Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“So why exactly am I coming again?” Donghyuck groans as he looks up from his phone, his expectant gaze piercing into Renjun’s profile.

“It’s not like you were my first option, okay,” Renjun sighs, turning his head to mirror Donghyuck’s pointed expression before returning his attention to the road. “Jaemin and Jeno said they had ‘plans,’ whatever that meant, and the other two have to study for their midterm tomorrow. You were literally my last choice.”

The repetitive clicking of his turn signal stops once he merges into the left lane, slowing to a halt at the stoplight.

“Gee, thanks, that makes me feel a lot better for agreeing to come,” Donghyuck huffs, tightly crossing his arms at his chest.

“It’s not even that bad,” Renjun replies, sighing again as he runs his free hand through his hair and shoots a quick glance at the side mirror to check his appearance. The light turns green and he pulls forward, turning into the dimly-lit parking lot outside of the art center. “It’s just painting, Hyuck. There’s no pressure; they’ll be playing peaceful music the whole time. It’s honestly quite calming.”

“Sounds stressful,” Donghyuck retorts, unbuckling his seatbelt once Renjun pulls to a stop. Just as Renjun is about to sigh again, Donghyuck quickly cuts him off, “But I promised you I’d be here, and like the good friend I am, I’ve kept my promise.” He takes a pause. “But you owe me.”

He then abruptly leans over to ruffle Renjun’s hair, giggling as Renjun struggles to fight him off, then makes a run for it, laughing loudly at the sounds of Renjun’s groans and footsteps following after him.

“I usually sit over here,” Renjun says, guiding Donghyuck over to his neatly-organized station. His easel was already prepped for tonight, a large blank canvas eagerly awaiting his arrival accompanied by an assortment of bright paints arranged in rainbow order at the base of the stand. His brushes, though a bit worn in, were clean and tightly packed into an empty metal can zip-tied to one of his easel legs.

“I brought some extra brushes from home for you to use,” Renjun adds, pulling the strap of his canvas shoulder bag over his head and opening the large flap to reveal what looked to be twenty-something brushes with newly-cleaned bristles juxtaposing their paint-stained, well-loved handles. He pats the wooden chair next to his station and motions for Donghyuck to sit down. “You can sit with me, if you want.”

Donghyuck scoffs and rolls his eyes but sits down anyway, trying his best to hide his growing anxiety. It wasn’t that he was scared of painting or anything, of course not. He just didn’t know how he felt about coming to an open studio session with one of the best artists he knew (he’d never admit it aloud, though), surrounded by other students that were sure to be just as skilled as his best friend and who were probably going to silently judge him for his lousy attempts at “art” that evening. The only painting experience he had was from elementary school, and Donghyuck wasn’t much of a painter back then, either. He preferred chasing the other boys around the classroom with paint on his hands over actually sitting still and painting.

“It’s okay,” Renjun says, sensing Donghyuck’s apprehension and bringing his hand up to lightly squeeze Donghyuck’s shoulder. Donghyuck manages a small grin back and takes in a deep breath. 

“I’m sure other people will be bringing their friends too. This week is free for plus-ones because they’re trying to recruit new students,” Renjun continues. “And if you see anyone judging you, just let me know. I’ll beat them up for you.”

Renjun huffs and proudly squares his shoulders, breaking into a large grin when he hears Donghyuck fail to stifle his laughter.

“So small, yet so tough,” Donghyuck teases, finally easing up a bit. “I’d like to see you actually try and beat someone up for once.”

“Oh yeah?” Renjun challenges, returning from a few feet away with another large easel for Donghyuck to use. “I bet I could beat you up if I wanted to.”

“Try me,” Donghyuck smirks, his eyes narrowing to meet Renjun’s own taunting eyes before the two break into large smiles. 

“Maybe another day,” Renjun hums, nodding at the center of the room as the lights begin to dim. Donghyuck rolls his eyes, then turns his attention to the large white blocks that had silently migrated to the middle of the room, brightly lit from below by small lamps that circled the arrangement.

More people had flowed into the studio since they’d arrived, randomly arranged throughout the large room with their guests for the night. Donghyuck notices a group of people with cookies and cups filled with bubbly champagne liquid shuffle into the room and taps on Renjun’s knee to get his attention. “There’s food here?” he asks.

Renjun looks up, shaken from his reverie, then absentmindedly responds, “Oh, yeah. They brought food for the guests.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I forgot—”

“Just saying, it would’ve been a lot easier for you to convince me to come if you just said there’d be snacks,” Donghyuck whispers, teasingly pushing at Renjun’s knee as Renjun rolls his eyes. “Want anything?”

“A cookie would be nice,” Renjun replies after some thought. “But hurry up, we’re starting soon,” he says, motioning towards the door. “They should be on the right.”

Donghyuck hops off his chair and excitedly maneuvers through the maze of easels and chairs but speeds out the door a little too quickly, missing the bright yellow caution sign and slipping on the freshly-mopped linoleum flooring after a sharp turn towards the right hallway.

“W-oah!” he loudly exclaims, bracing himself for the incoming fall by bringing his hands forward, but he’s stopped short by the sudden appearance of two freakishly strong arms that seemed to completely halt his bodily momentum mid-air. It all happens in slow motion, then—his hands following through to harshly grab onto the cable-knit sweater in front of him, pulling it down with him as gravity fulfilled its purpose to take him, and the sweater, down, down, down, until Donghyuck finds himself lying atop a hard cushion of bone and muscle. 

He lifts his head, mind reeling from whatever the hell just happened, to find that the body underneath him did, in fact, belong to someone, that someone with eyes wide in shock and the air freshly knocked out of their lungs.

“Oh fuck, I’m so sorry—”

“Are you alright?” the someone worriedly asks, concerned eyes following Donghyuck as he hastily sits up and dusts off his pants. 

“I’m—what?” Donghyuck asks, incredulous. “Yes, I’m okay, but are you? ” 

He offers a hand to the boy in the sweater, who accepts it, and helps the boy up, heat rushing up his ears once the adrenaline begins to wear away. He’d worry about the possibility of anyone seeing him fall later; for now, his main concern was this flustered, though cute, boy in front of him who happened to save his life.

“I’m okay,” the boy replies, flashing a shy smile at Donghyuck before realizing that his chest was exposed, hastily pulling up his sweater to cover it.

“Oh, I’m sorry about that—”

“No, it’s okay, I just get cold pretty easily—”

“But what if I ruined your sweater—”

“It’s okay ,” the boy emphasizes, his eyes boring into Donghyuck’s own as he attempted to convey that he was, in fact, perfectly fine, smoothing his sweater down to its hem.

“O-okay,” Donghyuck mumbles. He feels especially hot now, sure that his face was a bright cherry red. 

“Were you rushing to get cookies?” the boy asks, nodding at the black table that stood against the wall behind them decorated with party trays of cookies and bottles of apple cider. 

“Yeah, I was,” Donghyuck replies shyly. Why exactly did you get so excited just for some cookies, Donghyuck? 

“They’re pretty good,” the boy says, turning to head towards the table, “so I totally understand the excitement,” he continues, further amplifying Donghyuck’s embarrassment as he chuckles to himself.

“Here, do you like red velvet?” he asks, smiling warmly as he offers two napkin-wrapped cookies to Donghyuck.

“Y-yeah, I do,” Donghyuck replies, taking the cookies from the boy. “Do you?”

“Yeah, it’s my favorite flavor,” the boy replies. “Did you want a drink too? I was going to get some for myself.”

“Sure,” Donghyuck says, preoccupied with studying the boy who stopped his fall. The sweater he was wearing was a navy blue, randomly speckled with black and grey thread, an oversized fit that gently draped over his shoulders; his dark hair, tousled from the fall they just took, fell just slightly above the smooth curve of his eyebrows. His cheekbones and jawline complimented one another, their sharpness juxtaposing the softness of his eyes, almost doe-like, dark, piercing orbs that reflected the lights above like black obsidian. 

“Hello? Anyone home?” the boy asks, distracting Donghyuck from his trance. 

“What? Sorry, I was, um,” Donghyuck stammers. “Are you a student here?” the boy asks, his eyes curious.

“No, no. My friend. His name’s Renjun, he’s the one taking classes here. I’m just his guest for tonight,” Donghyuck replies, his stomach forming knots as the boy continues staring at him.

“Renjun, hm?” the boy ponders, cocking his head. He hands a cup of chilled apple cider to Donghyuck, who accepts it. “What’s your name, non-student?”

“Donghyuck,” he manages, the butterflies in his stomach beginning to swarm to form a violent tornado.

“Donghyuck,” the boy repeats, slowly, as if he wanted to imprint the memory of Donghyuck’s name onto his tongue. He smiles.

“Nice to meet you, Donghyuck. I hope you enjoy the session today,” he says, turning  to walk down the hall with cookies and cider in hand. “I’ll see you in there,” he adds, his lips pulled into an inviting grin.

“Yeah, I’ll. I’ll see you. In… there,” Donghyuck replies weakly, struggling to comprehend what just happened. It’s like he’s been punched in the gut once, twice, three times, his stomach feeling like it’s carrying a sixty-pound anvil plus some other sharp objects. All because of some stupid cookies , he tells himself.

“Red velvet?” Renjun sharply whispers, his eyebrows furrowed in frustration even as he grabs the cookie from Donghyuck’s napkin. “You know I prefer chocolate chip!”

“Shut up, at least I got you a cookie,” Donghyuck hisses back, blush threatening to redden his cheeks as he props himself back onto his chair. He wasn’t about to tell Renjun that he’d forgotten all about his request once he ran into his very own knight in shining armor. Renjun should be thankful he’d even gotten a cookie at all.

“But I don’t even like red velvet,” Renjun whines under his breath, pouting before taking a reluctant bite from the dessert in his hand.

“Hello, everyone!” a voice suddenly rings as a slender figure emerges from the shadows of the studio. His long hair, a pastel pink, barely reached his eyelashes, their shadows long and spidery on the highs of his cheeks. He was wearing a muted gray apron, fitted with a set of used brushes in one pocket and paint randomly splattered along the fabric. 

“My name is Taeyong, and I’m the instructor for this open studio. I’m so excited to see all these new faces tonight!” he beams, turning to take in the crowd of twenty-something students arranged around the room.

“As you may already know, we’ll be taking new students for our spring session, which will be starting in two weeks. If you’re interested, please feel free to grab a flyer right by the door,” he says, pointing at the tall stack of neon pink papers resting atop the recycle bin by the exit, “and register online! I hope you’ll have lots of fun exercising your creativity tonight!” 

Donghyuck turns to Renjun, who shoots him a knowing look. You should register! his eyes seemed to urge in earnest. Donghyuck rolls his eyes.

“Tonight, we’ll be focusing on light and shadow. For my current students, feel free to play with different shading and highlighting techniques to figure out which style you’re most comfortable with.” Taeyong turns to face Donghyuck’s side of the room. “For our guests, please feel free to ask questions if you have any; I urge you to just create whatever your heart desires!” Taeyong says, winking at someone sitting behind Donghyuck in the corner of the room. “We’ll be using a live model today, which is a super exciting introduction to my course in the spring: human anatomy!” Taeyong beams.

Donghyuck sees him then, the boy from earlier, stepping into the spotlight to join Taeyong. Except the boy’s not wearing his navy blue knit sweater from earlier, nor is he wearing the tight black ripped jeans or tattered converse from earlier, either. Instead, he’s wrapped in a white silk robe that loosely hugged at his figure, the pale skin of his chest peeking through the robe’s opening, his collarbones further accentuated by the shadows created by the lighting from below. The boy quietly nods and gently smiles at Taeyong before turning to walk up to the largest block in the center of the room.

There’s no way , Donghyuck thinks to himself, both weirdly intrigued yet nervous for what was to come.

It’s almost cinematic, the gentle melodies of smooth jazz reverberating throughout the room to mirror the boy’s fluid movements as he steps onto the centermost block, confident, relaxed. He then sits, resting his right thigh flush against the block as he uses his right elbow to hold himself up, his right calf draped off of the block and foot touching the floor. His left leg is bent, angled upwards towards the ceiling, and his left arm comes down over his stomach just far enough to allow his fingers to touch. The fabric of his robe barely kisses his skin, shadows and highlights dancing with one another to form smooth mountains and deep valleys, the silk twinkling underneath the harsh glow of the lights that shine upon him. He sits raw, vulnerable, yet untouchable. He becomes the evening muse.

Donghyuck sits frozen, awestruck at the sight. Renjun nudges at his side with his elbow, raising a brow.

“You okay?” he whispers, the music building up to a crescendo to cover his voice. 

“I’m fine,” Donghyuck replies, his voice breaking as the music crashes back down and fades out, a new song beginning. He’s thankful that the lights are dim, knowing that Renjun would eagerly take the opportunity to tease him for the bright red glow of his ears if he could see them.

“I usually pick a simple part to start with,” Renjun says, growing louder with the whispers that begin to float about the room with his own. If he’d heard Donghyuck’s voice taper away awkwardly, he wasn’t making much of a deal about it.

“You could start with the block he’s sitting on, or you could pick a body part and go from there,” Renjun continues, leaning over to match his line of sight with Donghyuck’s. “And don’t worry too much about the shading or anything like that,” Renjun says, “you can just build those up with black or white later on.” Renjun grins encouragingly and hands Donghyuck a clean brush.

