Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The slam of the front door closing echoed through the house. The door was centuries old and the wood thick and heavy. It was impossible for it to close in any quiet manner. In fact, it was next to impossible to do anything in a quiet manner in the house. The stone bricks that made up the wall and the floorings amplified even the sound of a pin dropping. Sometimes Mark really hated living in a 18^th century mini castle on the outskirts of town, but sometimes it came in handy. Like alerting him as to when he had a free house.

Mark scrambled to his bedroom window, just quick enough to see the backs of his parents disappearing down the front path. His mother was dragging the patchwork trolley that had been handed down her family behind her, which meant they were probably going out to town. Good, that meant he had at least two hours to himself.

With no less urgency, Mark fell to his knees and crawled across the cold floor to his bed, like he was afraid of his parents catching him peeping and ruining his plans. (He was). His teeth dug into his bottom lip as he strained to reach under his bed, tiny grunts escaping as he pulled the heavy trunks that housed a majority of his possessions out from underneath the wooden frame. His mother didn’t like clutter. With those out the way, Mark was free to wiggle his body under the gap and retrieve the shoebox he’d hidden right up against the wall, shielded from prying eyes during sporadic ‘bedroom checks’.

Mark let out a happy hum when he finally sat back up on his haunches, cheeks flushed from the effort that had taken. His thin fingers curled around the edges of the carboard box and lifted the lid excitedly. A wide smile on his face at the sight of the Walkman his best friend had gifted him a year ago. Its silver paint had been scuffed and scratched off in places, and half faded stickers of band logos were scattered randomly on its surface, but it was still Mark’s favourite possession. Mark reached back into the box and pulled out the CDs he’d stashed in there earlier in the week.

His bed let out a weak groan as he threw himself on the mattress, bouncing once before settling atop his fluffy duvet. His soak-clad toes wiggled with the anticipation he was feeling throughout his body. His best friend had slipped him two new CDs during the week, one, a band he was currently obsessed with, and the other, a rap mixtape he had seen being sold and thought Mark would like. Mark had been very touched when he’d received them. Both at the thought of him sharing his current obsession with him and thinking of Mark when he’d been out and about. It warms Mark’s chest to think about someone caring about his interests enough to get something specifically for him.

With that thought in his mind and his chest feeling light, Mark decided to listen to the hip-hop CD first. Fitting his headphones over his mop of scruffy brown hair, he closed his eyes and relaxed further into his covers before pressing the play button, an impressed smile spreading across his face as the beats flowed through into his ears.

And that’s how Mark spent the rest of his free time until the quiet squeak of their front gate cut through the sound of an intense electric guitar solo. His ears were long-trained to pick it up through any level of noise like a sniffer dog, and he scrambled to quickly hide the evidence of his activities.

Mark had barely sat back on his bed when his father knocked on the door. A squeaky ‘come in’ pushed pass Mark’s lips and he quickly cleared his throat to hide the nervousness that was rattling him at almost being caught. He was sure his cheeks were a telling pink but his father didn’t seem to catch on, the man’s wrinkled face smiling at him as he asked if he was okay.

Shame bubbled in his stomach when he lied to his father about what he’d been up to. His face was red and his ass burned like he was sat on a dirty magazine. But his parents didn’t approve of ‘popular’ music and Mark so very hated to disappoint them. 

***

Mark hated being the preacher’s son most when he was at school. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he lived in a creepy old castle on the outskirts of town, physically alienating him from kids his age, nobody wanted anything to do with someone they thought would rat them out in the name of the lord.

At first, Mark was unsure why he’d gotten that kind of reputation. Like yeah, his Dad was a priest but that didn’t mean he and Mark were the same person, but no one took the time to figure that out. If Mark was being honest with himself, it had affected him a lot. As a child, he had only gotten a chance to see other children from behind his mother’s legs after a service. Whilst she would talk with the other mothers, Mark would curiously watch the other kids run around in the scratchy grass lawn playing tag or making daisy crowns, their bright laughter tinkling above the low drone of the church’s organ dragging from inside. It looked like fun. He wanted to join, but his mother’s gentle but firm grip on his shoulder kept him rooted to her side, tiny hands curled into the fabric of her long maroon skirt as he continued to watch on wistfully. That’s why he’d been so excited to finally reach high school age. Excited to finally get a chance to make friends, to find out what other people his age were into and what the world was like beyond the stone walls that surrounded his garden. Sadly… that excitement had quickly died when he’d found that no one wanted anything to do with him. They saw his sweater vests, his polished shoes and wire framed glasses and immediately wrote him off as some kind of stick in the mud.

Luckily for Mark, that changed during his third month at high school when Nakamoto Yuta walked in. Yuta had just returned to turn from an extended family vacation. They were so different in looks, personality, but similar in how they were shunned by the rest of the student body. The pair formed an unlikely friendship, but it was one Mark had come to treasure over the years. Yuta was Mark’s first friend that wasn’t stuffed with fluff.

“Markie!” Yuta called cheerfully, his voice ringing out above the loud chatter of the canteen.

Mark looked up from his tray of lunch to see the elder bounding his way over to him, the other students parting like the red sea to make way.

Yuta landed in his seat opposite Mark in his usual noisy manner, the chains that decorated his pants clinking against the metal bench. The plastic tray that held his own selection for lunch hit the table with a clatter as he tried to put it down with one hand and use the other to shoulder off his heavy backup. “Markie!” He greeted again with a wide grin. “How have you been? You look good today. Did you get a chance to listen to those CDs? I hate that we have no classes together on Mondays, it’s not fun without you. Sorry,” he flushed, finally taking a breath. “That was a lot. I’m just so excited to see you again. I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

Mark tries to supress it but he can’t help the way his cheeks heat up under the elder’s attention. It just didn’t make sense to him. How the coolest person in the world could waste his undivided attention on him, and that he would even want to. Yuta was someone that commanded the attention of the room no matter where he was. With his shoulder length bleached hair, multitude of piercings and striking black fashion, Yuta painted an intimidating picture. But Mark had come to find he was anything but (unless he was trying to be).

Yuta was the only person in school who’d given him the time of day. Mark must admit, when Yuta had first approached him, three years ago, Mark had fallen victim to the same prejudices he now condemned others for holding of Yuta. But Mark could hardly be blamed. He was just starting to settle into how lonely his high school experience was going to be. Learning how to make himself invisible to escape ridicule, when in burst this other boy with fiery red hair and a fiery expression to match, who towered over him in his platform boots. The only remaining seat in class had been beside Mark. And at that point in time, Mark prayed that he somehow wouldn’t sit next to him. But he did. Narrowed eyes looking Mark up and down, probably taking in the tenseness in his shoulders. The nervousness in his hands that clenched and unclenched atop their shared desk. Mark’s body language was screaming “leave me alone” but still he met it head on with a bright smile and a “Hi, my name’s Yuta. I hope we can get along this year.”

Mark soon found himself enamoured with everything Yuta. Mark admired Yuta’s self-assuredness. He knew what people thought of him. (In a town as small as theirs, it wasn’t hard to come across the latest gossip about you). And yet, he never let it get to him. Never tried to change himself just to get people to like him as Mark had. As Mark still tried to do sometimes. He was kind, caring and enthusiastic. He was so much more than what his gothic interests lead people to assume. So yeah, Yuta was Mark’s first best friend, but he was also his first crush.

Mark mirrored Yuta’s wide smile. “Hi Yuta. I’m fine. Thank you, though I look the same as I always do. I did listen to the CDs and you saw me three days ago.”

Yuta laughed, the sound loud and boisterous. Mark knew they were drawing attention (as they always did, the town goth and the preacher’s son being close friends always piqued people’s interest), but Mark couldn’t find it in himself to care. He was just glad to be the cause.

“Three days is so looong, Markie.” He whined, as Mark giggled behind his sandwich. “But anyways,” he continued, sitting up properly to stuff his mouth with chips, “what did you think about Anarchic Therapy?”.

Yuta was trying to appear nonchalant, but Mark could tell how eager he was to hear Mark’s opinions. It was obvious in the way his eyes shone, his gaze fixed earnestly on the younger boy. Yuta always showed interest in what Mark thought about something. Even though sometimes, admittedly, Mark had a habit of enthusing about completely mundane things, unable to stop the stream once the dam that is his mouth opens. But Yuta always listened, diligently. It made Mark feel less stupid and annoying.

“They were awesome!” Mark praised.

“Really?” Yuta questioned, and Mark would pay good money to see the way his eyes sparkled on loop for the rest of his life.

