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niskoo · 3 years

Text

Memories kept in the pink hoodie

pairing: Ex! Heeseung x reader

genre: angst, fluff in the end ig, breakup! AU

warnings: swearing, uhhh they like break down together

word count: 2.2k words OMG

a/n: another one of my requests!! thank you all for the ideas its really helping!! mmm this one was very interesting to write because i usually write crack/fluff, aaannndd ive literally never done anything ive written IURHWIU thank you for the great idea anon <33 THIS HELPED SO MUCH OMG USUALLY MY ANGST SUCKS BUT IM PRETTY PROUD OF THIS AAAA ALSO IM SORRY IF THIS WASNT REALLY WHAT YOU WANTED IDK THERE ALWAYS HAS TO BE FLUFF IN MY IMAGINES IG 😓😭

feel free to request and help get rid of my writers block!!

a bit based off of 'try again' by jaehyun and d.ear

You should've known the consequences of dating an idol, you should've been careful. Of course they wouldn't let you be together, he's in one of the rising groups, heck, he was in one of the biggest companies.

It wasn't necessarily the company's fault you were so heartbroken, it's both your faults. You couldn't help but blame each other for how careless you were. You know better than to make things worse, and yet you did.

The evening you go back to his dorm after being confronted by the company, you two started a huge argument of who's fault it was. Either it was his fault for not taking caution during work, or your fault for always checking up on him. All loving actions in the past became reasons for why you should break up, thus cracking your relationship further.

When you went home that night, with your backpack full of your things, you did nothing. You didn't cry, you didn't rage, you simply thought that this was the end, you felt guilty that it had to end like this, instead of just working it out and breaking it off peacefully.

Your heart was left cracked and hurt for sure, but this time, you blame yourself. You shouldn't have met him, you shouldn't have got to know him, it's all your fault. And for the first time that night, you cry.

Your heart clenched at every thought of having to leave Heeseung, more tears falling at the fact that he's not gonna be a part of your life anymore. He's gone, and it's all your fault.

It's when you unpack your things when you realize you still have a bunch of things left at his place, you realize you never want to go back and face him.

You leave your stuff there for the next 2 days, your heart still unready to confront and be reminded of the fact that Heeseung is gone. Unfortunately, he has other plans.

Your phone lights up, and the last name you want to see is lighting the phone up.

'Hey... you left some of your stuff.'

You instantly turn your phone off, breaths picking up as you quickly look away from it and finish your lunch. You can feel the anxiety filling your body as you notice it light up once again, and it swarms in your chest even more when your mother winces at the next text.

You put down your spoon, quickly glancing at the text.

'If you want, you can come by and pick them up? I'll pack them for you...'

Your heart clenches yet once again, you know it's true, literally half your stuff is still there and you have to pick them up. You unlock your phone, quickly sending an 'okay' before completely shutting your phone down. You wouldn't stand a second more looking at his contact.

You decide to go at 11, because that's when the other members are at the company training. You don't know if Heeseung's gonna be there to give you your things, a part of you hopes he is, another hopes he's not there. But then again, who else would open the door for you?

You stand outside the familiar door nervously, picking on your nails and the lint on the hem of your cardigan. Just as you were about to knock, the door swung open, and instead of your ex boyfriend standing there it's the youngest of the group, his eyes wide and puffy lips parted.

As usual, he woke up late. You can't help but chuckle as he picks his shoes up and scurries down the stairs, bidding him a friendly goodbye.

You almost forget about Heeseung, but as you hear shuffling from inside, it all comes back.

You two share awkward glances, the tension slowly building itself back up. Instead of the heated, rage filled tension, this time the tension is guilty, and without each other knowing, yearning.

“T-this way,” Heeseung mutters tightly, eyes glued to the ground as he shuffled quickly to the living room. You follow along just a few seconds later, still processing the fact that this is the end. He could be gone out of your life after this, it’s your last chance to speak.

Your eyes slowly travel up when you stop, the beating of your heart quickening with the slight burning in your eyes. Lo and behold, there your things laid, ready for you to bring back home. You can’t help but notice how it’s packed completely how Heeseung would pack, neat and with care. It’s not too stuffed, it’s in the perfect place.

Biting at the dead skin of your lip, you trudge towards the duffle bag—his duffle bag—and kneel down to grab the handle. The moment you pick it up, you notice how the bag isn’t fully zipped, and a certain pink sleeve peaks out from the tiny space.

All too familiar, the pink sleeve was. It was the one he took from Daniel in I-land. He knew you loved it, for you loved the kid like your little brother. But, he can’t. It’s his, it’s his favorite, he can’t just give it to his ex.

You instantly place the bag down, the tears starting to well up in frustration and sadness. You zip open the bag and take the pink hoodie out, before shoving it into Heeseung’s chest, “Take it, Heeseung, Please don’t give it to me.”

It takes him a few moments, before Heeseung is shaking his head and handing it back to you. “No, it’s practically yours anyway. And you really like it right? It’s just a-“

“Don’t tell me it’s just a hoodie!”

You both are shocked at your sudden burst, frozen in your spot. Your breathing is heavy, like a weight is holding it down and slowing your breathing. There are tears keeping your cheek moist, warm, they stream down continuously, the sensation as if there was fire dripping from your eyes and burning your skin.

