Work Text:
I
Jinyoung looks at the tub full of globes. A snowy explosion doused in syrupy sweetness, sitting right in front of him. He carefully picks one up, the ball almost bigger than his tiny fist that has him scrabbling to dig his fingers in the wet squishiness for purchase. He watches, in slow motion, as he brings it closer and closer to his mouth. It seems like an eternity passes before finally, finally he takes a bite…
A giggle. "Look at him moving his mouth in his sleep."
Followed by a fond voice. "He does that all the time. Always smacking his lips, dreaming about one sweet or another."
Cooing noises — the kind which adults try really hard to be inconspicuous about but end up being, well, conspicuous — finally broke Jinyoung out of the haze of his dream. He blinked in confusion until his gaze landed on his mother who is sitting by the platform extending into their backyard, talking to the next-door neighbour aunty.
"Oh, you're awake!" his mother exclaimed, finally noticing him. "Come say hi to Mishti aunty."
Jinyoung looked up just as Mishti lifted the tupperware box from behind her. Half-smudged dreams all forgotten, he let out a squeal and bounded towards her. Right as he reached her though, she playfully hid the box behind her again and raised her eyebrows. Quickly catching on, Jinyoung giggled as he climbed in her lap and placed a kiss on her cheek.
Mishti laughed. "Now that's more like it," she said, finally handing him the box. Immediately grubby hands went to pry open the lid and grabbed the spongy confection he had just been dreaming about, and the last vestiges of that dream vanished completely as flavour exploded on his tongue, syrup dribbling from the sides of his mouth.
His mother clucked her tongue at him and wiped his mouth with a wet wipe, the little boy paying no attention to her as he continued to chew, and chew, and chew. No matter how many times Jinyoung ate it, he never tired of neither the sensation nor the taste. It was a spiritual experience every time. The flurry of syrup, the freezing chill of his teeth.
"You have spoiled him, Mishti," his mother said.
"Nobody has ever eaten anything I've ever made with such delight, how can I resist this sweet, sweet Rasgulla ?" Mishti kissed Jinyoung's sticky cheek. He giggled again as more syrup dribbled down his chin, much to his mother's chagrin.
Jinyoung has known the Anands since forever, really. His very first memories were of crawling across the tiled floor of their kitchen, banging spoons against stainless steel plates and poking his fingers into the various spice and grain jars stacked inside the cupboards closest to the floor.
Mishti ran a tiffin service from home while her husband ran a Korean-Indian fusion restaurant in Itaewon. Like the majority of other Indian couples, their marriage had been arranged. The good part, however, came later when they bonded over their shared love of cooking. While Mr. Anand wooed the clientele palate of the melting pot of Seoul, Mrs. Anand fed the university students and single businessmen of the area.
By the time Jinyoung was born their own children had already moved out and settled down, having themselves migrated there in the late 1970s. His single mother worked the day shift as a nurse in the nearby dispensary, and instead of dropping him at a creche, she left him in the care of their neighbours, who were more than happy to dote over and care for a child again.
When Jinyoung got too old for crawling and banging pots and pans, Mishti sat him on the counter and let him marvel over the skillets, stock pots, and pressure cookers, always bubbling over with the prospect of a new meal.
He memorized the order in which Mishti stacked the compartments of the lunch boxes. The bottom was always reserved for the broth, a mix of grains and beans and spices, other times it was chopped fried vegetables. What followed after was a box full of kimchi, and after it three chapatti folded into concentric triangles. The next box alternated between teokkbeokki and bulgogi. Then came Jinyoung's favourite part: the topmost compartment, the dessert.
There were myriads and myriads of Desi sweets. Other kids rotted their teeth on the commonplace ice creams, candies, and cake; Jinyoung's palate consisted of thick swirls of Jalebi , balls of Gulab Jamun ornamented with pistachios, Kheer topped with dry fruits, steaming hot Halwa which melted in your mouth, soft and juicy beds of Ras Malai . And then there were Barfi which had their own entire subsection— Made from coconut, cashew, carrot, dates, almonds, and even chocolate. Mishti told him even all of this barely made a dent in the whole repository of desi sweets and desserts.
Jinyoung's favourite though? Those were Rasgullas . Round, chewy, spongy balls of dough filled with syrup. His mother said that as a kid— for he was definitely a big boy now— he used to love squeezing the balls until all that remained were a mushy mess. He almost choked once, having put the entire thing in his mouth. He could easily eat an entire ball now though. He was certain he could manage two, but after the last scare his mother had been cautious.
"Oh, right," his mother said as if suddenly remembering something. "Your friends came over to call you to play a while ago, but I told them you were sleeping. You still want to go?"
Jinyoung swallowed the last bit of the rasgulla as he felt all the heat rushing back to his numb cheeks. What must his friends think, that he still slept in the afternoon? Only babies did that. Even Bambam and Yugyeom always came out to play on time. Jinyoung was a big boy now, yes he was. He was turning seven in a month, after all.
Jinyoung quickly got up and kissed both his mother and Mishti's cheeks. "I'm gonna go play now! Thank you Aunty and bye bye," he screamed the last bit from the door, putting on his sneakers and running out of the house, his mother's "Don't run too fast!" and "Be careful!" right on his heels.
He was a big boy. He can take care of himself.
*
Jinyoung looked down at the blooming patch of red on his knee, torn off skin curling around the edges. The shock numbing the wound only lasted for a few seconds before pain lanced through his entire leg. He felt his lip wobbling, and soon enough his little whines of pain turned into pitiful, loud sobbing against his control.
They had been playing hide and seek. Mark had been It and as soon as he covered his eyes to count, they had run off. Mark was probably the best one among them at hide and seek, what with him crawling inside impossible places and climbing on walls like Spiderman being his particular niche of talent. Jinyoung loved it when Mark was It, because he made it his personal mission everytime to best Mark. So far he always lost, but Jinyoung never gave up.
He had been running towards the abandoned jungle gym at the end of the park they played in when he tripped over a small boulder and fell face first. He badly scraped his knee on the concrete path. To say he was scared of facing his mother's wrath was an understatement. He was mortally terrified. But as he heard the pattering of shoes coming up behind him, the terror was taken over by an ever bigger feeling of dread: not only would he be the first one to be caught by Mark, he would be caught while crying like a baby. Just a baby who couldn’t take care of himself. He was supposed to be a big boy, he wanted to be a big boy, just like his Mark hyung. The thought only made him sob louder.