Mark nodded with way too much energy, which he instantly regretted cos he probably looked really stupid, but Yuta’s excitement was palpable. “I really liked the lyrics.” He answered, and it was true. Anarchic Therapy spoke a lot about doing whatever they wanted, being themselves and living for themselves. Mark could see why Yuta loved them. It was everything he loved about Yuta. 

“Interesting you say that, actually…” Yuta hummed, long fingers tapping against his chin whilst the other hand wrapped around his soda, and Mark narrowed his eyes at him curiously.

Mark continued to stare at him but he only sipped his soda, eyes looking (deceptively) innocently out the window. Yuta clearly wasn’t going to continue without some prodding.

“Okay,” Mark started, putting down his sandwich. Mark had had enough of the waiting game. “I’m retreating. Out with it.”

“Ah Mark, that’s no fun. Can’t you stare at me a little longer? It’s so cute when you make that lil angry face.” He cooed, ignoring the furious blush that was fighting Mark’s cheeks. Yuta always did this. Flustered him with a look or flirty words but Mark, being Mark, didn’t want to read too far into it. Yuta flirted with everyone. That was just how he is. Instead, he just strengthened his glare, slapping away Yuta’s ring covered hand that reached across the table to tickle his chin as he cooed once again.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll tell you,” Yuta said. He learned across the table slightly, an excited grin on his face. “They’re coming to town this week! They have a gig at Salties this Saturday and I was wondering if you, maybe, kinda, wanted to…go?” His voice pitched up weirdly at the end as he became more unsure with himself as he went on. His cheeks were dusted a light pink and his hand rubbed awkwardly at his nape. Mark thought it was cute.

Mark sighed and Yuta’s shoulder’s slumped, knowing what was coming.

“I’d love to but…you know,” he sighed once more, eyes cast down, “…my parents…”

Yuta groaned frustratedly, throwing his head back as he pressed his eyes with the heel of his hands. When he righted himself again, strands of his limp white hair falling in his face, he levelled Mark with an unimpressed look. Mark felt even worse, even though he knew it was more towards the situation and not Mark himself, he still felt like a bad friend. Sometimes Mark wondered why Yuta was still friends with him. His attempts to hang out outside of studying were constantly rejected. It’s not like he didn’t want to go out with Yuta, Mark didn’t want for anything more, but his parents were strict and his friendship with Yuta was already pushing it.

“We’re seniors, Mark. They’ve gotta loosen the leash at some point. What’s gonna happen when you go to college?”

Yuta’s question was met with silence.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t mentioned it?”

More silence.

“Mark!” Yuta groaned, throwing his head back once more.

“I know. I know.” Mark mumbled, gaze rooted firmly on the chrome table top. “I will eventually, I swear… I just… haven’t found the right time.” God, Mark hated this conversation.

Yuta gave him one last dejected look before he sighed. The pitiful expression he’d just worn changed back to his usual playful express as he changed the topic to the other CD he’d found for Mark. Mark smiled, the coil of tension that had slowly been slithering up his back released, grateful that Yuta had seen his discomfort and moved on.

***

Sundays were church day. No if, ands, buts or maybes.

Sometimes Mark was able to get out of attending weekday services by citing an excess of homework as an excuse, but come health or sickness, a normal day or in the midst of an alien invasion, Mark was going to find himself sat in the front row of the hard-wooden pews that flanked each side of the red carpeted aisle, just as he has all his life. Whilst there were times when Mark would rather be literally anywhere else, he actually didn’t mind Sunday services. When he was younger, he liked that it would give him a chance to see other people in the community. As he grew older, he came to appreciate some of his father’s sermons. He appreciated the chance it would give him to zone out at times and free himself from whatever had been plaguing his mind that week. Sometimes he’d get the chance to play his guitar or the organ during hymns, instrument learning being one of the few interests he’d been allowed to indulge in. He looked forward to those weeks. He couldn’t believe it himself, but Mark had come to cherish the time he spent in church (most of the time).

This was one such time.

Mark sat on a tall stool beside the small choir in charge of leading group hymns. His guitar sat comfortably in his lap, the polished wood gleaming in the light that streamed in from the windows that lined each wall of the rectangle stone room, and his fingers stroked absentmindedly across the wood. The pièce de résistance was a large stain glass window that took up a majority of the back wall, forming a majestic backdrop to the alter and little stage where Mark’s father would give his sermons. As a child, Mark would get lost in the vibrant colours of the panels. When he’d get to go on stage, he’d marvel at the rainbow it cast across the congregation.

The church wasn’t big, so it filled easily. As Mark looked up from his lap, he was unsurprised to find all the pews crammed with townsfolk in their Sunday best. What did surprise him though, was that five people a couple rows back from the front were stood.

“We have a new family in town with us today?” Mark’s father announced and Mark realised just how far he’d zoned out. Mark was both surprised and glad to see that they were Asian too. There weren’t that many Asian families in their town. It seemed to be a family unit of five; mother and father, two young girls and one boy who was a little taller than his dad. The boy looked young but like Mark aged young. With chubby cheeks, shiny brown hair neatly parted down the middle and a light blue button down under a navy cardigan, he looked the picture of innocence. He was so cute. Like a puppy, Mark couldn’t help but notice.

“Please give the Kim’s a warm welcome.” His father continued, and the sound of applause and overlapping greetings echoed in the stone walls. The family smiled and waved amicably, pleasant looking. The boy’s cheeks squished up even more when he smiled and Mark only realised he was staring when their eyes locked. Fuck! His eyes must have rounded comically wide because the other boy giggled, and Mark felt his cheeks heat up.

God, how embarrassing. He quickly averted his eyes. Mark wanted to crawl beneath the alter. Worse than staring was getting caught doing so, and to a stranger no less! Yep, Mark was ready to pack his bag and skip town.

“Mark?”

Huh? Mark looked up from the floor to find his Dad and a majority of the congregation’s eyes on him. Mark had never wanted for the floor to open up and drag him to hell so badly.

“Are you ready to play, son?” His father asked, and Mark could tell it was not for the first time.

Mark nodded as he scrambled to get himself together. He could hear a couple chuckles in the room and felt his face get even redder. It seemed the Lord’s plan for him today was to be a flustered wreck. But Mark pushed through the heat of embarrassment that was licking at his heels and settled his fingers over the opening chords. With a look towards the choir to show they were finally all on the same page, Mark began to strum.

For the first couple chords, Mark could still feel some of the nervous tension in his shoulders, but as the song progressed, the high harmonies of the choir beautifully combining with the low tone of his guitar, Mark felt that tension melt away. His eyes slipped closed and he was transported to another headspace as his hands played the song using muscle memory. It was one of Mark’s favourite hymns. It reminded him that there was more out there. That life flourished outside of his bedroom walls, outside of his town. That there was greatness to be found.

Sooner than he would have liked, the song came to its end. Mark finished it with a fancy flourish and smiled gratefully at the applause from the congregation before taking back his seat next to his mother in the front pew.

Mark had changed his after-service habits. Rather than hide in the shadow of his mother’s skirt, Mark had upgraded to hiding on the furthest corner of the stage steps, guitar in lap as he mindlessly strummed.

A dark shadow suddenly fell over Mark, and he looked up to see what was blocking the light. He was met with the smiling face of the Kim boy. Mark tried to return his smile but he feared it may have been a little strained as the earlier incident flashed in his mind.

It mustn’t have been that bad because the boy’s smile brightened (somehow, Mark wasn’t sure how that was possible).

“Hi, I’m Jungwoo.” He held out a hand. His voice was so soft and melodic, Mark hadn’t been expecting him to sound like that. “Kim. Jungwoo Kim. But you already heard that earlier…” He trailed off awkwardly, his hand retreating. But before it could get too far, Mark clasped it and shook it. Mark’s hand was tiny in comparison. He tried his best not to think about it.

Mark giggled. “Hi, Jungwoo Kim. I’m Mark. Lee.”

The boy, Jungwoo, Mark now knew, giggled too, his cheeks doing the squishy thing Mark couldn’t help but stare at earlier. Mark pat the floor next to him as an offer for Jungwoo to sit. It was kind of awkward having him loom over him. Mark had underestimated his height. Jungwoo thanked him with a small smile, and sat (rather ungracefully) next to him. Mark was surprised to find he was kind of clumsy. He’d sat in the pews with the straightest posture and had looked like a model stood before him. But Mark found it made him more endearing. It added to his puppy-like charm.

Jungwoo stretched his legs out once he was seated, his hands brushed at the little bit of dust that had gotten on his pants from the carpeted stage. When he was satisfied, he let out a quiet hum before turning to Mark.

