Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

”135… 136… 137… 138…” One number, one step.
Mark muttered the count under his breath as he climbed the familiar staircase. He told himself every semester that he’d stop doing this, but here he was again, letting muscle memory and quiet obsession carry him upward.

A sudden shove broke his rhythm.

“Mel! You’re not listening to me again,” Donghyuck huffed, bumping his shoulder hard enough to make Mark stumble.

Mark blinked, momentarily disoriented. “Huh?”

“You’re counting again.” Donghyuck gave him a look, equal parts exasperation and fondness. “It’s pointless, you know. It’s always gonna be 222 stairs. Every single time.”

Mark rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry, Hyuck. What were you saying?”

“I was saying that-”

“What’s up, guys?”
Jaemin’s voice slid in before Hyuck could finish, his smile as sunny as ever. He practically materialized beside them, like he’d been waiting for the perfect moment to interrupt. “How’s the first day of second semester treating you?”

“Nothing special,” Hyuck said flatly, not even bothering to fake enthusiasm.

Jaemin turned to Mark, eyes already sparkling with mischief. “Was he counting again?”

“Always,” Hyuck answered before Mark could defend himself.

“I-” Mark started, but was cut off by the sudden thud of a football rolling to a stop at their feet.

A tall boy chased after it, his laughter echoing through the stairwell. His dark hair was windswept, smile blinding, and eyes locked straight on Mark.

“Sorry!” he called out easily, scooping up the ball in one fluid motion. “Hey guys. Bye guys.”
He winked, blatantly at Mark before jogging off, the thump of his footsteps fading as quickly as he’d come.

That was Yuta Nakamoto. Fourth-year. Exchange student. Captain of the football team. He was technically saying hello to all of them, but it didn’t take a genius to notice who he was actually looking at.

Mark turned scarlet. Heat flared up his neck as he quickly averted his gaze, pretending to be very interested in the stair railing.

Jaemin grinned like a cat spotting something delicious. “Someone’s jealous,” he sing-songed, his gaze sliding toward Hyuck, who stood stiffly, eyes narrowed, jaw tight.

Hyuck didn’t flinch. “Why don’t you focus on your imaginary relationship with Jeno?”

“It is not imaginary!” Jaemin huffed, offended in the most dramatic way possible. “I am his boyfriend!”

“That’s cute,” Hyuck muttered. “Delusional, but cute.”

Jaemin rolled his eyes. “Shut up. Can we talk about how Yuta was clearly flirting with Mark?”

Mark finally found his voice, but his pause was just long enough to be noticeable. “He’s been like that since he and Winwin broke up. Don’t read into it.” He said it casually, but the way his fingers fidgeted with the zipper of his jacket betrayed something quieter underneath.

“Still weird,” Jaemin muttered. 

Mark gave a short laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Hyuck, who had been quiet through most of the exchange, turned abruptly and started climbing the stairs again. He didn’t usually act like that, curt, withdrawn, but lately, there was something simmering just beneath the surface. Something none of them could quite name yet.

He cared about Mark, probably more than anyone else did. Since childhood, they’d been inseparable. Hyuck knew Mark’s schedule better than his own. He brought him food, cleaned his dorm when Mark forgot to exist, and always checked that he got enough sleep. But there was one thing Hyuck couldn’t control. Mark never blushed because of him. Not like that. And that killed him a little. 

Still… one thing was certain. Hyuck and Mark shared the same soulmate mark on their arms. 
That was what it had always been about. 
Everyone is born with two marks. One matches your soulmate. The other matches the person destined to hurt you. But no one knows which is which until it’s too late. 

Mark always said that a soulmate is the person who fits into your life so perfectly, it makes you wonder how you ever lived without them. They don’t just fill a space in your heart, they fill spaces you didn’t know were empty. They arrive so suddenly and so quietly that one day, without even noticing, you realize: You couldn’t survive without them. 

That’s what Haechan was to him. 
A soulmate by fate. 
A best friend by choice. 

Hyuck didn’t say a word as they reached the top of the stairs. He just walked a little faster, head down, hands in the pockets of his oversized hoodie. 

Mark trailed behind him, still feeling the ghost of Yuta’s wink burning somewhere between his ears. It wasn’t even that it meant anything, it probably didn’t, but it caught him off guard. Or maybe it was the way Hyuck hadn’t looked back once. That unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

“Hyuck,” he said gently, nudging his shoulder as he caught up to him. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Hyuck shot back a little too fast, barely glancing at him. “You’re just being dumb again.”

Mark let out a dry breath, more amused than annoyed. “What, for existing?”

Hyuck finally glanced at him, rolling his eyes. “For getting flustered over a wink like you’re the lead in some budget web drama.”

Mark opened his mouth to respond, but Jaemin arrived with all the subtlety of a hurricane, wheezing like he’d climbed Everest. “Ugh, why are stairs still a thing in this century? Can’t they just install escalators already?”

“You’d find a way to fall up them,” Hyuck muttered, deadpan.

Jisung appeared next, earbuds in, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. “Chenle and Renjun are fighting again by the vending machine. Sparkling versus still water. It’s a whole thing.”

Jaemin didn’t miss a beat. “Let me guess, Renjun called Chenle uncultured, and Chenle threatened to eat his history notes.”

Jisung nodded like it was routine. “Word for word.”

They crossed the courtyard together, the campus alive with that jittery first-day energy. Students lounged across benches and brick walls, trading stories from winter break, pretending they hadn’t spent most of it binge-watching dramas and ignoring every group chat.

“Are you coming to the club fair later?” Jisung asked, nodding toward the notice board as they passed it.

Mark considered for a second before shrugging. “I think I’ve got a library shift.”

“Boring,” Jaemin chimed in, dragging the word out dramatically. “You’re twenty, not eighty.”

“Let him be responsible,” Hyuck cut in dryly. “Some of us still like the idea of graduating.”

Mark offered a small smile. It was Hyuck’s way of defending him, casual, almost indifferent, but quietly loyal. He never said it outright, but Mark always felt it.

As they rounded the path near the sports field, laughter rang out ahead of them. Yuta stood near the sidelines, laughing at something Johnny had said. He looked relaxed, wind in his hair, charisma practically radiating off of him.

Even from across the quad, his eyes found Mark’s again, steady, deliberate.

Hyuck noticed. He didn’t say a word this time. Just shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and walked faster.

Eventually, the group settled under the overhang by the art building, a spot they always ended up at during breaks. Vending machine snacks were passed around like currency as they tried to pretend the second semester wasn’t already running at full speed.

“So,” Jisung asked, stretching out across the cold concrete bench, “who’s free after class? I need backup at the club fair. I refuse to suffer alone.”

“Not me,” Hyuck said, cracking open a bottle of iced tea. “Johnny’s planning something grossly romantic for Ten tonight. I promised I’d help.”

“Aww,” Jisung said, smiling. “Johnny really is the best boyfriend. He sets the bar way too high.”

“Right?” Jaemin added, twirling a lollipop between his fingers. “I love seeing Ten hyung all soft and smiley. Especially after everything that happened last year.”

Mark’s gaze shifted. “Maybe don’t bring that up.”

Jaemin rolled his eyes slowly. “What? I’m not saying anything bad. It’s true. Johnny helped him through it.”

Jisung frowned, looking between them. “Wait… what happened last year?”

Hyuck let out a low sigh, already sensing where this was going. “Here we go.”

Jaemin leaned in, voice dropping like he was about to tell a ghost story. “Okay. Do you remember that guy in the dorms who passed away last spring?”

Jisung nodded. “Yeah, vaguely. There were rumors, but nobody really knew anything.”

“Well,” Jaemin said, “Ten found out that guy had the same soulmate mark as him. At first, it seemed like maybe they were connected, you know, the whole soulmate thing. But then… it got dark. The guy became obsessed. Started following Ten around, leaving creepy notes.”

“Controlling,” Hyuck added quietly. “He hated that Ten was always hanging out with Johnny.”

“Exactly,” Jaemin said. “Ten made it clear he wasn’t interested, but the guy couldn’t let it go. He spiraled. Then one day, he just stopped showing up to class. And…”

He hesitated.

“He left a note,” Jaemin said finally. “Blamed Ten. Said the mark led him to heartbreak. That it made him believe in something that was never real.”

The words settled like dust in the silence that followed.

“That’s… heavy,” Jisung said softly, his voice losing its usual spark.

“It was,” Hyuck murmured, quieter now. “Ten shut down. Didn’t speak to anyone for weeks.”

“But Johnny never left,” Jaemin said. “That’s how you know it’s real. Even in the worst, ugliest moments, he stayed.” He leaned back against the pillar behind him, lollipop forgotten in his hand. “Soulmate marks don’t guarantee the person’s good for you,” he added. “They just mean they’re linked to you. You still have to figure out what that means.”

