star trippin' - ayqn - NCT (Band) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1: tell me lover, are you lonely? the thing we need is never all that hard to find

Chapter Text

It’s kind of ironic, Donghyuck thinks, how the news reach the band members last.

“What do you mean he quit?” Renjun asks, deadpan expression on his face, and they’re seated in Jeno’s garage as most days, evening sunlight filtering through the square windows above the door. The air is stuffy and it smells of rubber in here.

“Well, it’s pretty f*cking self-explanatory, don’t you think?” Donghyuck retorts, trying and failing at keeping the venom out of his voice, busying himself with pulling at the tangled wires yet to be plugged into the amp box. “He quit.”

“Yeah, but like,” Jeno starts, clearing his throat awkwardly, sitting on the stool by the empty drum set. “Prom’s in just under two weeks.” He states simply, a little lost due to Donghyuck’s habit of saying as little as possible for the sake of not boring the audience during sets that’s seemingly bled into his life off stage as well, but that’s really just a bullsh*t excuse to hide behind in moments when the truth came with an ache in his throat and a twist in his belly.

“Yeah, no sh*t,” Donghyuck mutters, still not indulging either of their persistent attempts at eye contact.

The rumors of his and Jaemin’s breakup spread record-quick; quicker than he’d expect for the mourning of a relationship that wasn't even really a relationship.

“Okay and is he not gonna, like, come tell us about him quitting?” Renjun asks, drawing the words out carefully.

“I told you already. What’s the point in him coming down here to do it again?”

“Cause we’re friends?” Renjun suggests with a disbelieving laugh, exaggerated to mask the sincere hurt underneath, and Donghyuck sees right through it.

“Were friends, apparently,” Jeno adds, hitting the bass drum with the flat of his palm softly, mellow thud echoing through the garage. “He left one of his cymbals here.”

“That one’s mine,” Donghyuck says, not even sparing the instrument a glance. “From the leftover drumset from high school.”

There’s a prolonged moment of silence while Donghyuck fiddles with the cords and tries not to trip over them as he steps towards his guitar, Renjun and Jeno obvious in their non-verbal exchange of sentences even without Donghyuck having to blatantly stare to see it happen.

Chenle – the obnoxious freshman who was friends with people who were friends with Renjun who was friends with Donghyuck, making them some type of far-removed acquaintances – had approached Donghyuck this morning on campus to express his deep condolences. For an earth-shattering second Donghyuck’s heart fell to his ass and he thought Chenle had come to bear the news of a member of Donghyuck’s family dying because he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time or something. Turns out the only dying Chenle was expressing sympathy for was Jaemin and Donghyuck's friendship which was a crazy thing in itself because they’d broken things off only the day before, and it wasn’t much to breakoff in the first place.

Also, it happened in the middle of the corner booze shop parking lot in broad daylight, so maybe that kinda ruined the melodrama of it all. Donghyuck had to bike home in the scorching May heat while Jaemin drove his red Toyota Prius.

Couldn’t even spin it into lyrical content with how underwhelming that sh*t was. He’d gotten home and taken a nap; didn’t even cry once.

If anything, he’d simply assumed that if news got around campus, then surely the band guys would get a whiff of it too.

Apparently not.

Renjun clears his throat again, damage control mode on standby at all times.

“Yes, I know this is my fault, and you warned me that this would happen. I don’t need you to lecture me on this, okay? I know I f*cked it up.” Donghyuck says before a single word manages to leave Renjun’s mouth. “I’m gonna find us a replacement. It’s fine. Don’t even worry about it.”

Jeno leans forward to poke Donghyuck’s thigh with a drumstick he’d picked up from the ground. “Dude, if you need to, like, talk about it–”

“I said I’ll fix it!” Donghyuck snaps and swats Jeno’s extended hand away, sighing as he slips his guitar sling over his head. “I’m fine. Can we just get to the rehearsing? I have to be back at the dorms by nine because Jaehyun’s leaving and I don’t wanna risk getting locked out again.”

“Where’s he going?” Jeno says at the same time Renjun asks: “You still haven’t found the key?”

Donghyuck shrugs, glad for the change of subject.

“I dunno. A booty call, probably.” He says and flails his arms around in a silent way of urging the guys to get up so they can get on with it. “And no, I still have no idea where it could’ve gone. Some kleptomaniac probably stole it or whatever.”

“Aren’t you afraid someone’s gonna break into your guys’ room while you’re sleeping? Steal all your sh*t?” Jeno quirks a brow and slings his own guitar over his head, a teal thing with enough stickers covering the surface that the color barely shows through the sparse gaps.

Donghyuck snorts. “With how loud Jaehyun snores, no way, man. Besides, it’s not like there’s anything worth stealing.”

“Maybe Jaemin’s gonna come to get his revenge, hm?” Jeno asks.

“Smother you in your sleep.” Renjun adds, ever so helpful.

“Please.” Donghyuck huffs out a laugh, an easy answer. “Jaemin doesn’t care enough to bother with that.”

✮

Fixing it, as it turns out, requires Donghyuck to embarrass himself in front of the university professor who he had already met under similar circ*mstances last week when it’d been Donghyuck practically beggingthe poor man to give him a passing grade in Public Relations which he’d skipped most of in favor of going back to the dorms to binge H2O for the nth time or drive around town with headphones on in hope that divine inspiration will strike and he’ll get to actually write something in that empty notebook he’d bought at a flea market ages ago to keep all his genius future lyrics in one place instead of paper scraps and diner napkins.

“Please, Mister Kim. It’s not for me, it’s for the band. You know the band, right? You’re all for extracurricular activities as ways for personal development – it’s basically in the course description.” Donghyuck repeats, putting on his best guise of puppy eyes and pouty lips, and steps in front of the man when he tries moving towards the door with an apologetic smile.

“Big of you talk about course descriptions when you’ve shown up to none of my in-person classes, which, by the way, since you’re so familiar with the course description, make up half of the final grade.” Mr. Kim deadpans and stares Donghyuck down in an attempt to get him to move.

But Donghyuck is literally friends with Renjun so such a thing simply doesn’t work on him anymore, and Donghyuck rests his head on the doorframe, long dark hair falling into his eyes. “Please, Mr. Kim, I’ll be forever indebted to you.”

“You’re already indebted to me from when I made you pass with zero attendance.”

“A fine bottle of Chardonnay. How does that sound? You like champagne, right?”

“You don’t have a job, Donghyuck.” Mr. Kim says simply and sighs when he assesses Donghyuck’s hands gripping the doorway for dear life, knuckles white, and his resolve seems to die down a little with the prolonged breath he lets out. “And Chardonnay is a wine, not a champagne; a hardly an expensive one at that.”

“Perfect, so it’d be within my budget range.”

“I am not accepting bribes from my students in the form of alcoholic beverages, Donghyuck.”

“A non-alcoholic wine, then. Those exist, don’t they?”

“Let me paraphrase – I am not accepting bribes from my students. End of sentence.” Mr Kim says and when he next nudges past Donghyuck to get outside the classroom, he actually manages to step through the door.

Donghyuck rushes after him into the hallway, backpack slipping off the one shoulder it’s slung over, the jumble of charms and keyrings clattering as the bag hits the tiled floor.

“Mr Kim, please! I already put out the flyers!” Donghyuck calls after the man once more, earning a few curious glances and some snickers from the other students passing by what they must assume to be just another one of band singer Lee Haechan’s public breakdowns. “You’re putting my entire musical career in jeopardy!”

Professor Kim simply keeps walking, not even bothering to acknowledge Donghyuck’s desperations with a turn of his head or some half-assed wave.

“Goddamn prick.” Donghyuck murmurs, swings his backpack over both his shoulders properly, and huffs, hands on his hips as he surveys Mr. Kim cut a corner and disappear down a different hallway.

“Hey.”

Donghyuck jumps at the sudden proximity, shuffling away from the stranger with a hand over his heart who, upon proper inspection, isn’t actually a stranger, but Chenle.

“Jesus f*cking Christ, Chenle.” Donghyuck breathes out, glaring at the guy with as much annoyance as he can manage. “Do you want to send me into cardiac arrest one of these days? I’m only twenty f*cking two!”

“Sorry, sorry.” Chenle says in response, raising both his hands like that will somehow remove him from being incriminated.

But he doesn’t sound all that apologetic, a poorly suppressed smile dancing on his lips until the facade crumbles completely and he bursts out into a fit of laughter; the full-bodied kind, too — the one that has him hunching over and shoving at the nearest body he can get his hands on, the latter which Donghyuck predicts and manages to step outside the guy’s reach before he gets, like, bruises on his biceps from Chenle’s flailing arms.

“Yeah, you could at least pretend you give a sh*t, you know.” Donghyuck scoffs and waits for Chenle’s laughter to subside and deflate his body like a balloon.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry — really. My bad, man.” He says and takes a deep breath to compose himself. “You’re really jumpy, you know that, by the way?”

“Thank you, I’m aware.”

“No problem.”

They stare at each other for a bit and it’s evident in the way Chenle sways his weight from the balls of his feet to his toes that he’s itching to bother Donghyuck with something, waiting for Donghyuck to say something that will allow for a smooth segway into whatever invasive topic he was seeking to shine a light on today.

Donghyuck doesn’t give him the satisfaction, simply nods with a strained smile and turns on his heel.

His steps towards the exit are hurried, but Chenle doesn’t mind jogging a little to catch up with him, falling into a nonchalant step beside Donghyuck like the rapid rise and fall of his chest isn’t a dead giveaway.

“So,” he begins and cards a hand through his hair, clears his throat like this requires class, “Jaemin said you cheated.”

Donghyuck halts dead in his tracks, snapping his head to glare at the guy.

“What? What the f*ck? No, I didn’t.” He snaps in a loud whisper, twisting his neck around the hallway to make sure there were no straying ears, but then shakes his head with a grumble and resumes walking. “No, he didn’t. He didn’t say that. No way. You’re f*cking with me.”

“Okay, yeah, he didn’t say that. There’s been a rumor going around that you two f*cked, and I just wanted to see if you’d admit the cheating bit right away.”

“I didn’t f*cking cheat.”

“Yeah, okay, geez, I get it. No need to get so pissy about it.”

“You come here and accuse me of cheating, I think I have the right to be pissy about it.”

“Okay, maybe a little. My bad. Sorry, man. I didn’t mean to offend you or anything.”

Donghyuck pushes open the door leading outside with a hum, not bothering to hold it long enough for Chenle to slip through behind him, though, he manages just fine on his own, joining Donghyuck in walking down the steps leading to the main gate.

“So, like, what actually happened between you two, then? Broke his heart?”

They stop by the bike racks.

Well, Donghyuck does, and since Chenle’s taken the liberty of attaching himself to Donghyuck like a third leg, then he does as well, and so now it’s the two of them by the row of bicycles with Donghyuck crouched on the pavement, backpack zipped open in a frustrated search for his keys.

Once his fingers close around the cluster of more charms than keys at the very bottom of the bag, Donghyuck lets out a sigh bordering a relieved moan which he swallows to save himself the embarrassment and maintain his high ground when he looks up at Chenle through his fringe, squinting at the light beaming straight into his eyes.

The near June heat is unbearable and Donghyuck feels sweat drip down his sides under his shirt after a mere five minutes spent in direct sunlight; a few moments longer and he might just evaporate.

“Honestly, and I mean this in the nicest way possible, can you just f*ck off, please?”

Chenle throws his hands up in defense and Donghyuck rolls his eyes as he shifts his attention back to unlocking his bike cable, little care in what excuse the guy will come up with.

“I’m just checking up on you, is all. Also, everyone’s been making up the craziest theories about it. You’ve gotta understand, dude, this is the single most interesting thing to happen in this town since that raccoon invasion back in high school.” Is the genius reply he sends Donghyuck’s way, and, yeah, Donghyuck really doesn’t wanna risk his skin turning lobster red for this.

“Right.”

“You don’t remember? When one of them kept stealing Jacobs’ packed lunch during–”

“I remember, Chenle.”

“So?”

Donghyuck slings his backpack over his shoulders and maneuvers his bike out of the cluster between the others, careful not to have the row collapse like a bunch of dominoes. That, and he turns to Chenle with his lips drawn in a thin line and cheeks puffed out from the gesture.

“So, you can tell everyone else to mind their own f*cking business. I’m sure that will get you those sweet, sweet social credit points amongst your peers.” He says, resting his right leg on one pedal while suspending the other one with his left. “Also, it wouldn’t hurt for you to stop going around proclaiming that Jaemin and I were like–” another look around to make sure there’s no one in their near vicinity, “–a thing.”

“Hey, man, c’mon, that’s not what this is about, you know that–”

“Goodbye, Chenle.”

“Donghyuck, c’mon, I would never tell anyone about you guys!”

Donghyuck dismisses Chenle with a half-assed wave and leaves the guy standing on the scorching pavement, biking uphill the entire way to the dorms.

✮

The notification of a new message dings through the room, muffled by the nth unnamable Paramore song that plays from Jaehyun’s iPod on his bed while the guy surveys his drawers for a fitting shirt to wear that’s not too casual but also nothing too fancy that will risk making him seem like a try-hard. He was definitely a try-hard, though.

Well, well, well, if it isn’t the consequences of your own actions, reads Renjun’s ingenious Myspace chat reply, the tiny text on the monitor screen mocking in its pixelated glory.

Donghyuck rolls his eyes with enough force that he hopes it somehow gets conveyed in the reply and hunches over the keyboard to punch in a response.

Haechan:

well maybe instead of making fun of my shortcomings you could volunteer to help out

Hit send.

And then, just for good measure, some more clacking of keys as he types out:

Haechan:

you know... like a good friend

Jeno:

Oh here comes Lee Donghyuck with the patronization

Haechan:

f*ck you no one asked you! go back to your girlfriend!!

Jeno: SHE’S JUST A FRIEND!!!!1

Haechan:

8===D ^__<

Jeno: you are so weird...

The messages on the computer screen stay the same and the more time passes, the clearer it becomes that it’s gonna remain that way unless Donghyuck does something about it — Jeno too busy with his non-girlfriend he’s been seeing after school practically every day, and Renjun having successfully used the brief change of topic as his scapegoat from the conversation.

Whatever.

Donghyuck pulls up his chat window with Jimin, the last message being a LOL in all caps as a response to her attempts at making Donghyuck feel better about the split with Jaemin by making fun of the guy in a matter that wasn’t as light-hearted as it probably should’ve been, and instead gave the impression that she’d been holding her very strong opinions in for quite some time.

Donghyuck had typed the laugh out loud into the chat, logged out of his profile, and then cried himself to sleep. Not that she needed to know the last part.

Haechan:

i need your help

Not even a full minute ticks by on the display clock before her reply pops up.

Jimin:

when do you not?

Haechan:

srsly, it’s urgent

Jimin:

are you gonna tell me what it is or just whine about it?

Haechan:

sorry

Jimin:

?

Haechan:

i need you to get me keys to mr kim’s classroom 4 tmrw

Jimin:

for the band thing?

Haechan:

yeah

he told you?

Jimin:

yeah he messaged me on here 5 mins before you did

Haechan:

WHAT???

Jimin:

i saw the flyers idiot

Haechan:

how’d ya like them?

Jimin:

i’ll get you the keys

Haechan:

how did you like the posters

hey

jimin????

“You do know that getting a phone would just make your life easier, right?” Jaehyun says from the other side of the tiny room. “You’re gonna get permanent hunchback posture from leaning over that damn keyboard all day.”

When Donghyuck turns to look at him, he’s changed into a completely different shirt – a loose button-up with diagonal stripes that makes him look a little like a picnic blanket.

“Ido have a phone,” Donghyuck replies simply and twists in his seat to eye the mess of crumpled clothing items scattered across the floor.

“A proper one,” Jaehyun emphasizes the word proper as he alternates between unbuttoning the top or the top two buttons on his shirt for that flawless nonchalance aura. “They’re releasing a new iPhone upgrade in like two months.”

“Yeah well, does it look like I have the money for that?”

“Just get a job.”

“f*ck a job, I don’t have time.”

“Sure, it’s thatband. It’s practically a job, isn’t it?” Jaehyun says in the most patronizing tone he can manage for a guy whose voice timbre rarely spikes in emotionality charge and mostly runs dangerously close to flatlining completely.

“Make fun of me all you want but we’re so close to breakout fame that I can practically taste it.”

“Isn’t that just your morning breath? I’m pretty sure I didn’t see you brush your teeth before you left for class.”

“f*ck you, man. Honestly.” Donghyuck turns back to the monitor with a roll of his eyes and Jaehyun laughs. “You think you’re just so funny, don’t you? Don’t come running back to me when we’ll be getting invites to perform at Summerfest. I’ll pretend to not know who you are and watch the security drag you away.”

“Whateveryou say, man.”

There are no new messages from Jimin and nothing from the band chat either so Donghyuck logs out of his Myspace profile and shuts off the computer without bothering to ask Jaehyun if he was planning to use it. If Windows decides to update all of its programs and reboot the whole system the next time Jaehyun turns it on, then let it be so.

✮

Donghyuck meets up with Jimin the next day at their usual spot — a junkyard of spare car parts tucked away at the edge of town by the train tracks that went through town as the only consolation that people could get out of here someday.

She’s waiting for him already by the time Donghyuck slips off his bike past the beat-down barbed wire gate, and the sight of her holding the keys to Mr. Kim’s classroom up in the air with a ceremonious jingle makes Donghyuck wanna drop to his knees and thank her for being the only friend out of his who wasn’t completely useless.

“Hey.” Donghyuck greets instead when he’s close enough and lets his bike drop to the ground with a metallic clatter of loose bolts and unoiled parts.

“You look good.” She replies after taking in Donghyuck’s anything but flattering state – pink skin, tousled hair, and shirt drenched in sweat.

“Flanked the test so badly. Had to dip before my conscience caught up to me.”

He takes the empty seat beside Jimin on the hood of a wrecked BMW and reaches for the classroom keys that she swiftly moves out of his reach with a chime of the pendants rustling in the wind.

“What happened with Jaemin?”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes and lies down on his back with a defeated sigh. “Is this what it’s going to be?”

“Yeah, well, you won’t tell me anything otherwise so if I have to blackmail you, then so be it.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Rich coming from you.”

“Nothing happened, okay?” Donghyuck groans and throws one arm over his face to shield his eyes from the sun. “We just grew apart. It’s normal for people to grow apart. It’s not like this is the first time this has happened, and probably not the last either. You can get off my ass, it’s fine.”

“I am not your meathead bandmates so you can drop the act. I don’t buy it.” Jimin says and shoves at Donghyuck’s bent knees with a frustrated huff. “Take your time, if you need, but I’m not dropping it. We can sit here all day, and have you miss the tryouts. I don’t care.”

And Donghyuck does take his time, laying on the rusted white hood of the ancient car wreckage with his eyes closed and the sun persistent in blearing down and making him sweat from top to bottom; breathes in the scent of the lilac bush flowers that grow just by the empty gasoline cisterns that have lost their smell over the years.

It’s not much different, Donghyuck thinks — life with or without Jaemin. Sure, getting off in a way that won’t require his own hand is gonna prove to be more difficult, but then again Donghyuck’s pretty sure he could just ask someone like Jaehyun for a handy as a joke and the guy would casually shrug and do it with a few half-assed complaints.

He’s been through heartbreak before and this barely counts as a tear. He’ll make it. The whole lack of a drummer spiel kinda sucks though.

Donghyuck licks his lips, clears his throat.

“Jaemin cheated.”

A beat and then Jimin’s voice, quiet, unsure, as she turns slowly to look at him, “What?”

Donghyuck squints up at her with his arm raised from his face now, “He cheated. Came clean about it all by himself. Not that it could really count as cheating because it’s not like we were officially a couple or anything.”

“sh*t, Donghyuck, I would never have guessed–”

“It’s fine, though.” Donghyuck cuts her off with ease and wipes away the sweat at his brow with a pad of one finger. “I wasn’t even that upset about it. I’ve kind of been wanting to break things off with him for a while now anyway. The whole stuck-in-a-loop feeling — I told you already.”

“Yeah, but still.” She insists, her elbow bumping against Donghyuck’s bare bent knee. “That’s kinda really f*cked up.”

“Yeah, well,” Donghyuck starts, unsure what direction to take the conversation, “at least now I have a free pass to write as many breakup songs as I want.”

Jimin huffs out a laugh but the hand of hers that lands on Donghyuck’s bare knee doesn’t shove or pinch at the skin, instead resting there with a soft squeeze, and she regards him with a strained smile before turning away to wipe at her own sweaty brow.

Really, Donghyuck doesn’t think he suffered any major losses with Jaemin deciding to get in bed with someone else and then making the ever-so-noble choice in telling Donghyuck about it (sparing the details (thank God)).

“I’m kind of relieved, actually – that I had an excuse to break up with him,” Donghyuck says to dissipate the silence and Jimin meets his gaze with a quirked brow. “Is that, like, a really sh*tty thing to say?”

Jimin retreats her hand from Donghyuck’s skin to pull away the hair that’s stuck to the skin of her nape with sweat – bleached and fried and somehow still looking better than Donghyuck’s tragic attempt at going blonde in freshman year.

“I dunno. Maybe. But who am I to judge?” She shrugs with ease. “I always thought he was kind of funny looking.”

“Okay, that is a f*cking lie.” Donghyuck laughs so hard that something in his chest rattles loose, and Jimin joins in with her head hung low between her bent knees and shoulders shaking with giggles. “Jaemin might be many things but ugly is not one of them. Probably the hottest guy on campus.”

“Yeah, okay, he was really hot.”

“Damn.” Donghyuck sighs. “I really could’ve had it all.”

“Who’d he cheat on you with?” Jimin asks and then shakes her head. “That is actually a really sh*tty thing to ask, though, geez. Don’t answer. Sorry.”

“I don’t know,” Donghyuck answers anyway, ignoring her remark. “He wouldn’t tell me.”

“You asked?”

“Of course I asked! I was presented with the news that I got cheated on by the guy who was almost my boyfriend. I thought I had, like, the right to know with who, so I could do, like a, I dunno...”

“A comparison?”

Donghyuck shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.”

Jimin bites at her lip and shakes her head, bleached strands falling out from the place they were tucked neatly behind her ears.

“That’s a bad idea.” She says.

“Why?” Donghyuck asks with a huff of laughter, sitting up to bump shoulders with her. “Maybe it was a criminal downgrade and I could feel better about myself. Some dude who lives in his mom’s basem*nt and drinks Pepsi for breakfast. C’mon, why not?”

“Because maybe it was a girl.”

Donghyuck’s smile fades slowly and he turns away from Jimin with a clear of his throat, sitting with his hands looped around his bent legs, fingers digging into the warm skin of his shins.

“You think he’s straight?”

Jimin shrugs. Donghyuck feels it more than he sees it – when her shoulder brushes against his own.

“If it’s a girl, you’ll never be able to compare.” She says and tucks the stray strands back behind her ears, brushes her bangs away from her forehead. “That’s just how it goes. One for the books. I think we both know. Makes sense why he wouldn't make things official with you.”

A train whistles as it passes by behind them and when Donghyuck extends his hand palm up with a sigh, Jimin drops the keys right into the middle of it with no further complaints.

✮

Despite the multiple-hour gap in his schedule, Donghyuck still somehow manages to be the last person to arrive at the tryouts. When he does, it’s to the sight of a pissed Renjun and a half-asleep Jeno being held up by an unfamiliar guy who must be here for the exact thing Donghyuck was currently late to, if the drumsticks in his hand are anything to go by.

Donghyuck doesn’t verbally apologize because that somehow makes it even more embarrassing, and he’s already sweating enough to fill half a bucket, and the stench from the bike ride here under the blazing sun most definitely still clings to him. A strained smile is what he settles for as he nudges past Renjun to jam the key in the lock and push the door open.

The guy whose name ends up being Henry sets up Mr. Kim’s drumset while Jeno indulges in small talk and awkwardly holds one of the unscrewed cymbals while the dude adjusts the other one.

Renjun busies himself with boring holes into Donghyuck’s side profile.

In his head Donghyuck starts to resent Jaemin a little bit; not as much for admitting to cheating as for forcing him to face the aftermath of his friend's relentless prying, acting like he’d gotten stood up at the altar and not broken up with at a dingy booze store parking lot. It was irrelevant. Donghyuck doesn't even remember the color of the shirt Jaemin wore that day.

“When are you gonna talk about what's bothering you?” Renjun asks, voice low, hands crossed over his chest as he sits on the front desk while Donghyuck leans against it, posture mirrored.

He doesn't reply. Renjun kicks his shin.

“Nothing's bothering me.”

Renjun makes a show of rolling his eyes, “You look like you're about to burst into tears.”

“I don't. You should get your eyesight checked.”

“You should get your attitude checked.”

“My attitude is fine, thank you. Maybe if you stopped being such a pain in the ass—”

“Oh you would know about stuff in the ass wouldn't you—”

Jeno clears his throat, Harry or Henry or whatever already seated at the drumset, all settled and smiling awkwardly. “Can we start?”

Renjun mutters something intelligible under his nose and slips off the desk, Donghyuck huffing and puffing like he’s dragging the weight of the world with him with every step towards the three chairs Jeno’s so conveniently moved behind one of the tables; though with the weight both of his friend’s gazes follow him to his seat, Donghyuck might as well be carrying the weight of two whole worlds on his sweaty shoulders right now.

He nudges past Jeno to get to the middle chair and it wails like it’s in pain as soon as he sits down, and Donghyuck has to breathe in deeply to soothe the sudden burning urge to flip the stupid table, and smash the stupid chair, and kick a hole in the stupid bass drum with the school’s logo on it, and bike to the dorms and beg Jaehyun to hold him in just a brotherly way.

“Are you gonna play or just sit there?” He asks the guy and he doesn't mean it to come out sounding like it's intentionally mean but that’s what it ends up sounding like anyway.

“Ignore him, he’s an ass today,” Renjun says his damage control line, rehearsed to perfection. “Start whenever you're ready.”

Donghyuck leans in to nudge Renjun’s shoulder with his own. “You should go into customer service, you’re really good at sucking up to people.” He says, quiet and mean on purpose this time.

Renjun ignores him, gaze trained ahead.

The Henry guy nods, all tense movements and strained expressions and, really, Donghyuck went into this whole ordeal open-minded and plainly desperate, welcoming any and all help in finding a replacement for Jaemin in time for their previous high school’s prom gig.

All things considered, the Harry guy sucks balls at this.

Partially his fault probably for putting no previous experience required on the flyers but also it's not like he expected someone lacking any grasp of rhythm to dare set foot in their vicinity. Their band was far from amateurish — most people on campus knew either them or of them. They were good. They had experience, they had demand. If anything, as Donghyuck does a poor job in concealing the pain in his expression at every poorly executed hit on the toms that misses the beat by a mile, he thinks it's kind of insulting that they're forced to listen to this trainwreck of a performance right now.

Once he’s done torturing their ears, the guy looks up from the drums, shoulders visibly relaxing like he’s finally ripped off the bandaid that was hiding a nasty gash underneath.

Donghyuck dares to spare a look in each of his friend’s directions, face unmoving as just his eyes dart back and forth between Jeno and Renjun. They look a little bit like they just witnessed someone get run over by a car. Willingly. Twice.

“Well–” Donghyuck starts.

“Thank you,” Renjun says right away before Donghyuck can manage another syllable. “We’ll get back to you by the end of the week,” Jeno adds with an assuring smile.

“But it’s Friday.” The guy protests weakly. “It’s not like there’s anyone else besides me.”

“The tryouts are until eight.” Renjun reminds him, kind, yet stern.

“Yeah, but—”

Jeno claps and stands up, extending a hand for the guy to shake.

“Thank you so much again for coming out to see us.” He says and once they’ve shook hands, motions to the door with that smile of his all professors loved that made his eyes turn to little crescent moons.

Made sucking up to teachers much easier since high school.

All Donghyuck had were sad, kicked puppy eyes and a smart mouth. Not much for middle-aged ladies to fawn over. He didn't look like the type to mow their front lawns in exchange for homemade lemonade which Jeno did have a record of doing over the course of his summers spent at his parent's home. Shirtless too. And seeing how most of the ladies in his neighborhood were either widowed or divorced, that probably added to the charm. Maybe Donghyuck should one-up him and do it naked, spend his last jobless summer in jail for public nudity. Beats having to deal with the consequences of his own actions.

“That was...” Jeno says as soon as the door behind the guy shuts and it's just them three.

“Yeah...” Renjun agrees.

Donghyuck buries his face in his hands and pretends to sob, though, with how things were going right now, he wasn't too far off from the actual thing.

“I mean, we can do no drums.” Jeno suggests meekly, voice closer so he must've moved away from the door.

Donghyuck’s voice comes out muffled by both his palms, still refusing to look at either of his friends: “There's still time till eight.”

“Or Donghyuck can sub for the drummer and Renjun can do vocals. You’re decent enough at the drums and Renjun’s more than decent at singing.”

“There's still time till eight, Jeno.”

“We’ll have to give up sub guitar but we’ve done fine without it before, when you broke your thumb—”

“Sprained.”

“When you sprained your thumb. It was fine then, the guys said I sounded pretty dece on my own so we’ll do the same thing again. Just take out the more complicated riffs and cut the solo parts for the last two songs so that way we can—”

Donghyuck pushes away from the table, metal chair scraping across the tiled floor grotesquely enough to have the sound pierce bone.

“I’m getting a co*ke from the vending machine.” He announces to the mostly empty room and then has half the mind to ask, when he's already one foot out the door: “You guys want anything?”

“A Pepsi,” Renjun says while Jeno shakes his head no.

“So a co*ke.”

“No, a Pepsi, idiot.”

“It's the same thing.”

“It's not.”

“I’m getting you a co*ke,” Donghyuck says before shutting the door behind him.

“I said a Pepsi, you prick!” Renjun blares back from the classroom like he’ll die if he doesn't get the last word in.

Donghyuck makes it to the vending machine; spots the guy from before standing with his back against the wall by the bathrooms and his head hung low like he's waiting to get shot instead of in line to pee; pays him no mind.

Since he’ll be paying from his own pocket because waiting for Renjun to give back the money he owed was the same as waiting for him to apologize first – impossible and improbable – Donghyuck gets two co*kes, Renjun’s overpriced Pepsi be damned.

God hates him, clearly, because just as he turns the corner with a can of co*ke in each hand, Donghyuck bumps into the guy from before.

He doesn't apologize or mutter any profanities and instead, takes Donghyuck by the shoulders with wide eyes, red-rimmed with tears, and asks: “Is it because I’m not Asian?”

Donghyuck blinks up at him, dumbstruck, “What?”

“Did you not wanna let me into the band because I’m not Asian?”

“What the hell,” Donghyuck mutters and shakes the guy’s hands off him. “No, no it doesn't have anything to do with you not being Asian, Jesus.”

“Well all of the members and ex-members are Asian so I thought that was like a thing—”

“It's not because you’re not Asian!”

“Well, what is it then?”

If it were either Renjun or Jeno here in front of this puppy-eyed, most likely freshman, dude, then they’d probably politely excuse themselves to get out of the situation or gently explain to him again that the auditions are until 8 PM so they can't even tell him why he didn't get in or whether he actually didn't because, even if the probability was near zero, there technically could be more contestants who show up and make this guy's performance pale in comparison. Not that it was all that glamorous of a thing to begin with.

But it's not either Renjun or Jeno here. It’s just Donghyuck.

“You suck, Harry.” Donghyuck says bluntly and nudges past the guy to get back to the others.

Behind him comes a meek reply: “It's Henry.”

Despite what an outsider's perspective might suggest, he actually feels kinda bad for the guy. He doesn't say sorry, though. Not because he's like Renjun who acts like it might kill him if he apologizes for something that was totally his fault, but because the co*ke cans are freezing his f*cking fingers off and there is no one to play drums for the prom event next week, and, yeah, okay, maybe Dongnyuck actually does kinda care about the fact that Jaemin cheated on him with some nameless, Godforbid, girl while Donghyuck was probably contemplating which flavor of lube he should get for next time because the current tube was running out. He didn't even get to try the f*cking watermelon one because Jaemin had to go and shove his dick into someone else.

“f*ck Jaemin!” Donghyuck proclaims as he barges back into the classroom, two co*ke cans in hand and eyes expectantly landing on where Renjun and Jeno should be.

Except it's not Renjun and Jeno. Not just them.

Between them like a weed that stupidly persists no matter how many times Donghyuck pulls at it along with the roots, with hair bleached and jeans ripped and f*cking biceps flexing as his hands hold one of the cymbals, stands Mark.

Mark, who Donghyuck used to call his best friend all throughout high school, who was there for Donghyuck through thick and thin, who pushed just the right amount but never too overbearingly to get Donghyuck the courage needed to start the band they currently were in.

Mark, who disappeared from this dingy town and from Donghyuck's life the day after high school graduation with not even as much as a note left behind; Donghyuck left to pick up the shattered pieces of his heart on his own that Mark wasn’t even aware of having had broken.

Mark who coincidentally might as well be the best drummer Donghyuck’s ever had the pleasure to hear play.

Of course he’s here and of course he’s everything they need.

Everything Donghyuck’s ever needed.

“Oh, f*ckthis.” Donghyuck mutters and leaves through the door again.

Much to his surprise and equal disdain, Mark follows after him like a collared puppy with no one to hold onto the other end of the leash.

“Donghyuck!” Renjun and Jeno’s voices call after him in a mish-mash of octaves and he’ll be damned if he hears Mark amidst them as well.

Mark’s voice calling his name in the ripe year of 2008 after radio silence from his end long enough for the sound to not mean anything anymore; yet, something inside Donghyuck stirs awake like a scab being picked at because you just can’t stop tripping over the same bump in the road over and over again. Donghyuck resents himself for it more than he resents Mark for being here. Somehow.

“Donghyuck, hey!” Comes Mark’s voice alone this time as he follows Donghyuck into the golden-lit evening, past the main entrance doors that Donghyuck pushes open and attempts but fails at slamming back shut right into Mark’s face, because Mark catches the handle in time before it manages to smash his teeth in, stupid f*cking tank top with his stupid f*cking muscles tensing as he halts the glass door mid-swing. Not that Donghyuck spared him a glance over his shoulder to check or anything.

“Donghyuck, dude. Can we talk?”

There’s no way this isn’t some sh*tty prank with everyone in on it to teach Donghyuck a lesson in behaving more nicely towards the people around him or something else Jeno caught a glimpse of from the templates their church displayed outside the main entrance in an attempt to lure in unassuming teenagers.

“Donghyuck—”

Donghyuck whips around with his arm swinging, but either he’s too slow or Mark’s too fast, because his fist goes through thin air, Mark having stepped back and out of the trajectory of Donghyuck’s firecracker fury.

“Woah!” He exclaims with dark eyebrows disappearing into the fringe of his bleached hair.

“Shut up,” Donghyuck mutters and turns back around to crouch down by the bike stand, pretending like his cheeks aren’t burning hot at the fact that he just threw the worst punch known to mankind in nearly broad daylight.

“You could have broken your thumb.”

“Shut up. I could’ve broken your nose.”

“No, like, literally.” Mark doesn’t relent. “If you put your thumb inside your fist when you swing, you’re gonna get it broken when it makes contact, dude.”

“Shut the hell up. I don’t wanna be talking to you.”

And much to Donghyuck’s surprise and equal disdain for some reason, Mark does actually shut up. For a little bit at least. Donghyuck can practically hear him buzzing out of his skin with the static of a light pole behind him, though pays it no mind as the realization dawns on him that he left his bag back at the classroom. With his keys in it. No other way to get the bike lock open.

The peace and quiet doesn’t last for too long, as all good things seemed to have a habit of extinguishing before Donghyuck could fully let himself relish in them.

“Look, you didn’t hear it because you were out, so you’ll have to take my word for it, but the guys kinda said I could start tomorrow,” Mark says and Donghyuck half-listens, still crouched and trying to come up with an excuse as to why he’s been staring at his bike lock for the past two minutes without doing anything. “Apparently there wasn’t anyone else who showed up, so they were actually kind of glad to see me, which made me really happy. I thought they’d be more like, you know, you are right now, but nah, they were chill— uh, you okay?”

Donghyuck stands up abruptly and grits through his teeth with his hands fisted in the sides of his jeans: “I’m fine.”

“You sure? You look really red, Donghyuck—”

Donghyuck whips around so suddenly that Mark nearly bumps into him midstep towards Donghyuck and nearly sends the both of them toppling over onto the pavement in a clutter of limbs.

“It’s Haechan.” He spits and Mark looks genuinely taken aback by such a tone of voice being directed at him

Mark blinks at him dumbly. Endearingly. f*ck.

“What?”

“In the band. I go by Haechan. So that’s probably what you should call me, since we’re gonna be bandmates and all.”

“Woah, you’re gonna agree just like that? The guys said that—”

“I don’t care about what the guys said.” Donghyuck hisses and his jaw hurts from how hard he’s gritting his teeth. “It’s not like we have any other option, so welcome to the f*cking band, I guess!”

He throws up his hands into the air but it looks like the flailing of one of those inflatable balloons that the local pizza place used to put up during the summer months before the place got shut down by pest control for having maggots in their cheese.

He lowers them back down with a groan.

“See you at practice tomorrow. Ask the guysfor the details. I’m going home.” Donghyuck says and shoves his clenched fists into the pockets of his leather jacket, glad he didn’t leave that at the classroom at least. Stupid bag.

“And put a f*cking jacket on. You look like a slu*t.” Donghyuck adds like an afterthought when he’s already a good distance away from Mark, no steps shuffling on the pavement behind him this time in a hurry to catch up. He twists to make sure Mark heard.

He did.

He gives Donghyuck a thumbs up from his spot still by the bike racks and Donghyuck turns back around with a roll of his eyes, scoffing to himself repeatedly on his lonely walk to the dorms.

It’s usually no more than a ten-minute bike ride to and from campus so conquering the same distance by foot should take approximately twice as much time, and yet, Donghyuck doesn’t even get halfway down the imaginary route he has mapped out in his head to avoid as many familiar faces as possible when his phone vibrates in his back pocket.

A text from an unknown number saying an ominous Hi is the only thing that shows up on his screen once Donghyuck flips it open.

He stops dead in his tracks and looks around, resting both his thumbs on the buttons needed to speed dial 911 in case today really was proving to be the worst imaginable string of misfortunes to ever grace a mortal’s existence and a stalker suddenly jumps out from the bushes with a knife.

Another buzz. Donghyuck regards his phone.

Unknown number:

This is Mark btw...

Donghyuck would rather get stabbed he thinks.

Unknown number:

Renjun said to text you about helping with loading the drums into my car tomorrow because everyone else is busy...

I’ll text you my address. It’s like a 5 min ride to Jeno’s place. Loading the car shouldn’t take more than like half an hr tops if we’re quick with it.

Sorry.....

Donghyuck doesn’t even wait for the follow-up message with the address attached because knowing where Mark lived somehow made this even more real than it was; if seeing the guy in the flesh after believing for him to be dead in a ditch for two years wasn’t enough.

His phone buzzes in his back pocket just as he slips it out of sight. Twice. So not just Mark’s address in the messages. Stupid prick. Donghyuck thinks he’d rather have him dead in a ditch, never to have shown face again.

Whatever.

It’s just the prom performance next week. They’ll find someone else to fill in afterward. He’ll manage.

Chapter 2: you're the looker, liquor, sugar & i'm the rotten apple of your eye

Chapter Text

Actually, the whole managing this thing ends up being a little harder than Donghyuck had initially anticipated. He ends up losing sleep over it, not that he’d ever admit to it, and his response to Jaehyun pointing out the dark circles under his eyes the next morning being a middle finger was also just a coincidental occurrence.

Mark’s back. Like, properly back. In the flesh and all. With bleached hair and no more of that scrawny mass on bone. Geez.

Donghyuck spent a good few hours until his eyes hurt to keep open, scouring the deep dark corners of Myspace on the dorm room’s computer after he’d made sure Jaehyun was sound asleep to spare himself the embarrassment of having to answer to Jaehyun inquiring about what he was doing online so late. He’d found Mark’s profile relatively quickly, actually. During the first ten minutes or so. The rest had been spent scrolling down the length of his profile until his head felt physically heavy enough on his shoulders to have him fall face-first into the keyboard and lose a few teeth. It was mostly just songs Mark was fond of. Or pictures of nature. Or chainmail from two years ago warning him that his mother will suffer a grave illness if he doesn’t reblog the post in the next five minutes.

After that Donghyuck had to check his phone five whole times throughout the night just to make sure he hadn’t hallucinated the text messages because the breakup with Jaemin was somehow subconsciously finally catching up to him and making the deeply rooted Mark chip in his brain chirp a muffled you deserve better.

Not that Mark was any better.

He’d left.

At least with Jaemin Donghyuck could find something to hate if he wanted to, that wasn’t the lack of him in his life which, really, said more about Donghyuck himself than it did about anyone else.

And now he's here, feet rooted in the doormat that spells out come in peace by Mark‘s apartment entrance, number 9 in the building.

And it's not Mark who opens the door when Donghyuck knocks, instead a handsome guy in around the same age range which prompts a confusing flurry of emotions inside Donghyuck’s tummy, amidst them some sick leftover hope despite these years followed by the bitter taste of disappointment and the heavy drop of his heart to his ass.

“Hey, you must be Donghyuck. Mark said you’d swing by.” The guy greets and opens the door wider, leaving enough space for Donghyuck to step in under his arm resting on the entryway in a wordless invite.

“I am.” Donghyuck says simply and clears his throat, nails digging into the flesh of his palms with how hard he's clenching his fists, stalling until he isn't. “And you are?”

“Jungwoo. Mark’s roommate.”

“Roommate?”

“It's when two people live together in the same–”

“I know what a roommate is.” Donghyuck says and ducks under Jungwoo’s arm to get inside the apartment. “Mark just didn't strike me as the type to live with a roommate.”

“Well, there's not much space for preference types when you're short on money.” Jungwoo’s voice comes from behind him as the door clicks shut, Donghyuck taking in what he assumes to be the living room, and then casually: “You close with Mark then?”

“No.”

Jungwoo laughs — except Donghyuck didn't mean it as a joke — disregarding the reply completely as he steps around Donghyuck with a sigh. “Well, you guys have fun. Mark should be back—” he checks his wristwatch, “—thirty minutes ago.”

Donghyuck twists around, eyes landing on Jungwoo now in the tiny kitchen area separated from the living room by a wooden table with an obviously handmade extension attached to one of the ends to elongate it to span the space from the oven to the sink.

“He’s not here?”

“Unless you’re seeing something I’m not then no, no he’s not here. Obviously.” Jungwoo laughs again, the breathy kind, as he pops open a drawer in the kitchen to retrieve a jangle of keys, and Donghyuck wonders what exactly about what he’s saying is so damn funny.

“Uh okay, where is he then?” Donghyuck asks and surveys his surroundings again, doing a full 360 in the middle of the living room, eyes suddenly going wide as they land back on Jungwoo now by the door. “sh*t, does a Mark even live here?”

“I literally said we were roommates before, didn't I?” Jungwoo answers but Donghyuck’s already fishing his flip phone out of his pocket to go over yesterday's messages from Mark to make sure he got the apartment number right and didn't just waltz into a stranger’s place.

On the tiny screen of Donghyuck’s phone beam two notifications. Both from Mark.

Unknown number

SORRY got caught up at work! I’ll be a little late but Jungwoo will let U in, I texted him already so U can just chill in my room after he leaves don’t even worry about it dude make Urself at home

And then, just under it, time stamped 5 minutes after the previous message:

Unknown number

Sorry again

“He probably just got swindled into covering for that one guy who needs to leave early every other week for a conveniently occuring family emergency again,” Jungwoo says and Donghyuck hears the floorboards creek under his feet as he steps towards the door, keys jingling, Donghyuck’s own gaze still trained on the phone, contemplating whether he should send a reply or leave Mark hanging in some attempt at a karmic gut punch that won’t even stand close to the ache Donghyuck still feels whenever he thinks about Mark leaving without a word all those years ago.

He folds the phone shut with a slap and pockets it, swallowing down the urge to inquire about the place Mark works at and how long he’s had said job, considering Donghyuck hadn’t noticed him come back and Donghyuck notices everything that happens here. The town’s small, an hour bike ride from one side to the other, easy for word to get around.

“I’ll lock you in, man. You make yourself at home.” Jungwoo says, one foot out the door.

“Where are you even going?” Donghyuck asks for the sake of making small talk.

“Family stuff. Legitimately.” Jungwoo says with a nod toward him. “You’re lucky you’re actually on time for things, or you’d have been left to stand in the hallway, unlike some .”

Donghyuck clears his throat. “Right, well, it is what it is.”

“Mark will be back soon, don’t worry.”

“I’m not.”

Jungwoo hums with a nod and sends Donghyuck a smile before he shuts the door behind him, Donghyuck hearing the lock click before silence engulfs the apartment and him in it whole.

It’s a nice place they’ve got themselves. Way nicer of a space than anything Donghyuck ever imagined Mark living in. Not that he imagined it much. Except when they’d lay on the roof of Donghyuck’s family house, just the two of them — Mark and Donghyuck like a package deal — under the endless stretch of the starry sky, speaking their futures into existence; what majors they’d do in their sh*tty community college, what their apartments would look like if they didn’t have to live in the dorms, what jobs they’d take up to ensure that they didn’t have to live in the dorms. Not a single version of each of their potential futures that didn’t have the other in them.

Funny how things work out.

Or, in this case, don’t.

There are two doors on either side of the living room which, Donghyuck assumes, must lead to the bedrooms.

But an idea strikes him with enough force to make him nauseatingly wobble on his feet as he makes his way to the door nearest to him, just by the kitchen.

There has to be a bathroom here, doesn’t there?

Roommates, his ass. Donghyuck pushes open the door to reveal a bedroom. One bedroom. Undoubtedly Mark’s — he still has those stupid U2 and Red Hot Chili Peppers posters leftover from high school plastered across his wall above the bed, and there’s a drumset by the window, about three pairs of drumsticks scattered across the carpeted floor, and a single unscrewed cymbal that Donghyuck had seen in Mark’s hands yesterday on campus.

There’s that same acoustic guitar from high school too, propped up on a stand by the drums. Same checkered blue sheets on the bed. Same polaroid camera on the window sill.

Midstep towards the neat stack of pictures just beside it, a quiet noise sounds just from behind him. A meow.

Donghyuck turns around and lowers his head to indeed find a cat staring up at him with two yellow eyes like buttons in the void-black fur of its little head and scrawny body, tail swishing like it cannot decide whether he’s set foot inside Mark’s room as friend or foe. Donghyuck wishes he could say which one of the two it was.

“Hey there, little one.” Donghyuck says, voice soft and barely above a whisper, and attempts to crouch down with a hand extended palm up, but as soon as his limbs move, the cat flees under the bed, sharp nails audibly scraping across the floor as it does so.

Donghyuck straightens up with a disappointed sigh and plops down on Mark’s bed, back hitting the mattress with a painful creek of the springs, and he doesn’t linger on the sound and the implications behind it, or how the sheets smell so much of Mark that it’s borderline nauseating.

For a while, he just stares up at the ceiling and wonders how he made it here and when the time will come for him to suddenly jolt awake back at his dorm room with all of this having been some fever-induced hallucination that had crept up on him in his vulnerable sleeping state.

Next thing Donghyuck knows, he does actually jolt awake and his first thought is that this really had just been his unconscious mind playing tricks on him, but then his gaze lands on a wide-eyed Mark with his hand resting on Donghyuck’s bare forearm, and sh*t, he hadn’t even noticed falling asleep.

Donghyuck sits up, flinching away from the warmth of Mark’s skin like burnt and Mark does the same, averting Donghyuck’s gaze like he’s ashamed for having touched him at all.

“Where the hell were you?” Donghyuck exasperates, unsure of what to feel, the smell of Mark from the sheets clinging to him like he’s doused in it, the actual Mark just within an arm’s reach — Donghyuck sees and he knows because it’d been Mark’s hand that he’d just felt against his own skin, warm. Unsure on unfamiliar ground with the scale not tipped in his favor so he results to what he knows. “If you can’t make it to five then don’t text me to meet you at five, Jesus. How long was I out for?”

Mark shrugs, disregarding everything Donghyuck had just said except for the very last bit like his brain can’t comprehend more than a single thread of information he has to follow up on.

“I just got here. You were out cold.” He says. “Flea was sleeping next to you all curled up. Made me think you were asleep for a while. She’s not too fond of strangers in her space.”

Flea.

Jesus Christ.

“You named your cat Flea?” Donghyuck squints up at Mark through the bright sunlight suddenly blurring his vision.

“Yeah, after the—”

“I know who that is.” Donghyuck rubs at his eyes. “God, you’re such a nerd.” He stifles a yawn into the back of his one hand and gestures vaguely at the drumset with his other one. “You gonna get started on the drums? The guys are gonna be pissed as hell if we’re late.”

Mark raises a brow, shoulders less tense than they had been mere moments ago somehow. “More pissed than you are right now?”