“I really liked your playing.” He confessed, catching Mark off guard.

“Huh? Really?” he let out incredulously. Mark didn’t believe him. It had been a long time since anyone had payed him a compliment on his playing. The church mothers used to, when he’d first waddled up there at age ten, his guitar almost the same size as him. They’d cooed and pinched his cheeks afterwards, crowed on about how talented he was. But he figured the novelty had worn off as he’d aged. He may get a few ‘well done, kid’ every now and again when their church had out-of-town visitors, but that was few and far between. Not many ventured to their town, and even less stayed long enough to want to check out the local church.

But Jungwoo’s eyes were wide and shone bright with strong earnest. Mark couldn’t help but to believe him. He nodded enthusiastically, brown hair flopping around. It reminded Mark of a beagle’s ears, flapping about is it jumped around excitedly. Mark could almost hear the little tail thumping against the ground. “I’m being really real! Why would you think I wasn’t?” Jungwoo giggled once more, the sound unexpectedly strong, contrasting with his cute face and delicate posture. “I’ve been to lots of churches, and usually the hymns are the worst part. They’re so boring,” He groaned, rolling his eyes as Mark nodded his agreement. “But the way you played, it made it sound so fun and refreshing. Hopeful. It was so nice to hear.” He smiled. Mark had to resist the urge to pinch his cheeks. “When did you start playing?”

“When I was young… like six” Mark mumbled, fingers plucking at the strings randomly as he was overcome with sudden shyness. He couldn’t believe someone he’d just met was showing him this much sincerity. Jungwoo had just given him probably the nicest compliment anyone had ever given his guitar playing. That hymn was so important to him, and he’s so glad to hear that it came through when he was playing. “I play the piano too.” He admitted quietly. He didn’t know why. It was almost like he was showing off, he realised belatedly. But why would he need to show off to a stranger, a kind one, but a stranger all the same? Mark usually tried his best to hide from others. But here he was, willingly offering up a piece of himself for this boy to dissect.

Jungwoo’s face lit up even more, Mark was sure he would have to shield his eyes soon. He opened his mouth, surely to shower Mark with more compliments he was going to spend at least the next month mulling over, when he was interrupted by a call of his name.

Both of them looked over to where it had come from, unsurprised to find Jungwoo’s mother stood with his coat in hand by the arched doors. It seemed she’d been waiting a while, but her expression was still politely soft. Mark figured pleasantness ran in the family. Jungwoo turned back to him with a sheepish smile. A light dusting of pink sat prettily on his cheeks.

“I guess that’s my cue to go,” he shrugged with a sad smile. He stood up, with a bit of effort, and Mark stood too. He wasn’t completely sure why, but it felt like the right thing to do.

Jungwoo smiled again, as he rocked back on the heels of his polished black shoes, hands in the pockets of his slacks. It was a softer variation on the blinding ones Mark had been subject to so far, but he found it charming all the same.

“Nice meeting you, Mark… Lee.” He grinned, a familiar mischievousness dripping in his smile.

Mark hoped it matched his own grin as he replied, “Nice meeting you too, Jungwoo… Kim.”

Jungwoo gave him one last smile before he turned and made his way towards his mother. “See you around,” he called over his shoulder before disappearing into the bright light streaming through the doorway.

***

The smell of grease was so deeply intrinsic to the town dinner. It clung to everything that came within a mile radius like superglue. Mark reckoned that’s why his parents allowed him to hang out there, they would be able to tell if he was lying by smell alone (not that his face probably wouldn’t have given him away).

The diner was almost as old as the town itself. With its black and white check patterned floor, turquoise vinyl seats and glowing neon pink lights, it looked like it had been ripped straight out of a 50s nostalgia magazine. The scent of vinegar sometimes so strong it felt like it was burning the hair in your nostrils. The smell of burnt coffee, potato fries and mustard were just as cloying. To an outsider, it would be disgusting. But to many of the town’s residents, it smelt like home away from home. The neon lighting reflecting off the light pink walls and the turquoise seats was almost dreamlike. Mark found it strangely comforting. It was such a stark contrast from the grey slabs of stone and brown wood that made up most of his home. But that wasn’t the only reason he liked Express 99. It was also the only place outside school where Mark and Yuta were free to hang out.

Mark and Yuta had come straight after school so, luckily, the place wasn’t full yet, and their booth (yes, they had a booth they’d claimed as theirs because other kids were too afraid to use it lest Yuta glare at them) was empty. The pair both landed on opposite sides with a soft oof, the vinyl groaning at the sudden addition of their weight, and shouldered off their backpacks, leaning them against the dirtied window.

Mark took a moment to just relax. Shoulders slumping as he sunk down the squeaky chair. School hadn’t been any more draining that day than it usually was but Mark was still reeling from his meeting with Jungwoo and the prospect of having another friend. Not that having one conversation with Jungwoo suddenly meant they were best friends. He’d understand if Jungwoo didn’t want to be his friend after going home and thinking about it. That was probably what had happened. Mark had tried but he’d been unable to spot that familiar mop of shiny chocolate brown hair at school and had reached the completely logical conclusion that the other had been avoiding him, regretting the conversation he’d sparked with him the previous day. Mark wondered a little why Jungwoo had even bothered to talk to him but remembered that he was in a new town and probably wanted to socialise as soon as possible, it would only take one period to learn that Mark was not the got to person for that. Jungwoo was nice. Cute. Of course he could do better for friends than Mark Lee. No. Mark didn’t hold it against him at all.

“Hey, are you listening?” Yuta’s sharp voice woke him from his musing.

With a shake of his head to clear his mind, Mark shot Yuta an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, man. I zoned out.”

Yuta smiled understandingly. “Long day?”

Mark only hummed, unwilling to tell Yuta the truth. Knowing he’d be disappointed that Mark thought he was undeserving of new friends. Or worse, that Yuta’s friendship wasn’t enough. Yuta cooed, reaching over to ruffle Mark’s hair affectionately, the latter nuzzling up into his palm. It was like a wave of good energy poured over Mark’s head like a spray from a shower. Yuta’s affection warming him and relaxing his worries like warm water over muscles after a day of exercise.

“What were you saying?” Mark asked once Yuta had sat back in his seat, Mark turned to start taking his books out of his bag.

“I was saying,” Yuta started, and the ruffling sounds Mark could hear told him that Yuta was doing the same, “that our orders are usually on the table by now.”

Oh? Yuta was right. They came here so frequently they didn’t really need to order anymore. Sal, the current owner, knew their milkshake order off by heart and tended to give them a free order of loaded curly fries to share because of his soft spot for the pair. In his words they “never caused no trouble. Good boys you are. Misunderstood.”

“Actually, it looks like he hired a new guy.” Yuta observed, leaning out of the booth to look towards the front of the place. Mark and Yuta were tucked in a back corner, far from the front door which the register faced. “And he might be a mannequin, cos I swear to God, he hasn’t moved an inch since we came…wait…” Yuta paused and Mark found himself holding his breath too. “He just flipped a page!”

Mark wanted to turn around and look, curiosity prickling at his mind, but the restaurant wasn’t packed and Mark wouldn’t be surprised if the man could hear Yuta’s nature channel style commenting despite the retro pop beats that floated through the building. Possible embarrassment won over curiosity in this battle.

The new waiter must have turned at the sound of Yuta’s loud (ish) commentary because the other flashed a wide smile over Mark’s shoulder as he waved wildly before making a beckoning motion. Mark heard a quiet scoff before the sound of sneakers stepping across sticky square flooring got louder and louder, Mark’s shoulders rising higher and higher with each squelch. God, he prayed they weren’t about to get kicked out. There’s only so much rejection he can take in one day.

“Helloo,” a recognizably soft voice greeted, its cheerful timber contrasting greatly with the sass-filled scoff Mark had heard earlier. God. Mark knew that voice. He’d only heard it once in real life but it had been playing on loop in his mind for the past day like a broken gramophone. Mark hoped he didn’t recognise him lest he thought he was stalking him or something. “What can I get you oh!” Mark jumped at the exclamation, head snapping up to find Jungwoo’s surprised face. 

“It’s Mark Lee!” he beamed, cheeks squishing up in that adorable manner and causing Mark to falter.

He’s not… mad? Mark didn’t understand it. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Jungwoo was actually…happy to see him.

“Earth to Mark Lee.” Jungwoo sang, poking his forehead with his pen which felt strangely wet.

