Chapter Text
it starts like this:
mark leans back into his throne, a cheek resting on a fist as he watches the annual proceedings with an uninterested eye. mark is the untamed, the uncultivated and the undomesticated, and being cooped up and caged in is making him restless, makes his longing for the raw, unrefined wild that much stronger. him being here is just in the job description for all that he cares and he’s been thinking of shirking off his responsibilities to go and frolic in some field of flowers or play some pranks with the dryads -that’s how bad it is here, how boring it is here.
the gods are gathered here today for the annual winter solstice meeting. it is rare that any god miss a meeting, but it has happened before -in times of crisis or emergency.
these meetings are tried and true, a tradition that has been left unbroken for eons, and yet mark can never muster more than a fake smile or a silent nod of acknowledgement while he’s here. he is always present, as is expected of him, but do not think his physical presence constitutes his mental one when he could have been attending to things a little more important than an annual check in -his realm for one.
he’s staring off into some daydream distance, bambam and yugyeom and youngjae chattering lively in the background, honking laughs suffusing the air with gold. jinyoung and jaebum are leaning towards each other on their own thrones, no doubt flirting, their fond whispers drifting in and out of mark’s hearing. more gods walk in and either sit at their own thrones or stand in pockets of conversation, talking, joking, laughing. usually, mark finds those pockets troublesome -loud, sharp, constant bursts of sound that annoy him- but today, a laugh rings out from one of the larger groups, high and boisterous. mark has never heard this laugh before and turns his head to focus in on the group from which it originates.
in the periphery, a minor god is attempting to make their way towards mark when mark spots him , the god with the high and loud laughter. he’s a broad shouldered god, with dark hair and darker eyes, causing a ruckus in the middle of the group he’s in, gaining laughs and snorts from all those surrounding him. mark observes the god, notes how his eyes sparkle when he speaks, notes how his mouth moves -a snort, a smile, a smirk- and notes how his hands gesture when he tells a story; mark can see the veins in his hands from where he sits. the god has a serious face as he states something to namjoon and jooheon before he breaks character and his serious frown cracks and transforms into a silly grin, mouth opening like a chasm to laugh as the other gods laugh. mark is instantly charmed.
there’s something peculiar about him, something quick and ever changing about this god. he’s a little like life, tumultuous and unruly, -a little like mark and yet, is not mark; mark is intrigued. he stands from his throne and subtly fixes his robes as he makes his way towards the group, stopping ever so often to greet a friend or acquaintance so as to not appear mindless and rude. he scans faces and feels a little bad about only remembering a handful of names even though he does recognize most of the faces. mark cringes internally when he passes by the minor god who had finally reached him from where they had came from, their face lighting up in recognition. mark apologizes in his mind when he continues the small conversation and hopes he isn’t too obvious that he’s forgotten who he’s speaking to and hastily makes a retreat when he sees an opening to escape. he slithers his way through the crowd, inching closer to the god with the loud, booming laughter.
mark idly wonders why he hasn’t ever seen this god before -he’s ran into everybody at least once in his long life. mark knows he doesn’t pay too much attention to matters he should be paying attention to sometimes, but he knows he’s met every if not all the gods at least once. mark frowns, but then who is this? he patiently makes his way closer, getting a feel for the atmosphere and - oh .
mark’s back instantly straightens and his shoulders pull back to be as broad as possible, automatic, inherent, instinctual. mark’s mind stirs with familiarity even though they have never spoken, even though they have never officially met. he knows this god well, knows this god intimately, memories faintly rushing to the forefront of his mind: the scent of wilting, decaying flowers, the newly hunted carcass of an antelope that was caught by a hungry pride, the last, bitter breath of a mortal fighting an inevitable fight.
they lock eyes.
a beat -then, the god swallows, breaking eye contact.
oh yes , mark thinks, eyes locked on the god’s turned face, gaze tracing the thick lines of his golden profile, the sharp angle of his jaw. i know who you are.
jackson wang. lord of the underworld, of hades, of death.
