[3:48 PM]
"markie..." you cooed teasingly at your boyfriend who's seemingly stressed on writing one of his upcoming song, however, he might've needed an inspiration to do so and you totally know how.
it's been an hour or two since he placed his things on your kitchen table, wiping all the things away from it as he took a peaceful time and you ruined it- not really though. he likes- no, honestly LOVES your existence.
mark sighed and glanced up on your soft features, smiling down on him while leaning on the table with your palm placed on your chin, your elbows standing as support. he raised his brows, "what baby?" he asked, it was breathy, he was tired of sitting and thinking for hours.
you went beside him and gave him a side hug, nuzzling your face on his neck smelling his fragrance that became your favorite scent from the past 3 years you officially became a couple.
mark smiled at this and placed a long kiss on your cheek and closed his eyes at the feeling of your warmth. "stand up" you whispered after pressing a kiss on his jawline, "but-" he almost reasoned but you cut him off somehow, "just stand up and hold me" you demanded softly.
so he did.
if you dance, i'll dance
and if you don't, i'll dance anyway
give peace a chance
let the fear you have fall away
the first stanzas of lana del rey's "yes to heaven" played from your old favorite vintage cassette, both your right hands shared warmth, his left one placed firmly but enough to be fragile against your waist and yours placed lightly on his shoulder.
i've got my eye on you
i've got my mind on you
say yes to heaven, say yes to me
say yes to heaven, say yes to me
you held each other closely, his forehead placed on yours as you stared on each other's sparkling orbs—filled with love and sparks you danced the afternoon storm away.
you come back i'll be right here
like a barge at sea
in the storm i stay clear
'cause i've got my eye on you
i've got my mind on you
he turned you around like a princess with a smile, you giggled as you almost tripped on your own foot, but he held you to avoid it.
say yes to heaven, say yes to me
say yes to heaven, say yes to me
as the second chorus stopped a bit, it was as if fireworks exploded behind the background. staring on each other's eyes lovingly, both knew what you wanted. you kissed. him being the one who began the thing.
soft lips against soft lips, it molded. filled with passion and love. nothing, literally just a kiss, but it meant a lot.
if you dance, i'll dance
i'll put my red dress on again
and if you fight i'll fight
it doesn't matter, now it's all gone
i've got my mind on you
i've got my mind on you
you both pulled away and you placed a quick peck on his nose, "i love you mark lee" you mouthed, "i love you too baby, thank you" he whispered and pulled your body into an embrace.
say yes to heaven, say yes to me
say yes to heaven, say yes to me
i've got my eye on you
i've got my eye on you
i've got my eye on you
i've got my eye on you.
"i know what i want now, you'll be the inspiration of this song" he giggled and started writing from a scratch and your mouth came agape, "hey! that'll sound cringe, i know you, ew!"
summary: golden, as i open my eyes. hold it, focus, hoping; take me back to the light. — golden, harry styles. / mark doesn't want to fall in love, but he doesn't want to be forgotten, either.
words: 4.05k+
category: knight!mark x gardener!reader, gender neutral reader, mark is on the ace/aro spectrum but idk how to label it, mark is in love with the sun.
warning(s): injuries, anxiety
a/n: this is lowkey inspired by me and my friend but its also taken a mind of it's own
The sun is the last think Mark sees on the battlefield. Just as his back hits the damp grass and his ears ring in the anticipation of a long nap (read: a concussion) he sees the sun pulse in his vision, brighter and brighter until he succumbs to his injury.
The sun is, coincidentally, the first thing he sees when he wakes up in the healer's room. There's a bandage around his bare torso to cover a particularly nasty blade wound, and a thin scab across his jaw. The only window in the room, high and arched, serves as a direct viewing of the sun in all of her glory. The rays warm his skin, and for a moment, he thinks about going back to sleep.
His head pounds when he closes his eyes, though, and he figures it'd be better to get up and force his blood to do some circulating.
The healer — Jaemin — isn't in the room, and so Mark decides he isn't under any important watch that would force him to stay cooped up all day.
He sits up, the anticipated curl of his spine sends an immediate zip of pain through his ribs, and Mark groans aloud, having forgot what a broken rib feels like.
