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Little Things — Mark Lee

Mark loves so many things about you, but he’ll never let the words slip out of his mouth.

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3

“Mark Lee!” The voice was clear, and echoed repeatedly throughout his newly purchased apartment. It was also expected, as he knew your creative nature couldn’t withstand the way he decorated his new home.

He probably should have been focused on how he could please your complaints, or more so take in your deep lecture about how his plain white walls had to be the justification on why he couldn’t sleep at night, or how his simple bed set up was definitely the reason that he couldn’t stop catching midnight leg cramps, but he was in a daze.

His eyes started on the small of your back. Even though you currently wore what you taught him to be “high waisted jeans”, the bright orange crop top you spotted still exposed your gentle skin, and Mark wanted touch it. He just knew it was softer than any pillow you would buy him today. It would relax him more than the most expensive bed sheets.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Your voice broke through like waves, but he felt the farthest from sea sick. He actually had never felt better, a feeling that he believed would always be foreign to him. Mark hadn’t had much experience with humans in general, other than his members, but he would always think about it. He would wonder just how nervous he would get when he finally fell in love for the first time. Would he be able to create puddles of sweat with his shaky nature? Would he feel his heart practically beating out of his chest when his love made eye contact with him? How deep would he love? Would it be the kind of passion where they did no wrong in his eyes, and he was constantly looking like a immature child whenever someone tried to call him out on his blindness?

The truth of his feelings for you, was that he didn’t get nervous. He was never scared to slip in light touches to your safe places, and when you looked into his eyes, he gained confidence. All of a sudden, the Mark Lee that everyone else thought they knew would dissolve, and he would feel like a man. A man who wanted to give you the whole world. He wanted to be the one putting a smile on your face.

His friends were constantly betting their bottom dollars on when he was going to finally break down, falling to his knees and confessing his undying love for you.

The answer to that question was never.

Maybe it was because he was enjoying himself too much right now. The privilege of being your friend came with so many benefits; solid, irreplaceable benefits, that he had no problems staying in the friend zone. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to slip in the fact that the reason his bed was so lonely and uncomfortable was because you weren’t ever going to be in it. That his walls were purposely plain and dry, as he needed an excuse for you to come and drag him out.

But couldn’t he just keep it too himself? They were just little things.

He observed you deeply as he watched you stroll around his room, blabbering about different color schemes the two of you could scrounge up. You emphasize the word “pop” with a smack of your soft lips, and your hand began to gently graze his colorless wall as you finally turned around to face him.

“I’m sorry—what did you say?” He immediately questioned, scratching the back of his head which was in dear need of a haircut, all so he wouldn’t have to look you in your eyes just yet.

“I said did you have any colors in mind? And why are you looking at the floor, hm? Do I make you nervous?” You taunted, and without even looking at you he knew you wore your familiar face. The one where you bit your lip playfully, and your cheeks widened just enough to get him weak.

“No.” He responded quickly, staring right into your orbs. “You’re just scary.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Oh, but I do.” Now it was him stepping closer to you, and as he realized much earlier, he wasn’t nervous. His chest tingled, and his stomach was tossing and quenching, but that was simply because you were too beautiful. The fact that you were standing here so casually, as if you weren’t the most perfect human being inside and out was mind boggling to him, and it would make any human being nervous. “You make me feel so stupid.” He joked, but he saw the way your eyes quickly softened from their playfully flirtatious state, and now your hand was holding his own.

“No—I don’t want you to feel like that? What did I say? I’m so sor—

“Y/N, I’m kidding.” He chuckled lightly, almost in synch with the ticking of his newly installed air conditioner. “You know you’re too good for this world.”

Mark could sense you still didn’t believe his honest words, so he did the only thing he could do, which was to rub the back of your hand in a caring manner. Even still, it wasn’t enough.

“I don’t want you to think I’m trying to take over your life. White is just too plain, and I wanted to spend time with you today.”

Your words were short and sweet, but he couldn’t help himself. He brought your hand right to his lips, kissing it just as quick before placing it back where it was usually stationed and letting go.