now that mark knows who this is, he can feel it -jackson’s power, skillfully hidden and stamped down but still there, still present. the aura around jackson is dark and heavy, a thousand skies weighted on his shoulders, a thousand hands pulling him down. if one stands close enough they’re bound to hear the faint echoes of the screams of the dead. his aura is the exact opposite of mark’s and yet mark has seen him smile more times in the last ten minutes than mark has smiled genuinely in the past ten months. mark notices, however, that jackson’s smile fades from his eyes just as quickly as it appears on his face. mark notices he works hard to keep it there, always wittily replying to someone, always making a joke -calling attention back to himself via ridiculous antics. it’s so unlike what mark would do that it makes mark that much more curious.
the god’s demeanor is brighter than the sun and yet his powers carry the scent of decay, the eternal, effusive darkness crawling underneath the earth, the everlasting screams of the dead clinging to his cloak. mark hasn’t had something to capture his attention in a long while, and now that something has, he’s not going to let it go until he’s sated.
mark is the god of the harvest, the spring, the fruit and the flowers and whatever else the other gods want to romanticize about him. he is the god of life and intimately knows the taste of fat, ripened strawberries, so sweet their juice stains his lips and fingers red, knows the warmth of the golden sun caressing his face and the pastel blue spring breeze playing gently with his hair. he knows the bullet speed of a cheetah’s run, the elastic snap of a snake’s bite, the steady and silent prowl of a lion. he knows what blood and sweat and fear taste like to an adrenaline spiked heart. but it is the after that he has no knowledge about -once beings leave his realm, mark has no knowledge of what they become or what has become of them. all he knows is that they end up in the same place, in a place that mark has never seen but wants to see, has never stepped in and wants to leave a mark. why should mark’s subjects get to experience the underworld and not mark himself?
it is truly no wonder then, with all the life that he’s begat and borned and bloomed that mark now wants to know what death would taste like on his tongue.
life is greedy, it takes and takes and takes and takes some more what was not freely given but is still overtaken as well, indulgent, gluttonous. all life is like this, one locust ignored until it becomes a swarm, swallowing all foliage, leaving brown and barren what was once green and lush, the mortals with their petty wars over the same ideologies under different names and in different times, cyclical, and even the plants with their stubborn, ever reaching, ever extending, soil weaving roots.
so then, why should not mark be interested in jackson, his opposite, his antithesis? all of life revolves around something, whether if it is out of love or hate or greed matters not. life is the unpredictable in between, the waiting room purgatory before the afterlife, the true cross roads, with death being its only inevitable finality. and even then, even after death, life goes on, resilient, covetous.
don’t ever forget there is a reason why people say there is mercy in death and not in life.
mark wants to at least speak to jackson, is curious about his counterpart. wants to know what’s so appealing about death. after all, it seems more important for a mortal to die for one of their causes rather than to live for it.
mark doesn’t know why but he does know that he is constantly underestimated by the other gods. he knows he is thought to be soft and fragile like the flowers he blooms and the fruit he bears. mark is the dandelion that springs back up even after the gardener sprays every known pesticide, the vines that creep up the castle wall, persistent, the weeds that grow out from underneath the concrete, not slithering in between the cracks, but creating them. mark is life: he is stubborn and competitive and always takes what he wants. there is very little that mark doesn’t get if he wants it, no matter what he has to push and prod to get it.
and now mark, mark wants jackson.
he walks forward and smiles.
-
it actually starts like this:
jackson is out collecting a few souls aboveground. he’s not sure why he’s doing so when all the life that he touches ends up inadvertently rushes their time from this realm to his own, but he’s here anyways even as he wonders why. perhaps it has to do with the fact that he’s underground the majority of his time and needs a refreshing change of scenery, or perhaps he wants to see how life has changed after a few centuries, seeking to see what shall be coming down to his realm soon enough, or perhaps, he is here because of the bright haired and even brighter eyed god who asked him during the solstice meeting to come up and enjoy the air up here in the aboveground, to hang out with him.
jackson knows he can be stupid sometimes, but walking through a field of flowers and accidentally causing them to yellow and wither as he waits for mark- who jackson’s not even sure will actually come- makes him feel the dumbest he’s ever felt in his long life. why is he here again? it’s not as though mark would actually make an appearance-
“jackson!”