Heeseung’s just on the verge of crying himself, the grip on the pink hoodie deathly, he feels the material ripping against his skin. How did it come to this? When did it even happen? It all feels surreal, to think what you two had could fall apart.

All the happy moments in your relationship fading to memories, the hoodie representing the fact itself is true. None of you wanted to take it, afraid it would remind you of the other.

Deep down, you wanted to keep it, keep the memories it held, keep the tears that once soaked it when you vented all your stress to him, keep the scent of Heeseung that lingered on the fabric. You were just too afraid of being reminded that along with the happy memories, came the sad memories of the night you fought and broke it off.

Your grip on the poor hoodie eases, as you slide to the floor helplessly with tears messing your face up. You desperately wanted to hold the pink piece of clothing and keep it forever, and another part of you cursed at you for being too vulnerable.

Your hand quickly wipes away the tears on your cheeks and chin harshly, almost hitting yourself for being so sensitive. Before you could do the action again, a softer grasp is stopping your hand, Heeseung’s other hand reaching up to brush the tears away dearly, blowing your hair away from your face.

Before you could even bring yourself to stop, you’re already reacting to his touch, cowering into his hold and placing your hand over his on your cheek, almost intertwining them together.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper into his palm, your other hand reaching up to grasp at his t-shirt. You’re sorry for so many reasons, for not being careful, for all the things you said in the argument, for making a sudden commotion just because of a stupid hoodie. “I’m so sorry...”

“Shh, it’s alright, it’s alright.” Heeseung grabs you into his infamous embrace you would hate to leave, stroking your back with patterns just the way he knew you loved, just the way it would calm you down. “We’ll be alright.”

More tears fall between your eyelashes, dripping and soaking into Heeseung’s shoulder as he himself sniffles quietly into your hair. None of you want to leave each other behind, it’s the painful truth that you both can’t have, the truth you’ve always feared.

A sudden feeling of relief fills you up inside, his words reassure you in a way, we’ll be alright, you’ll be okay, it just had to leave his lips for you to believe it. You crawl closer to Heeseung, squeezing yourself in his bear hug, “We’ll be okay, we can make it right,”

A hoarse and hearty laugh leaves Heeseung, it shakes right by your ear as you press it against his chest, and he nods, “Yeah,”

He gently pulls your head back right in front of his, wiping the last of your tears and tucking the stray hairs back to the back of your ear, “Let’s just talk,” his whisper tickles your nose, causing you to lightly giggle at the feeling, his lips pressing softly against the pink tinted skin, “Make everything better?”

You nod, finally grasping at the pink hoodie and holding it tight to your chest as Heeseung laughs and bonks his forehead right on yours.

For the next few hours, you talk, make up, talk some more, maybe even a small cuddle, but that’s a secret. You make ramen for when the other members come back from practice, you feel happy to see the members thank you and eat with enthusiasm, you feel glad this is how your last moments together last.

Now you have the (practically ripped) pink hoodie in your arms as you bid the boys goodbye, slightly tearing up at the sight of them sadly waving, but you keep it in and continue your way back home, where you would tell your mom how you ended it on good terms.

And that night, you slip on the pink hoodie before you sleep, and you feel a piece of paper poking at your arm. You’re surprised to see a crumpled envelope poking out, your name written messily in blue ink.

You pull the envelope out quickly, opening it out with something bubbling in the pit of your stomach as you notice the handwriting as Heeseung’s.

‘My dear Y/n,

Hello there! I don’t know if i got the guts to make it right with you or if i pussied out and watched you as you drove away with regrets, but that’s what this letter is for. hopefully you didn’t throw this letter away hehe

i just wanted to thank you. for everything. your love, your care, your trust, Your happiness, thank you for everything you’ve given me. im sorry we had to end our journey, but know that you’ll be in my mind everyday. when we practice, I’ll remember your encouraging smile, when we win, I'll remember the fact that it’s you who gave me the courage to start this whole career.

i love you y/n. we’ll both probably find our other person in the future, but you’ll forever be in my heart as my first love, my first heartbreak, my best memory. thank you for helping me through my hardest times, thank you for helping the other boys through their worst times, especially jungwon, he’ll miss you the most.

i guess this is goodbye, y/n. not forever, of course, but for some time. thank you for everything, i hope you enjoyed the times we had together as much as i did.

with all the love in my heart,

Lee Heeseung :)’

You wipe at your tears for the nth time that day, folding the paper back into the envelope. “Fuck you Heeseung, you’ve ruined my makeup again!” You curse under your breath as you slip the letter into a certain box at the corner of your bedside table, patting your cheeks one last time.

You truly cherish the memories you had with Heeseung. You hope he does too.

#ehypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen angst #enhypen fluff #enhypen blurbs #enhypen drabbles #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #enhypen heeseung #lee heeseung #lee heeseung angst #lee heeseung fluff #lee heeseung blurbs #lee heeseung x reader #lee heeseung scenarios

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gohyuck · 6 years

Text

into it - m.l.

some of the lowest parts of your senior year with mark, and one of the highest

warnings, a/n, etc. under the cut <3

wc: 6.3k

warnings: school, misuse of prescription medicine, windrawal, angst (dw it ends fairly happy i would say), uhhh some smutty themes. maybe. there’s no actual smut in this it just gets close ig

a/n: this is literally just me projecting onto mark mixed with some other stories from other competitive schools from around me - if anyone wants to talk about how shitty school is with me they’re free too! i’m a slave to gpa. yeet. i think i might’ve projected onto the reader too please don’t @ me...

description should’ve been “in which mark is the author and the reader is the author and the author is barely a person”

idk this fic seems kinda pointless but . anyways

anyways enjoy <3

song: into it - chase atlantic

Yeah I've been catching planes for the fun of it Then I'll be watching fame turn to punishment The weather's only sunny when I'm under it And I haven't really changed, yeah I'm just confident

33 school days until Graduation

Living fire begets cold, impotent ash.

Mark can’t help but reread the line once. Twice. Thrice.

He’s studying to distract himself. That, and he’s studying because he needs to, but mostly, it’s a distraction.

From what?

He’s trying not to think about it.

A small part of Mark wonders why he’s rereading Things Fall Apart. While it’s definitely one of the better school-assigned books he’s been forced to dissect - Chinua Achebe knows how to make a point - its attractiveness diminishes every time he opens it again to page one.

The first time he’d read it, Mark had been captivated without his special little boost. The main character, while terrible, was too relatable - Mark isn’t a fan of failure, either.

The second time was to study for the 60 question test on the novel. It was less interesting this time around, but Mark still diligently annotated it, spending three days with his eyes glued to the page and fingers cramping around his lucky pencil. Every time he closed his eyes, Achebe’s land of Umuofia appeared. It was there when he opened his eyes, too.

The third time was to find evidence to use in his analysis essay on what type of hero Okonkwo is. At this point, all that Mark was sure of was that Okonkwo sure as hell wasn’t his hero. Still, Mark typed until his fingers felt raw.

The 97 scrawled across the top of his printed copy, returned a week later with a slightly smeared red smiley face alongside it, had made it worth it. The knowledge his teacher disclosed to him after class while gushing over his word choice - that nobody in the grade had scored higher than him - doubled his (short-lived) satisfaction.

Now, Mark’s eyes are laser-focused on the novel in front of him. Their teacher had mentioned in passing that there would be a couple of questions pulled from the book on the last test of the marking period, and he can’t afford to miss anything on the test. He’s got a 98 in the class, and the idea of it dropping makes him squirm.

It’s nearing 3 am, and he’s desperately wishing that he’d opted to stay at home and study rather than go skateboarding with Jeno and Jisung right after school. He chides himself on not considering the opportunity cost (God, he’s even thinking in economics now. Economics. Fuck.) before going out. Reaping rewards before sowing them has never worked before - there’s no reason it would’ve today, either.

There are about four bags of Cheez-Its, a half gallon of water, and 20 milligrams of Adderall lying at the bottom of his stomach. He’s kind of hungry, but he can’t be made to give two shits. Mark tells himself that he can eat later. He hasn’t had dinner yet. It’ll be a reward for finishing the book.

Mark’s phone buzzes. Once. Twice. Thrice. He pays it no mind. He’s getting nearer and nearer to the end of the novel, and once he finishes he can let himself go for the night. Calculus is done, as well as French, Physics, and Economics (fucking Economics). There’s nothing in his other classes. He’s got swim practice after school, but there’s no way for him to prepare for that. At least - he hasn’t found one yet.

I'm just fucking lucky I was born with it A hundred million people couldn't deal with this I've been tryna grow cause people kill for it This mental pressure got me popping pills and shit

“Have you considered sleeping early and waking up early to study?”

You don’t answer with a hello when he calls you back - you never have and never will. It’s 4:14 in the morning and you know that Mark’s calling you back now because he’s finished everything. There’s probably Adderall still in his system and a crease in his forehead from worrying that it still isn’t enough studying or time devoted.

“Good morning to you, too.” Mark’s voice is low, lower than usual. It’s the lack off sleep, you know this. You shouldn’t find the huskiness in it attractive, but you do. It’s one of the less fucked up side-effects of the stress both him and you put yourselves through.

“Would be if I wasn’t up at ass o’clock in the morning.”

“Hey - be proud of me. At least I have it in me to work hard like this. The way we’re both going, if we don’t die before college, we can get full rides to the fucking Ivies and end up some crazy millionaire couple on the front of Time magazine. Making 40 million before 40.”

“I love it when you maladaptive daydream to me, babe. Really gets me going.”

Mark chuckles at this, and you hear a rustling sound in the background on his end. He’s putting all of his things into his backpack for tomorrow, you guess. You’re right.

“And I am proud of you.” You continue, knowing that he’s listening, probably with his phone tucked between his shoulder and ear as he tidies up his desk. He can’t put you on speaker - both of you shudder to think what will happen if either of your parents find out that you’re up at dawn, talking to the significant other neither of you are allowed to have. They think you’re both just best friends - two kids too wrapped up in school to have the time to date, anyways. “But, I think you’re nuts. I think I’m nuts. You’re worse, but... anyways. I’m proud of you, but you never call me back this late. It’s usually a “ttyl” text, or some shit. What’s wrong?”

