Work Text:
1.
It’s Sunday afternoon nearing the end of the summer break, and six boys were sprawled all over Jaemin’s garden, some on the floor, some on the lawn chairs, some elsewhere, waiting for Donghyuck to bring them their food and drinks. Mark’s on his back, blades of grass piercing his body, eyes closed as he basks in the sunlight, the weather was on a high and he was sure he was frying. All thoughts in his mind come to a standstill as he is soothed into a haze, the background becomes distorted due to the heat. He’s not sure why he doesn’t move out of the path of the sun’s harsh rays, but it’s probably because he’s too lazy.
“He’s taking forever, why’d we let him be in charge of snacks again?” complained Jaemin, his head beaded with sweat as he sits on the edge of the lawn chair, between Jeno’s sprawled legs.
Jeno responds, his words slightly muffled by an open newspaper covering his face, “Because, he said he’d pay after you refused, cheap ass,” he mumbled the last part, but everyone caught on. Jaemin snatched the newspaper off of his face and rolled it up, ignoring his cries of protest, before hitting him on the arm with it.
“I’m sorry, I’m joking! Jaemin-ah, I’m joking”
Jaemin halted his attacks, his nose in the air and a glare in his eyes, huffing a small, “You better be,” before breaking down into a beam. The group falls into a silence, the air too thick to speak, with the non-existent wind being the only sound. Mark feels himself soaking his t-shirt with sweat, a faint air of weariness surrounding him as his blonde curls stick to his forehead. Finally, Jisung broke the silence.
“I’m sure he’s done something to the snacks,” he voiced from the top of a tree branch. A muttered response of agreement replaces the humid air.
“Yeah, probably poisoned it,” screamed Chenle, stretching his body, making sure Donghyuck could hear from inside. When a beat passed and he heard nothing, he slumped back onto the tree he was under.
“Yah, Chenle, Jisung, such little trust in your hyung? It’s almost as if you don’t know me,” says Donghyuck with mock offence as he comes into the garden, Mark’s eyes snap open and he glares against the blinding sun to catch a glimpse of him. He’s holding a tray of watermelons on one hand and a tray of drinks, Sprite and Cola, in the other, and Mark marvels at the balance Donghyuck evidently possess.
“It’s because we know you that we don’t have trust in you,” supplies Mark, knowing that he was going to regret saying that remark when Donghyuck refuses to give him a drink.
“That’s it Blondie, you’re not getting food,” sniffs Donghyuck, a playful glare and small smirk dancing on his lips. He just scoffs at this, because for a boy who surprised Mark every moment they saw each other, Donghyuck was so predictable. Besides, Mark knew he’d break down quickly enough, he always did. Everyone gathers around the table, except Mark who stays lying down, and grabs a watermelon and drink each. The waves of the sun beat down on him, and the heat lulls him into a warm sleep. His eyes flutter close as he hears the faint sounds of the boys accusing Donghyuck of messing with the food and him fervently denying mixed with Chenle’s dolphin laugh.
Suddenly, the sun isn’t pounding down on him so hard, as something covers it. He squints his eyes open and sees Donghyuck standing over him, a glass in his hand. The sunlight surrounds him and gives him an almost angel-like glow. Mark had always knew that Donghyuck was good-looking, with his long neck, maturing jawline and rounded nose, but in this light he looked beautiful. As if the heat hadn’t dried out his mouth enough, Mark now found it impossible to swallow.
The first thing he notices is Donghyuck’s legs, they’re pretty, he thinks. (It’s not the first time he’s thought this). The way the expanse of skin stretches over them and the sun bounces off of them. His calves and thighs were shapely, and Mark could almost make out the small constellation of beauty spots splattered around them. His legs, he notes, are long, almost endless. Slender towers coated in gold, or at least Mark thinks so. After his eyes take their sweet time roaming over Donghyuck’s legs, he eventually makes it to his face.
Mark swears that he’s never seen Donghyuck, or anyone for that matter, look this good. He makes sure to etch his portrait into his mind, his skin so tanned as if God personally took light out of the stars in the sky and weaved them into it. Chocolate brown eyes, plump pink lips and dishevelled auburn hair all screamed beauty. His smile which made a dash of wrinkles form around his nose and the fissure of moles splashed over his face and neck, seemed so comfortable. The sun kissed his scalp and caressed his hair and when his eyes finally meet Donghyuck’s, everything in his vision blurs.
“Mark? Hello? Has your lack of brain cells caught up with you and you’ve had a sudden brain freeze or something?” the melodic voice with harsh words brings him back to his current situation and everything in his eye-line sharpens. Donghyuck is holding out a glass towards him, his cheeks flushed and awkward as he realises Mark had been ogling him.
In a desperate attempt to make things less awkward, Mark replies with a weak, “You should be calling me hyung, I’m older,” before taking the glass out of his hands.
(it’s just the heat, he doesn’t like Donghyuck, he tells himself [for the hundredth time])
“Yeah okay hyung, just drink the drink,” says Donghyuck, rolling his eyes, face teeming with excitement.