He heard Mark coming to a stop behind him, letting out a confused "Jinyoungie?" It wasn't until he came forward and rounded to face Jinyoung that he saw the full extent of the situation, confusion quickly morphing into panic as he threw himself down beside him.
"Jinyoungie! What happened?" Mark asked him, panicked as he hovered a hand above Jinyoung's knee before putting his other arm around him.
Jinyoung hiccuped, "I fell."
Mark looked at him as the concerned frown grew larger on his face, "Does it hurt a lot?"
Jinyoung nodded dumbly.
"Can you walk?"
A mournful shake of head.
"Okay, okay," Mark said while patting his back gently. He quickly got up and Jinyoung had a split second panic of being abandoned before he realised Mark was kneeling in front of him.
"Hop on, I will carry you home Jinyoungie," Mark looked back at him with a comforting smile on his face.
Jinyoung stared in wonder. All his angst about being a weak helpless baby vanished as he looked at his hyung's back, which looked sturdier than anything he had ever seen. He looked at that smile, all bunched cheeks and crooked teeth. And he knew then, without a shadow of doubt, that Mark would always be there for Jinyoung, right by his side.
Half of his pain already eased by that thought, he stood up on his good leg and hobbled over to Mark. He wrapped his hands around his neck as Mark gently pulled his legs around his waist, ever mindful of his smarting knee. Once sure Jinyoung was secured on his back, he lifted himself off the ground and started their journey back home.
Jinyoung tightened his arms around Mark's neck as an enormous feeling of gratitude washed over him. He rushed to express the same but right as he opened his mouth to suck in a breath, came Jaebeom's shout, running towards them.
"Hey! What happened!"
The rest of the boys followed on his heels, likely driven out of their hiding places to investigate, considering Mark usually found everyone within the first ten minutes.
The dread seemed to return as Jinyoung's skin flashed hot in embarrassment, and he smushed his face harder against Mark's neck. Mark briefly squeezed his thighs in comfort as he addressed the boys.
"Jinyoung fell. It's alright though, I'm taking him home now." He said.
The boys hovered around them in concern for a bit before eventually breaking off to go back to their own homes, shouting Get well soon's behind them as they went.
All the while Jinyoung rested in his hiding place. Guilt coursed through him and he sadly muttered into the crook of Mark's neck, "I'm sorry. I ruined everyone's fun."
"Nonsense! It's okay Jinyoungie. As someone once said, these small small things happen in big big cities,"1 Mark stated sagaciously while Jinyoung saw those cheeks bunch up in that familiar smile.
Jinyoung giggled, feeling light at once. Suddenly he remembered what he was about to say before they got interrupted. He had to let Mark know—
"Thank you," he said.
"No need to thank me Jinyoungie. As your hyung it's my job to take care of you," Mark replied with a note of pride in his voice.
But he didn't get it. Jinyoung needed him to know how thankful he was. His mother had taught him to always, always thank people when they help you, no matter how big or small. And this was pretty big. His thank you needed to be big as well. Frustrated, he puzzled over how to achieve that feat when his gaze caught onto the swell of Mark's chubby cheek. He thought about how his mother always made him kiss the cheeks of their relatives when they gave him gifts on his birthdays. That's how you thank the people who are closest to you , she had said. He always kissed Mishti aunty's cheeks when she brought him Rasgullas, too. And Mark hyung was definitely one of Jinyoung's closest people.
Relieved and suddenly giddy with anticipation, he leaned forward and tentatively kissed Mark's cheek. Just a little peck. Mark seemed to startle a bit at the unexpected gesture before he let out a delighted shout of laughter and pressed back against Jinyoung.
But all that was lost on Jinyoung as he pulled his mouth back and stared at Mark's cheeks in daze. Sweet, his mind supplied. He had tasted sweet and sugary, exactly like a Rasgulla. It was barely a graze, a dry little peck really. But as Jinyoung had licked his lips afterwards, there it was.
He was confused. He had kissed many cheeks many times in his humble lifetime of seven years and never has any of them tasted like this. Sometimes they tasted of whatever cream products they had on, which made him gag a little every time. But this was something else entirely. Maybe it was just the Rasgullas he had eaten before coming out to play, he thought. He had made quite a mess too. But his gaze snagged on those cheeks again, all fair skin and bouncy, velvet soft. Exactly like the globes of sugar he treasured so much. So what if… his thoughts trailed as he leaned forward once again to confirm his suspicions.
This time when he kissed Mark's cheek he poked his tongue out a little. There it was , the same cloying sweetness. For the second time today he stared at his hyung in awe as a memory surfaced in his mind—Mishti's wrinkled but hardened hands stirring freshly boiled milk till it curdled. She'd ask Jinyoung then, to grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator. He would fetch it and toddle back towards her, presenting the bottle with all the grace of a proud sous chef. He would watch her pour it over the milk, then pour the mixture itself into a colander lined with thin muslin. Once drained of all the whey, she'd lift this mixture she called chenna wrapped in the cloth and run it under the sink tap. Afterwards she would squeeze it tightly to drain the excess water, the motion reminiscent of his mother wringing clothes. Then she'd place the heavy, ancient looking mortar over the chenna still wrapped in its muslin confines. For the next ten minutes she'd switch on the cassette player which was placed atop the microwave, a string of bollywood songs pouring forth into the space as she picked Jinyoung up and spun them in circles, their joint laughter overriding the voices crooning in the background.
As she would unwrap the cloth, a pleased smile would cross her face. This is exactly how your chenna should be, she'd tell him, a perfect balance of moist and dry. She'd mix it with semolina and finally get down to knead the dough, the motions oddly comforting to look at. She even taught him how to knead, showing him how to mash the chenna with the heels of her palm before kneading, and repeating the process. His grubby little hands could only do so much. But after the dough was kneaded though came his favourite part. Little by little, Mishti would tear off small portions from the big ball of dough and round them into little balls. She'd also give him a portion and his balls would be a touch smaller than hers. After the balls were ready they would be cooked in the sugar solution —chashini — she had prepared on the side until they were thoroughly doused in syrup.