“I’m sorry, he’s been kind of out of it today.” Mark vaguely registered Yuta apologising, Jungwoo giggling in turn and shooting back a pleasant no worries.  And Mark couldn’t even begin to process that because not only were Yuta and Jungwoo interacting, but they were getting along! Not that that would have been a surprise to Mark if he was thinking clearly. Yuta was charismatic, charming, and could talk the Queen of England into giving him her throne, whilst Jungwoo had shown him nothing but kind sincerity that even Snow White would be jealous of. Of course they would get along, and Mark would have realised that from the get go if he wasn’t Mark. No, instead he managed to convince himself that Jungwoo, one of the nicest people he’d met, was somehow capable of ghosting someone with no explanation.

The words were out his mouth before he could get a proper grip on his thoughts. “I was looking for you at school today but you weren’t there?” He confessed. Two pairs of eyes flicked towards him. Jungwoo seemed startled by his admission and Mark instantly regretted it. God, why didn’t he ever think before opening his mouth. Now Jungwoo was definitely going to think he was some kind of creep.

Mark was just about to retract his statement, play it off as a joke that had fallen flat, when Jungwoo let out a small breath, just enough to make his nostrils flare, as a soft smile tugged at his lips.

“I don’t go to school. I’ve finished.” Jungwoo revealed easily and Mark felt so embarrassed. With every passing moment in the conversation, Mark was realising just how ridiculous he’d been acting. He’d never considered the possibility that the other male was older than him. He felt so foolish. Mark was about to apologise when Woo continued.

“Well, to be honest, I didn’t actually go to school.” He hummed; hip cocked to the side as his pen sat on the swell of his bottom lip.

“There’s nothing wrong with that!” Yuta piped up, a friendly and easy-going smile on his face. Mark wished he could do that. Make people comfortable so easily. “Our Markie didn’t start going to school til high school.”

Mark blushed at Yuta’s use of his nickname. He didn’t know why it made him so shy to hear it said in front of Jungwoo. It had never bothered him before. But then again, it had always been just him and Yuta. Maybe he’d only ever viewed the nickname as a thing between them. Mark just hoped Jungwoo wouldn’t think it was weird or anything.

“My family move around a lot so after a while I just didn’t see the point in going anymore,” Jungwoo explained with a shrug, leaning back against the counter that ran adjacent to their booth, “especially when my parents were more then capable of teaching me themselves. I completed the SATs ages ago, so now I just help at home with my younger sisters, and take part time jobs here and there. I don’t really need to but it’s nice to have your own money, you know.”

Yuta hummed agreeably. “It’s good not to be tied down. Just the option of being able to pack up and leave if you ever wanted to is so freeing.”

Jungwoo smiled wildly as he nodded his head (in that adorable enthusiasm-filled way that made him look like a puppy) and fist bumped Yuta, clearly happy that the other understood where he was coming from.

Mark wished he could share in their comradery. The most freedom Mark had was being able to be sat there currently. Isn’t that sad? Pathetic? Come summertime, Mark would be turning 18. He’d be considered an adult in most countries at that age, and yet there he was, the pinnacle of his freedom being that he was allowed to freely clog his arteries with greasy burgers and curly fries. Even so, Mark was glad to learn more about Jungwoo. About his background. He could see why his family seemed so nice with how tight-knit they are. Mark thought it was very admirable that Jungwoo had chosen to stay with them and be close to his sisters despite being old enough to fly the nest so to speak. If anything, it was a testament to how kind his character was. and now Mark felt even more guilty for assuming the worse earlier.

“W-When we were talking yesterday…” Two pairs of eyes once again turned to him as he interrupted whatever the pair had been talking about. Mark flushed at the attention as he struggled to gather his thoughts, “I didn’t realise you were so much older than me. I’m sorry for assuming.”

“Old?!” Jungwoo reeled, sending Yuta into a fit of laughter and causing Mark’s cheeks to heat up even further.

Jungwoo planted a hand loudly on the table, causing the cutlery to rattle, before he leaned in closer. Mark gulped. Eyes darting everywhere but to Jungwoo who was closing in and wow was that a piercing? Mark stared as the neon lights bounced off the diamond stud in his earlobe. How had he not noticed it before? The glare was reflecting on his face, given his cheekbones a soft pink highlight and Mark was suddenly struck by just how handsome Jungwoo was. Yes, his cheeks squished up cutely when he smiled, but as his eyes lidded and his lips pouted, Mark was realising that, like the diamond in his ear, Jungwoo was made of sharper edges than he’d first thought.

“Markie,” he purred, like he literally purred and Mark wanted to die on the spot. His eyes darted to Yuta. He hoped the s.o.s signal he was sending would be received by the elder but the absolutely delighted grin on his face told Mark said signals were being blocked (wilfully). There was mischievousness glinting off his pearly white teeth and Mark finally registered why Jungwoo’s mischievousness the previous day had felt familiar. It was two against one.

He was on his own.

“Markie,” Jungwoo cooed once more, bottom lip jutting out even further as his pout deepened. Mark was sure he was sweating through his sweater vest, his glasses steaming up. “Do I really look old to you?”

“N-No?!” Mark squeaked and he heard Yuta snicker. Of course he didn’t! if Mark could only choose one word to describe Jungwoo it would be youthful.

“Then why did you call me old?” He sulked, standing straight once again to cross his arms and harumph. Mark was thankful for the chance to breathe easily again. “I’m only seventeen.” He chirped, back to the care bear style pleasantness Mark associated with him. God, it was like whiplash how quick he changed between the two sides.

Oh.

“But…” he trailed off.

“I’m just super smart.” He smirked but it was way more light-hearted than the heavy gaze he’d fixed him with just seconds prior, taking the pen from behind his ear where he’d tucked it earlier. Jungwoo pulled a little notebook out of his apron pocket and bit the lid off the pen, the plastic staying in his mouth as he asked for their orders before skipping back to the front counter.

Mark watched him disappear around the corner before he turned back towards Yuta. The elder was sporting a face=splitting grin, something akin to a shark, and Mark was suddenly very wary. He eyed the elder shakily.

Yuta’s smile grew wider (somehow) and there was a sharp glint in his eyes like a cat who’d successfully caught a mouse. “I like him!” he declares, features relaxing as he fell back into his seat. Mark let out a breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding. Sure, the pair had seemed like they got along, but it was one thing to assume it, and another to have Yuta’s direct confirmation. Mark was relieved. And hopeful for what their new friendship may entail. “Where’ve you been hiding him, huh? He could have come to the gig with me.”

Oh yeah! The gig. Mark had forgotten that happened on Saturday. He hadn’t even asked Yuta how it went yet. Fuck, he felt like a bad friend. But Mark was going to correct that feeling immediately. He asked Yuta about the concert and watched with a warm chest as the elder’s face lit up, eyes twinkling with excitement. It was like a faucet had been turned on the way Yuta gushed endlessly about Anarchic Therapy. The many chains that adorned his wrist jangled as he gesticulated wildly, acting out different moments from the night that had stuck with him.

Yuta was demonstrating the headlock the bartender had put a patron who had had a little too much to drink in when a tray with two steaming baskets of loaded fries was placed on the table. Jungwoo smiled at Mark as he helped him with the other tray which carried their milkshakes, before motioning at Yuta to scooch over.  

“Shouldn’t you be manning the front?” Mark raised an eyebrow.

Jungwoo dismissed his worries with a lazy wave of his hand. “If I sit next to Yuta,” Jungwoo said as he did just that, Mark watched as the two older boys shared a conspiratorial grin, and the distant feeling that he was intruding on something settled in the back of his mind, “I can see when someone comes in. Now, what was this I heard about a gig?” He questioned, stealing one of Mark’s curly fries and popping it into his mouth without hesitation.

Yuta was only too excited to fill Jungwoo in on what he’d missed that weekend and Mark sat back and watched happily as Yuta reiterated everything he’d just told Mark with just as much enthusiasm. Mark loved watching Yuta talk about music. His passion for the bands he used to express himself overflowing, his eyes going wild in that uniquely crazy way that was so Yuta. To some he would look dangerous, threatening, but Mark found comfort in it.

“Damn, they sound awesome.” Jungwoo had awed. “I wish we’d met sooner so I could have gone.”

Yuta grinned. “They were!” he enthused, pausing to take a sip of his root beer shake. “Actually, you just reminded me of something.” Yuta perked up and Mark leaned closer in his seat, anticipating hearing Yuta gush about the gig some more. “There was this killer band that opened for them. But I can’t remember the name…” he trailed off, suddenly patting himself down until his hand stopped inside his bomber jacket. It was a favourite of his. Black with paint splashes and buttons decorating its surface, and many pockets on the interior great for hiding things. Yuta had customised it himself and was rarely seen without it.

