Work Text:
1
“I need a father,
I need a mother,
I need some older,
wiser being to cry to."
The kitchen knife slices through his fingertip, red dots blooming like carnations in late spring, a drop of blood falling on the counter, splashing against the dark purple of the aubergine's skin.
Jeno stares at the tiny little gash, at the way the blood trickles down his finger and falls on the counter.
The long-forgotten potatoes in the pan start to turn black, the smell of burning food fills the kitchen, the boiling oil splatters on the walls, on the ground. But Jeno can't move, can't avert his eyes from the cut on his finger, red the only colour his eyes can perceive as if he were bewitched, as if the world around him had disappeared, as if there was nothing else but the slash in his finger and the blood dripping from it.
He can hear a voice from his left, the sound muffled and far away, his ears barely picking it up. He pays it no mind, too lost in his own thoughts, trapped in memories of the past, of lashings on his back, his skin being torn open, his father's voice low and threatening, deafening in the silence of the kitchen.
“Your mother should've gotten rid of you like I told her to,” his father grits between his teeth as the leather of the belt cuts through him.
The other voice, the one next to him, whispers something in his ear, the hot breath tickling him, a soft cheek pressing on his own, a pair of lips brushing against his skin.
He can feel a hand softly grab his own and he can do nothing but follow the movement, his eyes trained on his finger, on the little drops of blood dripping down onto the white marble floor.
His unfocused eyes meet Mark's and he stares as his boyfriend cleans away the blood with the white and yellow kitchen towel, watches as the blood seeps into the soft fabric, staining it. As soon as Mark is done, when most of the blood has been cleaned away, Mark brings Jeno's finger to his mouth and gently sucks on it, using his tongue to wipe it clean, gently biting down on his flesh to draw out all of the blood.
“All gone,” Mark says, removing Jeno's finger from his mouth and drying it with a paper towel before placing a pink band-aid around it. “Go sit on the bed. I'll clean up here and join you.”
It had taken a long time for Jeno to open up to Mark, to tell him of his past, of his father, of his pain, and it had taken even longer for Mark to understand Jeno, to make sense of the way he acted, the way he reacted to situations that seemed so inconsequential and mundane to anyone else.
A part of him (a sick and twisted part of him that he spends every second of his life trying to smother) is glad that Mark is just as broken as he is, that he doesn't have to spend every day of his life wondering if he's being a burden, if Mark is going to become tired of his pain.
He knows it's wrong, he knows it's a fucked up thing to say, to think, but when he had said as much to Mark, when he had confessed his twisted thoughts, Mark had simply offered him one of his sweet smiles, the one that makes Jeno's heart flutter, “There's nothing wrong in taking comfort in the knowledge that we understand each other like no one else does.”
Sometimes Jeno wonders if they would've found their way to each other, if they would have still fallen for one another had their lives been different, been happier. Had Mark been whole, would he still have loved someone as broken as Jeno?
Jeno is sitting on their bed, his right hand cradled in his left as if he were holding something precious and fragile. Jeno knows how much Mark hates seeing him like this, seeing him broken and in pain, but it's reassuring to know that there's never any pity in Mark's gaze, that he has never looked at Jeno and felt sorry for him.
“Better now?” Mark asks softly, kneeling in front of Jeno and placing a featherlight kiss on his band-aid-covered finger.
Mark hesitates for a second, he doesn't ask if Jeno wants to talk about it and Jeno knows it's not because he doesn't care but because there is no use in rehashing the same conversation they had found themselves having a few times before. Nothing has changed. Anytime Jeno gets hurt, no matter how lightly, no matter how insignificant it can look to anyone else, he gets lost in his mind, thrown back in time, forced to relieve the most terrifying and painful years of his life. It would take nothing more than a papercut to lock Jeno up in his own head.
Jeno doesn't reply, he can still hear his father's voice echoing inside the bedroom walls, can still feel the sting on his back, his scars aching, his eyes far away, lost in his own mind.
He tries to focus on Mark's warm hand on his naked thigh, caressing his soft skin, willing Jeno to come back to him.
“Hey,” Mark whispers moving closer, his lips brushing against Jeno's.
“Mark?” he asks, his mind still lost in a fog, his breaths heavy, his eyes half-lidded.
“It's me, it's okay now. I'm here,” Mark places his hands on Jeno's shoulders, tracing up his neck and tangling them in Jeno's dark black hair. Jeno loves it when Mark runs his hands through them, his body going limp, his mind relaxing.
He can see it in Mark's eyes, the worry, the pain, the words of comfort that are probably on the tip of his tongue already, but before anything can come out of his mouth, Jeno leans forward and places a kiss on his lips.
The kiss is soft and sweet, Jeno's lips moving slowly against Mark's. It only lasts for a few seconds, less than a minute, and then Mark decides to pull away making Jeno whine in protest, his hand grabbing Mark's shirt, trying to pull him closer again, wanting to feel the warmth of his body against his skin, his weight holding Jeno down, grounding him in reality.
“Mark,” Jeno mumbles, his eyes shut, his cheeks flushed.
“Not now. You are not in your right mind,” Mark replies before placing another kiss on Jeno's soft lips.
“I'm fine. Please, Mark,” he begs, pulling at Mark's shirt, making the boy stumble forward, tripping on the edge of the carpet and forcing him to hold himself up by placing his hands on Jeno's shoulders, their faces but a few inches from each other.
Jeno pulls on Mark's shirt once again, forcing him to get closer, forcing their lips to meet again, Jeno's left hand finding its way to Mark's neck, keeping him in place. The kiss grows deeper and hungrier pulling soft moans out of Jeno's lips and sending shivers down Mark's spine. Their breaths become heavier, filling the silent room as Mark climbs on Jeno's lap, straddling his hips, feeling the warmth of Jeno's thighs against his. Jeno moves his hands under Mark's shirt, trailing up and down his back, tracing his spine, sending goosebumps all over his body.
“Mark,” Jeno moans loudly, tearing his mouth away and pressing open-mouthed kisses along the curve of Mark's neck. “I need you. Please.”
Jeno leans up again, capturing Mark's lips, his teeth pulling at his bottom lip. Mark can't help but to groan into the kiss, his hips grinding down.
“I want you so bad,” Jeno moans, his hands on Mark's hips as he brings their bodies impossibly close.
“We can't,” Mark replies breathlessly, trying to get a hold of himself. He knows how Jeno gets after a bad episode, he knows he's supposed to say no, to walk away, to deny Jeno's request. But just because he knows what the right thing to do is, it doesn't mean that doing it is actually easy, not when Jeno looks as good as he does now, his skin flushed red, his half-lidded eyes shiny and his moans needy. Not when all he wants to do is pin Jeno against the bed and give him anything he wants.
“Just- just mark me a little,” Jeno begs, desperate, trying to get Mark closer to him again, his voice needy as if on the verge of tears.
His whole childhood his father had marked his body against his will, the skin of his back now permanently marked by scars he would never be able to get rid of, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he scrubbed his skin raw trying to remove the painful stain from his body. Every cut, every bruise, every scratch and scrape and wound is a reminder of the past. But not Mark. Never Mark. Jeno finds peace in the marks that he leaves on Jeno's body as if Mark was claiming part of him, stealing it away from his father. What Mark left behind were signs of love and adoration, placed there because of Jeno's will. Because Jeno wanted him to.
“It's okay,” Mark whispers, placing a chaste kiss on Jeno's lips. “I'm here.”
He leans forward, pressing open-mouthed kisses and small bites against Jeno's white skin, listening as Jeno moans under him, soft whimpers leaving his lips, his right hand on the back of Mark's head, cradling his fingers through the blond strands of hair, pulling Mark closer. Mark begins to paint a hickey on Jeno's collarbone with his mouth and teeth making Jeno tighten his grip on Mark's hair and pulling a loud grunt out of him, the sound reverberating against Jeno's skin.
Mark pulls away and looks at Jeno's pale skin and the mark he left there, at the way Jeno's skin slowly turns red and purple.
Jeno knows how much Mark had disliked it at the beginning, marking Jeno. How it had made him feel wrong, made him feel like he was hurting Jeno. With time, however, he had grown fond of it, not just of the bite marks and bruises, but of the way Jeno loves them, the way he would admire them in the mirror, the way he would trace them as if entranced by them.
“Do you really like it that much? Does it not hurt?” Mark had asked one day while laying in bed, Jeno in his arms, worry eating him from the inside out. The last thing Mark wanted was to hurt Jeno, even if Jeno said he liked it.
“You are always gentle, it doesn't really hurt, not much anyway and not truly. A little sore maybe,” Jeno had replied, kissing Mark's shoulder. “I can't explain it, really. I just like that I'm yours, that you want me and I want you. I don't know.”
Jeno was glad that Mark had decided to drop the subject, to trust him, because he could never explain it, the need that he feels, the desperation that takes hold of his body.
“Pretty,” Mark says, looking down at Jeno, at the marks on his skin. “Just this for today okay? You are not in your right mind.”
“You said that before,” Jeno mumbles, a smile on his lips, his eyes closed.
“And I'll say it again a million times if I must,” Mark says, placing a dozen butterfly kisses all over Jeno's face, making him chuckle. “Come on. Let's get you to bed.”
“It's 1 pm.”
“And you need to sleep it off. Come on,” he pulls the blankets from under Jeno's body, gently covering him with them.
“Did you take your pills this morning?” he asks while gently caressing Jeno's hair.
Jeno hums in reply, his eyes closed, a soft smile on his lips.
“Are you still going to that meeting today?” Jeno asks while Mark fixes the soft cover around his boyfriend's body.
Mark sighs, trying to not sound annoyed, but Jeno can still see the irritation in his eyes. He has a meeting with Ms Jong from the publishing company to discuss his new book. Ms Jong is one year younger than Mark, she's smart and funny, her hair is light brown, almost blonde in the sun, she's always showing off her figure with perfectly tailored clothes and Jeno is convinced she's in love with Mark.
Mark has tried many times to reassure him that Ms. Jong has never been anything but professional with him but Jeno knows Mark is just being oblivious. He can see the way she looks at him when Mark is distracted, the way she's always trying to make contact with him, touching his arm, his hand, his shoulder. He can see it in the way she talks and the way she laughs and the way she writes. Jeno knows. He knows. And it drives him insane the way Mark denies it, the way he defends her. Mark never gets defensive, never gets annoyed at Jeno's jealousy, not like he does when it comes to Ms. Jong. Sometimes he even enjoys it, enjoys the way Jeno's arm wraps around his waist, his eyes coldly staring at self-obsessed idiots at the bar who can’t seem to get the message that Mark doesn't want to fuck them. So why is Ms. Jong different?