“Okay,” Donghyuck responds, noting Renjun’s advice as he returns to his own easel. Pick something simple , he thinks. His eyes trace the smooth arch of the boy’s shoulder, following it down to his elbow resting on the block, down to the boy’s stomach, where he could make out the soft outline of the muscles that lay underneath the silk cloth that pooled at his waist, down to—Donghyuck stops. His face heats up and he quickly averts his eyes back to the boy’s chest. You cannot be doing this right now, Donghyuck screams internally, the heat in his face quickly spreading to warm his entire body, making him hot.

“Hello,” a voice interrupts his thoughts, making him jump in surprise. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the voice says apologetically.

Taeyong’s distinctly pink hair comes into view, his smile gentle. “Did you need help getting started?” he asks.

“I, um. Yes, uh, y-yes, I did,” Donghyuck stammers, his fever worsening. He hastily unzips his hoodie and drapes it around the back of his chair, thankful for the air conditioning cooling the sweat from his bare arms.

“Don’t be embarrassed! I’m here to help anyone who wants help. I’m actually thankful you’re giving me something to do right now!” Taeyong whispers, excitedly clasping his hands together as his eyes crinkle into his wide grin. “Now, what exactly are you struggling with?” he asks.

“Well, um, my friend told me to pick something simple to start with,” Donghyuck begins, gesturing at Renjun, deeply concentrated on his painting. His canvas was blocked out with various shades of blues, purples, pinks, the structures working together to form the angles in the boy’s slender fingers, the slope of his thin wrist, the valleys between his sharp knuckles.

“That’s great advice,” Taeyong says, nodding proudly at his student’s work. “Did you want to start with the same idea?” he asks.

“I think… something simpler would be better for me,” Donghyuck says, “I’m completely new to,” he pauses to consider his choice of words, “all of this. ” 

“That’s totally fine,” Taeyong says, his voice calm, coming closer to match Donghyuck’s eye line.

“If you’re interested in learning more, you should sign up for my class in the spring,” he winks before turning to observe the boy on the large block, sitting perfectly still. His expression, though blank, looked relaxed, his eyebrows softened and his jaw unclenched. Donghyuck marvels at the sharpness in his features, the tautness of the muscle underneath his thin, pale skin, the way the smooth silk kissed at the peaks of his collarbones, how his dark hair was tinted brown from the warm glow of the spotlights on him.

“Maybe you could start with his shoulder,” Taeyong suggests, lifting his hand to point at the boy’s right shoulder. He turns back to Donghyuck and stands upright. “If you follow his shoulder down to his elbow,” Taeyong says, demonstrating by pointing to his own arm, “you’ll be able to focus on the larger muscles and the shadows between them. I think the easiest way to describe this is to ‘paint what you see.’ The main muscles I’d suggest you focus on are the deltoid, biceps, and triceps, which are here, here, and here.”

“Okay,” Donghyuck says, tentatively nodding. “I can do that,” he says, more reassuring himself than agreeing with Taeyong. He reaches out to grab the nearest tube of paint in front of him.

“That’s the spirit!” Taeyong beams. “If you need anything else from me, feel free to raise a hand to get my attention,” he says, beginning his walk towards the other end of the room where another student has a raised hand.

“Thank you,” Donghyuck whispers after him, returning his attention to his own blank canvas. You can do this, he thinks. Just paint what you see. 

“Stop being such a baby,” Renjun groans, Donghyuck dragging his feet as he walks around their station to help clean up for the night. “It’s not even that bad. I think you did a great job.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re obligated to,” Donghyuck whines, his collection of used brushes in one hand ready to be washed in the sink by the window. “Did you want me to wash yours too?” Donghyuck asks, offering an empty hand to Renjun.

“I genuinely think that you're not as horrible of an artist as you say you are,” Renjun protests, handing his brushes over to Donghyuck. “Thanks.”

“You can’t fool me, I can hear the sarcasm dripping from your voice,” Donghyuck grumbles as he makes his way over to the sink. Renjun just rolls his eyes, pushing Donghyuck’s easel back to its designated corner. “So dramatic,” Renjun mutters to himself.

Maybe Donghyuck wouldn’t be feeling so bad about his painting if it’d just been him and Renjun and the boys in the room, alone, and none of them looked at his art afterward. Sitting still in a hard wooden chair for two hours was already a source of discomfort; sitting still in a hard wooden chair while trying his best not to completely butcher the human form but failing for two hours was unbearable. 

Donghyuck wasn’t blind, and he definitely wasn’t a stranger to criticism, either, having heard Renjun grumble about the imperfections of his many projects over the years. He knew that the blobs of paint on his canvas were disproportionate, the shoulder much too large compared to the rest of the muscles belonging to the arm of the boy who sat as their centerpiece, his only movement from the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed gently, rhythmically throughout the night. Donghyuck could only wish to be able to depict the ethereal nature of what he saw onto the canvas that mocked him from where it sat on his easel.

Donghyuck sighs, cold water rushing out of the metal faucet to extract the pigments that stained his brushes, a multicolor rainbow forming as the water pooled at the bottom of the sink. Art just wasn’t his thing, he’d argued. But Renjun was insistent, practically begging Donghyuck to come with him tonight, “Just once, Donghyuck, then you’ll never have to go again. I get extra credit if I bring a guest,” he’d said.

So Donghyuck came and made a complete fool of himself, as he knew he would, and was now suffering the consequences of his poor decisions. He’s thankful that they’d sat in the back corner of the studio, thankful that Taeyong hadn’t come back to check on his progress, especially thankful that the boy with the pale skin would never be subject to Donghyuck’s rendition of his body. 

Then he turns around. And there it is, his painted canvas still sitting on its easel, now tucked away in the corner where the boy with the doe eyes was standing, staring at the explosion of acrylic paints splattered haphazardly on its white background, his hands tucked into his front pockets. Fuck.

Donghyuck abruptly drops his brushes onto the metal bottom of the sink, a series of loud clangs alerting the remaining students in the studio of his presence, and rushes towards the canvas, his sneakers screeching against the floor as he comes to a sudden halt. He’s too flustered to even look at the boy’s face to see his expression, too scared to face the likely disgust that would scar him for the rest of his life, snatching the canvas from in front of the boy and making a run for it, his heart thumping out of his chest as he races towards the building’s exit.

“Donghyuck!” He hears Renjun call after him, but he doesn’t stop, slamming his shoulder against the large exit door to force it open, the cool air hitting him all at once once his feet hit concrete.

“Hyuck,” Renjun pants, slowing to a stop next to him, “what, is going, on. Why,” he continues, “are you, running, so fast?”

“Because,” Donghyuck hiccups, his lungs struggling to fill with air, “because.” He stares at the ground.

“Because?” Renjun asks, more lightly this time, his breaths long and deep. “Are you okay?”

“I am,” Donghyuck quickly reassures him, though he keeps his eyes locked on the darkness at his feet. “I don’t know what got into me,” he says.

Renjun gently places a hand on Donghyuck’s shoulder, stooping slightly to meet Donghyuck’s gaze with concern, warmth. He takes in his bottom lip with his teeth, brows slightly furrowed, then sighs.

“I’m sorry if I stressed you out,” he says. “I thought this would’ve been fun and relaxing, since you’ve been so anxious about your midterm results this whole week,” he continues.

“No, it’s not your fault,” Donghyuck replies, lifting his head to meet Renjun’s eyes. “I just…”

Renjun’s eyes were worried, apologetic, but it wasn’t even his fault. Donghyuck never failed to take every opportunity he could to make Renjun’s existence a living (but livable) hell, but he owed Renjun an explanation, especially after the random outburst that was bound to garner some unwanted attention towards Renjun the next time he’s in the studio. So he tells the truth.

“The model, he,” Donghyuck explains, “he was staring at this.” Donghyuck lifts his canvas. “I mean, I’m fine with you looking at it, since, you know, we’re friends,” he continues. “And we were sitting in the back and it was dark so no one else could see this. But I left it on the easel and the boy was standing there just staring at it, and I just felt so embarrassed —”

“You think we’re friends ?” Renjun suddenly asks, his eyes comically wide as he feigns a shocked expression.

“Wh—”

“Wow, I can’t wait to tell the guys that you think we’re actually friends! ” Renjun squeals with glee, giddily jumping up and down in front of Donghyuck like a lunatic. 

“What the fuck are you—”

“I’m kidding, Donghyuck—”

“I was being serious, for once, and you just—”

“Donghyuck,” Renjun cuts him off, his expression suddenly serious. He grabs both of Donghyuck’s shoulders and hoists his posture upright, shocking Donghyuck from the rapid change in demeanor. 

“You,” Renjun starts, brows deeply furrowed, “aren’t my friend.” 

He takes a pause. Donghyuck holds his breath, his eyes wide with fear.

“You’re my best friend.” Renjun tightly squeezes Donghyuck’s shoulders.

“Ow, ow —”

“And therefore, it is my job to make sure that you,” he jabs a finger into Donghyuck’s chest, “feel better when you get sad. Or angry. Or anxious. So,” he lets go of Donghyuck, taking a step back and relaxing his expression, “if you don’t want to be in there, you don’t have to be in there.” Renjun smiles and pulls his car keys out of his back pocket, handing it to Donghyuck. 

“I, for one, think you’re a great artist. Even if you’re not as good as me, ” Renjun dramatically gestures at his chest, prompting Donghyuck to roll his eyes as his heart rate slowed back to normal, “you have a knack for color palettes.” Renjun reaches over to lift up Donghyuck’s canvas, facing it towards him.

“These warm tones perfectly suit your sunny personality. And the way that you were able to accurately place the shadows here ,” he points, “and the highlights here ,” he points again, “shows that you’re actually pretty good at translating what you see onto paper.” Renjun hands the canvas back to Donghyuck. “It took me such a long time to be able to paint like the way you did tonight. And it’s only your first time!”

Donghyuck takes time to process what Renjun said, his eyes lingering on the areas that Renjun pointed to, then looks back up at Renjun. 

“Thanks,” he says quietly. His eyes drop to the floor for a moment, then come up again. “I always knew I was the better artist out of us two,” Donghyuck adds, his lips breaking into a sly grin. 

“That’s what you got from that long spiel? You little—”

“I’m kidding, sorry, sorry!” Donghyuck giggles, easily sidestepping Renjun’s lunge at him and running towards their car. “Hurry back soon!” he calls after him, his smile growing larger as he hears Renjun’s loud grumbles accompany his stomping back into the building.

“What took you so long?” Donghyuck asks innocently. He bats his eyelashes at Renjun glowering at him from behind the passenger window, barely cracked open, as the older violently shakes the door handle in a futile attempt to rip the car door open.

“I was cleaning up the brushes that you didn’t,” Renjun growls, now resorting to kicking at the door. “Let me in, you ungrateful brat—”

“Tsk tsk tsk,” Donghyuck shakes his head, jingling the keys above him, out of Renjun’s grasp. “They never learn.”

They’re part of the last few students on campus now, as the rest had trickled out of the building in the twenty minutes Donghyuck had been sitting quietly in the car, his chair angled back and his shoes on the dashboard as he alternated between staring at his painting and then at his phone.

“Donghyuck ,” Renjun pleads, kicking his door one last time before giving up and resting his arms against the roof of his car to support him, “I just want to go home .”

“You could always take a cab—”

“Can you just let me back into my car, please? After all I’ve done for you —”

“Fine, on one condition—”

“Wait! ”

The boys both turn in surprise towards the direction of the sound that had interrupted them, a dark figure running towards them with what looked like a large piece of cloth in one hand. Renjun turns to look questioningly at Donghyuck, who just shrugs. He unlocks the car and steps out to stand by Renjun. 

The figure gets closer. Donghyuck recognizes the neckline of the figure’s sweater. His breath hitches.

“Wait,” the boy lightly pants as he slows in front of the two. “You forgot your jacket,” he says, offering Donghyuck’s hoodie to him. 

Donghyuck almost forgets how to function. “Th-thanks,” he stammers after a beat, taking the jacket from the boy, their hands lightly brushing against one another as the exchange occurs. Donghyuck swears his heart stops beating.

“You're welcome,” the boy replies. He breaks into a friendly grin and Donghyuck melts. “Sorry if you didn’t want me to look at your work,” the boy says. Renjun spares a glance at Donghyuck before looking back at the boy. “I just wanted to tell you I really liked it.” 

Donghyuck breaks.

“Oh, I-uh, t-thank you,” he manages to spit out, Renjun coming to his rescue by pushing him back into the car as he continues gawking at the boy through the window, who’s staring curiously at him in return.

“He means to say thank you for the compliment,” Renjun offers, screaming What is wrong with you?! at Donghyuck with his eyes. 

“No problem,” the boy says as Renjun slides into the driver’s seat and shuts his door.

Renjun starts the engine and the boy begins to back away, Renjun holding onto the passenger’s seat with his right hand as his head whips around to watch for his blind spots. The boy waves, a smile lingering on his face, as Renjun slowly pulls out of the empty parking lot.

Chapter Text

“You’re not leaving this room until you tell me what the fuck just happened back there,” Renjun commands, arms crossed in front of him as he stares Donghyuck down from where he sits on his swiveling chair. The digital clock hanging above him reads 10:12 PM in bold red. 

Donghyuck squirms in his fetal position atop Renjun’s bed, hoodie clutched tightly to his chest. 

“What’s wrong with you? Did you hit your head today or something? Do you have the flu?” Renjun pauses. “Is this the psychotic break we’ve been waiting for?”

