is it too much (to call you baby)
Title: is it too much (to call you baby)
Fandom: GOT7
Pairing: Mark/Jackson
Rating: pg-13
Summary: Jackson invades Mark's world before Mark realizes it.
Written for the 2015 kpop olymfics, team canon.
Honestly, Mark forgets that they're due for a new trainee until he sees the unknown figure huddled on the empty bunk below Songjin's bed.
"Hey, it's the new guy!" Brian calls out, sweaty from dance practice and right behind Mark as they shuffle into the crammed dorm room; Bambam and Junhyuk are crowded onto the bed too, making complicated hand signals in some weird attempt at communication, and New Guy whips his head around at Brian's voice.
"You speak English," New Guy says, and the oh thank god scrawled across his face is clear enough for even Mark to read. He's definitely not Korean, by the looks of him. His gaze jumps from Brian to Mark and back again.
"Yeah, there's a couple of us around here. The rest of 'em are the Korean kids who don't live in the city." Brian's grin is easy as he dips over to the occupied bunk. "I'm Brian, that's Mark."
Mark manages an awkward wave as he shrugs off his backpack full of Korean textbooks and tosses it onto his bed. He wasn't prepared enough to actually utter a hey, but New Guy doesn't seem to mind all that much and he wiggles out from the bunk, beaming.
"Hi, I'm Jackson," he says, and he's got wide eyes and a wide smile and his voice is a little bit raspy, and something in Mark likes him instantly. It catches him off guard.
"You American? Canadian?" Brian asks, and Jackson chuckles. He has a flop of brown hair that kind of falls into his face, and he keeps brushing it to the side like it's an old habit. "Nah, I'm from Hong Kong."
"Hong Kong, nice!" Brian eyes Mark, a little bit of his grin coming back. "Another Chinese guy to add to the ranks."
Jackson perks up even more, his eyes flicking to Mark again, and Mark notices the dark circles under them; the long flight over must be hitting him pretty hard by now. How far away was Hong Kong, anyway?
"Really? Where you from?"
"Uh, my parents are from Taiwan, but I was born in L.A." Mark finally gets his words together, and before he has to fumble over anything else Brian jumps in again.
"And I'm from Toronto. Canada." He says it with a little chin tilt, the bit of pride that Mark almost wants to roll his eyes at; he's a little startled when Junhyuk's voice pipes up from behind Jackson, cutting Brian off from saying anything else. He almost forgot the younger two were perched on the bed.
"Hyung, translate for us. We were trying our best before you got here, but Bambam's English sucks."
"Hey!" Bambam's screech follows, and he throws all his tiny body weight into a punch to Junhyuk's arm. "It's better than yours!"
Mark watches Jackson take in the younger two squabbling, and a little grin is tugging the corner of his mouth like he's already fond of them. Mark has known Jackson for all of five minutes, but it seems natural for him, somehow.
The kids put up a little bit of a fuss when Brian ushers them to the door to get to their lessons, but even they know it's not worth it to get their asses handed to them for being late; they wave goodbye to Jackson, and Jackson waves back.
"Okay, I'm gonna take a shower cause I fuckin' reek. We can get some food after,Don's gonna meet us down at the cafeteria." Brian directs the last part to Mark, and then he disappears into the changing room.
There's silence for a few seconds, and Mark putters around his mind for something to say before it gets awkward. "You should eat with us- if you're hungry, I mean."
It's a pretty dumb thing to say, considering that Brian had clearly extended the offer to Jackson, but Jackson smiles anyway. It's a real smile, honest, and it eases Mark a little.
"I'm starving, man. The last thing I ate was crappy plane food." Jackson sags down onto his bunk again with a small sigh. "Then I wanna sleep for like twelve hours. I'm so tired."
Mark's not the type to get comfortable with people too quick, but Jackson almost feels like one of them already, falling in without a nervous barrier to hold him back. It helps Mark's words flow.
"It's a lot to take in on the first day, but you'll get used to everything soon enough. It's easier once the jetlag wears off." Jackson smiles at him again, small and warm even with his dark circles and slumped shoulders.
When Jackson pats the empty stretch of mattress on his right, Mark doesn't hesitate to sink down beside him.
-
Jackson has no trouble fitting in with the guys, as if Mark had any doubts. Jackson is open and easy and so honest to god friendly, Mark can't imagine him getting on anyone's bad side.
He tries his best with the Koreans too, only waiting until he has his first few language classes under his belt to go around introducing himself. Most of the dudes warm up to Jackson right away, but a few don't really know how to take him; like Jaebum's blank, uncomfortable stare when Jackson runs up to him, shouting "Hey! Hey, b-boy!"
Mark kind of gets it- for all his friendliness, Jackson is a lot to take. He's bright and he's bursting and he's about three notches above everyone else on a good day.
Jackson throws himself into everything; he's no Jinyoung, but he's a good dancer, better than Mark for sure, and he moves up to Mark's class in no time. He gets in on Brian's lowkey rap sessions around the dorm and in the dance room after lessons and down empty hallways, and it's more clowning than anything, but Jackson fits like a missing part and Mark looks forward to it every time.
He kicks ass on the court too, on Sundays when the summer heat starts easing up and they all head down to the park near the Han river to play basketball. He used to be an athlete, a fencer, Jackson tells them, a real deal kind of thing. He went to the Youth Olympics for it, but he doesn't talk about it so much; instead he brandishes empty water bottles or a single chopstick or whatever other thing he can get his hands on and puts on a show of jabs and parries and footwork when he's in the mood.
Even his laugh is something else; too high, too loud, bouncing off the mirrored walls of the practice room in a way that's a little grating. But the sound of it fills Mark up from the inside until it's spilling out of his mouth too, and that's how he thinks of Jackson, really.
So when he says Jackson is a lot to take, it's not a bad thing. Mark can't think of another way to describe it, Jackson's just, a lot.
One thing Jackson's not, though, is arrogant. He doesn't boast, even when he has the right. Mark doesn't even find out just how serious of a fencer Jackson was until way after he joins in on the imaginary matches with coat hangers and shampoo bottles.
They're crowded into their usual cafeteria table with Don and Brian and Paul- and somewhere after the lesson on fencing terms Brian starts by shouting 'Engarde!' and lashing out with his chopsticks, Jackson admits that he was the captain of his national team, that he won first place in some huge Asian championship just months before coming to Korea, that he was on track for the freaking Olympics.
"Holy shit, man," Don blurts out, and it sums up Mark's feeling pretty well even though he doesn't say it. "You were in line for the Olympics, and you gave it up for this?" He waves his hand around the packed cafeteria, finishing with a little flourish at his side dish of half eaten kimchi.
