azzurrite (1/4)
title: azzurrite
pairing: jb/mark (yugyeom/bambam, jackson/jr.)
rating: nc-17
summary: in which mark is an artist and jaebum is a salaryman.
notes: for penipenpen, saranghey_you and nightbrights
When his phone rings on a rainy Thursday afternoon, Mark is sprawled haphazardly across the couch in his living room watching the raindrops track their way down the glass windowpane and biting the end of his pencil as he tries to capture the still life realistically on his white sketch pad. On the floor surrounding him are scattered more than a few crumpled balls of torn paper covered with half-done and abandoned sketches, carelessly and frustratedly creased and littering the already cluttered floor. Mark groans, lazy to move from his position but a little relieved for the distraction, his hand reaching under his body to fumble in his jeans pocket for his phone.
It stops ringing before he finishes sifting through the various random odds and ends in his pocket, pricking his finger on a stray paperclip and suspiciously poking at something which feels disturbingly soft and damp. Finally, thankfully, he finds the cool metal of his phone and fishes it out, unlocking the screen with a dash of his thumb.
He's not surprised to see the words "1 Missed Call from Park Jinyoung". Mark doesn't bother to press the button to call Jinyoung back, instead flippantly counting down the seconds till, as expected, his phone lights up and starts vibrating again. It thrums furiously in his hands, as if carrying Jinyoung's urgency and vigour. Mark sighs away the vestiges of his fatigue and braces himself as he resignedly answers Jinyoung's call.
"Mark-hyung?" Jinyoung's voice is muffled and slurred by background noise, as if he's outside. "Were you sleeping?" He sounds disapproving.
Mark places a hand over the phone and clears his throat sheepishly. "No," he replies, sounding a bit more normal. It's technically true, even if he did just wake up less than an hour ago. Jinyoung, who is obviously out and about working diligently, doesn't need to know that.
"Oh, okay," Jinyoung says a little skeptically. "Sorry if I woke you up," he mumbles absently, and Mark hastily and unconvincingly reassures him that he hadn't.
"Anyways," Jinyoung says, moving on without further ado, "I called because I have a new job for you."
Mark perks up, but feels a vague sinking feeling in his stomach that resembles dread. He's always excited and thankful to hear from Jinyoung about new projects, but deep inside, he knows what he's worried about this time. He hasn't told Jinyoung, but Mark hasn't had inspiration for more than a month now, since midway through his last project.
He had lost steam halfway through that piece, which was comissioned by a fashion design company, and half-assed the rest of it, but no one had seemed to notice his drop in quality. At least, he hoped. Judging from Jinyoung's call now with a new assignment, the freelance company hasn't picked up on it yet. However, Mark has the sinking feeling that it's only a matter of time before it shows.
Jinyoung is a middleman working at the company -- the person who facilitates the contacts and introduction between Mark and the client looking for an artwork, the one who matches artists to the right job according to their skills and experience. Mark has been working with him for two years now, and he has no complaints. Jinyoung is the best in his field.
Mark appreciates Jinyoung's hard work in looking for a steady stream of well-paying jobs for him, regular enough to maintain his income and keep him comfortably housed and fed, his monthly rent for the apartment-slash-studio he lives and works from never overdue. He knows that Jinyoung favours him over the other freelance artists under their company, not only because he admires Mark's talent but also because he sees Mark as a good friend. And Mark has always felt the responsibility to repay Jinyoung's care with top-notch art and results, so Jinyoung will look good in front of the clients.
But somewhere along the way, when Mark hadn't realized, pressure had started creeping in at the corners, weighing heavily on his shoulders. A sense of listlessness and sluggishness had began dragging at his ankles and hands like chains and Mark had started feeling more uninspired than enthusiastic. His work had become a chore.
Mark was afraid to disappoint himself and the company. But more than that, he was afraid to disappoint Jinyoung, who had always supported him and believed in him. So he had kept quiet and hoped that his inspiration would return with time.
Unfortunately, it didn't seem to be forthcoming.
"Mark?" Jinyoung's voice filters in from a distance, and Mark snaps out of his reverie to hear Jinyoung calling him impatiently over the phone. "So can you?" Jinyoung is asking, sounding stressed and hopeful.
"Can I what?" Mark cringes, confused, and Jinyoung sighs but doesn't berate him for his inattentiveness as he dutifully repeats his query. "Can you go meet the client at his company?"
"Meet?" Mark repeats blankly, even though he shouldn't be surprised. It isn't the first time that the client has chosen to eschew communicating through the go-between and requested to meet the artist directly. It's uncommon, but not rare. Mark usually finds it a hassle but there's nothing to be done. It's part of the job. Some clients are just more picky than others and like to specifically detail and discuss the requested artwork with the artist personally.
"I know it's a drag," Jinyoung says sympathetically. "But I couldn't think of a better artist for this assignment than you, hyung. The moment I saw the client's request, I immediately thought, this is so Mark-hyung's style."
Jinyoung's voice is persuasive, encouraging through the phone. Mark feels a flattered rush of warmth swell in his heart, and feels the usual urge not to let Jinyoung down. After all, he trusts Jinyoung's taste unconditionally. In the time they've worked together, Jinyoung has yet to recommend him a job that didn't suit Mark.
"I don't mind," he says cheerfully, and is gratified to hear Jinyoung's sigh of relief.
"Thanks," he gushes, "You're a lifesaver."
"No, thank you for recommending me the job, Jinyoung-ah," Mark says earnestly, and Jinyoung laughs warmly.
"Hyung, you got the job based on your own merits. I didn't do anything," he says humbly and sincerely, and Mark feels a wave of gratitude for him.
"I have to go," Jinyoung adds harriedly. "I'll catch up with you when I'm not so busy. Oh right, the appointment is this evening. I'll text you the address of the company and the name of the executive."
"This evening?" Mark blurts out, startled.
"Yeah, sorry it's such short notice," Jinyoung says apologetically. "He's only free tonight. Your schedule isn't already occupied... right?"
"I'm free," Mark reassures him. "Just text me. Talk to you soon."
"Cool, take care!" Jinyoung says quickly in farewell, and hangs up.
Mark tosses his phone onto the couch beside him after the call ends, dropping his sketch pad and burying his face in a throw pillow. Within a minute, his phone beeps again with Jinyoung's message. He doesn't bother to check it, instead burrowing deeper into his cocoon of cushions as if he can escape real life just by not looking at it.
Mark lazes on his couch, barely moving a muscle, until the shadows of the setting sun sink across the walls of his darkening living room and he finally senses that if he procrastinates any longer, he'll be late and cause unnecessary problems and a bad first impression with the client. He sighs and finally takes the pillow off his face, letting a shard of weak light in to pierce his drowsy eyes. He staggers to his feet, the sketch pad falling to the floor, not bothering to pick up the crumpled balls of paper as he trudges in his sweats to the bathroom to splash water on his face.
Ten minutes later, Mark is looking marginally more human and a lot more presentable, having run a comb through his hopelessly tousled bed hair and brushed his teeth. He knows he should take a shower but is too lazy to, instead spritzing a dash of cologne over his torso, hoping it will help to disguise any unwanted odours.
He opens his closet, mechanically stepping out of his sweats and pulling on his only suit and collared whte shirt, the one he wears on such occasions. He clumsily knots the noose of the tie and buttons up the suit, running a nervous hand through his hair and down the front of the stiff navy fabric. He hates having to button himself into stuffy formalwear. In this way, he's the cliche starving artist, always dressing in clothes that wouldn't look out of place in the "bohemian chic" section of clothing stores.
It's five-fifteen when he finally finishes dressing up and opens Jinyoung's message. The address is a building in the business district about half an hour away from Mark's neighbourhood, and the meeting time is six. It's about time for him to leave the house.
On his way out the door, he grabs his wallet from the coffee table. It's depressingly light but Mark can't muster the energy to walk to the train station and take public transport, not at such a crowded peak hour. The rain has stopped but the weather is still too chilled to walk long distances. Instead, he steps onto the sidewalk and hails a cab, hoping Mr Im Jaebum -- the name mentioned in Jinyoung's message -- will not ask to talk over dinner.
He does.
Mr Im Jaebum is a statuesque, stern-looking man with thick eyebrows that give him a forbidding aura, thin unsmiling lips and penetrating eyes that make Mark shift his feet nervously. He introduces himself as the artistic director of the advertising company, which is one of the most reputable in the country. It's obviously a prestigious position and Mark feels slightly intimidated, hoping he won't look too unsophisticated in front of such a highly-ranking executive.
"Mark Tuan?" he ascertains, brow creasing the slightest bit as he gives Mark a discreet once-over, but his voice is polite and professional.
"That's me," Mark confirms just as politely, not taking offense. "It's nice to meet you, Mr Im." He extends a genial hand and puts on his most disarming smile.
Jaebum looks genuinely surprised, his eyebrows lifting, but the eyes underneath them thaw a little as he takes Mark's hand after a beat. His handshake is firm, grip strong. "It's a pleasure to meet you too. Sorry," he adds unexpectedly, "it's just that you're younger than I thought you'd be."
Mark can't help the burst of laughter that escapes his lips, and Jaebum looks mildly amused. "It's okay, I get that a lot," he replies honestly. It's true. People usually expect artists to be middle-aged, or at least in their thirties. Added to the fact that Mark looks younger than his age, he sometimes gets mistaken for a college student.
Sure enough, the next question Jaebum asks is, "Are you a student?" He's surprisingly chatty for someone who looks like a man of few words, or maybe he's just making small talk to break the ice.
Mark resists the urge to roll his eyes and replies pleasantly, "Nope. I'm twenty-nine."
Jaebum does a double take, blinking, and Mark mutters, "What?" He doesn't have to look that shocked.
"Oh no, I didn't mean..." Jaebum quickly apologizes when he realizes how Mark has interpreted his reaction. "It's just that -- I'm twenty-nine too."
"We're the same age?" Mark exclaims, animated. "That's so cool!"
He is surprised to see Jaebum breaking into a small smile, the ends of his lips curling up infinitesimally. "It's pretty awesome," he agrees.
Mark studies Jaebum closely, admitting to himself that he's taken aback too by Jaebum's age. He had looked in his early thirties, at least. Mark feels a faint pang of envy. It must be nice to look mature and adult, and not get mistaken as a university student all the time.
On further comparison, Mark is astounded to find out that Jaebum is in fact, a year younger than him -- the same age by the Korean calendar, but a few months younger in the universal system. He silently admires Jaebum's career accomplishments at such a youthful age.
They lapse into a momentary silence after this exchange, each mulling over the new information, but it's not as uncomfortable and stiff as the beginning.
"So," Mark starts awkwardly, and Jaebum opens his mouth at the same time.
"Should we --"
They fall silent, and Mark gestures for Jaebum to go ahead with a friendly smile. Jaebum offers him that slight smile back. He actually has a really nice smile, teeth straight and even, perfectly white.
"Do you want to talk over dinner?" Jaebum suggests, voicing out Mark's trepidated question.
"Uh... sure," Mark mumbles after a moment, not seeing how he can refuse.
"Great," Jaebum says, his voice distinctly more enthusiastic. "Do you have a car?"
Mark shakes his head. "I cabbed here."
"Let's take mine then," Jaebum says easily, picking up his briefcase from his desk and gallantly holding the door open to let Mark out of the office first. Mark shuffles out, tugging at the strap of his tattered sling bag and hears the heels of Jaebum's suede shoes clicking on the marble tile as he trails at Mark's heels towards the elevator.
As they are standing in stilted silence in the lift moving down from the seventh storey, Mark's phone beeps. He fishes it out to see a new message in his ongoing chat with Jinyoung checking if he has met up with Jaebum yet. There is a huge LINE sticker after the question mark, bigger than the message itself, and unconsciously, Mark snorts a giggle at Jinyoung's irreverence.
He flushes as Jaebum turns to look at him, typing out a quick reply and shoving the phone back into his pocket. Jaebum is gazing at him curiously, his eyes unreadable. Just then, the doors slide open and Jaebum turns back to the front, stepping out without further comment. Mark follows in his wake.
Jaebum's car is a posh vintage SUV, obviously new and expensive. Mark admires its sleek finish discreetly and gets into the passenger seat. Jaebum tosses his briefcase in the rear and slides into the driver's seat, revving the engine to life with a smooth, noiseless twist of the key.