“Yes my love, I'm going to my meeting now,” Mark says, caressing Jeno's hair, trying to keep him calm and relaxed. Docile. Jeno knows what Mark is doing but it doesn't change the fact that it's working.
“Should I come with you?”
“You are tired and you have to rest a bit today. Plus, it's going to be really boring. Just rest a bit and when you wake up I'll probably already be back.”
Jeno purses his lips, unsure. He wants to push, to convince Mark to let him go with him. But the cut on his finger stings, his mind is still clouded and he can still hear his father's voice in the distance.
“Fine but-”
“She doesn't like me. And even if she did, it wouldn't matter at all because you are the only person I love and the only person I want,” he moves closer to Jeno, his hand resting on his covered abdomen, his mouth just an inch away from his ear. “And I want you so bad.”
“Yeah?” he asks softly, placing his hand on top of Mark's.
Mark hums and then leaves a kiss on Jeno's jaw, on his neck, on his already marked collarbone, tracing his tongue on the fresh bruise.
“I know why you get so jealous all the time but if you could get inside my head even once you'd see that you are all I ever think about from the moment I wake up,” Mark replies, his lips moving against Jeno's flushed skin, goosebumps running all over his skin.
“Mark-”, he can feel Mark's hand stroking his thigh through the linens covering his body, Mark's teeth lightly scraping the sensitive skin on his collarbone.
“Just sleep now, the sooner you fall asleep, the sooner I'll come back,” Mark says before taking his hands away from Jeno's body and placing a kiss on his forehead.
“You are so mean.”
Mark simply laughs, his smile warming Jeno's heart. He wants to ask for another kiss, another hug, another smile, but his body feels heavy, his mind foggy, his scars ache and it only takes him but a few minutes to fall asleep.
“I talk to God but
the sky is empty.”
Mark’s knees hit the ground, the soft sound deafening inside the silent church. Rain is dripping from his clothes, from his hair, from his face, it falls on the ground underneath him, creating a puddle, staining the sacred grounds with his filth.
Inside his head he begs God for forgiveness, the words stuck, scratching at his throat, imploring him to let them free. But they don't and they won't and now hot tears are spilling out of his eyes, falling down his cheeks and mixing with the cold drops of rain. His bones ache, his muscles are tense, his head is pounding. He feels like something is crawling just underneath his skin, trying to break free, trying to escape from inside of him.
His mother's words whispered over the phone echo inside of his head, bounce around his brain, pierce his every organ.
She woke up last year.
She's fine now.
You can come home.
He grabs his chest, his nails scratching his skin through the soaked shirt, his breaths shallow, his heart aches as if stabbed by a million needles, his vision blurs (maybe because of the tears, maybe because of the lack of oxygen).
He can see them in his mind, her bright green eyes staring at him through the open door, her lips slightly parted, the ghost of the smile that had been on her face but a few seconds before still visible in the corner of her mouth.
He could've stopped her then. Could've told her not to drive under the heavy rain and thick fog, not while she was agitated, not while she was upset. But he hadn't.
He hadn't.
He had smiled at her, his head held high, trying not to show his shame, bile rising in his throat, the skin that had just touched another boy was burning.
It's not cheating. He had said. We broke up last month.
He had loved her then. She had loved him too.
He should've told her so, should've stopped her and professed his love, should've run to her and told her that no one else could ever take her place, that anyone else was but a distraction.
And he would've done so hadn't the person in his arms been a man, hadn't the guilt and shame been burning at his nerves, setting every fibre of his body alight.
But the person in his arms was a boy and the next day when he woke up it had been to the news of a car accident and a girl in a coma.
She's awake.
She's fine.
Come home.
A whimper leaves his lips as he shuts his eyes, as he puts his head on the cold stone pavement, kneeling in front of the stone statue staring accusingly at him.
He had kissed Jeno but a few hours ago, had promised him he would be back soon, had wanted nothing more than to go home into the arms of his boyfriend. Now every patch of skin that Jeno had touched, that Jeno had kissed, that Jeno had loved, is burning even when soaked by the freezing rain.
He wants to love Jeno without shame, without guilt, without having to beg God for forgiveness every morning when he wakes and every night before he lays in bed next to him. He wants to love Jeno without worrying about the divine punishment that is going to come down on him like it had all those years ago when he had kissed a boy for the very first time.
Before leaving his hometown five years ago, before leaving his friends and family behind, before leaving Harin motionless frame in the hospital bed, he had made a promise by Harin's side, the coldness of her hand making him shiver. To her and to God he had sworn he would never touch a boy again. He had held her pale hand in his own and promised he would never be tempted again.
He hadn't planned on meeting Jeno, hadn't planned on falling for his soft eyes and sweet smile. He had tried his best to stay away, to deny his attraction, to denounce his wants, to remain on the path of light but there was no refusing Jeno: it was impossible and futile and mad to even attempt such a thing.
Mark could still remember the first time he had laid eyes on Jeno, the way Jeno had laughed, so bright and free and the way his eyes had looked, so dull and lost.
Mark often feels like he's standing at the top of a very high mountain overlooking the kingdoms of the world and their splendour with Jeno at his shoulder, his velvety voice in Mark's ear, his hot breaths caressing his skin, his soft lips brushing against him, promising him that everything could be his if Mark would just bow down and worship him. And Mark knows he must deny him, he must refuse the temptation and turn to God, the only One ever worthy of love and worship. But at night, when Jeno is lying beneath him, his soft skin sweaty and flushed, his warm body flushed against his, his moans filling Mark's ears, his hands gripping his flesh, Mark wants nothing more but to worship Jeno for all of eternity, wants nothing more than to lose himself inside of his warm body.
Mark often wonders if a life free of sin is even a life worth living.
Some days he feels like Jeno is all that there is, all that matters.
“Tell me what to do,” he begs, his voice raw. “Please, tell me what to do.”
But the church is silent if not for the sound of the rain hitting the cold stone walls.
“What do I do?” he screams but the only answer is the echo of his own voice bouncing inside the walls of the empty church.
He wishes loving Jeno wasn't so wrong.
2
“If there is a light then I am
going to swallow it.”
Mark hates Jeno's smile.
Not the real one, not the sweet and shy smile he shows Mark any time he compliments him, not the big smile that makes his eyes crinkle or the mischievous smirk that paints his lips when he's about to annoy Mark. He doesn't even hate the cruel sneer that forms on Jeno's lips when he's about to say something unnecessarily cruel to someone who upsets him.
What Mark hates is the perfectly polite and fake smile that is currently plastered on Jeno's face as they drive towards Mark's hometown, towards Mark's parents and friends but most importantly, towards Mark's first love.
Mark knows how jealous and possessive Jeno is, many times he has witnessed Jeno's cruel words and bursts of anger towards those who have tried to get too close to Mark, and yet now, sitting in the car, endless green fields flashing beside them, Jeno shows no signs of anger or pain at the thought of Mark meeting his first love again, instead, he talks about how excited he is to meet Mark’s parents, he babbles on and on about all the things they are going to do, the places Mark is going to show him. He talks and he smiles and he laughs and it's fake and it's wrong and Maks hates to be on the receiving end of such a clear display of artificial happiness.
Jeno is not supposed to hide anything from Mark. Jeno can be fake with everyone but not him, never him. He wants to always have the real and raw Jeno by his side. Mark doesn't need him to always be happy, to always be fine. He loves a joyful and sweet Jeno as much as he loves his haunted and mercurial side.
He wants to stop the car and shake Jeno by the shoulders. He wants to scream at him, to ask him who exactly is he trying to fool. He wants for Jeno to never have to be someone he's not.
But he doesn't.
He doesn't tell Jeno to stop, he doesn't tell him that Mark loves him just the way he is, that he can stop pretending, stop being fake. Because the truth is that a part of him, a cowardly and spineless part of him, wants Jeno to look poised and calm, perfect and charismatic. He wants him to charm his parents, he wants him to be so perfect and polished that they won't have any other choice but to love him. He wants Jeno to be so faultless and pure that his parents will decide to overlook the fact that he is a man.
“Everything is so beautiful here,” Jeno says as endless green fields pass them, interrupted only by the streaming of waters and beautiful hills dotted with trees in bloom. In front of them Mark can see the imposing mountains that had raised him and nested him in his most formative years.
He had missed his home more than he had ever believed it to be possible.
He had missed the endless fields, green and bright and dotted with daisies; he had missed the rivers and creeks, the woods and the mountains, the fresh and pure air that smelled like peace and quiet and home. He had missed his friends who had been his brothers, raised together by the village, their parents his parents, his parents theirs. He had missed lying on the fresh grass at night looking at the bright and endless stars dotting the sky, laughing with his friends, falling asleep under the Big Dipper and the Hunting Dogs.
Some nights, while laying in bed, the sound of loud cars and obnoxious sirens filling his ears, he would stay awake thinking about home, his longing so strong tears would pool in his eyes. He hates the city and the cars, the asphalt and concrete, the cars and the skyscrapers, the empty night sky.
“You'll love it,” he says and he knows it to be true. Jeno wasn't made for the city, for chaotic metropolitan life, for smog and fumes, for packed subways and hectic mornings. Jeno was made to lie in fields of flowers illuminated by nothing but the milky light of the moon and all of its stars.
“I love it here so much,” Jeno says again an hour later while Mark is driving on a narrow dirt road coasted by a plunging precipe.
He had forgotten just how scary the road home was.
Mark's hands are shaking, not because of the cliff or the deer that had crossed the road right in front of him just a few minutes ago, but because of the memories invading his mind, flashing before his eyes, moments in his life that had been so precious and dear to him but that he had ultimately decided to discard, to leave behind when he had run. He can feel the rush of his blood roaring in his ears and for a second he's twenty-one again, chopping wood with the girl he had believed was the love of his life, his friends running around, chasing each other and between the laughter and the screams there is no shame, no guilt, no pain, just the five of them and their joy. For a second he feels whole again, free of any shame and burden weighing him down and then it all comes crashing back to him, the tears that wouldn't stop, the shame residing between his ribs, the guilt that threatened to burn him alive.
He wants to turn around and drive them back to their apartment, to the loud and hectic city that drowned out his thoughts, where he could hide his pain, where his sins were nothing special, nothing new.