Don doesn't mean it in a bad way, and it makes the other guys laugh, but it's the first time Mark sees a fake smile on Jackson. It's wide like usual, but it's not warm and it's not in his eyes, and that's the only thing Mark can think about.
The crisp fall weather gives way to more biting cold, and Jackson doesn't host his imaginary fencing games anymore.
-
"Okay for real though, I'm never going outside again, winter is the absolute worst-"
Mark can hear Jackson's voice before he's even in the room, and he glances up from his textbook when Jaehyung and Jackson shuffle through the bedroom doorway, wrapped in heavy coats and loaded down with plastic bags. They were the losers of the rock paper scissors game that decided who would go on a convenience store run, and at this time of year the job is envied by
exactly no one.
"Fuck snow!" Jackson drops the bags of snacks in his grip to the floor and starts to pry his gloves off his hands. "Why am I in this frozen hell?"
"He's been complaining the whole time," Jaehyung sighs.
Mark understands, though. The only time he's missed southern California more than this was his first winter in Korea. His second winter is only better in the way that he knows what to expect now.
"You're a bunch of damn babies," Brian pipes up from his top bunk as Jackson stomps into the changing room. "You wouldn't last a week in Toronto."
"Yeah yeah, you're the Canadian Overlord of shitty winters, shut the fuck up," Paul grumbles.
Jaehyung disappears to ferry half of the bags to the other dorm room, and Jackson comes back in a long sleeved shirt and sweats, still muttering to himself. His eyes roam over to Mark huddled under his blanket, textbook propped on his thighs, and his scowl smooths out. "Hey, let's study together."
Normally Mark has no problem studying with Jackson; it makes the act a little more bearable for Mark, who might honestly prefer getting teeth pulled, and he's far enough ahead that he can help Jackson out whenever he needs it. But right now, that would mean moving from his perfectly comfortable, cozy cocoon out into the common room, and he just doesn't know if he can make that sacrifice.
"I don't wanna move," Mark says, and Jackson waves his hand dismissively.
"No need to move, I'll come to you. That way I can steal your body heat too. It's a win-win for everyone."
Mark snorts as Jackson squats nexts to one of the plastic bags on the floor. "How is you stealing my body heat a win-win for me?"
"C'mon man, I'm freezing!" Jackson whines, pulling a few drink bottles out of the bag. "Save a life, Mark." He tosses a bag of chips and a packet of dried squid up to Brian.
Mark doesn't say no, of course, and Jackson grabs his Korean notes out of his backpack. He brings two hot drink bottles with him, milk tea for Mark and oolong for himself, and slides under the covers with his armful of stuff.
Jackson doesn't hesitate to sidle up to Mark, pressing their shoulders and hips and thighs together; soft, and nice, and Jackson smells like that new shampoo he bought at Nature Republic last week- something prickles low in Mark's stomach, but he squashes it down before it even becomes a thought, like some part of his mind knows he shouldn't go there.
They spend the afternoon like that, papers and snack wrappers spread out over the blanket and their legs curled together under the blanket, and it's the warmest Mark has felt all day.
-
This is the first time Mark has really looked.
He's fresh out of the shower, toweling his hair dry as he wanders into the changing room to grab a pair of socks. Jackson's the only other one in there, and he must be next in line to shower because he's already stripped down to his black boxer briefs. He's standing in front of his sliver of wardrobe space, pawing through his hanging clothes. "That's what I'm saying, though," Jackson calls out in the direction of the doorway, "Why does there always have to be danmuji with jajangmyun?"
Jackson is pretty much the opposite of body shy, and this is about the thousandth time Mark has seen Jackson half naked, but it's the first time he's been alone in a room with half naked Jackson, and maybe that's why Mark's eyes are wandering to the side before he realizes it, without anyone around to see them.
Jackson doesn't have huge muscles, but the years of training have made him solid; Mark's gaze trails from Jackson's pecs down to the patch of hair below his belly button, he's lingering longer than he ever has before and he's starting to feel pinpricks under his skin and Mark should really stop while he can still tell himself that he's just comparing a body that's so different from his own.
Then Jackson kneels down low to his dresser drawers, opening the bottom one to rifle through it, and Mark doesn't listen to himself. His eyes follow the roll of Jackson's broad shoulders down the lines of his back, all the way to his ass, his thighs, god- a quiver runs down Mark's spine, something hot squirms in his gut, he has a split second to imagine putting his hands on all that flesh before he's tearing his eyes away.
Mark shoves his own dresser drawer shut without ever touching a pair of socks, his heart thudding in a weird, sick kind of way as he escapes back into the bedroom. What the fuck is wrong with him? That was so far over the line, seriously, what the fuck.
Mark buries himself under his covers and sticks his earbuds in his ears and drowns in music until well after the lights go off, until he almost forgets why he's doing it in the first place.
And he never once glances across the room to Jackson's bunk.
-
Christmas comes up quickly, and for all the familiar decorations that fill shop windows and the English Christmas songs that jingle through every department store all month long, it's not the same as back home.
It's when Mark starts missing home pretty hard, and it sucks, but the other foreign trainees are in the same boat as him and they get it, and that makes things a little easier.
Mark can also look Jackson in the eye no problem now, if he doesn't Think About It too much and weird himself out.
The dorm is pretty empty the night before Christmas Eve, and Mark is curled up on his bed with his laptop, setting up a skype call with his parents. Between his relentless schedule and the packed, noisy room he lives in, Mark doesn't talk to his parents as much as he should, or could, or honestly wants to, so makes up for it when he can.
His mom is recounting how his sister is getting on with the new baby when Jackson comes in, dragging his bookbag with him. He eyes Mark's laptop screen as he dumps his bag onto his bed. "You talking to your parents?" He stage whispers, and Mark nods.
"Can I say hi?" Jackson asks; all in all it's not a strange request, and his mom and dad always like meeting the other kids he's training with, so Mark takes out an earbud and holds it in Jackson's direction.
Jackson grins and slides over to take the offering, bouncing onto the bed next to Mark. Their arms clash together and Jackson leans heavy into Mark to get in range of the camera and Mark is Not Thinking About It.
It helps that his parents are right there, sort of. Jackson introduces himself, and in no time the three of them are happily chatting away in Mandarin- Mark has to concentrate just to keep up. It's obvious that his parents are pretty thrilled, though, and a part of him is relieved that his parents took a liking to Jackson so quickly.
Afterwards, Jackson thanks him with a smile that's small and soft and his eyes are bright and the knot that's been twisting up in Mark's chest pulls tight.
Jackson returns the favor on Christmas day when he pulls Mark over to his own laptop to meet his mom. Mark can't even speak a sentence of Cantonese, but his quiet, nervous Mandarin seems to be enough. Jackson's mom smiles graciously, and Mark thinks that Jackson has her eyes.
