The Only Exception // (GOT7 Markson)

20

I have to be perfectly honest, when I set out the door on Saturday night I wasn't expecting things to be as chill as they were.

Where I would usually hop into one of my cars and jet off into the night, I was now waiting at the bus stop for Mark to get off. I would see his red hair in the window as the bus pulled up to the curb, his head bob down the aisle and then meet his bright smile at the door so that we could walk to my place.

Where I would usually be at a night club, mentally sizing up the night's gentlemen, I was now at home with Mark, surrounded by flour, baking powder, and cooking supplies.

Where I was usually wearing a fancy tailored suit or a shirt that cost me $150, I was now sporting a green checkered apron, Mark by my side wearing the exact same thing but in red.

I checked my phone, it was 10PM. It was an odd feeling, but not a bad one, that I was subconsciously wondering what I would be doing if Mark wasn't in my life now. 10PM usually meant that I was already at the bar, or at least talking to someone on the way there.

Except now I was checking my phone because I wanted to know how much time was left on the chocolate chip cookies I was attempting to bake; I use that word sparingly, too, because we all know baking wasn't my forte.

Mark was watching carefully as I pulled the tray from the oven, the pan was hot, even through the large oven mitts I had on. I dropped the sheet onto the counter and blew at the cookies, as if that would do anything.

Mark giggled and let me know that they smelled promising. I double checked the color, everything seemed okay. They were a golden brown color and the chocolate was a deep rich brown, melting into itself in small gooey circles.

"Babe, grab the milk will you?" Mark said, approaching the cookies. He picked one up and circled it around in his hands, inspecting every inch.

I held my breath as I watched Mark sniff the cookie a few times. This was the moment of truth.

Mark dunked the cookie into the milk and took a small bite. The cookie crumbled instantly into his mouth.

"Mmmm" he hummed, which sounded like good news.

"How is it?" I asked with a small gulp and wide eyes. I could mix Mark any drink he wanted, no matter how intricate, with my arms tied behind my back and blindfolded, I thought to myself, but I had no power when it came to things he actually liked.

"It's good." He said simply, taking another small bite. "Crunchy."

I grabbed one off the pan and took an aggressive bite, the cookie cracked in half into my mouth. I let the taste sink in, wanting to see how good they actually were. I was extremely surprised.

"These are amazing! Oh my god." I shouted almost too loud, quickly shoving another bite into my mouth. "What the hell?"

I grabbed the box again, rereading the directions. "Did I do this properly?!"

"It was all you." Mark smiled, dipping his cookie delicately. "Give yourself more credit, you did awesome."

"That was so easy!!" I exclaimed, ripping my cupboard doors open before rummaging through the remaining boxes I had in there.

"What are you doing?" Mark wondered.

I quickly scanned the titles of each baked good: biscuits, scones, cinnamon rolls, French toast.

"I hope you're hungry. I'm making something else now." I said, a happy determination in my voice.

"Jacks-" Mark stopped me.

"No, I'm doing it!" I yelled back from the cupboard. "Call me Betty Crocker now."

"OK, Jackson Crocker. Let me answer my phone, I think someone is calling." Mark answered, I heard his footsteps retreat into the hallway.