“I’m not pissed.”

“Sure,” Mark says and does that thing where he widens his eyes with his brows raised with his lips pursuing and head shaking which meant that he was making fun of Donghyuck in an inexplicit way that could’ve just been deemed explicit at this point because of how often Donghyuck had seen him do it.

“What’s with the eyes? I’m not!”

“If you say so.” Mark does that expression again, adding two raised hands on purpose and a smile he seems unable to stop from tugging at the corners of his lips.

Donghyuck gets up from the bed just to he can kick Mark in the shin with the toe of his sneaker, smoothly passing by and finding purchase against the wall by the drumset with his hands crossed over his chest, fingers digging into his biceps hard enough to ground and to hurt.

Mark regards him with that same look, just softer around the edges — that Donghyuck purposefully ignores — and gets to work on dismantling one of the stands.

“So, where’d your boyfriend go?” Donghyuck asks casually, suddenly interested in the variety of posters covering Mark’s walls despite having seen them hundreds of times back in Mark’s childhood bedroom.

“Who? ”

“Jungwoo? Is he not, like, your boyfriend, or what is it that people call their significant others these days?”

“What? ” Mark squeaks and maybe Donghyuck imagines the way the metal stand nearly clatters to the ground with Mark’s knuckle-white grip on it wavering. “He’s not— he’s— Jungwoo’s not my boyfriend! We’re friends! He’s my roommate! I’m not—” he laughs nervously, cutting himself off with a shake of his head followed by a leveled repeat of: “Jungwoo’s not my boyfriend.”

“Why do you sound so offended?”

“I don’t sound offended!”

“Defensive about it then.”

“I’m not defensive about it,” Mark huffs out a laugh and when Donghyuck dares to spare him a glance, he finds Mark already staring, and has to look away back to the pile of dirty laundry by the bed. “He’s just not my boyfriend. He’s my roommate.”

“A roommate you share a bed with?”

“Where are you getting this stuff from?” Mark asks, genuinely on the verge of proper laughter now, watching Donghyuck with glimmering eyes in a way that is so obvious that Donghyuck can spot it at the corner of his vision without having to properly regard Mark at all. “Did you dream it up while you were knocked out, or what? Jungwoo sleeps in his own bed. The one down the hall, in his own bedroom. I don’t like people in my space.”

“That’s what I said when he—” Donghyuck clears his throat, examining his dirtied Converse. “If there are two bedrooms, do you piss in the kitchen sink then?”

“There is a bathroom, but it’s like an ensuite in Jungwoo’s room. It’s a really sh*t layout, believe me, I know, but it’s his place so it’s not like I can complain. You need to go?”

“No, I’m just asking.”

“Why?”

“So I can map out the layout of this place and rob you later, obviously.” Donghyuck rolls his eyes, watching Mark’s fingers work open one of the bolts of the remaining stand. “I’m just making small talk, idiot.”

Mark doesn’t look up when he smiles to himself, shaking his head as if to wipe it off his features. “You don’t make small talk.” He says.

“You never replied to my initial question.” Donghyuck says to steer the topic away from himself, not too keen on being in the spotlight off the stage.

“Which was?”

“Right.” Donghyuck mocks. “This is how much you listen to the sh*t I actually say. I see how it is.”

“Apologies, you’re just so enthralling to talk to that I got a little carried away. What was the question again?”

“I asked where Jungwoo went, smartass.”

“Family stuff.” Mark answers surprisingly, instead of another totally and completely feeble attempt at riling Donghyuck up. “I dunno honestly. He doesn’t seem too fond of talking about it so I don’t really ask.”

“What about the drums?” Donghyuck kicks one of the sides of the bass drum lightly with his foot. “Doesn’t he complain about the noise?”

“The drums you’re currently not helping me with?” Mark regards him with a raised brow but doesn’t actually do anything to persuade Donghyuck in helping him with the disassembling. “No. We have an agreement. He gets to f*ck the girls he brings over and I don’t complain about them, so he doesn’t complain about the drums. If anything, it’s kind of a symbiotic sort of relationship. He f*cks while I play, and I play while he f*cks.”

Donghyuck stifles a smile into the back of his hand that he brings up to his mouth to pretend to wipe at something on his top lip. “What do the girls say?”

“What can they say? It’s not like Jungwoo warns them about it. Besides, sometimes they come up to me after they’re done and ask about stuff.”

“Like if you wanna join?”

Mark laughs, a sudden noise that he stifles by shaking his head and sending Donghyuck a look, all sparkly eyes and cheeks soft around the edges with warmth, and, oh, it’s so easy to fall back into old habits like this when they’re things they’ve developed together. Like muscle memory and knowing where to slide his fingers on the strings of his guitar to strum a cord without looking down.

It’s almost like nothing had happened.

Like nothing ever will happen and they’ll continue orbiting each other like fate had written in red ink.

“No, none of that. About the drums, about me playing. The generic stuff. It’s just small talk. Though, there is this one girl who plays herself. Cath. We still meet up sometimes, talk about whatever.”

Donghyuck ignores the sudden pang in his chest at the words, stepping on one of the bolts that rolls away from between Mark’s fingers towards the wall to kick it back gently. Talk about whatever. “Generic stuff about drums?” He asks.

“No, not just that. About other things too. How’s work, how’s school? How this place sucks.”

It’s more difficult than it should be to bite down the primal urge to ask Mark why’d he come back then — if staying was so unbearable that he had to disappear without letting Donghyuck know until he found out himself.

“So you stole your roommate’s girl.” Donghyuck says instead to not make things complicated because no one likes complicated. “Isn’t that like a violation of bro-code or something?”

“Bro code? Dude, seriously?”

“Well, sorry, I don’t know what straight people call their sh*t.”

Mark laughs, quieter, and a silence follows as he picks up the scattered nuts and bolts and pockets them in his basketball shorts. The cat — Flea — finally slips out from the space under the bed and nudges Mark’s bent knee with her little head, tail trembling

“So? How about you?” Donghyuck speaks up before the silence settles too permanently, reaching for some clarification that would let him move on from something that probably didn’t even really affect anyone else except him and his foolish teenage heart. “Bring any girls over?”

“No, not really.” Mark replies, one hand reaching out to scratch at Flea’s chin; Donghyuck hums, and he must sound disappointed even to Mark’s ears because Mark raises an eyebrow at him through his bleached fringe. “What? You offering to set me up?”

“No. I don’t know many girls. Single ones, I mean. Most of them are in relationships and, well, not into guys all that much. So...”

“So?”

“So what?”

“I don’t know! You were the one who brought it up!”

“Whatever.”

A beat of silence. Flea watches Donghyuck with her wide yellow eyes. Mark raises his head to eye Donghyuck as well.

“So… are you gonna help me with the drums now or what?”

✮

They do end up being late, as seems to be the order of things whenever Donghyuck was involved every time.

The guys do end up pissed at the fact, though it’s mostly Renjun, and it’s not even proper anger, just passive aggressiveness that manifests in the form of him not returning Donghyuck’s greeting and pretending he doesn’t hear Donghyuck ask him to please pass the guitar pick. But he gets over it about five minutes into practice.

Mark keeps checking his phone every couple of minutes while the rest set up like the thing might explode if he doesn't fondle it with this furrowed brow expression on his face.

Five songs — that’s what they’re doing for prom — three originals and two covers. Jeno briefs Mark on that much.

“What are the covers?” Mark asks from his temporary seat behind the drumset, phone discarded and fingers of his right hand twirling one of the sticks while he taps on his left knee with the other one, not even bothering to look down, gaze trained up and ahead at Jeno across the garage amidst the folded carpet corners and tangled wires like vines across the ground.

Now this is a little embarrassing.

“Oh, it’s Vertigo by U2 and Tell Me Baby by Red Hot Chili Peppers.” Jeno lists them off the top of his head like he’s reciting his ABCs with how many times they’ve played these exact songs at gigs to fill up the spaces in their sets that their original stuff didn’t manage to.

Mark’s gaze snaps from Jeno to Donghyuck who pretends not to notice, fiddling with the pegs of his guitar like it’s suddenly out of tune after he’d just tuned it last night to keep his hands busy when he couldn’t fall asleep. Courtesy of Mark. f*cking prick.

“Do you have a hunch on, like, what the songs sound like?” Jeno asks to make matters even more mortifying, oblivious to the unpleasant aura oozing out of Donghyuck like he’s one second away from disappearing into a wormhole that shall appear under his feet out of sheer will.

Renjun watches him with a pained expression from the ratty couch, munching on his candy bar.

“Uh, yeah,” Mark replies with an unsure laugh. “They’re two of my favorite bands actually.”

“Oh.” Jeno pipes up, genuinely surprised, entire body turning to Donghyuck in the most obvious attempt at getting his attention known to mankind. “That’s a crazy coincidence because—”

“Can we start ?” Donghyuck throws his head back and groans, turning to point accusingly at Renjun splayed across the couch. “Are you done eating your f*cking Mars bar?”

Renjun throws one hand up in defense, the other holding onto his candy bar. “I was waiting for you to stop pretending to tune your guitar so we could actually get to work, but yeah, I’m done.”

“I wasn’t pretending, the pegs are sensitive.”

“Like owner like guitar.” Renjun mumbles as he pulls himself up from the couch, throwing the half-eaten candy bar on the questionably stained cushions.

As the bigger person in this case, Donghyuck chooses to ignore the remark for the sake of himself and everyone else in the room, but mostly just so he doesn’t give Renjun the satisfaction of biting his obvious lure.

Start they do, going through each song on its own a few times to adjust to one another and fit in Mark amidst the strings in a way that will sound right.

The covers are an easy enough feat, considering the awful coincidence that both the songs just so happened to be to Mark’s nerdy liking.

The original tracks are a little bit trickier, considering that one of the songs is a recent addition to their recycled set, only having been written a few weeks prior over some beer and a single poorly rolled joint at the junkyard with Jimin to keep Donghyuck company last minute because Jaemin couldn't make it once again.

At least there are no lyrics involved as they go through the basics of the song to make Mark blend in as seamlessly as possible. Now that would’ve made it properly embarrassing. They manage.

Despite his existing prejudices for personal reasons that the others are better left in the dark about, it’d be stupid to deny that Mark’s incredible. At the drums, of course. Donghyuck’s not stupid enough to deny the factual truth in front of him — everyone can see it, everyone will see it when they show up at prom with a new drummer in tow instead of Jaemin’s friendly face. Though, Mark’s face wasn't too bad either. It was actually anything but bad. He was a ridiculously handsome guy, somehow even better looking than when Donghyuck had last seen him, as if he’d really grown into the features given to him by whatever higher being created him. Or maybe it was the bleached hair. It looked stupidly good on him; made Donghyuck seethe a little with envy and something else entirely that he was not willing to acknowledge on this particular evening, or ever for that matter.

Thanks to Jaemin’s habit of never carrying with him stuff that he couldn't fit in his pockets out of sheer stubbornness to not buy a bag, there’s still his drum notation sheets lying around the garage that Renjun collects page by page and hands to Mark to take a look. It's all hand drawn with doodles on the edges and ink stains across the lines, but Mark doesn't seem to mind.

“What happened to your guys’ previous drummer by the way?” Mark asks casually, flipping through the pages, “You never did tell me. Donghyuck kinda barged in out of nowhere.”

“He quit.” Donghyuck replies without looking at him just so he can get his word in before either Renjun or Jeno decides to run a confessional out of nowhere.

Mark makes a soft oh sound at the back of his throat. “Just like that?” He says.

“Just like that.” Donghyuck confirms.

Renjun clears his throat around the sudden tension in the room. “He wasn't half as good as you, though, so you can give yourself a pat on the back if that's, like, a thing you do.”

“Yeah,” Jeno agrees, “everyone knows Donghyuck took him on only because he had a f*cking boner–”

Donghyuck sends him an alarmed look across the room, and Jeno backtracks immediately, eyes wide as he parts his mouth like a fish out of water.

“A boner as in– a, uh… admiration… you know? When you, like, really admire someone for their skills.”

“A figure of speech if you will.” Renjun swoops in to save the day.

Mark’s voice lacks any malice when he asks, ignoring the poor attempts at saving face: “You dated him?”

“No.” Donghyuck replies immediately anyway. A practiced response. Muscle memory. Just in case. Would it bother you if I had?

Just like that Mark hums and they get back to practice.

✮

The persistent dinging of Mark’s phone is starting to piss Donghyuck off. The constant press of keys as Mark hurries to type out a reply. The lip he worries between his teeth as his eyes scan the tiny screen of his flip phone after yet another buzz because he’s apparently become self-aware enough to realize how annoying the dinging was being and taken it upon himself to put the phone on silent. It’s all irksome as hell.

It's not like Donghyuck can say anything about it though because they’ve called it a day after four hours of the same song repeats and a single dinner break when Jeno’s mom brought them a burrito each on her way home from work after Jeno’s request because he’d gone on a noble mission to raid the fridge before and came back dejected with the news that there was nothing but milk and eggs and celery sticks in there.

It’s none of Donghyuck’s business what Mark does on his phone — if anything, he’s the one making the most progress in cleaning up in comparison to Renjun who’s hunting down and untangling every one of his wires marked with red scotch tape because he needs them for the small gig he’s helping an acquaintance out with tomorrow. Still, it pisses Donghyuck off.

“Who are you texting?” Donghyuck asks, unable to stop himself after holding out silently for so long. “Your girlfriend?”

Mark’s head snaps up from his phone and his gaze doesn’t fall on Donghyuck immediately like he’s disoriented after a particularly long nap, eyes wide like those of a deer caught in headlights.

“Oh, no.” He says after the words finally seem to register in his brain, huffing out a laugh, and there’s none of the defensiveness from back at the apartment when Donghyuck had asked the same-natured question in regards to Jungwoo. “It’s just a friend. She’s going on a date tonight. Getting weird vibes from the guy apparently.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’s fine.” Donghyuck says, wondering after if it’s a mean thing to just disregard her and Mark’s worries like that.

Mark laughs awkwardly. “Can never be too sure. Better safe than sorry, as they say.”

“Where’s the date?” Renjun asks, multiple wires slung across his neck like snakes, hands extended in search of another to add to his collection.

“Oh, just a bar downtown.”

Downtown as code for in the middle of f*cking nowhere because anything that wasn’t in close vicinity to the mall or the community college was fancily branded as being downtown.

“Which one?”

There’s a total of three bars one of which was tethering towards bankruptcy anyway.

“Uh,” Mark checks his phone, pressing the arrow upwards to scroll back on the text messages until he finds what he was looking for, turning back to Renjun who doesn’t even look up from his wire hunt. “She said Forum.”

All three of them snort at the same time.

“So the guy’s a cheapass.” Renjun says.

“Who takes a girl to Forum for a first date?” Jeno laughs to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s like he wants to make a bad impression.”

“Maybe he’s just broke?” Mark suggests weakly.

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Maybe he should get a job.”

“Says Mr. Employment.”

“f*ck you, Renjun. It’s not like I offer to take girls out on dates with two digits on my name.”

“Offer, like there are any girls asking.”

“f*ck. You.”

“I’ll pass.”

Jeno steps between them on his way to place his guitar in the stand and that’s enough to have Donghyuck dropping his end of the line pulled taut before it snaps and lashes everyone in the room in its rebound.

“You need help loading the drums?” Donghyuck asks Mark, turning to look at him properly for what might be the first time since they got here.

“Uh,” Mark says dumbly, attention still on that stupid phone of his before finally pocketing it and rising from the cushioned stool. “Yeah, sure, I could use a hand.”

“I’ll help.” Jeno pipes up — a kind gesture to the unassuming eye, but Donghyuck knows it’s just him wanting them all out of his damn house. Not that Donghyuck can blame him. It’s late enough that the sun’s long ago set and the sky’s begun to turn dark.

They get to work, the three of them carrying each drum and stand to the trunk of Mark’s blue pickup, while Renjun packs up all his stuff, double-checking that he didn’t leave anything behind to spare himself the embarrassment of having to knock on Jeno’s door at the crack of dawn tomorrow because he forgot an adapter or something.

“We're gonna do great on Friday.” Jeno says as he and Mark maneuver Donghyuck’s bike out from the trunk to make space for the drums like he can sense Mark’s worries because Mark had actually been right back at the apartment about Donghyuck not being the type to make small talk. Jeno on the other hand…

“I’m sure.” Mark says, all likable smiles and soft tone of voice. It gets under Donghyuck’s skin even without such intention. “You guys are really great.”

Jeno nudges Mark’s shoulder with a light bump of his fist. “You're really great, too. You ought to give yourself more credit and stop worrying so much.”

“Thanks, man.”

“No problem, dude, I'm just stating facts though.”

A car honks by the curb behind them and the three snap their heads to the source of the noise. It’s Renjun’s friend who doubles as a middleman for that band he’s helping out tomorrow. Yangyang was his name, if Donghyuck recalls correctly, and his willingness to drop everything just to abide by Renjun’s every whim was as entertaining of a thing to witness as it was embarrassing; on the guy’s behalf of course.

He greets them with an unsure wave through the windshield, clearly not mentally equipped enough to make awkward conversation with Donghyuck and Jeno as he waited for Renjun and his chronic fault of never asking anyone for help ever which, in the long run, only made things worse for everyone involved.

Somehow Mark seems like an addition that could help combat that initial unpleasantness because he sort of had that air about him that made everything feel more bearable than it actually was outside of his own little magnetic field, but Donghyuck doesn’t get to dwell on it for too much because Renjun’s scurrying through the garage door with hands full of cables and his bass case slung across one shoulder that makes him nearly topple into Jeno’s neatly mowed front lawn.

“See you guys on Monday!” Renjun says from the curb as he jogs across the street to an awaiting Yangyang opening the passenger side door clumsily from the inside. “And Mark stop f*cking dragging all the time, I promise you no one’s gonna think you’re a try-hard, that’s literally why we took you on.”

“That’s what I said.” Jeno mutters in agreement to no one in particular.

Mark responds with an unsure wave sent across the street that Renjun doesn’t catch anyway, getting inside the car and slamming the door shut behind him, attention diverted from anything happening outside that small enclosure shared with his friend.

“Well,” Jeno sighs and clasps his hands together after they watch Yangyang’s car drive off. “I’m calling it a day. It was fun today. Can’t wait to play on stage properly. It’ll be a blast.”

“I’m sure.” Donghyuck replies as he watches Jeno attempt to sleazily walk backward to the garage door like they won’t notice him wanting to get away if he maintains eye contact, the sensory light clicking on once he sets foot close enough.

He keeps looking at them, smiling reassuringly as he steps behind the door and pulls at the lever to slam the garage door shut with a bang that echoes through half the neighborhood.

“He’s an idiot.” Donghyuck tells Mark once it’s just the two of them again, no malice in his tone.

Mark turns to him, laughing softly. “He’s nice.” He says, humming to himself and regarding the closed garage door. “I like him.”

“Yeah, well,” Donghyuck tries again, “he’s an idiot.”

“Okay.” Mark says through another breathy laugh, not taking any of what Donghyuck had said to heart, too smitten with Jeno of all people who once again, while being completely unaware, had gotten the upper hand over things Donghyuck was never good at no matter how hard he tried.

He doubts Mark thinks he’s nice.

Whatever.

“Whatever.” Donghyuck says and turns to pick up his bike from the grass, slinging his guitar case over his shoulders before speaking again. “See you on Monday.” He adds.

“Yeah,” Mark says with his eyes following Donghyuck as he pushes his bike off Jeno’s lawn and onto the asphalted road until Donghyuck’s back is to him and he can pretend the gaze doesn't burn anymore, breath audibly caught up in Mark’s throat like he wants to say something more, but doesn’t manage anything of substance, settling for a simple: “See you.”

Not that he gets the opportunity to say something else even if he wanted to because Mark’s ringtone blasts through the empty dusk-enveloped street.

Donghyuck strains his hearing to make out a bubbly hey into the receiver, directed at whoever it was on the other end before he stops listening, instead watching the green branches sway in the warm breeze and pushing his bike down the street unhurriedly.

That is, until the tone of Mark’s voice speaking on the phone shifts into something of alarm.

There’s some incoherent mumbling into the receiver that Donghyuck can’t make out even if he tries with how much distance he’s managed to put between them even with his snail's pace, and then the sound of Mark’s car door slamming shut, proceeded by the sound of an engine starting.

Starting, starting, starting over and over again with not a single successful attempt at getting it to actually run.

“sh*t!” Mark’s voice rings through the empty street and then, quieter, meant for the person on the other end of the line. “Don’t stray from the main street, got it? I’m serious.”

Donghyuck stops mid-step, rusty bike parts creaking at the halt.

“Minjeong, I’m f*cking serious. Don’t go anywhere.” Mark says into the phone, the alarming tone of his voice making each word louder than the previous in a flurry that he might not even notice. “I’m coming to pick you up, just stay put. I’ll be there in ten minutes tops. Stay put!”

Another futile attempt at revving up the engine.

Jesus f*cking Christ.

Donghyuck takes a deep breath and twists to meet Mark’s eyes as he hollers at him to get on the bike.

“What?” Mark hollers back, halfway out of the car, watching Donghyuck like he’s a mirage.

“Your friend is in trouble,” Donghyuck yells and watches Mark’s dumbstruck expression. “Get on the f*cking bike!”

And get on the f*cking bike Mark does indeed, scurrying across the street to get to Dongnyuck in a mess of ruffled hair and clumsy limbs that almost land him face-first on the pavement.

“What about my stuff?” Mark asks on a breath, chest stuttering, arms wordlessly falling open as Donghyuck swings his guitar case off his back and into Mark’s awaiting hands like they've practiced this before.

“Jeno will keep an eye out. Get on.” Donghyuck replies and scoots forward to make space for Mark on the bike seat.

“The Forum. Minjeong, she's–”

Donghyuck climbs over the crossbar, one foot on the pedal, gaze trained forward like that will make Mark’s chest pressing up against his back any less real. “Left at the crossroad junction, straight down third avenue till the old gas station–”

“Right turn just before the station.” Mark cuts him off, hands fluttering awkwardly at Donghyuck’s sides, touch never lingering in one place for too long as if scared to commit. “The dirt path. It's faster, won’t lead you around the block but through a shortcut instead.” His hands finally land on Dongyuck’s hips, firm on his jean shorts with not a finger slipping above the waistband to where his shirt has ridden up to expose skin.

Donghyuck rolls his eyes and lets go of the steering wheel for a moment to take both of Mark’s hands and guide them to loop around his waist properly, warm skin pressing against the curve of Donghyuck’s tummy.

“The guitar case is messing up your center of gravity. You’ll fall off and smash your head open on the pavement.” Donghyuck mumbles barely loud enough for Mark to hear like he’s making an excuse for himself and grabs the wheel again, one foot on the pedal, pressing down on it and sending them and the bike forward.

Quite honestly, it’s a sh*tshow.

The distance to the bar itself isn’t all that unconquerable, but Donghyuck is definitely not fit out for pulling the weight of two people while standing upright on his feet on the pedals because it’s Mark’s ass that’s on the bike seat, and there really is no other option unless he’s willing to sit in Mark’s lap which he isn’t, so there truly is no other way out of this. Mark’s hands around his middle are already more than enough and cross every line and break every promise Donghyuck had drawn and made after Mark had left two years ago to never get hurt like that again.

There is no sun to cook him to the bone at least, which Donghyuck is glad about, but he’s sweating like crazy anyway, pretty certain Mark can feel it from where they’re pressed together like two ice creams on a stick melted together in the heat.

“Can you be any slower?” Mark whines behind him.

“Can you be any heavier?” Donghyuck takes a particularly sharp turn just before the gas station like Mark had said, making him yelp and clutch at Donghyuck’s middle harder with his clammy hands.

“I’m gonna sway sideways and send us both clattering to the ground, I’m serious.” Mark threatens him with an empty promise he doesn't get to act on because just like that they reach the main street with the bar, and, surely there is a girl their age standing by the entrance with her purse clutched to her chest and a 6-foot man towering over her, not getting the hint.

Mark taps his hip with a hand and Donghyuck presses on the brakes, bike tires screeching against the heated pavement, and as soon as they jolt to a halt, Mark unpeels himself from Donghyuck’s back with the guitar case shoved into Donghyuck’s general vicinity which he luckily manages to catch with one hand and keep the bike from clattering to the ground with the other.

His legs burn, his lungs heave, his chest aches as he watches Mark stalk toward his friend and her date.

“Hey.” Donghyuck makes out Mark’s lips moving to say, regaining his breathing and raising a hand to wipe at the sweat on his brow as he watches him envelop the girl into a side-hug, arm resting on her shoulder and squeezing the skin there in what must be an attempt to comfort.

They exchange some words, Mark’s expression set into something determined — something Donghyuck hadn't seen even when Mark was playing back at the garage — and there was nothing in the world that Mark took more seriously than drums. Apparently, that had changed, too.

The guy eventually leaves, even if reluctantly so, watching Donghyuck with an eerie look until he cuts a corner, and that’s when Mark fully turns to his friend — Minjeong, his mouth parts to say before he leans down to mutter something into her ear with furrowed brows and pouted lips that Minjeong listens to with a roll of her eyes.

A spectator from the sidelines — Donghyuck watches with the sensation that he's witnessing life slip through his fingers without him able to do anything to stop it. It’s a funny feeling. His throat burns, surely from the labored breathing he's now managed to get under control. Donghyuck hates it.

Minjeong pulls back with a raised brow and Donghyuck makes out the word car forming on her lips before Mark’s rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly and gesturing towards Donghyuck across the street on his bike, clutching his guitar case and blinking at them like an idiot who’s not supposed to be here.

He kind of expects the girl to ignore his presence or to lean back into Mark’s space to whisper something to him or f*cking kiss him or something, prepared to just put a guillotined end to any sickening hope still preserving somewhere deep in Donghyuck’s gut even after all this time.

But instead, she takes in Donghyuck’s disheveled state and muffles a laugh into the back of her hand before raising it to wave at him.

She cups both hands over her mouth then, and calls to Donghyuck across the street a “Thank you!”

Donghyuck nods and raises a hand in response.

With that she turns on her heel and steps towards the way she must’ve initially intended to head in before that date of hers f*cked her plan up by being s creep. Donghyuck doesn't know the details of what had happened, but Mark had sounded quite distressed on the phone with her, so Donghyuck naturally assumed it was something of great tragedy that could potentially happen to her.

But maybe it had nothing to do with that and everything to do with Mark caring for his friend very deeply. Maybe that's all it was.

All it never was to Donghyuck.

Mark sends one last look over his shoulder at Donghyuck, small wave as a goodbye, and runs after Minjeong to fall into a steady step beside her.

Maybe that's all it is.

For a while Donghyuck stands on the side of the street, watching Mark and feeling with every step away the hope within him diminish at the prospect of Mark looking back. They cut a corner. Mark doesn't look back.

Donghyuck slings his guitar case over his shoulders and runs a hand through his sweaty hair, shirt sticking to his back and making him shiver when a gentle breeze flutters his way.

He pulls on the steering wheel of his bike, maneuvering it around to face the other end of the street — north, the direction where the dorms are, where Jaehyun waits for him on his unmade bed with his headphones on and some Depeche Mode song playing on loop, and where Donghyuck will return tonight and ignore Jaehyun’s question about what's with the long face in favor of dumping all of his belongings on the floor and flopping face down into the mattress of his bed.

Before he manages to mount his bike properly, his phone dings. Once. Twice.

Unknown number

Thank you, seriously.

I owe you one.

Donghyuck flips his phone back shut and holds back on the urge to send it flying across the street.

“f*ck,” Donghyuck mutters to himself instead and slams his forehead against the rubber part on the steering wheel of his bike.

✮

At practice on Monday is when Donghyuck sees Mark again.

He’s discarded his beige leather jacket because Jeno’s garage heats up quickly with only that many people able to fit inside before the air turns stuffy and unbearable, the 75 degree weather outside and midday sunlight shining directly through the glass panes not helping their situation at all.

Mark’s bared arms aren’t helping either.

Donghyuck messes up his chords more times than he’s willing to admit.

It’s f*cking with his head. Mark’s f*cking with his head without even being aware of doing such a thing, fingers twirling one of his drumsticks with practiced precision absentmindedly like a habit, like one would pick ar their fingernails or bounce a thing, flipping and turning the stick to near-clatter to the concrete ground which it never does, Mark’s skilled grasp catching it before it slips. He’s flipping through the lyric sheets for their original songs for Friday and all Donghyuck can think about as he observes him from the other side of the garage is that he shouldn’t be here.

Donghyuck had worked hard to rewire his brain to adapt to a life without Mark in it after he’d left, and, in all honesty, it was a little scary how easy it was for all the progress to unravel like a poorly wound cassette tape at the mere sight of Mark here; with him; like he’d never left at all.

Renjun and Jeno have left to heat up leftovers for them to eat after having played nonstop for about two hours now. There are no classes for any of them today, and Mark said he has a work shift only at six. God knows if he even goes to college. Donghyuck doesn’t know anything about him anymore.

“How’s your friend?”

Mark’s eyes snap up and he looks startled like he hadn’t expected for Donghyuck to acknowledge his presence which he’d done a relatively good job at so far if he does say so himself.

Donghyuck’s not entirely sure what he’d hoped to achieve when he’d purposefully ignored Mark’s hey when Jeno had brought him inside through the door that led to the house’s kitchen. He just hoped it’d make Mark do something, say something to make up for the sleepless weekend he’d suffered at his indirect hands.

But no.

Mark seemed to be content enough with acting like nothing had happened between them, refusing to acknowledge the elephant in the room that made every word exchanged equivalent to that of being hit in the face with a dodgeball.

Though maybe in Mark’s mind nothing really had happened. Maybe there was no elephant in his perspective of the room and maybe there were no dodgeballs to catch. Maybe he’d left because he simply didn’t care, and he’d come back because of the exact same reason.

“Oh, she’s fine.” Mark answers after a while too long to be appropriate for coming up with such a terse response. “She slept over at my place for the night because I didn’t want her going back to the dorms alone. Better to be safe than sorry, y’know.”

Donghyuck hums thoughtfully. “She seems like she can take care of herself just fine.”

“Yeah, well, just because someone can take care of themselves, doesn’t mean they don’t need a helping hand every now and then.”

“Yeah, well, maybe she didn’t want your helping hand, did you think about that?”

“What is your problem, dude?”

“I don’t have a problem, dude.”

“You’re upset.” Mark observes.

“Oh, am I?” Donghyuck raises his voice without meaning to, forcing himself to calm down at the startled expression on Mark’s face when he turns to look at him. “What? Gonna offer me a helping hand?”

Mark regards him with a leveled look but Donghyuck can see corners of his carefully placed facade waver with the annoyance simmering underneath. “I don’t know what your problem is, but you’re being kind of an ass right now, Donghyuck.”

“How would you f*cking know anything?” A mean laugh escapes him, the harshness masking the hurt underneath. “You left.”

That shuts Mark up. Shuts the both of them up.

Once again that unscratchable itch is back, the ache for Mark to do something, say something that will prove Donghyuck’s assumptions wrong.

But pride is a heavy weight even if a fragile thing in itself — Donghyuck would know — and so Mark doesn’t do or say anything, opting instead for silence that fills the room like lead.

✮

“What do you mean he’s back?” Jimin asks with a sour expression, twisting in the desk chair away from the monitor. “I thought you said he was dead in a ditch.”

“I said I hoped he was dead in a ditch.”

“Like hell you did. You cried over the guy like there was no tomorrow.”

“I’m serious,” Donghyuck says, ignoring the last part, “he’d honestly should’ve stayed in whatever place he’s been crawled into for the past two years.”

“Where was he crawled into by the way?”

Donghyuck huffs and repositions himself with his legs crossed on the carpeted dorm room floor for the fourth time in the past five minutes.

“Like hell do I know.” He says and strums on his guitar once, emphasizing on the way he drops the pick onto the open notebook, looking up at Jimin’s raised brows. “I don’t care.”

“Sure you don’t.” She says, not believing him at all.

“I don’t!”

“Then why are we talking about him right now?”

“We’re not.” Donghyuck says and pointedly turns back to the pages with scribbled chords and lyrics accompanying each strum. He needed an acoustic for this. “I don’t know who you’re referring to.”

A clacking of keys sounds through the silent room as a response instead of a verbal taunt and the chair creaks as Jimin turns back to face the monitor screen. “What’d you say the girl’s name was again?” Comes after a little while longer.

“Minjeong.”

Some more clacking of keys and then a quiet aha that Donghyuck pretends not to notice or care about as he mindlessly flips through the notebook pages with the guitar pick between his lips as he repositions his left hand from a D major to a D minor.

Jimin huffs out a laugh.

Donghyuck rolls his eyes and takes the pick out from between his lips, tucking it under the guitar strings. “What?”

“Her last five posts have been her ranting about how excited she is for the Twilight movie adaption in November.”

“Probably gonna go on a date with Mark to see it.” Donghyuck mumbles under his nose, too spiteful and pathetic to let himself say it any louder.

“She doesn't seem to have a single mention of Mark on her profile.” Jimin hums thoughtfully and Donghyuck can hear the wheel of the mouse turn as she scrolls further down Minjeong’s Myspace page. “Usually girls in relationships put their and their boyfriend's names in their bios with, like, heart emoticons or something.”

Donghyuck doesn't as much as look up.

Jimin gasps. “Oh my God,” she whispers, “there’s a pic of them kissing.”

Donghyuck jolts up from his spot on the floor and nearly slams into the edge of his desk, smashing all his teeth in, with the way his legs wobble after being bent for so long just to catch a glimpse of said picture before Jimin scrolls past.

There’s no kissing pic though, and Jimin looks up at him from her spot on the chair and bursts into laughter.

“f*ck you.” Donghyuck huffs out and moves to flop down face first onto the bed, muffling into the sheets, barely audible: “Like, actually, f*ck you. I hate you. I hate you so much.”

“I can't believe you fell for that, you're so easy, Lee Donghyuck.” She giggles and pats Donghyuck’s ass comfortingly twice before she returns to scrolling further down Minjeong’s profile, mouse wheel creaking. “I don't care my ass. Never lie to me again.”

✮

As she is about most things, Jimin is right about Donghyuck’s bullsh*t excuses in regards to Mark as well.

He wouldn't go as far as to bring out the big guns and claim that he cares , but he doesn't exactly not not care either. It’s a complicated ordeal. Donghyuck’s a poli sci student, not a quantum physicist.

So as he halts to a stop in front of the diner all the way at the edge of town, he just hopes Jimin won't get a whiff of it to save himself the embarrassment of her confrontation.

Donghyuck knows Mark’s working today. A twelve hour shift that ends at 10 PM. A quick glance at the digital clock on his phone’s display — 9:30 PM right now, with the sun just having begun to set.

How he knows exactly? Well, lets just say he hopes Jimin never gets a whiff of him biking all the way to Mark and Jungwoo’s apartment to drop off some totally important note sheets that Mark had totally left behind at Jeno’s place and then totally casually inquired about Mark’s work place and hours when Jungwoo mentioned he was at his job instead of hauled up in his bedroom with acoustic guitar in hand like Donghyuck had totally not hoped he’d be.

All because he feels remorseful for indirectly insulting Mark’s very dear and extremely pretty girl friend that Mark took more offense to on her behalf probably than he would if Donghyuck were to straight up punch him in the face.

Except Donghyuck doesn’t feel remorseful. Donghyuck doesn’t make smalltalk either.

It’s whatever.

The diner is a comically square building with the once red paint of the exterior having paled into a wistful orange in the sun over the years. Big paned windows and a light-up sign spelling out DINER on the roof. Donghyuck remembers when it first got built around five years ago or so. He had just entered high school. It felt like some sort of confirmation of a brighter future, that it was all gonna turn out okay. And then it tethered towards bankruptcy as did everything here because all this town seemed to be good for was sucking the marrow out of life and leaving you with a skeleton made of bones that rattled and hurt when you walked.

Mark’s stupid blue pick up truck sits parked amidst the other scattered cars.

He pushes his bike towards the bike rack, and it’s when he’s already locked it in place and set foot inside the diner with the bell above the door jingling as it shuts behind him, that he wonders what the actual hell is he even doing here.

Not that Donghyuck gets to contemplate the answer for long enough to form it in his own head, because a familiar pair of eyes land on him from one of the booths farthest away from the entrance and that same hand that waved goodbye at him half a week ago now gestures for him to come over.

Mark’s bleached head turns at the gesture as well and his gaze meets Donghyuck’s briefly before he slips out of the booth just as Donghyuck comes to a halt beside it.

“Hi,” Mark greets quietly, looking at Donghyuck’s shoes more than his face.

“Hi.” Donghyuck greets him back, nearly choking on a word that is literally one syllable.

“Hey, you.” Minjeong says and she wears a smile, as well as a floral dress with the sleeves frilled. “What are you doing here?”

“This is a diner, right?”

To Donghyuck’s pleasant surprise, she laughs with her head ducked and when she raises her eyes again, they meet Mark’s beside Donghyuck, all sparkly and conveying something Donghyuck does not know her well enough to decipher.

Whatever it is, it sets Mark into a jittering mess next to him and he’s off just like that with the mumbled excuse of having to get back to work and that they don’t pay him for slacking off, though it’s hardly rush hour with only two booths occupied — one of them being Minjeong’s, and the other seating a man way past his prime drinking coffee from a porcelain cup and doing what appears to be a crossword, but with a pencil in case the answers are wrong.

Minjeong pats the table with a jeweled hand.

“Sit,” She says kindly, and Donghyuck obliges, sliding into the booth opposite her.

The leather seat is still warm from where Mark had just sat moments before.

“So…” Minejong starts but says nothing else.

Donghyuck huffs out a laugh, furrowing his brows, “So?”

“You’re here...”

“I am…”

“You are…” She hums, head tilting to the side, chin cupped in palm. “Why?”

“Why not?”

“Came to see Mark?”

“No?” Donghyuck scoffs and turns to stare out the window to check if no one has managed to ply open his lock and steal his bike because it's too long of a walk from here to the dorms and he’s not above sleeping in the diner parking lot. “I didn't even know he worked here. Can’t I come here to eat? I do also live here, you know.”

“Aren't you guys, like, friends?”

“No. We're bandmates.”

“Right.” She draws out the vowel and doesn't stop f*cking staring. Donghyuck thinks she might actually burn a hole into the side of his face and he’ll be left with a permanent scar. “So why aren’t you ordering?”

Donghyuck turns to her, dumbstruck, “What?”

“If you came here to eat, why aren’t you ordering anything?” She repeats with a poorly concealed smile into the back of her hand that she brings to her mouth as if to wipe at some imaginary stain on her lip. “They close in thirty minutes, by the way.”

“I know.”

Minjeong raises a brow.

“I saw it on the door. They have their working hours on display, you know.”

“Thank you for clearing it up for me. I was starting to believe you’re a psychic.” She says, clearly taunting him, but Donghyuck can’t even find it in himself to be mad because there is no malice in Minjeong’s voice whatsoever.

“All this interrogation about me but what are you doing here?”

Easily, she points to her empty glass with a bright red straw and no more juice in it. “I live nearby. Hang here sometimes. Beats rotting away at home.”

“And posting about Twilight?” Donghyuck mutters, but she catches the words anyway.

“Have you been stalking me, Donghyuck?”

“It was my friend, not me. Jimin. Maybe you’ve seen her around. Bleached hair, long. I think you’d get along actually, she’s also a nerd—” Donghyuck halts in the middle of his sentence, regarding Minjeong with acquainted eyes. “How do you know my name?”

She laughs — a single ha — and leans forward on her elbows. “Please. Mark doesn’t shut up about you.” She says with mirth in her eyes, oblivious to Donghyuck’s guts doing somersaults inside his stomach at the words. “How could I not?”

Donghyuck’s about to put aside every ounce of dignity and ask her what it is that Mark talks about him exactly, but speak of the devil — Mark shows up like he’s manifested from thin air next to their booth; except he had very obviously and normally approached them, which Donghyuck hadn’t noticed, too busy every unsavory scenario with Mark in it that he thought he’d left behind in his teenage heartache dreams.

There is a choice presented to him even if it might not seem to be of any weight. There’s space in either side of the booth. Minjeong looks up to regard Mark. Donghyuck can’t stomach the thought of doing so, already dreading the imminent disappointment speeding his way at ninety miles per hour.

Next to Donghyuck the cushion dips and a warm body presses against his before shifting to make space, a glass of juice put down in front of him on the table with a thud. It’s grape. Donghyuck’s favorite. Red straw and all.

“I didn’t order juice.” Donghyuck says after clearing his throat and sitting up a little straighter in his seat.

“You didn’t order anything, smartass.” Mark says with that teasing tilt to his voice and it makes it so easy for things to be okay again. “We close in twenty minutes.”

Donghyuck turns to look at Mark with a roll of his eyes, which turns out to be a mistake, because, even with the space Mark had purposefully put in between them to make it less awkward, they’re still ridiculously close, faces mere inches apart and shoulders bumping at the movement. There’s light freckles on the highs of Mark’s cheeks from the midwest sun, and there’s a pimple tucked just under his left brow, and his lips look shiny like he’s just applied lip balm.

“It’s actually fifteen minutes now.” Minjeong’s voice says like a knife cutting through the haze and Donghyuck flinches away, tips of his ears burning and heart hammering inside his chest. “Seeing as you ogled each other for so long and all.”

“Shut up, Minjeong.” Mark mutters, and if Donghyuck had enough balls to look up at him from where he’s staring into the purple void of his grape juice, he’d see Mark’s cheeks tint pink.

“So,” Mark clears his throat and shift a little more further away from Donghyuck’s side until he’s practically half an ass cheek away from sliding off the leather couch completely. “What are you doing all the way here? The dorms are on the other side of town.”

“I came to buy Jaehyun booze at the liquor store.” Donghyuck says right away before the last syllable of Mark’s sentence even manages to leave his mouth properly.

“For booze?” Minjeong says the same time that Mark asks: “Who’s Jaehyun?”

“Yeah, it’s this very specific kind that they only sell here, and Jaehyun really needs it for Friday otherwise he’ll get pissed if I don’t get it for him and lock me out of our dorm and I won’t be able to get in because I lost my key somewhere like two weeks ago, and—”

Donghyuck clears his throat and twiddles his thumbs, looks at the bright red straw disappear into the purple void of the grape juice. Mark would drop by his house after their fights with two bags of ramen and two liters of grape juice in a silent apology back in highschool. It was Donghyuck’s favorite. Still is.

The juice glass sits on the table, a silent I’m sorry for fighting with you.

“Also… actually… there is a party on Friday. After the prom concert, at like ten. No correlation between the two, it’s at one of the frats, and, uh… I wanted to ask… if you’d like to come. Both of you, of course, that is. Since you’re, like, friends , and all that stuff. My friend Jimin will be there too, I think you’d like her, Minjeong.” The I’m sorry too goes unsaid. ( for being this way. )

“Oh—” Mark says softly besides him and upon a fleeting moment of courage in which Donghyuck raises his head to watch his reaction, he sees Mark’s face look like he’s just been flashed in the eyes with a really bright light; or that a light pole has fallen on his head and left him an inch away from passing out.

“He’s coming.” Minjeong says for him because Mark’s brain to mouth wire seems to have short-circuited, and so Donghyuck turns to her across the table. “We’re coming. Since you want us both there.”

“I do.” Donghyuck says right away because the grape juice is still there in front of him and he refuses to make the same mistake as back at the garage. “Honestly.”

Minjeong smiles at him with a small nod, genuine in her expressions in a way that makes Donghyuck feel like the worst possible person for daring to send a single bad thought her way. “We’ll be there then.” She says.

The diner truly does close in fifteen minutes, and even the old man with his snail pace manages to leave before them after paying for his coffee and rolling up his crossword puzzle into a cornet and placing it in the front pocket of his sweater vest. Donghyuck doesn’t have to pay for his grape juice. Mark says it’s on the house, whatever that means. He’s pretty sure that was slang that only worked in bars and held little to no value in cheap diners.

Minjeong sets out to leave next, but Mark stops her with a curious look.

“Woah,” he says from his spot behind the counter with the cash register popped open and fingers skimming through the bills and pennies earned today. “Where are you going?”

“Just remembered.” She says with fake remorse. “I had something I needed to do before ten.”

“Like what?”

“Just because you tell me everything, Mark, doesn’t mean I have to do the same. I am a woman of private nature.”

She makes here exit as Mark’s too busy spluttering behind the cash register, sending a wave Donghyuck’s way before she’s out the door, and down the steps, and out of sight just like that.

“Okay.” Donghyuck says once they’ve both stopped staring at the doorway where Minjeong’s long gone from and gestures at it vaguely with his gaze on Mark’s hands making quick work of sorting through the bills. “I think I’ll get going too.”

“What?” Mark almost squeaks out, near-panic in his eyes as he looks at Donghyuck like it’s some primal instinct urging him to do so before he seems to get his expressions in check. “Just wait for me, I can give you a ride.”

Donghyuck gestures with a thumb over his shoulder at the bike rack that can’t even be seen from here. “I have my bike with me, so.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Mark clears his throat and slams the cash register shut. “Okay then.”

“Okay.” Donghyuck parrots and takes a step backwards to the door. “See you on Friday. 3 PM at Jeno’s, don’t forget. And practice at home too. To fix your dragging.”

“I won’t forget, and I’ve been practicing.” Mark assures with a nod and a wave. “See you Friday.”

At this point the conversation has dragged out to the point that it’s like gum you pull from between your teeth but it just keeps going until it turns all gross and mushy and gets stuck in your fingers, so Donghyuck deems it too embarrassing to say anything else and lets this not-really-a-conversation drop to the ground like a smoked cigarette.

He doesn’t really squish it like he would a real one as he steps through the door. Like someone’s gonna pick it back up and get one final drag out of it. As if. There weren’t any people in Donghyuck’s life who would willingly fall low enough to do that.

Mark doesn’t come running after him, and why even would he? Donghyuck said he didn’t need a ride. That’s what Mark heard. Because that’s what Donghyuck meant. Obviously.

He unlocks the cable and pockets his keys. It’s a practiced routine. Donghyuck mounts his bike and sets off to the dorms.

The road that leads away from the diner to the other end of the town is a single stretch of asphalt that connects their spot on the map to the big highway nearby. No hills, no bumps for the most part. It’s a nice evening out for the most part, dusk thinning out to be replaced by nighttime and Donghyuck kicks himself mentally for not taking his ipod with him to make the drive back more bearable, because on his way here he was fueled by adrenaline and the itch for Mark that still somehow persists after all this time, disturbingly so. But now, itch half-scratched, he groans as he presses on the pedals just a bit harder.

No cars nearby, or much on this road at all really, especially during this time which wasn’t 6 PM as people returned here from their out of town jobs — and so Donghyuck startles a little when he hears the rumble of an engine behind him, turning the wheel impossible closer to the edge of the road in case it’s a drunk driver about to run him over.

Donghyuck keeps his gaze ahead and waits for the car to pass him so he can stop wobbling in a way that might concerningly send him topping into the bushes just off the road.

The hum of an engine draws near enough that Donghyuck spots a patch of dark blue passing him with the corner of his left eye, but it stays here like a spot in his vision, persistently so, and when Donghyuck twists his head to the side, he’s met with the sight of Mark’s car next to him, Mark himself behind the wheel with the window of the passenger’s seat rolled down as he slows down to match the pace of Donghyuck’s biking.

“I said I’d give you a ride.” Mark says, practically yells to be heard over the rumble of his ancient car engine, leaning a little to his right, over the gearshift so Donghyuck can see him when he speaks.

“Oh my f*cking God,” Donghyuck mutters under his nose and a shake of his head before raising his voice to match Mark’s, “And I said I have my bike!”

“Just put it in the trunk!”

“I’m fine!”

“Your stubbornness is borderline annoying, did you know that?”

“If you’re here to diss me you can go along your merry way, smartass!”

“I’m here to drive you home!”

Another engine revving in the distance and a car approached them at the normal pace for this stretch of the road, honking at Mark’s car as it passes by, a muffled curse and a flipped bird sent their way through an open window to which, much to Donghyuck’s embarrassment, Mark replies with twice as long of a horn beep and a middle finger right back.

“You’re disturbing the traffic!”

“I can keep at this, I have nowhere better to be.” Mark tells Donghyuck when he returns his attention back to him through the window of his stupid car, driving at his stupid snail’s pace, smiling his stupid smile and he knows will get Donghyuck weak in the knees. Or maybe he doesn’t — know that is — which only makes it worse.

“You’re an idiot.” Donghyuck mumbles to himself and then, with a raised head and louder so Mark hears, “you’re an idiot!”

“I’m a passing driver concerned for the lack of reflectors on your bike.”

“You’re picking up unassuming strangers!”

“Oh, my poor naive Donghyuck, should I tell you I have candy in my backseat as well?”

“f*ck you!”

“Puppies?”

“f*ck! You!”

“Oh, please, just get inside the car, I promise I’ll reward you handsomely for being such a good boy—”

Donghyuck slams on the brakes of his bike enough to have the tires squeal.