As they exit the carpark into the night illuminated by amber streetlamps and traffic lights, Mark turns to Jaebum, smiling tentatively. "Do you want to go to McDonald's?"
This time, Jaebum is the one who snorts audibly, until he takes his eyes off the road to look at Mark with incredulous eyes. "Are you serious?"
Mark drops his gaze, embarrassed. "Uh, yeah..."
Jaebum doesn't reply and Mark feels his gaze on him for a few beats, until it returns to the road. "I don't really feel like fast food tonight," Jaebum says lightly. "I know a French restaurant nearby where we can reserve a private room. Do you like French?"
"Er..." Mark hedges. How does he say I haven't been able to afford it before in a courteous way? In the end, he wimps out and mumbles, "I'm easy."
"Good," Jaebum just says, sounding pleased as they promptly speed towards the mentioned restaurant.
When they arrive and Jaebum pulls into the parking lot, climbing out of the car and waiting patiently for Mark, he realizes that the restaurant is more classy than he had expected. It looks like one of those gourmet cuisine ones, with elaborately suited waiters and a hostess at the stand outside beaming welcomingly at them. Mark looks down in dismay at his clothes, forgetting what he is decked in for a moment and expecting to see his usual paint-spattered ratty t-shirts, faded distressed jeans and sneakers. He heaves a silent sigh of relief that he had had the good sense to wear a suit today. Hopefully no one notices it's not designer.
Jaebum is smiling questioningly at him and Mark hurriedly climbs out, a little clumsily. He tugs gingerly at the hem of his suit tails and smooths his palm over his lapels as he follows Jaebum towards the hostess stand. Jaebum doesn't seem daunted by the grandeur as he strikes up a pleasant conversation with the hostess, who is almost immediately fluttering her eyelashes and smiling flirtatiously at him. "This way, sirs," she bows respectfully, guiding them into the restaurant and down the velvet carpeted corridor.
As Jaebum promised, they are let into a private room and the hostess bows again, closing the sliding door behind her to give them privacy after leaving them to peruse the menus. Mark can't help studying Jaebum inquisitively over the top of his, until Jaebum looks up, raising one eyebrow. "What?"
Mark drops his gaze, face warming. He hadn't realized Jaebum knew he was staring. "N-nothing," he stammers. "I was just thinking you probably come here a lot."
"I do," Jaebum says simply, confirming Mark's suspicion with a brisk nod.
His eyes widen at the prices that greet them as he scans the menu. If Jaebum is a frequent customer of this restaurant, it's apparent that he's pretty well-off, to say the least. Simply put, he's rich.
Not that it's any of Mark's business. He feels the difference in their statuses like an invisible but widening crevasse opening between them, and presses his lips together mutely as he flips the pages of the menu, searching for the cheapest item.
"Are you ready?" Jaebum asks after a few minutes, and Mark nods. Jaebum presses a button on the corner of the table and a different, but equally pretty waitress knocks and enters the room after no more than a few seconds. No doubt about it, the service is really different from McDonald's here.
Jaebum orders a four-course set dinner, comprising appetizer, main course, dessert and coffee. In addition, he selects a bottle of wine from the wine list. Mark watches this with wide eyes but withholds judgement. At least Jaebum will be paying for everything himself.
When the waitress looks expectantly at Mark, he feels a little sheepish as he shyly orders a lobster bisque and sparkling water. Both of them stare at him, as if waiting for him to continue, and Jaebum frowns minutely when he stops.
"Is that all?"
"Um, yeah. I'm not really hungry." Mark slides the menu over to the waitress, hoping Jaebum will accept his flimsy excuse.
He doesn't. "Have you eaten dinner?" Jaebum looks confused.
"No," Mark admits hesitantly, unable to lie for some reason even though it will make things easier.
At his words, Jaebum's gaze moves dismissively from his face to the waitress'. "He'll have the same as me," he says, and she nods approvingly, collects their menus and exits.
Mark gapes at Jaebum. "I..." he swallows, his throat dry. "I don't have enough money," he croaks, face burning as he steels himself for Jaebum's pity.
"Don't worry about it," Jaebum replies shortly, sure enough. "I'll take care of the bill."
"I can't -- I can't make you pay for my dinner. I'll pay you back," Mark blurts out, grimacing.
Jaebum meets his eyes, scrutinizing. "I'm not paying for it." He leans forward, voice lowering conspiratorially. "I'm putting it on the company's tab."
"What?" Mark blinks. Up close, Jaebum's eyes are dark and long-lashed, gleaming. He leans back again and laughs, throwing back his head.
"I can't afford such a pricey meal either," Jaebum admits, a mischievous sparkle entering his eye.
"Then why did you bring me here?" Mark gasps.
Jaebum shrugs. "I guess... I just thought someone like you deserves to eat in such a place. Instead of fast food restaurants, I can picture you in fancy Parisian cafes, sketching the passersby at a table by the window as you sip a latte."
"Someone like me?" Mark repeats, confounded.
Jaebum gestures vaguely. "You know... an artist."
Mark cocks an eyebrow at him. "You haven't even seen my art."
Jaebum leans forward on the table with a challenging glint in his eye. "Who says I haven't?"
Mark's mouth falls open. "You have?"
Jaebum smiles, drumming his fingers on the table. "I always do my research before meeting anyone I work with."
Mark blushes, wanting to ask what Jaebum thought of his work but not having the nerve to. Instead he babbles, "So when you said you come here often..."
"For work," Jaebum clarifies, looking at Mark indulgently. "I wish I could say I dine here often -- but I'm just an ordinary salaryman struggling to make ends meet." He shrugs.
Could've fooled me, Mark thinks but doesn't say. He runs his eyes down Jaebum's charcoal suit which could pass as Armani as the waitress enters again, bearing the wine in a bucket of ice. She opens the bottle and pours the burgundy liquid into two crystal glasses. Jaebum favours her with a smile of thanks as she leaves again. Mark has noticed that he's noticeably more generous with his smiles towards ladies as opposed to men, but he supposes that's only natural.
As Jaebum takes a small sip of his wine, tasting it delicately, Mark fumbles to open his bag and pulls out his portfolio of sketches. He places it on the table and Jaebum's eyes are serious again as he puts his glass down and opens the file, donning a pair of wire-rimmed reading spectacles to browse through Mark's work.
Mark can't tell what he thinks as Jaebum studies each sketch closely but inscrutably. But after a few minutes, his finger pauses on one of Mark's personal favourites -- a remarkably realistic and four-dimensional reproduction of his phone he had done in a rare burst of inspiration.
Jaebum slides the piece of stiff paper out and looks at it thoughtfully. "We're looking for something similar to this," he says, meeting Mark's eyes again.
Mark quickly takes a sip of his wine to wet his lips and stall for time, hoping his fingers don't tremble. "That was done a few months ago... I don't know if I can.... do it again."
Jaebum's brow creases, but his voice is gentle as he says, "It's alright. It doesn't have to be exactly the same. Just do whatever you feel comfortable with and interpret the concept your own way."
"But..."
"I have confidence in you," Jaebum says quietly, his voice a few degrees warmer than it's been all night.
There's a knock and the waitress glides in, bearing their food. Jaebum puts his spectacles and Mark's rough sketches away, aligning them with careful fingers back into the portfolio, as if they're precious and can't be damaged, and Mark is moved by the respect in his actions.
One side of his lips curves up in a playful smirk as he meets Mark's eyes over the delectable food. "Dig in," he urges, and Mark takes a deep breath and does.
Contrary to clients who usually request to meet up, Jaebum doesn't seem to have very strict or specific expectations and guidelines. He does run through the basic idea of what the advertising campaign is about over leisurely-sipped cups of coffee and dessert after they finish their meal, briefing Mark on the steps they will have to take before the completed advertisement finally hits the big screen over the remaining dregs of wine in the bottle. Mark is only involved in the first, initial process, and he never thought that filming an advertisement was such a tedious and painstaking production.
"Are you in charge of the rest?" he asks, and Jaebum inclines his head modestly. "I kind of oversee everything."
"Wow." Mark rounds his mouth in a silent 'o', awed. Jaebum looks embarrassed. "It's not as complicated as it looks," he says self-deprecatingly. "Or maybe I'm just used to it."
Mark feels a renewed sense of purpose and determination. "I'll do my best to help you," he promises fervently. It's frankly the least he can do, with how much room for creativity and trust Jaebum is giving him. Mark knows he's fortunate to get a client who is not nitpicky and allows him freedom to call the shots.
Jaebum chuckles. "That's good," he says, voice deep. "But don't wear yourself out. I'm sure whatever you produce will be fantastic."
He's a surprisingly slick talker, making Mark blush with his smooth compliments, but then again he's not that surprised since Jaebum works in advertising. It's practically a prerequisite for him to be glib.
When Mark has tipped the last drop of wine down his throat and his belly is more blissfully bloated than it has been in a while, he checks his phone under the table, startled to see that it's past nine. The hours have flown by unnoticed.
Jaebum calls for the cheque, placing a black AmEx card onto the folder without glancing at the bill. Mark gulps. "You won't get in trouble for spending too much, will you?" he hesitates, wondering why he's so concerned.
Jaebum laughs, looking amused. "Nah," he says. "I told you, I take our freelance artists here a lot."
Mark's stomach churns uncomfortably. He doesn't know why he feels slightly bitter that Jaebum entertains other people he works with here, that this is merely routine for him and Mark is nothing special. What else did he expect?
Jaebum picks up his suit jacket, draping it over his arm as they get up and leave. Mark stretches his stiff legs and joints, smiling shyly at their waitress and hostess as they make their way out. Jaebum smiles charmingly at them too, smoothly replying their polite questions about whether the food was to their satisfaction.
When they step out into the chilly night air, a breeze lifts the edges of Mark's hair. He stifles a shiver at the sudden cold draft, and jumps a little when he feels a jacket being draped around his shoulder.
He turns around tentatively to look searchingly at Jaebum, who is striding ahead to his car in only his white work shirt and tie. Is this part of the entertaining the artists thing, too? Mark can't tell, but he pulls Jaebum's jacket closer over his shoulders as it slips precariously. It retains the slight temperature of Jaebum's skin and smells pleasantly of expensive musky cologne.
"Where do you live?" Jaebum asks conversationally once they're in the car and turning out of the carpark. "I'll take you home."
"There's no need! I can take the train or a cab," Mark hastily replies, unwilling to impose even more on Jaebum than he already has.
Jaebum laughs, but not unkindly. "You said you don't have much cash, right?" There's a teasing note in his voice. "It's alright. I can drop you off along the way home."
"How do you know my house is on your way?" Mark argues feebly, but gives Jaebum his address without much protest.
Jaebum turns the volume of the car stereo system up and they listen to classical orchestral music for the rest of the trip back. Mark is pleasantly drowsy and almost drifts into a shallow doze until Jaebum pulls up outside the lobby of his apartment. He pulls the brake back and turns to face Mark, still unsmiling but eyes significantly warmer than they were when they met four hours earlier that evening. "I'll text you my number," he says by way of parting. "Call me anytime if you have any questions."
"You have my number?"
"I got it from Jinyoung-sshi."
The casual familiarity with which Jaebum says Jinyoung's name makes Mark want to ask if they're friends, but he bites back the question. It's none of his business, and it wouldn't be out of the ordinary for Jinyoung to be on friendly terms with the clients. Maybe it's not even the first time he's worked with Jaebum's company.
Instead, he just nods wordlessly and climbs out of Jaebum's car, resisting the urge to look back as he ambles into his apartment lobby and takes the elevator up to his studio.
He finds a reply in Jinyoung's LINE conversation when he gets back. "Good luck!" It reads. "Im Jaebum is notorious for being difficult to please. Don't take it too personally."
Mark's eyebrows shoot up, confused. Is Jinyoung talking about the same person he met? Because Jaebum was the farthest from difficult that Mark has ever met. He has encountered difficult clients before, and they can be much more trying than this. He summarizes this in a few words, texting back to Jinyoung when his phone beeps as he sends it off.
It's from an unknown number, and simply reads, "Good night. Im Jaebum."
As he saves the number into his contact list Mark feels his lips tugging up at Jaebum's distant tone, which translates coolly in message form. But even from his brief interaction with Jaebum, he can tell that the frosty vibe stems in fact more from awkwardness than brusqueness. Even in real life, Jaebum is unadept at expressing himself verbally. It contrasts enigmatically with his confident, glib speech and Mark ponders on this paradox as he tugs the noose of his tie loose and unbuttons his shirt lazily, crashing onto the pull-out couch. He's tired and the alcohol has only just seemed to hit, making his head swim in an addled daze of cottony inebriation.
