesn't really care.
Finally, Jackson manages to secure the condom, and Mary feels a pressure below as he guides his cock to her entrance, aligning himself and taking a shaky breath. Then there is a sharp pain and Jackson is pushing past her resistance, breaching muscle and plunging into her, huge and foreign and impaling, burning hot. The table creaks under her weight, legs scraping across the ground at the force of Jackson's thrusts as he flexes his thighs and drives his hips in an erratic but relentless rhythm into her. Mary arches her back to meet his intensifying rhythm, their bodies gliding against each other. She feels an uncontrollable heat pooling in her stomach, a pressure building deep in her groin as Jackson's grunts merge with the squelching sounds of slick skin slapping against slick skin in an unbelievably erotic medley. Mary clenches around him as she spirals into orgasm, and Jackson groans at her tight heat, coming violently against her walls, his climax so explosive that Mary can feel the sordid sensation of his cum even through the film of the condom.
Jackson pants labouredly as his thrusts grow shallow and still, remaining buried inside her as their heartbeats slam against each other's chest in unison. "Are you okay?" he whispers softly by her ear, running a soothing hand through her matted hair. "Did I hurt you?"
Mary shakes her head, too wrecked to speak. She smiles tiredly up at Jackson, and his relieved smile mirrors hers, pulling out as slowly as possible. Mary lets out an exhale at the sudden loss as Jackson slides out of her, tugging off the condom and tying it before tossing it in the nearby wastebasket.
"Mary," Jackson breathes, cupping her face in his hands and smiling stupidly at her. "Baby." He repeats her name over and over in a voice hushed with reverence, like he can't quite believe that a person as amazing as her exists. Like he doesn't deserve her.
Jackson zips up his fly and straightens his clothes, helping Mary clean up and pull on her underwear, but then his fingers roam to her collar, light as feathers, and slowly he starts unbuttoning her blouse. Mary reaches out to grab his hand, frightened, but he just smiles reassuringly and murmurs, "Don't worry. I won't do anything."
After undoing the last button, Jackson peels the filmy uniform off her shoulders, pupils dilating with lust as he feasts his eyes on the valley of her cleavage. Carefully, he lets her bra fall away, revealing the pearly alabaster of her silken breasts, kneading them with his fingers in a way that makes Mary squeak and purr. He cups her breasts in his palms, weighing their heft and peppers the sensitive skin of her chest with weightless but blistering kisses, making her nipples stand at attention.
"You have the sexiest body I've ever seen," Jackson gazes into her eyes seriously, his words slurred with want. Mary can see how difficult it is for him to keep his eyes on her face, that the crotch of his pants is tented again, straining against the fabric, but he makes a valiant effort to finish his sentence. "Why do you hide it under all those sweaters and long skirts?"
Jackson sounds heartbreakingly sad, his eyes mournful and uncomprehending as he gazes entreatingly at her. "Why do you wear these glasses over your pretty eyes?" He picks up the glasses and arranges them back on the bridge of her nose, and suddenly Mary can see Jackson in startling clarity again, so crystalline that she feels embarrassed. Because Jackson is too stunning, too devastating to look at in high definition.
But then Mary abruptly remembers why she came to the library in the first place, before they got derailed by Jackson sweeping her off her feet. She cuts her eyes suspiciously at him. She'll be damned if Jackson thinks she's one of those girls who can be distracted from their purpose and forget themselves with a few sweet nothings and glib flattering.
"Why did you ignore me this morning then?" she demands. It comes out sounding more sore than she intended to, and she winces, but Jackson looks solemn and chastised.
"I'm sorry," he apologizes humbly. "Jaebum... he whispered to me about what he wanted to do to you, and I just lost it. I was so mad, I couldn't think straight. It didn't occur to me how you'd feel. I'm an asshole."
"Damn right you are," Mary retorts reflexively, but is surprised to find that her anger has dissipated. "What... what did he say?" she ventures curiously.
Jackson's eyes darken, his arms tightening around her. "There's no way I'm going to tell you. Besides, it's too dirty for your innocent ears." He cracks a small smile, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head.
Mary rolls her eyes. "I'm older than you," she reminds him snarkily.
Jackson grimaces, as if the statement is a physical blow. "Don't remind me," he mutters darkly. "Do you know how I felt when I heard you calling that punk oppa?" His eyes flash with frustration, then soften into vulnerability. "Do you mind that I'm... younger?"
Mary shakes her head wordlessly, moved by the obvious relief that is spelled across Jackson's face and the way his shoulders sag like the issue has been bothering him for a long time.
"It's just that you... you're so smart and mature and sophisticated and I'm... I feel like a kid compared to you," Jackson confesses in a small voice.
Mary nearly laughs out loud at the preposterousness of Jackson's insecurity. How could Jackson ever think that he could be remotely harmless or childlike to Mary? Jackson who is so powerful, mature both physically and mentally underneath his deceptively boyish exterior. So powerful that he monopolizes Mary's entire world.
She's never going to tell Jackson that, though. He's arrogant enough as it is. But maybe one day, Mary thinks, catching the way Jackson looks at her like it hurts, like he's afraid of losing her. Maybe she would kind of like to see the expression on Jackson's face when she calls him oppa too.
They remain in the empty library in contented, lazy serenity, watching the sun set through the windows. After it has closed, Jackson hails a cab to send her home. He keeps his arm around her as they walk out of school, as if she's a frail invalid and Mary kind of enjoys the attention. Jackson is so cute when he overreacts and gets overprotective. True, there is a little soreness in her lower body, but it's nothing serious.
Jackson kisses her again when the cab pulls up outside her house. "Call me if there's anything," he says for the third time, and Mary smiles and nods. "I'll send a cab to pick you up tomorow before school," Jackson promises, and Mary protests feebly but gives in without much argument to Jackson's persistence. She feels protected, taken care of. She feels like Jackson's girl.
Mary floats dreamily into her house like she's walking on clouds, her chest bursting with warmth for Jackson. She wants to do something to repay his loving care, the priceless happiness he has given her. She wanders into her parents' bedroom and runs her fingers thoughtfully over the bottles of makeup and lotions and creams on the dressing table.
The next morning, within five minutes of Mary entering the school gates, at least three guys check her out. None of them seem to realize that she is the Mary Tuan they have walked past without a second glance dozens of times throughout the past two years.
Mary tugs at her skirt uncomfortably. She had taken in the hem on the sewing machine last night, but she thinks maybe she overestimated the length. Her skirt rides up revealingly, flashing glimpses of her thighs. She has left her sweater at home today, let her hair down and styled it with a curling iron so it cascades over her shoulders in soft waves. She had woken up an hour earlier than usual to clumsily apply her mother's mascara and eyeliner, a dusting of blush to highlight her cheekbones and a touch of coral lip gloss to complete the natural look. But most drastically of all, she had left her glasses home today, wearing contact lens instead which she had nearly poked her eyes out trying to put in.