“f*ck you!” He shrieks as the truck comes to a gentle stop, and Donghyuck can imagine vividly the way Mark must be laughing behind the wheel, that smug asshole. “Are you gonna help me with the f*cking bike, or do I have to do everything myself?”

A second passes and the driver’s side door is swinging open and out steps a — Ding, Ding, Ding — giggling Mark.

“I’m gonna smash your headlights in.” Donghyuck says and Mark throws up his hands in defense, forcing the laughter to a halt like screwing the cap onto a bottle until Donghyuck can see his chest shaking with it. “I’m serious.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Mark says, and steps close enough to hoist the bike up and into the trunk with a single motion, turning to him with a smile, and Donghyuck can think of more than one way to wipe that stupid grin right off his face. “You're gonna get in or…”

“No, I just gave you my bike so I can walk all the way back, actually.” Donghyuck says, but steps around Mark to get to the passenger side.

“Actually.” He hears Mark mock behind him quietly but pays it no mind as he yanks open the door and slams it shut after getting in with twice as much force.

“Actually,” Mark says forreal this time when he's seated and buckled up behind the wheel, watching Donghyuck with one eye as he diligently works on fishing something out of his ripped jean pocket. “Aren't these yours?” He asks and gestures for Donghyuck to extend a hand, reaching over the gearshift to drop a clutter of charms onto Donghyuck's upturned palm.

Except it's not a clutter of charms — not just charms. It's Donghyuck's bike lock keys that he was pretty sure he'd pocketed but that, upon further investigation of his short pockets, truly turn out to not be there.

That, and once he fishes the lock keys and all the additional charms from the mess of cheap metal in his palm, he's left with the miraculous sight of his dorm room keys.

“I saw you drop your bike keys when you left.” Mark explains like he's in tune to the timing of Donghyuck's thoughts. “And just about two weeks ago, someone dropped by a pair of keys at the diner lost and found, said they were lying in the liquor store parking lot. The charms looked a lot like yours and since you dropped your keys once today I figured it's not above you to have done it before. Also you said you lost your dorm room keys so I just figured these were the ones you were looking for. Please tell me I’m right and didn't just give you the keys to some poor random person's house.”

“No, you're—” Donghyuck blinks down at his dorm room keys like they've just manifested magically in the palm of his hand and not found and placed there by Mark. “You're fine, you're good. These are my keys.”

“Are you sure? You look like you've never seen them before.”

“No I—” Donghyuck pockets them quickly, the metal near- digging into his skin all of a sudden. “I just didn't expect anyone to find them, even less — give them to me.”

“What do you mean?” Mark laughs, unsure.

Donghyuck shrugs. “I kinda just expected for someone to recognize them as mine and, like, break into my room while I was sleeping or something so thank you for not doing that, I guess.”

“Why would I break into your room while you were sleeping?”

“You’d be surprised about what most people would do for the sake of some gossip to liven up the campus scene a little.”

“Well, I’m not most people.” Mark says with a roll of his eyes and places his hand onto the gearshift, pulling at the handbrake to set the car into drive.

“Yeah.” Donghyuck agrees quietly, you really aren't most people.

The drive back to the dorms is mostly silence that Donghyuck doesn't bother filling up with smalltalk. Not because he doesn't do smalltalk with most people, but because the silence that befalls them in the relatively small enclosure of Mark’s pickup truck is a comfortable one.

“Who’s Jaehyun by the way?” Mark asks supposedly casually, the guise betrayed by the cough he stifles into his fist and refuses to meet Donghyuck's eyes.

“My roommate.”

Mark clicks his tongue. “I see now where you got your assumptions about me and Jungwoo from. Jaehyun’s your roommate.”

“He's literally my roommate. The single bed dorm rooms were too expensive.”

“So you share the one bed with Jaehyun?”

Donghyuck shakes his head with laughter, catches Mark sneaking a glance at him from the corner of his eye, his own small smile playing on his lips at the sight of Donghyuck beaming with happiness. Because of him too, no doubt. It's ache inducing. The same way a tooth would when you bite into something too sweet.

"No, he— there's two beds. We sleep each in our own." Donghyuck says and turns his head to stare out the window, train tracks visible from the stretch of land enveloping the road on each side, clears his throat. "Would it bother you if, like, we did sleep in one bed or something?"

"No." Mark answers way too quickly for Donghyuck to decipher what it means and then, quieter: "would it bother you if Jungwoo and I did? Share a bed, I mean."

Donghyuck shakes his head no.

Mark hums. "Good to know." He says before the facade of nonchalance cracks once again and he's smiling to himself like an idiot with his eyes on the road ahead.

The smile that creeps onto his features — Donghyuck can't help it — yet he stifles it into his palm anyway, hand up to his mouth to prod at the imaginary stain there.

"Yeah." He agrees.

"Yeah." Mark parrots and Donghyuck's not entirely sure what he's agreeing with exactly with that boyish hesitance of his, but Mark hums the tune of their Tell Me Baby cover under his breath as he drives Donghyuck home so Donghyuck decides in delusion that it must be everything he's ever yearned for.

Chapter 3: definition blurs when you’re staring through the smoke, nothing really hurts when everything’s a joke

Chapter Text

This is serious. Donghyuck doesn't remember caring about his own high school prom as much as the one they're playing at in — quick slip of his phone out of his pocket to check the time — three hours and twenty six minutes.

Mom of Yangyang who's that friend of Renjun’s, upon the latters insistence, lent them a proper black suit from the wedding parlor she worked at each . Measurements to match the approximate numbers they had sent Renjun in the Myspace group chat when he’d asked that he’d so generously made and left Donghyuck to fight for his life pretending he didn't know Mark was on Myspace like he hadn't gone through his profile enough times up until this point to have every post memorized by date and time it was posted or reposted.

It was the closest thing to a personally tailored suit any of them will probably ever get. Unless that plan of theirs about becoming rich and famous before they turn 30 works out and they never have to worry about shriveling up and dying in the same cursed town they were born in.

But getting out doesn't mean anything apparently.

Mark got out, and still, here he is again like he's always been. Donghyuck's yet to ask him why. Why he left. Why he came back.

Mark who's currently sitting on Jeno’s amp box because the garage's couch is covered by the neatly laid out suits they're meant to wear for tonight. (Don’t get as much as a stain on them or my mom will have all of our heads on stakes, mine included, in front of the college building by morning, Yangyang had oh so generously explained to Renjun who passed on the message.)

“Do you color in makeup often for shows?” He asks — Mark, that is, not Yangyang because Yangyang’s not here — and, surely, it’s a harmless question arising from watching Donghyuck and Renjun smear eyeshadow across their eyelids with their fingers, squished in front of the single broken-off side view mirror from a car long ago crashed in some ditch probably.

Renjun’s eyes meet Donghyuck’s in the reflection.

“Just when we wanna look prettier.” He says.

“Who for?” Comes Mark’s immediate reply, and then, which prompts a playful shove of Donghyuck’s shoulder from Renjun: “I think you look pretty enough just as it is.”

“Yeah, well,” Donghyuck turns around to showcase the meticulous work of dark eyeshadow and glitter across and below his lids, “just as it is doesn’t make my eyes sparkle in the projector lights.”

“It’s the vibe, Mark.” Renjun drawls and steps back from the mirror and over his bass case right behind him to get to his Pepsi can he’d left behind half-empty in favor of getting pretty as Jaemin would call it. “Teenage punk rock n roll.”

“We’re twenty three.” Mark says, an easy bite to all of Renjun’s lures.

“Donghyuck’s twenty two.”

Mark rolls his eyes. “He’s twenty three tomorrow.” He says casually like it’s such an obvious thing to remember Donghyuck’s birthday after these years of not speaking to each other and like it doesn’t make Donghyuck’s insides twist all funny.

“Okay, quarter life punk rock n roll. Is that better?”

“Worse, but you literally made that up.”

“I did, but who’s gonna police me on it?”

“Fair enough.” Mark says ankles crossed, head twisting back to the neutral gravitational pull of Donghyuck next to him, eyes darting across every inch of Donghyuck’s face like he has a quiz on every blemish and freckle placement due tomorrow, and gets to his feet to point at the palette handed down to him by Jimin, placed ontop a stack of cardboard boxes of spare car parts. “Can you do that one on me?”

Donghyuck looks at where Mark’s finger lands and then at Mark himself who sits back on the amp box with his hands between his legs. “The red?”

“Yeah, like you did Jeno’s blue.”

Jeno who’s currently in the bathroom getting changed into his fancy suit, makeup and hair done — courtesy of Donghyuck who’d applied some eyeshadow in his outer corners and sprayed some hairspray into his combed back hair and called it a day.

“It’s teal.” Donghyuck says and takes the palette as well as a step towards Mark on the amp box, and the new proximity has Mark craning his neck up to look at him through his fringe. Donghyuck has to resists the urge to run his hands through it under the guise of pushing his hair back for style.

“Yeah, okay, that’s what I meant. Teal.”

“It’s meant to match his guitar.” Donghyuck tells him in case he doesn’t know and Mark hums like he does.

The garage door leading to the kitchen creaks open and all heads snap to the source of the sound.

In walks Jeno, dressed to the nines in a pair of fitting slacks, dress shoes and a blazer to match, a white tank top underneath.

Renjun whistles at the sight of him and Jeno laughs with his head hung low, gesturing for the next person to go get changed so they can get on with it and actually make it in time to the event.

“You go, otherwise we’ll end up late again if you go last.” Renjun says, already stepping towards Donghyuck and plucking the eyeshadow palette out of his grasp easily. “I’ll make Mark all pretty in the meantime, don’t worry. You wanted red?”

And the thing with Renjun was that there wasn’t really much room left for compromise. Because he was stern, sure, but it was mostly because he was almost always right about the objectively best way to go about things. This included. Much to Donghyuck’s dismay.

So he picks up his suit container bag marked with a D, and heads for the bathroom with a grumble about how no one here appreciates anything he does ever, which, of course, is simply not true, and which is also why he doesn’t bother to say it coherent enough for the guys to actually hear.

“Is red your favorite color?” Donghyuck hears Renjun ask, nosy prick.

“It’s neat, I guess.”

“Like Donghyuck’s guitar.”

The door behind him shuts before he gets to hear Mark’s reply.

Once in the bathroom, Donghyuck makes quick work in putting on the suit, watching his reflection in the mirror as he buttons the dress shirt all the way to the top and does his tie just like his dad had taught him when he was sweating patches into his own button up five minutes late to his meet up with Mark for his own prom two years ago when they made a pact to go as a friend-couple to spare the embarrassment of having to show up with no girls by their sides.

He’d actually gotten offers — two of them, from two equally as pretty girls from their grade — but some last minute hope that Mark would ask him for real made him decline as politely as he could without specifying the reason. Mark never did, that hope within Donghyuck flickering out with every song that passed throughout the evening without Mark having asked him to dance, dying completely once one of the same girls from before approached the two of them, seated on the sidelines, sharing a single cup of watered-down fruit punch, asking Donghyuck to dance at least, and he’d accepted without Mark as much as batting an eye.

It hurt a little.

It hurt a lot.

Not that Donghyuck ever told Mark about it.

Not that Mark ever told him about planing to leave either.

“Guys, I think it’s too big on me.” Donghyuck says when he sets foot back in the garage, Renjun standing and waiting with his suit bag slung over one shoulder, and his dress pants swish as he walks, dress shoes clicking against the concrete.

“It’s not too big, it’s loose.” Renjun says. “There is a distinction, and that distinction is called having a sense of style.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“Don’t drink my Pepsi while I’m gone.” Renjun pipes up just before he leaves through the door.

Donghyuck dismisses him with a wave of his hand and turns to Jeno and Mark now leaning back on the couch with one space left for Mark’s neatly packed suit to lay in without getting wrinkled inside the bag.

“Why are my pants so big?”

“It’s a style of pant. They’re loose, just as Renjun said. It’s just a specific fit.” Jeno explains, ever patient.

“A style of pant.” Donghyuck repeats and kicks Jeno’s shin with the toe of his dress shoe lightly, careful not to dirty the fabric. “Why does your style of pant actually fit you?”

“Because I’m more muscular?”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Please. A one pack outline on your stomach doesn’t count.”

“I’ll let you know that it’s almost at six pack status.”

“Okay, now you’re straight up lying.”

“I’m not! Want me to show you?”

“I’d rather not get scarred, thanks.”

“Oh, your poor, poor virgin eyes. We all know it’s your jealousy talking.”

Donghyuck scoffs, “It’s not jealousy, I just think it’s obvious that I look stupid in them.”

“They look good. You—” Mark says amidst the bickering and his gaze moves up the length of the pants in question until his eyes meet Donghyuck’s, red eyeshadow neatly applied on his lids now. “You look good.”

Any noise of complaint that he could think of, dies down at the back of Donghyuck’s throat with a pathetic sort of whimper sound that he can only hope to God that no one heard.

✮

For the sake of the greater good Donghyuck doesn’t linger on how Mark looks in his suit. It’s more similar to Jeno’s in its cut — fits more snug around his thighs and… other places… such as his…

Renjun ends up being right about the loose pants being a stylistic choice, because he comes out of that bathroom looking quite similar to Donghyuck in terms of clothing. Mark doesn’t comment on the fact that he looks good, but then again, Renjun doesn’t look on the verge of an existential crisis about the fit of his dress pants.

They make it to the high school in Mark’s pickup, all the instruments piled in the trunk and Renjun riding shot gun just because he wanted to, Donghyuck and Jeno together in the back with a comically large bag of wires, adapters, and pedals between them in the middle seat.

A band of some kids no older than seventeen play on the makeshift stage of the gym that they arrive to an hour early to set up with enough time to spare, since Renjun wouldn’t get off Donghyuck’s ass for being late.

And so now Donghyuck sits alone by one of the tables in the gym so generously reserved for their band; alone because Renjun got whisked away by some guy who was supposedly friends with Chenle, and Jeno and Mark still hadn’t come back from their apparently treacherous journey of getting their instruments backstage.

Donghyuck groans and decides he might as well just go take a piss to pass the time since watching a bunch of teenagers dance around one another in an attempt to not let their sympathies show too much was only entertaining up to a point before it became a little bit odd to watch these random people for so long.

The air, once he leaves the gym, actually doesn’t feel like it’s sticking to the insides of his lungs and dousing them in goopy teenage sweat. The shot he took behind Mark’s truck from the Smirnoff bottle Jeno had brought with him for the party later makes his head buzz pleasantly as he makes his way down the familiar hallways until he slips into the boy’s bathroom with ease.

It hasn’t changed one bit — the bathroom still has that blue paint a shade darker than the actual walls chipping away where it was painted over an explicit graffiti in an failed attempt to cover it up; the hallways still reek of chlorine despite the school not even having a pool; the door to the science lab is still open as always when Donghyuck twists the handle out of childish curiosity despite being probably the only classroom in the entire school that actually had valuable enough stuff in it for someone to steal if the door was left unlocked.

As any other person would in his place, he pushes the door open and steps inside and it’s all the same. From every table to every chair and glass dial on the shelves.

Donghyuck’s not sure why he expected things to be different. Two years isn’t that long of a time. Yet, somehow it all feels a lifetime ago.

Mark drenched in sweat under and over his robes, peering at Donghyuck from under his graduate cap, shadows thick and covering his eyes, but smile vibrant and oh, so beautiful, and whatever progress Donghyuck thought he’d made over the last few June weeks in getting his mind off the Mark-shaped virus gnawing at his heart while they weren’t able to see one another due to the hectic schedules caused by last-minute assignment completions and all-nighters pulled to study for exams — it all had evaporated along with the heat emanating from the asphalted road of the parking lot surrounding them.

A lifetime ago.

“Hey.” A voice comes behind him, quiet and a little breathless, and Donghyuck turns to Mark shutting the door behind him like the polite boy Donghyuck always believed him to be throughout high school under all that brash exterior. “I was looking for you.”

Donghyuck shrugs and turns back to examining the assortment of colored liquids right next to the periodic table covering nearly the entire wall. “Well, you found me.” He says. “Did the kids finish their set?”

“They still have half an hour left I think.”

Donghyuck hums and doesn’t say anything else when Mark somehow ends up next to him with his neck craned up at the periodic table like he’s learning grade eight chemistry all over again.

“This used to be our homeroom class.” Mark says, and Donghyuck can see him looking at him without turning his head like he cares and remembers anything more from chemistry than how to calculate the number of electrons in a plutonium atom.

“Yeah.” Donghyuck replies, and then, “I thought you’d forgotten.”

“Dude, how could I forget? We had, like, the best memories here. When you nearly burnt your eyebrows off because you refused to wear the safety goggles? Unforgettable stuff.”

“When you burnt a hole in your sweater sleeve.”

“Yeah, because you pushed me!”

“I did not push you, you were being a fire hazard and I was trying to save you from inevitable danger.”

“Trying and failing, yeah. It was my favorite sweater. You were the real fire hazard all along.”

“Whatever. Chemistry was never my strong suit.” Donghyuck says, that knot in his belly back like it tangles up into a mess as soon as Mark stops talking and making it easy to fell back into old habits like they’d never been broken.

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s prom again and this whole night feels like a dream he cannot will himself to wake up from, but Donghyuck feels oddly empty, oddly sad; like all the progress he thought they’d made over these almost two weeks was minuscule in the grand scheme of things — a futile attempt at redoing a puzzle that had most of the pieces missing, clutched safely in Mark’s grasp and out of Donghyuck’s sight.

Where was he crawled into by the way? Jimin had asked, and Donghyuck had said he didn’t care, but he did. He did care, and that was his biggest vice when it came to Mark.

“We were meant to go into physics. In D.C. I don’t know if you remember that even.” The but you left goes unsaid, in its place: “But instead I’m in f*ck ass political science at community college.”

“Donghyuck—”

“It’s fine.” Donghyuck cuts him off before the bravery runs thin and all he’s left with is cowardly silence just like all this time. “I’m over it. It’s been two years. It’s just, I don’t—why? Why did you leave? That I don’t understand.”

A partial lie. Why didn’t you take me with you? That is what he wants to ask, needs to ask.

Mark sighs and steps back, Donghyuck turning to follow him with his eyes in a flurry of panic that turns out to be futile because Mark simply leans back against one of the tables.

“It’s complicated.” He says.

“Top of the class in logistics, try me. We’ve got time.”

“We don’t actually.” Mark huffs out a laugh and runs a hand through his hair with a frown on his lips despite the sound they emit. “Thirty minutes isn’t really enough to go over everything, and, really I don’t think it’s all that complicated of a thing in itself, it’s just complicated to talk about it, if that makes sense. I don’t know, it’s just– okay, yeah. It’s whatever.”

Donghyuck joins Mark in leaning against one of the tables, shoulders bumping when Donghyuck hops onto the surface to sit down properly, knee nudging gently at Mark’s wrist gripping the edge until he looks up.

“I’m listening.” Donghyuck says softly when Mark does.

For a while Mark does not say anything and Donghyuck starts to believe this to be the end of it, Mark opting for fiddling with his fingers between his thighs instead of looking up at Donghyuck watching him like he might flee and need to be caught, and Donghyuck was tired of chasing — that same ache in his lungs as from that night he’d driven Mark to the Forum on his bike — and yet, he refuses to let it go because the part of Mark he carries with him seems to urge him not to.

“My parents, uh, split, so I had to go back to Canada to live with my dad.” He says eventually and it comes out almost like a breath that’s been held for too long underwater so Donghyuck thinks he wouldn’t mind waiting for tens of hundreds of minutes more if that was the time Mark needed to speak to him about things instead of shutting him out.

Donghyuck thinks he gets what Mark meant when he’d said it wasn’t that complicated of a thing in itself. His parents were both still happily married so divorce wasn’t a topic he could comment on from personal experience, though, he could see how it’d be a complicated thing to talk about. Especially for Mark who wasn’t fond of talking about his family life at all. Never had been. Not even to Donghyuck.

Still, he has to ask. For his own peace of mind just to stop the gnawing at his heart that will otherwise persist.

“But why couldn’t you tell me before you just… got up and left?”

“We both know why.” Mark says, an easy answer as he dares spare Donghyuck a glance and finds him already looking. “You’d ask me to take me with you without actually asking, and I’d say I can’t without actually saying it.”

“So why are you back?” Donghyuck asks while he still has Mark’s gaze on him.

A shrug is what Mark gives him at first, looking away just as Donghyuck had predicted for him to. Top of his class in logistics and somehow Mark Lee was the hardest problem he’s never been able to solve.

“Wanted to give this thing another shot I guess.”

Mark pulls away, Donghyuck pushes.

“What thing?”

“I dunno. Life, I guess. That sounds really ominous and cringe but, like, it’s true. We’re not in highschool anymore.”

“Well, technically—”

Mark huffs out a laugh and shoves at Donghyuck’s bent knee with his elbow. “Shut up, you know what I mean.” He says all muffled, and rushed, and flustered and oh so Mark . “It’s just… being an adult. All that stuff that everyone goes through. I wanted to make my life my own.”

“So what the hell are you doing back here? Wasn’t the dream to get out as soon as possible and never look back? You got that. You got a free ticket out– why… I don’t– you’re crazy for not taking it and running.”

“I had nothing keeping me there.” Mark says like it’s the most obvious thing that he cannot believe to not be apparent to Donghyuck.

“Surely you had a job that’s better than working at the f*cking diner–”

“I didn’t. I dropped out of uni first semester.” Mark blurts out and it’s like the floodgates have opened and Donghyuck’s left here to ladle half an ocean with a single bucket in hand. “Couldn’t get a job that paid well enough to live on my own. No one wants to hire a dropout with nothing to his name.”

Donghyuck’s careful with the tone of voice he speaks, with the way he shifts closer to Mark on the desk — just an inch until their thighs bump together — with the long exhale he lets out and watches ruffle Mark’s bleached hair where it casts over his eyes.

“Why did you drop out?” He asks.

Another shrug. “What matters is that I did and there’s nothing I can do about it anymore. This was the only place I could think of coming to where I knew my way around.”

“How about community college?” Donghyuck suggests softly like peeling open an orange and breaking off a half to give to Mark. “f*ck, I go to community college, and, sure, it sucks absolute ass, but it’s something at least. It’s better than nothing, better than a diner job. You’re better than a diner job, you’re—” Donghyuck lowers the hand reaching for Mark to… he doesn’t even know what. “You’re one of the most talented people I’ve ever met.”

Mark stays silent again for a while, gnawing at his lip before he eventually speaks up.

“I can't.” He says slowly, carefully, like it's Donghyuck he’s letting down with this. “I’ve done the math. I can't study full time and then also pick up enough shifts to cover rent.”

“Can't you– I mean… have you asked your mom? She hasn't moved right? You could like move in, or ask her for financial help, or–”

Mark huffs out a laugh, shakes his head, refuses to meet Dongnyuck’s eyes.

“No, uh, I can't. I can't do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because she's dead.”

The silence feels like it might actually shatter all of Donghyuck’s bones upon the impact it makes as it falls across the room.

“What?” Donghyuck croaks out and it's like he’s speaking through a thick layer of smoke where he can barely see the outline of Mark’s profile in his direct line of vision.

“Yeah. Two years ago just before graduation. That’s why I had to move back in with my dad North of the border. Couldn't provide for myself back then.”

“sh*t, Mark, I’m so sorry, is there anything I can—”

“See, this is why I didn’t wanna tell you.” Mark cuts him off, a lot brash and a little mean without actively trying to be. “You were gonna pity me. Are pitying me.” He inhales sharply through his teeth and glances at Donghyuck through his fringe before finding the gaze staring right back at him — soft and sweet around the edges — too much and diverting it. “You’ve always known me the best. I didn't want you to look at me like I’m suddenly not the same person anymore.”

“Mark, I would never—”

“It’s fine. Honestly. I’m over it.” Mark rushes with a bandaid over a wound the size of a fist, gushing blood like water, and Donghyuck sees his reflection in it clear enough to blind. “Well, as fine as it can be. I don’t think anyone ever gets over their grief, but I’m doing good now. Better than I was two years ago. Sometimes that's all the progress you need.”

It is now Donghyuck’s turn to hum and nod along like he could ever grasp to understand what Mark had gone through, what he still is going through, and probably will continue to for the rest of his life.

Donghyuck doesn’t know what to say, and the fact upsets him to the core.

Every ounce of anger or resentment he’d felt towards Mark about leaving disappears and is instead replaced with something worse and something uglier, and something that looks a lot like the guilt Donghyuck had beaten out of his system by smashing the wrecks at the junkyard with a discarded metal pipe before replacing the wrench with his fist against a rusted car door; punching with his thumb tucked in; a sprain; two weeks in a stupid cast around one finger, unable to play guitar for their first band gig.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Mark speaks first, always the braver out of them two it seems so often, always just a bit better at reading Donghyuck than Donghyuck was reading him, always quicker to predict a pattern despite nearly failing logistics last year of school which lead Donghyuck to believe he wasn’t even aware of conducting anything inside his head; Mark just knew. “I’d prefer if we just put this past us, forget about it. I don’t wanna talk about it anymore. It’s not like that will change anything. What happened happened, there’s no need to dwell on it and be upset on my behalf.”

“Thank you for telling me.” Is the response Donghyuck hands to him in an open palm that he puts on Mark’s shoulder in a squeeze of the fancy suit jacket fabric, and finds that he doesn’t wanna let go. “It doesn’t change anything if you’re worried about that. You’re still you. To me you’re still you.”

A shrug; truly an answer to everything.

“Okay,” Donghyuck says to tip the scale and even it out, “do you want me to tell you something too?”

“Shoot.”

“Our previous drummer — Jaemin — he cheated on me.” Donghyuck says, Mark’s eyes immediately on him as soon as the words leave his mouth, gaze clear and brows furrowed like this is where the evening’s conversation started, and not where Mark opened up to Donghyuck like a flower in bloom he never let anyone look at in fear of scrutiny; prettier with petals closed tight; better that way — for the flower and for the admirer turned cynic.

“He called me out all the way to the edge of town — across the store from the diner, actually, at the liquor store parking lot — to confess that he’d cheated. Wouldn’t give any details just that it happened so I did what I thought the logical response would be, and broke up with him. He proclaimed he was leaving the band the next day. Well, technically, I guess. I woke up to a singe text saying just that, sent from his phone at 3 AM.”

“So you were dating.”

“We weren’t technically dating, just f*cking around in bed together I guess.”

“Okay, but still, you were together.”

“You said it wouldn’t bother you when I asked about me and Jaehyun—”

“It doesn’t. It doesn’t bother me.” Mark doesn’t let him finish which Donghyuck is glad for because any second longer and his voice might have started wobbling as it struggled to get the words out. “Why didn’t you tell me, though? You said no when I asked about it. Why?”

That’s as far as Mark’s assurance goes — the same way Donghyuck’s did about the topic of grief because he does not understand, cannot relate. Mark does not understand, cannot relate to this either.

It hurts and Donghyuck hates himself for it a little because Mark says things for the sake of saying them and making Donghyuck feel better like he thinks he’s indebted for leaving or something. If there’s anything Mark should feel indebted to, it should be about coming back not having changed a bit.

It hurts and the ache is of his own making because Donghyuck wants something Mark will never be able to give him.

“I guess I also didn’t want you to look at me differently.” Donghyuck says with his hands now in his lap, thumb scratching at the skin of his index finger.

“Donghyuck, I wouldn’t.” Mark twists to look at him, one hand coming to rest at Donghyuck’s knee like it belongs there. “I doubt there is anything you could do in this world that could make me look at you any differently. You’re my– were my best friend.”

Past tense in a present situation. What a bittersweet thing.

“Okay,” Donghyuck says, forever in agreement with Mark in an apparently desperate attempt to shrink himself in a box to fit in Mark’s hand. “But you’ve also got to believe me when I say that nothing could make me look at you differently either.”

“Damn, persuasion really is your strong suit. Maybe you should’ve gone into law.”

Donghyuck snorts despite himself and shoves at Mark’s hand still on his knee for some reason. “Shut up.” He says.

“I’ll believe you. Just this once, though.”

“Oh, God, what will I possibly do without your faith in me?”

“Beg for it?”

“Please.” Donghyuck rolls his eyes with a suppressed smile threatening to burst at the seams of his mouth. “Like I’d ever beg you for anything.”

“Good job, you got the please down, keep it up and you’ll get there in no time.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“What are you gonna do about it?” Mark raises his brows and widens those already big eyes of his. “Beg me to stop?”

The wires connecting Donghyuck’s brain to his mouth short circuit for a moment but God seems to be on his side tonight because a knock sounds on the classroom door before a muffled Nobody better be sucking face in here comes, followed by a panting Renjun barging in looking a little like he’s about to cry from relief after his eyes land on Mark and Donghyuck side by side.

“Thank Jesus f*cking Christ, you have no idea how many teenagers I’ve seen shoving tongues in each other’s faces tonight.” He says, hand clutched over his heart.

“How many?” Donghyuck asks just to see Renjun flip him off.

“Too many for one lifetime.” He says. “We’re on in like five minutes by the way. If you even care.”

Donghyuck laughs despite himself and despite the situation because this is all just a fever dream by the feel of it. He’s pretty sure he just had the most eye-opening and earth-shattering conversation with the guy he thought he’d never see again despite loving and hating him more than he’s ever loved or hated anyone, his mom and kindergarten bully included.

They’re on the premises of the school Donghyuck spent the majority of his life at during prom night like he’s given a second chance at this, and Mark is by his side somehow, despite it all.

Mark is by his side and he’s joining in on Donghyuck giggling like it’s contagious and he’s pushing away from the desk, pulling Donghyuck along with him as if he’s ever needed a physical tug to want to follow Mark wherever he went.

Renjun eyes them like they’re actually sick in the head and Donghyuck throws an arm around his shoulders as he passes by him through the doorway, landing a wet kiss splat right on his cheek.

“You sure it was only one shot you took before coming inside?” Renjun asks with a grunt as he pushes Donghyuck’s weight off of him, nearly making him crash into Mark who extends his arms on the other end of the hallway in case Donghyuck falls and needs Mark to catch him.

“I swear.” Donghyuck raises a hand. “On my life.”

It’s the truth.

For a while.

Donghyuck unscrews the Smirnoff bottle tucked inside the sleeve of Jeno’s leather jacket and takes a swing backstage when no one’s looking when they get there, about half a minute before the first guitar chords from the start of their set blare through the gymnasium.

For courage.

He couldn’t mess up the chords for these songs even if he wanted to.

Homeliness and loneliness are wearing at the scars.

Rehash information so to tell them who you are.

Everything comes into focus to a singular point in his vision as soon as Donghyuck steps on stage in front of a crowd before blurring at the same seams it stitched itself together with until he’s left seeing and hearing and feeling nothing but the press of metal strings against his fingertips and the occasional bump of the microphone against his lips when he leans in too close.

The thrumming of adrenaline evens out to a steady buzz of a livewire under his skin until Donghyuck can feel his fingertips tingle with it, eyes staring into the crowd without really looking at anything or anyone in particular.

Jeno to his left, Renjun to his right.

Mark behind him, and he really has stopped dragging. Donghyuck can hear it because he can’t — because Mark’s amiss beats had been so prominent before that the lack of anything but perfection strikes his ears as an anomaly. He’s good. He’s really f*cking good.

As always, the set passes by in a flash of adrenaline and heat in his belly, and Donghyuck snaps back into it when Jeno’s pulling him off the stage by his wrist, having overstayed his welcome in front of these people he’ll probably see on campus when the new school year starts.

“Bro,” Jeno says, all up in Mark’s space with an arm slung over his shoulders like they’ve known each other for years and Donghyuck attempts taking another swing from the Smirnoff bottle that Renjun has to wrestle out of his grasp without spilling the alcohol all over them. “Is this what the movies talk about? I feel like I’ve spent my whole life looking for you.”

“Finally stopped dragging like a wuss.” Renjun says, vodka bottle successfully shoved in the sleeve of his own oversized jacket and out of Donghyuck’s reach.

Mark keens under all the praise, head hung low like it does when he’s shy and cheeks dusted a deep enough red from the set and from the compliments to rival the shade smeared across his eyes.

“Seriously.” Jeno shakes Mark gently before pulling away to smooth over his suit jacket like he’d suddenly remembered about Yangyang and his scary mom who threatened to have their heads on spikes if anything happened to the suits. “You’re the best f*cking drummer I’ve ever met, I think I’d get down on my knees and beg you to stay with us. You will stay with us right?”

“He really isn’t above begging.” Renjun helpfully supplies.

Mark laughs and tries to meet Donghyuck’s gaze in the tiny space backstage that they should really get out of before the next band comes in and traps them like a bunch of sardines in a can.

It’s all light-hearted conversation with no real expectations or consequences because tonight is tonight and tomorrow is tomorrow, and that is what they will deal with the fact that Mark is not meant to be here to stay.

The deal they made with the school’s principal upon accepting the invitation was that they had to sit out the entire event till it ended, which meant half-listening to the follow-up band of some other local kids trying their shot at making it big one day.

Humble beginnings something something.

Renjun disappears off with that friend from before and it’s the three of them left seated at their designated table with no food because everyone was too lazy to go get something from the snack table except the watered-down fruit punch that Jeno had grabbed two plastic cups of on their way to sit down.

At some point, disrupting Mark and Jeno’s smalltalk about the band’s prospective future, a girl dressed in a deep purple gown with a flowery bracelet to match approaches their table and asks Jeno to dance.

“I’m nineteen.” She prefaces by saying before Jeno can open his mouth and have a rejection tumble past his lips.

Jeno looks at both of them on either side of him before sighing and shrugging and accepting the girl’s offer, to hell with it.

The sight of it all strikes a melancholic chord inside Donghyuck that he can’t even bring himself to be properly upset about. Mark had been right — what happened happened, there was no need to dwell on it because it’s not like it could be changed. Not like it ever will change.

“I guess we’re too ugly to be asked to dance.” Mark says, breaking the silence that’s managed to fall between them.

Donghyuck snorts, answers too quickly for his brain to catch up: “if anything, it’s probably you being too hot that’s intimidating everyone.”

Mark breathes out a laugh and Donghyuck clears his throat, wiping his hands on his dress pants and keeping them tucked between his knees like he’d done every two minutes during his own prom two years ago in nervous anticipation of what Mark might do next as they sat on the sidelines the same way they are right now.

The kids playing on stage announce their final song through the out of tune mic.

“It might just be all you.” Mark says in response before the space between them is plunged into silence once again because Donghyuck doesn’t have any idea how to decipher or respond to that.

Then at once, like struck by a revelation in the form of a lightning bolt, Mark gets to his feet with a deep breath, chair pushed away from the table and back turned to Donghyuck — broad shoulders and overgrown hair curling at his nape.

Where are you going? Donghyuck is about to ask, lips already parted in question, but then Mark turns around to face him, one arm extended towards Donghyuck who still sits on the creaky folding chair, looking up at Mark through his fringe that’s undoubtedly turned all greasy and gross by how humid the gym was with the smell of watered-down punch and hormonal sweat.

“Donghyuck,” he says, upturned palm, “will you dance with me?”

It is not the same Mark from two years ago who asks this, but it is the same Donghyuck who reaches out for the offered hand with his breath stuck in his throat and tips of his ears burning hot.

Mark pulls him closer to the center of the gym amidst the pairs already swinging to the music, and Donghyuck follows like a puppy led astray.

“I think your guys’ songs are better.” Mark tells him when they’ve turned to face one another and holds onto Donghyuck’s left hand with his right, the other coming to loop around him and rest just above the small of his back, Donghyuck's own free hand landing on top of Mark's shoulder and fingers digging into the fabric there for purchase.

Donghyuck yanks his hand from Mark’s grasp in a quick motion, wiping the sweat from his palms on his pants before he’s intertwining their fingers again.

There’s projector lights in different hues of pinks and purples dousing the gym, and a dollar store disco ball spins, hung from one of the ceiling vents, and casts little specks of silver light across the floor and walls, and one lands on the high of Mark’s right cheek where it’s turned to Donghyuck, eyes struggling to meet.

“Yeah.” Donghyuck gets out dumbstruck, awestruck, starstruck.

Mark has a ring on one finger of the hand that holds Donghyuck's, and the metal presses into his skin in a faintly aching way, warm from the heat of his body and the sweat of his palms.

Around them there are countless couples swaying to the melody of the song and Donghyuck nearly cracks his neck trying to assess every single one in the gymnasium to see if it’s just the two of them that stay pressed so close together when neither of them is a girl.

He pulls away to wipe his hand again, mumbling a rushed sorry to make up for it.

Mark doesn't acknowledge the apology, doesn't reassure Donghyuck that it's alright, doesn't tease him playfully about how nervous he's being about a single dance shared between two friends to a song that couldn't even fully be classified as slow, doesn't pull away because it's uncharted territory either.

Instead, when Donghyuck attempts disentangling his hand from Mark’s grip again, Mark wraps his fingers around Donghyuck's tight enough to faintly hurt, leaving their palms pressed together.

“It's okay.” He says, quiet in the tiny space between them, smiling small and shy and soft. “Mine are sweaty too.”

And so Donghyuck doesn't manage to pull away for the rest of the song, finds that he doesn't want to with how gentle yet firm Mark is where he holds onto him — a silent exclamation of you can run if you want to, but I’d prefer you stay. Here. Like this. With me.

It's over as quickly as it began, and when Donghyuck pulls away this time, Mark lets him, but because he has to, because they have to. There is another way, another place where they're meant to continue and end the night.

Renjun and Jeno approach them on the gym floor like an established pair, and the four of them together retrieve their stuff from the tiny backstage room as quickly as they can without forgetting anything vital laying around in some neglected corner.

“What the f*ck.” Jeno says when they’ve piled into a line by the bathroom door that Donghyuck went to before, tries the handle again to no avail. “Who the hell locks the bathrooms?”

“Safety precaution. Less places to snort stuff in.” Mark shrugs. “They do that in clubs, too. With the LED lights?”

Jeno turns to him, deadpan expression on his face. “This is a highschool.”

Donghyuck jogs a little further down the hallway where the next bathroom door is, finds it locked just as the previous one.

“Come on! We’re gonna be late!” Renjun calls after him as Donghyuck cuts the corner to where he remembers another bathroom being just to prove their collective hypothesis because two variables aren’t enough to come to a conclusion. “Donghyuck! We still need to drop the instruments off!”

The door is indeed locked when he tries it. Donghyuck huffs out a laugh and turns back around, guitar case strap nearly flying off his shoulder with the momentum of it.

“The suits, though.” Donghyuck says when he comes to a halt in front of the guys again, flailing his arms helplessly at his sides, panting slightly. “I’m not risking spilling beer on myself or have some drunkard do it for me.”

“Stop crying.” Renjun says and pulls Donghyuck forward by his guitar case strap. “We’ll just change outside.”

Outside, probably because of the stuffy heat of the gymnasium from before, it’s cold as hell. Donghyuck shivers, shoving his hands in the pockets of his dress pants; they’re all hot and moist and Donghyuck thinks the press of Mark’s ring against his skin from before has left a permanent indent like a stake of claim.

They pile all of their instruments in the back of Mark’s pickup and proceed to get changed one by one, the others standing around in a poor attempt at a circle that’s really just a sparse circle because there’s literally three people in an even poorer attempt at shielding the person changing in the middle from the prying eyes of teenagers scouring the parking lot for their own cars.

Donghyuck’s made to go first under that same premise of making sure that they’re not late even though they were most definitely well past the mark of moderately on time anyway.

“This is the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to me.” He grumbles as he begins unbuttoning his dress shirt, sliding his blazer off mid-way to force Renjun to hold it so it doesn’t crease.

The evening breeze blows on the sweat-slick skin of his bared chest and Donghyuck flinches like a snap of a rubber band had just hit him.

“I wanna go home.” Donghyuck whines with a shudder.

“Do you ever stop moaning and groaning?” Renjun asks, rhetorical question that Donghyuck takes the liberty of answering anyway.

“Why are you obsessed with me moaning and groaning so bad?”

“I want you really f*cking bad, sorry you had to find out this way.”

“Shut up, idiot.”

“You literally asked.”

Donghyuck does not grace Renjun with a response and instead hands him the dress shirt and plucks his T-shirt from Jeno’s grasp who’s so generously holding onto his spare change of clothes so they don’t have to get nasty dirty in a pile on the parking lot asphalt.

He successfully pulls the shirt over his head and works on the belt of his pants, bending down to take them out, boxer-brief covered ass facing the world, and maybe it’s the notion alone that he’s basically naked in his high school parking lot with his band mates standing around him like they’re about to perform a textbook blood sacrifice, but whatever it is, Donghyuck feels himself physically shudder again which, in return, makes him trip over his own feet as he’s trying to free an ankle from the restricting confines of a dress pant leg hem.

Luckily, he manages to catch himself before he smashes face first into either of the guys’ asses or the pavement, but not without a curse loud enough to have heads turning.

Mark’s included.

His wide eyes land on Donghyuck on all fours in the middle of their makeshift circle-triangle, pants half down his legs and his smile that tugs at his lips is shameful but still as pretty as ever.

“Oh my God, don’t peek at me in my compromising situation!” Donghyuck yelps in fake offense. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Sorry, sorry.” Mark mutters between a giggle and turns away, missing the blush that spreads across Donghyuck’s cheeks for the nth time this night because of him.

“He won’t be a true member of the band until he’s seen your dick on accident at least once.” Renjun says, nodding to himself like he’s just so proud for coming up with this line.

Donghyuck shoves the back of his knees with an elbow just hard enough to have him wobble on his legs and try kicking Donghyuck in the face with his heel in response. “I don’t even have my dick out, idiot.” He says.

“You sure?” Renjun taunts, turning his head towards Mark to blink up at him. “Can you check again, Mark, just in case?”

“Gross , guys.” Jeno says with a roll of his eyes Donghyuck imagines vividly without even seeing it, handing Donghyuck his jean shorts over his shoulder wordlessly, and Mark just laughs.

Once Donghyuck’s done, he lays his suit out neatly across the backseats of Mark’s car and then Renjun goes after him to change — a repeat of what Donghyuck had just done, though, admittedly, much quicker and more efficient.

Then it’s Jeno, and lastly Mark.

Mark who changes into those stupid ripped light wash jeans of his and a T-shirt that looks worn enough to sleep in with the Red Hot Chilli Peppers logo on it, because of course that’s what he changes into, the nerd; that, and the trusty pair of red converse that seem to be the only pair of shoes he owns.

That, and his brown leather jacket that he hands to Donghyuck when he shivers again as he watches Jeno get inside the passenger seat, Renjun by his side and Smirnoff bottle in hand.

“I’m driving anyway and you look like you’re on the verge of getting hypothermia.” Mark explains when Donghyuck blinks down at the extended hand holding the item of clothing like it’s some peace offering. “You’ll just give it back when I get to the party, yeah?”

“Just take it and let’s go!” Renjun nudges Donghyuck’s side with an elbow and Donghyuck takes Mark’s offered jacket with a mumbled thanks.

Mark and Jeno leave to drop off the instruments at his place and pick up Minjeong on their way to the party, and Donghyuck and Renjun set off to the frat house on foot because the car has no place for two more people with the suits taking up the entire space up back and it’s a short walk from here anyway.

Donghyuck waits until the car pulls out of the parking lot and takes a turn completely out of sight to put Mark’s jacket on. It smells faintly like cigarette smoke. Donghyuck doesn’t think he recalls seeing Mark take even a single drag from a cigarette ever.

“So,” Renjun starts, casually, examining their surroundings on the sidewalk so he doesn’t have to look Donghyuck in the eyes, carrying around that vodka bottle like he’s nursing a baby. “What’s up with you and drummers, man?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Renjun huffs out a laugh. “When do you ever?”

But he doesn’t press on the already aching bruise any further.

✮

It’s a bit of a blur.

Donghyuck’s drunk enough shots to stop pretending he’s keeping count and he’s lost Renjun somewhere amidst the strangers crowding in the back yard of the frat house with a whole ass pool in the middle of it that no one seems to be swimming in.

He still has Mark’s jacket on, smelling of smoke and of Mark, and of Donghyuck himself at this point with how glued it seems to have become to his skin.

He’d run into Jimin briefly at the alcohol table just beside the ginormous speaker blasting sh*tty EDM remixes of pop songs throughout the entire neighborhood. Aren’t you hot? She’d asked with a nod towards the jacket, wearing only a spaghetti strap top and a pair of jeans herself. This is Mark’s, Donghyuck had yelled back, and that was the end of their exchange before she disappeared off to dance again and Donghyuck stumbled to the edge of the yard where a steep hill led down to another expanse of flat land by the tracks to lay down.

And that is, of course, where he still is with his shorts soaking up the dew from the grass that will undoubtedly make it look like he’s pissed himself when he eventually stands up. If he stands up. Donghyuck thinks he could fall asleep just like this under the stars.

“Hey stranger.”

All too familiar of a voice, and Donghyuck flips the owner of it off with is much as opening his eyes.

A huffed out laugh, then some shuffling.

The click of a lighter.

The smell of smoke.

“Want one?”

Donghyuck cracks open an eye and turns his head to the side to look up. “What do you want, Jaemin?”

“Nothing.” He says, taking a drag of his cigarette and offering it to Donghyuck who shoves his hand away by the bent elbow with a shake of his head against the grass. “You looked like you were passed out and I didn’t see Renjun or Jeno nearby.”

“Came to check up on me?”

“Of course, my beloved.”

“How sweet of you.”

“What are you doing here even?”

Donghyuck shrugs. “Resting. I don’t know. I don’t even really know why I came here.” He mumbles, tongue too heavy in his mouth. “I wanna go home.”

“Then go home?”

“Can’t.” Donghyuck says right away, sighing defeatedly and reaches silently for Jaemin’s cigarette, having changed his mind about the offer. “It’s good exposure for the band to be here.”

Jaemin regards him with a leveled look, but hands Donghyuck the cigarette. “This is the worst form of exposure I’ve ever seen.”

“Then stop looking.”

“That’s kinda not what exposure means at all.”

“Did you come here just to make me feel like an idiot again, or what?” Donghyuck takes a single drag and shoves the cigarette in Jaemin’s general direction.

Jaemin sighs after he takes it back from between Donghyuck’s fingers, flicking the embers from the burning end of the cigarette into the dewy grass.

“Heard you got a new drummer.” He says after a while of silence.

“We did, yeah.”

“Heard he’s good.”

“Better than you.”

“Honestly, I don’t doubt that.”

“f*ck,” Donghyuck grits out, runs his hands down his face, embarrassment suddenly flushing over him like a cold shower even through the thick haze of alcohol and cigarette smoke making him drowsy. “Everyone knows I gave you a chance in the band because I wanted to sleep with you so f*cking bad.”

Jaemin barks out a laugh, not having expected Donghyuck’s sudden self-deprecation to come up so unpromptedly; not having expected for him to have drunk as much as he did either probably.

“I really don’t think anyone caught onto that.” Jaemin says in an attempt to hurt Donghyuck’s shattered ego intertwined with his made up reputation.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Maybe, but I also mean it. I can, like, count on one hand the people who knew about us as a thing at all.”

“Yeah, well, you made sure the count never went into double digits, didn’t you?”

“You say that like you weren’t sneaking around more than I was about this.”

“Shut up,” Donghyuck sits up properly just so he can shove at Jaemin’s shoulder until he nearly topples over like a bowling pin. “I wanna find something to be mad at you for. Can’t you just let me have that? You cheated. I’m supposed to hate you.”

“Do you?”

“I honestly don’t care. Sure, it hurt a little because, like, was I really that bad at sex that you had to—”

“You weren’t.”

“Even f*cking better!” Donghyuck exclaims and bumps their shoulders, head heavy with booze and somehow ending up tucked in the crook of Jaemin’s neck, with eyelids droopy. “So I did nothing wrong and therefore I’m the victim. I get to hate you and also not care that you cheated because it wasn’t my fault.”

“See, I knew you’d take it lightly.” Jaemin says and pats Donghyuck’s sweaty hair in an awkwardly mechanical way. “That’s why I did it.”

“Cheating’s still a pretty f*cked up thing to do, though, Jaemin.” Donghyuck mutters, breath hot and sticky and overall gross as hell, sweat like a second skin covering him from top to bottom. “You’re lucky it was me you f*cked over. Someone crazier and they’d have keyed your sh*tty car.”

Jaemin’s shoulder shakes with a small laugh before he’s speaking. “Not what I meant.”

“Not what not what you meant?”

“I lied about it.”

“About what?”

“I didn’t cheat.”

Donghyuck pulls back at that, blinking at Jaemin through the blur in his vision, brows furrowed.

"What?”

“I didn’t cheat.” Jaemin repeats like he thinks Donghyuck’s asking because he didn’t hear him the first time. “I lied about it to you because that was the only reason I could think of giving you to finally break things off.”

Donghyuck stares at him for a good while, brain struggling to process the new set of facts presented to him on a silver platter, pretty sure it’s still trying to digest the stuff Mark told him back at the science classroom. He watches Jaemin put out his cigarette with the heel of his sneaker and then flick it flying down the steep hill below them until it disappears out of sight and out of mind.

