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1.
Mark has a problem.
Well, maybe he’s being dramatic. Not being able to write when he has a deadline isn’t that much of a big deal, right? It’s called a creative process, he’s almost 85% sure about that. Okay, 40%. Whatever .
He’s fine. Absolutely fine.
He’s simply been seated with a pen in his hand and an empty page for about two hours now. Like, he has the ideas, he has the feeling... just not the actual words. But he’s good — great, even. Three lines of nothing except blank spaces do not scare him. Not at all.
You know, except for the tiniest supposition that he’s gonna burst out in tears if he stares for a moment longer at the goddamned piece of paper that won’t write its lyrics itself. Kind of a problem. Small, detail-problem, really. Right? Right.
Johnny conveniently decides to come into his room when Mark smashes his head against his desk in a desperate attempt to rattle his brainpower on.
“Dude, you need the big guns,” he declares. Mark squints at him for a second before his hyung is out of the room and back in record time, with the whole cereal box in hand. “Inspiration fuel, bro.”
Mark has never been more grateful. Maybe he’ll write an ode to Frosties. “Thanks, hyung.”
Johnny gives him a thumbs-up, fist-bumps him and leaves for his schedule. “A break could be good too, kid. Don’t forget.”
Mark rolls his eyes at him. Pfffff. He can totally take care of himself on his own. Writing is a walk in the park. Obviously.
I mean, it’s not that he hates it. He loves writing, it’s everything he’s ever dreamed of — there’s no bigger pride than the one he feels when one of his songs gets accepted. God, he can’t even describe the feeling that bubbles in his chest when he reads the lines written and they are right .
But there are at least two sides to everything. And one needs a head with way too many deep thoughts and a tongue with way too many unsaid words to write. It’s not always the most pleasant things that plague his mind.
Because, he knows. The world is listening — to him of all people. With attention, for once. Right here, right now.
If the world is willing to listen, what does he want to say? What part of it all is the most important? How should he say it?
He’s gonna burst a vein. And eat an ungodly amount of Frosties while he’s at it. Ugh .
The devil seems to be listening to his prayers. Donghyuck comes into his room (without knocking, he might add), all swagger and chill. “What’s up?”
“My cholesterol, probably,” Mark deadpans.
“Poor baby Mark. Tell Haechan hyung all your problems.” An exaggerated pout comes to his pretty lips immediately. He pushes Mark’s head against his shoulder and pats him patronizingly.
“Fuck off.”
Donghyuck does not, in fact, fuck off. He sighs loudly, leaves a wet smack on Mark’s cheek and proceeds to hand him a bottle of water Mark had forgotten the existence of.
“Baby don’t like it is a great song, you know,” he shrugs. Mark doesn’t get the logic jump. He squints, as if it were his eyes not working ( ding ding ding! What’s not computing is his brain, but well). Hyuck sighs like he’s never met a bigger idiot. “I could be your muse.”
He snortles out an ugly laugh. “You’re crazy.”
“Paint me like one of your French girls, bla bla bla .” And it must be the posing or the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth that gives the older boy this tingly feeling in his chest. Surely, that’s it.
So Mark smacks him. Shoos him out of his room. And he writes a song — more of a draft than anything, really.
It’s not his fault that he can’t get him out of his head even when he gets him out of his room (albeit, with difficulty. A bit of a whiny annoyance, that one).
The thing is, Donghyuck is a hurricane. He tends to leave a whirlwind of emotions behind. Mark isn’t all too sure what he makes him feel. He can only see the eye of the hurricane, the center of it all.
A love song seems like a basic choice doesn’t it?
Luckily for him, his feelings for Donghyuck have a whole lot of layers and years and truths that he can focus on.
At the very beginning, it was something aching to an anger Mark had never experienced before. Admiration, jealousy, uncertainty and the tiniest of crushes. He supposes it was a usual reaction to the smart, witty Korean boy whose words he could only understand halfway, all wrapped up in a pretty package that oozed confidence bigger than his twelve-year-old body.