As he looked at those cheeks, he wondered if they were made like that too— balls of dough kneaded to rounded perfection. Wondered if he bit them, syrup would come gushing out. It was a silly thought, and Mark probably wouldn't like it if he bit him. So he continued to place kisses on his cheeks, tasting that sweetness again and again and again.
"Jinyoungie," Mark giggled. "What are you doing?"
"I'm thanking you, of course!" Jinyoung exclaimed. "Do you—Do you feel thanked? Enough?" He asked nervously, once again muttering the words into Mark's neck.
Mark was silent for a while before he twisted his body sideways to face Jinyoung. He felt more than saw Mark leaning over and placing a kiss, then another, on his nose, the only part of him in viable kissing distance.
"Yes Jinyoungie," he said. "Very much so, very much so."
Jinyoung smiled in relief and burrowed closer still. Rasgulla or not, Mark's ceaseless sweetness was something he intended to keep close for the rest of his life.
*
Next week, in his English class his teacher handed them worksheets to fill out. There were questions asking their likes and dislikes, to be answered in one or two words. Jinyoung had a pretty decent grasp of English courtesy of his mother sitting with him every evening with a workbook to make him practise. Brimming with confidence, he steadily worked through the worksheet.
It was at the sixth question that he stumbled. What is your favourite dessert? was written in the loopy hand of his teacher. The problem wasn't that he didn't know what dessert was. The problem was that he didn't know how to write Rasgulla in the English alphabet. It wasn't an English word to begin with, and even when he sounded it out it looked all wrong on paper. He contemplated just writing cake and be done with it, but he didn't want to lie. And he didn't want to botch his assignment by writing the wrong spelling. He wanted that 10/10 along the little smiley face and ice cream his teacher drew for a perfect score.
As he put his head down and strained to think of a solution he caught the sight of his knee, Pikachu's face peering at him from the bandage. Memories flooded his mind as he remembered getting piggybacked by Mark, remembered kissing his cheek in gratitude, remembered tasting the juicy confection he now struggled to spell out. He didn't know how to write Rasgulla, but he did know how to write Mark's name. Mark's family had moved here from the America when he was four and granted, while he didn't come with an expert level proficiency in English, he was the oldest among them and had more experience of the language. One summer day he had taught them all to write their names in English as he carved the letters into the sand with a stick. He had written his name too, at the very edge, in clear blocky letters.
He reasoned with himself that it shouldn't matter if he put Mark or Rasgulla as his answer. His favourite dessert was Rasgulla, Mark tasted like one, hence his favourite dessert…
His tongue poked out a little in concentration as he carefully made each stroke of each letter. He looked it over once and smiled in satisfaction as he moved on to the next question.
II
Jinyoung watched as thick drops slid down his window pane. It had been raining since morning today. Raining like cats and dogs , he thought as he continued to gaze outside dispassionately. If only it rained hamsters. Jinyoung buried his face in his knees and started crying. Again.
Ever since they had buried Peaches in the backyard, Jinyoung had shut himself up inside his room. Peaches had been his first ever pet. After repeatedly asking for a pet his mother had finally relented and gifted him with a hamster on his 11th birthday. Peaches was an animal shelter rescue, a dwarf hamster with a soft gray coat and a black stripe running from the top of his head to his tail. He was the sweetest little thing. Jinyoung cared more of Peaches than he cared for his own health. His mother told him it was surprising that he had been able to keep him alive for three whole years.
But Jinyoung didn't care about that. Fact of the matter was that Peaches was not here anymore. No more of watching him carefully nibble on carrots, no more of him romping around in his cage, running circles in his wheel round the clock.
He checked his phone. It was the same litany of concerned messages. It was sweet honestly, that his friends cared this much. He had thought they would make fun of him for being affected this way but each one of them had called him as soon as he had broken the news to them, having taken the day off from school. But whom he was hoping to hear from the most, the only one he could stand at this moment and wanted by his side, remained AWOL.
Mark hyung, where are you? He thought desperately. Not a word since the morning. He could have called him himself, But. Mark should have called him. Should have been here to comfort him. He gave him the benefit of the doubt, not willing to believe his best friend would abandon him this way but the day was creeping towards the end and Jinyoung was hurt and angry and worried and honestly fuck Mark for making him feel this way—
He was startled out of his thoughts as he heard the front door bell ring. He clambered up to his windowsill and saw a figure clad in a red raincoat standing on their doorstep, bicycle haphazardly parked a few feet away.
It was Mark, of course it was Mark. Relief washed over him before rage took hold of him again. He crossed his arms and waited for Mark to come up to his room, impatiently tapping his foot.
Just as the door opened, he exploded. "Where have you—!"
However, he stopped short as he looked at Mark. Chest heaving and wet as a dog, he clutched a sealed plastic tumbler. As soon as Jinyoung saw the label, he gasped.
When Jinyoung was 12, the Anands had moved away. The couple nearing their sixties, their children had decided their parents shall come live with them now, each one hosting them for six months. He had cried a lot back then too. Mishti moving away also meant there would be no more tupperware boxes filled with the spongy confections waiting for him at the end of every week. He felt the withdrawal in his bones for weeks before he found out there was an Indian sweets shop the town over. It took quite a while to get there though, no less than an hour if he went by car. Two if he took his bicycle. So Jinyoung only ever went there when his craving got particularly bothersome.
Yet there it was, that familiar shop label emblazoned on the tumbler. Beneath it, written in script, Spongy Rasgulla. Still being clutched tightly by Mark, who was looking at him with a mix of worry and hope.
All his anger had already fizzled out by that point, but then Mark was putting the tumbler aside and opening his arms and Jinyoung crashed straight into him. It didn't matter that he was getting all wet. His best friend was here now and he needed him .
"Shh, it's alright," Mark murmured as he stroked his head repeatedly. Jinyoung thought he had already exhausted his tears, but a fresh wave came pouring out as he sobbed into Mark's chest.