“I think I’ve drank too much for this.” Is the response Donghyuck eventually settles on, pinching the bridge of his nose at the sudden pain blooming there. “I think you might actually be crazy… I think I might be crazier. Why don’t I care about this? Pretending to cheat so I can break up with you, so you don’t have to do it yourself, that’s, like — that’s so f*cking selfish!” He turns back to Jaemin, hand removed from his face. “I should be, like, livid as f*ck right now, shouldn’t I? Wanna smash your teeth in?”

Jaemin shrugs.

“Oh my God. Why am I not mad at you?” Donghyuck mutters to himself, panic slowly creeping up his throat. “I should be really f*cking mad at you right now. You’re a selfish asshole!”

“I think it’s because this thing you wanted with me, it wasn’t, like, that you wanted it for me.” Jaemin offers his hypothesis and Donghyuck thinks that panic in his stomach might just be bile. “That guy you were crying about on the night that we first met — it was kind of closure for you. The whole us thing, I mean. An attempt at closure at least. I don’t think it was all that successful, to be honest.”

Donghyuck really thinks he might throw up all over his Converse. “Oh my God.” He mutters. “You’re a horrible person, and I’m even f*cking worse.”

Jaemin laughs, and squeezes Donghyuck’s shoulder lightly. “You’re not a horrible person, Donghyuck. You can get out of your head about it.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“I’m the one who cheated, remember? Allegedly.” Jaemin says with a grin, but then sighs after he takes in Donghyuck’s disheveled state, and digs his fingers into the fabric of Mark’s jacket bunched up at the shoulder to shake Donghyuck out of his stupor gently. “Like, honestly, it was fun. While it lasted. I was honestly kinda scared at first that you were gonna take it really badly, but, look at you, you made it. You got over me in a week.”

“A few days, actually.” Donghyuck mumbles which elicits a smile from Jaemin, glad to have him more here than in his head about this finally.

“You’re a great guy, and you are not bad at sex, I can assure you about that. And if you ever need someone.” Jaemin flicks his wrist in a poor imitation of jerking someone off that Donghyuck shoves away with a burst of laughter. “You know who to call.”

Something pokes at Donghyuck’s lower back suddenly and, when he turns to expect some rabies-infected raccoon to be sniffing about his back pockets for food, he’s instead met with the sight of a red sneaker prodding just above his ass.

With the booze delaying his reaction, Donghyuck doesn’t even jump at the sight of Mark and Jeno having appeared behind him like they’ve manifested out of thin air. The fact that he hadn’t heard them approach because he was too busy listening to Jaemin explain his elaborate scheme of basically having gaslit Donghyuck into breaking up with him makes Donghyuck drop his head in embarrassment.

“Jeno!” Jaemin exclaims, reaction up running like normal, and jumps to his feet to throw a single arm around Jeno’s shoulders, enveloping him in a side-hug.

“What the hell did we interrupt?” Jeno asks in exaggerated horror, in place of a greeting and pinches Jaemin’s side, making him yelp and jump back with a cackle. “Were you hitting on my poor intoxicated friend?”

“I’d bite his balls off before I’d let him hit on me.” Donghyuck grumbles and moves to stand up, supporting himself with his hands on the ground at first.

Jaemin whistles and sends a wink Donghyuck’s way that Donghyuck pointedly responds to with a middle finger.

Jeno scrunches up his nose. “You guys are nasty.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ve said it so many times at this point that your words hold no meaning whatsoever.” Donghyuck says and finally manages to straighten up completely, legs wobbling and head spinning as soon as he’s upright, and he’d probably have ended up tethering off the edge of the slope and breaking his neck on his way down if it weren’t for a quick hand around his middle looping to steady him and pull him closer.

Mark guides Donghyuck far enough from the slope to swap places like he’s afraid Donghyuck might suddenly drop and tumble down anyway.

“Oh,” Donghyuck says with a gasp, taking in the sight of Mark’s bared arms covered in gooseflesh, both Jaemin and Jeno each sporting a leather jacket to keep themselves warm in the evening chill. “Your jacket, um, wait, hold on.” He pulls away from Mark’s side a bit, away from his immediate body heat to slip off the jacket. “f*ck, I think it reeks from my sweat, I’m sorry.”

“So,” Jaemin speaks up over the small laugh and quiet assurance Mark responds to Donghyuck with. “Is anyone gonna introduce us or do I have to do everything myself around here?”

“Oh, sh*t, my bad, man.” Mark says, eyes wide as they land on Jaemin like he hadn’t noticed him before, and Donghyuck shrugs off the other sleeve of his jacket. “I’m Mark.” He says, extending a hand for Jaemin to shake. “I’m filling in for the drummer spot for Hyuck– Donghyuck’s band. Jeno’s too. Renjun’s, uh, as well. Their band.”

“Ground Zero, yeah.” Jaemin says and shakes Mark’s offered hand. “Spelled with the two o’s–”

“–as zeros, yeah.”

Jaemin draws back, nodding approvingly, “You know your sh*t.” He says and tilts his head to the side slightly, smiling one of those brilliant smiles of his as Donghyuck hands Mark his jacket back. “I’m Jaemin. Their previous drummer.”

Something in Mark’s demeanor shifts at the words, hand reaching for the jacket stilling mid-air, and Jaemin seems to notice because his eyes search and meet Donghyuck’s with a flash of panic in them.

Jeno, oblivious to the non-verbal exchange, throws an arm around Jaemin this time, pulling him flush against his side with a dreamy sigh.

“Forever number one in our hearts.” He says and wipes at a pretend tear. “That is actually a lie, you prick. Mark’s miles better. That’s what you get for dipping without any prior notice. It’s called karma.”

His words mean little harm and Donghyuck knows Jaemin and Jeno still met up occasionally after class to hang even after he’d left the band. Jeno had asked at first if Donghyuck was okay with that, and Donghyuck had rolled his eyes and said that there is no reason why he should care what Jeno did with Jaemin outside of band practice hours. The point still stands, of course.

Donghyuck never told him the details about Jaemin cheating — allegedly cheating, apparently.

But he had told Mark; without the allegedly bit.

And that much was obvious.

“Anyways.” Jaemin says with a roll of his shoulders as if shrugging off the palpable tension and regards them three with a smile. “Who’s up for beer pong?”

Jeno and Donghyuck raise their hands in practiced synchrony and it’s only Mark who doesn’t bother doing so, watching Jaemin with an unreadable expression like he’s not entirely sure whether taking his eyes off him would result in something catastrophic or not quite.

“Mark,” Donghyuck whines softly, and Mark’s head immediately snaps to face him, Donghyuck shaking his hand still holding onto the jacket because it was leather, and it was heavy enough to wear him down with how long he’s been standing with his arm extended like that.

Mark takes it with a mumbled thanks before Jaemin and Jeno set off, attached at the hip through the crowd and towards the ping pong table.

“Where’s Minjeong?” Donghyuck thinks of asking, blinking with his lids heavy at Mark who follows Jaemin and Jeno — mostly Jaemin probably; he never did seem that obsessed with Jeno to watch him as keenly as this — through the crowd with his eyes.

“Oh, she–” Mark finally tears his gaze away from Donghyuck’s fake cheater ex boyfriend-not-really-boyfriend to focus on Donghyuck. “She went to dance. I think she found your friend. The one you told her about; with the bleached hair. Jimin?"

“Jimin, yeah.” Donghyuck hums with a prolonged nod. “I saw her before.”

“You’re quite drunk, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Donghyuck hums with another prolonged nod. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

That’s really the only warning Donghyuck gives before he’s collapsing on his knees, on the grass on all fours with saliva rushing into his mouth to the point that it drips past his lips when he parts them to breathe in the crisp evening air through his mouth.

Mark’s crouched down next to him. Donghyuck doesn’t really see it or hear it over the flashing of white in his vision and the ringing in his ears, but he feels it — in the form of a soothing hand running up and down the bumps of his spine that protrude through the thin fabric of his T-shirt.

He dry heaves a couple of times, but nothing actually comes out.

Mark stays by his side nonetheless.

“All good?” He asks once Donghyuck’s stomach has stopped constricting.

Donghyuck takes a while to swallow around the lump in his throat and to sit back on his haunches with a hand coming up to wipe at the spit dripping down his chin.

“All good.” He says, looking like the worst possible version of himself in front of Mark that he would care more about if the mere thought of it wasn’t making him sick to his stomach all over again.

“Come on then,” he says and stands up, reaching a hand down for Donghyuck to take and help him up to his feet, albeit a little wobbly and clumsy. “Good boy.” He mutters and helps smooth the creases of Donghyuck’s rumpled T-shirt, specks of wet grass stuck to where he’d been laying on the ground before.

“Do I look like I’ve pissed myself?” Donghyuck asks and twists his head to look over his shoulder as best as he can before coming to terms with the fact that he can’t see sh*t with how dark it is, and turns his back to Mark. “There’s a big wet patch on my ass, isn’t there?”

Mark examines it before his eyes trail back up to Donghyuck’s face and he nods solemnly.

“f*ck.”

“Here,” Mark says with a step forward and with a laugh bubbling past his lips, arms coming to loop around Donghyuck’s middle and oh, God, he’s so close he’s gonna—

Mark ties his jacket around Donghyuck’s waist and steps back to examine his masterful work, nodding all proud of himself.

“Now no one will ever know you pissed your pants.”

“I didn’t piss my pants, it’s dew.”

“Sure thing, that’s what they all say.”

“Who’s saying that?”

“Oh, you know,” Mark sighs wistfully. “People.”

“People.”

“Exactly, Hyuck. You don’t lack hearing comprehension, good job. I’m proud of you.”

Somehow Jeno appears by their sides again, having made his way all through the crowd again to come stare at them with a hint of annoyance which works wonders, because both of them follow him to the ping pong table with their heads hung low and pressed close to not get lost and have to go looking for one another again.

On their way to Jaemin, Donghyuck grabs a single shot glass that someone’s already filled up with God knows what, and throws it all back in one swing.

Donghyuck, he thinks he hears Mark protest weakly from ahead of him but it’s hard to tell with the music blasting full volume.

The beer pong table is all set up by the time they get to it, Jaemin standing with his hands on his hips and smile spreading across his face when he finally spots them.

“Two teams.” He says when they’re finally in earshot, rounding the table to throw one hand around both Donghyuck and Mark’s shoulders. “Donghyuck with me, and Jeno with Mark. I decided on the rules already. The losers have to skinny dip in the pool.”

“Why these specific teams?” Mark asks immediately, shrugging Jaemin’s arm off him which he seems to regret doing once he observes his other hand still around just Donghyuck’s shoulders now.

“Why not?” Jaemin quirks a brow, challenging, and Donghyuck has to pinch at his side to have him quit it before he actually starts anything based on baseless assumptions he’s made up in that mess of a head of his. “What does Donghyuck have in your eyes that Jeno doesn’t, hm?”

Predictably so, Mark says nothing to that.

Instead, rounds the ping pong table to the end where Jeno’s already standing and it’s only then that Jaemin slips his hand off Donghyuck entirely with a grin smeared across his features like sunscreen in ninety degree weather. Except the sun has fully set by now, replaced by the full moon shining down on them.

In hindsight, beer pong was probably not the brightest idea under these circ*mstances.

They’ve managed to gather themselves a small crowd of an audience that grows bit by bit as the game progresses. And it progresses actually quite quickly. Mainly because Mark’s really f*cking good at beer pong for some unknown reason.

Either he practiced shooting balls into red solo cups on the daily in his dad’s basem*nt back in Canada over the span of the past two years, or maybe he’s always honed this very specific skillset that’s just been waiting for the right moment to show itself, but whatever it is, it has Donghyuck downing his third cup of beer with random strangers around the table chanting chug chug chug.

His turn now.

Donghyuck throws and misses by a mile, Mark barely catching the ball as it bounces off the edge of the table, and the crowd groans in disappointment.

“Can you stop missing on purpose and just say you wanna see me swim naked?” Jaemin feigns annoyance with a roll of his eyes, making sure to say it loud enough for the other end of the table to hear, earning a smile from Jeno and absolutely no reaction from Mark.

“Drown, more likely.” Donghyuck mutters in response, tongue too heavy that it might just fall out of his mouth and land on the ground with a wet slap.

It wouldn’t even be that bad of a predicament — three cups of beer isn’t anything earth-shattering — if it weren’t for those countless f*cking shots he’d downed before and didn’t manage to get out of his system beyond some dry heaving into the grass.

Jeno’s turn. He misses.

Jaemin throws and makes it. The crowd cheers and Donghyuck welcomes a high five that nearly misses its target.

Mark empties the cup the ball falls into, beer dripping down his chin with how hurriedly he swallows countless mouthfuls of it, throat bobbing. Donghyuck doesn’t have enough willpower left in him to pretend not to stare.

Another throw from Mark.

Another success.

The crowd cheers.

Jaemin’s turn to drink the contents of the cup the ball lands in.

They keep at it.

Donghyuck ends up drinking two more cups of beer.

Ten in total.

Jaemin drinks the other five.

They lose.

Fair and square.

Donghyuck b-lines for the pool, reaching to pull his shirt over his head before a strong hand on his chest stops him.

Jeno.

No skinny dipping tonight, Donghyuck thinks he hears him say.

But we lost.

You’re drunk, that’s Jaemin’s voice on the other side of him. You’ll drown. We’re doing something else.

What?

They lead him into the house through the back door of the kitchen and then upstairs.

Donghyuck nearly falls down the steps and breaks his neck.

Jeno catches him, steadies him.

Or maybe it’s Mark.

There’s a guy in one of the bedrooms.

There’s tattoo guns with him.

Free tattoos, Jaemin exclaims with a clasp of his hands together, bit of a better state than Donghyuck, but still nearly toppling over his own feet and the mess of bottles and cans on the floor. The winners tattoo the losers. Whatever they want. Wherever they want. Jeno does Donghyuck. Mark will do me.

Why like that?

Why like what? You wanna object?

I wanna do Donghyuck.

A hand guides Donghyuck down to sit on the edge of the king sized bed in the middle of the room.

He bounces a little on the mattress.

Mark stands in front of him.

Looks down at Donghyuck.

Where do you want it?

Donghyuck blinks up at him, eyelids droopy. It smells like weed in here. I don’t know. I don’t care. I don’t want it to hurt.

He cried like a baby when he got his ears pierced, Jeno’s voice. He’s sitting cross legged behind Jaemin on the floor, Jaemin’s shirt pulled over his head and tattoo gun needle hovering over his shoulder blade.

My mom will kill me.

I know a spot.

Mark crouches down between Donghyuck’s legs.

Fingers ghosting over the hem of his shorts, pulling the fabric up just a bit. Here. No one will see.

A nail digs into the skin of his outer thigh there. A faint sting.

Hurts?

Donghyuck shakes his head.

Tattoo gun.

Needle piercing.

Mark leans in close.

Hot breath on skin.

It burns.

Mark looks up, not quite Donghyuck’s eyes, just a bit below.

It burns.

Donghyuck falls back onto the mattress. Stares at the ceiling.

A tap on his thigh.

I’m done.

Donghyuck gets on his elbows.

Mark stands back up.

It burns. In his belly.

A glance down. A little star pitch black against his skin.

Oh my god, Jaemin’s voice. A closer look at Donghyuck’s marking. You got a star and Jeno did a f*cking penis on me.

Hot in his clothes. Tight in his clothes.

They go back downstairs. Jaemin guides him. Not Mark.

Tight in his clothes. Tight in his shorts.

Mark does not look at him anymore.

It burns. In his chest.

A glimpse in the mirror passing by. Dark circles. Messy hair. Smeared eyeshadow. Sweat-slick skin.

Fresh air. Cold air. He doesn’t have Mark’s jacket with him anymore.

He doesn’t have Mark with him anymore.

Doesn’t have Jaemin. Jeno. Renjun.

Another beer pong round.

Donghyuck downs one of the cups. The crowd boos.

Get lost.

He reaches for another.

Pushed back. Get lost, fa*ggot.

Thumb resting over knuckles.

A swing.

Misses. Always with everything with everyone misses.

Motherf*cker!

A whish of air hits his face.

A fist next.

It burns. In his jaw.

In his shoulder. In his hip.

Donghyuck hits the ground.

Ringing in his ears. Vision spotting white. Iron on his tongue.

Shouting above him, around him.

A pair of strong hands yank him up. Donghyuck squeezes his eyes shut, bracing for impact.

What the f*ck! Jeno in front of his face. Donghyuck, what the f*ck?

Yelling around him. A turn of his head. It burns everywhere.

Thumb resting over knuckles, Mark throws a punch. He doesn’t miss. He’s not Donghyuck.

Mark, enough! Minjeong.

Mark on the ground. On top of a guy. Arm pulled back.

Hey. Gentle hands turning his face back. It hurts all the same. Jimin with a frown in front of him. Hey, can you hear me?

A nod. Pain blooms across his jaw and somewhere deep in his ear.

f*cking enough, Mark! Jaemin’s voice. Jaemin’s arms pulling Mark off and away from the guy. Blood. So much blood.

Something trickles past his lips and down his chin. Beer again?

Donghyuck looks down. T-shirt stained red.

Hey, no, no, look up, Donghyuck. Up. Minjeong’s voice. Donghyuck looks up. Still Jimin in front of his face. Minejong next to her. He knew they’d get along. No need to look down, okay? Let’s get you to sit down. Does it hurt?

Donghyuck nods, pain stings and tears across the left side of his face like a shatter of glass. He squeezes his eyes shut. It burns.

Hey, no, no, don’t cry. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.

Hurts.

I know, love, I know it hurts. Let’s get away from here, okay?

Get the f*ck out before I call the police!

Not directed at him. At Jaemin. Jeno. Holding onto Mark.

Guided outside.

A firm hand on the right side of his jaw. Mark’s face in front of his unscathed. Head guided to the side. Donghyuck flinches.

I didn’t put my thumb inside my fist this time.

A huff of a laugh, barely there.

Donghyuck’s guided to sit down on the curb.

We need to get him to a hospital. Renjun. He’s here. They’re all here. Outside. On the street.

Are you crazy? Jimin. They’ll ask for a recount of what happened. Donghyuck threw the first punch, where do you think that leaves him?

They’ll be able to file for assault. Mark.

I’m sorry.

What the hell were you thinking, Donghyuck? Jeno.

Don’t. Jaemin. Not now.

I’m sorry.

Okay, I can get him back to the dorms. I’m gonna need some help, though. I can’t carry him all alone.

Looking like this? No f*cking way. It’s the cops on speed dial, no question about it.

He can stay over at mine. Jaemin again, crouching down next to him on the curb. Sleep it off. We’ll assess the damage tomorrow when he’s sober and there’s proper light outside.

My place is just around the corner. Mark’s voice next to him, above him. My roommate’s out for the weekend, he’ll have a place to sleep. I can carry him.

I can walk. It was just a punch.

There he is. Jaemin’s hand squeezing his shoulder lightly with a smile, getting up, helping Donghyuck up too. Update us tomorrow.

Mark next to him, pressed side to side.

Donghyuck’s arm around Mark’s shoulders.

Donghyuck’s head in the crook of Mark’s neck.

Mark’s hand on Donghyuck’s hip where the shirt has ridden up a little.

It burns again.

Mark’s apartment. Third floor. Number nine. The door clicks open, clicks shut.

Lights on. Toilet seat lowered. First aid kit on the tiles. Mark crouched between Donghyuck’s legs again, guiding his chin up with a knuckle so gently it aches for a reason entirely different.

Mark rises up a little, wipes at Donghyuck’s split lip with something that makes it burn. On his mouth.

In his belly. In his chest. It burns everywhere. It burns because of Mark.

Donghyuck leans forward, eyes droopy. Mark turns his head to the side. Lips grazing cheek.

You’re drunk, Donghyuck.

The heat, it shatters like glass, like bone.

Guided to the bedroom. Mark’s bedroom.

You don’t like people in your space.

An unsure meow by his feet.

Do you need sleeping clothes?

Donghyuck shakes his head.

He pulls his shirt over his head, struggling to get it past his elbows, Mark lingering somewhere in the shadows.

It burns. In his eyes.

Donghyuck throws the shirt on the floor, toes off his sneakers, undoes the button of his shorts, and just like at the start of the evening, he nearly topples over completely, trying to get the fabric past his ankles.

Mark does not turn around to look this time, Donghyuck does not shoot him a teasing remark.

Please , he chokes out instead, I can’t sleep in this, it’s all f*cking wet, and Mark approaches silently to help him back up on his feet.

Shorts down in one swift motion, boxers along with them.

Mark holds Donghyuck’s hands as he steps out of his clothes, ring digging into skin all the same, sweat coating palms, and Mark pretends to not notice Donghyuck painfully hard against his stomach, though his fingers tremble all the same.

Is there still nothing in the world that would make you look at me differently?

A silence.

Mark pulls back, Donghyuck’s fingers slipping out from between his own. Suddenly cold without him so close.

Go to sleep, Donghyuck.

And who is Donghyuck to deny Mark anything.

He stumbles over to the bed, pulls away the covers to get under them.

Mark, he whispers into the darkness of the room, voice breaking.

Mark’s not here to hear it.

Chapter 4: i wanna scream that i found you, thank god that i found you (you found me too)

Chapter Text

The first thing Donghyuck does after waking is throw up.

It's much less expected, really, considering how much he’d drank, but it doesn't make it any less of a mortifying and humbling experience.

There’s a plastic bucket placed on the floor by his bed that he thanks his past self for putting there with no recollection of it whatsoever, and he's actually proud of his present self for managing to get all of his bile into said bucket and not over himself or on the ground, both of which would be a bitch to clean up.

It's still dark, Donghyuck notices as he wipes at his drool with the back of a hand.

His head’s pounding and his stomach's quivering, but he leans back down and falls asleep just the same.

✮

The first thing Donghyuck does after waking up again is… well… throw up again.

It’s that same bucket, emptied out now, which he doesn’t recall doing but somehow apparently managed to do, and it’s finally light outside as he lays back down — sunlight filtering through the blinds of his–

Wait.

His dorm room window doesn’t have blinds.

Donghyuck sits up, head spinning.

This isn’t his f*cking room.

He isn’t wearing a shirt.

A Led Zeppelin poster of all four members stares at him directly across the room.

There’s a tattoo on his outer thigh.

He isn’t wearing underwear.

Oh no.

Oh no, oh no, oh no no no no—

A knock on the door.

“You okay?”

It’s Mark’s voice. It’s Mark’s room. It’s the worst thing to ever happen to him in his now 23 years of life.

Donghyuck doesn’t remember how he got here. He remembers barely anything of last night. Mark. Jaemin. Mark again. Mark Mark Mark. Getting his jaw f*cking broken and then Mark and then nothing.

And now he’s here.

“I’m– I’m fine.”

He’s not. He’s managed to f*ck everything up just as it was on the road of becoming okay again.

“Okay.” Mark’s muffled voice on the other side of the door again, and then footsteps receding across creaky floorboards.

There are clothes hung over the back of the desk chair. Donghyuck’s clothes. A start. He rolls out of bed with wobbly knees and head spinning, and stomach churning, but manages to sit down on the chair, one hand grabbing onto the desk edge to stop himself from spinning and possibly throwing up all over Mark’s bedroom floor.

God.

Mark’s bedroom.

Donghyuck feels like he might throw up again just from the thought alone.

He doesn’t though.

Instead, puts on every item of his clothing soaked with sweat and dirt one by one, having to stop and breathe through his mouth with his eyes squeezed shut when the nausea got too much, which, really, was every minute or so. He doesn’t remember the last time in the past two years when he’d drunk this much.

Fueled by the urge to just get it over with like ripping off a bandaid, Donghyuck steadies himself against the door of Mark’s bedroom with a groan before twisting the knob and stepping out into the living room.

With his back to Donghyuck by the stove stands Mark, neck twisting and then body following at the sound of the bedroom door creaking open.

Donghyuck approaches him with his head hung low in shame simmering like a flame in the pit of his stomach.

“Morning,” Mark says like it's casual, like it's chill, like it's cool; like he's cool with this now. “How are you feeling?”

Donghyuck shakes his head, temples throbbing at the motion nauseatingly enough to have him grimace, sits down on the stool Mark gestures to with a soft laugh. Like it's funny. Like it's normal. Like Donghyuck's normal.

“What did, um–”

“C’mere.” Mark sighs and closes the distance between them with a single stride, Donghyuck holding his breath with eyes threatening to flutter shut as soon as Mark’s fingers graze his chin in a ghost of a touch to tilt his head up against the sunlight pouring through the kitchen window.

Donghyuck winces.

If he’s being half-honest about it, it’s because of the pain in his jaw. If he’s being completely honest about it, it’s not because of that at all.

Mark watches him with eyebrows furrowed and lips sucked in between his teeth in concentration as he tilts Donghyuck’s head to the side, his own neck twisting to mirror the movement as if strung along like they’re connected — the two of them — in some primal way like a pair of atoms within a molecule.

Donghyuck’s not even sure such simple molecules exist, with nothing more but two components. Oxygen. Nitrogen. But those are of the same type.

Carbon monoxide. That’s a poisonous gas, though, he’s pretty sure. Chemistry was never his strong suit.

“Can you hear?” Mark asks and brings a hand to Donghyuck’s right ear, fingers rubbing together in friction that Donghyuck can hear.

He nods.

“Okay.” Mark draws back then, and Donghyuck misses the smell of his damn laundry detergent already. “That’s good. You’re good. Open wide?”

Donghyuck complies, wincing at the sudden sting of pain visibly enough for Mark to catch on. “Hurts.” He says.

“I know.” Mark clicks his tongue softly. “But it’s fine, right? Like, the pain. It’s fine?”

Again, Donghyuck nods, though he’s not entirely sure what Mark means by fine. It’s pain — that should be a telltale sign that it’s not quite fine. Mark seems insistent upon it being fine, like he was the one who’d gotten his sh*t rocked last night and not Donghyuck.

“Well, it’s a bit swollen and bruised, and will probably hurt for a while, but not anything a few painkillers can’t fix in the first few days.” Mark recites it like it’s a list he’s gone through a million times before. “Good news is, though, that I don’t think it’s broken or dislocated, or anything of the sort. Fractured. None of that. You’ll be fine in no time.”

“Why do you know so much about this stuff?”

Mark plays nonchalant, “What stuff?”

“Getting punched in the face.” Donghyuck pushes.

“You’re actually lucky the guy hit your jaw.” Mark deflects. “A punch like that on your nose and it’s broken bone easily.”

“Did you break the guy’s nose? The one you punched. Why did you do that?”

“How much do you remember? Of last night.”

Donghyuck feels himself physically recoil at the question. It feels mocking even if Mark probably doesn't mean for it to taunt like it does.

“I dunno. Most of it I think. There’s flashes missing. Bits and pieces throughout the whole thing. I think getting punched sobered me up a little. For the moment at least.” Mark huffs out a laugh at that, Donghyuck suddenly pulling at the frayed part of his shorts just above his knee. “Did anything, um– did we, like–” He struggles to meet Mark’s gaze, though when he does, it’s as soft as ever when it seems to be directed at him. “Sorry, this is a really f*cking weird thing to ask, I’m aware, but I just need to know, because like I said there’s bits from last night just missing, and, uh, after leaving the party it’s kind of muddled, a little, um, a lot actually– I just, I mean I, like… I woke up in your bed, like, naked, and I just don’t really remember if we like–”

“Had sex?”

“Jesus, when you put it like that, you make it sound so– so–”

“How else am I meant to put it? Sex is sex, there’s no need to be ashamed of the word, Donghyuck.” Mark co*cks his head to the side with a tug of his lips upwards, smile deflating the longer he looks down at Donghyuck’s fidgety state on the stool. “Nothing happened. We didn’t do anything.”

“Not to say that I was, like, expecting something to happen.” Donghyuck rushes in with the overdue damage control that he cannot time right ever no matter how hard he tries and no matter how many times he witnesses Renjun do the same in regards to him.

Mark watches him carefully, “Right.”

“Because I wasn’t.” Donghyuck says.

“You’re fine. We didn’t do anything. Nothing happened.” Mark takes a tentative step towards him again, hand reaching out for a finger to poke at Donghyuck’s upper arm before curling around the rumpled fabric of his T-shirt sleeve. “I promise you.”

“And I didn’t do anything either, right? Anything stupid?”

Mark gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze, “You’re fine, Donghyuck.”

“Okay.” Donghyuck breathes out along with the deep exhale he finally lets past his lips, and Mark’s hand retracts. “I just don’t want things to be weird between us because we were– I was drunk and stupid or something.”

“You weren’t stupid.” Mark says right away. “Drunk, maybe, sure. Only a little bit, though.”

Donghyuck laughs at that. “Only a little?”

“Yeah.” Mark shrugs and brings up a hand between them, thumb and pointer finger a bare inch apart. “Only a little.”

“That totally explains the gaps in my memory of last night.”

“Maybe you’re just getting old.”

“Old?”

“Yeah, you know, dementia comes with old age for many people–”

“I don’t have dementia, Mark. Be serious.”

Mark wipes the smile off his face like as easy as wiping a dirt stain. “I’m serious.”

Donghyuck shoves Mark away with both hands on his stomach and a huff of laughter. “You’re an idiot, is what you are. How are you not hungover?”

“Probably because I didn’t drink half the stash.” He says and scrunches up his nose. “You should go shower. I’ll make breakfast in the meantime.”

A quick glance at the clock above the sink. 1:09 PM.

“Do I reek that bad?”

“Will you be mad if I say yes?”

“No.”

“Then, yeah, you reek pretty bad.”

“That was a trick, I’m pissed as hell right now.” Donghyuck says and moves to stand up, steadying himself on his feet with a hand clutching the edge of the dinner table. “Sorry for soiling your sheets, they probably reek now too.”

“It’s okay, I’ll just throw them in the wash later, don’t even worry about it.”

Mark’s turned away from him now again, facing the open cabinet by the stove to regard the collection of pots and pans on the shelves there. He points wordlessly in the direction of the bathroom. The en suite that can be accessed only through Jungwoo’s bedroom. Donghyuck remembers that much from his first and only visit here before.

“I got you a towel and some spare clothes already.” Mark says when Donghyuck’s halfway down the hall. “They’re on the washing machine. It’s by the sink.”

“Thanks.”

A clatter of pots and pans as a response.

Jungwoo’s room, when Donghyuck sets foot in it, it way bigger than Mark’s. A proper bedroom that makes Mark’s space look like a little bit bigger than average storage closet. It’s clear Mark’s somehow managed to make his way in here with the persistency of a weed that just won’t budge no matter how many times you pull at it, Jungwoo having lent him the only other room in the apartment to not hinder growth, which explains all the seemingly random junk scattered around the living room.

It’s depressingly empty, though. Mark’s room at least felt more alive. More Mark. Whatever that meant. Donghyuck doesn’t even know Jungwoo well enough to decide what a Jungwoo-esque room would look like. Maybe empty walls and a single desk with no chair was as Jungwoo as a room could get.

The bathroom is tidy. Donghyuck’s not entirely sure why he expected it to be a mess. Mark’s a tidy guy. The chaos in his room is a well thought out one; meticulously crafted with everything in its rightful place.

There’s two bathrobes on hangers drilled to the door. One cup with two toothbrushes on the edge of the sink. One bottle of shampoo in the shower.

It’s a shared space. Something about it makes Donghyuck’s chest ache with some sort of longing or maybe something else he does not know well enough to name.

Donghyuck spares himself the grief of having to face his wrecked reflection in the mirror and strips bare to get into the shower right away instead.

It helps — the water — sobers him up a little, and then a lot all at once.

He steps out of the shower and into Mark’s clothes feeling a little bit better, a little bit newer, and a little bit like he can finally look at himself in the mirror above the sink.

There’s still some leftover eyeshadow under his eyes that the water and insistent scrubbing did not manage to wash away, and so Donghyuck wipes at the tender skin there with the wrinkled pads of his fingers.

He towel-dries his hair and picks up his own scattered clothes, and returns to Mark like a man back from a mission.

“Hey.” Donghyuck says when he steps into the kitchen, cold water dripping from the long ends of his hair and soaking the stretched collar of Mark’s Spiderman T-shirt.

“Hi.” Mark greets him back like they’re seeing each other for the first time all over again this morning which is long past the definition bounds of morning, nearly 2 PM now.

He steps away from the stove, the kitchen smelling of slightly burnt toast and spilled orange juice, and sets a plate on top of the table with a soft clink. A heap of what looks like an omelet, still fresh from the pan with steam rising from it. A candle stuck in the middle of it like a flagpole at the top of a conquered mountain.

“Ta-dah!” Mark says and steps back a bit. “Happy birthday.”

That ache is back — in a deep confine somewhere next to where Donghyuck’s heart beats inside his rib cage.

“I didn’t think you’d remember.” Donghyuck says, a little (a lot) soft, a little (a lot) fond.

Mark winces and slaps a hand over his chest above his heart. “You wound me, Donghyuck.”

You’ve conditioned me into expecting the worst from you, Donghyuck wants to say, but instead, approaches the plate with scrutiny and raises a brow at Mark when he looks up.

“Last time I remember, you could barely cook an egg.”

“Well, this is an omelet, Mr Chef.”

“Thank you, I have eyes.” Donghyuck pokes at the food with his pinky, watching the pile of scrambled eggs jiggle on the verge of being straight up liquid. “You lace them with something?”

“Just laxatives.”

“How considerate of you.” Donghyuck coos in fake awe, but accepts the fork Mark offers to him with a smile that he tries his best to make genuine.

But you’re breaking the pattern.

“C’mon, the candle’s gonna drip all over your food, and I don’t think wax is edible.” Mark places a warm hand on Donghyuck’s upper back to urge him closer to the table. “Make a wish, Hyuck.”

“I wish for richness and fame—”

“Don’t tell me!” Mark clasps a hand over Donghyuck’s mouth, pulling away when Donghyuck looks at him with the same pair of wide eyes Mark’s currently watching him with. “If you say it out loud, it’s not gonna come true. You’ll ruin it. It’s a chance you get once a year.”

“Relax.” Donghyuck says and watches Mark wipe his palms on the gray fabric of his sleeping shorts. “I know how wishes work.”

“Stop f*cking around then.” Mark says with an easy roll of his eyes, steps away from Donghyuck to give him space to make a birthday wish on a burning candle on top of a pile of poorly scrambled eggs.

“Fine, fine. Sorry, genie.”

The poor candlestick really is on its last few inches of life and the eggs look barely edible without wax dripped all over them as it is, and so Donghyuck closes his eyes to concentrate on formulating a single wish.

He thinks of the guys, of Jimin, of Mark. Thinks of the band as a whole, of everyone who's been nothing but supportive along the way; thinks of his family – mom, dad, sisters and brother. Everyone who never left his side. Mark who did, but came back.

I wish for things to stay the same as they are, Donghyuck thinks and puts out the candle with a single breath.

“All done?” Mark asks when Donghyuck opens his eyes.

“Yes. Thank you.” He says and Mark disregards him with a huff and an easy wave of his hand. “Aren’t you gonna eat?”

“Had some while I was making them. I’m good.”

Donghyuck hums and sits down by himself at the table, watching Mark start on clearing the countertop from a way too suspiciously large amount of items needed for cooking a single portion of an omelet. Maybe he never did learn how to cook eggs properly.

A soft meow and Donghyuck turns his head, fork halfway to his mouth, to see Flea crawl out from under the couch like she's expecting Donghyuck to have left already. She scurries past Donghyuck under the table and bumps her head against Mark’s calf, tail trembling in what must be excitement.

“Hey, girl.” Mark greets, turning around from the neatly stacked dishes in the sink and crouching down to scratch at Flea’s chin with a coo, looking up at Donghyuck through his fringe with his gaze soft. “How’s the eggs?”

Donghyuck shrugs. “They're fine.”

“You haven't even tried them.”

Donghyuck shoves the fork into his mouth. “They're fine.” He says, muffled.

Mark ducks his head back down to hide his smile, patting Flea’s head twice before muttering something about getting her something to eat.

It's such a melancholic sight, watching Mark shuffle around kitchen tiles with socked feet in search for cat food, dressed still in his sleeping clothes, hair messy and eyes glassy from the lack of rest. Rooted in the past, that's what it is. Donghyuck wonders somehow if it could ever be rooted in the future too — waking at the same time, two toothbrushes in the bathroom on the sink, best attempt at breakfast served.

They hadn't slept together. Donghyuck's inclined to believe Mark on that.

It's a relief. He hadn't f*cked anything up. There's only one shot at this, and in his dreams, if Donghyuck is to take it, there’d be no alcohol, no pieces missing of the recollection, just the warmth of Mark so close and—

“What are your plans now? Now that school’s done.” Mark asks, cutting open a pack of previously untouched cat food and pouring the bits into a plastic tray with FLEA written on it in smudged black marker.

Donghyuck clears his throat and shoves another bite of eggs into his mouth.

“Dunno,” he says with a shrug, tips of his ears burning in what Donghyuck can only pray Mark doesn't pick up on. “Move out of the dorms for one.”

“They're kicking you out?”

“They're kicking everyone out. It's summer. And Jaehyun’s moving out for good, so he's probably gonna need help with the boxes. You?”

“Work.” Mark says, obviously, leaning back against the counter. “You should come by sometime. Food on the house if it doesn't go above five dollars. Where are you gonna be staying?”

“My parents’.” Donghyuck swallows around another mouthful. “That diner does not have anything below five bucks on the menu, don’t even lie to me.”

“Sorry, yeah, I’m just trying to lure you in so I don't have to go crazy being hauled up in there all alone for 12 hours. You see right through me.”

“Don't you have Minjeong to keep you company?”

“Y-yeah but that’s, you know, she’s– I mean, it’s different, it's–” a hand comes up to rub at Mark’s nape, head ducked suddenly to watch Flea munch on her very belated breakfast. “It’s always good to see a fresh face there.”

“Maybe if you join the band officially, I’ll consider it.”

“Oh, wow, resulting to blackmail–”

“It's not blackmail, it's a proposition, idiot.”

“You’re making a preposition, huh?”

“A proposition. A preposition is an adposition. It’s grammar, and I don’t know sh*t about grammar.”

“Okay, genius, you’re offering me a proposition?”

Donghyuck makes a show of looking around the kitchen. “Well, do you see anyone else I could possibly be speaking to right now?” His eyes dart down to the cat by Mark’s feet and he gestures vaguely at her. “Unless she’s as good at the drums as her namesake is at the bass.”

“Yeah, no, sorry. She’s off limits.”

“Oh, I see. So you’re the possessive type, huh?”

“Very.”

A laugh bubbles past Donghyuck’s lips that he’d been trying to keep down, and he winces at the jolt of pain up the side of his face.

“So?” He looks Mark up and down pointedly, his own fingers ghosting over the tender skin of his jaw where it aches.

Mark shrugs to feign casualness. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

“Is that a yes?”

Mark sighs, “I guess…”

“Oh, come on, you coy f*ck.”

“Don’t swear in front of the cat!” Mark says, wide eyed, but flips Donghyuck the bird with his tongue stuck out that Donghyuck returns, minus the tongue part. “I already talked to Jeno about it, but for what it’s worth, I’ll tell you this as well — I’d be honored to play with you guys.”

Donghyuck breathes out a laugh of disbelief. “So you just wanted to hear me beg for it? That’s kinda messed up, Mark.”

Mark shrugs with a pout and raised brows.

“We’re gonna have to have your inauguration then. If you’re part of band and all.”

“Finish your eggs.” Mark says like he hadn’t heard the last bit and points at the still mostly full plate, turns to start on the pile of dishes in the sink.

“Yes, chef.” Donghyuck mutters with a salute that Mark manages to catch with the corner of his eye, resulting in a small smile that he hides with a shake of his head.

✮

Mark has a six hour evening shift, but he drives Donghyuck down to the dorms before it, despite Donghyuck’s countless protests and attempts at insisting that he’ll be fine to walk and that he doesn’t want Mark to be late because of him. All of which Mark responds to with a monotone: “Just get in the car, Donghyuck.”

So Donghyuck gets in the car.

“What the f*ck are you wearing?” Is what Jaehyun greets Donghyuck with when he slips through the already half-open door of their shared dorm room.

“A friend lent them.” Donghyuck says, not even bothering to look down at himself in fear that it might really set in how ridiculous he must look in a faded Spiderman print T-shirt from the movie premiere back in 2002 and a pair of basketball shorts that he has to tie the laces of so they even stay on above his hips. “When’s the guy coming to review the place?”

“Uh, 10 AM tomorrow, but I said I have a plane to catch first thing in the morning so he’s coming at six today instead.”

Donghyuck looks at the alarm clock that Jaehyun’s yet to unplug from the socket by the bed, the red numbers glowing 4:30 PM.

“Do you actually?” He asks, picking up the random snow globe Jaehyun had brought back from his last summer’s trip home to Texas for some reason. A bunch of glitter flutters around a longhorn cattle when Donghyuck shakes the thing.

“To where? Texas?” Jaehyun laughs. “I lied. No way, man. A buddy of mine’s driving me down there. Like hell I’m spending money on a plane ticket in this economy.”

“Right, right. Market crash and sh*t. I get you.”

“Yeah, market crash and sh*t. Like you know what that even means.”

“Oh, here comes the business major with his—”

“Yeah, yeah. Help me with sealing the boxes, will you, smart mouth?” Jaehyun points at the roll of scotch tape lying neglected half-under Donghyuck’s bed.

“Scissors?”

“Nada.” Jaehyun shakes his head and blinks up at Donghyuck with exaggeratedly big eyes from where he’s sitting cross legged on the floor, piling socks into a bag from his bottom drawer. “Be innovative! Use your teeth! Aren’t you supposed to be a creative mind? Or however you like to call it.”

“Yeah, in lyric writing.” Donghyuck says with a roll of his eyes, but picks up the damn scotch tape anyway.

“Oh, baby girl, you wrap around my heart like scotch tape—”

Donghyuck throws a balled up pair of socks at him.

Jaehyun dodges easily. Athlete reflexes and all. f*cking prick.

“Where were you last night, by the way?” He asks, taking out all his boxers from the drawer and dropping them in a pile next to the socks. He examines the mess and then sets on taking every single piece of underwear out to fold it neatly before placing it on top of one another inside the box. “You’re lucky I didn’t file a missing person’s report.”

“Like you even know how to file one.” Donghyuck scoffs and does indeed tear off a piece of scotch tape with his teeth, spluttering at the nasty plastic taste on his lips.

“I do, actually, but you’re right, I wouldn’t. It’s too much trouble. Besides, I’m pretty sure you have to wait like 24 hours.”

“That’s actually bull.” Donghyuck slaps the piece of tape onto the box flaps to keep them together. “There is no waiting period. It’s a myth.”

“What, you’ve filed one?”

Donghyuck thinks back to the day after high school graduation. Mark leaving without a trace, without a prior warning, without a note left behind for Donghyuck to find. So unlike what Donghyuck thought he knew about Mark that it was easier to believe something bad had happened than that Donghyuck simply hadn’t known Mark at all.

“No.” Donghyuck says.

“Okay so where the hell were you?” Jaehyun asks and points at Donghyuck’s face with an accusing finger. “And who the f*ck were you throwing down with?”

“Oh, f*ck.” Donghyuck brings a careful hand up to his jaw where he’d done his best to cover up the bruising with a concealer Mark gave him that one of Jungwoo’s one night stands had left behind apparently. Jungwoo’s not Mark’s. “Is it that noticeable?”

“Only cause I got stronger lenses yesterday.” Jaehyun says. “What happened?”

“Got punched.”

“Punched back?”

“I did.” Donghyuck says, and then, quieter, “I missed.”

Jaehyun laughs at that, a single baritone ha.

“In my defense, I was really f*cking wasted.”

“How wasted?”

Donghyuck huffs out a laugh and hangs his head, looking at Jaehyun through his fringe. “I think I got a tattoo?”

“A tattoo.”

“A tattoo.”

Jaehyun whistles. “Damn.”

“Damn.” Donghyuck agrees.

They end up finishing packing all of Jaheyun’s belongings just a little bit after 5:30 PM. Donghyuck helps with carrying the boxes to the suspicious looking white van pulled up outside the dorm building that Jaehyun swears belongs to a good friend of his and not a middle aged man trying to lure in unassuming freshmen with candy hidden in the trunk.

At 6 PM sharp the guy in charge of dorm security or whatever the hell he was being underpaid to do around here, shows up at their room’s doorstep for the inspection, as he himself calls it. With how happy Jaehyun looks after the man says he’s good to go, one could easily assume he’d just gotten the news that he’d passed the final exam with maximum points, or found out he was a father (or that he wasn’t, more likely in Jaehyun’s case).

“I really hope my next roommate isn’t sh*t.” Donghyuck says when there’s nothing left to do but bid their goodbyes, the van rumbling and sh*tty country music playing from the display radio like a background track for a Texean telenovela scene.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll miss you too, smartass.” Jaehyun cuts right through the bullsh*t and, out of all the possible things to do next, pulls Donghyuck into a hug.

And out of all the possible responses to that, Donghyuck hugs him back.

“I never said that.” Donghyuck mumbles, face half squished by Jaehyun's right boob.

“You didn't have to. I know you well enough to see it in your face anyway.”

“Okay, you're making this kinda weird now, we're literally just roommates.”

“And yet, no one's seen you with your bare ass peeking out from under the covers more than I have.”

“Okay, now you're really making this weird. People are gonna overhear and think we're f*cking.”

“I’d tap that.”

“Ew, you f*cking bozo. You're so gross.” Donghyuck bursts into laughter, finally breaking free of Jaehyun's hold, and pulling back to see him smiling a toothy grin. “I will kinda miss you though.”

“I know.”

Donghyuck punches his arm.

“What's your plans, like, with the band?” Jaehyun asks, and Donghyuck shrugs, genuinely in the dark about it.

“I dunno,” he says, “the road is open. Whatever happens, happens, and whatever doesn't doesn't. I’m kinda happy with how things are right now. I wanna savor it a bit, you know. Get used to it before everything inevitably changes again.”

Jaehyun raises a brow. “For the better?”

“God, I can only hope.”

The driver friend honks and Donghyuck nearly jumps out of his skin, followed by a muffled hurry up, the Denny’s by the 54th is gonna close before we make it.

“You're a talented fella.” Jaehyun says and leans forward to squeeze Donghyuck’s shoulder. “Whatever you decide to do with all that talent, I’m sure it’s gonna be the right choice for you.”

Donghyuck grimaces. “Being sappy doesn't suit you, man.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jaehyun says with a roll of his eyes and a poorly suppressed smile as he retracts his hand. “You should loosen up a little, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Donghyuck parrots, mirrors down to the expressions.

Another honk.

“I’m f*cking coming!” Jaehyun steps off the sidewalk finally and raises a hand in a wave at Donghyuck. “Don't hesitate to call me whenever about whatever. Maybe we can go out and grab a drink sometime. Take care, man.”

Donghyuck does the same — the waving bit, not the stepping off the sidewalk part.

“You too.” He answers to the latter because that feels like the only thing he can force to be genuine past his lips.

No empty promises about visiting and reconciling. Donghyuck knows how separations go most times.

He doesn't think he’d mind seeing Jaehyun again though.

When the time is right.

If such a condition even exists.

✮

Donghyuck has trouble falling asleep that night.

As much as he’d make a show out of complaining about Jaehyun’s incessant snoring to anyone who would listen, it was odd to have the pitch black room be so silent.

Jaehyun had also given his keys back to the security guy, or whatever his official position was named, and Donghyuck thought about some imaginary scenario where he loses his own jangle of charms and other useless trinkets again, and there’s no Jaehyun to call to beg to let him in at ass o’clock this time.

Would he sleep in the hall? Who would he call then?

Jeno slept with his phone on silent, Renjun would probably poignantly ignore the ringtone if it didn’t blare more than twice which would mean a genuine emergency which Donghyuck being a forgetful mess about his belongings when drunk did not qualify as.

Donghyuck’s phone buzzes in his imagination, probably Renjun texting him a haha, I told you so, idiot.

Would he call Mark? He did have his number, albeit still not saved to his contacts on purpose. Somehow, if Donghyuck would say it out loud to somebody, making a conscious effort to not save Mark’s number as Mark on his phone, and opting for memorizing those ten digits instead, sounded like he cared way too much. Which he didn’t. He just hadn’t had the time to go through the trouble of making a new contact list addition because he wasn’t thinking of Mark or his stupid number that went 2175634—

It buzzes again. For real. Donghyuck hears it vibrate on his bedside table.

The blue light screen blares 1:24 AM right into his face when Donghyuck flips it open after reaching for it blindly with one hand, refusing to shift from his comfy position on his back with legs bent and tangled in some weird spaghetti situation under the covers. His right thigh burns a bit where the tattoo sits inked. At least it wasn’t anything stupid like a penis.

Unknown number

What did you mean by inauguration?