The line goes silent. He’s stopped moving altogether on his end.

He sighs. It’s heavy, and kind of empty, and you immediately know that he’s already cried this out. You wait.

This is what he’d been trying to distract himself from with Things Fall Apart.

“My rank dropped.”

On impulse, you wince in response. The first semester ranks your school had given out not a week earlier are your and Mark’s second to last ranks as seniors - there’s only one semester left to redeem yourself if you fuck up. Even though college applications have been submitted for months and acceptances are about to start coming out, you know that falling still aches.

Top 10% of your class get recognized. Top 10 get special honors and get to walk first. Valedictorian and Salutatorian get to give speeches, five minute pieces that will be forgotten by everyone but them the next day. You’ll all be free for three months before starting the best and worst years of your lives.

Graduation day is the focus now, as it has been since the first day of ninth grade. You’ve managed to stay well within the top 5%, to your own merit, but Mark’s always been in the top 10 - with walking honors.

At least, up until last week.

He’d been 10th at the end of Sophomore year, and now, apparently, he isn’t.

You can’t begin to imagine how he feels.

“How much?”

“Two. My GPA went up a wholeass .1, though.” He’s looking for the bright side by himself, now. It’s progress from last year. A part of you is glad. The other half of your heart aches.

Before you can convey this, or even begin to formulate a response, Mark continues speaking. “I’ve been trying to remind myself that other people would kill to be 12th.” He inhales sharply. “Fuck.”

“And you’d kill to not. You’re killing yourself to not.”

“I -”

“Mark.”

“I’m fine, baby.” His petname sounds forced, as if he can’t believe his own words. “I’m lucky, I have a good memory. You know this. I don’t work myself nearly as hard as you think I do, or as I should be.”

“So you don’t pop pills all the damn time so you can study a week’s worth of material in a night?”

Your voice is tight - you’re no stranger to work and overwork, but Mark is on another plane. It feels like he’s so far gone, sometimes, that you can’t touch him. He’s on the other end of the line, but he’s a million miles away.

He lets a puff of air pass through his lips. Seconds tick by.

Mark breaks the silence.

“It’s getting late. We have class in a few hours. I’ll pick you up at 8?”

You blink. Your anger at him, at the system, and, for almost no reason you yourself can discern, at yourself, wanes just slightly. It really is late - early - and, as if your body realizes this only after Mark says it, you yawn. Mark hears it clearly, letting a small smile grace his features for a split second because of it.

“Night.” It’s short and sweet, but he’s always been able to tell how much you love him. At this point, it doesn’t matter how much or how little you say.

“Night.” His response is just as succinct. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

He called, so he hangs up - it’s been your system since the eighth grade. It’s worked surprisingly well for four years.

You wish everything was as easy as who gets to hang up.

After plugging your phone into its charger and turning into your blanket, you stifle another yawn. Before sleep finds you, you can’t help but whisper it into existence, your words muttered into your pillow for whatever higher power finds them-

Let him Be. He deserves it. Let him Be. He works so, so fucking hard. Let him Be.

Your thoughts are muddled, but that’s because it’s nearing 4:45 in the morning. You aren’t even entirely sure of what you’re saying. For what feels like the millionth time, you wonder how you’ll be able to get up in time for school within 3 hours. You wonder how Mark will do it. A part of you hopes that he forgets to set his alarm and gets the sleep he so desperately needs and deserves.

He’s leaning against his car, scrolling through something on his phone when you open your door. You don’t bother checking the time. It’s about 7:54. You’d checked your grades about five minutes ago at 7:48. You’re wearing his favorite sweatshirt - the blue swim team one that’s too small on him and too big on you (it’s his damn shoulders, and that’s the only reason why). He appreciates your outfit, checking to make sure that your parents aren’t outside and leaning across the center console to slip his cold hands under the sweatshirt while finding your lips with his own to show you the extent of this appreciation.

It isn’t until you pull away from him to see that it’s 8:02 that he shifts to Drive, though not before sending you a smirk while buckling his seat-belt and checking his mirrors.

You check your calendar.

32 school days ‘til Graduation.

But I'm into it, I'm into it Say she wanna fuck me later Girl I'm into it, I'm into it, I'm into it This mental pressure got me popping pills and shit But I'm into it, I'm into it

25 school days until Graduation

You see it as a well-deserved break. You aren’t quite sure what Mark thinks. A distraction? You hope not. You’re more than just a distraction. You should be, at least.

There’s not much time to mull this unpleasant thought over, though, as he teasingly nips at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. One of your hands flies to his hair, while the other keeps you sitting up in his bed while you’re still leaning back. One of his hands is on your thigh, while the other is splayed across your stomach, hiking your camisole up. His shirt is off - it has been for a while. There’s hickeys dotting his collarbone.

If your mind was working, you’d be admiring your handiwork.

“Your underwear’s still on,” He moves back slightly so his eyes meet yours, your fingers still entangled in strands of dark brown hair. His lips are red from kissing you earlier. You know for sure that your pupils are blown as wide as his are. “Can I change that?” Mark’s fingers are running over the elastic waistband that separates him from your skin.

You blink. You swallow.