Maybe if Mark hadn’t been so focused on his broad shoulders and deep collarbones, he would’ve noticed the signature mischievous smirk painted on Donghyuck lips. And maybe, if he hadn’t been so focused on his clean bone structure and full eyebrows, he could’ve avoided drinking the cursed drink. As the contents of Coke mixed with soy sauce slide down his throat, he pales and inwardly gags, a fissure of something bad bubbling up in his stomach as his whole body displays his disgust. He can hear laughter all around him, before an arm is thrown around his shoulder. It burns.
“Oh my, you okay Mark?” Donghyuck manages to spit out in between masses of laughter, “I…you’re face, fuck that’s so cute, I…oh my god.”
Usually he would reply to the younger’s teasing smile and annoying laughter with a punch to his arm, or a flick to his forehead, telling him to shut up and stop swearing, to call him hyung. But Donghyuck doesn’t usually look this good. And Mark usually does not have an accelerating heartbeat or explosions making its way up his back when the other’s skin touches his. Instead, Mark is rooted to the spot, his cheeks flushed, from the heat or the fact that Donghyuck complimented him he doesn’t know (he does).
He opens his mouth, words of argument beginning to fall out of his mouth, and with each syllable he realised how much the younger didn’t care as Donghyuck removes his arm and walks away, lightly chuckling. A mop of red hair is found in his eye line and makes its way towards him, and then Renjun is swiftly there giving him a glass of water. He can hear background noise of Jisung praising Donghyuck for his joke and Jeno giving him a high-five. Mark’s eyes follow the sound and he stares at sunkissed skin, auburn hair and carnation pink cheeks.
“Hey, you okay hyung? You seem a bit…distracted?” Renjun asks him, one eyebrow lifted, his eyes saying more than his words did. You’ve been distracted for a while now, they say.
His eyes shift away from Donghyuck onto the boy before him, “Yeah, I…yeah. Fine, I’m fine, just the heat.”
Mark could tell that his excuse wasn’t good enough and that he had outed himself the instant his eyes remained on Donghyuck a second too long. And even though Renjun and he weren’t the closest in the group, he knows that the impeccable boy knows. Knows that there’s more to the distraction than just the heat. Knows the heat couldn’t explain the lingering looks which had been going on for years now.
(but Renjun’s always been good at noticing things).
His eyes find Donghyuck once again, but then again when don’t they? and he’s partially blinded by the smile dancing on his face. His legs, as always, are first to catch his attention. They were honey-brown and muscular, the boundless length drawing in Mark’s gaze. His hair was messed up as usual, as if he had his hands through it a billion times, sweat decorated on the back of his neck, giving it a golden hue. Mark catches his thoughts and reprimands himself, sweat? Seriously?
And as if he senses his eyes on him, Donghyuck turns, quickly but quietly, his t-shirt slipping ever so slightly off his shoulder. Just enough so that Mark can catch a glimpse of collarbone and bright skin. “Still taste the drink in your mouth Markie, was it that bad?”
“No,” he replies, “It wasn’t that bad.”
“It didn’t create any bubbles in your stomach?” he asks, his eyes twinkling, as Mark just shrugs his shoulders, nonchalant, not as bad as the ones you create.
(he doesn’t like Donghyuck, he reminds himself…Maybe just his legs?)
The scene dies down, and quiet laughs fills the air. Mark takes in the new scenery, of Jaemin and Chenle trying to show who can do the most aegyo, of Jeno and Renjun sitting in their lounge chairs judging them, of Jisung trying to hold back as he is forced to decide who’s the cutest and of Donghyuck besides him, trying to convince the group he was the most adorable. He looks at all his friends and he hopes that nothing ever changes. That the weather stays warm, the sun glaring down at them and that he always feels the warmth that Donghyuck emits.
2.
It’s a school night but the boys had decided that doing a monster movie fest which included films which had vampires, murderers, clowns and straight gore, was a good idea (it wasn’t). By the time they had reached the half-way point of the second movie, Chenle had his arms wrapped all over Donghyuck, his face nestled in his shoulder, jumping every time he’d a hear scream coming from the TV. Once the collective yells from the living room had reached an optimum and they’d watch at least eight movies, no amount of Coke keeping their eyes from dropping, the boys decided (more like told by Jeno’s father) to retreat to bed. Jisung, after complaining endlessly about the heat, made camp in the living room
“Hyung, can I sleep with you tonight?” pouted Chenle, giving Donghyuck his best puppy eyes. The latter gives a small chuckle before ruffing up his hair, understanding the fear that ran through the younger’s veins.