Renjun bends forward to rest his elbows on his thighs, eyes pleading at Donghyuck, concerned for his mental sanity. After the boys had departed from the parking lot, Donghyuck spent a good five minutes with his head burrowed into the bunched fabric of his hoodie, refusing to explain to Renjun why his verbal ability had flown out the window a few minutes prior. And after the brief stint of muffled whines and groans from his own overwhelming embarrassment had ended, he finally unraveled the hoodie to place on his lap, prompting a neatly-folded neon pink piece of paper to drop out of a pocket and onto the floor of the car. Donghyuck had picked it up, wondering where the paper had come from, unfolded it, and was greeted by the scrawls of a ten-digit string of numbers followed by a four-letter name. Mark. 

He’d shrieked, bunching his knees to his chest to wildly kick at the air in front of him, almost giving Renjun a heart attack and bringing the car to a sudden screeching stop after Renjun had slammed his foot on the break from the unwelcome surprise.

“What are you doing?!” Renjun had yelled, struggling to keep his eyes on the road as he swatted at Donghyuck’s legs to calm him, eventually giving up once Donghyuck had crumpled back up into a ball in his seat, staring up through his window into the starry abyss above.

Maybe it was the residual stress from their last set of midterms that was causing him to lose control of his senses. Or perhaps, more probably, it was the fact that the cute boy with the toned abs and the sharp, yet gentle facial features had seen him have not one, but two emotional freakouts and had still decided to run after him to return his hoodie with his phone number tucked into the pocket. How Donghyuck had managed to land himself his prince charming even after a series of unfortunate (though, arguably, quite fortunate) events had Donghyuck’s mind spinning a hundred miles a minute.

Mmph, Donghyuck presently grunts into his jacket.

“Yes?” Renjun draws out, his impatience growing. 

Donghyuck resumes his silent brooding.

Renjun sighs, leaning back against his chair to stare up at his bedroom ceiling decorated in small glow-in-the-dark stars arranged to form intricate constellations. Donghyuck observes him closely, tracing Renjun’s messy hair down to the frumpled collar of the pale purple dress shirt he’d been wearing since that morning. He looks tired. 

Donghyuck gives in.

“He gave me his number,” Donghyuck mumbles. Renjun abruptly sits up at that, Donghyuck shuffling his hand under the bunched fabric of his hoodie to pull out the neon pink flyer, neatly refolded. “And as you can see, this… thing that I’m feeling, whatever it is, has turned me into an emotionally-overwhelmed vegetable. I feel like my heart’s going to beat out of my chest and jump out your window at any moment. And it sucks.”

Renjun reaches out to take the flyer, snatching it away from Donghyuck just as he was about to pull it back. He unfolds it. Donghyuck watches his eyes follow the lines of the paper down to the inscription at the bottom, reciting the boy’s phone number in his head as Renjun reads it aloud.

“I think he’s trying to tell you something,” Renjun announces. He turns the front of the flyer to face Donghyuck, triumphantly, “You should sign up for this class with me.”

Donghyuck groans loudly, rolling over to face the wall.

“Of course that’s your takeaway from all of this,” he deadpans, Renjun’s melodious laughter ringing throughout the room at his misery. “Yes, Renjun,” Donghyuck bites sarcastically, “I’m an emotional mess because he’s telling me to sign up for the stupid art class.”

“This art class is not stupid,” Renjun retorts, jumping onto the bed to tackle Donghyuck, tickling him by jabbing into his side and laughing maniacally before Donghyuck is able to kick him off the bed. “That’s what you get for locking me out earlier,” Renjun badgers, giggling as Donghyuck glowers at him from the corner of his bed, his cheeks flushed red behind the protection of his knees bent towards his chest.

“So are you going to text him?” Renjun asks after a sign of truce, teasingly waving the flyer up in the air. He reads the number aloud again. “How direct of him, really. Maybe I should call him. Steal him from you—”

“Give that back—”

“Not happening! ” Renjun jumps off the bed and scampers around the room as Donghyuck chases after him to grab the note back, pushing him onto the floor to wrestle the precious flyer from his fingers.

“You’re so irritating,” Donghyuck grits through his teeth, rolling off of Renjun to lie next to him on the carpet, the two panting heavily from the short tussle with their limbs spread wide against the soft tufts of faux white fur underneath them.

“You literally locked me out of my own car,” Renjun argues, punching Donghyuck’s thigh, the both of them breaking into a giggling fit. They lay there together, enjoying the comfortable silence that soon envelops them for some time before Renjun turns over to rest on his stomach. 

“I think you should text him,” Renjun says. Donghyuck opens his eyes to meet Renjun’s, rapidly fluttering his eyelids as he adjusts to the lights shining directly above them.

“I think I shouldn’t.”

“And why is that?”

“Look at me, Junnie,” Donghyuck argues, slapping his hands to his face to squish his cheeks together. “This,” he points to himself, “is not meant to be with that,” he holds up the pink flyer.

“If you’re fishing for compliments right now, I’m not about to give you any—”

“What am I going to do? ” Donghyuck wails, throwing his head back in agony before abruptly sitting up and staring Renjun directly in the eyes.

“He saved my life, Junnie,” Donghyuck deadpans. “He’s a living, breathing, real prince who saved me from falling on my beautiful face because I was being a dumbass and rushing towards the cookie table like some starved college freshman who hadn’t eaten in days , okay, and then he had the audacity to sit on that centerpiece like a fucking greek god — I don’t think you understand how hot he was sitting on that goddamn block—and even after I’d dashed out of the room like an absolute madman, he just so smoothly sneaks his phone number into the pocket of my jacket? Are you kidding me? There’s absolutely no way this is real life. I’m dreaming right now. I’m really dreaming—”

“Will you stop slapping yourself—” 

Renjun wrestles Donghyuck’s hands away from his face, pinning them down against the floor before giving Donghyuck a very stern look and letting go, slightly hovering over him just to make sure he’d stop hitting himself.

“You’re not dreaming. This is very much real. And I, for one, don’t like seeing you like this, so just text him, fuck him, date him, whatever. Just stop moping around and acting like a big baby!”

Donghyuck stares up at him with puppy dog eyes and an annoying pout.

“Oh, shut up—”

“I didn’t even say anything—”

“Just text him. Because if you don’t text him, I know you’re going to be up my ass for the next three months about how much you wish you’d gotten to hook up at least once or whatever. So text him.”

Renjun’s staring so intently at him, Donghyuck feels as though he can see right into his soul. It’s uncomfortable.

He sits up, clearing his throat, timidly lifting his head. “See, the thing is, I haven’t dated anyone since he-who-shall- not -be-named, and I’m just—”

“Oh my God , just text him!”

Donghyuck doesn’t text him. It’s not that he didn’t want to text him (or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself every time his phone just sat there, screen blank, taunting him for being such a coward), he just got really busy with school and tutoring and more school and he just didn’t have the time to text him. Minus all the hour-long breaks he’d give himself after every five minutes of “intense” studying and all the times he’d lay in bed until the late A.M. scrolling through YouTube videos before falling asleep (only because the sun would start coming up to remind him that he needed to sleep), Donghyuck’s schedule was packed . 

So why exactly he decided to sign up for Taeyong’s open studio that would begin in three days was absolutely beyond him. The neon pink paper just kept mocking him from where it sat, unfolded and slowly decaying at the corner of his desk, Mark’s messily-scrawled phone number sitting at the bottom of the sheet eagerly awaiting to be inputted into his contacts list. To end his misery (or perhaps out of the nagging feeling that had been eating away at him for the past eleven days), he ended up logging onto the course website to type in his name and credit card information (who knew art classes could be so expensive? How rich was Renjun, really?), and before he could bring himself to go shred the obnoxious pink flyer out of existence, had typed Mark’s name and phone number into his phone just in case . He’d double-checked the number on his phone with the one listed on the flyer multiple times, just to make sure he wouldn’t be texting the wrong number—if he decided to text at all.

Renjun was ecstatic. He’d bugged Donghyuck to sign up for a class with him for as long as they’d known each other, about thirteen years now, and had gone out of his way to outfit Donghyuck with a new set of everything: paints, sketchbooks, canvasses, paintbrushes. With how quickly he was able to whip up these items and shove them into Donghyuck’s surprised arms almost immediately after hearing the news, Donghyuck had a hunch that Renjun had been saving them at the bottom of his closet through all these years for this exact moment. Whether to be frightened or flattered, he couldn’t decide.

“So, tell us about this boy,” Jaemin purrs as he slides into his seat next to Donghyuck, the two of them joined by Jeno on the other side of the table. He places their tray of drinks at the center of their table, keeping his eyes locked on Donghyuck, ready to pounce. “Is he cute?” Jaemin asks, feigned innocence oozing from his voice. Donghyuck feels like he’s being burned alive.

“Shut up,” Donghyuck mutters, the heat of his skin growing uncomfortable underneath his turtleneck. Though spring was right around the corner and the afternoon was sure to heat up, mornings still greeted them with a cooling fog that would outline the warmth of their breaths with every exhale. Donghyuck was never a winter child, finding more comfort in the bright rays of the sun, so he figured he’d rather sweat later in the day than shiver for hours in the early morning. 

“So he is cute,” Jeno teases, reaching over to grab his drink. They’re sitting inside the student café by the lecture hall of their first class of the day together, a ritual that began at the start of the semester when they’d realized that the doors to the hall don’t open until exactly five minutes before class started. Donghyuck hated waiting in the cold for a good seat (exactly five rows behind the very first one), Jaemin happened to be addicted to caffeine, and Jeno was happy to follow Jaemin along, so naturally, they’d gravitated towards the small coffeehouse nearby outfitted with fairy lights in plastic bulbs and chalk drawings of flowers and insects on the windows.

“I guess you can say that,” Donghyuck mumbles, the blush on his neck rising to his cheeks. 

“Renjun told me he gave you his number,” Jaemin says, an eyebrow cocked and lips pulled into an evil smirk. Donghyuck suppresses a sudden urge to punch him.

“Have you called him?” Jeno asks after a sip of his earl grey tea. Donghyuck shakes his head, averting his eyes. He reaches for his own drink, a green tea frappuccino topped with whipped cream and dark chocolate drizzle, and places the straw to his mouth.

“So you’ve texted him then?” Donghyuck almost chokes on the creme. 

“You’ve had his number for weeks and you still haven’t texted him?” Jaemin groans. He downs half of his black iced coffee with one gulp. “Are you stupid? ” 

“Jaemin—”

“I’m right to be upset, Jen, I mean look at him!” Jaemin gestures hopelessly at Donghyuck’s sad frame. “A cute model with an—apparently—hot bod lands in his lap and this sad excuse of a bachelor,” Jaemin musses up Donghyuck’s hair to his annoyance, “doesn’t even act on it. He’s complained about being single all year! ”

Jeno sighs.

“I have not complained—”

“Really? You really want to argue with me on this?” Jaemin challenges. Donghyuck swears he can see fire in the pupils of Jaemin’s eyes. Jeno just sits back to watch. 

“Let’s see, every time Jeno and I even look at each other, you always make this gross barf sound—here, like this,” Jaemin threatens a gag by poking a finger down his throat, Jeno swiftly reaching up to stop him. Jaemin shoots him a glare before returning his attention to Donghyuck. 

“And then you start ranting about how annoying we are for being so in love or whatever, when it’s not even our fault your relationship ended with—”

“Okay!” Donghyuck concedes, his hands held high in surrender, “I get it, I should text him!”

“Do it now,” Jaemin commands. He crosses his arms in front of him and cocks his chin at Donghyuck’s phone, sitting innocently by his drink. 

“But—”

“If you don’t, I’ll wrestle that phone out of your cold, dead fingers and do it myself.” 

Donghyuck stares at his phone, then shoots a pleading glance at Jeno, who only shrugs.

“What’ve you got to lose?” Jeno asks. Donghyuck can’t find an answer.

“Do you like him?” Jeno asks as he rests his arms on the table. 

“I-I think so,” Donghyuck stammers, the tips of his ears flushing red. “I mean,” Donghyuck pauses, Jaemin and Jeno leaning in as his voice quiets, “yeah, I think like him.”

“The stars have aligned for your love life to finally pick up again,” Jaemin announces. “So you should text him. You like him, he obviously likes you, so do it. Right now. Right. Now.”

Donghyuck gulps. Jeno’s right. Jaemin’s right, too, but Donghyuck doesn’t want to admit it. He has nothing to lose. But what if Mark was just toying with him, like this was some elaborate prank he was playing with Renjun to get back at him for all the times he—

“Hey, Mark! Haven’t seen you in a while!”

Donghyuck freezes.

Jaemin and Jeno whip their heads around to the direction of the bells chiming as the glass doors of the shop close.

Fuck.

There he is, standing in the same ripped, tight black skinny jeans from eleven days ago, paired with black converse and a fitted black quarter-zip with their school’s insignia embroidered on the left side of his chest, his hair pushed back underneath a plain black cap. If not for his bright eyes gleaming at the barista from behind the counter, Donghyuck might’ve mistaken him for a hot version of the devil himself (though with all the stress Donghyuck had accumulated from Mark plaguing his mind for the past week and a half, perhaps hellspawn was a more apt description than prince charming, anyway). 

Jaemin whisks his head back to view the blood leave Donghyuck’s face and breaks into a predatory grin. Donghyuck doesn’t notice, too preoccupied with the scene playing in front of him.

“The usual?” The barista asks, smoothing back his wavy caramel-coloured hair from his face as he smiles brightly at Mark. Is he flirting with him right now? Donghyuck feels his heart sink to his stomach.

“You remember?” Mark laughs, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. Before he can hand over his card, the barista shoos his hand away and turns to start his drink.