But the sun moves to his shoulders, and the feeling is euphoric, so he braves the pain in favor of visiting the garden. There has to be a hidden patch of grass somewhere, sun kissed and waiting to be slept upon.
Mark briefly pauses in his journey to take a detour into the kitchen, where he fills up a wooden cup with cool water directly from the pump. He drinks three full glasses before he decides he's properly hydrated, then he slowly makes his way to the back garden, side-stepping the noble children who run around the roses while their mothers attend afternoon tea.
The royal garden has many sections: a garden for the kitchen, where vegetables are grown, a flower garden for the royal florist, color coded for easy arrangements. There's an herbal garden just for Jaemin and his peers, for balms and potions alike. There's a fruit orchard too, but it's past the garden wall, closer to the abundance of the lake and the clear water it produces.
The garden wall itself is somewhat of a maze. While the outer is a high stone gate, made to keep intruders out, the following layers are made of thick shrubbery that are often clipped into different shapes. Then there are hedges, planted to be somewhat of a maze for privacy. It's often in the maze that nobles walk with their suitors, or where strategists discuss their, well, strategies.
Mark dives into the maze and searches for whatever empty landing he can find. After sidestepping a few appalled nobles (apparently a beaten-up knight dressed in nothing but bandages and cotton is not what one wants to see during tea time, but Mark doesn't exactly know where his shirt is, so) he finds a patch of clovers. The weeds are plentiful, and a bright emerald green that makes Mark feel happy for no reason. The sun shines down on the overgrown patch, and Mark realizes that the patch is already occupied by a small rabbit. It's a grey cottontail, one he's seen a few times in the garden. He's sure it belongs to one of the gardeners, or is at least comfortable enough with them to hang out so much. Mark knows rabbits don't particularly like people.
The rabbit in question is munching on a clover, it's little pink nose twitching as it does so.
Mark decides that he'll risk it, so he approaches the patch anyways, and lies down on his back, letting the sun blanket him.
(He can hear the rabbit's clicking as he falls asleep.)
-
"Oh, hi." It's your voice that wakes Mark up from his dreamless slumber. He's surprised to find that it's already sundown when he wakes, and his body is still just as weak as it was when he fell asleep. Maybe moreso now (what is Jaemin always chiding him for? Heat exhaustion?) At least he drank enough water to stay hydrated throughout everything.
It takes him a few moments to get reoriented with his surroundings. And finally, he remembers your presence; curves his neck to see where you've gone off to.
You're still there, in a shirt that's far too big for you. The collar nearly hangs off of your shoulder, showcasing your soil-stained collarbones. You're not paying attention to him anymore, not that Mark really expected you to.
You pick up the rabbit instead, chiding it in quiet an exasperated voice as you warn him about being in the sun for too long. (Maybe you and Jaemin would get along.)
"'M sorry," Mark mumbles out, stumbling over his dry mouth and his slow-to-rouse brain. He finally sits up, his ribs still screaming in protest, and he looks at you.
You gaze back at him, the grey rabbit snuggled close to your chest. You're not smiling. You look uncomfortable, if anything, and Mark hesitates to keep talking to you.
But you speak first. "Why are you apologizing? You have every right to sleep outside."
The tone in your voice makes Mark feel warm inside. It's hardly judgmental, bordering between disconcertment and daring. There's hesitance in your words. Your voice wavers as you assure him he can hang out as long as he needs to, and Mark wonders if you're making up these rules for him, or for you.
"I should head back to Jaemin and get my bandages changed," he says matter-of-factly, like you care or asked.
"Okay." You blink at him, and although the sun is setting, Mark can still he it's reflection in your eyes. He wonders if you know that the sun is attracted to you.
(He thinks it'd be weird to ask. No one else thinks about the sun as much as him, so it might sound less like a compliment and more like a creepy overstep. Mark never wants to overstep.)
-
Getting back into training is harder than Mark thought it should be. Sure, it's been months, and his wounds have healed completely, but he still has visions of the battlefield, still gets anxious at the sound of a blade, and lately he's been longing for something more peaceful.