Donghyuck looks at Mark then, a silent ‘will you be okay?’ crosses through his eyes and at first Mark doesn’t understand the implication of the look. But when it dawns on him he doesn’t know whether to feel extremely grateful or extremely embarrassed, he realises he’s never not gone to sleep without Donghyuck’s hands in his hair or voice in his ear. It had become an unquestioned routine, selfish on Mark’s part, largely due to the nightmares he sometimes got. Small things, unnecessary things, rare things, like not getting an A on a test, or leaving the door unlocked, or just everyone being disappointed in him, kept him up. And although it’s not Donghyuck’s problem to solve, or even to be bothered with, he always was. He’d stuff Mark’s face in the crook of his neck, told him to breathe and sang him sleep.
When they weren’t together, because they couldn’t always be, Donghyuck would call him, as if he knew Mark was up and panicked and doubting himself, I can feel your existential crisis from here. And on the off that he didn’t call, Mark would phone him up and bask in his croaky voice, soothing him to a deep sleep as his mind was invaded with brown eyes like undiscovered gems and honey-suckled skin. Gratefully embarrassed it will be.
Deep down, but not so deep, Mark hoped that he would say no to Chenle, tell him that Mark needed him, but he knew that it was selfish and stupid, so stupid. No, he wants to say, No, I won’t be okay. He’s self-seeking and he wants to keep the younger close and the terrors at bay. He wants to feel secure in the midst of the snowstorm that brews in Donghyuck eyes, the flakes surrounding Mark, indulging him. Instead he replies with a smile and a nod of his head that he hopes doesn’t relay his distress, because he can survive one night, can’t he?
“Sure kid, let’s go.” And with that everyone fell into place, the sweet sound of the night air filling the room.
4:37AM
Mark’s been in the dark for so long that he’s not even sure if his eyes are closed or he’s adjusted to the darkness, he hopes it’s the latter because it just sounds cooler. He’s been awake for four hours and fourteen minutes and he’s not sure why. Although it could be the fact that the twig outside was harshly tapping against the window, making his jaws clench. Or it could be that it’s his first time sleeping (or, trying to) without Donghyuck’s help outside of his own four walls.
Of course there was a time, a world, where he slept fine without the younger, where he would close his eyes and dream blank dreams. Where he wouldn’t be worried about thinking himself into insomnia, or worse, a panic attack. There was also a time, a world, where he slept not-so-fine without the younger. That period, he thinks, was the worst of his life and he’s not sure when time blurred to erase the former. His parents, ever the adventurers, travelled the world, bringing him back a keychain and mug to add to his collection. For that reason and the stress that he feels in thinking that he may cause his parents stress stop him from confiding in them, so he found Donghyuck instead.
He never wanted to find the younger, he just happened to stumble across him. He says stumble, but it’s more a harsh force of gravity pulling him towards the brown haired boy. It’s the casserole his mum made him present to his new neighbours when Mark moved from Canada. It was the boy with hungry eyes pulling Mark inside, making them eat together. The realisation that they both went to the same school and the walks to and from together. The insistence that they become friends, and later on the normality that came with it. But, god, is he thankful.
It had been a rough night and Donghyuck’s parents were stuck at his aunt’s, due to the storm or the rain or the something and they’d asked if he could stay at Mark’s. Ever the lovely neighbours they were, his parents said yes. And Donghyuck, ever the humanitarian he was, decided that watching a four-hour documentary on the impact of war on the world would be a great idea. It was, until it wasn’t. As they fell into bed, the younger was asleep as soon as, but Mark was still up.
He was up contemplating his own problems and how they seemed insignificant in comparison to those in war-torn countries. How he was no help because there they were starving, suffering and here he was, too afraid to sleep in his comfortable bed. How easy it was to be in this constant blue, when everything else in life was just so good. Mark wasn’t sure when his tears started falling, or when Donghyuck woke up, it was all a haze, but suddenly arms enveloped him. And every corner of his body was smoothed down and tucked into Donghyuck’s.
It happened again the next night, and the next, and then two weeks after that. Then the phone calls started because, as much as I love you Mark, getting out of bed is exhausting, besides its weird telling my parents I’m going to sleep with you every night and then the habit fixed. Mark stopped dreaming blank canvas dreams, his thoughts now filled with a new adventure every night, all of him and Donghyuck and being together. And whilst all his dreams could have easily been turned into novellas, the younger’s words demanding and impactful, they could never contend to that first night. The first night of no tears, no missing colours, no fears.
(that night he dreamt of being Peter Pan, of stealing Donghyuck away, his laughter pressed against Mark’s skin and he swears Donghyuck will want for nothing).
It’s stupid, as all his thoughts revolving around Donghyuck are, but he can’t help but feel useless. He had always relished in the fact that only his ears were open for the younger’s harmonious voice, that Donghyuck would only want him. But as he thinks over it he can’t help ask why Donghyuck would want him. With all his insecurities and flaws, the constant child-minding, Mark was nothing but a mess. It really is stupid, and maybe it’s his pent up stress from school or that damn twig but he feels as if Donghyuck’s going to pull away from him, leave him behind.
He’s not and never will but that doesn’t stop Mark feeling the way he’s feeling.