“Mark—

“You ready?” He questioned, wanting you to ignore his mistake. He was so helpless when it came to you. Why the hell did he just do that? Maybe he had watched too many movies.

“Okay.” Was all you whispered in a quiet tone.

You always enjoyed large stores like this. “Superstores” to be exact. And Mark always loved adventuring in then with you, because of the image he always got to see. It was always the exact same.

You’d be pushing your buggy, or what you called a “basket”. This was a frequent argument between you two, but that doesn’t matter for now. Your eyes were always up high before the looked down to the lower aisles, as “the good things are always on top.”

Right now, you two were in the paint aisle, and he knew any minute now you would notice that he wasn’t paying attention to any of the so-called dazzling colors; holding the key to his house becoming a home.

“Mark, you keep doing that.”

“I keep doing what?”

“Ignoring me. If you want to take a drive or something take my keys.”

He could sense your frustration with him growing, and he felt so guilty. He didn’t know what was wrong with him today. Usually, the two of you would talk for hours without end, and truthfully he would be able to push his feelings aside, or at the least—focus on his favorite thing in the whole wide world. He was so focused on details today. He didn’t know what was happening.

“No no. Starting now, attention on.” He snapped three times against his forehead, before coming up behind you with a hand on your lower back. Your response was nothing as you continued to stroll against the newly polished floors, looking from row to row.

“Blue, Mark. Are you feeling blue?” You looked up at him now, and he looked right back at you.

“Are you painting my room, or your room?”

You crossed your arms infront of your chest, although you were laughing too. “First of all, my room is black.”

“Which I think you regret.”

“No. Your room color should match your soul. You know this.”

“Well in that case, I think you should take my room.”

And now your eyes were slowly disappearing, because that’s exactly what they did when you were just too amused. When you were around someone; or something that made you incredibly happy. While he didn’t take his eyes off you, he subtly snuck the blue paint into the cart.

“Are you saying I’m an angel, Mark Lee?”

“Sha-la-la-la.” He sung, referencing his own song. So corny, but you loved him anyway. That’s what you always said to him when he made horrible jokes like this.

“Cute.” You mumbled, and he couldn’t help but silently peep the smirk that rested on your features as you saw the paint for yourself. “My favorite shade.”

“Well, I figured you might as well like the color too considering you’re going to turn my room into yours.”

“I am not.” You scoffed, even though the evil simper on your features told a completely different story.

“Yeah?” As you continued to walk, Mark skipped some so was just ahead of the cart “Then explain why half of your wardrobe was in my dorm room. Hm?”

Your silence informed him that you knew this a battle you couldn’t win. He also couldn’t help but notice the way your eyes couldn’t match with his for long, quickly drooping back onto the bucket. Your left hand also moved to the back of your waist, resting on the curve. “I’m hungry.” You whispered.

Deflective. That’s what Johnny taught him. When he would spend his nights cooeing about you, and force his estranged members to analyze your every reaction and touch, this is what Johnny said was your coping mechanism for your feelings for him.

“How come you can never look at me for long?”

“What are you talking about, Mark.”

“I’m talking about the fact that I want to see your pretty face. It’s been a long week.” His hand reached for your chin, forcing you to stare him down.

“I’m not pretty.” You shooed his hand away.

This was the one thing he couldn’t stand to see, but quite often had to handle. Your hatred for yourself. He always wondered how it would feel to love someone so much, even though they hated themselves. Hate was also such a strong word, but it was the word you used.

“And I’m not fishing for compliments.” You interrupted before he could even speak. “I just don’t see it.”

“Well, you know how I feel.”

It was a simple combination of words, but it was also an obvious trigger to memories from two weekends ago. Your drunken confession that he had to pretend he didn’t hear over the loud music that raved throughout the abandoned building. Oddly enough, he could still smell the dusty couch you two sat on, trying to escape from the noise.

You had obviously drunk too much, as you begged for him to find a secluded area for the two of you. For what felt like hours did you two just sit in silence, you continuously nuzzling into his chest.