The crinkling of paper and plastic soon told Mark that he had found what he was looking for. With a triumphant grin, the elder slapped it down on the table. Both Mark and Jungwoo leant forward with curious eyes to see what it was.

A red square paper envelope stared back at them.

The pair turned to Yuta, confusion evident on their faces.

“Turn it over stupids.”

When Jungwoo flipped it, the outline of the cd was obvious. The other side of the envelope was covered in some kind of insignia sloppily written with what Mark is gonna guess was a gold gel pen. The symbol was a five-point star with these weird lines, circles and dots running through different points. Around the strange star the word Floatstinger was spelt out in bold capital letters. It was kind of pretty, or it would be if it had been drawn a bit better. The symbol felt familiar but Mark couldn’t place where he’d seen it before, maybe it was on one of those faded stickers that decorated his Walkman, he theorised. But the memory felt older than that. God, Mark would have to think about it later. Once something had wormed its way into Mark’s head, it was near impossible for him to focus on much else.

“Float…stinger,” Jungwoo read out, twisting his neck to try and read the letters that were upside down.

“YES!” Yuta clapped. “That was it! They were so good, I was surprised. And they were giving out these CDs so I grabbed one for you Mark.”

Mark blushed at the sudden attention, but he was glad to see Yuta had thought of him even in his absence. Mark had never met a more considerate person. It still took him by surprise when Yuta did things like this. Showed genuine care for Mark and his interests.

Yuta continued to gush about the band and the night in general whilst the dinner filled up. At some point Jungwoo disappeared to actually do his job, but he would pop in and out of the conversation.  

***

Usually Mark and Yuta would go to Express 999 a couple times a week under the guise of studying (which they actually did do most of the time), but that week they’d been going every day, keeping Jungwoo company during his shift. He was so happy to finally have another friend, and Mark was elated at how well the three of them got along. He had never thought that something was missing or lacking in his and Yuta’s relationship, but the addition of Jungwoo… Mark couldn’t explain it but it was just better. He was like the missing link in a bracelet.

Despite that, Mark still couldn’t get that symbol out of his head. He knew he’d seen it somewhere before. When he’d gone home that first Monday, CD tucked safely at the bottom of his backpack, he’d checked his Walkman to see if the symbol was there and had no such luck, which meant that he had to have seen it somewhere else. But given his rather sheltered life, the only plausible place he could think of was his home, if not on something Yuta owned. During the week Mark had even asked if there was a chance Yuta had actually seen the band before but Yuta had looked at Mark with wonder glittering in his eye and told him there was no way he’d forget a band like that.

On Friday, after he’d finished his dinner and retired to his room for the night, Mark sat on his bed with the envelope in hand. His thumb lightly traced over the shapes, careful not to smudge the ink, as he tried to think of where he’d seen it. The memory was old, that much he was sure of. Much like the letter, the symbol seemed to be written in gold, but this time it was intricately designed and it seemed to be engraved on the cover of a book.

Mark recognised the book. Well, not the book specifically, but the style of book. Old. With yellowed pages crisp to the touch, they were so fragile. He could vaguely see volumes upon volumes of similar books in what looked like the shelves of their home library, extras piled high on the floor. But Mark knew if he was to go downstairs, to the moderately sized room beside what the parlour, that the library would look nothing like what he was seeing.

He squeezed his eyes shut trying to focus on the memory. He couldn’t understand why it was so difficult. It was like a brick wall as high as prison walls had been placed around it. Mark was trying desperately to break them down. Each minute passed was like another pickaxe hit to the wall, and as Mark found himself closer and closer to breaking through, as did this burning sensation in his head. At first it only felt a little tingly, as the cracks appeared. But as these cracks widened, as more light, more of his memory, shone through, the sensation grew more intense until it was like a full-on solar flare had washed over his head.

Then he promptly passed out.

Mark woke up on the cold floor of his bedroom… except it wasn’t. The rug was the wrong one. His bed several sizes too small and the floor littered with toy trains rather than textbooks. It wasn’t his bedroom, but it was. Just not his current one.

Groggily, Mark sat up. Hands coming up to rub at his eyes where the burning sensation still lingered. He blinked once, twice, as he moved his hands away, his brows creasing as he stared at his hands. Mark had always had hands on the smaller side, it was something Yuta teased him about before taking them into his own for heat sharing purposes, but Mark knew deep down that what he was looking at were the hands of a child no older than five.

Before Mark had a chance to try and make sense of what was going on, his mother’s voice was calling up the spire. The sound of her low-heeled shoes clacking against the stone steps as she climbed the two-story spire to his bedroom.

His door creaked open, his mother’s face, only it was much younger than the one he was used to, poked into his room. Worry etched onto her features. “Mark dear, are you alright?”

Was he? Mark was unsure. It wasn’t possible. And he knew it wasn’t possible. But all signs were pointing to him having time travelled. TIME TRAVELLED??! It didn’t make sense. And the more Mark tried to make sense of it, the more his head hurt, like he’d banged it against the floor.

“Sweetie…” his mother tried again, distracting him from his spiralling thoughts. Mark took the time to look at her. To actually look at her. Her eyes were wide, and though concern clearly pooled in her dark orbs, they still shone brightly. Mark had gotten his eyes from her. The skin around them was tighter though, less wrinkled. As were her cheeks and hands. Her black frizzy hair, which sat as neatly as it could on top of her head in a bun, was only peppered with white as opposed to the mostly grey head Mark was used to. It was a mother he recognised from the old photographs on top of their mantle, from his younger days in the church but he didn’t understand why he was stood before her.

He watched as the corners of her thin lips pulled down before she surged forward to scoop Mark in her arms. “Don’t cry, don’t cry,” she consoled, as one hand rubbed at his back, the other lightly pushing his head into the crook of her neck to drown his tears. “It was just a little fall, you only bumped your head, sweetie.”

Mark hadn’t even realised he’d been crying, but Mark was quickly coming to the conclusion that he wasn’t in control any more. He had no autonomy over, what he suspected was, his past body. No choice but to sit through the motions and hope he came across some kind of way to return to normal.

“Do you want to see Daddy?” his mother questioned once the tears had tapered off to sniffles. Little Mark nodded into her neck and suddenly they were outside the library.

The heavy wooden door, with brass bulbs that ran across the middle, was always a chore to open, but Mark’s mother managed with one hand, the other still cradling Little Mark to her side. Little Mark lifted his head up at the heavy groan it made, jumping down from his mother’s arms as soon as it was open wide enough.

God, the library looked so different. It felt different too. The lighting was low, lit by the four torches on each wall. The fuzzy pink rug that Mark sat on to do his homework was nowhere to be seen, bare stone flooring in its place. And the room was overflowing with books and strange objects as opposed to the neatly organised and brightly lit room Mark knew should be here. The only thing that looked remotely familiar were the shelves.

Little Mark didn’t seem to be disturbed by the room though, running towards the big wooden chair a younger version of his father was sat in with a…

Oh my god... WAS THAT A CROSSBOW?

Mark really had no idea what was going on. The closest thing to a weapon Mark had seen his father touch was the butter knife. What he was seeing made no sense. This... this had to be some kind of alternate reality. Five wasn’t young enough to forget something like this, right? And why was it only this? Why hadn’t he forgotten his time in the church? Or when his mother would let him accompany her into town for grocery shopping.

Mark watched as a large smile took over his father’ face, his nose scrunching in a way that was characteristic of the both of them, as he placed the crossbow down on the table to scoop Little Mark into his arms and place him squarely on his lap.

His father started talking about something. He was probably cooing at Mark’s injury as he could feel a ruff palm pat at his head, but Mark’s mind was elsewhere.

On the table his father was sat before was the aforementioned crossbow as well as an assortment of arrows. At the other end was a pair of horns that Mark couldn’t place on any animal but it had to have been from one. The surface was littered with rosemary but what had caught Mark’s attention the most, was the book.

Mark watched as tiny hands reached out for it, chubby fingers tracing the symbol on the page written in decaying ink.

It was…

Mark landed with a thud. A pained grunt escaping his lips as he rolled onto his back. Fuck. He’d fallen out of bed.

But…as Mark blinked the red spots out of his vision…it was wispy, but remnants of Mark’s dream clung to his consciousness.

