fresh prince of seoul (incomplete)
started: may 2015
last edited: july 2016
title: fresh prince of seoul
pairing: mark-centric, so mark/everyone; mostly mark/bobby and mark/jackson. starring got7 feat. many, many male “hip hop”/rookie groups
rating: pg
word count: 1903
summary:
Now, this is a story all about how
Mark Tuan’s life got flipped-turned upside down
And I'd like to take a minute
Just sit right there
I'll tell you how he became the prince of a city called Seoul.
warnings: swearing, mild drug and alcohol use and overall fuckboy stupidity
***author’s note: hello my lovely got7dads/afterdark family!! I am no longer involved in the fic writing community due to real life obligations, so I thought I would share with you all some of the treasures I had in my google docs. Thank you for reading these, and thank you always for your support!
((also, because they’re incomplete, there may be parts that are slightly choppy, i tried my best to make them all stick together nicely but i’m not an orderly writer and i don’t have the mental capacity to finish this))
i hope you enjoy this little snippet! with much love, admin j ♡***
***
In south California born and raised, in the playground is where he spent most of his days--
***
To start it off, Mark didn’t ask for this.
He didn’t ask to move to Seoul to live with his uncle, he didn’t ask to be kicked out of his school back in America, and he most definitely didn’t ask to be enrolled in a Catholic private school.
He should have seen it coming when his father mentioned that his aunt was a pastor, or was married to one, or something along those lines - he wasn’t really listening to his father, just the anthems of Kendrick blasting through his headphones.
He wasn’t a bad kid, he thought, he certainly didn’t deserve being kicked out of his school but hey, the fact that he was choosing to continue was enough relief for both his parents.
***
The first thing that Mark had to get used to was the fact that he had to wear a uniform. He stared longingly at his faded jeans and soft flannel shirts, reorganizing his snapback and beanie pile for the third time that morning.
“Mark!” his aunt called from downstairs in Mandarin. Mark grabbed his backpack, adjusting his tie again before heading into the kitchen.
“The uniform looks good on you.” his uncle commented, looking up from his newspaper as he sipped a cup of coffee. Mark just nodded before settling down onto his seat, a polite smile playing on his lips. He wasn’t particularly close with his uncle, having met him only once or twice when he was younger.
“Are you excited for your first day of school?” his aunt asked, setting down a bowl of rice and what seemed to be soup.
“...Yeah.” He said quietly, trying to sound at least a little bit sincere. What else was he supposed to say? “Please send me back to America where I don’t have to wear this stupid vest and knee high socks?”
So he ignored the blinding smile from his aunt and continued eating his breakfast.
From the first look, his new school didn’t look that much different than his high school in LA; except everyone was dressed the same and there were signs with characters that he wasn’t familiar with -- did that sign say ‘no peeing on the wall’? What?
But the typical high school fuckery was still present -- there was a couple groping each other under a tree, a group of boys getting into fights (and everyone else around them filming it on their cellphones) and some poor, poor student trying to read on the bench in front of the school.
“Uh.” Mark started off, not knowing what else to say. “Excuse me.” he said sheepishly in his broken Korean. The secretary looked up and cocked her head, trying to decipher what Mark was about to say. “I’m… Unfamiliar.” The secretary furrowed her eyebrows. “I mean, uhm, fuck, how do I say this-” he muttered in English under his breath, he should have asked his aunt to write him a note or something.
“You must be Mark, right?” A voice called out, in English. He whipped his head faster to the sound of the voice, grinning from ear to ear. The owner of the voice was a man in a tracksuit, with a sleazy grin and dressing way too young for his age. He didn’t care, as long he was able to help him out -- “I’m Mr. Jung, the guidance counselor.” he continued in English, holding out his hand. “But you can call me San E, you know? Just trying to become familiar with y’all, I’m one of y’all.” He said, the grin still on his face. “Mhm.” Mark just nodded, the smile not faltering. Keep it up Mark, this is the only guy that can help you right now.
“Yo! San E!” Someone actually called him this?
The owner of the voice was a boy about his age, wearing a snapback, his loose tie and unbuttoned shirt revealed the gold chain underneath it.
“Wang.” Mr. Jung, ahem, San E said, his eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms. “What did I say about the dress code?”
“Aw come on man, stop killing my vibe.”
“Jackson.”
“This is injustice, as a citizen of the Republic of Korea I have every right-”
“You’re here on a student visa.”
“As a citizen of this world-”
“Enough.” San E caught him off, rubbing his temples. “I’m not dealing with you today. Just, show Mark around, will you? He doesn’t speak Korean.” He looked at Mark and the secretary. “Not very well, anyways.”
“Let me guess, you used ‘itsukjianeun’ right?” Jackson said, dropping his arm around Mark’s shoulder -- even by American standards, this guy was getting too familiar too fast. “It’s a textbook mistake, they should really update those books. Anyways, I’ll show you around, come on.” He turned around, taking Mark out of the office.
“So, where you from? Australia? Canada? I know for sure you’re not from Hong Kong -- you don’t have that Hong Kong swag like me.” Jackson said, grinning.
“LA.” Mark said quietly. “America.”