Donghyuck really starts to believe Mark might’ve chipped his brain while he was sleeping over. This hypothesis especially supported by the fact that Donghyuck has to stifle a smile into the back of his hand before it joins the other in typing out a reply on the keyboard.

You

it’s a thing we do with the guys.. for every milestone we all get something pierced

Unknown number

I’m a milestone?

You

well yeah u saved us from unemployment

what r you doing up so late?

Unknown number

Why aren’t you asleep?

The last messages come through at the exact same time, a bare millisecond apart that makes Donghyuck’s show up first on the screen and Mark’s just below it.

Unknown number

Brain too loud to let me sleep

You

same

Unknown number

What type of piercings are we talking about here?

You

whatever floats your boat

renjun got a nose one, the small diamond and the rest is his on his ears

jeno uh this is kinda funny he got his uhhhhh dick pierced as a bet he had going on with jaemin LOL but idk if he still has it

Weirdly no comment on the drop of the bomb that was Jeno getting a needle shoved through his penis. That usually elicited quite the response from most people. Mar really didn’t seem to be most people.

Instead a different reply comes through:

Unknown number

And you?

You

what about me

Unknown number

What types of piercings do you habve?

*have

You

i’m boring :/

it’s mostly just ear piercings

Unknown number

Mostly?

You

it’s JUST ear piercings idk i thought saying mostly would make me seem like cooler idk LOL i tried doing another one a few months back after we played our first paid gig but i took it out because it hurt too much ROFL

Unknown number

What did you get?

Donghyuck considers lying for the dramatic effect of it all, but types out his actual response with a sigh.

You

just a bellybutton one LOL

A typing indication bubble pops up on Mark’s side of the screen before disappearing again. It appears, then disappears. Appears. Disappears.

Donghyuck’s palms are all sticky with sweat for some reason and his breathing feels really loud in the otherwise silent room.

He starts to believe Mark won’t reply at all, that he’s maybe fallen asleep halfway through the boring ass conversation about piercings that Donghyuck expanded on for some stupid reason. He could’ve asked Mark about his day at work or something. f*cking idiot.

A message pops up, screen brightening after having gone dim from the lack of typing.

Unknown number

Cool

No other message follows.

Donghyuck still does not fall asleep.

✮

“A tattoo is crazy, though. Even for him.” Renjun says.

“Especially for him.” Jimin corrects.

Donghyuck watches their passionate exchange from the bed, bent half-over to pull off the covers from the nastily stained mattress. “Guys, I am literally right here, you do know that, right?”

“His pain tolerance is seriously below zero, it’s a miracle he went through with it.” Jimin ignores Donghyuck’s remark completely.

“Yeah, because he got d-d-duh-drunk.” Renjun pretends to retch, torso spasming like a scene when a cat’s about to throw up a hair ball onto your carpet, the cardboard box he was meant to be piling all of Donghyuck’s clothes in long forgotten like it never was.

“f*ck you.”

Renjun makes a heart at him with two hands.

Donghyuck had answered all of their concerned inquiries about how he was feeling and how serious the injury was as soon as they’d stepped through the dorm room door. He’d pretty much repeated what Mark had said to him yesterday in the kitchen, leaving out the part where he’d taken Donghyuck’s face in his hands with such gentleness that it felt like Mark was holding him with purpose.

The conclusion: he was fine. He’d be fine, which meant the floodgates to endless teasing were free to open and there wasn’t anything Donghyuck could do to stop it from happening. Not that he wanted to much, or at all, really. He’d rather have this, and have his eyes hurt from how much we was rolling them and his cheeks tint pink from embarrassment than have his friends walk on eggshells around him and treat him like he was prone to breaking at the slightest of missteps.

“No better armor than alcohol and a hot drummer guy between his legs.” Renjun adds like he just can’t help himself.

“f*ck you, dude. You weren’t even there.”

“Yeah, but Jaemin was. What the f*ck was that about, since when are you guys good? You could’ve told me, you’re such a fake friend.”

“Wait, don’t we hate Jaemin?” Jimin asks, looking between them with her lips pursed.

“No.” Renjun tells her. “He’s an ass, but no. We don’t hate him.”

“Uh, okay. Since when?” She’s looking at Donghyuck now, face turned, full attention on him, searching for answers without explicitly asking the needed questions, unsure if Renjun knows. About the cheating bit.

Renjun doesn’t. Donghyuck’s glad for once Jimin doesn’t share the bluntness of Jeno who doesn’t pick up on social cues sometimes either because he can’t, or because he enjoys watching what unfolds when he doesn’t. She’s too smart for her own good.

“It’s good now.” Donghyuck tells her with a nod and a strained smile that means we’ll talk about this later, and she looks away hesitantly, like she does not quite believe him.

“Woah.” Renjun says, wide eyed, taking turns at blinking up at both of them. “Am I witnessing secrets being kept from me right in front of my eyes?”

“You’re literally crazy.” Donghyuck tells him. “You need to stop making sh*t up on the spot like that, you’re scaring me.”

“You’re gaslighting me.” Renjun gasps in fake offense. “Oh my God, I’m being gaslit in real time. Jimin, are you seeing this?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She says casually.

“I’m gonna snap my own neck and make you both watch in real time so you get jailed for my murder.”

No response follows his threat so Renjun brings both hands to cradle his jaw and twists his neck to the side a bit, not breaking eye contact with Donghyuck for even a second.

“Quit it.” Donghyuck says.

Renjun makes a gurgling cracking noise with his tongue by his throat and twists his neck further on the side like wringing a towel dry.

“You’re literally insufferable.” Donghyuck rolls his eyes and balls up the covers, drops them to the floor in a pile. “Jaemin quit the band because he cheated on me, but turns out he didn’t actually cheat and just said he did so I had a reason to break up with him, because he knew it was making the both of us miserable and he wanted to give me that needed push to kick him to the curb.”

Renjun blinks up at him. Jimin watches him with her mouth slightly agape.

Donghyuck raises his arms and then drops them back down to his lap in a shrug.

“Donghyuck, that’s so messed up.” Jimin says, voice so low like she’s whispering a secret.

“Yeah, that kinda is really f*cked up, damn.” Renjun scratches his temple with a blunt nail.

Donghyuck shrugs.

✮

“So you’ve never pierced anything, like, ever?” Jeno asks for the nth time, beer bottle hanging loose from his grasp, arm slung over the back of the waiting area couch, a new stud glistening on his left earlobe.

“No?” Mark laughs, unsurely casting a look over at Donghyuck who’s sitting next to Jeno, waiting for his turn to let Ten — a friend of a friend of Jeno’s — to stick another needle through his skin. “Is it that hard to believe?”

Mark himself stands next to Renjun seated on The Chair, shifting his gaze to watch Ten wipe at Renjun’s lip with an antiseptic, his own bottom lip pulled between his teeth.

“He’s just stereotyping, because—”

“Don’t talk, your spit’s gonna mess up the disinfect.” Ten cuts Renjun off who slumps in his seat with a groan.

“He’s just stereotyping because band kids usually frequent this place.” Donghyuck finishes for him.

“Not just for piercings.” Ten adds casually, wiping at Renjun’s bottom lip with a cotton wipe again. “It's mostly for tattoos actually. They're more drastic of a change. Look cooler.”

“Oh, well,” Mark perks up at that. “I do have a few of those if that counts for anything.”

Renjun sits up in his seat, breathing in to blurt out a comment, but Ten forces him quiet with a leveled look.

“You're inked?” Jeno speaks for all of them, mouth agape as he looks up at Mark from his spot on the couch.

Mark shrugs, sheepish all of a sudden like he only seemed to be when there were more people than just Donghyuck around; like being with Donghyuck was a green light itself to act differently; like Donghyuck was different.

“How come we’ve never seen your tats?” Jeno asks, taking another swing of his beer bottle and scrutinizing Mark with squinted eyes darting over every part of his body.

“Well they're not really, like, out there, I guess. I didn't get them to be that visible.” Mark says, patting both his thighs through his basketball shorts where the tattoos presumably stay, permanently inked on Mark’s skin.

“Why the hell did you get them then?” Jeno asks.

That unsure laugh is back.

“I got them for me?” Mark says, rhetorical question.

Renjun’s yelp of pain sounds through the salon and Donghyuck looks over to see him sitting like he’s on the verge of sh*tting himself, eyes squeezed shut and hands clenched into fists hanging by his sides, trembling with the effort to keep still.

“There you go.” Ten says, pulling back with a brilliant smile that soothes the nudge urging Renjun to get up, and patting the empty seat once he does. “Next one, c’mon. I wanna go home.”

Renjun plops down in the narrow space between Jeno and Donghyuck on the couch, and his elbow digs so painfully into Donghyuck’s ribs that he gets up with a roll of his eyes and settles for just sitting on the armrest.

Next up in their previously agreed upon order is Mark who lowers himself onto the leather chair next to Ten and his wheely table of ink bottles and piercing guns.

“So?” Ten turns his full attention on him.

Mark raises a hand to point at his right eyebrow wordlessly.

Donghyuck thinks the air in the room suddenly gets a little harder to breathe.

“Oh, damn. Not bad for a first timer.” Ten says appreciatively, already twisting his torso to rummage through his carefully curated clutter of items. “It doesn’t even hurt that much, honestly. Promise to clean it properly every day though.”

Ten’s hands still completely, needle miles away from Mark’s face like he’s waiting for confirmation.

“I promise.” Mark says, wide-eyed and overly assured.

Ten pats his cheek lightly. “Good boy.” He says and Donghyuck watches in real time as the skin where Ten’s hand had just been turns a light pink that must feel warm to the touch.

The touch that lingers for some reason as Ten uses that same hand to brush some imaginary speck of dirt off the high bone of Mark’s cheek with pouted lips that only makes the pink of Mark’s skin flush a deeper color which, quite frankly, Donghyuck thinks is really f*cking unprofessional. Explicitly making move on customers. It’s borderline rude. Why can’t Ten just do his f*cking job and get it over with—

Renjun pokes Donghyuck’s thigh with a finger and Donghyuck looks down at his raised brows, aware of the sudden tension in his jaw which he makes a conscious effort to unclench.

“Don’t flinch or it’s gonna hurt more than it has to.” Ten says after he’s discarded the antiseptic and without further warning, drives the needle right through the tender skin of Mark’s right brow.

Mark stands up after, looking like he’d just been punched.

Two tiny silver spheres glisten on either side of where the piercing breeches the skin

Donghyuck does not look at Mark. Does not look at his pierced brow. Does not look at his stupidly attractive face twisting up in a voiceless wince, cheeks flushed, lips parted and bitten red and spit slick and—

“Donghyuck?” Ten calls out again, watching him with his head tilted to the side, combat boot tapping on the tiled floor in a frantic rhythm.

“Just my ear again.” Donghyuck says, standing up probably flushed like he’d just run half a marathon, Jeno booing in response and Renjun doing his best to join in without his bottom lip touching his teeth like the piercing’s explosive.

“There is quite literally no free space on there.” Ten says bluntly, taking a single glance up at both of Donghyuck’s ears. “Pick something else.”

“Nipples!” Jeno perks up.

“No.”

“Why not?”

Donghyuck wordlessly flips him the bird.

“Hey, c’mon. Why not?” Jeno presses.

Donghyuck ignores him, turns to Ten instead. “I’m not getting anything on my face.”

Ten raises both his hands up in defense like Donghyuck’s just accused him of something.

“What do you propose then?”

And that is how Donghyuck ends up lying down on the tattoo table kept in the back of the salon, shirt pulled up to his ribs and Ten sitting down on a stool by his hip, Jeno, Renjun and Mark hovering over him like they’re about to witness open surgery. With how f*cking bright the overhead light is, Ten might as well really just use that needle to slice Donghyuck’s guts open.

“This isn’t gonna hurt.” He tells Donghyuck.

Both hands covering his face, Donghyuck lets out a muffled: “I know.”

Instinctively, his stomach quivers when a gloved hand comes to rest on the soft skin there, the rubber warm to the touch as Ten’s fingers move around to find a comfortable position for the needle.

In his head, Donghyuck counts up from 1 to 20 and then back from 20 to 1.

He makes it to 16 of his rebound before the needle pierces skin and Donghyuck yelps into his hands like a little mouse caught in a glue trap.

✮

Instead of the dorms like he’d gotten used to over the past 9 months, Donghyuck rides his bike back home to his family home. Mark had offered to drive him before he’d taken his words back with a bunch of mumbled apologies because he’d apparently realized with a single glance at his phone that he was about 10 minutes away from being late for work.

Of course, Donghyuck had assured Mark that it was fine, and that he’d appreciate the exercise the bike ride home would bring despite knowing damn well he’d feel a little like he’d lost about 5 years off his lifespan about halfway up the asphalted hill that led to the outskirt private properties that mostly consisted of family homes that had been built there in the 60’s.

It sort of seemed like Mark was always working these days. Donghyuck never noticed just how many shifts a week he’d take up in promise of his salary being paid early and in blind hope for some tips that the town’s villagers were always too stingy to leave.

Jeno and Renjun leave together because there’s a matter of messed up wires and adapters they have to sort out back at Jeno’s place again, and Donghyuck sets out on his bike back home because it’s not like there’s any way around the 4 mile road.

Around the 15 minute mark of his epic journey, Jaemin calls him, and Donghyuck presses his phone to his ear with one hand, other on the steering wheel to not end up with broken bones in a ditch.

“Are you still mad at me?” Is the opener Jaemin starts the conversation with and Donghyuck makes sure his sigh is heard through the sh*tty reception because the singular cell tower in the area made the reception suck balls.

“I’m not mad at you.”

“You’re mad at everyone all the time.”

“Not true. What’s your point?”

“My point is that you never called me to say that you were okay after getting your sh*t rocked at the party.”

Donghyuck shrugs even if Jaemin can’t see it. “I forgot.”

“You forgot.” Jaemin parrots on the other end of the line. “Wanna smoke?”

“I’m not home.”

“When will you be?”

“Thirty minutes tops.”

“I’ll be there.”

“I never said you were invited.”

Jaemin huffs out a laugh through the speaker. “You never said I wasn’t.”

✮

“I told Jimin and Renjun about the fake cheating thing.” Donghyuck says, perched on top of the window sill of his childhood bedroom with Jaemin opposite him, evening sunlight hitting one side of his face and making his black hair glow a warm brown.

“And what’d they say?” Jaemin asks, blows out the smoke through the left side of his mouth so the weed smell doesn’t stench up the whole room, and passes the joint over to Donghyuck who takes it and brings it to his lips with a shrug.

“Not the best reaction. Not the worst. Renjun’s Renjun. I’m pretty sure Jimin hates you, though.” Donghyuck says after a drag. “She thinks you broke my heart.”

“I didn’t.” Jaemin says easily.

Donghyuck shakes his head. “You didn’t.”

“I already feel kinda bad, but I’d feel really bad if I’d, like, broken your heart.”

“You give yourself too much credit. It’s not like I was in love with you, man.”

“But you reckon you could’ve been?” Jaemin prompts, one raised brow, and hand making grabby motions at the joint between Donghyuck’s fingers.

Donghyuck hums in contemplation, handing Jaemin what he wants and leaning back to watch him take a few drags.

Objectively, Jaemin is a good looking guy. He’s nice, he’s charming, he has a decently sized dick. If someone put up a printed-out picture of him on a whiteboard and asked if Donghyuck would tap that without him having no prior knowledge of anything related to Jaemin, he’d probably say yes. Definitely say yes.

And he did say yes, and he did get to tap that, or whatever. But that’s all it was.

Donghyuck never lost sleep over Jaemin, only struggled with tossing and turning around at night after the breakup, but only because it was a mortifying ordeal to get cheated on; it implied without explicitly stating it that there was something not good enough about him, that he was lacking in one way or another that simply could not be fixed.

There was heat in his tummy at the thought of him, sure, but there were no butterflies. There was no heat in Donghyuck’s cheeks at compliments. Jaemin didn’t congratulate him on his birthday.

That’s all it was. That’s all it probably ever would be.

Donghyuck’s not entirely sure what it does mean to be in love, really, but, surely, there has to be more to it than what he’d felt with Jaemin.

If that really is all that the whole love ordeal has to offer, then it’s kinda really f*cking disappointing.

“I don’t think so.” Donghyuck says eventually with a shrug.

Jaemin clutches at his chest, gasping in faux pain, and Donghyuck kicks his shin with a foot, smile tugging at the corners of his lips, but Jaemin — the f*cker — grabs Donghyuck’s bare ankle and pulls, sending Donghyuck sliding down the window sill completely with a yelp, landing ass first onto the floor.

There’s a still silence at first, both of them looking at each other with wide, unblinking eyes, until it snaps like a glowstick bursting and laughter spills past both their lips.

Donghyuck stays laying on the floor on his back, hands clutching at his stomach that shakes with giggles like there’s bees in there, ready to burst through the skin, and Jaemin struggles to stay upright on the window sill

“There’s a gig, by the way, in Chicago in July.” Jaemin says after their shared laughter dies down. “I know a guy who knows a guy who, you guessed it, knows a guy. I could ask if they’re accepting submissions.”

Donghyuck hums. “I told Mark about you cheating, too.” He says after keeping it in for too long, just to get it out there before he chokes on it, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling from when he was going through his space phase from the ages 10 to 13. “Didn’t get to the ‘it was all fake’ part yet, though.”

Jaemin huffs out a laugh. “I figured. That explains why he was so ass-y towards me at the party.”

“Ass-y isn’t a word, I’m pretty sure.” Donghyuck says and turns his head to the side to look at Jaemin. “And he wasn’t like that. Ass-y, or however you said it.”

“Dude, he looked like he was gonna smash my teeth in after I introduced myself.”

“He did not.”

“He literally broke a guy’s nose. I could’ve been on the receiving end of that punch.”

“He didn’t mean it.”

“Didn’t mean it.” Jaemin huffs and puts out the joint by smearing it against the outside windowsill. “Hyuck, he punched a random dude hard enough to fracture bone. That’s literally crazy. That’s some Fight Club sh*t. Straight up, I’m serious.”

“Yeah, well, he’s always been like that.”

“Always been like that—”

“Not in that way, just–” Donghyuck bites at his bottom lip, picking at the skin until he tastes blood. “His family, man… I don’t know, they’re just — I mean, Mark never really talked about them — that’s why he is how he is, he’s always been like this. Not even the punching bit, actually, I’ve never seen him result to physical violence like that, but just—” he gestures around vaguely with his hands like that will somehow make Jaemin get what Donghyuck’s still trying to decipher after all these years of knowing Mark, “—just this. The way he is. Falling behind at school, never sharing anything that’s on his mind, like, every day I find out something new about him that I think is kinda a big deal and he just casually acts like he didn’t think of mentioning it, like he just forgot or something.”

“Don’t you kinda do the same thing?” Jaemin asks, watching Donghyuck with an unreadable expression, with those big glistening eyes of his, now glazed over and pupils blown wide from the two joints they’d shared.

“I don’t even know what I’m saying, man.” Donghyuck whines low in his throat and fists both hands in his sweaty hair, pushing it away from his forehead. “I just want things to be normal.”

Jaemin sits in silence for a bit, eyes not looking at Donghyuck anymore, but trained at some random spot on the ground next to him, lips stretched in a thin line like they did when the cogs in his head were turning.

There’s no laughter, no teasing remarks, just contemplative silence.

“You like him a lot, don’t you?” He says. “Mark.”

Donghyuck raises one shoulder before dropping it. “He used to be my best friend.”

“A best friend who now goes around punching people on your behalf.” Jaemin says thoughtfully, feeling the words out on his tongue like he’s speaking for the first time.

“It was kinda hot, though.” Donghyuck blurts out before his brain catches up, the weed haze clearly messing with his mouth filter.

Jaemin stays silent for a bit before sighing defeatedly. “Yeah, it kinda really was.”

✮

Jaemin stays until the sun sets and the smell of weed stops clinging to their clothes as much; until Jaemin’s pupils go back to normal and the glaze in his eyes looks like he might just have taken a nap and nothing more.

That’s when Donghyuck leads him down the stairs to see him out.

“Oh, Jaeminnie, I haven’t seen you in ages.” Donghyuck’s mom says when she stumbles upon them in the hallway as Jaemin’s double knotting his shoelaces despite Donghyuck’s conscious efforts to prevent this interaction from happening.

It’s a bunch of small talk that Donghyuck zones out from halfway through, standing there with a blank expression directed at the shoe rack opposite him, waiting for it to be over so Jaemin can leave and Donghyuck can retreat to his room and check if Mark hadn’t texted him again. It was late. Mark’s shift would’ve ended by now.

“You should come by more often. Stay for dinner sometime.” Is what the painfully polite exchange ends with. “We would love to have you, right Donghyuck-ah?”

“Yes, eomma.” Donghyuck nods and refuses to meet Jaemin’s eyes because this alone will probably be used as teasing bait for the foreseeable future.

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you, Mrs Lee.” Jaemin says with a polite bow and steps back with one hand already on the doorknob.

“Why do you never have him over anymore?” His mom asks in Korean as soon as Jaemin’s out with the door shut behind him. “He’s a sweet boy.”

“He’s busy these days.” Donghyuck replies to her in English, and makes a b-line for the stairs before she can interrogate him about something embarrassing like that time she found a bedazzled dild* under his bed when deep cleaning that his high school friends had gotten him as a gag gift for when he turned 18, and slammed it on the dining room table when Donghyuck had gotten home from school, demanding to know what the hell that was.

It really is late.

Donghyuck checks the time on his phone. 11:55 PM. No texts from Mark.

Whatever.

He goes to shower — a quick thing just to scrub off the sweat still clinging to his skin from the scorching heat, careful to not wet the piercing as by Ten’s instructions, and have his hair not smell like someone doused it in gym locker room aroma, his oldest younger sister banging on the door by the time Donghyuck manages to rinse out all the shampoo, whining about Donghyuck locking the door again when they’d talked about keeping it open in case someone needed to pee while he was in the shower.

“Next time you need to get off, do it in your bed like the rest of us instead of hugging the shower.” Donghsson says when Donghyuk opens the door, still half naked and with his hair dripping onto the tiled floor.

“I wasn’t.” Donghyuck says hogging the doorway. “I don’t beat it in the shower, that’s disgusting.”

“Donghyuck, I’m gonna piss myself.” Dongsoon whines, bending her knees for added dramatic effect and Donghyuck rolls his eyes before stepping out and letting her rush inside the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

He pads over to his room, leaving a wet trail behind like he’s some sort of slug, and checks the time on his phone again. 12:23 AM. Still no texts from Mark.

Whatever.

Donghyuck slips under the covers and lays like that on his bed with his hands resting on his stomach, rising and falling with every even breath. The wooden frame holding the mattress creaks with every shift in a way Donghyuck doesn’t remember it sounding the previous summer he’d spent here. God knows what this poor bed had endured while he’d been gone at college.

As he waits for sleep to overtake him, Donghyuck stares at the same glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling, feeling his eyelids grow heavy with each passing minute, the exhaustion of the day and the head wearing him down finally catching up to him in long strides, sinking its blunt nails into skin and dragging him down down down.

With his eyes slipping shut finally, Donghyuck feels sleep wash over him in soft waves, tired mind not bothering to conjure anything behind the pitch black of behind his eyelids.

Like that for a while.

Until out of nowhere, as if waiting for the exact moment when Donghyuck’s guard is down at its lowest, an image gets conjured by his half-asleep mind of Mark looking down at Donghyuck back at the salon, Donghyuck laying on the tattoo table on his back just like he is now.

Mark. Just Mark looking down at him with his brow pierced and his lips red and shiny from spit. His spit.

Or is it someone else’s?

Mark hovering above him now, looking down at Donghyuck on his back with his pupils blown wide like they’d just shared two joints between them. Donghyuck’s spit?

Heat pools at Donghyuck’s belly.

He shuffles under the covers and turns to the side.

Mark with his stupid eyebrow piercing, with his stupid shorts that ended just above his knees, and the stupid curve of his broad shoulders, the lines of his biceps, the veins running down his arms to his hands that flexed as his eyes fitted over the exposed patches of skin as Donghyuck lay on that damn tattoo table.

f*ck. He’d looked so hot.

Donghyuck shifts again with a groan, flopping down onto his tummy which makes the issue at hand undeniably known when his front presses against the mattress, dick half-hard against his hip, and sending a strong enough jolt of pleasure through his body to make his toes curl.

Once, just once, and just to make sure, Donghyuck raises his hips slightly to bring them back down against the mattress, eyes rolling and moan escaping before he thinks of shoving his face into the pillow to quiet the noise.

Okay.

Okay, so this is a thing now.

A thing he has to deal with.

“f*ck,” Donghyuck groans into his pillow, stilling completely, contemplating whether he’s really gonna do this because it feels sort of like a one-way street type of commitment.

He stays still like that for a little bit before he decides f*ck it and ruts his hips against the mattress again, muffling the whine that escapes on its own accord into the pillow.

Oh my God, Donghyuck thinks absentmindedly as he keeps rocking back and forth in a steady rhythm, the bed creaking like it’s from the Victorian ages, I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.

In the midst of the pleasure haze, the piercing on his tummy catches on the sheets and Donghyuck hisses in the sudden jolt of pain, halting his movements completely.

He flips over to his back again, dick fully hard against his stomach now, leaking all over his navel, but Donghyuck doesn’t like it like this — on his back — and he’d also rather not get cum in the literal hole pierced through his body and contract, like, herpes through bodily fluids or something, so he turns back around, on his elbows and knees now, covers slipping down to the swell of his ass.

Okay.

Okay, he’s gonna do this.

Donghyuck squeezes his eyes shut like that’s somehow gonna make this whole thing less real, and brings one hand up to his mouth, coating two of the fingers with excessive spit when he slips them past his lips, pressing them hard down on his tongue, just deep enough to gag and feel his dick twitch between his legs at the feeling of his throat constricting.

God, Donghyuck thinks, no particular prayer in mind, shame burning hot and prominent across his face as he slips his fingers out of his mouth and reaches with that same hand behind himself to press at his entrance. He doesn’t push past the tight ring of muscle, just presses down over it with the pad of his finger until the sensation punches a sob out of him before moving his hand to the side to pull at his cheek, kneading the flesh roughly and feeling his hole flutter against nothing but air.

He thinks about Mark — his strong arms, his big hands, him between Donghyuck’s legs at that party — imagines him on the bed behind himself right now; his arms holding Donghyuck by the hips, his hands pulling his ass cheeks apart, his fingers teasing at his hold, and moans high into the pillow, toes curling from equal pleasure and shame.

He hasn’t had sex in so f*cking long, Donghyuck thinks he might be going crazy.

It’s so much, yet not enough, and Donghyuck’s right arm shakes from holding up his entire weight on its own, so he shuffles a bit until he’s with his shoulders pressed into the mattress, hips up and now free hand reaching down to fist at his leaking co*ck.

Donghyuck moves his hips to meet his hand, hips rocking back and forth on the creaking bed, chasing his release.

He’s so f*cking close.

Mark’s arms around his middle on that bike, the heat of his body whenever he’d press close, the calluses of his fingers scraping against the skin of Donghyuck’s jaw as Mark holds his face in his hands.

Oh God.

Oh God, oh God, oh God—

There’s a deafeningly loud crash that cracks through the silence of the room like lightning, suddenly Donghyuck falls flat on his stomach with a muffled grunt, still on the mattress, but no longer on the bed.

There’s rushed footsteps down the hall and then the door to his bedroom is bursting open, every single one of his family members rushing in, Donghyuck barely managing to half-sit up and pull the blankets over his still painfully hard

“Donghyuck-ah, what–” His mom starts in Korean, silk robe thrown hastily over one her sheer nightgown.

“Oh, my God.” Dongsoon gasps from behind their parents, hand flying up to cover her mouth before she doubles over in laughter.

Eunji, the youngest of Donghyuck’s sisters joins in on the giggling as she examines Donghyuck’s pathetic state.

Their dad sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers as.

“Eomma,” Jiwoo says after careful observation, pulling at her sleeve, the youngest of them four, “Hyung broke the bed.”

✮

“I just don’t get how that happens.” Jeno says with a wistful sigh. “How do you just snap a bed frame in half?”

They’re strolling through the furniture store, looking at the limited display of bed frames and trying to decide which price of the available options doesn’t make Donghyuck feel like throwing up. His mom’s up ahead, talking to one of the store clerks, and, if the way she keeps moving her hands around in the air is anything to go by, Donghyuck can assume she’s probably describing the sad state of the bed frame Donghyuck had broken last night. How great.

“You sure you didn’t have Jaemin over?” Jeno asks, leaning in closer to Donghyuck so the lowered tone of his voice can be heard over the Christian radio music playing through the store’s speakers. “You can be honest. I won’t judge you for going back to your ex, we all have our weak moments.”

“There was no Jaemin in my bed last night.” Donghyuck says through clenched teeth and pushes Jeno off him, sending what he hopes to be a discreet look over at Mark who’d accompanied Donghyuck as the only person he knew well with a car, since the only car Donghyuck’s family owned was taken by his dad to commute to work this morning; Mark who’s taken a sudden interest in the kitchen lamp display. “We’re through for good. How many times do I have to say that? The bed just broke. That’s it. It was f*cking ancient. It was a matter of time before it ran out of its last life.”

Jeno hums, clearly not buying it, but he drops the subject, turning to Mark instead, and so Donghyuck takes the small victory while he can, and lets himself exhale in relief.

✮

There was really no practical reason for Jeno to come with them to the furniture store, but Donghyuck had mentioned over the phone that he was going when Jeno called in the morning to ask about scheduling their next practice, and Jeno had expressed interest in accompanying them. And who was Donghyuck to refuse?

Because there being no purpose for him, Jeno ends up leaving as soon as he helps load the new bedframe into the trunk of Mark’s blue pickup, saying he’s gonna drop by later maybe to go over in more detail about that Chicago gig Donghyuck said Jaemin had mentioned.

Mark, their designated driver for today, drops them off at the house and even helps carry the heavy boxes containing the bedframe inside and up the stairs to Donghyuck’s room that’s been cleared from the previous one already.

This has Donghyuck huffing and groaning as him and Mark struggle getting the biggest box to the second floor.

Though, in all honesty, it’s mostly just Donghyuck being the one who’s struggling, Mark holding onto the other end of the long, flat box, and shouting encouragements at Donghyuck with every labored breath that he forces past his lips, cheeks red and hair stuck to his temples with sweat, and Mark cooing at his compromised state.

“Stop making fun of me.” Donghyuck says as threateningly as he can manage which, really, comes out sounding like a pathetic sort of plea.

“I’m not!” Mark says, but the smile he tries his best to suppress ends up bursting across his face anyway.

“You’re an ass.”

“Language!” His mom’s voice comes from somewhere in the kitchen.

This only makes Mark laugh harder, nearly resulting in him dropping his end of the box and squishing Donghyuck with all the weight of it on him.

By the time they’ve transferred all the boxes from Mark’s car to Donghyuck’s room, it’s already way past 6 PM and Donghyuck’s mom’s voice comes from downstairs to announce that she’s starting on dinner which was code for his siblings to come downstairs and help her.

“Are you gonna be able to assemble it on your own?” Mark asks, examining the many boxes and then turning to Donghyuck with a raised brow.

There’s still that cursed eyebrow piercing. Every patch of exposed skin glistens with sweat. Mark had worn a T-shirt today, the sleeves halfway down his arms so Donghyuck doesn’t have to look at the muscles there, which would be fine if the fit wasn’t so loose that Donghyuck would basically get a whole view of Mark’s torso through the loose neckline every time he bent down.

The memory of what he’d done last night suddenly crashes over him like a bucket of lava and Donghyuck looks away from Mark’s gaze, tips of his ears burning that the redness of which probably isn’t visible with how flushed the rest of his body is from exertion and the heat. The air in the room is stuffy. Way too small of a space for two people.

“Are you undermining my abilities?” Donghyuck shoots back, way too late and way too quiet to count as a witty jab back.

“Well, I saw you at work with the boxes.” Mark says, gesturing loosely at Donghyuck’s disheveled state.

“f*ck you.”

Mark breathes out a laugh.

“Seriously, want me to help? I don’t mind staying for a bit longer.”

“Do you want me to beg again, or something?”

“A simple yes would be nice for starters.”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Okay, fine, yes, you can stay.”

“Stay, okay.” Mark makes a show of standing up perfectly straight, hands limp by his sides. “I’m staying.”

“You’re actually insufferable, did you know that?”

“So I’ve been told by you multiple times, yes.”

“Do you actually want me to beg?”

“Hm, no, I don’t think I ever said that.”

“Literally you offered to help.”

“I did, yeah.” Mark shrugs, trying not to smile, but his eyes stay soft as he watches Donghyuck’s inner turmoil like he can hear every thought that runs through his head with the speed of a bullet train. “You never accepted my offer, though.”

“Fine. God, I hate you so bad.” Donghyuck grits out through clenched teeth. “I want you to stay and help with assembling the bed frame.”

Mark relaxes his stiff posture at the words like a spell has been broken.

“See, now that wasn’t so hard, was it? Good job.” He says with a smile of white teeth that makes him sound almost condescending, but not quite, his tone some undefinable thing that sends a shiver down Donghyuck’s spine.

✮

Together, the two of them, they manage to assemble the whole thing in less than an hour. By the end of it, as they’re standing side by side admiring their work, drenched in sweat from head to toe, Donghyuck thinks that the build actually wasn’t that hard and that he could’ve easily done it himself.

But Mark had offered to stay behind and help.

Donghyuck wanted him to.

“Mark, oh, thank you so much.” Donghyuck’s mom says when they go downstairs, rising to her tiptoes to wrap her arms around Mark in a hug that Mark returns with little hesitancy, looking at Donghyuck with an unsure smile over her shoulder. “Please, let us treat you to dinner. We haven’t started eating yet.” She says like she hadn’t noticed the two years passing during which there was no sign of Mark in Donghyuck’s life and in this house at all.

“Mark has work tomorrow, mom.” Donghyuck tells her when she pulls back, already feeling guilty enough as it is for keeping Mark hauled up in his room doing free labor on his day off.

“Oh, but just for dinner, no?” She pouts, turning to look at Mark with those sympathetic pleading eyes.

“Mom.”

“You must be hungry after all that hard work.”

“Mom,” Donghyuck tries again, quietly uncomfortable, looking at the old grandfather clock in the hallway by the door that’s showing the time being nearly 8 PM already. “Mom, we’ve already wasted enough of his time.”

For some reason, it’s exactly those words that seem to send Mark out of his awkwardly silent stupor.

“I would really appreciate that, Mrs Lee.” Mark says with a polite little bow of his head.

The smile her face lights up with is beaming.

“Please, it is the least I could do as a thank you.” She says with a dismissive wave of her hand and motions for them to follow her into the kitchen.

Donghyuck grabs onto Mark’s wrist before he can take a step further, his mom disappearing into the kitchen obliviously, and Mark turns to Donghyuck with a smile that fades once he sees the expression Donghyuck wears.

“You don’t have to do this, seriously. It’s late already, and you must be tired.” Donghyuck says, tone hushed and hurried. “You can go home, I’ll make up some lie about how some random emergency came up all of a sudden and that you had to leave in an instant because of it. Seriously, I don’t want you to feel like you have to put up with this because you feel bad–”

“Donghyuck.” Mark interrupts him, so soft and polite that Donghyuck doesn’t even have it in himself to feel mad about it. “I want to, okay?”

Donghyuck loosens his grip on Mark’s wrist, letting his arm drop back against his side, and his fingertips stay warm where they had just been pressed against Mark’s skin.

He nods, sighing as he looks at Mark through his fringe. “Yeah, okay.”

For dinner tonight they’re having bibimbap apparently. That’s sort of what Donghyuck focuses on as soon as he steps into the kitchen, but not what his siblings focus at, though — heads turning and gazes landing on Mark who’s raising his hand in a sheepish wave when he appears through the doorway.

At once, the table erupts in different variations of Mark’s name, chairs being pushed back from the table and bare feet padding across the tiled floor as three pairs of arms throw themselves around Mark in a smothering hug that nearly sends him toppling over.

He laughs, steadying himself with one hand against the doorframe and the other trying to impossibly wrap around the three bodies currently squishing him like a plush toy that’s prompted a particularly intense fit of cuteness aggression.

“Dears!” Their mom calls out with her smile audible in her voice. “Mark is hungry, he has been working all day.”

“Mark hyung, where have you been?” Jiwoo asks, first to pull away, having to crane his neck up to catch a glimpse of Mark’s face.

“Guys, come on.” Donghyuck says, clearing his throat and shuffling his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other.

Eventually, they do get seated, Donghyuck ending up in the chair next to Mark because it wouldn’t feel right to just leave him alone at the end of the table or something. Donghyuck feels a little like he’s taking care of a puppy, though, with how easily Mark seems to fit into the casual conversation flowing around the table in between bites of food, and how tense Donghyuck is by his side, it might be that Mark’s the one taking care of a puppy.

Back in high school Mark would join their family dinners every Friday after school. It had started off as casual offers from Donghyuck’s mom because Mark just so happened to be around during dinner time, since they’d crash at Donghyuck’s place from Friday to Saturday almost every week; sleep in the bed that Donghyuck now just piled the broken planks of into the trash can on the front lawn.

It’s almost like he’s 19 again with the whole world at the tips of his fingers.

Mark seems to notice that Donghyuck’s not eating much, opting for taking prolonged sips of his sparkling water instead, and so his hand lands on Donghyuck’s bare knee which almost makes him choke on the gulp of water he barely manages to swallow around without dying. It’s callused and warm, and real, and his fingers squeeze at Donghyuck’s skin gently before drawing back to pick up his discarded pair of chopsticks again.

The evening carries on into way past nine which is when Mark really has to get going.

He accepts the hugs with open arms, shakes Donghyuck’s dad’s extended hand, and even leans down to receive a kiss on the cheek from Dongsoon like a true gentleman before Donghyuck’s following him out the door and down the front porch steps.

“Thank you.” Mark says when he stops with both feet planted on the stone path leading to his car parked on the curb.

“For what?” Donghyuck laughs, but the joke dyes down when he sees the almost solemn expression Mark wears in place of the smile he’d just been beaming with moments before.

Mark flails his arms around aimlessly, settling for them just limp by his sides, and shrugs instead. Donghyuck’s still standing on the last porch step.

“I dunno.” He says. “Just for having me over, I guess. Your family’s really lovely. It’s really clear who you take after.”

“You’re really lovely too.” Donghyuck says before he thinks better of it.

Mark has his head hung low but he smiles, shoulders bunching up with a single exhale of laughter like he doesn’t quite believe it.

There’s a long moment where nothing happens; where Mark stays with his neck bent low and Donghyuck stays standing on the stairs, a head taller than Mark like this, as if observing him from above. Briefly Donghyuck wonders if maybe Mark’s fallen asleep upright from the exhaustion of today catching up to him so suddenly here.

But then Mark’s back rises as he takes in a deep breath and he straightens up, turning on his heel to face Donghyuck, taking a step closer with his arms opening, and something in Donghyuck’s brain short circuits as it sets itself into panicked overdrive, resulting in him extending a hand like a barrier between them.

Mark lowers his arms and looks down at Donghyuck’s hand — just looks for a while — before he’s huffing out that same single breathy laugh from before with a disbelieving smile, and takes Donghyuck’s offered hand in his to shake like they’re two businessmen sealing a deal.

He steps back then, lets go of Donghyuck’s hand, and bids a goodbye.

The first few steps he takes are backwards so he can look at Donghyuck as if wanting to see it happen without delays if Donghyuck makes the choice to do something else. Nothing of the sort happens, though, and so Mark raises a hand in a wave before turning around in earnest, back to Donghyuck, and hurried steps towards his truck.

Nothing of the sort happens until Mark stops in front of the passenger side door to rummage through his pockets for his keys and it really cements in Donghyuck’s head that he’s about to leave.

By some deep tug that Donghyuck doesn’t resist this time, he jumps down the last step and runs up to Mark across the yard, still bare feet slapping across the stone, and Mark turns just at the right moment to open his arms to catch Donghyuck in a bone crushing hug.

“I meant it, by the way — that you’re lovely, too.” Donghyuck mumbles into Mark’s clothed shoulder, hands looped under Mark’s armpits, palms pressed into the space between his shoulder blades, Mark’s own hands around Donghyuck’s waist. “There’s a reason my family loves you so much.”

“I missed you.” Mark says on a single exhale, barely audible against the side of Donghyuck’s neck, like it’s been hurting him to keep it in for so long.

Donghyuck wraps his arms around Mark impossibly tighter. “I missed you too.”

At some point when Donghyuck’s lost track of time, they do end up pulling apart even if Donghyuck thinks he could spend a few more hours like that at least, because Mark really does have to get home.

“I meant it about the diner, by the way.” Mark says over the hood of the truck when he’s rounded it to get to the driver’s side. “About you coming to hang whenever you want.”

“And about the freebies?”

Mark laughs. “I’ll see what I can do about that.”

Donghyuck stands on the curb as Mark drives off, waving at him until the car disappears around the corner like some lovesick teenager.

He keeps standing there for a bit, watching the spot where Mark’s truck had just been, flexing his hands with never before felt giddiness before settling for wrapping them around his own middle and bursting out into a hushed fit of giggles that might just look maniacal from an outsider’s perspective, but for Donghyuck — he doesn’t remember the last time he’s felt this happy.

A buzz of his phone in his jeans short pocket, and Donghyuck pulls it out to see a new text message.

Unknown number

Thanks again for the dinner. I forgot but tell your mom it was really good

You

WTF are you texting while driving????

Unknown number

Red light

You

ok if u say so

Nothing else comes through and so Donghyuck closes the text messenger and does what he’s been meaning to for a good while now.

It’s only when he’s already inside, helping with cleaning up the kitchen, that another notification comes through, vibrating in his back pocket. Donghyuck wipes his soapy hands from washing the dishes on the towel by the sink before fishing his phone out to flip it open to see a new text message.

Mark

I would definitely be down to do this again sometime

Donghyuck has to bite the insides of his cheeks to stop himself from grinning embarrassingly wide.

He punches in a reply quickly before slipping his phone back in his pocket and returning to the dishwashing.

You

it’s a deal then :)

Chapter 5: and if i had a clue, i’d know exactly what to do, if i were the wiser of the two

Chapter Text

Despite the sun setting no earlier than half past ten, the days pass in a hazy blur of overheating skin and the gaps between fingers sticky with melted ice cream residue.

Most of said days are spent at home doing yard work and helping to sort through the junk in the attic because there might be some stuff there Dongsoon might need for when she moves out of state for university in the last week of July just in time for when her summer classes start.

Donghyuck had been adamant at first, huffing and puffing in displeasure as he watched his sister pretend to be busy while he was forced to cut open the nth dusty cardboard box of old books in Korean that dated all the way back to the 1920’s to appease his mother later at dinner and say yes, mom, I did sort out through those boxes you told me; yes, I skimmed through every book; no, none of them would be of any use to Dongsoon who’s going to study law.

But all it took for the reluctance to dissipate, was Dongsoon’s casual remark at the breakfast table one morning about how she thinks she might’ve heard some weird sounds from Donghyuck’s bedroom the night his bed broke, adding that maybe a ghost had inhibited the space Donghyuck had left behind while at the dorms. She’d looked at Donghyuck across the table with a glint in her eye, and Donghyuck made a show of sorting through twice as many junk in the attic that day and all the days after.

On the days he’s not being subjected to in-family bullying from his sister, or after she’s done with it, Donghyuck finds himself lazing around the one diner booth he’s silently occupied as his — the one by the parking lot window, tucked away in the corner where no old ladies try to make conversation or middle aged guys ask for a lighter with a cig between their lips, but still in a spot from which Donghyuck gets a good enough view from the counter which is where Mark works at most of the time, wearing his stupid navy blue uniform shirt and a tag with his name on it.

Donghyuck finds that he likes watching Mark while he’s unaware of it, too giddy inside at the opportunity to feel any shame in admitting how weird it sounds even in his own head. As he greets the entering customers with a toothy smile as he hands out the menus, and listens to whatever lonely grandpa has hogged the counter to whine about his grandchildren not visiting as he cleans the coffee machine, and furrows his brows as he mumbles the spare change needed to give out to the local college girls as he rummages through the cash register before they giggle and tell him to keep it with a wink before walking away after eating a whole meal of just fries.

There is this sense of oh, he exists, and I exist alongside him. Donghyuck watches, chin cupped in palm, and hopes that wish of his made over a single burning candle in a pile of scrambled eggs really does come true.

✮

The Chicago gig — they reach a single minded consensus — is definitely happening. The single minded aspect of it takes some time and coaxing to get to seeing as Mark was already pinching his nose bridge at the mere thought of having to reschedule his shifts at the diner to get three days off in a row, and Jaemin had somehow made his way into their band if not as a member, then as their self proclaimed manager to completely shift their previously cultivated climate between just them four.

“I got you the gig, it’s good exposure! I deserve the title!” Is what he says with his hands raised in defense, standing like a street pole awkwardly in between every one else shuffling about the garage with their instruments and wires.

“Sure you do.” Renjun is the only one to grace Jaemin with a response and even if he doesn’t mean for it to sound condescending, it kind of sort of does anyway.

Jaemin moans in fake offense and trails after Renjun like a lost puppy, “What do you mean by that?”

Fingers wrap around Donghyuck’s wrist and he feels himself tugged backwards just enough to move, but not hard enough to send him toppling into Mark’s drumset.

“What’s he doing here?” Mark asks, keep his his voice purposefully low, forcing Donghyuck to bend down slightly so he hears.

“He’s our new self appointed manager, did you not hear the six times he said it?” Donghyuck whispers back, smile tugging at the corners of his lips at the roll of Mark’s eyes he receives in response. “He’s a self made man, Mark. Put some respect on his name. He’s gonna be really upset if he hears you doubting him.”

“What’s a manager doing at practice, hm?”

Donghyuck shrugs, nonchalant. “You want me to ask him?”

The hold Mark still has on Donghyuck’s wrist for some reason tightens and he yanks Donghyuck down hard enough to have him nearly stumble and the giggle he’s been holding in to finally slip out.

“What’s so funny?” Jaemin’s head twists, neck snapping like an owls, which only makes Donghyuck laugh harder, Mark’s own shoulders shaking with giggles.

Jeno watches them with a smile of his own from where he’s crouched down by the pedals.

“Nothing, nothing.” Donghyuck says with a dismissive wave of his free hand. “Mark was just wondering—”

The hold on Donghyuck’s wrist releases completely, but only in favor of Mark pushing back his stool with a creak to shoot up from his seat, and clasp one hand over Donghyuck’s parted mouth, the other cradling the left side of his head as if to make sure there’s no way of slithering out. Almost like a headlock. Or a chokehold.

Whatever the reason is, Donghyuck just laughs harder, pushing back up against Mark’s chest and darting his tongue out to lick at Mark’s palm cupped over his mouth, tasting salt, which makes him pull back with a yelp and a pinch of his ear that Mark makes sure stings before he steps away.

Donghyuck parts his lips again, relentless in the opportunity to tease, but Jaemin puts up a hand to shut him up.

“Don’t.” He says, keeping his eyes on Donghyuck before shifting to Mark at the last second before he continues with that stupid glimmer that showed up whenever Jaemin was up to no good. “You try that again and Mark might actually rip all your clothes off.”

Jeno snorts as Donghyuck splutters, cheeks heating up and body suddenly aware of every spot where he’d been pressed up against Mark just mere seconds ago.

“I would prefer to not have to see that.” Renjun adds without even looking up, casually tuning his bass.

Donghyuck contemplates a witty response, mind failing to come up with a single thing as if emptied of all backup data like a hard drive, and settles on just saying nothing, deciding that any answer he could possibly reply with, will only result in another wave of teasing, more relentless than the previous as was the order of things between him and his friends.

There’s silence from Mark’s end too, and Donghyuck dares to spare him a look over his shoulder — sees Mark with his head ducked, settling in his seat behind the drums once again like it is the only place he feels he belongs.

“Well, I, for one, wouldn’t mind.” Jaemin says, forcing Donghyuck’s attention back onto him with that stupid loud mouth of his.

“Seeing Donghyuck’s bare ass?” Jeno asks like it’s second nature to entertain Jaemin and his antics, not even bothering to follow his words up with a look in either of their directions, instead slinging his guitar over his head and adjusting the shoulder strap.

Jaemin shrugs, gaze lingering on Mark before looking at Donghyuck pointedly. “Wouldn’t be anything I haven’t seen before.”

“ Okay , not everyone here wants to know that you two f*cked, we’ve been over this, Jaem.” Jeno says and actually looks at Jaemin this time.

“What? You find the thought of me and Donghyuck having crazy mind blowing sex repulsive?”

“Woah–” Donghyuck steps forward to shove at Jaemin’s shoulder.

“He probably finds the thought of your dick repulsive.” Renjun forcibly adds himself to the conversation. “As do I, by the way. As does Mark, probably, too.”

Donghyuck rubs at his temples. “Can we stop talking about Jaemin’s f*cking penis?”

Wrong dialogue option. Jaemin’s face lights up in a wicked smile.