A voice in the back of your mind begs you to say yes, begs you to guide his head back to where you want his mouth. You haven’t fucked him in weeks, it whispers. If you don’t now, it’ll be even longer.

“Mark,” His name comes out as more of a whine that you expect. He dips his head down, pressing a chaste kiss on your knee.

“Hm?”

You’re this close - this close - to begging him. You can practically feel him on top of you - inside you - already.

Until, of course, your logic prevails.

“Mark,” You say his name again, without the rawness this time. His gaze bores into yours, awaiting your response.

“Calc.”

Mark stays on his knees for a moment, and in that moment he seems hesitant to move. That’s dangerous - if he stays down any longer, you’ll beg him to continue.

Thankfully, he presses one last, reverent kiss over your underwear before pushing himself up off of the floor. You’re still holding your breath.

“I can’t believe I just got cock-blocked by math.” He grins at you, not perturbed. Mark’s nothing if not respectful. He tosses you your shorts before beckoning you back over to the floor beside his desk.

Mark sits down, cross-legged, in front of you, but not before handing you your math notebook and grabbing his own. Your calculus textbook goes between the two of you.

“We can rain check.” You say. He quirks an eyebrow.

It’s hot. He’s hot.

You imperceptibly shake your head - you’re still flustered, and would give anything to be underneath your boyfriend. The only reason you aren’t is because your math grade depends on you acing tomorrow’s calculus test.

“Come again?” Mark knows what you said - his teasing ass just wants to hear it again. You know what he wants to hear.

“I want you to fuck me later.” You look him in the eyes, pleased to see a hint of a blush. Sometimes you miss the early stages of your relationship - where Mark had been constantly tripping over his own feet and as red as a fire hydrant. You’d been the smoother one, then.

One corner of Mark’s mouth turns up, and he leans over the textbook to give you a short kiss.

“I’m into that.”

I'm getting way too deep I'm fucking into it I'm into it, yeah I'm into it I wouldn't change it for the world I'm fucking into it

He pulls a pill bottle from a box he keeps in the bottom right drawer of his desk. It’s where he stores everything important to him - polaroids of him and you together, his calendar, the swim team schedule and his list of swim times, his phone charger, his planner... and his Adderall.

Mark takes his typical dosage into the palm of his hand, swallowing the pills dry. He moves to put the pill bottle back. It’ll be some time before it kicks in, but the rest of the day is ahead of both of you.

He always takes some before studying, but never asks you to. It’s not something he wants for you. You’ve never asked, too - it’s not something you want for yourself.

Your tongue feels like sandpaper, though, and every breath you take makes it feel as if there’s more lead in your lungs than air. Your math grade flashes through your mind. You need to ace the test for your grade and, by extension, your sanity.

“Babe.” Without being fully aware of yourself, you place your hand on top of his. Neither of you will move from the floor in...hours. You’re sure of this. You may as well make the absolute most of it.

“Give me some.”

I’ve been on the road since I was sixteen They don’t really notice I how I see things These girls they come and go between my bedsheets And I’ve been doing blue and causing big scenes, yeah

17 school days until Graduation

"Remember when we were sixteen?”

“Like... last year? Yeah.”

You turn over onto your side to face your boyfriend, only to find your nose in his bare chest. Mark chuckles. He moves back, allowing you to shift so that you’re face to face with him.

“Fifteen and sixteen, at least. For sophomore year. Do you remember any of sophomore year?”

“Less depression.” His hard words come out soft, paired with an even softer smile. Mark wraps an arm around your waist, pulling your body into his. Skin on skin. “Less getting laid, too.”

“Shut up,” You’re smiling now, too. The melancholy presses against your thoughts.

“I was talking about the less depression part, actually.”

“What about it?” Mark seems and sounds slightly antsier, all of a sudden.

As he always does when you bring up things he might not want to hear.

“Nothing big, just like... don’t you miss it? Going out sometimes and actually feeling like highschoolers?”

“We went to libraries, babe, and to the mall like every couple of months. It wasn’t anything special.”

“It was easier, though.” You bury your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in. His skin is warm - you aren’t surprised. “No drugs and shit.”

Mark pulls away from you, very, very slightly.

“Adderall isn’t a drug.” His voice is adamant. The speed of his switch from soft to rough is almost alarming. “You’ve had it once. You aren’t addicted.”

You sigh, choosing not to respond. You’re too fucked out to fight him. Instead, you run the pads of your fingers over his collarbone.

“No, but I’m addicted to you.”

Pull up and I’m higher than the big trees, yeah She don’t really like it but she needs me, yeah She saying she don’t really miss me But fuck it, now I’m faded after all things, yeah

12 school days until Graduation

“I can’t fucking believe you.”

He pauses his notes to look up at you, taking in how your eyes are flashing. Your voice is controlled, but the fire in your eyes is unrivaled. The pill bottle is on its side - empty. The last time you’d seen it, which had been the last time you’d thought you’d ever see it, there had been one dosage left. A dosage that you’d been led to believe had ended up being flushed.

You aren’t mad that he lied - at least, you think you aren’t. You’re mad that he, for the first time in years, broke a promise.

