Another one word request from my alter ego otherwise known as 32waystoAutumn and just, bare with me on this one. I rambled a lot, I know - but this a nice light hearted and fluffy one shot; enjoy! (I love pasta and the prompt was pasta bag so...)

Jack just needs to feel the cool and calming air prickling his skin tonight. Its too hot and his thoughts he can't seem to contain are far too loud. The grey clouds moving above are a small distraction to help keep him grounded, reminding him hes still here, on planet earth regardless of his wondering mind. Hes just a stressed, overworked art student - with too many ideas to fit onto any canvas and hes absolutely losing his god damn mind. Fingers idly twitching without a paint brush between them, already stained in thrown away ideas. His neighbour just so happens to be sitting on his marble steps too although perhaps for a different reason - lit cigarette between his slender fingers. His neighbour is sometimes responsible for Jack not getting any sleep with his loud and equally obnoxious parties, who even throws a shindig on a Thursday anyway.

His neighbour who's name Jack can't remember or perhaps never knew in the first place, looks like a real college dropout type, ragged around the edges. Come to think of it, the only four words Jack has ever said to the guy were;

"Turn that music down!" Jack supposes he could have worse neighbours, ones that would complain about the loud banging noises and sharp curses from when Jack loses his collective shit as he trashes his apartment, countless art supplies thrown all over the place.

The man breaks the silence Jack was enjoying.

"Come here often?" He utters, all smug like; as if he had said something remotely original. Jack rolls his eyes although a barely-there smile tugs at his features as he decides to humor him.

"No, I'm just passing." The man seems surprised he received a reply from the otherwise quiet artist; and his face lights up like a kid in a candy shop - to which Jack raises his eyebrows, haughty and searching for a reply.

"Shame, the pretty ones always leave." Jack laughs at that, to which his raven haired neighbour shakes his head.

"Good luck with your project." His neighbour mutters as Jack bids him a goodnight and that makes him smile, at first his brain wonders how he'd know Jack was working on something but he figures hes a dead giveaway as an artist; with his ripped jeans that are still stained from the last time he used chalk to the slightly to the side green beret atop his head.

Jack does manage to get a fraction of an idea painted onto a canvas that night and it feels like the clouds lingering inside his brain were parting slightly, speaking with his neighbour as trivial as it was, did bring him back to present perhaps more than the silence would have - Jack would thank him but something tells the artist that the last thing his party animal of a neighbour needs is an ego boost or any encouragement whatsoever.

;

Yet Jack finding himself sat on the small stairs outside his home seems to be a common occurrence after then, as well as seeing his neighbour - whose name he finally gets after a slip of the tongue he murmurs a curse out at himself; as if it was some kind of secret which the artist laughs at.

"Jack." He offers in return, not missing the way Marks eyes light up. The small talk somehow throws a bucket of water upon Jacks burning insides, on the nights he thinks too much, worries if his art will really pay off one day - wonders if the piece of paper he paid so much for and gave many sleepless nights to, is really worth it. And yet with Mark uttering away about things that don't really matter at all, for some reason makes Jack feel as if it is. He doesn't ask about how his course is going, nor does he ask about his love life - he just utters about the weather, about how he wants to travel someplace and its soothing.

Plus, Mark makes Jack laugh with his ridiculous attempt at flirting. He thinks hes smooth, but he really isn't - his compliments making Jack just roll his eyes and although he doesn't know the man all that well, he knows the not so slick-tongued compliments are just Mark being friendly or trying to be the playboy that Jack knows he is, I mean come on -- hes even clad in a leather jacket and he smokes! What part of that doesn't scream playboy.

And yet, although Jack won't admit it, he really likes these meetings; at whatever time of night Jack decides to go out - Mark always seems to be out too. Jack ends up leaning against the small fence that divides the pair, listening to Mark tell some story about a camping trip. This close, Jack can actually see some of Marks features, lit up by the cigarette between his fingers. His eyes glow; a deep hazel, like running chocolate. His lips turned into a smirk Jack can always hear somehow when he talks, his hair swept to one side. Jacks fingers twitch; he wants to paint him. Capture his irises well, like spilled coffee across a white counter top; his black hair as deep as a ravens feathers. A sudden realization, there's something about Mark that he just wants to encapsulate forever  - it makes him dizzy thinking about it.