“What else would you rather we talk about?”

Mark clears his throat, sniffs, wipes at some imaginary stain on his nose with the back of his hand.

“Can we just get on with the practice?” He says, looking at Jaemin, unimpressed, molars clenching. “ Some of us have actual places to be.”

✮

The few hours left in practice pass like dragging nails across a chalkboard.

Excruciating and embarrassing. It’s Jaemin making stupid innuendos from his spot on the couch in between breaks that they take to discuss what to improve in the song. And taking off his tee like he’s got any reason to be hot, sitting on his ass playing chess on Jeno’s smartphone, to reveal the white tank top underneath with his muscled arms on display that he flexes as he casually has to lean down to pick something up from the ground every five minutes. And approaching Donghyuck to help put his guitar away in case it suddenly grew twice in weight. And leaning in close in the process to pick off imaginary lint from his hair, and, and and .

At the boiling point, Donghyuck had to yank Jaemin close to him by the elbow so he could lean in and hiss at him to cut this sh*t out before pushing him away with more force than he intended to.

It did not get a reaction out of Mark — all those tactics of Jaemin’s — instead, Mark started drawing back and going quiet like he always had and always will it seems.

“Why wasn’t anything working?” Jaemin asks when it’s just the two of them approaching Donghyuck’s front lawn because Jaemin had forgotten his weed at Donghyuck’s place from when they last smoked and insisted on getting it back because he apparently didn’t trust Donghyuck to not smoke his stash.

Donghyuck couldn’t even roll a viable joint if his life depended on it. Not that he told Jaemin that. Lee Donghyuck could do anything. That includes being able to roll a joint that doesn’t fall apart at the seams.

“I mean, clearly, he wanted to do something or say something, but he didn’t. Why the hell did he not? I’m some guy who waltzes in here and tries to sweep you off your feet and he just sits there and watches it happen?” Jaemin flails his hands around, accidentally knocking into Donghyuck’s bike and sending Donghyuck stumbling on the sidewalk, apologizing with a quick sorry as he turns to face him. “Who does that?”

“Well, maybe not everyone’s as deranged as you are.” Donghyuck suggests with a casual shrug.

“Are you calling me deranged?”

“I am. Good job on the comprehension.” Donghyuck says and it’s like the ache he’s been ignoring finally sinks its teeth into his chest and starts gnawing away at his heart. “Mark’s not like that, I told you already.”

“I think it’s a confidence thing.”

Donghyuck stares at him. “Are you even listening to me?”

“No, no, I am, and because I am listening to you, I think it’s a confidence thing. He just doesn’t think he’s good enough to compete.”

“There is nothing to compete with.” Donghyuck deadpans and they come to a halt in front of his family home.

Jaemin rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue like Donghyuck's the one out of them two spewing actual crazy person nonsense.

“I know that, but he doesn’t.” Jaemin explains slowly. “ He thinks I cheated. Mark thinks I cheated on you, and then suddenly barely a month later I’m all over you again, and you’re all over me , and–”

“I was not all over you.”

“Tell that to Mark, he looked like he was gonna gauge his eyes out whenever you’d mention my penis.”

It's Donghyuck's turn to roll his eyes now, and so he takes his sweet time doing so, making sure it really sets in for Jaemin that he's talking crazy. “We’ve always been like that.” He says and flexes one hand wrapped around the bike wheel. “It's the same with Jeno and Renjun. It means nothing. Mark doesn't care .”

“Yeah, but–”

“ Yeah, but. ” Donghyuck parrots, high in pitch.

“You haven't had sex with Jeno and Renjun, and Mark met me for the first time like two weeks ago.” Jaemin ignores him. A man on a mission. “All he knows is that we f*cked and I cheated, he doesn’t know that we’ve always been like that, or whatever. He probably thinks we’re still f*cking on the downlow.”

It's sort of admirable, Donghyuck has to admit, how persistent Jaemin is in making all of this somehow make sense; with how bad it's currently going, Donghyuck would've just moved, and ran, and never looked back.

“You’re doing some serious mind games right now.” Donghyuck says with a sigh in an attempt to let Jaemin down softly. “No one is thinking that far.”

“Yeah, clearly , which is why you’re all single and miserable.”

“Wow.”

“Someone has to think that far, and that someone is gonna be me , because apparently I’m the only one who has eyes in this f*cking establishment. I mean, like, think about it — I walk in here — the guy who supposedly cheated on you, as you’ve told Mark — and suddenly you’re treating me like nothing happened—”

“Because nothing did happen.”

“Can you stop f*cking interrupting me? I’m onto something here!”

Donghyuck raises one hand in defense and wordlessly motions for Jaemin to carry on, mouthing a sorry .

“So, basically, I’m back in the picture and you’re treating me like you don’t care about my alleged cheating. I’m a literal cheater. A cheater in Mark’s eyes, Donghyuck! That’s, like, a sin right up there with homicide. Scum of the earth I am! And you’re treating me like you don’t even care . Renjun and Jeno don’t care either . Like, you’ve forgiven me about literally cheating on you, and there sits Mark , dejected behind his drumset, watching you be so comfortable with me and thinking about how you can’t even bear to look him in the eyes for too long, or, God forbid , have your hand brush his, or even mention him being naked without looking like you might throw up. He thinks he’s below me in your eyes — a literal cheater beating him to wooing you. He thinks he’s below a f*cking cheater!”

“You’re calling yourself a cheater so much, I’m starting to think maybe you actually did cheat.”

“I didn’t.” Jaemin says, serious.

“I know.” Donghyuck tells him gently and sighs. Groans. Pinches at his nose bridge at the Mark Lee induced headache, missing when they were high schoolers and all Donghyuck had to worry about was which movie he should tactically put on the TV so Mark would end up asleep on his shoulder on Donghyuck's living room couch.

“I think you’re reading too much into it. Like, I appreciate you playing wingman to, like, buy back your bad karma for making me break up with you, or whatever, but Mark probably just doesn’t care. We’ve grown up together kind of, attached at the hip since we were sixteen. We’ve always been friends. He’s had girlfriends before. Many of them. He just probably feels out of place after coming back into the picture with two years having passed. It's like he's learning to be my friend all over again. He's never considered me like, you know... Like that.”

Jaemin watches him, flabbergasted gurgle slipping past his lips.

“You two really do deserve each other.” He says, blinking down at Donghyuck who blinks up at him just the same before turning away with a defeated sigh. “Jesus Christ.”

✮

Doesn't take a genius to know something is up. Not that Donghyuck is a genius, and not that he isn't , but he can tell when Mark starts doing that exact thing he’d told Jaemin about a few days before — pulling back.

He's not entirely sure what caused it, refusing to believe a few poorly executed (and failed) attempts at garnering a reaction from Jaemin's part was enough to send Mark’s receptive systems into emergency shutdown.

Over the unfolding week that Donghyuck spends at the diner, Mark frequents his booth less and less until it reaches a point where Mark somehow misses Donghyuck entering with a jingle of a bell, and instead of hanging with Donghyuck and playing footsie under the table when there’s no customers, Donghyuck’s stuck to watching Mark wipe the counters for the 5th time in the past half hour and polish the coffee machine until the handles look a bright enough silver to blind for three days straight.

On the fourth day, after Donghyuck’s said goodbye to Jaemin who had so graciously dropped him off, and has slammed the door in his face when he jokingly asked for a kiss so Mark sees through the windows, Donghyuck spots a familiar face in the seat opposite his.

“Hey.” Donghyuck greets with a smile, throwing his shoulder bag into the booth carelessly, slips in himself afterwards, hands resting on the table. “I haven’t seen you around lately.”

Minjeong’s wearing that same top Donghyuck remembers seeing on her when they had first met at the diner, awkwardly introduced by Mark who, similarly as to now, seems to be upset with Donghyuck.

There is no Mark, though. Donghyuck pretends to not care for the lack of his presence next to him.

“Oh, I’ve been busy.” Minjeong says with a wistful sigh, and keeps the silence light afterwards on purpose. Inviting. Clearly wanting Donghyuck to inquire more about it. Who’s Donghyuck to deny a pretty girl anything?

“What have you been busy with?” He asks casually.

Minjeong’s face lights up at once, and she looks around the half-empty diner, leaning closer to Donghyuck over the table, beckoning for him to do the same with a hushed whisper until they’re both half-bent over the booth with their foreheads nearly touching.

Her lips part as she speaks and Donghyuck feels the warmth of her breath hit his chin. “I think Jimin and I are kinda going out.”

Donghyuck flinches back, eyes wide and mouth parted.

“ What? ” He whisper-yells.

“But you can’t tell anyone!”

“I won’t! I won’t.” Donghyuck throws up his hands like that will make her more sure that he means it, and then makes a motion of zipping his mouth shut, imaginary key thrown across the diner and landing at some old guy’s feet.

That ache is back — deep in his chest like a cavity — and Donghyuck slouches in his seat, daring to spare a look to his left where the countertops enclose the cash register to see Mark hunched over the open window sill that separates the dining area from the kitchen so his back stays turned to most of the customers, side profile visible from where Donghyuck and Minjeong sit, phone pressed to ear and eyebrows furrowed as he mutters something incomprehensible into the receiver, knuckles turned white.

He turns back to face Minjeong, ignoring the way the cogs seem to audibly turn in her head as she spares Mark a glance before letting it land and settle on Donghyuck — the conclusion not hard to draw apparently.

“So quickly.” Donghyuck says with a small laugh that comes out as simply awkward; to stir the attention back to the previous topic; all the spotlight away from himself. He’ll have enough of them in Chicago after next week. “You’ve known each other for like, what? A month?”

“Two.” She corrects him, gentle, yet firm, and Donghyuck begins to think he gets why’d Mark cherish her so much as a friend. “Not everyone needs to pine for 6 years.”

Donghyuck laughs again, but this time it doesn’t even come out sounding awkward.

It comes out sounding pained.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

She shrugs, tracing a pattern on the table with her painted nail. “I just don’t get why you don’t say anything. Have you not waited long enough already?”

Panic like a lump in his throat, Donghyuck shakes his head, long strands falling into his eyes that he pushes away with trembling fingers. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, so this is what it’s going to be? Denial?”

“I’m not in denial about anything.”

“What are you so afraid of, Donghyuck?”

Minjeong’s eyes are sympathetic, and she worries her lip between her teeth, hand reaching over the table in a silent offer of comfort if Donghyuck decides to take it.

For a moment he genuinely contemplates telling her, coming clean in hopes that it will somehow ease the burden of his feelings that he’s been carrying alone for 6 years.

Have you not waited long enough already? Minjeong had asked.

No , Donghyuck wants to tell her.

He still feels it, so clearly he hasn’t waited long enough.

“I don’t,” he swallows, clears his throat to rid it of the lump that makes it hard to breathe, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Her expression shifts into something even more pitiful like she’s glancing at a hurt puppy or a stray kitten. Like she could understand. Like she does.

And Donghyuck can’t take it, shooting up form his seat with his knees bumping into the underside of the table and nearly knocking over the mustard and ketchup bottles if ti weren’t for Minjeong steadying them with a quick hand. Making quick work of gathering his shoulder bag — plans of getting some lyric writing done for a new song discarded like most stuff he’s ever written — feet shuffling on the tiles in a hurry to get away and out of here.

Too quick, all of it, apparently, because, as he’s staring down at his hands fiddling with the flap of his bag, Donghyuck doesn’t raise his head in time to prevent himself from running straight into Mark.

Mark who’s carrying a tray of food and drinks that all land on Donghyuck in a mismatched clutter of metal and clay as they tumble to the ground, breaking and spilling, and shattering.

“Do you even f*cking–” Mark cuts himself off as their eyes meet and Donghyuck instinctively pulls his soiled shirt away from his stomach with a wince as his senses shift from Mark in front of him so close to him and to the fact that amongst other things, it was also coffee that spilled onto him.

A warm hand grabs onto his bicep and when Donghyuck turns, it’s Minjeong, and she’s pulling, leading him to a door that says staff only , pushing it open with one hand and slamming it shut with her foot once they’re both inside.

“ Take it off! ” She exasperates, bouncing on the soles of her feet, rapidly pointing at Donghyuck's previously white tee that now looks like someone has f*cking sharted on it.

Donghyuck pulls the fabric over his head and drops it to the floor with a wet splat, palms coming to rest on his stomach and Minjeong crowding in to inspect the damage, her own hands coming to rest on Donghyuck's bent wrists.

It's just a red splotch across his lower abdomen, not having reached the piercing of his belly button that's still on its way to fully healing. No blisters. Minjeong still rummages through the locker shelves for a towel that she wets under the staff room sink and hands to Donghyuck to hold over his tummy.

“Thankfully Mark’s sh*t at his job, going around serving lukewarm coffee.” He says in an attempt to ease the tension, shirtless with a girl in a room no larger than 50 square feet that he's glad no one’s here to witness.

There's also suspicious stains on his ripped jeans. Shirtless with a girl in a room no larger than 50 square feet, looking like he's pissed himself from excitement over the opportunity.

“I should take these off, too, probably.” Donghyuck says when he notices Minjeong also staring at the dark stain on his crotch, having spread all the way down his left leg.

“You should probably do that, yeah.” Minjeong nods contemplatively.

Donghyuck watches her for a while, chin lifting and eyes meeting his through her bangs before, in sync, like they're neuronically connected, they burst into a fit of giggles.

“You’re okay, though?” She asks when the laughter’s settled, forcing the smile off her face and replacing it with something that’s undoubtedly less subjectively taunting.

“Yeah.” Donghyuck says and pulls away the towel, now soaked and lukewarm, scanning the reddened skin for any other bruising but finding none.

“Okay.” She sighs and breathes out one last laugh like she’s emptying a bottle before screwing it shut, pointing at the shirt on the floor and then the pants Donghyuck still has on. “You should probably wash those and hang them so they dry before you leave. I think there’s mashed potatoes on your legs. You could maybe pass it off like someone threw up on you.”

“On a Thursday evening.”

Minjeong shrugs. “Happens to the best of us.” She says and reaches for the doorknob. “I’ll talk to Mark before I go.”

Opposing the idea would mean admitting that something’s up between them, which would mean that Donghyuck cares enough to notice Mark giving him the silent treatment, which then would mean that Donghyuck is upset by it because he hasn’t made a move beyond wistfully glancing in Mark’s direction and sending telepathic waves his way, urging Mark to just come back to him. So Donghyuck settles for a wordless thumbs up, and Minjeong leaves with a smile in place of a proper goodbye.

That’s how he spends about the remaining hour until closing — in shoes, socks, and underwear, with his shirt and jeans poorly rinsed and hung over the back of a single wooden chair to dry — staring at the chipped white paint covering the walls, elbows on his knees, hunched forward to preserve some sort of dignity, the moist towel resting over his thighs.

His phone, having sat in the front pocket of his jeans, got fried apparently. Donghyuck’s not sure if it was the ketchup, or the mashed potatoes, or the lukewarm coffee to do the job, but it wouldn’t turn on no matter how long Donghyuck held the power button, and how many times he took out the battery and dried it with the spare toilet paper laying around for some reason. He hit it a few times, too. Contemplated slamming it against the wall because there was quite literally nothing to lose anyway, but decided against it, and so now he just sits. Sits and waits.

He can’t call anyone to come pick him up, and bring some spare clothes. He can’t even text anyone to complain.

At some point the door opens, but it’s not Mark that walks in. Instead, it’s some guy twice Donghyuck’s age in appearance who must be working in the kitchen, freezing in the doorway, mouth agape and eyes wide.

“I’m waiting for Mark.” Donghyuck says like some gigolo, unmoving from his spot on the bench by the lockers, still hunched over himself, and following the guy with his eyes as he hurries to gather his belongings, not bothering to change out of his work clothes in the desperate dive he makes to the door, not having looked at Donghyuck once.

A while later, the door creaks open again, and Donghyuck kind of expects the same guy to return, mumbling about having forgotten something with how quick he’d left, but, no — it’s Mark who steps into the staff room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

“Minjeong said no burns.” Is what Mark opens with out of every possible dialogue option.

“No burns.” Donghyuck parrots, sounding a little mean, and stands up from his seat, Mark’s head turning away quick enough for his neck to snap with a sharp breath like he can’t bear to look at Donghyuck without his clothes on. “Oh, c’mon, don’t be a f*cking prude. Like you’ve never seen a guy in his underwear before.”

Mark says nothing to that and Donghyuck bites at the inside of his cheek with a roll of his eyes as he checks his very much still wet shirt, and a little less wet pants, though still as disgusting in their questionable stains.

With his back turned to Mark, Donghyuck toes off his sneakers and puts on his jeans, wincing at how gross the moist fabric feels against his skin, but it’s not like there’s any alternatives that wouldn’t include him having to walk home with basically his ass out for the whole town to see.

“What are you just standing there for like an idiot?” Donghyuck huffs out as he’s doing his zipper, not having heard Mark move even an inch because God forbid he’s forced in too close proximity to Donghyuck in his unfortunate predicament that Mark basically put him in in the first place and is pretending he didn’t so he doesn’t have to force an apology past his lips. “You’re acting like I have my whole dick and balls out.”

“I’m waiting for you to get dressed.” Mark replies, sounding like someone’s physically holding an iron grip on his airways.

“You gonna offer a hand, or what?” Donghyuck asks, already expecting the silence that comes as an answer. “Right, then just wait outside before you actually start crying from the thought of having to look at another guy’s chest or something.”

“Don’t f*cking wear that, Jesus Christ.” Mark huffs when Donghyuck picks up his still soaked T-shirt, and then there’s shuffling behind him, the warmth of a body behind him and a piece of fabric being thrown over his one bare shoulder. “Just put this on. I’ll wait for you outside.”

Donghyuck doesn’t tell him thanks, waits instead for Mark to leave and for the door to close before he slips on Mark’s work uniform — that navy blue button up with the sleeves cut short and Mark’s nametag still attached to one side. He buttons it up all the way to the top like it’s church he’s going to when he steps outside the staff room, bag slung over one shoulder.

Indeed, just like he’d said, Mark is waiting outside the diner by the entrance, watching Donghyuck push open the glass door and step out into the parking lot, looking like he just finished a shift here and also like his name is Mark — if the nametag is anything to go by — and only then does he lock the door.

“Where’s your bike?” Mark asks after he pockets his keys and finds Donghyuck still standing where he'd just been and not hunched over by the bike rack.

“I didn't come by bike. Jaemin dropped me off.”

It's almost like parts of Mark’s face physically move about like a rubix cube, shifting into all the wrong orders and colors.

“Right, of course he did.” He says and moves past Donghyuck on his way to the only other car still parked here besides the gray Ford that's been here long enough to assume the owner had either left this town behind in favor of a more prosperous future, or simply died.

It's a little unfair — this whole predicament — Donghyuck thinks, and he contemplates running after Mark to push him by the shoulders so he stumbles and blaming him for ruining his phone, or staining his favorite T-shirt that, in reality, he couldn't give less of a sh*t about, but could well enough play up the act to make Mark feel so guilty he gets on his knees to beg for forgiveness.

Then again, the mental image of Mark on his knees in front of Donghyuck makes his tummy twist in funny ways so he decides against such an outcome if he can help it.

Still, the passive aggressiveness is making Donghyuck hear voices and see visions, and he’d rather get on his knees, really, just so things could go back to how they were.

“Mark.” He calls out and that's all it takes for Mark to halt midstep. “Jaemin didn’t actually cheat.”

Maybe not entirely sure why that was the thing he settled on being the icebreaker, but a part of Donghyuck that's undoubtedly been influenced by Jaemin’s idiotic and persistent ways wants to know if maybe some part of what he had said could prove to be true.

Donghyuck sees the back of Mark's head move in a nod before his neck is twisting to look back over his shoulder.

“Cool.” Mark says with another nod. “Thanks for the heads up so I know you’re back together with just a plain liar and not a cheater.”

Stupid Jaemin and his stupid f*cking streak of always being right about everything. Donghyuck thinks he’d take not knowing over the weight and responsibility that seems to hit him with the force of a truck at Mark’s confirming reaction.

“What? I’m not back together with Jaemin.” Donghyuck says, defensive, and then softer to cushion the apparent fall of Mark's heart to his ass: “Is this what this is about? Why you're– why you’ve been so…so–”

“So what ?” Mark snaps and Donghyuck visibly flinches at the sharp tone of his voice, tongue in his cheek and a scoff that follows making Mark visibly retract. “Sorry. Sorry . I’m fine. I’m just stressed. It’s fine. Sorry.”

For a while they just watch one another in the deserted parking lot, a car whooshing by somewhere behind them on the 94th, cicadas singing in the evening heat that’s simmered down; Donghyuck’s jaw set and Mark’s lips parted before he inevitably looks away and looks down at his pair of ratty red Converse that he's been wearing since highschool. Like this, Donghyuck can see the pitch black of Mark’s roots peeking out from his bleached head.

“You’re doing that thing again.” He says with a defeated sigh, not even having it in himself to sound angry anymore because that's never gotten them anywhere.

Mark laughs a dry laugh. “What thing?”

“That f*cking thing you do whenever something’s bothering you.” Donghyuck uselessly flails his arms about, lowering them back down with a slap against his thighs. “I can feel you pulling away. Last time it happened and I didn’t say anything, we didn’t speak for 2 years. Like, sorry for not being able to get inside your head and read your mind, but is it because of Jaemin? Because I already said there is nothing going on—”

“It’s not.” Mark cuts him off, curt and painless. “I don’t care about what you do with Jaemin.”

That last bit hurts a little, though.

“Right.” Donghyuck clears his throat. “Right, I wasn’t implying that you cared , just, like, I get how he can appear to be sometimes, but I can assure you—”

“It’s my dad.”

Mark finally raises his head and looks at Donghyuck with a shrug and a sigh like saying this is what it is.

Donghyuck's voice is gentle when he asks: “What about him?”

At once like a fuse that Donghyuck holds the lighter to: “What not about him? f*cking everything. It’s like he can’t just leave me be without meddling for longer than a week or his limbs will fall off or something. I’m twenty three years old and he treats me like I’m f*cking fifteen .”

“What’s he saying?”

“Nothing, just–” Mark runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the bleached strands until his face twists into a visible wince like he's somehow punishing himself for having said the wrong thing. “He’s just being annoying. Nothing I’m not used to. I just wish he’d hop off my dick for once. Like, he’s all the way across the boarder but it’s like he’s right here breathing down my f*cking neck all the damn time .”

When Mark looks up again, he’s picking at the dry skin of his lip with his fingers, and Donghyuck reaches forward on instinct, hand wrapping around Mark’s wrist to yank his arm back down to his side.

“What are your plans tonight?” Donghyuck asks, hesitating in pulling away the same way Mark does. So he stays, fingers wrapped around wrist.

Mark’s eyes search his face, pupils darting across every inch like he’s mapping it out, or maybe tracing patterns already previously memorized. “What?”

“What are your plans for tonight?” Donghyuck repeats.

“Uh.” Mark says, a perfect answer, truly. Like he’s scared of what the answer to his answer might be. “Nothing, I guess.”

“Good.” Donghyuck says with a smile and retracts his hand finally in favor of pushing Mark lightly backwards by the shoulders. “Get in the car.”

✮

“What the hell?” Is what Mark says when he pulls at the hand brake to tear open the silence that had followed them all throughout the drive from the diner to here because the truck’s radio would play either the Christian station or sharp static.

Donghyuck says nothing, leaving his bag behind in the passenger’s seat as he steps out of the car and doesn’t bother shutting the door so Mark simply has to get out for one reason or another.

It’s like muscle memory at this point.

He slips through the gap in the metal gate that’s held together by a chain way too loose to actually work at keeping anyone out and makes a b-line to the wrecked BMW by the empty gasoline cisterns, crouching down in the dust to blindly feel for the baseball bat he knows to be under the car. At once, his fingers wrap around the wooden handle and he pulls the wretched thing out just in time to drop it into Mark’s hands who’s come to a curious halt behind him, car parked and locked in favor of following Donghyuck anywhere.

“You gonna make me bash my own head in with a baseball bat?”

Donghyuck quirks a brow, head tilted to the side and devious smile spreading across his face that he just cannot help to suppress with how giddy his insides feel; like the bubbles of a pop soda cap about to burst.

“I don’t think I could make you do anything.” He says and steps back to give Mark space to so what he assumes to be obvious.

It isn’t. Not to Mark. His neck twists to follow Donghyuck until his whole torso’s twisted towards him, hands wrapped around the baseball bat, those big eyes blinking at him like he’s been dropped here with no recollection of what is what.

Donghyuck steps back towards Mark like the gravitational pull of his orbit doesn’t permit him to stray too far for too long.

“I came here for the first time after you left.” Donghyuck says and takes the baseball bat from Mark’s loose grasp, wrapping both hands around the hilt and feeling out the weight of it when he pulls it back, elbows bent. “Couldn’t tell anyone about it because no one would get it, and it made me embarrassed to admit how affected I was by it, so I settled for this.”

He swings back properly this time and the baseball bat collides with the metal hood of the BMW, vibrations like bugs traveling up his arms to his shoulders until he feels it deep in his clenched jaw.

“Except I didn’t have this stupid bat then, so I used my fist.”

Another hit, harder than the previous.

“Sprained my f*cking thumb.”

Another. Harder.

“Couldn’t play for the gig that week and couldn’t tell anyone how I sprained it because it hurt to even admit that you f*cking left me !”

Another hit till Donghyuck’s arms tingle under his skin like the bones might shatter, so he pulls back, turns to Mark who’s watching him quite like Donghyuck’s never seen him before.

“Your turn.” He says and extends his arm holding onto the bat in a silent offer which Mark contemplates before taking.

His hand reaches for the hilt hesitantly, fingers coming to wrap around and rest in the spaces between Donghyuck’s own before the thing gets yanked out of his grasp completely, Mark not breaking eye contact through it all until it’s Donghyuck who does it for him when he has to wipe at the sweat on his brow.

None of the hesitancy Donghyuck was expecting — Mark gives the bat an experimental spin with one hand, similar to how he twirls his drumsticks when he’s bored, except this is thrice the size and weight, and once he has both hands wrapped around the hilt, the baseball bat hits the BMW with enough force to leave a proper dent.

Mark pulls back and stays still, shoulders rising and falling rapidly, as he looks at the spot of the car where the baseball bat had just smashed into, then down at his hands.

And then swings again.

And again.

And again.

Again. Again. Again.

Donghyuck steps back to climb up another one of the wrecked cars and lay down on the hood of it, watching the yellow hue of the sky with his hands resting over his stomach as he listens to the sound of crashing metal.

Eventually it stops, the silence creeping back for a stretch long enough that Donghyuck get to hear the cicadas again.

Shuffling. More creaking of metal. A groan.

Mark collapses on his back next to Donghyuck on the hood of the car, breathing heavy like he actually just smashed someone’s skull in like he’d said.

“I’m sorry for leaving like that.”

Donghyuck can see that Mark’s looking at him from his peripheral vision. He shrugs. “I think it was just the not knowing why that made me go crazy.”

“But you know now. I told you — at prom.”

Donghyuck hums. “I know now. Thank you for telling me.”

Mark looks away with a deep breath and worries his lip between his teeth before asking Donghyuck what he wished for on his birthday.

It catches Donghyuck so off guard that he laughs.

“ What ?” Mark whines, high pitched in his throat and turns his head again to watch Donghyuck watch him with hands covering his face and suppressing the giggles, one eye visible through the gap between his fingers. “You're probably embarrassed because you wished for money and fame–”

Donghyuck removes the hands covering his face to shove Mark’s face away so he’s no longer staring with that stupid grin on his face.

“Relax, I’m not shallow enough to wish for something like that.”

“Right, you would be one of those people who wish for, like, happiness and world peace, or something equally as lame.”

“What’s lame about happiness and world peace?” Donghyuck asks, having it in himself to sound offended enough that it definitely gives off the impression that that's exactly what he wished for.

“Like,” Mark wets his lips and raises his hands before lowering them back down on his stomach. “What does that even mean ?”

“You want a dictionary definition, or what?”

“Yeah, shoot. Define happiness for me.”

“I dunno,” Donghyuck shrugs, “It’s just when you’re… happy.”

“It’s too vague .” Mark argues. “God’s gonna hear you wish for that and then give you a puppy for your next birthday.”

“So happiness is stored in puppies for you?”

“Happiness isn’t stored in anything for me.”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes, lighthearted. Looks to the side at Mark with a nod and a smile. “It's a form of expression.”

“I know.” Mark says, quiet, and smiles back.

Donghyuck watches his face for a bit. The bump on his nose bridge, the dotted freckles over his cheeks, the silver gleam of the metal pierced through his brow. His whole face's covered with a sheen of sweat making him glow a little, and smell a little — solid and real next to Donghyuck, so close to him.

“You seem like you haven't really been happy these past few days, though.” Donghyuck says because he’d rather talk about it sooner than later, get it out of the way because it kills him — not knowing — just like it did about Mark's reasons for leaving, this being no different. He refuses to believe it's as simple as Jaemin had implied. Nothing with Mark ever is. “What's up?”

“I already said I’m fine–”

“ Don’t bullsh*t me right now when I have free access to a baseball bat less than five feet away from me.”

“Okay, okay, damn.” Mark raises his hands up in defense, smile slowly slipping along with the arms he lowers to his torso, fingers splayed across his heart. “I dunno, I’ve just been thinking, I guess.”

Donghyuck nudges Mark’s ankle with his foot. “About?”

“About… stuff .”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes.

“ Hey , I'm trying here.”

“Okay, sorry. You're right, I’m sorry.” Donghyuck clears his throat, gentler as it follows: “Go on.”

“It's just…I was so set on coming back here. After I left I had this whole vision of how I was gonna make something out of myself and then come back, and everything’s gonna be just like it was, but better .” Mark’s fingers absentmindedly tap on his chest. “And, God knows, that plan went to sh*t, but whatever , now I’m here anyway — serving cheap coffee and spilling orders over customers, earning minimum wage that barely covers rent and utilities, having to ask Jungwoo for money to fix up the car so I can even get to work at all. Asking him to cover Flea’s vet bills. It's– it's humiliating .”

“Mark, if you ever need money–”

“I don't . I don't — that's the whole godforsaken point . It's exactly what my dad says. That I can just come back, live with him and his new wife in the spare bedroom of the house like he's saying sorry for everything without actually saying or meaning it, and we can be the perfect family who go to church every Sunday, and invite over half the neighborhood for Thanksgiving dinner, and have my brother visit with his pregnant fiancé so everyone sees how perfect it all is. God –”

Mark drags a hand across his face, and something inside Donghyuck cracks open and keeps cracking with every word that Mark trusts enough to share.

“I guess I just expected for things to be the same when I came back. I don't know why I did. Maybe because I hadn't changed one bit, I assumed everything else would stay stagnant too.”

“Is change really all that bad?” Donghyuck prompts gently, looking at Mark in a silent urge for him to look back and see that Donghyuck means it — the softness, the care of it all,

“I’m behind.” Mark says and does turn to Donghyuck like a flower in bloom seeking the warm approval of the sun. “I feel like I’m so behind on the change that there's no point in even trying to catch up.”

Donghyuck turns away, but because it isn't apparent to him right away what to say. Mark does the same and they lay in silence with the sky having grown almost dark.

“There's no such a thing as too far behind. You could start small. Start with something. Enroll in college. Same as me. Community college is better than nothing.”

“Donghyuck,” Mark sighs his name, “I already told you I can’t.”

“Why not ?”

“Because I’m too f*cking stupid for college.”

“Mark, no one’s too stupid for college, it’s community college –”

“I repeated 9th grade. If there’s anyone too stupid for college, it’s me.”

Donghyuck turns to look at him, puzzled, lips tugged down into a near-frown.

“I’m a year older than you.” Mark says with a scoff, and it’s mean and it’s hurt, but it’s not directed towards Donghyuck — as he turns away to resume gnawing on his lip and staring up at the darkening sky — it’s directed towards himself. “How else do you think we managed to graduate at the same time? Because I repeated before you enrolled.”

“Okay.” Donghyuck says, calm, trying to figure out how to go about this, how to be gentle with something so fragile it might shatter if he handles it in the slightest way wrong. “Okay, but you made it through highschool without repeating any of the four years.”

“Yeah and because of who do you think that was?”

Donghyuck blinks at Mark’s side profile. Mark blinks up at the endless stretch of the sky above them.

“You were my only friend back then. I couldn’t repeat, I just couldn't , because that would mean we’d get separated, and you’d go on, and I’d probably never finish high school at all.”

Mark turns then, with newfound urgency like he just can't help himself, eyes finding Donghyuck's in the thick dusk.

“Donghyuck, I–” his sharp exhale hits Donghyuck on the wetness of his lips he can't stop licking. “You’re– Donghyuck, you’re talented, you're funny, you’re smart, you have a bright future ahead of you, and I’m just–”

“Don’t say that.” Donghyuck sits up at once, head dizzy at the sudden movement. “Seriously, Mark. Cut it out. You're those exact same things, and so much more. You're the best drummer I’ve ever met, and I’ve had the displeasure of meeting way too many of them, because apparently the whole gag about me having a thing for drummers is actually true. f*ck , Mark. Who else do you know that can stand close to doing a replica of Bonzo’s Moby Dick? ”

“It's still a long way to a replica–”

“It’s a near replica, Mark. Like, f*ck , who else do you know that can even do a bass drum double?”

“I’m rusty .”

Donghyuck slips off the hood of the car. “Get up.” He says, pissed. Not at Mark. At Jaemin.

At Jaemin for being f*cking right .

Mark cranes his neck up to look at Donghyuck with a puzzled expression, no longer eye level with one of them standing up straight.

“ Get up !” Donghyuck whines and takes Mark’s hand again by the wrist, fingers tugging until he nearly slips off the hood of the Audi and lands face first either into the dirt or into Donghyuck.

Stupidly quick on his feet, Mark catches himself before either of the outcomes fulfill, and merely bumps into Donghyuck with a mumbled apology which is so stupid because Mark could probably slam into him full force and Donghyuck would welcome the solid warmth of his body with open arms.

“You're scaring me.” Mark says, not sounding all that scared, really, as he hurries after Donghyuck to match his quick strides.

“Get in the car.” Donghyuck tells him when they've both slipped through the gap in the metal gate, the baseball successfully having been kicked under the same car to avoid unidentified theft.

“You're so bossy .” Mark says but unlocks the car and slips inside without much further complaints. “What happened to decorum?”

“I’ll key your car. Just f*cking drive .” Donghyuck says in response and moves to pull at the hand brake, Mark swatting his bony fingers away.

“Jesus Christ, can you just be cute again?” Mark says, but does f*cking drive .

✮

They end up at Jeno’s.

Donghyuck unlocks the garage with the spare key he knows Jeno keeps under the flower pot on the driveway, and pushes Mark to sit down behind the drumset

“Prove it.” He says, arms crossed over his chest at Mark’s big stupid blinking eyes staring up at him from his seat. “Prove that you're rusty . I don't buy it.”

“Jeno’s gonna call the cops for house invasion.”

“Prove. It.”

Mark breathes out a laugh through the smirk tugging at one corner of his lip. “You think I’m making this sh*t up for pity points?”

At once, Donghyuck sweeps down to lean in close enough so Mark’s eyes nearly cross over trying to not let his gaze stray south. “I think you're a filthy little liar who makes sh*t up so I can coddle your fragile ego and kiss it better.” He whispers, pushes at Mark's chest with a finger, and pulls back just like that; unapparent to the observing eye how rapidly his heart hammers inside his chest.

“f*ck you.” Mark says, no bite, watching Donghyuck with a wondrous glimmer in his eyes, almost a smile dancing about on his lips.

Something inside Donghyuck itches to wipe it right off.

“No.” Donghyuck says before the part of his brain not infected by the Mark Lee disease prevents him from opening his mouth. “That you have to earn first.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Well, start believing.” Donghyuck points at the drumset, “I’ll say what I said to the drummer who came in to audition back in May before you barged in: are you gonna play or just f*cking sit there?”

With that, Donghyuck steps back to put some space between them for his own sake mostly, as well as the greater good. If the way the color of Mark’s cheeks has deepened is anything to go by, then for his sake too maybe.

Another raised brow sent his way is all that it takes for Mark to pick up his drumsticks — the base of each covered with red tape — and get to playing.

He’s a good player — Donghyuck knows this; that’s kind of the whole point, getting Mark here to prove it to himself in a way so obvious that trying to deny or downplay it would make him look plain stupid, even more so than he already was.

And yet, standing in the middle of Jeno’s garage that they basically broke into in the loosest sense of the word at ass o clock, Donghyuck watches Mark move about — slowly at first like it’s building up inside of him, all that energy and might — shoulders twitching, arms bent at the elbows, at the wrists, drumsticks hitting the snares and the cymbals, feet pushing down on the pedals below… Donghyuck thinks he might as well be in love with him.

“Dude.” A voice comes out sounding behind them and Donghyuck whips his head up from his trance, a single drumstick of Mark’s tumbling out of his grasp and clattering to the ground while the cymbals still ring after the hit.

In the doorway leading to the house stands Jeno, smartphone slowly lowered from where it had been in front of his face, fingers tapping at the screen before clutching the device in one hand that falls limply to his side.

“Moby Dick.” He says, still blinking the sleep from his eyes, sounding a little awestruck. “ What the f*ck .”

“Sorry.” Mark says, mistaking Jeno’s unblinking stare for surprise of the bad kind, bending down to pick up the drumstick he’d dropped, other hand coming up to silence the cymbals one after the other so the garage’s plunged into a still enough silence that it could pass off as being empty. “Donghyuck made me do it.”

Donghyuck flips Mark the bird and turns to Jeno, knowing better what the expression on Jeno’s face could possibly mean. He looks like he might as well be in love with Mark as well.

In love with Mark.

Without the as well .

Just in love.

On his own accord.

Donghyuck should really stop thinking such things.

“It's 2 AM, though.” Jeno says, voice groggy, scratching at the stubble on his chin, eyes dropping from Donghyuck and Mark back down to his phone. “I’m posting this on our YouTube channel.”

“ I’m going home.” Mark announces with a clap of his hands, and moves to stand up, approaching Donghyuck with one of said hands coming to rest on his shoulder, warmth seeping through the diner uniform he still has on. “You need a ride?”

Donghyuck sighs, fights the urge to lean back into the touch. “Yes, please.”

✮

Donghyuck wakes to the sound of his bedroom door getting busted open and Dongsoon shoving a phone in his face, Donghyuck registering his surroundings barely enough to hold the device to his ear without it dropping to the floor and becoming unusable much like his own.

“G’morning?” He slurs into the receiver, sending his sister a puzzled look at the jumble of incomprehensible voices on the other end of the line, and she just shrugs, mouthing a give it back after you’re done, with her finger pointing at the phone before she leaves him alone in the room to deal with whatever the hell was about to get bestowed upon him in the form of a phonecall.

“We couldn’t reach you, we thought you were f*cking dead !” Jeno’s voice.

“Why are you still asleep at noon?” Renjun.

“Get dressed, we’ll be at your place in ten.” Jaemin.

Donghyuck rubs at the sleep still in his eyes. “What?”

Oh my God, he doesn’t know, someone mutters, but Donghyuck can’t make out who the voice belongs to, the sound of a car engine rumbling making it hard to hear much else beside it. Jaemin’s car probably, seeing as neither Renjun or Jeno were letting any of their savings go anywhere near acquiring a drivers license. There’s pop music blaring from the radio in the background as well. Yeah, definitely Jaemin’s car.

“Check YouTube, idiot!”

“Get your lazy ass up and get dressed! We’ll be waiting for you on the street!”

And just like that, the line goes dead.

In no hurry, despite the previous urgency in his friend’s voices, Donghyuck puts on his glasses, rolls out of bed, and goes to return Dongsoon’s phone, only to find her standing in the hallway when he opens his bedroom door, holding their dad’s Dell work laptop, the screen facing Donghyuck.

“What is it?” Donghyuck mumbles, pushing his glasses further up his nose with a knuckle, and Dongsoon responds by shoving the laptop screen further into his face until he has to lean back to even make out what’s on the display.

It’s the video Jeno said he’s post on YouTube last night, and Donghyuck is about to say that yeah, they both know about Jeno posting it so it’s not an invasion of Mark’s privacy, but then his eyes move further down the screen and stay stuck there.

1M views.

“Holy sh*t.” Donghyuck mutters, borderline hysteric.

“Holy sh*t.” Dongsoon agrees, a significant amount calmer.

“Does Mark know?”

Dongsoon slams the laptop shut and presses it to her chest, shrugging.

“Holy f*cking sh*t , Mark needs to know! Why doesn’t he know ?” Donghyuck pushes past her to speed down the stairs, mumbling, “Oh my God, holy f*ck, holy sh*t, oh my God–”

He makes it through the front door without tripping over his untied shoelaces and slamming face first into the front lawn. His mom’s calling after him from the open kitchen window, asking something about what’s gotten him so riled up and where he’s off to so early without having done his chores — it’s all a buzz under the current that sounds like it has filled Donghyuck’s ears instead of blood circulating, and he thinks he hears Dongsoon assure her that it’s fine, that she’ll do her own sorting of the attic boxes today.

Donghyuck hoists his bike up from the grass, mounts the seat and doesn’t even notice how hard he’s gripping the wheel until one third down the road when his fingers begin to ache where they’re bent, knuckles white.

He rides standing until his legs feel like they might unscrew and fall off, anything and everything to just f*cking get there ; to get to Mark.

If Jaemin, Renjun and Jeno beat him to it and pass by in their car while Donghyuck’s heaving and holding back tears from exertion, he might actually crash the bike in a ditch on purpose, and never get back up.

That doesn’t happen, though.

Either they’re having the worst red stop light curse known to mankind, or they’re standing parked in front of Donghyuck’s house, wondering what the hell is taking him so long but unable to call because his phone was in some trashcan by the diner.

Or maybe they’ve crashed the car. Donghyuck wouldn’t put it past them. Jaemin’s never been that great of a driver, really.

Donghyuck makes it. That’s all that matters.

He doesn’t bother locking his bike by the bike racks, simply dropping it with a painful clatter by the metal steps leading to the entrance of the diner, and hopes to God no one has the mind and the shame to steal his old wreck of a bicycle he’s had since eleventh grade.

“Mark!” He says, his own jingle of a bell that chimes, and Mark who answers by looking up from the cash register behind the counter.

Mark looks at him — at the sleep shirt, the sleep shorts, the thick frames of his glasses perched on top of his nose, slipping down from the sheen of sweat gathered at every crevice of his face. “Donghyuck?” He says.

He’s not wearing his blue uniform shirt, instead a white tee and a nametag covered up with many layers of scotch tape, MARK scribbled onto it with black marker because Donghyuck forgot to give him his shirt back last night.

“Mark.” Donghyuck says again and strides towards the guy, Mark cowering a little in his spot by the counter, looking like he’s preparing himself to be eaten alive.

“Mark.” Donghyuck repeats and breaks out into a smile that feels like it might split his mouth open even wider than it already is. “Mark, you’re f*cking crazy, you amazing prick.”

As if on cue, the diner door busts open, bell jingling, and three more bodies pile in, crowding the countertop by the cash register, a pair of arms unidentifiable in the mess of limbs coming to loop around Donghyuck’s shoulders to sway him.

“Have you been on YouTube?” Jaemin asks, both hands coming down to slam at the countertop, leaning towards Mark over it, who leans back as if on instinct.

“I’ve been working.”

“f*ck, Jeno–”

But Jeno’s already beating Jaemin to it, fishing out his phone, the only one out of the bunch to have a touch screen one, and pulls up the browser tab with the video, shoving it into Mark’s face so close that it nearly slams into his nose.

It’s Renjun’s arms around him, Donghyuck notes just as they slip off to run through his hair instead.

Donghyuck witnesses it in real time — the information registering in Mark’s head, the notion of what it means; of what it could mean. For them, for Ground Zero. For Mark himself.

“Holy sh*t.” He whispers and when his eyes shift away from the screen that Jeno retracts in favor of staring at it himself for what must be the hundredth time, Mark’s eyes land on Donghyuck. “Holy sh*t.” He repeats.

“That’s not even all.” Jaemin says with a nudge at Jeno’s ribs.

“Right!” Jeno pipes up, phone clattering onto the wooden countertop, screen up and displaying the video paused about half way. “Guess who messaged me.”

“Us.” Renjun corrects him. “It was the band’s YouTube channel email.”

“Okay, whatever . Guess who messaged us .”

“It was an invite to this year’s Summerfest.” Jaemin says and immediately slaps a hand over his mouth. ‘Oh my God.” He mumbles into his palm. “Should I actually have let him guess?”

“You f*cking idiot !” Renjun says with a shove but his face lands onto Jaemin’s clothed shoulder, but then he’s smiling and giggling, and Jaemin joins in with an arm dropping over Jeno’s shoulders too.

Donghyuck bursts out into a fit of laughter, hand slapping over his mouth instinctively so him and Jaemin look equally as idiotic, but he just can’t help it — like everything inside of him like fizz about to burst. This is really happening.

Mark looks at Donghyuck, eyes crinkled at the corners, teeth showing in a smile that spreads and spreads and spreads till he, too is giggling like an idiot.

This is really happening.

That wish of his made over a single burning candle in a pile of scrambled eggs seems to get whisked away by the wind.

Just like that.

Chapter 6: i dream about you the way i said i wouldn't 'cause i shouldn't

Chapter Text

All eyes on them. That’s the only way Donghyuck can think to describe what happens once they set foot inside the Chicago bar.

All eyes on Mark.

His own included.

Word gets around quick, and tonight's a testament to that; stuffy air, the smell of sweat and alcohol heavy on their tongues as if shared, and Donghyuck wishes, maybe — gazing at Mark with heavy lids through the stage light haze when he turns on the stage, mic in hand, to sing the last chorus — that he could share what he tastes, share what Mark tastes like past his lips and behind his teeth.

Donghyuck would step all the way to the back of the stage, step around the drums and standees and every thing in the bar and beyond that stands in the way between this.

But the mic wire doesn’t stretch that far, and Donghyuck’s adrenaline boosts his reckless confidence only as much as to get him to meet Mark’s eyes. And under the circ*mstances — under the dim colored projector lights and the blown black ring of Mark’s pupils — that already is a feat in itself.

Word gets around quick, and tonight’s a testament to that; countless drinks ordered for them on the behalf of strangers paying — strangers who claim they were fans, or are, or will be, and strangers who offer a selection of things beyond drinks in the form of awkwardly dodged mouths and clear zip lock bags.

A sex addiction was no better than a drug one, according to Jaemin who rushes them all out through the back door for some fresh air, and neither were preferred for so early on in their musical careers. Donghyuck swats away Jaemin’s hands that push at his lower back to get him through the exit like he’s doing fire escape drills before someone gets the wrong impression about the nature of their relationship even though most of the people gathered at the bar tonight probably couldn’t even see straight. Mark hadn’t taken anything beyond a few shots of tequila, though.

Around them is a continuous stream of congratulations that follows even when they’re outside in the narrow space between two buildings, passing around a single cigarette that Jaemin pulls out of the pack he keeps in his pocket like he’s relieving the stress of having been on the stage along with them. Mark provides the lighter.

His clothes smelled like smoke more often than not, but Donghyuck hadn’t really seen him smoke before. He takes the cigarette from Jeno and hands it to Donghyuck next because a habit of always being beside seems to die hard even with all these years having passed.

“Save this sh*t for Summerfest. It’s a three hour ride back home.” Jaemin says and reaches to confiscate the stamp from Jeno’s grasp like he’s cosplaying a cop he’s never encountered or a father he’s never had himself. “I’m not trip sitting a grown man.”

“Maybe if you popped one yourself.” Jeno says and places the little square on his tongue, wide eyes and lips sealed in a thin line like Jaemin might actually pry his fingers into Jeno’s mouth to wrestle the thing out.

Renjun laughs, all shut eyed and doubling over, clutching at his tummy that makes it apparent that he’s probably popped something himself while Jaemin was looking Jeno’s way.

Donghyuck turns his head to Mark to check if maybe he’s been left as the only other person not tripping or about to trip acid besides Jaemin who’s the designated driver, but Mark’s just watching the scene in front of them with a smile curling around the cigarette. The emergency exit sign above them casts a green glow on his bleached hair, reflecting off the smooth surface of his leather jacket’s padded shoulders.

Drunk enough to buzz, but not enough to tilt, Donghyuck shivers and ends up in the middle backseat of Jaemin’s car, Mark’s jacket draped over his shoulders and Mark’s head resting in the crook of his neck, sleepy breaths coming out even against Donghyuck’s collar bone.

Renjun sits in the front, giggling every time Jaemin swats at his hand that tries fiddling with the radio stations, Jeno passed out with his head against the leather seat, throat bared and mouth slightly agape.

Somewhere at the 60th mile, Donghyuck dozes off as well.

✮

Chenle – the freshman who was friends with people who were friends with Renjun who was friends with Donghyuck, making them some type of far-removed acquaintances – turns out to know a guy who can take their official group photos for the humble price of zero dollars.