Where he could mix in the crowd and become nothing more than another faceless sinner among the many.
When they arrive in front of his house, when the car has been turned off, when all that is left to do is for Mark to bite his tongue and face reality, Jeno places a hand firmly on his thigh while the other grabs his neck, bringing their faces a few inches from each other. His eyes are dark and solemn and if Mark didn't know him as well as he does he wouldn't be able to see any warmth in them. But there is no one in the universe who knows Jeno as well as Mark does and there is no one alive who can read him like Mark can: in Mark's eyes his warmth is hot enough to burn him alive.
“We can leave anytime,” Jeno said firmly, his voice low and raw.
“I know-”
“No. You don't,” Jeno interrupts him sternly. “But I'm telling you now. If you feel wrong, if it hurts too much, if they hurt you, we can leave. We can always leave. And even then we'll still have each other and that's all that matters. Understand?”
Mark nods. They would have each other still. Mark thinks that it would be enough.
But Mark doesn't want to leave, he wants things to go smoothly, he wants redemption and forgiveness, he wants acceptance.
His home, his parents’ home, is sitting on a green field away from the rest of the houses, Mark can see the swing his father had made for him, the picnic table he and Haechan had built together when they were eighteen, the trees seem taller, the grass seems greener, his house looks bigger but Mark knows it's just his imagination.
He knocks on the door even though he knows his parents must've heard the car and he stares at it dreading that it will be opened, dreading to see his mother's face after having broken her heart. A part of him wishes them to not be home. We should just leave , he wants to say. I want to run away . But then the door opens and his mother is as beautiful as she has always been, her long brown hair carelessly braided, her shirt stained, her eyes bright and before any words can be spoken he is already pulling her in his arms and holding her as tightly as he possibly can.
“I missed you,” she whispers. “I'm sorry,” he says but he's not sure for what exactly he is asking forgiveness for, the list endless, the pain he caused boundless.
“It's alright,” she says, placing the palm of her hand on his cheek. “You are here now. Everything will be fine.”
She takes his face in her hands, she looks at him as if she's trying to find something, as if she's looking inside of him, at his heart, at his soul and Mark is scared of what she'll see.
“You dyed your hair,” is all that she says instead, ignoring the stains in his soul.
“Yeah. You like them?”
She doesn't reply, just chuckles a little, scrunching her nose and placing a kiss on the top of his like she used to do when he was young and causing mischief.
“And who is this handsome young man?” she asks, turning towards Jeno, a bright smile on her lips, a smile that makes Mark's heart ache. He doesn't want to tell her, he doesn't want her smile to vanish, her expression to turn sour. He wants Jeno to leave, he wants him to disappear.
He's just a friend, he wants to say but he knows those words would destroy Jeno. He knows those words would destroy him, too.
“He's my boyfriend,” he spits out, the words bitter in his mouth, burning his tongue.
“Hi,” Jeno says and his smile is huge and he looks nervous and excited and Mark wants to protect him from his mother's gaze. Jeno has never even been baptised. “My name is Jeno. It's so nice to finally meet you, ma'am.”
Mark's mother extends her hand taking Jeno's into hers, her smile faltering on her lips, her eyes looking at Mark as if the words that had left her son's mouth couldn't possibly be true, as if begging Mark to change his sentence, explain the misunderstanding, take back what he said.
“Come in, please,” she says, ushering them inside, trying to be cordial, trying to be normal, trying to act as if her son hadn't just confessed such a gnarly sin to her.
Meeting his dad is easier, his expression stoic, harder to read in it any disappointment, any pain, any anger. The hug is quick. Mark wants to hold on a little longer, wants to go back to when his father loved him more than anything in the world, pride always shining on his face anytime he looked at Mark.
The tension at the table is palpable, the quiet too loud as his mother serves them tea.
“What exactly is it that you do in the city?” his father asks, his face still unreadable.
“Oh, I'm a writer. I have published a few books, I'm signed with a good publishing company and I make more than enough money to sustain myself,” he wants nothing more than for his father to be proud of him. But if his father really is proud of him for achieving his childhood dream his face doesn't show it.
“That's so great sweetheart, I'm so proud of you,” his mother coos at him, her face and body turned towards Mark as if trying to pretend that Jeno isn't there.
“And you?” his father asks, his icy eyes burning into Jeno's.
“I don't have a job now but-”
“So my son is maintaining you? He pays for everything while you stay at home and do nothing?”
“Dad!” Mark interjects, his father's tone harsh and hurtful. Loud. “The apartment we live in is actually Jeno's. His father left him enough money to get him through the rest of his life comfortably.”
“Let's talk about something else, okay?” his mother says before his father can say anything else. Mark wants to believe that she's trying to protect Jeno, to make sure his father won't say any more harsh things to him but Mark knows that she just doesn't want Jeno's existence to be acknowledged.
He knows she just wants to pretend that Jeno isn't there.
“Why didn't you tell me before,” he asks, breaking the silence. “If she woke up one year ago, why did you wait until now to tell me? Does she not want to see me?”
He can feel Jeno's muscles tighten beside him, he can see the way his eyes harden, his hands ball into fists, his shoulders tense but the smile, that fake and deceptive little smile, is still adorning his lips. To his mother he must look like such a sweet and composed young man but Mark can feel the turmoil inside of Jeno's brain. He can tell just how ticked off he is by the situation.
“She wants to. Of course she does,” his mother says, almost affronted by the notion that Harin wouldn't want to see him. “After her coma it was- it was hard you know? After she woke up she was weak, she couldn't walk, it was hard for her to talk. It was hard for her to grasp the fact that four years had passed. She had so much she had to catch up on. She just wanted to get better before seeing you again.”
Mark sighs, the lump in his throat making it hard to breathe. He had spent endless nights convincing himself that if Harin ever woke up she would hate him for having stolen years off of her life, for having hurt her, betrayed her. There is nothing more than Mark longs for than her forgiveness.
“You are the first person she asked for when she woke up, you know? And even now she wants nothing more than to see you again,” his mother says, her eyes flickering to Jeno for just a moment. Mark hopes she isn't able to see the fire burning inside of those black eyes, behind that sweet smile.
“I'm a little tired from the drive,” Jeno says, his voice soft, his eyes gentle, his smile fake.
“Of course,” his mother says before pausing for a second. Mark knows the issue, the problem. They have a spare bedroom upstairs and she's wondering if both of them are going to sleep in Mark's room or if Jeno will take the spare.
“If sharing a room is an issue I can sleep on a couch. I don't want to be a bother,” Jeno says, looking at his father with an innocent face.
“We have a spare bedroom. You can sleep there,” his father's voice is clipped, his sentences short, his voice low and unfriendly. Mark places his body in front of Jeno, wanting to protect him from the anger of another father.
Before meeting Mark's parents Jeno had hated them with the passion of a hundred exploding suns. Many nights, hidden in the darkness of his room, he would stare at the ceiling above his head while Mark slept peacefully by his side, his arm draped over Jeno's waist, his head resting by Jeno's face, and wish unspeakable things would happen to them, things he never dared to say out loud, things he would deny ever even thinking. He knew it was wrong and immoral, he knew Mark loved his parents more than anything in the world.
But they were the ones to blame for Mark's pain and self-loathing. They were the ones who put the fear of God inside of Mark, the ones that made him dread God's judgement. It was because of them that Mark felt shame and guilt for loving Jeno. It was because of them that Mark was going to leave him.
The thought of Mark abandoning him always made Jeno's head spin, his stomach flip. Mark was his everything.
His Blessing.
Before meeting Mark, he would spend his days rotting on his perfect marble floors, wishing for his life to finally end but without ever having the courage to end it himself. He would wish for an earthquake to bring his whole building to the ground, burying him under the rubble. He would cross the road without ever looking, hoping for a car to drag his body on the pavement. He would wish for a terrible sickness to take hold of his body and kill him itself. In his life, Jeno had spent more time imagining his death than living his life. Sometimes he would wake up in the morning with the bright sun shining on his face and memories of a death that had never actually come to be, a death that he had only experienced in the maze of his mind.
Mark had been the light in the abyss, he had shown him that even in his darkest days there was still a light, that there was hope for him. He had shown Jeno that the little moments were the ones that mattered most, that life was worth living even if just to eat a plate of frozen pizza with your boyfriend at 3 am on the couch that you bought together on impulse one Thursday afternoon.
And it's because of the love for his Blessing that he is now sipping a disgusting cup of tea while being ignored by his boyfriend's parents as they talk to Mark about his ex-girlfriend who had just so luckily woken up from her five-years-long coma.
He had never cared before, about parents, about a mother's loving touch and a father's proud gaze. But now, as the two of them try their hardest to pretend that Jeno isn't there, that Jeno doesn't exist, he can't help but feel an unimaginable pain squeeze his heart. As they fret over Mark and ask about his life, as they worry about his well-being and smile at his achievements, Jeno can't help but want for them to turn towards him with that same warm smile and crinkled eyes and ask him about his life, his well-being.
He hates himself for it, for that childish want, that naive need, that desperate longing for the parental love that he had never experienced even once in his life. (A different part of him decides that he will do absolutely everything in his power to become part of Mark's family.)
“You'll sleep on a couch?” Mark asks mockingly as the two of them are taking their belongings from the car and his parents are probably having a heated discussion inside the house.
“What?” Jeno pouts before wrapping his arms around Mark's waist, their bodies hidden from view by the car.
“Oh, so you will sleep in the spare bedroom like my parents said?” Mark asks knowing full well that since moving together Jeno has been unable to sleep unless Mark is by his side.
“Mind your business,” Jeno says, jokingly biting his chin and going back to unloading the car.
“Can you?” Mark asks hesitantly, his voice almost a whisper.
“Can I what?”
“Sleep in the spare bedroom? I don't want my parents to catch you, to catch us. It will give them a bad impression.”
Jeno stops for a second, a million little expressions painting his face just before getting replaced by his fake smile, small and cute and despicable in Mark's eyes.
“Of course.”
“I know you don't like sleeping without me,” he says, taking Jeno's hands into his own. “I just want them to like you.”
Jeno diverts his eyes, trying to look away from Mark, trying not to show the cracks in his perfectly constructed facade, the smile on his lips faltering, his brows furrowed, his breaths a little shallow.
“I just-”
“It's okay,” Mark reassures him, glad for the little slip-up, glad to see even just a shadow of Jeno's true self. “I know. And if it gets really bad you can join me in my room.”
