Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The apartment is quiet, except for the shuffle and thud of Donghyuck making his way to his room after coming back from the dance studio. A single light in the kitchen illuminated the entry.

Donghyuck breathed deeply after dumping his duffle bag beside his bed, slipping his shoes off and stripping down to his underwear, hoping that summer would hurry up and leave already. The dancer closed his eyes and laid overtop the covers, his internal world falling silent. A dehumidifier whirred quietly in the corner of his tiny bedroom, and if he strained his ears, he could hear the faint tapping of his roommate’s nails on his desk in the next room.

Mark had been an enigma since day one. He barely ever left his room when Donghyuck was home, he didn’t leave any signs of life outside his own bedroom, and he had probably spoken a grand total of fifteen words since they had moved in together half a year ago. It wasn’t like Mark was a bad roommate though – Donghyuck would often come home from midnight hours at the company building to find the dishes done, the living room cleaned, and the bathroom tidied up. Everything always smelled pleasant, a faint trace of clean linen. Sometime halfway through those six months, the scent changed to something floral or citrusy, then settled firmly on a regular bergamot.

No, Mark wasn’t a bad roommate, he was just more of a ghost haunting the place than a whole other person who lived alongside Donghyuck. A ghost that was a little rough looking, but otherwise held a sort of charm that drew the eye – or at least, it drew Donghyuck’s eye. He wasn’t sure about anyone else.

The very few times Donghyuck had actually seen him for more than a minute at a time, he’d sported scruffy black hair, silver wire glasses, and rumpled clothes that swallowed up any shape of a body. Mark would be fiddling with the coffee machine, notice Donghyuck had also come out of his room, then scurry away with a mug full of espresso shots.

Donghyuck had glimpsed his face exactly three times. Each instance, he was met with wide, borderline terrified eyes behind a thick fringe of mildly greasy hair. The expression reminded the dancer of a deer in headlights, making it slightly more endearing, but mostly still off-putting. Honestly, Donghyuck didn’t really know how to feel about him, but he got the hint that Mark just wanted to be left alone, and that was far easier to live with than a roommate who left messes everywhere or didn’t contribute rent on time.

Something that he had specifically emphasised on his Find-A-Roomie profile was smell. Donghyuck was sensitive to scents, so he had made it clear that he did not want anyone who didn’t know how to use deodorant.

Which was why he often felt like he had won the lottery with Mark – in a world of dude-bros who felt personally offended by fabric softener, Mark was the sort of guy that, along with leaving no visible trace of living there, he also left no scent that might suggest a second person inhabiting the apartment.

The tapping ceased, followed by the sound of aggressive typing. It was a familiar sound to the dancer. However mysterious Mark was, he couldn’t erase every single part of his existence, and Donghyuck felt oddly exhilarated every time he caught some sign that Mark did indeed live here; the quiet tap of a keyboard, the faint clink of a mug being put down, careful footsteps on the old wood flooring, and if Donghyuck was lucky, a rare sighting before he locked himself back inside his room.

Quietly, he could admit it was a bit cute.

He knew what Mark did for a living, but only because it was displayed on the minimal profile Mark had cobbled together and posted on the same roommate-finder website. By day, Mark was an editor for a journalism magazine, and by night he was a novelist.

Donghyuck didn’t know much about novel writing, but he assumed it couldn’t be too different in process to lyric writing, which was the other half of his job – the less exhausting half, because scribbling lyric ideas didn’t leave him boneless like dance practise did. Being a backup dancer for idol groups was perfect for him though; he didn’t get dragged around for schedules and to other countries. He could just dance, write, then clock off and go home.

The typing stopped and did not resume for the rest of the time that Donghyuck tried to go to sleep.

☽

Mark scrubbed a hand over his face. The first page had seemed so easy, but the small moments between the main story events felt boring and flat, no matter what he did. The dialogue was unrealistic and stilted.

He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

The issue wasn’t the plot – it was the characters. Mark knew why. He knew, but that didn’t make it any less embarrassing or utterly woeful. To make a good character, one must have at least interacted meaningfully, gotten to know, or been close with another human. To make complex, compelling characters, an author can’t keep splitting himself into shards and giving them different names.

A low thump came from his roommate’s room, startling Mark a little. He turned and gazed at their shared wall. At least Donghyuck had something to show for all his hard work – what did Mark have to show? A million discarded first chapters? Underdeveloped characters and shallow worldbuilding?

Mark sighed harshly, hunching over his laptop again. What would Character A do in this situation?

Character A, the bubbly, sociable guy who’s confident in his battle prowess, who’s been tasked to find an ancient artefact. Along with him, Character B helps by being knowledgeable in reading runes and casting spells, but studying the arcane had meant he spent all his time in the magic academy; thus, he lacks the charisma of Character A. Opposites in talent.

He felt like the dichotomy of the characters was a classic dynamic that would be easy to write. He imagined himself typing out all their snarky, humorous banter, but his fingertips remained still over the keyboard.

Mark typed and deleted the same line. He stared at the screen for another few minutes, then closed his laptop defeatedly and dragged himself to bed.

He was a useless, untalented writer who didn’t even know how to talk to another human beyond work obligations. And an awful roommate, he’s sure too. Donghyuck probably hated him.

As always, he felt his throat going scratchy, his eyes welling up with tears.

Useless. He doesn’t know why he still bothers with writing. It never turns out how he imagines.

He blinked rapidly, the tears slipping across his nose and down his cheek as he drew his knees to his chest. His chest spasmed as he suppressed the sobs wracking his body, not wanting to risk Donghyuck hearing him. He didn’t need his roommate thinking he was even more pathetic than he already did.

𖤓

It was unbearably hot the next morning. Donghyuck felt delirious as he mechanically shovelled down a bowl of cereal, tugged on his sneakers, and walked to the company building.

The far wall, taken up by one huge window, let in the glaring sunlight as he stretched on the floor. Xiaojun bounded over and immediately began yapping.

“Donghyuck! Guess what!”

The dancer looked up at the other’s sparkling eyes. “Yeah?”

“I landed a date with that guy I was telling you about the other day – god, he’s so hot,” he gushed, “and turns out he has a super hot best friend too! I’ll ask him to set you guys up.”

Donghyuck blinked at him as a blush crept up his neck, “What? No, please don’t.”

Xiaojun looked up from his phone, giddy smile slipping off his face. “Why? You always complain about not having a boyfriend, but you never let me set you up with anyone.”

“I just… I don’t know,” he mumbled, looking down, “I don’t want to go on a date with some random guy just because he’s attractive.”

“They’re all nice, I swear,” Xiaojun said, tilting his head to see the other’s face.

“Yeah, I’m sure they are,” Donghyuck said placatingly, “I’m just more of a – I don’t know, I like to get to know someone before going on a date, if that makes sense?”

Xiaojun hummed and looked away, probably pretending to consider the idea. “Well, I guess it doesn’t have to be a date then. I can just ask him if he wants to hang out with you?”

“But he would still go into it expecting a date, though. Like, he would still have the mindset that we’ll end up dating anyways, so it might as well be a date.”

“I won’t say anything then!” Xiaojun said exasperatedly. “But, dude, seriously. You gotta put yourself out there – you won’t meet the love of your life by sitting at home.”

“Hey, I go out with you all the time!”

“Hyuck, that’s different.”

Donghyuck spluttered, “How?”

“Going out for dinner or to a noraebang with the bros isn’t the same as going to a club and leaving with someone,” Xiaojun said, his tone slow and clear as if talking to a child. “It’s not even like you’re not hot, Hyuck – you would literally have no problem finding someone who would want to go home with you.”

Donghyuck scowled and rolled his eyes. “You’re not getting it, Xiaojunnie. I need the friends to lovers; I need the pining and yearning first. I can’t just go and fall in love with the first person I see at a bar,” he finishes bitterly.

“Eugh. Don’t put friends and lovers in the same sentence.” Xiaojun leaned away from him. Donghyuck scoffed, laughing a little at the expression on his face. A notification pinged from Xiaojun’s phone. He scrambled to read it, but his excited smile faded immediately. Some of the other dancers filed in.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Xiaojun sprawled out over the floor with a pained groan. “Remember how I said one of my roommates moved out so now it’s just two of us? Well, we were looking for another third,” he said as he straightened up and started properly stretching, “and we found one. Which was all well and good, but then move-in day came – which was the day before yesterday – and I literally wanted to walk into oncoming traffic, Hyuck.”

A startled laugh burst from the other. “Why? Did he smell bad or something?”

“Well, no, he didn’t really have a smell at all to be honest, but that’s not the point! He’s like a carbon copy of your weirdo roommate,” he emphasised with a grimace. “Like, the way you describe your roomie? This guy to a T. Lowkey creepy, looks like he crawled out of a sewer, and basically hasn’t left his room since moving in.” Xiaojun rolled his eyes and got up.

Donghyuck didn’t respond right away. He stood and shook his legs out, thinking over what his friend just said. Had he really given off that impression of Mark? He had never described his roommate as anything but curiously introverted.

“Mark’s not creepy, and he doesn’t look like he crawled out of a sewer.”

Xiaojun looked at him through the mirror and quirked a brow. “Really?”

Donghyuck shrugged, “He’s just an introvert.”

“Yeah, the final boss of introverts. You literally said the other day that you haven’t actually seen him in a whole month.”

“Seriously! He’s not as bad as whatever you’re imagining,” Donghyuck replied exasperatedly, moving into position as the choreographer stood at the front. “He’s actually a pretty clean guy.”

Xiaojun just hummed, clearly unconvinced.

It was true that Donghyuck tended to share his more unguarded thoughts about Mark to Xiaojun sometimes, who was sympathetic, being the extrovert that he was – but the dancer hadn’t realised that Xiaojun had viewed his observations as complaints. He felt the nagging need to defend him and clarify that he didn’t mind Mark’s intense introversion.

The music started up, which meant the conversation would have to be shelved for post-practice.

They were going through the moves for a punchy rap song. Donghyuck could feel sweat sliding down the centre of his back. It was an uncomfortable sensation – he hated feeling unclean, but it was easy enough to ignore it and focus on ingraining the motions into muscle memory.

Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was Xiaojun’s words, but he was distracted. Mark’s deep brown eyes kept creeping to the front of his mind. Donghyuck had initially tried to interact with him by asking him if he wanted to play Valorant or get groceries together, but he’d backed off when Mark made it clear he was more of a loner type, however, he felt that old urge to try again coming back. Maybe he just needed to go about it differently–

Donghyuck’s mind suddenly went blank, a breathless gasp punched from his chest as he crumpled to the ground. His ankle throbbed violently. He looked down at it almost disbelievingly.

“Hyuck, you good?” Xiaojun asked frantically as he kneeled next to him.

The choreographer stopped the rest of them. “Donghyuck? What happened?”

“I… I hurt my ankle, I think.” He didn’t think; he knew. The feeling was one he had experienced before, though not for a long time.

“Does it feel like a sprain or something worse?” The choreographer crouched in front of him.

Donghyuck swallowed, trying to breath through the pain. “It’s – yeah, yeah a sprain.”

She squinted at him. “Looks like you did it bad. Take a couple weeks off, Donghyuck, and don’t even think about practicing at home,” she warned knowingly.

The dancer nodded, getting to his feet but leaning all his weight on his other foot.

“Do you have a way home? That doesn’t include straining your ankle, that is,” she asked. Everyone else had started chatting to each other as they waited.