For a moment, no one spoke.

Hyuck glanced at Mark, just a flicker of a glance, but Mark didn’t meet it. He stared straight ahead, expression unreadable.

Jisung fiddled with the wrapper of his sandwich, the silence stretching a little too long.

“Well,” Hyuck said eventually, “that got depressing fast.”

“Sorry,” Jaemin mumbled, pulling his knees up to his chest. “Didn’t mean to make it weird.”

“You always make it weird.”

“That’s literally my charm.”

Mark looked up, finally, the smallest smile tugging at his lips. “You’re not charming.”

Jaemin gasped theatrically, clutching his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. “You wound me.”

“And yet,” Hyuck muttered, sipping his iced tea without missing a beat, “you keep talking.”

Just then, a voice interrupted from behind them. “Are you guys seriously hanging out by the vending machines again?”

They turned to see Lee Jeno walking toward them, backpack slung over one shoulder, hair messy like he’d just run a mile or rolled out of bed five minutes before class. Probably both. 

Jaemin immediately straightened his posture like a puppet on strings. “Jeno,” he beamed, too eagerly. “I was just thinking about you.” 

Jeno blinked at him, unimpressed. “That’s terrifying,” Jeno muttered, shooting Jaemin a look like he regretted walking over in the first place. 

Hyuck choked on his drink. 
Jisung burst out laughing. 
Mark just smiled behind his hand. 

Jaemin, unfazed, tilted his head. “Why? Afraid I was thinking something romantic?” 

“I’m more afraid you were thinking something illegal,” Jeno replied as he passed them. 

Jaemin stared after him, absolutely smitten. “He’s so mean to me,” he said dreamily. “It’s like we’re already married.” 

“You’re sooo delusional,” Hyuck said. 

“He’s perfect,” Jaemin sighed, still staring. “Did you see his arms? He’s been working out again. For me, obviously.”  

“You’re the only person I know who confuses rejection for flirting,” Jisung said.  

Mark let the banter wash over him, grateful for the shift in mood. It was so easy to fall into rhythm with them. Even when things got heavy, even when his chest felt tight and his thoughts spun like a carousel, being around them made it feel manageable.  

Jaemin let out an exaggerated sigh like the weight of the world or maybe just unrequited love was too much to bear. “One day,” he declared, eyes fixed dramatically on the ceiling, “he’ll realize I’m the only one who truly gets him.”

Jisung didn’t even look up from his phone. “He doesn’t even follow you back on Instagram.”

“He unfollowed me by an accident,” Jaemin snapped, recovering quickly with a flick of his wrist. “He probably hit the button by mistake. It happens to the best of us.”

Hyuck scoffed from where he leaned against the lockers, arms crossed. “Right. Accidentally. With two-step verification and a pop-up asking ‘Are you sure?’” He didn’t even try to hide the sarcasm.

Jaemin flipped him off, but without heat.

A soft chuckle slipped out of Marks lips as he glanced between them. “So... are we still meeting at the café this weekend? You know, before everything spirals into chaos again?”

Jisung perked up slightly. “Which café? The one with the weird jazz playlist that sounds like a haunted elevator, or the one where the barista definitely hates Jaemin?”

Mark smiled. “The one with the moody lighting.”

Hyuck didn’t even blink. “Ah, yes. The place where Jeno took off his jacket and Jaemin blacked out for thirty full seconds.”

“I did not black out,” Jaemin said sharply, already defensive.

“You walked into a chair,” Hyuck said flatly, like he’d been waiting for that moment all day.

“That was completely unrelated!” Jaemin insisted.

“Sure it was,” Hyuck muttered, clearly unconvinced.

Mark laughed, shaking his head as the last of Jaemin’s theatrics faded into the background. He pushed himself up from the cold concrete, brushing off the back of his jeans. Beside him, Hyuck stood too, stretching his arms overhead with a quiet sigh. The air felt a little lighter now, even with the bite of the January wind nipping at their fingers and cheeks.

Hyuck tugged his hood up and glanced sideways at him. “You heading back?”

“Yeah,” Mark said, shifting his bag higher on his shoulder. “Still gotta finish unpacking before class. Then library shift.”

“I can walk you-”
But the offer barely left his mouth before Renjun’s voice rang out from across the courtyard, sharp and impatient.

“Donghyuck! You left your sheet music in the practice room again, dumbass!” Renjun waved a notebook in the air like a flag of judgment.

Hyuck groaned, already stepping away toward him. “Ah, crap. He’s gonna make me buy him coffee for this.”

“You probably deserve it,” Mark called after him with a grin.

Hyuck stuck his tongue out in reply, jogging backward for a few steps before breaking into a run toward Renjun.

Jaemin watched him go, lollipop now wedged between his teeth. He didn’t look at Mark at first, just waited a beat before casually asking, “You two ever gonna talk about it?”

Mark blinked, the grin slipping just slightly. “Talk about what?”

Jaemin finally turned to look at him, eyes gleaming with that infuriatingly knowing smile. He didn’t say a word.

Jisung, who had been busy crumbling chip wrappers between his hands, looked up, confused. “Talk about what?”

“Nothing,” Mark said too quickly, slinging his bag over his shoulder and stepping away like the conversation wasn’t already crawling under his skin. “I’m heading back. Try not to burn the school down.”

“Fine, go,” Jaemin called after him. “But don’t pretend I didn’t see that blush when Yuta winked at you earlier!”

Mark lifted a hand and flipped him off without turning around.

The walk back to the dorms was brisk, the kind of cold that sharpened Mark’s senses and flushed his cheeks raw. His bag dug into his shoulder with each step, feeling heavier than it should, probably because his half-unpacked suitcase was still waiting to ambush him back in his room. An hour left until class, two unread emails from the library shift coordinator, and a vague ache behind his eyes. But he didn’t rush.

Campus was slowly stirring awake. Morning light filtered through a soft veil of winter clouds, casting everything in a pale gold glow. Footsteps echoed across the quiet quad, and laughter rang faintly in the distance someone greeting the semester like they hadn’t just crawled out of bed. Mark liked mornings like this. Cold enough to keep him alert. Quiet enough to let his thoughts wander. Well… almost.

He was halfway through mentally rearranging his class schedule for the third time when a voice called out from behind him.

“Mark?”

He turned instinctively.

Yuta was jogging up to him, hoodie slung over his frame like it had been thrown on in a hurry, school football logo faded across the front. His hair was a tousled mess, windblown and charming in that careless way that didn’t require effort. No bag. Just a water bottle in one hand, a football tucked under the other arm, and that familiar, easy smile stretched across his face.

“Oh,” Mark blinked, caught off guard. “Hey.”

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Yuta said, slowing to a walk.

“You didn’t,” Mark lied, voice coming out softer than he meant.

“You were really spaced out,” Yuta said with a raised brow. “I was calling your name for like… a while.”

Mark flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh. Sorry. I was just thinking.”

“What about?”

Mark shrugged, a little too quickly. “Just… stuff.”

Yuta didn’t push. He simply nodded and matched Mark’s pace as they continued toward the dorms, falling into step beside him like it was natural like they always walked this way.

“Didn’t know you had morning classes,” Mark said, glancing sideways at him.

“I don’t,” Yuta replied. “I just like walking around early. Fewer people. More quiet. Kind of peaceful.”

Mark nodded, something in him softening. “Yeah. I get that.”

“You heading back already?” Yuta asked.

“Yeah. Got class soon. And my room’s still a disaster. Looks like someone picked it up and shook it.”

“You haven’t unpacked?”

“Not really.” Mark exhaled through a tight smile. “I meant to last night, but then Hyuck showed up with food, a playlist, and absolutely zero respect for boundaries.”

Yuta laughed, warm and bright. “Sounds like him.”

A quiet stretched between them, not awkward, but easy. Like background noise turned down low. Mark found himself watching the steam of his breath curl in the cold air, wondering if it was weird that he didn’t want the conversation to end.

“So,” Yuta said eventually, breaking the silence, “what class first?”

“Intro to Narrative Structures. Then library shift after.”

“Busy morning.”

Mark smirked faintly. “Isn’t it always?”

They reached the front steps of the dorm building. Yuta grabbed the door and held it open without saying anything, nodding for Mark to go ahead.

Mark hesitated in the threshold. “You don’t have to walk me all the way.”

“I don’t mind,” Yuta said with a shrug, his voice light.

He started to turn toward the stairwell, but stopped. Looked back. His eyes glinted with something just shy of mischief.

“Oh, by the way,” he said, tone almost too casual. “You blush really easily.”

Mark froze. “What?”

“Earlier,” Yuta said, smiling. “When I winked at you. It was kind of cute.”