jackson stills and then turns, stunned, eyes widening slightly as mark makes his way over to him, fluffy dandelions sprouting up in his wake. the other god is grinning, his sharp canines flashing in the crisp sunlight, jackson’s heart thump thump thumping in his chest, blood pumping as steadily as the flowing styx.
mark stops just right in front of him and jackson can smell the scents of the earth emanating from him, can smell the sunshine and the spring breeze. mark’s presence is refreshing -in the way that only the god of the earth’s fruit can be- and also because he looks so genuinely happy to see and to be in jackson’s presence that jackson is stunned, bewildered for a few moments. jackson doesn’t know how long its been since he’s had someone want to be -want to stay in his presence for longer than a few moments and so spends the rest of the day aboveground, disregarding all of his work for a little while, shoulders relaxing the longer mark chatters, smiles, laughs to him, at him, with him.
he doesn’t even think to hesitate to promise to see mark next week when the other asks to meet again, staring up at jackson with shining, hopeful eyes. jackson sinks back down to the underworld in a daze after mark leaves, grinning as he begins the work he should have done today without complaint, looking forward to next week with an anticipatory excitement he doesn’t think he’s ever felt.
-
or perhaps it starts like this:
jackson has never been more nervous in his entire existence, didn’t think he had the capacity to feel this nervous. he’s stressing. hard. he paces the area in front of his throne back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, a caged panther. he runs his hands through his hair so many times that it simply falls limply onto his forehead.
jackson and mark are meeting again today, which isn’t too out of the ordinary these days, but this meeting is a little different from the others.
mark is visiting jackson today, visiting jackson’s realm.
no one has ever visited jackson’s realm willingly or off godly duty so jackson is freaking out. he doesn’t know what to do, realizes he’s never played host before, and is now pacing so hard there’s no doubt he’ll sink to tartarus in only a few hours time.
what if mark doesn’t like it down here? what if he hates jackson’s decor or his realm layout? what if mark thinks jackson’s throne is too much, too gaudy, too garish? jackson runs his hand through his hair again. he knew he should have had those gothic arches welcoming the dead changed years ago- “my lord.”
jackson spins around to face the room’s entrance when he hears he’s being addressed. there, in the threshold, are his faithful ferryman boytoy and -jackson swallows the lump in his throat and tries to inconspicuously wipe his sweating hands on his robes- mark.
mark, who is today dressed in a swirling mix of light blues, greens, and ivories. mark with his hair of star light and sun kissed skin. mark who isn’t looking at him as his head twists and turns to gaze upon jackson’s domain.
even here, in the underworld, mark shines.
that’s when jackson knows that this is going to have to end eventually. it’s not right for jackson to have something so bright and beautiful and so full of life down here in the underworld. mark is the first person to be so genuine with him in a long time, if ever. he’s given jackson so much in the short time they have known each other, has given him a taste of true companionship and the least that jackson can do now is protect him.
mark’s can’t keep his head still as he turns his head this way and that, gazing around in wonder as jackson leads him around, taking in every last detail that he can see. it makes a pit of warmth settle in jackson’s stomach; no one has ever given him close to an ounce of effort that mark has put into their interactions, has respected him enough to visit his realm and then for him to take it all in as if viewing some sacred place, a place that deserves another god’s curiosity, another god’s respect, jackson can barely take it. he’s thankful for mark’s wandering gaze as it slows their pace, worried that he’ll end up tripping if they were walking any faster with how much he’s been staring at mark.
it is when mark reaches out to a passing spirit, no hesitation, no fear as he smiles up at jackson that jackson decides. today is his. his to have, his to own, his to treasure in his memory. after today, he’ll break off their friendship and go back to his realm and his duties with the seeds of the memories mark has gifted to him. but for today, today jackson will be selfish.
jackson walks mark along the river styx, arm in arm, silent after giving a short spiel on the souls in the river and how you wouldn’t believe how many heroes have snuck in here to try and become invincible by bathing in this river -how can they even stand it, mark, it’s filthy-, and that’s where mark’s curiosity finally breaks. “so, how does it work, jackson? your powers? you’ve toured me around your realm and have shown me many things and i’m grateful. but i’m still curious...”
jackson turns to him, questioning. “what do you mean?”