Jeno nods, his eyes focused on their hands and for a second Mark can feel his discomfort, his anxiety, his fears.
“I just want them to like me,” he says. “I really, really want them to like me.”
“I know, love. I know."
Jeno can't stop pacing around the guest room. Up and down and then down and up. Electricity is cursing through his veins and he can't seem to sit still, to lay on the bed and sleep like he had told Mark he would.
In less than an hour Mark would meet his first love again.
Jeno had tried his best to ignore the minuscule and life-changing fact that Mark would meet her again, that they would stand in the same room, face to face. He had tried to ignore the insignificant and world-shattering fact that Mark and his first love would get the chance to reconnect again.
He wonders where she is and what she's doing. Is he choosing the perfect outfit? Is she brushing her hair and putting butterfly clips in them? Is sge daydreaming about finally seeing Mark again? Does she think she and Mark are going to have a movie-worthy reunion with crying and kissing and confessions of love?
He looks in the mirror and wonders if she's prettier than him. If the circles under her eyes are not as dark as Jeno's. If her skin is fair and shiny. If her long hair frame her face just perfectly. Is she funnier than Jeno could ever dream of being? Does she have grand ambitions for her life? Can her brain function perfectly fine without the help of four different medications?
And as he finds every fault in every aspect of his being, Jeno realises that it doesn't even matter if she's prettier and saner than he is because she can offer Mark something that Jeno will never be able to give him: a pure and righteous love that both God and Mark's parents will approve of. A life without sin, without guilt, without shame.
Jeno has never been a religious person, has never joined his hands in prayer and asked God for forgiveness, has never bowed to God and thanked him for his life, has never knelt on the ground begging God for help, has never screamed at sky cursing God for having given him hardships he could not bear to carry on his shoulders. Before meeting Mark God had been irrelevant to him, whether He existed or he didn't was of no interest to Jeno.
But since meeting Mark, Jeno has come to hate God. He hates the way he demands to be revered, forcing his creations, the people who love him most, to cower in fear of his judgement, to kneel in front of him scraping their skin raw begging for his love, for his forgiveness, for his grace.
Mark believes that Harin's accident was God's wrath, Mark's punishment for having kissed a boy. Jeno believes that a God who puts a girl in a coma to punish the innocent act of kissing someone you like is not a God that's worthy of love.
“I can hear you pacing from my room,” Mark says as soon as he opens his bedroom door and walks inside.
“You didn't knock,” Jeno says as he stops pacing and crosses his arms over his chest.
“It's my home.”
“Not really.”
“Hey,” Mark laughs, pulling Jeno into a tight hug, Jeno's arms immediately wrapping around him.
“I'm going to meet Harin now. Will you be okay?”
“I want to come,” he says stubbornly, his brows furrowed, his head safely tucked in Mark's neck as he lulls their bodies back and forth.
Mark exhales loudly like he always does when he thinks Jeno is being unreasonable.
Jeno never thinks he's being unreasonable.
Mark is going to meet his first love, the one everyone seems to want for him to get together with, why shouldn't Jeno be there too?
“It's going to be hard for me, okay?” Mark says, squeezing Jeno a little tighter. “And my parents and friends are going to be there, so you know nothing will happen.”
“The same parents and friends who probably want the two of you to get back together,” he mumbles, rolling his eyes and trying to push Mark away from him.
“That's not- I mean- We don't know what they want. What Harin wants. You are just creating stories in your little head like you always do,” Mark replies, pulling Jeno back into the hug and softly caressing his back.
“Do you?” he asks and wishes he hadn't. He knows that no matter what Mark says he will not be satisfied.
“I have you,” is all that Mark says, pulling away from Jeno for just a second before capturing his lips in a sweet kiss. “And you're all I want. I told you this before.”
Jeno nods and pushes him towards the door wanting to be alone again, wanting Mark to stay with him and never leave his side again.
“Go.”
“Hey,” Mark whispers, taking his hand and pulling Jeno towards himself. “You'll meet everyone too, if that makes you feel better.”
It doesn't. Everyone will hate him. Everyone will wish for him and Mark to break up and for Jeno to leave in order to make things go back to the way they were before the accident. Jeno isn't stupid. He knows without even needing to meet them.
Jeno wonders how long could his relationship with Mark last if everyone in his life were to hate Jeno.
I'll be nice , he thinks. I'll do everything to make them like me so that Mark won't have to leave me.
“Yeah,” he lies and watches as Mark leaves the room, leaves him behind.
He waits for Mark and his parents to leave before walking out of the house and into the field of bright green grass outside the house, the stone mountain peaks towering over him, caging him.
He takes his shoes off, feeling the cool grass under his skin, little rocks pocking his feet, the wet soil soft and uncomfortable. The air is fresh, the scenery beautiful and everything is silent except for the chirping of birds and the rushing of the little rivulet he is walking towards.
Once he gets there, he puts his feet in the freezing water until they are red, until they are numb and then he takes them out and lays on the grass and looks at the endless blue sky and at the falcon that is circling the air just above his head, high in the sky.
The world must seem so insignificant from up there, he thinks.
He wonders if that's how God sees them, small and insignificant, far away and unimportant.
Jeno wishes he was God, maybe then Mark would love him unconditionally.
Mark feels antsy, his muscles tense, his legs heavy. A part of him wishes the ground would swallow him whole, he wishes he could go back in time and change every single one of his choices, every mistake he ever made.
(The other part of him whispers in his ear that if he had to abandon his family and his best friend had to fall into a coma for him to meet Jeno, then it would've been worth it.)
(Mark sets that tiny voice on fire and lets it burn him with shame.)
It takes only twelve minutes to walk from the valley where their house sits to the little village where his friends live.
His friends. His friends. His friends.
Mark doesn't know if he still has the right to refer to them as such, not after having abandoned them as he did.
He can't imagine their pain or anger.
He can't imagine which of the two he'll be met with today.
The mountains loom over him as he walks on paths he thought he had long forgotten, trapped them in a room in his mind that he had refused to open. And yet he remembers them clearly, as if he had never left, as if he had walked on them every morning and every evening for the past five long years.
He's standing in front of Haechan's house when the numbness overtakes him, as if a switch had been turned off in his brain, as if the world around him is suddenly unable to reach him.
He's sitting in front of his friends now and he can't remember how he got there just that now suddenly he is.
He wants to cry and to scream and to beg for forgiveness but his emotions won't leave his body, caged between his ribs.
“We are not mad,” Jisung says, his brown eyes pooling with tears, pain painted on his every feature, on his every movement.
Mark would rip his own heart out if it helped Jisung feel better.
“Yes we are,” Haechan says looking at Jisung with annoyance on his face.
“We are hurt,” Renjun interjects. “And we are also upset with you for leaving. But we are not mad. Just upset.”
“We were just worried,” Haechan's voice cracks in the middle and Mark wishes his emotions could come back to him. Wishes they never would. “I- we didn't know if you were fine, if you were hurt. If you were alive.”
“Of course I was alive,” he says but he knows that it wasn't that obvious.
(A part of him had always wondered how it would feel like to fly over the edge of the mountain.)
“I'm sorry.”
“That's all you have to say?” Jisung asks as he fiddles with his fingers under the table, a little drop of blood escaping from the skin he pulled away from his thumb.
“I just don't know how to do this,” he admits, wishing his voice didn't sound so detached, wishing his face didn't look so uninterested.
Haechan sighs, his eyes closing for a second, his fingers massaging his temples and then he looks at Mark, his eyes searching for something that Mark fears he won't find, that he fears he will.
When Haechan's done looking, when he's done searching, he simply shakes his head and sighs, “You've always been so fucking stupid,” is all that he says before getting up from his seat and pulling Mark's body into a tight and awkwardly positioned hug.
Mark doesn't hug him back, not immediately, not for a little while. It feels somehow strange to have someone that isn't Jeno hug him. Haechan's hug is different, his hair smells like mint, his body is softer, his hug less tight.
Haechan waits and waits and waits until finally Mark lifts his arms and wraps them tightly around Haechan's shoulders, bringing their bodies together.
“We missed you so fucking much,” Haechan whispers a few inches from his ear, his lips brushing against Mark's cheek.
“Me too,” he says while knowing that it isn't enough. “Me too.”
They stay like that for what Mark feels like is both a second and an eternity and then he feels Jisung and Renjun's bodies around his own, Jisung’s head resting on his shoulder, his tears falling soaking his grey hoodie, Renjun's soft kiss on the top of his head.
“That was a bit embarrassing,” Jisung says while drying his eyes as they all go back to their seats.
A soft chuckle escapes Mark's lips, warmth spreading through his chest.
He had forgotten just how much he used to love them. How much he still does.
“You are back to stay right?” Renjun asks while pouring them some tea. Mark had also forgotten just how much hot tea everyone seemed to drink.
“I-,” Mark hadn't thought about it. Hadn't discussed it with Jeno. There had been no long-term plan, they had simply packed their bags and went on the road. “I don't know.”
“What? I thought you were back,” Jisung lowers his cup looking at Mark with betrayal in his eyes.
“Would you have come back?” Haechan asks hesitantly as if he isn't sure he wants to know the answer, as if he is unable to hold himself back from asking the question anyway. “If Harin hadn't woken up. Would you have come back for us?”
Mark opens his mouth just to shut it again.
“I don't know,” he says because he doesn't, because he tried his hardest to lock his past behind a door he had never wanted to open again, because he had missed them more than anything and more than anything he had wanted to forget about them.
Haechan nods and Mark can see the hurt behind his eyes, the way he tries to hide it, to smother it.
“We want you to,” Haechan says. “No matter what happened or what will happen, we want you to stay here with us. And if you still have to leave, you have to promise to stay in contact with us.”
“Of course,” Mark replies before Haechan even gets to finish his sentence. “Of course.”
“How do you feel about Harin? Are you ready to meet her again?” Jisung asks after having spent an hour talking about everything and anything that didn't have to do with her.
“I don't know,” he says for what feels like the hundredth time that day.
“You don't know a lot of things, do you?” Renjun mocks him lightheartedly, a beautiful smile on his lips.
“I tried not to think too much about it,” he admits. “How does she feel about me?”
“She wants nothing more than to see you again, Mark,” Haechan says, placing his hand on top of Mark's. “Since she woke up, all that she could think about was seeing you again.”