Mark stared, mouth opening, then closing again. Heat climbed up the back of his neck like it had been waiting for the perfect moment to strike. “You saw that?”

“You think I wink without checking the reaction?” Yuta laughed, eyes crinkling. “Amateur.”

Mark flushed deeper. The back of his neck burned, and his tongue felt too slow in his mouth. “Don’t call me that.”

Yuta just winked again, this time slower, more deliberate, like punctuation. “See you around, blush boy.”

And then he turned and disappeared up the stairs. No smirk tossed over his shoulder. No further explanation. Just gone, like a spark flickering out just before it can catch fire.

Mark stood there for a second longer than necessary, his heart thudding harder than it should’ve over a stupid wink and a nickname. He didn’t know what Yuta was - A flirt? A joke? Just someone passing through? But deep down, in that quiet place where his thoughts were harder to dismiss, something whispered that it wasn’t that simple. Not even close.

He exhaled, trying to shake it off, and started up the stairs to the second floor. The building hummed with early-semester noise, muffled voices, doors creaking open and slamming shut, footsteps thudding across thin carpeting. An alarm blared from somewhere down the hall, obnoxiously cheerful in contrast to the stale hallway air. Water rushed through old pipes behind one wall. The beginning of a new term, alive and chaotic.

Mark rounded the corner to his room, fished his keycard from his pocket, and swiped it with practiced ease. The door clicked open.

Inside, the mess hit him like déjà vu.

Suitcase half-zipped on the floor. Hoodie slung carelessly over the back of the desk chair. Sneakers tossed near the bed like he’d had a crisis mid-change and given up halfway. The room still smelled faintly like old detergent, winter air, and exhaustion.

He let his bag fall beside the door with a soft thud and ran a hand through his hair.

There was too much to do. Unpacking. Class. Library shift. Pretending he was totally fine and totally not spiraling from a wink on the stairs.

But something on the desk caught his eye.

A silver thermos.
And beside it, a neon pink sticky note, scrawled in familiar, chaotic handwriting.

Drink this or-

Mark snorted. He stepped closer, already bracing himself.

Drink this or I’ll tell Jaemin you cried during Titanic again.
—H

He shook his head, laughing softly through his nose.

Of course.

Of course Hyuck had dropped by. Of course he knew exactly what Mark needed before Mark had even realized it himself.

He picked up the thermos and unscrewed the lid. The steam curled up in soft ribbons, the scent unmistakable.

Chamomile. Still warm.

And suddenly, despite the chaos, despite the unread emails and the Yuta-shaped confusion settling in his chest, Mark felt okay.

Not perfect.
Not calm.
But okay.

He wrapped both hands around the thermos and sat on the edge of the bed. The rising steam caught the morning light, curling in soft spirals that danced in the air between his fingers. Everything else, the hallway noise, the alarms, the clutter of his room, faded to the background for a moment. The world felt… quiet.

That’s the thing about Hyuck. Even when he’s mad, he still shows up. Even when he says nothing, he knows.

Mark let the warmth of the metal seep into his palms before bringing it to his lips. The first sip was slow. Comforting. The tea was slightly too sweet, Hyuck always added too much honey, but it settled in his chest like something anchoring him from the inside out.

But it wasn’t just the tea.
It was him.
Hyuck, always Hyuck.
Even when Mark didn’t ask.
Especially when he didn’t ask.

He lowered the thermos and leaned back, letting himself sink further onto the mattress, his grip still gentle around the cup like it was something fragile.

The warmth held him still, but his thoughts didn’t stay quiet for long.

A memory surfaced.
Uninvited. Unavoidable.

And before he could stop it, he was back there.

Age 16
Four years ago

“Melt. Just show me. I swear to God.”

“No, you’re gonna laugh!” Mark clutched his wrist like it held nuclear codes, fingers curled tight into the fabric of his hoodie. He was sitting cross-legged beside Hyuck on the roof of Hyuck’s parents’ house, sleeves tugged over his hands like armor. The summer air clung to them, thick with humidity and the distant smell of grass. It was the kind of night where the sky felt too big and everything else felt too still.

Hyuck scooted closer, his smile annoyingly persistent. “I won’t laugh. At most, I’ll gasp dramatically.’”

“I’m serious,” Mark muttered, chewing the inside of his cheek. “What if it’s… I don’t know. Ugly?”

Hyuck rolled his eyes. “It’s a soulmate mark, not a stick-and-poke from a gas station.”

There was a beat of hesitation. Then, with a quiet breath, Mark slowly tugged up the sleeve of his hoodie.

And there it was.

Small. Delicate. A soft sunburst shape etched just above his wrist bone, lines thin and glinting faintly in the moonlight, like something alive, something breathing. It looked less like ink and more like starlight burned into skin.

Hyuck stared. His usual snark vanished.

“What?” Mark asked, suddenly self-conscious. “Is it weird? Is it-?”

Hyuck didn’t answer. He just held out his arm, pulling up his own sleeve without a word.

Mark’s breath caught.

The same mark. Same shape. Same placement. It was like looking into a mirror.

His voice cracked when he whispered, “No way.”

They both stared, at each other, at their wrists, at the universe suddenly shifting beneath their feet.

Hyuck was quiet. Which, for Hyuck, was rare.

Mark scrambled for normalcy. “Dude… we’re best friends,” he said quickly, too quickly. “Like, what are the chances?”

Hyuck blinked. “One in eight billion?”

Mark let out a nervous laugh, but his pulse was pounding. “This doesn’t mean anything. It can’t.”

Hyuck shrugged. “Or maybe it means everything.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, it was heavy. Full of something neither of them had words for. Not yet.

And then, Hyuck smiled again, soft this time and bumped Mark’s shoulder. “Soulmates by fate. Best friends by choice. That’s pretty cool, don’t you think?”

Mark tried to laugh. He really did. But something inside him had shifted.

Something warm.
And terrifying.

He looked back down at their wrists.

Identical.
Tethered.

And somewhere deep down, even at sixteen, he knew.
One day, this was going to mean more than either of them was ready for.

Chapter Text

Mark woke to Jaemin’s voice before his alarm even had the chance to save him.

“You’re going to be late again, Grandpa Lee!”

It echoed down the hallway, loud enough to rattle the flimsy dorm walls. A moment later came the unmistakable thud of someone (probably Jaemin) kicking his door for extra emphasis.

Mark groaned into his pillow, his brain a fog of half-formed dreams, something about footsteps in the dark, golden light filtering through trees, and a warm hand curling around his wrist. He couldn’t remember the rest. He didn’t want to.

Dragging himself upright, he squinted at his phone.

7:41 a.m.

Class at 8:10.

Not great. But not unfixable.

He moved through his routine on autopilot, half-brushing his hair, throwing on a hoodie that didn’t smell like floor, stuffing his notebook into his backpack along with a wrinkled campus map he still, embarrassingly, relied on sometimes.

Outside, the sky was the color of wet paper, and the January air bit at his skin. His breath fogged in front of him as he crossed the quad toward the humanities building, shoulders hunched against the cold.

He was halfway up the front steps when he spotted them: Jaemin, Hyuck, and Jisung huddled by the entrance, sipping canned caffeine and swapping insults like currency.

“Hey, late boy,” Jaemin called out, tossing a granola bar at him like it was a live grenade. “You look like a fever dream and an all-nighter had a child.”

Mark caught it one-handed. “Appreciate the love.”

Hyuck didn’t say anything.

He looked up, briefly, then back down at his phone, his expression unreadable.

Mark noticed. Of course he did. He always noticed with Hyuck.

Jisung yawned into his hoodie sleeve. “Let’s skip class and start a band. Jaemin can scream into a mic, I’ll shake a tambourine, Hyuck can play air guitar and glower at the audience.”

Hyuck gave a half-smirk, still not looking up. “I’m not starting a band with anyone who wears socks with sliders in public.”

“They’re comfy,” Jisung defended.

“You’re a war crime,” Jaemin added, completely serious.

Mark peeled back the granola wrapper slowly, watching Hyuck from the corner of his eye. “What’s wrong with you this morning?”

Hyuck’s eyes flicked to him again, quick and unreadable. “Nothing. Just tired.”

Too fast. Too flat. Not Hyuck.

Even Jaemin picked up on it. He squinted between them, sensing the tension like static in the air. “Okay… weird vibe alert,” he said slowly, then checked his phone. “Crap, I have anatomy in ten. Gotta run, people are already crying in the group chat.”

He tossed the empty can into the recycling bin and took off down the path, hoodie flapping behind him.

“There is no vibe,” Hyuck muttered sharply, just as Mark opened his mouth to respond.

He stepped forward slightly. But before he could say anything else, the glass doors behind them swung open with a screech, and Professor Seo’s voice boomed over the group.

