Colours ( MarkSon )

𝕋𝕨𝕠

Ｂｌｕｅ

The colour of neon lights as they flashed obnoxiously.

And the colour to best describe his mood as the music blared in the sketchy night club he was currently sitting in.

His friends leaving him alone at the bar to watch groups of sweat coated people with alcohol coursing through their veins grind and sway to whatever song was playing.

Three days since his terrifying run in with that gangster looking cancer smoker and he was back after Yugyeom and JaeBum had convinced him to escape the real world for a night.

He wasn't doing much exscaping, instead he was turning on the uncomfortable stool away from the main dance floor, drowning in the boredom that accompanied his racing heart.

The bass filled his body with the absence of the alcohol he refused to consume, knowing he would have to chaperon his drunken friends home, and he sighed at the thought, tapping his slender fingers against the marble counter.

He hated being here.

And he hated the sudden feeling of chilled fingers over his.

He hated the fact that his eyes meet those same darken pools once more.

That sharp jaw line, hungry gaze, and the same fragrance of nicotine.

Faces close and hands touching, he felt threatened, terrified.

Blue neon lights highlighted his features instead of the unnatural yellow streetlights, it honestly contrasted his black hair nicely.

" Hello again, Princess, back so soon? "

Barely audible above the blasting of Luhans Lu, but still piercing.

Again, Blank.

He was terrified once more, nothing to say, so he sat with his mouth agape and eyes wide.

Chuckling is what the stranger dared to do, and he firmly grips Marks white sweater sleeve and begins to drag him away, his legs moving unwillingly, and soon he was back in the alley.

The intense heat easing away into a tolerable chill that seeped through his sweater and grazed his milky skin.

Like cold fingers.

Again, the latters back was pressed to the buildings wall, and a cigarette was already making its way between his plump lips, lighters flame dancing wickedly before smoke was taking its place, and it was gone.

" So, what's your name, Princess? "

Exhaling and dropping his arm, cigarette now down beside his thick thigh.

" M-Mark.. "

He stuttered, internally cursing the slight shake in his voice as he pondered over what the fuck was happening.

Everything just seemed to be moving so fast, he didn't understand. It was like some cliche gangster movie.

" Cute, I'm Jackson "

Huffing another cloud of cancer he smirked, lips pulling softly to make his chiselled features falter into something more delicate, a little friendlier.

Mark was still frozen in place, a few feet before Jackson with his long fingers playing with his white sweater sleeves.

Jackson didn't seem to pay any mind to the anxiety that rolled off him like large blue waves, instead he just stared, scanning over the boys face with calculating eyes.

" Why... did you drag me out here?.. "

Curiosity killed the Cat, but Mark wasn't sure why he was being targeted again after their last awkward encounter.

He was beyond fucking confused.

This wasn't something that happened, and if this really was happening, of course to him of all people, he wanted answers, even if he was scared shitless.

Again with that deep, raspy laugh.

" You're cute, Princess "

Mark furrowed his eyebrows, forehead only creasing ever so slightly and in the dim moonlight, his skin looked so smooth, porcelain almost.

But as Before, he didn't get a chance to speak as Jackson was approaching him again, throwing his bud to the grass.

Heart pounding he sucked in a deep breath, only to have his left arm lifted and his sleeve pushed back, frozen fingers stinging his warm skin.

Then out of his leather jacket the smoker pulled a blue pen, removing the cap with his teeth, the cap rolling against his plump lips.

Mesmerized and kinda horrified Mark stared, hardly feeling the scratch of the pen as Jacksons number was scribbled messily across his forearm.

" There, you can stop staring now, Mark "

Breathy like a gust of winter air, Jacksons voice filled Marks ears and their eyes meet.

" Call me, it's not a request, it's a demand "

And Mark could only nod slowly, winded as Jackson strolled away, blue pen in hand.