A/N: A special chapter for those special readers who have stuck with me all along. I sincerely hope this chapter quenches your thirst and fulfills your hunger for a new chapter, and answers your questions about our beloved Mark.
Special dedication to:
gunit1306 and aabeerah2012
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Mark's P.O.V
A throaty groan left my parched lips as my hand smacked the god-forsaken alarm clock that had been blaring nuisance since the past. Twenty. Minutes. My eyes cracked open when I heard a loud crash sound somewhere below in the kitchen, and I threw my head back in exasperation.
Aw fuck. Not again.
"Breakfast's ready, Markie!"
I groggily rubbed my eyes and sat up, resting my head on the wall behind me. I looked to my right and found myself staring at a picture that was a daily routine of mine to look at; mine and Yuna's mother holding hands, staring at the camera with wide, bright smiles on their faces. Yuna's mother was laughing at something, her mouth open ajar, eyes crinkling at the end, perfectly straight rows of teeth shining in the blinding sunlight.
My eyes traveled down and landed on two smaller forms, hands interlocked tightly like two rings in a chain. Our grins reached our eyes that twinkled bright with mischief and...innocence. Yuna and I would barely have been five years old, which explained why our mothers looked beautifully young, not a single white strand on the glistening sheet of brown hair.
My hand reached out and picked the frame holding the much treasured picture from the bed-side table. A breathy laugh escaped my teeth as I looked at my tiny self from thirteen years ago. Even after all these years, I still couldn't help but stare at Yuna, like my younger self was in this picture. My eyes were in the act of fluttering shut, for Yuna's long hair was flying in my face. I recognized the look in my eyes perfectly well, because even after all these years, the way I looked at her hadn't changed. I traced the fragile frame delicately, a soft smile spread out on my lips.
"Mark? Mark! Are you up yet?" My father's holler came from downstairs.
"Yes, Papa!" I yelled back.
Putting the frame back to where it belonged, I heaved myself up from my bed, leaving the welcoming comfort behind as I entered the bathroom. After doing the stuff guys do in there, I walked downstairs, fastening my belt on the way. My eyes landed on a hunched form looming over the table, stuffing his face with what seemed like burnt pancakes. I sighed, rubbing the space between my brows as I realized what had happened.
"You burnt them again, didn't you, Papa?" I asked wearily to the man who was grinning wildly at me. He motioned for me to sit across him on the wooden table, and I obliged.
"Don't worry, Markie. I managed to burn them less this time. And look! They don't even taste that bad! Just a little bit like...pancakes that were reduced to ash because I left them on the stove for fifteen minutes?"
He smiled nervously at me, and offered a black piece. I shook my head, but couldn't help the light smile that appeared on my face. God, I swear i loved this man so much. I knew I didn't show it, but I appreciated all his efforts so much. Since that day, he had always tried to act like Ma- making breakfast, doing the laundry, ironing my clothes - doing everything to make up for her heart-wrenching absence. I could never express the love I had for Papa.
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