As Mark drifts off to sleep in the moonlight, his last thoughts are of Jaebum.
The next morning, he is woken by his noisy ringtone. It seems to be becoming a pattern and Jinyoung sounds equally judgmental as Mark answers the phone groggily, his mouth parched and his head throbbing with a hangover. "Are you still sleeping again?"
Mark pulls his phone back to glance at the time. "It's only ten," he counters defensively, avoiding Jinyoung's question.
Jinyoung sighs patiently. "I know you're pretty much nocturnal, hyung, but did you forget you just got a new assignment? Not that I want to give you pressure or anything, but this ad campaign is really important. It's actually one of the biggest jobs our company has gotten in awhile."
Mark sits up, stomach turning over. "Well, that's comforting information," he grouches, ignoring the familiar dread creeping into the back of his mind. Now is a worse time than ever to mention to Jinyoung that he has no confidence he can handle this successfully.
"Anyways," Jiyoung continues, thankfully interrupting him so Mark doesn't have to reply, "I said I'd call you when I'm less busy. I have some time today, do you want to meet up? We can discuss what the client wanted when you met him yesterday."
"Im Jaebum?" Mark blurts out. Saying the name makes something flutter below his ribs, to his bewilderment.
Jinyoung hums in confirmation. "What was that message you sent me last night that I must've gotten the wrong person and he's a nice guy?" he teases, and Mark can practically hear his smirk over the phone. "You need to give me deets in real life," Jinyoung commands, and promptly hangs up. Mark has barely hung up his own phone when it buzzes again with the venue and time Jinyoung wants to meet. It's in less than an hour at a cafe they frequent and Mark groans as he hauls himself up from the couch and stumbles to the bathroom, tugging at his tight collar.
Jinyoung bursts out laughing in disbelief when Mark approaches the booth by the window where he's already nursing his favourite caramel macchiato with whipped cream.
"Why are you wearing sunglasses?" he screeches in a low voice.
Mark grumbles and pulls them off, Jinyoung's eyes widening at his red-rimmed eyes and panda-like eyebags. He squints as the sun rays pierce his retinas painfully. "I have a major hangover."
"Dude." Jinyoung shakes his head. "How much did you drink last night?"
"... Half a bottle?"
"Are you serious? With the client?"
Mark bites his lip. "Is that inappropriate?"
"Hell, yeah. You were supposed to be talking business, not entertaining him."
Mark shrugs helplessly. "He ordered it," he says in weak defense.
Jinyoung narrows his eyes at him. "You mean the most infamous pain in the ass in the advertising industry, Im Jaebum?"
"Pain in the ass?" Mark repeats, frowning. "Wait, do you know him?"
"We're acquaintances, but I don't know him that well," Jinyoung answers flippantly. "Of course, he's civil to me because we don't work together. But he's known for his punishing standards and sky-high expectations, so I was a little worried he'd put you over the grills."
Mark shakes his head, too lost for words to speak yet. "He didn't."
Jinyoung purses his lips thoughtfully. "Well, that's a relief."
"Why?" Mark rejoins inanely as Jinyoung gestures to the waiter to take Mark's order.
Jinyoung winks. "If he did, I'd have someone to hunt down."
Mark has fun over lunch, as he always does with Jinyoung. They discuss work and Jinyoung is his usual enthusiastic and professional self as he listens to Mark's recap of Jaebum's briefing and offers suggestions and opinions, but they spend an equal amount of time chatting about everything and nothing at all. It's been awhile since he met Jinyoung, and Mark had forgotten what an entertaining and fascinating conversationalist Jinyoung is.
But as he takes the subway home, Mark is surprised to realize that his dinner with Jaebum the previous night had been no less fun, even though it had been a business one. Jaebum is much less chatty and verbose than Jinyoung, more droll and pensive. He doesn't display his sense of humour often, but Mark had sensed even from their short time together that Jaebum definitely had one. More than that, the warmth in Jaebum's eyes and his reassuring smile spoke more than any volume of words could say.
Mark looks down at his phone and finds his thumb scrolling mindlessly over Jaebum's message in his inbox. Nostalgically... caressingly. Suddenly, his finger slips and Mark muffles a gasp to see that he has accidentally pressed the call button.
He hurriedly jabs at end call with clammy fingers, and the phone nearly jumps out his hands when it vibrates a minute later with Jaebum's contact flashing across the screen.
Mark's heart thuds in his ears, frantically vacillating between answering and ignoring. Eventually, he lifts the phone to his ear with an unsteady hand.
"Mark-sshi?" Jaebum's voice filters into his ear, and Mark gulps loudly. "H-hi, um... Sorry, I accidentally called you."
There is a pause, before Jaebum echoes, "Accidentally?" It might be Mark's imagination but his voice sounds a little less warm than a second before, a little more... disappointed.
"Er... yeah," Mark stutters. "B-but!" he has no idea why he says the words he does next. "I was meaning to call you!"
There is another awkward pause, before Jaebum says quietly, "Really?"
The undisguised hopefulness and pleasure in his voice makes Mark's heart leap into his throat.
"Why?" Jaebum continues swiftly, eagerly, without waiting for his answer.
"Um..." Mark fumbles for a reason. "I have some questions regarding the... colouring," he finishes lamely.
"Colouring?" Jaebum sounds confused. "You've finished the sketches so fast?"
"No!" Mark bites his tongue before he reveals that he hasn't even started brainstorming. "I just..." he trails off, unable to think of anything coherent to add.
Mercifully, Jaebum doesn't seem to mind his transparent fabrication, instead taking over the conversation without missing a beat. "Do you want to meet up?"
"At McDonald's?" Mark blurts out before he can think. He has no idea what possessed him to say that, but a thrill runs up his spine as Jaebum breaks into a peal of appreciative laughter.
"Why not?" he throws back, and Mark finds his face aching with a huge stupid grin as he hangs up.
At the rate he's dining out since he got this assignment, Mark thinks wryly as he drums his fingers over the linoleum table in the fast food restaurant nervously, he'll never get any work done by the deadline. He's a little amused at how his usually hopelessly dull social life has seemed to be looking up since the day before. He hadn't even had time to do some quick preliminary rough work when he got back from meeting Jinyoung before he had to leave the house again to meet Jaebum. But he had wanted to get at least a little started, if only so he could tell Jaebum without lying that he had begun.
Jaebum dashes through the doors at a quarter past six, looking breathless and slightly out of place in the gaudy restaurant in his impeccable suit and tie, pitch black today. But when he comes closer, Mark feels a laugh bubbling in his throat to see that Jaebum's tie is royal blue with tiny patterns of cats on it, which look like stripes from afar. His hair is windswept, a few wisps falling over his forehead from his styled and moussed coiffeure, his face flushed and eyes bright with exertion.
"Nice tie," Mark deadpans, and Jaebum breaks into a smile, seeming inordinately pleased that Mark had noticed it. "It's my favourite," he reveals.
Mark motions to the queue at the counter. "Do you want to go order?"
"I'll go," Jaebum says quickly, looking sheepish and apologetic. "Sorry I'm late. You must be famished. What would you like?"
His chivalry is no less disarming than the day before, and Mark tells himself sternly that this is merely Jaebum's work ethic as he replies, "I'm easy. Just get me what you're getting."
Jaebum nods and turns to weave gracefully between the maze of kid-sized tables and chairs towards the counter.
Mark takes out his phone to diguise the fact that he's discreetly watching Jaebum with his hands shoved in his pockets as he scans the overhead menu, patiently waiting for his turn. Even in a fast food restaurant, Jaebum's stately poise turns heads.
Gradually, he gets absorbed into a rapidfire exchange of messages with Jinyoung, who is spamming him with stickers on LINE simultaneously. The moment Mark had mentioned he was out with Jaebum for dinner, Jinyoung had fired a successive stream of excited messages at him demanding details. Mark finds out why when he asks where Jinyoung is and gets the less enthusiastic reply that he's home alone and bored.
He is trying to cope with the influx of messages, replying all of Jinyoung's questions as best he can and even making the effort to select a few Rilakkuma stickers, knowing it will make Jinyoung smile. The click of a tray on the table makes him look up to see Jaebum placing an overflowing tray laden with food before him and settling down on the chair opposite Mark.
"Playing a game?" Jaebum remarks casually, smiling as he hands Mark a burger and unwraps one himself. Mark takes it gratefully and slides his phone to the side of the table for the moment.
He shakes his head. "Texting." His phone promptly buzzes with Jinyoung's reply. Two replies. Three.
"Your girlfriend?" Jaebum quirks an eyebrow quizzically, and Mark hurriedly replies, blushing, "Nope, Jinyoung."
Jaebum's smile slips a bit, and Mark wonders if he has something against Jinyoung he doesn't know about. But Jaebum just says, "Oh." and looks down at the table, taking a big bite of his burger.
Mark nibbles on his own Quarter Pounder awkwardly, the texture of the buns chafing as it gets stuck in his throat. He takes a sip of Coke to soften it.
Mark had only asked for a basic meal with a drink and fries, but Jaebum had ordered much more, nuggets and even a chocolate sundae. But strangely, Mark doesn't feel offended by his lavish spending. It's only McDonald's, after all. And Jaebum had paid for everything again.
Abruptly remembering this, he puts down his burger and digs into his pocket, fishing out his tattered wallet, and tries to slip a few notes across the table to Jaebum to pay for his share. But the corner of Jaebum's mouth twists down with displeasure.
"Mark, please," he says, gently but firmly pushing the money back. "I can afford this."
The sound of his name in Jaebum's voice, for the third time since they met but in an entirely different tone from the first two, makes something unidentifiable stir deep inside Mark. Not trusting himself to speak, he obediently tucks the cash back into his wallet and resumes eating.
After he's crumpled his burger wrapper and is leisurely dragging fries through a puddle of ketchup and popping them into his mouth, his phone vibrates again with a fourth message. This time, Mark feels slightly relieved because they've somehow sunken into a wordless silence and Jinyoung's message is a welcome interruption.
But when he picks up his phone, he finds that it is not from Jinyoung but his junior from art school, Yugyeom. "Hyung, can I stay over tonight?" it reads, with a cute pleading emoticon.
Mark chuckles before he can help it, and quickly silences himself as he rushes out a short reply to Yugyeom: "Sure, just let yourself in. I'll be back soon."
Mark is barely done sending the message when Jaebum's hand flashes in front of him. He's still blinking, dazed and confused, before he registers that Jaebum has snatched the phone from his hand and is staring at the screen, looking pissed for some reason.
Mark is still looking uncomprehendingly between his empty hand and Jaebum holding his phone, unable to believe that Jaebum would do something so downright rude and out of character, when they've only just met yesterday for work. It's inexplicable and incomprehensible, a total breach of protocol and acceptable behavior, especially for Jaebum who has been nothing but exceedingly polite and professional since they met -- but for some mysterious reason, Jaebum has.
Just when Mark has reached this realization, Jaebum grabs his hand with rough fingers and shoves the phone back into his palm. Mark looks up to see Jaebum getting to his feet, towering over him and picking up his tray, stalking over to the dustbin without a backward glance to dump the remains of his meal.
Mark is still clutching his phone, dumbfounded, when Jaebum strides back to the table, his easy smile nowhere to be seen. He picks up his briefcase and looks down at Mark expressionlessly. "I won't keep you since you have somewhere to be. You can email me the questions you wanted to ask me. I'll text you my email address."
And with that, he swivels on his heel and leaves Mark sitting alone in McDonald's watching him walk out the doors.
But Jaebum doesn't text him his email. Even after Mark reaches home and spends most of the night on the pull-out couch staring despondently at his phone while Yugyeom snores on his bed; even after Yugyeom has left with a happy-go-lucky goodbye and a promise to drop by again soon; even after Mark spends the rest of the afternoon working furiously on his steadily developing sketch and refusing to give in to the urge to check his sedate phone once.
It's not like Jaebum to be forgetful. Everything he had told Mark he would do so far, he has done immediately. So Mark can only be left to conclude that Jaebum is deliberately not texting him his email. Because he doesn't want Mark to email him.
The thought makes a cold disappointed shiver plunge down Mark's innards.