Right, a dream. That was what it had been. Mark wanted to believe but… it had felt so real. The touch of his father’s hand still lingered in his hair, the feel of the dry page tingled on his fingertips. Mark sat up fully. His back leaned against his bed frame as he pulled his knees to his chest, sock clad toes wiggled into the blue strands of his carpet.

He needed to think. But his head still hurt. Whether it was from his dream or fall, he was unsure. One thing he was sure of though, was that something was wrong. Very wrong. And working out what that something was, started with finding that book.

It was obviously not in their current library, and Mark briefly considered just asking his parents about it, but the idea was quickly dismissed. Someone (or thing, his mind unhelpfully supplied) had gone to great lengths to make him forget ever seeing that side to his father. And judging about how Little Mark was clearly unperturbed by what he’d seen, it was obviously not an out of the ordinary sight, even though Mark had no memories of anything slightly related. (And God knew he was trying to scour his mind for it). Getting an answer out of his parents was a no go.

His first thought was to check if it was hidden somewhere in the house. And if that was the case, there was only one place Mark could think of it being. The one place in the castle Mark wasn’t allowed to go in. The “basement” which was actually old dungeons converted to storage space. Or at least, that’s the story he’d been told. His mother had forbidden him from going down there for as long as he could remember on account of restless spirits that he had no business being around.

Mark scoffs at himself.

How is it only now that he was beginning to question that excuse?

No matter. His mind was made up. He had to see what was down there.

***

But that was easier said than done.

Almost as if they knew what he was planning, Mark’s parents had not left him home alone for weeks. His mum did not have an official job, but she’d usually go out during the day to visit her friends, help out the community. She even ran a couple programmes on behalf of the church in the community centre. But she had not left the home as far as Mark could tell. When he wasn’t conducting service (on Wednesdays and Sundays), Mark’s father would usually hold drop-in hours at the church. The church was located at the bottom and to the right of the little hill that their home sat upon. Mark’s dad would leave after breakfast, the both of them walking down the hill together before separating to carry on with their day, and arrive home just in time for dinner.

But for some reason he’d been arriving home earlier than even Mark. Mark had deliberately cut the time he was spending with Yuta and Jungwoo short, only staying for about an hour after school, but it was all for nought. For three days in a row, he’d walked into the kitchen to find his father sat at the table nursing a cup of tea as he spoke amicably with his mother. After the sixth day, Mark was struggling to keep in the growl of frustration that rumbled within him. But it was okay. The next day was Saturday which meant his parents would be going out for the weekly grocery run. Together. Like they always did.

Except they didn’t. His mum stayed behind, citing a really bad migraine as the cause and okay, Mark wasn’t so heartless he was not going to take care of his mother just because he thinks they may be trying to spoil his plans.

But when the same thing happened the next week and the next, Mark had grown pass suspicious and was now wondering how they’d worked out what he was going to do. Whilst he didn’t want to think it true, his suspicions that they’d been the ones to mess with his head only grew stronger. How else would they know what he was planning?

However, Mark was not perturbed. By the third week, Mark was spending his class time brainstorming how he was going to disrupt their plans. And what he had come up with fool-proof. He’d used highlighters and everything!

 Unfortunately for Mark Lee, his effort went to waste.

That Sunday, after bidding goodbye to Jungwoo and his family, Mark had been helping his parents tidy up the church like he always did once everyone had left the church, when they approached him. Apparently, there was some kind of event going on, a harvest festival of types, that the town mayor wanted them to watch over. They wouldn’t be home until after dinner.

Mark tried his best to mask his glee at hearing that.

The three of them went back to their castle. His parents washed up and changed into less formal clothes before making Mark promise to be on his best behaviour. Of course he would be, he told them as they stood opposite him on the doorstep. His mother wrapped in a knitted shawl and his father in a thick coat. He had nothing to do but homework.

He hoped they couldn’t hear him dancing behind the closed the door.

You did it, Mark Lee!  He celebrated. But was it perhaps… premature?

With his parents gone the castle was deathly silent. The wind always managed to sweep through every crevice it could find in the structure, creating a soft whistling howl that Mark was usually able to ignore, but with the weight of what he was about to do weighing on his shoulders, it was hard to shut it out.

He gulped.

“You’ve come too far, Mark.” He whispered to himself. “Chin up, you can do this.”

You can.

With his mini pep talk over, he squared his shoulders and walked quickly into the kitchen. Digging through the draws, and trying his best not to disturb anything too much, Mark took out the electrical torch they had for emergencies. With speedy steps, Mark made his way to the door that he knew held the way to the stairs that led underground. Unsurprisingly, the door was locked.

He cursed.

Well, the key for it had to be somewhere, and Mark was willing to bet it was on the bunch that hung in his father’s study. As he walked back towards the front of the castle, Mark prayed that his father hadn’t had the sense to lock that door too.

He tried the handle and sent a thank you to God when it pulled all the way down, no problem. Great! And when he poked his head into the room, the bunch of keys hung where they usually were, on the hook beside the bookshelf. Double great! Like a thief in the night, Mark snatched them up and high-tailed it out of there.

Sooner than he may have been ready for, the door lay open and Mark was shining the torch down the steps. It was so dark down there; he couldn’t see the bottom of the staircase. It was like the darkness was eating the light from his torch, the usually powerful beam only able to illuminate a couple steps in front of him. But Mark wasn’t a coward (all of the time)! With one final deep breath, Mark finally began descending.

It was cold down there. Which was saying a lot because the castle was always cold, but this chill was different. Mark liked to think he’d built up some kind of resistance to low temperatures over the years, but with every step he took a small shiver wrecked through his body. Almost as if he’d walked over his grave. Mark was beginning to consider that maybe what his mother had said about spirits haunting the halls down here hadn’t been a total lie.

But still, he trudged on.

Beyond the steps was another door, and Mark briefly felt like he was entering a maximum security prison. Luckily for him though, this door did not have a lock. Mark pressed his palm to the door, and the wind seemed to pick up around him, ruffling his hair a little. Whatever Mark was looking for may very well be beyond this door, and Mark was so preoccupied with that thought he didn't even question where the wind was coming from.

Deep breaths, Mark Lee. Deep breaths.

One…

Two…

Three…

With all his might, he shoved open the door. The door was old, and the hinges rusty, making it take a lot of effort. But eventually the door gave way with a loud moan that rattled Mark's senses. A puff of dust bellowed out of the room, temporarily rendering Mark blind and seeping into his lungs.

Mark hacked as he used one hand to thump at his chest and the other to wave away the cloud. After he'd just about coughed up his lungs (wow, centuries old dust really did hit different), Mark was finally able to stand up straight again. His vision was still a little bleary from tears that sat unshed on the rim of his eyes and oh wait, that was probably just dust that had settled on his lenses.

And yep, sure enough, when Mark removed his glasses, they were covered with a film of dust. He used the bottom of his top to clean them off, slid them back onto his face and yeah, okay so it had been the glasses. well, Mark was just glad to be able to see again… as much as he could without his torch illuminating the darkness.

It was funny that a cloud of dust had managed to distract Mark to a point where his nervousness had disappeared, but he decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Raising the torch, Mark peered into the room. His jaw dropped.

It was cluttered, so he figured the storage thing hadn't been a complete lie. But what it was cluttered with is what sent Mark’s mind reeling.

Weapons.

And lots of them. Just from the doorway Mark could see crossbows, daggers of varying size and metal, axes, swords. You name it, Mark could see it. There was even a riffle hanging from the wall. Mark was struggling to work out what his pacifist parents, his priest father, was doing hoarding all these weapons beneath their home. Mark had so many questions. So so so many. But he had barely scratched the surface.

He pressed forwards, brushing the cobwebs out of the way as they dangled from the ceiling like jungle vines. Searching through the mess of dust, mould and stacks of books. Mark picked one up and wiped the dust off the cover. It looked so similar to what he had seen in his memories. The colour was different, but it still had the same worn and dry pages filled with unfamiliar characters. It didn’t take a genius to see that what was written was about…dark things. The pictures told him enough.

Mark shuddered. He was very very close to freaking out.

But he was on the verge of figuring out what was going on, he could feel it. Plus, he didn’t know how long he’d been so far. This may very well be his first and only chance, so he couldn’t waste it.

Mark was now in the centre of the room. There was a large mass in front of him covered by white tarp. Mark gripped it between his fingers, paused to take one more calming breath, before taking the plunge.

He ripped the sheet off, sending another cloud of dust into the air and screamed.

And the table he’d just uncovered was the decapitated head of… God Mark didn’t even know what it was. The closest animal he could liken it to was a goat but it was far too large to be that. The snout long and ridged. Two monstrous horns shot up from either side of its scaly head. If Mark didn’t know any better, he’d think it was a dragon. But that was impossible. Right?

