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There’s no particular reason Mark ends up in New Zealand of all places. It’s just that he sees a page for Akaroa on a tacky cruise website he’s browsing, and his big dumb sniffer-dog heart sets on it. The blues and greens in every photo are so saturated that he feels the need to find out for himself if they’re photoshopped. Beyond that, deeper, the tiny seaside town kind of makes him think of his childhood trips to Montreal; vague memories of dozing in a stroller by the water at the Old Port. A rubber ducky-yellow sun hat on his head and melted ice cream on his shirt. That in turn makes him think of home, and well. Yeah. Mark isn’t immune to sentimentality, okay?
Could he have spent his airfare on a ticket back to Toronto, instead? Sure. But he’s looking for catharsis right now, not stale baggage wrenched from the bottom of his brain. He’s going to have enough literal baggage to deal with on his imminent three-day hike.
That’s the other thing. Instead of convincing himself that he’d gain anything from a cruise (besides claustrophobia and some kind of cheese and/or meat related diarrhoea), Mark convinces himself he’s into hiking. He’s a hiking enthusiast now. He has the brand new lightweight North Face jacket to prove it, and ugly beige boots that he wears for three weeks straight to make sure they won’t give him blisters. The dude at the outdoor store rained on Mark’s parade pretty hard when he mentioned he was planning on taking his Timberlands. Mark even walks around his block in Seoul with all of his equipment in his sixty-litre pack for a whole ten minutes before he gets too self-conscious and flees back to his apartment.
Whatever. At least his students get a kick out of his super lame footwear. He’s seen them grinning behind their hands in class. He learns so many factoids to try and impress them. Like, for one? The only endemic land mammals in New Zealand are bats. That’s fucking wild. He’s not sure if his students are moved, but Mark is.
On the day that Mark arrives, the sky is just as dizzyingly blue as Mark was led to expect. It stretches on forever and hugs the edges of the world. He parks his rented sedan up by the ending point of the hike and walks back down the hill to the town, feeling the weight of his pack in his knees. The booking receipt for the hike instructs him to wait by the post office to be picked up by a minibus and taken to the first hiker’s hut. After five minutes of standing around by himself, he starts to wonder if he’s in the wrong spot. Five minutes later, a station wagon rolls up.
“So, like, where is everyone?” Mark asks the driver.
“It’s just you and one other guy. I’m not picking him up until the morning,” the driver says, slowing down as the sealed road peters out into pale gravel. “Sorry. Or congratulations.”
“Wow,” Mark says. From a social battery and blissful serenity standpoint he'd been hoping for a small group, but he’d imagined an assortment of company. Can he even call two people a group? What if his partner sucks? What if they’re a creep? What if they’re mean about Mark’s baby blue sleeping bag? “Does that happen a lot?”
“It’s hard to predict.” The driver shrugs, easing the car up a gentle valley. “We had a group of eight set out this morning. You just picked a sleepy day.”
“Guess so,” Mark says, half preparing himself to spend three days and two nights with a fifty-five-year-old called Harv.
The hiker’s hut is more like a small house, high-ceilinged and echoey. Somewhere outside, a bird honks like a dog toy. To the bird’s credit, it’s a beautiful evening. Butter-yellow sunlight melting in through the large windows; not a hint of wind in the dense tufts of tussock.
“Great job, Mark Lee,” Mark murmurs to himself, wandering to the back sliding door and peeling his socks off to step outside. “Way to put yourself out there.” Way to stroll out of your comfort zone onto a field of broken glass. “Hey!” Mark calls to a fat, white-chested pigeon in a nearby tree. “You want to add me on Instagram, man?”
Unblinking, the pigeon pecks at a leaf.
“You're right.” Mark sighs. Good idea. Food, relaxation, sleep. New day, new friend, even if it’s just one. Mark is on vacation. He’ll enjoy it. If all else fails, he’ll pretend so hard he believes. He’s good at that.
--
Out the front of the house there are stargazer huts dotting the sloped lawn. Small A-frame structures, just big enough to fit two people shoulder to shoulder, roofed with thick, clear PVC for a view of the unpolluted sky. The idea of sleeping in one by himself kind of spooks Mark right the fuck out, but he’s trying his best to seize the day.
In front of him stretches the volcanic bowl of the bay, so old it makes his head itch. This ground has spent longer on the bottom of the sea than it has as an island. A crater once filled with magma and toxic gas, now sustaining dolphins and penguins and rampant tourism. It should make Mark feel small. Instead it reminds him that in all the universe, he’s alive, with a Fitbit on his wrist and the ability to communicate via multiple languages. What are the fucking chances.
Mark tucks his arms behind his head and stares up at the sparkling night sky. This would be better if he wasn’t alone. It’d be better with two bottles of a beer he’s never heard of and a warm body stretched out beside him. They could zip their sleeping bags together into one mega-sleeping bag and let their fingers brush together. They could talk about how Mark feels like he could tip his head back and slip into the stars like a bath.
Mark could tell them how after a point, regardless of context, distance can lose all meaning. The moon, Mars, Toronto, the convenience store on the corner near Mark's apartment. All locations humans can theoretically travel to. After twenty-seven years on Earth, Mark’s come to realise that longing is more relevant than distance. That with a heart sick with resentment, home is Pluto to him. Unreachable. Unknowable.
How, instinctively, he still calls Toronto back home. Embedded in him like scar tissue. A place he hasn’t lived in decades. The place where his parents finally decided they were content to settle. A place where Mark isn’t.
--
The start of the walk is a gentle sheep speckled hill, but Mark has put in enough practice to know that he should warm up before getting straight into elevation. He does some stretches and throws some jumping jacks into the mix, then hefts his pack onto his back to walk a few circuits around the house.
It’s a kind morning, mild and breezy. His skin stinks of sunscreen and his water tastes like plastic coming out of the Camelbak tube strapped over his shoulder. His pack is a sturdy weight, spread across his trunk and shoulders. Then he gets paranoid about the possibility of needing to take a dump on the trail in front of a stranger, and runs back inside for a last-minute bathroom trip.
While he’s in there, he hears the approach of footsteps; boots crackling on gravel. A loud male voice is joined by a second, too quiet and succinct to overhear. The footsteps retreat again, and then it’s just Mark, sitting with his shorts around his knees and getting kind of nervous. He’s been the new kid on the playground an objectively insane number of times in his life, but he still feels his mouth begin to dry. This is probably the kind of thing he would talk to a therapist about if he was less chickenshit and like, had a therapist.
Mark is expecting his fellow hiker to be waiting for him when he heads back outside, but they’re nowhere to be seen. Shouldering his pack again, Mark hustles around the side of the house. He spots a figure a few hundred metres away, already making their way up the grassy track. From here, they just look like a pack with legs, the whole upper half of their body obscured from view.
“What the hell,” Mark murmurs, breaking into a brisk walk. “Hey! Hey, wait up!”
The hiker stops and turns, holding a hand up to shield his eyes as he watches Mark approach. He’s a small guy, his chest and hips narrow under the support straps of his comically large pack. He’s wearing a grey ball cap, but underneath it Mark can see something funky going on with his shaggy hair. Half bleached, half black. Aw, damn, he’s hipper than Mark. If he starts talking to Mark about chamber-pop, Mark is fucked. He’s not prepared to sacrifice his Spotify algorithm for this.
