“Hey, you’ve been quiet lately. What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing.”
“You sure?”
You nod too quickly.
Mark doesn’t look convinced.
“Hey, you can talk to me about it.”
There it is again. That cute, soft smile.
You don’t know if that’s just his default face setting or if he’s genuinely worried about you.
Your mouth opens before you can stop it.
“I’m not good with my feelings,” you admit.
Mark blinks, taken aback for half a second before his expression softens, like he wasn’t expecting you to say that.
Then he notices your frown, and panic flashes across his face. Like bringing it up made you upset. Like he made you upset.
“You don’t have to say it if it makes you uncomfortable,” Mark says quickly. “I was just worried. But I’m not asking you to—ah, sorry, that doesn’t make sense—”
“Mark…”
“Sorry, that was very rude of me. Insensitive, really. Why did I even ask when you’re clearly not fine and—”
“Mark.”
“Oh—sorry!” he blurts out. “C-continue. O-only if you want to, of course!”
description: with mark lee's black card in your back pocket and his soft, malleable heart in your hands, you're determined to teach him that love isn't some fairytale romance. It's cruel, unkind, and people like him never end up with people like you.
i’m back! the alternate POVs are only for this chapter, then we're y/n all the way...
Be confident.
That's what Mark thinks to himself, or tries to think, as his eyes follow her around the room. She has a very methodical way of working, he’s noticed. She always begins at the edge of the room, with the champagne flutes. Once those have been deposited onto the poseur tables by the east window, she works her way inwards.
Nothing ever seems to be too much for her. There are several empty glasses thrust at her, and she takes them away with a smile. A devastating, sincere smile.
It feels like the only real thing he’s seen all evening.
“As I was saying,” someone drones on. Mark thinks it might be Mr Choi. He flashes a polite smile to show he’s listening. “We’re so grateful you could come this evening. You and your friends really embody what it is to be...”
She’s moving again. It’s all the permission he needs to tune out Mr Choi and watch her make her way out of the room. An agonising twenty seconds later, she returns, no less perfect and no less beautiful.
Her place is against the wall, waiting there with her dainty hands folded behind her back. She’s dressed simply in a crisp white dress shirt, a black waistcoat, and matching black slacks, her hair pulled into a bun. He wonders, briefly, what it would be like to run his hands through her hair. Would it be soft and silky, or full of product?
The thought makes him turn red. He clears his throat and takes a sip of champagne.
“Well, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me.” Mr Choi gives them a smile and departs into the crowd. It’s no sooner than he does so that a sharp pain blossoms between his ribcage.
"She's staff, man!" Renjun hisses, sending a flat glare his way as he tucks his elbow back against his side. “Get it together!”
Mark blinks at him, the tips of his ears burning red at getting caught. He can’t help looking out across the room for one last glance, but he’s too late. She’s already slipped back out of the room, nothing more than a memory burning brightly behind his eyes.
An unpleasant expression makes its way onto his face, one he tampers down with an ambitious gulp of his Louis Roederer Cristal. He almost finishes the entire glass.
"Nice going, man!" Donghyuck claps him on the back, thankfully, a second after the drink has left his lips. His friend grins at him, but with a familiar glint in his eye that tells Mark that Donghyuck is laughing at him, not with him. “That's, what? The third one this month?"
“Shut up.” He mumbles, shrugging off his hand. “I just... She looked like Yujin, that’s all.”
It’s a lie and they know it. Donghyuck rolls his eyes, turning to Chenle with a ‘do you hear this shit?’ look, only to find the younger chaebol engrossed in his phone. Chenle stares down at it with intent, his eyebrows furrowed and his fingers turning white from how hard he’s clutching it.
“Get off your phone, man.” He admonishes. “We’re not supposed to be on them tonight.”
“Forget the phone. Mark. You can’t keep doing this.” Jaemin sends him a look of pity. Mark ignores it, plasters on a police smile, and nods to a few familiar faces he sees around the room. “Mark. Look at me. I’m serious, first Karin, then Yujin, and now this-”
"I'm doing anything, man!" He snaps, feeling his ears going hot. Once he’s sure no other attendants are in earshot, he turns to look at his friends, unashamedly letting his voice drop to a pleading whine. "Why can't you guys just be happy and supportive for a change?"
"- and now, ladies and gentlemen, if I could just grab your attention..."
“We would be supportive,” Renjun snaps, “if it wasn’t a new crush every single fucking week.”
Mark’s retort dies on his lips as someone delicately taps on their glass, drawing the attention of the room. With his friends distracted, he rebelliously scans the room again under the guise of looking for the speaker, working methodically from left to right until he catches sight of her. She’s tucked away behind the canapés, a stray wisp of hair tracing her jaw, and her face puckered in determination as she balances empty plates on her forearm.
He can admit it to himself: she’s not his usual type. He’d met Yujin at the premiere of her new movie and Karina was a family friend he’d met while vacationing out in the Hamptons. She was different from his usual type, but wasn’t something different usually something good?
It didn’t matter who she was. Mark had learned very young never to judge a book by its cover. He didn’t care about her outward appearance; she was simply-
[21:34] chenle: Perfect
[21:35] chenle: You look so perfect tonight <3
Your phone sends little vibrations down your thigh as the notifications come in. You would usually answer it, but two huge appetiser trays are balanced precariously in your hands. In front of you lies a sea of busy stations, chefs, and servers all yelling out at each other furiously. With a deep breath, you surge forward, ignoring the little buzzing in your pocket and navigating through the sea of chaos as quickly as you can.
You catch the swinging door with your foot, wincing when the wood connects with your ankle bone. The outside of the kitchen is no betterthan the inside: swarms of runners and waitstaff form a sea of queues as they wait to ferry food out, and you’re almost taken out by a couple of sommeliers in their rush to haul more bottles of expensive alcohol up the stairs to the ballroom. In the distance, you hear the familiar nasally shrieking of your manager.
“Hey,” you take the stairs two at a time to catch up with Sooyung. It’s a risky move, but one that pays off. “Who’s on right now?”
“Er.” She balances with her own tray. “Jung Jihoon, I think.”
“Who?”
“Jung Jihoon.” She repeats. You can feel her incredulous gaze through the tower of salmon mousse tartlets. “The swimmer? The Olympic gold medalist swimmer? You know, Jung Jihoon?”
You haven’t watched the Olympics since you were five. “Right, Jung Jihoon.” You nod. “I thought he looked familiar. Anyway, we’re late on our cue.” You jerk your head to the mahogany double doors in front of you. “I’ll take the left side, you take the right? We’ll meet back here when we’re done and get started on the rest of the food?”
“Sure.” She nods. At the same time, your phone buzzes again.
It’s getting pretty fucking annoying, so after the appetisers are carefully transported from their ugly trays and onto the beautifully decorated tables, you wait for Sooyoung outside the ballroom and turn to face the wall, hunching over to hide your phone as you read the messages.
[21:46] chenle: I haven’t seen you tonight. Did they put you in the kitchens?
[21:46] chenle: I miss you :(
[21:46] chenle: Wait for me after this thing ends?