When Jackson hangs up the call Mark asks if his dad is working or something even though it's Christmas, because the man didn't appear once during the entire call but Mark could recognize just enough words in the rapid fire conversation between Jackson and his mom to know that they were talking about his father at one point.
Jackson gets kind of quiet, and he fiddles around with his keyboard. "My dad's away from home a lot because of his coaching schedule," He says, and it's an answer but it's not really. There's something more to it, Mark's pretty sure, but he doesn't know if he should ask; even so, he wracks his brain for the rights words, but they don't come and he has no idea what to say.
So he doesn't say anything.
-
"God, Hyorin is so hot," Jackson mumbles, his eyes glued to the tv screen as Sistar strikes their final poses on stage.
Mark and Jackson are slumped on the old loveseat in the common room, ditching their homework to watch the Seoul Music Awards. Songjin and Bambam and Junhyuk are crowded around them too, but everyone else had lessons or practice to get to.
Mark doesn't feel the need to add anything to that, but he guesses he was supposed to because Jackson glances over at him. "What, she's not your type?" He asks, sneaking a handful of Bambam's chips while the kid is hunched over Songjin's phone with Junhyuk.
Mark's never really thought about types before; he's just never noticed a pattern or anything, and he doesn't want to start thinking about it now because he's a little afraid that he'll picture wide grins and loud laughs and strong shoulders.
"I don't have a type, I guess." Mark says, tipping his soda bottle back and forth between his hands.
"Eh, it doesn't really mean much anyway." Jackson settles back to watch the screen again. "Even if I say that Hyorin's my type, it doesn't mean I don't think Bora's hot too..." The darkened stage on screen floods with light, revealing the members of Beast standing in a row.
"...or Dongwoon."
Something lurches inside Mark at those words, just a little bit, and he wants to shake himself. Don't get weird, it's just a joke, Jackson's obviously joking.
"So you're into guys too?" Mark plays along and he thinks he sounds normal enough. He darts his gaze over to Jackson.
"What can I say, I'm an equal opportunist." It definitely sounds like a joke, but Jackson won't look away from the tv and the corner of his mouth is twitching and his fingers are tap tap tapping against his knee, and oh crap he's not joking holy shit, holy shit.
"Oh," Mark manages to say; his heart is doing that heavy, sick thudding and his palms are suddenly a little sweaty against the bottle he's holding.
Jackson finally looks at him, but he's sitting all stiff and his fingers are still tapping. "You don't care?" He says it kind of low, even though the others sitting around them can't understand what they're saying.
"No," Mark tells him, and it's both the truth and a lie. He doesn't have a problem with Jackson liking guys or girls or whoever, and he doesn't want Jackson to think he does. But Mark cares in a whole different way and it's freaking him the fuck out, it's making his stomach turn and twist up and it's a little too late to Not Think About It.
Jackson lets out a little breath; his body slumps back against the arm of the couch and his face relaxes, and if he was going to say something else he doesn't get the chance because Junhyuk is suddenly leaning over and shoving Songjin's phone between them, asking what this and that English word is.
They don't talk about it later either, but Mark can't forget it, even though he kind of wishes he could.
If there was any kind of benefit to being known as the quiet one, it's that nobody notices when Mark starts avoiding Jackson, little by little. It helps that they're usually surrounded by others, and Mark doesn't have to dodge Jackson so much as make sure that Jackson doesn't have opportunities to seek him out alone. It's a busy time anyway, with the lunar new year holiday coming up, and all the trainees having to figure out whether to switch up their schedule or not when they come back.
And yeah, it kind of makes Mark feel like an asshole, but it's a better alternative than dealing with how he feels when he's looking Jackson in the eyes, or when they're sitting shoulder to shoulder studying Korean verb tenses, or when Jackson spreads out on Mark's bed with his ipod to share a new song he downloaded.
Mark doesn't want to admit it, even to himself, but it's what finally pushes him to take up the martial arts tricking class he's been eyeing for a while, the fact that it would switch him out of the dance class he currently has with Jackson and move him to a later class. He doesn't want to admit that it feels a lot like running away.
He flies home to the States for the holiday break, and his little world back in Arcadia feels a million light years away from his life in Seoul; it's honestly really damn nice to spend his days wrapped up in his friends and family and not carry around that heavy-guilty-weird fucked up feeling that's been his constant companion lately.
Mark goes back to Korea feeling tons better than when he left; he was kind of counting on it- the annual trip home was usually a recharge for everyone's batteries. He doesn't even get clammy at the thought of seeing Jackson back at the dorm, which he counts as a definite positive sign.
He gets to the company around the same time Brian and Don do and they spend the afternoon catching up; they head to their favorite barbeque place down the street for dinner and let Bambam tag along too, and they're talking and laughing and clowning around and it's clear that they all feel as refreshed as Mark does.
Jackson's at the dorm when they get back, slouched on his bunk, and Mark's gut rolls a little but he manages to stamp it down as Brian and Don jump over to hassle Jackson. Mark follows right behind, because he's not feeling too weird yet and he wants to hear what Jackson got up to in Hong Kong, wants to see Jackson's bright eyes as they all trade stories.
Jackson, though- he doesn't look recharged. His eyes are dull and tired, his smile is a watered down imitation of what it usually is, though he tries to match Don and Brian's spirit as best he can.
Mark tells himself that Jackson's probably just exhausted from the flight, that he'll be back to his usual self soon. It's easier to ignore the worry sprouting in the pit of his stomach that way.
Their schedules start up again, and Mark is busy as hell; the higher level Korean class he moved to is kicking his ass more than he thought it would, and his new tricking lessons wear him out; combined with dance class, most nights he has to drag himself to bed.
Jackson doesn't really seem to get better, but Mark doesn't spend as much time with him, either- mostly just mornings and nights in the dorm, and whenever they can all manage to eat in the cafeteria together. All he knows is that he sees a lot of Jackson's fake smiles nowadays, more than the real ones, and the sagging, tired look hasn't lifted.
And Mark feels shittier than ever, because a part of him is glad that he has the excuse of a busy schedule to keep his distance. Even though he knows something's not right, he just- he can't.
It's well into spring when it gets worse. In the last few days Jackson hasn't even bothered to fake the smiles and the laughs and the jokes, and the other guys are noticing it now.
"Hey, you know what's up with Jackson lately?" Don asks Mark when he passes him in the hall on the way to the bathroom. "He looks like someone murdered his puppy or something."
"No, I dunno what's up with him," Mark says, and the guilt is heavy and sour in his stomach.