But Mark is getting ahead of himself. And he’s almost caught up, close enough to distinguish the guy’s face. He’s pretty. And cute. That probably shouldn’t be one of Mark’s first thoughts, but it is, so it seems disingenuous to deny it. Fine featured with round cheeks that are already a little pink from exertion, his plush lips parted around heavy breaths. Dude really should have warmed up first.
“Hey.” Mark thrusts his hand out once he draws close. “How you doing? My name’s Mark.”
“My name is Renjun,” the guy says, taking Mark’s hand. His palm is disarmingly soft. Mark realises half a second into the handshake that he’s totally miscalculated the correct level of pressure to apply, squeezing enthusiastically.
“Cool. Renjun. Do you want to hold up for a minute?” Mark offers, feeling a little puffed himself now. “Do a few stretches? Limber up? That pack looks pretty heavy. I think I still have some space in mine if you want to share your load.” Mark laughs awkwardly.
Renjun stares at Mark, then frowns, muttering something under his breath in what sounds like Chinese. He turns and starts walking again.
Mark blinks. Wow, great start. He can’t help himself. In Korean, he asks, “Should I even bother trying to apologise?”
Renjun spins around, eyebrows raised. “Were you planning to?”
“Dude, what the hell?” Mark yelps. “Wait, do you speak English, too?”
Renjun’s eyes narrow. Slowly, he says, “Maybe.”
Mark can see Renjun’s ears tinting red. “I’ll take that as a no.”
Renjun shrugs broadly, neither confirming or denying.
Feeling a little stung and a little justified, Mark asks, “Why did you start walking without me? I was waiting for you.”
Renjun sighs, jerking his chin for Mark to catch up. “I thought you left without me. I was going to chew you out when I found you.”
“Oh. Sorry about that, I guess.” Mark scurries to fall into step beside Renjun. “I was taking a shit. And sorry for like, undermining your self-sufficiency or whatever. I swear I didn’t mean to.”
Renjun says, “You can stop digging any time.”
Can he? Mark continues, “I’m sure you’re super strong!” Mark isn’t actually sure at all. Renjun’s pack is half his size and probably a third of his weight. But Mark has bridges to mend. “You look fit, man! This is a me problem, not you. Even the aunties in my building say I’m a pushover! They all think I want something from them. I don’t have the heart to tell them they just slow me down when they’re carrying six shopping bags up the stairs in front of me. Not that they aren’t all glam as hell, but I’m not a gold digger.”
“Who’s slowing who down?” Renjun snorts. “I’d be at the top already if it weren't for you.”
“Ah, fuck.” Mark drags his hand down his face. He almost turns right around. “That wasn’t what I – you know I didn’t – fuck, man, you know?”
“Is talking too much a you problem, too?” Renjun asks. To Mark’s delight, there’s a small smile lingering on his lips.
“How can you tell? Throw me a bone, man.” Mark lifts his cap off his already sweaty head. “Right at my temple. Or push me back down the hill or something. Shove my face into the side of that nasty old sheep over there until I suffocate.”
“If I forgive you, will you relax?” Renjun asks. His breaths are beginning to labour again. So are Mark’s. It feels good. “This is supposed to be fun. I’m getting stressed-out just looking at you.”
That’s a lot to ask. “I’ll try?”
Renjun smiles, his eyes crinkling. "It’s a start.”
“Cool.” Mark looks down at his ugly boots, smiling himself. “Cool, cool.”
After a few minutes, Mark is surprised to find he does unwind. His feet find a rhythm with his breaths, in turn finding rhythm with Renjun’s. Renjun hums quietly, his voice soft and sweet. Mark wonders if it’s a nervous habit, or just a habit-habit. Maybe not everyone constantly overthinks like Mark does. Either way, it’s kind of nice.
At the top of the first hill they turn in tandem to survey the view. The hiker’s hut already looks doll-sized. Beneath them, the bay stretches out like a giant blue paw, the sky dusted with icing sugar clouds. Soon, all signs of civilization will be out of sight.
“I didn’t know it would be this beautiful,” Renjun murmurs, holding his phone up to snap a photo.
Mark swallows thickly, his gaze drifting between the view and Renjun’s awestruck face. “Yeah. Me neither.”
--
“Do you want some scroggin?” Mark asks, opening the zipper in the top of his pack. They’ve stopped near the trig sign at the highest point of the walk; six hundred and ninety-nine metres. There isn’t a lot of shade around, but they’ve huddled side by side beneath a shaggy shrub.
Renjun lets his bladder tube fall from his mouth, and asks, “Excuse me?”
“It’s what they call trail mix here,” Mark explains, extracting a bulging zip lock bag of fruit and nuts. “I don’t know why, but it’s fun to say.”
“Sure.”
“If you dig around, there are little chocolate pieces in there too,” Mark says, pouring out a handful and passing the bag across. “It’d be nice if you leave some for me, but I’ll forgive you if you don’t.”
“Why would you tell me that first?” Renjun asks, lifting the bag to his face to inspect the contents.
“I dunno, you don’t look like an asshole.”
“Maybe that’s my secret weapon.” Renjun locks eyes with Mark, popping a chunk of chocolate in his mouth.
“Dude,” Mark says, battling the urge to stare at Renjun’s mouth. Renjun sets to work methodically stripping the bag of chocolate and dried cherries. “Devious.”
Renjun winks. Mark is in deep shit.
They’re about a third of the way through the first day of walking. The going gets a little rough on the hills, Mark’s thighs burning and his feet turning to sweaty soup in his thick socks, but there’s something meditative about it. One boot in front of the other until they reach the top of a rise, shocked by how far they’ve travelled. Mark is mostly happy to follow Renjun's pace, stopping whenever they notice something spectacular and photo-worthy. Which is often.
It turns out Renjun is like, super chill to talk to. Wry and witty and a little mean, but totally shameless in his enjoyment of the world around him. The first time they saw a bumblebee, Mark thought his face would split from smiling. Less at the fat little dude weighing down a flower, and more at the sight of Renjun cooing, almost tipping over under his pack as he squatted down.
Mark teaches teenagers. Sure, they’re respectful and diligent and so hard working, but he sees them arming themselves against sincerity every day. Already closed off and jaded before they even enter adulthood. He knows it’s a rite of passage. Cool over cute. Distance over warmth. Fighting to make room for themselves when their lives are increasingly dominated by study. He tries to instil the benefits of kindness. How moving tenderly through life can be as impactful as churning roughly. Renjun said something softly to the bee in Chinese and laughed as the front half of the bee’s body disappeared into a blossom, leaving just its fuzzy ass sticking out. The ripples of that sound travelled out, striking Mark right in his racing heart. He thinks it changed him. Just a tiny bit, in that way that mundane things do. Like a sunrise or a perfect meal. That everyday fanaticism. Renjun is Mark’s bumblebee.
“How are you feeling?” Mark asks, wiping his hands off on his shorts.