And Mark being Mark, was way too slow to process. At the raw age of thirteen, all he could think about was his image as an artist. He wanted to be as big as his seniors, as new as his time, as unforgettable as the sun. Those were his three words: big, new, unforgettable , and he worked hard to bear them.
If he had to describe Donghyuck back then, he’d have chosen the words bright, talented and threatening. Mark couldn’t decide if he wanted to be him or if he hated him.
Now that he’s older, he can see what a fool he was.
See, Mark can’t tell exactly when it was that he fell in love with Donghyuck. He can tell you the first time it happened, though — and some in between. After all, this is Mark Lee we’re talking about. He excels at everything. He didn’t only fall once.
Thirteen, dumb and sweaty in a practice room with no view but upholstered walls covered with fake clouds. He wouldn’t have admitted it then. But good god, he knows exactly how he felt.
You’re a Supernova at heart,
all too blinding for my eyes
Petty fights, the prettiest smiles
Why can’t I be half as bright?
Wish I could hold your hand sky-high
They say I’m in the stars,
well then then you’re the sky,
and everybody knows I need you to shine
— Lyric draft on a discarded paper-ball, near the trash can.
***
Sometimes, life hits you with the unexpected.
A pretty boy at your door, even before noon, on vacation. A lactose-intolerant stomach that can take ice-cream because of some miracle. A fucking cold in the middle of the summer.
You know, the usual unusuals.
Mark hates colds. Detests them with all the passion of his fiery heart. Fuck his immunological system. Fuck the cool summer breeze. But, above all, fuck sneezing.
Bless me achoo, my ass.
He goes on about his daily routine like his throat doesn’t itch and his eyes aren’t begging him to fall closed. And, for the most part, he manages to keep the sneezing to a minimum. His tiny, stupid cold goes undetected and everything is fine.
Except for the disapproving scowl on Donghyuck's face all day long. For his guilty eyes and unamused pout.
God. He doesn’t even have to ask .
Even after all these years, he still makes Mark’s breath stutter. He’s still the reason why his tongue gets stuck to the roof of his mouth and his heart throbs in his throat… Donghyuck throws one knowing glance in his direction, and Mark unravels before him — bare, vulnerable, messy.
You know this weird feeling where you don’t want people to know you’re hurting because you don’t want to look weak, don’t mean to be a bother, aren’t sure if it’s big enough to make others worry over you? And at the same time, you wish they cared enough to notice anyway — just to ask if you’re alright, if only to reassure yourself that you’re more than a commodity in their life.
Mark loathes how easily Donghyuck manages to see through his mask of ‘being fine’. Probably dislikes it even more than sneezing.
And Donghyuck knows that too. It’s as annoying as it is comforting — to be known.
“Did you eat, Maekgoelli?”
Mark blows his nose on an already dirty tissue, glares at the younger. “I’m the hyung,” he whines (petulantly).
Hyuck dares to smile at him, amused. “Alright. You should treat me to take-out, then. I feel soup-ish today.”
He’s a little devil. He completes Mark and manages to make him a complete mess. It’s a bit of a paradox, but it makes all the sense in the world to him.
Because Mark can see through Donghyuck’s mask too. He can see the kindness behind the stubborn requests, and the fondness in every snarky comment. The boy behind the sun.
“Fine,” he says, even when he means thank you .
“Cool,” Hyuck answers, and Mark can read the I’ve got you written in his voice.
They eat in Donghyuck’s germ-free room, with Mark burrito-blanketed and Hyuck’s legs thrown over his. Mark falls asleep to the sound of a movie playing, to the scent of home, to the feeling of warm skin against his cheek and an arm around his shoulders.
I hate your voice,
and how you keep givin’ me once-overs,
I hate the way we match,
and the spell you got me under
Hate your eyes, nose, lips and tics
But most of all,
I hate how I don’t hate any of it
— Lyric draft on take-out (wet and greasy) napkin.