It was a while before he calmed down. By then they had shifted onto his bed, Mark sitting against the headboard while Jinyoung sat between his legs. He pulled away and rubbed his face, nodding in Mark's direction to assure him he was alright. Just as he opened his mouth—
"Jinyoungie I'm so sorry I swear as soon as I saw your text I wanted to come to you, but there was school and after that I just went straight to the next town to get you Rasgullas, and there was a lot of traffic jam because of the rain and my phone got wet and died and I'm sorry if you are mad but I didn't know what to do—"
Jinyoung quickly clapped a hand to Mark's mouth effectively putting a stop to his panicked spiel.
"Hyung," he stressed. "It's okay, I'm really not mad. Anymore."
Mark exhaled against his palm. "I just want you to be happy," he said, voice muffled.
Jinyoung melted. He removed his hand and took Mark's face in his hands. "You being here is enough for me," he whispered. "You make me happy."
Mark sighed and sagged against him, placing his own hand over his for a moment before shuffling away to grab the tumbler off the bedside table. He lifted and shook it a little, wagging his eyebrows. "So?"
"Hyung," Jinyoung opened and closed his mouth for several seconds before continuing. "I can't believe—Why would you—It's raining like crazy and you just—It's like 20 kilometres, Mark!"
"Yeah, so?" Mark just shrugged in response. "It was no sweat. Well. Lots of water though," he said with a cheeky grin.
"Don't come to me when you get sick then, alright?" Jinyoung pouted. His heart felt two sizes too big and he really didn't want another round of waterworks. So he did what he did best. He deflected and pouted.
Mark knew that, of course. And because he knew, he didn't comment on it, simply opening the lid and taking one Rasgulla out. He carefully squeezed the excess syrup out of the ball. Jinyoung smiled fondly at that. The first time Mark ever ate a Rasgulla, he put the entire thing in his mouth without squeezing out the syrup and pretty much had a choking experience similar to young Jinyoung's. He swore to have coughed out syrup for days . He knew better now though.
"Here comes the airplane~" Mark sang while teasingly swaying the ball up and down.
Jinyoung raised an eyebrow. "If that is your definition of an airplane I don't know what to tell you."
"Just eat it, will you? Or are you waiting for me to shove it down your throat, hm?" Mark said in a sickly sweet voice.
They stared at each other for a beat before laughing as Jinyoung finally ate it, right from Mark's hand. He chewed loudly and threw Mark a grin which was full of mashed bits sticking to his teeth. Mark pushed his face aside with a laugh and an exclaimed Ew! before he picked up a ball for himself.
And as he sat there watching Mark eat the entire Rasgulla in one go, syrup dribbling down his chin in rivulets, sliding between the tendons of his neck, he felt it. The faint stirring right above his groin. The feeling was familiar; it was the same feeling that accompanied him most mornings. But what was new and unsettling was this was the first time it crept into him unbidden in broad daylight for an entirely different reason.
Jinyoung knew what arousal was. He may have acted shy and unknowing in front of his friends, but like any curious pubescent teenager he had pulled up an incognito window and ventured into the world of porn. With his pants unbuttoned and tissue box ready, he had clicked on the first video that popped up. But all the adrenaline and all the excitement vanished bit by bit as the mass of bodies writhed around on screen. It all looked so staged, so manufactured, so emotionless. He was well aware that it was supposed to be the point — bodies manufactured to "perfection" and meticulously crafted scenarios to titillate the fantasies of the masses — it looked so far removed from reality Jinyoung had a hard time believing this was what people chased after and sung praises of. He had skimmed through a couple more videos but came back with the same result. He had soon after clicked off the website, buttoned back his pants and put the tissue box away with a growing sense of shame.
While it was now firmly established that Jinyoung couldn't get hard from porn, his body's natural reactions weren't something he could control. Every other morning thus, he went through the mechanical motions of getting off until the pit in his stomach grew and spilled over. He felt that now, the feeling right before it started building up. And the fact that it happened because he saw his best friend — his best friend! —eating his favourite sweet was so bizarre it punched a disbelieving and hysterical laugh out of him. Leave it to the boy who didn't find porn arousing to get worked up over something like this. It was easy enough to dismiss the feeling then, to shove and bury it deep inside some part of his mind to collect dust and cobwebs. It was a ridiculous little thing which he would have shared with Mark and laughed over with. But it was extremely embarrassing and directly involved the said boy in question, no less.
Mark had looked up at his laugh, already shoving a second Rasgulla in his mouth and making him look like a hamster. Like Peaches. "What? Why aren't you eating?"
Jinyoung smiled at the sight and shook his head. "Feed me," he said while leaning forward towards him.
"Tch, you baby," Mark said, already lifting another globe out of the box and feeding it to Jinyoung.
But as he did so, his finger snagged on Jinyoung's lips. He froze while Mark didn't pay it any mind, instead licking— licking the fingers which touched his mouth . The feeling he was trying so hard to stamp down sprang back up in a tenfold measure. He became hyper aware of the syrup still sticking to Mark's chin and jaw, a little smeared on his cheek from where he tried to wipe it clean.
He thought back to playgrounds and a sunny day, scraped knees and a piggyback ride. Remembered tasting sweetness on those fair cheeks. He was old enough to dismiss it as a childhood fantasy, but it still didn't stop him from suddenly wanting to put his lips on those cheeks, that chin, that cherry red mouth, to chase that endless sweetness.
"It got on your face," He lifted his hand up and rubbed his thumb over the part of Mark’s cheek sticky with syrup. He stuck it inside his mouth. It was sweet, yes, but that was to be expected. Yet he couldn't help but think that there was something else beneath it, a flavour more potent. The exact flavour of the Rasgullas that Mishti made.
At this point his pants were getting tight, and Mark had started to look at him weirdly. He had to escape.
"Uhm I— washroom," he managed to stutter out. Mark nodded at him mutely and he practically flew to the washroom, almost tripping in his haste.
He looked at himself in the mirror. Wild eyes and flaming cheeks. He splashed water on his face and told himself to get a grip, get a grip, get a grip. It was probably all the adrenaline from the day he had which made him act this way. A cocktail of complicated emotions inspiring weird reactions in his body. Nothing else.
III
Mark was leaving.
Mark and his family had first transferred here due to his father's posting. His job had remained stable for 15 years until this day, but now they had to move back to the States.