“No need for payment,” he winks. Flustered, Mark just laughs and returns his wallet to his pocket, shouting “Thanks Jaehyun!” behind him as he starts to walk towards the corner of the pickup counter to wait for his order. 

He’s almost halfway to the counter when Jaemin suddenly stands up, his chair screeching against the floor underneath him, turns to wink at Donghyuck, and before Donghyuck can grab onto the end of his sleeve to stop him from doing what he’s about to do next, walks straight up to Mark and stops him in his tracks. Donghyuck feels his soul physically leave his body.

“Hi, I’m Jaemin,” Jaemin says, a wide smile on his face, eyes bright with mischief. 

“Oh-um, hi,” Mark sputters, stumbling a few steps backwards from the surprise. Jaemin offers his hand to Mark, who stares at it questioningly before timidly shaking it. 

“Good grip,” Jaemin notes, his eyebrows cocked with amusement, smirking. He turns to look at Donghyuck.

“My good friend here, Donghyuck,” he says, before returning his gaze to Mark, “he’s too shy to do anything himself, so I’m his wingman for the day.” Mark’s eyes flit quickly to Donghyuck and instantly light up with recognition. Shit. Mark returns his attention to Jaemin.

“I happen to know that Donghyuck will be free tomorrow evening,” Jaemin announces. “Since it’s a Saturday, and he’s always free on weekends,” Jaemin emphasizes, turning around with knowing eyes towards Donghyuck, sitting petrified in his chair as Jeno observes amusedly. 

“So,” Jaemin asks, “would you like to go on a date with him tomorrow evening?” 

Mark takes a look at Donghyuck again, a confused but entertained grin on his face. 

“You’re his wingman?” Mark asks Jaemin, who only smiles brighter.

“Yes,” Jaemin confirms, offering his palm to Mark. “Phone, please.”

Mark pauses for a moment to consider his options before finally shrugging, pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket to unlock and place onto Jaemin’s palm. 

“Thank you,” Jaemin says, polite. He skillfully opens Mark’s contacts list and inputs Donghyuck’s phone number plus a few heart emojis by his name. Donghyuck will thank him later. He returns the phone to Mark.

“Now you can text him, since,” Jaemin drops his voice to a whisper, “between you and me, he’s been too chicken to text you first.” Jaemin winks. “I personally enjoy going to the Italian place by the small bookstore, downtown,” Jaemin says. “I think you two would like it there.”

“Okay,” Mark replies, a smile on his face now. His eyes flutter over to Donghyuck again, who manages a constipated grin in return. Shit. Mark’s smile only grows wider.

“Thanks, Jaemin,” Mark says, offering his hand to Jaemin, who shakes it firmly. “Anytime,” Jaemin replies, his own lips pulled into a sickening smile.

Chapter Text

“I’m going to fucking kill you," Donghyuck seethes, fighting lamely against Jeno’s strong arm holding him a good distance away from Jaemin obnoxiously cackling to himself on the bean bag in the corner of his room. 

“Why? If anything, you should be thanking me,” Jaemin gloats, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at Donghyuck. “If everything goes well, you might even break that abstinence streak of yours tonight.” Jaemin laughs even harder when he sees the steady red flush creep up Donghyuck’s cheeks.

“I am not on an abstinence streak,” Donghyuck huffs, finally surrendering and stepping away from Jeno, who sighs in exhaustion. “Or at least, not a voluntary abstinence streak,” Donghyuck mumbles under his breath, but not quietly enough so the others don’t hear.

“It seemed pretty voluntary to me,” Jaemin argues, straightening his posture in the bean bag. Jeno slides into the chair tucked next to Donghyuck’s table and nods in agreement, “It’s like you knew this would happen.” 

“That’s not—”

“You knew. You knew you’d meet Mark—what an absolute cutie he is, really, good job on your part—a week ago and that he’d give you his number and that your life would all of a sudden fall into place thanks to me, and that’s why you never shot your shot.” Jaemin shoots Donghyuck a challenging smirk. “Admit it, I saved you from your miserable, horrible life of loneliness. Without me, you’d be withering away like a—”

“You didn’t do shit —” 

“If it weren’t for Jaem, you wouldn’t be going out with the love of your life tonight, so I think you do owe him some gratitude.” Jeno cocks his head to the side, awaiting Donghyuck’s reply as Jaemin affectionately curls up against Jeno’s arm, perking up to blink innocently at Donghyuck. Obnoxious, Donghyuck thinks.

“Fine,” Donghyuck grits through his teeth, rolling his eyes as he simmers in his fury. “Thank you, Jaemin. Thank you so, so much for being a saint sent down from heaven to save me from this romantic purgatory. I’ve never wanted to hug you to your certain death and send you right back up there until this very moment.”

“Aww,” Jaemin coos, nudging Jeno with his elbow, “looks like our little boy’s finally learned his manners!”

“When I finally murder you —”

“So did you decide on the place I suggested?” Jaemin gleefully asks, changing the subject and ducking just as Donghyuck was about to lunge for his throat.

He backs down. “If it’s not as good as your reviews, I’ll be severely disappointed in your wingman skills.”

“So you’re saying that you’re actually not mad at me for securing you a date, then?”

“Babe, maybe don’t push him—”

“For the love of God, shut up.”

Perhaps Donghyuck was only lashing out at Jaemin out of the unbearable sense of embarrassment and nervousness that had been eating him inside out during the past thirty-six hours, or maybe it was all the pent-up sexual tension he’d been harboring over the past year mixed with some residual jealousy he held towards Jaemin and Jeno’s relationship. It’s not that he hated public displays of affection; in fact, Donghyuck loved holding hands and secret kisses and everything that came afterwards and in between. He just happened to hate their public displays of attention, which only served (in his opinion, anyway) to remind him of how painfully lonely he was, especially after Renjun started spending less time at their apartment and more time in the studio (or at least, that’s what he kept saying. Donghyuck had seen him walk around campus with a very tall model-esque statue of his own, but didn’t want to reveal Renjun’s secret to the rest of the boys. Yet. So he kept his mouth shut, like the good friend that he is).

Mark had texted him shortly after their class ended yesterday, almost as if he knew exactly when Donghyuck’s schedule would open up for a few minutes of unavoidable conversation (his next class wouldn’t start until fifteen minutes afterwards anyway, but that’s besides the point). They’d agreed on meeting at the downtown bookstore and heading to the restaurant together, Mark taking care of the dinner reservations while Donghyuck had to ask Jeno (plus an overly-eager Jaemin) to drive him downtown, as Renjun urgently needed his car to head somewhere that morning and Donghyuck didn’t have it in his heart to say no.

“Anyway, I don’t think you should wear that,” Jaemin tuts distastefully at Donghyuck, pointing to his wrinkled, oversized cotton tee down to his forest green pajama pants. “Or those,” he points to the white bunny slippers Renjun had gifted to him last Christmas, “unless you want him paying more attention to your shoes than your face. Actually, on second thought, maybe wearing those wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

Donghyuck scowls and stomps over to his closet behind Jaemin, stepping over small piles of dirty clothes strewn about his carpeted floor.

“I hope you don’t decide to come back here tonight,” Jeno laughs as Jaemin stands to lightly shove Donghyuck aside and dig into his closet. “Don’t think dirty laundry on the floor is a great first impression.”

Donghyuck averts his eyes from Jeno, huffing insolently as he hastily stuffs his clothes into the laundry basket in the back corner of his closet.

“I’ve had a rough week,” Donghyuck mutters, though heat rises to his cheeks when he imagines what might happen if Mark did happen to come over tonight—

“Oh, I’m sure ignoring the man of your dreams has made your life really hard,” Jaemin teases, interrupting Donghyuck’s thoughts, laughing as he flings some clothes onto the bed. “Here,” Jaemin says, “try these.”

“I’m sure you look fine, Hyuck,” Renjun sighs through the speaker of Jaemin’s phone. Jeno was in the driver’s seat trying to stay focused on the road while Jaemin was sitting in the back with Donghyuck, fussing over the collar of his dress shirt like the micromanaging fairy godmother he was. 

“That’s what I said, Junnie!” Jaemin cries exasperatedly, dramatically flinging his head back against his headrest.

“You’ll be fine.” There’s a short pause before he continues, “But, if you don’t it hit off tonight, just call one of us to come get you. Or, actually—” Donghyuck swears he hears some shuffling in the background and maybe even some hushed whispers, “call Jeno. I’m kind of occupied right now.”

Jeno rolls his eyes from the front seat, snorting knowingly. Donghyuck will have to interrogate him about what he knows later.

“We’ll call you soon!” Jaemin says loudly into the phone before ending the call and turning to give Donghyuck a stern look. “Stop worrying so much. Your sweat is ruining my favorite jacket!”

It’s not like Donghyuck could help it, he hasn’t been on a full-on date with someone in over a year (and even then, his dating game wasn’t all that great; he’d spilled water on himself and tripped over his own feet more times than he could count). Paired with the black skinny jeans, suede brown chelsea boots borrowed from Renjun’s closet (he probably wouldn’t be upset about it, Jeno had argued), a plain cotton dress shirt that Jaemin insisted needed to have at least three buttons undone, and a black leather jacket borrowed from Jeno that happened to be very good at heat insulation, Donghyuck’s body temperature was skyrocketing with no sign of letting up.

They’d dropped by Jaemin and Jeno’s apartment shortly after Jaemin had given up on attempting to style Donghyuck with clothes from his own closet, claiming that his fashion was “extremely outdated, boring, and just not sexy enough,” though Donghyuck begged to differ, sexy factor being the least of his concerns. It was on the way anyway, Jeno had countered, and since he was driving, Donghyuck didn’t really have a choice but to act as Jaemin’s mannequin for the evening.

As Jeno pulls the car to a stop, parking in the twenty-minute zone a block away from the bookstore, Jaemin grabs both of Donghyuck’s shoulders and forcefully turns his body to face him. 

“Look,” Jaemin begins, his expression shifting from serious to pitiful, “I believe in you.” He shoots a desperate look at Jeno in the rearview mirror. Jeno turns to look at Donghyuck. “We believe in you,” Jaemin emphasizes.

Donghyuck sighs, running a hand through his hair to smooth it back as he looks at himself in the reflection of the car’s side mirror. He takes in a deep breath.

“But what if—”

“But nothing,” Jaemin shoots him down, his grip on his shoulders growing tighter. “I’m only going to say this once, and never again, because you rarely deserve compliments from me.” Donghyuck’s lips pull to a tight, though amused, smile. 

“This guy gave you his number, which means that he saw something in you—don’t ask me what, I think he might be delusional, honestly, but whatever—that interested him enough to ask you out. Or rather, I asked you out… for him. Now that I think about it, you should really be thanking me—”

“Jaemin,” Jeno clears his throat, a warning gaze thrown at him from the rearview mirror.

“Right,” Jaemin says, shaking his head before returning his attention to Donghyuck, still sweaty and shoulders sore.

“Can you just get on with it, my shoulders—”

“So really, what I’m trying to say is that I’ve invested too much energy in this relationship for you to bail on this date. Keep those buttons undone,” Jaemin checks the collar of Donghyuck’s shirt to make sure that he hadn’t buttoned it back up while he wasn’t paying attention, satisfied that his collarbones are still bared, “and don’t fuck this up.”

Donghyuck’s eyes flutter to Jeno’s in the rearview mirror, back to Jaemin, down to his lap, and back to Jaemin again. “Okay,” he sighs, releasing the breath he wasn’t aware of holding. I can do this. Or else Jaemin might kill me. But death doesn’t seem like such a bad idea —

Jaemin squeezes his shoulders lightly, eyebrows drooping as his face forms an adoring pout. “My little boy’s all grown up now,” he coos, Donghyuck swatting away a hand coming in to squeeze his cheeks as Jeno laughs from the front seat. 

“Go get him! Go get your prince charming!” Jaemin shouts after Donghyuck, who slams the car door immediately after his escape and drops his head, keeping his eyes low to the ground. He hopes no one heard the tail end of Jaemin’s yelling, but with his luck, he’s sure the few people standing by the storefronts nearby are staring his way.

Donghyuck begins his walk to the bookstore as he hears Jeno restart his engine. He looks up and notices that the fairy lights hung on the trees lining the sidewalk are lit, the sun having set a few minutes ago, the sky ablaze with warm tones of pinks, oranges, purples. He starts to hum to himself, quietly, listening to the commotion of the busy downtown streets as he turns the corner, his smile growing wider as he feels himself relax, his shoulders untense. 

That is, until he looks ahead and sees Mark.

He’s about thirty feet from where Donghyuck is standing, but Donghyuck is sure that it’s Mark, his toned legs hugged by a pair of tight-fitting jeans and the smooth contours of the muscles of his forearms obvious under the glow of the streetlights. A few of his own shirt buttons were undone as well, and Donghyuck wonders if Jaemin had somehow conspired with Mark to plan it, but soon pushes the thought aside when he sees Mark lift his head up from his phone and look straight at him, a dazzling smile forming on his face when he recognizes Donghyuck walking towards him. The butterflies in his stomach have returned, except this time they feel as though they’re multiplying, extremely rapidly. Donghyuck feels nauseated. But his feet keep moving as if they have a mind of their own, moth to dangerous flame.

“Hey,” Mark says, gently, his voice flowing through the air between them like honey when Donghyuck finally approaches him. 

“Hi,” Donghyuck replies shyly, his eyes unable to stay locked on Mark’s as his pent-up nervousness threatens to explode. 