;

The pair are standing together, the fence separating them as they chat about a subject Jack isn't paying much attention too - brain slipping elsewhere until hes snapped back to present, just in time to hear the end of another compliment which slides from Marks lips, Jack has lost count of how many times Mark has complimented him tonight. It isn't sincere Jack knows; mainly because he looks anything but what Mark says - hes in sweatpants and a lose fitting shirt, beret off his head and exposing his messy hair as well as the rest of his imperfections.

"Do you always flirt with people you barely know?" Jack utters, lips upturned into a small smirk and the question catches the raven haired man off guard. Perhaps barely know is a bit strong, they do sort of know each other since these gatherings have been going on for awhile now; Jack even told Mark that they needed to stop meeting like this otherwise people will talk.

Let them, he'd told Jack in return.

Marks reply is something along the lines of 'only the prettiest ones' but Jack is too distracted by the man leaning over the fence slightly to connect their lips together and part of Jack wants to pull away and yell at the man for being so brave; for not even offering dinner - for not asking Jack about his days and yet he doesn't. He just lets it happen until the raven haired man is pulling back, looking as smug as ever, which soon fades into broad panic as if he hadn't meant too and Jack just shakes his head in lieu of an its okay. But he doesn't know what to say either; with how sudden it was - or where they go from here.

;

Truth be told, Mark hasn't been able to stopped thinking about the artist next door. Hes been curious of him ever since he had chapped his door yelling at him for having his music too loud - Mark had frozen then too, distracted by such vibrant blue eyes and such a pretty face. And maybe since then he had wanted to say something but for somebody who can host some of the best parties on campus, he can't really speak to people casually to save his life. Hes much smoother with a drink inside him. But, when they met on the stairs, Mark had slipped in a few compliments here and there - and liked how it didn't really effect the artist other than the roll of his eyes he had gotten in return. He wanted to rustle his feathers a little - Jack looks far too perfect and truth be told, it ticks Mark off a little. He also wants to know what bad habits he has; where his imperfections lie.

All he knew was that Jack paints, the telltale signs written across his skin or sometimes on his face, where there's smudges of dark paints. And maybe he hadn't gotten to carried away when he had kissed him over the fence, but he just couldn't help it; Jack was there without his signature beret; in lounging clothes and looking prettier than Mark has ever seen him. As if he was allowing Mark to see him without all the armor around him; like he'd let his guard down since they'd met.

Of course he had to screw it up; he hadn't seen Jack out for awhile after that and he can't stop thinking about it but damn him, he hadn't had the courage just go across the hall and knock on his door to apologize for crossing a line. They barely knew one and other and yet Mark felt they knew enough about one and other to kiss him like that, god what was he thinking.

That is until, they bump into one and other when Jack has bags upon bags full of pasta in his arms and Mark isn't paying attention and suddenly they're sat together on the floor, pasta shells scattered everyone and Jack huffing as he fixes his deep burgundy beret that manged to stay atop his head. Instead of the usual are you okay; Mark simple mutters;

"Why are you carrying so much pasta?" Jack flustered as he tries to sweep up the pasta shells now scattered across the hall - hes not going to say its because he eats pasta with everything; instead he uses the first excuse that springs to mind.

"For an art project!" Smooth. 

Mark shakes his head a few times as if snapping back into reality as he also scrambles to help Jack clean up the mess of pasta shells.

"Sorry about this, ill pay for the damage." That gets a laugh out of Jack, music to Marks ears and he pauses for a moment or two just to listen. Before Jack speaks up, telling him he doesn't need too but Mark feels guilty, ever since their kiss over the fence that night he hadn't seen Jack out on the steps or at all really - but perhaps it was because of his studies but Mark couldn't help but feel like he had messed everything up and now he has - physically, anyway.

