NCT Oneshots {ot23} | open

Shooting Star: MarkSung {Request}

▹request acc: y2kf4iry
▹prompt: marksung, fluff
▹word count: 2252
▹warnings: n/a

ˑ༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ ▹❀◃ ۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ ˑ

"Is that my sweater?"

Mark looks up from his computer at the sound of Jisung's voice. Jisung is sat on the floor, cross-legged amongst a scattering of chemistry notes and highlighters strewn all over the place, pencil shavings surely getting buried in the carpet.

"Huh?" Mark asks dumbly. He adjusts his glasses and squints back at his essay. The state of his own textbooks aren't much better: barely a centimetre of Jisung's starry bedsheets is left in sight.

Jisung clicks his tongue. "I said, is that my sweater? On you. The one you're wearing right now."

Mark stares at him again. It's been a long day and his brain is foggy, crammed full of Shakespeare quotes and thoughts on what he should buy Jisung for their approaching anniversary.

The sweater he's wearing is very much Jisung's. While it fits Jisung perfectly, the navy piece is little oversized on Mark. The sleeves reach his knuckles, the logo for some random university neither has even heard of is faded, and it's fluffy inside. And it smells like Jisung. Mark pulls a sleeve over his hand and rubs his cheek, pausing for a moment to take in more of the musty cinnamon.

"Yes," Mark replies once he realises Jisung isn't going to stop staring. He may be younger by a year and a half, but his gaze alone is enough to weaken Mark's knees and, even after a year of dating, his stomach turns fuzzy and his heart lurches into his throat where it pounds, hard. "Is... is that a problem?" He adjusts his glasses again.

"Nope," Jisung says, then returns to shuffling through his notes as though the exchange never occurred. Now Mark stares at Jisung.

The room is dim since the curtains are closed, both working by the lights of their computers, and the orange glow from the bedside lamp brings out the shine of Jisung's hair that Mark longs to feel under his fingers instead of his keyboard; he's fed up with typing essay after essay. Jisung stacks his textbooks, replaces a few revision posters back in his binder, and the rug – as deep a blue as the sweater keeping Mark warm and sane – is revealed once more. Posters of galaxies and exoplanets and suns in distant solar systems span the walls. It adds to the darkness, but rather than making the room seem smaller it offers them both an escape, a promise of a distant world they can always fly away to when they want to be together forever. Four polaroids of Mark and Jisung from their date at the fair last summer fill what few gaps there are, their smiles bright as the photographed stars must be in real life.

Jisung falters while highlighting some more notes. A smile twitches on his lips, and Mark's interest peaks.

"I just think it's cute how my clothes are too big for you, hyung," Jisung says.

Mark often insists to his friends that Jisung isn't as innocent as he seems, but they always scoff and never listen. Now, the smile Jisung gives him is proof of just that, and Marks sinks deeper into the bed and closes his laptop, the slam of the lid final. He pushes his books aside, doesn't care when one slips down the gap between the bed and the wall to thud onto the floor.

"Don't," Mark whines. He rubs his cheeks again and ducks his head when he realises they really are as hot as they feel. His racing heart makes him dizzy.

"But it's cute. For real."

"You don't want it back?"

Jisung raises an eyebrow and replaces the cap on the highlighter in time. "I never said I was giving it to you. Consider it a loan."