Mark's heart shatters inside of his chest, cutting every piece of his skin, breaking his ribs.
“Oh,” is all that comes out of his lips, soft and pitiful.
“Do you think you'll get back together?” Jisung asks, the question flooding Jeno's brain like acid.
“No,” he says, his breaths heavy, the shards floating in his chest coming up his throat and scratching it raw.
“Oh,” Renjun says, taken aback and exchanges a secret look with Haechan and Jisung.
“Did she say we were going to?” he asks through the blood and broken glass that is now filling his throat.
“Well that's not- she didn't say that. It just- I don't know,” Renjun stutters, fruitlessly looking at the other two boys, pleading with them with his eyes to help him out.
Mark's world stops for a minute, his breathing loud in his own ears, tears fighting their way through the numbness spreading through his body, shame scorching his stomach, melting his liver.
“I have a boyfriend,” he confesses as his inside melt and guilt rages inside of him.
“Oh that's- that's great,” Jisung says and Mark doesn't believe it. “Is he in the city? How long have you been together?”
“Around four years now,” Mark replies, drinking in every movement they make, every breath they take, every glance they exchange. “And no. He's here now.”
“Here like, here?” Jisung asks before getting elbowed in the side by Renjun.
“Yeah. You know, to meet the family and all.”
They stay silent for not more than fifteen seconds, Mark's heart beating loudly in his own ears, the anticipation eating him alive.
“We are happy for you,” Renjun says finally and this time Mark can't decide if his words are sincere or not.
“You are?” he curses himself for asking but can't seem to find the courage to take back his question.
“Of course we are,” Haechan reassures him. “We weren't expecting you to be single forever, to wait for an ex-girlfriend who might never even wake up. It's not- it's complicated and we just thought you were going to wait but it doesn't matter. We are happy for you.”
We just thought you were going to wait.
The words echo inside of Mark's head as they walk with him towards Hari's house. Is that what everyone was expecting from his return? Did everyone think Harin and him were going to get back together? Pick up the pieces of their relationship from where they had abandoned them?
Five years had gone by for Mark. His life wasn't the romantic fairytale that everyone was expecting it to be. He wasn't the tragic protagonist who waited five long years for his first love to wake from a coma so that they could finally get married and have a family.
He had left.
He had moved on.
And now he was back where it had all started, where everything had ended. Where it was about to begin again.
“We'll leave you to it,” Jisung says when they reach Harin's house.
“Do you want us to stay?” Haechan asks as they are about to leave.
Mark shakes his head when all he wants to say is yes.
“We'll see you tomorrow morning then. Don't disappear on us again.”
He knows he's supposed to knock, to move, to make his presence known, but he feels like roots have grown out of his feet latching him onto the ground.
He stares at the plain wooden door and for the first time since he set foot into his hometown he can't recognise it.
When they were kids they had painted Harin's door together: they had plastered their little handprints all over the wood in a million different colours, painted flowers and suns, filled each corner with stars and moons, made butterflies fly all around their badly drawn trees. But now the door that stands in front of him has no colour, no life, no childish drawing.
He knocks on the door.
He had thought seeing Harin again would feel different.
He had expected to feel connected with her in ways that couldn't be explained, he had expected to get lost in her eyes and hang from her every word. He had expected the world to implode and the volcanoes to erupt burning his heart with longing and nostalgia.
A part of him had dreaded the feeling that could bloom inside of his chest at the sight of her face and the sound of her voice.
And yet being near her, her perfume invading his senses, her smile sweet, her eyes bright, Mark just feels anxious and awkward. He doesn't know what to say, how to act. He wants to beg on his knees for her forgiveness and the same he wants to wrap her up in a hug and never let her go.
“Do you blame me?” he asks because the question has been lodged in his throat for the past five years.
“No,” she replies with nothing but sadness in her eyes. “Why would I blame you. It was an accident.”
Mark had believed that her forgiveness, his absolution, would've turned his world upside down. He thought hearing those words coming out of her mouth would have filled the emptiness inside of him, would've purified his soul, removed the weight from his shoulders.
Five years he has been waiting for this exact moment, but as he sits there and talks and laughs and reminisces about their golden days, Mark still feels filthy and wrong. He's unable to look at her for too long, every touch feels like molten lava is being poured on his skin, his mind screaming at him to run away.
Mark wonders if they could ever be friends again. Mark wonders if a day will come when he will look at her and not feel guilty and dirty.
Maybe it was never her forgiveness he had been waiting for.
Jeno just wants to go home, to go back to a moment in time when Mark was only his and no one else was able to take his attention away from Jeno.
Now it seems like the past three days have been a competition to see who could steal Mark's attention away from Jeno the fastest.
Jeno tries his best to be understanding and nice, to let Mark spend time with his best friends. Friends who are smart and funny and who seem to know things about Mark that Jeno doesn't, who seem to be able to read his mind and guess his thoughts, who laugh at inside jokes that Jeno can't even begin to understand, who have anecdotes and funny stories about a period of time when Mark didn't even know who Jeno was.
He tries his best not to get hurt and upset by the fact that Mark's parents don't seem to care about him at all, by the way they talk to him through Mark, by the fact that they have never once smiled at him in the past three days. He wants them to tell him funny stories about baby Mark, teach him how to cook Mark's favourite childhood dishes, take him on a walk through the village and show him all of the places that are part of Mark. Instead they just refuse to look him in the eyes and acknowledge his presence.
He tries his best not to be unreasonable any time Mark spends time with Harin, any time they laugh together at something that Jeno doesn't find humorous at all, any time they talk about something that Jeno doesn't know anything about, any time Mark looks at her with something in his eyes that Jeno isn't able to decipher. Every time she looks at him with love and adoration in her eyes.
He smiles and laughs and he tries to talk to everyone even when it's clear that nobody seems interested in talking with him, he makes his presence known when his presence is unwanted, he exists in their space, in Mark's life, even when his existence is considered a burden, an obstacle.
But still he tries.
It's the end of their third day in Longridge, Mark's parents have gone to bed already while the six of them are now sitting around a wooden table drinking local red wine.
“Do you remember when we made this table?” Haechan says as he takes another swing from his glass, his voice already a little slurred.
“Oh my god,” Mark laughs in reply and covers his eyes with his hand. “It was such a fucking mess, it's truly a miracle this thing is still standing.”
They keep talking, they keep reminding each other of moments in their past and Jeno doesn't know how to insert himself into the conversation, how to seamlessly work himself into their lives and act as if he belongs there, as if he had been there all along. He wants to crawl under their skin and make a nest inside of their brain, inject himself into their bloodstream and make a home inside of their hearts.
“What about you?” Jisung asks. “What do you do?”
“I don't work right now. I live off of my father's money,” he says, feeling embarrassment colouring his cheeks. He had never cared before, never felt ashamed of it, on the contrary, when his father had finally died he had felt like a life with no financial burdens had been the least his father could've gifted him after all the torture he had put him through.
“Of course you do,” Harin chuckles.
“You really went and got yourself a rich city boy,” Chenle laughs and there's no malice in his tone but it also feels like he's referencing something Jeno has no knowledge of, an inside joke he can't grasp, once again making him feel stranded with no means to laugh at the joke like everyone else is.
“So your parents are rich? You live with them?” Harin asks, sipping her wine, red staining her teeth.
“No, I live with Mark,” he says. “My father is dead and my mother is in jail.”
“In jail?” a more-than-just-tipsy Jisung exclaims loudly, some of his wine dripping from his mouth.
“Yeah,” Jeno cuckles as Chenle slaps Jisung while shaking his head.
“Is it true that Minji got pregnant from that absolute fuckhead that works at the hardware store down the valley?” Mark quickly changes the subject while tightly gripping Jeno's knee under the table.
Jeno places his hand on top of Mark's, thankful for the change of subject, and yet a part of him can't help but feel disappointed. They were finally looking at him, they were finally showing some interest in him and now they were once again talking about people and things that Jeno couldn't understand.
“Who's Minji?” he asks.
“Oh just a girl,” they reply.
“Where is that place?” he asks.
“It's hard to explain,” they reply.
“What does that mean?” he asks.
“It's just an inside joke,” they reply.
It's around midnight when Jeno finally gets tired of feeling left out of every conversation.
Maybe he's just tired.
“Can we go to bed,” he whispers in Mark's ear making sure no one else can hear him.
“You can go if you are tired, sweetheart. I want to stay a little more,” Mark replies just as quietly.
“Hey, share with the class. Don't exclude us,” Harin complains, making everyone laugh, her words slurred, a pout on her lips.
Jeno wonders if Mark finds her endearing and cute, if he wants to kiss that pout off her lips, if he wants to squeeze her puffed cheeks.
Had they been anywhere else, had they been anyone else, had it been just five days ago, Jeno would've simply told her to fuck off and mind her own business before grabbing Mark by the arm and dragging him away.
But it wasn't five days ago and the ones standing in front of him were Mark's precious friends so Jeno makes sure to smile at them while picturing his fist hitting their annoying faces and simply says, “I was just telling Mark that I'm going to lie there for a bit.”
He places a kiss on the corner of Mark's lips and then moves away from them without giving them a chance to reply.
The grass is cool and humid and Jeno can feel the cold seeping into his bones and the dew seeping into his clothes but he refuses to get up. Instead, he basks in the silence and watches the awe-inspiring night sky dotted with countless bright stars, admiration painted all over his features.
He doesn't even realise it but he must've fallen asleep because when he opens his eyes again Mark is placing a blanket over his body, his hands rubbing his chest in hopes of giving him some warmth.
“Hey,” Jeno whispers as Mark lifts Jeno's head and places it over his thighs.
“Why didn't you go to bed?” Mark asks while running his hand through Jeno's hair.
Because I wanted to be near you , he wants to say.
“I just wanted to look at the stars. They are so beautiful,” is what comes out of his mouth, his eyes closed as Mark's warm hand caresses his cold cheek.
“Everything is so perfect here, isn't it?”
Jeno's heart cracks a little and not for the first time he wonders if Mark intends to move back to Longridge, if now that Harin is awake there isn't anything keeping him away from his real home, a home that he cherishes and loves.
Jeno wonders if there is a place left for him in Mark's life anymore.
As they lay in the grass, Jeno's head on his lap, Mark realises that he was right: Jeno really is made to lay on the mountain fields, grass ticking his face, flowers framing his body, the milky light of the moon and all of its stars shining on him.
Everything is perfect.