So now he was leaving and there was nothing Jinyoung could do about it. He had refused to think about it until tonight, the night they were giving him his going away party, the night before he boarded the plane and went far, far away. Six thousand six hundred and ninety kilometres stretching between them. He would know, he was counting.
He had been distracted the whole night, barely talking to anyone. Mark kept shooting him concerned glances, pressing up against him in comfort. But it only made him aware of the fact that he won't have this warmth by his side anymore.
His distraction caused him to lose the drinking game they were playing. He picked up his beer bottle to knock it back, his second one for tonight. He figured he could at least drink his sorrows away if not anything else. Jackson stopped him though, and proposed a special punishment for this round.
"Why? I was drinking it," Jinyoung sulked.
"Yeah, I think it's for the best you put a cap on it for tonight," Jackson eyed him with concern as he snatched the bottle from him.
Jaebeom piped up. "So, what will be the new punishment?"
"How about we do the finger flick?" Yugyeom said with a mischievous glint in his eye.
Jinyoung sat up to hit him. "Why you little—"
Jackson loudly clapped his hands together. "Alright! It's decided then. Who would like to go first?"
"Why doesn't Mark hyung go first? He is the man of the night, after all." Youngjae said, darting his eyes between Mark and Jinyoung in a way that put him on edge.
Mark had been silent until then, but spurred on by everyone's hoots and cheers rounded on him. He smiled at him, that comforting smile, and took Jinyoung's wrist in his hand gently.
Then the oddest thing happened. He leaned down and kissed his wrist, once, and then two more times in quick succession. Looked up and smiled at him again, this time with a corner of his mouth pulled up in mischief. He finally pulled back his fingers and flicked him on the wrist, hard.
Everyone started hooting even louder than before but it all barely registered to Jinyoung. He barely felt the flicks that followed. His mind was stuck on that single moment where Mark's lips touched his skin, the area flaming up before the heat coursed through his entire body.
Touch wasn't anything foreign between them. They have been pretty close since childhood, physically and otherwise, always orbiting around each other, in each other's space. A grounding hand on the nape when the other felt particularly unmoored, pinkies curled around each other when all else felt overwhelming, because as open as they were with their affection, they always have been private people, hands around waists just because they could, heads leaning on shoulders that were home. The space between them was always warm and melty, like suffusion from a freshly baked bread. It was their love language.
Yet why does it suddenly feel so charged?
It wasn't all that sudden, he supposed. He thought back to those faint stirrings of arousal, the ones which only seemed to make an appearance when Mark was concerned. Sure, he had been physically attracted to other people, but none of them made the feeling in his stomach grow like a balloon. He had squashed it every time it surfaced in favour of their friendship, reservering it instead for guilty cold showers.
He looked at Mark, who was already looking back at him, face flushed with alcohol and something more. Mark was absentmindedly running fingers on Jinyoung’s thigh through the rip in his jeans, and he wondered if he could have both— the friendship and what lay beyond it.
They all retired soon after, exchanging long hugs and take care's and have a safe flight's. Mark was due to leave at 6 a.m. for his flight the next morning. They were having their party in the basement of his house and everyone was crashing there for the night. Mark's parents had entrusted their keys to Jaebeom, whom Mark had intercepted and instead put them in Jinyoung's possession. Everyone knew a hangover-bogged Jaebeom was pretty much dead to the world in the morning after. Jinyoung made to move towards his own sleeping bag before he was halted by a hand on his wrist. He looked back to see Mark motioning his head upwards. He turned around and started tugging Jinyoung along, up the stairs, to his bedroom. He has been to his bedroom countless of times before, but this time it felt like some rite of passage.
Mark dropped down on his bed and tugged Jinyoung towards him. What ended up happening was Jinyoung losing his balance, the world still feeling off-kilter and sideways, and toppling straight onto Mark. They were shocked into silence for a moment before they started giggling uncontrollably.
Their giggles quickly dissolved into the ever decreasing space between them. They were close enough for Jinyoung to... take a bite out of that Rasgulla. He couldn’t figure out where the odd thought had come from, but it sent him into another bout of hysterics. When he looked up though, the weird intensity in Mark's eyes was enough to sober him up for a second time.
He watched the resolve build up in his eyes and leaned in just as Mark tilted his head. But right as inches became centimetres, he leaned back, making Jinyoung chase after him a little. He quickly looked up to see if this was some sort of game, but he only saw Mark's resolve waver.
He felt a pout form on his own mouth just as Mark finally stopped wavering to lean back in, but he’s the one who draws back this time in a fit of petty annoyance. Their mouths were harkening after each other like opposite poles of a magnet. But suddenly one of them had switched sides and they were now caught in an endless loop to overcome the repulsion.
"Jinyoung," Mark said in a stern voice.
"Just,” Jinyoung breathed out desperately, “kiss me already."
"You are drunk."
"So are you," he replied, gaze still stuck to those cherry red lips as he finally remembered. Those fair globes of sweetness, so close his teeth ached with the need to bite them and release the cold syrup he had been fantasizing about at the back of his mind all these years. He didn't care if his childhood delusions melded into his almost adult fantasies now. He was certain Mark's entire essence was filled with the headiest chashini . He tried to redirect his attention to somewhere else, to the mole that sat right above his lips, but that didn't seem to do him any favours as the tingling in his lips only increased.
Mark gently pushed him off and arranged them in a sitting position. "Jinyoung, I'm leaving tomorrow." He said grimly.
The reality he was trying so hard to ignore came crashing down on him, just like that. Mark was leaving and there was nothing he could do about it. He felt his lips wobble.
Mark sighed. "C'mere," he beckoned him forward until they were sitting cross-legged facing each other, their knees touching, chins resting on each other's shoulders, cheeks pressed together.
"I don't want to make this worse than it already is. It really kills me too, Jinyoungie, to be so far from you," he said voice thick with emotion. Jinyoung tilted his head back and blinked back his tears.
"Besides," he continued. "I want to do this properly, Jinyoungie. Not when there are like, hundred little Jinyoungies stomping around in my head creating a ruckus."
Jinyoung sniffed and let out a wet laugh. "Why is that?"
Mark turned his head a little and whispered against his ear. "Because I can't get you out of my head."
Jinyoung pulled back to glare at him. He started hitting him repeatedly.