[21:46] chenle: Pls
[21:47] chenle: Or we can just ditch? ;)
You take your phone into one hand and use the other to take off your black flats, massaging the sore muscles in an attempt to alleviate the pain. You still had another five hours on your shift to go.
“Hey,” one of the waitstaff glares at you as he prepares to enter the room. He’s got several bottles of champagne in his hands. “Get off your phone. Open the door for me.”
[22:02] You: i'm working
You send your reply and then make a show of pocketing your phone, fixing him with a glare. “Do it yourself.”
“Bitch.” He snarls before disappearing into the ballroom. Sooyoung emerges a second later, none the wiser, and the two of you head back downstairs.
By the time you get back to the kitchen, there are several more trays ready to go out. The serving time between the appetisers and the main course is always the most stressful in the kitchens, so you spend the next forty minutes dutifully ferrying hundreds of elaborate little snacks for New York’s elite to snack on. You catch Chenle looking for you a couple of times. He’d spent the better part of your afternoon spamming you with pictures of his outfit, so it wasn’t hard to spot him in the crowd. True to the theme of the night, Chanel over the Ages, he’s clad in a pearl-button padded shoulder suit jacket made of black tweed. It contrasts nicely with his dyed blonde hair, which makes it even easier for you to avoid him.
Chenle had been fun. There was no denying that. He held open doors for you on dates and always asked when he could see you next, rather than demanding you cater to his schedule. He was funny (sometimes) and punctual (always). He was predictable: taking his hand in yours always made him shy, he preferred Chanel and Burberry to Gucci and Fendi, and he always wanted to know your opinion on his outfits before events. Never mind the fact that he’d been in the limelight since the day he was born.
The only thing he couldn’t seem to get was how to take a hint about being so fucking clingy.
“Trouble in paradise?”
Sooyoung joins you on the back steps by the kitchen’s back door. She draws her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them to mirror you.
You fish out a cigarette and light it. “What paradise?”
“With your boyfriend.” She directs a pointed look at the phone in your other hand.
“He’s not my boyfriend.” You correct placidly.
"Right.” She drawls, a familiar bite of venom entering her tone. “I forgot. What do you call him then? ATM? Credit card? Sugar daddy?"
You bring the cigarette to your lips and take a long drag. “It’s not really any of your business, is it?”
“It is when you’re fraternising with our clients!” She hisses.
“Damn, who pissed in your panties today?” It was no secret that Sooyoung didn’t approve of your choice in men. You weren’t exactly best friends, but she’d been your most frequent shift partner for the last five years, and the most outraged when she’d heard about your most recent beau.
“I just can’t believe your audacity. What if our employers find out?”
You shrug. “Then I’ll leave this job with a new Burberry winter dress, a standing reservation for Nobu, and tickets to Billie Eilish.”
“You’re disgusting.” She snaps.
“And you’re jealous.” You take another long drag of your cigarette and watch the smoke dissipate into the air.
"Hardly! And give me that-" She leans forward and snatches the cigarette from your lips, throwing it onto the floor and stamping it out. “You’ll smell of smoke, not to mention how toxic these things are for you. The only thing I might ever potentially be jealous about is your complete lack of compassion for these people.”
“I try.” You debate fishing out another cigarette from the packet and wisely decide against it. “They don’t need my compassion, Soo. They’ve got enough money to rent a therapist and cry about it. It’s not my problem that they get too attached.”
Your words linger in the cold, dark air, and you reach down to massage your calves instead of waiting for her response. Resting your feet had been a bad decision; the balls of your feet ache painfully, and you feel like you have weights tied to your arms. The roots of your hair, which is long enough to be tied into a neat bun, are pulled so tight you’re beginning to get a headache.
You stare at the discarded cigarette lying on the cobbled stone in front of you. “We should get back to work.”
Sooyoung exits first, flouncing back up the steps and slamming the door behind her. It takes you a moment to heave yourself upright and follow her inside.
You know your argument with Sooyoung will be short-lived. She is far more polite than you’ll ever be, but easily the most timid person you’ve ever met when it comes to the patrons. When she’s upset about how they speak to her, it’s you she vents and complains to. You know the next time she’s upset, her judgement of you will be long gone until the next time she figures out who you’re seeing.
But it’s been a long night. Which means when you head back inside and are forced by your asshole manager to lug the whole crème brûlée stand back to the kitchen, her words, coupled with the fact your phone is buzzing again, you feel the minutiae embers of your temper begin to smoulder.
[00:42] You: chenle, you HAVE to stop texting me while I'm working
[00:42] You: actually, don't bother texting me again
[19:42] You: im not feeling this anymore, lose my number
You end your little tirade with a firm press of the mute button, before turning the phone off for good measure.
This is why you don't seriously date rich kids. How the fuck would Chenle ever understand working on his feet all day, having to turn his phone off for mere moments just to focus on something other than his own self-interests? The most he’d ever have to do was saunter into his father’s company, charm a few stakeholders, and then spend his summers vacationing around the globe.
He’d never have to work a day in his life. None of them would.
"Smooth." Jisung sniggers as Mark shoves a salted caramel eclair into his mouth at the same time the cute staff member meets his eyes from across the room. A burst of cream violently shoves its way down his oesophagus, and he chokes, breaking his gaze away and thumping on his chest whilst spluttering violently.
“Interesting shade of red you’ve gone there, dude.” Donghyuck laughs.
He eventually manages to swallow and clear his airway, coughing a couple more times and glaring at his friend. “I could’ve died.”
“It was that or the Heimlich manoeuvre. I’m sure she-” Donghyuck subtly points in her direction, “- would have loved that.”
"Hey, Chenle- Chenle! What's gotten into you, man?" Their discussion is cut short by the sound of Jeno’s concerned voice. "Bro, are you crying?"
Alarmed, the boys whirl around to look at their friend.
Chenle has fat little droplets welling up in his eyes.
"I think I just got dumped!" He warbles.
Renjun leans over and snatches his phone out of his friend's hand, glaring down at it. "I told you not to speak to her anymore! Didn't I say she was a gold-digger?"
"Who's this?" Jaemin peers over Mark's shoulder to grab a look at the little device. Mark follows suit and sees your name in Chenle’s phone, along with your text exchange. “Who’s Y/N?”
"Dunno, but I can tell you who she’s not." Donghyuck murmurs. "She’s not Chenle’s girl- Ow! Renjun!"
“Lose my number.” Jeno reads aloud from the phone. “Ouch, man. What did you do?”
“I just asked to see her again!” Chenle sniffles. Renjun furiously whips out his handkerchief and shoves it at his friend.
“Dry your eyes, this is fucking embarrassing. You couldn’t have waited until the afterparty?”
“Go easy on him, Renjun.” Mark defends, moving closer to his friend to shield him from prying eyes. “Hey, listen dude, I’m sure it’s all gonna be okay. I literally got almost the exact same text from Karina last month, and I’m fine now.”
“As much as I hate to say it, Mark’s right. At least you didn’t get her that dress you were talking about.” Donghyuck sighs. Then, when Chenle’s sobs pause slightly, “Oh fuck, seriously? Chenle, we told you this was going to happen...”