He feels rejected, humiliated, rebuffed. He feels patronized, like Jaebum had just fed Mark a line to get him off his back because he couldn't stand Mark bothering him with dumb and ignorant questions a second longer. Jaebum had probably found him pesky and annoying, interrupting his important work, but been too nice to say so. Mark flushes hotly as it dawns on him how shameless his pestering had been. He shouldn't have taken Jaebum at his word when he said that Mark could ask him anything, anytime.
It was just that he had been so approachable -- so warm and friendly. He had genuinely seemed to like talking to Mark. But Mark should probably have realized that it was all a veneer, a mask put on to please clients and colleagues. It had felt too good to be true from the start that Jaebum was so nice, especially when Jinyoung had told Mark of his reputation.
The thought vaguely flits through Mark's mind that he could text Jaebum to remind him of his promise to send him his email address. Only for the briefest second, though. Mark can't bring himself to be so oblivious, more shameless than he's already been. His pride surges up fiercely inside him, along with a wave of something that feels like anger. If Jaebum wants to, he'll contact him. No way in hell is Mark going to make the first move this time.
But as his sketch progresses, slowly but surely, inevitably questions arise. Mark has some doubts he needs to clarify and he doesn't want to make a misstep and ruin the piece he has been working on for so long and put so much effort into.
Eventually, he gives in and texts Jinyoung for help. He types out a list of his queries and asks Jinyoung to do him the favour of forwarding them to Jaebum. To Jinyoung's credit, he doesn't ask too much about why Mark doesn't text Jaebum directly and obligingly helps.
Mark is woken again by his phone buzzing -- but this time it's not in the morning but the middle of the night. The neon digits on the glow-in-the-dark clock on his bedside table read 3.51. Mark squints awake disorientedly, running a hand through his tangle of hair as he fumbles for his phone.
His heart skips a lurching beat, immediately wide awake when he sees Jaebum's name on his screen. The message is short, just one line and he hasn't answered any of Mark's questions. It just says, "Dont ever ask anyone to help you talk to me again"
What the fuck? is Mark's first instinctive thought. Jaebum had been the one who had irresponsibly not sent Mark his email as promised. What did he expect Mark to do? His heart is slamming against his ribs, his fingers tightening on the phone. He has no idea what to reply or even whether to reply. The words leap out at him from the screen, forboding and forbidding, making Jaebum sound more furious than he probably is.
Mark's hands are shaking as the phone slips from them onto his covers, and he climbs out of bed, now restless and unable to sleep. His head is spinning, mind racing. He can't wrap it around the way Jaebum is acting. It makes no sense because they've only met twice. They literally know nothing about each other. They're not even friends. What right does Jaebum have to flare up, on two occasions, about Mark's other friends?
But the real question is: why is Mark's heartbeat hammering shallowly, his stomach twisted in knots, something in his chest flipping and flopping like a fish out of water?
Mark grabs his phone, latching on to the rise of his temper before he loses his nerve, ready to pound out a reply chastising Jaebum for acting out of line and setting him back in his place. But when he unlocks the screen, the new message on it makes all his racing thoughts vanish from his mind.
Because it's Jaebum again. But this time, it just reads, "Sorry. Ignore that. I'm drunk."
Mark spends the rest of the night reading and rereading Jaebum's first message. It's kind of pathetic really because how many times can a person scrutinize and dissect eleven words? But belatedly Mark realizes a few details he had neglected to notice. Firstly, there was no full stop at the end of the sentence as he had initially thought. Secondly, there was no apostrophe in the Don't, which was probably the most telling slip. Jaebum's messages were always properly capitalized, grammatically and punctuationally accurate. Mark should've known from the start that he wasn't in a sober frame of mind from the carelessness of the words.
He wonders how he could have in any way interpreted the message as livid or rude when it was obviously desperate. But even after hours, he still has absolutely no clue what to reply.
As the dawn slowly encroaches and the salmon shadows of the rising sun creep up his walls, Mark wonders if Jaebum had managed to fall asleep after his second message or been up all night like him too, waiting for Mark's reply. Waiting for Mark's forgiveness.
At this thought, he sits up quickly, grabbing his phone. No matter how offended he was by Jaebum's first message, he should've replied the second, evidently contrite one. Mark crosses his fingers as he regrets keeping Jaebum in suspense about whether he had permanently soured their relationship as he hastily types with shaky and sweaty fingers, "It's OK."
After he sends the two words out, Mark leans his head against the wall, sitting in bed and feels sapped of energy. He knows he should probably respond to the other things Jaebum said but he can't find the words to and his brain seems to be temporarily blank. His phone doesn't buzz any more and Mark feels a strange and unfamiliar loneliness stealing up over him as he lays down stiffly on his pillow and tries to get some sleep.
When Mark checks his email that evening, his chest clenches to see a reply from Jaebum. It is long and detailed, answering all of Mark's questions succintly and leaving nothing else unclarified. It is truthfully very illuminating, and Mark is relieved at least for the sake of his work as he diligently takes down notes.
He doesn't reply the email, closing it and putting all thoughts out of his mind for a few hours as he works on his artwork with Jaebum's latest advice. But he is aware at the back of his mind that sooner or later, he has to face it and at least have the courtesy to thank Jaebum for his email. They're still work partners and he doesn't want Jaebum to think that Mark hates him or anything. He's just really confused right now and needs some time to sort out his feelings.
Mark isn't exactly the most sensitive person in the world, but he doesn't have to be to sense that the email is an olive branch Jaebum is extending, an offer of peace. So as he's eating a microwave dinner, Mark taps out a short but polite text letting Jaebum know that he received his email and thanking him for answering the questions.
Jaebum replies almost instantly, making Mark's fork drop with a clink. "Where are you now?" his message reads, cryptically.
Mark hesitates -- but just for a second -- before he screws caution and impulsively replies, "At home."
He forces the rest of the food done his throat, feeling queasy, then does the dishes with his ears pricked up. But still, he jumps out of his skin when the doorbell rings twenty minutes later.
When Mark opens the door, Jaebum is standing outside, looking breathless and flushed and frustrated, panting slightly as if he's run all the way here.
Jaebum's hands are braced on the doorframe, his powerful body filling it, blocking out everything behind him, and Mark feels a shiver run down his spine. He swallows, hard. "W...what are you doing here?" he rasps, barely above a whisper.
He can feel how wide and shocked his eyes are and he blinks rapidly, trying to recover. Jaebum looks equally off-kilter and emotionally unstable as he runs a hand through his perfectly slicked-back hair, messing it up. "I don't know," he says, voice hoarse and pained. "I just... I've been a mess." His voice cracks. "A fucking mess since I met you and --" Without warning, his hands move to Mark's shoulders, gripping them tightly and shaking him as his blazing eyes drill into Mark. "Tell me, Mark-yah," Jaebum pleads. "Tell me I'm not the only one feeling this."
Jaebum's eyes burn into his, begging, imploring with a wordless plea. His fingertips dig painful bruises into Mark's shoulders and Mark feels himself being sucked into the depths of Jaebum's dark, intense eyes, falling endlessly.
A lifetime of silence passes. Then Mark whispers, Jaebum's hands slackening over his arms with each word, a sharp intake of breath hissing between his teeth: "You're not."
Jaebum staggers a step back, his shoulders dipping into himself as if dealt a heavy blow. His eyes glimmer with something that makes Mark's breath catch in his throat -- something like agonizing hope, something like utter devastation.
Mark thinks of the rollercoaster ride the past few weeks have been since he met Jaebum -- ups and downs, the highest highs and the lowest lows -- Jaebum had taught him to feel all of them. He thinks of 2AM, staring helplessly at the screen of his phone in the dark, reading and obssessing over the same message again and again like an infatuated teenage girl. How one word could send him soaring to the skies or crashing down to painful reality. He thinks of the blunt tip of his pencil racing over the blank page of his sketchpad, so smoothly and effortlessly it seemed to glide like a knife through butter, with inspiration bursting like fireworks in his head and no sign of the artistic block he had been facing for months. Even though they had only met a few times, each of them, Jaebum had never failed to manage to shake him so deeply.
He thinks of how he had known, for certain, that moment everything was illuminated in utter and crystalline clarity -- just minutes ago when Jaebum had said his name, Mark-yah, in that husky, low voice of his, like melting honey, like molten sunshine. With such wistful and passionate desire that Mark's heart clenched into a fist.
It all makes sense now. Mark is very attracted to Jaebum, both physically and emotionally. He likes Jaebum. A lot.
But it's impossible because -- they're both guys, for fuck's sake. This is Seoul, fiercely conservative and traditional South Korea where Mark is a foreigner, not California where he had grown up and this had been accepted if not widespread. Jaebum probably isn't even gay. Neither is Mark.
Which is exactly what he says, breaking the silence between them along with the connection of their gazes as he drops his own to the floor, steadfastly refusing to meet Jaebum's eyes again even as he feels them boring holes into the top of his head: "I'm not gay."
Jaebum flinches, looking like he's been slapped, his face colouring visibly, and Mark immediately feels guilty for his bluntness. For all he knows Jaebum is a homosexual and he's just offended him.
A mixture of relief and something else he can't identify floods him as Jaebum says quietly, "Me neither."
Unnerved and disquieted, Mark rushes on ahead, babbling, "And the timing is all wrong."
Jaebum stares at him, his eyes looking like a wounded dog's, before he reluctantly agrees. "I know. I just broke up with my girlfriend, and it's against the company rules to date colleagues. We might get fired... and this is my biggest project yet. My promotion is resting on it and I can't... We can't..." He breaks off, looking anguished.
Mark puts a hand up, unable to listen any longer. "That's enough," he says, more sharply than he meant to. He softens his voice. "I understand."
Jaebum is still gazing at him entreatingly, but Mark edges the door shut a centimetre. "This is dumb and crazy and fucked up," he says roughly, trying to keep his voice from wavering. "I'll forget this conversation ever happened. You should go," he says firmly, moving towards Jaebum as he takes a step back as if repelled.
As Jaebum lets down his guard, Mark takes the chance to push the door closed. The moment it's shut, he collapses against it and wraps his arms around his shoulders, hugging himself tightly. He sinks down bonelessly to the ground and pulls his knees to his chest, this short of curling up into a fetal position. Distantly, he hears Jaebum pounding on the door above him, but all he wants and cares about is being left alone so he can nurse and lick his wounds in privacy.
He ignores the loud knocking which seems to go on for what feels like a lifetime but is probably only minutes until Jaebum slams a final heavy palm onto Mark's door and gives up.
I just broke up with my girlfriend, Jaebum's words echo in Mark's head like a broken tape on repeat. Mark grits his teeth as he buries his face in his hands. His blood boils and he feels like hitting someone, breaking something.
Who is he kidding? Compared to Jaebum, he's a novice at handling jealousy.
Sometime in the night, Mark dozes off from sheer exhaustion. He wakes up with a parched mouth and dry, cracked lips to find himself sprawled ungracefully over the pull-out couch which he had thankfully managed to stumble to before he crashed the previous night. The house is tranquil, serene, in ironic contrast to Mark's tumultous and heartbroken mood.
He finds his phone hidden beneath some cushions. There is a text sent an hour ago, which didn't wake him up this time. His heart drops before he realizes it's from Jinyoung.
"What happened?" it says, uncharacteristically serious without Jinyoung's usual emoticons galore. "Jaebum-sshi passed your case to someone else."
Mark's heart plunges to his feet this time. He hadn't expected it was possible to feel worse than he already did. So this is how it is. Jaebum wants nothing to do with him. Mark knows that it's probably the better, less painful and awkward choice for everybody, but it still stings.
"I don't know," he replies back carelessly, feeling hollow as he lets his phone fall.
His phone buzzes almost instantaneously, making him start. "Did you do or say anything to offend him?" Jinyoung is demanding, panic palpable even through the phone.
Mark takes pity on him. "I think he mentioned that he's busy. It's probably no big deal."
Jinyoung doesn't reply, and Mark hopes that his reassurance is convincing. He spends the rest of the day dazedly staring into blank space and telling himself that he'll get off the couch and finish his sketch in an hour's time. But the hours wear on till evening without him moving a muscle.