“Okay.” Renjun rolls his shoulders and stretches his neck back and forth. “I hope it’s flat for a little while.”
“Do you do this a lot?” Mark asks. “Hiking? Solo hiking?”
Renjun snorts. “No, never. This is my first time.”
“No way,” Mark crows. “Me too!”
“Did I fool you? Do I look like a pro?” Renjun’s eyes narrow a little, like he’s trying to see through Mark.
“I mean, it’s not like I’d know what to look for, right?” Mark says. “Anyway, you’re hiking now. That’s legit. I’m your witness.”
And an attentive one at that. Mark witnesses the back of Renjun’s neck when Renjun asks Mark to help him reapply his sunscreen. Carefully, he pulls Renjun’s collar down, running his greasy palm along the hot skin of Renjun’s back, the tips of his fingers grazing Renjun’s collarbones. He witnesses the way Renjun sighs, instantly tipping his head back when Mark squeezes his shoulder firmly.
“Do want me to do you?” Renjun asks, hefting his pack back on.
“No. No, I’m good.” Mark laughs, tugging sheepishly at the sweaty gaiter looped around his neck. “But thanks.”
Mark is working overtime to not make a fool of himself as is. Renjun putting his hands on Mark’s gross grimy body isn’t a variable he’s at all prepared for.
--
“Check it out.” Mark points into the woods. “Spooky shitter.”
The terrain has changed as they’ve headed down the other side of the peak. For a while they travelled along a dirt trail, wide enough for vehicle access. The rocky landscape yielded to homogenous spiky shrubs covered in glossy yellow flowers. Renjun said they smelled like piña coladas.
Now they’re descending into a shady valley, surrounded by more trees than they’ve seen since they set off this morning. Yellow grasses give way to narrow grey trunks shedding papery bark, topped with sparse green canopies.
They pass an outhouse set a little off the path. It’s wooden and aged, coated in moss and lichen. Even rancid no-flush long drops have whimsy out here.
“It's a sign.” Renjun points to a picnic table in a clearing ahead. “I filled my thermos this morning, we can have tea.”
They dig their mugs out, and Renjun hands Mark a nondescript black tea bag.
“I stole it from the hotel,” Renjun explains. Mark isn’t enough of a pedant to point out that you can’t steal complimentary tea bags.
The first sip is transcendent. It’s far below boiling point and a little bitter. It’s the best thing Mark’s ever tasted. “What did you put in this?”
“It’s the scenery.” Renjun smiles into the rim of his mug, cradling it in both hands. “And the sense of accomplishment, probably.”
And the company, Mark doesn’t say. “What do you think a Michelin star meal would taste like right now? Because I think I’d fucking die. My brain would ooze out my ears.”
They pool their lunch, spreading bread, cheese, and a tin of tuna between them. A curious little black and white bird flits around nearby.
“We should leave some crumbs for it,” Renjun says. “Just accidentally.”
Cute. So fucking cute. Mark wants to leave crumbs for Renjun.
“Why did you decide to come out here?” Mark asks.
“I quit my job last month,” Renjun says, suddenly very intent on constructing his sandwich.
“Oh.” Mark nods. “That explains the hair.”
Renjun’s head whips up. “Are you saying I look unemployed?”
“You don’t look like a salaryman.”
Renjun blinks. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
Renjun looks like a fairy. He looks like he emerged from the same woods as that wizard-toilet they just passed. Even with his skunk hair shorn short, Mark can’t imagine Renjun not turning his head. A swan amongst ducks. A really small, duck-sized swan.
“And I wasn’t supposed to come by myself,” Renjun continues, a little furrow forming between his brow. “My friend Donghyuck and I planned this trip together. Temporary ex-friend. It was his idea, too. It was supposed to make me feel better. Then he got endorsed for an end-of-year promotion, and he flaked on me.”
“Ouch,” Mark winces. “What a jerk.”
“He’s fine.” Renjun sighs, prodding sharply at his wet teabag where it’s discarded on the table. “I know he feels like shit. I think I’ve forgiven him. I was going to hold out and see if he’d guilt-buy me a Cartier watch or something, but spite is so exhausting.”
Poor guy. “If I upset you enough to get the cold shoulder I’d probably like, move away and join a French monastery. I'd spend the rest of my life raising bees and growing heirloom garlic with Jesus.”
Renjun laughs his overly-loud laugh, a smile spreading across his pouty lips again. Mark feels like he summited Everest. “I’d forgive you, too. Especially if you let me meet your bees.”
“Yeah, duh,” Mark says, overcome by the sole objective to make Renjun laugh again. “I’ll personally introduce you to every one. My daughter, Mark Bee. And my daughter, Mark Bee, and my other daughter, Mark Bee, and my other—”
Renjun cuts Mark off with a hard push to the shoulder, head thrown back. All these little chirping birds and all this serenity, and Mark still wonders if these woods have ever heard something so beautiful.
Later, turning and turning his empty mug in his hand, Renjun asks, “Have you ever stayed at a job longer than you should have?”
Renjun won’t look at Mark, but Mark can’t take his eyes off him. “I don’t think so.”
“You’d know.” Renjun’s mouth twitches into a small smile. His voice is so soft; in volume and tone. Swaddled in cotton. “It wasn’t anything dramatic, I just wore myself out. Really badly. It was easier to leave and start all over again.”
Mark is lucky. He likes his job. It’s not that he hasn’t learnt hard lessons. He knows that grinding like a machine will never impress the people around Mark more than it ruins him. He knows that satisfaction in his work becomes a frail thing when it's shoved beneath the lens of efficiency and productivity. He feels his chest buckle sometimes under the weight of his responsibility. The young minds at his still-young disposal. And maybe he doesn’t have to hunt for silver linings, but his friends tell him he works too much, so it must be true. They wouldn’t look so worried if it wasn’t.
“Balance is hard, huh?” Mark says.
“Yeah.” Renjun finally glances up for a fraction of a second.
How did you hurt yourself so bad, Mark wants to ask. He’s a lawnmower in a flower garden; clumsy and unfit. What hurt you, who hurt you, point me at that motherfucker. As if he can fist fight burnout. He feels like he’s been granted entry into an exclusive club. Swollen feet and emotional vulnerability and two browning apple cores on the table between them.
“Anyway, I’m free now,” Renjun says, drifting out from behind a cloud. “I’m here. My horizons are broadened. My time is the opposite of maximised. You know, I thought I wouldn’t have anyone to talk to here. I have a little English, but I was worried I’d be lonely without Donghyuck.”
“I’m glad you aren’t,” Mark says, deadly serious. Thinking about Renjun dreading any part of this Heaven on earth makes Mark’s guts turn to compost.
“Me too,” Renjun says. He lays his hand on Mark’s leg, half on his shorts, half on his mad-hairy thigh. Then Renjun lets go. “I’m going to use that haunted toilet. If I scream, please knock before rescuing me.”
“You got it,” Mark says, watching in a daze as Renjun heads back up the path into his natural environment. Ethereal and riveting and kind of just a guy. Just a dude with a shitty career and an unfulfilling life and tiny little waist that Mark wants to wrap his arms around and squeeze.