“We still have 20 minutes before they’ll have our table ready,” Mark says as he checks his phone for the time. He then looks back up at Donghyuck, whose eyes have wandered to stare at the murals that decorated the exterior of the bookstore beside them.

Mark takes a few steps towards the entrance of the store—a few steps closer to Donghyuck, who doesn’t notice.

“Since we’re a bit early, did you… want to check out the bookstore for a bit?” Mark asks, a soft grin on his face.

When Donghyuck tears his eyes away from the murals occupying his attention, his heart swells at the sight in front of him, Mark’s eyes twinkling rainbow from the reflection of the multicolored fluorescent signs surrounding them, his smile bright. Despite the incessant nagging in the back of his mind telling him to turn back now, he’s too good for you, Donghyuck pushes his thoughts aside, willing himself to focus only on Mark, his eyes, his cheeks, his smile. And while a week ago he likely would’ve fainted on the spot from the way the boy in front of him seemed to illuminate the world around him, Donghyuck now found comfort in the warmth that he exuded.

“Sure,” he replies breathlessly.

“Woah,” Donghyuck gasps upon entering, scents of vanilla and coffee greeting him from the vintage books that lined the large chestnut-stained bookshelves filling the store. Tungsten lights hang from black ropes that descend from the tall ceiling above them, filling the room with a warm amber hue. 

“I want to show you something,” he hears Mark say.

He turns and follows Mark through the maze of bookshelves, marveling at the variety of leather and cloth-bound books surrounding them until they stop in front of a secluded corner filled with pillows of all shapes and colors, a giant linen cloth nailed to the walls to form a spacious canopy.

Lost for words, Donghyuck only stares at the sight in front of him, eyes wide in awe as he walks towards the linen covering and slowly drops to his knees, delicately tracing the intricate floral embroidery of one of the cushions on the floor with his fingers. “I—” he begins, looking up as Mark sits down to join him, “how… how’d you find this?”

“I-uh,” Mark clears his throat, sitting down to join Donghyuck, “I set it up, actually.”

Donghyuck looks up at him, astonished. “What?”

To his surprise, Mark’s cheeks are flushed with a dark rouge, his lips pulled into a cute pout as he fumbles with the tassels of a pillow in front of him, a sharp contrast from the cool facade he’d displayed a few moments prior. 

“I come here to study, sometimes,” Mark mumbles, avoiding eye contact, “and the owner and I are pretty close, so he let me create this little nook a few hours ago. For, um,” Mark finally looks up, “well, I set it up for you. I thought it’d be romantic.”

It’s Donghyuck’s turn to blush, his heart thumping loudly in his chest as his jaw goes slack, lips parted as he struggles to wrap his head around the image of Mark coming here in secret before their date, collecting soft pillows and neatly arranging them along the floor, tip-toeing on a wooden stool to tack the delicate linen to the walls, all for him.

“You didn’t,” Donghyuck finally breathes, his heart threatening to burst. “You can’t.”

“I can’t?” Mark asks, freezing. “You don’t like it?” His eyebrows droop, eyes downcast, and then Donghyuck realizes what he’s done.

“No, no, I didn’t mean—”

“I’m sorry,” Mark whispers, barely audible, as he begins to collect the pillows arranged around them, “I shouldn’t have done something so cheesy, it’s been so long since I’ve actually been on a date and Taeyong told me that this kind of stuff was cute for a first date, but I knew I shouldn’t have listened to him—” 

“Mark, that's not what I'm saying—” Donghyuck says, his hand abruptly reaching out to grab Mark’s wrist, shocking them both into silence. The tips of his ears flush red as he suddenly becomes acutely aware of how warm the room is, how Mark’s skin burned under his hand, how intently Mark was staring back at him. He lets go.

“I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, um,” Donghyuck stammers, burning hot underneath his leather jacket. He could practically hear Jaemin scolding him for how their night had progressed so far.

He takes in a deep breath.

“I love it.”

There’s a pause, and his eyes come up to meet Mark’s gaze once more.

“I really do,” he reaffirms, sincere.

Then Mark’s eyes light up again, the furrow between his eyebrows relaxing as the apples of his cheeks pull upwards, and the night is saved.

“It’s, I’m…” Donghyuck clears his throat, “I just didn’t expect anything like this,” he admits. “At all. I’ve never… this… I just can’t believe you’re real.”

“What?”

The floodgates open.

“You’re— everything here,” Donghyuck gestures to the cushions around him, “this is something you see in the movies, you know? And when I first met you I couldn’t stop thinking about how attractive you are and how attracted I am to you and when I saw you earlier my heart just— there’s just no way I deserve any of this—”

“But you’re the one who’s not real.”

“What?”

His heartstrings are tugged, then, a forceful pull towards the boy sitting in front of him, towards the bright smile on his face and the warmth in his eyes, as the boy repeats, "You’re the one who’s not real.”

And the invisible wall between him and his prince comes crashing down.

Mark tells Donghyuck about how they’ve been in the same first-year writing class before, with Renjun, though back then his hair was a bright orange and the frames of his glasses were thick, likely the reason why Donghyuck hadn’t noticed him, sending blush further up Donghyuck’s cheeks when he remembers the blurry outline of the fiery head of hair that sat in the back of the classroom only visible from the corner of his eyes. 

Mark tells Donghyuck that he knew he was taken at the time, and that’s why he never made a move, even after he found out from a friend of a friend that Donghyuck ended up single a few months later, eventually forcing his feelings to fade because he thought he’d never have the chance to actually tell Donghyuck about the crush he’d been harboring all semester. 

Mark tells Donghyuck that they’re taking the same Anthropology class this semester, the same one he’d been waiting for in the café yesterday morning, and that he’d been too shy to approach Donghyuck all this time because he himself got too nervous at the thought of Donghyuck paying any attention to him, too nervous to come up to him after class in front of Jaemin and Jeno, who always seemed to be attached to him by the hip. He couldn’t possibly get rid of his feelings now, Mark had explained, seeing that he’d ended up in two of Donghyuck’s classes, back to back, and there was no way he could ignore the way Donghyuck lit up whole rooms with his presence.

Then he ran into him at the art studio a week ago, where he works part-time as Taeyong’s assistant, where he’s recognized Renjun multiple times and had silently hoped that one day he’d run into Donghyuck, somehow, so that he could talk to him, alone, and finally tell him how he felt. 

And his wish came true.

Donghyuck takes a moment to process the information swimming around in his head, cycling between embarrassment for not recognizing Mark before, slight annoyance at his all-too-clingy friends for prolonging his reunion with the boy in front of him, and absolute wonder at how small the world seemed to be for him to be in this very spot, attending the very same school, in the very same class as Mark, the boy wearing his heart on his sleeve, who simultaneously flustered him to no end while filling his heart with unimaginable warmth. In the back of his mind, he thinks it’s cute that he’d been the cause of Mark’s romantic anxiety, when all this time he thought that he was the only one whose head spun, whose heart skipped a few beats at the mere sight of the other.

“Oh,” is all he can manage, the sigh slipping from parted lips.

“I’m sorry,” Mark mumbles, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck, “that was probably too much information for a first date.”

“Maybe a little bit,” Donghyuck amiably grins, his heart blooming at the thought of being so loved, so wanted.

And then something snaps, his curiosity getting the better of him, wanting to confirm the truth in his romantic theory, and Mark’s face was already so, so close, so why not just—

Donghyuck suddenly leans forward, his face mere inches away from the older, sending them both tumbling down as Mark loses his balance and Donghyuck’s body chases after him, Mark lying flat on the carpeted floor with Donghyuck’s arms caging his head in, eyes wide and lips parted from shock. And for some twisted reason, Donghyuck’s heart leaps with glee.

“I think you’re cute,” Donghyuck whispers, a sly smirk on his face as Mark looks up at him with big doe eyes. It was true, then. Mark really, truly likes him. And he revels in the feeling.

“What?” Mark squeaks, barely audible.

“I think it’s really cute,” Donghyuck repeats as Mark’s cheeks flush deeper red, “that you get so flustered because of me.”

“I—” Mark stammers, shocked, confused, slightly annoyed for the hit to his ego, “I do not get flustered because of you!” 

It all happens quickly, then, Mark grabbing onto Donghyuck’s wrists by his head and flipping them over, Donghyuck’s head landing on a pillow underneath him as Mark pins him down under the linen canopy, his breaths slightly ragged and his lips pulling to a smirk as he slowly, achingly slowly, lowers his head, eyes locked on Donghyuck’s surprised own, until the hot air of their breaths clouds over them and Donghyuck can feel his pulse thrumming against the skin of his neck.

“How are you feeling?” Mark murmurs, Donghyuck’s wrists searing under the skin of his palms. Donghyuck opens his mouth, racking his brain to come up with something, anything to stump the other, but his mind is blank. Beaten at his own game. 

“I think you’re cute,” Mark continues, loosening his grip on Donghyuck’s wrists to massage circles into his skin under the pads of his thumbs, his devilish grin growing wide as he sits up, eyebrows lifted in amusement as Donghyuck’s expression contorts into one of annoyance.

“That didn’t prove anything,” Donghyuck mutters, sitting up and ruffling through his hair as he shoots a glare towards Mark, his scowl deepening as the boy’s smile only grows wider.

“I think it did,” Mark winks, his eyes crinkling into crescents as he giggles. Donghyuck straightens his posture and suddenly pushes himself up from the floor, starting for the door when Mark abruptly grabs onto his wrist, his eyes wide in fear, “Wait, I didn’t mean—”

“I’m not leaving, silly,” Donghyuck teases sarcastically, twisting his arm to grasp onto Mark’s hand and help him up. 

“It’s just that the clock reads 6:30 now.” Donghyuck nods his head at the clock on the opposite wall above them, his smirk growing larger as he sees Mark register the time.

“Oh,” Mark mumbles, heat creeping up to his ears. “So you’re not upset?”

“Now why would I be upset?” Donghyuck asks, cocking his head to the side. “I’ve just learned that you’ve been obsessed with me since the day we met, which is expected since,” he gestures to himself, “I look like this,” he winks, turning back towards the exit and smiling at himself when he hears Mark quickly shuffle after him.

“Rule number one of dating Lee Donghyuck,” he says as he steps outside, his confidence soaring, “stay quick on your toes.”

“Says the one who tripped on his own feet and literally fell for me a week ago,” Mark quickly retorts, leaving a shocked Donghyuck behind as he makes his way down the street towards the restaurant, laughing to himself when he hears Donghyuck grumble and stomp after him.

“So why’d you decide to come to the studio that night, then?” Mark asks, reaching towards the center of their table to grab another piece of fresh bread from the wicker basket in front of him. Though they happened to be seated right underneath an air vent, Donghyuck was pleasantly surprised by the quaint little restaurant, live plants hanging off wall shelves and a warm glow cast upon their tables from the glass lanterns hanging above them. He makes a mental note to thank Jaemin for the suggestion later, and Jeno for lending him the warm jacket.

“Renjun,” Donghyuck replies, buttering up his own piece, “he wanted extra credit,” he says, savoring the sweet tang from the vinaigrette lightly coating the crust as the delicate pastry dissolved in his mouth, “and everyone else happened to be busy but me, so he dragged me along.”

“He never mentioned me?” Mark asks, a shy smile on his face when Donghyuck quirks an eyebrow.

“Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know, I just thought,” Mark mumbles, heat travelling to his face once more that evening, “maybe I was the reason… you came, or something.” 

Donghyuck can’t help himself, breaking into a wide smile as Mark’s ears flush red, gnawing on his bottom lip, avoiding eye contact by staring at the basket of bread in front of him. It’s funny, Donghyuck thinks, how I was so nervous to go on a date with such an adorable dork.

“Maybe you were,” Donghyuck replies, nonchalant, a twinkle in his eye as Mark whips his head up in surprise.

“Really?” 

“No,” Donghyuck giggles, Mark taking a beat to process exactly what just happened before rolling his eyes and groaning to himself, only making Donghyuck laugh harder at how cute he was.

“You’re mean,” Mark pouts, his brows adorably furrowed. Donghyuck suppresses the urge to reach over to pinch his cheeks. “I liked it more when I made you too nervous to talk.”

“But that’s no fun, is it?” Donghyuck laughs, Mark eventually breaking into a grin with him.

“No, I guess it’s not.”

“You forgot my favorite jacket?” Jaemin loudly wails, barreling towards Donghyuck before being intercepted by Jeno, who drags him backwards by the sleeve of his shirt before he can do any real damage. “What kind of friend are you?”

“I didn’t forget it,” Donghyuck rolls his eyes, rolling over from where he was laying on Jaemin’s bed.

“You didn’t even notice it wasn’t on you until I pointed it out , you absolute idiot —”

“Jaemin, he said it’s okay—”

“But what if Mark hadn’t remembered? My favorite jacket would’ve disappeared forever, Jen!”

Jeno sighs, tightly wrapping his arms around Jaemin’s torso and resting his chin atop his shoulder. “It’s okay, Jaem,” he says, pulling Jaemin towards his chair by the bed, “you’ll get it back soon.” He nuzzles into the crook of Jaemin’s neck and leaves a kiss there, earning a loud gag from Donghyuck.

“Really?” Jeno deadpans, Jaemin snuggling deeper into the embrace.

“Like you’re not any worse,” Jaemin snorts. “If I ever catch you two do anything remotely intimate, I’m vomiting on the spot.”

“I’d like to see it,” Donghyuck bites. He sticks out his tongue at Jaemin, who returns the annoyed sentiment. Jeno squeezes Jaemin tightly and rolls his eyes at Donghyuck.