Burrowing into himself, Mark curls into a small ball, making sure his body wasn’t inconvenient for Renjun who was sleeping besides him. By now his eyes are probably bloodshot red, he can feel his silent tears stinging his cheeks and he’s embarrassed at his irrationality, so he closes his eyes and forces himself to sleep. Except he couldn’t. He’s about to duck under the covers in hope that the shortage of air would help him sleep when he feels fingertips softly touching his neck, brushing his wet tears.
“Mark-hyung,” he’s surprised when he hears a whisper, he doesn’t know why he’s surprised because of course Donghyuck knew Mark was still awake. He always knew, “You wanna go outside to get some fresh air?”
Mark just nods, his throat too dry to be able to spit out any answer. A small smile graces Donghyuck’s lips and he holds his hand out. Slowly, without disturbing Renjun, Mark slipped out of the covers, taking the others hand. They both walked out of the room together, silent. As they hit the living room, they chuckle at Jisung, legs on the sofa head on the floor, before going into the garden. They sat in the grass, Donghyuck’s back against the trunk of a tree, Mark’s against the sky. Their personas could easily be identified just in the way they were positioned, Mark, with his back arrow-straight and cross-legged. Donghyuck, hunched, his legs bent and separated, hands casually sitting on his knees.
Mark prepares himself for the string of conversation that was bound to happen, because it always did. Donghyuck had a way of doing things, of helping Mark, of making him feel better, the routine was impeccable, predictable. First he’d want to know what was wrong,
“What was it this time?”
Mark would reply with the same answer, about how it’s nothing, or how the younger would find it stupid. He doesn’t do this because he wants to simply follow the order of everything, but rather because that’s what he truly believes.
“It’s nothing, it’s dumb.”
“It’s not and it isn’t.”
Is the quick reply, but what else does he expect from reliable, smart, kind Donghyuck other than benevolence? On any other day Mark would pour out his worries like Angel Falls, relieve his stress as Donghyuck soaked it all in. Particles of worry being produced from him as he forgot his science homework that day, or how he missed the winning shot at basketball, or how his mother sent yet another keychain with his name ‘minghyung’ written on it even though she knows he prefers Mark. All these small things, these not even an issue things, these easily fixable things would’ve been just that, fixed, by the embodiment of sunshine himself. Except this time it wasn’t small, it wasn’t fixable and it was the sunshine that was the issue.
How, Mark thinks to himself, can he tell his best friend of eleven years that he’s afraid he’ll leave him. That he’ll realise that Mark isn’t worth any care and that he should spend his time on someone who knows him. Because Mark doesn’t. He reflects on how much he doesn’t know Donghyuck. Of how he doesn’t know that he loved mango juice and could drink it forever. How he doesn’t know he was scared of thunder and how it would keep him up at night. How he loved Michael Jackson and had all his dances memorised.
He’s staring at the ground now and can hear Donghyuck biting on his nails waiting for Mark to answer, but he can’t tell him any of that. If disappointment scared Mark, then rejection terrified him to the core. And even the mere thought of the younger deciding that maybe they were too close, broke him out in a sweat. It’s hot, and he has a burnt-out taste sitting in his mouth, unable to tell Donghyuck his fears. So instead he replies with, “That’s a bad habit,” gesturing towards the boys nails in his mouth, eyes still trained on the grass, picking at it.
He can physically feel Donghyuck’s pause, a small shock maybe, because Mark wasn’t following the routine. And he thought that the younger would comment on it, but is instead thankful when he leaves it out.
“Yeah, and not sleeping is one,” is the retort mixed with chuckles.
“Donghyuck,” he whispers timidly.
“Hmm?” the other replies, distracted, sleep calling to him. Mark moves himself closer so that his back is now also against the tree, his face focused on the weeds in the ground. He leans his head gently down on the younger’s shoulder, arms twining around his.
“Sing for me.”
Less than a second passes before he hears a mumbled ‘yeah okay’. Donghyuck’s musical voice fills the sky with stars and soothes Mark until his mind erases all previous nerves and is filled with images of the both of them walking down a street, feet lighting up every step, Michael Jackson style and a Jeju accent.
Mark looks up at the younger now and is enthralled. Chocolate eyes meet his and he instantly flushes a dark red, glad that they were where there was no light, save for the moon. Donghyuck’s skin was a flawless alabaster, only to be worded as petal-skinned marble, his smile the sinking sun shot through layers grey cloud. Mark’s eyes skip, forevermore, towards the boys legs and he notices how in this light it’s a whole new colour. His knees are darkened, a contrast against his bronzed thighs and calves, roughened from countless trips and falls. It’s those damn legs again, those legs that make Mark second guess all his thoughts, because friends don’t think about friends in the way he thinks about Donghyuck. They don’t look at plump lips and wonder if they’re as soft as they look. They don’t look at sharp jawbones and want to outline their every wish onto them. They don’t image honey legs pressed against their own or wrapped around their waist.
But Mark is, has always been, in deeper than just simply liking Donghyuck’s legs.