When Jinyoung replies, it's evening and Mark still hasn't had the energy to even go fix dinner. Jinyoung has texted him the name and number of the new person handling his project. Mark barely scans it before tossing the phone aside.
part 2
pairing: jb/mark (yugyeom/bambam, jackson/jr.)
rating: nc-17
summary: in which mark is an artist and jaebum is a salaryman.
notes: for penipenpen, saranghey_you and nightbrights
When his phone rings on a rainy Thursday afternoon, Mark is sprawled haphazardly across the couch in his living room watching the raindrops track their way down the glass windowpane and biting the end of his pencil as he tries to capture the still life realistically on his white sketch pad. On the floor surrounding him are scattered more than a few crumpled balls of torn paper covered with half-done and abandoned sketches, carelessly and frustratedly creased and littering the already cluttered floor. Mark groans, lazy to move from his position but a little relieved for the distraction, his hand reaching under his body to fumble in his jeans pocket for his phone.
It stops ringing before he finishes sifting through the various random odds and ends in his pocket, pricking his finger on a stray paperclip and suspiciously poking at something which feels disturbingly soft and damp. Finally, thankfully, he finds the cool metal of his phone and fishes it out, unlocking the screen with a dash of his thumb.
He's not surprised to see the words "1 Missed Call from Park Jinyoung". Mark doesn't bother to press the button to call Jinyoung back, instead flippantly counting down the seconds till, as expected, his phone lights up and starts vibrating again. It thrums furiously in his hands, as if carrying Jinyoung's urgency and vigour. Mark sighs away the vestiges of his fatigue and braces himself as he resignedly answers Jinyoung's call.
"Mark-hyung?" Jinyoung's voice is muffled and slurred by background noise, as if he's outside. "Were you sleeping?" He sounds disapproving.
Mark places a hand over the phone and clears his throat sheepishly. "No," he replies, sounding a bit more normal. It's technically true, even if he did just wake up less than an hour ago. Jinyoung, who is obviously out and about working diligently, doesn't need to know that.
"Oh, okay," Jinyoung says a little skeptically. "Sorry if I woke you up," he mumbles absently, and Mark hastily and unconvincingly reassures him that he hadn't.
"Anyways," Jinyoung says, moving on without further ado, "I called because I have a new job for you."
Mark perks up, but feels a vague sinking feeling in his stomach that resembles dread. He's always excited and thankful to hear from Jinyoung about new projects, but deep inside, he knows what he's worried about this time. He hasn't told Jinyoung, but Mark hasn't had inspiration for more than a month now, since midway through his last project.
He had lost steam halfway through that piece, which was comissioned by a fashion design company, and half-assed the rest of it, but no one had seemed to notice his drop in quality. At least, he hoped. Judging from Jinyoung's call now with a new assignment, the freelance company hasn't picked up on it yet. However, Mark has the sinking feeling that it's only a matter of time before it shows.
Jinyoung is a middleman working at the company -- the person who facilitates the contacts and introduction between Mark and the client looking for an artwork, the one who matches artists to the right job according to their skills and experience. Mark has been working with him for two years now, and he has no complaints. Jinyoung is the best in his field.
Mark appreciates Jinyoung's hard work in looking for a steady stream of well-paying jobs for him, regular enough to maintain his income and keep him comfortably housed and fed, his monthly rent for the apartment-slash-studio he lives and works from never overdue. He knows that Jinyoung favours him over the other freelance artists under their company, not only because he admires Mark's talent but also because he sees Mark as a good friend. And Mark has always felt the responsibility to repay Jinyoung's care with top-notch art and results, so Jinyoung will look good in front of the clients.
But somewhere along the way, when Mark hadn't realized, pressure had started creeping in at the corners, weighing heavily on his shoulders. A sense of listlessness and sluggishness had began dragging at his ankles and hands like chains and Mark had started feeling more uninspired than enthusiastic. His work had become a chore.
Mark was afraid to disappoint himself and the company. But more than that, he was afraid to disappoint Jinyoung, who had always supported him and believed in him. So he had kept quiet and hoped that his inspiration would return with time.
Unfortunately, it didn't seem to be forthcoming.
"Mark?" Jinyoung's voice filters in from a distance, and Mark snaps out of his reverie to hear Jinyoung calling him impatiently over the phone. "So can you?" Jinyoung is asking, sounding stressed and hopeful.
"Can I what?" Mark cringes, confused, and Jinyoung sighs but doesn't berate him for his inattentiveness as he dutifully repeats his query. "Can you go meet the client at his company?"
"Meet?" Mark repeats blankly, even though he shouldn't be surprised. It isn't the first time that the client has chosen to eschew communicating through the go-between and requested to meet the artist directly. It's uncommon, but not rare. Mark usually finds it a hassle but there's nothing to be done. It's part of the job. Some clients are just more picky than others and like to specifically detail and discuss the requested artwork with the artist personally.
"I know it's a drag," Jinyoung says sympathetically. "But I couldn't think of a better artist for this assignment than you, hyung. The moment I saw the client's request, I immediately thought, this is so Mark-hyung's style."
Jinyoung's voice is persuasive, encouraging through the phone. Mark feels a flattered rush of warmth swell in his heart, and feels the usual urge not to let Jinyoung down. After all, he trusts Jinyoung's taste unconditionally. In the time they've worked together, Jinyoung has yet to recommend him a job that didn't suit Mark.
"I don't mind," he says cheerfully, and is gratified to hear Jinyoung's sigh of relief.
"Thanks," he gushes, "You're a lifesaver."
"No, thank you for recommending me the job, Jinyoung-ah," Mark says earnestly, and Jinyoung laughs warmly.
"Hyung, you got the job based on your own merits. I didn't do anything," he says humbly and sincerely, and Mark feels a wave of gratitude for him.
"I have to go," Jinyoung adds harriedly. "I'll catch up with you when I'm not so busy. Oh right, the appointment is this evening. I'll text you the address of the company and the name of the executive."
"This evening?" Mark blurts out, startled.
"Yeah, sorry it's such short notice," Jinyoung says apologetically. "He's only free tonight. Your schedule isn't already occupied... right?"
"I'm free," Mark reassures him. "Just text me. Talk to you soon."
"Cool, take care!" Jinyoung says quickly in farewell, and hangs up.
Mark tosses his phone onto the couch beside him after the call ends, dropping his sketch pad and burying his face in a throw pillow. Within a minute, his phone beeps again with Jinyoung's message. He doesn't bother to check it, instead burrowing deeper into his cocoon of cushions as if he can escape real life just by not looking at it.
Mark lazes on his couch, barely moving a muscle, until the shadows of the setting sun sink across the walls of his darkening living room and he finally senses that if he procrastinates any longer, he'll be late and cause unnecessary problems and a bad first impression with the client. He sighs and finally takes the pillow off his face, letting a shard of weak light in to pierce his drowsy eyes. He staggers to his feet, the sketch pad falling to the floor, not bothering to pick up the crumpled balls of paper as he trudges in his sweats to the bathroom to splash water on his face.
Ten minutes later, Mark is looking marginally more human and a lot more presentable, having run a comb through his hopelessly tousled bed hair and brushed his teeth. He knows he should take a shower but is too lazy to, instead spritzing a dash of cologne over his torso, hoping it will help to disguise any unwanted odours.
He opens his closet, mechanically stepping out of his sweats and pulling on his only suit and collared whte shirt, the one he wears on such occasions. He clumsily knots the noose of the tie and buttons up the suit, running a nervous hand through his hair and down the front of the stiff navy fabric. He hates having to button himself into stuffy formalwear. In this way, he's the cliche starving artist, always dressing in clothes that wouldn't look out of place in the "bohemian chic" section of clothing stores.
It's five-fifteen when he finally finishes dressing up and opens Jinyoung's message. The address is a building in the business district about half an hour away from Mark's neighbourhood, and the meeting time is six. It's about time for him to leave the house.
On his way out the door, he grabs his wallet from the coffee table. It's depressingly light but Mark can't muster the energy to walk to the train station and take public transport, not at such a crowded peak hour. The rain has stopped but the weather is still too chilled to walk long distances. Instead, he steps onto the sidewalk and hails a cab, hoping Mr Im Jaebum -- the name mentioned in Jinyoung's message -- will not ask to talk over dinner.
He does.
Mr Im Jaebum is a statuesque, stern-looking man with thick eyebrows that give him a forbidding aura, thin unsmiling lips and penetrating eyes that make Mark shift his feet nervously. He introduces himself as the artistic director of the advertising company, which is one of the most reputable in the country. It's obviously a prestigious position and Mark feels slightly intimidated, hoping he won't look too unsophisticated in front of such a highly-ranking executive.
"Mark Tuan?" he ascertains, brow creasing the slightest bit as he gives Mark a discreet once-over, but his voice is polite and professional.
"That's me," Mark confirms just as politely, not taking offense. "It's nice to meet you, Mr Im." He extends a genial hand and puts on his most disarming smile.
Jaebum looks genuinely surprised, his eyebrows lifting, but the eyes underneath them thaw a little as he takes Mark's hand after a beat. His handshake is firm, grip strong. "It's a pleasure to meet you too. Sorry," he adds unexpectedly, "it's just that you're younger than I thought you'd be."
Mark can't help the burst of laughter that escapes his lips, and Jaebum looks mildly amused. "It's okay, I get that a lot," he replies honestly. It's true. People usually expect artists to be middle-aged, or at least in their thirties. Added to the fact that Mark looks younger than his age, he sometimes gets mistaken for a college student.
Sure enough, the next question Jaebum asks is, "Are you a student?" He's surprisingly chatty for someone who looks like a man of few words, or maybe he's just making small talk to break the ice.
Mark resists the urge to roll his eyes and replies pleasantly, "Nope. I'm twenty-nine."
Jaebum does a double take, blinking, and Mark mutters, "What?" He doesn't have to look that shocked.
"Oh no, I didn't mean..." Jaebum quickly apologizes when he realizes how Mark has interpreted his reaction. "It's just that -- I'm twenty-nine too."
"We're the same age?" Mark exclaims, animated. "That's so cool!"
He is surprised to see Jaebum breaking into a small smile, the ends of his lips curling up infinitesimally. "It's pretty awesome," he agrees.
Mark studies Jaebum closely, admitting to himself that he's taken aback too by Jaebum's age. He had looked in his early thirties, at least. Mark feels a faint pang of envy. It must be nice to look mature and adult, and not get mistaken as a university student all the time.
On further comparison, Mark is astounded to find out that Jaebum is in fact, a year younger than him -- the same age by the Korean calendar, but a few months younger in the universal system. He silently admires Jaebum's career accomplishments at such a youthful age.
They lapse into a momentary silence after this exchange, each mulling over the new information, but it's not as uncomfortable and stiff as the beginning.
"So," Mark starts awkwardly, and Jaebum opens his mouth at the same time.
"Should we --"
They fall silent, and Mark gestures for Jaebum to go ahead with a friendly smile. Jaebum offers him that slight smile back. He actually has a really nice smile, teeth straight and even, perfectly white.
"Do you want to talk over dinner?" Jaebum suggests, voicing out Mark's trepidated question.
"Uh... sure," Mark mumbles after a moment, not seeing how he can refuse.
"Great," Jaebum says, his voice distinctly more enthusiastic. "Do you have a car?"
Mark shakes his head. "I cabbed here."
"Let's take mine then," Jaebum says easily, picking up his briefcase from his desk and gallantly holding the door open to let Mark out of the office first. Mark shuffles out, tugging at the strap of his tattered sling bag and hears the heels of Jaebum's suede shoes clicking on the marble tile as he trails at Mark's heels towards the elevator.
As they are standing in stilted silence in the lift moving down from the seventh storey, Mark's phone beeps. He fishes it out to see a new message in his ongoing chat with Jinyoung checking if he has met up with Jaebum yet. There is a huge LINE sticker after the question mark, bigger than the message itself, and unconsciously, Mark snorts a giggle at Jinyoung's irreverence.
He flushes as Jaebum turns to look at him, typing out a quick reply and shoving the phone back into his pocket. Jaebum is gazing at him curiously, his eyes unreadable. Just then, the doors slide open and Jaebum turns back to the front, stepping out without further comment. Mark follows in his wake.
Jaebum's car is a posh vintage SUV, obviously new and expensive. Mark admires its sleek finish discreetly and gets into the passenger seat. Jaebum tosses his briefcase in the rear and slides into the driver's seat, revving the engine to life with a smooth, noiseless twist of the key.