It takes the next couple of minutes to get Chenle to stop crying. They clamour around their friend, and though Mark tries his best, pressing another drink into Chenle’s hand, he can’t help but look up and find her again. She’s speaking to one of the attendants, her lips curved up into a smile as she gently hands them a glass of Portuguese strawberries and chantilly cream.
He can’t imagine her ever doing to him what this ‘Y/N’ has done to Chenle. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he just does/ She’s different.
Now, if only he can get her name.
“Y/N!”
It’s a little after three in the morning when you get in. Your key twists in the lock to open it. You have to do a small jiggle for the door to yield. Once you’re in, you dump your bag in the hallway and slip off your shoes, wincing as your throbbing feet hit the cold wooden floor.
Taeyong calls your name softly as you pad into the kitchen, pressing a warm plate of food into your hands.
“I could kiss you.” You mumble gratefully, letting him guide you to the couch, his warm fingers pressing you deep into the cushions. You barely register the takeout boxes littered on the coffee table, too busy inhaling what’s in front of you.
From the chair across the room, Johnny sends you a lazy wave. “How’d it go?”
“Fine.” You answer honestly between bites. “Why’d we get takeout again?”
Taeyong settles on the opposite end of the couch with his hands curled around a coffee mug. You hope for his sake that it's decaf.
“Oven’s busted.” Johnny says simply, eyes glued to the television screen. There’s a basketball game on. "Landlord wants $150 to fix it."
Your kung pao chicken falls from your open mouth. "Seriously?"
"Seriously. I told him to fuck off."
"Good job."
"But we need a working oven," Taeyong looks between the two of you pleadingly. “Takeout is expensive, we can’t keep eating out."
“Well, we can have a working oven or we can fix the pipes. The money’s not gonna cover both.” Johnny shrugs. He lifts his large frame from the chair and comes to drop down between the two of you, and before you know it, one of your prawn crackers has been swiped. “And I doubt Y/N can take much more of that dripping sound in her room.”
"It's fine." You swat his hand away. It's not fine. When you’re not out working, you’re lying in bed listening to the incessant dripping noise that comes from the water pipes above your room. You’ve even started to hear it when the apartment is quiet, and no one’s around, like a hallucination. But when it came to a working oven, it was a no-brainer. “Just leave it with me. I’ll sort it.”
“You sure?” Taeyong asks you.
“I’m sure.”
You leave the two of them watching television after you've eaten, padding into your room after a quick detour to the bathroom to grab some painkillers for your aching body. Taeyong follows half an hour later, joining you on the carpet as you hang your Burberry trench dress against the closet and snap a picture.
"How much will you get for that?" He wonders, watching as you edit the tags and set the price.
"I dunno. It’s out of season. Enough to cover the oven bill, at the very least. Maybe some for rent too."
It's silent for a moment, then:
"But you liked that dress."
Biting your lip, you turn to look at your best friend. He's watching you carefully, his doe brown eyes unable to convey anything other than concern as he stares back at you. Taeyong has always been the most timid of the three of you, the first to cry at a scraped knee or bad day, and in the same breath, the first to offer up his measly residency salary to cover a new pair of shoes for you despite his monstrous student loans.
He had work in a few hours, but despite that, he was here with you. Real.
As you sit gazing at him in your shitty room within your shitty apartment, you can’t find an ounce of regret within you at the way your life has turned out. You’d work a thousand shifts to see him through medical school. It was what he deserved.
"There'll be other dresses, I'm sure." You comfort him. "There always is. Now, think we can bully Johnny off the TV and pirate some movies?"
Taeyong’s worried expression sobers immediately, and he fixes you with a steely glare.
“No.” He tells you. “It’s bedtime.”
Most of your days are spun of the same monotonous thread. Work is your first priority; you take any and every catering shift that comes your way, unless it clashes with your university timetable. When you’re not working, you and Johnny take the subway to campus. He walks you to your classes, and then you lose him to some frat party for the rest of the evening. He’s a DJ by trade, having never been interested in education, unlike you and Taeyong. The two of you meet up in the early hours of the morning after he’s finished, unless Johnny stays out late. In that case, you catch the last bus home.
In between that, you have your side hustle. It’s what keeps things exciting.
The Burberry dress sells in less than eight hours to the highest bidder, and you forgo your studying to drop it off for them for an extra ten dollars. The buyer’s building is close to another item you’ve sold, a Coach leather jacket, so you drop that off too. On the way back, Sooyoung texts you about a last-minute shift that’s available at a charity gala. You dash home, grab your uniform, and set off again.
The shift comes at the perfect time for the other half of your side hustle.
"So, what's a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?"
A grin tugs your lips upwards as you finish pouring a drink, leaning over the bar to slide it over to its owner. As you straighten up, you find your admirer’s eyes hanging just a fraction too low, peeking unashamedly at your exposed collarbone before his gaze meets yours.
“Your drink, sir.” You counter. “And why would you assume I’d be anywhere else but here?”
“Oh, please.” He takes a long, slow drink, unafraid of the chasing burn of the scotch. “I think we both know you don’t belong on that side of the bar.”
You don’t know if it's your Cartier earrings that have drawn his attention, or the Louis Vuitton Rouge lipstick on your lips. But you do know how the rest of this night will play out. You’ve practically got it down to a science.
“And where do I belong?” You tilt your head. “On the other side of this bar, with you?”
He smirks. “Perhaps.”
Rich men seem to have a need for possession, you’ve come to realise. Not to appreciate something, but to own it, like a child who sees a sparkling coin at the bottom of a wishing well. They can’t help but be drawn in, and when they want something, you have to run the opposite way.
“I don’t think so.” You counter. “Let me guess, it’s your daddy’s gala tonight? You’ve got all dressed up and dropped off on his dime?”
“Who says it’s my father’s event?” He counters. “Why couldn’t it be mine?”
The man in front of you wants the thrill of the chase. He wants something to win other than awards, accolades, mergers, or business cases. You can see it plain as day, the way he waits for your reply, the way his body is fully angled towards you, leaning in, hanging off your words like you’re the most interesting person in attendance tonight.
Because to him, you are.
"Because," you let yourself laugh, let your head tilt back so he can admire the expanse of your neck and the Tiffany diamond locket that sits there, "no host would ever come down to talk to a girl like me.”
A girl like you.
He’s never going to see beyond your uniform. It’s why this always works so well. To him, you’re always the one who needs saving in some way.
“Don’t talk about yourself that way.” His smirk falls away to reveal a genuine smile, and it softens the commanding edge to his tone. He’s nowhere near as cute as Chenle, but he could easily pass as a model or an actor. “But you’ve got me. It’s not my gala.”
“No? Then shouldn’t you be off enjoying yourself?”
He takes another sip. “I’m standing here, drinking my favourite drink and flirting with a pretty girl. I’d say I’m enjoying myself.”
"Is this what we're doing?" You move to the other end of the bar to clean a few glasses. He follows. "Flirting?"
"Are you not impressed?"
Someone calls your name in the distance. It sounds like Ten, so you store the glasses under the bar and cast one last glance at Eunseok. He’s much nicer looking in person than his Instagram pictures. You thought the son of a politician would be far less fun.
"Ask me again after this is over," you challenge, "show me you can work a room. Then I'll tell you whether you've impressed me. I might even give you my name, if you ask extra nicely.”