Xiaojun chimed in then, “I can drive you home.”

“Thank you so much, Xiaojunnie,” Donghyuck sighed in relief, flopping his arms over his friend’s shoulder. He was absolutely not keen to walk home with a busted ankle.

“Well, I doubt your roomie would come get you. He’s probably too busy jerking off or whatever he does in his room all day,” he said, laughing at the mental image. Thankfully the instructor had already walked over to address the main group again.

Donghyuck frowned, but otherwise didn’t say anything. Mark was a shut-in, sure, but he didn’t seem like the decrepit degenerate that Xiaojun assumed he was. The other dancer shouldered his bag for him as they walked to the carpark.

“What does he do all day?” Xiaojun suddenly asked as he turned his key in the ignition. “Like, I know you said he’s an editor, but what does he do when he clocks off?”

Donghyuck lifted his shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Works on his novel, I guess.”

Xiaojun, ever expressive, pulled a face at that. They drove on in silence for another minute. When he pulled into one of the spaces out the front of the midrise, he turned and smiled at Donghyuck.

“Let me know if you need anything, yeah? I’m just a call away if you need someone to come liven the place up – I’ll even bring the others with me and we can have a game night or something,” he said, placing a comforting hand on Donghyuck’s shoulder.

“Yeah, thanks man. Send me whatever new stuff you get to in the studio.”

“Will do! Go rest!”

Donghyuck shut the car door and limped to the elevator. The abrupt silence left his ears ringing.

When he finally made it to the door, he sagged in relief as he fumbled for his key. The little plaque displaying a ‘37’ was half hanging down, the paint on the number starting to rub off from neglect. Donghyuck shut the door behind himself and leaned against the wall to brace himself for the home stretch. That ever present lingering scent of bergamot – something he had come to associate with home – helped him relax, made the painful throbbing feel a little less intense.

A part of him wished his roommate was slightly more social, so maybe he would see Donghyuck in pain and rush to help him, maybe tell him that it’s fine and he’s not an embarrassing failure for injuring his ankle from daydreaming too much. The dancer sighed as the apartment remained silent and unmoving. He pushed off the wall and made his way to his room, gritting his teeth through every pulse of pain.

There wasn’t much else to do except gaming or lyric writing, so that what he resigned himself to. A small, guilty part of him was glad for the break, for the excuse to not have to move.

Too soon, night had consumed the sky, and Donghyuck’s stomach was rumbling. As he groaned and pulled himself out of bed, he supposed he should wrap his ankle while he’s up. He’s pretty sure they’ve got a compression wrap or at least some bandages somewhere in the bathroom. His ankle felt hot and a little swollen.

The hallway was dark, save for the light coming from the kitchen around the corner at the end of the short hallway. Donghyuck was two steps from the bathroom when he heard the sink tap start running. He froze, pulse quickening as he stayed to listen for any other noises.

Mark was in the kitchen. Not in his room.

It almost felt like Donghyuck was somewhere he shouldn’t be. He shook his head minutely, continuing his shuffle to the bathroom. The bright fluorescent light hurt, forcing him to squint as he rummaged around for the first aid kit.

The little white bag fell out onto the floor noisily, so he sat down on the bathmat and got to work. The tap stopped. Donghyuck wished he could see Mark’s comically startled expression.

He finished wrapping the bandage around his ankle and packed up the kit, shoving it somewhere in the cabinet under the sink and closing the door before it could fall out again. The regular bandage would have to do – it hadn’t swelled as much as he thought it would, so he stood and tested it slightly, feeling the bandage constrict. It was good enough.

The kitchen light was still on, but it was silent when Donghyuck poked his head into the hallway. he limped out of the bathroom and down the hallway to the kitchen, pausing briefly to take a deep breath before he stepped out.

It was more of a kitchenette, with just enough room next to it to squeeze in a loveseat and tv. The blinds had been drawn down over the widow in the living room half.

Mark stood stock still with his back facing Donghyuck. He looked like he had been in the middle of cooking something; a pot of water was boiling on the stove.

Donghyuck mustered up some courage and swallowed thickly. “Hey, Mark.”

His shoulders twitched as if he’d flinched at the sound of the dancer’s voice. A long moment passed before he responded.

“Hi, Donghyuck. You’re back early.”

It was the longest string of words he had ever heard from Mark. His voice was low and gentle, nice to listen to. It was a shame he didn’t talk more.

“Yeah,” the dancer breathed out as leaned fully into the wall, “I actually sprained my ankle, so I won’t be going anywhere for a couple weeks.”

Immediately, Mark turned his head, presumably to check out the damage, but it was hard to tell when half his face wasn’t really visible. The overhead light glinted off the wire frames of his glasses. Donghyuck absently wondered what his prescription was.

“That’s… unfortunate,” was all Mark replied with.

The exchange lulled into something awkward, then Donghyuck’s stomach reminded him why he’d even come into the kitchen in the first place.

He cautiously hobbled forward until he was leaning on the counter over the other side of the stove. “What’re you making?”

“Noodles. With egg.”

Donghyuck felt hyperaware of the measly half a metre between them – probably the closest they’d ever been – and couldn’t help but stare at the writer. His glasses had slipped to the end of his nose as he resumed chopping up some green onion. Donghyuck’s eyes widened slightly as his gaze dipped lower on the other’s face.

That was just plain unfair. Leave it to the guy who never leaves the house to be gifted with the sharpest jawline in the world.

As he kept shamelessly staring, he also noticed the gauntness of his cheeks, the dark patches under his eyes. The words to ask if he was okay bubbled up his throat, pushing at his lips, but he kept them to himself. He didn’t want to risk spooking him.

“Did you… want some?” Mark pushed his glasses up with a knuckle.

Donghyuck was snapped back into the moment. A slight blush had formed over the writer’s skin, stretching down past the collar of his shirt.

He smiled lazily at the other. “I’d love some, please and thank you.”

Mark nodded and dropped another egg into the little boiling pot. The noodles were floating around in there too.

As he got out two bowls he hesitated, then turned to face the dancer. “Your ankle – you should probably sit down. To rest it. I’ll bring this over when it’s done.” He sucked in a breath and turned back to the stove.

Donghyuck mumbled another ‘thank you’ before limping over to the ratty old loveseat. It had been dragged to every sharehouse and apartment that Donghyuck had ever lived in, an invaluable piece of furniture from a garage sale. He picked at the loose threads as he watched the other prepare a bowl with the egg that had already been in the pot. Mark was wearing his usual oversized shirt and baggy sweats, but he moved with a sort of gracefulness that had Donghyuck wondering if he’d taken dance classes as a teenager or something.

Mark set a bowl down on the tiny wood coffee table. “Here’s yours,” he mumbled, then hesitated, standing next to the couch as he picked at the skin around his nails.

“Thank you, Mark.”

Donghyuck picked up his chopsticks and the warm bowl. It was ceramic, with yellow fish painted on it – a gift from his mother when he’d first moved out. Mark’s lips twitched like he wanted to say more, but eventually he stepped backwards and turned around, retreating to the kitchen. The dancer munched on the boiled egg as he gazed out the window to his left.

The city lights made sure it never got truly dark. No stars twinkled at him.

It all felt a little surreal – he’d carelessly injured himself for the first time in years, and Mark wasn’t running away at the mere sight of him, even going so far as to cook for him. He felt out of place, not being in the studio at this hour. The larger part of him was silently comforted by the hot meal and comfy couch, by the knowledge that he didn’t need to be anywhere, that he was home.

Mark chewed the inside of his cheek as he stood in the kitchen, bowl of noodles in hand. Donghyuck stared ahead at the coffee table, watching him from the corner of his eye, insurmountably curious as to what he’d decide to do. Would he join him on their faded green couch?

Reality was not as exciting as Donghyuck’s imagination. Mark’s eyes flicked nervously between the hallway and the couch. The dancer consciously relaxed his posture, trying to appear inviting without the confrontation of asking him to eat together. Eventually, inevitably, the writer shuffled past the other, footsteps scuffing the floor, ending in his bedroom door closing with a quiet click.

Donghyuck sighed as he stared into the broth. Was Mark just that introverted, or was it something to do with Donghyuck himself? He felt the old, intoxicating, poisonous thoughts coming back.

Was he annoying? Too loud? Too whiny? Too overbearing? He knew he could be annoying – he’d learned it the hard way too many times. Someone could be as extroverted as they’d like, but it didn’t mean people wanted to be around them. Donghyuck would know.

He wished people would just tell him what was wrong with him, instead of slowly drifting away, leaving him to desperately reach out into the dark, hoping someone might catch his hand and hold on to it. It was surprising to him that his dance friends hadn’t exiled him already.

Or maybe he was just being dramatic. That was another one of his annoying tendencies.

Maybe he just needed to finish his noodles and go to bed.

☽

Mark was paralysed, staring up at the ceiling in his desk chair. His heart was still racing, even after Donghyuck had shuffled back to his room. He barely remembered eating, but the bowl on his desk was unquestionably empty.

His mind obsessively recalled every detail of the whole interaction. Donghyuck’s soft, sweet voice, the smattering of tiny moles on his face, how close they’d been, how the dancer had looked at him – something indecipherable to Mark. It was hitting him now that describing a book character’s expression was an entirely different thing to actually interpreting a real person’s expression.

If Mark were to have written it, what light would have shone in Donghyuck’s eyes? Or, if no sort of light, would he describe his gaze shifting away uncomfortably? Mark gritted his teeth.

What would a better human do in that situation? It always happened like this – he could see the pattern, that he was supposed to do or say something, but what that action or those words should be eluded him, leaving him feeling frustrated and just… inadequate. Incompetent. Like a child trying to make friends on the playground, only to realise everyone else has already formed groups, and he’s the only one left to sit in the mulch, left to wander the perimeter of the yard alone.

From day one, it had been obvious that Donghyuck was out of Mark’s league. He was so bright, smiled so wide, had an easiness about him.

It was a shame he was stuck with Mark – colourless and boring.

The ping of a new email coming through broke him out of his thoughts, forcing his heartrate to spike again. It was from one of his supervisors.

‘Hey Mark!

I don’t know how you do it, but you’ve pretty much finished everything on your schedule this week by wednesday again… would you like me to talk to Taeyong about giving you more to do? All good if you’re busy enough – the stuff you deliver is always fantastic and I don’t think he’d want you doing more if it meant your quality suffered.

Also, please read through the attached doc for the farewell party for…’

Mark stopped reading. He leaned back and let out a relieved sigh, lifting a palm to rest over his heart. The screen eventually went dark from inactivity.

He should be working on his novel right now. He was wasting time – novelists far more successful than him had already published their debut novel younger than he was now, so he didn’t have any time to waste by staring at the wall.

Absent-mindedly, as if drawn by a magnet, his stare drifted to the bottom drawer of his desk. It existed innocently, but to him it radiated a sinister, mesmeric aura. He could visualise exactly how its content sat in there. Would it have rusted by now? Why hadn’t he thrown it out?

A sudden muffled shout made him jump, eyes wide as he looked around for the source, belatedly realising it had come from Donghyuck’s room. A laugh soon followed, which petered out into unintelligible rambling. Mark was hit with a wave of intense yearning – to know what had caused the dancer to laugh like that, to know who he was talking to.

Realistically, Mark could just walk into his room and sit on his bed and watch whatever game he was obviously playing. It was a scene he’d watched in movies countless times before.