Mark is Icarus, flying too close to the sun, unafraid of being burnt. (he was too pale and in need of a tan anyways)
When Donghyuck is sure that Mark’s fears are somewhat at bay, they retreat back upstairs. Mark slips under the covers next to a red-headed Renjun, hoping he wouldn’t wake him. His mind is sated and his eyes are falling of their own will when he hears a whisper beside him, “The heat distracting you again?” He freezes for a moment, unsure of what to reply, but his mind flashes to the events that occurred just instants before and Donghyuck’s voice is still singing in the back of his head.
“Yeah,” he replies, “The heat.”
3.
The first time Donghyuck’s head caught flame, it wasn’t literal, it wasn’t at all actually, in fact nothing catches fire, thank god, but the line does sound poetic though. Its winter now, and the sun is too busy blushing behind gloomy clouds to grace its presence around the boys. Instead, snow has fallen, hard, and the scenery is blanketed in shades of white and white and white. They’re having a snowball fight, because they’re kids after all, and that’s what kids do for fun. It’s a paint splatter of Mark being constantly attacked by all of the other boys, being targeted for being too nice to hit back (because if he did they’d be done for). After the last hit left a faint blooming of pain on his arm, he decides he’s eaten enough snow and makes his way inside, choosing to read a book by the fireplace instead, shutting his eyes to a solid place, the rest of the world fading away.
It’s only when the door slams open and havoc of boys hurry in does it come back into focus. Renjun and Jisung stroll in, Jaemin holding a bunch of coats, Donghyuck on Jeno’s back and Chenle, well Chenle was screaming, but then again he always is. Jeno slowly deposits the boy on his back onto the coach at the other end of the room, and Donghyuck’s pained gasps can be heard throughout the room. Mark moves before he thinks, dropping his book god knows where, rushing towards his bright-eyed boy, trying to see what the problem was. As always, Mark overacts when it concerns the younger, his thoughts processing scenarios more in hand with hospitals and surgery than grazes and bruise.
He utters a stiff ‘move’, and the crowd surrounding the singing boy parts. The first thing he sees is the contrast of red, blood red, on Donghyuck’s cream pants, its dark and its painful too look at, but not as painful as the look distorting the younger’s face. The trousers were ripped, and Mark could see the wound in all its glory peeking out, it looked deep, really deep, and Mark knew it’d leave a scar.
“You guys go inside, warm yourselves up and finish your homework, I’ve got him, Renjun go bring me the first aid kit,” he barks out the order consecutive and quick. Once the boys had dispersed he looks over at Donghyuck, whose eyes were closed in discomfort, and puts a hand on his cheek.
“Hyuck, I’m going to have to take your pants off, it’s getting into your wound and might infect it, is that okay?” he ask slowly. He gets a strained nod in reply and rapidly makes way to, as carefully as he could, take off his pants. He peels them off, leaving the younger in his boxers, and although Mark has seen him in his boxers numerous times, and it’s really nothing new, he can’t help the blush that graces his face, because it’s the first time he’s the cause. He wipes away all images which correlate with that statement and grabs the trousers, discarding them in the corner, when Renjun comes in.
“Here you go hyung, first aid kit. I would stay, but you know.” He mutters before sparing a glance at the bleeding leg, flinching and then leaving the room. Mark pulls his focus back on the boy in front of him, and gently adjusts his body so that his legs were propped onto the table and his back comfortably against the sofa. Opening up the box, he gets out the antiseptic and some wipes, hovering about the cut.
“So, how’d you manage to do this?” he asks casually, before starting to clean the blood away. He hears Donghyuck hiss and apologies.
“I…I fell” he says, his face stuffed in a pillow and although Mark can’t see him, he knows his face is probably flushed red from embarrassment.
“Graceful, like a ballerina I bet,” he laughs in response, he hears another groan from Donghyuck when he hits what look like bone. Mark looks up, another string of apologies forming on his lips, when he sees that the younger has unearthed his face from the pillow and is now looking down at him, smiling.
“You bet baby.”
Mark’s sure that now he’s the one covered in red tint as the word baby echoes in his head, he replies with a quick ‘shut up’ nudging Donghyuck’s knee, which was a bad idea as a long list of swear words graced the auburn’s lips. He feigns being in incredible pain, his two acting classes playing up, and Mark, being the naïve child he was, fell for it. His ‘shut up’s quickly turned into worry coated with the sorriest of paints, he’s panicky and it’s all Donghyuck could do to not laugh.
“I hate you” the blonde sighed, pouting.
“Baby its okay,” he sings out, Mark’s done with the cleaning and Donghyuck looks down at the result, “You think it’ll scar?” he asks and at Mark’s nod he grins, “That’s so cool, now I can go into school and everyone will fall for me, because I’m a badass and also dramatic irony”
“Firstly, you fell, that’s not badass in any form. Secondly, who in their right mind would fall for…you” is Mark’s mocking response, but it’s disguised in playful disgust and a small shiver. He picks out a cloth and begins to bandage it around the now cleansed area.