Donghyuck had honestly forgotten that Mark was sensitive to the cold. After sitting underneath the vent that had blasted cool air at them for about an hour, Donghyuck didn’t notice that Mark was freezing until he heard Mark’s teeth chattering from the other side of their table. After a few minutes of arguing over who should take the jacket Donghyuck was wearing, Mark finally gave in to Donghyuck’s stubbornness and had gratefully draped the jacket over his shoulders, hugging himself underneath it while struggling to smooth the goose bumps on his forearms.

So it’s not that Donghyuck forgot the jacket, per se, he just donated it to a good cause for the evening. If anything, he should be getting praised for his charity.

“So,” Jeno begins, changing the topic before the other two can launch into a full-fledged argument, “did you two do anything?” 

Jaemin easily takes interest, sleazily wiggling his brows at Donghyuck, who throws a stuffed animal from the bed at the two.

“No,” Donghyuck mumbles, avoiding eye contact as he feels the heat rise up his body.

“Really?” Jaemin drawls, sparing Jeno a knowing glance. “I wonder why he was so happy after getting dropped off here,” Jeno thinks aloud. “You think they fucked in the back of his car, Jen?” 

“We did not fuck,” Donghyuck interrupts, finally taking the bait.

“Oh? Then why are your ears so red?” Jaemin asks, blinking innocently. 

Donghyuck desperately wishes he could curl up into a ball and hibernate through the spring to escape the painful interrogation, but he’d already agreed to sleeping over at their place for the weekend, so he was, sadly, stuck. As an alternative, he grabs the nearest pillow, stuffs his face into it, then screams. 

When he finally lifts his head, Jeno’s entertained expression paired with Jaemin’s wicked smile makes him want to implode on the spot.

“Fine,” Donghyuck grits out, sitting up and partially hiding his face behind the pillow. Jaemin and Jeno perk up with interest. 

“I—”

“Yes?” Jaemin’s eyes look as if they’re about to fall out of their sockets. Donghyuck almost wants to see it happen. 

“You’re unbearable,” Donghyuck mutters annoyedly, huffing as Jeno reels Jaemin back into his lap. “We held hands,” he tries nonchalantly, “and I wanted to kiss him, so—”

“So you did?!” Jaemin shrieks, his fingers gripping onto Jeno’s arms so tightly his knuckles turn white, repeatedly stomping his feet in place out of excitement.

“No,” Donghyuck deadpans, his amusement growing when Jaemin visibly shrinks.

“Let him finish, honey,” Jeno says, nodding towards Donghyuck to hear the rest of the story.

“We didn’t kiss,” Donghyuck mutters, flopping back onto the bed to the sound of Jaemin’s guttural groans.

“Why not?” Jaemin whines, wrestling out of Jeno’s grasp to rush over to Donghyuck’s side, both hands coming to grasp Donghyuck’s own with an iron grip. “Is everything okay? Do you need anything? How are you feeling?”

“Babe—”

“I’m fine,” Donghyuck emphasizes as his hand grows numb. “I wanted to kiss him, but I just couldn’t find the right moment, okay, so I just spent the night feeling like a dumb rock. I’m fine.”

“My poor baby,” Jaemin cries, flinging his body over Donghyuck to make obnoxious sobbing noises into his chest, “it’s okay ,” Jaemin gushes, “it’ll come in time, you deserve to be happy—”

“Why exactly is this affecting you more than me?” Donghyuck asks sarcastically, though a smile blooms on his face thanks to Jaemin’s ridiculous antic, “I’m the one who left without a kiss here.”

Jaemin ignores him. “Jen, come here,” he pouts, slapping the space on the bed next to him. “Our baby needs emotional support.”

Jeno laughs as Donghyuck glowers from under Jaemin’s embrace, jumping onto the bed to pile on top of them as Jaemin giggles giddily. “I hate you,” Donghyuck groans, his voice muffled by the heavy compression against his chest thanks to the two boys laying atop him.

“You love us,” Jeno teases, ruffling Donghyuck’s hair as Jaemin swings his leg over their bodies to trap them. “Admit it, or we won’t let you go,” Jaemin pouts. Donghyuck sighs exaggeratedly, only to be hugged tighter by the menaces dressed in matching pajamas. 

Perhaps he owed Jaemin some gratitude for being such an annoying friend and busting into his romantic life as if it was his business and scoring him a date with the cutest boy on campus, with eyes that seemed to fit entire universes and a smile that stopped heartbeats. And perhaps he owed Jeno some thanks for lending him a warm jacket that guaranteed him another meeting with its temporary recipient, the boy who shivers at the slightest threat of a gust of wind and has a tendency to snuggle closer to heat-emanating bodies in the middle of cozy restaurants. He’d never be able to live down Jaemin’s gloating if he admitted the truth, however, so he settles.

“Fine," he grits through his teeth, “I love you.”

They spend the rest of the night together huddled close on Jaemin’s large pink sofa in the living room, talking and munching on the plethora of snacks Jeno had bought earlier that day: popcorn, salty jalapeño chips, caramel and jam-filled chocolates. They’d planned to watch a movie tonight, but between Jaemin’s sudden decision to do multiple face masks and Jeno’s insatiable craving for ramen, by the time midnight struck, the boys were too exhausted (and full) to stay up to watch their film. Jeno brings out the sleeping bags stored on the top shelf of Jaemin’s closet and Donghyuck and Jaemin arrange their pillows on the soft carpet in the middle of their living room, with Jaemin stubbornly deciding to sleep in the middle so that he can “snuggle with his baby,” baby meaning Donghyuck.

A half hour later surrounded in darkness, with only the soft glow of the moon shining through the curtains that covered their windows, Donghyuck’s the only one left awake, the other two with limbs tangled into one another gently snoring the night away. 

His mind drifts back to his date that had ended only a few hours ago, to the way Mark’s hand fit into his own. He can’t help but smile to himself, giggle softly, even, remembering how Mark was so easily flustered by Donghyuck’s slightest change in demeanor, as if he hadn’t expected Donghyuck to be so confidently flirtatious (but that’s Donghyuck’s fault, really, for being such a nervous wreck on the day they met), how Mark’s eyes had gleamed from the abundance of fairy lights and street lanterns that lit the downtown streets, how Mark had been so excited when Donghyuck admitted that he’d be attending studio sessions come Monday. 

And maybe it was the temperature of the room, thermostat set high to protect them from the chill of the evening, or perhaps it was the intimate fondness he now harbored towards Mark, the memory of his face reappearing with every touch of Donghyuck’s fingers against the skin of his palm where Mark’s own hand had found a home, but the warmth in Donghyuck’s chest only grows, lulling him to sleep as he listens to the rustling of fallen leaves through the thin glass of the living room window.

Chapter Text

Three weeks.

Three weeks of disgustingly adorable pet names, of coffee dates turning into study dates turning into sleepovers, of tender cuddles under the covers and waking up in his own bed with Mark warmly pressed against his back, his arms tightly wrapped around Donghyuck’s waist as if the world was ending and he was Mark’s only lifeline, and Donghyuck was going insane .

Three weeks of doing everything in his power just to finally feel the warmth of Mark’s camelia pink lips against his—and failing, miserably.

The closest to kissing Mark he’d gotten was on the night of their first date, when a switch went off in his brain to tell him to test the boy’s feelings—to play a quick game to see if Mark was suitable as a love interest, as someone who’d be able to keep up with him or, even better, keep him on his toes. And Mark had responded not only in the obvious, endearing way of stained red cheeks and lips parted in surprise, but had also reversed the cards, playing Donghyuck’s game to win , only pulling Donghyuck further into his rapidly-heightening infatuation that had now grown into something that irritatingly consumed him.

Perhaps he’d be satisfied with the feather-light touches of Mark’s fingers against his forehead in the early mornings, brushing strands of hair away from Donghyuck’s face to gently coax him out of his peaceful slumber and into Mark’s arms, or the way that Mark would adorably try to prepare him snacks to munch on between classes and remind him to bring a jacket to their nightly painting sessions at the studio, but his game from three weeks ago had backfired on him and now he was left to suffer the unintended consequences of his actions.

His mind was constantly fixated on thoughts of what-ifs: of what it would’ve felt like to have leaned in and kissed Mark square on the lips on that night instead of shying away like a coward, of when (if ever) he’ll be able to find the perfect opportunity to secure himself the one thing that he desperately wanted but had consistently eluded him for the past month, of how he could’ve used the cold weather (or, at this point, literally anything else) as an excuse to have Mark’s warm lips pressed against his. 

At this rate, he couldn’t tell if Mark was oblivious to his hints of wanting something more or if he just didn’t want to kiss him. But the latter, Donghyuck convinced himself, was impossible. He was irresistible, and he made sure to be, especially when he knew that they’d be spending a lot of time together that day, taking Jaemin’s unsolicited dating advice to wear loose unbuttoned shirts with tight pants and shiny lip gloss to accentuate just how much sex he knew he oozed. 

“Have you tried whipped cream?”

“That’s so lame,” Donghyuck groans, rolling his eyes as he slams his face into his palms for the umpteenth time that afternoon.

“Look, you came to me for advice, and I’m giving it to you,” Jaemin huffs, crossing his arms in front of him as he stared daggers into Donghyuck’s obscured face. “It’s not my fault you’re too much of a coward to just ask for what you want.”

Donghyuck whips his head back up to meet Jaemin’s pointed gaze, shooting his own fiery ammunition at his best friend before the tension is broken by Jeno’s backpack slamming on the table between them. 

“Sorry, I came as quickly as I could,” Jeno pants, a bead of sweat on his forehead as he pulls a chair from beside Donghyuck to sit between them. “Doyoung wasn’t very forgiving about the messed up blots that the first years worked with today, and you know how he gets when a conference is coming up—”

“Honey, our baby’s having a crisis,” Jaemin coos, his voice disgustingly saccharine as he latches onto Jeno’s arm with one hand and brushes his hair away from his face with the other.

“I’m not having a crisis, he’s making it a bigger deal than it is—”

“Mark hasn’t kissed him yet, and he’s being a crybaby about it.”

“Mark hasn’t kissed him yet?”

Jeno’s gasp in surprise, a little too loud for Donghyuck’s liking, catches the attention of several students sitting at nearby tables, some snickering at the three while others rolled their eyes and increased the volume of music in their headphones, returning their attention to their laptop screens. Donghyuck flushes beet red, heat rising up his chest as he takes in a deep breath and exhales a long, long sigh, reminding himself that he loved his friends more than he hated them and that he shouldn’t reach over to strangle Jeno right now.

“Unfortunately,” Donghyuck grits through his teeth, barely managing to keep his voice to a low whisper, “yes—”

“But hasn’t it been a month? And don’t you two sleep together?” Jeno asks, sending Jaemin into a fit of laughter as Donghyuck’s ears only flush more vibrantly.

“Jeno, please shut up—”

“I think his questions are valid,” a familiar voice says from behind them, Renjun pulling a chair beside Donghyuck to teasingly poke at his cheek with an index finger as Donghyuck glowers at the three of them. 

“You should hear them in the morning,” Renjun continues, quickly ducking his head and swiveling his chair away as Donghyuck lunges for him, “It’s always, ‘Duckie, let me prep the toothpaste for you, or ‘Mark, let me make you breakfast,’ or ‘Baby, I’m so cold, come cuddle with me—”

“Shut up!” Donghyuck growls, the sound ripping its way out of his chest to reverberate throughout the library basement, only fueling the fire as the boys laughed hysterically at his cherry-red face. Thankfully, students were allowed to talk as loudly as they wanted in the basement, but Donghyuck could feel the curious stares against his back and desperately wanted to disappear, burrowing his face in his bunched up hoodie on the table in front of him to drown out the cackling of from his irritating best friends.

“This is definitely a crisis,” Jeno nods, pulling his laptop out of his backpack and plugging it into a nearby outlet. They’d planned to study together for their upcoming midterms, but with the way this conversation was going, Donghyuck was sure he’d get little to no work done. Jeno, on the other hand, was always a little too good at studying, with an unmatched ability to phase out anything and everything if it meant that he’d be able to secure himself a few more percentage points to boost his grade. 

“He said my whipped cream suggestion was lame,” Jaemin pouts, mostly directing his face at Jeno to earn himself a quick peck on the cheek, his lips immediately pulling into a bright smile afterwards.

“It worked on me, that’s all that matters,” Jeno whispers, ignoring the gagging sounds coming from Donghyuck as the two lovebirds momentarily lose themselves in each other’s eyes.

“Have you tried ice cream?” Renjun suggests, an eyebrow cocked with intrigue.

“That’s literally the same thing as whipped cream, just a different consistency,” Donghyuck rolls his eyes.

“Hey, I’m just saying that if you don’t happen to have one on hand, the other might work. Nothing like a good old trope ripped straight from all the dramas you’re obsessed with.”

“Lip gloss hasn’t been working for him either,” Jaemin pipes up, suggestively wiggling his eyebrows at the two.

“Lollipops?”

“Nope,” Donghyuck punctuates, popping his lips as he absentmindedly stares into the space in front of him.

“Spaghetti noodle?” 

“Too obvious,” Donghyuck sighs, resting his chin in his palm.

“What if you just kissed him in his sleep?” Jaemin suggests, a challenging gaze thrown Donghyuck’s way as he pulls out his own notebooks from his backpack. 

“That’s a violation of his right to consent,” Donghyuck quickly retorts, folding his arms as he leans back into his chair. “And I’m not about to cross some ethical boundary just to get him to kiss me.”

“So you’ll do all this,” Renjun confusedly motions at the air in front of him, “but you won’t just ask him to kiss you? Directly?”