Mark is unbothered by your tone. You’ll calm down eventually - whether its sooner or later makes no difference to him. Your boyfriend isn’t actually hearing you, anyways. It’s another reason as to why he isn’t really responding. His silence isn’t an invitation for you to continue, but it’s something nonetheless.

You take it.

“Ranks came out three days ago. You’re back in the top 10, Mark. You’re graduating in the top 10. We’re about to graduate, and you’re spending your time still fucking studying even when there’s only two weeks left of our senior year. You’re still on those goddamn pills when you promised me-”

“Just because I reached one goal doesn’t mean that everything else doesn’t matter anymore.” Short. You expected nothing else.

“What’s everything else? What else is more important than your health? School? We’re pretty much done for three months. We don’t even have any fucking grades left to go in the grade book. We’re done, Mark. Senior year is over.”

He doesn’t respond for a beat of silence - two, three, four beats - fully focused on whatever is in front of him. It isn’t until you cease your pacing to stand directly behind him, hands on the back of his chair, that he even considers gracing you with a comment.

“I’m looking over my times, trying to make a better workout regime so I can shed milliseconds.” Mark is straight with his words - he wants you to stop talking so he can politely ignore you. His shoulders are hunched into himself, his glasses digging into the bridge of his nose. The way he’s staring at the slightly crumpled time sheet in front of him makes you wonder if it’s possible to re-kill dead trees.

“Your times are your lock screen.”

“So?”

“So- so? You always have them with you and you’re always looking at them, you don’t need Adderall to work on a workout schedule. You don’t need it at all, if I’m being fucking honest, and-”

He cuts you off for the second time in less than five minutes, his voice as sharp as a knife.

“You have no damn clue what I need.”

Your hands release his chair on reflex as you step back, everything about your body screaming that you’re offended. Mark pays this no heed, turning back to his desk.

It’s just one sentence, eight words, and part of you wants to argue. Part of you wants to bring up all of the times he’s leaned on you, the times you yourself have been exactly what he needs, but you know that that wouldn’t be playing fair.

He’s gotten like this before, where he’s frozen everyone - frozen you - out without not so much as a thought. You’ve fought before, too, out of inevitability.

He’s never, however, been so blatant or blunt. Nothing he’s ever said before has hurt this much, for some reason. It’s jarring, and, before you know it, your throat is heavy. There are no tears pooling, but you know that they’ll come to you later.

Without a word, you pick up your belongings. You’d worn one of his sweatshirts to his house, but opt to go home without it.

Being petty can be subtle, after all. Mark deserves it, you think, anyways.

You call a goodbye to his mother as you walk out the front door to your car. You make it to the end of his street before having to pull over and park, resting your forehead against the top of the steering wheel. A stray tear finds itself tracing a wellworn track down your face, leaving you to sigh.

God, crying over a boy? Pathetic.

Your intrusive thoughts are screaming - laughing, hysterically, at your state. You dismiss them, willing yourself to think straight.

Not just a boy, I’m crying over Mark.

Sniffling, you beg yourself to get it together. Staying still can only lead to reminiscing over elementary school Mark, who promised you that he’d never leave your side (after, of course, you accidentally eating a worm and bursting into tears out of a fear of dying from it), to 8th grade Mark confessing his feelings for you in PE, moments before getting hit in the face by a particularly well-thrown dodgeball from Yukhei. Mark is as much a boyfriend as he is and almost always has been the most comforting and reliable presence in your life. With him so firmly, without a second thought, dismissing you...

You breathe in. Sharply.

It’s either drive home to avoid the reality of how much of a stronghold Mark has over your feelings or stay parked and traipse down memory lane, like, as you remind yourself, a goddamn pansy. A voice of reason tells yourself not to be harsh on yourself - you’ve known Mark for what? 12? 13? years and it’s normal to be hurt by him brushing you aside. A louder voice tells you to quit pitying yourself.

If Mark hurts himself mentally, you hurt yourself emotionally.

Blinking away forming tears, you sit back and turn the ignition.

5:53 pm

mark...us zusak

>>did you get home safely

maybe<<

>>im glad

cool<<

6:12 pm

>>picking you up tmrw?

sure<<

>>ok

>>i’m really sorry

read 7:09 pm

But I’m into it, I’m into it Say she wanna fuck me later Girl I’m into it, I’m into it, I’m into it This mental pressure got me popping pills and shit

5 days until Graduation

You have to give him credit - after a somewhat teary but controlled argument in his car on the way to school, focused on why Mark really doesn’t need Adderall in his life, and on why he really doesn’t need to carry it with him to college, he really has tried giving it up. All seemed to be going well, even, for a couple of days.

You hadn’t realized how fast withdrawal would hit him.

It isn’t as if either of you are wholly unprepared - you’ve both seen it happen to others. Adderall withdrawal can be dangerous, heightening both depression and anxiety. Even a slight dip in Mark’s mood has the inside of your mouth drying up.

You can’t imagine what it feels like for him.

After all, neither of you are strangers to mental illness, but withdrawal is somewhere you can’t say you’ve been.

Currently, Mark’s tongue is down your throat. The back of your mind screams at you that this is his way of dealing with withdrawal - by getting himself addicted to you. You know that this is the truth - that whatever he’s doing can end up being unhealthy for him - but you don’t have it in you to deny him as his fingers dip beneath the waistband of your jeans and his other hand makes its way under your shirt and bra.