With one last glance at him, you depart, slipping past your replacement and out of the room to meet with Sooyoung and Ten, who are conversing animatedly by the prep station.
"Am I interrupting something?" You slide in.
Ten shakes his head. "Just running the numbers for tonight. You two okay on the floor while we serve the food? That asshole Song Senior wants double numbers. He said for every empty glass he sees, he'll dock our tip by a hundred."
"Asshole." You reply, though it has no real bite in it. You’d thought Eunseok would have been a lot harder to speak with under his father’s watchful eye, but you hadn’t seen tonight’s host all evening. He was probably too busy schmoozing to babysit you all, or his son, for that matter. "Ugh, fine. C'mon, Soo."
The two of you take a quick detour to the bathrooms before you officially begin service. You take turns giving each other a once-over; Sooyoung straightens out your bowtie while you pick off bits of fluff from her waistcoat.
“Are you still mad at me?” You ask.
She rolls her eyes. “If I were still mad, I would have texted Joohyun to come in tonight, not you.”
“Why the change of heart?”
“This is a charity gala. I’m feeling charitable.”
“Sure you are.” You snort, nudging her shoulder with your own. “Who are we bitching about tonight?”
“No one,” she hides her giggles behind the palm of her hand. “No one. I’m serious. Okay, fine. Let me tell you about this rude old lady earlier. You won’t believe what she said to me...”
Once you’re finished checking your uniforms, the two of you arm yourselves with champagne and begin your tour of the room.
Eunseok is on you in an instant, light as a blanket yet as unrelenting as a stormy wave. It’s the same as always: men, who feel entitled to look at you rather than being embarrassed they’ve been caught staring. With every fake smile and drink handed out, you can feel him watching, though when it comes time for you to serve him, you're merely afforded a polite smile before he goes back to his conversations, brushing you off almost entirely in favour of speaking to his companions.
But then there's the glances stolen between courses, the way his hand brushes against yours whenever he takes a drink from you. The way he looks at you, not Sooyoung, when he wants something.
He looks like a Gucci guy, like most new-money men are. You’re sick of Gucci, but it doesn't matter because it sells just as well as anything else, and-
You walk smack bang into someone's chest.
A surprised "oof" erupts from your mouth as you feel a pair of hands at your shoulders, steadying you. By the time you’ve found your feet, you’re looking up into concerned brown eyes.
"Oh my god, are you okay!?" The guy asks, eyes roaming over you- checking for injuries, you realise. You wait for the moment he catches sight of your uniform and realises you're not an attendee, but it never comes. He continues looking down at you with a concerned expression. Instead, you're left with enough time to quickly take him in. His hair is a soft brown colour at the roots, though the tips of his hair are a shade or three lighter, almost a bronze colour. You have to crane your head slightly to look up at him. He’s tall, but not as tall as Chenle or Eunseok. His lips are still in that plump o shape of surprise, but they quickly settle back to a neutral expression as you come to the realisation he's waiting for your response.
"Yes!" You spring away. You never make mistakes at work, and you’re trying to seduce one of his friends, probably, so this is actually kind of embarrassing. "So sorry, sir."
"Don't worry about it!" He smiles at you, openly and genuinely, but then his eyes drift over your head. He scans the room with a little furrow in his brow that, for some reason, reminds you of Taeyong when he was younger, when he’d search for you both in the playground. It’s... oddly endearing, and you wonder if perhaps it’s his first time at an event like this. He does look vaguely familiar. Maybe you’ve seen him on a billboard somewhere?
Realising he might be a bit out of his depth, or even lost, you decide to help him find whoever he’s looking for. Perhaps he’s looking for a colleague or a friend, or a partner.
Before you can turn to help look, however, he catches sight of someone, and his gaze softens. A small smile drifts onto his face as he stills, perfectly content for a moment to simply stand next to you and observe.
It feels oddly intimate, so you finally whirl around to satiate your curiosity about who he’s looking at.
And when you find them, your jaw drops.
It’s not his partner, or a friend, or even a colleague.
SYNOPSIS: mark — former gangster — has always wanted to leave the criminal world behind. seeing how his friends succeeded after leaving, he bites the bullet and finally leaves as well. the only problem? mark doesn't know how to start afresh.
PAIRING: pianist!mark x female!reader
GENRE: fluff, first meeting, strangers to enemies (in love)
WORD COUNT: 2.4k
CONTAINS: mentions of mark being a gangster, pianist/piano teacher mark. first meeting, strangers to enemies, mark is a very very indecisive person. peaceful and introverted mark meets extroverted reader
AUTHOR'S NOTE: this whole mini series will be strangers to enemies to idiots in love and im honestly so excited for this!!!! no need to read the other mini series by the same name but they will be vaguely brought up from time to time, although i'll keep the references on the low, don't worry! and if that still gets confusing you can come talk to me about it! series masterlist linked at the end of the post. taglist is still open. enjoy! <3
In the one month that passed since Mark decided to quit his job as a member of the clan, he hasn’t been able to sleep more than a few nights.
Nights were the worst, because the lack of adrenaline and activity during the day were making the nights totally useless and restless. While he was out all day, every single day, cleaning scenes or doing other dirty work it had him completely drained, sleeping during the nights like a newborn baby.
And he was left being so bored out of his mind, looking at the ceiling, hearing the crickets outside as he tried to focus on his breathing, hoping to fall asleep at some point.
No one ever thought of leaving the clan behind, so when Jaemin was the first one to do so it came as a shock to everybody. Jaemin was the first one to be in a serious, committed relationship in which his girlfriend knew who he was and she still accepted him. Said girlfriend then became his wife, and then Jaemin left the clan hoping he’ll raise a beautiful family. Which he really did, and Mark and other clan members kept in touch so often that Mark started to feel his own doubts suffocating him.
He talked to Haechan, and then the two of them talked to Jeno, and while the other two took life by the horns and decided Jaemin’s life was worth recreating, Mark stayed still — doing his dirty shifts during the day, only this time it was impossible for him to sleep at night, conflicted by the fact that he wasn’t happy anymore with leading the criminal life, yet he didn’t have the guts to start afresh either.
Haechan had always been passionate about baking, Jeno was still uncertain about what he wanted in life yet he used his love for animals to find a temporary occupation. But Mark? Mark wanted everything and nothing at the same time.
The ordeal went on for three months before he decided it was time to quit his job, finally. It took him all the strength he had to bring it up to the old man, to say goodbye to his members, and to finally stay at home. Because he knew this step had to be taken, otherwise he was going to stay a criminal his whole life, — and truth be told, seeing everybody happy made him want that for himself too.
Yet Mark had absolutely no idea what he wanted in life, and it drove him insane. And it only became worse realising that he had no hobbies, no prospects, and all the plans for the future that he had envisioned were all based on a fantasy he had created into his head after being around Jaemin for so many years and witnessing the turns his life had taken up to this point.
Talking to Haechan and Jeno about their journey only made it worse to him, because why was he incapable of having the guts to think about his own good for once, like the others did? He finally had the guts to start afresh, yet he didn’t know how.