Mary feels confident, pretty even. The admiring looks she gets from every male she passes boosts her ego and by the time she reaches the door of Jackson's classroom on the second storey, she feels pretty much fearless.
She peeks into the class uncertainly. Her heart leaps into her throat to see Jackson sitting on a desk at the back of the class, surrounded by a gaggle of admirers, his legs propped on a chair as he importantly holds a monologue, smiling his bad-boy smile. Mary sidles into the class nervously.
All of a sudden, a silence plunges, so deep you could hear a pin fall. Mary looks up in consternation to see practically the entire class staring at her, their faces registering a hint of interest but empty of recognition. It's almost like she's a new transfer student and this is the first day they're seeing her, although she has been in the school for almost three years.
There are a few low wolf-whistles, a few guys getting up and approaching with definite intent. Only Jackson's eyes contain something familiar when she meets them, recognition and stunned awe and... displeasure? Regret? Irritation? Anger?
Mary's heart clenches at the thought of all these negative emotions. It would be just her luck to be dumped on the first day after losing her virginity.
She turns away, ignoring the guys closing in on her, but then Jackson is swinging himself off the table and closing the distance between them in three strides, inserting himself bodily between her and the other boys. The challenging glint in his eyes makes it clear to them to back off.
Jackson turns back to her. "Mary?" he says, eyes dazed and voice accusing. "What did you do to yourself?"
"I thought you wanted me to ditch the glasses and sweater and start wearing short skirts!" Mary wails later in the library at lunch, after Jackson has made her wash off all the makeup, gather her hair up in a modest ponytail, and put on his letterman jacket with his name in bold on the back. It makes Mary feel like a possession, but not in a bad way. Her glasses are at home, so Jackson had to put up with the contacts. He looks disgruntled as he winds his arm possessively around her shoulders again, like he's afraid she'll run away if he slackens his grip.
"I did," Jackson admits, looking embarrassed. "Before I realized how hot you were."
The words are slick, greasy even, but Mary can't contain the shiver of sheer pleasure coursing down her spine.
"You're not the boss of me," she sticks her tongue out at him, pouting.
Jackson pouts back at her grumpily, matching her aegyo with his own without missing a beat. "Hell yeah I am, if you want to be my girlfriend."
The word makes the ground fall out from underneath Mary's feet. She'll never tell Jackson that she would do anything to be his girlfriend. He'd never let her live it down.
But even though he wins all their aegyo battles, even Jackson has an Achilles' heel, and Mary knows exactly what it is. She climbs into his lap childishly, feeling his arms come up to wrap around her from behind, his fingers tickling her caressingly, and giggles. Mary knows that Jackson loves the way she's petite enough to fit into the crook of his arm, just the right size to nestle into the hollow between his chin and shoulder. She reclines luxuriously against his body like a sturdy armchair, feeling his lips pressed against her neck, curving up in an irrepressible smile.
She can't stand how bossy Jackson is, how he's so overbearing and territorial and chauvinistic. She abhores how he's so indecisive and changes his mind every minute. But then again, that's one of the things she loves about his personality -- how mercurial he is, how dangerously thrilling and unpredictable like a rollercoaster ride.
She loves how romantic he is, how he never forgets their daily tradition of library lunchdates and strawberry milk, tooth-aching, full of calories, but worth every single bit of weight she gains. Just like Jackson himself; difficult as he may be, temperamental as he may be, Mary wouldn't trade this place by his side for anything in the world.
"How did you know I liked strawberry milk, from the start?" she asks, sipping through the straw as he watches her lips and skims his finger over his own, like he's already planning how to ravish her whole.
He laughs, looking down at her with something beautiful in his eyes.
"Because you looked so sweet, I knew you had to taste the same."
+ happy birthday jackson (in advance)!!! this is dedicated to mary, minchievous, saranghey_you, noisestorms and 'rice' who requested markson fluff-smut :)
pairing: mark/jackson
rating: nc-17
summary: jackson was the only one who saw mary when she was invisible.
warning: !genderswitch
Mary meets Jackson Wang in her third year of high school. Technically, she's known of his existence since the beginning of second year, when he entered their school as a freshman. It's hard not to, with him renowned for being the hottest guy in school and all. He has an infamous reputation for being a player, having broken the hearts of countless girls in their school. But even so, this doesn't seem to put off girls from continuing to fall hopelessly for him. There isn't a single female in school who isn't infatuated, whether publicly or secretly, with Jackson Wang Ka-yee.
Except Mary.
She has never thought she would ever register on Jackson's radar, that he would even notice her insubstantial existence. She has never in her wildest dreams imagined that she might one day come face-to-face with him. They are, simply, in completely different worlds. He's totally out of her league. (Not that she cares or anything.)
The way that Jackson walks into her life is like a fairy tale, unbelievable, incredibly surreal. Actually, it's kind of cliche. Their first encounter is unwittingly arranged by Park Jinyoung, a fellow senior on the student council and the head prefect, who Mary has been nursing a raging crush on since the first day they met and found out that both their favourite books were The Unbearable Lightness of Being, and been tragically friendzoned ever since. So when Jinyoung asks her for a favour, she agrees eagerly before even hearing what it is.
Jinyoung smiles at her gratefully. "I have to attend a meeting with the principal this afternoon. Can you help me supervise detention for an hour?"
Mary's mouth falls open. She was expecting Jinyoung to ask to borrow her copy of the latest Kundera, take notes at the next council meeting, or to help deliver a stack of worksheets to the staff room. But this -- this is entirely out of her depth.
These are the thoughts racing through Mary's mind at lightspeed as she gapes at Jinyoung's hopeful, handsome face, but of course she doesn't voice a single one of them. She's way too shy to. So she just stands there, immobilized, as Jinyoung takes her silence as agreement and smiles broadly. "Thanks, Mary," he says warmly, clapping her back. "You're such a good friend."
The word burns like his touch, and Mary promptly proceeds to blush profusely. "It's n-no problem," she stutters, the smile frozen on her face until Jinyoung strides away breezily.
Then she starts panicking. Detention? The only students who get detention in their school are the really scary delinquents who play hooky and dye their hair blond and pick fights with the teachers. Students like...
Mary stifles a gasp as she walks into the classroom Jinyoung had told her to report to that afternoon after dismissal to see only one boy sitting in the second row to the back. Even though she's never spoken to him before, it doesn't take a genius to instantly recognize Jackson Wang's notorious devilishly handsome face.
Up close, Jackson is slightly shorter and buffer than she expected, his skin fairer, shoulders broad and masculine, arms densely muscled. But the most breathtaking part of him is his eyes. When Mary walks through the door and he looks up, they pierce right into her, boring holes into her face like lasers and combing down her body like a razor.
Mary takes a stuttering step back as he stands up, rising to his full height and towering over her as he advances towards the front of the classroom.
But when he speaks, his voice is unexpectedly gentle. "Are you in detention too?" He sounds genuinely curious.