"Hey! Wh—Ow! Why would you do that?" Mark whined.
"Stop flirting with me if you are not gonna kiss me!"
"Jinyoung," Mark sighed, resigned.
"I know, I know," Jinyoung pouted. "I get it." He suddenly felt incredibly tired, like a tonne of bricks have suddenly descended on his shoulders. "Can we just go to sleep?"
Mark nodded and they fell sideways on the bed as one, facing each other. Jinyoung swiped his thumb under Mark's eyes, humming sleepily.
"Will you come back one day?"
Mark's eyes flashed with pain. "I don't know, Jinyoung—"
"Tell me that you will," he whispered desperately. "Just for tonight. Tell me you will be here in the morning. Tell me you will remember this night."
Mark swallowed and held Jinyoung's hand that was cupping his face. "Of course, Jinyoungie."
Jinyoung leaned in and kissed the corner of Mark's mouth, tasting that saccharine sweetness for the last time. No, not the last time , he vehemently told himself. His eyes drooped as he finally fell asleep.
*
The next day Jinyoung woke up to dust motes swirling in the morning sunlight, an empty space next to him. The sweetness at the back of his throat from the night before turned into a bitter, aching sore.
IV
"And...done." Jinyoung mumbled as he put down the drill and took out the dental mirror out of his patient’s mouth. He removed his gloves and moved to wash the various tools as the little girl hopped off the chair.
After washing his hands, he motioned the pair of mother and daughter to his office, sitting behind the desk as they took the opposite seats.
"Avoid chewing anything while the mouth is still numb and eat only soft foods. Nothing hot or cold but do drink loads of water and you shall be good," he said addressing the mother who thanked him. Flashing her an easy smile, he turned towards the little girl.
"That was uncomfortable, wasn't it?" He asked and received a surly nod in reply. "So will you listen to your mother now and not eat so many sweets?"
Usually he would get another nod by this point, but the girl paused and looked at him with a defiant look in her eye. Interesting.
Jinyoung rounded his eyes at her. "You won't?"
"I just don't get it," she began. "How can something I like so much give me so much pain? That doesn't make sense. How will I be happy if I can't eat sweets anymore?" She whined at the end of her spiel.
"Sometimes the things you like the most also end up hurting you the most if there is too much of it. You just find new ways to be happy. And besides," He smiled cheekily as he pushed the bowl of candy sitting on his desk towards her. "You don't need to completely give up eating sweets. Just don't eat so much that you have to come back here, alright?"
The girl nervously looked at her mother, who in turn nervously looked at Jinyoung. He just nodded in encouragement. She shoved her hand in the bowl and grabbed a handful before pausing and only taking one.
"Atta girl." Jinyoung beamed at her.
The girl sat back and finally smiled a little. "Dr. Park," she suddenly asked. "Did you eat a lot of sweets too? Did they hurt you too?"
Jinyoung hummed. "I used to," he said. "And they hurt me too, yes. So I don't anymore."
"Not even a little? But why! You can just fix yourself whenever," she exclaimed as she sat up and put her hands on the table.
"Well I--" he cut himself off as his phone started ringing. He didn’t bother to check the caller ID since he was expecting a package today and figured it was a related call. Shooting them an apologetic look, he excused himself to take the call in the operating room.
When he finally looked at the screen though, his breath stuttered. Mark , it said. He has to blink his eyes a few times but the name didn’t change.
Mark .
The last he had heard from Mark was back in January, a Happy New Year! sent on the group chat they shared with the rest of their friends. The last time he had heard Mark’s voice was even before that, on his 20th birthday. He was 24 now.
Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and accepted the call. “Hello?”
An exhale. “Jinyoung.”
“Hy- Mark.” he replied, feeling the most out of depth he has ever felt.
“Hi, how are you?”
“I’m good, I’m good I— Mark, what is it?”
“So, umm” Mark dithered for a while before he said in a rush, “I’m coming back.”
Jinyoung gaped a little. “You...are?”
“Yes! Uh, I did message in the group chat but I figured you must be too busy to check,” He laughed a little. “I wanted to tell you myself.”
Jinyoung felt hot and cold all at once. God, it had been so long . Six long years without his best friend. Six long years of trying and failing to fill the hole in his chest. It took him two tries to get it out. “Hy-Hyung. That’s great.”
Mark sighed happily. “The boys have decided to meet up over the weekend at that restaurant at the intersection near our school. So, see you then?”
“Yeah,” he replied numbly. “See you then.”
When Mark had left, they had done their best to keep in close touch despite the miles stretching between them. And it worked, for a while at least. Weekly Skype calls petered off into monthly calls as they got busier and busier. Eventually all proof they had of each other’s continued existence was through social media and seasons and birthday greetings. Jinyoung struggled, the cavity in his chest never really went away but shrunk after a while.
But now Mark was coming back and he didn’t know what that meant. He’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it, he supposed. Nevermind that the bridge was quite literally only a few days away.
What do you do when your best friend who you were also possibly in love with comes back after six years? He wondered if there is a Reddit thread for that.
*
Seeing Mark again felt like trying on an old favourite shirt which you didn't expect to fit but surprisingly still does. Knowing you are a different person now, pulling it on with trepidation, afraid of causing a tear. But the threads interwoven together hold still, the material downy soft on your skin, raising gooseflesh in its wake. Inhaling in the familiar scent, being enveloped by the familiar comfort once again.
"I missed you," Jinyoung exhaled in his neck, clutching at him.
"I missed you too, Jinyoung." Mark replied, clutching back as tight.
He pulled back and had a good look at him. The years have been good on him, all the baby fat shed off in favour of a sharp jawline and defined cheekbones. As Mark smiled though, his cheeks bunched up just like they used to. Round and fair and spongy … Jinyoung shook his head. He was pleased to note that he had gained some extra inches over Mark though.
Apparently he hadn't been subtle. "Don't," Mark said while pointing a finger at him.
Jinyoung smiled amusedly. "I didn't say anything."
"I know everything that goes on in that head," Mark said in a low voice, waggling his fingers in his face.