He's not trying to be selfish. Really, he loves knighthood. He loves protecting his kingdom and helping the innocent. It's all he ever wanted to do since he was young. And sure, he's gotten older and more solemn, but it doesn't change the fact that he's halfway there. He's still a young knight, just years past being a squire, and he still has so much to prove and so much to learn.
He absorbs information like a sponge. He practices his moves until daybreak, often slumping into his bed without so much as a bath or a meal to heal his aching bones. He does everything he can to please his captain and fellow teammates. The thought of their disappointment shatters him already. Anxiety floods his veins at the mere thought of them disapproving of his actions.
That's precisely why he doesn't tell anyone he's slowly breaking on the inside. It's nothing he can't handle. Nothing he hasn't been through before. Only this time it's not well hidden in the privacy of his bunk. This time it's starkly noticeable in the way he flinches at every swing of the blade, every clang of a shield against a suit, every shrill call to order from his captain.
He falls again, the sun both his enemy and closest friend as he's chided once again about the dangers of dehydration.
His mouth is too dry to tell his captain that it isn't dehydration at all. It's anxiety, and the fear that this feeling is going to be his forever. He kind of wants to go to sleep and never wake up, but even that thought brings on shame.
He closes his eyes, feels the sun burn against his eyelids, and wills it to burn him up, if just to let him feel something.
-
You're in the clover patch again. Not again, because Mark hasn't seen you since the first time and it's been months, but again, because he sees you now, and the days blur so easily in his mind nowadays that he really feels like he just saw you yesterday.
You have a basket in your hand, and you're gathering bunches of clover with precise care, ignoring his presence. Mark figures you just don't hear him, but he sees your gaze flit to him and he realizes you're avoiding acknowledgment on purpose.
Mark supposed this is where he leaves.
Only he doesn't, because he's drowsy beneath the afternoon sun, and this is the only place he can go where he won't be chided for his rash decisions.
(The sunburn on his chest is actually healing nicely, thank you very much.)
"What do you use so many clovers for?" He asks, eyes hesitant when they meet yours.
You look shocked that he's speaking to you. Not in an appalled way, but more like you expected him to ignore you altogether.
Mark doesn't want to ignore you; never really has.
"Jaemin asked me to." So you already know Jaemin. "For cough syrup."
"Ah." Mark doesn't know what to say. He doesn't want you to think he's done talking to you, but he's horribly awkward at things like this. Talking. Friendship. Whatever is going on here.
"You fainted today," you say. "Maybe you shouldn't be out in the sun so much."
"Oh, it wasn't because of the sun," Mark amends. He sits down, away from the clover patch so he won't disrupt your progress. "I get anxious when I fight now. That's all."
"You were anxious enough to pass out?" You ask him, and then your voice gets lower as you seem to answer yourself, "Well yeah, I guess increased blood flow would make you pass out. That was stupid to ask."
"Not stupid," Mark says. He doesn't know what else to say though.
It's a weird in-between place of wanting to talk to you and having nothing to say. He decides maybe he should just dive into the deep end. "Ever since the last battle... it's been hard for me to keep up. I'm afraid of swords now, which shouldn't happen, but I guess something in my brain got triggered when I was wounded, and now swords connect with pain. They've always been connected with pain though, so it shouldn't be new. It's just new to me."
You hum. It's enough for Mark to know you listened. He thinks maybe you're good at listening, even if your only reply is a solemn hum. Then, "You can't help it if you have trauma in your life. It's expected since you're a knight, but don't push it down so much that you fall ill."
"Yeah." He says. "I won't."
(He doesn't. And sometimes he does. It really depends on the days, but he's trying, and somehow he thinks that's all you meant for him to do.)
-
Mark is always around so many people. He thinks about it on his birthday, when Jaemin takes him and all of his fellow knights to the nearby inn for drinks. Mark feels the numb sting of a person who has many companions but no one to confide in. He takes it in stride; always has, but it burns down his throat along with the whiskey.
He watches Johnny flirt with the innkeeper, and when the tall man comes back with keys to the nicest room, he gives them to Mark. A "Happy Birthday, man." on the top of his tongue.