Mary nearly snorts at his misunderstanding. She feels kind of offended, unable to believe that anyone could mistake her as a bad girl. She looks so utterly wholesome, so plain and studious and geeky. At the same time, she feels inexplicably flattered. A foreign thrill runs down her body that Jackson Wang, the Jackson Wang thinks she looks badass enough to get detention.
Mary's mind races as she imagines a thousand ways she could reply this leading question -- sassy, witty, sarcastic, annoyed, coy, flirtatious.
But in the end, what comes out of her mouth is a mousy, pathetic, "No."
She doesn't even say it loudly enough to carry across the room, and Jackson leans forward, straining to hear her timid voice.
Mary has never felt more boring in her life than she does at this second. She imagines she can see disappointment in Jackson's eyes, his attention already drifting away as he shrugs unimpressedly and settles back onto his chair.
"I'm in charge of detention today," Mary blurts out, her voice louder but still shrill. Jackson looks up at this, his eyes half-amused, half-confused. "Okay," he says matter-of-factly, proceeding to recline in his chair and prop his legs up on the desk like a hooligan.
Mary clears her throat. "Sit properly," she squeaks.
There is an oppressive silence before Jackson swings his legs down in one graceful motion, the chair scraping across the floor like nails on chalkboard. His expression is impenetrable and impassive as he leans forward to study Mary, eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"
Mary feels a bead of sweat rolling down her temple. "N-nothing," she croaks, and tears open her backpack, grabbing the first book she reaches for and burying her face in it.
She doesn't dare to look up for five minutes. When she does, Jackson's feet are back down on the floor, and he's not looking at her but a faint smirk of satisfaction is stretching his lips.
The rest of the hour is spent in startlingly companionable silence. Mary is surprised to find herself relaxing gradually, absorbed by the text she is reading, and Jackson is good as gold too, not doing homework but at least quietly listening to music with his headphones pulled over his ears.
Approaching footsteps make Mary look up to see Jinyoung standing in the doorway, with his toothpaste-commercial smile, not a hair out of place even after hurrying back from his meeting with the principal.
"Thanks for your help, Mary," he says affectionately as he walks towards the teacher's desk where Mary is sitting. "You can go back now."
"You're welcome," Mary beams back at him giddily, getting to her feet and slinging her backpack over her shoulders. On the way out of the classroom, she becomes aware of the weight of a gaze and turns to find Jackson staring at her incredulously, eyes knowing and mocking and... disgusted?
Mary flees down the corridor before she can find out.
Mary tosses and turns that night, her heart thudding too rapidly for her to sleep. She thinks of Jackson's bold, direct gaze and his fathomless eyes, seeming to see right through the thin gauze of her uniform, into the very depths of her heart, and her stomach knots.
The next day at lunch, Mary is huddling in a corner of the library and trying to be invisible. It has become a habit for her to spend every break at the library, eating the sandwiches her mother packed for her and sipping a carton of lukewarm milk. She is too embarrassed to eat her shabby sandwiches at the cafeteria, in front of a million judgmental eyes and gossiping mouths, and besides she has no one to sit with. She has no friends except Jinyoung, who she doesn't dare to presume to call a friend. It's more like he takes pity on her because he's too nice. Jinyoung has a whole army of friends and usually sits at the popular table with the other prefects and honour students. Jackson sits at the popular table too, with the jocks and stoners.
It's not that Mary can't afford the cafeteria meals, but she's on a diet. Actually, she has been on one since she was twelve and suddenly gained ten pounds in a year. Her mother started nagging her to exercise and stop eating potato chips and junk food and her father stopped hugging her. She had to start wearing bras and couldn't fit into her prepubescent clothes anymore, only tent-like blouses that looked like maternity wear. When she went to buy jeans, she couldn't find a suitable size in shops because those that fit her waist were too tight around her hips and those that fit her hips hung loosely around her waist. The saleswoman explained that she had a pear-shaped figure, but Mary suspected that that was just a polite term for plus-sized. Mary sometimes wishes she were stick-thin like the popular pretty girls and cheerleaders in school, their twiglike arms and legs looking so frail and delicate it gives all the guys the urge to protect them.
Said diet hasn't been successful so far. Instead, she's steadily continued gaining weight, in all the worst areas like her hips and bottom and tummy and breasts. Her brother Joey took to calling her thunder thighs and the acne-ridden sleazy older boys in the neighbourhood began catcalling whenever she walked past. Her skin was flabby and bumpy with cellulite, and she stopped looking in the mirror because it only made her more depressed.
Somewhere along the way, it had become routine for her to conceal her body within the folds of baggy clothes, wearing an oversized cable-knit sweater over her gauzy uniform blouse and pulling the sleeves over her wrists so her fingers disappeared into them. She didn't alter her skirt like all the other girls in school so it was dowdily long, covering her knees. She only wished it was long enough to hide her thick ankles too.
But the feature Mary hated most about herself was her eyes. She felt that they were too big, freakishly instead of attractively so. They made her look like she was permanently in shock. So it was a relief that she was severely myopic, and had been wearing the same pair of milk-bottle glasses since young. The lenses were so thick, they refracted light and magnified her eyes sometimes. So she grew her bangs so long that they hung over her forehead like a curtain that she could conveniently flip over her eyes with a lowering of her head. This effectively completed her disguise.
It was weird that Mary detested her eyes so much because eyes were usually the first feature she noticed in a person. Jinyoung's eyes were single-lidded but wide and almond-shaped, kind, warm, friendly and humble. She had been attracted to them almost immediately.
Jackson Wang's eyes were deep-set, striking, darker than obsidian, expressive, intense, dynamic. They were like... like lightning.
Mary wonders where that came from. She quickly erases the image from her head. It's not like she'll ever be seeing that pair of eyes again anyway.
She had spoken too soon. A shadow abruptly looms over her, blocking out the light, and Mary looks up, squinting, to see none other than Jackson Wang in the school library, at the most unnoticeable desk in the most unnoticeable corner, looking down at her.
For a millisecond, Mary thinks that this is a dream. It's too impossible to be reality.
Then Jackson is speaking, his voice deep and resounding and unnervingly real. "Noona."
Mary chokes on her mouthful of sandwich and starts wheezing and hacking violently.
Jackson looks concerned and amused at the same time, if that is possible. He waits patiently for her coughing fit to finish and for her to take a sip of milk and pound her chest, tilting his head like he's waiting for her answer.
"W-what... what are you doing here?" Mary rasps helplessly.
"I'm looking for a book," Jackson replies smoothly with a feline smile. Mary doesn't believe a single word of it but she just says, "Oh. Go ahead, then..."
Jackson's smile widens, now positively feral. "Can you help me?"
"Uhh..." Mary panics as she tries to figure out how to extricate herself from this situation. In the end, she sighs long-sufferingly and gives in. "What's the title?"
Jackson beckons to her to lean forward with a finger, and Mary obliges hesitantly. When Jackson's lips are right beside her ear, he whispers, breath hot against her skin, "The Joys of Sex."
Mary nearly chokes again for the second time in five minutes.
"Excuse me?" she practically shrieks as Jackson pulls back, smirking in a way that makes her want to slap him. Her face feels like it's on fire, and she has no doubt that it looks the same.