Jackson doesn't come back to the dorm that night after his last lesson, and Mark tries to convince himself that just because Jackson doesn't usually stay late to practice on his own doesn't mean he isn't doing it now.
Jackson's bed is still empty when someone shuts the lights off around midnight; an hour later, after laying wide awake with a queasy gut and an ear tuned for the sound of an opening door, Mark is getting really damn tired. Tired of turning a blind eye, tired of always feeling like crap. Especially tired of being a chickenshit and an asshole excuse of a friend.
So he rolls out bed and grabs the hoodie at the foot of his bunk, pulling it over his head as he slips out of the dorm.
In the end it's not too hard to find Jackson; down near the practice rooms, which are pretty near empty at this time of night, Mark spots Jackson in the darkened lounge area, hunched up on the worn couch, staring blankly out at the coffee table in front of him.
Jackson startles a little when he notices Mark approaching, and his gaze snaps up. "Mark?" he says, surprised, and Mark doesn't blame him. His voice is raspier than usual.
"You didn't come back to the dorm, I was wondering where you were." It sounds so casual, so normal, so opposite of the mess inside of Mark. He rounds the table to sink down next to Jackson, and Jackson looks arounds the deserted room like he's just now noticing where he is.
"I was, just....thinking." it comes out stilted, and Jackson's eyes are flicking here and there but they never settle on Mark.
"About what?" At that, Jackson's gaze does come around to Mark, and he musters up a smile that's fake fake fake and sad and Mark can barely stand to see it.
"It's not important, man. Don't worry about it."
There's a hundred things Mark wants to say, I'm sorry I wasn't here before I'm sorry I'm a douchebag I know you're not happy I want to know why I want to help - it all gets jumbled up and Mark can't sort it out, he's so shit at this kind of thing, he's useless.
"Tell me. Please."
Jackson looks at him again, really looks, and Mark can see in his eyes that he's tired; the same kind of tired Mark was while he was laying in bed, waiting and waiting for Jackson to come back.
Jackson opens his mouth, but the words don't follow right away. "It's just..." he looks away, shifts around, stretches his legs out in front of him. "Do you ever feel like you don't belong here?"
Mark isn't sure if he's supposed to answer that or not, but Jackson goes on. "I mean, I love a lot of things about this place, but the longer I'm here, I'm just thinking...why? There's so many people here that are so much better, what am I doing here? Everyone else is like, moving forward, but I'm..."
Jackson fiddles with the cuffs of his shirt; a door open and closes somewhere near the front of the building. "My dad hates that I chose this over fencing," Jackson continues, quieter. "He would barely talk to me when I was back home. I saw my old teammates and everyone is doing so great, and..." he pauses.
"I can't really blame my dad, you know?" Jackson glances up from his hands, just for a second. "I had a good thing thing going with fencing. I was good. I miss it." his voice drops to barely a whisper at that.
"And..." Jackson swallows, too loud for the silent room. "and, I'm scared that I made the wrong choice. With fencing, I knew what I was doing. I knew where I was going. Here, I don't know anything." He starts twisting his fingers together.
"What if, what if I'm just here for years and years and I never debut and I never do anything and I just wasted all this time for nothing-" Jackson's voice is getting tighter and tighter with every word, and Mark's chest is clenching up too.
"I don't wanna screw up my life. I don't wanna be a fuckup." Jackson sounds so small, so miserable; Mark can't listen anymore. He's on the edge of saying something dangerous like you're perfect and he's an idiot but he's not that much of an idiot, so he grapples for something else.
"I understand," Mark starts, and no, that's not what he wants to say. "I mean, I don't understand all of it, cause I didn't really have anything else I was good at before I came here." God, Mark sucks at this. He scoots closer to Jackson until their shoulders and thighs are pressed together, hoping it will make up a little bit for what he lacks.
"But I understand how it feels to leave your old life behind to come here. It's a risk, it's a big risk, and it's scary. But it's not for nothing. Even if I never debut, I won't look at it as a waste. It's an experience I never would've had otherwise."
Mark slides his eyes over to Jackson, and Jackson is watching him intently, quietly. "And for the record," Mark says, "You're gonna debut. We're all gonna debut. You belong here with us, don't think that you don't."
They stare at each other, close, silent; Jackson looks like he wants to say something, and Mark doesn't know what it is but his heart thumps a little harder, something's prickling under his skin. In the end though, Jackson just relaxes, cracking a smile that's small and real and Mark is so, so glad to see it.
"I think that's a record for the most words Mark Tuan has spoken in a row."
The next thing Mark knows, sunlight is shining through his eyelids and he has a wicked crick in his neck. He lifts his head off the back of the couch with a little groan, cracking his eyes open.
He's in the lounge, still deserted, but now it's filled with soft light streaming through the window in the corner. Jackson is laying half on his lap, a deadweight, snoring lightly.
Mark stretches the stiff muscles of his arms out and leans forward to grab Jackson's phone off the table, flicking the screen to life. It's just past 6:30 in the morning and it's Sunday, which explains why the practice rooms are so quiet. Not many of them want to get on the grind at the crack of dawn on their one day off.
"Let's get out of here," Jackson says, after Mark gently shakes him awake. "Let's go down to the park or the river or something, wherever the fuck, let's just go."
They leave the building without stopping at the dorm first, and the early morning is a little chilly and a little cloudy and the two of them got maybe three hours of sleep on a crappy couch, but Jackson looks so much better than he did last night, better than he has in weeks.
They stop by a coffee shop and Jackson buys them two cafe mochas to go, and when they're down at the park, crunching through the grass, Mark realizes that he feels better too. The awful, heavy sludge he's been carrying around inside him for who knows how long is gone, drained away. He almost forgot how good he could feel without it weighing him down.
Then Mark feels a few wet drops on his face. "Oh shit," Jackson gets out, right before the downpour starts. They make a break for the empty gazebo up ahead, sloshing over the soggy ground, Jackson screaming on and off the whole way.
They collapse in heaps on the floor when they reach their shelter, laughing too hard to talk because they're soaked down to their freaking underwear, and it really hits Mark then how great he feels.
He's so light he could float, he's maybe a little caffeine buzzed, and Jackson is crouched in front of him- wet hair plastered to his forehead and wet shirt stuck to his chest, and he's grinning wide and his eyes are scrunched and so bright and he looks- fucking amazing.
For once, Mark's mouth moves before his brain can stop it.
"Can I kiss you?"
Jackson's grin doesn't drop off right away, but it gets smaller and his eyes get bigger, and Mark is starting to think he fucked up big time when Jackson breathes out, "Yeah."
He's not sure who moves first, but they meet in the middle with a press of lips, soft and warm and rain-wet.