--
Come late afternoon they step onto a lush green lawn, rounding a corner into a wide valley occupied by a small house. It looks like any old weathered farmhouse, wooden with a corrugated iron roof. A few sheep graze around it, and the sea whispers nearby.
“Is that for us?” Renjun asks, eyes wide.
It is. They lose their boots and enter through the back door into a low-ceilinged kitchen. There’s a fridge and a stove and a microwave. It’s simple, but given the location it feels borderline luxury. There’s even a fireplace in the living room, surrounded by plush, overstuffed sofas.
The hiker’s guidebook in the kitchen informs them that there’s a small selection of food and drink for sale, and a penguin tour that evening at a sanctuary about five minutes away.
Renjun emerges from the shower swimming in comfy joggers and a sweatshirt, his hair damp around his ears. Mark wants to wrap Renjun’s head in a towel and use it as an excuse to pull him into a kiss. Mark’s losing it; he’s well aware.
They set off for the penguin tour about half an hour later, both swish-swishing in their puffy down jackets. Mark is exhausted, but he’s squeaky clean again, and the ache in his feet feels earned.
On their way, they pass a tiny, pebbly bay. Mark spots two familiar long-necked figures lingering around an inlet.
“Hey!” he points, grabbing Renjun’s bicep. “Canada geese! I didn't know they were here.”
“Canada Mark,” Renjun says quietly. They continue around the bay. “Were you born there?”
“Toronto,” Mark says.
“When did you move?”
“Uh, that’s–” Mark scratches the nape of his neck, fingers crawling under his beanie. “Which time?”
“I don’t know, you tell me,” Renjun probes. “How long have you lived in Seoul?”
Mark laughs for no good goddamn reason. “Concurrently?”
“Hyung,” Renjun says, exasperated. “I thought this was an easy question, I didn’t know it would initiate your riddle function.”
“It isn’t. I mean, you didn’t.” Mark sighs. “It’s just a longer answer than it should be, okay? It’s stupid.”
“I’m sorry I asked.” Renjun says, eyes straight ahead.
“Don’t be,” Mark takes Renjun’s hand, desperate to win his attention back. It works. Renjun looks down at their clasped hands, then back up at Mark’s face, searching. “Please, don’t be. I’ll tell you later. I just want to be with you and the penguins right now, you know? In the moment, or whatever.”
Renjun meets Mark eye-to-eye. That look pries Mark pages apart. Firm, clever fingers down his spine.
“Okay,” Renjun says. He repositions his grip, clasping Mark’s hand properly for a few seconds before letting go.
Somehow, Mark doesn’t chase after it.
Three minutes later, Mark is filming Renjun playing tug of war with a milk bottle and a lamb outside the farmhouse at the penguin sanctuary. Three other lambs jostle around Mark, nudging his thighs, no doubt wondering why he’s being such a useless waste of space. It’s not what Mark expected. No part of this hike has been what he expected.
He’s similarly caught off guard when a minibus rolls slowly down the dirt road, coming to a stop in front of the farmhouse and offloading a dozen tourists. It sets Mark on edge more than it should. He and Renjun have been alone for less than twelve hours, but it feels like their little private bubble is being burst. New voices shouting over their harmonious duet.
Mark shuffles to Renjun’s side. He slings his arm around Renjun’s neck in a loose headlock, pulling him close. If it comes across as weird and possessive and co-dependent, it’s because it is.
“Hyung,” Renjun says quietly, his small hand curling on Mark’s waist. “Relax.”
“I am relaxed.” Mark bumps his beanie off Renjun’s beanie, knocking his own glasses askew. He loosens his hold, giving Renjun the option to pull away if he wants to. Renjun doesn’t move. “I’m so relaxed.”
The tourists mill around, acquainting themselves with the lambs. Renjun’s fingers dig into Mark’s side, like a cat making biscuits. “Are you always this clingy?”
“Maybe,” Mark says, a little sullen. He’s not trying to hide it. “Maybe it’s just you. What about it?”
Renjun jams his thumb into Mark’s ribs, hard. “Don’t think I’m not putting a pin in that.”
Marks yelps, jolting away. Renjun just looks up at him mildly, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. If the two tour guides try to split them into different groups, Mark’s going to revolt.
The guides hand out goofy camouflage print ponchos for everyone to wear. Mark starts to see the bright side of their new company when an American woman offers to take Mark and Renjun’s photo for them. The first tangible proof that the two of them were ever in the same place at the same time.
For an hour they sneak around, peering in nest boxes at tiny blue penguins hunching angrily over their chicks. They learn about the conservation efforts to rid the peninsula of invasive weasels and stoats who raid their nests. Mark murmurs hushed translations for Renjun’s benefit. All these poor little flightless birds must have thought they were on to such a good thing finding an island where bats were monopolising the land mammal game. They can’t have known the harm that humans do to the things around them. Even worse, that they’d have to rely on humans to undo it.
Just as the sun is setting, they spot a sole hoiho penguin laboriously shambling up a steep shore on its stubby legs. With seven people squeezed into the bird hide, it’s a tight fit. Mark manoeuvres Renjun in front of himself, hooking an arm around Renjun’s waist, his chest glued to Renjun’s back.
They’re a perfect fit. Mark is at the ideal height to whisper directly into Renjun’s ear. “That’s how I’m gonna be walking two days from now.”
Renjun claps a hand over his mouth to snort into his palm. Mark memorises the way Renjun’s body quivers against his own.
--
Renjun viciously roasts Mark’s decision to only bring ten packs of Shin Ramyun for his meals. Like, fair enough, but Renjun can kind of cook. Mark is a savage kitchen rat who’s met nothing but disappointment and heartbreak in front of a frying pan.
He can assist though. He can microwave rice pouches and chop tomatoes with vague finesse. Most importantly, he can open a new beer for Renjun every time his can runs empty. Once they finish eating, Mark is on the fluffy edge of tipsy. Warm and comfy, his mouth running like water. Between them they figure out how to light the fire in the living room, settling down on either end of a flowery loveseat.
“So, we moved to Seoul when I was six,” Mark says, counting off on his fingers. Even he finds this hard to remember; edges blurred by repetition. “Then to Vancouver when I was ten, then back to Seoul when I was thirteen, then back to Canada a couple years later, and then back to Seoul in time to finish high school.”
“Ew.” Renjun’s nose wrinkles, his socked toes burrowing under Mark’s thighs. “Yuck. Why?”
“Work opportunities. My grandparents.” Moving in with Mark’s grandmother after his grandfather died. Being yanked back and forth across the globe for the office-hours version of Mark’s dad. Mark didn’t even know that man. His dad ceased to exist for ten hours every day and reappeared around seven o’clock wearing his dad’s slippers. Sometimes, out of nowhere, that imposter re-emerged to say I’m uprooting everything we know again. A fresh betrayal every time. Mark at ten years old, crying quietly in the back of a rental car, letting snot run down his face so no one would hear him sniff. Mark at fifteen, trying to choke down rice around the lump in his throat. “I went to so many different schools, man.”
It wasn’t like Korean or flute or guitar. It didn’t get easier with practice. His family were the only constant, even as he grew more distinct from them every day. Trying to find the true shape of himself and wincing at the ways in which his corners no longer fit flush with theirs.