Mary stands up with a clatter, the chair legs scraping loudly across the floor and nearly toppling over. She's so outraged and indignant, she's shaking. "I have to go," she says stiffly, gathering up her lunchbox and stuffing her books into her bag.
Jackson is laughing out loud now, as if he is immensely entertained by this. By Mary. Mary feels acutely mortified.
But there is something about Jackson's eyes that makes her shame recede a little as he encircles her wrist loosely with his fingers. "Hey," he says placatingly, and his eyes are beseeching. "I'm sorry. I was just joking. Don't go."
Mary feels like her heart is an ice-cream and Jackson's smile is the sun, melting it effortlessly. She quickly wrenches her hand out of his grasp, but Jackson doesn't let go. Instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a slightly squashed bar of chocolate, sliding it into Mary's palm. "I thought you might be hungry," he says lightly, then stands up, finally letting go of her.
Mary watches him lope out of the library with his long, lithe strides, trying to catch her breath. When she opens her palm, the bar of chocolate still retains the warmth of his pocket, radiating into her skin. It is slightly melted out of shape when she tears open the wrapper, but still deliciously, diabetically sweet.
The next day, Mary is ensconced in a more obscure hollow of the library, behind the labyrinth of bookshelves and maze of dusty stacks. She is so engrossed in her Algebra homework that she doesn't even notice Jackson's presence until she reaches blindly into her lunchbox to find it empty.
Mary frowns, looking up with a lurch of her heart to see Jackson sitting opposite her on the hexagonal table, watching her with a big indulgent grin like Mary is an amusing pet, casually nibbling on the other half of her sandwich.
"YAH!" Mary bursts out incredulously. "Did you just steal my sandwich?"
Jackson's eyes light up with surprise, and his high-pitched, appreciative laughter makes Mary realize that she's said something witty and humorous.
"Sorry," Jackson drawls, looking not the least bit apologetic and chewing on the bread shamelessly loudly. He licks his lips. "This is yummy."
Mary tries not to stare at his reddened lips too obviously and clears her throat, affecting a frown of annoyance.
"That was my lunch," she whines. "I'm hungry."
Then her stomach abruptly drops as she realizes what a pig she sounds like. She looks up with sinking dread, prepared to see Jackson's pitying and disdainful eyes, not expecting to be greeted with only laughter and warmth in those midnight orbs.
"Of course I brought something for you in return," Jackson says, his smile like a promise, and produces a paper bag from behind his back with a flourish. Mary watches with round eyes as he takes out two Winnie-the-Pooh lunchboxes from inside the bag, seeming unconcerned about their dorkiness. Jackson eagerly opens the boxes and a mouthwatering aroma wafts out.
Mary swallows as she sees one of the lunchboxes filled with bulgogi and assorted grilled meats, the other with fluffy steamed grains of rice. How did Jackson know that this is her favourite food? Mary's stomach grumbles audibly, and she turns as red as a fire extinguisher when Jackson laughs.
"You can't eat this in the library," she snaps, but Jackson only gazes at her imploringly, lifting a finger to his lips. "Don't tell on me."
Jackson makes a show of bringing the meat to his nose and inhaling deeply, sighing in bliss. Mary attempts to ignore him and return to her homework, but she is painfully aware of his intent gaze fixated on her.
Finally, she slaps down her pen on the table. "If I eat this, will you go away?" she growls.
Hurt flickers across Jackson's face for a second, before it is replaced by his patented smile. "Of course," he scout-swears, eyes glinting mischievously.
Mary huffs and pretends to reluctantly pick up the chopsticks he offers her and digs into the rice. It's as tasty as it looks, and Mary has to control herself from gobbling it down. It's been such a long time since she's eaten any real, solid food.
Jackson watches her with oddly tender eyes as she scarfs down the food and, as if just remembering, reaches into his pocket to fish out a small carton of strawberry milk.
He tears the wrapper off the straw and pokes it into the carton, offering it to Mary, but the declination instinctively rises to her tongue. "I don't like sweet things."
"Really?" Jackson looks genuinely surprised. "I thought you did."
"I don't," Mary says more empathetically, through a mouthful of rice. "I only drink low-fat milk."
Jackson laughs easily and takes her carton of lukewarm low-fat milk, opening it and chugging it back in one big gulp. "Screw that," he says. "This is better. Trust me."
Mary finishes the last mouthful of rice and sets down her chopsticks, taking a deep breath. She does, and Jackson is right.
True to his word, Jackson leaves with the lunchboxes after Mary has polished them clean, but not before cheekily throwing over his shoulder the cryptic remark, "I like peanut butter."
Mary resists the urge to holler after him, "Who cares?" She scowls fiercely at his retreating figure and tries to focus on her Algebra again, but her mind is hopelessly distracted and the taste of salty bulgogi on her tongue is as fresh as his smile behind her eyelids.
The next morning, for some reason, Mary requests her mother to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Her mother smiles in pleased surprise. "You haven't wanted to eat that since you were a kid."
Mary stammers guiltily. "I'm suddenly craving it," she mumbles.
At the library that afternoon, she unpacks the Power Rangers lunchbox that she's usually so ashamed of, her eyes filling with tears to realize that her mother has packed twice the usual amount of sandwiches, spread with marmalade and chunky peanut butter and strawberry jam. She has even added an apple and a juice box and a little note saying, It's okay to break your diet occasionally! You deserve it! :)
Mary is wiping the moisture away from her lashes when Jackson creeps up behind her with his usual stealth, making her leap out of her skin.
Jackson's goofy smile slips when he sees her damp eyelashes and red-rimmed eyes. "Are you okay? Who made you cry? Did someone bully you?"
Jackson's voice is tense with worry, his eyes tight with concern and Mary feels a lump in her throat. They don't know each other well enough to care for each other's well-being yet. And yet, Jackson does. He cares.
She shakes her head reassuringly with a watery smile, showing him the note because she doesn't know how to explain. Luckily, he apparently understands, his eyes softening as he reads it.
"You..." he raises his eyes to her, containing the first hint of shyness she's ever seen him display. "You prepared peanut butter sandwiches for me?"
Mary abruptly realizes what she has confessed to, and hastily crumples the note up, shoving it in her pocket and avoiding Jackson's searching gaze.
After a few minutes of silence, she sneaks a glance from beneath her bangs to see Jackson quietly nibbling at one half of a sandwich, chewing thoughtfully like he's savouring the taste. When he senses her watching, he meets her gaze and his eyes are smiling. "It's absolutely delicious," he says softly. "Thanks, noona."
After the satisfying meal, Jackson produces the usual packet of strawberry milk from his pocket and exchanges it with Mary's juice box, which he slurps happily with a look of contentment. For dessert, they split the apple in two, taking turns to crunch juicy bites from opposite sides. The way their mouths get steadily closer to the apple core and their proximity, close enough for Mary to see a drop of juice trickling down Jackson's chin, feels disconcertingly intimate.