Everyone howls, their minds going to dirty places, and Mark has to quiet them down by saying he doesn't want to have sex tonight. Or any night for that matter. Everything in his chest burns from the laughter he receives in turn, along with the assurance that he'll get intimate when the right person comes along.
He visits you the next morning and recounts the tale.
"Some people don't want sex," you say. There's a surety in your voice that makes Mark wish you were with him last night, if only to defend him. He doesn't want to be selfish, though — doesn't want you to think he's only using you for his own benefit — so he leaves with his thoughts and the sun on his back.
-
Your schedules don't really coincide. Mark never sees you; not in the audience at jousts, or in the kitchen during meal time. He knows the both of you are in completely different sectors of the castle — your presence is really only mandatory in the garden, while Mark's is mandatory everywhere the king is.
But sometimes Mark thinks about you during jousting tournaments, when he gets a high score but no one praises him for it. It's just expected of him, and yet he wishes there was someone to praise him for his hard work. It's not easy doing what he does, especially when he has so much anxiety doing it.
He wants to find you. He wants to breathe in your presence— wants to ask you if you think about him too, in the spaces between obligation and freedom. In the moments where you can be whoever you wish.
He wonders if you picture him.
The sunburn on his shoulders makes his skin itch more than usual, and Mark thinks about taking a swim in the lake to clear his mind.
He stands on the dock, mind foggy with the what-ifs and the how-tos and the imagine-if-Y/n-ever-thought-about-yous. He hesitates to take off his shirt, because left in only his cotton shorts he feels vulnerable. The scars that mark up his chest make him feel weak, like he's never been enough, and he'll never be enough so long as his skin doesn't clear.
He doesn't feel like a man. Never really has. In his mind he is still a child playing pretend, and life is catching up to him, all too quickly and all too harshly for him to prepare for whats to come.
The sun reflects on the surface of the lake. Shadows of minnows and frogs pass beneath him, and Mark finally loses his shirt.
He dives in, feeling the slimy seaweed wrap around his ankles almost immediately. And yeah, it's uncomfortable, but it beats his leather boots and the sweat that builds up after a full day of practice.
A small frog hops onto his shoulder, frightening him, but it dives back into the water just as quickly, so Mark focuses on calming his breathing.
"Mark Lee," you call out.
Mark slips on the seaweed and falls back into the water. He closes his eyes tightly and lets himself break the surface. He feels his cheeks flood with heat, and he wonders if the sun can penetrate the water.
"Hi," he says softly. Water drips off of his eyelashes. Drops land on his cupid's bow and stay there as he stares at you.
Maybe you could feel him thinking about you. Maybe he sent some kind of cosmic energy out into the world, and you sensed it.
Maybe fate just works in mysterious ways.
Mark doesn't know what to say. He watches you sit on the dock and take off your shoes. You dip your toes into the water and smile at him. It's a bigger smile than he normally receives, and Mark feels like maybe you're opening up to him. He feels really good, and he isn't sure if it's the sunny daze or your warm gaze.
Maybe it's both.
Mark decides that he wants to hold you. Maybe it's too romantic a thought; maybe it's not romantic enough, but it sears his eyelids, and when he closes his eyes he can feel his hands splayed at your waist.
Yes, it's too romantic of a thought.
The sun is glaring now, taunting him. It's as if he doesn't know that he's failing in every way, staring at you without saying anything. He wants to reach out and ask you for advice on anything. Everything. He wants to get you talking; thinking about him, even just for a few minutes, but it's hard when he can't find his voice.
His shoulders itch again. He takes it as a sign. "Do you know any- uh- plants to help with sunburn?"
You smile even brighter somehow, and the sun is behind you now, mocking him as it rings a halo over your head. The light romanticizes you in a way Mark doesn't think he can. He doesn't think he's capable of it, but he longs for you.
He longs for you harmlessly, and his heart aches at the thought of you out of his life. Despite your monthly appearances, they mean more to Mark than he realizes most of the time. And he wants to tell you that he'd like to see you more often. Monthly greetings could turn into weekly meetings. He could see you more— bask in your presence; your light. He wants to drown in the way your chest rises and falls as you breathe. He wants to fall apart at the sound of your laughter.
