Playing With Fire // (GOT7 Markson)

One

"Do you need any help bringing all this stuff to your car, Mrs. Duncan?"

Mark was placing the final item of an older woman's groceries into her bags. She was a regular, Mark got along well with her.

"No, no. Don't worry about that now. You just make sure they don't keep you here all night, got it?" Her voice was low and hoarse, but her smile was warm and beaming.

Mark made a goofy smile back, "Yeah. Deal."

"Cute young man like you needs all the free time he can get on Valentine's Day. Who's the lucky lady?" She asked, standing still to wait for Mark's response, her face full of hope.

Mark was used to people teasing him about girls, sometimes he was caught off guard, but he didn't mind it, he was a private person.

"No lucky ladies, just my mom." He answered smoothly, knowing that answer would suffice.

"Good man." She nodded in approval. "Happy Valentine's Day anyway, Mark." And with that she was hobbling out of the automatic doors with her bags.

Mark turned his cashier's light off and blocked off his lane, signaling that Mrs. Duncan was the last customer he would be helping. He immediately began emptying the cash and doing mental math of what was there, everything was incredibly routine. Mark could cash-out in his sleep by now.

Three years, that's how long he had been working at Mio-Market, the large supermarket chain in his small Canadian city. He was saving up money so that he could go to culinary school, and he was almost there. Just a few more months.

"Make sure you double check the inventory's all there in the back before you head out, Mark?" his manager shouted as he speed-walked by, busy with his own closing duties.

"Yup!" Mark answered robotically, still counting money in his head.

Eighty, Ninety, One hundred. All done. He whispered to himself about fifteen minutes later, slamming the register closed.

Although it was really large, Mark knew the entire store like the back of his hand: the poultry section, the dairy section, produce, and the bakery. It was his second home.

Mark's hair was a wavy mess of golden blonde locks that suited him perfectly. He was usually found wearing beanies, his favorite, so that his hair just peaked out in the front and the sides.

Mark wasn't particularly into working out, but he was a healthy and toned size for his age, average height, with impeccable dress sense and a killer smile of bright white straight teeth.

He wouldn't admit it himself, because he's bashful, but it was a sort of an inside joke with his co-workers and him that Mark was a little heartbreaker. Many people of all ages would come into the store and at one time or another show interest in Mark. Whether it was asking for his number, touching his hand on "accident" or even circling the aisles over and over to stare, Mark got it all.

"Gord, I'm heading out! I just need the keys!" he shouted while he walked slowly down aisle number three, cursing under his breath when he realized that his cellphone had just died and he forgot his charger at home.

The store was dead silent, the large lights above him flickering pathetically.

Mark scrunched his mouth, chewing the inside of his cheek curiously, "Gord?!" he tried again, this time a bit louder.

When he got no response a second time he decided to try the incredibly small "office" in the back of the store where all of the shipments came in. That's usually where Gordon was.

Mark pushed through the double doors and found an empty room with no note, nothing to signal where Gord was. Upon further inspection, he noticed that the brand new keys to lock the entire store up were missing.