Donghyuck slams his head onto the table.

“Ah,” Jeno sighs, a fond smile on his face as he gently cards his fingers through Donghyuck’s wavy hair, “young love.”

Maybe his friends had a point. Maybe if Donghyuck just sucked it up and acted like an adult and mustered up the courage to ask his friend-boy (boy-friend? What do you call a boy that you cuddle and sleep and eat with but haven’t kissed yet?) for a kiss, then he’d finally get one. 

But despite being at the ripe old age of eighteen, Donghyuck refused to give in, to push aside his pride just so that he’d be able to have a taste of the sweet, sweet romantic gratification that came with intimate exclusivity. No, Donghyuck was better than this. 

He decides not to ask for a kiss at all. 

“Why do you have to go to the studio today?” Donghyuck pouts, burrowing himself in the wall of blankets tightly wrapped around him. “I won’t be seeing you all week because of midterms,” he whines, poking his hands out of the blanket wall to reach for Mark’s hand.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Mark laments, quickly darting around to grab his badge, wallet, and keys from different corners of his room and stuffing the items into his bag before returning to the bed to sit by Donghyuck. He checks the time on his phone before locking it and shoving it into his back pocket, and once his hands are free, Donghyuck grabs onto them to twine their fingers together, making his best attempt at pitiful doe eyes to try and convince Mark to stay with him for just a few more minutes. “Please?”

“You know I can’t, Hyuck,” Mark sighs, running the pads of his thumbs against the soft skin in the curve of Donghyuck’s hand as the younger burrows his head into the crook of Mark’s neck. 

“But why couldn’t he just call Jungwoo in to help him—”

“Baby,” Mark croons, turning his head to take in the candied scent of his shampoo in Donghyuck’s hair, giggling softly when he sees Donghyuck’s cheeks flush bright pink at the nickname, “Jungwoo’s busy with his other job, and I need the money anyway, since now, I have to feed two people,” he teases, giving Donghyuck’s hand a light squeeze when the younger slumps in resignation.

Donghyuck had met Jungwoo a few times before, after Mark had introduced them at a few of the studio sessions when their shifts had overlapped. From the few interactions they’ve had, Donghyuck learned that the mechanical engineering major worked two jobs, spent hours upon hours after work in the library’s quiet upper floors to catch up on lecture notes, and dedicated his weekends to working on his projects in one of the most competitive labs to get into as an undergraduate. As the rumour went (according to Mark, anyway), Jungwoo was able to score a position as a mere first year with an impressive resume and a dazzling smile. Donghyuck’s slight (though he’d never admit it) fear of the boy whose demeanor resembled that of a golden retriever but whose work ethic resembled that of an autonomous machine was the only thing that kept him from continuing his plight for Mark’s body beside him for the rest of the afternoon. 

Well, that, and the fact that Mark was right: two mouths demanded twice the food expenses.

“Okay,” Donghyuck sighs, his brows furrowed in concentration as he tries to imprint the feeling of Mark’s warmth enveloping him, the way Mark’s hand so perfectly fit in his own, before finally letting go and begrudgingly flopping his head down to meet his pillow. “You’ll be back by midnight?”

“As soon as I can,” Mark replies, hooking his bag over his shoulder as he makes his way towards the door, a pitiful expression on his face.

“Wait,” Donghyuck suddenly calls after him, hastily sitting up just as Mark was about to close the door behind him, “Bring a jacket with you. It’s supposed to be cold tonight.”

He scrambles out of bed, enveloped in one of Mark’s oversized tee shirts with his bare feet against the wooden floor, and scurries over to the closet to pull out the leather jacket he’d bought for Mark last week. It’s identical to Jeno’s, purposefully chosen for its warm inner lining and for the fact that Donghyuck was absolutely smitten by the image of Mark in it from the night of their first date. Jaemin had thrown a hissy fit over their boyfriends (again, was Mark even considered a boyfriend?) having matching jackets, but Jeno had managed to convince him to calm down with a trip to the ice cream parlor and a few dozen kisses (and perhaps some other things that Donghyuck was suspicious of but never wanted to confirm).

“Here,” he says, reaching over Mark’s head with one hand to wrap the jacket over his shoulders, helping Mark sheath his arms into its sleeves. He doesn’t notice how closely they’re standing together until he finishes pulling the zipper up to the center of Mark’s chest, just under his sternum, and Mark grabs his hands to hold them still, his eyes fixed on Donghyuck.

Mark doesn’t say anything, only tracing Donghyuck’s eyelashes down to the moles on his cheek with his eyes, landing on the soft rose of Donghyuck’s parted lips for a moment too long before flitting back up to meet Donghyuck’s surprised stare. Donghyuck’s too scared to say a word, to even breathe, afraid that any sound would ruin whatever this moment was and where it could possibly lead to, but Mark is the one who decides to end it, breaking from his reverie to knead Donghyuck’s hands in his own, a shy smile pulling at his lips when he finally murmurs, “Thank you.”

He lets go of Donghyuck’s hands, then, making his way towards the door for a second time, and when he turns to face Donghyuck again, his smile is brighter now, cheeks pulled high to crinkle his eyes. “I’ll be back before you know it, I promise.”

Donghyuck spends his Saturday cooped up in Mark’s room splayed out across his bed, phone in hand and buttered popcorn at the ready, his assignments messily strewn across Mark’s desk, ignored and forgotten.

Donghyuck had tried to study, he really did, but his mind just refused to budge from thoughts of Mark, of holding his hand and cuddling with him later that night, of knocking the breath out of him and kissing him senseless. And so Donghyuck decided to abandon his academic pursuits for something more worth his time: watching romantic dramas not for their entertainment value, but to study how in the world every male lead on earth somehow managed to initiate those suspenseful first kisses that everyone swooned over every single time. 

After watching a few dozen Netflix Original first-kiss compilations on YouTube, Donghyuck had come to the conclusion that he’d never be able to steal a kiss from Mark unless he managed to come up with some elaborate ploy to trick Mark into conveniently stumbling into him, knocking him to the ground, and having their lips coincidentally crash into one another without knocking their teeth out. Donghyuck had considered the corner-your-boyfriend-against-the-wall angle, but had quickly decided against it because it was a bit too direct for his taste.

So now, he was back to square one: out of ideas and extremely frustrated, and he hated the feeling. Donghyuck ends up curling up into a ball under the covers and knocking out after a few minutes of scrolling through his phone, hours passing by in what seemed to be mere seconds, waking up with a bird’s nest for hair and absolutely parched and covered in sweat. The pit of heat in his stomach had died up in the time he’d spent in dreamland—the only place, it seemed, Mark would be willing to give him kisses (and then some)—but now that he was awake and conscious of his very real dilemma that didn’t want to magically resolve itself, paired with the fact that the last meal he had was the three packs of instant ramen he’d shared with Mark last night, Donghyuck was both angry and hungry, a troublesome combination that often resulted in destruction if not quickly solved.

Donghyuck grumbles and rolls out of bed, dramatically flinging the covers off of him onto the mattress and hissing when his bare feet come into contact with the cold floor, mentally cursing Mark for being too cheap to pay for heat. “It’s cheaper to bundle up,” Mark had argued, though he did end up relenting to Donghyuck’s complaints by buying the younger a pair of burgundy wool slippers and allowing him to steal warm cashmere sweaters from his closet. “Take anything you want,” Mark had mumbled, eyes averted to the floor immediately after seeing Donghyuck bathed in one of his hoodies, much too large for Donghyuck’s frame. Donghyuck had made the mental note to purposefully dress in oversized clothing whenever he knew he’d be spending the night with Mark, and from what he’d observed so far, Mark seemed to have a thing for Donghyuck in loose tee shirts that covered up his shorts, his thighs bare with nothing left to the imagination.

Even with the use of this knowledge to his advantage, Donghyuck’s efforts to procure himself a kiss continued in vain.

“Maybe you just haven’t mastered the art of seduction yet,” Jaemin had teased, earning a punch in the arm from an irritated Donghyuck as Renjun laughed from the couch.

“I don’t understand,” Donghyuck had complained, “at this point, I don’t even wear shorts anymore, just briefs, and he still won’t make a move.”

“Maybe he’s straight,” Renjun had commented. “Fuck you,” Donghyuck had glared at him in response.

Donghyuck’s stomach rumbles on his way to the kitchen, the rubber soles of his slippers dragging across the grey carpet of the living room. The sun has disappeared now, he notices, watching the nearby street lights flicker underneath the navy sky for a moment before remembering his current reason for being out of bed. 

Mark’s textbooks are still splayed open across the dining table, highlighter pens and messy notes hurriedly tucked between its pages to strain the book binding. Donghyuck’s expression relaxes and his lips pull into a fond grin, reminded of how adorable Mark looks with freshly-washed hair and his round-framed glasses hanging off the bridge of his nose when he’s deep in concentration, often muttering important terms to himself in a mix of Korean and English before remembering that Donghyuck was sitting next to him and apologizing for making noise. Donghyuck would never, could never be bothered, though, as he especially adored the sound of the boy’s voice at night, slightly raspy from the day’s use with a hint of warmth, like cinnamon powdered onto steaming hot chocolate.

Donghyuck gently coaxes Mark’s notes from where they’re haphazardly stuffed into the bindings and straightens them, making sure not to displace their order between the pages, then collects the pens strewn across the dining table, one by one, neatly arranging them in rainbow order to sit by the edge of the table. He closes Mark’s textbooks and stacks them atop one another, and when he’s satisfied with his work, turns to forage for a snack.

After gulping down a glass of ice-cold water to quench his thirst, Donghyuck starts by rummaging through the cabinets above the microwave, sifting through bags of potato chips and sour candies before giving up and turning to look through the fridge. Unfortunately, he now remembers, the reason why they had to resort to eating ramen for dinner last night was because Mark was low on groceries for the week, and the only edible items left in the fridge were a couple of green onions, an egg, a carton of firm tofu, and a plastic container of miso paste.

His stomach grumbles again, much more obnoxiously than the first time, and Donghyuck is about to resign to making soup for dinner until he hears the doorbell ring. He wasn’t expecting any guests, and Mark hadn’t warned him of any incoming packages for the day, but he walks towards the door anyway, and when he looks through the peephole before opening the door, the person who’d apparently rung the doorbell was already walking away.

Donghyuck unlocks the door and swings it open to find a plastic bag in front of the doorway, folded note stapled onto its knotted handles with no name to indicate from whom the package originated. He bends down to pick it up, surprised by how heavy the package is, and hoists it inside, setting it on the dining table to take a closer look at the mysterious note.

When he rips the note from the bag and unfolds it, he realizes that it’s a receipt for the delivery: one order of noodle soup with shrimp wontons and bok choy on the side, one order of tteokbokki with medium spice, and one order of kimchi fried rice with sautéed vegetables and a plethora of side dishes added on for free. His eyes trail down the receipt to find that his sender had left him a note:

I’m sorry, it looks like it’ll be another late night at the studio. Ordered this for you since I know you’ve been craving tteok lately. Don’t wait up for me, try to sleep early. I’ll be home as soon as I can. Mark.

Donghyuck didn’t think it would be possible for his heart to swell even more than it already does whenever he notices Mark not-so-subtly staring at him from across the room or whenever he wakes up to Mark’s arms tightly wrapped around him in the early morning, but God, his heart bursts from the caring gesture, and he wishes that Mark were next to him right now just so he could kiss the life out of the boy who so adorably worried about leaving him alone for the evening.

He gingerly lifts the plastic containers out of the bag, arranging them neatly and opening the lids one by one, then goes to grab three empty bowls from an overhead cabinet and the box of saran wrap sitting atop the microwave. He gently spoons the soup into one bowl, rice and side dishes into the second, and tteok and fish cakes into the third, carefully wrapping each bowl with plastic before stacking them on top of one another to place into the fridge, a note tacked onto the very top container:

Just in case I fall asleep before you come home.

Donghyuck wakes up after midnight with his head on his arm, which had fallen asleep with him, still seated at the dining table with a wrapped plate of red velvet cookies pushed off to the side and his laptop screen darkened in front of him.

After finishing his dinner, he’d decided to attempt to bake something for Mark as his way of saying thanks for the filling meal, settling for some chewy red velvet cookies after finding a leftover knob of butter stuffed into the corner of the fridge and a pack of bittersweet chocolate chips in the back of Mark’s snack cabinet. It was a Saturday night, he’d reasoned, so pushing off his homework for tomorrow to bake Mark’s favorite cookies was totally justified.

Seeing that the plate of cookies he’d made was still sitting unwrapped, plastic taut and unbothered, and that the light hanging off of the ceiling fan above him was still on, Mark hadn’t come home yet. Donghyuck disappointedly sighs, checking the clock on the wall to see that it was nearing an hour past midnight, then slowly pushes himself out of his chair, wringing his left arm out to wake it up and shutting his laptop before trudging into the bedroom, dragging his slippers across the carpeted floor.

Unfortunately for him, the nap he’d accidentally taken had rejuvenated him from his food coma from earlier, so he had only two options: lounge around in bed and pray that he’d fall asleep at a semi-reasonable hour, or start on the homework assignments that taunted him from where they sat on Mark’s desk. 

He checks the time again, as if doing so would miraculously bring Mark home to cuddle him to sleep, then sighs in resignation, pulling out the cushioned chair from under Mark’s desk and plopping into it in defeat, wrapping himself with the fluffy blanket pulled off from the bed behind him. He was supposed to have finished his homework earlier, he argues with himself, and if he was going to be awake for the next few hours, he might as well be productive. He plucks a black-inked pen from the metal cup of writing utensils in front of him, clicks the head of the pen once, then begrudgingly resumes his calculus assignment from earlier, breathing out a deep sigh as he braced himself for an evening of mental frustration and pain.