***
3.
Logically, Mark knows there’s more to life than loving Donghyuck. But, if he focuses on his personal experience, he can tell it’s a lie.
His life started the moment he met Hyuck.
New world, new people, new Mark. Or maybe true Mark — the one who finally took a shape of his own.
Donghyuck was there when Mark arrived and when he tried to leave. When he got congratulated on his dancing and scolded for his pronunciation. When he developed an obsession with leather and when he decided drawing was not it for him.
When he first dared to actually dream about debuting and when it finally happened.
Donghyuck has been there every step of the way, whether he wanted it or not.
It was by his side that Mark became who he is.
That he learned weeks can last longer than seven days when your schedule is packed full. That sometimes you have to smile through the doubts and laugh through the pain and joke through the exhaustion. That you need to value the comfort of a constant presence in the quick pace of his life.
It’s all been about Donghyuck. Since the very beginning.
Mark doesn’t say a word about it. But unsaid words aren’t necessarily unseen. Little things he can’t help but do with Donghyuck. Smiling brighter, giving him his attention when he speaks and taking silly pictures when he’s missing, calling him out on live and chatting with him as he plays video games for the sake of company.
He won’t say it out loud, yet… well, actions tend to speak for themselves.
When you are hungry, you snack. When you are tired, you take a quick nap. When you are dirty, you shower. But what are you supposed to do with love? Write songs, he supposes.
I really think this is amazing.
When I'm with you,
Only then do I feel alive.
If something could exist forever,
Then it would be a story about you and me,
If you’ll be here as now, this is enough for me.
You're all I need.
Cause you know that without you,
I cease to exist.
So I, I’m made in you.
Boy, you make me one of a kind.
I am the star that only wants to shine on you.
I, I’m made by you.
The reason I shine is that
You are the sun that looks at me.
— Lyric draft written on a ripped-out page of his notebook (for once).
***
4.
Mark ended up not handing in anything (again). And yet, he can’t seem to stop writing snippets of melodies that come to him in the most inconvenient of moments.
It’s silly, really, what brings Mark inspiration; Donghyuck laughing on the floor of their living room, shorts ridden up his thighs and hair looking like a bird’s nest. Late to their schedule, as per usual.
Donghyuck in the practice room, joking with the guys, all big smiles and sweaty clothes that are beginning to fit his buffer form. Bright even under the shitty lighting.
Donghyuck at dawn, moving his hips to a rhythm he’s humming to himself as he boils some water for his ramyeon, gamer headset on and black slippers. Shameless and talented, as he’s always been.
It’s not that Mark minds catching him in the middle of the little things that make him, well, him . It’s about Mark being too obvious for his own good — or maybe Donghyuck is too well-versed in the Mark Signs of Eternal Love.
The point is, Donghyuck knows . He knows and he smirks or winks or bites his lips. The fucker .
At least he doesn’t say anything in front of the hyungs — or the kids, he could never escape them and their biological need for gossip and teasing.
Mark is infinitely grateful. Most of the time, anyway.
Sometimes, though, he kind of hates the hold Donghyuck has on him. You know, when they’re alone and it’s way too late for anyone to notice as Donghyuck slides under the covers of Mark’s bed.
“Wha—”
“You want me, Markuri. Must be embarrassing to like me so much.”
And Mark tries to push him over the edge, but Donghyuck koala-hugs his way to stay. It’s not like Mark can deny shit anyway. He’s always been a terrible liar.
The younger boy simply burrows his cheek closer to Mark’s collarbones, like he could fold himself between Mark’s ribs if he tried hard enough. Worst part of it all, is that Mark would let him.
He’s tempted to stop the games, to just come out and say it. Shout it from the rooftop of their ridiculously tall building, brand some sort of proof on his skin, wear his affection on his sleeve as easily as the bracelet on his wrist.
But he holds his tongue.