But he couldn’t. His legs wouldn’t move, no matter how much the voice in his head screamed at them to. Even if he did do that, if he did go into Donghyuck’s room, what was he expecting?

Donghyuck wouldn’t want him there, spoiling the mood with his awkwardness and nervousness.

Mark dug his fingernails into his thighs. No, why would the dancer want him there when, by the sounds of things, he’s already got friends? Friends who make him laugh, who aren’t boring, who have something to add to the conversation instead of silence.

He was wasting time again.

Tears inexplicably welled up in his eyes – maybe out of frustration, maybe out of soul-crushing hopelessness. Mark couldn’t really muster up the energy to analyse the cause. He couldn’t really muster up the energy to do much at all, besides sniffling and wiping his eyes with his sleeve like a child.

Mark stood from his desk chair and stared at his bed, wondering if he even deserved to sleep on it after wasting the day away to thought spirals and nail biting. Donghyuck’s annoyed whining travelled to his side of the wall. He looked at that wall, dim grey in the low light cast from the lamp on his desk, and tried to imagine what it would be like to have friends.

Every time he imagined it, usually while staring at the wall separating his and Donghyuck’s bedrooms, he pondered the same lists of pros and cons, but came no closer to a definitive conclusion. Friendship required effort to maintain the connection. Having connection was nice – having someone to show things you’re excited about is nice, and so is having a shoulder to cry on. Or, at least Mark assumes it would be. He’s only ever really had a pillow to cry on, or the floor if he feels extra miserable. Now that he thinks about it, he feels like having another person there while he’s having a breakdown would just be embarrassing and humiliating, especially as an adult.

The amount of effort required to keep a friendship seemed daunting to him; he couldn’t imagine dedicating so much time to multiple other people. It sounded exhausting. He could barely keep up with himself, so he didn’t understand how other people kept up with whole friendship groups.

Mark seriously didn’t get how Donghyuck could come home and immediately spend his evening socialising over a video game all the time.

Despite this, he felt a wistful, sometimes bitter longing to have that, to have at least one person who didn’t make him feel drained, or like he’d put on some character who wasn’t really him.

Donghyuck didn’t count. The dancer lived in a whole other world from Mark, where everyone knew what to say and how to act. In Mark’s world, it was like everyone had read the manual on how to be normal except for him, leaving him constantly feeling like he’s missed something that everyone else had already picked up on.

Staying inside was safe. Being alone was safe, mostly – his eyes gravitated to that bottom drawer again.

As long as he had his bedroom, he was safe.

𖤓

Warm air crept in through Donghyuck’s slightly opened window, the parted curtains letting in a large chunk of hot sunlight. He cracked his eyes open and breathed deeply, relishing in his mandated home time. His eyelids felt puffy from staying up all night, but at least his ankle wasn’t actively aching.

He moved his other foot to hang over the side of the bed, stirring up particles that floated around in the light. It had been a while since he’d been able to wake up lazily like this. He savoured it for another few moments before he sat up and rubbed his eyes, taking a deep breath before standing. As soon as he put an ounce of weight on his ankle, lightning shot up his calf, forcing a quiet, pained gasp from his lips. Donghyuck frowned down at his ankle.

Did they have crutches? The wrap wasn’t really doing much for him.

He wondered if Mark would be awake yet – as soon as the thought entered his mind, it was immediately followed by an epiphany: he didn’t really know anything about Mark’s schedule.

Well, that simply wouldn’t do.

Truthfully, Donghyuck felt a pang of guilt over not putting in extra effort to get to know more about Mark’s life before. He felt a little like a bad roommate. Donghyuck chewed on his lower lip as he gazed at the wall separating their rooms. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to know Mark, but rather the motivation to actively get closer to him wasn’t all that overwhelming – until now, he realised.

A whole person with interests, fears, aspirations, and secrets was right there, and suddenly Donghyuck found himself buzzing to go bother him.

Obviously, Mark was a shy person, so he recognised that he would have to approach slowly lest he scare the writer away. Donghyuck limped out of his room and stood in front of the door next to his own. No noise came from the other side. He quietly tapped a knuckle against the door, not wanting to be too loud in case the other hadn’t woken up yet.

One moment passed, then some shuffling, then the door cracked open, revealing one wide brown eye.

Mark blinked owlishly a few times before speaking. “Did you need something?”

“Good morning, Mark. Do you know if we have crutches?” he asked, a soft smile on his face. He probably looked a mess, having just rolled out of bed. Mark glanced away as he thought.

“I don’t think so,” he replied, shaking his head a little, “Did you need them to get somewhere?”

Donghyuck hummed as he picked at the paint on the doorframe. “Just to make it easier to move on my own around the house. It’s alright though, I don’t, like, super need them.” Before Mark could think of something to say, Donghyuck kept going, “What’re you doing today?”

Mark opened his door just enough for the rest of his face to be visible, nervous eyes barely able to make eye contact for more than a few seconds at a time. During their short exchange, he had tucked some of his hair behind his ear, allowing the dancer to see the redness around his eyes and the way his hands shook slightly.

“I was just…” he started, then stopped to briefly chew his lower lip. The skin there was dry. “I don’t know,” Mark eventually managed to say with something almost like a wince. Donghyuck waited patiently for any more from him, but he was met with a prolonged silence.

He desperately wanted to ask if he was doing okay. The guy looked like he’d been crying or something, but asking about it was probably too much for where they were at right now. Luckily, comforting people was one of Donghyuck’s many talents.

“Mark.” The writer looked up from the floor. Donghyuck wracked his brain for a game that would be good for them to play together – something to bond over, to get used to being around each other. “Do you wanna play some mario kart? I got the adapter a while ago so we can play it on the playstation.”

Mark’s eyes widened, his throat moving with a swallow. “I’m not very good at racing games,” he said slowly, “I won’t be fun to play with.” His voice was low and a little raspy; maybe he had been crying.

Donghyuck just scowled playfully and rolled his eyes, grabbing Mark’s arm to drag him out of his room. The writer stumbled as he was pulled forward, but he pointedly didn’t touch the other. He just allowed himself to be used as a crutch as they moved into the common area, where Donghyuck dramatically collapsed on the couch, yanking Mark down next to him.

“Okay – oh I forgot to turn it on. Mark, can you?”

He nodded and moved to press the button on the side of the mildly beat up playstation 4. Once he was sat back next to the dancer, Donghyuck noticed how tense he was. As the console booted up, his hands fidgeted, his posture was rigid, and he was chewing on his lip again. Another thing floated back to the front of Donghyuck’s mind as he leaned back on the cushions – when he’d grasped the other’s arm, it had almost felt like he was wearing bracelets, but when he subtly glanced at Mark’s arm, all he saw was pale bare skin up to the elbow where the sleeve of his oversized shirt stopped.

The main menu blinked onto the tv, drawing his attention away. He navigated through the bright layout to the right game.

“Are you a jewellery person, Mark?” Donghyuck asked.

He seemed briefly surprised that he was being spoken to, his wide eyes darting to the dancer before looking away. “I don’t own many, but I like wearing rings sometimes. Um,” he licked his lips, “what about you?”

Mario kart glowed on the screen, a jaunty tune filling the air. “I like rings too, and sometimes I’ll wear a bracelet – I like the chain ones.” He flicked through the selection of characters. Mark picked up the other controller and did the same.

The air conditioning hummed quietly in the background, desperately trying to stave off the muggy heat of august. Sunlight filtered through the half-open blinds over the window to their left.

“What map do you want to do?” Donghyuck asked as he glanced at Mark. He went through them slowly, allowing the other to speak up when he saw one he liked. They went through most of them before Bowser’s Castle flashed onto the screen.

“That one,” Mark piped up quietly.

Donghyuck selected the map and flexed his fingers on the controller, watching the countdown.

It was painfully obvious that Mark had barely played the game. He didn’t even know how to drift around corners. Donghyuck just laughed through his nose and reached over to show him, letting himself fall into fourth place. Mark seemed to relax a little after though, nodding cutely with a focused expression, which was more satisfying to him than winning the race.

They finished and moved through a few more maps, trying out each one that Mark found interesting.

This time, they were on Rainbow Road. Just as Mark was about to finish his final lap, he slipped off the edge into the void. Donghyuck burst into laughter, clutching Mark’s forearm as he bumped shoulders with him.

“How did that even happen? You were so close!” he exclaimed, directing his bright smile at the other, his hand still lightly resting on Mark’s inner wrist.

Mark seemed to tense up again. “I don’t – I don’t know, I just, uh.” His eyes flickered down at where Donghyuck was touching him. The dancer’s fingers were absently skating over the skin there. “I told you I’m bad at these sorts of games,” he finished lamely, looking back up at the screen where he had respawned. Toad was stationary on the track, waiting for input.

“Ah, it’s okay hyung – you are a year older, right? No one can be good at something during their first try,” Donghyuck reassured, then continued to ramble. “You should’ve seen me when I first started playing. I was so unbelievably trash I veered off the track about six million times before even getting to the third lap, so… seriously Mark, you’re doing fine.” He curled one of his fingers, letting his blunt nail skim over the texture of Mark’s skin. He felt like he was actually getting somewhere with his recluse roommate. Where their skin touched was warm.

Mark looked down at his controller. The relaxed version of him had retreated abruptly. His shoulders were tense again, and he looked like he was barely breathing, eyes glued to where Donghyuck’s hand lingered.

The dancer followed his gaze. Suddenly, the odd, slightly rough feeling made sense – Donghyuck retracted his hand as if he’d touched something hot.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise–” he stuttered, not quite knowing what to say.

“It’s okay,” Mark cut in, voice so much quieter than before. He let out a barely controlled breath. “I’m sorry, I should’ve worn something with longer sleeves.”

Donghyuck blinked incredulously at him. “What? No, no. You shouldn’t have to cover up in your own home, Mark.” His hands hovered uncertainly, not wanting to be invasive while also wanting to reach out to him, to comfort him somehow. “That was my bad.”

“I’m sorry,” came Mark’s clipped reply. He shakily laid the controller on the coffee table. “I have work I need to do. Sorry,” he whispered, then made a speedy exit, closing his bedroom door quietly behind himself.

Donghyuck slumped against the couch like a deflated balloon. He scrunched up his face as he mashed his palms into his eyelids – how had he screwed that up so badly? Of course, just as Mark had almost started to enjoy the game, Donghyuck had to go and accidently feel up his goddamn scars. He covered his face with his hands, a muffled groan escaping him. His arms flopped back to the couch as he looked over at the window.

An old, sore memory threatened to resurface. His vision went blurry as it took over his mind against his will.

His sister’s face, so young and round, flashed before his mind’s eye, forever preserved in that expression of tear-stricken sorrow mixed with relief. Her calm, serene smile when she had asked him to help her up on the side of the bridge so she could walk along the edge – the smile that then turned fragile as tears ran down her face, then… gone. Gone over the edge forever, her school uniform soaked with river water and dragging her under and he still didn’t know if he could forgive himself for not seeing the signs sooner and helping her and doing something–

Donghyuck pinched himself and sucked in a shuddering breath. The room around him came back into focus. For a few minutes, his mind was blank as he stared unblinkingly at the wall. The silence felt like it was pressing into him.

Something shifted in him then, as his eyes wandered over the room, as if he were taking it all in for the first time again. He took another deep breath.

He almost couldn’t even form the sentence in his mind, too scared to let the weight of it sink into him. Somehow, in his slump on the couch, he fought a battle in his head, manually placing each word after the other.

