[fic] of withered dreams; chapter one
Title: of withered dreams
Pairing: Mark/Jinyoung (Slight Mark/Jackson, Jaebum/Jinyoung)
Rating: PG-13 (for now)
Warnings: N/A
Synopsis: When Jinyoung is dead drunk one night, Mark takes it in his kind character to lug the 'stranger' home. For lonely nights and nostalgic mornings, this is a story of forgotten childhoods, surreal neverlands, white lies, black truths and of withered dreams.
A/N: Beta-ed by the ever so wonderful neutralsmile (start writing again omgyouuuuaskdjsd)
//01//
The first time they meet, Jinyoung is nowhere close to sober. Tie undone and hair messily tousled, Mark deems it unsightly as he drags the other off the front steps of the bar. “I’m too nice to be real,” he reassures himself half an hour later when carrying the newfound stranger up the stairs. He’s tripping for the sixth time when Jackson finally decides to open their apartment door. “What’s all this ruckus?” The other asks and Mark only responds with a sheepish grin.
Jinyoung’s resting on Marks bed when the clock strikes three in the morning. With his room occupied, Mark opts to cuddle into Jackson’s bed instead of the living room sofa. Jackson glides his finger across the older male’s wrist as he asks, “Your friend?” Mark smiles and shakes his head, “I know him but he doesn’t know me.”
“A little stalker-ish, don’t you think so?”
“Nope,” Mark refutes.
“Really?” Jackson asks, eyebrows raising a bit too high.
“Really,” He asserts, covering the others eyes with the palm of his hand. Pulling the younger closer to him, Mark mutters into the autumn air; “He’s just never noticed me.” Jackson is still deciding whether this is the start of an illegal or romantic infatuation when Mark drifts off into sleep. For once, he’s not counting sheep on the ceiling and Jackson wonders whether it’s because Mark is still holding his hand.
Whether it’s because, for once, Mark isn’t the first one to let go.
Mark wakes up first, October wind being a bit too chilly for his liking. Jackson is still snuggled within the blankets and Mark decides to let him be, dragging himself up half dazed. He wakes up a bit when bare feet touch upon wooden floorboards, sending a slight shiver up his spine. It’s 6:30 a.m. and Mark is sure that the sun isn’t awake either, hiding behind the clouds. It’s a hazy morning and he wonders if Jinyoung needs another layer of blankets. Or maybe a cup of tea, because he’s pretty sure there’s still a box of ginseng tea left in the kitchen cabinet.
6:45 a.m. and Mark is waiting for the water to boil when Jinyoung wakes up. He watches as the ceiling focuses in from a blear. There are only two thoughts in his head at the moment; (1) this was not his house and (2) thank the gods that he didn’t work on Saturdays. Stumbling out of his newfound habitat, Jinyoung finds someone in the kitchen, auburn hair falling in front of bistre eyes. For a moment, Jinyoung thinks he’s seen such eyes before-but only for a moment, and he remember that he’s living in Korea; where almost everyone has the same coloured eyes. Clearing his throat, Jinyoung lets out a sore “Hello.”
Mark looks back, eyes widening with slight astonishment before reciprocating a similar “Hey.”
The kettle sounds, waking up the house as the clock hits 7:09 a.m.
Jackson throws his blanket above his head and hopes that Jinyoung never falls in the depths of Mark’s soul.
7:20 a.m. and Jackson stands by the kitchen stove, spatula in hand as he waits for the eggs to be cooked. Mark and Jinyoung sit at the dinner table, two cups of ginseng tea placed above the wooden surface. Jinyoung says “thank you” for the seventh time and Jackson frowns when Mark laughs for the tenth time. There’s really nothing funny enough to laugh at, eggs overcooked and sausages burnt.
“I’m sorry I can’t cook.” He mutters, placing the dishes on the table.
“It’s okay, I’m not that good either.” Jinyoung replies, eating well albeit the fact that everything tasted like charcoal. Mark doesn’t speak-as usual-and proceeds to dissect his breakfast. Jackson buries his head into his own plate. 7:36 a.m. and there’s only the clinking of cutlery upon ceramic dishes to be heard.
The one to break the silence is, surprisingly, Mark and Jackson ends up dropping his fork.
“We all went to the same college, you know?” Mark says, with a smile too bright for such a dim morning.
“Really?” Jinyoung asks, handing Jackson back his fork.
“Yup, we were all in the arts department.” He says with a grin, not failing to catch the faltering of the other’s smile.
“I’m a designer now.” He continues, “Jackson produces music; and you?”
Jinyoung tries to smile, forcefully pinning the corners of his lips in place as he responds with what he hopes is a carefree tone. “I sell insurance.”
7:50 a.m. and Mark is talking of campuses, hallways, and chalkboards that Jinyoung doesn’t want to remember. Youth seems to have settled their way into Mark’s eyes, upturning into crescent moons. “Too warm,” Jackson thinks and he watches at how Jinyoung’s forehead crinkles instead of the corners of his eyes.