He wants nothing more than to spend the rest of his life staring at Jeno.
It's the fifth day and Jeno is on a walk with Mark, Renjun, Jisung, Haechan and Harin.
The path they've taken is beautiful, the grass is painted by colourful and fragrant flowers, around them there are some of the tallest trees Jeno has ever seen, their trunks so big Jeno wouldn't be able to wrap his arms around them, pretty little birds often emerging from their branches.
Jeno is slowly trudging behind everyone else, their movements nimble and fast while he struggles to keep up the pace, while he stumbles on the uphill in Mark's old boots that make his feet ache. He tied the strings as tight as he could, he put paper inside of them and he wore the thickest pair of socks that he could find and yet the boots are still too big and now his ankles ache and he can't seem to catch his breath, his throat is dry and nobody has talked to him or even looked at him for the past twenty minutes.
He just watches their backs as they walk in front of him, as they joke and talk and laugh and as Mark's laughter fills his ears, his head thrown back, the golden rays of sun shining on his face, Jeno wonders if maybe the time for him to go back home has come.
Maybe he was never supposed to come in the first place.
Maybe it is time for him to let Mark go.
He had never seen the mountains before, had never been surrounded by so much untouched nature. It's quiet and it's beautiful and Jeno wishes he could lose himself in it, wishes he could become one with the trees and the flowers and the bees buzzing around, wishes he could turn into one of the butterflies that keep landing on his bright yellow shirt.
“Hi,” he says softly to the pretty butterfly that decided to rest on his finger.
He smiles at her, watching as the sunlight gets absorbed by the blackness of her wings.
She looks delicate and yet so fierce.
Jeno is just glad someone chose to stay by his side and keep him company.
As he's examining the butterfly and her intricate wings, Jeno's foot gets caught in a root sticking out of the soil and loses his balance, only a soft yelp leaving his lips before he hits the ground, the impact leaving his hands numb, his knees sore, his mind messy.
“It's fine,” he says as soon as Mark kneels next to him, his hands gentle as he holds Jeno's wrists and examines his skin, looking for any sign of blood.
He can't hear what Mark says next, the rush of his own blood filling his ears as he watches a little red dot bloom on the palm of his hand. It's insignificantly small and Jeno can't even feel the pain but it's still there, there's still blood, his skin still got torn apart, his body has been changed, marked against his will.
All of a sudden he's fourteen again kneeling by the side of his bed as his father's rage cuts his skin open and bleeds him dry.
“We'll be going back,” he can vaguely hear Mark say over his father's screams.
“What? He didn't even get hurt, it's not even a scratch. Don't be dramatic,” his mother says behind Mark, her face a blur, her voice muffled and detached like it always used to be.
“I said we are going,” Mark says and grabs Jeno by his waist pulling him to his feet, his strength the only thing holding Jeno up.
“Don't be ridiculous now, we haven't even reached the meadow yet. If he wanted to go home he could've said so, no need for the dramatics,” his mother huffs, her voice lower than he remembers but her tone as scornful as ever.
But it hurts, he wants to tell her. Why don't you care? Why don't you care that your son is in pain?
But he’s twelve again and his voice is stuck in his throat, his terror holding it hostage, caging it inside of his chest.
Why don't you care? Why don't you love me? Why don't you defend me?
“I didn't ask for your input or opinion,” Mark says, his voice cold and sombre. “If I wanted to know your thoughts I would've asked.”
“I-”
“We are going. I'll see you tomorrow.”
There's silence after that, just their steps on leaves and rocks, the chirping of birds flying over their heads, butterflies dancing around their heads, Mark's warm body pressed against his side, his hand holding him tightly.
“Let's rest for a second,” Mark says softly in his ear before helping Jeno sit on a moss-covered rock.
“It's not too bad,” Mark tries to reassure him while pouring some water on his hand to wash away the blood, take away the stain. “There. All gone.”
Jeno hums in reply, unable to form sentences, unable to open up the cage and set his voice free.
“Hey, it's okay,” Mark whispers softly, placing a soft kiss on the side of his lips, his warm hands on Jeno's thighs, his eyes comforting, his smile unwavering. “I'm here.”
He puts his hands around Mark's neck bringing him closer until their foreheads are touching, until he can feel Mark's breath on his skin, until he can hear nothing but Mark, feel nothing but Mark.
“Stay,” he begs as Mark's thumbs sweetly move on his clothed skin in rhythm with their breaths.
“Just breathe with me,” Mark replies as Jeno's eyes close.
They are quiet as they walk down the beautiful mountain path, the golden sunlight shining on them.
“Look,” Mark would say once in a while pointing at some plant or flower or tree, and Jeno would immediately look and listen to Mark as he would talk excitedly about rare plants, old trees and beautiful flowers.
“What's your favourite?” Jeno decides to ask after a while when his voice finally manages to break free of its cage.
“I don't have a favourite, I love every single part of the mountain,” Mark replies, tightening his hold on Jeno's hand. “There is this flower, it's called purple saxifrage, it's so very beautiful. It reminds me of you.”
“Of me?”
“They are small, very very little but their colour is so very vibrant. They grow in the crevices of rocky terrains and they are the first to bloom after the winter snow melts, often continuing to flower during the whole summer,” Mark says, stopping for a second and turning towards Jeno. “They are like a symbol of survival and resilience in the harsh mountain conditions. Just like you.”
Jeno doesn't know what to say, how to reply, he just stares at Mark unable to move. He is used to Mark seeing him as something beautiful yet shameful, as a ravishing sin, enthralling but wrong. It feels strange to hear Mark talk about him in such a beautiful way, to hear himself be described as a beautiful and resilient flower. His heart furiously beats in his chest at the thought of Mark associating him with something that is part of the mountains that he so dearly and unconditionally loves.
Under the warmth of the spring sun, with beautiful butterflies dancing around them and bees jumping from one flower to the next, Jeno can't do anything else but lean forward and trap Mark in a soft kiss, trying to express his love for him, his gratitude, trying to show him everything that he could never put into words.
Begging Mark to never look at him with shame and guilt again, to never look at their relationship and see nothing but a sin.
Jeno wishes he could always remain a pure and resilient flower in Mark's eyes.
“I'm sorry I ruined your day,” Jeno says while they walk back home, their fingers intertwined and their arms lightly swinging by their side.
“You didn't. It's fine.”
“But you guys were so happy about having a picnic in that meadow, like when you were teenagers and we didn't even get there because of me.”
“We have all the time in the world. We can go another time.”
“Do we?” Jeno asks, unable to look Mark in the eyes.
“Do we what?”
“Have all the time in the world. At the beginning I thought we would stay here for a week but now… Well I'm not sure what you want now.”
He watches as Mark mulls it over, his brows furrowed as he gets lost in thoughts. Jeno doesn't know what Mark wants. If Mark asked, Jeno would move to the other side of the world for him, he would take residence in a hut in the deepest forest or on top of the tallest mountain. As long as Mark still wants Jeno to be the centre of his universe, Jeno is willing to do anything to stay in his life.
“I don't know what I want to do,” Mark confesses after a while. “I love it here. More than I thought I did, more than I thought I could but it's so hard. Everyday there is something that reminds me that- Well. It's hard. I don't know what I want. I'm sorry.”
Every day there is something that reminds me that being in love with you is wrong, Jeno fills in for him.
“Don't be sorry,” he says when all he wants to do is beg him to renounce his God and rebel against his parents. “We can stay as long as you need. And then, once you have a better idea of what you want, we can discuss what to do.”
“I don't deserve you,” Mark says softly before pulling him closer and kissing him on the cheek.
“Can you sleep with me? Just for tonight?” Jeno asks.
He hates sleeping alone. He hates the cold and empty space next to him. He is used to having Mark always by his side, he is used to seeing his face right by his when waking up from nightmares, he is used to the warmth of his body and the comfort of his heartbeat right by his side.
“Just for tonight,” Mark says but Jeno can see the apprehension on his face, can hear the hesitation in his voice.
Jeno has a list. More specifically, Jeno has five separate lists, one for each of Mark's friends and parents. In the lists, he writes anything and everything that he learns about them, from things they like to things they did, what they hate and the anecdotes they often talk about. Jeno believes that if he can just turn himself into everything they love and deeply hide everything that they hate, maybe he'll be able to earn their attention and maybe one day, if he works hard enough, their love.
He doesn't have a list for Harin. He doesn't want her acceptance or her love, he wants her to disappear (probably just as much as she wants him to disappear.)
When Mark is near, when Mark is watching him, watching them, Jeno puts on his most polite smile and pretends to be completely unbothered by the way she looks at Mark, by the snarky comments she sends his way, by the way she never misses an opportunity to touch Mark, a hand on his arm, her head on his shoulder, her eyes looking at Jeno as if to challenge him to say something, as if to show him that she is trying to make Mark hers again.
When Mark first told him about Harin waking up, Jeno did his best to console Mark, to be there for him, encouraging him to let all of his feelings out. He stayed by his side and caressed his hair until 4 in the morning. He made him breakfast and brought it to him in bed. He bought him lunch at his favourite chinese place and cooked for him a romantic homemade dinner. And then the next night, when Mark finally fell asleep, Jeno locked himself in the bathroom, his breaths stuck in his lungs, his hands trembling, his vision blurred. Many times since learning about Harin's existence Jeno had woken up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night with images of a faceless bride knocking at their door and stealing Mark away from him.
And now his nightmare had finally come to life.
While staring at the blurry reflection of his own face in the mirror, Jeno cursed the doctor who hadn't pulled the plug all those years ago, wished he had driven himself all the way to Saint Mary's hospital and done it himself as soon as Mark had told him about Harin's existence.
Even now while looking at Harin and Mark as they sit on the swing outside the house, their smiles bright and their laughter loud, Jeno can't help but wish that Harin had died five years ago.
“Do you remember when we were sixteen and we secretly went down to the city down the valley by foot, we got lost in the mountain and when we finally got there it was so late that we had to run to catch the last bus or we would've been stuck there for the night?” Harin's laugh fills his ears as she lets her feet dangle in the stream's freezing water.
“We were so fucking stupid. For three and a half hours we walked just to do absolutely nothing at all. But sure, we were cool and rebellious.”
“But I think that's what makes it so memorable, you know? If we had just gone to a restaurant and had a normal dinner we probably wouldn't even remember it today. But the reason it’s so memorable is because we messed up and did something like that.”