As they exit the carpark into the night illuminated by amber streetlamps and traffic lights, Mark turns to Jaebum, smiling tentatively. "Do you want to go to McDonald's?"
This time, Jaebum is the one who snorts audibly, until he takes his eyes off the road to look at Mark with incredulous eyes. "Are you serious?"
Mark drops his gaze, embarrassed. "Uh, yeah..."
Jaebum doesn't reply and Mark feels his gaze on him for a few beats, until it returns to the road. "I don't really feel like fast food tonight," Jaebum says lightly. "I know a French restaurant nearby where we can reserve a private room. Do you like French?"
"Er..." Mark hedges. How does he say I haven't been able to afford it before in a courteous way? In the end, he wimps out and mumbles, "I'm easy."
"Good," Jaebum just says, sounding pleased as they promptly speed towards the mentioned restaurant.
When they arrive and Jaebum pulls into the parking lot, climbing out of the car and waiting patiently for Mark, he realizes that the restaurant is more classy than he had expected. It looks like one of those gourmet cuisine ones, with elaborately suited waiters and a hostess at the stand outside beaming welcomingly at them. Mark looks down in dismay at his clothes, forgetting what he is decked in for a moment and expecting to see his usual paint-spattered ratty t-shirts, faded distressed jeans and sneakers. He heaves a silent sigh of relief that he had had the good sense to wear a suit today. Hopefully no one notices it's not designer.
Jaebum is smiling questioningly at him and Mark hurriedly climbs out, a little clumsily. He tugs gingerly at the hem of his suit tails and smooths his palm over his lapels as he follows Jaebum towards the hostess stand. Jaebum doesn't seem daunted by the grandeur as he strikes up a pleasant conversation with the hostess, who is almost immediately fluttering her eyelashes and smiling flirtatiously at him. "This way, sirs," she bows respectfully, guiding them into the restaurant and down the velvet carpeted corridor.
As Jaebum promised, they are let into a private room and the hostess bows again, closing the sliding door behind her to give them privacy after leaving them to peruse the menus. Mark can't help studying Jaebum inquisitively over the top of his, until Jaebum looks up, raising one eyebrow. "What?"
Mark drops his gaze, face warming. He hadn't realized Jaebum knew he was staring. "N-nothing," he stammers. "I was just thinking you probably come here a lot."
"I do," Jaebum says simply, confirming Mark's suspicion with a brisk nod.
His eyes widen at the prices that greet them as he scans the menu. If Jaebum is a frequent customer of this restaurant, it's apparent that he's pretty well-off, to say the least. Simply put, he's rich.
Not that it's any of Mark's business. He feels the difference in their statuses like an invisible but widening crevasse opening between them, and presses his lips together mutely as he flips the pages of the menu, searching for the cheapest item.
"Are you ready?" Jaebum asks after a few minutes, and Mark nods. Jaebum presses a button on the corner of the table and a different, but equally pretty waitress knocks and enters the room after no more than a few seconds. No doubt about it, the service is really different from McDonald's here.
Jaebum orders a four-course set dinner, comprising appetizer, main course, dessert and coffee. In addition, he selects a bottle of wine from the wine list. Mark watches this with wide eyes but withholds judgement. At least Jaebum will be paying for everything himself.
When the waitress looks expectantly at Mark, he feels a little sheepish as he shyly orders a lobster bisque and sparkling water. Both of them stare at him, as if waiting for him to continue, and Jaebum frowns minutely when he stops.
"Is that all?"
"Um, yeah. I'm not really hungry." Mark slides the menu over to the waitress, hoping Jaebum will accept his flimsy excuse.
He doesn't. "Have you eaten dinner?" Jaebum looks confused.
"No," Mark admits hesitantly, unable to lie for some reason even though it will make things easier.
At his words, Jaebum's gaze moves dismissively from his face to the waitress'. "He'll have the same as me," he says, and she nods approvingly, collects their menus and exits.
Mark gapes at Jaebum. "I..." he swallows, his throat dry. "I don't have enough money," he croaks, face burning as he steels himself for Jaebum's pity.
"Don't worry about it," Jaebum replies shortly, sure enough. "I'll take care of the bill."
"I can't -- I can't make you pay for my dinner. I'll pay you back," Mark blurts out, grimacing.
Jaebum meets his eyes, scrutinizing. "I'm not paying for it." He leans forward, voice lowering conspiratorially. "I'm putting it on the company's tab."
"What?" Mark blinks. Up close, Jaebum's eyes are dark and long-lashed, gleaming. He leans back again and laughs, throwing back his head.
"I can't afford such a pricey meal either," Jaebum admits, a mischievous sparkle entering his eye.
"Then why did you bring me here?" Mark gasps.
Jaebum shrugs. "I guess... I just thought someone like you deserves to eat in such a place. Instead of fast food restaurants, I can picture you in fancy Parisian cafes, sketching the passersby at a table by the window as you sip a latte."
"Someone like me?" Mark repeats, confounded.
Jaebum gestures vaguely. "You know... an artist."
Mark cocks an eyebrow at him. "You haven't even seen my art."
Jaebum leans forward on the table with a challenging glint in his eye. "Who says I haven't?"
Mark's mouth falls open. "You have?"
Jaebum smiles, drumming his fingers on the table. "I always do my research before meeting anyone I work with."
Mark blushes, wanting to ask what Jaebum thought of his work but not having the nerve to. Instead he babbles, "So when you said you come here often..."
"For work," Jaebum clarifies, looking at Mark indulgently. "I wish I could say I dine here often -- but I'm just an ordinary salaryman struggling to make ends meet." He shrugs.
Could've fooled me, Mark thinks but doesn't say. He runs his eyes down Jaebum's charcoal suit which could pass as Armani as the waitress enters again, bearing the wine in a bucket of ice. She opens the bottle and pours the burgundy liquid into two crystal glasses. Jaebum favours her with a smile of thanks as she leaves again. Mark has noticed that he's noticeably more generous with his smiles towards ladies as opposed to men, but he supposes that's only natural.
As Jaebum takes a small sip of his wine, tasting it delicately, Mark fumbles to open his bag and pulls out his portfolio of sketches. He places it on the table and Jaebum's eyes are serious again as he puts his glass down and opens the file, donning a pair of wire-rimmed reading spectacles to browse through Mark's work.
Mark can't tell what he thinks as Jaebum studies each sketch closely but inscrutably. But after a few minutes, his finger pauses on one of Mark's personal favourites -- a remarkably realistic and four-dimensional reproduction of his phone he had done in a rare burst of inspiration.
Jaebum slides the piece of stiff paper out and looks at it thoughtfully. "We're looking for something similar to this," he says, meeting Mark's eyes again.
Mark quickly takes a sip of his wine to wet his lips and stall for time, hoping his fingers don't tremble. "That was done a few months ago... I don't know if I can.... do it again."
Jaebum's brow creases, but his voice is gentle as he says, "It's alright. It doesn't have to be exactly the same. Just do whatever you feel comfortable with and interpret the concept your own way."
"But..."
"I have confidence in you," Jaebum says quietly, his voice a few degrees warmer than it's been all night.
There's a knock and the waitress glides in, bearing their food. Jaebum puts his spectacles and Mark's rough sketches away, aligning them with careful fingers back into the portfolio, as if they're precious and can't be damaged, and Mark is moved by the respect in his actions.
One side of his lips curves up in a playful smirk as he meets Mark's eyes over the delectable food. "Dig in," he urges, and Mark takes a deep breath and does.
Contrary to clients who usually request to meet up, Jaebum doesn't seem to have very strict or specific expectations and guidelines. He does run through the basic idea of what the advertising campaign is about over leisurely-sipped cups of coffee and dessert after they finish their meal, briefing Mark on the steps they will have to take before the completed advertisement finally hits the big screen over the remaining dregs of wine in the bottle. Mark is only involved in the first, initial process, and he never thought that filming an advertisement was such a tedious and painstaking production.
"Are you in charge of the rest?" he asks, and Jaebum inclines his head modestly. "I kind of oversee everything."
"Wow." Mark rounds his mouth in a silent 'o', awed. Jaebum looks embarrassed. "It's not as complicated as it looks," he says self-deprecatingly. "Or maybe I'm just used to it."
Mark feels a renewed sense of purpose and determination. "I'll do my best to help you," he promises fervently. It's frankly the least he can do, with how much room for creativity and trust Jaebum is giving him. Mark knows he's fortunate to get a client who is not nitpicky and allows him freedom to call the shots.
Jaebum chuckles. "That's good," he says, voice deep. "But don't wear yourself out. I'm sure whatever you produce will be fantastic."
He's a surprisingly slick talker, making Mark blush with his smooth compliments, but then again he's not that surprised since Jaebum works in advertising. It's practically a prerequisite for him to be glib.
When Mark has tipped the last drop of wine down his throat and his belly is more blissfully bloated than it has been in a while, he checks his phone under the table, startled to see that it's past nine. The hours have flown by unnoticed.
Jaebum calls for the cheque, placing a black AmEx card onto the folder without glancing at the bill. Mark gulps. "You won't get in trouble for spending too much, will you?" he hesitates, wondering why he's so concerned.
Jaebum laughs, looking amused. "Nah," he says. "I told you, I take our freelance artists here a lot."
Mark's stomach churns uncomfortably. He doesn't know why he feels slightly bitter that Jaebum entertains other people he works with here, that this is merely routine for him and Mark is nothing special. What else did he expect?
Jaebum picks up his suit jacket, draping it over his arm as they get up and leave. Mark stretches his stiff legs and joints, smiling shyly at their waitress and hostess as they make their way out. Jaebum smiles charmingly at them too, smoothly replying their polite questions about whether the food was to their satisfaction.
When they step out into the chilly night air, a breeze lifts the edges of Mark's hair. He stifles a shiver at the sudden cold draft, and jumps a little when he feels a jacket being draped around his shoulder.
He turns around tentatively to look searchingly at Jaebum, who is striding ahead to his car in only his white work shirt and tie. Is this part of the entertaining the artists thing, too? Mark can't tell, but he pulls Jaebum's jacket closer over his shoulders as it slips precariously. It retains the slight temperature of Jaebum's skin and smells pleasantly of expensive musky cologne.
"Where do you live?" Jaebum asks conversationally once they're in the car and turning out of the carpark. "I'll take you home."
"There's no need! I can take the train or a cab," Mark hastily replies, unwilling to impose even more on Jaebum than he already has.
Jaebum laughs, but not unkindly. "You said you don't have much cash, right?" There's a teasing note in his voice. "It's alright. I can drop you off along the way home."
"How do you know my house is on your way?" Mark argues feebly, but gives Jaebum his address without much protest.
Jaebum turns the volume of the car stereo system up and they listen to classical orchestral music for the rest of the trip back. Mark is pleasantly drowsy and almost drifts into a shallow doze until Jaebum pulls up outside the lobby of his apartment. He pulls the brake back and turns to face Mark, still unsmiling but eyes significantly warmer than they were when they met four hours earlier that evening. "I'll text you my number," he says by way of parting. "Call me anytime if you have any questions."
"You have my number?"
"I got it from Jinyoung-sshi."
The casual familiarity with which Jaebum says Jinyoung's name makes Mark want to ask if they're friends, but he bites back the question. It's none of his business, and it wouldn't be out of the ordinary for Jinyoung to be on friendly terms with the clients. Maybe it's not even the first time he's worked with Jaebum's company.
Instead, he just nods wordlessly and climbs out of Jaebum's car, resisting the urge to look back as he ambles into his apartment lobby and takes the elevator up to his studio.
He finds a reply in Jinyoung's LINE conversation when he gets back. "Good luck!" It reads. "Im Jaebum is notorious for being difficult to please. Don't take it too personally."
Mark's eyebrows shoot up, confused. Is Jinyoung talking about the same person he met? Because Jaebum was the farthest from difficult that Mark has ever met. He has encountered difficult clients before, and they can be much more trying than this. He summarizes this in a few words, texting back to Jinyoung when his phone beeps as he sends it off.
It's from an unknown number, and simply reads, "Good night. Im Jaebum."
As he saves the number into his contact list Mark feels his lips tugging up at Jaebum's distant tone, which translates coolly in message form. But even from his brief interaction with Jaebum, he can tell that the frosty vibe stems in fact more from awkwardness than brusqueness. Even in real life, Jaebum is unadept at expressing himself verbally. It contrasts enigmatically with his confident, glib speech and Mark ponders on this paradox as he tugs the noose of his tie loose and unbuttons his shirt lazily, crashing onto the pull-out couch. He's tired and the alcohol has only just seemed to hit, making his head swim in an addled daze of cottony inebriation.