Pairing: Mark/Jinyoung (Slight Mark/Jackson, Jaebum/Jinyoung)
Rating: PG-13 (for now)
Warnings: N/A
Synopsis: When Jinyoung is dead drunk one night, Mark takes it in his kind character to lug the 'stranger' home. For lonely nights and nostalgic mornings, this is a story of forgotten childhoods, surreal neverlands, white lies, black truths and of withered dreams.
A/N: Beta-ed by the ever so wonderful neutralsmile (start writing again omgyouuuuaskdjsd)
//01//
The first time they meet, Jinyoung is nowhere close to sober. Tie undone and hair messily tousled, Mark deems it unsightly as he drags the other off the front steps of the bar. “I’m too nice to be real,” he reassures himself half an hour later when carrying the newfound stranger up the stairs. He’s tripping for the sixth time when Jackson finally decides to open their apartment door. “What’s all this ruckus?” The other asks and Mark only responds with a sheepish grin.
Jinyoung’s resting on Marks bed when the clock strikes three in the morning. With his room occupied, Mark opts to cuddle into Jackson’s bed instead of the living room sofa. Jackson glides his finger across the older male’s wrist as he asks, “Your friend?” Mark smiles and shakes his head, “I know him but he doesn’t know me.”
“A little stalker-ish, don’t you think so?”
“Nope,” Mark refutes.
“Really?” Jackson asks, eyebrows raising a bit too high.
“Really,” He asserts, covering the others eyes with the palm of his hand. Pulling the younger closer to him, Mark mutters into the autumn air; “He’s just never noticed me.” Jackson is still deciding whether this is the start of an illegal or romantic infatuation when Mark drifts off into sleep. For once, he’s not counting sheep on the ceiling and Jackson wonders whether it’s because Mark is still holding his hand.
Whether it’s because, for once, Mark isn’t the first one to let go.
Mark wakes up first, October wind being a bit too chilly for his liking. Jackson is still snuggled within the blankets and Mark decides to let him be, dragging himself up half dazed. He wakes up a bit when bare feet touch upon wooden floorboards, sending a slight shiver up his spine. It’s 6:30 a.m. and Mark is sure that the sun isn’t awake either, hiding behind the clouds. It’s a hazy morning and he wonders if Jinyoung needs another layer of blankets. Or maybe a cup of tea, because he’s pretty sure there’s still a box of ginseng tea left in the kitchen cabinet.
6:45 a.m. and Mark is waiting for the water to boil when Jinyoung wakes up. He watches as the ceiling focuses in from a blear. There are only two thoughts in his head at the moment; (1) this was not his house and (2) thank the gods that he didn’t work on Saturdays. Stumbling out of his newfound habitat, Jinyoung finds someone in the kitchen, auburn hair falling in front of bistre eyes. For a moment, Jinyoung thinks he’s seen such eyes before-but only for a moment, and he remember that he’s living in Korea; where almost everyone has the same coloured eyes. Clearing his throat, Jinyoung lets out a sore “Hello.”
Mark looks back, eyes widening with slight astonishment before reciprocating a similar “Hey.”
The kettle sounds, waking up the house as the clock hits 7:09 a.m.
Jackson throws his blanket above his head and hopes that Jinyoung never falls in the depths of Mark’s soul.
7:20 a.m. and Jackson stands by the kitchen stove, spatula in hand as he waits for the eggs to be cooked. Mark and Jinyoung sit at the dinner table, two cups of ginseng tea placed above the wooden surface. Jinyoung says “thank you” for the seventh time and Jackson frowns when Mark laughs for the tenth time. There’s really nothing funny enough to laugh at, eggs overcooked and sausages burnt.
“I’m sorry I can’t cook.” He mutters, placing the dishes on the table.
“It’s okay, I’m not that good either.” Jinyoung replies, eating well albeit the fact that everything tasted like charcoal. Mark doesn’t speak-as usual-and proceeds to dissect his breakfast. Jackson buries his head into his own plate. 7:36 a.m. and there’s only the clinking of cutlery upon ceramic dishes to be heard.
The one to break the silence is, surprisingly, Mark and Jackson ends up dropping his fork.
“We all went to the same college, you know?” Mark says, with a smile too bright for such a dim morning.
“Really?” Jinyoung asks, handing Jackson back his fork.
“Yup, we were all in the arts department.” He says with a grin, not failing to catch the faltering of the other’s smile.
“I’m a designer now.” He continues, “Jackson produces music; and you?”
Jinyoung tries to smile, forcefully pinning the corners of his lips in place as he responds with what he hopes is a carefree tone. “I sell insurance.”
7:50 a.m. and Mark is talking of campuses, hallways, and chalkboards that Jinyoung doesn’t want to remember. Youth seems to have settled their way into Mark’s eyes, upturning into crescent moons. “Too warm,” Jackson thinks and he watches at how Jinyoung’s forehead crinkles instead of the corners of his eyes.