Still, they were comfort. They were constant. They were context. The smell of his mom’s cooking. The way his brother teased and snapped. The radio on in the mornings over breakfast, and his mom’s phone on speaker at all hours as she caught up with family left behind; time zones memorised. Even the distant monosyllables that his dad regularly slipped into without warning.
Renjun sips his beer, his top lip shining in the firelight. “Where are your parents now?”
“Toronto.”
“Oh,” Renjun says, lips downturned.
“I thought they were going to stay, too.” Mark sighs. “They stuck around until after I graduated. I was so sure they’d settled down. And then like, two months into my first teaching placement they told me they’d decided to go back to Toronto for good.”
It had stung like a skinned knee. Like mile-long road rash. Hearing that news just as Mark had formalised the most concrete long-term plans of his life. He’d thought, stupidly, that finally their orbits would sync. All of them spinning in union for once, instead of trailing Mark behind in their gravity like space trash.
“I hated moving.” Mark’s fingernail tings as it bounces off his beer can. “But being left behind was a drag.”
“Do they visit?” Renjun shifts his weight, tipping closer to Mark. Mark drapes his arm across the back of the sofa to make space, his fingers brushing Renjun’s hair.
“Nope.” It’s been close to three years. “Not yet. But you want to know the stupidest part? I don’t even think I’m mad anymore. Not in a way that matters. I think I’m over it. I was so determined to make them come to me if they wanted to see me, but I think I’m just robbing myself now. I think I just miss them.” Mark spent so long resenting his parents’ choices that it almost felt like a part of him. A ritual of adolescence. Like counting when he brushed his teeth, or avoiding the cracks in the pavement. Habits that felt desperately vital, suddenly rendered trivial without him even noticing. “Can you just let go of something like that?”
“Yes. Fuck it,” Renjun says, shoulders rising in a lazy shrug. “If it isn’t useful anymore, fuck it.”
Mark laughs. Before he can stop himself, he grazes his thumb against Renjun’s flushed cheek. “Should I be taking advice from some dude who grew his hair out and ran away to New Zealand?”
Renjun snarls, pushing at Mark’s legs with his feet until Mark snags Renjun around the ankles and wrestles them into the air. When Mark rights him again, Renjun wheezes and goes limp, resting shoulder to shoulder with Mark.
“Do whatever you want,” Renjun says. Mark’s heart beats rabbit-fast. “I wanted to die in that place. Every morning I woke up and was horrified by the rest of my life. I have no idea what comes next, but right now I’m happier than I’ve been in months.”
“I hope you stay happier,” Mark says, head tipped back on the sofa, sleepy. He thinks, I hope I’m making you happier. “I hope you have a good life.”
Renjun smiles, looping his arm through Mark’s. “I was so scared of killing a part of myself that I let it die slowly. I got so much lighter when I cut it off.”
“Hm,” Mark hums. “Making space for new shit to grow. Proud of you, dude.”
Renjun laughs. His forehead tips to Mark’s shoulder. “You’re sweet.”
Mark wants to eat Renjun alive. He wants to press him back into the cushions and pin Renjun’s hands so his beer spills to the floor and his warm body squirms beneath Mark’s. “No, I’m not.”
“Don’t argue with me,” Renjun murmurs.
“What if I want to?” Mark slides two fingers into Renjun’s hair, coiling a lock around them. “What if I like it? I’ve liked everything else about you.”
“Mark…” Renjun says, quietly. In the silence after, in the crackle of the fire, Mark holds his breath. He waits for more. “I’m getting a chocolate bar. Do you want one?”
Chocolate and beer sounds catastrophically bad. He wants Renjun to sit in his lap. “Sure.”
Mark stares at Renjun’s ass as he leaves. When Renjun returns, he stops in the doorway, cocked hip leaning on the frame.
“Catch.” He throws the chocolate to Mark underhand. Mark is busy snatching it from the air and checking the label when Renjun calmly says, “I’m not hooking up with you tonight.”
Mark’s head snaps up, a spark running down his spine. “Why not? I mean. What?”
“Maybe I want to humble you for assuming I’m impulsive.” Renjun doesn’t even attempt to hide his grin. “We have two more days alone together. I’m having a good time with you, but I’m not ready to risk ruining a good thing. How do I know you aren't the kind of guy who’s going to make it weird?”
“I’m not.” To be fair, Mark doesn’t know Renjun’s metric for weird. If he considers Mark having to repress the urge to tell Renjun he smells dope weird, then yeah, they’re shit out of luck. But he has no intention of making things awkward. Not unless they’re so bad in bed together that they devolve into some kind of nightmare sex-farce. Possible, but unlikely. “I don’t think I am. And I don’t just want you for your dick. I mean, I want your dick, obviously, but I’m not gonna beg you for it. Unless that’s what you’re angling for, in which case tell me where to kneel, man.”
“I like you,” Renjun mercifully interrupts, cheeks glowing red. Mark’s heart thuds. “I want to be sure you aren’t going to pretend I don’t exist the second we get out of here.”
Mark gets it. He’s been stung like that before. Usually only badly enough to keep him in a funk for a day or two. Waking to a lonely bed and a blocked number, wondering if he’s the asshole. Sure, the cumulative psychic damage can be brutal, but rarely in a way that can’t be cured in the short term by fried chicken and beer and a few friends. But maybe Renjun has been stung worse than that. Mark is pretty sure that getting ghosted by Renjun would cut deeper than usual. And maybe he’d want it to. Any relationship with Renjun that doesn’t end with Renjun leaving claw marks would be a relationship Mark regrets. For that to happen, Mark would have to be the kind of idiot who doesn’t let Renjun under his skin; close enough that Renjun would have to shred Mark on his way out.
“I’m not gonna disappear,” Mark says. How could he let that happen? They live in the same city, they met here of all places, they could be something. Like, for real. It’s scary and exciting. “I promise. But I respect that.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Renjun says, eyes lowering to the floor, fingers crinkling and twisting in his candy wrapper. “I want to jump your bones. I’m just thinking too much, and I need to indulge that. For me.”
Mark likes to think he’s an understanding dude. A hopeful one, too. “Can I at least kiss you?”
Renjun looks up, peering through his lashes with his head still lowered. It’s devastating. “I don’t know. Can you?”
Mark sets his beer on the coffee table, and stands. He feels like he’s floating. Maybe it’s the alcohol; maybe it’s jetlag and exhaustion. Maybe it’s Renjun, standing in the doorway, unmoving and watchful. His hair messy, his shirt stretched out over his collarbone. Mark prowls across the room, stopping in front of Renjun and pressing him to the doorjamb by the hips. Renjun’s smaller hands settle on Mark’s forearms, his chin lifting with a shiver of breath.