And for Mark, it's perfect.
Fandom: GOT7
Pairing: Mark/Jackson
Rating: pg-13
Summary: Jackson invades Mark's world before Mark realizes it.
Written for the 2015 kpop olymfics, team canon.
Honestly, Mark forgets that they're due for a new trainee until he sees the unknown figure huddled on the empty bunk below Songjin's bed.
"Hey, it's the new guy!" Brian calls out, sweaty from dance practice and right behind Mark as they shuffle into the crammed dorm room; Bambam and Junhyuk are crowded onto the bed too, making complicated hand signals in some weird attempt at communication, and New Guy whips his head around at Brian's voice.
"You speak English," New Guy says, and the oh thank god scrawled across his face is clear enough for even Mark to read. He's definitely not Korean, by the looks of him. His gaze jumps from Brian to Mark and back again.
"Yeah, there's a couple of us around here. The rest of 'em are the Korean kids who don't live in the city." Brian's grin is easy as he dips over to the occupied bunk. "I'm Brian, that's Mark."
Mark manages an awkward wave as he shrugs off his backpack full of Korean textbooks and tosses it onto his bed. He wasn't prepared enough to actually utter a hey, but New Guy doesn't seem to mind all that much and he wiggles out from the bunk, beaming.
"Hi, I'm Jackson," he says, and he's got wide eyes and a wide smile and his voice is a little bit raspy, and something in Mark likes him instantly. It catches him off guard.
"You American? Canadian?" Brian asks, and Jackson chuckles. He has a flop of brown hair that kind of falls into his face, and he keeps brushing it to the side like it's an old habit. "Nah, I'm from Hong Kong."
"Hong Kong, nice!" Brian eyes Mark, a little bit of his grin coming back. "Another Chinese guy to add to the ranks."
Jackson perks up even more, his eyes flicking to Mark again, and Mark notices the dark circles under them; the long flight over must be hitting him pretty hard by now. How far away was Hong Kong, anyway?
"Really? Where you from?"
"Uh, my parents are from Taiwan, but I was born in L.A." Mark finally gets his words together, and before he has to fumble over anything else Brian jumps in again.
"And I'm from Toronto. Canada." He says it with a little chin tilt, the bit of pride that Mark almost wants to roll his eyes at; he's a little startled when Junhyuk's voice pipes up from behind Jackson, cutting Brian off from saying anything else. He almost forgot the younger two were perched on the bed.
"Hyung, translate for us. We were trying our best before you got here, but Bambam's English sucks."
"Hey!" Bambam's screech follows, and he throws all his tiny body weight into a punch to Junhyuk's arm. "It's better than yours!"
Mark watches Jackson take in the younger two squabbling, and a little grin is tugging the corner of his mouth like he's already fond of them. Mark has known Jackson for all of five minutes, but it seems natural for him, somehow.
The kids put up a little bit of a fuss when Brian ushers them to the door to get to their lessons, but even they know it's not worth it to get their asses handed to them for being late; they wave goodbye to Jackson, and Jackson waves back.
"Okay, I'm gonna take a shower cause I fuckin' reek. We can get some food after,Don's gonna meet us down at the cafeteria." Brian directs the last part to Mark, and then he disappears into the changing room.
There's silence for a few seconds, and Mark putters around his mind for something to say before it gets awkward. "You should eat with us- if you're hungry, I mean."
It's a pretty dumb thing to say, considering that Brian had clearly extended the offer to Jackson, but Jackson smiles anyway. It's a real smile, honest, and it eases Mark a little.
"I'm starving, man. The last thing I ate was crappy plane food." Jackson sags down onto his bunk again with a small sigh. "Then I wanna sleep for like twelve hours. I'm so tired."
Mark's not the type to get comfortable with people too quick, but Jackson almost feels like one of them already, falling in without a nervous barrier to hold him back. It helps Mark's words flow.
"It's a lot to take in on the first day, but you'll get used to everything soon enough. It's easier once the jetlag wears off." Jackson smiles at him again, small and warm even with his dark circles and slumped shoulders.
When Jackson pats the empty stretch of mattress on his right, Mark doesn't hesitate to sink down beside him.
-
Jackson has no trouble fitting in with the guys, as if Mark had any doubts. Jackson is open and easy and so honest to god friendly, Mark can't imagine him getting on anyone's bad side.
He tries his best with the Koreans too, only waiting until he has his first few language classes under his belt to go around introducing himself. Most of the dudes warm up to Jackson right away, but a few don't really know how to take him; like Jaebum's blank, uncomfortable stare when Jackson runs up to him, shouting "Hey! Hey, b-boy!"
Mark kind of gets it- for all his friendliness, Jackson is a lot to take. He's bright and he's bursting and he's about three notches above everyone else on a good day.
Jackson throws himself into everything; he's no Jinyoung, but he's a good dancer, better than Mark for sure, and he moves up to Mark's class in no time. He gets in on Brian's lowkey rap sessions around the dorm and in the dance room after lessons and down empty hallways, and it's more clowning than anything, but Jackson fits like a missing part and Mark looks forward to it every time.
He kicks ass on the court too, on Sundays when the summer heat starts easing up and they all head down to the park near the Han river to play basketball. He used to be an athlete, a fencer, Jackson tells them, a real deal kind of thing. He went to the Youth Olympics for it, but he doesn't talk about it so much; instead he brandishes empty water bottles or a single chopstick or whatever other thing he can get his hands on and puts on a show of jabs and parries and footwork when he's in the mood.
Even his laugh is something else; too high, too loud, bouncing off the mirrored walls of the practice room in a way that's a little grating. But the sound of it fills Mark up from the inside until it's spilling out of his mouth too, and that's how he thinks of Jackson, really.
So when he says Jackson is a lot to take, it's not a bad thing. Mark can't think of another way to describe it, Jackson's just, a lot.
One thing Jackson's not, though, is arrogant. He doesn't boast, even when he has the right. Mark doesn't even find out just how serious of a fencer Jackson was until way after he joins in on the imaginary matches with coat hangers and shampoo bottles.
They're crowded into their usual cafeteria table with Don and Brian and Paul- and somewhere after the lesson on fencing terms Brian starts by shouting 'Engarde!' and lashing out with his chopsticks, Jackson admits that he was the captain of his national team, that he won first place in some huge Asian championship just months before coming to Korea, that he was on track for the freaking Olympics.
"Holy shit, man," Don blurts out, and it sums up Mark's feeling pretty well even though he doesn't say it. "You were in line for the Olympics, and you gave it up for this?" He waves his hand around the packed cafeteria, finishing with a little flourish at his side dish of half eaten kimchi.