Mark will not suffer the same fate, and he will make sure of it.

A darker thought floated up from the depths – if he failed again, he might be tempted to follow his roommate to the grave.

☽

Mark felt like he was suffocating. His chest spasmed with the silent sobs plaguing his body – he couldn’t get a whole breath in. The sun had long since been blocked out with the opaque black curtain hanging over his window. Mark swallowed thickly as he forced in a deep, shuddering breath, trying to be as quiet as possible. His eyes ached, still leaking tears into his pillow.

What the hell was wrong with him? He didn’t even have the strength to grit his teeth. The bones in his body felt weak. For the first time in… he doesn’t even know how long, someone made real contact with him – skin to skin – and he couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t tell if it was just touch alone, or if it was because the touch had landed somewhere that served to be a physical reminder of his own anguish, permanent and never to be erased.

The way Donghyuck’s smile had dropped, his warm face turning cold in an instant, kept replaying over and over in his head. He knew. He knew and there was no taking it back – whatever image Donghyuck had of Mark in his head, it was tainted now with the knowledge that he wasn’t normal.

But this was expected, wasn’t it? Mark stared at the wall separating their rooms. Every person he had ever spoken to had eventually figured out that there was something wrong with him, recognised that he wasn’t worth the effort, and left. Sometimes without a word, or through increasingly irregular messages saying that they aren’t available this weekend, only to see a post later of everyone he had messaged all at a restaurant together.

What was the point of trying to have friends when they would all eventually see the dark, rotting, oil-spill core of his soul and body?

Dehydration prevented his body from producing any more tears.

Mark’s dejected stare flicked to his laptop sitting on his desk, unopened since yesterday. When was the last time he washed his hair?

A new wave of mortification rolled over him – he had seriously gone out into the sunlight, in front of his roommate for more than five seconds, looking like a sewer rat. How had Donghyuck even been comfortable touching him and not repulsed by the mere sight of him? if he hadn’t been disgusted with him before, he had to be now. Mark curled in on himself and hugged his knees tighter to his chest.

Donghyuck’s door opened. Mark distantly heard him shuffling into the kitchen, messing around with something and making noise. The exhaustion of a breakdown had fried his brain, rendering his mind mercifully blank, the first break in thought for hours. He stared at the ceiling, listening with sudden rapt interest for any tap or scrape from beyond his bedroom door.

An amount of time passed – Mark wouldn’t be able to say how long. It could have been five minutes or two hours. Noise moved to just outside his room, snapping him out of his dead state. The sound of ceramic clinking on the floor confused him.

Oh. Maybe Mark had forgotten to do the dishes, and now his poor roommate was resorting to new ways of telling him to pull his weight.

He waited until he heard Donghyuck’s door close again to drag himself out of bed. His body crumpled to the floor, the pain forcing him to feel a little more alive. With a mountain of effort, he stood and walked. The handle was cold. He cracked open the door and looked at the floor.

An omelette, cut up into smaller pieces, with chicken and kimchi sat on a small plate with a pair of chopsticks. Just right outside his door. Mark stared at it for a few minutes, not quite knowing how to feel or what to think. His eyes felt a little less sore. He bent down and picked up the plate, feeling the heat of it on his fingers. Alone, he sat in bed, the plate nestled on his lap as he continued to stare at it with an almost alien fascination. Briefly, he wondered if he even deserved food right now.

It tasted hot and grey.

𖤓

A couple days had passed since the incident, but Donghyuck couldn’t think of a way to approach Mark in a gentle enough way yet. His roommate hadn’t left his room – Donghyuck hadn’t heard or seen him leave, at least. Maybe he waited until the dancer was asleep or something. That thought made his chest twinge painfully.

Just then, the doorbell chimed. Donghyuck looked around before hobbling over to answer it. He opened the door to a delivery man holding a long box and a clipboard, smiling as he nodded and bid him a good day. The dancer mumbled something similar back to him as he dragged the box into the apartment. He frowned at the copious amount of tape before grabbing a pair of scissors, sliding the blade along the edges. The top slid off to reveal some bubble wrap.

Beneath the bubble wrap was a pair of crutches. Donghyuck blinked down at them for a few moments, before the scissors clattered to the floor, startling him out of his own surprise. He fumbled for the sticker on the front. Ah, there it was – the culprit’s name printed in bold black letters. Lee Mark.

Donghyuck curled his fingers around the top crutch, pulling it into his lap. He stared down at it, a small smile coming to his face unbidden.

Something so simple, and yet…

An hour later, he gnawed on a chicken wrap as he scrolled through the dance group chat. Xiaojun had messaged him privately about whatever gossip he was missing out on, which helped make him feel slightly less left out. Johnny had spammed pictures from a hike he went on.

Donghyuck sighed. He wasn’t as bored as he thought he was going to be, but what replaced that boredom… he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d prefer being bored.

What filled his mind instead of wishing that his ankle would heal already were thoughts of Mark.

Thoughts about what he might be doing in this exact moment, what he might be thinking about, or just brainstorming ways to initiate something with him. He wanted to reach the specific mood and moment where they could just sit down and talk for hours while the sun set. Donghyuck knew it couldn’t happen just by asking to sit and talk – it had to happen naturally. In the meantime, though, he would keep leaving food outside the writer’s door. If he couldn’t visually check that Mark was okay, he could at least feel better knowing he was eating enough.

For the next week, he had checked the spot in front of Mark’s door, expecting to find dishes – he was consistently met with empty space – then navigated to the kitchen to cook two serves and leave one where he did the day before, breakfast lunch and dinner. As always, each morning the kitchen was returned to a spotless state. Not even a cup on the drying rack. It confirmed his suspicion that Mark was avoiding him and only coming out at night, but there was one missing detail: how the hell did he do that without making even a whisper of noise?

Donghyuck’s headphones weren’t soundproof – heck, he usually pushed one ear off so he could hear if something happened outside his room, but he never heard the other go about his midnight business. It was mildly disconcerting. Mark was like some sort of impossibly soundless ghost-batman.

But judging by how consistent and private Mark was with it, it was obviously something he needed.

He only had a week left, and his ankle was hurting less each day, especially with the help of the crutches. It should have excited him, but he couldn’t ignore the growing dread in his gut. The thought of going back to how it was before worried him. Mark wouldn’t have anyone around to make sure he ate, make sure he was still alive. It wasn’t like the dancer was gone every hour of the day, but his days tended to start early and sometimes ran until the sun had gone down. He did sometimes get days where he would only be in the dance studio for a few hours, leaving him the rest of the day to work on other stuff that he usually just stayed at the company building for.

It was like he had just adopted a kitten with the way he was brainstorming how to minimise the amount of time that he was away. The soft image was much less unsettling than the reality.

The feeling of Mark’s smooth, criss-crossing scars haunted many of his waking moments. The way the other had tensed up and apologised, simply for existing in comfortable clothing made Donghyuck feel viscerally ill. He wanted to hold his head against his chest, tell him it was fine and that he didn’t need to keep apologising for every little thing.

 A fine Saturday afternoon found him lounging on the loveseat while scrolling twitter, when he heard Mark’s door open, the tentative scuff of footsteps following. Donghyuck froze. His eyes darted to the hallway. A messy head of black hair peeked around the corner, then Mark walked past him into the kitchen with a water bottle clutched in his hand.

He was wearing a fitted long sleeve shirt under an oversized t-shirt.

Donghyuck swallowed and looked away, the guilt eating at him with renewed energy. He panicked, wondering if he should make a move or leave Mark alone for a bit longer. The latter would have probably been the right thing to do, but the restlessness in the dancer’s body wouldn’t allow him to stay still. He stood and cautiously made his way over to the kitchen. Now or never.

“Mark?” he ventured softly, keeping a couple metres between them. The other noticeably flinched. The hot air was stifling.

“Did you need something, Donghyuck?”

It was the first time he had ever heard Mark say his name. His voice was one that Donghyuck thought he could listen to all day.

The dancer sucked in a breath before letting the words tumble out. “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have touched you without asking first, that’s my bad. I don’t,” he swallowed, “I’m not – just tell me if you want me to leave you alone, but just know I’m always here, yeah?”

Mark sighed quietly as he refilled the metal bottle. “You don’t need to apologise. I was the one who freaked out over nothing.”

“What?” Donghyuck took an instinctive step forward, arms itching to pull Mark into a hug. “No, that’s not… Mark,” he made a small, frustrated noise at not being able to verbalise just how insane his roommate was being. “That’s not how that works. You should never apologise for existing and reacting in a completely understandable way – I should’ve been more attentive,” he stressed, placing his fingertips over his own chest.

Those years of therapy were really paying off right now for Donghyuck. Mark could try all he wanted to avoid things, but he couldn’t escape the dancer’s healthy communication and compassion. He’d vowed to make sure every cent he spent on his sessions with Dr. Myung would be worth it.

He continued in a gentle tone. “I don’t want to overwhelm you, and I don’t know your limit right now, so please don’t feel bad about leaving this space again if I’m too much.” Donghyuck took a deep breath, encouraged by the fact that Mark was still standing in front of him. “I don’t know what’s happened for you to get to this point, but it’s okay to lean on someone. It’s okay to share the burden a little. The last thing I want is to make it harder for you to live peacefully.”

A few beats of silence passed. The fridge hummed next to them.

“You don’t actually mean that,” Mark rasped bitterly before escaping back to his room.

Donghyuck let out a breath as he leaned against the counter, staring down the hallway.

His mind wandered back to that night where they had been the same space, where Mark had given him the egg that he’d already cooked for himself, where he had hesitated even just for those few moments before leaving again. Part of him had wanted to stay. Despite Donghyuck’s hovering and staring, part of him had wanted to stay.

He felt like Mark was slipping through his fingers now. A strong, building panic gripped him. like an adult tooth hanging onto the last thread of gum, loose and frantic.

☽

Yesterday had been completely wasted on crying again. The yoke of frustration and hollowness and misery choked him, kept him bound to his floor until the early hours of the morning.

Only the streetlights were awake at this hour, where it wasn’t quite light enough to hear cars yet, but the sky was more grey than black.

Mark’s skin felt tight where his tears had dried. Pushing himself up into a seated position, he felt the ache in his legs and hip from laying on the hard floor for too long. His mind allowed him a few minutes of blissful blankness before the guilt hit him. The feeling was always too much for his body, and always hit like clockwork the same time every day – his fingers curled into his palms, digging into the skin as he gritted his teeth. His body protested, but he stood, and staggered to open his door to the dark, quiet apartment.

The first item on the list was always the bathroom – Donghyuck had all his skincare meticulously lined up on the second shelf of the cabinet, so Mark knew he took hygiene and cleanliness seriously. He switched the light on and got to work. Every scrub, wipe, and spray lessened the guilt winding around his ribs. If he was useless in every other aspect, he felt security in being useful like this. He could scrape together a justification for taking up space through this.

Next was the kitchen. Months of moving around in the night had taught him patience; there was no point if he was still being a burden by rushing it and being loud. Each plate, knife, or chopstick must be handled slowly and carefully. The hot water and silence were cathartic and familiar.

Each day brought lower temperatures as September began, but Mark barely felt the changes anymore. He was always cold. During this pre-dawn routine though, he never wore a shirt, regardless of what season it was. The air on his skin was something he needed – the feeling of fabric only drew attention to things he just wanted at least a couple hours of reprieve from.