As Mark drifts off to sleep in the moonlight, his last thoughts are of Jaebum.
The next morning, he is woken by his noisy ringtone. It seems to be becoming a pattern and Jinyoung sounds equally judgmental as Mark answers the phone groggily, his mouth parched and his head throbbing with a hangover. "Are you still sleeping again?"
Mark pulls his phone back to glance at the time. "It's only ten," he counters defensively, avoiding Jinyoung's question.
Jinyoung sighs patiently. "I know you're pretty much nocturnal, hyung, but did you forget you just got a new assignment? Not that I want to give you pressure or anything, but this ad campaign is really important. It's actually one of the biggest jobs our company has gotten in awhile."
Mark sits up, stomach turning over. "Well, that's comforting information," he grouches, ignoring the familiar dread creeping into the back of his mind. Now is a worse time than ever to mention to Jinyoung that he has no confidence he can handle this successfully.
"Anyways," Jiyoung continues, thankfully interrupting him so Mark doesn't have to reply, "I said I'd call you when I'm less busy. I have some time today, do you want to meet up? We can discuss what the client wanted when you met him yesterday."
"Im Jaebum?" Mark blurts out. Saying the name makes something flutter below his ribs, to his bewilderment.
Jinyoung hums in confirmation. "What was that message you sent me last night that I must've gotten the wrong person and he's a nice guy?" he teases, and Mark can practically hear his smirk over the phone. "You need to give me deets in real life," Jinyoung commands, and promptly hangs up. Mark has barely hung up his own phone when it buzzes again with the venue and time Jinyoung wants to meet. It's in less than an hour at a cafe they frequent and Mark groans as he hauls himself up from the couch and stumbles to the bathroom, tugging at his tight collar.
Jinyoung bursts out laughing in disbelief when Mark approaches the booth by the window where he's already nursing his favourite caramel macchiato with whipped cream.
"Why are you wearing sunglasses?" he screeches in a low voice.
Mark grumbles and pulls them off, Jinyoung's eyes widening at his red-rimmed eyes and panda-like eyebags. He squints as the sun rays pierce his retinas painfully. "I have a major hangover."
"Dude." Jinyoung shakes his head. "How much did you drink last night?"
"... Half a bottle?"
"Are you serious? With the client?"
Mark bites his lip. "Is that inappropriate?"
"Hell, yeah. You were supposed to be talking business, not entertaining him."
Mark shrugs helplessly. "He ordered it," he says in weak defense.
Jinyoung narrows his eyes at him. "You mean the most infamous pain in the ass in the advertising industry, Im Jaebum?"
"Pain in the ass?" Mark repeats, frowning. "Wait, do you know him?"
"We're acquaintances, but I don't know him that well," Jinyoung answers flippantly. "Of course, he's civil to me because we don't work together. But he's known for his punishing standards and sky-high expectations, so I was a little worried he'd put you over the grills."
Mark shakes his head, too lost for words to speak yet. "He didn't."
Jinyoung purses his lips thoughtfully. "Well, that's a relief."
"Why?" Mark rejoins inanely as Jinyoung gestures to the waiter to take Mark's order.
Jinyoung winks. "If he did, I'd have someone to hunt down."
Mark has fun over lunch, as he always does with Jinyoung. They discuss work and Jinyoung is his usual enthusiastic and professional self as he listens to Mark's recap of Jaebum's briefing and offers suggestions and opinions, but they spend an equal amount of time chatting about everything and nothing at all. It's been awhile since he met Jinyoung, and Mark had forgotten what an entertaining and fascinating conversationalist Jinyoung is.
But as he takes the subway home, Mark is surprised to realize that his dinner with Jaebum the previous night had been no less fun, even though it had been a business one. Jaebum is much less chatty and verbose than Jinyoung, more droll and pensive. He doesn't display his sense of humour often, but Mark had sensed even from their short time together that Jaebum definitely had one. More than that, the warmth in Jaebum's eyes and his reassuring smile spoke more than any volume of words could say.
Mark looks down at his phone and finds his thumb scrolling mindlessly over Jaebum's message in his inbox. Nostalgically... caressingly. Suddenly, his finger slips and Mark muffles a gasp to see that he has accidentally pressed the call button.
He hurriedly jabs at end call with clammy fingers, and the phone nearly jumps out his hands when it vibrates a minute later with Jaebum's contact flashing across the screen.
Mark's heart thuds in his ears, frantically vacillating between answering and ignoring. Eventually, he lifts the phone to his ear with an unsteady hand.
"Mark-sshi?" Jaebum's voice filters into his ear, and Mark gulps loudly. "H-hi, um... Sorry, I accidentally called you."
There is a pause, before Jaebum echoes, "Accidentally?" It might be Mark's imagination but his voice sounds a little less warm than a second before, a little more... disappointed.
"Er... yeah," Mark stutters. "B-but!" he has no idea why he says the words he does next. "I was meaning to call you!"
There is another awkward pause, before Jaebum says quietly, "Really?"
The undisguised hopefulness and pleasure in his voice makes Mark's heart leap into his throat.
"Why?" Jaebum continues swiftly, eagerly, without waiting for his answer.
"Um..." Mark fumbles for a reason. "I have some questions regarding the... colouring," he finishes lamely.
"Colouring?" Jaebum sounds confused. "You've finished the sketches so fast?"
"No!" Mark bites his tongue before he reveals that he hasn't even started brainstorming. "I just..." he trails off, unable to think of anything coherent to add.
Mercifully, Jaebum doesn't seem to mind his transparent fabrication, instead taking over the conversation without missing a beat. "Do you want to meet up?"
"At McDonald's?" Mark blurts out before he can think. He has no idea what possessed him to say that, but a thrill runs up his spine as Jaebum breaks into a peal of appreciative laughter.
"Why not?" he throws back, and Mark finds his face aching with a huge stupid grin as he hangs up.
At the rate he's dining out since he got this assignment, Mark thinks wryly as he drums his fingers over the linoleum table in the fast food restaurant nervously, he'll never get any work done by the deadline. He's a little amused at how his usually hopelessly dull social life has seemed to be looking up since the day before. He hadn't even had time to do some quick preliminary rough work when he got back from meeting Jinyoung before he had to leave the house again to meet Jaebum. But he had wanted to get at least a little started, if only so he could tell Jaebum without lying that he had begun.
Jaebum dashes through the doors at a quarter past six, looking breathless and slightly out of place in the gaudy restaurant in his impeccable suit and tie, pitch black today. But when he comes closer, Mark feels a laugh bubbling in his throat to see that Jaebum's tie is royal blue with tiny patterns of cats on it, which look like stripes from afar. His hair is windswept, a few wisps falling over his forehead from his styled and moussed coiffeure, his face flushed and eyes bright with exertion.
"Nice tie," Mark deadpans, and Jaebum breaks into a smile, seeming inordinately pleased that Mark had noticed it. "It's my favourite," he reveals.
Mark motions to the queue at the counter. "Do you want to go order?"
"I'll go," Jaebum says quickly, looking sheepish and apologetic. "Sorry I'm late. You must be famished. What would you like?"
His chivalry is no less disarming than the day before, and Mark tells himself sternly that this is merely Jaebum's work ethic as he replies, "I'm easy. Just get me what you're getting."
Jaebum nods and turns to weave gracefully between the maze of kid-sized tables and chairs towards the counter.
Mark takes out his phone to diguise the fact that he's discreetly watching Jaebum with his hands shoved in his pockets as he scans the overhead menu, patiently waiting for his turn. Even in a fast food restaurant, Jaebum's stately poise turns heads.
Gradually, he gets absorbed into a rapidfire exchange of messages with Jinyoung, who is spamming him with stickers on LINE simultaneously. The moment Mark had mentioned he was out with Jaebum for dinner, Jinyoung had fired a successive stream of excited messages at him demanding details. Mark finds out why when he asks where Jinyoung is and gets the less enthusiastic reply that he's home alone and bored.
He is trying to cope with the influx of messages, replying all of Jinyoung's questions as best he can and even making the effort to select a few Rilakkuma stickers, knowing it will make Jinyoung smile. The click of a tray on the table makes him look up to see Jaebum placing an overflowing tray laden with food before him and settling down on the chair opposite Mark.
"Playing a game?" Jaebum remarks casually, smiling as he hands Mark a burger and unwraps one himself. Mark takes it gratefully and slides his phone to the side of the table for the moment.
He shakes his head. "Texting." His phone promptly buzzes with Jinyoung's reply. Two replies. Three.
"Your girlfriend?" Jaebum quirks an eyebrow quizzically, and Mark hurriedly replies, blushing, "Nope, Jinyoung."
Jaebum's smile slips a bit, and Mark wonders if he has something against Jinyoung he doesn't know about. But Jaebum just says, "Oh." and looks down at the table, taking a big bite of his burger.
Mark nibbles on his own Quarter Pounder awkwardly, the texture of the buns chafing as it gets stuck in his throat. He takes a sip of Coke to soften it.
Mark had only asked for a basic meal with a drink and fries, but Jaebum had ordered much more, nuggets and even a chocolate sundae. But strangely, Mark doesn't feel offended by his lavish spending. It's only McDonald's, after all. And Jaebum had paid for everything again.
Abruptly remembering this, he puts down his burger and digs into his pocket, fishing out his tattered wallet, and tries to slip a few notes across the table to Jaebum to pay for his share. But the corner of Jaebum's mouth twists down with displeasure.
"Mark, please," he says, gently but firmly pushing the money back. "I can afford this."
The sound of his name in Jaebum's voice, for the third time since they met but in an entirely different tone from the first two, makes something unidentifiable stir deep inside Mark. Not trusting himself to speak, he obediently tucks the cash back into his wallet and resumes eating.
After he's crumpled his burger wrapper and is leisurely dragging fries through a puddle of ketchup and popping them into his mouth, his phone vibrates again with a fourth message. This time, Mark feels slightly relieved because they've somehow sunken into a wordless silence and Jinyoung's message is a welcome interruption.
But when he picks up his phone, he finds that it is not from Jinyoung but his junior from art school, Yugyeom. "Hyung, can I stay over tonight?" it reads, with a cute pleading emoticon.
Mark chuckles before he can help it, and quickly silences himself as he rushes out a short reply to Yugyeom: "Sure, just let yourself in. I'll be back soon."
Mark is barely done sending the message when Jaebum's hand flashes in front of him. He's still blinking, dazed and confused, before he registers that Jaebum has snatched the phone from his hand and is staring at the screen, looking pissed for some reason.
Mark is still looking uncomprehendingly between his empty hand and Jaebum holding his phone, unable to believe that Jaebum would do something so downright rude and out of character, when they've only just met yesterday for work. It's inexplicable and incomprehensible, a total breach of protocol and acceptable behavior, especially for Jaebum who has been nothing but exceedingly polite and professional since they met -- but for some mysterious reason, Jaebum has.
Just when Mark has reached this realization, Jaebum grabs his hand with rough fingers and shoves the phone back into his palm. Mark looks up to see Jaebum getting to his feet, towering over him and picking up his tray, stalking over to the dustbin without a backward glance to dump the remains of his meal.
Mark is still clutching his phone, dumbfounded, when Jaebum strides back to the table, his easy smile nowhere to be seen. He picks up his briefcase and looks down at Mark expressionlessly. "I won't keep you since you have somewhere to be. You can email me the questions you wanted to ask me. I'll text you my email address."
And with that, he swivels on his heel and leaves Mark sitting alone in McDonald's watching him walk out the doors.
But Jaebum doesn't text him his email. Even after Mark reaches home and spends most of the night on the pull-out couch staring despondently at his phone while Yugyeom snores on his bed; even after Yugyeom has left with a happy-go-lucky goodbye and a promise to drop by again soon; even after Mark spends the rest of the afternoon working furiously on his steadily developing sketch and refusing to give in to the urge to check his sedate phone once.
It's not like Jaebum to be forgetful. Everything he had told Mark he would do so far, he has done immediately. So Mark can only be left to conclude that Jaebum is deliberately not texting him his email. Because he doesn't want Mark to email him.
The thought makes a cold disappointed shiver plunge down Mark's innards.