The shells for the most part seemed to be cleaned and before Jack goes back into his apartment Marks thoughts bleed out before he gets a chance to regret them.

"Do you want to come inside to mine for dinner?" Jack visibly freezes and before Mark gets to rush to correct himself, the man agrees.

Jack agrees to dinner mainly because hes curious, Mark doesn't look at all the culinary type and although it may mean he doesn't have pasta with his meal seeing as most of it is on the floor anyway.

;

Marks apparent is the complete opposite of a bachelor pad. Its organised and tidy; shelves stacked with cooking books and fantasy novels as well as piles upon piles of novels on space. Jack raises an eyebrow as he eyes the shelves, this is anything but what he had expected. Invited, Jack has a seat as Mark has a look around his cupboards.

"What do you like to eat? I've been told I make a mean lasagna." Jacks stomach gives out a rumble - and he raises an eyebrow, for the second time within minutes.

"You don't seem like the chef type. But that sounds nice." Mark gives a hearty laugh and a shake of his head before grabbing ingredients and placing them on the counter-top.

Jack with all the curiosity of a cat, he sprawls across the counter-top as he stares up at Mark, making him twitch under his smug gaze.

"Just making sure you don't cheat and microwave something whilst I'm not looking." Its Marks turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Jack, you know im almost a chef, right?" Jack almost rolls of the counter at that and Mark laughs; echoing through the apartment.

"I didn't even know you went to college." Jack utters, honestly as he fixes himself only then to receive a light push from the raven haired man.

"Ill prove it to you, then." Mark says with a hint of a challenge layered in his words to which Jack encourages further.

;

And prove it he does, minus Mark nearly dropping the lasagna before it got to the table (He blamed it on Jack, of course.) the lasagna is lovely way better than Jacks quick pasta he makes; along with whatever is in his cupboard. Jack is pleasantly surprised - he really didn't peg Mark for the chef type, maybe that's how he beds everybody lures them in with the food, Jack thinks for a brief moment.

Or maybe Jack has it all wrong; maybe its merely Marks dress sense that gives him fuck boy vibes; considering his apartment that's glad with books, his talent for cooking and his soft around the edges personality. Jack should know better than to judge, perhaps. And now his lips tingle; a distant reminder of when the man had just kissed him out of nowhere like it was nothing; when it was definitely something and left Jacks mind reeling. Come to think of it, Marks left his mind reeling since they met on the stairs that night. Since Jack wanted to paint him; because hes a hidden masterpiece.

Jacks brought back to the present as Mark clear his plate.

"Thank you, you really did impress." Mark looks like a kid on Christmas when Jack utters the soft praise as if his career choice was solely dependent on that moment, that compliment from his neighbour. It makes Jacks heart stop for a second.

"Maybe I could come to your apartment and you can show me your macaroni art." He laughs soft, and Jack huffs immediately.

"First of all, its not macaroni art. Second of all I'd like that." Because Jack would, until he realizes he doesn't have any macaroni art; rather he just likes to get the stuff in buckets regardless if its in a sauce or whatever, he'll use the 'I'm a struggling university student.' excuse.

Can't having his cute neighbour he somehow stands a chance with knowing something like that.

;

"Sit still." Jack murmurs from behind the canvas, smug smile across his features as he adjusts his beret.

"You can't even see me moving." Mark grumbles as if he hadn't agreed to allowing Jack to paint him;

"I'm almost finished but since your antsy you can go grab me some extra color from my cupboards, its the lowest one down." Jack utters, tongue lolling out as he keeps his hand steady, already prouder of this piece than his whole portfolio but he won't tell Mark that.

Mark goes rummaging, and his inner chef has a heart attack at the bags and bags of pasta stacked up in Jacks cupboards as he tries to find the color. Eventually he finds it, in the cupboard Jack probably said as he was leaving the room. As he enters the room as takes his place in the same spot upon the couch - he sits smugly.