Jinyoung flushed. "Hah, yeah," he coughed a little to hide his flustered state. When he looked up, Mark was already looking at him with a shy smile on his face. They eventually broke eye contact, Jinyoung turning to sit down in his seat as Mark took a seat opposite him between Yugyeom and Youngjae, tugging at his collar a little.
It was easy to fall back into the sway of things, as if it hadn't been six years since they all had been together in one place. Mark seamlessly blended in with the rest of them, like the last puzzle piece slotting into place.
As for Jinyoung, well. He felt that thread of tension pulling taught between them the entire night. It felt as if they were engaged in a game, waiting to see who gave in first. It certainly didn't feel one-sided on his part, if the glances and held eye contact and fingers purposely brushing against each other's when handing over a plate or chopsticks were anything to go by. It left him feeling all shivery, wanting to pull Mark close yet shying away from him at the same time.
After that night they all decided to meet again the next week, something about making up for the lost time. Everyone was free so they all agreed, deciding on some new place this time.
A couple days later, Jinyoung checked his phone to see that everyone had agreed on a high-end Italian restaurant downtown. From what Jinyoung had heard it was quite expensive and one had to make reservations a week prior to even get in. He found that a little odd. Despite all of them having a good earning, they still always preferred their usual modest haunts. Jackson insisted though, saying he had already made reservations, so Jinyoung put it out of his head.
Sunday night he was on his way to the restaurant when he felt his phone buzzing incessantly. Stopping at a red light he pulled it up to see what all the fuss was about. Surprisingly, it was the group chat.
[ Jackson: Hey guys, sorry I won't be able to make it tonight! Looks like I caught some stomach bug
Jaebeom: Won't be able to make it either. Mom needs some help setting up the new refrigerator.
Youngjae: My neighbor had to leave for a few days and urgently needed a dog sitter. So
Yugyeom: My Hyung suddenly visited today so I will probably stay in too.
Bambam: I can't decide on what to wear you guys
Jaebeom: Bam.
Bambam: Oh and also my toilet flooded. Whoops. ]
"What the fuck…" Jinyoung mumbled in disbelief. He had no idea what was up with everyone. Should he even go then? He bit his lips as he searched for the nearest cut to take a U-turn. But Mark hadn't said anything. Could it be that these clowns had set them up for a date? His friends were as subtle as a flock of peacocks dancing in the middle of the road, it wasn't exactly farfetched. Now he was really regretting not turning his car around earlier. He wasn't sure if he was ready for this.
He reached the place and got out of the car. He saw Mark waiting at the door, looking as confused and out of depth as he felt. He quickly walked up to him, reaching him just as Mark looked up.
"Hey," he said, holding up his phone. "Any idea what is going on?"
"They are just being stupid," Jinyoung mumbled in reply, refusing to make eye contact.
"Huh, it's almost as if they set us up on a— Oh. They did, didn't they?" Mark said, realisation dawned on him.
Jinyoung waited for Mark to laugh it off, or for the awkward silence, something. What he wasn't expecting though, was Mark extending his arm towards him.
"I say we make the most of it then. So, Mr. Park, thoughts on Italian?" He said while tipping his chin up and affecting a posh accent.
Jinyoung blinked at him for a few seconds before recovering and interlocking their arms together. Laughing slightly, he replied. "Oh, plenty."
They entered the restaurant and asked for their reservations. There indeed was one under the name of Park Jinyoung and Mark Tuan, table for two. They looked at each other and raised their eyebrows. It seemed like their friends had really planned this out. As they were shown to their table, his stomach flipping a little, Jinyoung decided maybe it wasn't so bad after all.
*
It was kind of bad.
Not because he was on what was practically a date with Mark. The restaurant was gorgeous too; dim overhead lighting and soft melodic tones of a violin wafting through the air. The tables were spaced apart to create an intimate atmosphere, cocooning them in their own bubble. It was all quintessentially romantic.
But.
He knew what would come next. He’d seen it happening in virtually every romantic movie ever made. But the thing is, Jinyoung didin’t want to "get out of here". Sure, it wasn't his usual scene and he did feel the stuffiness which came from being at a place like this. But he doesn't want to ditch the high-end expensive restaurant, at least not before having the main course. He had heard this place boasted of their Fiorentina Steak dish and he would be damned if that didn't make it home in his stomach tonight.
He looked across at Mark who was casually leaning back in his chair, carefully studying the menu. Dressed to the nines, not a single part of him looked out of place. So perhaps? But what if Mark was waiting for him to say something. No, he had to do it to make this work.
"Hey," he began. "Want to get out of here?"
Mark looked a bit startled. "Oh. Um. Are you not hungry?"
"No, no that's not it—"
"Good, good. Because I am,” Mark interrupted. “Famished actually. I was hoping we could try their Fiorentina Steak. I've heard it's pretty good."
Jinyoung opened and closed his mouth. "Are—you sure?"
Mark paused as he put a hand up, wavering in the air for a moment before he snapped his fingers and a credit card magically appeared in his hand by what Jinyoung can only assume was a complicated sleight of hand.2 “Yup, my treat."
His shell-shocked silence lasted for a few seconds before a snort escaped him, then another, and soon he's putting up a hand to muffle his laughter. He watched as the smugness drained from Mark's face and gave way to sheepishness.
"Did you— did you plan that?" Jinyoung wheezed.
"Absolutely not," Mark said, trying to maintain a poker face but the steady flush creeping along his ears betraying him. "That is just part of my natural charm."
"Oh my god, you totally did!" Jinyoung managed to say through his hysterical laughter which was attracting more than a few heads in their direction. "That was so lame."
Mark scoffed. "No it wasn't! That was cool as hell! Do you have any idea how long it took me to perfect that?" But Jinyoung's laugh refused to let up and his own giggle escaped as he exclaimed in exasperation. "Jinyoungie!"
The old nickname is enough to pull Jinyoung short, his mirth quickly fizzling away and setting like potent warmth inside his stomach. The chime of Mark's high-pitched intonation of his name is still the same after all these years — the enunciation of "Jji" and "Nyeongie", words coming more through the nose than his throat, the scrunch of his nose. Jinyoung's lips pulled into a soft smile and he felt the tension around his eyes ease up as he leaned back in his chair.
"Treat me to that dinner, Tuan."