“Let’s move, folks. Late comers write the opening scene of a bad rom-com: awkward, rushed, and full of regret.”

A few students laughed. Mark didn’t. Neither did Hyuck. Mark barely had time to glance back at Hyuck before the moment dissolved into the usual shuffle of notebooks, backpacks, and rushing feet.

The conversation was lost to the hallway noise. But the feeling wasn’t.

Professor Seo’s voice wove through the lecture hall, something about inciting incidents, emotional throughlines, narrative catalysts, but Mark barely registered any of it. His pen hovered over his notebook, ink bleeding slightly into the paper where he’d stopped mid-sentence.

His thoughts drifted. Again.
To Hyuck.
To that clipped tone from earlier - too sharp, too unlike him.
To the fact that his best friend had barely looked at him since morning.

And then, against his better judgment…
To Yuta.

Mark didn’t want to think about the way Yuta had smiled at him in the stairwell. Like it was a secret only the two of them shared. Like it meant something.

Because it didn’t.

…Right?

The end of class came like a sudden shift in volume, desks scraping, zippers tugged, chatter bubbling up from every corner of the room. Students spilled into the hallway in groups, their laughter and weekend plans bouncing off the walls.

Mark packed slowly, his hands mechanical. He stuffed his notes into his bag without looking at them, glancing sideways at Hyuck instead. He was still seated, hunched slightly over his phone. Not scrolling. Just staring at it. His shoulders were rigid. His jaw tight. His expression unreadable.

Mark hesitated, then slung his backpack over one shoulder. “You okay?”

Hyuck didn’t look up at first. Then, after a beat too long: “Yeah.”

Mark frowned. “You sure? Because you’ve been kind of… off all morning.”

Hyuck exhaled through his nose. “I said I’m fine, Mark.” It wasn’t loud. But it cut.

Mark blinked, the sudden sharpness sinking in deep.

The hallway moved around them like static, too loud, too fast, too much.

Then, softer, almost like it hurt to say:
“…Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.”

Mark nodded quietly, swallowing the ache behind his ribs. “It’s okay.”

They started walking side by side, but it didn’t feel like before. The silence between them wasn’t comfortable anymore, it was brittle. Like it might crack under the weight of one more unspoken word.

When they rounded the corner, Mark’s stomach dropped.

Yuta was leaning casually against the wall near the vending machines, sipping from a can of iced coffee. Phone in one hand, legs crossed at the ankles, looking effortlessly comfortable like he belonged there more than the vending machine itself. His head lifted when he spotted them. And just like that, the lazy smile appeared, sun-warmed and familiar.

“Mark,” he said, voice smooth and easy.

Mark’s throat tightened. “Hey,” he managed, and it cracked right in the middle.

Yuta didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did.

“Didn’t think you’d still be on campus,” Mark added quickly.

“Quick meeting with Coach,” Yuta said, lifting the can. “Needed something cold after. Caffeine or collapse, you know?”

Mark nodded, suddenly aware of every inch of Hyuck beside him.

Yuta’s gaze shifted. “Hey, Hyuck.”

The greeting was calm. Polite. Careful.

Hyuck’s reply was barely audible. “Hi.” One syllable. No warmth. No smile. Just frost.

Mark swallowed hard. “Uh… we were just heading to meet our friends.”

“Cool,” Yuta replied, flashing a brief smile. “I won’t keep you.”

But his eyes lingered on Mark a second longer than they should’ve. Not creepy. Just… lingering. Like he meant it.

Then-

“Oh. Good luck on your library shift later,” he added, casual as anything. “Try not to fall asleep.”

Mark blinked, surprised. “How did you-?”

Yuta was already turning away, walking backwards a step before flashing that crooked smile again. “I remember things.”

And then he was gone. Just like that. Down the hallway and out of sight, like a breeze that left the air different after it passed.

Mark stayed frozen.

Hyuck didn’t say anything for a moment. He just started walking again.

Then, quiet but unmistakably bitter:
“He’s really into you, huh.”

Mark’s mouth opened. But no words came out.

Because what was there to say?

That he didn’t know?
That he hadn’t thought about it?
That it didn’t matter?

That it did?

He said nothing. And somehow, that silence said the most.

The campus courtyard was still quiet this early in the day, just a few students sipping coffee or curled up on benches with textbooks balanced on their knees. A pale layer of sun lit the stone paths, and the air had that damp, sleepy feel to it that always lingered before lunch.

Mark and Hyuck cut across the square after class, falling into silence again. A few steps ahead, Jaemin was waving them over to a half-circle bench beneath one of the skeletal trees. Ten sat next to him, legs tucked beneath him like a cat, typing something on his tablet. Johnny stood nearby, sipping from a paper coffee cup, and Jisung was lounging against the stone planter like he’d been there all morning.

Mark dropped his bag beside the bench and sat down without much ceremony. Hyuck hovered for a second before settling on the edge.

“You two look like someone just told you astrology isn’t real,” Jaemin said, eyeing them both over the rim of his coffee. “Rough morning?”

“Normal,” Mark muttered, half-heartedly unwrapping a muffin he hadn’t even wanted.

Hyuck didn’t answer. He sat slouched on the bench, hoodie drawn tight around his face, hands shoved into his sleeves. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Hyuck’s being mysterious,” Jaemin added, sing-song. “Something’s up.”

“I’m just tired,” Hyuck said without looking up, his voice flat.

Johnny sipped from his oversized coffee cup and gave him a side glance. “That’s code for ‘don’t ask me what’s wrong because I won’t tell you.’”

Ten rolled his eyes. “Leave him alone. Not everyone wants their drama dissected before lunch.”

Mark glanced over. Hyuck’s eyes were locked on the concrete, foot tapping out a restless rhythm against the ground. He hadn’t stopped fidgeting since they sat down.

The silence felt like it had weight.

“Anyway,” Jaemin clapped once, like he could banish the mood. “Let’s play a game.”

Jisung didn’t even lift his head. “God, no. It’s not even 11 a.m.”

“This one’s chill,” Jaemin insisted, smiling. “Tell me who in this group is definitely going to fall for their hurt mark instead of their soulmate one.”

Johnny groaned. “Still chaos.”

“Chenle,” Jisung answered immediately, not missing a beat.

“He’s not even here!” Jaemin said.

“Exactly,” Jisung replied. “He causes damage in absentia.”

A quiet snort escaped Hyuck before he could stop it. The first real reaction he’d shown all morning.

It flickered—briefly—then vanished again, like it embarrassed him to feel anything.

“I’d bet on Jaemin,” Ten said casually, resting his chin on his hand. “Dramatic enough to chase the pain.”

“Excuse me?” Jaemin gasped, clutching his chest like he’d been physically stabbed. “How dare you. I’m a romantic. I believe in destiny and pastel lighting.”

“That’s not what you said last semester when Jeno left you on read,” Johnny quipped.

“That was strategic ignoring!” Jaemin huffed. “He was busy.”

“I’m sure,” Hyuck muttered, not looking up.

His voice was low. Bitter.

Mark didn’t laugh like the others. He just watched him.

And wondered what it was Hyuck wasn’t saying.

Renjun approached without a word, his steps quiet but somehow still grounding.

He wore his usual oversized gray hoodie, sleeves pulled halfway over his hands like he was trying to shrink into them. Dark shadows bruised the skin beneath his eyes, and his mouth was pressed into a line that made him look older than he was. Sleep hadn’t touched him last night, anyone could see that.

Without a greeting, he sank onto the bench between Jaemin and Ten like he belonged there and nowhere at the same time. From his pocket, he pulled out a crumpled pack of gum and held it out to the group wordlessly. It was such a Renjun thing to do. Show up, offer something small, pretend like the world hadn’t shifted.

“Perfect timing,” Jaemin chirped, trying too hard to keep things light. “You’re just in time to tell us who’s definitely gonna mistake their trauma-bond mark for real love.”

Renjun blinked. His voice was quiet when it came, but sharp enough to cut through the lazy banter like a blade. “That’s not funny.”

Jaemin’s smile faltered. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Renjun interrupted, calm and clipped. “Still not funny.”

The mood shifted instantly, like someone had shut a window and cut off all the air.

No one said anything.

Johnny looked away. Jisung busied himself with the plastic wrapper from his snack. Ten’s brows furrowed slightly, like he could already feel what was coming.

Mark glanced up. “You okay?”

Renjun didn’t answer right away. He stared out toward the trees, where the wind was tugging gently at the branches, like even the sky knew to tread lightly.

Then he nodded, just once. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

Another silence. Deeper this time.

And then, barely above a whisper, Renjun added, “I only have one mark.”

Mark’s stomach dropped. He wasn’t sure he heard right.