“I can think of at least one person.”
He looks up to see Donghyuck’s faces inches away from his own, if he leant in, he thinks, they’d be kissing. Of course he doesn’t, but that doesn’t stop him from imagining what the other would feel like pressed against him, or whether his lips tasted as minty as his breathe. Donghyuck licks his lips, an action which brings Mark back to the now and he hope the younger couldn’t hear his heart beating a thousand times a minute, or the small groan he sounded when Donghyuck shuffled impossibly closer.
He gulps away his thoughts, “Really?” he’s out of breathe, his voice low and hoarse, he brings his attention back to the injured knee before coughing and asking, “Who?”
“You.”
Mark freezes at that, he’s unable to form an answer, his hands still half tying the cloth. His gulps hard and focuses on what he’s always, ironically, been distracted by. Donghyuck’s legs are bronzed and toned, seemingly going on forever, there are patches of dried blood which Mark evidently hadn’t scrubbed away hard enough, and he thinks that it’s similar to a bad Van Gogh painting (not that he’s ever had a bad painting but still). He realises he’s been quiet for a while now and could feel Donghyuck’s gazes boring into him, somewhat questioning whilst always knowing the answer. He quickly finishes the knot and gets up, not looking the younger in the eye, when he retreats back to his original seat.
“Goodnight Donghyuck” is his flustered reply.
“It’s like four, Mark what-“
“Goodnight and call me hyung for God’s sake!” he yells, sitting in the chair next to the fireplace. He can hear Donghyuck muttering under his breathe, curse words mixed with something else that Mark just can’t catch. He pays no heed to it, his mind still flustered over what could have happened moments before. He picks his book up and stuffs his flushed face into it, trying hard not to imagine heart shaped lips persistent on his own. After some time passes, he peeks over his book and smiles fondly at a sleeping Donghyuck, his gaze unwavering.
Donghyuck, he thinks, has been one of those people who are infinitely beautiful, kind of like Taeyong but not really. Their beauty, his beauty, is more of the written kind, the words etched into his skin, so when you look at him the first thing see are lines of poetry. It wasn’t the sudden type either, it came like the haze, slow and unhurried, like now. His sleeping figure held a stark contrast to his usual playfulness, it wasn’t that the innocence disappeared, that always stayed. It’s more of an evolution of some sort, innocence mixed with vulnerability, insecurities written in the laugh lines, a need to be better kissing every individual lash. Not that he needed to be, Donghyuck would never need to be better, he was already the best.
“It’s cold, don’t you think?” Renjun voices, leaning against the doorframe. Mark jumps, his heartbeat increasing by light-years whilst simultaneously losing years.
“God Renjun! What the hell!”
“Sorry, sorry. It is cold though right?” he asks. At his words Mark shivers, the fire is slowly dying out as it is and a small circulation of cold air was making its way throughout his bones.
“Yeah, yeah you’re right its cold. Maybe we should-“
“But you’re still distracted?” he questions, emphasising the still. For a second Mark is unable to comprehend what he’s trying to get at, so he just nods in agreement. But once Renjun’s face lights up with a knowing smirk, it all crashes down on Mark. you seem distracted…im fine just (Donghyuck) the heat…the heat distracting you again?,,,yeah, (Donghyuck) the heat…
“So maybe it’s not the heat, hyung?” he prompts. Mark, by now, can’t even try to slip his way out of this. His eyes with its penchant to find Donghyuck, finds him and he basks in the small moles dotted around the boy’s throat, heart-shaped lips and a kindness which had Mark keening.
“Yeah, maybe not the heat.”
4.
It’s spring now and, for once or maybe the hundredth time, it’s only Mark and Donghyuck, together, alone. They’re in the elder’s room, both sitting on his window seat, waiting for the sun to rise, after Donghyuck forced him out of bed to watch it with him. Mark wonders, although he really shouldn’t, what would happen if a freak-accident came and he lost Donghyuck, or Donghyuck lost him, not that there’s any difference. He says freak accident, and it’s always a freak accident, because in his bones he knows that nothing ordinary could ever split him away from Donghyuck.
The boy himself was so extraordinary, it’d be a shame to lose him in a mundane way, like falling down the stairs or in a car accident (or at all). He immediately curses himself for even thinking of parting with Donghyuck, because now that’s all he can think of. Donghyuck leaving, Donghyuck going, Donghyuck disappearing, Donghyuck…gone. The anxiety builds up and he’s afraid it’s going to overtake his hard drive, but everything’s been easier with him around, so he relaxes and distracts himself.
They’re still watching, still waiting and Mark takes the time to appreciate the boy next to him, not needing to see the sunrise when the sun, to him at least, had already risen (and the panic has fallen). It had awakened with its legs tangled with his own, its lips in the brushing his neck, its hands laced with his. Mark wakes up every monday, wednesday, thursday and saturday with the sun already heating up his blood, adorning him with its presence, it’s just a coincidence that Donghyuck happens to be there too.