When the bell rings, Jackson gets to his feet reluctantly. It must be Mary's imagination that he looks disappointed, because he doesn't say anything as he leaves the library, leaves Mary amidst the maze of shelves and stacks of dusty books, her head spinning and her chest pounding.
Mary doesn't know or remember when -- but gradually, it becomes natural as breathing for Jackson to show up in the deserted library during breaks, bearing strawberry milk and a surprise dessert of some kind, occasionally unhealthy, always sinfully sweet. They share ripe peaches and soft bananas and granola bars, gummy bears and marshmallows and milk chocolate fingers with sticky caramelized toffee insides. Jackson looks uncannily like an adorable hamster hoarding sunflower seeds in its cheeks as he stuffs his mouth full of bread. Mary finds the way he eats absolutely delightful, the way he licks his fingers with relish, the way his eyes darken when he's hungry and sparkle when he's full, the way he so obviously enjoys food and eating and... and living.
Jackson is undeniably confident, but contrary to what Mary had thought at first, there is nothing cocky or narcissistic about his pride. He's just extremely comfortable with himself, inhabiting his body with an ease that Mary can only envy. But really, he's just a mischievous little boy at heart, and Mary feels the protective instincts of an older sister rear inside her, the doting indulgence as she reaches out thoughtlessly to wipe a corner of his chocolate-smeared mouth with a finger.
Jackson leans into her touch, beaming so unguardedly back at her that Mary doesn't even have the time to be amazed by her own bravery. Once, she had never dreamt that one day she would be able to touch and talk to the most good-looking and intimidating boy in school so easily. Their afternoons together have the hazy, unfocused quality of a dreamscape, transient and evanescent, a fragile and tenuous arrangement to meet. That daily hour seems as if it might pop like soap bubbles at a touch, as if it only exists within the sleepy confines of the labyrinthine library, between the slats of 1pm sun illuminating dust motes suspended in space, separate from the outside world.
When she's with Jackson, Mary feels like she can be herself. She feels free to talk about anything and everything, and she thinks that maybe this is what Jackson symbolizes to her, what he has unwittingly given her: freedom. And Mary hadn't known how intensely she had thirsted for this, how she had been hemmed in by her restrictions and her lifestyle and her personality, her unhappiness growing slowly but surely.
She likes the way Jackson calls her Noona, rolling the word around his tongue with a playful, caressing drawl, but to be honest it makes her feel old. So she tells Jackson to call her simply by her name instead. Strangely, Jackson seems to be the one who feels awkward to address her without honorifics. There's something about his lack of confidence in this area in contrast to his overwhelming ego in all others that goes straight to Mary's heart.
Since Mary spends all of her time in school shuffling between the library and class, their paths never intersect outside lunch breaks. But once, she is walking along the corridor back from the restroom when she hears an unmistakable hyena-like laugh and looks down to see Jackson on the second storey, surrounded by a group of friends who are all hanging adoringly to his every word as he talks and gesticulates gregariously.
Mary gulps, feeling a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she lowers her head, hiding behind her bangs and hurrying back into class.
She wonders what excuse Jackson has given his friends about not joining them for lunch at the cafeteria, but senses that he won't be able to maintain it for long. If he even wants to. Mary isn't stupid. She is aware that she's only a fleeting novelty for Jackson, that he's only taking pity on her friendless plight and doing a kind deed. She knows with cold certainty that soon he will lose interest in her and abandon her to her lonely existence again.
One morning, however, her worst fears come true. She is trudging back to her classroom in her gym shirt and shorts, having just changed for physical education class, and feeling self-conscious as she always does in skimpy clothing. She hates sports, not only because she is unathletic but because she can't hide her burgeoning figure behind the loose layers of her uniform.
Mary is so deep in thought that she doesn't even see Jackson until she senses a plunging silence in front of her, footsteps scuffed to a halt. When she looks up, eyes wide, Jackson is standing with a group of his friends, looking stricken as his eyes rove down her body, lingering insolently on the chest of her shirt stretched tightly over her bust and the pale, pasty expanse of her bare thighs flowing out from her shorts.
The other boys with him follow the direction of his gaze and give her an assessing once-over, and one of them, who Mary vaguely identifies as Im Jaebum, another jock and Jackson's best friend, leans over to whisper something in Jackson's ear.
Jaebum laughs loudly, and Mary flushes blotchily from head to toe, hugging her uniform in front of her chest to cover it. Jackson's eyes are still on her, but blank and devoid of their usual warmth. He looks angry for some reason, standoffish.
Mary hangs her head and hunches into herself, sucking in her stomach to squeeze between them and sidling back to class. As Jackson and Jaebum part to make way for her, her arm brushes against Jackson's for a brief moment, the hairs standing up with a charged electricity. But Jackson doesn't acknowledge that he knows her, or say anything. He doesn't even look back as he walks away with his friends.
As Mary steps into her classroom and slinks unseen to her seat, she feels an icy vice gripping her gut. Jackson had pretended not to know her. He had acted like they were strangers.
He was ashamed of her.
For the first time in her two years of high school, Mary doesn't go to the library for lunch. Instead, she secludes herself in a cubicle in the girls' toilet to eat her sandwiches. Her mother has packed peanut butter and jelly again. She had gotten used to packing this often because Mary always requested it. But now, the strawberry jam tastes bitter and tart on her tongue, like acidic tears at the back of her throat when she tilts her head back so they won't fall.
After school, Mary is stowing her books into her backpack when the other girls in class start whispering and giggling in excitement. Mary looks up to see the source of the commotion -- Jinyoung is standing sheepishly in the doorway, searching the students. When he spots her, he looks relieved and gestures to her to come out for a minute.
The other girls return to their conversations, seeming bummed that Jinyoung is only here on prefectorial business, but not jealous because Mary is on the class committee and so unthreatening that no one believes she could be of any interest to Jinyoung as a female.
Jinyoung is leaning against the parapet when Mary exits the class, his hands shoved in his pockets. The noose of his school tie is loosened around his collar, although the top button is still buttoned neatly, as befitting the head prefect. He looks as gorgeous as usual, but Mary is in no mood to swoon over his matinee idol looks today.
"Hi, oppa," she smiles weakly, approaching. Because Jinyoung is a few months older than her, he had told her to call him that. But she never really got the hang of it, the honorific always seeming a little too intimate for their non-friendship. Then again, she felt even more uncomfortable calling him plain Jinyoung, because she felt she didn't deserve to address someone she idolized so much so directly.
"Mary!" To his credit, Jinyoung seems sincerely thrilled to see her. His eyes run over her face affectionately. Of course, Jinyoung is always the perfect gentleman, never allowing his eyes to stray beneath her neckline. Not like someone else. Mary could bet that even if she appeared in her underwear before Jinyoung, he would be equally chivalrous and decent.
"How have you been?" Jinyoung continues, looking into her eyes. "I haven't seen you around."
"Oh... just... busy," Mary mumbles vaguely.
