NCT Oneshots {ot23} | open

I wish I was like you: Mark + Jungwoo {Request}

▹request acc: Ummu1110
▹prompt: Mark and Jungwoo get into a fight about jealousy
▹word count: 2885
▹warnings: lots of insults... they're not my opinions of the members, and it was a little painful to write :<

ˑ༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ ▹❀◃ ۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ ˑ

"I wish you never moved to Korea!"

"Oh yeah? Well I wish you never debuted!"

A stifling silence engulfs the room. Mark's vision flashes red. Jungwoo stands opposite him, fists clenched and chest heaving for breath after their fiery screaming match, face equally as vicious. His usual softness is nowhere to be seen. Their eyes lock together. Twenty seconds drag on, and neither wants to back down, to be the weaker one in the situation they're both responsible for. Jungwoo turns, storms out the room without a word. The whole apartment seems to shake when he slams the door, then all the energy is sucked from Mark's body and he sinks to the ground.

Jungwoo's words ring in Mark's head like the incessant echo of a curse looming in a deep, dark cave. But his own words also linger on his tongue, their weight turning his mouth dry and clenching his jaw tighter and tighter as his throat constricts, almost like a reflex to prevent him from firing any more bullets at his supposed best friend and bandmate.

He shouldn't have said all the things he said. The wall is firm against his back, but he wishes it would swallow him up, whisk him away from this world.

Jungwoo shouldn't have said those things either, the bitter remnants of their argument feeds into his thoughts.

His head spins. His throat is agony. The air is too thick, and his limbs are too flimsy to pull himself up. So he stays, slumped against the wall. The television hums in the background, but Mark can't make out the words even though it's an English movie, and the pictures blur into a haze of colour that holds no resemblance to the characters.

The words they spat at each other also held no resemblance to themselves and their friendship. It's so unlike them both to spit and clench their fists, so unexpected, but also perhaps a result of months of tension and overworking.

Mark doesn't know what happened. Well, he sort of does. He accused Jungwoo of cheating on the video game. Just as a joke. But Jungwoo muttered a sly comment about how Mark's a sore loser and isn't used to failing at things. Because he's SM's shining boy.

The weight of that title sits heavy on Mark's shoulders, and makes his muscles sore. Almost as sore as after an entire day of dancing. That's six in the morning through eleven at night. Sometimes even the early hours of the next day are spent panting and sloppily recreating the vague shape of each dance move before he collapses to the floor, the cold wood a blessing for his overheating bones.

"You always get all the promotions, all the lines, all the attention."

Jungwoo hadn't held back. A simple comment had turned into a ruthless attack, to which Mark could do nothing but snarl with his own frustrations. Jungwoo's taller, stronger, could easily flatten him if it were to come to that. Luckily, their bodies were saved. Their minds and egos took the worst of the damage.

"The fans love you for your humour. They think you're really the class clown, and it's stupid. You need to grow up. You need to be more professional if you want more promotions. No wonder they didn't pick you!"

"Then why do you laugh at my jokes?"

It's true that Mark laughs at just about anything and anyone, even in the most awkward of situations. Pulling his facial muscles into a bright smile and forcing out a melodious laugh often drains too much of his energy, but he has to keep going. If he stops smiling for even a little while everyone worries about him. Taeyong pulls him aside from practice, Johnny cracks extra jokes, Haechan attempts to kiss his cheek, which all only make him exert more energy as he returns to practice, as he fakes another smile, as he twists and struggles out of Haechan's grip.