“like,” mark pauses, trying to figure out how to word his questions. “many of the other gods think that just because i am the god of life that i can restore life to something that’s died. that’s not the case, once it leaves my realm, i can’t do anything.”
mark stares off somewhere into the distance, over the riverbank, thoughtful. “i can’t make anything grow truly either....it’s more that i can encourage life, but all i really do is keep track of it, account for it. i don’t think anyone truly understands that.”
“oh,” jackson murmurs, pensive.
“you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” mark says, hurriedly reassuring him. “i’m sorry that i asked-”
“no.” jackson meets mark’s gaze. “it’s okay, i was just surprised is all -no one has ever asked.”
mark’s mouth opens but he doesn’t know what to say.
jackson takes a breath and watches the flowing of the styx beside them. “my powers work the same way as yours, i suppose. i can’t make anything die when it is alive, i only have control of it when it dies -and even then “control” is a loose word -it’s in my domain and i sort out where the soul goes so i’m really just an over glorified clerk.”
mark laughs, startling jackson next to him. once he starts, he can’t stop and it takes a few minutes for mark to look up from where he’s clutching at jackson’s arm to shoot a jackson a smile that pierces right through jackson’s heart. “i’ve never thought of it like that, but that’s exactly what we are.”
jackson can’t say anything as mark’s giggles slow and he gathers himself. there’s a lump stuck in his throat and there’s nothing he can really do as mark grabs for his arm again and tugs, insisting to explore more of jackson’s domain. he’s never been included in a ‘we’ before. if it makes jackson show mark more than he should, well, there’s no one to tell anyway.
-
okay, maybe it starts like this:
despite meeting for a while, jackson can’t help it, can’t take it - he has this, this, whatever this is with mark now, but for how long? how long until mark will tire of him, of his humor, his aura, his realm. how long until mark leaves him like everyone else inevitably does, tired of jackson’s antics, his presence, his laughter. jackson is smart, he knows the effect he has on the living, on the insects, the plants, the people - on the other gods even- and he knows that they will all eventually leave him and so as per his decision the last time they met, jackson has to end this, for mark’s sake.
he’s surprised that he’s even gotten this far with mark. he truly was not expecting more than simple conversation that would satisfy the most superficial of curiosities, as with everyone who has ever asked jackson for his time outside of official council meetings.
regardless, still his heart betrays him and beats steadily in his chest, thud thud thudding the closer it gets to dawn-their agreed meeting time today.
jackson walks from the inky shadows and into one of the peaceful meadows they frequent. the plants in it don’t immediately flinch away from him here but jackson thinks that’s more of mark’s influence rather than of their own violation. he spots mark sitting in the middle of the meadow grove, cupping a few closed blossoms in his hands, their colors vivid against the pale of mark’s skin.
mark notices him just as he leaves the shadow of the leafy canopy above. his hands drop the flowers he’s holding to wave at jackson, eyes crinkling at the corners and teeth flashing white in the quiet of the early morning. jackson’s heart hurts.
mark reaches for him. “good morning! it’s nice to see you!”
“is it?” the chilling bite of his tone is not how jackson had wished to poise the question but it is too late to take back now.
mark blinks, taken aback and visibly startles back a centimeter or two, his hand freezes in the air, dropping. his mouth opens but no words come out.
and jackson can’t help it, a millennia bitterness leaking out of him in waves at mark’s hesitation, effusing into the air and making the temperature drop a few degrees, fresh to cool to chilly, a few plants near him yellowing. he steps away from mark to make a bubble of space between them, missing the warmth of mark’s proximity but knowing he has to rip the bandage off as soon as possible so that he hurts less. he knows he’ll only feel lonelier the longer this goes on, the longer he lets it go on.