Jinyoung leans forward, his eyes intent. "So... listen, are you free today? Do you want to go to the bookstore together?"
"Like... on a date?" Mary blurts out unconsciously, cringing in horror when she hears the words she's saying.
Jinyoung looks taken aback. They have visited the bookstore a few times together, but they never really quantified the outings as anything more than friends.
But then Jinyoung looks down bashfully, rubbing his neck, and the tips of his ears redden. "Yeah," he says, peeking up at her through his eyelashes. "I guess you can call it that."
Mary's head is blank as she opens her mouth to reply, not knowing what she is going to say, when she is interrupted by a grating noise of metal being crushed. They both turn, startled, to see Jackson standing a distance away on the corridor. There is a soda can clenched in his right fist, liquid spilling out and dripping into a puddle on the floor. His knuckles are white, tendons straining in his arms and from the amount of soda gathering on the floor Mary is pretty sure that was an unopened can. Her heart flips.
When she raises her eyes to Jackson's face, those lightning eyes are hard and flashing, a muscle ticking in his clenched jaw. His glare slides coolly over her to fix on Jinyoung, and something frightening darkens Jackson's face for a moment, a violent rage that sends a chill rippling down Mary's spine.
Jackson hurls the can on the ground with a smash, soda splashing, and gives them one last scathing look before pivoting on his heel and stalking away, disappearing down the corridor before Mary can even say anything.
Jinyoung turns to meet her eyes wordlessly, stunned and baffled, and Mary feels a twinge of sympathy for him. Jinyoung doesn't deserve to be treated so rudely by Jackson when he's innocent and has no idea what's going on. Mary hates the way Jackson is so tyrannical, so spoilt and selfish and always used to getting his way. But then... but then she remembers the warmth of Jackson's smiling eyes, his generosity and sensitivity, and knows that Jackson is anything but any of these things.
"Do you know him?" Jinyoung asks tactfully, and Mary flounders, before nodding hesitantly.
"I'm sorry, oppa," she says with genuine regret. "I... I can't go out with you today."
Jinyoung studies her for a long moment, the way her cheeks are flushed, her eyes glazed and her skin glowing with an inner light source that he had noticed recently and made him start to see her as more than a friend. Then he melts into a gracious smile, and says simply, "It's okay. I understand. Can I take a rain check on that, though?"
The resignation in Jinyoung's earnest eyes nearly breaks Mary's heart. "Definitely," she promises, hating herself for the way his face lights up. She must be crazy, Mary thinks, out of her mind. Stark raving mad. What else could explain why she is giving up the date that she has dreamed of with Jinyoung for years, just to go look for Jackson, whom she has barely known for weeks, who is immature, bratty and incapable of gentleness?
She has as little in common with Jackson as she has as much with Jinyoung. Jinyoung is tall, handsome and nice, perfect in every way. They have the same hobbies, like the same books, share the same thoughts. She has no idea what Jackson is thinking ninety-nine percent of the time.
But -- but Mary can't ignore the fact that Jackson was the one who had seen beyond her excruciating shyness, her low self-esteem. He was the only one who had seen her when she was invisible.
These are the thoughts racing through Mary's mind as her feet pound the corridor. For years, Mary has been trying to fade anonymously into the background, to draw as little attention to herself as possible. But now, heads are turning as she flies down the school hallways, mindless of stares, and the wind is running its fingers through her hair in an exhilarating way that she hasn't felt in years, loosening her lank, mousy ponytail and finally snapping the elastic, her hair streaming like a banner behind her. All of this had happened because of Jackson. All this happiness, all this courage. He had walked into her life and altered it forever.
Even without thinking, Mary knows where she is going. Her feet lead her on the path she has trodden for two years, but always with a heavy heart, never with such anticipation, such desperation. Mary bursts through the library doors, the smell of books and mildew assaulting her at the same time as the visage of Jackson standing at the window by their usual table, looking out onto the football field. His back is facing her and his built figure is haloed by the rays of the late afternoon sun filtering in around him.
When the doors bang open, Jackson turns around, face looking uncharacteristically forlorn and lonely without his omnipresent smile. His eyes widen with disbelief and guarded hope when he sees her, before quickly recovering and composing himself once again. "What are you doing here?" he says bitterly. "Don't you have a date to go on?"
"You idiot," Mary shouts. "How could I... when you left like that? What's wrong with you?"
Jackson spins around again, eyes narrowed. "What's wrong with me?" he repeats, voice dangerously low. "Where were you at lunch? Do you know how long I waited? How worried I was?" His voice breaks. "I rushed to find you immediately after school -- bought a drink in case you were anaemic again -- and what do I see? You looking like nothing is wrong with the world and flirting with Mr Head Prefect like it's an Olympic sport."
Mary sputters, speechless with indignation. "Hello, who was the one who ignored me on the corridor because he was ashamed of me first?!" she screeches unattractively, dimly aware that they have sunk to the level of squabbling preschoolers but too frustrated to care.
Jackson's mouth drops open. He takes a step closer to her, eyes dark with an unsettling gravity as they drill into her. "Ashamed?" he repeats incredulously. "You think I ignored you because I was... ashamed?"
Mary doesn't know why Jackson is shaking his head hopelessly and looking at her with so much exasperation and unbearable tenderness, like Mary is the stupidest fool in the world and the most precious jewel at the same time.
"Mary," he says huskily, advancing, reaching out a hand to caress her face tentatively. "Don't push me away," Jackson says, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Please."
Jackson lifts her effortlessly off her feet with his hands beneath her arms, settling her down gently to sit on one of the library tables. Mary shudders, Jackson's touch spreading down her entire body like electricity, blazing through her blood like a wildfire. Jackson's eyes are gleaming fever bright. "Do you have any idea --" he begins hoarsely, carding his fingers through her hair, stroking the nape of her neck and the bare skin beneath her collar, "how..." finding the sensitive spots behind her earlobes with his thumbs and unhooking her spectacles, "how beautiful you are?"
Mary can't see a single thing without her glasses, and Jackson's face swims into a kaleidoscopic blur before her vision. But then Jackson comes closer, closer, close enough so that she can see him clearly again, so close that she can see every pore on Jackson's skin, every mole and every separate eyelash curling from his depthless eyes.
"Your incredible eyes," Jackson breathes, his own gripping hers for one sensuous, heart-stopping moment, before they flicker down to her lips, distracted and darkening with that hunger she has grown to know so well. But this time what he's longing for is not food, but her mouth. Perhaps it always was.
"Your adorable vampire smile," Jackson whispers. They are so close that Mary only needs to breathe to meet Jackson's plush, moist lips; so she does, and finds that it's true -- kissing Jackson is as easy as breathing, easier.
It's the easiest thing Mary has ever done.
Their mouths press chastely against each other at first as their noses bump awkwardly, finding the right angle, before Jackson parts his lips like it's the most natural thing in the world and his tongue slips out to lick the seam of her closed lips. Jackson's tongue is patient but unyielding as he coaxes her mouth open, sighing when he gains entry and boldly brushing against hers. The contact, so filthy and wet and hot, sends a tremor through her entire body and Jackson's firm arms hold her up against him as her knees buckle weakly.