Jaemin stiffened beside him. His mouth opened, then closed again like the words had abandoned him.

Renjun looked down at his hands. He rubbed at a frayed thread on his sleeve like it might unravel something deeper. “Doctors said it happens sometimes. It’s rare. Unexplained. Just... one. I was born that way.”

The group was still. Utterly still.

“I don’t know if I lost the other one already,” Renjun continued, his voice level but fragile around the edges. “Or if I was just... never meant to have it. Some people think it means your soulmate died before you met. Or that the person who was meant to hurt you already did.”

His fingers curled tighter in his lap. “Or worse,” he added softly, “that you’re the one who’s going to hurt someone else.”

Ten moved first, reaching out gently, almost cautiously, to rest a hand on Renjun’s knee. The gesture said everything none of them could.

No one tried to argue. No one filled the silence.

Because what could you say to something like that?

Mark looked down at the half-moon mark on his wrist, the one that had always felt like a mystery. A story waiting to be told.

Now, it just looked dangerous. His hand moved instinctively to cover it, like he needed to hide it, not from others, but from himself.

Suddenly, having two marks didn’t feel like a gift at all. It felt like a threat. 

No one moved for a long moment. Even the breeze seemed to quiet, as if the world itself was holding its breath with them.

Then Jaemin shifted. Slowly. Carefully. Like if he moved too fast, the moment might shatter. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice small, rare for him. “I didn’t know.”

Renjun gave a faint nod, eyes still trained on the gum in his hands. “It’s not something I tell people.”

“Why are you telling us now?” Jisung asked quietly, not out of rudeness, but curiosity. Something raw.

Renjun didn’t answer right away. He leaned back against the bench, let his head fall to rest against the tree trunk behind him. “Because sometimes it feels like everyone else is playing by rules I don’t have,” he said at last. “Like I’m watching a game from the sidelines and everyone else gets a team.”

Mark felt the words settle deep in his chest. Heavy. Real. He wanted to say something. Anything.

But it was Hyuck who spoke next. His voice was quiet, but clear. “You're not the only one who feels that way.”

Everyone looked at him. Hyuck was staring straight ahead, face unreadable.

Mark studied his profile, the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers flexed and curled at his sides. It wasn’t like him to be still for this long. But there was something about the way Renjun had said it, something that cracked past Hyuck’s usual armor.

Ten gave Hyuck a glance. Not pushy. Just present. And then he looked at Renjun. “You know,” he said gently, “having one mark doesn’t make you broken. It just means your story’s different.”

Renjun huffed a laugh under his breath. “Is that what we’re calling it now? A story?”

“I like stories,” Ten said, smiling faintly. “They mean there’s more to come.”

Johnny squeezed Renjun’s shoulder. “We’ve got you, man. With one mark or ten.”

Renjun didn’t smile, but his shoulders relaxed just slightly.

Jaemin exhaled a long breath and leaned dramatically into Jisung. “Ugh. Emotions. I feel like I just aged a year.”

“Good,” Jisung rolled his eyes. “Maybe you’ll finally mature.”

Jaemin shoved him lightly. Jisung kicked him back.

Mark let the banter happen around him, but his mind was still on Renjun. On what it must feel like, to walk around every day wondering if fate skipped you. Or worse, marked you as the danger in someone else’s story.

He looked down again at his own wrist. At that soft curve of the half-moon mark. Then, slowly, he looked at the other one - the sunburst. Hyuck’s.

His heartbeat stuttered. He glanced at Hyuck, wondering if he was thinking the same thing.

But Hyuck wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at Renjun again. His expression unreadable like maybe he saw too much of himself in what had just been said.

Mark sat back against the bench, feeling something shift inside his chest. A quiet, heavy realization.

Maybe fate didn’t always give you answers. Maybe sometimes, it just gave you more questions and leaves you sitting in the cold with people who were pretending they had any idea what to do next.

Eventually, the group began peeling away, one by one, like leaves drifting off the same branch.

Ten tugged Johnny toward the science building for their shared lab. Jisung disappeared in the direction of the arts center, earbuds in, hoodie up, already halfway tuned out. Even Jaemin, who usually lingered long after everyone else, slung his bag over one shoulder with an uncharacteristically quiet “later,” casting one last, unreadable glance at Renjun before vanishing behind a column of ivy-covered brick.

And just like that, it was only Mark, Hyuck, and the silence that followed. 

They stayed on the bench for a while, not talking, just watching students pass through the courtyard like nothing had shifted. Like they hadn’t just been reminded, plainly, painfully that fate sometimes forgot people. Or worse, deliberately left them behind.

Mark ran a hand through his hair and exhaled slowly. “I didn’t know about Renjun.”

“Me neither,” Hyuck murmured. “He doesn’t talk about it.”

Mark nodded absently. “He always seemed like the one who had it together.”

Hyuck let out a short, dry laugh. “Yeah. So did you.”

That stopped Mark cold. He turned to look at Hyuck, surprised, but Hyuck wasn’t looking at him, just lazily kicking at a pebble near the base of the bench, like it had done something personal to him.

“…I don’t,” Mark admitted after a moment. His voice was quiet. Honest.

“I know,” Hyuck said. And then, softer still: “That’s why I always try to keep you together.”

The words didn’t come with fanfare. No big dramatic reveal. Just a quiet truth that curled beneath Mark’s ribs and settled there like warmth and ache all at once.

Mark stared down at his hands, fingers curled slightly, like they didn’t know what to hold on to.

“You’re doing a good job,” he said.

Hyuck finally glanced at him, really looked and there was something in his eyes that Mark couldn’t untangle. A mix of defiance and tenderness, like he hated being seen but couldn’t help it when it was Mark.

“So are you,” Hyuck said.

They didn’t smile. But they didn’t need to.

The silence stretched, not heavy anymore, just full.

Then Hyuck bumped their shoulders together, casual but familiar. “You’re gonna be late for your shift, grandpa.”

Mark huffed a soft laugh. “Guess I should go, huh?”

“Guess so.”

Mark stood slowly, brushing nonexistent dust off his jeans like it gave his hands something to do. Hyuck stayed seated, elbows resting on his knees, eyes tracking a group of students laughing across the quad but not really seeing them.

“You’ll come over later?” Mark asked.

Hyuck didn’t answer right away. Then he looked up, eyes gentler now, the edges softened. “Yeah. I’ll bring ramen.”

Mark nodded, a quiet kind of grateful blooming in his chest. “Okay.”

He turned and started walking toward the library, steps light, but something inside him felt heavier. Not in a bad way. Just… full.

Behind him, Hyuck stayed on the bench. He watched Mark go, the distance between them stretching but never quite breaking.

One hand drifted to his wrist, curling over the sunburst mark like it might burn if he didn’t hold it tight enough.It was warm again. But that didn’t make him feel any safer.

The library breathed in hushed tones during the morning hours.

Not silent, this school didn’t know silence, but quiet in a way that felt like being submerged. The kind of quiet where thoughts could echo too loudly if you weren’t careful. Shelves rose like solemn cathedrals, heavy with dust, old paper, and the lingering ghost of time.

Mark clocked in at the front desk with a tap of his ID and a nod to the sleepy grad student manning the computer, who barely lifted his eyes. He grabbed the return cart and slipped into the stacks like a shadow, grateful for the solitude.

The routine steadied him.

Book. Shelf. Slide.
Book. Shelf. Slide.
It was muscle memory. Easy. One of the few things in his life that didn’t make him question himself.

He turned down the literature aisle, M through Q and paused halfway.

Something shifted. It wasn’t a sound. It wasn’t even something he could name. Just… a tug. A subtle pull in his skin, like his body remembered something before his brain did.

Mark’s breath caught. He rolled his sleeve up without thinking. The crescent moon mark below his elbow blinked up at him, faint, pale, so quiet it often disappeared under light. But now?It pulsed. Not visibly. Not violently. But he could feel it. Low and slow, like pressure rising from deep beneath the surface. Like an ache you only notice once it’s blooming.

He touched it lightly, his fingers grazing the skin. It wasn’t hot. It didn’t hurt. But it hummed under his touch, like a warning. Or a memory. Or a promise.

His chest tightened. And then-

“Hey.”

Mark flinched. Hard. A book slipped sideways on the cart, thudding softly against the metal.

He spun around.

Yuta stood at the end of the aisle, his windbreaker slightly unzipped, hoodie strings dangling, hands buried deep in his pockets. His expression was calm, too calm, and Mark suddenly couldn’t tell if it comforted or unsettled him.

“I didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” Yuta said, voice low and steady, almost matching the quiet around them. “Old habit.”

Mark blinked, the space between thoughts catching. “What… are you doing here?”

Yuta lifted a slim paperback in one hand. “Returning this. Saw you shelving and thought I’d say hi.”