jackson snorts, self-deprecating. “who would willingly want to be around me? it’s not just my countenance that’s cool, but my realms, my powers -you can literally hear the shrieks of the suffering spirits within my vicinity, i have no idea how you can stand to even be next to me-”
“have you ever been quiet long enough in my presence, jackson?” mark interrupts, not rudely but firm. jackson moves to roll his eyes, a quick retort on his tongue when he sees how seriously mark is gazing at him, challenging; he’s not smiling nor are his eyes playful, his hands clasped in his lap. jackson snaps his mouth shut and for once, he listens.
at first there is nothing and as he opens his mouth to scoff, his ears twitch and he hears. hears the merry making and the love making and even the pie making, hears the breaking of the earth by a green sproutling, the first quivering bloom of a flower. but also hears: the wailing of those still alive, siblings, friends, grandparents, parents, children cold in their arms, the frantic beating of shield and sword, metal clangs and flesh ripping and victorious exclamations -the draw of first blood, the rough and painful and straining childbirth, breaths huff huff huffing painfully, forcefully out the nose, animals fleeing from a predator, a predator fleeing from a storm. jackson listens and hears and when his eyes meet mark’s, he finally understands .
“we are the same, you and i,” mark says, voice soft and gentle: the sun peeking out from the horizon at dawn.
“earth and sky, day and night, sound and silence,” he pauses, mouth curling as easily as a cat’s tail into a soft smile.
“life and death.”
jackson finds himself utterly speechless for the first time in his life.
his realm is actually one of the coldest of them all, a chilling kind of cold where no matter how many layers one wears, their bones still shiver. jackson can bear the freezing temperatures, has bared the cold for eons without so much as a quiver or cough. afterall, nothing is colder than the way his voice echoes in his empty hall, than the congregate of discorporated souls making their way through the afterlife, though inumerable, still do not seem to shrink the vastness of his realm, than his bed draped in the finest silks and cloths and pillows, never warmed by anyone but himself. jackson is no stranger to the cold, but now, in this moment, in the middle of a wild meadow with the sun rising above the horizon, he’s never felt warmer.
-
this is how it starts:
jackson startles, coming back into his body suddenly, waking up abruptly from a dream he cannot remember.
it’s warm.
jackson’s not used to feeling warm. (he is trying very hard not to get used to it, though.)
he releases a breath, slow, and takes in how he feels. he has all his fingers and toes and he doesn’t feel any lingering pain anywhere. in fact he feels so well rested that jackson almost wishes to pass out again- it’s been so long since he slept in.
his nose twitches when he smells the scent of the end of a rain storm, humidity and electricity still lingering in the air. he hasn’t opened his eyes just yet but he can feel the presence of life all around him, lighting up his senses like seeing a crowd of a thousand burning candles.
he blinks a few times to adjust his vision and is left even more confused when he comes to and figures out he’s lying down; as he shifts, he feels the crushing of petals underneath him. he places a palm on the ground and slowly sits up, hand coming up to shield his still adjusting eyes against the sunlight that permeates the room.
he blinks a few times, the sensitivity of his eyes gradually lessening as he glances around.
he realizes he’s laying -quite literally- in a bed of roses, blossoms red and velvety under his fingertips. he’s in a greenhouse -large enough that when jackson looks forward he doesn’t see the end. the windows are slightly frosted from slight humidity, condensation dripping slowly down the glass panes, natural sunlight filtering in as streams of sunbeams. jackson inhales and breathes the fresh air that can only be produced by plants, eyes taking in the rainbow of life splattered out in front of him. there’s countless flowers, ferns, bushes and trees all crisp and glistening in front of him.
“oh you’re awake.” jackson hears, turning his head to the side to see mark walking towards him. mark’s face lights up as he stares at jackson, placing down the potted plant he’s holding -that jackson’s sure he’s never seen before- on a workbench made of strong vines.
“how did i get here?”
“oh,” mark absentmindedly scratches his cheek, fleetingly meeting jackson’s eyes. “i brought you here.”
jackson’s head tilts. “but why?”
mark blinks, mouth open and unsure of how to answer the abrupt question. he tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and looks so painfully shy for a heartbeat of a moment that jackson continues talking to prompt him.