Jackson scrapes his teeth over Mary's bottom lip and sucks sensually on her tongue. His body is hard and rippling against hers, feverishly warm, his biceps sinuous and taut. Even as one of his hands spans her back, supporting her, the other rises up to cradle the back of her neck and pull her further in, then further still, until the full lengths of their bodies are pressed against each other at every part and Mary can no longer tell where she ends and Jackson begins. Their mouths slot together, tongues sliding against each other urgently.
Jackson tastes like strawberries and milk and spearmint and the faintest bittersweet tinge of cigarettes, and everything Mary had ever imagined he would taste like. Mary is so preoccupied with fighting for oxygen with Jackson's mouth consuming hers, his tongue so far inside her mouth it's almost down her throat, she doesn't notice that her bra is unhooked until the tightness around her breasts loosens and Jackson's hand slides beneath the hem of her blouse, huge and callused on her back as he breathes heavily.
Jackson's fingers stray over the bare skin of her back, up her spine, grazing the sides of her breasts and Mary hears a low, wanton moan. It takes her a second to realize that it's coming from herself. Alarmed, she struggles against the iron of Jackson's grip, trying to overpower him to no avail. "S-stop," she gasps breathlessly, and is relieved when Jackson pulls himself together with an effort and his frisky hands pause their wandering, his eyes glazed over with lust when he breaks away.
"Mary," Jackson pleads desperately, voice rubbed raw. "I need you." He grabs her hand and guides it down to his crotch, and Mary nearly recoils when she feels his erection, hot and pulsing through the fabric, breathtakingly hard. Jackson inhales sharply and abruptly spreads her legs with his hands on her knees, crowding between them and grinding up between her thighs, breathing growing ragged.
His hand moves beneath her skirt and he presses the heel of his palm against her crotch, rubbing it. Mary chokes back a loud gasp. "You're so wet," Jackson moans, sliding a finger under the fabric to crook it into her. "Ah!" Mary cries out, clinging to Jackson's shoulders and wrapping her legs around his waist. "More."
Jackson obligingly works his finger deeper into her softness, then another, scissoring them and stretching her open. By now, Mary is mewling in agony and it seems to push Jackson over his limit as he roughly rips her panties off with one swift motion. He hitches her skirt up around her waist and drags his hands down her inner thighs, unbuttoning and unzipping his fly. The head of his erect cock pushes through the opening of his boxers, swollen and leaking.
"W-wait!" Mary protests, still the goody-two-shoes even when she has lost sight of her senses. "Do you have a..." she blushes furiously, which is ludicrous considering what they are about to do.
Mercifully, Jackson spares her the humiliation. "I have a condom," he hisses, groping in his back pocket for his wallet, cards and cash tumbling out as he fumbles for the packet. He rips the foil open with his teeth, hands shaking as he struggles to roll it on. They are both panting loudly, and the sound of their harsh breathing is deafening in the hushed library. Mary realizes like a bolt of lightning that anyone could walk in any second and see her wrapped around Jackson; Mary Tuan, the biggest nerd, top student and teachers' pet, half-naked and being fucked on a table by the hottest boy in school.
Strangely, for the first time, she doesn't really care.
Finally, Jackson manages to secure the condom, and Mary feels a pressure below as he guides his cock to her entrance, aligning himself and taking a shaky breath. Then there is a sharp pain and Jackson is pushing past her resistance, breaching muscle and plunging into her, huge and foreign and impaling, burning hot. The table creaks under her weight, legs scraping across the ground at the force of Jackson's thrusts as he flexes his thighs and drives his hips in an erratic but relentless rhythm into her. Mary arches her back to meet his intensifying rhythm, their bodies gliding against each other. She feels an uncontrollable heat pooling in her stomach, a pressure building deep in her groin as Jackson's grunts merge with the squelching sounds of slick skin slapping against slick skin in an unbelievably erotic medley. Mary clenches around him as she spirals into orgasm, and Jackson groans at her tight heat, coming violently against her walls, his climax so explosive that Mary can feel the sordid sensation of his cum even through the film of the condom.
Jackson pants labouredly as his thrusts grow shallow and still, remaining buried inside her as their heartbeats slam against each other's chest in unison. "Are you okay?" he whispers softly by her ear, running a soothing hand through her matted hair. "Did I hurt you?"
Mary shakes her head, too wrecked to speak. She smiles tiredly up at Jackson, and his relieved smile mirrors hers, pulling out as slowly as possible. Mary lets out an exhale at the sudden loss as Jackson slides out of her, tugging off the condom and tying it before tossing it in the nearby wastebasket.
"Mary," Jackson breathes, cupping her face in his hands and smiling stupidly at her. "Baby." He repeats her name over and over in a voice hushed with reverence, like he can't quite believe that a person as amazing as her exists. Like he doesn't deserve her.
Jackson zips up his fly and straightens his clothes, helping Mary clean up and pull on her underwear, but then his fingers roam to her collar, light as feathers, and slowly he starts unbuttoning her blouse. Mary reaches out to grab his hand, frightened, but he just smiles reassuringly and murmurs, "Don't worry. I won't do anything."
After undoing the last button, Jackson peels the filmy uniform off her shoulders, pupils dilating with lust as he feasts his eyes on the valley of her cleavage. Carefully, he lets her bra fall away, revealing the pearly alabaster of her silken breasts, kneading them with his fingers in a way that makes Mary squeak and purr. He cups her breasts in his palms, weighing their heft and peppers the sensitive skin of her chest with weightless but blistering kisses, making her nipples stand at attention.
"You have the sexiest body I've ever seen," Jackson gazes into her eyes seriously, his words slurred with want. Mary can see how difficult it is for him to keep his eyes on her face, that the crotch of his pants is tented again, straining against the fabric, but he makes a valiant effort to finish his sentence. "Why do you hide it under all those sweaters and long skirts?"
Jackson sounds heartbreakingly sad, his eyes mournful and uncomprehending as he gazes entreatingly at her. "Why do you wear these glasses over your pretty eyes?" He picks up the glasses and arranges them back on the bridge of her nose, and suddenly Mary can see Jackson in startling clarity again, so crystalline that she feels embarrassed. Because Jackson is too stunning, too devastating to look at in high definition.
But then Mary abruptly remembers why she came to the library in the first place, before they got derailed by Jackson sweeping her off her feet. She cuts her eyes suspiciously at him. She'll be damned if Jackson thinks she's one of those girls who can be distracted from their purpose and forget themselves with a few sweet nothings and glib flattering.
"Why did you ignore me this morning then?" she demands. It comes out sounding more sore than she intended to, and she winces, but Jackson looks solemn and chastised.
"I'm sorry," he apologizes humbly. "Jaebum... he whispered to me about what he wanted to do to you, and I just lost it. I was so mad, I couldn't think straight. It didn't occur to me how you'd feel. I'm an asshole."