Mark laughed to himself.

His dad having a basement full of occult material was also impossible, but here he stood, in the thick of it.

He felt frayed, emotionally. But he’d come too far to turn back. Mark trailed his torch over the table, examining its contents. Like it had been in his dream, the table was littered with rosemary and random books. The one Mark was looking for must ne among them.

With each item he picked up, Mark started searching more and more frantically. Desperately wanting to get out of there.

After about five more minutes, Mark found the book at the bottom of a pile near the back end of the table. He almost cried in relief when he spotted the familiar red cover, tracing his finger along the engraved symbol. It was almost exactly the same as that album cover except for the words in the outer circle reading Astaroth.

“Astaroth,” he whispered, and for a moment it felt like the whole earth had gone quiet. Mark couldn’t hear a sound. Not the drip of water from a crack in the stone, not the scatter of a mouse’s paws on the floor, not even his own breathing.

But it only lasted a moment.

And then life was rushing in again.

With the volume held tightly to his chest, Mark booked it out of there, all the way up to his room. He fell on to his bed, panting. He felt like he’d just explored the Amazon rainforest.

He took a moment to just breathe.

To absorb everything he’d just seen.

He didn’t know what to do. Should he confront his parents straight away? But then they’d know he’d snuck behind their back, and Mark didn’t know if answers were worth the trouble he’d get in for that. So his thoughts then turned to Yuta. This all started because of him anyways, and Yuta was smart and wise and lived more in one day than Mark had his entire life. If anyone would know what to do, it would be him. Especially considering dark stuff was his whole thing and all that.

Yes, that was a great idea. Mark would take the book to school and show Yuta.

Now with a plan set, all that was left for Mark was to hide the evidence before his parents got home. He quickly got to work. Making sure everything in the basement was how he’d found it, that the keys and torch were returned to where he’d gotten them from. He even mopped the floor in case he’d tracked dust all over the house.

At the end of it all, he felt like he’d explored another jungle. God, he hoped he had time for a bath.

Mark leant back on his bed, exhausted. His hand knocked something and quickly turning he realised it was just the book.

The book…

There was nothing really stopping him from reading it now… was there?

Just a couple pages.

Yeah.

That would be okay.

***

A clammy hand shakily pushed the bridge of his glasses back up his nose.

Mark wasn’t sure when the shakiness had started. He reckoned it was some time between putting his books in his locker and entering the lunch hall as the dinner lady had looked at him weirdly when he’d tried to get food, like she was scared he would drop it or drop in it. Now whilst Mark had felt under the weather during his last two periods, none of his seatmates had looked at him any weirder than usual. And Mark knew Ann definitely would have said something if he’d been shaky. So yeah, it must have been then.

With bleary eyes, Mark watched the liquid in his cup of water ripple as the table was shook.

“Bro, are you okay?” Yuta’s concerned voice was almost muffled by the swampy feeling in Mark’s head which was cheek down on the table. The table was cool. The table was his saviour. Mark had never been more thankful that the school’s tables were metal and it was nearing winter.

He would have loved to tell Yuta ‘yes’ and give him a bright smile like usual. (Mark wasn’t fond of having people worry about him. Although he couldn’t deny that Yuta being so visibly concerned for his well-being didn’t make his chest warm a little. Instead he answered, “I really don’t know, bro.”

Besides his heart rate being a little on the faster side, Mark had gone to bed feeling okay, excited to show Yuta the book he’d found. But he woke up feeling, for lack of a better word, like ass. Mark had hoped that it was just a small bug and that it would have flown away by first period.

His wishes hadn’t been granted.

As the day went on, Mark found himself feeling sicker and sicker. He was forced to admit that maybe it wasn’t a little bug and was instead a full-blown bout of flu.

Yuta leaned over the table to place his hand against Mark’s forehead. Mark had to resist the urge to nuzzle into his palm. It was so soothing, the coldness. Yuta’s hands always tended to be cold. Plus, the rings! The rings! They were like thin bands of ice cubes swiping across his skin.

All too soon Yuta was pulling his hand back, a worried grimace on his face. “Bro, you’re hot as hell. You need to go home.”

Mark felt his chest rumble and going off the stern look Yuta gave him, he could only assume it accurately expressed his displeasure at the idea. Mark both did and didn’t want to go home. Mark hadn’t missed a day of school throughout his high school career, plus, he wanted desperately to show Yuta what he’d found yesterday. On the other hand, Mark wasn’t so far gone he couldn’t recognise that he was exceedingly sick. Of course going home right now would be the right thing to do but there were only two periods left and Mark was sure he’d be able to power through.

“Mark Lee. If you don’t get up right now, I will pick you up and put you in my car myself.” Yuta spoke calmly. “It’s your choice; walk out of here yourself or be carried out like my princess? I’m talking full-on over the threshold newlyweds.”

Well. That ended that argument.

Mark was surprised Yuta’s red ford mustang was able to make it to his home. Mark was always nervous when he travelled in Yuta’s car, even if it was usually only for the five minutes it took them to drive from school to Express 999. The car was decades old and lights on Yuta’s dashboard were constantly blinking at him. Whilst Mark knew nothing about cars, he knew that wasn’t good. Even when driving along the paved roads of the town centre, the car sounded like it was fighting a losing battle beneath the sound of the heavy metal Yuta blasted from its struggling speakers. So Mark was very surprised to find it had made it down the dusty and rock filled roads that lead to his castle on the outskirts of town.

But Mark had more pressing things to worry about. His state had rapidly deteriorated on the drive over. He was literally sweating buckets, his sweater vest had long been removed and his shirt was near translucent where it stuck to his skin. His vision was beginning to swim and Mark thought it a miracle or divine intervention that he’d managed to accurately give Yuta directions to his home.

Yuta must have killed the engine because Mark’s head was no longer being rattled where it pressed against the cold glass.

“Look,” Yuta started, turning to him and Mark only had the energy to make his eyes do the same, “I know your parents don’t want me in there.” He fretted, head jerking towards the stone castle that sat atop the little hill they were parked on. “But I don’t think you can make it up the path, let alone look after yourself. So, on a scale of 1-10, how mad will they be when they see me in there? Actually, that doesn’t matter. They’ll just have to suck it up cos you’re my best friend, and I’m looking after you.”

Mark groaned as Yuta slid his arms around his back and under his legs before hoisting him out the car. He felt so icky and sticky and Yuta touching him was the last thing he wanted right now but he knew it was for the best. Careful not to jostle Mark too much, Yuta grabbed the boy’s bag off the car floor and ambled up the hill, propping Mark against the doorframe so he could open the door.

He whistled appreciatively when the door swung open. Not for the first time, Mark realised that his home really suited Yuta’s whole aesthetic, and he mourned the loss of better health that would have let him appreciate seeing him here. Mark barely saw a glimpse of the long-awaited sight before he was hurtling towards the ground, knees buckling. Luckily for him, Yuta managed to catch him before his nose had a rather unpleasant and sudden meeting with the floor. He hoisted the smaller boy onto his back like a sack of potatoes, drawing a weak but surprised yelp from him.

Mark’s not completely sure what happened after that because the next thing he knew, he was being placed gently onto his bed.

Yuta’s face was flushed from exhaustion, but he still looked unreasonably attractive as he was once again placing his ice block hand on Mark’s head. Mark failed to keep in his moan of pleasure that time. Rubbing his sweat-laden forehead into his palm. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he’d deeply regret this, and it was probably going to keep him up for the next two weeks. But at this moment in time he couldn’t care less. Yuta’s hand was like finding water in the desert.

“Shit. You need a cold flannel or something. Maybe some meds…Dude, where’s your bathroom?” Yuta asked, took one look at Mark and continued, “Right. I’ll find it myself. Just hold on, okay. I’ll be right back.”

And with that, Yuta was gone. Mark cried out weakly as he watched him go, sad to lose the temporary relief his touch was bringing.

It’s okay.

It’s just the flu.

You’ll be okay, Marky.

Mark wanted to die. It felt like his body was on fire. Like his blood itself was boiling.

With an anguished cry, he fell to his knees. Tears streamed down his face, the salty liquid turning to steam before it could drop from his chin. He had to make it stop. God, please!

The heat seemed to be coming from within. Maybe if he pulled his skin off it would go, the heat escaping from the confines of his flesh.

Mark looked towards his arms, expecting to see the skin blistering and bubbling up. Expecting to see liquid filled boils ready to burst but… there weren’t?