“Mark,” Donghyuck is the first the break the silence, and Mark responds with a lazy hmm? “How would you confess to someone?”
Mark’s laze is quickly overcome and his head shoots as he scrambles to stare at the boy next to him, “What?”
“You know, if you were going to confess, how would you do it?”
“Well, if it was someone I knew well and I knew they liked me back, then I would just tell them?” he says.
Donghyuck tilts his head and stares down at Mark, almost like he was examining him and then shakes his head, “You’re a nice guy Mark Lee.”
His throat dries, “Ah shut up, what about you?”
There’s a pause. “I agree they’d have to like me back, I wouldn’t be able to confess if they didn’t,” he responds, a small smile dancing on his lips, “So someone would have to actually like me first.”
“People like you Hyuck”
“Hmm, really, like who?”
Mark speaks before he can register his own thoughts, the words tumbling out, “Me, I like you Hyuck.” He says gently, before catching himself. His eyes widen and he hopes to God that Donghyuck would just leave it alone and he’s lucky when, instead of making fun of Mark, which was expected, he just quietly hums, looking out of the widow.
“I would…it would be with someone I’m comfortable with, the confession, I mean,” Mark sighs at the smile that instantly forms on Donghyuck’s face, not wanting to swim the deep oceans that would eventually leave him drowning. He knows where this is going, and how it’s going to end. A million thoughts fly in a million pieces across his head; Donghyuck confessing to someone, someone not Mark but someone better.
“And I’d make it private, more intimate but nowhere crazy out-there, you know. Assuming we’d be friends first, maybe my house or there’s. We’d be star-gazing, or maybe cloud-watching or even…” he takes a quick glance at Mark from the corner of his eyes, “Waiting for the sun to rise and we’d be talking nonsense. I would make him laugh and the confession would just spill out, probably because I can’t contain it anymore and he looks so beautiful in this light, I-“
Mark’s ears perk at the younger’s words and he can’t help but the sinking feeling that comes when he asks, “You said he, who is he?”
Donghyuck removes his face and it’s no longer pressed against the window, but rather right in front of Mark’s. His legs are crossed, hands playing with the elder’s fingers, “Seriously, you’re asking me who he is? Who do you think it is?” He scoffs.
“I…I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking,” Mark replies meekly.
Donghyuck inhales deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose before starting, “He’s no one, he’s…” there’s a gap.
Looking down at their tangled fingers, Mark has to swallow the burning feeling rising in his throat. He’s hardly surprised that’s it’s a he, Donghyuck has never been strict on gender boundaries as it is. But the fact that his best friend whose he’s been in love with since for forever, is about to tell him all about how he likes someone else. Mark has to prepare himself for the love letters bound to fly from Donghyuck’s lips. The sonnets he probably had written down in his diary about how someone, not Mark, had soft lips were or how they said ‘hi’ to him today. He’s ready to take the full force of the pain that’s bound to come with the younger’s rambling of poetry and prose.
“He’s nice.”
Mark’s head snaps up and his eyebrows are furrowed as he looks Donghyuck, not expecting something so simple, “Nice? Just…nice?”
“Hmm, well he’s a bit stupid too.”
“S..stupid?”
“Yeah and he’s the most lost child ever, like he pukes innocence. And I guess he’s cute when he plays the guitar and sings, or whatever.”
“The guitar.”
“Andd, he’s great at English, his songs are amazing but I’m pretty sure he’s set on becoming an author, was it science fiction or….?”
He’s slowly piecing it all together, but his slow brain processor, don’t allow him to grasp the last piece of the puzzle (me? could this be me? nah probably not), “That’s right, science fiction. Uh Hyuck, he seems kinda famil-”
Donghyuck teeth are clenched are he rolls his eyes with so much force Mark’s sure they’d roll out of his head, “Oh my GOD! Mark Canada Lee, how dumb can you get? It’s you! How long were you gonna make me describe you before you got it? What’s wrong with you?!”
“That’s….not even my middle name, like what-“
“Fuck me! You know what forget it, forget I said anything”
He turns away from Mark in huff, snatching his hands from the others and crossing his arms over his chest. His lips are formed in a small pout, his eyebrows wrinkled as he thinks what a waste his confession was. Mark must’ve finally caught up after some time, thinking of how Donghyuck asked him to watch the sunrise with him, and how he plays the guitar and wants to be an author, and he supposes that he really is stupid. His look of confusion is quickly replaced by a grin, and he knows he’s going to have to grovel with the younger to get him back on his good side.
“Donghyuck, I’m sorry, so so sorry, you know me I’m lost, sorry.” He says, hoping the apology would get Donghyuck’s attention, it didn’t. so instead he tries a new tactic and begins to swat the younger lightly with his sweater paws, hoping he could at least annoy a reaction out of him, “Donghyuck, Hyuck, Hyuckie, please, pleaseee, Hyuck, Hyuck, Hyuck, Hyuck.” That also did not work.