“is there something you’d like to tell me? you didn’t have to go through all this trouble.” jackson frowns, mark shouldn’t have to waste all this effort just to talk to him. they haven’t known each other that long -although even that is relative as life and death have always known each other- only about a year in mortal time measures but jackson knows there’s very little he wouldn’t already do for mark. it’s a problem.
mark has done so much for jackson, has given jackson so much more than what jackson deserves, he’s smiled for jackson, laughed for jackson, has given jackson presents in the form of his friendship. but jackson is scared, terrified. although he does when called upon, jackson knows he can’t just abandon his realm so easily for mark, still has a cosmic duty to the universe to uphold, it’s his job, the reason for his very existence. mark deserves someone better, who could match him and meet him where he is and that is why jackson cannot keep him, has to let him go. mark is not for jackson to have, and he knows this.
mark takes a deep breath and jackson is immediately on edge. he looks like he’s steeling himself to say something he needs to but doesn’t know how, hands fidgeting with his sleeves, and jackson knows what’s coming.
“...jackson, i think we need to talk,” mark starts slowly, “i have been giving you signs for a long time now. at first, i though that you were simply turning me down as gently as you knew how, but the longer we started keeping each other company, i realized that you weren’t rejecting me at all -in fact i didn’t realize you weren’t getting it at all until recently.”
mark frowns in thought, at himself, before he shakes his head slightly and gestures at the flower bed of roses jackson is currently sitting in. “so i decided to step up my game,” he finished lamely, biting his lips once he’s done speaking, looking down at jackson, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
jackson opened his mouth to reply but nothing came out as mark continued talking. “mark...i don’t think i’m getting what you’re trying to tell me.”
mark looks exasperatedly at him, voice raising at his huffs, frustrated through his mouth. “what’s there not to get? i literally grew you a bed of roses. roses ? flower of love? the red things you’re sitting on? i tended to those myself, you know! do you know how much time i spent on those? and for what? nothing-”
“i-,” jackson’s brow furrows and he frowns. “mark, i don’t understand.”
mark looks at him for a few long seconds, not blinking before he tilts his head up and sighs to the high heavens. pinching the bridge of his nose with his thin fingers. jackson tries not lower his gaze to follow the line of mark’s throat. jackson sees mark lower his head back and down and take a breath before his eyes and expression settle into something that jackson can only label as determination. jackson unconsciuosly straightens.
mark walks over, slow and sure, and comes so close to his face that jackson can see a light dusting of pollen on mark’s cheekbones, can see the petal pink of his lips, each and every individual fanned out eyelash. jackson is walking ruination himself, has seen war and sacrifice and every single bitter, bloody end and hadn’t even blinked. but now, jackson knows what it’s like, how it feels to be absolutely, so completely devastated. he’s breathless.
mark raises his arms and holds jackson’s face in his hands. he brushes his thumbs outward underneath jackson’s eyes, mark’s fingers surprising cool against jackson’s warm skin and stares so intently at him that jackson feels small. jackson means to move back but mark’s grasp is sure and strong and mark pulls his face close enough they’re staring eye to eye.
“jackson,” he says, in the softest, fondest, enamored voice that jackson’s ever heard used to address him, tone tender and yearning, the sun breaking through the clouds on the horizon at dawn. “i love you.”
jackson freezes. jackson freezes for a slow moment and then does something he hasn’t for a long, long time: he laughs. he laughs and he laughs and he laughs like he hasn’t in front of anybody ever. this isn’t his sardonic chuckle or his snort of amusement, this is overemcompassing, full bodied laughter that brings jackson to his knees in flowers as he clutches his sides in mirth, in joyous, wonderous disbelief.
oh how long, how long had jackson longed, longed for something -anything to spoil, to love, to adore. what is there to adore in the land of the dead? what more could he spoil with his affections but his jewels and realm when no one could even stand his presence for more than mere minutes. even spirits dare not linger near him for too long, too busy and too caught up in their apathy or wonder or punishment in his realm. and now, something - someone- had prostrated themselves multiple times in front of him, for him and he truly had no idea that what he wanted the most had presented itself to him in the loudest ways possible and he still hadn’t even noticed -had tried his hardest to push it away even.
jackson is in hysterics.
he looks up and spots mark pouting in offense, hurt and rejection creeping in his eyes, knuckles white as they grip his sleeves and jackson straightens up quickly to take one of mark’s hands in his and to run his own knuckles up the side of mark’s petal soft cheek.
