Work Text:
San Francisco weather was, to say the least, unforgiving. The bitter cold kept bodies close and hands clasped together, fingers filling in spaces oneself could not. The typical local was used to the weather - a tourist could see a native San Franciscan taking a run while the climate of the sea travelled over the entirety of the city in a jacket and shorts, while others had scarves that came up to their noses and coats heavier than their own body weight.
Mark and Jinyoung met in choir. Not in San Francisco, back in Southern California in the city of San Diego that they called home. Mark a bass and Jinyoung a tenor - their director always liked to say they were the perfect blend. Their mixed choir was on a trip to Northern California, indulged in singing joyfully in public spaces, even though their teeth chattered and could no longer feel their hands.
Jinyoung looked in awe as the boat rocked softly upon the waves, arms leaning on the side railings. The rain hours ago had come to a stop - it was slightly overcast and a bit too windy for his taste, but that wasn't able to take away the enchantment he felt as they sailed past Alcatraz, the sun slowly sinking to the horizon, its golden rays muted by the clouds. His breath hitched when his senior, that being, a year above him, comes next to him, caramel locks tousled by the gusts of wind. His jacket was thin and face a mix of things, perhaps seasick, or cold - maybe both.
“Cold?” Jinyoung hummed, cocking his head in the elder’s direction, slender fingers and hands rubbing furiously at his arms.
“A little bit? But it’s fine. You’re probably used to it, huh? It snows back in Korea. I’m just a Southern California beach boy.” His teeth clanked as he spoke, rocking back and forth on his feet, hopping to and fro to keep his blood pumping, and Jinyoung found it endearing. From there they talked about everything and nothing, all while Jinyoung made his best attempt to warm the bass up, before dumbly expressing they should go downstairs where it’s indoors.
Mark was positive there were things he would take away from their conversation - but other times, as the other spoke, he’d catch himself too caught up in the way the Korean boy’s hair fell perfectly above his sculpted eyebrows, the way his lips would curl into a pout each time he started a new sentence, the way he breathed through his diaphragm even in everyday life. But he never disengaged - everything he had to say weaved its way into Mark’s memory, the littlest details of somethings and nothings etched into the back of his head. He couldn't help how much he loved being in the other’s company.
After the boat docked itself and a short trip to Ghirardelli square, all the students were brought back and asked to return to their rooms immediately, as curfew had passed. Roommates fast asleep, Jinyoung’s phone pinged to alert him of a notification - and to no avail it was a message from Mark.
> can't sleep.
>> talk to me.
> through text? i prefer talking to you face to face.
>> let's sneak out? my room is right by the second floor parking lot. i can get through the window.
> i’ll meet you there, then.
Jinyoung found himself squeezing through the window, sitting with his back against the wall, coat wrapped tightly around his body, scarf forgotten in his pile of clothing he’d been too lazy to organize. Light footsteps scratched against the pavement, and a body plopped down next to him.
Jinyoung smiled at Mark, who was beaming back just as brightly despite the red tip of his nose and sniffles he couldn't quite control. Mark popped open a bottle of Dr. Pepper, offering another one to Jinyoung who declined politely, staring out as the lights from the pier flashed and spun, colors reflecting off the skin of Mark’s face.
“Why are you drinking a cold drink when you’re obviously freezing?” Jinyoung chuckled, observing the other closely.
“Don't be cynical. It helps with my nerves.”
“What’s there to be nervous about?”
“You.” Mark half joked, sipping on his soda to wash down the building anxiety. Lamely, he laughed it off, hoping the boy would pay no heed to the truth he’d just told.
To his luck, Jinyoung said nothing in return and instead asked Mark about his passions, and he talked about his interest in the stars and what the night holds. As a senior in high school, how he still doesn't know what he wants to do, how his parents are constantly on his tail for it.
Jinyoung took his turn to talk about his parent’s divorce, how moving to the states with his dad took a toll on him, leaving his mother and everything he knew and loved to come to a place completely foreign, live a new life with a new language and new people. Talked about all the years he spent depressed while constantly trying to strip his thick accent from his tongue, and just do it right for once.
“How about now?”
“What do you mean?”
“How are things for you now?”
“They’re good. I’m not the school’s resident FOB, and I have people who love and care for me. I get opportunities go on trips like this, have good conversations with amazing people. People who will listen and forget about the fact that I’m not one of them because of my accent. People who listen.”
Mark, visibly moved, dabbed at the tears forming in his eyes before Jinyoung could see. “I’m glad you feel loved now. That you feel important now. You deserve that more than anyone.”
“You mean that?”
“Yeah.” Mark’s lips pursed, downing the last of his soda shortly after. “I know we’ve only really spoken in choir, and we’ve only just gotten to know each other, but you’re already someone I wouldn't want to and couldn't let anything bad happen to.” The tone in his voice was uneasy, hoping he wasn't getting too ahead of himself.
Jinyoung found himself sitting closer to Mark than he had been initially, heart pounding loudly in his chest. Mark took that as a sign that what he said was okay, his own fingers trembling from something other than the frigid San Francisco air. “I’ve always found myself so enticed by the stars. Perhaps that’s why I gravitated toward you.”
“You’re absolutely stunning. I’ve never met anyone like you before.” Mark said again in a hushed voice, unconsciously leaning forward.
Their eyes met for a split second - there was hope in Mark’s eyes and an ask of confirmation. Jinyoung's eyes fluttered shuts, long eyelashes resting on the delicate skin beneath his eyes, head moving up and down once, before stopping.
Their foreheads and noses met, Mark’s breath was cold against his lips, and the elder’s fingers weaved their way through Jinyoung's, asking for confirmation once again.
Jinyoung let him, and the two am, cold San Francisco weather was long forgotten with the warmth they shared.