He feels rejected, humiliated, rebuffed. He feels patronized, like Jaebum had just fed Mark a line to get him off his back because he couldn't stand Mark bothering him with dumb and ignorant questions a second longer. Jaebum had probably found him pesky and annoying, interrupting his important work, but been too nice to say so. Mark flushes hotly as it dawns on him how shameless his pestering had been. He shouldn't have taken Jaebum at his word when he said that Mark could ask him anything, anytime.
It was just that he had been so approachable -- so warm and friendly. He had genuinely seemed to like talking to Mark. But Mark should probably have realized that it was all a veneer, a mask put on to please clients and colleagues. It had felt too good to be true from the start that Jaebum was so nice, especially when Jinyoung had told Mark of his reputation.
The thought vaguely flits through Mark's mind that he could text Jaebum to remind him of his promise to send him his email address. Only for the briefest second, though. Mark can't bring himself to be so oblivious, more shameless than he's already been. His pride surges up fiercely inside him, along with a wave of something that feels like anger. If Jaebum wants to, he'll contact him. No way in hell is Mark going to make the first move this time.
But as his sketch progresses, slowly but surely, inevitably questions arise. Mark has some doubts he needs to clarify and he doesn't want to make a misstep and ruin the piece he has been working on for so long and put so much effort into.
Eventually, he gives in and texts Jinyoung for help. He types out a list of his queries and asks Jinyoung to do him the favour of forwarding them to Jaebum. To Jinyoung's credit, he doesn't ask too much about why Mark doesn't text Jaebum directly and obligingly helps.
Mark is woken again by his phone buzzing -- but this time it's not in the morning but the middle of the night. The neon digits on the glow-in-the-dark clock on his bedside table read 3.51. Mark squints awake disorientedly, running a hand through his tangle of hair as he fumbles for his phone.
His heart skips a lurching beat, immediately wide awake when he sees Jaebum's name on his screen. The message is short, just one line and he hasn't answered any of Mark's questions. It just says, "Dont ever ask anyone to help you talk to me again"
What the fuck? is Mark's first instinctive thought. Jaebum had been the one who had irresponsibly not sent Mark his email as promised. What did he expect Mark to do? His heart is slamming against his ribs, his fingers tightening on the phone. He has no idea what to reply or even whether to reply. The words leap out at him from the screen, forboding and forbidding, making Jaebum sound more furious than he probably is.
Mark's hands are shaking as the phone slips from them onto his covers, and he climbs out of bed, now restless and unable to sleep. His head is spinning, mind racing. He can't wrap it around the way Jaebum is acting. It makes no sense because they've only met twice. They literally know nothing about each other. They're not even friends. What right does Jaebum have to flare up, on two occasions, about Mark's other friends?
But the real question is: why is Mark's heartbeat hammering shallowly, his stomach twisted in knots, something in his chest flipping and flopping like a fish out of water?
Mark grabs his phone, latching on to the rise of his temper before he loses his nerve, ready to pound out a reply chastising Jaebum for acting out of line and setting him back in his place. But when he unlocks the screen, the new message on it makes all his racing thoughts vanish from his mind.
Because it's Jaebum again. But this time, it just reads, "Sorry. Ignore that. I'm drunk."
Mark spends the rest of the night reading and rereading Jaebum's first message. It's kind of pathetic really because how many times can a person scrutinize and dissect eleven words? But belatedly Mark realizes a few details he had neglected to notice. Firstly, there was no full stop at the end of the sentence as he had initially thought. Secondly, there was no apostrophe in the Don't, which was probably the most telling slip. Jaebum's messages were always properly capitalized, grammatically and punctuationally accurate. Mark should've known from the start that he wasn't in a sober frame of mind from the carelessness of the words.
He wonders how he could have in any way interpreted the message as livid or rude when it was obviously desperate. But even after hours, he still has absolutely no clue what to reply.
As the dawn slowly encroaches and the salmon shadows of the rising sun creep up his walls, Mark wonders if Jaebum had managed to fall asleep after his second message or been up all night like him too, waiting for Mark's reply. Waiting for Mark's forgiveness.
At this thought, he sits up quickly, grabbing his phone. No matter how offended he was by Jaebum's first message, he should've replied the second, evidently contrite one. Mark crosses his fingers as he regrets keeping Jaebum in suspense about whether he had permanently soured their relationship as he hastily types with shaky and sweaty fingers, "It's OK."
After he sends the two words out, Mark leans his head against the wall, sitting in bed and feels sapped of energy. He knows he should probably respond to the other things Jaebum said but he can't find the words to and his brain seems to be temporarily blank. His phone doesn't buzz any more and Mark feels a strange and unfamiliar loneliness stealing up over him as he lays down stiffly on his pillow and tries to get some sleep.
When Mark checks his email that evening, his chest clenches to see a reply from Jaebum. It is long and detailed, answering all of Mark's questions succintly and leaving nothing else unclarified. It is truthfully very illuminating, and Mark is relieved at least for the sake of his work as he diligently takes down notes.
He doesn't reply the email, closing it and putting all thoughts out of his mind for a few hours as he works on his artwork with Jaebum's latest advice. But he is aware at the back of his mind that sooner or later, he has to face it and at least have the courtesy to thank Jaebum for his email. They're still work partners and he doesn't want Jaebum to think that Mark hates him or anything. He's just really confused right now and needs some time to sort out his feelings.
Mark isn't exactly the most sensitive person in the world, but he doesn't have to be to sense that the email is an olive branch Jaebum is extending, an offer of peace. So as he's eating a microwave dinner, Mark taps out a short but polite text letting Jaebum know that he received his email and thanking him for answering the questions.
Jaebum replies almost instantly, making Mark's fork drop with a clink. "Where are you now?" his message reads, cryptically.
Mark hesitates -- but just for a second -- before he screws caution and impulsively replies, "At home."
He forces the rest of the food done his throat, feeling queasy, then does the dishes with his ears pricked up. But still, he jumps out of his skin when the doorbell rings twenty minutes later.
When Mark opens the door, Jaebum is standing outside, looking breathless and flushed and frustrated, panting slightly as if he's run all the way here.
Jaebum's hands are braced on the doorframe, his powerful body filling it, blocking out everything behind him, and Mark feels a shiver run down his spine. He swallows, hard. "W...what are you doing here?" he rasps, barely above a whisper.
He can feel how wide and shocked his eyes are and he blinks rapidly, trying to recover. Jaebum looks equally off-kilter and emotionally unstable as he runs a hand through his perfectly slicked-back hair, messing it up. "I don't know," he says, voice hoarse and pained. "I just... I've been a mess." His voice cracks. "A fucking mess since I met you and --" Without warning, his hands move to Mark's shoulders, gripping them tightly and shaking him as his blazing eyes drill into Mark. "Tell me, Mark-yah," Jaebum pleads. "Tell me I'm not the only one feeling this."
Jaebum's eyes burn into his, begging, imploring with a wordless plea. His fingertips dig painful bruises into Mark's shoulders and Mark feels himself being sucked into the depths of Jaebum's dark, intense eyes, falling endlessly.
A lifetime of silence passes. Then Mark whispers, Jaebum's hands slackening over his arms with each word, a sharp intake of breath hissing between his teeth: "You're not."
Jaebum staggers a step back, his shoulders dipping into himself as if dealt a heavy blow. His eyes glimmer with something that makes Mark's breath catch in his throat -- something like agonizing hope, something like utter devastation.
Mark thinks of the rollercoaster ride the past few weeks have been since he met Jaebum -- ups and downs, the highest highs and the lowest lows -- Jaebum had taught him to feel all of them. He thinks of 2AM, staring helplessly at the screen of his phone in the dark, reading and obssessing over the same message again and again like an infatuated teenage girl. How one word could send him soaring to the skies or crashing down to painful reality. He thinks of the blunt tip of his pencil racing over the blank page of his sketchpad, so smoothly and effortlessly it seemed to glide like a knife through butter, with inspiration bursting like fireworks in his head and no sign of the artistic block he had been facing for months. Even though they had only met a few times, each of them, Jaebum had never failed to manage to shake him so deeply.
He thinks of how he had known, for certain, that moment everything was illuminated in utter and crystalline clarity -- just minutes ago when Jaebum had said his name, Mark-yah, in that husky, low voice of his, like melting honey, like molten sunshine. With such wistful and passionate desire that Mark's heart clenched into a fist.
It all makes sense now. Mark is very attracted to Jaebum, both physically and emotionally. He likes Jaebum. A lot.
But it's impossible because -- they're both guys, for fuck's sake. This is Seoul, fiercely conservative and traditional South Korea where Mark is a foreigner, not California where he had grown up and this had been accepted if not widespread. Jaebum probably isn't even gay. Neither is Mark.
Which is exactly what he says, breaking the silence between them along with the connection of their gazes as he drops his own to the floor, steadfastly refusing to meet Jaebum's eyes again even as he feels them boring holes into the top of his head: "I'm not gay."
Jaebum flinches, looking like he's been slapped, his face colouring visibly, and Mark immediately feels guilty for his bluntness. For all he knows Jaebum is a homosexual and he's just offended him.
A mixture of relief and something else he can't identify floods him as Jaebum says quietly, "Me neither."
Unnerved and disquieted, Mark rushes on ahead, babbling, "And the timing is all wrong."
Jaebum stares at him, his eyes looking like a wounded dog's, before he reluctantly agrees. "I know. I just broke up with my girlfriend, and it's against the company rules to date colleagues. We might get fired... and this is my biggest project yet. My promotion is resting on it and I can't... We can't..." He breaks off, looking anguished.
Mark puts a hand up, unable to listen any longer. "That's enough," he says, more sharply than he meant to. He softens his voice. "I understand."
Jaebum is still gazing at him entreatingly, but Mark edges the door shut a centimetre. "This is dumb and crazy and fucked up," he says roughly, trying to keep his voice from wavering. "I'll forget this conversation ever happened. You should go," he says firmly, moving towards Jaebum as he takes a step back as if repelled.
As Jaebum lets down his guard, Mark takes the chance to push the door closed. The moment it's shut, he collapses against it and wraps his arms around his shoulders, hugging himself tightly. He sinks down bonelessly to the ground and pulls his knees to his chest, this short of curling up into a fetal position. Distantly, he hears Jaebum pounding on the door above him, but all he wants and cares about is being left alone so he can nurse and lick his wounds in privacy.
He ignores the loud knocking which seems to go on for what feels like a lifetime but is probably only minutes until Jaebum slams a final heavy palm onto Mark's door and gives up.
I just broke up with my girlfriend, Jaebum's words echo in Mark's head like a broken tape on repeat. Mark grits his teeth as he buries his face in his hands. His blood boils and he feels like hitting someone, breaking something.
Who is he kidding? Compared to Jaebum, he's a novice at handling jealousy.
Sometime in the night, Mark dozes off from sheer exhaustion. He wakes up with a parched mouth and dry, cracked lips to find himself sprawled ungracefully over the pull-out couch which he had thankfully managed to stumble to before he crashed the previous night. The house is tranquil, serene, in ironic contrast to Mark's tumultous and heartbroken mood.
He finds his phone hidden beneath some cushions. There is a text sent an hour ago, which didn't wake him up this time. His heart drops before he realizes it's from Jinyoung.
"What happened?" it says, uncharacteristically serious without Jinyoung's usual emoticons galore. "Jaebum-sshi passed your case to someone else."
Mark's heart plunges to his feet this time. He hadn't expected it was possible to feel worse than he already did. So this is how it is. Jaebum wants nothing to do with him. Mark knows that it's probably the better, less painful and awkward choice for everybody, but it still stings.
"I don't know," he replies back carelessly, feeling hollow as he lets his phone fall.
His phone buzzes almost instantaneously, making him start. "Did you do or say anything to offend him?" Jinyoung is demanding, panic palpable even through the phone.
Mark takes pity on him. "I think he mentioned that he's busy. It's probably no big deal."
Jinyoung doesn't reply, and Mark hopes that his reassurance is convincing. He spends the rest of the day dazedly staring into blank space and telling himself that he'll get off the couch and finish his sketch in an hour's time. But the hours wear on till evening without him moving a muscle.
When Jinyoung replies, it's evening and Mark still hasn't had the energy to even go fix dinner. Jinyoung has texted him the name and number of the new person handling his project. Mark barely scans it before tossing the phone aside.
part 2