“Lee Donghyuck, I have known you for exactly eleven years, and I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with you for at least all eleven of them. Your voice melts me and you kinda hold the sunrise and sunset in your skin and smile, and also, your legs. Holy shit Hyuck your legs, they’re...forget that, I’m sorry, I get I’m an idiot for not catching on sooner, but can you blame me? I’ve been dreaming of this day since I first met you, and I’m not even sure if I’m not dreaming now, but,” he rushes out all in one breathe. He’s succeeded to catch Donghyuck’s attention once again, the boy staring at him with so much love in his eyes, Mark could cry.
“Okay, okay you sap, I accept your confession.”
“Really?”
He smiles at Mark, and the older thinks that he loves the way Donghyuck makes his breathe catch and the way it warms up his insides, “Really. So what was that you were saying about my legs?”
A blush instantly greets Mark’s face and he hopes the younger pays no attention to his newly coloured face, “Whhat?” he drags in a high pitched voice.
“My legs, you said ‘holy shit Donghyuck your legs they’re’…they’re what?” he questions a look of innocence painted on his face. But from the small twinkle in his eyes, ruining his apt deception, Mark knows, he knows. So instead of spilling all his hundred embarrassing thoughts of how he fangirled over Donghyuck’s legs. And of how he imagined them wrapped around him, or how Mark kind of wishes the younger would always wear shorts, just so he could catch a glimpse of gold spread across a smooth expanse skin, he decides to change the subject.
“Hyuck! Look, the sunrise”
Thankfully for Mark, this managed to divert the other’s attention, but not before he saw the younger roll his eyes once again. His cheeks are still flushed and Donghyuck liked him, so he supposed that he could humour himself with watching the sunup, despite the monsoon starting beginning in his throat. As the sun rose, light began to be scattered all across the room and their faces, Mark turned his attention to the boy besides him. The sun’s hue ambitiously illuminated all of Donghyuck’s best features, (and considering that all his features were the best) it made him look beautiful.
The first orange tinted ray kissed coldly upon his face, highlighting his smooth-edged jawline, the soft amber glow pouring onto his upturned face. His chocolate eyes were melting, his skin so tan, Mark could see Helios driving the chariot of the sun across it. As pretty as the persimmon sky seemed, the molten gold that oozed from Donghyuck’s face was much more mesmerising, helplessly dragging Mark into the abyss that came in the form of a honey voice, June birthday’s and sarcastic remarks. He was defined, vibrant, vivacious against the seemingly pallid landscape and Mark wished he could capture the moment.
“It’s beautiful, don’t you think?” Donghyuck ponders, making Mark turn his attention onto the scenery in question. There were gradients of yellow and red bleeding like a fire in the east, over the small houses and beyond the city. The site, he guesses, is pretty, not anything he hadn’t seen before, not anything in comparison to Donghyuck, but still pretty.
“Yeah, I guess it is,” he responds, absent-mindedly. From the corner of his eye he can see Donghyuck turning to face him and suddenly feels a fist against his shoulder. “Okay, ow! What-“
“Idiot, you’re not supposed to actually be looking at sunrise; you’re supposed to be looking at me? God, it’s like you don’t have a romantic bone in your body. Or even watched a romantic movie. This is basic stuff.”
His shakes his head at the younger, wondering how they’ve gotten this far, the irony not alluding him as he just, moments before, had been watching his own real life Dorian Grey, “I’m sorry, next time okay?”
“Ah, leave it. I should’ve known what I was getting into anyways.” Donghyuck moves, his legs swinging it onto Mark’s thighs, as his hair glitters in the sunlight, and for the first time it didn’t set his skin ablaze. Instead it was more tempests, a figment of tsunamis, sending him in overdrive, not that he minded.
As the long limbs became more tangled with his own, his hand moved of its own accord and he began to trace images of the stars, of the moon and of Van Gogh’s starry night all over it, leaving out no detail, and he basks in the contrast of his pale hand against bronzed thighs. The scar is prominent and his fingertips whispers across it, outlining its shape. He thinks there’s a million ways this could have gone, a million wrong, a million right. But this, at present, was perfect and what he can’t imagine is it being any other way. No more burning, no more subdued, just him and Donghyuck, as it always had been. Alone, together. And he revels in the security of that.
“Hey, are you even listening to me?”
Mark snaps out of whatever daze had consumed him and looks up to pouty lips and a creased eyebrow, “No, sorry, I was just…distracted,” he says.
“By what?” Donghyuck questions, Mark’s mind immediately goes back and he thinks for a second about smirks mapped from red hair, and hot weather. He thinks of coke bubbling up in his stomach and that damn twig again. It’s chaos in his mind, all messy and confusing, needing to be organised and categorised. And from the anarchy comes, illuminated, one certainty, it falls, or maybe it rises, (or maybe it’s always been there) he’s not too sure, but he rejoices in its glory anyways.
(Mark likes Donghyuck and not just his legs)
“You.”