The final area was the adjacent living room, although there was no wall separating it from the kitchen. Mark moved about the space, not armed to attack the dust and stains, but rather he cradled his cloth and sprays and tended to the coffee table, carefully pruned the loose threads sticking out the side of the couch.

A few weeks ago, when Donghyuck hadn’t been home, he had walked by the dancer’s room. Donghyuck had left his door wide open. Mark had stopped just shy of the doorway to stare, his curious gaze surveying and savouring every detail available. Something that had stuck out to him was the collection of perfumes lined up on a shelf next to his desk. Mark hadn’t stepped one foot further, knowing to stay put and find out which ones they were by the look of them alone, the print having been too small to read from that distance. Most of them had a main scent of either floral or citrus.

Mark had filed that away in the part of his brain dedicated to his roommate. Later, he had made sure to find floral or citrusy smelling cleaning stuff. If Donghyuck noticed the change in scent around their apartment, he hadn’t said anything. Mark wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

After a slow two hours, the apartment was clean, and Mark’s conscience was as light as it was going to get. His footsteps whispered over the floor back to his room. No matter what he did, it would never be enough, so he disregarded his bed and laid on the floor. If tears slipped from his eyes, he didn’t feel them.

Perhaps the next morning might go differently.

Mark slowly blinked his sore eyes open to stare at the shard of sunlight that had managed to get around the curtain. For a while, his gaze traced the woodgrain pattern of the floor. Not much went through his head, which felt thick and throbbed where it had laid too long. It all felt the same as when he had woken up the day before, and the day before that, and the hundreds of days that came before then.

Donghyuck must be mad at him, or, at the very least, annoyed with him.

But really, what was his deal? What was Donghyuck trying to do yesterday – make fun of him? Pity him? He didn’t want his talented, social, pretty roommate’s pity. It just came off condescending. Luckily, he would be healed enough to go back to his job soon, and Mark wouldn’t have to feel a wave of guilt and shame every time he was faced with yet another meal being deposited outside his room.

Mark pushed himself up from the floor and sat at his desk. The screen of his laptop opened to the page where he had left off on a gossip column about some celebrity couple. The next page was a double spread of updates on the climate crisis, and the next talked about the effects of high cholesterol.

Behind that window sat another word document, where characters A and B were travelling through a haunted forest. They had just narrowly escaped a pack of rabid river spirits, and now found themselves wandering through purple trees and blue grass, white ferns and black flowers.

The experience had made them closer. Character A had taken the brunt of the attack, and Character B had nursed him back to health with quick and careful hands. A moment had passed between them – their faces had become too close without them realising, and they jerked apart, a small blush on both their faces.

Mark highlighted the whole scene and deleted it.

It was corny, cheesy, and utterly far too soon for where they were at in the story. Any editor who might look at his story to see if it was worth it would immediately throw it in the trash.

A light knock drew him out of his stewing. His eyes darted to the door, worried that Donghyuck might just open it despite the lack of an answer, and see Mark hunched pathetically over the keyboard. He kept his fearful eyes trained on the handle. Donghyuck would get tired of waiting and walk away eventually. Mark didn’t even need to be patient – his body was paralysed, heart thudding in his chest with each nervous exhale.

Minutes passed.

Donghyuck tapped a knuckle against the door again, his muffled voice gently calling out this time. “Mark? Are you awake? I just want to ask you something, please.”

Mark swallowed, and it felt like sandpaper because of how dry his throat was. He took a deep breath and crept over to the door. The handle gave under his palm, and suddenly he was looking into Donghyuck’s round, deep brown eyes. He was so, so painfully pretty. It struck him then that he had forgotten to put his glasses on. His near-sightedness allowed him to still see the dancer’s face in perfect clarity, the distance between them being something of a mere ten centimetres. Mark felt hyper aware of every breath he took.

“Yeah?”

Donghyuck’s eyes flitted around his face before he answered. “I’m gonna go check out a new café – get some takeaway, not stay there. I wanted you to come with me, but don’t feel pressured to say yes.”

“You… wanted me to go? With you?” Mark asked slowly, tone sceptical.

Donghyuck nodded and smiled gently. “It’s only a few blocks away.”

Mark looked away, chewing on his lip as he considered it. Truthfully, he was confused – why was the dancer acting like he wasn’t mad at him? Was this a joke where after he accepts, Donghyuck will laugh and walk away with an ‘as if!’ thrown over his shoulder? He supposed he couldn’t feel any more miserable and humiliated than he already did, so what was the harm in playing into an obvious trap.

“Okay,” Mark finally said quietly, “I’ll go.”

His confusion increased tenfold when Donghyuck just smiled wide at him and told him to put some shoes on.

It was surreal – Mark felt weird as he tied the laces of his beat-up converse, felt weird as he walked through the front door that Donghyuck held open for him. The air was weird on his face. It was like he was doing something wrong, like any second now he’d be punished for daring to leave the house.

Nothing happened as they stepped out onto the street. It was a little brisk, but not too cold. The sky was clear and sunny, a bird chirped from somewhere above, and cars passed them by on the road. A soft breeze rustled the trees lining the street, sending a handful green leaves spinning down to the pavement.

“One of my dance friends told me about it, and I immediately thought about bringing you there,” Donghyuck said, not looking at Mark. “I remember reading on your profile that you liked sweet stuff.” He says it calmly, entirely unaware of the effect it has on the man next to him. “Well – that, and a new pastry or two appears in the fridge after you do an online order.”

Mark felt dizzy – Donghyuck noticed things enough to remember things like that? Noticed enough to make inferences about Mark’s preferences? He was dreaming, or somewhere along the way he’d hit his head and was imagining all of this. His breath quickened slightly as he tugged on the hem of the fitted long sleeve shirt he was wearing. Why would Donghyuck waste brain space on frivolous details like what foods Mark liked? He shook his head slowly in slight disbelief.

They rounded a corner and walked another few steps before Donghyuck stopped and turned to Mark, a bright smile still plastered on his face. He gestured for Mark to enter first. The tap of his crutch was louder on the café floor.

The interior was minimalistic, made up of light brown and white with wood accents. Twice bumped quietly through hidden speakers. Donghyuck walked up to the counter and greeted the young girl there.

Mark lingered beside his roommate, content to let him do the talking while he looked at what was available. There were puffs filled with cream and minced strawberries, macarons with mango and more cream, cinnamon swirls, apple turnovers, chocolate bread, and a selection of eclairs. Some were cat shaped.

“Mark? Have you decided what you want?” Donghyuck asked, a small smile still on his face somehow, as if dragging his weird, awful roommate to an unsuspecting café didn’t bother him at all.

Mark blinked owlishly at him for a moment, then tucked a bit of hair behind his ear. “Chocolate bread. Please and thank you.”

Donghyuck looked like he wanted to say something, his lips parting slightly, fingers twitching as if he wanted to fix a detail on Mark’s shirt. He ended up wordlessly nodding, then turning to repeat Mark’s order to the girl.

It was just… odd. Mark still felt like he was back in the apartment, not even having processed that he was in public yet. Despite the thoughts in his head running around and crashing into each other, he felt the corners of his lips curl up. Just a little bit.

𖤓

God, Donghyuck’s cheeks were starting to ache from smiling so much. A huge success! He had fully expected to be ignored or pushed away again, but here they were, walking back to their shared house together with sweets in hand.

The image of Mark’s wide adorable eyes as he asked for the bread – it wouldn’t leave Donghyuck’s brain. Ever. The writer truly had no idea how cute he was, and he wasn’t even trying to be cute. His ankle was throbbing a little from moving around so much, but to see the shy smile on Mark’s face was worth it.

Once they were home, Donghyuck wondered again if Mark would stay to enjoy the spoils of the trip together or leave. if he stayed, he knew it would turn into the exact moment he’d been wanting.

“Sorry,” he started as he placed the brown paper bag on the counter, “I didn’t make us breakfast this morning – but surely yummy treats are way better than anything I’d cook, right?”

Mark stood awkwardly, picking at his nails as he looked at a spot somewhere to the right of his roommate. His gaze then suddenly snapped to the other’s eyes. “What? No, you make the best food I’ve ever eaten, Donghyuck,” he said. “Not that this is bad – I’m grateful that you asked me to come with you, so don’t feel like this was a bad idea because it was good, but just… I like your cooking. I also like sweet stuff. Thank you. Sorry.” Mark’s voice tapered off as he looked down at his feet.

“Thanks. I’m glad you like my cooking.” Donghyuck set the bread in front of his roommate. “Can I ask something?”

Mark unwrapped his bread, took a bite, and nodded.

“You said you’re a writer. What’s your story about?”

“A knight and a mage. Do you read much?” Mark asked in return.

Donghyuck munched on a cream puff and shrugged, “Sometimes. I like the romance genre for books and dramas. Do you play video games?”

And somehow, they slipped into an easy, if tentative, back and forth of questions. Mark didn’t really play video games. Donghyuck played piano. Mark played guitar. Donghyuck wrote lyrics and owned a lot of black shirts. Mark prefers cats over dogs and sweaters over leather jackets.

“We could duet sometime. Like, I could sing and you could play guitar,” Donghyuck suggested.

Mark ran his finger over the edge of the counter, a back and forth motion as he thought about it. “I haven’t played in a while, so I’d be pretty bad.”

“You’ll only keep getting rustier if you never pick it back up again, you know,” the dancer replied. “Plus, it’s not about being good. It’s about having fun and enjoying music.”

Mark’s hand stilled. “How do I know if I’m having fun?”

“You’ll know when you stop prioritising being good at something.”

It was the most they had talked since moving in together, and Donghyuck was ecstatic with the progress he was making. They liked a lot of the same stuff.

The only challenging part for Donghyuck was trying not to stare too much at the other, as well as ignoring the three million notifications coming from the dance group chat. Clearly something had happened, but it could wait – would wait – until the dancer had exhausted this rare opportunity of a talkative and calm Mark. It eventually faded to the back of his mind as they kept talking.

Up close like this, he noticed that Mark was just ever so slightly taller than him. And he had two moles, one on either cheek.

“And… I don’t know, I was thinking of taking the story in the direction of a grittier type of fantasy, you know? Like, the magic could corrupt the mage character, which leads into a bonding arc where the knight must save his companion, but the corruption changes the mage in an irreversible way,” Mark rambled, fingers tapping on the empty bread wrapper.

Donghyuck nodded. “Prime angst potential. I like it.”

“Yeah,” Mark smiled.

“How far along do you think you are?”

Mark bit his lip and tilted his head. “Maybe a quarter of the way through? It’s hard to tell.”

Donghyuck nodded again. He was about to say something when Mark started talking again.

“Well, while we’re – since we’re on the topic of the story, I should probably, um, go work on it. Thanks again for this. I think this is the most I’ve talked in years. Sorry.” He scrunched the wrapper up in his hand and awkwardly stepped away, turning rigidly to return to his room.

“See you later, Mark,” Donghyuck called out to the other’s back, “I liked talking to you!”

Donghyuck hummed a song as he stretched on the floor of the dance studio. It was his first day back after the short hiatus, and he was eager to get back into it, but his mind kept wandering back to the kitchen, or the couch, or the café. Each time, Mark was the centre of the scene.

Xiaojun and Renjun were beside him, talking to each other in mandarin about something that made Xiaojun keep rolling his eyes and scowling.