And that’s how Jaemin showed up to his apartment’s doorstep, in this very luxurious apartment complex in the city, after dropping the kids off to his mother’s so he and Mark could have a proper talk.
“Is there something you like doing? As a hobby?” Jaemin paced in front of the huge tv on the wall, with Mark looking at him from his spot on the huge couch.
“No,” Mark shook his head, bringing his elbows to rest on his knees, “Don’t think so,”
“Okay,” Jaemin’s reply was simple, like he expected that answer out of Mark’s mouth, “Do you have a favourite activity? I mean, except for scraping brains off ceilings,”
Mark’s head snapped up to look at his friend, and Jaemin let a bark of laughter escape him as he looked at Mark’s bewildered look.
“Do you think this is funny?” Mark was serious, but Jaemin kept shaking with laughter.
“Of course I think it’s funny, Mark!” He said once his laughter subsided, drying some tears from the corner of his eyes, “It was a good joke,”
“It so was not!” Mark accused, squinting his eyes.
“Okay, listen,” Jaemin was serious once again.
While he was easy going and loved everything about his life, he knew this was a serious matter to Mark, because he remembers how miserable and anxious he used to be before meeting his wife and starting a family together, leaving the criminal life behind — and he honestly couldn’t wait for his friends to go through these changes as well. Especially Mark, who has always been hard on himself and less easygoing than Haechan and Jeno, who adapted to their new lives pretty fast.
“There has to be something you like doing,” Jaemin started, moving his hands around like he was a teacher trying to get his point across, “The other two like pets and baking, there has to be something that brings you joy,”
Mark thought for a bit, bringing his hands behind his head, “I like movies,”
“Good, good,” Jaemin repeated, taken aback by Mark’s choice but still showing his support to his friend, “That’s good,” he nodded, turning around to look at Mark who was still sitting on the couch, “Do you see yourself doing movies? Perhaps going to film school?”
“What?” Mark’s voice cracked, “Dude, what’s wrong with you? I like watching movies,” he made sure Jaemin understood his words.
“Listen here, buddy boy,” Jaemin’s old, menacing tone made a comeback, making Mark gulp, “You can’t sit at home to watch movies and get paid for it, Mark. There has to be something you like doing, you always had those fucking headphones in every time we cleaned around during work and even scribbled down some stuff during night surveillance in our car, so get a move on and start thinking!”
Jaemin put his hands on his hips like Mark’s own mother would, and he huffed a breath before looking around Mark’s place.
“What about that?” He pointed his head to one of the room’s corners.
Mark looked towards the spot, “The piano?” He turned around in his spot on the couch, bringing one leg up to sit more comfortably as he looked between Jaemin and the piano in the corner, “I know how to play,”
“I know you do,” Jaemin’s reply nearly cut Mark off, “Do you like it?”
Mark took his time to think about the instrument and what it meant to him, “Yes,”
“Do you like it enough to play it for a few hours a day?” Jaemin pushed, hands still on his hips.
“I think so,” Mark mumbled, but one look from Jaemin and he opened his mouth to speak before he could realise, “Yes!”
“Ah!” Jaemin exhaled ecstatic, clapping his hands together and smiling like a lunatic, “That’s amazing! You did such a good job and I’m so proud of you!”
Mark wasn’t sure if the daddy tone Jaemin was using on him made him feel ridiculed or validated, but the look in his friend’s eyes showed Mark he was being genuine.
“I don’t know if that will work, though,” Mark’s skepticism wasn’t something out of the ordinary, and Jaemin knew it, “Let’s say I become a piano teacher, how will people know I’m good?”
“Don’t worry about this stuff,” Jaemin looked at his watch, “You get to playing, think of everything that you’ll need to do as a piano teacher, and don’t worry about the rest! I got your back!”
Jaemin gathered his belongings off the coffee table in Mark’s living room, “I helped Jeno and Haechan and I’ll help you too, I’ll put a good word around the city and our small town, although you might have to travel,”
“Not a problem,” Mark cleared his throat, thinking about the new car he recently bought.
“Oh for the love of god! Please! Just move to our small town! Haechan and Jeno already did! Just think about how this is going to be good for your new, fresh start!” Jaemin whined, pleaded, almost dropped to his knees to convince Mark to move next to him and their other two friends so he could be physically closer to them.
“I think I’m good for now, Jaem,” Mark gave him a pat on the shoulder. Sure Mark wasn’t completely against the idea of moving twenty minutes away from the city, to a beautiful and smaller town, but it didn't feel right in that moment. Haechan and Jeno moved almost immediately, but Mark was still not ready to do it, he needed more time.
“Okay… for now,” Jaemin gave in, and then looked at his watch one more time, “Listen, I have to go. Gotta pick the babies up and the traffic is terrible at this hour,” he gave a tight hug to his friend before walking towards the door, “Get to work!” He pointed at the piano, “And come by tomorrow night, we’re all having pizza night in my backyard,”
And Mark started his journey as a pianist and teacher.
He starts feeling like himself again. The nights are back to normal, with him resting perfectly after exhausting days during which he tutors kids around the city, teenagers in the suburbs, and even a few people from Jaemin’s town.
He loves music, he loves interacting with people and sharing his love for the instrument. A passion that seemed to have died a long time ago when he first joined the clan, but that he kept admiring every time his mother played the piano on Sundays when having lunch together at his parents’ house.
The joys of life that are slowly coming back to him, accompanied by the sweet lull of the piano and the sparkling pair of eyes that follow his instructions.
But becoming a teacher means practicing, and with packed schedules like his, Mark often finds himself practicing until late hours of the night without even realising how fast time goes by.
The notes bounce off his walls, lulling him as his fingers are restless, making sure he’ll never lack the ambition like a few weeks ago. Because Mark is not himself without music and the piano — especially the piano, he came to realise this when a kid’s mother complimented him last week.
And while Mark’s apartment is peaceful and welcoming of the symphony, on the other side of Mark’s living room’s wall, there’s you.
You, who’s tossing and turning in your bed, your bedroom and his living room sharing a wall, and it’s driving you insane. You moved into this apartment just a few months ago, and you never saw your neighbour, but you knew the apartment was peaceful and you never had any troubles sleeping ever since you moved in.
But it’s been one hell of a month, with stress filling each and every single day of your life, only to come home to a neighbour who plays the piano until late hours of the night. It’s driving you nuts how he doesn’t hear the way you repeatedly smack your wall, hoping he’ll catch the hint, yet he goes on playing.
One particularly impulsive desire to punch this person in the throat is all you need in order to jump out of bed, barely able to put your slippers on before you leave your bedroom behind, exiting your apartment and making a beeline for your neighbour’s front door, not even bothering to cover yourself up to be more decent.
The way the knocks on Mark’s door echo throughout the room have him flinching, and he halts his playing, standing to his feet to walk towards the door.
He greets you as soon as he opens the door, yet you don’t seem to want to hear anything coming out his mouth, being curt with your reply.
“Please keep it down,” you blurt out, and Mark thinks he’s never seen a pair of eyes quite as raging as yours look like right now, “I’m your next-door neighbour and your playing is driving me insane. I have a very important day tomorrow and I could really use a peaceful sleep,”
There’s more you want to say, like ‘where the fuck have you been hiding when I moved in? And why are you playing the piano every day now?’, but you choose to hold onto the last grams of politeness left in you and give him the benefit of the doubt, choosing not to continue talking.