He wants to love you, and he knows he isn't quite capable of love. Not in the way his mother expects him to be. Not in the way his friends expect him to be. Certainly not in the way he expects of himself. And yet, some selfish part of him hopes it will be enough for you. He hopes more than anything that one day you might accept what little love he can offer amongst the busyness of his life. Amongst the closed doors of his heart.
"Aloe vera," you say. "There's some one the healer's room, even though Jaemin is out for the week."
Mark finds a piece of himself feelings rather jealous at the fact that you seem to always know Jaemin's schedule. Why can't you know his?
"Okay," he says. "I'll ask him for some when he returns."
"I have a key." You stand up. "Come on, I'll find you some."
Mark stumbles his way out of the water, slipping twice on seaweed and three times over his words. "You really don't have to." He buttons his shirt over his scars, ears burning red because he can sense you looking at him. Studying him like you're hoping to find something amiss.
Mark follows you to the healer's room. When you order him to sit down, he obeys.
"Here," you hand him a jar of clear goop. "Rub this on your burns until they go away. And if you need any more, come find me."
Come find me.
Your words still ring in his head that night, as he applies more aloe to his body. He wants to come find you tomorrow, and he wants you to stay with him the entire day. He wants to hear about what goes around in your head and in your heart.
He wants to break the wall between the two of you and reach out; touch your soul and find that his is the same.
Mark stays awake until the sun comes up.
-
Beneath the lemon tree, you lay half-asleep. You stroke your rabbit's head and hum a tune, something you heard a long time ago. Maybe in a lullaby or an old shanty.
The sun is far too hot for you, which is why you've found a place in the shade.
You can hear the sounds of swords clanking against each other. Despite your reluctance, you think of Mark, and you wonder if he's doing alright. With his anxiety, and the way he's prone to accidents, you tend to worry about him a lot.
As much as he might think he's hiding it, Mark is a perfectionist just as much as he's a worrier. The two are more than likely related, but they double up in your brain as reasons to reach out to the boy every so often.
You aren't even sure Mark likes you. Like, as in, just enjoying your presence. Mark always seems a little too nervous; a little too eager to leave when he's around you.
You're sure it's you: the only common denominator in every situation.
Mark has a lot on his plate; he's got so much to deal with and so much he puts on himself.
You want to help, but you aren't sure where your place is in Mark's life. You could just be a passing soul; not an actual friend. You don't know, and you don't know the protocol for asking.
You told him to come find you if he ran out of aloe, but does that mean he isn't allowed to find you otherwise? You've only given him an option, and yet it doesn't feel like enough. It feels like maybe he won't visit you at all.
The sound of practice ceases, though your mind doesn't know if it's because practice is over or if it's because you're nearly asleep.
You wake up, and Mark is sitting a little ways off, clicking his tongue at the rabbit. He doesn't notice you've waken up.
"Hi," you say. "You found me."
Mark looks up, mouth open in a shocked expression. His neck is still red from the sun; and it creeps down onto the skin of his bare collarbones. "I didn't- I didn't see you there. Your shirt is the same color as the grass."
"Huh?" In your sleepy daze, you look down at your sleeve and notice that is does match the ground. Maybe Mark really didn't notice you. Maybe this is all fate. "Oh. Sorry then."
"No!" Mark crosses his legs. "No! Uh, I wanted to find you. I just thought you wanted me to wait until I was finished with the aloe."
"That was just an excuse," you say sheepishly.
Mark is in his uniform (sans the jerkin). Leather pants and a violet shirt, untied at the chest. His skin is still colored, but it seems a bit more pink than the bright red it was yesterday. "It's been working then?"
Mark looks down at his chest and clothed shoulders and nods. "Yeah, uh— It's been working. So, uh, what are you doing here?"
"I'm just taking a nap away from the sun," you say. You roll onto your back and look up, eyes locked at the giant star that shines through the lemon tree leaves.
"Why would you want to be away from the sun?" Mark narrows his eyes, shoulders hunched over as he reaches for the rabbit.
"Her name is Garnet," you say. "And the sun is harmful. It can hurt your skin and your eyes. It's better to stay cool."