It was odd. He and Mark had only really started to get to know each other in the last two weeks, but Donghyuck felt like the connection between them wasn’t so fragile anymore, perhaps even moving towards something easy. They’d talked for another few hours together the day after going to the café. The day after that, they hadn’t talked at all, but yesterday they’d played Overcooked together for a while and chatted about music some more. They both liked a variety of genres. Somehow, sharing playlists with each other had felt unexpectedly intimate.

But, he thought, that was just Mark. His roommate had the strange power of making everything seem intimate.

“Hey,” Donghyuck started, not addressing anyone in particular, “is it weird to like, plot a friendship? Like plan how you’re gonna be someone’s friend? Writing down shit they like and thinking about them all the time. Like is that manipulative?”

His friends stopped talking and turned to stare at him.

Renjun spoke first. “What do you mean? And who’s this about?”

“Did you finally take the stick out of your ass and go to the club?” Xiaojun cut in, making Donghyuck splutter out a garbled retort. “Yeah, yeah. Like I always say: hot people go to clubs! Hot people will not spawn in your house!”

“Shut up about the club!” Donghyuck could feel his face heating up. this was not how he wanted this conversation to go.

“Yeah, shut up Xiaojun, let him speak,” Renjun said, tapping the back of his hand on the other’s arm.

Xiaojun rolled his eyes and gestured for Donghyuck to speak.

“Ok,” he sighed, “so there’s a… male… who I have recently started being sort of friends with, but he’s super shy and reserved, so I was thinking of ways to make the hou – the, uh, office more comfortable. For friendship. Atmospherically. And I don’t know, I was just wondering if that was normal. Please say something. Suggestions on what to do, preferably.”

The truth – that he felt the weight of Mark’s life in ways he wasn’t sure he could even verbalise – crept up his throat, stinging like bile. Donghyuck pushed it down and kept himself in the moment.

His friends exchanged a meaningful glance.

Xiaojun looked like he was going to say something, but he suddenly went still, eyes widening. “Oh my god, wait,” he leaned in closer to Donghyuck, squinting at him, “is this about your roommate? No fucking way.”

“What? No!”

“It so is! Oh my god! The creepy loser bridge-troll nerd has captured Hyuckie’s heart!”

Renjun slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle his giggles. A couple of the other dancers glanced at them.

Donghyuck was glowing bright red by this point. A sick, awful feeling bloomed in his chest. “Shut the fuck up Xiaojun you don’t know anything!” he whisper-shouted, then leaned back and frowned. “Also, that was really mean. For the last time, Mark isn’t creepy. And he also isn’t a – a bridge troll. You don’t even know what he looks like. He actually smells better than you, Xiaojun, so I wouldn’t be talking so loud if I were you.”

“As if,” Xiaojun scoffed.

“I’m serious!”

“How would you even know what he smells like?”

“Guys!” Renjun butted in, “You’re missing the most important part of this – Donghyuck is actually chasing someone! Like, he’s not just moping and moaning about how lonely he is and no one understands him. He’s interested in someone,” he emphasised, “does anyone in this room even remember the last time Hyuck was actually interested in someone?”

Xiaojun tapped a finger on his chin. “True. Wow, Hyuckie, you’ve finally found someone who meets your ridiculous standards – though, how Mark meets the criteria, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to understand…”

“Both of you can go choke,” Donghyuck said, turning back to the mirror and resuming his stretches.

“Donghyuckie, you know we just want you to be happy,” Renjun said, laying a comforting hand on the other’s shoulder, “And if that means you’re going to dedicate yourself to cracking this hermit’s shell, then I say go for it. A slow go though, I imagine.”

“Thanks Injunnie, at least I have someone who has my back.”

“Hey!” Xiaojun said indignantly.

They could have kept going for hours, but the choreographer eventually burst into the room looking frazzled.

The conversation rattled around Donghyuck’s head as he walked home.

How funny it was, that they could talk about his roommate so easily like that. They had no idea. Blissfully unaware in their privilege to never know the aimless, earth-shattering grief that clung to both himself and his roommate; a wide, consuming chasm that would probably never close no matter how many rocks he threw into it, no matter how much he might attempt to sew the edges back together.

He couldn’t help but think – did he like Mark in that way? He felt like it was far too soon to even be joking about that. They were still working towards official friendship, never mind a romantic relationship. Donghyuck didn’t even know if Mark swung that way. A tiny, neglected part of his brain silently hoped he did. The larger, more sensible part of his brain screamed that they both needed to work on themselves before they were ready to even consider romance.

It was unrealistic to completely shut down the idea, though.

Donghyuck’s musings were cut short after he opened the door to their apartment, the smell of something cooking bringing him back to reality. The dancer curiously shut the door behind himself and crept into the kitchen.

Mark had his back to Donghyuck as he stirred a pot. The smell instantly registered in his mind – kimchi jjigae. He walked up behind his roommate.

“Two servings, surely,” he said in a hopeful tone.

Mark smiled and nodded.

“Yes!” Donghyuck spun and punched the air in celebration, making the other glance at him with confusion.

“Is it, uh, really that exciting to you?”

“You fucking bet it is. Gosh, I haven’t had this in so long,” the dancer sighed wistfully, “Thank you Melt.”

Mark looked up then. “It’s… Mark.”

“I know.” Donghyuck grabbed a couple of bowls and set them beside the stove, then wandered over to the couch and switched on the tv. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Mark remained still, his expression unreadable. Had Mark never been given a nickname before? Donghyuck almost felt honoured to be the first to give him one. He hoped the other wouldn’t take it the wrong way, but he needed to be nonchalant about it, to show that it was okay to relax.

As the new episode of an office romance drama played on the screen, Mark brought both bowls over, surprising the other. Donghyuck moved to create more space for him. They sat together, eating in silence as the actors pulled apart, embraced, ignored each other, kissed. It wasn’t very good, but Donghyuck loved shows like this precisely because they were bad. It kept him from getting too emotionally invested – he had made the mistake of seriously caring about a couple on a show before, only to discover the series had been discontinued.

Mark’s face remained impassively blank.

Donghyuck felt like his skin was buzzing. They were right next to each other, so close that he could faintly smell the other’s scent, a mix of cold deodorant and something uniquely Mark – sweat, probably. It was mildly addictive, Donghyuck found. He wanted to bury his face in it. He wondered if Mark had picked up on his scent too, if he liked the perfumes that the dancer wore. How utterly animal, to pay such close attention to scent, to have it affect him so much.

He looked over at the other. “Thank you for cooking,” he murmured.

Mark looked down at his hands where they curled around his bowl, brows slightly furrowed. “Sorry for not cooking more. You shouldn’t have had to cook while you were injured.”

“Stop it, I would’ve hated having nothing to do. I would’ve gone crazy in here if I didn’t have some sort of routine every day, okay?” DOnghyuck assured, tentatively leaning into Mark’s shoulder, “So don’t feel guilty or whatever it is that’s going on up there.” Then, quieter, “And don’t think I don’t notice all the stuff you already do around here.”

“I’m not sure what you’ve been noticing. I don’t do much at all.” Mark placed his empty bowl on the coffee table with a muted clink.

Donghyuck gazed wordlessly for a few seconds. “I walked past a candle shop the other day and had to stop for a bit because of the smell of bergamot – the same scent of the room spray you got four months ago – reminded me of here. Home.” He traced Mark’s side profile with his eyes.

They sat without further words for a while, just letting the rest of the episode play out. The glow of the tv casted a blue light over their faces. Through the open window, a light breeze fluttered the curtain, letting in the sound of cars passing below. Cicadas droned on quietly between the occasional chatter and laughter that floated up from the sidewalk. Sometimes the sound of people made it hard to get to sleep – they lived a few blocks away from a red-light district, so it was expected, but still annoying. Donghyuck usually kept his window slightly open anyways, just to let in the fresh air. He wondered if Mark did the same.

Donghyuck was pulled out of his wonderings by a sudden pattering of rain. He looked over at the window and watched it gradually come down heavier. A usual thought struck him, and this time he could share it.

“You know how you associate random things with certain people? Like, I have a friend who, when I see the colour yellow, I’m reminded of him.” He received a hum in reply. “Rain at night reminds me of you.”

Silence. Donghyuck didn’t look at Mark, but he was both scared of and hopelessly curious as to what his reaction was, if he had one at all.

“Bears… remind me of you.”

Donghyuck whipped his face back to the other. “Bears?” he tilted his head, the corner of his lips ticking up.

“Well,” Mark swallowed, looking down at his hands, “they’re, um, round? And soft looking?” As soon as the words left his mouth, a pink blush stained his cheeks as he tried to backtrack. “Not that you’re soft – I wouldn’t know, I haven’t touched your hair or anything. Not that I think about that. That’d be weird since we aren’t very… close?” He was looking anywhere but Donghyuck as the blush crept over his face and down his neck with every flustered word. “If we were friends – I don’t really know if that’s a friend thing. I don’t really have friends. Sorry, that’s probably weird to say. Sorry.”

Donghyuck stared wide-eyed at him until he awkwardly fell quiet again. A matching blush, barely there, dusted the dancer’s face. Soft… looking? Throughout his word vomit, Mark had ended up hunched over and hiding behind his hair, much like how he had presented himself back when they’d first moved in together, over half a year ago now.

A bewildered, maybe even a little endeared, laugh escaped Donghyuck. “I think – I think we’re friends. We are friends now, whether you like it or not. You can’t escape me, Mark.”

His roommate laughed nervously. He wasn’t making eye contact just yet, but his shoulders weren’t up to his ears anymore.

“Well, uh, what do… friends do, exactly?”

“Friends stick by each other,” Donghyuck stated, nodding once and smiling. Friends did things together, but he didn’t want Mark to feel like he can’t have alone time, and friends usually had skin ship with each other, but he knew Mark wasn’t a touchy person – at least, the version of him sitting next to Donghyuck right now wasn’t. It made the dancer wonder if he was different as a child.

Mark straightened abruptly and stared at a spot on the wall. He murmured a long stream of something unintelligible.

“Malk. Are you getting possessed right now?”

He bit his lip and finally looked at Donghyuck. “Sorry, no, I just. I got an idea for my story just now. Or, well – not an idea in the way of a singular plot event, more of a revelation I guess.”

“Go write it down before you forget! Quick!” Donghyuck ushered him back to his room.

Mark laughed lightly, “I won’t forget it.”

“You might!”

The light wasn’t even on, but Mark made his way to his desk without bumping into anything. He opened his laptop and pulled up a fresh, blank document, his fingers moving deftly over the keys to record whatever epiphany he’d just had.

Donghyuck had stopped at the door. The thought of going into Mark’s room felt wrong without being verbally invited. He desperately wanted to read the idea over his shoulder, but he stayed put, knowing that this space was different to anywhere else in the world for Mark. He spent so much time here, escaped here when the outside world was too much, so it was obviously a safe place for him.

Walking into Mark’s room without asking or being asked to would show that he doesn’t care. In this case, he guessed Mark would ask him when he was ready, and Donghyuck just needed to be patient.

Mark’s fingers stilled, then twitched to save the document.

Donghyuck needed to be patient. Which felt like it should include not looking around, so he kept his eyes glued to his own socked feet.

“Do you want your door shut?” he asked, fingertips tapping quietly on the doorknob.

He could feel Mark’s gaze on him, and for some reason it felt different.