But Mark doesn’t really like your tone, because he’s a busy person these days, and he understands that you need your sleep but he also needs to practice.
“I’ll try to keep it down,” Mark replies, and even if it’s not the kind of answer you expected, you take it as a sign of good faith coming from your neighbour, “Although,” he pushes his luck, and he knows this, “I need to practice from time to time, and I come home late,”
You scoff, looking at him like he’s insane. He might just be, because he’s never talked back to a woman in all his life.
“Not my problem,” you let out a mocking laugh, “Everyone has work during the day and personally speaking, I like to have my peaceful time when I’m at home,” you continue, and Mark rolls his eyes at you. For some reason he feels the need to behave this way, and it might be because he always talks respectfully to everyone, yet you came up to him with an attitude.
“Not my problem,” Mark replies back, using your own words.
“What?” You’re in disbelief, “What did you just say?”
“It’s really not my problem what you wanna do in your free time. Also not my problem that you like sleeping when I want to play. That’s your problem entirely,” he retorts, and he licks his lips before continuing, “Have a good night!”
And he shuts the door close, right before you can say anything back to him.
| summary | your husband is a very good lover.
| cw | fluff, husband!mark, a bit suggestive, he's down bad as usual, pet names.
| a/n | was listening to journey mercies and thinking about this man, chat...
Mark had always known he was a pretty... intense person when it came to emotions and feelings. There was rarely an in-between for him—he either felt everything or nothing at all.
And with you, from the very beginning, he felt everything. No, even more than that. He had a way with words, sure, but there was no way he could ever accurately describe what he felt for you. Words simply failed him when it came to expressing the immeasurable love he carried in his heart.
Confessing his feelings to you the moment he finally found the courage—and hearing you confess back—wasn’t enough. Asking you to be his girlfriend and putting a beautiful ring on your finger to seal that promise wasn’t enough. Doing everything, anything, just to see you smile, even on your worst days, wasn’t enough. Slipping a wedding band on your finger and helping plan the wedding of your dreams wasn’t enough. Saying "I love you" over and over again still wasn’t enough.
Nothing, nothing, ever felt enough to express how much you meant to him. How deeply you were the most important person in his life. How he would be nothing without you.
He had so much, and his love for you consumed it all. He had so much, and without you, it all meant nothing. Sometimes, he couldn’t understand how anyone else could love you, how anyone else could even be allowed to love you, when he, alone, already loved you so much, so entirely, so completely, with nothing left of himself beyond what belonged to you.
And that was just... natural to him. Loving you was as easy as breathing. He felt like he'd been made to be yours from the very beginning, and there was nothing in the world that could ever make him regret that.
“Mark, is everything okay?” your voice pulled him out of his thoughts, making him pause the gentle caresses he’d been running through your hair.
“Yeah, babe, why?” he tilted his head slightly, eyebrows lifting as he looked at you.
You had been talking to him for a few minutes now, the two of you were sitting on the bed, with you all curled up against him, your body resting on his chest while his back leaned against the headboard. His eyes had been on you the whole time, but it didn’t feel like he was really listening.
"Then what are you thinking about now?" you asked, narrowing your eyes suspiciously. He let out a soft laugh and pulled you even closer against his chest.
"Just about how much I love my beautiful wife," he leaned down slightly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You softened immediately. As always, his words were completely sincere, and they made your heart swell.
"I love you too," you said back, lifting your joined hands to kiss the back of his. "So much."
And, as always, your sweet confession made his chest ache in the best way. No matter how many times he heard it, it never failed to make his knees weak.
"Not more than I do, though," he teased playfully as his fingers returned to your hair, gently running through your locks.
"I really love you more than anything in this world. I don't know what 'd do without you," he added softly, looking at you with so much adoration it nearly took your breath away.
He was always this affectionate, but this time, he felt even more so than usual. "...Did something happen, my love?" a hint of worry on your tone.
His gaze softened at your concern, and he shifted slightly so he could bury his face in your neck, pressing a gentle kiss to your skin.
“No, babe, you don’t have to worry,” he murmured, his voice muffled. “It’s just that I really love you… and I’m really happy to have you in my life. Really,” he added, holding you a little tighter. “I just… I hate that I can’t show you how much you mean to me. That’s all.”
You rested your chin on his shoulder, your hands tracing slow circles on his back. “I know how much you love me, Mark. You show me every single day. That’s the last thing you should ever worry about.”
“I know, but… I don’t know,” he sighed softly, his warm breath brushing over your neck. “I just feel like I’m not doing enough, you know?”
You pulled back slightly so you could look at him, moving your hands up to cup his face. He leaned into your touch like it was second nature, and the way he looked at you, like a lovesick puppy, made your stomach twist in all the best ways.
“You’ve already given me, and still give me, more love than I ever thought I deserved. You’re more than enough.”
You leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips, and he melted into it completely, it always felt like the first time with you.
“You don’t need to worry about that,” you said gently. “You’re the one who makes me happy every single day… even when we’re mad at each other,” you teased playfully, earning a soft chuckle from him.
Sure, he still felt like he needed to do more, but knowing he wasn’t making you unhappy, that everything he did made you feel loved, was enough to bring him peace. That’s all he wanted. All he needed was for you to be happy by his side, giving you everything you deserved and more.
“God, I love you,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to your lips, making you giggle.
“Mmh, I love you too, my lovely husband,” you replied, also planting a soft, chaste kiss on his lips this time.
“Do you know I love it when you call me your husband?” he asked, raising a brow slightly as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear.
“I had a feeling,” you laughed. “My cute husband isn’t exactly subtle about it.”
He smirked. “If you keep saying that, I’m gonna have to remind you of one of the reasons you married me.”
“Wow, how terrifying,” you teased, your tone playful and mocking, which only made his grin grow more mischievous as he gently pushed you down onto the bed, hovering over you.
“Oh, pretty girl,” he whispered before kissing you again, this time more deeply, slowly, pouring all his love into it as his hand slid down to caress your thigh with the softest touch. “You definitely should be.”
SYNOPSIS: mark — former gangster — has always wanted to leave the criminal world behind. seeing how his friends succeeded after leaving, he bites the bullet and finally leaves as well. the only problem? mark doesn't know how to start afresh.
PAIRING: pianist!mark x female!reader
GENRE: fluff, comedy, getting together, suggestive at times, established relationship
CONTAINS: mentions of mark being a gangster, pianist/piano teacher mark and subsequently husband mark. dreamies and other idols' appearances, including jaemin and his babies . fluff, domestic scenarios, suggestive content. mentions of dark themes and violence, comedy. more warnings to be added for each part.