Mark chuckles while taking off his socks and then he lets his body fall on the soft green grass, the sunlight shining brightly on his face, the fresh scent of grass and the chirping of birds engulfing him. A part of him wants nothing more than to stay, to find a home for himself and Jeno and live there for the rest of their lives. He doesn't want to go back to the busy city, to the constant cacophony of sounds that can never seem to leave him alone, to the smell of smog and city sewage.
“I want us to get back together,” he hears Harin say as he's thinking about building a life with Jeno.
“What?” he says, immediately sitting back and looking at her with wide-open eyes.
“I think we should get back together,” she repeats, moving closer to him, her gaze never faltering.
“I have a boyfriend,” he chuckles awkwardly. “You've met him tons of times.”
“You can break up with him. He's just a boyfriend. We've been together for six years,” she says, taking his hand in hers.
“And I've been with him for four,” he takes his hand out of hers and pulls himself up on his feet, trying to keep some distance between them. “I know it's only been a year for you, but it's been five years for me. Four of which I've spent with Jeno. We are in love.”
“But when I woke it had only been a month since we broke up, you know? I still love you as I did five years ago, Mark,” she says while her eyes fill up with tears and Mark's heart breaks in two. “I woke up and I asked for you because you were the closest thing I have to a family. I asked for you, Mark. But you weren't there and my mind was a mess so I kept forgetting that you weren't there and I kept asking for you. And then, then, I did my best to get back on my feet, to put my mind back together, to walk and talk and be normal so that when we saw each other again we could just- but you came here with a boyfriend Mark. You came here with someone else.”
“Harin-”
“I know you didn't have to wait for me. We were broken up and you didn't even know if I was going to wake up. I get it. What I'm asking is for you to at least give me a chance now.”
“Harin, I'm sorry I didn't- I'm sorry,” he says, taking her hands in his and holding them tightly, hoping for her tears to stop flowing. “But you know I have a boyfriend. I'm sorry. I really am.”
“I'm not saying you have to go back with me. Just- take some time to decide if you want me or you want him. Give me a fighting chance.”
“You are being unreasonable,” he says with a shivering voice as pity fills his heart.
“I'm not. I'm being very reasonable. Just spend time with him and with me and then decide which one you want to be with. Maybe you'll choose him. Maybe you'll choose me. I'm just asking for a fair fight.”
Mark shakes his head.
“I have a boyfriend,” he repeats sternly. “I will not ask him to… what exactly? Participate in a companion to see which one I choose? To pause our relationship while I decide if I want to be with him or my ex-girlfriend? That's cruel Harin. I would never put him through that. I want to be here for you, I would love for us to be friends. I will always, always, love you. But I moved on. I'm in love with my boyfriend and I want to be with him. You should move on too. I'm sorry.”
He doesn't get a chance to say anything more because in the next second Harin is running away from him, her shoes abandoned by the river, her bare feet hitting the green grass, her back illuminated by the late afternoon sun.
When he arrives back at the house his mother is waiting for him on the porch, her gaze cold, her arms crossed around her chest. Mark feels like he's seventeen again coming back home with the first bus of the day after a night out in the city with his friends.
“You have disappointed me,” is the first thing that she says and Mark feels like he can't breathe, scared of the words that are coming out next, scared of the fire that they'll set inside of him, of the blaze of shame that will swallow him whole.
“Mum-” he tries to defend himself but he doesn't know what he's supposed to say, how he's supposed to justify himself.
“I've been praying for five years for you to come back home and I couldn't be happier now that you are here. But sometimes I look at you and I can't recognise you.”
“I'm the same son now that I was when I left,” he says because he is. He's a little more broken and he's a little happier than he was before but he hasn't changed that much. “Now you just know something more about me that you didn't before.”
Do you love me still?
Do you wish I had never come back?
Do you look at me and see nothing more than a sinner who has lost his path?
Do you love me still?
“You used to love that girl more than anything in the world. You swore you were going to marry her. I don't believe now you- you prefer this man over Harin,” she says and Mark doesn't think he's ready for this conversation, doesn't think he's ready for his whole world to turn upside down for a fourth time in his life.
A little more time. He just wanted a little more time with his family, a little more time to love them and be loved in return.
He's afraid they are about to have a conversation there'll be no coming back from.
“I don't just prefer him, mum. I love him. More than anything,” she scoffs at his words as if he's nothing more than a confused child who has no idea of what he's talking about.
“The only girl you ever loved went into a coma. It's just the pain and trauma that is making you think you- you love that man. You want to protect yourself from having to fall really in love, real love, again and be hurt again.”
Mark shakes his head at the absurdity of her statement. He wishes be could make her feel just for a second how deep his love for Jeno is. He wants to show her that his love for Jeno is so strong that he's willing to live the rest of his life on his knees, begging God for forgiveness as the guilt eats him alive, if it means keeping Jeno by his side.
“That's not true,” he says instead. “Me and Harin had already broken up a month before the accident. On that day she saw me kissing a guy. It's not just something that happened because of trauma. I’m bisexual. It's just who I am.”
He had never said it out loud, never admitted it to anyone. It was obvious and everyone would be able to tell now that he had a boyfriend but those words had never come out of his throat before.
Coming out felt freeing.
It felt scary.
“Is that why you left?” she asks.
“What?”
“Sweetheart,” she says pitifully while moving a strand of air away from his eyes. “You felt guilty, didn't you? You thought God was punishing you?”
Mark sighs as tears pool in his eyes, his mother's face blurring in front of him, the lump in his throat preventing him from doing anything more than nod. She is his mother after all. Mothers always know.
He just wants her to hug him and tell him that everything is going to be alright.
That he was forgiven.
That he wasn't a lost cause.
That she loves him and doesn't want him to think that way anymore.
“Then this is the perfect chance to make it right, isn't it?” she asks while caressing his cheek.
“What?”
“You can make everything right now that you are back. You can go back into God's grace. Send Jeno back home and reject sin. If you are really sorry, if you repent, God will always forgive you.”
“No. I-”
“You made a mistake in the past and you got punished for it so now you think God will not take you back, you think the only way for you to live now is in sin. But you are wrong. You can go back to the path of God and he will always, always, forgive you.”
Mark's breaths get lost in the maze that are his lungs, unable to find their way out, unable to find their way in.
His hands are shaking now as he balls them into fists, his nails digging in his palm drawing out blood.
He knew she wouldn't accept him.
He knew.
And still, he had come here to her home with his boyfriend expecting her to be understanding and welcome Jeno like a son.
Love him like a son.
Love Mark the same way she had loved him when he was perfect and clean and pure.
He wants to ask her if she will still love him if he decides to stay with Jeno, if she will forgive him.
He wants to ask if she's willing to stay by the side of a sinner for the rest of her life if it means keeping her son next to her.
But he doesn't. He doesn't have the strength to hear the answer, just one more hurtful word out of her mouth will make him crumble.
He can't hear what she screams at him as he is walking away, he doesn't want to. He wants to lay in a vast meadow surrounded by flowers and listen to the sound of the stream as the sun shines on his skin.
“Mark,” he hears someone calling his name but he doesn't listen, he doesn't stop, he doesn't look.
“Mark!” Jeno calls him again when Mark doesn't turn around.
He is planning a dinner. The idea came to him that morning and now he can't stop thinking about it.
He had seen movies and shows and in all of them families always bonded over meals, over food. Jeno believes that if he can cook delicious meals that everyone loves, then everyone won't have any other choice but to praise him, talk to him, ask him about the dinner and compliment his skills.
It's a bulletproof plan, he thinks, because there is no way they will be rude enough not to at least thank him for the meal.
“What?”
“I wanted to cook something for your parents. You know, to get in their good graces? And I wanted you to help. You know, choose something that they like and all that,” Jeno says a little awkwardly, hoping Mark still remembers everyone's favourite dish. Hoping their tastes haven't changed too much. “I don't know anything about families and parents so…”
“Stop doing this,” Mark says harshly, making Jeno take a step back.
Mark has never directed that tone of voice, that cold and angry stare, towards him. Even when they fought, even when Jeno lashed out at strangers for getting too close to Mark, even when he got into a fight with Mark's manager or punched a guy in the club when had asked for Mark's number.
“What?” he stutters, his mind racing a mile a minute trying to figure out what exactly was that he had done.
He was sure that during their whole stay in Longridge Jeno had done nothing bad, hadn't stepped out of line, hadn't acted out. On the contrary, he had done his absolute best to be nice and polite to everyone, even when cruel retorts had been hanging on the tip of his tongue, begging him to let them out. Even when had wanted to grab Harin by the hair and drag her away from Mark. Even when he had wanted to scream at her to stop touching his Mark. Every single time he had plastered a perfect smile on his lips and had been nothing but nice and polite to everyone.
“Stop acting stupid and naive. Haven't you noticed? Nobody likes you here. Nobody wants you here. So why do you keep acting like this fake version of yourself that just wants to please everybody. I saw you tackle a guy to the ground once because he said I was out of your league and now you tell my ex-girlfriend that she looks pretty in her new dress as she hugs me and tries to get back with me?”
“I'm just trying-”
“You're just making a fool of yourself in front of everybody. They laugh at your stupid attempts to be their friends behind your back. This is not you. You are fierce Jeno, you are always so fucking fierce so why are you letting everyone walk all over you?"
Every word is like a stab, the knife penetrating his skin and shattering his bones.
“I'm not-”
“I'll tell you why. It's because I'm the only person in this whole fucking world that you love and who loves you. You have no one other than me. Without me you would've probably jumped off a bridge out of loneliness already. You've lived every second of your life since meeting me in fear that I was going to leave. Every person is a threat to you. You are insecure and possessive and you can't bear the thought of seeing me happy with other people because you're scared I'll leave you for them. And now… now you're scared that you are going to lose me to my family, to my friends, to my ex. So you act all nice even when they walk all over you. You pretend it doesn't hurt, you pretend nothing touches you, nothing bothers you. Is having me worth the humiliation? Are you really that pathetic and lonely that you are willing to live the rest of your life being looked down on just to stay with me? Wake up, Jeno.”
What hurts the most, what truly makes his organs boil and his skin crawl, is the knowledge that every harsh and cruel word coming out of Mark's mouth is nothing if not the utmost truth.
Harsh words said in anger from strangers who know nothing of you never hurt as much as the ruthless truth coming out of the mouth of the person who knows you the most in the world.