☽

Mark stared at his roommate, his mind racing yet blank at the same time. Donghyuck’s question didn’t carry any mocking or dry tone. Just… genuine. At least, that’s what it felt like – he could be being sarcastic or poking fun at him, but it didn’t sound like it.

Normally, he would have been intensely uncomfortable with having his door open when Donghyuck was home, but the dancer wasn’t even looking around. He didn’t snoop or touch anything or even step into the room. His past roommates had always just waltzed in at random times, taken things or put things wherever, and it made him feel like he could never relax, always on guard. Always embarrassed, left with a weird sense of being vaguely violated.

“Yes, please,” he finally replied, voice just above a whisper.

Donghyuck nodded, not even questioning why he had taken so long to respond, and closed the door. Mark listened to his retreating footsteps. An unfamiliar, novel feeling burgeoned in his chest as he stayed in the same position, staring at the door. Was it warm? The feeling was winding its vines around him, sinking its thorns into his flesh, yet he felt embraced instead of trapped. He was cold only in the physical sense, only because summer had slipped away.

He laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, until the black sky turned grey again.

When the usual time where he felt the previous day’s crushing shame and guilt arrived, he found himself staring unblinkingly at the red digital display on his nightstand. Embarrassing moments from the past twenty-four hours hammered his mind, but something else drowned it out enough for him to feel an unfamiliar clear mindedness. He had a friend.

Maybe Donghyuck was only saying it out of pity, or as the setup for an elaborate joke, but Mark clung to those words, clutched them to his chest in the hopes that they might fuse with his body and sink into his heart. Maybe he was pathetic and naïve for it, but somehow he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

He had a friend.

his body still moved on autopilot, quietly and efficiently drifting from room to room, cloths and sprays and disinfectant in hand. This time, he lingered in the living area, breathing in the light bergamot scent a little longer before going back to bed.

When he woke up later, he felt different. He was staring at the same ceiling, in the same apartment, at the same time, but it was like he had actually woken up for the first time, as if he had previously been living in some hazy dream or simulation.

Looking around his room felt different – something about each discarded piece of clothing, each stain in the curtain, every cd stacked along his desk. It felt like his. It was all his stuff, and no one else’s. Everything had remained exactly where he had put it since moving in, unless he was the one putting it somewhere else.

Yes, that feeling was warm. He hadn’t realised just how tense and alert he’d been until now.

For the first time, Mark returned to bed with his laptop and stayed in bed as he worked on the story. What had been missing between the two main characters – what had been blocking their potential chemistry – was perceivable, believable trust. Their relationship had felt stiff and fake without the in between moments, without those small moments.

For the first time in a long time, his brain was working how it was supposed to, and it was his hands that couldn’t keep up for once.

The characters were starting to feel more fleshed out and real. When he imagined Character A, he could see his brown hair, regal and gold in the sunlight. Since the inception of the story, Character B had always had black hair in his imagination. Maybe glasses, too, since he was studious and all.

Mark rubbed his eyes as he looked up from his laptop. The sun was halfway through rising. Hot, orange rays spilled into his room, heating the space. It quickly became uncomfortably warm – Mark peeled off both shirts and threw them to the end of his bed, kicking off the covers in the process.

Only around a handful of hours ago, he had unusually gone about his nightly ritual with a shirt on. He wasn’t even sure why he didn’t stick to his routine. He’d forgotten, maybe.

By now, Donghyuck would have already left. Mark wondered if he still left food outside his door. His feet scuffed against the floor, the hinge squeaking as he opened to an empty hallway. The rest of the apartment was devoid of his roommate – predictably, but it felt like he was exploring the space for the first time again. A stilted laugh bubbled through his lips as he stood in the kitchen. What the hell had gotten into him?

He didn’t feel happy. He didn’t feel sad. He didn’t feel one thing or another, but it wasn’t in the blank and numb way that left him staring at the wall for hours. Was this how normal people felt?

Mark was about to pull out a pan before an orange sticky note caught his eye, stuck to the microwave that sat on the counter. A small smile curled over his face as he peeled it off the glass and held it up to read.

hi mark

had 2 leave early but

fear not i made u food

    – hyuck :)

He folded the note and gingerly slipped it into his pocket, then pulled out the plate from the microwave – a simple pile of rice with shredded chicken and egg, still warm. Mark gazed down at the meal. How strange, that something so simple could affect him like this. He would have probably made the same for himself, detached from any other person like how he usually went about everything. His imagination, frustratingly vivid and insistent, provided the vision of Donghyuck rubbing his tired eyes, maybe yawning as he pulled apart the chicken. Smiling to himself probably as he scooped the rice onto the plate, his hair all messy from sleep.

It tasted how it should; warm and spiced with chilli paste.

When Mark remembered to shower, he usually did at night. Today, however, he showered in the light of day. The water felt good. As he scrubbed his body with the pomegranate scented soap, it felt like he was washing away some of the greyness. The sick part of him still loomed over the rest of his mind – Donghyuck was just taking pity on him, he had other friends that he would eventually leave Mark for, so he shouldn’t get used to this treatment that he didn’t deserve in the first place. He had other friends that he probably talked to about how gross and cringe Mark is, and how embarrassed he was to be seen in public with him.

The sickness was irrational. Mark, however, is not prone to being an irrational person, which gave rise to the specific sensation of feeling like two people lived in one body. These miserable thoughts warred constantly with his own logical flowchart – Donghyuck might be talking shit about him, that wasn’t a far-fetched idea, but if it wasn’t directly affecting Mark, why should he care? Donghyuck might hate him and secretly think he’s pathetic, but he still cooked for him, still invited him out to the café, so why should he care? The part of him that was well enough argued that he shouldn’t think so negatively about his only friend. With small hands, it held up the memory of Donghyuck leaning into his shoulder and smiling at him, reminding him of the things the sickness wants him to forget or ignore.

It always ended in a sort of stalemate. Both sides raised points that couldn’t be ignored.

The bathroom floor tiles were cold on his warmed skin when he emerged. Thick steam hung in the air, forcing him to brush his teeth quickly so he didn’t start to sweat.

He slipped on a pair of basketball shorts before grabbing his laptop and sat at his desk. Another part of his brain, usually mashed down into the deep recesses, piped up.

Donghyuck had noticed the change in scent. He had said it reminded him of their house – home, he had called it. The words conjured a twisted, selfish, and impossibly domestic image in his mind. Donghyuck would come home to Mark cooking for them, but that was where the scenario departed from reality. Instead, Donghyuck would hug him from behind, his melodic voice asking about his day, and in turn Mark would ask about the newest choreography, tell him about a pottery class he saw and how it could be fun for them to do together. The scene would continue, but Mark would rather rip out his own organs than allow himself to even think any further.

Truly, he was selfish enough just for that. Any more would be an insult to Donghyuck. Unfortunately, half a year of similar fantasies made it hard to keep his mind from wandering.

That ever-reliable wall of shame crashed into him, forcing the fantasy out of his mind. What the hell was he thinking? The dancer was so astronomically far out of his league, that just the mere prospect of Donghyuck reciprocating his feelings was pure, laughable delusion.

Mark leaned back in his chair. Truthfully, it was only in the past month or so that he had realised that he felt a yearning for his roommate that went past the platonic – Donghyuck was just so likeable. His smile was so bright, he was so talented – Mark had watched every performance, his eyes stuck on the boy off to the side dressed in all black, not at all focusing on the sparkling idols – respectful, and so social. Mark couldn’t remember the last time he had woken up to a notification on his phone that wasn’t a work email. He wondered why Donghyuck hadn’t moved in with one of his actual friends by now.

Were they real friends? Was any of this real? Mark pinched himself, but the sensation barely registered in his brain. He felt like if he peered close enough, everything around him would reveal itself to be made of pixels or cardboard. He felt like he was being watched, but in the way a zoologist might observe an animal in an enclosure. Nothing felt safe.

Tears slipped down his face, frustrating him. He furiously wiped at his eyes. The bottom drawer of his desk glowed with an invisible pull. It had been so long, but suddenly all that time seemed like nothing, and he couldn’t remember why he had ever stopped in the first place. Mark glared down at it through blurry vision. The glare held both hatred and desperate need.

As soon as he pulled the drawer open, it was as if all the evil air trapped inside escaped into his room, taking up every inch until it blocked out the sunlight.

All that lay inside was a singular razor blade. It was only twice the size of one that would usually be in a pencil sharpener, with a dusty red creeping over it – whether it was rust or something else, Mark couldn’t tell. As he held it in his palm, he realised his hands were shaking. His heart was thudding hard in his chest.

The edge hovered over his skin, stopped by the only mental barrier left, a primal fear of pain instilled in every human. Blood rushed in his ears. The pain was something he needed – he deserved it to make up for the space he filled in the world, as well as serving as a release for the overwhelming tempest of thoughts and emotions that never seemed to stop. The metal was cold against his warm skin, and he could imagine the blood coursing underneath.

His skin dipped under the sharp point. Distantly, it reminded him of poking a water balloon with a thumbtack; only, instead of water bursting from the seam, it was hot, sticky blood.

𖤓

Donghyuck’s day had started just fine, but as it got to midday, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was off. The air conditioning was humming at a different frequency. The floor felt weird under his shoes. Xiaojun hadn’t brought up Donghyuck’s apparent crush on Mark at all.

It got to a point where the feeling evolved into something unignorable. His blood buzzed under his skin, leaving him restless but without aim.

Renjun cornered him during a rest break. “Hey, are you feeling okay? Did you drink eight coffees before you got here or something, because you look like you’re about to scream at any second.”

“I just – something doesn’t feel right. I don’t know,” he mumbled, eyes darting around the room.

His friend arched a brow, “Someone call the nurse, the patient escaped again.”

Donghyuck rolled his eyes. “Shut up, dude. I’m being serious, but I don’t know what it is.”

Renjun slid down the wall next to him. They remained wordlessly observing the others before he spoke up again. “Do you feel it in your gut? Does it feel like danger?” he asked quietly.

“Sorta.”

“Go home, then.”

Donghyuck whipped his head to look at the other. “Go home?”

Renjun just shrugged, “I don’t know, that’s what I would do if I got a feeling like that.” His eyes wandered over the ceiling. “I’d think of the cats first, so I’d want to check on them just in case. Mother’s intuition, you know,” he murmured, then looked back at Donghyuck, “You shouldn’t ignore your gut.”

Donghyuck searched his face for something, a sign to tell him what this weird feeling was for. The choreographer yelled that break was over. All at once, the feeling got even worse, and Renjun just shrugged again as he stood to walk over to Johnny. His heart inexplicably sped up as he deliberated over what to do – was he seriously going to skip half the day over a random feeling?

He asked the choreographer for a quick word, then shoved his hoodie in his bag and walked as fast as he could through the brightly lit hallways. The air was temperate as his sneakers hit the concrete. Everything was a blur as he began to jog, his body working itself almost to a panic over what had started out as a simple, off feeling.

As soon as he made it to the apartment door, he skidded to a stop, huffing as he caught his breath. Nothing had changed about it; the dinky numbers were still barely hanging on. It was silent when he finally entered. He lowered his bag to the ground and crept down the hallway, noticing that Mark’s bedroom door was slightly ajar. No light spilled from it.

Donghyuck touched his fingertips to the wood, nudging it open enough to peek his head in. “Mark?”

The figure, kneeling on the floor in the dark, jolted at the mention of his name. His shirtless body seemed to be shivering as he hunched over, forehead almost touching his knees, arms tucked out of sight. His heavy breathing was audible, sending an arrow of panic through the dancer.