Mark nodded, unsure what else to say. His heart was still stuttering. His sleeve still pushed up.

Yuta stepped closer, just one pace, but it was enough to feel like a shift in gravity.

“You okay?” he asked, his eyes briefly flicking to Mark’s exposed wrist.

Mark tugged the sleeve down, too quickly. “Yeah. Just… sore. I guess.”

Yuta studied him. Not just his face, but through it, almost. Like he was trying to solve a riddle that hadn’t been spoken yet. “Your shift done soon?”

“About an hour,” Mark said.

Yuta tilted his head. “Wanna walk back together? No pressure.” The question felt casual, but something about it wasn’t.

Mark hesitated. And then, almost in spite of himself, he nodded.

Yuta’s mouth lifted into that faint, knowing smile. “I’ll wait outside,” he said softly.

Then he was gone again, his footsteps disappearing between the shelves, like he hadn’t disrupted something deep in Mark’s chest.

Mark stood still, breath catching again.

He touched the mark through his sleeve. The pulse was quieter now, but still there, low, insistent, like a whisper from under skin.

It didn’t fade. Not even when he told it to.

The sky had deepened by the time Mark stepped out of the library. That early-winter haze had settled in fully now, everything painted in soft grey-blue, like the world had been muted. The quad had thinned out, quieter than before, the distant sounds of chatter and footsteps fading beneath the hush of an almost-afternoon lull.

Yuta was leaning against the stone wall outside, earbuds in, one foot braced behind him like he had all the time in the world. When he saw Mark, he tugged one bud free and offered a smile, lazy, warm, and tilted just enough at the edges to send a flutter straight through Mark’s chest.

“Perfect timing,” Yuta said, pushing off the wall. “Thought I’d have to send in a search party. Or at least a snack.”

Mark huffed a soft laugh. “You could’ve just left me. The poetry section’s not the worst way to go.”

They fell into step, walking side by side along the curved path behind the music building. Their shoulders bumped once, lightly. Neither of them apologized.

The air was cold but still, the kind that pricked at Mark’s fingers but cleared his head. And yet, somehow, the silence between them felt heavier than the chill. Not awkward, just full. Like something unspoken had taken up all the space between words.

Mark rubbed his wrist again. The dull ache hadn’t left. It was like a quiet knock inside his skin, a reminder he couldn’t shake.

Yuta noticed. “You good?” he asked gently, his voice cutting through the quiet.

Mark hesitated. “Yeah. Just... sore.”

Yuta didn’t press. He never did. That was the strange part, he seemed to understand exactly how much space Mark needed without ever having to ask.

They turned the last bend, and the dorm buildings rose ahead of them, four stories of weathered brick and creaky stairwells, framed by leafless trees and wind-blown snack wrappers clinging to the bushes. Somewhere above, a window blasted music too loud for the hour. Typical.

“You ever think about the marks?” Yuta asked suddenly, gaze still ahead.

Mark blinked. “What about them?”

Yuta’s hands were still buried in his jacket pockets, his voice unreadable. “If they’re actually fate. Or just something we tell ourselves is meaningful, because we want it to be.”

Mark let out a slow breath, watching it curl into the cold air. “I used to think they meant everything. That whoever shared mine would just... fit. Like the rest of the noise would quiet down.”

Yuta nodded, quietly. “And now?”

Mark flexed his fingers, curling them against the mark beneath his sleeve. “Now I’m not sure if I even know what I’m waiting for.”

They reached the front steps. Mark’s foot hit the first one, then hesitated.

Yuta turned toward him, that soft smile returning but smaller now, almost careful. “If you ever wanna talk about it...”

Mark’s lips lifted into something between a smile and a thank you. “I know.”

He watched Yuta head off toward the opposite wing of the dorms, footsteps soft against the stone.

Then Mark turned toward his own stairwell, mind still tangled in the silence-

And froze.

His eyes went wide.

“Shit,” he whispered. “Hyuck.”

The ramen.

They’d made plans. Or… Hyuck had made the plan, like he always did, and Mark had completely forgotten.

He practically sprinted up the stairs, skipping two at a time, heart hammering now for an entirely different reason. When he reached the second floor, he paused just long enough to catch his breath before turning the corner-And there he was.

Donghyuck.

Sitting cross-legged in front of Mark’s dorm room door, a plastic bag with instant ramen balanced beside him and a slightly crumpled water bottle tucked under one arm. His hood was up, headphones on, bobbing his head softly to a beat only he could hear.

Mark stopped. Just stood there for a second. Watching.

The ache in his chest had nothing to do with his mark this time.

It was Hyuck. It was always Hyuck.

And he was still waiting.

Even when Mark forgot. Even when Mark drifted.

He always waited.

Mark opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came. So instead, he took a step forward.

And when he reached the door, Hyuck looked up like maybe he hadn’t been waiting for Mark to speak.
Just for Mark to show up.

Chapter Text

The faint scent of ramen still lingered in the air, warm and salty, clinging to the walls like a memory.

Mark blinked awake slowly. The ceiling of his dorm room came into view first soft and grey in the pale light of morning. His limbs were stiff, one sock halfway off, the blanket tangled in a mess at the foot of the bed. His laptop sat open beside him, tilted sideways against his ribs. 

But it wasn’t the discomfort that pulled him fully from sleep. It was the quiet. Not the hollow kind. Not the lonely kind. The kind that settles in when someone else is there. He turned his head.

Hyuck was asleep on the floor, curled up beside the bed in Mark’s old hoodie and an extra blanket he must’ve found at the foot of the closet. One earbud was still hanging loose from his ear, the other pressed against the pillow. His legs were folded awkwardly, one arm tucked beneath his head. It looked uncomfortable. It also looked… familiar. Safe.

Nearby, two empty ramen bowls sat abandoned on the low table, the plastic bag from the convenience store slouched beside them like it had slumped from exhaustion too.

Mark watched him for a long moment, not moving.

Hyuck’s face was half-hidden in his sleeve, but the soft rise and fall of his breathing was steady. Calmer than the night before. His wrist had slipped free from the blanket, the edge of his soulmate mark just barely visible its blurred sunburst glowing faintly in the morning light.

The same one as Mark’s. The same one he’d spent the past few nights dreaming about.

The ache from yesterday had faded finally but in its place sat something else entirely. Not pain. Not clarity. A question.

Mark shifted, slowly sitting up. The movement dragged the sleeve of his sweatshirt up along his arm. He looked down at his wrist. His mark, delicate and pale, calm as ever. But it felt like it was watching him. Like it was waiting.

He glanced between the two of them, his own mark, and Hyuck’s, quietly resting inches away on the floor. And the same old thought came rushing back, heavy and frustrating:

He still didn’t know which one meant love and which one meant hurt.

Then Hyuck stirred. A small groan escaped him as he shifted, burying his face deeper into the hoodie for a second before blinking awake. His voice was hoarse with sleep. “You’re awake,” he mumbled. “I was gonna leave. Didn’t mean to crash here.”

Mark shook his head. “I’m glad you stayed.”

Hyuck blinked at him, then yawned into his sleeve. “You didn’t even finish your ramen,” he said, nodding toward the half-finished bowl on the table.

Mark huffed a soft laugh. “Guess I passed out.”

“I figured.” Hyuck rubbed his eyes, still blinking slow. “You talk in your sleep.”

Mark paused mid-stretch. “What? No, I don’t.”

Hyuck smiled, lopsided and sleepy. “You totally do. You said something about losing your textbook and punching Jeno. It was poetic.”

Mark groaned and flopped back onto the mattress. “Please let that be a dream you made up just to bully me.”

Hyuck raised a hand, as if swearing an oath. “Word for word. I considered recording it.”

Mark peeked at him from beneath his arm, mock-scowling. “You’re evil.”

“Eh. Keeps things interesting.”

For a second, it was easy. The kind of easy they always found in the quiet before the world caught up, half-teasing, half-truthful. The kind of moment that blurred the lines between old habits and new feelings.

Mark sat up again, gaze catching on Hyuck’s face. There was still sleep in his eyes, a pink flush on his cheeks from the cold floor, and something softer, unguarded, just beneath it all. The part of him he usually buried under sarcasm and chaos.

Mark saw it. Knew it. Wanted to name it. He opened his mouth. “Hyuck-”

Hyuck looked at him, blinking slow. Mark almost said it. The thing. The real thing.

But instead, he smiled. “Thanks for the ramen.”

Hyuck’s expression faltered for a second, just a flicker. But then he smiled too, gentler this time. “Anytime, Melt.”

“But are you gonna sit there forever,” Hyuck said, nudging Mark’s shin with his foot, “or are we actually going to class sometime this year?”