It's all the invitation Mark needs. His head tilts as he leans forward, their mouths sliding together. Mark meets more pressure than he expects. Renjun pushes back and presses in, sighing against Mark’s lips. Mark shouldn’t be surprised. Renjun greets everything headfirst, like a bull. With a comeback or a query or a cascade of laughter. Sharp and unyielding. Then soft and giving. Renjun’s hands are gentle as they creep behind Mark’s neck; desperate in the way they curl in Mark’s shirt, bunching and pulling it up at the back. Renjun’s chocolate bar pokes Mark behind the ear, and Mark’s hands slide beneath Renjun's ass and grip, lifting him to his toes. Renjun whines, breaking away with a gasp. Like a hatchet splitting wood.
Renjun’s eyes are wide and dark, his lips rose-red. He sways in, his nose brushing Mark’s, then tips back again, like a wave lapping the shore.
Mark’s hands knead Renjun’s ass, breaths heavy. When he speaks, he’s shocked by the rasp of his own voice. “I’m so into you.”
Renjun laughs, wonky and airless. “You’re bad at hiding it.”
“Not trying to.” Mark kisses Renjun’s brow, hard. “You sure I can’t suck your dick just a little bit?”
“Mostly,” Renjun says, eyes briefly crossing as they focus on Mark’s lips. “Let me eat my chocolate and convince myself I make good choices.”
“Hey.” Mark takes Renjun by the hand, leading him back to the sofa. “I’m not going anywhere. Your dick and I will both be here tomorrow.”
Renjun covers Mark’s mouth with his palm. “Okay. Quiet now.”
Mark just smiles, muscles loose, hip squished to Renjun’s hip. There are merits to warming up. He pops a square of chocolate in his mouth; sweetness after sweetness.
--
Mark wakes early to a chorus of rain and a raging hard-on.
He wriggles out of his sleeping bag, rearranging himself in his briefs as he stands. Before he leaves for the bathroom, he squints across at Renjun in his own tiny bed. Beneath the grey light of the window, he’s an oil painting. His hair is a fluffy mess, his body wrapped up like a grub. He’s awake, and he’s not looking at Mark’s face.
“Poor baby,” Renjun coos.
Mark covers his dick with one hand and flips Renjun the bird with the other.
Scalding water beats Mark’s back, flowing in and out of his open mouth as his fingers close around his cock. He’s so wound up from nothing. The slide of his fist and the thought of Renjun’s thighs, narrow underneath Mark’s hands. He comes on the tiles with a grunt, a little bit of his brain swirling down the drain as well.
Returning to the bedroom, glowing with heat, Mark asks, “You getting up?”
“Not yet.” Renjun’s hand squirms free, patting the sliver of mattress beside him. “Come here.”
Mark doesn’t hesitate. He fills every free inch of Renjun’s bed, crowding Renjun to the wall. It’s easy with Renjun swaddled in his sleeping bag for Mark to wrap his arms around the amorphous log of him and squeeze. Renjun growls, but it’s about as threatening as a kitten. Mark settles with his forehead tipped to Renjun’s temple. The rain hisses outside.
“I want to record that sound,” Renjun murmurs. “And listen to it every night.”
“Excited to walk in it?” Mark asks.
“Go back to sleep. Maybe it’ll clear up before we leave.”
It’s an easy order to follow. “Do you know something I don’t?”
Renjun shakes his head. “I'm just hopeful.”
Renjun dozes off, and Mark follows. It’s nice. All loose and relaxed post-jacking it, cuddled up to the object of his affection. He’s woken some time later to yellow light and a silent room, fingers brushing his hair.
“Hyung,” Renjun whispers. “The rain stopped. You can thank me now.”
Mark rolls over, pinning Renjun beneath himself. “Call me Mark, dummy.”
He kisses Renjun, soft and slow and close-mouthed. Renjun sighs, and then groans unhappily, twisting.
“Off. Off, my breath is awful.”
Mark laughs, letting Renjun free. His mood cannot be soured. It soars even higher at the sight of Renjun’s tented pyjama pants as he shuffles from the room.
--
The sun is beating down by the time they leave, humidity rising from the damp grass beneath their boots. They’re hugging the coastline today, heading up a ridge to follow the cliffs around to their accommodation at the next bay.
The sea is a constant soundtrack, battering the cliffs, rushing in and out of coves and caves. It stretches out to the east, all the way to South America. The vastness of it scares Mark a little. The way that God is scary. Gulls squawk above, and a new flock of sheep eye them warily from the pastures.
Around lunch time they come to a picnic bench next to a shelter and an outhouse. A little wooden sign points towards the cliffs, stating “seal cove.” They dump their packs and wander over to investigate, discovering a high-walled, sheltered crinkle in the coast. Ten metres below, seals of all sizes laze on the rocks. Or maybe they’re sea lions. They have cute little ears and wiry whiskers, and they roll around in the seaweed like slippery dogs. On every ledge a bunch of long, spotty birds occupy lovingly crafted nests.
Renjun pulls out his phone. He straddles a dark jut of rocks, leaning out to zoom-in on a fat seal below them. “If we do this again, I’m bringing binoculars.”
“We?” Mark asks, wrapping both arms around Renjun’s waist. He’s multitasking. Anchoring Renjun and copping a feel.
“What?” Renjun says airily. “None of my friends can be trusted to follow through on our plans. You obviously don’t have any friends.”
“Hey.”
“We’re a good team. You’re good at doing as you’re told,” Renjun continues, his voice lilting with laughter. “I think I love this. I wasn’t sure if I would, but I do. Being out here, away from everything. It’s relaxing. It’s gorgeous.”
“Mhm,” Mark agrees. He buries his face in Renjun’s neck, damp and bitter from sunscreen and sweat.
“Are you enjoying that?” Renjun asks.
“Mhm,” Mark repeats. He’s enjoying all of it. Every single part of it, with a poignancy that shocks him. It sneaks up on him, clogging his throat.
Over lunch, Mark asks, “How’s the overthinking going?”
He doesn’t want to push. That isn’t his intention. He’s just curious and smitten and overwhelmed by the sight of Renjun with his sunglasses and windswept hair, looking like a movie star.
Renjun hums, sucking tomato juices off his hand. “Not bad. I think I underestimated how obsessed you are.”
Mark snorts. A persistently chaotic part of him wanted to lick Renjun’s slimy neck ten minutes ago; he’s not about to argue with Renjun’s assessment. “Have you changed your mind? Are you worried that I won’t go away now?”
“No.” Renjun tinges pink. “I should have let you blow me in front of the fire last night.”
“Aw.” Mark grins, his pulse picking up. “That’s so romantic.”
“It would have been!” Renjun barks, batting Mark’s hand away when he reaches out to pinch Renjun’s glowing cheek.
“Stop it.” Mark laughs, catching Renjun’s hand. “You have nothing to regret. And we still have tonight, I’ll nail you to any surface you want me to.”
“Not unless you plan on carrying me out tomorrow,” Renjun mumbles. “And not unless you packed lube.”
“No.” Mark frowns. “I didn’t think I’d pull out here.”
“Ugh.” Renjun swats at Mark again. Then he reaches across the table, tugging Mark into a tea-flavoured kiss.
They still have tonight. And tomorrow night, Mark doesn’t say. He doesn’t want to jinx it.