PARTS: part 1 .ᐟ part 2 .ᐟ part 3 .ᐟ part 4 .ᐟ part 5 .ᐟ (+ more parts could be added with time)
TAGLIST: CLOSED
AUTHOR'S NOTE: here i am again, pushing the pianist!mark agenda on you guys. i did a similar mini series for other members (linked down below) so it was only normal to do one with mark as well! tied to my the way of the househusband series with jaemin but you don't need to read it if you haven't already, as mark is only featured in a few parts. this is a mini series and chapters will not necessarily be related to each other, and will not be in chronological order. enjoy! <3
ugh looking at the drafts noticing that my joshua fluffs always have a tinge of sadness into it (melancholy?) and mark is pure on fluff like sickly sweet fluff 😭 idk these two are not good for me 😩 but i love my muses 🥰
| summary | Mark didn't know that being clumsy had its advantages.
| cw | fluff, strangers to something else, meet-cute?, kiiinda of love at first sight, mark is downnn bad, mark is shy but HE GOT THIS!!|
| a/n | my beautiful @peterm4rker, feliz cumpleeee!! i hope you have an amazing day, thank you for being alive, i only exist on your cellphone, so all i can do for u is a silly fic, but i did it with love 😔 TUMBLR SABOTAGED ME AND DIDN'T POST, I CAN'T BELIEVE I FAILED I HAD ONE JOB 😭😭😭 i hope u like it EVERYONE SAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY LUCI WE LOVE YOU!!!
Mark hadn’t been able to tear his eyes off you since the moment you stepped onto the dance floor. Actually, it started even earlier, when you accidentally bumped into him, nearly causing him to spill his drink all over himself.
He’d only caught a brief glimpse of you then, but it was enough. The image of you had carved itself into his mind like a permanent imprint—your eyes, framed by just the right touch of color, glowing with a playful spark. Your lips, glossy and shining, curved into a polite little smile as you muttered a quick apology.
He barely managed to say “it’s okay” in return, too stunned to form anything more coherent. He was usually the type to get flustered easily, yes, but something about you completely disarmed him.
From that moment on, his attention was glued to you for the rest of the night. He watched the way you moved so effortlessly with the rhythm, the sway of your body in perfect sync with the music, the way you tossed your head back when you laughed, bright and carefree. You leaned in to say something to a friend, smiling as they nudged you playfully, and he couldn’t help the way his eyes followed every motion like a magnet.
He wasn't completely sure, but he could’ve sworn you glanced his way a few times too—just quick flickers of your eyes in his direction, barely enough to be sure, but enough to set his nerves on fire.
Watching you from across the room, radiant and completely in your element, Mark stood frozen in place, drink hanging loosely from his fingers, heart pounding in a way he hadn't felt in a long time.
“Is that a new flirting technique?” Chenle’s voice cut through the music, amused and sharp, but Mark’s eyes remained glued to you.
“What?” Mark replied absently, not tearing his gaze away. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Chenle huffed, reaching out to nudge Mark’s chin up with two fingers, “are you trying to send telepathic signals until she magically develop the ability to receive them?” He gave Mark a pointed look. “Because you’ve been standing here with your mouth open drooling like a golden retriever for the past thirty minutes.”
“I’m not doing that,” Mark grumbled, frowning as he crossed his arms, voice defensive like a kid caught red-handed.
“Yeah, sure you’re not,” Chenle snorted, the sarcasm practically dripping. He took a sip of his drink, raising a brow at his friend. “Seriously, just go talk to her. Is it really that difficult? You’re acting like she’s gonna bite.”
Mark shot him a side-eye. “What if she does?”
“You’re right, she might,” Chenle replied, casually glancing in your direction—just in time to catch the not-so-subtle way you were watching Mark from across the room, nibbling on your lower lip with your eyes slightly narrowed. “She definitely looks like she wants to,” he added with a smirk. “But I don’t think it’s the kind of bite you’re worried about.”
Mark’s brows rose slightly, caught off guard by Chenle’s words. His gaze flicked toward you instinctively—and, oh.
You were looking right at him. No mistaking it this time. Eyes locked, lip between your teeth in a way that made his brain short-circuit for a split second.
“…Shit,” he muttered under his breath.
Chenle let out a laugh, elbowing him. “See? Told you. She’s just waiting for you to stop being a coward.”
Mark groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I don't even know what to say to her.”
“You're talking like a fucking loser, Mark,” Chenle deadpanned, already on the move. He grabbed Mark by the shoulders and started to shove him forward, away from the bar and toward the dance floor. “You’ve done all kind of stuff and now you're scared of a pretty girl?”
“I wasn’t mentally prepared for a goddess tonight,” Mark hissed under his breath, feet dragging against the floor.
Chenle rolled his eyes. “You’ll survive. Just say hi. Or smile. Or blink in Morse code if that’s easier.”
He wanted to protest, to resist his friend's insistence, maybe even run back to the safety of the bar stool, but before he knew it, his feet had betrayed him. There he was, standing just a few steps behind you, frozen in place, staring at the back of your figure illuminated by the flashing lights.
He glanced at Chenle, who was grinning like the absolute menace he was, waving mockingly from the distance, mouthing something like “Good luck.”
Mark inhaled deeply, trying to steady the wild rhythm of his heartbeat. Okay. No turning back now.
He took one slow step forward, then another, using the few seconds he had before reaching you to rehearse every possible conversation in his head—witty lines, casual compliments, charming openers. He even prepared for rejection in all its brutal forms, from polite smiles to awkward laughs.
But he was so absorbed in the panic of how not to embarrass himself and how to maybe, somehow impress you, that he completely missed the fact that his shoelaces were undone.
And just like that, two seconds later, he was tripping over his own feet and stumbling straight into your direction, at the exact moment you turned around.
“Woah!” you gasped, instinctively catching him as he practically collapsed into your arms.
Mark was pretty sure this was how people died of embarrassment. His hands instinctively gripped your arms to steady himself, eyes wide as he looked up at you from his not-so-elegant lean.
"I—uh—hi," he stammered, frozen for a beat. "That wasn't... That wasn't part of the plan."
A soft laugh slipped from your lips, light and melodic, and even with the music pulsing loudly around you, he heard it clearly. The sound clung to his ears like a favorite song, and Mark was pretty sure it was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever heard.
“I’ll give you points for impact,” you teased, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you watched him clumsily pull away, trying to regain some composure.
“Thank you,” he replied, sheepish, one hand instinctively reaching to rub the back of his neck. He was silently grateful for the club’s low lighting and the swirl of neon colors around you, hiding the fierce red blooming across his cheeks.
“That wasn’t exactly how I planned to come talk to you, but…” he let out a nervous chuckle, stealing a quick glance at your face, still surprised you hadn’t just walked away. "I'm Mark, by the way.”
He extended his hand—like an idiot, he thought—but couldn’t help the flicker of relief that crossed his face when you took it without hesitation, your fingers warm against his. You said your name, and it echoed in his head like a melody. God, what a beautiful name.
“Nice to meet you, Mark,” you replied, his name rolling off your tongue so smoothly it made his heart skip.
Was his name always this nice to hear, or was it just your voice?
“Do you go around falling into every girl’s arms you're interested in, or...?” your tone were playful, your eyes filled with amusement.
“That was actually only for you,” he said, flashing a smile so charming it made your stomach twist in the best way.
“Oh, so I'm the lucky one?” you teased, tilting your head as a grin tugged at your lips.