"Jack, I thought you submitted your macaroni art." Mark can't see Jack since hes sat behind the canvas but hes studied him enough to know that the tips of his ears are probably slightly red and tinged with embarrassment.

"So whats the deal with the pasta?" Jack curses himself and tries to think of something, anything but hes a deer in the headlights.

"Maybe I like pasta, a lot." Jack utters, dramatically putting his paint brush in the cup of water next to him. Marks lets out a gasp.

"Finally, something to mock you about." Mark murmurs, as if hes relieved.

"What?" Jack asks, finally peeking from behind the canvas and yes, Marks earlier assumptions were correct, the tips of his ears are red and its something so adorable Marks happy he was able to pick it up.

"You're so composed and perfect all the time. I was beginning to think you weren't human." Mark laughs, a sense of truth within his words to which Jack just lets out a hearty laugh at.

"Mark, I am the least composed person ever. I just hide it better than you." The pair spend minutes, maybe hours laughing at one and other. Before Jack decides to turn the canvas around, revealing such a masterpiece.

Mark, sat on the couch he is now; Coffee spilling through his hair and into his eyes - and it makes him almost shy; the painting is beautiful.

"Holy shit. That's amazing, would it be narcissistic of me to keep this in my apartment where everyone can see?" Jack lets out a puff of air.

"I wouldn't expect anything less." The artist smiles, pride coloring his baby blues, it makes Mark want to kiss him again.

So he does. There's no fence digging into his rib-cage this time and its a much better angle; They fit like puzzle pieces together and Jack feels like the air was stolen from his lungs. Then its back; like a gust of wind - as Mark pulls away with a familiar softness in his irises.

"Can I pay you in kisses?" He utters, as if hes completely out of it before breaking into shy laughter and Jack thinks soft spontaneous kisses like those wouldn't be so bad.

;

Mark does eventually lecture him over his pasta habit but he does teach Jack several new and different dishes he can make easily (that include pasta, of course.) and Mark seems to be over at Jacks apartment more than his own; perhaps hes used to the company too much now, even if they're studying together, its the presence of somebody else that blocks out Marks loneliness. Jacks company somehow manages to recharge Marks batteries rather than drain them, its strange; hes like a can of energy juice or caffeine, with added sunshine, in human form. Plus seeing Jack paint so passionately as he does, tunnel visioned on whichever project hes working on; It makes Mark want to sell his art to everybody on the planet and make him known for his natural talent and passion - a mixture that don't normally go hand and hand but perhaps Jack has it all, even if he eats pasta with every meal.

Graduation is soon and Mark wonders where the pair will go next, what they'll do without the eight am lectures that was always a questionable choice; or without that sort of sense of direction. Mark knows he wants to have his own restaurant someday - and he hopes Jack will pursue art regardless. Graduation felt like a distance away but now its within a grasp and it both excites and terrifies Mark and yet somehow, as long as Jack sticks around - it feels like it doesn't matter.

;

It feels like Mark only just threw his graduation cap high in the air alongside Jack and his closest friends, when hes moving in beside Jack - Hanging his art pieces up on the walls. Only moments feel like they've passed when Mark is handed the keys to the shell of his dream; workers in and out as they repair the old building to what Mark imagines it to be. But an eternity passes when he reenacts a moment he'll never forget. Jacks coming up the stairs to their apartment and Mark bumps into him purposely, a bag of pasta scattering as well as something else much more valuable. Just like when they had clashed in the hallway back when they were in college, the pair scramble to pick up the pasta shells. Mark isn't too caring of those, instead finds the sparkling diamond ring as Jack is distracted uttering something along the lines of 'We've been here before.'

Then hes tapping Jack on the shoulder lightly, down on one knee and Jack drops the pasta shells he had within his grasp as a smile spreads across his features and tears well in his eyes.

"Jack, would you do me the honors of letting me cook you pasta for the rest of our lives?" Mark chuckles; and Jack leaps into his arms, a yes on his lips.

A chef who is born to be painted and an artist with a pasta obsession; What an odd couple. Yet, neither would change it for the world.