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Mark is nine when he’s swinging on the old swing set - his old swing set, as he likes to think of it - at the playground across the street from his house. He always comes here after school, passes the afternoons climbing and jumping from the jungle gym or kicking a ball around between his friends in the adjacent field, making the most of the warmth before winter blows in with its chill.
Mark kicks his feet to swing higher and higher when he spots a boy walking toward the swingset. The boy looks younger than Mark (He must be a third grader, Mark thinks), brown hair falling into a round face. Mark drags his feet in the sand to slow his swing and say hello, when a couple with a small child come from behind and claim the one empty swing on Mark’s left.
Mark sees the boy’s face fall and immediately plants his feet and calls out. “Wait!” The other boy’s head snaps up and he looks at Mark. “We... can take turns on this one, if you want?”
The smile that meets Mark is blinding, and makes him smile widely in return as he hops off the swing and moves to the side.
“Are you sure? Thanks!” He moves toward the swing and sits. “I’m Donghyuck.”
“I’m Mark! It’s okay, the other swing squeaks like crazy anyway. We can share this one!”
Donghyuck grins at Mark again, who sits in the grass a few feet away, before taking off, wind blowing the messy hair from his face. Within a few minutes the child on the other swing begins to whine, and the couple smiles politely at Mark and Donghyuck before leading their child away and toward the slides.
Mark hops up and claims the empty swing immediately, backing up and letting go into a full swing, both of them cringing as the shrieking of the old metal swing set creaks above them.
“Aww, now I’m stuck on the squeaky one!!” Mark whines, only to receive a hearty laugh from Donghyuck as he flies by on his own swing. Mark catches up with him quickly, and they fall into a matched rhythm, daring each other to see who can go higher.
They playfully argue who is, in fact, swinging higher, when Donghyuck finally looks over to Mark and gives him a real challenge: “Hey, wanna see who can jump off farther?”
Mark smiles back at him, “You’re on! But if you lose, you’re getting the squeaky swing next time.”
Mark is 13 when he starts high school. His new school is on the opposite side of town from his house and the small playground he’d now spent years at wasting time with Donghyuck, chasing a soccer ball around the field, hogging the swings as they swayed slightly and played Nintendo DS together, staging intense snowball fights (NO, Donghyuck yells from behind his makeshift fortress made of snow, THIS IS WAR), smiles bright as the sun when the winter had turned everything grayscale.
High school brings less time to play, more homework, different circles of friends. But Mark still finds most of his time spent with Donghyuck, his best friend, who barges into his house after school to play his PS3, who performs overdramatized reenactments of the drama happening at Mark’s old school, who he drags to church with him on Sunday mornings when they’d fallen asleep curled up together watching a movie the night before.
Donghyuck, who still races Mark to the swingset to beat him to the not squeaky swing (“It’s not fair to trip me every time, Hyuck!” Donghyuck laughs back, “Maybe you just play too nice!”), long conversations drawn into dusk, swinging anywhere from who would win in a fight between Jackie Chan and Black Widow, to why Mark feels like his own mother doesn’t have time for him. The latter ends in a hand linked in his, warm and reassuring.
Donghyuck, his best friend, who Mark finds swinging slowly one chilly February day, hands buried deep in his jacket pockets, face clouded with thoughts.
“What’s wrong, Hyuck?”
Donghyuck doesn’t even bother asking how Mark knew something was wrong; he stares at the ground and waits just a moment as Mark settles into the other swing. “I think I like boys.”
Mark pauses. “Oh.”
“Sorry, that was sudden-“
“No, it’s - it’s okay! It’s, uh. It’s cool.”
Donghyuck finally turns to face Mark, brows drawn together. “Is it?” Mark nods and smiles, but Donghyuck sighs, “Some guys at school say-“
“Some guys at school don’t matter, Hyuck. They can come talk to me if they have a problem with you.” Mark sees Donghyuck’s face soften, but the troubled look doesn’t go away entirely, so he continues, “Plus, within a few months we’ll be in school together again, and I won’t let anyone pick on you if I’m around.”
Mark leans over and grabs Donghyuck’s arm, linking with him and causing them both to sway awkwardly side to side in the swings, bright smiles returned to their faces and metal screeching overhead.
(I think I like boys too, Mark admits four months later, when the trees are green again, and the sun glints off the metal legs of the swingset. But, uh, I think I still like girls too? Mark adds.
I think I like you too, Mark leaves unspoken.)
Mark is 16 when Donghyuck’s mom calls him at 10 PM, worry lining her voice, and tells him that Donghyuck left the house very upset several hours ago and hadn’t come back yet, and is he with you?
Mark peeks through his blinds to see a shadow swaying on the swings across the street, head down and hidden in the dim street lights. “Yeah, he’s with me.”
“My mom called you, didn’t she.” Donghyuck says, more than asks, when Mark settles next to him without a word.
“Yeah. She sounded really worried.”
Donghyuck hums noncommittally. “Did she tell you anything?”
“No, she just said you were upset when you left.” Mark answers quietly.