“I’m the lucky one, actually,” he replied without missing a beat, brows raising slightly as if the words had just slipped out. “Can I, um, get you a drink?”
His nervous look was absolutely adorable, you could never deny it, not that you were planning to. “Of course, lead the way.”
To say Mark was in disbelief over how well things were going—especially after that mortifying entrance—would be an understatement. But here you were, smiling at him, saying yes. He wasn’t about to question his luck.
As the two of you made your way to the bar and shared drinks, the atmosphere gradually relaxed. The alcohol helped a little, sure, but it was mostly you. You made things easy. You were attentive, engaged, and just… so genuinely interesting. Every new thing you said made him want to know more.
He was pretty sure he could get addicted to you.
“Oh, so you’re a singer, a songwriter, and you dance?” you asked, a playful eyebrow raised as your chin rested on your palm, eyes locked on his. “Can’t believe I’m talking to a celebrity right now.”
“Ah, come on,” he rolled his eyes, but couldn’t fight the grin tugging at his lip, which only widened when your laughter followed. “I just have a lot of hobbies, that’s all.”
You let out a low whistle. “Wow. Hobbies? What happened to being humble?” you teased, giving his shoulder a light push. “Next thing you’ll say is you’re only kind of good at them.”
He chuckled, tilting his head. “I mean… I’m decent,” he said, feigning modesty.
That made you laugh even harder, the sound bubbling out effortlessly. “Okay, okay then…” you said, glancing around the lively club for a beat before turning your eyes back to him—your gaze bright with amusement, excitement gleaming in your irises. “Since I can’t exactly fact-check the singing and songwriting right now, how about we test the dancing?”
Mark blinked, caught slightly off guard by the sudden switch, but your smile was too contagious, too inviting for him to say no.
“You want to dance?” he asked, a flicker of nervousness playing at the edge of his voice.
“Yes, let’s go!” you beamed, and before Mark could even get another word out, you were already grabbing his hand, tugging him with you toward the dance floor with that same infectious energy that had him hooked from the start.
The lights spun wildly above, the bass of the music thumping through the floor and right into his chest, but nothing felt as loud or electric as the warmth of your hand in his.
You turned to him once you found a spot, your fingers still loosely wrapped around his, your smile mischievous. “C’mon, don’t be shy now,” you teased, already swaying to the rhythm, tugging him gently by the hands to encourage him.
Mark chuckled, eyes glinting as he let himself be pulled into your orbit. At first, his movements were a bit hesitant, his usual confidence caught somewhere between the thump of the music and the closeness of you. But your energy was infectious—your laughter, the way you danced so freely, it all made him forget about being shy.
Soon enough, he was matching your pace, still a little clumsy, sure, but no longer holding back. And God, he was having fun. He couldn’t stop smiling. Not when you were so close, not when your body brushed against his in rhythm, not when he could smell your perfume each time you twirled back into him. It was dizzying. It was perfect.
Especially because it was you.
“You weren’t lying about being a dancer, huh?” you teased, voice softer now with the mellow change in music.
The two of you swayed gently, pressed close. Your arms hung loosely around his neck, while his hands rested on your hips—though only after you had guided them there, because he was adorably awkward about it at first.
“Can’t wait to know more about your other ‘hobbies’,” you added, flashing him a knowing smile.
“Oh, so you want to know more about me?” he asked, brows lifting, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“I thought that was obvious since we sat down to talk and have a drink?” you shot back, raising your brows with the same playful energy.
Mark laughed, that kind of breathy, boyish laugh that warmed your chest. “Okay, okay… I was too nervous to notice that.”
His confession had you laughing, your head tipping forward until your forehead rested gently on his shoulder. Mark stood perfectly still, caught in the quiet moment, letting himself inhale the soft, warm scent of your hair.
“Then, I guess I’ll have to be more direct with you?” you asked, pulling back slightly to meet his eyes, your own twinkling with mischief.
“Well…” he gave a sheepish smile, his head swaying side to side. “It might help me out a little.”
That made you chuckle again, the sound curling around his ribs like sunshine.
“Alright then…” you paused, humming as if in deep thought, your gaze flicking down to his lips for a beat too long. “Can I kiss you?”
His heart practically leapt into his throat.
He blinked once. Then twice. “God, yes,” he breathed, the words escaping before he could even try to play it cool.
His endearing reaction had you chuckling and giving him a soft, warm gaze that completely melted him. You moved closer, and he followed without hesitation, as if pulled by some invisible string, completely enchanted.
Your lips hovered just a breath away from his, and his heart thundered in his chest. Then you leaned in, nibbling gently on his lower lip, teasing him with the kind of ease that made his knees threaten to give out.
“You are so cute,” you giggled softly, your voice brushing against his lips like velvet.
Was that even legal? He swore you were trying to kill him.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered back, voice low and reverent. Then, finally, he closed the remaining space between you.
His hands slid up to your neck, holding you tenderly as if you were something precious—because to him, you already were. His thumbs drew slow, soothing circles just under your ears, grounding him as your lips met fully.
The kiss was soft at first, exploratory, almost shy, but full of feeling. It deepened gradually, growing warmer, more certain, as your fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his shirt.
He only pulled away because, unfortunately, he needed to breathe if he didn’t want to literally die from kissing you (though, honestly, he wouldn’t mind if that were how he went).
“I think I like you,” he murmured, voice soft as he pressed a featherlight kiss to your lips again, his cheeks tinged with the sweetest shade of pink.
“Already?” you teased, giggling. “I think I like you too,” you replied before pressing a quick kiss of your own.
“Can I have your number?” he asked, a little coyly, his eyes glinting with both nerves and hope.
”You laughed again (your ninth time tonight, not that anyone was counting) and nodded. “Yes, Mark, you can.”
“Do you wanna go out tomorrow?” The words escaped him before his brain could catch up, like his mouth had given his heart the reins for good.
“Our official first date?” you asked, smile softening as you tilted your head.
“If you’ll let me,” he replied, hopeful, eyes never leaving yours.
You leaned in once more, lips brushing his in a promise. “I will.”
His lips were pressed into a thin line as he processed everything, eyes wide with disbelief, like he was still waiting to wake up from some wild dream. It was kind of adorable, actually, how unaware he was of his own charm. You couldn’t help but sigh inwardly. Gorgeous, sweet, a little clueless… people like him were everyone’s weakness.
“Can I kiss you again?” he asked, his big, brown eyes flicking over every inch of your face like he was truly admiring you.
“You don’t have to ask.”
And he didn’t hesitate after that. He leaned in, lips meeting yours with more certainty this time, melting into the kiss like it was exactly where he was supposed to be. And as he kissed you, one hand still resting at your neck, the other finding your waist, he swore—whatever this feeling was, it tasted a lot like heaven.
“Is it too soon to say I kinda love you already and would absolutely marry you today if you let me?” he asked with a grin, the kind that made your stomach do somersaults. His tone was playful, but his fingers were gentle as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear like you were something delicate and precious.
You snorted, raising a brow. “Let’s calm down a little, lover boy,” you said, pinching his ear gently. “You fall into my arms one time and suddenly we’re planning a wedding?”
He winced playfully, leaning away. “Ouch, noted. Too soon. I’ll dial it back.”