“Dude, I know where LA is. Los Angeles, City of Angels, in the state of North Carolina-”
“... California.”
“What?”
“.... California, LA is in California.”
“Isn’t that what I said?”
“No you said-”
“HEY!” Mark’s geography lesson was interrupted by Jackson’s sudden call to another student walking by. “Yooooooooo how you doing man?”
“Yo, Jackson, my man. My dude. My bro.” the other guy replied, moving into give Jackson a slightly too long hug. “Who’s the fresh meat?” he asked, eyeing Mark.
He definitely felt like a piece of meat under his gaze.
“Mark. He moved from LA.” Jackson introduced Mark, bumping him closer. “This is Namj- I mean, Rap Monster.” Jackson moved closer to whisper in Mark’s ear. “His real name is Kim Namjoon, but only the teachers call him that, nobody else does.”
Namjoon didn’t seem to notice the (very) loud whisper Jackson said in his ear. He just grinned and held out his hand before bringing Mark in. “Nice to have another foreigner here. I moved from New Zealand two years ago.”
“Cool.” Mark nodded.
“You’ll meet the others soon. Come on, we’ll show you around.”
“Nice. Nice to meet you Mark,” Namjoon held out his hand to shake his hand.
“He’s…” Jackson started before furrowing his eyebrows “Wait, how old are you?”
“I’m going into third year.” Mark answered sheepishly.
“Oh nice, so you’re older than me.” Jackson grinned, “that means you’re my hyung then.”
Mark knitted his brows in confusion. “What does that even mean?”
Before Namjoon could answer for him, Jackson hushed them both, pulling them closer to him.
“That’s Im Jaebum.” Jackson whispered harshly as he pointed to the boy with silver hair, lighting a cigarette. “Whatever you do, do not cross him.”
“I heard he goes to the Han River and fishes out dead people from there. And sells their organs.” Namjoon whispered, trying not to make eye contact with Jaebum.
Jackson added onto the story. “I also heard he catches frogs in the park and eats them alive.”
“Im Jaebum! How many times have I told you to put your cigarette away?” A teacher scolded, approaching the teenager with a meter stick.
Jaebum just smirked and threw the lit cigarette onto the floor before crushing it with the heel of his foot, looking straight at his teacher in the eyes while doing so.
***
"Nice chains, Jackson. Which ahjussi did you steal it off this time?" Jinyoung sneered.
"I DIDN'T STEAL THEM THEY'RE CHROME HEARTS." Jackson protested.
“Don’t bother man, Jinyoung wouldn’t know fashion even if Karl Lagerfeld himself slapped him across the face.” Bambam rolled his eyes, resting an arm on Jackson’s shoulder. “I mean, have you SEEN those pants he was wearing at Jimin’s party last week? Who wears cropped AND baggy, with stripes?” he whispered harshly.
“Bambam, I heard that.” Jinyoung snapped.
***
“But dude, you’re Korean.” Mark squinted, looking at the illegible Korean scrawled on his textbook, left by the courtesy of his teacher.
“I ain’t know shit Korean fuck you man.” Bobby hissed, readjusting the snapback on his head.
***
“So, where are you from? New York?” Mark asked, taking another bite of his egg rolls and rice -- he still couldn’t believe that they served rice here as a school lunch.
“He’s from Namyangju.” Bambam interrupted, rolling his eyes.
Mark cocked his head. “Huh?”
“It’s a city outside of Seoul, somewhere towards the north.”
“But I thought he was-” Mark started off.
“Nope. Korean. They all think that at first.”
Yugyeom grinned brightly. “I got that American swag.”
Bambam just flicked a piece of kimchi at him. “You wish.”
“I was born in Saudi Arabia though!” Yugyeom protested.
“Yeah yeah you still have a Korean citizenship, it doesn’t count.” Jackson waved his hand dismissively.
***
“That’s Kang Seungyoon, the resident musician of our school and the resident douchebag with a guitar. He plays the guitar, sings, and is in a band, they’re called Cheese Balls. ”
Mark shoots Jackson a look.
“Don’t ask me.” Jackson shrugs, readjusting the snapback on his head. “It’s art. Or some type of similar bullshit.”
“He also knows how to play ‘Wonderwall’ by Oasis and plays at it at every party.” Bambam added excitedly.
Wonderwall, really? Mark thought. Could this school get any more of a teen comedy trope?
***
“Don’t have sex.” The guidance counselor started off. “I know y’all are a bunch of horny teenage boys and we literally just started letting girls in this year, but I don’t need all the girls dropping out due to ‘accidents.’” San E looked over at the painting of Jesus that is hung in the classroom before zipping up his tracksuit. “Remember that Jesus is always watching, children.”
He looked at Jackson straight in the eyes. “Especially you, Wang.”
Before Jackson could protest, the bell rang.
“Aight that’s it for today. Everyone take some condoms. Remember to get tested!! I don’t want to see any teenage fathers. Not this year.” San E held out a fish bowl full of condoms.
Mark saw Bambam grab a bunch, but he couldn’t bring himself to bring any-- something about the energy in the classroom was just weird.
As Mark left the classroom, he could feel the back of his head getting cold, and he swears that the painting’s eyes followed him out of the room.