“Mark!” He rushed over to him, reasoning that his trespassing could be forgiven if Mark needed someone in this moment. Donghyuck fell to his knees beside him. His eyes widened once he realised what was going on.

From the little light afforded to him, he saw dark, slick blood all over the other’s forearms, mixed with the copious tears dripping from Mark’s face. A pinprick of light glinted between his violently shaking fingers. Donghyuck gently coaxed the razor from his hand, the feeling of his roommate’s blood on his own fingers making him feel nauseous. He placed it behind himself.

Donghyuck scrambled up to yank a handful of tissues from the box sitting off to the side on Mark’s desk, hesitating only for a split second before curling his arms around him, pressing the tissues into where he assumed the wounds were.

A pained whimper from Mark made him squeeze his eyes shut. “I’m here, I’m here now,” he whispered repeatedly. Mark’s strangled sobs shook his body, the force of it being held in instead of being let out.

The adrenaline rush died down as they stayed in that position, leaving Donghyuck’s ears ringing from the intensity of it.

If it weren’t for the horrifying situation, the dancer would have blushed at how they were sitting against each other. Donghyuck had one leg folded next to Mark’s, and one along his lower back, sort of back hugging him at an angle. It was the closest they had ever been to each other, and the fact that Mark was shirtless was something he was desperately trying not to think about. A wholly disrespectful and inappropriate observation. He shoved the thought out of mind and held him tighter, laying his head on Mark’s shoulder.

His heated skin was like a furnace. Donghyuck closed his eyes, zeroing in on the feeling of Mark’s irregular, gasping breaths. In this position, his chest was pressed against the side of his ribcage, so the dancer took deep breaths in the hopes that it would help Mark calm down – and to calm himself down.

After what felt like years, Mark’s breathing began to settle, falling into a slower rhythm with fewer hiccups. Donghyuck released his death grip on one of his forearms, cautiously moving it to rest over his back, rubbing what he hoped were soothing motions up and down his spine. Sweat formed where they were pressed together.

Mark’s body still held so much tension. One moment he seemed to be almost leaning into Donghyuck, then he would go rigid and shift away, only to repeat it again. He obviously wanted to be held, but restricted himself from it, and that made Donghyuck’s chest ache. The ache gripped him so harshly he half expected to find bruises on his chest from it.

“I’m sorry,” Mark whispered, but it sounded deafening as it broke the silence, “I don’t – why aren’t you at work?”

Donghyuck kept his head on the other’s shoulder, mushing his cheek into the flat bone there. “My gut told me you were doing something stupid.”

“That’s impossible.”

“I’m here, aren’t I? Like I said Mel, you can’t escape me now.” The dancer lessened his grip on his forearm, stroking the skin beside the tissues with his thumb.

More silent tears fell onto Mark’s thighs.

Donghyuck was counting it as a tentative success – he hadn’t been shoved off or yelled at, or made the panic worse. He could barely distinguish where his body ended and where Mark’s began, the writer’s heat having been transferred to the dancer until they were the same temperature, a sign that they’d been sitting on floor like this for too long. Donghyuck’s legs were starting to go numb.

Physical touch wasn’t something Donghyuck lacked. He hugged his friends, play fought with them, leaned on them – but something about having his arms around Mark felt so different. Maybe it’s because Mark isn’t a touchy person, that, in Donghyuck’s mind, he’s inadvertently made himself into some sort of untouchable artefact behind a glass case, that only the worthy may get close to. Something too valuable.

“I just don’t… get how you could do this,” Mark murmured, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t understand why you’re still here, why you came in the first place.”

Donghyuck’s hand slid up to his nape, pushing his fingertips into his dark hair. “I already told you. We’re friends.”

“Do you do this with all your other friends?” His voice was raspy from crying.

Donghyuck could’ve answered that he’d never had to do this with another friend – that is, hold tissues to their wrists. But he knows that’s not what Mark’s asking about.

“No.”

“Why, then?”

He should be honest. Especially to Mark, he should be clear and honest. It’d do neither of them any good to hide from things, to avoid saying certain words. But the words stayed lodged in his throat. Words about how grateful he is for everything, how scared he is, words about his sister, and maybe words about how much he never wants to peel himself away from the other.

“Just – because. Because I want to.” And it’s the wrong words.

Mark stiffens under him. “What… what if you, um. Stop? Stop wanting, I mean,” he mumbles, hands curling into trembling fists.

Donghyuck knows that avoiding this will only hurt Mark, and by god, he knows that boy does not need any more hurting. It’s just so unfortunate that he happened to end up living with Donghyuck of all people. He deserves someone better, someone who can actually help him.

“Hyuck?” Mark calls in small voice.

Maybe it’s his voice, maybe it’s the nickname.

“I had a sister,” he starts, and then can’t seem to stop. “She was the youngest. I didn’t see it at the time – I was only a teenager – but she was… unwell. She couldn’t leave her bed most days, she didn’t get excited about anything, didn’t pass a lot of her subjects. I don’t know how I didn’t see it.” He realised he was gripping Mark’s arm tightly again, and forced himself to let go as the words kept tumbling out. “One day, I was walking her back from school, and we were going over a bridge. It was old. She asked me to help her up on the edge so she could walk along it. It’d been raining, so the river underneath was full. I just–” he broke off, throat closing up. Donghyuck forced a few deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. “She started crying, and saying something. I don’t remember what she said. But then she walked backwards over the edge.”

It was silent save for Donghyuck’s sniffles.

Mark held the other’s hand in his own. He parted his lips to speak but hesitated before speaking, his care in the word choice clear. “It’s not your fault.”

The feeling that Mark wasn’t just talking about his sister brought some peace to him.

Donghyuck swallowed thickly as he played with Mark’s fingers. “I know that now. It’s hard to stop yourself from falling back into old thoughts though, you know?” And Mark of all people knew that very well. He didn’t need to be a mind reader to know that about him.

Mark hummed as he finally leaned his head on the dancer’s, the tension in his body having mostly dissipated

“Apart from my therapist, you’re the only person I’ve told.”

Their fingers slowly entwined; their breathing synced with each other. It was the most in tune Donghyuck had ever felt with another human. He wanted to somehow get even closer – maybe take off his own shirt so they could meld together, share the same temperature, same breath.

Mark’s stomach made a noise, breaking the heaviness of the moment. A few seconds ticked by before they both started to giggle.

“Food.”

“Yes,” Mark huffed, then smiled as he looked into Donghyuck’s eyes. He didn’t let the dancer’s hand go even as they migrated to the kitchen.

☽

It felt weird to be out in the open during the day without a shirt on, but Mark genuinely couldn’t care less. The feeling of Donghyuck’s body against his will forever be burned into his brain. It was too much for words – he couldn’t even put the sentences together in his mind, the feeling expanding into every corner of his chest.

The sickness, he knew, would rear its ugly head later, but right now he could envision it in a cage, assert some semblance of control over it.

They cooked whatever they could scrounge up from the fridge and cupboards. A bit of rice, the dregs of some kimchi, green beans, and the last of the chicken. Donghyuck frowned adorably at the empty carton of eggs. When they sat down to eat, it was on the floor in front of the loveseat, the coffee table having been pushed out of the way. Afternoon sunlight fell over them as they ate.

The sun brought out the lighter shades of Donghyuck’s hair, and if Mark looked closer, it illuminated the rich cinnamon of his eyes. His naturally tanned skin seemed to glow, like heated bronze.

It was no wonder that he reminded Mark of a bear – he was painted into the world with infinite shades of sepia. The roundness of his lips, made dewy from the grease in the food, was both agonising and irresistible to look at. The curve of his jaw conjured a longing to reach out and hold within him. A jagged thought wedged itself between the others – if he were to touch Donghyuck, he would only dim his light, smear grey over his colour.

Maybe the way Mark perceived him was a little pathetic, but it was an impossible thing to change the image of Donghyuck in his mind, not when he was just so… good. In all senses of the word. He didn’t deserve the dancer.

Mark breathed deeply as he directed his attention back to his plate. The light scent of bergamot filled his brain, fuelling the inevitable and inextricable link between it and his roommate, an unintentional Pavlov.

“Do you think you could handle being touched again, Mark?” Donghyuck asked as he stacked their empty plates together.

The novelty of actually being asked for permission, of having his boundaries be considered, still hadn’t worn off. He’s not sure it ever will.

“I think so.”

Mark followed the other into the bathroom. Donghyuck switched on the light and began digging around in the under-sink cabinet. The tiles were cold under Mark’s legs as he waited, leaning against the adjacent wall. His roommate settled next to him and unzipped the first aid kit, pulling out a bottle of betadine, gauze, tape, and a pair of tiny, thin metal scissors. As he set the small bag aside, he chewed his lip for a moment before jumping up to grab a dark grey facecloth, wetting it and coming back.

He waited for Mark to lift his inner arms up for him.

Donghyuck’s brow didn’t furrow, he didn’t grimace, didn’t hesitate or wince. His expression remained calm and unchanged as he handled the writer carefully, gently wiping away the dried blood.

Now that Mark had gotten a taste of his personal space being occupied by someone other than himself, he feared he couldn’t get enough of it. He savoured the feeling of Donghyuck’s hands ghosting over his skin. The iodine stung, but it served to keep him grounded, reminded him that he was still breathing, heart beating, eyes blinking.

The efficient way that Donghyuck went about it suggested that he had done it a thousand times – patched up his younger siblings’ scraped knees and elbows perhaps. But every so often his hands stuttered or slowed, lingering for a moment before moving again. He snipped the gauze and taped the end down.

All too quickly, it was over, and Mark was left with the burning afterimage of Donghyuck’s touch.

They broke apart – the dancer packed away the kit and Mark stood awkwardly by the door.

“Thank you,” he said quietly as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, “You didn’t have to.”

Donghyuck scowled lightly as he leaned against the doorjamb. “What was I gonna do? Leave you on the floor like that? This is what I meant when I said you can’t get rid of me, by the way. We’re actually soul-tied now.”

Mark huffed a soft, disbelieving laugh.

“I’m serious!” Donghyuck insisted, expression so very serious, before it melted into a little smile. “Whatever, non-believer. Don’t you have a magazine to edit or something?”

“Don’t you have dancing to do?”

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

Mark snorted and shook his head slightly. The moment seemed to be over, and he guessed this was the part where they separated as usual. He had never been good at gauging the right timing for stuff like this – entering or leaving a conversation. Part of him wanted to keep talking, but none of the right words came to mind quick enough.

He turned on his heel and shuffled back to his room, closing the door behind himself.

Only when he slumped down on the edge of his bed did he think of more things to say. How was Donghyuck’s morning? Was Xiaojun still having roommate troubles? Was there anything he wanted in particular before he ordered their groceries?

The dancer was right though – he did have work to do, so he dragged himself to his desk and booted up his laptop. His fingers unconsciously worried over the peeling edge of a sticker next to the keyboard.

Mark barely blinked as he worked. Another double page on climate, urging the reader to consider using paper straws and to walk to work once a week instead of drive. It mentioned nothing of coal emissions or who manufactured the plastic straws in the first place. The next page was on the hundredth celebrity dating scandal of the week, between a male actor and an upcoming female idol. It mentioned nothing of who took the secret photos of them. The pages eventually blurred into a stream of nonsense and colour.

For the first time in years, he blacked out instantly when his head hit the pillow.