Don doesn't mean it in a bad way, and it makes the other guys laugh, but it's the first time Mark sees a fake smile on Jackson. It's wide like usual, but it's not warm and it's not in his eyes, and that's the only thing Mark can think about.
The crisp fall weather gives way to more biting cold, and Jackson doesn't host his imaginary fencing games anymore.
-
"Okay for real though, I'm never going outside again, winter is the absolute worst-"
Mark can hear Jackson's voice before he's even in the room, and he glances up from his textbook when Jaehyung and Jackson shuffle through the bedroom doorway, wrapped in heavy coats and loaded down with plastic bags. They were the losers of the rock paper scissors game that decided who would go on a convenience store run, and at this time of year the job is envied by
exactly no one.
"Fuck snow!" Jackson drops the bags of snacks in his grip to the floor and starts to pry his gloves off his hands. "Why am I in this frozen hell?"
"He's been complaining the whole time," Jaehyung sighs.
Mark understands, though. The only time he's missed southern California more than this was his first winter in Korea. His second winter is only better in the way that he knows what to expect now.
"You're a bunch of damn babies," Brian pipes up from his top bunk as Jackson stomps into the changing room. "You wouldn't last a week in Toronto."
"Yeah yeah, you're the Canadian Overlord of shitty winters, shut the fuck up," Paul grumbles.
Jaehyung disappears to ferry half of the bags to the other dorm room, and Jackson comes back in a long sleeved shirt and sweats, still muttering to himself. His eyes roam over to Mark huddled under his blanket, textbook propped on his thighs, and his scowl smooths out. "Hey, let's study together."
Normally Mark has no problem studying with Jackson; it makes the act a little more bearable for Mark, who might honestly prefer getting teeth pulled, and he's far enough ahead that he can help Jackson out whenever he needs it. But right now, that would mean moving from his perfectly comfortable, cozy cocoon out into the common room, and he just doesn't know if he can make that sacrifice.
"I don't wanna move," Mark says, and Jackson waves his hand dismissively.
"No need to move, I'll come to you. That way I can steal your body heat too. It's a win-win for everyone."
Mark snorts as Jackson squats nexts to one of the plastic bags on the floor. "How is you stealing my body heat a win-win for me?"
"C'mon man, I'm freezing!" Jackson whines, pulling a few drink bottles out of the bag. "Save a life, Mark." He tosses a bag of chips and a packet of dried squid up to Brian.
Mark doesn't say no, of course, and Jackson grabs his Korean notes out of his backpack. He brings two hot drink bottles with him, milk tea for Mark and oolong for himself, and slides under the covers with his armful of stuff.
Jackson doesn't hesitate to sidle up to Mark, pressing their shoulders and hips and thighs together; soft, and nice, and Jackson smells like that new shampoo he bought at Nature Republic last week- something prickles low in Mark's stomach, but he squashes it down before it even becomes a thought, like some part of his mind knows he shouldn't go there.
They spend the afternoon like that, papers and snack wrappers spread out over the blanket and their legs curled together under the blanket, and it's the warmest Mark has felt all day.
-
This is the first time Mark has really looked.
He's fresh out of the shower, toweling his hair dry as he wanders into the changing room to grab a pair of socks. Jackson's the only other one in there, and he must be next in line to shower because he's already stripped down to his black boxer briefs. He's standing in front of his sliver of wardrobe space, pawing through his hanging clothes. "That's what I'm saying, though," Jackson calls out in the direction of the doorway, "Why does there always have to be danmuji with jajangmyun?"
Jackson is pretty much the opposite of body shy, and this is about the thousandth time Mark has seen Jackson half naked, but it's the first time he's been alone in a room with half naked Jackson, and maybe that's why Mark's eyes are wandering to the side before he realizes it, without anyone around to see them.
Jackson doesn't have huge muscles, but the years of training have made him solid; Mark's gaze trails from Jackson's pecs down to the patch of hair below his belly button, he's lingering longer than he ever has before and he's starting to feel pinpricks under his skin and Mark should really stop while he can still tell himself that he's just comparing a body that's so different from his own.
Then Jackson kneels down low to his dresser drawers, opening the bottom one to rifle through it, and Mark doesn't listen to himself. His eyes follow the roll of Jackson's broad shoulders down the lines of his back, all the way to his ass, his thighs, god- a quiver runs down Mark's spine, something hot squirms in his gut, he has a split second to imagine putting his hands on all that flesh before he's tearing his eyes away.
Mark shoves his own dresser drawer shut without ever touching a pair of socks, his heart thudding in a weird, sick kind of way as he escapes back into the bedroom. What the fuck is wrong with him? That was so far over the line, seriously, what the fuck.
Mark buries himself under his covers and sticks his earbuds in his ears and drowns in music until well after the lights go off, until he almost forgets why he's doing it in the first place.
And he never once glances across the room to Jackson's bunk.
-
Christmas comes up quickly, and for all the familiar decorations that fill shop windows and the English Christmas songs that jingle through every department store all month long, it's not the same as back home.
It's when Mark starts missing home pretty hard, and it sucks, but the other foreign trainees are in the same boat as him and they get it, and that makes things a little easier.
Mark can also look Jackson in the eye no problem now, if he doesn't Think About It too much and weird himself out.
The dorm is pretty empty the night before Christmas Eve, and Mark is curled up on his bed with his laptop, setting up a skype call with his parents. Between his relentless schedule and the packed, noisy room he lives in, Mark doesn't talk to his parents as much as he should, or could, or honestly wants to, so makes up for it when he can.
His mom is recounting how his sister is getting on with the new baby when Jackson comes in, dragging his bookbag with him. He eyes Mark's laptop screen as he dumps his bag onto his bed. "You talking to your parents?" He stage whispers, and Mark nods.
"Can I say hi?" Jackson asks; all in all it's not a strange request, and his mom and dad always like meeting the other kids he's training with, so Mark takes out an earbud and holds it in Jackson's direction.
Jackson grins and slides over to take the offering, bouncing onto the bed next to Mark. Their arms clash together and Jackson leans heavy into Mark to get in range of the camera and Mark is Not Thinking About It.
It helps that his parents are right there, sort of. Jackson introduces himself, and in no time the three of them are happily chatting away in Mandarin- Mark has to concentrate just to keep up. It's obvious that his parents are pretty thrilled, though, and a part of him is relieved that his parents took a liking to Jackson so quickly.
Afterwards, Jackson thanks him with a smile that's small and soft and his eyes are bright and the knot that's been twisting up in Mark's chest pulls tight.
Jackson returns the favor on Christmas day when he pulls Mark over to his own laptop to meet his mom. Mark can't even speak a sentence of Cantonese, but his quiet, nervous Mandarin seems to be enough. Jackson's mom smiles graciously, and Mark thinks that Jackson has her eyes.