His focus was on the moonlight that he could see out the high-placed window.

“I love you, Mark.”

Nothing unusual. Although, the words did make him freeze for a mere second, only to unfreeze before you could notice.

“I love you too.”

“I don’t think you get me.”

“Sleep.” He chuckled lightly, truthfully thinking you were just babbling as you always did. You needed to relax, and not upset your stomach even more from constantly using your diaphragm to yell over the tunes.

“No.” You whined, a familiar noise that indicated something was truly bothering you. Something that hadn’t even been uttered to him. Your head made a sad attempt to lift from his now built chest, thanks to the age of twenty. “I love you.”

“And I love you too.”

“No, Mark. Damnit.” You sighed, slapping your cheek. It truly wasn’t a pleasant sight to see you so irate, and he hated to admit that he truly didn’t understand what you were trying to convey. Maybe because he didn’t believe it to be true. That was only a mere fantasy. Or maybe he just didn’t want it; his friend zone preaching getting the best of him.

“I want you, Mark.” You began to press drunk, sloppy kisses on his thick neck.

For the first time, he couldn’t breathe. His heart had stopped beating completely, and all he could do was relish in the feelings of your lips finally on his body. He always craved this. He always wanted this.

But no. Not like this. “Y/N, stop.” He grabbed both of your arms in a stern voice. You might have thought he had a disorder from the way he quickly switched zones, but it was simply because he had come back to reality. It was you, and you weren’t you right now. You were intoxicated, and he could never let anything happen between you two because it’s wrong.

“Take me home, please.” Your eyes were filled to the brim with liquid tears, and as much as Mark wanted to fight this, how could he? It’s what you needed anyway.

And then the next day came. And you were hungover, but in your right state of mind. So badly did he want to address the previous night, but he couldn’t find the words as you walked out of the bathroom from a clearly refreshing shower, avoiding his eyes now. Something that he, at the time, was unfamiliar with.

“You okay?” Was all he could fathom, falling in love with you all over again as you lotioned yourself down with the scent he gifted you just a few months back.

A slapping sound filled the room. “Mhm.”

You were far from okay, and your purposeful negligence of your previous action let Mark know that it wasn’t a joke, or just your drunk concience talking. It was real.

“I—

“No.” You whispered.

“I was just gonna—

Your phone blasting through your speakers, which you seemed to forget were connected based on the way you jumped in utter fear interrupted such a picture perfect scene.

And neither of you had mentioned it since.

Your face practically went pale, if your skin color could even allow it. It was more like a sick feeling he could obviously see hitting your features, and he felt horrible.

“Let’s check out.”

“Y/N.” He sighed, reaching out for you. His heart basically shattered when you moved to jump away, now upset. And it was all his fault.

The ride home was silent. And not in a good way like it usually was. It was mind-eating, and so badly did he want to say it. That he loves you too. And that he wants to give you the world, and then some. And most importantly, that you were the most important, and beautiful, and priceless being on the earth, and he was sure, although he had never traveled else where, the whole galaxy. You were his world, as awful as he showed it.

You pulled up to his house, but he noticed you didn’t move a muscle to get out of the car.

“Don’t make me paint by myself, Y/N. That’s too cruel.”

Even though he saw your hand moving to wipe what seemed to be a tear from your eyes, he was still able to make your smile break through. His superpower; you called it.

“The answer is nothing right?” You questioned barely audible.

“What do you mean?”

“When you told me that I know how you feel, it’s nothing, right?”

The way the golden hour was hitting all of your perfections right now caused him to freeze. Even your tears were glowing, and his lips couldn’t move. He thought he couldn’t get nervous around you. He thought he was done with that. Why couldn’t he open his damn mouth.

“I thought so.” You chuckled. “I thought so.”

And so you stopped the car, taking the paint out of your trunk, explaining this method as you didn’t want it to burst open and ruin your seat. “Let’s go paint.” You mumbled, sniffling once again before moving past him and walking up the stairs to his apartment.

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