He doesn’t notice the sound of the front door unlocking, nor does he notice the light footsteps treading towards the dining table outside the closed bedroom door a few minutes later, and just as he was about to hold his head in his hands and scream at yet another equation he just couldn’t seem to solve, he hears the bedroom door slowly creak open and quickly turns around to find Mark, eyes widened in surprise, with a half-eaten cookie in hand. 

“Why are you still awake—”

“You’re home!” 

Donghyuck immediately rushes into Mark’s arms and nearly knocks him onto the ground, eliciting a muffled grunt from the older as he’s pushed against the wall with Donghyuck’s arms tightly wrapped around him, his face burrowed into the crook of Mark’s neck.

“I missed you,” Donghyuck mumbles, ignoring the heat creeping up his cheeks as the words rush past his lips. 

“I missed you too,” Mark murmurs, his arms finally coming up to wrap behind Donghyuck’s back and pull him closer, Mark’s free hand gently carding through the younger’s hair as he smiles to himself. “What were you doing awake? I told you to sleep early.”

“I accidentally took two naps,” Donghyuck says, his voice muffled by the fabric of Mark’s jacket against his lips, “and I needed to finish my homework.”

“What a good student,” Mark replies, an endearing smile spread across his face as Donghyuck finally lifts his head up to look at the older.

“Aren’t I?” Donghyuck winks, giggling and stepping backwards once Mark teasingly jabs him in the side with a finger. 

It’s then, when Mark takes another bite of the cookie in his hand, that he realizes what exactly had been waiting for him at home: Donghyuck, with a fluffy blanket wrapped over his shoulders to envelop his whole frame, dressed in a large white tee that barely allowed for his shorts to peek through from underneath, his tan cheeks adorably flushed with a bright pink that spread to the tip of his nose. 

“What?” Donghyuck abruptly asks, shaking Mark from his reverie. “Do I have something on my face?”

“N-no,” Mark chokes out, coughing a bit as Donghyuck approaches him to help him out by firmly patting him on the back. 

“Are you tired? Maybe we should go to sleep.”

“Y-yeah, that’s a good idea.”

“Did you want to shower first?” Donghyuck asks. If he’s noticed just how close his face was to Mark’s, he doesn’t make it known. 

“Um,” Mark clears his throat, slightly leaning away from the younger, “yeah, I’ll go do that.”

“Okay,” Donghyuck replies nonchalantly, turning around to grab Mark’s towel slung over the arm of his chair and handing it to him. “Hurry back soon.”

“Okay,” Mark mumbles, scurrying out of the room to rush into the shower.

Donghyuck cocks a brow in amusement, but he doesn’t think much of what's just happened and turns back around to finish his homework assignment. He hears the click of the lock from down the hall, then the rush of water out of the showerhead, and shrugs, gnawing on the head of his pen as he stares at his last question for the night.

Sometime between the moment he finally finishes his homework problem (which, luckily for him, was surprisingly easy to solve) and when Mark returns from his shower, Donghyuck realizes, when he catches his own reflection in the mirror, that the reason why Mark was acting so strange a few moments ago was because of the fact that Donghyuck looked absolutely tiny in his getup, almost completely swallowed by the blanket wrapped around him, and that he’d be an absolute fool not to use this to his advantage.

He’d perched himself on the edge of Mark’s bed, comfortable in his blanket cocoon with his bare legs hanging off the side, to welcome Mark back from his short trip to the bathroom. Mark doesn’t notice him at first, preoccupied with drying his hair with his towel while rummaging through his closet for a clean shirt to wear, but when he finally turns around, his jaw goes slack, and Donghyuck can only smirk at how easy it is to fluster his boyfriend.

“Did you like the cookies?” Donghyuck asks, batting his eyelashes innocently as he watches Mark’s expression morph into one of abashment. “I made them for you.”

Mark clears his throat. “You made them?” he asks, lifting his eyebrows in surprise as his lips pull into a grin, though Donghyuck notices the slight tremor in his voice. Donghyuck nods enthusiastically.

“They were really good,” Mark gushes, turning around and fanning out the fabric of his towel against the pleather of his chair to dry overnight before padding over to the bed to sit by Donghyuck. “Thank you,” Mark murmurs, their hands naturally coming together as Donghyuck’s fingers slip into Mark’s open palm. Mark softly rubs his thumb against the indent between Donghyuck’s index finger and thumb, and Donghyuck almost forgets about the quest he’d set out to complete. Almost.

“Mark,” he says, coating the name in sugar-sweet syrup as he begins to play with Mark’s fingers and leans in to rest his head against the older’s shoulder, “I’ve been thinking,” he draws out. 

“About what?”

If there’s anything Jaemin has taught him in the many years they’ve known each other, Donghyuck knows that he has to play all of his cards with skill in order to get what he wants. 

“You, silly,” Donghyuck then giggles, making sure to hug the blanket around him even more tightly as he pulls himself closer to the older. The things he’ll do for a stupid kiss.

He watches Mark’s cheeks redden and further curls into himself, an angelic smile across his lips as Mark stutters, “A-are you ready to sleep now? It’s getting late.”

“But your hair is still wet,” Donghyuck notes, worry laced into his words as he combs his hand through Mark’s damp hair before lightly trailing his fingers down to play with the strands that barely covered the boy’s eyes. “You’ll get sick if we sleep now,” he murmurs, his gaze fixed to meet Mark’s eyes before it falls to slowly trace the outline of the older’s brow, down to the curve of his cheekbone, down to the rose flesh of his lips, parted in silent invitation.

Donghyuck can’t help it. He finds himself leaning in to chase after what was rightfully his, a bare whisper of Mark’s name leaving his lips before he can finally, finally feel the plush of Mark’s lips against his—

“Donghyuck,” Mark squeaks, suddenly scooting backwards so quickly that the back of his head hits the wall with a loud thud. 

“Ow,” Mark groans, and as he rubs his head with his hands to soothe the pain, eyes closed with his face scrunched, Donghyuck can’t help the volcano of anger that decides to erupt. 

“Why don’t you want to kiss me?” Donghyuck asks, his tone biting. 

Donghyuck swears he’d read all the signs correctly. He’s suffered through enough of the tension that hangs in the air every morning he wakes up to see Mark’s caring gaze upon him; has held his breath too many times whenever Mark was a little too quiet, often finding the older studying the moles on his cheeks; has noticed Mark very obviously staring at his lips far too often for there to not be something there. So, in Donghyuck’s opinion, his frustration over this seemingly insignificant issue was very much justified.

“What?” Mark asks, his voice escaping as a whisper.

“Why don’t you want to kiss me?” Donghyuck asks again. He makes no effort to hide the obvious irritation on his face, now sitting up straight with his arms crossed to begin his tirade.

“It’s so embarrassing having to explain to Jaemin why my own boyfriend doesn’t want to kiss me. We sleep together, eat together, practically live together at this point, like an old married couple who can’t spend a minute without each other before going mad, so why won’t you just kiss me already—”

“Jaehyun.”

“What?”

Mark groans in discomfort, averting his eyes from Donghyuck’s piercing gaze, then slumps his shoulders with a sigh. When he looks up, Donghyuck is gnawing on the inside of his cheek, eyebrow cocked. Mark sighs again.

“Donghyuck, you have to understand,” Mark mumbles, fixing his gaze on the wrinkled blanket in front of him rather than maintaining eye contact, too nervous that he wouldn’t be able to verbalize the memory that so deeply embarrassed him that he’d repressed it up until this very moment, “I really want to kiss you.”

When Mark finally summons the courage to look Donghyuck in the eyes again, the younger’s face has softened, though his brows are still furrowed.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for such a long time,” Mark continues, now picking at the hem of his tee shirt, “but-but—”

“Jaehyun?”

“Jaehyun said I was a bad kisser,” Mark finally blurts, the words tumbling out of his mouth in such quick succession that Donghyuck isn’t sure if he’s heard him correctly.

“I-we went to the same high school,” Mark explains. “We weren’t really all that close until senior year, and— God, this is so embarrassing,” Mark groans, “He let me practice with him because I’d never kissed anyone before and I wanted to try it before we got to college.”

Mark looks up to find Donghyuck doing a horrible job of hiding his growing smile.

“Stop laughing at me—”

“I’m not laughing, I swear.” Donghyuck tries his best to stifle the giggle threatening to make itself known, biting onto his bottom lip while struggling to keep a straight face.

Mark continues staring at Donghyuck until he’s regained control of his expression, contemplating over whether or not he should continue until Donghyuck nods at him to confirm that he wouldn’t laugh.

Mark takes in a deep breath. “So I kissed him. Or, rather, he kissed me, because I was too nervous the whole time to actually move. And apparently, I really sucked, because he said I was the worst kiss he’d ever had—”

“Do you want to practice with me instead?” 

Donghyuck can’t believe his luck, really. Having a boyfriend who was so bad at kissing that Donghyuck had absolutely no choice but to help him practice was the best present he could’ve ever asked for. He makes a mental note to give an extra large tip to Jaehyun the next time he sees him at their campus café.

“What?”

“You’re scared of kissing me because Jaehyun said you sucked.”

“Yeah.”

“So, did you want to practice? To get better at it?”

“But I just told you I’m scared of kissing you because I’m bad at it—”

“Mark,” Donghyuck sighs, doing everything in his power to stop himself from smacking his idiot boyfriend upside the head, “I want you to kiss me.”

“Oh.”

Donghyuck watches the red on Mark’s cheeks spread to the tips of his ears and listens to his breaths quicken amidst the heavy silence that had followed his proposal. 

“Don’t you want to kiss me?” Donghyuck murmurs. Mark nods timidly. A smile pulls at Donghyuck’s lips.

“I won’t laugh, I promise,” Donghyuck barely whispers, leaning in to close the distance between them, and before he finally presses his lips against Mark’s, he sighs, “Just relax for me, okay?”

It’s not a perfect kiss by any means. Mark’s lips are clamped shut, a wall of resistance against Donghyuck’s own, but Donghyuck appreciates it anyway, satisfied with the peck he was allowed to give.

When he pulls back, Mark begins to stutter, “I’m sorry, that was really bad, wasn’t it—”

Donghyuck shuts him up by pressing his lips against Mark’s once more, earning a surprised squeak from the boy.

Donghyuck’s hand comes up to gently cup Mark’s jaw, the pad of his thumb softly massaging circles into the smooth skin of Mark’s cheek as his other searches for Mark’s hand. He feels Mark relaxing against his lips once he twines their fingers together and he smiles at that, his tongue working to coax Mark’s lips to part and tentatively licking into his mouth before the older suddenly pulls away to gasp for air.

“I’m sorry, that was—” Mark begins, his cheeks a bright pink to compliment the flush of his lips, “I didn’t know when to breathe and I was running out of air—”

“It’s okay,” Donghyuck giggles, high and light, his heart leaping with joy. “I’m happy with you.”

Mark stares at Donghyuck for a moment, almost disbelieving of what he’d just heard, before breaking into a huge smile. 

“Donghyuck, I also—” he clears his throat. “Um, so earlier, you called me your boyfriend, and I realized that I never actually—”

“Do you not want me to call you that?” 

“N-no!” Mark quickly replies, his hands reaching out to grasp onto Donghyuck’s as the younger’s brows begin to furrow with worry. “I just realized that I never actually… you know, asked you, or anything. So, I guess,” he swallows thickly, “did you, um. Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

Donghyuck wonders if, in a different timeline, the Mark Lee sitting in front of him would be full of unabashed pride and confidence in his romantic abilities, able to make anyone swoon with a simple glance their way.

But he’s happy, Donghyuck thinks, truly happy that he’s found this Mark Lee, the boy who’d swept him off his feet by saving him from tripping over the same pair, the boy whose idea of romance was fairy lights and blanket tents, the boy who’d been too afraid to kiss him all this time because he was scared of somehow disappointing him, even though Donghyuck never had any expectations of what a first kiss with Mark would’ve felt like, anyway, other than how nice it would be to finally feel the soft pink of Mark’s lips against his own.

“Remember when I met you at the studio?” Donghyuck suddenly asks, a grin on his face. “And our first date?”

Mark nods, his doe eyes tugging at Donghyuck’s heartstrings the same way they did on the night they’d officially met. 

“Where’s all that confidence now?” Donghyuck teases with a wiggle of his brow.

Mark coughs, briefly avoiding Donghyuck’s gaze before shyly responding, “I just wanted to impress you, honestly.”

“Ah,” Donghyuck sighs, his grin growing wider. “Well, Mark I-just-wanted-to-impress-you Lee, I’m glad you finally asked, because I’d be honored to be your boyfriend, even though you’ve deprived me of kisses all this time.”

“But weren’t they bad?” Mark’s expression holds a mixture of joy and confusion, earning a laugh from Donghyuck.

“Baby, I really don’t care,” Donghyuck says, tenderly kneading his thumbs against the skin of Mark’s hands. “Like I said, I’m happy with you.”

Mark beams, though Donghyuck can sense his apprehension. Before he can open his mouth to ask if Mark had anything else to add, Mark blurts, “Can we keep practicing, then?”

With the constellations in his wide eyes and the adorable flush on the apples of his cheeks, pulled high to compliment the timid smile on Mark’s face, how could Donghyuck possibly say no?