*
With their bellies and hearts sated, they decided to head out. Unlike Jinyoung, Mark had taken a bus to get there, having just moved here and all that. So Jinyoung dropped him off to the place he was staying at temporarily. He walked him to the doorstep.
Even under the porch light, Mark looked beautiful, creating stark shadows across his face and sparkling up his eyes. He gazed at him, shifting between his lips and cheeks as a sense of deja vu hit him. He swallowed.
Mark gazed back at him, looking expectant. There was a buzz in Jinyoung's head, a swarm of bees flapping their wings, harkening after the honey pot.
The buzz overtook his senses and he found himself leaning closer, distantly registering Mark's eyes fluttering shut and the slightest puckering of his lips. He leaned in — and gingerly pressed his lips on the enticing swell of Mark's cheek.
"Oh," Mark mumbled, and then laughed shyly. "Wow, how gentlemanly of you."
But Jinyoung barely registered the words because his mind was wrapped in the taste of his childhood, still the same. The sweetness so overwhelming he could almost imagine the syrup sticking to his lips like it used to.
Jinyoung pulled back and looked at him, pinked cheeks two globes of rose flavoured Rasgulla. "Unbelievable," he breathed out.
Mark tilted his head and uttered a single confused "Huh?"
Jinyoung exhaled out a laugh, a cloud of fog gushing out as he pulled Mark in by the lapels of his coat.
"I just want to eat you up," He whispered.
"Bold of you to say when you haven't even kissed me yet," Mark snarked back, though his breathing had noticeably picked up a notch.
So he did just that. The first slide of their lips sweeter than honey itself before he deepened the kiss, chasing after that sugar inside the groves of his mouth, beneath his tongue, in the corner of his teeth.
It felt like eternities passed before Mark pulled away. "Wanna come in?" He panted heavily.
"Thought you would never ask," he panted back.
*
Mark sighed, "Jinyoung."
"Mhmhm?" Jinyoung hummed from where his mouth had been nestled against Mark's collarbones since the past five minutes, lips suction cupped around his left clavicle.
"As much as I'm enjoying—" Mark let out a grunt at the dull sting of a bite, "—this, right now there's other parts of me which need your attention. Stat."
"But I just got started," Jinyoung pulled away long enough to purr down at Mark. "Besides," he said as he directed his attention to Mark's right nipple, "You taste the sweetest here."
Mark huffed. "Oh really?" He brought up his hand which was gently carding Jinyoung's hair and licked along the inside of his wrist. "Because I don't taste anything except, well, skin."
"Sucks for you then," Jinyoung mumbled from somewhere above his navel, adamant in licking every nook and cranny of Mark's body. "Trust me when I say this, you are every— well, I don't know about others but you are definitely this diabetic man's wet dream."
Jinyoung's mouth got dislodged from where he was sucking a hickey right on top of his chest mole as Mark suddenly sat up. He shot him an annoyed glare.
"Wait, what? Since when?" Mark asked.
Jinyoung flapped his hand impatiently. "I don't know, a few years give or take."
"Jinyoung," Mark laughed. "You are a Dentist."
"I am aware of that fact, yes."
"Isn't it like, Dentist 101 that one definitely shouldn't eat too many sweets?" He smirked and patted Jinyoung's tummy. "How much sugar did this bad boy pack behind my back?"
Jinyoung slapped his hand away, flushing. "Seems like I didn't learn my lesson, after all."
Mark was about to open his mouth but he silenced him with a kiss, successfully distracting him before resuming his work from where he had left off.
"If anything, the juicy Rasgulla here is you," Mark said, never one to back down as he squeezed Jinyoung's bare ass.
It was enough to finally elicit a reaction out of Jinyoung, a harsh gasp punched out of him as he blushed violently.
"I tried licking myself too, you know. It's not the same," Jinyoung mumbled while averting his gaze, suddenly feeling very shy.
Mark burst out in a fit of giggles and Jinyoung sat up to smack his chest before tightly crossing his arms, as if to physically shield himself from the hot lick of humiliation creeping up his body.
"Don't laugh at me!"
Mark choked on his laughter a little before calming himself down. "No, No, Jinyoungie. Jinyoungie look at me," he cupped his face in his hands. "I just missed you so goddamn much."
And what was he supposed to do, not melt into a pile of goo? He uncrossed his arms and he cupped Mark's face in return. "I missed you a goddamn lot too."
"See, I came back, didn't I?" Mark whispered as he held his eyes.
Jinyoung smiled back at him. "Yes, yes you did." And then he went down and took Mark into his mouth without a warning, the surprised gasp music to his ears.
He chased the sweetness in the grooves of Mark's hip bones, in the valley between the cleft of his ass, across his milky thighs which indented under his fingers like the softest part of a Rasgulla until they unfurled around Jinyoung's head like a blossom to finally reveal the heady nectar inside. So he took what was being given to him, took him far inside his mouth and swiped and licked and swallowed down every drop — the taste on his tongue heavy and sharp and tangy despite all odds — until his teeth positively ached.
In return Jinyoung let Mark scrape his teeth along his ass, let him massage and roll his cheeks between his fingers, run his tongue against his hole in gentle, kitten licks before preparing him with an equally gentle precision.
He sat on top of him and rid the thick syrupy sweetness out of him for a second time, warmth spreading inside him even through the thin rubber leaving him in awe of sweetness this man seemingly never ran out of.
Spent, he let himself fantasize about a time beyond the confines of the condom, letting the sugary sweetness flow freely into him, dipping his finger inside and tasting it off of it.
He also let himself fantasize about being the one to fill Mark up, not carrying the same sweetness inside of him but emulating the visual anyways— syrup dripping out of fair rounded globes, mmm.
For now he just closed his eyes as the warm embrace enveloped him from behind. He pressed back against Mark's chest, mind already disengaging. Thinking, thinking, they had time for that later, after all.
*
At some point between 4 and 5 a.m., when they're just on the precipice of dreamland, Jinyoung nosed along Mark's jaw and mumbled, "Mark?"
"Hm?"
"You da snacc," He tucked his smirk inside the nook of Mark's neck.
Mark paused for a contemplative beat before he said: "Technically I'm a dessert."
Jinyoung's groan and "you ruined it" is drowned out by Mark's saccharine giggles.
*