Mark didn’t move. Still perched at the edge of his unmade bed, hoodie half-zipped, one sock on, the other dangling from his fingers like it might bite. He was squinting at his phone like the calendar app held the secrets of the universe.

“Trying to remember if I have creative writing or literature first,” he muttered. “It’s Wednesday, right?”

“It’s Friday.”

Mark’s groan was instant and full-bodied. “No. No, it’s not. That can’t be true.”

Hyuck smirked, picked up a balled-up hoodie from the floor, and lobbed it at his head. “Relax. It’s Wednesday. I just wanted to test your grip on reality.”

“You’re a menace.”

“And yet,” Hyuck said, scooping up ramen wrappers from the desk and tossing them into the trash like he lived here, “I bring you food, I make sure you wear matching socks, and I tolerate your existential spirals before 9 a.m. That makes me a saint, actually.”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “You forgot to remind me to eat the food.”

“I did remind you. You passed out halfway through chewing your first bite. Right after saying something about, what was it? ‘the metaphorical tension in melodic dissonance’ or whatever.”

Mark let out a strangled sound and buried his face in his hands. “I hate myself.”

“Nah.” Hyuck shouldered his backpack. “You’re just annoying. But unfortunately, you’re my problem.”

It landed like a joke. But it didn’t feel like one.

Mark looked up.

Hyuck wasn’t looking at him, he was tugging the zipper on his jacket, one foot tapping a lazy rhythm against the floor. But the weight of the words lingered in the space between them. Gentle. Unassuming. Familiar.

Hyuck was always there. In the mess. In the forgetting. In the silence.

Mark didn’t say anything. Just tugged on his other sock, changed his shirt, grabbed his jacket and keys, and followed him out.

The hallway buzzed with the chaos of early morning, doors slamming, someone sprinting in flip-flops, laughter spilling out from somewhere down the corridor. A girl on the third floor was yelling at her printer like it owed her money. Normal.

Mark and Hyuck fell into step without thinking.

“I bet Jaemin’s gonna show up twenty minutes late,” Hyuck said, skipping a step on the stairs. “Holding a juice box and three different excuses.”

“Four,” Mark said. “He’s been adding new ones to his repertoire.”

Hyuck pulled out his phone. “Did you see what he sent to the group chat last night?”

“No?”

He turned the screen. “He photoshopped Jeno’s face onto a Greek statue and captioned it ‘Mythical-level crush.’”

Mark snorted. “That boy needs therapy.”

“Yeah, but not from me,” Hyuck replied, scrolling with a casual swipe. “I’m just here to witness the downfall.”

They reached the landing, the window beside the stairs cracked open. The chill outside drifted in soft, early January cold that clung to your fingertips but hadn’t yet turned brutal. The sky was overcast, pale and indecisive.

Hyuck slowed. His voice dropped, a shift so subtle it almost didn’t register. “Hey. About yesterday…”

Mark froze before the door. His grip tightened slightly on the handle.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, before Hyuck could finish. “I meant to come back sooner. I just I got caught up, and-”

“I know,” Hyuck said quietly.

And that’s what hurt the most. He did know.

Mark looked at him, the apology still clinging to his teeth. “But you waited anyway.”

Hyuck’s gaze didn’t waver. “I always do.”

It wasn’t said like a complaint.

It wasn’t even said like a fact.

It was said like a promise. And it settled between them like something irreversible.

Mark inhaled. The cold air burned a little on the way down. “You ready?”

Hyuck tilted his head, gave the smallest smile. “I was waiting on you, remember?”

Mark pushed the door open and they stepped into the morning together, shoulder to shoulder, their footsteps echoing down the quiet path like a secret neither of them had quite named yet.

The courtyard behind the student center was already humming when Mark and Hyuck stepped into it.

January sunlight glinted faintly off the frost-tipped hedges, and their breaths clouded the air in small, visible puffs. The gravel paths were damp from last night’s melt, and the benches, metal and unforgiving, radiated cold. But still, students milled around like usual, paper cups of coffee clutched between sleeves, conversations rising and falling in soft waves beneath the low canopy of winter-grey sky.

Mark tucked his hands deeper into his jacket pockets.

“Over there,” Hyuck said, nodding toward the far edge.

Sure enough, Jaemin was already occupying one of the benches like it was a chaise lounge, one leg stretched out, the other bent, head tilted as he gestured dramatically mid-story. Jisung sat beside him, hunched into his coat like a turtle, sipping from a bright yellow thermos and wearing an expression that suggested deep secondhand embarrassment.

“I swear on my future children,” Jaemin was saying, “if Jeno doesn’t reply to me by third period, I’m going to walk into the ocean.”

“You live in Seoul,” Jisung replied without blinking.

“Exactly. It’s a commitment.”

“Morning,” Mark called, stepping up onto the paved edge and letting his bag slip off his shoulder to rest beside the bench.

Jaemin turned immediately. “Well, look who remembered to be a functioning member of society.”

Hyuck snorted and leaned back against the post of a bike rack, letting the cold metal touch his shoulder like he didn’t feel it. “We made it out of bed and everything. Someone alert the press.”

Jisung raised his thermos. “Truly inspiring.”

Jaemin narrowed his eyes at Mark, then squinted theatrically. “You look suspiciously well rested today. Did you sleep? Are you possessed? Blink if you’ve signed a pact with a forgotten deity.”

Mark rolled his eyes. “Just fell asleep early. That’s it.”

“Boring,” Jaemin sighed, slumping further. “Chenle would’ve at least lied about it.”

“I’m right here,” came a voice from behind them.

Chenle slid into the group like a glitch in time, sunglasses perched high on his head despite the full cloud cover, croissants in one hand and a milk carton in the other. “Miss me?”

“No,” Renjun said dryly, appearing a step behind him like a shadow with a headache. He gave a small nod to the group, eyes unreadable, and sat down stiffly on the empty end of the bench beside Hyuck avoiding the icy surface by perching on his coat.

Mark caught the way Renjun’s sleeves were tugged down to his knuckles again.

Chenle plopped himself onto the concrete ledge of a nearby planter, unbothered by the chill. “I had a nightmare last night that I was dating Jisung.”

Jisung’s entire face twisted. “What the hell? Why?”

“I don’t know,” Chenle said. “I woke up sweating.”

“From passion?” Jaemin teased.

“From horror.”

Jisung muttered, “I hope your mark burns off.”

Chenle shrugged, biting into his croissant. “Mine doesn’t burn. Just itches when someone nearby’s being stupid.”

“So constantly,” Hyuck said flatly.

“Exactly.”

Laughter rippled through the group, easy, familiar, warm in a way that defied the cold in the air. Except for Renjun.

Mark noticed him staring down at the gravel, the tension in his jaw, his knuckles pale from how tightly he gripped his coat sleeves.

“You okay?” Mark asked under his breath.

Renjun looked up. He gave the smallest smile, more shape than feeling. “I’m fine.” But the way he said it sounded more like not now, and Mark understood enough not to push.

Across from them, Jaemin cleared his throat and attempted to look casual. The atmosphere shifted again, just slightly.

Mark glanced up just in time to see Jeno approaching from the opposite path, shoulders hunched slightly against the cold, hoodie pulled up over messy hair, the cord of his earbuds swinging loose from where they’d been tucked under his collar. There was something unhurried about his walk, like he belonged to the day more than anyone else. Effortless in the way that made people stare.

Jaemin’s posture straightened instinctively. He tried to hide it, but Mark noticed. So did Hyuck.

And as the group stirred slightly, shifting to greet or brace or pretend nothing had changed Hyuck leaned, just slightly, closer to Mark.

Not enough to touch. Not enough to make it obvious. Just enough for Mark to feel it. A steady presence in a morning that felt too full of silence and invisible threads.

Grounding. As always.

“Oh look,” Chenle murmured, voice low but already laced with mischief, “your heartbreak just entered the chat.”

Jaemin didn’t move a muscle. His fingers, which had been casually fixing his bangs a second ago, froze mid-sweep. “He’s not my heartbreak.”

“You’re literally fixing your hair.”

“I’m fixing my dignity.”

Chenle snorted behind his croissant. “Same thing.”

Jeno scanned the courtyard like he wasn’t looking for anyone, but everyone knew he was. And when his gaze landed on them, it paused.

On Jaemin.

Jeno gave a lazy wave, just two fingers lifted from his jacket pocket. A half-smile followed. The kind that was so easy, it looked rehearsed.

Jaemin sat even straighter. It was barely noticeable, just a shift in posture a breath held in his shoulders, his lips parted like he’d forgotten how to exhale. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear and adjusted his scarf like he wasn’t doing it for anyone.

“Hey, Jeno,” he said, the words polished smooth like a stone he’d been carrying too long in his palm.