And like that, the spell was broken.

Bewildered, Mark rose from his knees. With wide and confused eyes, he inspected his body, patting it down with unsure hands. Gone were the flames that licked from within. Gone was the pain that fried him from inside. At most, it was a little hot. Somewhere between California and the middle of a desert.

And with his eyes no longer shut in agony, Mark could actually look at his surroundings and see that he was…

God knows where.

If he had to guess, then he suspected he may have been on Mars (as stupid as that sounded). But both the sky and the dusty ground beneath him were scarlet, and Mark had never seen the sky look like that outside of pictures of Mars in his science textbook. Aside from that, it was mostly just rocks, rocks and more rocks. The earth was barren and abandoned for as far as his eye could see.

He must be dreaming again.

That was the only explanation. But what the fuck was he supposed to learn from this dream. Don’t invest in nuclear technology? The world is going to end in a burning ball of fire? Mark was confused.

And alone.

And stranded.

God, please help him.

“God can’t help you here.”

Mark jumped at the sound of a voice behind him only to find no one there. What? Who said that? There were only miles upon miles of the same barren land he was stood on.

Okay, so that was weird. Maybe the heat was starting to get to him. Unknowingly, Mark’s feet had started stumbling forward. Away from the voice. He didn’t know where he was going, but anywhere would be better than the spot he’d just been stood in, he knows that much.

“Aww, where are you going?” The deep voice purred in his ear causing Mark to yelp and fall to the floor, hands coming up to cover his head protectively. “Don’t be so shy little human. I don’t bite.” It cackled.

Mark whimpered, burrowing further beneath his arms. God, please Please help him! Mark felt so unsafe. This was different to the last dream. At least that had been in familiar settings, was more likely some kind of repressed memory than whatever hellscape he’d been sent to now.

He just wanted to go home.

He began muttering the Hail Mary to himself, hoping it will offer him some kind of protection from the spirit that was tormenting him. Fuck! He should have never touched that book.

The cackling grew louder and louder as the wind picked up around him, whipping at his exposed arms and legs. A tornado cloud of red dust swirled around Mark, diving into his throat and choking him on the thick sediment. The ground trembled beneath him as the tornado intensified until he was falling through, deep into a black abyss.

Mark landed with a sharp cry.

He took a couple minutes to catch his breath. Once he felt like his heart wasn’t about to jackhammer out of his chest, Mark finally risked opening his eyes. He seemed to have landed in a room, no not a room, hall was better fitting. It looked like the fancy cathedrals he’d seen in books about Europe. The walls seemed to be made of black rock, forming arches and pillars that lined the aisle Mark was crumpled in. The floor beneath him was carpeted. It was red, reminding him of the carpet that lined his own church. In front of him was a throne. It was metallic looking, with spikes that reached high towards the roof of the place which was nothing more than stalactites of the same rock that made up the walls. Mark shuddered at the thought of one of the spikes falling and impaling him. Maybe Mark had been wrong in his original assessment.

This wasn’t a hall, but rather a palace.

“Look what the cat dragged in.” Mark startled at the voice. It was the same one that had been tormenting him before. Mark looked to where it had come from and was surprised to find the previously empty throne now occupied.

He was also surprised by how human the figure looked. The man was dressed head to toe in black. His blazer was embellished with silver spikes, the jacket held together by a single button that left his chest and navel exposed, both of which were covered in markings. Mark wasn’t an idiot, he knew a tattoo when he saw one. Especially considering Yuta has several. A thick silver chain was wrapped tightly around his slender neck, accentuated by his sharp jawline and collarbones. He was tall, the throne seeming almost too small for him despite the fact that it almost reached the roof. His legs were thrown lazily across one arm of the chair as he leaned back against the other. His legs encased in shiny black pants that looked like he’d had to pour himself into them, his thighs bulging against the material.

God, he was quite possibly the hottest man he had ever seen, and Mark was terrified.

The man started laughing again, the sound deep and rich yet condescending, like he had known exactly what Mark was thinking about.

Mark flushed.

The guy chuckled one last time before he disappeared. Mark didn’t even get the chance to panic before he reappeared right before him.

And yeah, Mark had been right in thinking he was tall. He loomed over him, having to bend forward to match Mark’s eyeline.

His eyes were candy red. His gaze sharp. His lips curled coquettishly as he peered down at Mark.

“Oh, you’ll do.” He purred. “You’ll do quite nicely.”

Mark trembled. Whether it was due to his words, his appearance or his overwhelming presence? Mark didn’t know. Probably all three.

“What-what does that mean?” he whispered.

The man only smirked. “Such a pretty boy, but so unremarkable. Yes, you’re perfect.”

☆☆☆

Terror wasn’t something Yuta really experienced. But he had no other word for what he was feeling right now. As laid back as he was trying to appear for Mark, his heart was hammering in his chest.

Mark rarely got sick, and at most it was a little cold that made his voice sound whiny and his cheeks and nose a little pink. But this… Yuta had never seen illness like this. Mark looked, for lack of a better word, like death. And Yuta was terrified for his best friend. Yuta didn’t know what he’d do if something happened to Mark. Of course, he had other friends, not none of them meant anything close to what Mark meant to him. And seeing Mark in that state…

Yuta wasn’t too proud to admit he was a little worried…

A lot worried.

As reluctant as he was to leave Mark by himself, sweating a pool into the middle of his bed, he needed to find something to help. And asking the younger clearly wasn’t an option. The boy was delirious, nuzzling his hand like a cat. Under better circumstances, Yuta would have cooed at how cute he looked. Like a little wet lion cub, with his cheeks all flushed and cute. And Mark probably would have blushed even more at his teasing.

Yuta had always found the fact that Mark lived in a castle really freaking cool. Which is why it had been such a bummer when it became apparent his parents didn’t want him within 50 yards of the place. But right now, Yuta was mad Mark didn’t live in a more normal place. He was scurrying around the place like a headless chicken trying to find a room as simple as a bathroom. Fuck castles! All his homies hated castles! And whilst, in reality, no more than a minute had passed, Yuta’s anxiousness to get back to Mark was making it feel like time was running at the top speed on a treadmill.

Finally, he located the bathroom on the second floor. Carrying a bucket he’d found in a storage cupboard earlier, he filled it with cold water and stuffed his pockets with some flue and pain relief meds he found in the drawers beneath the sink. (Yuta didn’t know if Mark was in pain, but every little helped!)

He hefted his supplies back up the turret Mark’s bedroom was located in. Bursting through the door with a loud, “I’m back Marky! How are you-”

He froze. Bucket in hand.

“Hey Yuta.” Mark greeted cheerily.

Yuta blinked.

“I-” he stammered. Mouth opening and closing like a fish.

Mark giggled from where he was sat on the edge of his bed, one leg crossed over the other as his feet swung absentmindedly.

Yuta took a tentative step closer, his eyebrows raised in question. “Mark?”

The younger hummed, looking up at Yuta through his lashes. His head resting on the palm of his hand propped up on his knee.

Yuta lowered the bucket, the water sloshed when the bottom hit the floor, “Are you…alright?”

“I’m feeling great, why do you ask?”

Why does he ask?? Okay, Yuta was officially confused. What was going on? Why didn’t Mark look like he was on his deathbed. The younger had changed out of his sweat laden shirt, now dressed in a comfy looking sweater and a loose pair of jeans. “Erm… you weren’t feeling too good earlier. You were like really hot?”

Mark seemed to consider his words for a moment before he made a noise of realisation. “Ahhh that!” he smiled, breathtakingly bright. His nose scrunched up adorably, wiggling his glasses, and all his teefies on display. “I guess it’s passed now. I told you it was nothing to worry about.”

“Okay…”

Mark stood, walking closer to Yuta before brushing his hands up the elder’s arms to settle them on his shoulders. Yuta shuddered at the touch. From this proximity he could see the usual sparkle in the younger’s eyes.

“You should probably go,” he whispered. “My parents will be home soon.”

Yuta looked pensive again. He was beginning to question if everything had just been some kind of fever dream. Maybe he was the one who was sick. “Are you sure? I think I should still watch over you for a little while… at least until your parents-”

“Yuta.” Mark silenced him with a finger to his lips. His smile was small and warm. “I feel fine. Plus, you were so kind as to bring me this medicine,” he slid one hand into his pocket, “and water so if I don’t feel good, I’m sure I can take care of it.”

“It’s just-”

“Yuta.” He took a step back, holding his arms out so Yuta could see his whole body. “I’ve never felt better.”