“i am not laughing at you, but at myself. you have done all of this, for me, and i still did not understand.” jackson shakes his head and smiles disbelievingly. his eyes are affectionate and mirthful as they gaze at mark, looking at him as a blind man sees his beloved for the first time. “i’m sorry.”
“i’m sorry you’re such an idiot too but i guess you figured it out eventually.” mark sniffs, playful. the corners of his mouth twitch up despite his best attempts to keep them down, shoulders also coming down slowly, hopeful.
jackson’s smile turns sly. “i am unsure of what gave it away to me, maybe it was the all the smiles you have given to me, or the present of your presence, or perhaps it was the bed of roses?” he jokes, a finger poised at his lips in faux thought.
mark clicks his tongue and smacks jackson in the chest. jackson reaches out and flattens his hand atop mark’s, keeping mark’s hand pressed again his pectorals, feels the hummingbird beating of jackson’s heart under his palm.
mark hesitates only a moment before he leans towards jackson, eyes bright and smile blooming, his body and face angled towards jackson, a sunflower reaching up to its sun. his mouth opens to say something and jackson decides to finally let his emotions bubble over the brim of his cup, letting the knowledge of his feelings being reciprocated wash over him in a heedy haze that takes over his body as he raises a hand to cup at mark’s cheek and pull him into an apparently long overdue kiss.
jackson pulls back and his heart swoops like the birds in the sky when mark moves to follow him forward. his eyes are still closed and it is jackson’s turn to hold mark’s face in his hands and caress his cheeks as affectionately as he wants and to bring their faces back together, whispering “i love you,” against mark’s cupid bow.
mark goes as red as the flowers he had grown for jackson and his eyes widen and shine and he glows, eyes crinkling in the corners and he’s so beautiful and jackson’s allowed to think so and say so and so he does.
-
it starts like-
it ends like-
so, here sits mark again: another year, another solstice, another mandatory meeting. his back still lies against the back of his throne and his chin still rests on a propped up fist. there are still those that talk and chatter and laugh, small, big, medium groups of gods who only see each other once or twice a year. there’s still a few gods that look at mark longingly, some staring from afar, others looking like they’re just about to walk over.
and again, it is the booming laughter stemming from the largest group that grabs his attention. only this time, mark doesn’t hesitate to smile when he hears it. mark rises from where he’s seated and as he walks, the crowd parts for him as he makes his way through, denying the slight spring in his step or that he walks just that little bit faster when jackson spots him, a grin brighter than the sun that prompts mark’s creations to grow forming on his face as he raises an arm to greet him.
mark can’t help but smile back at him, stepping into the hold of jackson’s arms as his hand comes up to hold jackson’s head still so that he can place a kiss on jackson’s lips at just the angle mark knows others can see. jackson is his and he is jackson’s, and he won’t have anyone questioning that, ever. (if this is also just a plot to get unwanted suitors to stop bothering mark, then mark can’t see anything wrong with multitasking).
mark leans back into jackson’s hold when he faces the crowd along side jackson. there’s more attention on himself more than usual, but mark doesn’t care, in fact, he doesn’t even notice. he leans back into jackson’s arms and leans his head onto his shoulder and mark smiles to himself again -he seems to be doing that a lot more often these days. jackson continues to address the crowd, regaling the masses with his story of the day, voice loud and deep in mark’s ears, but arms tight around mark’s waist. mark sinks into him.
if mark concentrates, he can smell the fresh fields of wheat ripening under the sun, the salt of a hurricane touching down on land, the cold sterility of a hospital. if he concentrates even harder, he can feel the cool misty fog always coming from the styx, can feel the way the shadows cling to the edges of his cloak, can hear the confused screams of souls who have left his realm and entered jackson’s.
mark smiles.
when life meets death it is quiet. life does not fear death, does not meet death with a fist or a shout or a glare. life meets death with an embrace.