“They’re getting divorced. My parents.”
“I’m sorry, Hyuck.”
“It’s not your fault, genius.” Donghyuck finally looks up, and Mark can see that his eyes are red and tired, their usual spark dulled. “Not my fault either, apparently. That’s what they kept telling me. This is our issue, Hyuckie, you’ve done nothing wrong, we’re still gonna be a family,” Donghyuck mimics, surrounding the last word with air quotes. He looks over to Mark. “How can we be a family if my parents don’t even like each other anymore?”
Mark reaches his hand out, grabbing Donghyuck’s from his hold on the metal chain, to hang their hands linked between the swings. “Families come in all shapes and sizes.”
“Yeah… yeah, I guess so. Everything’s just gonna be so… different.”
“Different doesn’t necessarily mean bad, Hyuck. And not - not everything has to change.” Mark squeezes his hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”
A small smile finally touches Donghyuck’s lips, and he runs his thumb across the back of Mark’s hand, looking back down at the ground in front of him.
“I just wish things didn’t have to change so much.”
But Mark is still by his side, Mark’s hand is still warm in his, and the old metal links above them still squeak, and Donghyuck thinks that maybe things will be okay.
Mark is 18 when he’s running down the street as fast as he can, trailing a few feet behind Donghyuck, sweaty in the summer heat. “You BITCH, give that BACK!”
“Language, Mark! What would your mother say?” Donghyuck gasps dramatically.
“You got the last popsicle last time, come on!”
Donghyuck turns on his heels to run backwards for a moment, and exaggeratedly bites off half the popsicle in his hand, face taunting. Mark immediately picks up his speed and Donghyuck takes off again, leading him around the corner, through a field and into their small playground.
Donghyuck flings himself onto the (non-squeaky) swing and quickly sucks the last chunk of the popsicle off the stick. Mark, out of breath and hair sticking to his forehead, arrives just in time to receive a shit-eating grin of victory, and plops himself on the other swing.
“Rude.”
Donghyuck continues to smile victoriously at him. “Oh come on, Jeno’s mom will buy more tomorrow, she always does.”
“But it’s hot right now!” Mark whines half-heartedly.
Donghyuck lifts the popsicle stick to his face to inspect. “Aha! There are still some drops on the stick!” He moves to stand in front of Mark and grabs hold of the chain just below Mark’s left hand, backing him up in the swing enough to bring him to eye level, crowding into his space.
“Hyuck, I don’t want a dro-“ Mark’s words are muffled by a popsicle stick being shoved in his mouth, Donghyuck’s eyebrows lifting in a Happy now? type of look.
Mark’s expression stays unimpressed. “It just tastes like popsicle stick, and it wasn’t even cold anymore,” Mark says, after covering Donghyuck’s hand with his own to move the stick away from his mouth. He leads their hands to the other chain, and they grip it together lightly, hands still linked. “But thanks,” he adds sarcastically.
“Anything for you, sweetie,” Donghyuck says overly sweetly and softly, leaning toward Mark with fluttering eyelashes and earning an eye roll in response.
“Anything except an actual bite, apparently,” Mark answers, voice dropping to quiet, fighting a smile and a blush at how close Donghyuck’s face is to his.
“Oh!” Donghyuck replies with sudden feigned concern, turning his head and leaning even closer. “You wanted a bite of that? You should have said something, Mark.”
Mark’s face finally breaks into a smile and he shakes his head. “Asshole,” he sighs with no venom behind the word. He can feel the exhale of Donghyuck’s laughter on his face.
“At least a taste would’ve been nice,” Mark adds even more quietly, whispering into the small space between them, keeping his eyes locked with Donghyuck’s.
Mark isn’t expecting Donghyuck to close the last distance between them, but when they come together it’s gentle, a brush of lips still cold from the popsicle against warm, a soft sigh of relief, a suddenness but with a quiet feeling that it’s right, that it’s been years. Their lips press together for a long moment before Mark opens his mouth slightly to deepen it and their lips move together, hearts soaring.
Mark finally tastes Donghyuck, and he tastes like sweet cherry syrup. He tastes like summer, like the sun, like a decade of intimacy, like friendship and warmth.
(Sorry, man, looks like I’m fresh out of popsicles, Jeno says when they’ve met back up.
It’s okay, Mark smiles, Donghyuck gave me a taste of his.)
Mark is 19 when he leaves for college. It’s not even an hour away but Donghyuck pretends like it’s the end of the world, helping him move into his dorm and staging a melodramatic farewell and deep kiss when he has to say goodbye. Mark sends him off with a laugh and countless promises.
I miss you already, Donghyuck texts Mark later that night, swinging slowly in the dark.
He uses the squeaky swing so it’s not so quiet.
Mark is still 19 when he first says I’m in love with you, looking at Donghyuck beside him, bathed in the setting April sun, and the words spill out of his heart and mouth before he can stop them. (Not that he would try to.)
Donghyuck’s returning smile rivals the sun glinting off the old metal around them. Both are a familiar light, soft and golden. Both are home.