It’s not because of fear of unrequitedness or change. No, he’s said it before, he knows . Better than he knows himself, more intimately than he cares to admit to anyone else. Just as Donghyuck knows about Mark.
But Hyuck is a greedy wolf in sheep’s clothes.
He doesn’t only want whispered declarations and take-out dates. He doesn’t want something else to hide and protect and worry over.
What can he say? Mark’s never been good at denying him things — Lord knows he wouldn’t be able to stop himself if he fell on that path.
They’re both perfectionists in their own way. It’s all or nothing, most of the time.
Like, Donghyuck could ask for the stupidest thing, and Mark would hand it over in a heartbeat. That simple.
And precisely, why he can’t do it. Can’t risk it. Not yet.
I can’t say no to you
When your eyes make me a fool
With my lips on your neck
My heart beating in your chest
I can’t say no to you
But I cannot give you
What you want from me
Want from this, from us, from things
I cannot hold you close
But I need you to know
That I still, love you so damn much
— Lyric draft on the notes of his phone, written with the love of his life asleep between his arms.
***
Even if Donghyuck doesn’t know something, he’ll surely find out… god, he can be even pettier than Mark — and that’s saying something.
He’s really, truly, regretting the time he taught Hyuck how to have silent wars. He’s so much better and vicious at them, too. It’s annoying as fuck.
“I like a man who makes his way despite the circumstances,” he hears Donghyuck tell Jaehyun during practice as he crowds him against a wall. Jaehyun indulges the maknae, like most hyungs often do.
And Mark watches with a clenched jaw as Donghyuck flirts and giggles and touches his friend. He tries to convince himself that taking deep breaths might help — it doesn’t.
Sure, he’s jealous. He can admit to that. But mostly, he’s plain mad. At Donghyuck for asking without asking, at himself for wanting to take the bait.
“Do you think they were destined to be?” He hears Jungwoo ask Hyuck over a movie they’re watching on the couch. The younger’s long, tanned, bare legs thrown over Jungwoo’s lap.
“Nah, that’s bullshit. It’s not about if you can make it. It’s about wanting to make it, you know?”
“It’s sad. They can’t be together even if they try.”
“They could, but they won’t ,” Donghyuck pointedly corrects. “I don’t think he loves her enough.”
And Mark knows Donghyuck knows that he’s listening while he pretends he doesn’t. He knows they’re both being obvious here, okay?
Mark can take the verbal squabbles, though. He’s used to them, even if they hadn’t fought like this for years. (Really, it’s almost as if the universe is trying to tell him that he’s perfectly equipped to deal with Donghyuck no matter the situation).
It’s a plastic bag that changes his mind. Why? As silly as it sounds, it contains a piece of paper that was wrinkled to death, a greasy napkin and ripped-out page from his notebook. Under those, there are a bunch of papers he recognizes — their little drafts from trainee days.
And Mark understands the message perfectly. You can have them back. I don’t want them.
A hysterical laugh bubbles out of his mouth.
So Donghyuck wants him to know that he kept the lyrics Mark was too shy to hand-in. That he listens to him, even when he doesn’t know what to say or how to say it. That he treasures his words, keeps them near his heart.
And then, he throws them back at his face — because he doesn’t believe in them anymore.
That breaks Mark.
Because, if he had to choose what was never a choice, he’d choose Donghyuck again. He’d give anything to Donghyuck, even if it left him indebted to himself. There’s not a minute that he doesn’t think about him. Not one person he believes in, more than he believes in Donghyuck.
And he doubts Mark’s love? What is this , if not love?
Maybe it’s sadness, maybe it’s revenge. Maybe he’s trying to prove he can play the game too. Maybe Hyuck is just that good at making a mess of Mark’s brain.
It doesn’t matter. He’s changed his mind, anyway.
If Donghyuck wants it, he’s gonna get it. Even if it’s not the wisest, cleverest choice they’ve ever made. They could do worse, honestly.