Mark picks up Garnet and snuggles her into his chest. "I don't think I could ever stay away from the sun. I love the warmth."
"Seems so," you murmur. Mark seems to exude warmth. Seems to radiate the sun itself, like Apollo personally kissed his shoulders; his cheeks; his lips, and Mark shines more golden than the sun at times. Especially when he smile, he seems to personify the sunbeams. "You should stay here with me."
"In the shade?"
"Lay beneath the sun," you reach your hand out.
Mark looks surprised, his golden eyes shining with a sort of gleam that rivals the lake surface. He lays down beside you in the sun and takes your hand in his. "Okay."
You smile, heart full at the action, and even though Mark seems sleepy, you will yourself to stay awake and immortalize each moment in your memory.
And when his breathing slows; when you think he's finally asleep, he turns on his side and faces you. "Is this... Is this enough for you?"
Something unsaid slips between his words, like finality. Like, this may be all you'll ever get, and he wants to know if it's enough.
You smile at him. You can the sun in the reflection of his eyes; feel the soft grass beneath your skin; the warmth of Mark's hand in yours.
Notes: just soft things. Im writting in 1st person.
Synopsis:Mark getting off work late and etc.
It is 1am. I have been trying to go to sleep for the past 2 hours but I still wasn't able. I stared blankly at the ceiling as I heard the door open. Mark's back. He had already come out of the shower. He smelt like fresh lavender and look extremely fluffy with his wet hair. He proceeds to seat beside where I was laying.
"Why are you still up?hmm" he hummed as he gently caress my head. His eyes were filled with concern but in a good way. He was worried about me.
I continue to lay there. I took his hand from my head and put it where my heart is. I looked at him in the eyes.
"Mark there is no need for you to be worried. I'm just having a lil trouble with falling asleep" I told him. I hoped that I have successfully reassured him and made him stopped worrying about me.
He then looked straight in my eyes. It stayed like this for 3 minutes or so. He then got up and said.
" I know what can help you sleep! I sweet lullaby could hopefully make you fall asleep." He then takes the guitar that he plays with in his free time. He starts playing John Mayer's edge of desire. I looked at his back profile. I am pretty sure he was back facing me because he was embarrassed or smth. I could see that little flush in his cheeks. As he strum the chords, I could feel a little sleepy. I love hearing his voice, even when its not warmed up. It made me feel safe. I closed my eyes and focused on his voice and my breathing. I was then slipped into the dream
world. I vaguely heard Mark said I love you. And then everything faded into black.
the ballroom was colorful, dazzling—your ballgown colored in your most favorite one. mirrorball was twirling ever so gently up the ceiling as students of the prom were either dancing or drinking away from the night.
your eyes weren't trained to those, no. as usual, it's always towards that very person—mark lee. your school's student council president, as always.
blush crept to your cheeks as you see him walk straight towards you, you don't know if you're just assuming and wonder if there's someone else on your back view who's more approachable.
however, your thoughts halt when you heard your name being mentioned by his beautiful voice. "how you doing, y/n? you seem to be having a peaceful moment yet everyone here are having fun" he leaned on the countertop with his striking smile.
you smiled bashly from the sudden interaction, "i get totally anxious about social events- but i did dance earlier with danielle-" you nodded your head remembering it.
mark scoffed lightly, baffled when his right palm politely suggested forward, his leaning figure now straight as if he was a prince who came magically out from a fairytale.
"may i have your hand for tonight, m'lady?" mark asked with a posh voice. your surrounding seemed to blur, serene music filled the void, as if sparkles glittered around.
"y- you may, mark" you gratefully answered and took his hand, he twirled you around like a princess. gently holding you, scared, too fragile for him.
it was the greatest moment of your life—to finally experience dancing with the man you've admired silently afar. heart swarming and butterflies flew scatteringly from your stomach, it was romantic in a way you never thought of since a decade ago.
"i knew from the moment you looked at me as if i'm the most beautiful person in your eyes, you love me. i respect you, y/n. you didn't know how much i've been trying to get to you. how much i felt the same for years. i think i'm such a jerk for not telling you earlier. but right now, i know...that we could have it all"
by that, you grabbed him and smashed your own soft lips against his plush ones.
