Jackson's training is rudely interrupted.
Jackson feels a bit disgusting. His short-sleeved shirt is sticking to his back and chest, his hair is disheveled and sweaty, his legs and arms are aching and his grip on the pommel of his greatsword is slippery.
He'd definitely say that he doesn't look his best at the moment.
He's standing on an abandoned field, close where Jaebum had decided to camp because it was near a water source, in front of a run-down scarecrow. It's annoyingly tall, almost as tall as Yugyeom. Jackson glares at the scarecrow harder.
He rolls his shoulders and adjusts his stance, breathing deep. The dried grass crunches under the soles of his feet as prepares to take another swing at the wooden arms when someone clears their throat behind him, making him jump and almost drop his sword.
Jackson faces whoever it is behind him fast enough, sword ready and ignores the fact that his heart might be trying to make its escape through his rib cage.
His pulse does not exactly slow when he realises that the person behind him is Mark, holding a pitcher of water, hair illuminated by the light from the setting sun.
”Hey, I could've hurt you,” Jackson says, voice apprehensive. He relaxes his stance and sticks the sword into the soft earth next to him, gaze fixed on Mark's face as he rolls his eyes.
”Really?” Mark asks, as if it is a genuine question and not a dig at Jackson's abilities, ”I think you wouldn't have even noticed me there unless I made my presence known.”
Mark walks closer and Jackson almost backs away, suspicious, but in the end he holds his ground. Even when the other boy pokes him unnecessarily hard in the chest.
”I think,” he continues, ignoring Jackson's yelp of pain and the very sad and completely justified look he's given, ”I could've taken you out so fast that you wouldn't have even had time to notice anything happening.”
Jackson rubs at the spot on his chest that Mark prodded, pursing his lips and frowning at the ground.
He doesn't say; It's not my fault that your presence doesn't register as a threat. It's not my fault that your presence near me feels natural. It's not my fault that instead of making me alert, your presence makes me feel safe.
He doesn't say; It's not my fault you feel like home.
”No way,” Jackson declares, lifting his eyes back to Mark's face, before the things he's thinking get a chance to bust through the dam he's built between his brain and mouth.
”No way in hell, I could totally take you, doesn't matter if you got the drop on me,” he shakes his head and feels conflicted when Mark just looks even more amused.
On one hand, amusing Mark might be one of Jackson's favourite past times, but on the other, who is Mark to question the superiority of Jackson's skills?
”Sure, whatever helps you sleep better at night,” Mark smirks, that bastard, and hands him the pitcher he's holding.
Jackson takes it but glowers at Mark to make it known that he does not agree. His grudge is forgotten soon, however, when he drinks down the water. It's still cold and it soothes his parched throat.
When he's done drinking, he dumps the rest of the water on his head, washing away the sweat and cooling down his body. He turns slightly away from Mark to shake off most of the water in his hair and then pushes it off his forehead with a satisfied sigh.
His skin prickles and he looks back at Mark, whose eyes are intent on him. His expression is something completely different than before and Jackson doesn't quite know what to do with it, so he does what he usually does in situations like these.
”What? Why are you staring? Am I that handsome?” he asks, corners of his mouth twitching up, almost mockingly, though he isn't sure who he's mocking.
Mark stays quiet for almost uncomfortably long before taking a step closer to Jackson.
”Mm,” he nods his head, looking Jackson straight in the eyes, and just what in the world is Jackson supposed to do with this.
”I'm... what?” Jackson's voice does not come out as steady as he would've liked, but he blames it on the fact that he might have some trouble breathing.
Mark gets even closer and lifts his hands to rest on either side of Jackson's neck and the cooling effect of the water is definitely wearing off way too fast and there's something sly in the way Mark's eyes travel across his face and finally settle on his lips.
”You're handsome,” Mark breathes against his mouth like a secret and Jackson doesn't even have a moment to celebrate that before he's being kissed, soft lips against his.
There's a gasp trying to claw its way out of his throat but Jackson swallows it down. He swallows it down and kisses Mark back, his hands automatically drifting up to Mark's waist where he can take a hold of the fabric of his shirt.
Jackson feels a bit like he's been stunned and his heart is pounding and Mark definitely knows because his thumbs are resting under Jackson's jaw, right over the pulse points but he doesn't really have the willpower to be embarrassed.
He tilts his head to deepen the kiss and feels Mark huff and his lips shift, like he's smiling. Jackson crowds closer, as close as he can get without actually being in Mark's skin and nips at the other's lower lip.
Jackson shivers when Mark licks at his lips and smiles into the kiss when Mark hums, sound vibrating between them.
He doesn't know how long the kiss lasts, it feels like a lifetime and a second at the same time, but he's grinning giddily when they pull apart, his forehead resting against Mark's.
There's a pleasant tingle down his spine starting from the nape of his neck where Mark's nails are slightly digging in and it travels down to his toes.
The older boy pulls away first and takes in the grin playing on Jackson's lips. His face softens for a moment before he steps out of Jackson's personal space, Jackson slowly opening his fists and letting go of Mark's shirt.
Mark just looks at him for a second before he let's his own mouth curl up in an impish smile.
”Not that handsome, though,” he says, entirely too pleased with himself as he turns and strolls away.
Jackson's cheeks hurt from smiling.
”You think I'm handsome!” he shouts after Mark, who just flips him off without looking back.
”Remember to bring back the pitcher when you're done!” Mark calls out, already at the edge of the field.
Jackson glances at the ground next to his feet to see the wooden pitcher resting on the yellowed grass. He doesn't admit to blushing when he realises that he doesn't recall dropping the thing in the first place.
+disclaimer: i own nothing and no one. got7 do not spend their time fighting crime in exchange for money. at least i think.