When Jackson hangs up the call Mark asks if his dad is working or something even though it's Christmas, because the man didn't appear once during the entire call but Mark could recognize just enough words in the rapid fire conversation between Jackson and his mom to know that they were talking about his father at one point.
Jackson gets kind of quiet, and he fiddles around with his keyboard. "My dad's away from home a lot because of his coaching schedule," He says, and it's an answer but it's not really. There's something more to it, Mark's pretty sure, but he doesn't know if he should ask; even so, he wracks his brain for the rights words, but they don't come and he has no idea what to say.
So he doesn't say anything.
-
"God, Hyorin is so hot," Jackson mumbles, his eyes glued to the tv screen as Sistar strikes their final poses on stage.
Mark and Jackson are slumped on the old loveseat in the common room, ditching their homework to watch the Seoul Music Awards. Songjin and Bambam and Junhyuk are crowded around them too, but everyone else had lessons or practice to get to.
Mark doesn't feel the need to add anything to that, but he guesses he was supposed to because Jackson glances over at him. "What, she's not your type?" He asks, sneaking a handful of Bambam's chips while the kid is hunched over Songjin's phone with Junhyuk.
Mark's never really thought about types before; he's just never noticed a pattern or anything, and he doesn't want to start thinking about it now because he's a little afraid that he'll picture wide grins and loud laughs and strong shoulders.
"I don't have a type, I guess." Mark says, tipping his soda bottle back and forth between his hands.
"Eh, it doesn't really mean much anyway." Jackson settles back to watch the screen again. "Even if I say that Hyorin's my type, it doesn't mean I don't think Bora's hot too..." The darkened stage on screen floods with light, revealing the members of Beast standing in a row.
"...or Dongwoon."
Something lurches inside Mark at those words, just a little bit, and he wants to shake himself. Don't get weird, it's just a joke, Jackson's obviously joking.
"So you're into guys too?" Mark plays along and he thinks he sounds normal enough. He darts his gaze over to Jackson.
"What can I say, I'm an equal opportunist." It definitely sounds like a joke, but Jackson won't look away from the tv and the corner of his mouth is twitching and his fingers are tap tap tapping against his knee, and oh crap he's not joking holy shit, holy shit.
"Oh," Mark manages to say; his heart is doing that heavy, sick thudding and his palms are suddenly a little sweaty against the bottle he's holding.
Jackson finally looks at him, but he's sitting all stiff and his fingers are still tapping. "You don't care?" He says it kind of low, even though the others sitting around them can't understand what they're saying.
"No," Mark tells him, and it's both the truth and a lie. He doesn't have a problem with Jackson liking guys or girls or whoever, and he doesn't want Jackson to think he does. But Mark cares in a whole different way and it's freaking him the fuck out, it's making his stomach turn and twist up and it's a little too late to Not Think About It.
Jackson lets out a little breath; his body slumps back against the arm of the couch and his face relaxes, and if he was going to say something else he doesn't get the chance because Junhyuk is suddenly leaning over and shoving Songjin's phone between them, asking what this and that English word is.
They don't talk about it later either, but Mark can't forget it, even though he kind of wishes he could.
If there was any kind of benefit to being known as the quiet one, it's that nobody notices when Mark starts avoiding Jackson, little by little. It helps that they're usually surrounded by others, and Mark doesn't have to dodge Jackson so much as make sure that Jackson doesn't have opportunities to seek him out alone. It's a busy time anyway, with the lunar new year holiday coming up, and all the trainees having to figure out whether to switch up their schedule or not when they come back.
And yeah, it kind of makes Mark feel like an asshole, but it's a better alternative than dealing with how he feels when he's looking Jackson in the eyes, or when they're sitting shoulder to shoulder studying Korean verb tenses, or when Jackson spreads out on Mark's bed with his ipod to share a new song he downloaded.
Mark doesn't want to admit it, even to himself, but it's what finally pushes him to take up the martial arts tricking class he's been eyeing for a while, the fact that it would switch him out of the dance class he currently has with Jackson and move him to a later class. He doesn't want to admit that it feels a lot like running away.
He flies home to the States for the holiday break, and his little world back in Arcadia feels a million light years away from his life in Seoul; it's honestly really damn nice to spend his days wrapped up in his friends and family and not carry around that heavy-guilty-weird fucked up feeling that's been his constant companion lately.
Mark goes back to Korea feeling tons better than when he left; he was kind of counting on it- the annual trip home was usually a recharge for everyone's batteries. He doesn't even get clammy at the thought of seeing Jackson back at the dorm, which he counts as a definite positive sign.
He gets to the company around the same time Brian and Don do and they spend the afternoon catching up; they head to their favorite barbeque place down the street for dinner and let Bambam tag along too, and they're talking and laughing and clowning around and it's clear that they all feel as refreshed as Mark does.
Jackson's at the dorm when they get back, slouched on his bunk, and Mark's gut rolls a little but he manages to stamp it down as Brian and Don jump over to hassle Jackson. Mark follows right behind, because he's not feeling too weird yet and he wants to hear what Jackson got up to in Hong Kong, wants to see Jackson's bright eyes as they all trade stories.
Jackson, though- he doesn't look recharged. His eyes are dull and tired, his smile is a watered down imitation of what it usually is, though he tries to match Don and Brian's spirit as best he can.
Mark tells himself that Jackson's probably just exhausted from the flight, that he'll be back to his usual self soon. It's easier to ignore the worry sprouting in the pit of his stomach that way.
Their schedules start up again, and Mark is busy as hell; the higher level Korean class he moved to is kicking his ass more than he thought it would, and his new tricking lessons wear him out; combined with dance class, most nights he has to drag himself to bed.
Jackson doesn't really seem to get better, but Mark doesn't spend as much time with him, either- mostly just mornings and nights in the dorm, and whenever they can all manage to eat in the cafeteria together. All he knows is that he sees a lot of Jackson's fake smiles nowadays, more than the real ones, and the sagging, tired look hasn't lifted.
And Mark feels shittier than ever, because a part of him is glad that he has the excuse of a busy schedule to keep his distance. Even though he knows something's not right, he just- he can't.
It's well into spring when it gets worse. In the last few days Jackson hasn't even bothered to fake the smiles and the laughs and the jokes, and the other guys are noticing it now.
"Hey, you know what's up with Jackson lately?" Don asks Mark when he passes him in the hall on the way to the bathroom. "He looks like someone murdered his puppy or something."
"No, I dunno what's up with him," Mark says, and the guilt is heavy and sour in his stomach.