“Morning.” Jeno dropped his bag near the bench with a soft thud and sat forward, elbows on knees, glancing around the group. “You guys been out here long?”

Jaemin blinked. “No. I mean-yeah. Kind of. We were just…uh, hanging out.”

Mark watched the corner of Jaemin’s mouth twitch like it wanted to smile but wasn’t sure it had permission.

“You want the last croissant?” Chenle asked, holding it up like a peace offering, then muttered under his breath, “Take it so Jaemin can tell people you shared breakfast.”

Jeno chuckled and reached for it. “Thanks, man.”

He took a bite. Jaemin watched like the moment had significance. Like the soft sound of Jeno biting into pastry was more than it was,like he wanted to memorize it. As if, somehow, this mattered.

Hyuck leaned sideways toward Mark, voice so quiet only he could hear. “He’s down bad.”

Mark didn’t even look away. “He’s not coming back from this one.”

Jaemin cleared his throat lightly, shifting again, just enough to face Jeno more directly. “So, uh… I was thinking if you’re not busy after class, maybe we could-”

“Oh.” Jeno’s voice cut in casually, not unkind, just fast. “I’ve got practice later and stuff.”

Jaemin’s lips parted, then closed again. It was quick barely a flicker, but Mark saw it. That dimming. The slight falter behind the smile. Like someone had adjusted the dial on him and turned down the brightness by mistake.

“Yeah, no, totally,” Jaemin said quickly, too quickly, smoothing the words out like they’d never snagged. “I just meant like… maybe later. Or this weekend. Or, you know, whenever. In general.”

Jeno gave that same half-smile. The one that never reached his eyes. “We’ll see.”

We’ll see.

Two syllables that sounded a lot like a door not quite closing. Not slamming shut, but clicking just enough to keep Jaemin waiting on the other side.

Mark watched his friend nod again like it was no big deal, like the disappointment didn’t settle right under his skin, like he hadn’t built up a dozen versions of this conversation in his head only to be met with that line again.

The others didn’t say anything.

But Hyuck leaned in slightly closer to Mark, his voice a thread of sympathy wrapped in sarcasm. “How many times has he been ‘we’ll see’-ed this semester?”

“Too many,” Mark murmured, his gaze still on Jaemin.

“He should file a complaint with fate,” Hyuck said. “Get a refund or a reassignment. Or at least better customer service.”

Mark didn’t answer. But he agreed.

It wasn’t just the rejection it was the kindness of it that hurt. The soft, careful way Jeno always left things open just wide enough for hope to squeeze through. Just enough for Jaemin to stay. And crueler still that he always chose to.

The courtyard had begun to shift.

Not all at once, just little signs. The slow stir of movement, the faint rustle of backpacks being slung over shoulders, glances at phones, murmured curses about the time. It was that subtle moment between lingering and leaving, when conversations thinned out and the weight of the day started to pull everyone in different directions.

Hyuck stretched, cracking his knuckles. “If I don’t go now, I’m gonna walk in late for the third time this week.”

Jisung stood too, yawning like it was a sport. “Wait, you were late last time?”

“Emotionally, yeah.”

Jaemin groaned. “You can’t be emotionally late.”

“You can if you arrive in denial,” Jisung said with a straight face.

“Tragic,” Chenle muttered, brushing crumbs off his pants as he stood. “Some of us have real professors who track attendance like it’s a religion. Move it, Jisung.”

Jisung gave him a look but followed, dragging his feet just enough to prove a point.

Hyuck leaned over and gave Mark’s arm a light tap. “Don’t disappear into a poetry spiral. Eat something real, yeah?”

Mark gave him a lopsided smile. “No promises.”

As they started to peel away group splintering like the slow undoing of a knot, Jaemin lingered behind, watching the others go.

Then, to no one in particular: “You heading to class now?” His voice was light, like it didn’t matter, but it did.

Jeno stood, adjusting the strap of his backpack. “Yeah. You?”

Jaemin nodded quickly. “Yeah. I’ll see you around?”

“Probably,” Jeno said with a half-smile, already turning away.

And just like that, he was gone.

Jaemin stood there for another beat, shoulders sinking just slightly. The smile stayed on his face, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes anymore. Then he cleared his throat and walked off in the opposite direction, hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

Hyuck hadn’t left yet. He looked down at Mark, who was still sitting on the bench, staring at the ground like he was trying to read something written in the gravel.

“You okay?” Hyuck asked, voice quieter now.

Mark nodded. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

Hyuck nudged his foot gently against Mark’s. “I’ll see you after class?”

Mark looked up. Their eyes met and in that moment, there was something unspoken between them, simple, familiar, and impossible.

“Yeah,” Mark said. “See you.”

Hyuck offered a crooked smile, the kind that felt like a promise, and then turned, walking off into the crowd of students flowing toward the academic halls.

Mark stayed behind for a moment, the bench suddenly colder without him there. The courtyard had emptied out, just a few stragglers left, a gust of wind scattering brittle leaves across the gravel.

He pulled his bag onto his shoulder, exhaled through his nose, and finally stood up.

His steps were slow at first, like part of him wasn’t quite ready to move, but the world kept spinning. So he walked too.

~~~

The back steps of the art building were always quiet this time of day.

A little cracked. A little hidden. Tucked behind ivy and chipped brick. The kind of place people forgot about unless they needed space to think.

Mark had passed by after class without planning to stop, but then he saw someone already there. Renjun, sitting on the lowest step with a sketchpad in his lap and earbuds looped loosely around his neck. He wasn’t drawing, just holding the pencil. Just staring ahead.

Mark hesitated a few steps away. “Hey.”

Renjun looked up. “Hey.”

“You want me to leave?”

Renjun shook his head, his voice easy. “You can sit. I’m not that territorial.”

Mark took the step down slowly, settling beside him with a careful gap in between. The kind of distance that wasn’t rude, it was respectful.

Neither of them spoke for a while, but  the quiet wasn’t awkward. It was almost grounding, like both of them understood that sometimes, silence said more.

Eventually, Renjun broke it. “You and Hyuck seemed better today.”

Mark blinked, caught off guard. “Better?”

Renjun gave the faintest shrug. “Less… tense. Less awkward than the beginning of the week.”

“Right.” Mark gave a small laugh. “He brought me ramen last night.”

Renjun gave the faintest shrug. “Of course he did.”

Mark looked over, catching something unreadable in Renjun’s expression. Not jealousy. Not judgment. Just knowing.

Mark glanced over at him, curious. “You think we’re soulmates.”

“I think he does.” Renjun replied.

Mark didn’t answer right away. His hand found his sleeve again, fingers brushing over the mark hidden underneath. “I don’t know what I think anymore,” he said finally. “Sometimes I look at him and everything just… clicks. Like it’s already written, like we’re halfway through some story I didn’t realize I was part of.”

Renjun didn’t interrupt, he was just listening.

“But then there’s Yuta,” Mark said, voice quieter now. “And with him, it’s not like a story already in motion. It’s like… potential. Like standing at the edge of something that hasn’t decided what it is yet.”

There was a pause.

“And I don’t know which is worse,” Mark continued. “Not knowing what you’re stepping into… or feeling like it’s already been decided for you.”

Renjun finally spoke. “You’re afraid.”

Mark nodded. “What if the one that feels warm is the one that ends up breaking me?”

Renjun didn’t look over. His voice came softly, almost like he was talking to himself. “Sometimes the ones who hurt us love us first.”

Mark’s chest tightened.

Renjun tilted his head back slightly, eyes on the clouds overhead. “You remember, I only have one mark.”

Mark nodded.

“I still don’t know what it means. Love or pain. It’s just… there. Quiet. Like a shadow that follows you, but never says what it’s waiting for.”

His fingers tightened slightly around the pencil. “Everyone talks about the burden of two,” Renjun continued. “Not knowing which one is which. But sometimes, I think one is worse.”

Mark looked over. “Why?”

Renjun’s lips curled into something wry. “Because there’s no second option. No mystery to distract you. You just wait. And when someone comes along who feels like they might fit… it’s all or nothing.”

Mark swallowed. “And if they don’t choose you?”

Renjun smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Then you pretend they were never your fate to begin with.”

The words settled between them like a stone dropped in still water.

Renjun’s gaze dropped to the gravel. His voice was quieter when he added, “Sometimes I think we’re all just waiting for someone to choose us. Mark or not.”

Mark looked down at his hands. His marks were still there. Still harmless. Still holding too much meaning in something so small.

Renjun didn’t look at him, he just closed his sketchpad, the cover snapping shut like punctuation. “Whatever happens, Mark… don’t make someone a maybe just because you’re afraid of the answer.”

And this time, Mark didn’t argue.

He just sat there beside him, the winter air cool on his skin, the quiet still full of all the things neither of them could say.