You can’t help the moans that escape you.

The pads of his fingers are rough against the skin of your back as he unclasps your bra, pulling it off of you along with your shirt. In the same arc, you hastily pull his shirt over his head, unzipping his jeans not long after.

It isn’t until you’re splayed out on your bed, eyes already fucked out before he’s even touched you, that Mark breathily asks if you’re sure. As he always does.

A part of you wants to deny him - for his own good, you tell yourself. Maybe for your own. (Is it possible to get addicted to a person when you aren’t running away from something else?)

The other, larger part of you wants you to pull his head to yours - his lips to yours - by his neck with one hand, taking the condom out of his grip with the other and telling him that you can put it on him yourself. The other, larger part of you wants Mark everywhere, engraved into your skin and lingering on your body.

The other, larger part of you wants - needs - to say yes.

Majority rules.

But I’m into it, I’m into it I’m getting way too deep I’m fucking into it I’m into it, yeah I’m into it I wouldn’t change it for the world I’m fucking into it

12 hours until Graduation

You find your head against Mark’s shoulder as the two of you recline on the patio’s couch, watching the two of your families interact your joint graduation party. There’ll be a bigger celebration after tomorrow’s ceremony with a bigger crowd, so you cherish the small gathering in your backyard for tonight. Graduation is tomorrow - it almost feels too damn good to be true. The stars are all out, fairy lights have been strung overhead to add to the festivities, there’s laughter rising up from every direction, Mark’s arm is welcome around your shoulders, and you find yourself thinking that you could get used to this.

“You know, I’m glad that we’re going to college together.”

Mark’s voice brings you out of your thoughts, causing you to look up at him - albeit slightly sideways. You nod, unsure of what to say in response. You’re in agreement with him, of course - even though you’ve both had your ups and downs, a life without as much Mark in it as now is one that you don’t want to imagine.

He’s been such a constant presence for so long that you’re almost incapable of remembering a time without him. The thought scares you as much as it fills you with love.

Wow.

You really are starting another chapter in your life. In your lives.

A fresh start - Mark’s still going through withdrawal, and you’re well aware, and just because your high school education is over doesn’t mean that life is automatically easier, now. Still - the next three months and four years after that are something to look forward to, not fear.

You aren’t sure how to voice all of this just yet, opting instead to repeat your awe at high school having ended.

“High school’s really all over, now. We never have to step back in that building again.”

Mark chuckles at your revelation, running his fingers through your hair absentmindedly.

“What about reunions?”

You roll your eyes at this, resting a hand on his chest momentarily before remembering that your parents aren’t aware of your relationship. Wriggling out of Mark’s grasp before inclining your head towards all four parents, you remain within a comfortable distance to him. He radiates warmth.

“I’ll only go to them if you and our other friends do. Maybe.”

Mark grins. “Maybe I’ll drag you to them.”

“You wouldn’t.”

He smiles. “I wouldn’t. You’re all I need, anyways.”

“Hyuck? Renjun? Yeri? Jeno?”

“...You’re the one I need the most.”

“Glad to know that you’re an honest man, Mark Lee.” Your teasing tone makes your boyfriend laugh, and you’re hyperaware of how you could get used to this - smiley, lighthearted Mark.

“Your roommate’s going to have fun with you.” He responds, nudging your shoulder with his.

“Hey! I’m not the only one who’s a handful. Lucas? That’s your soon-to-be roommate’s name, right? Lucas has his work cut out for him. For his sake I hope you spend time outside of your dorm room.”

Mark grins as he presses his lips to your temple, simultaneously making sure that everyone else’s attention is elsewhere. He moves away as quickly as he’d kissed you, much to your mental chagrin.

“What? You worried that I’ll leave you for him?”

It’s your turn to nudge your boyfriend. Before you can respond, Mark’s mother’s voice cuts through the air.

“Mark? (Name)? It’s time for the cake!”

Mark gets up first, reaching his hand out to pull you up.

“We’re coming!” You call, before turning to Mark with a half-grin on your face. “This isn’t over yet.”

Mark squeezes your hand before letting go of it.

“Can’t be over if you never started it.”

“Mark Lee!”

Girl I’m into it, I’m into it Say she wanna fuck me later Girl I’m into it I am into it, I am into it

conGRADs, Mark and (Name)!

The sign is both massive and incredibly cheesy, but the amount of happiness it gives you is immeasurable. It hangs over Mark’s front porch, visible from the other end of the street, and as you and Mark pass by them, any neighbors that are out make sure to congratulate you.

You aren’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

The two of you’d escaped the clutches of your overexcited parents a little bit over an hour prior, around 11, under the guise of taking a walk around the neighborhood to talk about your upcoming collegiate futures. That was how you’d ended the night, of course, but before that you’d both beelined to your house, wanting to sit and talk in your bedroom for the time being.

Discussion of your coming lives had sputtered out after a while - after all, it’s all you’d both been talking about for years, now - and you’d wound up situated in Mark’s lap, laughing against his lips.

“We should have graduation night sex.”

His tone is matter-of-fact, so much so that you roll your eyes at his bluntness. “We’re going to have to get back eventually.”