And the guy — named Jisung and around their age, and majoring in photography — turns out to, totally casually and randomly, know one of the biggest rising stars on the Chicago and the rock scene in general.

“Crazy sh*t, isn’t it?” Johnny says, splayed across the leather couch in Jisung’s downtown studio, white painted brick walls and tall windows. “Fame really does happen overnight.”

Jisung’s casual cousin.

Word really does get around quick.

Maybe under different circ*mstances Donghyuck would ogle a bit more, trip over his own feet trying to casually bypass Johnny on the couch in an excuse to sneak glances at him — dark hair slicked back, biceps curving in his tank top with a leather jacket slung over one shoulder; a teenage Donghyuck’s wet dream.

But Mark’s getting his photos taken.

Mark who’s styled by Jisung’s own dexterous hands with hair gel-wet and falling over his eyes in thin curls. The suit he wears is like a green drained of saturation, and it looks nice. He looks nice.

Maybe under different circ*mstances Donghyuck would ogle Johnny a bit more. These are not said circ*mstances, though.

“Fame is kind of a crazy word.” Renjun says, sitting on a folding chair with his head resting against the wall, eyes closed and shoulders rising as evenly as they fall along with his breaths.

Johnny clicks his tongue. “It’s a crazy world, man.”

Beside Donghyuck, Jeno stifles a smile into the back his his hand that he brings up to his mouth to dab at his lips. “It really is.” He says, voice strained in an attempt to sound serious.

Despite the surface level phrasing, Donghyuck thinks he does get what Johnny’s getting at. Kind of. Maybe. He’s only been half listening, really.

It does feel like being on the brink of something. A moment between. An interlude. They’re yet to step through that doorway leading to the next room, and the thought of not knowing what awaits there really is a little scary.

Chicago was a dream.

And now they’re back here again, and Donghyuck’s wearing a pair of loose pants the same shade as Mark’s and a mesh shirt under a bright yellow jacket, and it still feels like he’s not quite awake yet.

“The whole world at your fingertips. Grab it, hold onto it, and never let go.” Johnny says wistfully and closes his fist around nothing. “Otherwise–” he squeezes until his knuckles protrude, white, and makes a cracking sound with his tongue at the back of his throat, “it’s gonna grab you, hold onto you, and never let go.”

“Okay, thank you. Jeno, your turn.” Jisung’s timid voice sounds off somewhere in the distance like a mouse caught in a cheese trap.

“Jeno, get your ass over here!” Jaemin yells loud enough that it echoes through the mostly empty space of the studio and watches satisfied when everyone except Renjun flinches.

“You don’t need to be here, by the way, in case you forgot.” Jeno says when he’s already up from his seat and halfway over to the white backdrop where Jisung’s standing with his huge camera that still manages to look miniature in those gigantic hands of his.

“I’m your manager.” Jaemin replies. “I set this whole thing up. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Chenle set it up.” Renjun clarifies.

Jaemin makes a show of looking around the room and flailing his hands around like an idiot. “Do you see him here?”

“He has school, dumbass.”

The seat besides Donghyuck dips and his body sways slightly to the left as Mark mumbles a hi, shoulder knocking into Donghyuck’s on purpose.

“You clean up nicely.” He says next, like it’s an appropriate thing to say after a simple single syllable greeting and smiling at Donghyuck with that small customer service curve of his lips, except warmer in the eyes than he does when it’s an old lady at the counter.

“Charming.” Donghyuck says, voice low, doing a fairly good job at pretending like his heart isn’t ramming inside his chest like he’d just gotten chased down the street five blocks before coming here if he does say so himself; even manages to spare Mark a glance to really sell the nonchalant act. “You don’t look half-bad yourself.”

Renjun snorts from his seat against the wall.

✮

For an event in their careers as big as Summerfest there needed to be a performance deserving to be on that stage; not only to prove worthwhile when on it, but to make everyone see that there was potential beyond it in them as well. Them as a whole, as a band, as some conjoined entity with no name to it other than the one picked by high school Donghyuck on a drunken evening skimming the dictionary for the lack of a better occupation that would distract from the warmth of Mark's body next to him on the ground, belly down, and not work.

Ground zero.

A place where something important happens or starts happening.

It was mostly Mark’s suggestion, really, if he's being honest. Donghyuck contributed the idea to swipe the o’s for 0’s.

It had a ring to it.

That's also what Donghyuck said when he was pitching the name idea to Renjun, Jeno and Jaemin who he met later in college when Mark was no longer in the picture and a sh*tty name that most people associate with a nuclear bomb detonation as the only thing left solid enough to be real beyond his own thoughts.

“It's stupid.” Jaemin had said back then as the only one willing to oppose what Donghyuck stood for, no matter how meek the cause.

“It's stupid.” Jaemin says now, too, as he’s laying on the grass beside Donghyuck on his back, bent arms resting over his face to shield his eyes from the sun. He says it about the lyrics. Donghyuck’s been writing songs for Summerfest. It needs to be an all original set and they're severely lacking in the non-cover department.

“f*ck you. Write your own sh*t then.” Donghyuck says with a dismissive scoff out of pure habit.

“I’m not in the band anymore.”

He’s got Donghyuck there.

“f*ck you.” Donghyuck repeats anyway.

“It’s stupid because you can do better.” Jaemin adds to soothe Donghyuck’s injured pride while inflating his ego a little bit — a well-practiced combo he’s figured out over the few years of knowing him, which made Donghyuck glad in one sense that someone paid enough mind to notice what worked on him and what didn’t, but also mortified at the nagging thought that plagued him whenever he’d spot his friends exchange wordless glances, or seemingly take words right out of his mouth, or know what flavor of chips he’d want from the corner store: was he really that easy to read?

“I mean all of the songs are about Mark already anyway.” Jaemin continues, and maybe it’s really the latter because it feels like rubbing salt in the wound a little bit. “If you’re gonna serenade him, might as well commit to it and make it mean something, instead of filling the gaps of the things you’re too scared to admit with stupid cliches. Your smile like sunshine, without it, it’s rain. Like, Jesus Christ, give me a break.”

Donghyuck scratches at the itchy tip of his nose while Jaemin pretends to weep into his hands. “There’s no proof that the songs are about him.” He says as an afterthought and Jaemin’s makeshift sobs turn into genuine laughter, loud and booming across the half-empty park.

Change of strategy. Donghyuck traces the inked words on the pages with the tip of a finger as he bores holes into the paper like the sentences will rearrange themselves in front of his very eyes and finally start making sense.

“Is it really that easy to tell?” He asks.

“Well maybe not without context, but you’re here, and you’re context so, yeah, I’d say it’s pretty obvious.”

“Damn.”

“Damn indeed.” Jaemin agrees with a sympathetic shove of Donghyuck’s bent knee with an elbow. “C’mon, let’s go get ice cream.”

✮

They do get ice cream — 4th of July themed popsicles from the convenience store across from Mark’s diner job because they were on sale, cheapest offer in the LED-lit freezers, seeing as it was way past July and well into August already.

Jaemin drove them here. Well, he mostly drove Donghyuck, mostly dropped him off on the way to his own place with no follow-up questions when Donghyuck had said he wanted to see Mark before he called it a day today, being past sundown and all; mostly paid for the ice cream because he actually has a job, and then stayed with Donghyuck, sitting on the curb by the vending machines outside the store until both popsicles were done and their fingers were sticky with the sugary residue.

Wiping his hands on his basketball shorts first, Donghyuck gets up, groaning and huffing as his joints creek like he’s approaching sixty.

“It’s because of that hunchback posture of yours.” Jaemin says, fishing out the keys to his car from his front pocket before standing up, way more swiftly than Donghyuck managed to.

“My knee joints have nothing to do with my posture.”

“You should exercise them more.” Jaemin tells him and doesn’t care about Donghyuck not biting the lure, bringing a loose fist up to his mouth and moving it back and forth while tonguing his cheek. “I’m sure there’s a guy across the street currently working the last thirty mins of his twelve hour diner shift that would gladly accept your offer to practice.”

“Yeah, okay.” Donghyuck says, voice leveled and unaffected to make up for the burning red tips of his ears. “Thanks for the ride.”

“And the ice cream.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

He can hear Jaemin getting in the car and the engine roaring to life once he’s past the curb, and Donghyuck makes a quick glance back before he crosses the street to the diner when he hears the car start moving because it wasn’t above Jaemin to try and run Donghyuck over for some bit only he himself was in on.

On any other day, easily, like developed muscle memory at this point, Donghyuck would stride across the diner parking lot, up the rusty metal stairs leading to the front door, and into one of the bar stool seats by the counter where Mark would be taping the previous day’s receipts to the management notebook’s pages.

“Hey.” Donghyuck would say, chin cupped in palm, legs dangling with the ankles crossed.

Mark would spare him a single look, small smile and warm eyes. “Hi.” He would say before turning his attention back to the task at hand.

“Scare all the customers off with your off putting demeanor again?”

“Hm, yeah.” Mark would nod with a breath sucked between his teeth, morphing into a smile and Donghyuck would watch his mouth intently. “Tuesdays are always slow.”

Donghyuck would hum contemplatively like that wasn’t a fact he knew and capitalized on for the sole selfish purpose of having Mark all to himself to talk with and to stare and prod at.

Today though, despite it being Tuesday, the place is jampacked.

It requires herculean effort to wedge the front glass door open without knocking over some teenage girl and denting her still developing frontal lobe, and it’s even more of a task to make it to the counter — the counter that’s empty, of Mark at least, the man behind it decades older and presumably the manager with how silly he looks when he moves his hands as he speaks like he thinks somebody’s listening.

“Where’s Mark?” Donghyuck has to raise his voice to ask the man. “I know him.”

His chin physically turns down to stare Donghyuck up and down with a snort. “You and every other girl in this place.”

“Oh my God.” A gasp somewhere beside and behind him. “That’s Haechan.”

“Is he still here?” Donghyuck tries again at the man, pretending the obvious gawking at him is of no bother and doesn’t make panic crawl up his throat like melted tar on a midwest highway in the peak of summer.

As if holding some personal vendetta against him, as if it's him who's the root of all the problems in the world including this particular one of the diner being flooded with people demanding to see a guy they don't even know but wish desperately that they did, the manager purposely ignores the question again.

f*ck this. Donghyuck knows him, in most senses of the word.

He clicks his tongue with a roll of his eyes at the lack of a response from the manager and jumps the counter, slipping into the kitchen and pulling open the door there that he knows leads to the staff room from back when he himself was stuck in that cramped space basically bare ass naked with coffee spilled over his shirt by Mark’s nervous hands.

It's Mark’s nervous eyes that find him now, once Donghyuck’s inside the staff room with the door locked behind him and a fist belonging to the manager banging on the other side.

“Hey.” He says, breathing rapidly from the adrenaline, from the crowd, from Mark looking at him the way he always seems to do.

“Hi.” Mark replies softly, gets up from where he'd been slumped in the plastic chair like he has to do something now that Donghyuck's here, body unsure what exactly as it approaches as if on auto pilot, but something. “You okay?” He asks out of every other imaginable question.

“Yeah.” Donghyuck swallows down the what, why? furrows his brows at Mark’s wide eyes watching him like he's dazed. “You okay?”

Mark’s throat bobs as he swallows as well. “Yeah.” He says just as well.

“What’s happening out there?”

To Donghyuck’s slight surprise, Mark bursts into a single throaty laugh, a hand coming up to rub at both inner corners of his eyes, head hung low and shaking. “God knows what the f*ck is happening out there.”

“Who even are those people?”

A shrug. “I think they saw the YouTube video. Fans, they said.”

“Fans?” Donghyuck waits until Mark’s head raises ever so slightly for his eyes to meet Donghyuck’s through his lashes. “That’s like– what? That’s literally crazy.”

An agreement. A nod. A smile, one that creeps up slow and sheepish until it's a sparse moment over and a grin is in place, so wide it nearly splits every feature in half. “Crazy indeed.” Mark says, eyes glistening, and Donghyuck feels the surge of utter affection so strong, he has to physically lean back a bit so he doesn’t do something as stupid as lean in the rest of the way.

“One of them called me Haechan.” He says because maybe the words will spill past his lips before the feelings do, and save them both the trouble of dealing with the messy aftermath. “I honestly didn’t think it’d stick.”

“I dunno.” Mark shrugs, ever so earnest and seemingly shameless. “I like Donghyuck better.”

Unsure of how to respond, Donghyuck huffs out a laugh, and changes the subject again. “Does this mean you get off work early?”

“I’d have to ask my manager. He shoved me in here and said he’ll be right back, but that was like—” He leans to the side to peek over Donghyuck’s shoulder at the wall clock. “— twenty minutes ago?” And somehow he’s closer now than he was before, breath smelling fresh of mint toothpaste.

Donghyuck looks into his eyes only. “You think he’d notice if I snuck you out through the back?”

Mark’s worse at it, gaze flicking down for a split second so brief that Donghyuck’s sure he’s seeing what he’d want to see. “There’s only one way to find out.”

✮

They find out it works.

On foot along the main road to not risk alerting anyone by starting the ancient engine of Mark's truck in the diner parking lot they walk side by side until their feet are sore and they’ve made it to the front of Donghyuck’s family home.

“How are you getting to your apartment?” Donghyuck asks, turning to Mark like the leads do in the movies before either a dramatic first kiss or a less of a dramatic breakup for the hopeless romantics who really only care about the get together bit and not the third act split. Donghyuck’s always been a sucker for a good romcom.

Mark rubs the back of his neck like he really wants Donghyuck to lose it and lean in to kiss him stupid. “Same as I got here. I’ll walk.” He says.

And Donghyuck should probably take this opportunity presented to him by the gods of romance to make up for every other time he’s embarrassed the hell out of himself by chasing something that never chases back.

Instead, though, because he’s Donghyuck and in front of him — that’s Mark. Donghyuck and Mark. They’ll never not be Donghyuck and Mark.

“That's miles, don't be ridiculous.” Donghyuck says with his fingers tucked into the loops of his jeans to keep his hands still. And then, to make matters worse, because he really must be an idiot, “I can call Jaemin, see if he can drive you.”

“It’s fine.” Mark predictably replies, “I don’t need Jaemin to drive me.”

“You know, he's not as bad of a guy as you make him out to be.” Donghyuck says because anything seems like a batter option to address than whatever is making him hot in the face and the air around them thinner and harder for Donghyuck to breathe.

“I trust you.” Mark smiles with a nod. “But, Donghyuck, seriously, it's fine.”

It’s not fine, though. “It's basically all across town, and it's pitch black almost already. Walking along the road in the middle of the night like this is basically asking to get run over.”

“I won't get run over.” Mark’s still smiling, “I’ll text you when I’m home, ‘kay?”

“I don't have a phone. It got fried from when you spilled coffee on me.”

A raised brow. “You just offered to call Jaemin to come pick me up.”

“I forgot I didn't have a phone.”

A huff of a laugh, and Mark’s hand that reaches out like he’s reaching for Donghyuck but falls back limply to his side when reality gets the better of the moment, gets shoved into a jacket pocket. “Sorry about that, by the way. The coffee. And your phone. I’ll get you a new one as soon as my paycheck comes.”

“Don't be stupid.” Donghyuck does it for him — reaches out across the distance between them to shove lightly at Mark’s shoulder. “I’ll ask for it for Christmas or something, it's a few months away anyway.”

“Yeah, six.”

“Five.”

“Okay, smartass.” Mark rolls his eyes. “I’m getting you a new phone, and I’m seeing you tomorrow at practice. That's how you’ll know I didn't get run over.”

“And if you're not there, I’m safe to assume you're what? Dead in a ditch?”

Mark shrugs with a stupid grin, and in a sudden surge of affection and melancholy, Donghyuck steps forward to wrap his arms around Mark in an embrace.

“Don't be dead in a ditch.” He mutters into Mark’s shoulder and pulls back to let him go, Mark watching him for a moment, smile wiped off his features like he’s been punched and like he doesn't want Donghyuck to give him the chance to pull away at all.

“I won't.” Mark assures and his fingers squeeze around Donghyuck's wrists before stepping back and letting both arms fall to his sides where they had been before.

Donghyuck watches Mark walk away like he's waiting for something.

Just before the turn he's to make right, Mark halts and looks back; sees Donghyuck already looking at him from the other end of the street.

✮

Mark’s not dead in a ditch, and seven original songs over the course of two weeks.

It’s blood, and sweat, and tears, and Donghyuck wanting to crawl into a hole after taking Jaemin’s advice about going all out and having to hear the lyrics being sung back to him in Jeno’s jampacked garage with embarrassment as suffocating as the heat around them.

But they make a setlist. A solid one Donghyuck would say, and the others would agree. Chenle agreed when asked upon Renjun’s insistence that they needed an unbiased outsider point of view, and so did Jisung who had come over to deliver the hard drive with the photos from the shoot and had proceeded to be subjected to a forced listen of their mock set with an overly excited Jaemin by his side on the couch, looking his way every few seconds to soak in the reactions like he was writing a dissertation on the topic of Jisung’s face.

Out of the goodness of his heart, Jisung offers to ask Johnny’s opinion, and all five of them answer him with a singular and panicked no.

“You’ve been a huge help with the photos already.” Renjun had told him and the others agreed with that same monotony from before.

“If you ever need us to play at your future girlfriend’s birthday party or something, hit us up.” Donghyuck had said in an attempted mimic of the pureness of Jisung’s heart.

Jisung had laughed awkwardly, assuring them that won’t be needed, and left with Jaemin to see him out.

Seven original songs.

That was honestly really impressive.

“That’s honestly really impressive.” Jimin tells him over a single shared glass of iced lemon black tea in Donghyuck’s back yard under an apple tree starting to bloom. She sips from her straw. Hers is green. Donghyuck had picked the red one. “How are you getting to Chicago, though? There’s, like, five of you and half a dozen instruments.”

Donghyuck would say that he’s missed her with how occupied she seems to be with Minjeong these days; her girlfriend — girl friend. Whatever it was that they labeled themselves as now. “We’re taking two cars.” Is what he says instead.

Jimin turns to squint at him through her bleached fringe, and places the iced tea on a smooth patch of grass between them. “Can any of your friends even drive?”

“Jaemin can.”

“Two cars?”

Donghyuck shrugs, totally casual and totally not reaching for the glass to gulp down some iced tea along with the sudden itch in his throat. “Mark has a license.”

“Wow, where has he been all your life, truly, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“Right, right.” Jimin sighs through a poorly concealed smile.

Donghyuck doesn’t even dare to comment on it in fear it will result in even more relentless teasing that will leave him with no other choice but to get up and start running.

“So you’re, like, good now? You and Mark?” Jimin asks like it’s everyone’s mission in this damn town to bring up Mark in at least one conversation with Donghyuck or they’ll get exiled by the government.

Donghyuck shrugs and makes the mistake of scoffing. “Why shouldn’t we be?”

“I dunno. Maybe cause you were in love with him and he left you for Toronto?”

“It was Vancouver.”

Jimin clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes, “My bad.”

“And he didn’t leave–” She gives Donghyuck a pointed look, “–okay, yes, fine, he did leave, but he had his reasons, and it’s not like he owed me anything. He still doesn’t owe me anything, by the way.”

Except a new phone, he thinks faintly and wonders if Mark seriously meant all the phone stuff he was babbling on about two weeks ago. There’s no way Mark could afford to buy a gift that expensive. There’s no way Donghyuck could afford to accept it. He was faring quite well so far for someone who was addicted to stalking people’s MySpace profiles for hours on end in his free time. But he could do that on his dad’s computer. Anyone rarely called him who he actually cared about enough to pick up. He was fine.

“The last thing I’d want is for him to throw me a pity party and feel like he has to stay in this sh*tty place because I won’t be able to, like, function without him.”

“Well–”

“Shut up. I’d do just fine. And why are we even talking about this? Mark’s probably working his shift right now covered in nugget grease. Why are we talking about him leaving?”

Speaking of Mark’s shifts, Donghyuck hasn’t visited the diner in a while now, too preoccupied with the preparations for the festival, and too anxious to show up without any prior notice which he can’t give because he doesn’t have a phone. It’s probably for the best. With how many people had shown up that day after the video publication, Donghyuck thinks he was safe to assume that Mark had enough of a work load on his hands, and Donghyuck didn’t want to risk disrupting his routine.

“We’re not. Okay, I mean, kind of.” Jimin reaches for the iced tea in Donghyuck’s warm hands. “It’s just that August’s almost over. Doesn’t he have school in Toronto in September like the rest of us community college losers?”

“Vancouver.” Donghyuck hands her the glass. “And, no, he’s not enrolled anywhere.”

“Wow. First Jaemin who has sex with you in his dead grandma’s old car and now Mark who’s a college drop out. You really go for the guys with class, huh? And why did Mark leave in the first place if it wasn’t for school?”

Dead grandfather’s old car, actually, but that doesn’t really make it sound any better. “Mark had his reasons.’ Donghyuck says. “Family stuff mostly– well, his dad. God, he’s always been such a f*cking dick.”

“Has been, or still is?”

Donghyuck slides further down with his back against the tree trunk until he’s practically laying in the grass. “Like hell do I know. I haven’t seen him in years. Last time was in, like, year twelve when he came here for Mark’s brother’s twentieth birthday.”

“What about Mark?” Jimin asks, watching Donghyuck from above; Donghyuck can feel her stare even with his eyes closed.

He cracks one eyelid open, lashes fluttering. “What about him?”

“Has he talked to his dad recently?”

Donghyuck thinks back to that cursed day at the diner when Mark spilled coffee all over him, miles away from even first degree burns because that crap was barely lukewarm thank God. It’s my dad, Mark had said — his dad who’d soured Mark’s mood in the days leading up to Donghyuck finally confronting him about it, which said a lot, because Mark wore his heart on his sleeve and one could read everything off his face most of the time, but he still held onto the gritty stuff for the life of him because God forbid he’d let that show.

“You’re projecting.” Donghyuck hurries to say, and maybe it’s too mean, or maybe she’s right, or maybe Donghyuck just doesn’t want to entertain the idea of the same string of events repeating themselves like it’s a loophole he’s never destined to get out of as long as him and Mark are in each other’s orbits.

Either by some gut intuition or simply after knowing Donghyuck for enough time to figure out what makes him tick, Jimin clears her throat and shifts the subject.

“Sorry.” She says, and she does sound like she means it, but Donghyuck’s not entirely sure which part that she’s apologizing for is the earnest bit. “You’re right, I’m just conditioned to think every dad is a prick like mine. Maybe you’re right. I don’t know Mark like that.”

A terrifying thought flashes into Donghyuck’s head as quickly as it disappears from sight — I don’t think I do either.

“Mark’s going to Summerfest with me tomorrow.” Donghyuck tells Jimin, and himself, and the universe if it’s listening. “He’s showing up at 2 PM at Jeno’s place with his truck, and he’s helping us pack everything we need, and then we’re going to Summerfest. Me, Renjun, Jeno, Jaemin, and Mark.”

Jimin reaches down to run a hand through Donghyuck’s sweaty hair, brushing it away from his forehead. “Well, he doesn’t have a choice because, if he pulls anything funny, I’ll cut his balls off.” She says and the unexpectedness of it catches Donghyuck so off guard that he actually laughs. “Minjeong’s castrated chickens at her family farm. Seriously. She’d help.”

“Thanks.” Donghyuck says with a thoughtful nod and doesn’t have the heart to tell her that chickens are female and therefore don’t have balls to cut off. “I’ll take solace in the sentiment.”

✮

It’s really a sh*t load of stuff they have to bring. The estimates Donghyuck had done in his head before this don’t hold a candle to the actual amount of items they have to forcibly pile into the trunk of Mark’s truck and the severely less spacious back of Jaemin’s little car; the brute strength of three guys is required to push that thing closed and keep it from popping open and smashing someone’s teeth in or risking half their stuff getting scattered onto the highway on their way to Chicago.

Donghyuck’s slept maybe a whole of two hours the night before. He kind of feels like he’s watching the scenes in front of him unfold from a third person point of view. The rest keep exchanging these glances and low mutters by each other’s ears that they must think Donghyuck doesn’t notice or simply don’t f*cking care that he does. It’s like they're in on something he’s being purposefully left out of. It’s kind of like a reversed situation of back in May when Donghyuck was the only one who’d known about Jaemin leaving the band. Feels weird.

That’s what he gets for the last one to arrive at Jeno’s place because he’d slept through all of his alarms and it was Dongsook yanking the duvet off his butt naked body that bore fruit in finally waking him up. Karma or something.

And so now he’s here, arms wrapped around himself with Renjun tapping his foot on the asphalt besides him, watching with equal disgust and awe as Jeno and Jaemin struggle to stuff the sleeping bags needed for the tent through the half-rolled-down backseat window because Mark’s ancient truck mechanisms don’t allow the glass to go any further.

Mark’s truck is bigger, so, logically, they fill it with more of their sh*t, which, logically, leaves way less space for passengers. The only free one, besides the driver’s seat — logically — is the passenger’s seat.

“Should we pull straws?” Donghyuck asks which earns him a slap on the back of his head from Renjun.

“Sorry, bug.”He mumbles and shrugs when Donghyuck glares at him over his shoulder.

Jaemin begins slowly walking backwards away from Mark’s truck. “Well, I’m driving my car, so…”

“And he’s gonna need help reading the map, so… You know how Jaemin gets. We can’t have him getting us lost, and all that.” Jeno says thoughtfully and pats his jean pockets like he’ll manifest a map that way.

Donghyuck turns to look at Renjun so slowly he can practically hear his spleen creak.

“Well, there’s very little space in the back, and I’m the smallest, so I guess it’s only logical I get the sh*t seat.” Renjun says and Donghyuck thinks he really might just throw a punch. “I’m sure you guys have plenty of stuff to talk about before Mark—”

“Right!” Mark clasps his hands in front of him, nervous laugh bubbling past his lips, and looks to Donghyuck. “You’ll be riding with me then.”

“Well, if you offer so generously, then how can I possibly refuse?” Donghyuck draws out the words and drags his feet to the passenger’s side door like he’s on his way to a voluntary hanging; not that it feels all that far off.

“Dude thinks he’s in pride and prejudice.” Donghyuck hears Jeno say, but doesn’t get to dwell on it for too long, slamming the door after he gets in the car seat with a huff.

Mark joins him not long after. Not in the passenger’s seat, of course — logically — but in his own seat, in the driver’s seat; not that Donghyuck’s thinking about Mark joining him in his seat, them two in the same seat, pressed close, hands under clothes, pressed against skin, lips—

“You ready?”

Donghyuck flinches at the sound of Mark’s voice, snapping his head to the side to look at Mark’ like he’s just said something insane.

God, the two hours of sleep are really catching up to him.

Donghyuck clears his throat and nods, runs a hand through his hair that he didn’t get to wash last night with Dongsook hogging the shower. “Sure, yeah, let’s go.”

“Seatbelt.” Mark says.

“My bad, officer.” Donghyuck teases but reaches over his shoulder for the belt buckle and clasps it over his chest in a single motion.

Mark rolls his eyes in that stupidly annoying and attractive way that he does. “Right, right, blame me for not wanting you to fly through the windshield.”

Donghyuck shrugs, lips in an exaggerated pout. “If you’re such a sh*tty driver that you’ll have me possibly flying through the windshield, then maybe you deserve to witness that.”

“To change my ways?”

“Exactly.”

Mark breaks first, huffing out a laugh as he turns away to pull at the hand brake and finally put the car into motion.

Jaemin’s car drives in front of them, leading the way, though Donghyuck doubts it’s all that trustworthy, because even after all that talk about being the direction guy, Donghyuck highly doubts Jeno ever learned how to read a map.

The radio’s playing on low volume, a pleasant buzz in the air around them, and Mark’s humming along to whatever song that’s playing that Donghyuck doesn’t recognize well enough to name. The car smells like lavender air freshener and like Mark’s deodorant, faintly of cigarette smoke — that smell that seeps inside every crevice made to last. Every once in a while Mark’s hand will reach to the space between them to switch the gears before returning to its space on the wheel, fingers drumming along to the melody he’s humming, and every time he does so, Donghyuck holds his breath with heavy eyelids in anticipation for the warm skin of Mark’s palm to meet Donghyuck’s thigh. It never comes, and so Donghyuck settles for watching Mark through his lashes, slumped in his seat, breaths evening out until the tug of sleep comes at him so suddenly and forcefully that Donghyuck doesn’t even notice it happen.

Chapter 7: i’m trying to tell you something (something that i already said)

Chapter Text

The nap in Mark’s truck knocks Donghyuck out like a bat to the skull. He jolts awake by Mark’s hand on his shoulder and nearly slams his head into the car door with enough force to knock him out again.

“Woah.” Is what Mark says in reply to the lack of Donghyuck’s verbal response. “We’re here.”

Mark’s voice is so gentle that Donghyuck contemplates just pretending to fall asleep on the spot after just waking up so Mark can do that softly-waking-him-up thing again.

Donghyuck does end up giving a verbal response — some gurgle at the back of his throat as he sits up from where he’d been slouched halfway down the passenger seat, unclasping his seatbelt and feeling Mark’s hand retract from his clothed shoulder at the shift. They’ve stopped at a mostly deserted parking lot.

“We’re here.” Mark repeats, thinking Donghyuck hadn’t heard him the first time as if Donghyuck could possibly ignore Mark’s voice even if he tried to; even if he wanted to.

Donghyuck doesn’t want to.

A rub at his eyes with the backs of each his hands, Donghyuck turns his head in the seat towards Mark, hair probably a bird’s nest, all tussled and strands sticking up in every other direction if the way Mark eyes the top of Donghyuck’s head with a smile that he wipes off with a shake of his head is anything to go by.

“Renjun said you had a lot to tell me–”

Someone slams the passenger side window behind Donghyuck and he jumps this time with such a violent jerk of his body that he’s sure he actually ends up spraining something in his neck, hand immediately flying up to rest at the spot like he’s making sure he hadn’t just popped an artery or something.

Jeno stands outside the door with his palm pressed flat against the glass and Jaemin approaches to lean over his shoulder to press his lips against the window, spit dripping down the glass, and Donghyuck flips them both off, one hand still massaging the sore spot on his nape.

“Renjun needs help getting out,” Jeno says, voice a bit muffled by the glass between them, “he’s trapped between the amp boxes.”

“We should probably get him before he dies in there.” Mark says and when Donghyuck turns around to face him, Mark is already looking at him, eyes soft, a nod at the self inflicted injury. “You okay?”

Donghyuck pulls his hand away, suddenly embarrassed, the spot where his palm had just been, hot as if burnt. “Yeah.” He breathes out and moves to get out, making sure to push as hard as he can to inflict as much pain onto Jeno and Jaemin as he can with the rusty navy-colored metal of Mark’s truck door.

Mark follows right after like there is a thread between them that he cannot let snap if it stretches too thin, locking the truck and striding over to Jaemin’s care where the others have already begun the noble mission of rescuing Renjun from the technical equipment avalanche he’d willingly subjected himself to so Donghyuck could have his coming of age movie moment alone in the car with Mark that he’d wasted by falling asleep like the established idiot he was. It was written in the stars for him to spend his days alone until he shriveled up like a raisin and evaporated completely.

After Renjun’s been saved from impending doom, it takes them six whole trips from the car to the festival grounds to get all of their stuff settled, and that’s not even counting any of the technical equipment for their set — just tents, and sleeping bags, and Jeno’s mom’s picnic baskets filled with food that Jeno had felt too bad rejecting when she’d offered to prepare for them to ensure they were fed well throughout their three day stay.

The sun’s already setting — no less brutal in its heat than during the daytime, really — as they get their four tents set up in the campside tucked away from the stages and the markets and the noise; a grassy field that’s been stomped flat and dull from all the people moving about. Mark didn’t have a tent laying around in that apartment he shared with Jungwoo (“Why would I have a tent if I have an apartment?” Jungwoo had said when Mark had inquired about it.) and so Jaemin had offered to lend him his and just sleep together with whoever would let him, which would definitely not be Donghyuck — Donghyuck had told him that much as soon as the words had left Jaemin’s mouth. Mark couldn’t say no to the offer because that would be admitting something, and Mark had never been one to say things as they were.

When they’re done finally, the sky has turned a pink hue, and Donghyuck sits down on the grass, leaning back on his elbows, neck craned up, nape no longer aching. A plane flies across the stretch of dim baby blue above, a single tail of white smoke in its wake as it leaves this place behind.

Unlike back home, the air here seems different; everything here feels different. Less constricting. Like he can really take a deep breath and truly feel it.

There’s none of those stares he’d felt anytime he’d set foot on campus with his nail polish chipped in an attempt on his way from the dorms to get rid of it. None of the whispers and the nods and the fingers pointed his way after word had gotten around about him and Jaemin which Donghyuck had later found out was because a genuine mistake from Chenle’s part in the form of his lips getting loose under the influence of alcohol at a local frat party. None of the wide eyes and the gasps from the never before seen girls at the diner like it would mean the world to them to simply catch a glimpse of Haechan. But he was Donghyuck. Here, in the grass, there, back at home, no matter how much he dodged it, he was Donghyuck. I dunno. I like Donghyuck better.

The music is audible from over where the temporary stages have been set up for these three days, and a tap nudges at Donghyuck’s shoulder — Jaemin with a grin, crawling towards him on the grass with the lower half of his body inside one of the tents. And he holds a poorly lit joint between his fingers. And Donghyuck follows him inside the tent with a sigh like he’s being forced to do this.

It’s Jaemin’s hand me down blue tent that Donghyuck remembers sleeping in once during last summer. Sleeping in as in with Jaemin. Sleeping with Jaemin. He hopes for the love of God that Jaemin doesn’t bring it up as they squeeze together, all five of them, in a small circle, in some attempt to get a reaction out of Mark that will end up souring the entire mood of the upcoming night and make Donghyuck want to smother the guy in his sleep no matter whose tent he’d end up sleeping in, seeing as this one had been offered up to Mark for the upcoming days.

“Anyone have a lighter?” Is what Jaemin says instead. Maybe God actually is real.

Mark mutters a hold on and reaches into the pocket of his ripped jeans — a quite awkward ordeal with how he’s sitting cross legged on the ground with his middle halfway bent to the front, but he manages, and slaps the lighter into Jaemin’s upturned palm.

And so they pass the joint around, taking a single drag each, Renjun making a show of clearing his throat whenever he’d consider someone hogging it. Donghyuck doesn’t bother asking whose weed it is, assuming it was Jaemin’s, because ,out of all of them, he seemed the one with the least prospects in life, and the highest chance of ending up selling baggies in alleyways.

It turns out to be Mark’s though — when he pulls the tin can out after they smoke the single joint down to literally nothing .

“Since when do you keep a stash?” Donghyuck asks in disbelief that takes the shape of a laugh past his lips, shoulder accidentally bumping into Mark’s as he leans over to his side a little, limbs like the laces of a knot finally pulled apart. There’s an orange wristband around Mark’s arm the same as his and the other guys’; orange for performer.

Mark answers with a shrug as his fingers move with that same precision to roll a joint as they do when he twirls his drumsticks before songs, and Donghyuck wonders absentmindedly just how far that dexterity stretches, and whether Mark would let him find out.

With a shake of his head Donghyuck dismisses the thoughts and moves away in the opposite direction when he sees Mark bring the joint up to his mouth to lick it shut, bumping into Jaemin who sits at his other side, humming some melody to himself as he sways from one side of his ass to the other while waiting with his hands locked around his crossed ankles.

Jeno breaks the thick silence around them. “How do you think the set’s gonna go tomorrow?”

A collective groan comes as a response from Renjun and Donghyuck.

“Oh, shut it with the smalltalk, please .” Renjun says and shoves Jeno so hard that his loose limbed body topples over, and there’s a brief silence before both of them erupt into a fit of giggles and Renjun helps him back up with a hand around Jeno’s elbow.

Donghyuck takes the lighter Jaemin hands him and passes it to Mark. “We’ve rehearsed it so many times that I don’t think it’s possible to not get it right.” He says, and watches with droopy lids as Mark places the joint between his lips and lights it with his gaze trained down in focus.

“I think you’re gonna smash it and become the biggest stars in the world.” Jaemin chimes in and Donghyuck barely hears him with how Mark discards the lighter in favor of looking up at Donghyuck through his fringe as he takes a drag, making an effort in blowing the smoke out through one side of his mouth to not get it in Donghyuck’s eyes, before handing over the joint.

Their fingers knock together as Donghyuck picks the thing from Mark’s grasp and he nearly sends it flying to the ground with how loud his heart beats under his skin.

“Place your bets now: how many girls do you reckon are gonna ask Donghyuck to sign their boobs?” Jaemin asks after he plucks the joint from between Donghyuck’s thumb and forefinger.

Donghyuck shoves him while Renjun and Jeno giggle like they’re being tickled, everything suddenly so funny that Donghyuck starts to think he should be joining in since they seem to be having a much better time than him who’s sitting cross legged, flushed down to the base of his neck with how close he’s sitting next to Mark, nearly pressed together at the hip.

Jaemin’s hip too, but even if Donghyuck’s literally had the guy’s dick in his mouth and other compromising places, he couldn’t care less about that right now. Not when the air’s hot and stuffy inside the tent, reeking of weed that can probably be smelled from outside and could get them kicked out before they’ve even gotten as far into the festival as getting their instruments out of the two cars they’d come here in. Not when a giggle bubbles past Donghyuck’s lips and his center of gravity shifts as his shoulders shake with it, and he nearly topples over and into Mark on accident, Mark’s hands coming to rest on Donghyuck’s biceps to keep him upright, fingers digging into the curved skin there, palms sweaty hot against flesh just the same.

“Careful there.” He breathes out through a laugh and the hot breath hits Donghyuck’s cheek in a way that makes him shiver.

Eventually the joint travels back to him once and then two more times before the ashes have been scattered across the ground and they’ve smoked this one down as well, and then it’s time to go dance.

Renjun’s the one to suggest it — attempting to clumsily get up on his feet before settling for hands and knees to crawl out of the tent, the flaps of the entrance lifting as he disappears into the evening with his giggles louder than the music they can hear through the trees from here almost well enough to make out the lyrics.

Mark’s hand drops to rest on Donghyuck’s knee with a squeeze when it’s just the two of them left inside the tent and he’s yet to move, deep in thought about everything and nothing at once, closer to the entrance and blocking the way for Mark.

“Sorry.” Donghyuck mutters, tongue heavy suddenly, voice muffled to his own ears.

“Is’okay.”

Another squeeze. Another mumbled apology. Donghyuck crawls outside, Mark following behind.

“Wait.” Jaemin says, halting all movements, already outside and already on his feet while Donghyuck’s still crouched on the ground, grabbing onto the hand Mark offers to help him up. “I have some stamps in my bag.”

He says it loud enough that it earns them all a few stares from the people passing by on their way to the stages.

“Weren’t you the one warning us against drug addiction a few weeks ago at the bar?” Renjun approaches him to sling an arm around Jeamin’s shoulder, clumsy in his movements that nearly send the both of them toppling over in a mess of limbs and laughter.

“Addiction is a big word. I’m not talking heroin here.”

“Like you need heroin to get addicted to something, you chain smoker.” Donghyuck mutters and bends down to try and get rid of the wet dew patches on his knees from the grass, which, predictably, doesn’t work, but doesn’t stop him from trying a few more times before Jeno yanks him back upwards by the arm.

“I think we’re fine as we are.” Mark tells Jaemin and maybe it’s because he’s the oldest, but he really does sound like some higher voice of reason. Donghyuck almost lets his knees give out on purpose just so he can get Mark to hoist him on his feet with those strong arms of his. He wants to feel them. Exposed in a tight fitting T-shirt now. Feel them properly. Skin under the flesh of his palms, fingers digging into the muscles there to feel them constrict, to hear him breathe in and out and hold Donghyuck closer.

Jeno yanks Donghyuck forward by that same arm he’s been holding onto. “The weed’s gonna wear off before we make it to the stage, come on .”

Unable to do much to oppose the guy, Donghyuck lets himself get dragged across the grassy field to the gate that separates the camping site from the rest of the festival grounds.

“Oh my God!” Renjun exclaims from behind Donghyuck as he pushes past him. “I f*cking love this song!”

Donghyuck has half the mind to grab onto Renjun’s hand so he doesn’t disappear in the crowd all by himself, Jeno getting strung along with his fingers around Donghyuck’s wrist still, and Donghyuck spares a look over his shoulder to see Jaemin latch onto Jeno, because he cannot feel it, and Mark onto Jaemin. One long sausage. Renjun doesn’t stop moving until he’s in the very core of the crowd that moves along to some sh*tty techno music that Donghyuck would change the station of if it came on the radio.

“Holy f*ck, they have lasers!” Jeno yells above the heavy bass over Donghyuck’s shoulder, finger pointing into the sky where there indeed are lasers coming from the projectors on the stage with the DJ on it.

“Holy sh*t, lasers !” Jaemin parrots, stumbling into Donghyuck’s space barely a few seconds later before he’s nearly tripping over his feet to follow after Renjun who’s jumping around with his arms thrown up in the air, fingers extended like he’s trying to grab the music in the palm of his hands.

A body bumps into his back, a hand on his hip in an attempt to steady. “Oh, wow, there’s lasers.” Mark’s voice cuts through the music like it’s a dog whistle and Donghyuck’s not above a street stray.

“I’m starting to think there’s lasers.” Donghyuck says — slurs his words more than anything, really.

Mark leans in closer, chin hooked over shoulder, because the music is too loud to hear anything else. “ What? ”

Donghyuck turns his head, Mark’s hair in his mouth as he leans to his ear to tell him that it’s nothing.

“ What? ” Mark’s cheek knocks into Donghyuck’s mouth.

“ I said it’s nothing! ” Donghyuck pulls back to pick a strand of hair off his tongue.

“Where’s Jeno?”

Donghyuck looks around and notices that Mark’s hand had been on his hip the whole time only as it slides off the jut of the bone there to rest back against Mark’s side.

“Alive somewhere I think.” Donghyuck says absentmindedly, eyes scanning the crowd as far as they can see, which isn’t much, considering how the sky has almost nearly darkened and the only light is coming from the lasers and the few colored projector lights from the stage.

Mark giggles, hand coming up to squeeze at Donghyuck’s shoulder, finger of his other hand pointing at some spot in front of the both of them where Jeno’s jumping around with some girl’s hands on his shoulders and his hands on her’s, screaming along to the song that’s blasting despite it not having any lyrics.

With a slight dip of his head backwards, Donghyuck falls softly into Mark with a laugh, and Mark keeps him steady from toppling over much farther until the song switches to something a little less unbearable and Donghyuck twists around to place both hands on Mark’s shoulders, glassy eyes watching him with pupils blown wide from the weed no doubt.

For a while he doesn’t move, uncharted territory, hands stiff against his sides — Donghyuck can feel it because his shoulders bunch up under his hands with the tension of the muscles — but then Donghyuck starts to jump, still smiling and still laughing, and Mark joins him with his expression mirrored like they’re the same and always will be as long as they stay like this, joined at the parts that they see and the ones that they don’t. His hands come up to rest on Donghyuck’s shoulders just the same, fingers digging into the skin where the shirt rides up from the movement.

This song doesn’t have any lyrics either, but Donghyuck opens his mouth wide to scream amidst the laughter either way until Mark’s yelling back at him, more laughter than any other noise, more teeth in his smile than lips, and something unravels inside Donghyuck’s chest as he leans forward like pulled to rest his forehead against Mark’s, noses bumping and squishing together, scrunched from the grin that’s splitting his face in half so hard that it almost hurts.

He doesn’t even notice having closed his eyes until he opens them again, the corners having started to hurt from being squeezed shut, and sees Mark already looking at him, nearly going cross eyed from how close Donghyuck is and how adamant he seems to the prospect of tearing his gaze away; like this moment might disappear if he dares do so; like Donghyuck might disappear too.

Around them people jump and bump into one another, no care in the world about what anyone is up to beyond their own private bubbles whether it’s pairs, or groups, or people having come here alone to unwind — when Donghyuck turns, it’s only him looking at Mark, and only Mark looking at him.

In an effort to ease the ache, Donghyuck has to bite at his lips to smother the smile because his cheeks burn from the permanent grin, and he pulls back ever so slightly to inhale something other than the dampness of Mark’s own heated breath, Mark doing the same like they’re mirrored images tonight.

For a moment, they simply look at one another, and even in the lack of proper light, Donghyuck can see the slight shift of Mark’s pupils as his eyes dart around certain spots across Donghyuck’s face as if mapping out the skin and features there.

“Mark—” Donghyuck breathes out and Mark’s gaze jumps up to Donghyuck’s eyes, jaw clicking shut, and Donghyuck leans in ever so closer, fingers smoothing down the curve of Mark’s shoulders to rest at the juncture of his bent elbows. “Mark, I’m so f*cking hungry.”

Predictably, or maybe not, Mark bursts into laughter, holding Donghyuck by the nape and the spot between his shoulderblades, head shaking and eyes glistening as Donghyuck looks up at him through his fringe with his nose scrunched and lip corners strained teeth bright with a smile.

“ f*ck , me too.”

That only makes Donghyuck laugh harder, which, by extension, makes Mark’s giggles come out with twice the force as well, until they’re both shaking and holding onto one another like they might collapse if they dare let go.

“We should raid Jeno’s picnic baskets.” Donghyuck says, lips ghosting the shell of Mark’s ear so he hears him over the music. “This DJ sucks ass anyway.”

Mark pulls back, gasp past his lips felt more than heard before he’s leaning into Donghyuck’s ears like Donghyuck had just leaned into his. “I thought you’d never ask.” He says and Donghyuck shivers.

“Well, technically I wasn’t really asking .” Donghyuck leans backwards to say as a jab to tip the scale back in his favor, but Mark’s already removing the hand from Donghyuck’s nape and sliding the other one down the length of his body until the fingers halt at the jut of his wrist bone, wrapping around the skin there to turn around and pull, knowing Donghyuck will follow.

Conjoined they make it through the dense crowd until it clears the further they move away from the sh*tty DJ stage, and Mark doesn’t let go of Donghyuck’s hand all the way to the campsite where their four barely standing tents sit, fingers withdrawing only when he leans down to pull open the flaps of Jeno’s green tent, jumping back with a horror movie scream and knocking Donghyuck down onto his ass in the process.

“ What the f*ck! ” Comes a voice from inside the tent. Renjun’s.

“What the f*ck, you , you prick!” Donghyuck points an accusatory finger back at him through the gap in the entrance as he dismisses Mark’s extended hand in a silent offer to help hip up in favor of crawling inside the tent to shove at Renjun’s shoulder until he topples over. “You can’t just scare people like that.”

“I wasn’t scaring anyone, I just got the munchies,” Renjun gets up and attempts shoving Donghyuck back in retaliation but misses. “Not my fault your boyfriend screams like a damn girl.”

Donghyuck ignores the boyfriend bit. “You’re still an idiot.” He says instead.

“I thought you were someone else.” Mark mutters as he crawls inside after Donghyuck and settles down next to him.

“Yeah, like who?” Renjun bites back, flashlight of his phone on and crumbs visibly stuck to the corners of his mouth. “You expecting someone?”

“No, like, I thought that you were a killer.”

“A killer.”

“Yeah, a killer. The killer. You know, like in the movies.”

“Right, right.” Renjun nods, getting goldfish cracker crumbs all over his jeans, “So this is the part in the movie where we, what? Have sex before the killer kills us?”

Donghyuck covers his face with his hands, cheeks flaming. “What the actual f*ck is wrong with you?” He mumbles through the gaps in his fingers.

“Well, no,” Mark’s voice continues on, ignoring Donghyuck’s compromised state of brain functionality next to him, treating this the same as any other serious topic. “If you’re the killer, then it wouldn’t make sense to have sex with you because, you know, you’re the killer . When would you do the killing then? You know?”

“So if I’m the killer, then that makes you two the civilians. Which then means that I should leave the two of you here to have sex, and then, when you’re done, come back and kill you?”

“Yeah,” Mark nods, genuine, then halts in his movements, genuine as well, “Well, not, like actually. I meant, like, if this was–”

“A movie, yeah.” Renjun hums and it sounds more like a satisfied purr of a cat. “So what you’re saying is that you’d have sex with Donghyuck?”

All that comes out of Mark’s mouth when he parts his lips to reply, is an incoherent splutter of syllables.

“ Stop it , you’re gonna give him a f*cking aneurysm!” Donghyuck says and kicks Renjun’s side with his sneaker before turning to Mark despite his cheeks burning, hands now away from his face and playing with the distressed strands of his jeans where a tear rips open just above the knee. “Don’t listen to him, he was dropped too many times as a baby.”

“Hey, I heard that!”

“I know.”

Mark doesn’t offer up a single noise, gaze boring holes into the goldfish cracker bag Renjun has propped up on his bent knee, one hand shoved inside and searching for the bits that haven’t yet been pulverized by his clumsy fingers.

Donghyuck clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes at Renjun. “Now look at what you’ve done. You weirded him out, you freak.”