--
At the next bay they follow a river inland until it takes them to a little wooden gate and a little wooden bridge. What they find on the other side is unreal. It’s a tiny village of huts of all sizes. Some as big as cottages, some no larger than one room, cobbled from reclaimed wood and oddly sized windows. There’s a lawn in the middle and trees towering all around. Rose bushes and lavender and a dozen flowers Mark can’t name.
“No way,” he murmurs, wiping sweat from his forehead. The biggest house even has a veranda. There’s a shack with a shower built on the side of a big dead tree, and a sheltered outdoor bath Mark intends to explore later. “No fucking way.”
The only electricity is to a small hut with a fridge and freezer in it, with a little sign on the door stating SHOP.
“Dude, there’s steak in here,” Mark yells. “Do you know how to work a barbeque?”
“Yep,” Renjun calls back. Mark falls a little more head over heels.
Mark continues to investigate while Renjun showers. When Renjun finds Mark again, Mark is peering into a riverside hut, filled entirely by one bed and the sound of rushing water.
“Hey.” Mark swings off the doorframe, hooking Renjun around the waist. “You want to move in with me?”
“No, thank you.” Renjun’s lips form a soft pout. “I’m too young and hot to commit to a mortgage.”
Mark gasps.
“Sorry, baby,” Renjun soothes, laying a palm on Mark’s chest. “I'm a bohemian. I burn my own poetry to stay warm, and I'm going to die of the consumption by thirty.”
“Aw, man.” Mark frowns. “I make bad real estate investments. My accountant hates my guts.”
“Gross,” Renjun says, his eyes fixed on Mark’s mouth. “I'd rather die.”
“What the hell?” Mark yelps, prodding Renjun in the ribs.
Renjun cackles, curtailing Mark’s attack with a fist in his hair, and the crush of his lips against Mark’s.
--
The outdoor bath is insane. A folder in the main hut informs Mark that the only way to heat it is by building a fire underneath. Mark does so with some trepidation. There’s a wooden pallet in the bottom of the bath to protect from the hot metal, but it’s still a little too cauldron-like for comfort. Renjun seems more charmed than terrified. That’s what matters most.
“Can I stay?” Marks asks. The sun is getting low, the fire burned down to coals.
“Sure.” Renjun shrugs, blushing in the twilight.
Renjun has stripped to his underwear when Mark returns with a chair and a battery-operated lantern. Renjun is lean and narrow. Every part of him looks like it could be clutched in the circumference of Mark’s hands. Easily dappled pink like a raspberry by his greedy fingertips. Renjun kicks his briefs off without fanfare, stepping gingerly into the bath. His dick hangs soft and cute between his thighs.
“Try not to touch the sides or you might burn your nuts off,” Mark warns, pulling his chair close to the bath.
“How relaxing,” Renjun murmurs, settling with his back hunched and knees raised.
Mark dabbles his fingers through the water. “Is it okay?”
“It’s perfect.” Renjun smooths his thumb beneath Mark’s eye, his gaze fond. “Thank you.”
Mark hooks his hand under Renjun’s knee, squeezing gently as they meet in a kiss. Renjun exhales a sharp puff, guiding Mark’s hand down, down. Mark gets the picture. He painted the damn picture. The illustrated encyclopedia of lusting after the hiking partner you met two days ago. Renjun is velvet soft in Mark’s palm, and the little sigh he lets out when Mark strokes him once hits Mark’s brain like a glitter bomb. He thumbs the head of Renjun’s cock. He feels him stiffen like magic.
“Stand up.” Mark swallows, his own dick twitching in his joggers. “Let me suck you off.”
Water cascades from Renjun as he rises. Looming above Mark, he looks larger than life. Something in a gilded frame on the wall in a gallery. Venus on a scallop shell, or a naked nymph in a stream. The soft squishy bits at his stomach and the brown of his nipples and the dark hair around his cock. Mark’s mouth fills with saliva, his palms skirting up Renjun’s thighs as Renjun’s hands settle on Mark’s shoulders.
“Beautiful,” Mark breathes, licking a bead of water at the crease of Renjun’s thigh. “Fucking unreal.”
Renjun thumbs Mark’s bottom lip, and Mark, coward that he is, has to look away from Renjun’s attentive gaze as he spits on his dick. Renjun is blood-warm in Mark’s mouth, big enough for Mark to feel the stretch. To have to pause to adjust as Renjun nudges the roof of his mouth. But not so big that Mark can’t take him down to the root. His throat flutters at the strain, and he hums in triumph when Renjun swears softly above him.
“Mark.” Renjun’s fingers close in Mark’s hair, tugging firmly. “Move. ”
Mark makes another sound, high and happy, and gladly sets to work. His head bobs, pulling off from time to time to lap Renjun’s tip like a lollipop, glancing up to watch Renjun’s hair fall into his eyes and his head droop on his neck. Fluttering eyelids and parted lips; intoxicated. Renjun’s foot stomps, seemingly involuntarily, stirring the water beneath him. It’s fucking cute. A cartoon bunny rabbit kicking up dust. Mark laughs, air puffing out his nose, his hands gripping Renjun’s ass, parting him and keeping him close. Mark’s pinky brushes the dry pucker of Renjun’s hole, and Renjun gasps, trembling like an earthquake and spilling into Mark’s mouth without warning. Mark’s eyes widen and water as he fights the urge to choke, taking it in stride as best he can. He holds his breath as he swallows, working Renjun through the last tremors of orgasm.
Renjun whines and yanks at Mark’s hair again. Mark pulls off with a cough, light headed. He wraps his arms around Renjun, nuzzling the base of his softening cock, smiling ear to ear. Mark’s own dick is achingly stiff between his legs, heat coiling in his stomach, satisfaction in his bones. He’s never been totally clear what constitutes a healthy amount of pride for making a guy jizz down his throat in under five minutes, but he’s probably exceeding it.
“Let me - Mark, sit–” Renjun tries and fails to pry Mark from his limpet cling, knees wobbly. “Sit back, if I fall I’m cushioning my landing with your neck, sit.”
Ten seconds later Mark has a lap full of wet, naked Renjun. Renjun’s hand dips into Mark’s joggers. Just the sight of Renjun’s short fingers wrapped around his cock in the lamplight is almost enough to undo Mark.
“Are you going to last more than two pumps?” Renjun teases, shoving Mark’s briefs beneath his balls and breathing hot in Mark’s ear.
“Um.” Mark hooks an arm through Renjun’s legs, his mind a field of tumbleweed. “Maybe not.”
“Let me make you feel good, first.” Renjun thumbs the underside of Mark’s dick and licks a stripe up his neck. “Hold on for me, baby.”
If Mark feels any better than he does right now, it might change his whole life. He groans, fingernails blunt against Renjun’s ribs.
He lasts around a dozen pumps, and given the graze of Renjun’s teeth on Mark’s jaw and the weight of Renjun’s lithe body perched on his thighs, Mark considers that herculean. The way Mark howls and hides his face in Renjun’s chest when Renjun sucks his come-covered thumb into his mouth is totally justified as well.
“Shh.” Renjun shakes with laughter, folding his arms around Mark’s head. “You sound like you’re being murdered.”
“I am.” Mark leans forward, bearing Renjun’s weight. “I’m beyond the grave, man.”