Jackson doesn't come back to the dorm that night after his last lesson, and Mark tries to convince himself that just because Jackson doesn't usually stay late to practice on his own doesn't mean he isn't doing it now.
Jackson's bed is still empty when someone shuts the lights off around midnight; an hour later, after laying wide awake with a queasy gut and an ear tuned for the sound of an opening door, Mark is getting really damn tired. Tired of turning a blind eye, tired of always feeling like crap. Especially tired of being a chickenshit and an asshole excuse of a friend.
So he rolls out bed and grabs the hoodie at the foot of his bunk, pulling it over his head as he slips out of the dorm.
In the end it's not too hard to find Jackson; down near the practice rooms, which are pretty near empty at this time of night, Mark spots Jackson in the darkened lounge area, hunched up on the worn couch, staring blankly out at the coffee table in front of him.
Jackson startles a little when he notices Mark approaching, and his gaze snaps up. "Mark?" he says, surprised, and Mark doesn't blame him. His voice is raspier than usual.
"You didn't come back to the dorm, I was wondering where you were." It sounds so casual, so normal, so opposite of the mess inside of Mark. He rounds the table to sink down next to Jackson, and Jackson looks arounds the deserted room like he's just now noticing where he is.
"I was, just....thinking." it comes out stilted, and Jackson's eyes are flicking here and there but they never settle on Mark.
"About what?" At that, Jackson's gaze does come around to Mark, and he musters up a smile that's fake fake fake and sad and Mark can barely stand to see it.
"It's not important, man. Don't worry about it."
There's a hundred things Mark wants to say, I'm sorry I wasn't here before I'm sorry I'm a douchebag I know you're not happy I want to know why I want to help - it all gets jumbled up and Mark can't sort it out, he's so shit at this kind of thing, he's useless.
"Tell me. Please."
Jackson looks at him again, really looks, and Mark can see in his eyes that he's tired; the same kind of tired Mark was while he was laying in bed, waiting and waiting for Jackson to come back.
Jackson opens his mouth, but the words don't follow right away. "It's just..." he looks away, shifts around, stretches his legs out in front of him. "Do you ever feel like you don't belong here?"
Mark isn't sure if he's supposed to answer that or not, but Jackson goes on. "I mean, I love a lot of things about this place, but the longer I'm here, I'm just thinking...why? There's so many people here that are so much better, what am I doing here? Everyone else is like, moving forward, but I'm..."
Jackson fiddles with the cuffs of his shirt; a door open and closes somewhere near the front of the building. "My dad hates that I chose this over fencing," Jackson continues, quieter. "He would barely talk to me when I was back home. I saw my old teammates and everyone is doing so great, and..." he pauses.
"I can't really blame my dad, you know?" Jackson glances up from his hands, just for a second. "I had a good thing thing going with fencing. I was good. I miss it." his voice drops to barely a whisper at that.
"And..." Jackson swallows, too loud for the silent room. "and, I'm scared that I made the wrong choice. With fencing, I knew what I was doing. I knew where I was going. Here, I don't know anything." He starts twisting his fingers together.
"What if, what if I'm just here for years and years and I never debut and I never do anything and I just wasted all this time for nothing-" Jackson's voice is getting tighter and tighter with every word, and Mark's chest is clenching up too.
"I don't wanna screw up my life. I don't wanna be a fuckup." Jackson sounds so small, so miserable; Mark can't listen anymore. He's on the edge of saying something dangerous like you're perfect and he's an idiot but he's not that much of an idiot, so he grapples for something else.
"I understand," Mark starts, and no, that's not what he wants to say. "I mean, I don't understand all of it, cause I didn't really have anything else I was good at before I came here." God, Mark sucks at this. He scoots closer to Jackson until their shoulders and thighs are pressed together, hoping it will make up a little bit for what he lacks.
"But I understand how it feels to leave your old life behind to come here. It's a risk, it's a big risk, and it's scary. But it's not for nothing. Even if I never debut, I won't look at it as a waste. It's an experience I never would've had otherwise."
Mark slides his eyes over to Jackson, and Jackson is watching him intently, quietly. "And for the record," Mark says, "You're gonna debut. We're all gonna debut. You belong here with us, don't think that you don't."
They stare at each other, close, silent; Jackson looks like he wants to say something, and Mark doesn't know what it is but his heart thumps a little harder, something's prickling under his skin. In the end though, Jackson just relaxes, cracking a smile that's small and real and Mark is so, so glad to see it.
"I think that's a record for the most words Mark Tuan has spoken in a row."
The next thing Mark knows, sunlight is shining through his eyelids and he has a wicked crick in his neck. He lifts his head off the back of the couch with a little groan, cracking his eyes open.
He's in the lounge, still deserted, but now it's filled with soft light streaming through the window in the corner. Jackson is laying half on his lap, a deadweight, snoring lightly.
Mark stretches the stiff muscles of his arms out and leans forward to grab Jackson's phone off the table, flicking the screen to life. It's just past 6:30 in the morning and it's Sunday, which explains why the practice rooms are so quiet. Not many of them want to get on the grind at the crack of dawn on their one day off.
"Let's get out of here," Jackson says, after Mark gently shakes him awake. "Let's go down to the park or the river or something, wherever the fuck, let's just go."
They leave the building without stopping at the dorm first, and the early morning is a little chilly and a little cloudy and the two of them got maybe three hours of sleep on a crappy couch, but Jackson looks so much better than he did last night, better than he has in weeks.
They stop by a coffee shop and Jackson buys them two cafe mochas to go, and when they're down at the park, crunching through the grass, Mark realizes that he feels better too. The awful, heavy sludge he's been carrying around inside him for who knows how long is gone, drained away. He almost forgot how good he could feel without it weighing him down.
Then Mark feels a few wet drops on his face. "Oh shit," Jackson gets out, right before the downpour starts. They make a break for the empty gazebo up ahead, sloshing over the soggy ground, Jackson screaming on and off the whole way.
They collapse in heaps on the floor when they reach their shelter, laughing too hard to talk because they're soaked down to their freaking underwear, and it really hits Mark then how great he feels.
He's so light he could float, he's maybe a little caffeine buzzed, and Jackson is crouched in front of him- wet hair plastered to his forehead and wet shirt stuck to his chest, and he's grinning wide and his eyes are scrunched and so bright and he looks- fucking amazing.
For once, Mark's mouth moves before his brain can stop it.
"Can I kiss you?"
Jackson's grin doesn't drop off right away, but it gets smaller and his eyes get bigger, and Mark is starting to think he fucked up big time when Jackson breathes out, "Yeah."
He's not sure who moves first, but they meet in the middle with a press of lips, soft and warm and rain-wet.
And for Mark, it's perfect.