“Hm, no, I bet he’s just thinking about it real hard right now.”

“He’s not!” Donghyuck yells the same time that Mark shrieks out, “I’m not!”

The flaps of the tent flutter, and in pokes a familiar head that makes all of them scream in unison anyway.

“You’re like a bunch of f*cking raccoons.” Jaemin comments with Jeno peeking over his shoulder like a wide eyed owl. “What was the point of me giving up my tent if you three were gonna sleep together with crumbs all over you?”

“We didn’t touch a single thing, it was all Renjun.” Donghyuck massages his chest like he has heartburn, other finger jutting out to point at Renjun who swats the accusatory hand away with a loud slap, shoving the goldfish cracker bag back in one of the woven baskets.

“Still, you look the part.” Jaemin tells him. “The raccoon part, I mean.”

“Thanks, I got it.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“I know, idiot.”

As the culprit behind the mess, Renjun is the first one to move with a grunt, the weed mostly having worn off for him as well probably. “You have the worst absolute timing in the world.” He says on his way out, and Donghyuck would see only his ass if he were to look at where he’s crawling. “These two were about to have sex.”

“ They were? ” Jaemin and Jeno shriek in unison.

“ We weren’t! ” Donghyuck and Mark shriek back.

“That is disgusting.” Renjun comments, and Donghyuck thinks it’s his and Mark’s imaginary sex he’s referring to, but with a simple turn of his head finally, Donghyuck sees Renjun point at Jeno’s face — mouth covered in smudged lipstick that had definitely not been there before.

“Oh, ew.” Donghyuck agrees.

“f*ck you guys, get out of my tent!”

Donghyuck obeys because it’s not like he’s given much of a choice to do otherwise; he and Mark barely make it outside before Jeno’s crawling through the entrance and audibly collapsing on the pile of sleeping bags that Renjun probably got crumbs all over with his stupid crackers. Jaemin follows the guy with a salute sent in Mark’s direction and a wink in Donghyuck’s.

“Use a condom.” He says and Donghyuck doesn’t even bother giving him the satisfaction of a reaction, turning away to stalk to his own tent.

“Don’t listen to them.” Donghyuck tells Mark when it’s just the two of them, the others having disappeared inside their respective sleeping spots for the night, Jaemin apparently choosing in favor of sleeping next to Jeno instead of Renjun who always hogs the blanket and Mark who he’d confessed to Donghyuck that he was a little scared of. “Half the stuff they spew is absolute bullsh*t aimed to get a reaction out of you. Might seem daunting to deal with that sh*t on the daily during practice, but you’ll get used to it, believe me. Unfortunately. Or fortunately , I guess. Depending on how you look at it, but you’ve always struck me as the realist type so I–uh, Mark?”

When Donghyuck turns to check if Mark’s even there still at the unusual silence from his part, Donghyuck really does find him there still — looking at Donghyuck with a determined sort of look in his eyes, lines of his shoulders tense and chest having stilled like he’s holding his breath, and Donghyuck — hopeless and naive and maybe a little bit in love — feels his heart jump a beat at the thought that Mark might surge forward and tell him that he doesn’t actually mind the teasing because he wouldn’t actually mind having sex with him; that, or maybe he’s just hoping for Mark to lean forward and kiss him, as simple as that. Not that anything is ever simple with Mark, though.

“Night.” Mark rushes to get out, somehow managing to stumble over a single syllable, pushing past Donghyuck to crawl inside Jaemin’s tent that’s deemed as his own for the night.

“Um,” Donghyuck says, clearing his throat, a little unsure as to how to proceed. “Goodnight?”

Left as the only one standing like an idiot, it’s not like Donghyuck has to think long and hard about dipping inside his tent that he’s sure he pulled a muscle or two while assembling.

It’s nearly pitch black inside, a faint hue from the lap posts stationed around the campsite filtering through the nylon fabric and making it easier for Donghyuck to feel around for the zipper of his sleeping bag that he slips inside after kicking off his Converse and his jeans.

Frankly, it’s pretty f*cking uncomfortable. He probably should’ve brought an inflatable mattress or one of his mom’s yoga mats. And a pillow. f*ck, he really should’ve brought a pillow, because laying down like this flat on the ground is probably gonna lend him a dent in the back of his skull and a real bad migraine tomorrow.

There’s still music playing from over the main stage where they’d just been, still that same sh*tty DJ that Donghyuck doesn’t even regret missing out on in favor of laying down in the most uncomfortable place and position known to man. He attempts turning to his side, but, after laying like that for barely two minutes, the pain in his shoulder becomes increasingly worrisome, and the potential sprain in his neck more and more likely with each passing second.

So he turns to lay back as he was.

Next to Donghyuck, beyond the safe confines of his red tent there's some shuffling audible before it halts, replaced with a heavy sigh instead, one bordering a groan. If Donghyuck had any shame left, he would maybe think twice before easily identifying the sound to have come from Mark.

It takes a good five minutes of thoughtful breathing to slow down his heartbeat and rid his throat of the lump beginning to form for Donghyuck to manage a convincingly casual: “Can’t sleep?”

It's silent on the other end so Donghyuck admits defeat, Mark probably having managed to fall asleep in the time needed to psych himself up for muttering a two word sentence. But then there's that familiar sigh again — long and deep, and Donghyuck wishes he could feel the rise of Mark’s chest with the inhale and the deflation of the exhale under the warm skin of his palms.

“No.” Comes a muffled reply that makes Donghyuck think he might have his hands over his face; or a pillow smothering him. “It’s so hot in here.”

Maybe if he was braver and Mark hadn't chosen a dead end dialogue option, instead going for the opposite — which would be that it's so cold in here — Donghyuck could casually offer to join Mark in the confines of his tent, or invite Mark over to join his; not that it would make much sense, considering it was summertime still, even if tethering on the edge of fall. But it would be comforting, Donghyuck thinks, to have that confirmation that the want buzzing under his skin was making Mark as incoherently desperate as it was him.

“Take your shirt off.” Donghyuck says in reply because he can't think of much else beyond getting the words out, head swarmed with multiple mental images from all angles of Mark doing exactly that.

“Dude, I’m already practically naked.”

Great.

“Well, then go to sleep.” Donghyuck says instead, and then, just in case it reads as something more than it possibly can: “dumbass.”

“I can’t. I already said I can’t.”

“Well, shut up then. Stop crying.”

“I’m not crying .”

“Yeah, okay, whatever you say, you big baby.”

“If anything, you’re the baby.”

“I’m so not the baby.”

“Baby, baby, little baby, crying little baby, oh, my baby—”

“ Shut up !”

A snort from Mark’s tent, then: “Sorry.” Which, followed by, after a brief silence, like Mark physically can’t stop himself from saying it: “Baby.”

For once Donghyuck is actually glad that they’re each in their own respective tents right now, and that Mark gets to miss out on the most likely obvious tint of Donghyuck’s cheeks and the tips of his ears.

“You’re trying to get a reaction out of me, but it’s not gonna work.” Donghyuck says, clears his throat. “I’m going to sleep. Goodnight.” He says at the same time that Mark blurts out: “Aren’t you scared?”

There’s a still silence that follows, crickets and chatter, and live music playing in the distance beyond the little bubble of their tents next to each other — like Mark doesn’t know whether Donghyuck had heard what he’d asked and whether he should skip over it like he often does the important talking points in conversations just to drift the attention away from himself so he can remain half hidden. Donghyuck’s spent too much of his life looking for him to keep letting it happen just like that.

And so, he asks, soft voice in the silence around them as if Mark’s close enough — like laying beside him — to hear even if he whispered: “Scared of what?”

Another silence from the tent Donghyuck can’t see from where he’s laying in his own, alone. Some rustling like Mark’s shrugging, or getting comfortable, or being uncomfortable.

“Just,” He says and breathes deep out through his nose. “Tomorrow. How the whole thing’s gonna go, and what’s gonna happen after.”

Donghyuck tongues the back of his lower teeth in contemplation like he’s preparing to sound out the words carefully, a delicate matter to have Mark’s vulnerability and keep it.

“It’s just like Jaemin said, really. We’ve practiced so much that it’s kind of impossible for us to mess up at this point. It’s no different than when we played at that bar, or at prom, or in Jeno’s cramped garage. At the end of the day, it’s still us , isn't it?”

Mark hums.

“So, like, it’s just about doing our best, having fun, all that stuff etcetera etcetera. God knows when we'll get another opportunity like this, especially with school starting up again soon. Jeno with his house arrests, Renjun with his bajillion extracurricular activities, Jaemin doing whatever the f*ck Jaemin does, and you with your job — we’ll be lucky if we manage to get together for long enough to play through a single set.”

“What about you?”

“What?”

“What are you gonna be busy with?”

Donghyuck scratches at the slight stubble on his chin. “Um,” he says, ever so eloquent, “it's my last year at college, so I’ll probably have to do, like, an internship, which is so stupid, because I could be using that time for literally anything else, and I won't be getting paid so it's like– okay, whatever. It's whatever. I’m just gonna have to push through and I’ll be free, and, hopefully, long gone from this sh*t hole.”

From over inside his tent, Mark’s grown silent. Having fallen asleep probably. It was ass o clock after all, and Mark had driven all the way here instead of snoring in the passenger seat despite probably not having managed to sleep much more than Donghyuck the previous night.

“And I’ll visit you . At the diner. You still owe me that cheap food on the house that you promised.”

Still no response from Mark. Not even a sigh, or a rustle of his sleeping bag. Like he’s died or something.

“Night, Mark.” Donghyuck mutters and forces his eyes squeezed shut, his goodnight predictably not returned.

✮

The following morning at the crack of dawn, because the sun rises at ass o’clock during summertime, Donghyuck wakes alone in his tent, covered in sweat, and starving.

It must be the stress of the upcoming performance that makes the air around the group during their improvised breakfast so tense. Donghyuck thinks he might choke on Jeno’s mom’s stale sandwiches with how loud his chewing seems to be over the lack of noise coming from anyone else.

Maybe it’s a collective hangover. From weed. Weed hangover. Weed-over.

On their way to the stage for their scheduled soundcheck, Renjun falls a little behind the rest of the group so he can walk next to Donghyuck, and it’s when he leans in close on his tiptoes to ask in Donghyuck’s ear whether he’s okay, that Donghyuck scratches the thought of the weirdness being a side effect of a shared hangover. Weed-over. Whatever .

Donghyuck leans back when Renjun does, steps faltering slightly, a frown in his brow. “Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”

Renjun shrugs. “Just checking in.”

“Okay?” Donghyuck breathes out a laugh, unsure what the proper response would be in this instance. “ You okay?” He has half the mind to ask before Renjun catches up to the others walking ahead with their instrument cases slung over their shoulders — Jaemin helping Mark in carrying the adapters and pedals — thinking that maybe this was a scheme on Renjun’s part to lead Donghyuck to ask Renjun if he was feeling fine because the guy could never make it easier for everyone involved and just say that something was bothering him upright.

“Me?” Both his brows shoot up and disappear under his choppy fringe. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

Donghyuck shrugs, gestures loosely with his hands, but comes up with nothing of substance to say.

“You're kinda weird today.” Is what he comes up with. “Did I do something last night?” He latches the question to the end despite being pretty certain he remembers all that happened and all that didn't; but just in case.

It's Renjun’s turn to shrug, and the thing about Renjun in relation to his other friends — mostly Jaemin in this sense — was that they were very much alike, whether it be the way they approached solving problems or teasing everyone who let their guard down. The main difference being that Renjun had half the mind to keep up the decorum, disguising his snarky remarks as genuine comments until it’s too late to know what's hit you.

“ You tell me . I can only hope you used a condom.”

That's how he manages to deliver the line so unassumingly.

The shove Donghyuck sends his way is much more predictable, though. Renjun’s throaty laughter, too. The heat in Donghyuck’s cheeks, regrettably, as well.

✮

Soundcheck, to put it simply, ends up being an excruciating ordeal.

Not only are the degrees high enough to send every drop of sweat collecting on skin past the boiling point, but Donghyuck coincidentally also has to be the one to help Mark with adjusting his drum kit which, to not go into embarrassing detail, entails them crouched down on the makeshift stage floor, bared shoulders in tank tops bumping together, skin hot and slick with sweat, close enough in certain moments when the unscrewed bolts fall a little too far to retrieve without leaning over one another so that the air one breathes in happens to be the humid exhale the other breathes out. It should be gross. It is gross. Donghyuck’s shorts grow tight anyway.

They push through, though. Well, Donghyuck does at least, no one else seeming to be affected by anything else beyond the scorching sun blaring down on them — all sweaty and gross, hair matted to foreheads, shirts soaking wet in the back and below the arms; they probably reek too and all.

Where they end up is at some guy’s apartment about a ten minute walk from the festival grounds because Jaemin knows a guy who knows a guy who, you guessed it, knows a guy. Donghyuck gets to have a cold shower and starts to believe that maybe there's some use to Jaemin being their self proclaimed manager after all.

“And you're the singer I presume, right?” The apartment owner — Sungchan — asks when Donghyuck emerged from the other end of the hallway after his shower, dressed for the show in 5 hours, still towel drying his hair. He's a guy about their age, sitting on one of the arms of the couch, taller than everyone in the group, which, objectively, shouldn't make him as attractive as it does. Objectively of course. Donghyuck can appreciate the fact that a guy is attractive without immediately attaching the thought of banging him onto the statement — Jaemin and his wiggly eyebrows can f*ck right off.

“Hm, no, I’m the trombonist, actually.”

Jeno forces out a dry ha ha as he passes by on his way to the bathroom, his turn to shower, yanking the towel from Donghyuck’s grasp with enough force to make his shoulder ache faintly.

“ Trombonist ?” Sungchan questions, but he has a tilt to his voice and a raise in his eyebrow that makes Donghyuck believe he doesn't actually believe that sh*t, simply humoring Donghyuck right back,

“Yeah, we’re a country band. Did the guys spew that bullsh*t about us playing punk rock to you too?”

Sungchan sucks a breath through his teeth, shaking his head defeatedly. “I guess they got me.”

He eyes Donghyuck with a weirdly suppressed grin, and an equally weird silence settles over the loft.

“He is the singer.” Renjun answers, honest in Donghyuck's place from his spot on the leather couch between Jaemin and Mark like a noble peacemaker. “Unfortunately.”

Donghyuck flips him the bird.

The bell rings and Sungchan shoots up from his seat like he'd been expecting it and whoever’s at the other side of the door.

“Sorry, there’s some friends from the festival coming over to crash before the real shows start at eight. They're cool, though. Hope you won't mind.”

Donghyuck passes him on his way to take up the space where Sungchan was just sitting, joining in the collective nodding and agreeing coming from the couch.

“Okay.” He says with a breathy laugh, giving them a thumbs up before rounding the corner to the door.

As soon as Sungchan’s down the hallway and out of earshot, Jaemin leans in close to mutter: “That dude was totally hitting on you.”

Donghyuck shoves him away with a roll of his eyes, “He was not .”

“No, yeah, he definitely was.” Renjun nods along contemplatively.

“ He was not. ”

“He so was.” Jaemin says.

“Would you f*ck him?” Renjun asks.

Donghyuck turns to him with a disgusted frown on his mouth. “ What is it with you and wanting me to f*ck everyone? Do you wanna f*ck me? Is this your stupid way of hinting at it?”

Renjun pretends to gag, “In your dreams.”

“In my nightmares , more likely.”

Renjun ignores Donghyuck in favor of turning to Mark. “Would you f*ck him?”

Mark keeps his gaze straight ahead as it had been throughout this entire f*cked up conversation, pink dusting his cheeks.

“I’m not answering that.” He says.

“What is your f*cking problem , you imbecile?” Donghyuck reaches behind Jaemin to shove at Renjun’s dumb head.

“Sue me for trying to figure out what your guys’ f*cking type is if you're so adamant on f*cking each other! ” Renjun shoves him right back, moving out of Donghyuck’s reach when he attempts to go for his ear and pull hard like he knows will hurt from the many times Renjun’s done it to him in the past.

Like sent from heaven, Sungchan manages to appear back in the living room, a steady stream of people filtering through the doorway with a choir of mismatched hi’s and hello’s, and awkward hugs and fistbumps. Donghyuck would argue it's a hell sent ordeal, considering he’d much rather currently be tearing Renjun’s hair off than standing up from his seat on the end of the couch to let a girl who seems to barely stand on her feet from the alcohol take his place like the gentleman he is and going to the kitchen to get a can of beer that Sungchan had said before they could feel free to help themselves to.

The teasing itself wasn’t anything Donghyuck lost sleep over or cared all that much about.

It was the lack of follow up actions from Mark’s part that bothered him; not even bothered, really, as much as disappointed. And not even disappointed as much as it simply hurt . A faint ache. A bruised knee. A pulled muscle. A split lip.

If Donghyuck was any more pathetic, he’d say also a broken heart. But he’s not. He’s doing fine. It’s just a bump in the road. He’ll get over it eventually.

In the view across the kitchen counter, Mark has moved up the now free space of the couch without Jaemin and Renjun seated in it — too busy hovering over some surfer looking guy who’s splayed out his collection of Pokemon cards on the coffee table — and is currently conversing with the pretty girl Donghyuck had given up his spot on the arm of the couch for, his neck craned up, and her long hair covering half of Mark’s face as she leans down to say something in his ear.

Donghyuck cracks open the beer and gulps down half the can in a single go.

He’ll get over it eventually.

✮

Three and a half beers in Donghyuck is still not over it.

The girl whose name he still doesn’t know has managed to get her hands in Mark’s hair and twist the strands around to make two loose braids that trail down the left side of Mark’s hair prettily. All while Donghyuck is leaning against the wall opposite the couch and trying to pretend like he’s still not aware that Sungchan is trying very desperately to flirt with him.

It seems almost like Mark’s angry at him for something. As angry as it’s even possible for Mark to get, usually meaning some sort of passive aggressiveness or a lack of cooperation which he knew ticked Donghyuck off as someone who valued Mark’s honestly above all other values of his. He hasn’t necessarily been passive aggressive or uncooperative with Donghyuck today, but he hasn’t not been those things exactly either. Whatever. He’s probably overthinking this as he does everything when it comes to Mark it seems.

Downing the rest of the beer, Donghyuck uses the empty can that he demonstratively shakes in front of Sungchan’s face as an excuse to remove himself from his side, and when he returns from the kitchen to the living room it’s in the narrow space on the couch between Mark and some guy who looks like he could be pushing thirty.

“Hey.” Donghyuck says.

Mark nods at the can of beer between Donghyuck’s legs with a raised brow. “Fourth one?”

Donghyuck raises his own brow. “You’ve been counting?”

“Lucky guess.” Mark clicks his tongue, and Donghyuck really wants to f*cking kiss him right now.

Thankfully Mark turns away before Donghyuck can act upon impulse, gesturing to the girl neatly perched on top the end of the couch, and introducing her to Donghyuck with what must be her name that completely flies over his head with how vividly his mind is supplying himself with detailed images and descriptions of how exactly Mark’s lips would feel pressed up against his own.

“Haechan.” Donghyuck says in response anyway, reaching out to shake her hand gently. “That’s what I go by in the band.”

“Oh, a stage name.” She draws back with a smile. “I like that.”

“Thank you.” Donghyuck says, tongue heavy inside his mouth. “I picked it myself.”

A soft laugh. “I would assume so, yes. Did you pick the band name, too?”

“That was actually all Mark.” Donghyuck points at him like there’s any other Mark’s here that she could confuse the one next to her with.

“It was a collaborative effort.” Mark adds, and Mark’s also wearing a loose shirt with the sleeves cut off with what looks like a pair of craft scissors by the way the edges fray, and a pair of ripped jeans the same shade of black as Donghyuck’s, corners of his eyes dusted with the faintest black of Jeno’s eyeshadow, and small tattoos peek out from the rips in his clothes where no one usually gets to see, and Donghyuck really wants to kiss him again.

And Mark’s also looking right back at Donghyuck when Donghyuck looks at him with glassy eyes from the booze.

Donghyuck has to bring his beer up to his lips so they don’t latch onto something else.

“Get your asses up!” Renjun’s voice sounds somewhere and when Donghyuck turns to spot him, he somehow materializes right in front of the couch with his hands on his hips and dressed in basically the same outfit as the rest of them, with just the slightest of variations that each of their closets provided. “We leave in two minutes.”

“Why so specific?” Donghyuck grumbles, but moves to get up anyway, Mark’s hand on his lower back from behind steadying him when he wobbles a bit on his feet.

“Because Jeno’s already half out the door and I don’t want him abducted because he’s alone.”

“If any of us is getting abducted, it’s you.”

“f*ck off.” Renjun says and yanks the can of beer from Donghyuck’s grasp, setting it down on the ground by the couch that someone will most definitely knock over and spill over the expensive flooring. “You have exactly half an hour to sober up before you f*ck our set up.”

“I’m not drunk.” Donghyuck tells him but the word comes out a little slurred that prompts an eye roll from Renjun and a laugh from Mark on his feet beside him. “I’m just tipsy. I promise.”

“You and your promises.” Renjun sighs.

“Hey, when have I ever broken one?”Donghyuck calls out after Renjun when he moves to push through the couple in front of them to get to the door, and settles for just twisting around to face Mark instead. “When have I ever broken a promise?”

Mark shakes his head with a smile, and, okay, maybe Donghyuck did make up a whole plot of Mark being angry at him out of sheer boredom. “You haven’t.” Mark says.

Donghyuck gives Mark his best posh-boy smile, rising on his tiptoes as he does so. “That’s f*cking right.”

✮

We’ve rehearsed it so many times that I don’t think it’s possible to not get it right he’d said. Or something of the sort, and he hasn’t been to church in well over two years, but Donghyuck can only hope God remembers how diligent he’d been in listening to every sermon on Sundays as a kid and in return pay him back by not letting him embarrass the f*ck out of himself on stage in about…like… thirty seconds.

He wasn't necessarily lying about not being drunk, but he was also most definitely underestimating just how far the word tipsy stretched as soon as the beer in his system had made itself known when they’d set foot outside Sungchan’s apartment and Donghyuck had to clutch onto Jeno’s arm in a guise of affection and not the truth that he was afraid of embarrassing himself by tripping over his own feet.

Jeno quirks an eyebrow at him now, on the stage, when Donghyuck twists his head ever so slightly to the right — a silent question of are you ready ?

He is, and he isn’t.

Donghyuck turns to look at Mark over his shoulder, seated behind his set with a drumstick in each hand, hovering above and waiting for Donghyuck’s cue. The drums start it.

A push of encouragement in highschool, a name for a band that didn’t exist yet, leaving, coming back, that stupid f*cking Youtube video.

Donghyuck jerks his chin in the smallest of nods, and Mark starts it.

There is really no way to describe it — this thing that they have going on. The drums, the base, the chords of the guitar; his own lips grazing the mic and his own voice coming through the speakers for the public gathered down below. He can’t even see them with the projector lights shining down like heaven itself has split open to watch in a flash of beaming white.

Every time they do it, every time they step on a stage, whether it’s a physical or imaginary one, the entire set passes by in a blur of notes and lyrics, and in flashes of projector lights and goosebumps erupting over skin.

It could be the alcohol, but it could also simply be the adrenaline, the rush of being on stage and doing what a few years ago was a mere unreachable dream. Here, right now, with the projector lights switching from white to red, he really is Haechan.

Haechan who breezes through each song with the ease of someone born to be on stage. Haechan who’s fingers move across the strings of his red guitar with the practiced precision of someone who’s been persistent enough in his learning to not give the instrument up despite not being as good as someone like Jeno or someone like Mark who doesn’t even hold the position of guitar in the band.

Mark who’s great at guitar, but phenomenal at the drums, and Mark who’s the sole reason they’re even standing where they’re standing right now as the sun sets over Chicago and the sky darkens above them.

Mark who’s eyes meet his for a second that he allows himself to spare away from the drums in front of him. Dark brown with pupils wide from the adrenaline, dark makeup smeared across his lids and sweat at his temple like glitter in the lights above them, and even through the visible strain of his neck, and the rhythmic movement of his limbs, he manages a smile — all gleaming white teeth — like to him it’s just Donghyuck.

By the time the deafening screams reach him through his in-ears, Donghyuck has Renjun and Jeno and Mark beside him, bowing down to the crowd going wild, and it’s over. Just like that.

Jaemin is the first one to throw himself all over them the second they step off that stage, limbs loose with whatever he’d taken to calm his nerves before he wished them luck on the stage for the last time before their set. It’s just Jaemin. Donghyuck lets him have it. Hugs him back, leans away when Jaemin bends down to land a wet kiss on each of their cheeks. Mark’s too, except Mark doesn’t actually dodge it when he sees it coming.

It’s also the same thing he offers them as some sort of congratulations — a transparent zip lock bag of the little stamps he’d wanted to take last night but didn’t — and it’s clearly working with how wide Jaemin’s pupils sit in the middle of his irises like little black holes that Donghyuck stares at when he comes up to offer the acid to him.

Mark had taken the sh*t without hesitation when Jaemin approached him first, and so had Jeno and Renjun.

f*ck it.

Donghyuck takes the stamp and places it on his tongue till it dissolves.

A new pair of hands grab Donghyuck by the shoulders to shake him lightly.

“You were f*cking amazing!” Sungchan’s voice reaches Donghyuck’s ear before the image of him manages to register inside Donghyuck’s brain. He’s yelling over the music. They’re still standing by the stage, the basses from the speakers loud like an earthquake making Donghyuck’s bones tremble. He’s still holding onto his guitar.

“Thank you!” He yells back and Sungchan replies with a wide smile.

Another hand around his elbow, yanking him to the side. Renjun.

“We need to put our sh*t away, I don’t wanna miss the next gig!” Renjun yells over his shoulder at Donghyuck, fingers loosening their grip around Donghyuck’s arm once they’re out the epicenter of the crowd and it’s safe enough to walk one by one without getting lost. Or abducted. Whichever it was Renjun feared more.

Similarly to their walk here from the apartment, Donghyuck also latches onto the first person his hands manage to land on who, this time, happens to be Mark like he’d already been hovering within Donghyuck’s orbit just in case. And the skin of Mark’s elbow and bicep that Donghyuck digs his fingers into is hot and slick with sweat, and Donghyuck would pull away if the flesh of his palms wasn’t exactly the same.

In a collective tumble they make it to Mark’s car and pile all of their stuff inside as neatly as they can manage, Jaemin doing absolutely nothing to help, too busy staring at the sky with his neck craned up in an angle that must straight up hurt, muttering gibberish to himself that would let Donghyuck think he was possessed if he didn’t know better.

Also in a collective tumble they make it back to the stage where they’d come from, this time with more effort and less efficiency in their movements. But they make it. That’s all that really matters. A hand around his wrist yanks him backwards by the gate, back hitting Mark’s chest before he forces himself to peel away like a second skin.

“Hyuck, look’t the f*ckin’ stars.” Mark’s voice slurs a little. Not the drunken type of slur, but a hiccup sort. Like he has to laugh between the words before he can get them out completely.

Donghyuck cranes his neck up at the sky. Then down at Mark who’s staring up, mouth agape, and laughs, between his words, just like Mark had just done.

“You’re, like, trippin’ on acid r’now.” He mutters because the lights from the festival make all the stars disappear.

Mark lowers his head to look at Donghyuck. He laughs. Donghyuck laughs too, has the sensation of falling forward once, and then twice and thrice until he finds himself in the thick of the crowd by the stage with Mark having pulled him all the way here.

Mark steps closer and they merge for a split second and it’s like they’re one and it’s like Mark’s inside of him but. Mark just leans closer to be heard.

I f*cking love this song! ˚★⋆｡˚ ⋆

┊ He yells and his mouth moves
┊ even after he’s finished saying the words
┊ and Donghyuck’s not sure he even really hears the music but
┊ ┊
┊ ┊ he looks around them at the people merging into one another
┊ and there’s something singing along in the background he guesses
┊ ◦
★⋆ ┊ . ˚ and Donghyuck turns around because the people look like they’re a stream that’s never ending
˚★

Donghyuck steps back

┊ ˚★⋆｡˚ ⋆
⋆

one step
┊ ┊
┊ ┊ two steps
┊ ┊
┊ ◦
★⋆ ┊ . ˚
˚★

┊
┊ and he’s falling into the ground ˚★⋆｡˚ ⋆
┊
┊
┊ ◦
★⋆ . ˚but he’s not because his back hits a wall it hits Mark’s chest and they almost merge again like it is all of Donghyuck’s most subconscious of desires manifesting in this state and he sticks like a fly in a honeytrap
˚★

His head falls back against Mark
┊ ˚★⋆｡˚ ⋆
┊ against Mark’s shoulder and he looks up┊ ┊ ⋆
┊ ┊ ★⋆
┊ ◦ and the stars in the sky shine so bright they might just be blinding
★⋆ ┊ . ˚
˚★

and then they’re not stars but chords on a sheet morphing into one of the countless songs Donghyuck had written for Mark and learned by heart ┊ . ˚
˚★⋆｡˚ ⋆ ˚★

and there really is music Mark had been right there is a song playing from the stage that’s miles away from where they’re standing amongst millions and billions of people ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊
┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚★⋆｡˚ ⋆
and Donghyuck sways to the music ┊ ┊ ⋆
┊ ┊ ★⋆
┊ ◦
★⋆ ┊ . ˚
˚★stars in the sky moving about to the rhythm and he finds Mark’s hands to place them on his hips ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊
┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚★⋆｡˚ ⋆
┊ ┊ ┊ ⋆
┊ ┊ ★⋆
┊ ◦
★⋆ ┊ . ˚
˚★

fingers splayed across the sliver of skin of his abdomen where his shirt rides up when Donghyuck moves one of his hands above and behind him to hold onto Mark by his hair

┊ ┊ ┊
┊ ˚★⋆｡˚ ⋆
┊
. ˚
˚★

I want you to ˚ ⋆

Donghyuck mumbles and licks along the side of Mark’s neck up to the curve of his jaw
┊ ┊ ┊
┊ ┊ ⋆
┊ ★⋆ before his head falls back against his shoulder because it suddenly weighs a ton
┊ ◦ but then he presses back into Mark even more
★⋆ and Mark twitches against the curve of Donghyuck’s ass

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊and then Donghyuck twists around and the hand in Mark’s hair slides down to his nape
┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚★⋆｡˚ ⋆
┊ ┊ ┊ ⋆and Donghyuck can’t stop staring at Mark’s mouth.
┊ ┊ ★⋆kiss meDonghyuck says or he thinks he does
┊ ◦ and Mark hears him or he thinks he does because Mark trips and falls into him and Donghyuck goes blind and tastes beer on his tongue
★⋆ ┊ . ˚
˚★except he’s no longer blind when he opens his eyes and he can see Mark in front of him and

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊then it’s dark again and he tastes the same thing and he feels the warmth of Mark’s hands on his hips and the warmth of Mark’s groin against his thigh
┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚★⋆｡˚ ⋆
┊ ┊ ┊ ⋆ I want you to
┊ ┊ ★⋆Donghyuck says and takes one of Mark’s hands, guiding it between them to rest over his crotch where it’s hot and it’s hard and it’s everything he’s ever wanted
┊ ◦
★⋆ ┊ . ˚f*ck me
˚★Donghyuck says and he’s falling into Mark

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚★⋆｡˚ ⋆and Mark’s falling into him
┊ ┊ ┊ ⋆
┊ ┊ . ˚and he’s falling through the earth and his back hits the ground

˚★ ┊ ★⋆but it’s not the ground it’s just the leather backseats of Mark’s car
┊ ◦and Mark’s in front of him like a mirage and
★⋆what do I do

˚★⋆｡˚ ⋆and Donghyuck unbuckles his belt and Mark unbuckles his belt and

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊
┊condom? ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚★⋆｡˚ ⋆

┊ ┊ ┊ Mark shakes his head and ⋆

Donghyuck assuresI’m clean I want to feel you I want to feel all of you┊ ┊ ★⋆
┊ ◦
★⋆ ┊ . ˚and Donghyuck takes what Mark give him and
˚★

he sucks on the fingers Mark puts in his mouth


┊ and he gags when Mark presses them in hard and deep

┊ ┊ ┊ ⋆and Mark’s co*ck is hard and hot against Donghyuck’s own
┊ ┊ ★⋆and Donghyuck keens deep in his throat when a finger presses inside of him
┊ ◦
★⋆ ┊ . ˚Mark inside of him
˚★ them as one single entity unable to ever separate for all eternity without Mark ever being able to leave him again

and then Mark inside him
┊ ┊ and it’s Mark’s co*ck inside him

┊ ┊ and the pain of it comes as an afterthought that Donghyuck can’t quite catch in time to conceptualize

i love you
┊ ◦one of them says
★⋆ ┊ . ˚
˚★and it’s not good but it’s so good

and it’s Mark and it’s always been Mark and it always will be Mark and Donghyuck sees white and Donghyuck sees Mark and Donghyuck sees stars above him like the sky and the world is right at his fingertips

Donghyuck wakes up hungry, thirsty, and still half out of it. Also laying on top of a half-naked Mark. Totally casually like that.

At him waking, Mark also wakes — stirs awake with some incoherent mumble and a hand coming up to card through Donghyuck’s disgustingly oily hair with a low hum, eyes still closed, like he’s pleased to find Donghyuck still here and not having left.

“M’gonna get some water.” Donghyuck mumbles, mouth, tongue, lips dry, and awkwardly moves down the length of Mark’s body, trying his hardest to not stare at his half-hard dick against his abdomen like he didn’t just have that same dick literally inside of him a few hours ago.

By sheer miracle and willpower he manages to pull his boxers over his own exposed ass before he kicks open the car door and plants his feet on the asphalted parking lot ground.

The sun’s a bright thing as it shines down on him, and it’s probably well into the day with how little cars are still sitting parked alongside Mark’s blue pickup, most people probably having already gone home instead of spending the night sleeping uncomfortably in the back of a car after f*cking their really good friend and really good drummer.

Donghyuck pulls his pants all the way up and does his belt before wobbling over to the festival grounds and where he knows the others and their tents to be, and hopefully some f*cking water.

His ass f*cking hurts. That’s what he gets for being too horny to think about using lube. It’s like some sort of karma from the sex gods. His head hurts too. His legs hurt, his jaw hurts from clenching it in his sleep, and nothing beats the thought of collapsing onto the ground and sleeping the rest of the day away just like that, but Donghyuck’s always been the stubborn type. He’s a man on a mission. A really thirsty man. And he has Mark waiting for him in the pickup, probably just as thirsty, and Donghyuck’s never been one to let him down.

“Oh, there he is!” Jaemin’s voice booms before Donghyuck can even see him from how far away he still is from them and their tents.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty, it’s almost 3 PM.” Jeno says when Donghyuck’s close enough to not have to yell anymore.

“Jesus Christ.” Is the only greeting he gets from Renjun once he eyes Donghyuck up and down with scrutiny so evident in his gaze that there’s no way he was even trying to mask it.

“So,” Jaemin starts, grin almost as blinding as the sun, and he doesn’t look that much better than Donghyuck so f*ck them for judging his compromising state. “How was it?”

“I just came for some water.” Donghyuck chooses to reply with that and reaches for one of the half empty water bottles himself when it becomes apparent that none of the guys are moving their asses to help him get it.

“Did you use a condom?”

“f*ck you and your condoms, Renjun.” Jaemin says and reaches over for one of the other water bottles himself like the sight of Donghyuck holding one suddenly reminded him that he’d been thirsty too. “You don’t know half the magic that comes with raw sex.”

“Right, the magic of an STD.”

“Mark’s clean, come on. Does he look like someone who would infect Donghyuck with his dick cheese?”

“Are you still tripping?”

“I’m perfectly sober, thank you.”

“So just being a f*cking moron, got it.”

“Right.” Donghyuck claps his hands in an announcement, head starting to genuinely hurt from the bright sunlight and the lack of fresh air in his lungs right now. Jeno looks one second from passing out. “I’m going to give this to Mark.”

“Wait,” Jaemin budges in before Donghyuck can fully turn around, struggling to get on his feet and pulling Donghyuck in a gross and sweaty hug that most definitely smells because no one here has showered. “I’m gonna miss you, you know.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Donghyuck grunts and tries pushing Jaemin away, which, in return, only makes Jaemin latch onto him harder.

“You don’t have to be coy about it. Mark already told us about it. But you could at least pretend you’re going to miss me.”

“If he’s gonna miss any of us, you’re probably not anywhere near the top of the list.” Renjun chimes in.

Donghyuck untangles Jaemin’s limbs from his own for real this time, stepping away to regard him and Renjun and also Jeno who’s boring holes into the ground with his distant gaze. And his expression must appear as confused as he currently is himself because Jaemin looks at him and actually splutters — and Jaemin doesn’t just get flustered like that — glancing at Renjun quickly before his eyes return back to Donghyuck.

“Are you still tripping?” Jaemin asks.

“f*ck you, I’m not tripping. You’re the ones tripping, and talking nonsense.” Donghyuck retorts but there is something that churns deep in his gut. Like anticipation. But not the good kind. Like dread.

Renjun and Jaemin exchange another look.

“You’re dead serious.” Jaemin says more like a statement than a question.

“Dead serious about what ?” Donghyuck exasperates, raising his hands, the water in the bottle sloshing around loudly in the dead beat silence between them.

And if this were a joke, some stupid f*cking prank to get a laugh out of Donghyuck, Jaemin would have cracked by now. And Jaemin’s looking at him with an almost unreadable expression on his face that Donghyuck’s never seen directed at him other than that one time when Jaemin had admitted to allegedly cheating on Donghyuck and Donghyuck had proceeded to try and come up with a solution instead of breaking up with him right as soon as the words had left Jaemin’s mouth.

Jaemin’s looking at him with pity.

“You’re not leaving with Mark for Canada today?” He asks but in a way that makes it seem like he knows the answer already.

It’s no longer dread churning deep in his chest — it’s something breaking inside him so gently like it had been waiting strung high to do it since the beginning of it all. It’s a quiet thing, so quest and unassuming that Donghyuck almost doesn’t notice it until his voice breaks when he asks: “Mark’s leaving for Canada today?”

“Donghyuck–” It’s Renjun’s voice now, and it’s Renjun standing up next to Jaemin, taking a step forward, but it’s also Donghyuck taking a step back, and dismissing him with a weak wave of his hand when he turns around.

“I need to talk to him alone.” Donghyuck mutters, already on his way back to the parking lot and back to the pickup truck and back to Mark. I need to hear it from him is also what he means. Not that it matters. Not that any of it ever has mattered apparently.

When he gets back, Mark’s no longer naked and instead clothed properly and leaning against the hood of his car, smoking a cigarette which Donghyuck’s never seen him do. As soon as he spots Donghyuck, he puts the thing out against the heel of his sneaker before discarding of it by flicking the bud away. Donghyuck watches it hit the pavement about six feet further than where Mark stands. Suddenly feeling stupid, Donghyuck throws the water bottle away to join the half burnt out cigarette.

Mark’s eyes land on him, bewildered, and it seems evident to Donghyuck as well that the way he must look from a second perspective means something is wrong.

Mark looks at him him like he knows; like Donghyuck knows. Like he knows Donghyuck knows.

And he does.

Three and a half months too late, Donghyuck finally knows.

“Donghyuck—”

“Is it true?”

Mark shakes his head, takes a step forward in silence. Donghyuck takes a step back, hands wrapped around his own torso like that’s gonna contain his heart from breaking inside his chest.

“Donghyuck,” Mark tries again like in this mess of entangled lies, his name is the only true thing he can manage.

“It’s a yes or no question.” Donghyuck keeps his voice steady, digs his fingers into the spaces between his ribs under his skin until it hurts. “Is it true?”

“It’s complicated–”

“Just answer the damn question, Mark.”

It’s visible even from here the way Mark’s throat bobs when he swallows thickly. Whether it’s around words, or around guilt, or tears, or anger — Donghyuck doesn’t know. He wishes he wouldn’t care.

Eventually he nods, but hurt is a fragile thing in itself so it masks itself as something tougher, something like anger.

“I want to hear you say it.” Donghyuck gets out through his teeth, jaw clenched so tight that it aches.

“What do you want me to say–”

“Just answer the f*cking question!”

“ f*ck !” Mark pulls at his hair the same way he had done back at Donghyuck’s house after helping him with assembling the damn bedframe, and it feels like lifetimes ago, it feels like the Mark that he saw back then is not the same Mark he’s seeing right now. “Yes. Yes, I’m leaving. I’m f*cking leaving, but I was gonna tell you, I just couldn’t find the right time, and I just, I– I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Donghyuck barks out a laugh and his eyes prickle with tears as he looks up at the bright blue sky, not a single star in sight because he can’t bear to look at Mark.

“Well,” Donghyuck flails his arms at his sides uselessly and finally lowers his chin so he can look at Mark in front of him, about five feet between them that feels like miles Donghyuck will never have the strength to conquer again. “Here we are. So what now?”

“Come with me.”

Donghyuck laughs again — an ugly sound even to his own ears. “Right, yeah, so you lie to me for three months, keep me in the dark about sh*t that apparently everybody else knows about, then propose I leave everything behind — my friends, my family, my school that I’m graduating next year, an opportunity to make it somewhere in the music industry — you propose I leave it all behind to what? Run away with you?”

Mark flinches almost. He blinks at Donghyuck, head shaken like he’s taken aback by the question. “No, no of course not.” He rushes out with a shake of his head like dismissing the thought, neck craned down. “That’s why I didn’t even ask you, because I knew it wouldn’t make sense.” And he has the audacity to look hurt by it; like it’s his heart getting shattered in a filled festival parking lot, and not the other way around.

It makes Donghyuck irrevocably angry.

“Of course it doesn’t make sense!” He near- yells , throat hoarse from last night, and still prickling now with tears unshed, “You go around telling everyone I’m leaving with you for f*ckass Canada before I even know you’re leaving at all, and it doesn’t make sense, you’re right, and it doesn't make sense because you’re not letting it! You’re making everything so complicated, why? Why do you do that? Why do you keep doing that? Why can’t you just want me , and let that be enough?”

“I do want you, Donghyuck, I– I’ve never not wanted you, but–”

“But f*cking what , Mark?”

“This isn’t about you!” Mark expatriates

“Then f*cking leave!” Donghyuck gets out through near hysterics, a sob slipping past his lips before he gets to stop it from making himself appear even more pathetic than he already was — slobbering all over himself in the middle of a parking lot while Mark hasn’t dropped a single tear over this. “You know, you could have just asked to f*ck me. If you wanted to get your dick wet so bad, you could have just f*cking said so, and I probably would’ve–I probably would’ve f*cking let you, because I’m in love with you, and I’ve been in love with you ever since you showed up on the first day of freshman year with your stupid glasses, and your stupid f*cking Radiohead shirt, and your stupid f*cking big heart, and unfunny jokes that I laughed at anyway because being around you made me nervous.”

Mark takes a step towards Donghyuck and Donghyuck takes a step back to even it out, and it visibly hurts Mark too see it — Donghyuck can spot it on his face from years of looking at him and being with him and being in love with him.

“Why can’t you just come with me then if you love me?”

“ Why can’t you stay? ” The tears spill now — hot streaks down his cheeks — and Donghyuck doesn’t bother wiping them away, hands busy digging into the skin of his sides to ground himself. “For once in your life, why can’t you just f*cking stay ?”

“I—” Mark flails his arms around aimlessly, grasp empty like the space is meant for him to hold Donghyuck in it. “Donghyuck, I have nothing here for me.”

He’s not above calling it heartbreak anymore.

Donghyuck turns around and starts walking. He’s not entirely sure where exactly, but he knows he can’t keep standing in this godforsaken parking lot and let himself be embarrassed even more than he already was, courtesy of Mark. The fact that he’d really thought something would change, that Mark would change when Donghyuck had done everything in his power to make it all stay the same. It’s pathetic. It’s always been pathetic.

Mark calls after him once, twice, feet audibly hitting the pavement as he rushes after Donghyuck in an unsure frenzy of what to do. He might as well not have moved at all because Donghyuck refuses to turn around and meet his eyes anyway.

Yet, Mark persists, keeps calling after Donghyuck and trailing after him like any of it will change the fact that he is set to leave tomorrow.

“Donghyuck, can you just stop being so f*cking stubborn–”

His fingers graze Donghyuck’s wrist before he manages to yank it out of the potential grasp, halting in his track instead, and twisting around with enough momentum for Mark to not see the punch coming.

Thumb resting over knuckles, Donghyuck hits him straight on the nose.

What follows after stays a blur in many senses of the word. For one, Donghyuck can barely see what’s in front of him with the stupid tears fogging his vision, and his insides seem to still be processing the consequences of last night in the form of a hangover, churning and aching, and his heart feels like it might stop beating any second on top of it all.

It’s not like he can call someone — anyone — to come pick him up, because it’s not like he has a f*cking phone. It’s not like he has any cash on him for a bus ride. It’s not like he even knows of any bus stops in this area.

He walks. Just f*cking walks, and walks, and walks, and walks until the parking lot morphs into a dirt road and until the dirt road switches to asphalt, and until someone finally takes pity on him and his extended hand as he sits crouched down on the side of the road after just having thrown up in the gravel, getting bile on the toes of his sneakers that he stares at to make the world stop spinning on its axis. A car pulls over, some guys and girls around his age piled in the backseat, the passenger side empty.

Above the deafening rushing of blood in his ears and the constantly tilting image of the world around him, Donghyuck makes it inside the car with the guy at the front ever so helpfully opening the door from the inside.

“Rough night?” The guy at the wheel asks, voice light, when Donghyuck slumps inside the seat, gaze trained ahead, some snickers from the people in the back as a response.

“Yeah.” Donghyuck croaks out and that marks the end of the conversation.

That is what follows.

Mark does not.

Donghyuck doesn’t want him to anymore.

✮

The guy drops him off by the edge of town because even in the compromising state he’s currently in, Donghyuck isn’t about to give a random stranger the precise coordinates of his family home. That, and he doesn’t really feel like facing anyone right now. A bunch of strangers he can manage — he’ll never have to see them again — but his family who will see right through him and his bloodshot eyes, and swollen face, and smudged makeup, Donghyuck can’t stomach right now. He doesn’t know how he ever will. He sort of doesn’t know how he ever will stomach doing anything again.

“Thanks.” He mutters before he slams the door of the car shut and watches it drive off in the opposite direction that it had come from.

He stands by the metal gate of the junkyard.

With a wipe of his nose on his clothed shoulder Donghyuck slips inside through the gap he knows to be there, stalks over to the beaten down BMW and crouches down to retrieve the baseball bat he knows to be there, too.

There’s still dents from the last time he’d been here with Mark.

Donghyuck wraps his hands around the hilt, bruised knuckles of his right hand a faint blue beneath the warm light of the setting sun and lets the bat hit the metal with enough force to hurt.

Again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again — until the anger dissipates into a tiny little thing inside him, making way for something worse and something horrid, and something that hurts along with the slow realization settling inside him like a parasite that Mark had left.

As simple as that.

The baseball bat hits the ground with a faint thud, and Donghyuck’s knees follow next, hand holding onto the hood of the beaten up car to steady himself in the inevitable collapse, chest so tight it might actually burst.

A fever is what it’s like almost — the deep ache in his bones, the cold sweat down his back, the burning of his skin because it’s almost like he can still feel Mark’s hands on him, Mark’s hands in him, and it does nothing to soothe the burn of bile crawling up his throat until he’s retching onto the ground right by his own bent knees, and then there’s dust in his eyes, and footsteps approaching, and a muffled voice, and hesitant hands on his shoulders, then on his elbows, then on his nape, forcing his face away from the mess of his insides across the ground below.

It’s a stupid thing to hope, Donghyuck really should have learned by now.

But it’s just Jimin. Donghyuck knows because no one else would have come for him here if not for her.

“Renjun called me, he said you just f*cking left — f*ck, they had no idea where you went. I searched for you at every place across town, I was asking f*cking strangers on the street if they– if you— God, I was so worried.” She mutters, words overlapping with how much her voice is shaking as she scoops Donghyuck up in her arms and just holds him.

At once like a switch flipped, Donghyuck latches onto her like a lifeline, both of them dusted and dirty and in a position that’s anything but comfortable on the junk yard ground

“I loved him. I really really loved him.” Donghyuck sobs into her shoulder, unable to get anything more than a frenzied mumbling of the same thing over and over again past his lips without the physical ache in his chest consuming him and making it hard to even as much as breathe.

There’s no great twist of events, no unexpected choices made, no Mark showing up and saying sorry and meaning it, and no Donghyuck forgiving him because he’s never not wanted to forgive him, he’s just needed Mark to give him a proper reason to.

It hurts, and it keeps hurting, and Jimin says nothing, just holds Donghyuck there, just holds Donghyuck together.

The and he left stays lodged deep in his throat because even now with the truth right in front of him it is too bitter of a thing to verbalize.

Mark didn’t leave because of Donghyuck, and he didn’t stay because of him either. Same as it was — as it had been months ago, and years ago; back to the start; back to ground zero.