“Go get me a towel, ghost boy.” Renjun’s fingers comb through Mark’s hair. When Mark doesn’t move, Renjun’s lips stamp softly against his forehead. “I’ll be here when you get back.”
What a perfect thought. Mark kisses Renjun’s collarbone, and finally disentangles.
--
“Intellectually, I know that there are more stars out there than I can really understand,” Renjun says. “But I don’t think I’ve ever properly appreciated it until now.”
They should go inside soon. Dew is forming on the grass beneath them where they’re lying on the lawn, and their beers are long since empty. They need to wash their dishes before they turn in for the night. But Mark’s hand is folded tightly into Renjun’s, and Mark feels the crushed-glass field of the night sky reflected in his core.
--
There’s a double bed in the main hut, so they post up there for the night, unzipping their sleeping bags into blankets. Mark is already settled when Renjun returns from the outhouse, blinding Mark with his headlamp.
“I ran into a penguin,” Renjun hisses, slipping in next to Mark. His bare feet nudge Mark’s legs. “We scared the shit out of each other.”
“I want to see a toilet penguin.” Mark curls around Renjun the moment he lays down.
They’re silent for a while. Just their minty breaths and the distant hush of the sea. Renjun’s fingers pick through Mark’s hair where Mark’s head rests on Renjun’s chest. Mark’s brain is a cacophony.
“What are you going to do?” Mark asks, his voice amplified in his own muffled ear. “When you get back to Seoul?”
Renjun’s chest rises and falls in a giant breath.
“I don’t know,” he says. “I want to be able to sleep tonight. If I start thinking about it, I won’t stop.”
“Are you going to stay?” Marks asks, nervous in a way he hasn’t yet felt with Renjun. “Like, you aren’t going to move cities? Or countries? Or whatever.”
“No, Mark,” Renjun says. His hand pauses, still cupping Mark’s head. “Not if I can help it.”
Mark’s heart lightens, an intrusion in his chest deflating. He knows he’s being neurotic. That this is his damage, and that he wears it on his sleeve.
“You can always change your mind,” Mark offers. He should shut up. He should stop poking before Renjun starts being less subtly dismissive. He can’t help it. He talks too much. He’s too invested. “If you find a new job and you don’t like it, the world won’t end. You know that now.”
“Mhm.”
“I’m sorry.” Mark’s hand slips beneath Renjun’s shirt, settling on his bare waist. “I’ll stop.”
Renjun’s fingers resume combing. “I know it’s important to ask. I’m sure I’ll appreciate it more when I’m not trying to ignore everything but this.” His thumb brushes Mark’s brow. Then he growls, a tiny sound, deep in his chest. “I know my plans don't have to be long term. I know I need a break, but it feels like I’m failing, Mark, I feel like–”
Mark pulls Renjun close, tipping his face to Renjun’s sternum and pressing his lips there; a secret kiss.
“Forget I asked,” Mark mumbles, his cheek crushed crooked. “But when you want to talk, I’m a good listener. My fridge is full of low-alcohol beer, you can come over and get pseudo-smashed any time and you’ll still feel fresh in the morning.”
“That sounds nice,” Renjun says, ragdoll-limp in Mark’s arms, flopping where Mark tugs him. “Will you take my mind off things?”
“I’ll turn your mind into porridge.”
Renjun puffs with laughter. “Is that a threat?”
“No, it’s sexy.” Mark settles nose to nose with Renjun on their lumpy camping pillows. Mark can only just make out the shape of Renjun’s face and the butterfly blink of his eyelids. “Sometimes I’ll have to grade like fifty essays in six hours, though.”
Renjun rolls forward, lips dry against Mark’s. “That sounds okay. Peaceful.”
Mark practically purrs.
--
The last day of the walk begins. The last day of just the two of them. Back to civilization proper. That was always the ultimate goal, of course. To start something, and finish it. Mark’s breakfast is sawdusty and unappetising. His pack feels heavier than ever.
An hour into the walk they enter a beech forest that spills into the valley they’re climbing out of. Whispering canopies loom above them, and ferns lick their heels.
“You’re quiet,” Renjun says from behind.
“Yeah,” Mark agrees, feet picking over tangled roots and branches. “I’m kinda sad.”
“What’s wrong?” Renjun asks.
Mark feels young and bratty, like a kid on the verge of a temper tantrum. An irrational funk that he’d be able to regulate easily if he wanted to. He wants to sulk.
Quieter, Renjun says, “Talk to me.”
Mark stops, and turns, and grips Renjun’s elbows when Renjun barrels into Mark’s suddenly stationary body. He’s so pretty, gazing up, shifting shadows speckling his face.
“I don’t want to leave yet,” Mark explains. I think this place is sacred, he thinks. “I don’t want to see other people yet.”
Renjun smiles. “It was a nice fantasy. Just you and me.”
“And the sheep,” Mark adds.
“And the sheep,” Renjun repeats. “We’re just starting a new adventure now. Intentionally. Not by coincidence. Do you believe me?”
Mark’s heart fills his throat. “Yeah.”
“Come on,” Renjun urges. “We’ll stop for tea at the top. There’s no hurry.”
When they exit the forest and look back, they can see all the way down to the bay. From above, the scale of the towering beech trees is lost. They could be two feet tall. Anyone who hadn’t walked up through them would never know the lush world hidden beneath.
The landscape transforms, filled again with piña colada scented flowers and yellow tussock grass. Finally they crest a peak and the town of Akaroa comes back into view. Renjun takes Mark’s hand and squeezes.
--
They snap a selfie at the end of the walk. Mark crushes his sweaty cheek to Renjun’s. Renjun laughs loudly in Mark’s ear, and knocks Mark’s cap to the ground.
Renjun caught the bus in from Christchurch, so they both pile into Mark’s rental car for the short drive back to the town. Renjun cancels his hotel room on the way. They only need one.
After a shower, Mark says, “Let me buy you fish and chips.”
If they stop moving now Mark is going to sleep for twelve hours. He doesn’t want to waste a minute.
They find their way to a takeaway shack on the pier, selling the catch of the day. Renjun looks softer in slacks and a sweater. Mark wouldn’t have thought that possible, but it is. His feet shuffling in his sandals, and a green umbrella raised to shade from the sun. Mark orders while Renjun wanders to a bench overlooking the water.
“I got you an onion ring,” Mark announces, setting a takeaway box on Renjun’s lap.
When Renjun pulls Mark down into a deep kiss, the umbrella blocks all possible onlookers. They carve out their own tiny world again. Mark smiles against Renjun’s lips, his chips scorching his palms through the cardboard.
Thigh to aching thigh, they eat. The fish tastes incredible. Grilled on a buttered bun, lemony and peppery and fresh. Beside them, a small dolphin-watching boat unloads two dozen tourists. The skipper disembarks later with a shaggy little dog in a life jacket. Renjun and Mark agree to investigate tomorrow.
Renjun licks salt and grease from the tip of his thumb, and says, “Thanks for participating in my quarter-life crisis.”
“Dude,” Mark says, tucking a lock of Renjun’s bleached hair behind his ear. His whole head is full of tomorrow. “You’re so welcome.”