"Damn right you are," Mary retorts reflexively, but is surprised to find that her anger has dissipated. "What... what did he say?" she ventures curiously.
Jackson's eyes darken, his arms tightening around her. "There's no way I'm going to tell you. Besides, it's too dirty for your innocent ears." He cracks a small smile, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head.
Mary rolls her eyes. "I'm older than you," she reminds him snarkily.
Jackson grimaces, as if the statement is a physical blow. "Don't remind me," he mutters darkly. "Do you know how I felt when I heard you calling that punk oppa?" His eyes flash with frustration, then soften into vulnerability. "Do you mind that I'm... younger?"
Mary shakes her head wordlessly, moved by the obvious relief that is spelled across Jackson's face and the way his shoulders sag like the issue has been bothering him for a long time.
"It's just that you... you're so smart and mature and sophisticated and I'm... I feel like a kid compared to you," Jackson confesses in a small voice.
Mary nearly laughs out loud at the preposterousness of Jackson's insecurity. How could Jackson ever think that he could be remotely harmless or childlike to Mary? Jackson who is so powerful, mature both physically and mentally underneath his deceptively boyish exterior. So powerful that he monopolizes Mary's entire world.
She's never going to tell Jackson that, though. He's arrogant enough as it is. But maybe one day, Mary thinks, catching the way Jackson looks at her like it hurts, like he's afraid of losing her. Maybe she would kind of like to see the expression on Jackson's face when she calls him oppa too.
They remain in the empty library in contented, lazy serenity, watching the sun set through the windows. After it has closed, Jackson hails a cab to send her home. He keeps his arm around her as they walk out of school, as if she's a frail invalid and Mary kind of enjoys the attention. Jackson is so cute when he overreacts and gets overprotective. True, there is a little soreness in her lower body, but it's nothing serious.
Jackson kisses her again when the cab pulls up outside her house. "Call me if there's anything," he says for the third time, and Mary smiles and nods. "I'll send a cab to pick you up tomorow before school," Jackson promises, and Mary protests feebly but gives in without much argument to Jackson's persistence. She feels protected, taken care of. She feels like Jackson's girl.
Mary floats dreamily into her house like she's walking on clouds, her chest bursting with warmth for Jackson. She wants to do something to repay his loving care, the priceless happiness he has given her. She wanders into her parents' bedroom and runs her fingers thoughtfully over the bottles of makeup and lotions and creams on the dressing table.
The next morning, within five minutes of Mary entering the school gates, at least three guys check her out. None of them seem to realize that she is the Mary Tuan they have walked past without a second glance dozens of times throughout the past two years.
Mary tugs at her skirt uncomfortably. She had taken in the hem on the sewing machine last night, but she thinks maybe she overestimated the length. Her skirt rides up revealingly, flashing glimpses of her thighs. She has left her sweater at home today, let her hair down and styled it with a curling iron so it cascades over her shoulders in soft waves. She had woken up an hour earlier than usual to clumsily apply her mother's mascara and eyeliner, a dusting of blush to highlight her cheekbones and a touch of coral lip gloss to complete the natural look. But most drastically of all, she had left her glasses home today, wearing contact lens instead which she had nearly poked her eyes out trying to put in.
Mary feels confident, pretty even. The admiring looks she gets from every male she passes boosts her ego and by the time she reaches the door of Jackson's classroom on the second storey, she feels pretty much fearless.
She peeks into the class uncertainly. Her heart leaps into her throat to see Jackson sitting on a desk at the back of the class, surrounded by a gaggle of admirers, his legs propped on a chair as he importantly holds a monologue, smiling his bad-boy smile. Mary sidles into the class nervously.
All of a sudden, a silence plunges, so deep you could hear a pin fall. Mary looks up in consternation to see practically the entire class staring at her, their faces registering a hint of interest but empty of recognition. It's almost like she's a new transfer student and this is the first day they're seeing her, although she has been in the school for almost three years.
There are a few low wolf-whistles, a few guys getting up and approaching with definite intent. Only Jackson's eyes contain something familiar when she meets them, recognition and stunned awe and... displeasure? Regret? Irritation? Anger?
Mary's heart clenches at the thought of all these negative emotions. It would be just her luck to be dumped on the first day after losing her virginity.
She turns away, ignoring the guys closing in on her, but then Jackson is swinging himself off the table and closing the distance between them in three strides, inserting himself bodily between her and the other boys. The challenging glint in his eyes makes it clear to them to back off.
Jackson turns back to her. "Mary?" he says, eyes dazed and voice accusing. "What did you do to yourself?"
"I thought you wanted me to ditch the glasses and sweater and start wearing short skirts!" Mary wails later in the library at lunch, after Jackson has made her wash off all the makeup, gather her hair up in a modest ponytail, and put on his letterman jacket with his name in bold on the back. It makes Mary feel like a possession, but not in a bad way. Her glasses are at home, so Jackson had to put up with the contacts. He looks disgruntled as he winds his arm possessively around her shoulders again, like he's afraid she'll run away if he slackens his grip.
"I did," Jackson admits, looking embarrassed. "Before I realized how hot you were."
The words are slick, greasy even, but Mary can't contain the shiver of sheer pleasure coursing down her spine.
"You're not the boss of me," she sticks her tongue out at him, pouting.
Jackson pouts back at her grumpily, matching her aegyo with his own without missing a beat. "Hell yeah I am, if you want to be my girlfriend."
The word makes the ground fall out from underneath Mary's feet. She'll never tell Jackson that she would do anything to be his girlfriend. He'd never let her live it down.
But even though he wins all their aegyo battles, even Jackson has an Achilles' heel, and Mary knows exactly what it is. She climbs into his lap childishly, feeling his arms come up to wrap around her from behind, his fingers tickling her caressingly, and giggles. Mary knows that Jackson loves the way she's petite enough to fit into the crook of his arm, just the right size to nestle into the hollow between his chin and shoulder. She reclines luxuriously against his body like a sturdy armchair, feeling his lips pressed against her neck, curving up in an irrepressible smile.
She can't stand how bossy Jackson is, how he's so overbearing and territorial and chauvinistic. She abhores how he's so indecisive and changes his mind every minute. But then again, that's one of the things she loves about his personality -- how mercurial he is, how dangerously thrilling and unpredictable like a rollercoaster ride.
She loves how romantic he is, how he never forgets their daily tradition of library lunchdates and strawberry milk, tooth-aching, full of calories, but worth every single bit of weight she gains. Just like Jackson himself; difficult as he may be, temperamental as he may be, Mary wouldn't trade this place by his side for anything in the world.
"How did you know I liked strawberry milk, from the start?" she asks, sipping through the straw as he watches her lips and skims his finger over his own, like he's already planning how to ravish her whole.
He laughs, looking down at her with something beautiful in his eyes.
"Because you looked so sweet, I knew you had to taste the same."
+ happy birthday jackson (in advance)!!! this is dedicated to mary, minchievous, saranghey_you, noisestorms and 'rice' who requested markson fluff-smut :)