Jeno runs as Mark’s words keep bouncing inside of him, trying to find a place to rest, but Jeno wouldn't let them, not when their meaning, Mark's intention, kept slipping from his fingers.
You are pathetic, Mark's voice keeps whispering in his ear as he runs down one of the mountain paths without knowing where it will lead.
Nobody wants you here, Mark spits out, his voice harsher than Jeno had ever heard it before as one of the low branches scratches his right cheek, the sting numbing his brain.
He brings his finger to his cheek as a few little droplets of blood stream down his skin, mixing with tears Jeno didn't know had leaked from his eyes.
And when he looks at his finger, red is the only thing he sees.
It isn’t the red of Mark's favourite hoodie nor the red of the scarf Mark had knitted for him last winter, it was red and it was blood and there is nothing else that he can see, nothing else that he can feel.
And there is nothing. Everything is black until it isn't and then he's running.
The words leave Mark's mouth like bullets out of a rifle hitting exactly where Mark knows it would hurt the most.
Mark is the only person in the whole universe who knows Jeno. Who knows his past, who knows his secrets, his darkest fears and deepest worries.
He's the only person in the world who can destroy him.
He wants to take back his words the second they leave his mouth but there is a voice in his ear telling him that Jeno deserves more than him. He deserves a man who will never look at him and feel guilt, a man who won't see their relationship as a sin, as something that should be forgiven. He deserves a man whose family will love Jeno like their own son. He deserves the most perfect and untainted form of love.
As he watches Jeno's perfectly constructed facade crumble, Mark runs.
And runs and runs and runs.
His mind might not yet know where he is going but his legs do, they remember the way, they remember the path, the twists and turns he has to take. And only once he's standing in front of the imposing archangel does he realise where he is.
In his life he had run to him many times, he had pleaded and begged with his knees sore and voice hoarse.
And now he once again finds himself kneeling in front of the stone angel's unwavering gaze as a river flows down his cheeks.
“What should I do?” he asks as his hands hit the gravel but the angel doesn't reply, he never does.
Even while talking to God, even while bowing to Him and begging for his love and forgiveness, Mark can't help but think of Jeno; of the way he laughs at every single one of Mark's jokes as if Mark were the funniest person in the whole universe; of the way Jeno blushes from the smallest of compliments; of the Jeno always craves Mark's affection and love, desperate for his touches; of the way Jeno loves him unconditionally.
Of the way Jeno loves everything that Mark is.
He doesn't just love Mark when he is perfect and good and pure, he loves Mark when he's dirty and wrong, when he's at his lowest point, when Mark can't see anything in himself that is worthy of love. And still Jeno loves him with all that he has.
As his knees bleed on the gravel, as his tears flood the universe and his wavering voice loses its strength, Mark thinks that that's how a God is supposed to love his creation. He think of how the Creator's love should be as unwavering and all-encompassing as Jeno's love for Mark. A God's love should come free of bounds and stipulations.
Why should Mark have to beg just to be loved by Him? Why should he have to bleed and despair for such a monstrous tyrant?
Maybe his mother is wrong about God. Maybe Mark wants to believe that his God would never want him to cower in shame, mortified by his love for Jeno.
Why wouldn't God want His creations to love and be loved? Why would He punish his creation for something as pure and good as falling in love?
“Will he love me just the same?” he asks the angel. “If God is good and God is love, shouldn't he love me just because I love him?”
The shadow of the angel is now engulfing his shivering frame, the warm spring sun hidden by the imposing stone wings.
“I don't want to be ashamed anymore,” he whispers. “Can't I be good enough as I am? Why do I have to change just for You to love me?”
As his sobs fill the air, as Mark falls apart under the stone angel's indifferent gaze, as his knees bleed and his hands ache and his heart breaks, Mark decides that he can't live like this anymore. He can't wake up every morning with a heavy heart and a guilty conscience, believing himself to be dirty and wrong, his soul tarnished and doomed.
“I will love you,” he says. “I will love you every day and you will love me back because you are God and I believe you are good and your love boundless. And if I'm wrong and you are not good and I find myself burning in the fires of Hell once my life on earth has come to an end, then I'll be glad that I didn't spend my life on my knees worshipping a monster.”
All Jeno knows is that he has to run.
It doesn’t matter that his legs are giving out, it doesn’t matter that every muscle of his body is hurting, that his chest is aching, that every breath feels like a million needles stabbing every inch of his skin, every organ in his body.
What matters is his father's booming voice following him down the forest, words he can't escape being uttered in the silence of the forest, words that seep into his soul, poison Mark's precious mountain, bleed into the soil, flood the streams and feed the plants.
Mark will hate him, Jeno thinks. He brought his father into Mark's idyllic paradise and now everything is going to be corrupted because of him.
“You are so fucking pathetic,” his mothers scoff like she always does
“Shut up,” he mutters covering his ears but the voices won't stop, they fly around him like a murder of crows, their words muffled and hoarse, their beaks piercing his skin, shattering his bones, pecking at his chest trying to steal his heart.
“You deserve this,” his father says as his leather belt slashes through Jeno's back.
“I don't,” he cries out. “What did I do?” he asks.
“You were born,” his father snarls as another lashing shakes his body whole.
“Jeno,” his mother says. “It's okay, I'm here.”
Jeno shuts his eyes.
“It's okay,” she says again and Jeno doesn't believe her.
“It's a trick,” he whispers. His mother’s uninterested face flashing in his mind.
“I'm sorry,” she says again. “I'm here now and forever, I promise. Just come back to me.”
“Go away,” he begs.
“Just breathe with me.”
“You are so disgusting,” his father snarls. “Are you not ashamed of yourself?”
“It's alright sweetheart. Come to me.”
“Where is Jeno?” is the first thing Mark asks his mother when he gets back to the house.
“Mark-”
“Not now. Just-” he takes a deep breath, the cruel words that he had spat at Jeno swirling in his head. “Later. I need to talk with Jeno now.”
“I saw him walking towards the wood after talking to him,” his mother replies and she seems dejected and sad and Mark hates the fact that it's all his fault.
“Mum!” he says. “He doesn't know the way and it's almost dark now. Why did you let him go alone.”
“I'm sorry I didn't think-”
“No, I- it's not your fault,” he says as worry starts spreading through every fibre of his body. “I'll get him and then we'll talk okay? I love you.”
He hugs her for no more than a second, just enough to let her know that he loves her, that he wants things between them to get fixed. That he wants his mum back.
And then he runs, worry gnawing at his ribs as he enters the wood, the tall trees casting long shadows on the ground, the sun rays fighting a losing battle against the trees thick branches.
It's almost dusk now, the sun making its way between the mountains and Mark knows how much the temperature drops in the evening, especially deep in the forest. Jeno doesn't know the way, doesn't know how to orient himself in the middle of a forest where all the trees look just the same. What if he gets lost? What if Mark can't find him before the sun has completely set? What if he gets hurt?
Jeno can't get hurt.
Please don't get hurt, he keeps chanting in his head as he calls out Jeno’s name, his voice getting lost among the trees.
And then, when he's about to cry out of desperation, he hears faint crying in the distance.
“Jeno?” he screams but no one replies.
He follows the sobs, his whole body aching from the sound, his heart threatening to implode inside of his chest.
When he finally finds him, Jeno is crouched on the ground, his head hidden in his hands, a tree branch stuck in the back of his shirt, holding him hostage, scratching his back, his cheek covered in blood.
“Jeno,” he says tentatively, his voice soft “It's okay, I'm here.”
Jeno just whines, the heart-wrenching sound bringing tears to Mark's eyes.
“It's okay,” he says with a trembling voice as his hands start to shake.
He had seen Jeno like this before, lost in his mind, unable to tell the difference between life and memory and dream.
You did this , he thinks for a second even if he knows that Jeno's mental health has always been hanging on a thread.
“I'm sorry,” he says because there is nothing in the world that he regrets more than the words that he had thrown at the person that he claims to love. “I'm here now and forever, I promise. Just come back to me.”
“Go away,” Jeno mumbles, his voice muffled and wet.
“Just breathe with me,” he says but Jeno just starts crying harder, his breaths getting shorter. “It's alright sweetheart. Come to me.”
“Mark?” Jeno asks without lifting his head.
“Yes. It's me,” he says before taking Jeno into his arms.
“Mark,” Jeno repeats between sobs.
“I'm here. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” he begs while rocking their bodies back and forth, Jeno’s head against his chest, his hair tickling Mark's chin.
“I'm sorry,” Jeno says while wrapping his arms around Mark's torso.
“Why are you saying sorry? I'm the one in the wrong, I'm the one who has to apologise.”
“I'm sorry,” Jeno repeats. “If I wasn't your boyfriend you would be happier. You stay with me because you know that if we break up I'll be alone and break down.”
“Don't say stupid shit like that,” Mark says, hugging Jeno closer. “I love you more than anything. Why do you think I stayed with you even though I thought loving a man was wrong? Because I love you so much that I was willing to live in sin and be sentenced to hell rather than be separated from you.”
“I'm sorry,” Jeno repeats again
“Look at me,” Mark says while taking Jeno's face in his hands and meeting his gaze. “I'm done feeling guilty for loving you. I'm done being ashamed of our love, I'm done thinking loving you is wrong. Loving you is not wrong. Loving you is the best thing that happened to me. Loving you is a privilege. From now on I will love you with everything I have and I will be sure to show everyone just how proud I am to be your boyfriend.”
“Mark-” Jeno whines as more tears fall from his cheeks. “What about your parents? And your friends and Harin?”
“They will either have to love you or we'll move somewhere else. Somewhere where we'll be happy.”
They stay like that for a while, their bodies intertwined, the cold soil under their bodies, the sun almost completely gone.
“What I said before,” Mark says. “I was wrong. I was being cruel and mean because I was hurt and instead of asking you to comfort me I lashed out. I was a cruel asshole and you didn't deserve that.”
“But you were right,” Jeno mumbles.
“No, I was not. You were just trying your best to be accepted into my family. You were trying your best to make people like you. Even when everyone was being mean you still tried your best to make them like you. You deserve a loving family, Jeno. There is nothing wrong in trying your best to get one,” he says before placing a kiss on Jeno's flushed cheek. “But from now on we won't let them walk all over you, okay? And I want you to promise me to always tell me how you feel, you shouldn't hide your true self from me ever again. I love you even when you lose your mind.”
In that moment Jeno lets himself believe that maybe he doesn't have to be God for Mark to love him.
“If there is a god then I'm
going to make him cry”