“We have time!”

His laugh against your collarbone is enough to tell you that nothing’ll happen tonight, that time together will just be time together. Still, you can’t help but respond.

“Yeah, time enough at college. We’ll be out of the house in 3 months, baby.”

Mark wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you impossibly closer, pressing a chaste kiss to the junction of your jaw and neck. It tickles.

“We won’t have to sneak around and shit, either.” You continue, lightly running your hand through his hair.

“We didn’t sneak around much this year, anyways. Our parents are just oblivious as fuck.”

“True-” You feel your phone vibrate, causing you to squirm around to reach it for a moment before Mark pulls it from your back pocket and hands it to you, mirth in his eyes. You scrunch up your nose at him before answering - its your mom.

“Where are you?” She sounds slightly worried, so you’re quick to mention that you’re with Mark and near your house, both safe and sound.

“Come back quickly - Mark’s cousins are planning on sleeping soon because they start their four hour drive back at 6 in the morning, and we don’t want them to miss their chance to say good night to him.”

You reply with a quick “I’ll tell him - love you.” before she hangs up. Sliding off of Mark’s lap, you help him up.

“Did you hear what she said, or?”

“Yeah. Your call volume’s always been too loud.”

“I, for one, like to think that it’s just loud enough, thanks.”

Mark grins, choosing to loop an arm around your waist instead of replying.

The moment the two of you step inside, careful not to stand too close to each other, you’re bombarded by exclaims from family and friends and family friends alike. It’s getting late, and people are starting to gather up their belongings. You yourself are staying the night, however - otherwise, Mrs. Lee would riot.

You don’t mind.

You close the front door behind you, being pulled into the group of people the moment that you do.

As Mark is dragged into the ending remarks of a conversation with his aunts about something that you can’t quite hear, your mother’s friend’s young daughter tugs you down to her level to congratulate you, shyly placing a pipe-cleaner flower - clearly made by her - behind your ear.

You kiss her cheek before she runs away out of shyness, far quicker than you expect her to be able to. Laughing, you stand up, only to be pulled into a discussion about your plans for college with your parents and one of your uncles.

You briefly make eye contact with Mark - who’s also been given a pipe-cleaner flower - once, winking at him discreetly before turning back to nod along to your uncle’s rant over how you shouldn’t push your passions under the rug for your profession. You don’t see your boyfriend make his way through the throng of people gathered in his foyer - most have started filtering out, leaving by foot or by car - until you feel his hand against the small of your back for a quick moment.

He shakes your father’s hand and hugs your mother before introducing himself to your uncle, who knows of him but doesn’t know him. Time passes quicker with Mark by your side, and, before you know it, it’s 2 am and the only people left in Mark’s how are both of your direct families and your uncle, who’s staying at your house for the night.

“You have everything? Toothbrush? Pajamas?”

You sigh, looking pointedly at your father.

“I’m a college student!”

“Doesn’t mean that you’re responsible.”

You and your dad grin together before you shake your head. Both of your parents and your uncle bid you and the Lees goodnight before Mark’s parents follow them outside, probably to continue talking for a little bit more.

Mark closes the door behind them, turning to you immediately after only to find that you’re already halfway upstairs. He shakes his head affectionately before following you up to his room.

“(Name), you did remember a toothbrush, right?”

“Yeah, but I forgot clothes.”

“I guess you’ll just have to sleep naked - ow!” Mark rubs the skin on his arm where you’d lightly smacked him. It doesn’t erase the playful grin from his face. “Fuck you, fine. You can borrow some pajamas, or something.”

You laugh as you flop down onto his bed before humming inquisitively to yourself for a moment over a question you’ve been mulling over in your head for a short while. You know that summer’s just started, but you can’t help but wonder how it’ll go.

“What’s your plan for this summer? Other than getting ready for our courses and stuff.”

Mark furrows his brows at this while he strips, changing into shorts and a shirt before throwing you one of his longest shirts. You change as well, folding your clothes neatly and placing them on his desk chair to take home tomorrow.

“I haven’t thought about it, honestly. Why?” Mark turns off the hallway lights and opens his door halfway - a rule his parents have for his bedroom door whenever you sleep over. It’s fair, you suppose, even if they don’t know that you’re together. Maybe it’s especially because they don’t know that you’re together.

Mark turns off the light after laying his sleeping bag down on the floor, giving you the bed as always.

Tomorrow, you’ll wake up on the floor next to him, also as always.

“I was thinking...”

“Yeah?”

You turn on your side to face your boyfriend in the dark.

“I was thinking that we could take a road trip.”

A long silence follows your statement, and you begin thinking that you’ve made a mistake asking until, in the dark, you can see the faint outline of Mark’s smile.

“I’m free all summer, babe. Just tell me where and when.”

“For real?”

The excitement in your voice is almost tangible, and you’re half embarrassed at how childish you must sound. Mark, to his merit, just nods while smiling.

He looks up at you, and, even in the dark, you can see the softness in his eyes.

“Yeah,” He pauses, grinning at you.

“I’m into it.”

fin... for now?

im shit at endings but also this has been like...a month coming...i’m gonna come back and rewrite this someday but yeet enjoy.... i should’ve reread before posting but w/e

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