(Taeyong will give him a slow, painful death if Mark’s plan fails. But we’ll, he’s a man in love and his beloved is fucking mad. Gotta do what you gotta do).
He picks up all the love words from his heart, and puts them on a song exclusively for his song-collector.
You can’t choose the place where you’re born
That’s just overthinking, it’s not like that
While wandering around the far ends of the sky
We came here because we wished for it
The moonlight that seems to guide me through
The interwoven days, I’m going to meet you now
Cosmic Railway
I’ll carry this feeling on board
Cosmic Railway
To return beside my beloved you
Rendezvous under the twinkling starry sky
And in the mists of time, let’s meet
— Lyric draft written on blue ink, on Donghyuck’s bare thigh, where his shorts have ridden up.
***
+1
Mark tries not to think about it. He heads to his room, lies on his back and looks at his social media. He waits and hopes and waits some more.
He only has a knock as a warning.
“Really, Mark Lee?” Donghyuck asks, hip jutted and leaning on the frame of the door, eyebrow quirked up.
Mark shrugs.
Hyuck squints at him in disbelief. Then, he walks into the room, heading straight to the desk. He grabs the piece of paper on top of the stack and a pen. And he copies the lyrics from his leg.
“You…actually liked them?” The words fall off his lips before he can stop them.
Donghyuck sighs like Mark’s the dumbest person he’s ever met. He stands up as soon as he finishes, his long legs carrying him out of the room in no time.
“I’m having a concert in the shower, care to join with the guitar?”
Mark barely manages to nod before the boy is out of his room, and the sound of the shower reaches him.
It takes him a second, but Mark follows him — he always does.
Luckily for him, their water heats up quickly and Donghyuck has no shame whatsoever. He’s in the shower, mirror fogged up and scrubbing a loofah over his thigh.
Well, Mark thought he was joking — but there’s a music sheet on the sink and Donghyuck is looking at him expectantly.
“Paper and water don't mix, Hyuck,” he tries to tease. He gets another are-you-dumb? -sigh.
“What? You leave your writing everywhere. And this is practical, since I sing here the most,” he replies. Mark can’t deny him those arguments, can he?
As usual, Hyuck starts out by making fun of Mark, like always. He sings a very dramatic rendition of Boyfriend that has Mark holding his hands against his stomach in laughter. He makes stupid gestures and winks and brushes his hair back seductively. He sings to his foamy loofah and smiles at Mark so, so brightly.
When he’s done, he leaves only a few seconds of silence, gaze down — shy for once. Mark can’t tell if the blush on his cheeks is a result of the shower or the words leaving his lips.
Do you perhaps remember when we first met
That bright day filled with sunlight
I’m thankful to you who’s always
By my side like this and again and again
I just need you to be with me
As time goes on, we become more comfortable
I might have upset you sometimes
You can always tell me
I’ll be who you want me to be
At the end of your day, I’ll always
Fully hold you in my arms
I’ll listen to your stories
You don’t always have to be perfect to me
It’s alright
You just have to stay like this
Always, just like right now, always, just like right now
Mark wants to kiss the music right off his mouth. Instead, he sings out the notes on the sheet of paper, a couple of adlibs here and there, if only to make the younger look at him.
Mark hears the water shut off. He waits patiently, reclined on the sink, mouth agape and eyes roaming. Donghyuck knows, obviously .
“Cat got your tongue, Maekgeolli? Guess I can’t be your muse if I don’t inspire words,” he smirks, towel low on his hips, drops sliding down his chest and neck.
“You could be my boyfriend instead,” he blurts out.
There’s only ragged breaths for a terrifying moment.
“It was way more romantic when you’d serenade me, you know,” Donghyuck pouts pettily. The corners of his lips tell another story, though.
“I can promise you’ll be the first one I show them to, when I write them,” Mark promises instead, pink all the way to his ears.
That has Hyuck smiling big and bright, just as Mark loves it.
“Seal it with a kiss, Mr. Lee.”