Chapter Text
If I wrote a book about you and how wonderful you are, I would write it everywhere.
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It’s cold. The daily below-zero temperature is something December had brought with it, and Mark wraps the comforter tighter around himself. He reaches under his jumper (last year’s Christmas gift from Donghyuck’s mother) and pulls the zipper of his sweater up all the way to his neck. He then jams his chin in it. To say that he’s freezing is an understatement.
A cold draft suddenly blows into the apartment and even though Mark has camped himself in the bathroom and shut the door and tiny window (desperate times call for desperate measures), the chill still manages to reach him. He greatly laments not heeding his boyfriend’s advice to fix the bloody broken lock on the window in the living room. And now, as he works from home (because of a cold, his reward for being dumb and stubborn [in Donghyuck’s words]), he’s paying the price.
Although already bundled in four layers, the pesky cold still proves too much for Mark to handle and he sneezes hard. He wonders why his nose hasn’t already detached from his face with all this intense sneezing that’s been happening all day. He doesn’t need to look at the mirror to know that he must resemble Rudolph (or because Donghyuck had cackled at him in the morning).
Mark goes back to the spreadsheet on his laptop (which he’s plonked atop of the toilet bowl lid), only to groan when it alerts him of its dying battery. In a moment of panic (and stupidity), Mark wildly scans the bathroom, eyes searching for charge points. He stops when panic seeps out of him, a hand coming up to smack his forehead. “What are you doing, Mark Lee,” he mutters. “Brain damaged from spreadsheets and the cold, huh.”
Still, Mark entertains the (dumb) thought of installing charge points in the bathroom. If he could, this place would be a brilliant workplace. A piece of pink fabric in the bathtub catches Mark’s eyes and he reaches for it. Only to drop it right back into the tub when he recognises it as his boyfriend’s boxers.
Okay, maybe not that hygienic as a workplace.
Since his laptop is as good as dead and he’s actually a tad hungry, Mark decides to get out of there. With his laptop balanced precariously on a hand and the corners of his comforter bunched in the other, he gets ready to shuffle out. At the door, Mark suddenly stops and sighs sufferingly. Turning back to look at the bathtub (and the piece of undergarment that’s probably soiled), he mutters a why did I fall for him before dropping the comforter and Mark reaches for Donghyuck’s boxers. He pinches it with his fingers and holds it far from him.
(On a good day, Mark wouldn’t be fussed over handling his and Donghyuck’s dirty laundry since he’s the Laundry Sweetie [in Donghyuck’s words], but it seems today isn’t one of those days.)
After dumping the laptop on the coffee table in the living room and throwing Donghyuck’s boxers in the laundry hamper and going back to the bathroom to retrieve his comforter and depositing it on the couch, Mark finally slinks into the kitchen. Tummy growling, he opens a couple of cardboards and the fridge, assesses the food items they have. Mark settles for canned mushroom soup.
It’s only when he’s trying to turn on the stove does Mark remember. Moments later, the can of mushroom soup is returned to its place in the cupboards and Mark is munching on cereal in milk. Cold cereal is the last thing he wants to be eating but Mark would rather not risk setting the kitchen, or the apartment for that matter of fact, on fire. That one time he set a piece of kitchen towel ablaze was more than enough. (Mark refuses to speak of the countless times he burnt eggs. Eggs.) So, yes, he’ll gladly wait for his boyfriend to come back and whip up dinner.
Speaking of him. “Strange,” Mark mutters as he eyes the analog clock on the living room wall. “It’s been two hours and the market isn’t even that far.” He shoves a spoonful of cereal and milk into his mouth. “Why isn’t he back yet?”
It’s as though Mark has said the magic words, for in the next second he hears the front door unlocking and an ever-familiar voice rings out–
“Sweetie, I’m home!”
–and warmth instantly washes over Mark.
Even though the comforter around him has slid off his shoulders and left him bundled in only three layers, Mark doesn’t feel like heat is leaving him and that his body temperature is dropping. If anything, he feels warmer, body heating up. It’s not hard to know why.
“Cereal,” Donghyuck deadpans as he traipses over to Mark and looms over him. Mark tilts his head up and gives his boyfriend a sheepish smile. Donghyuck ignores it. “Don’t we have canned soup? I’m pretty sure we stocked up on ramyun, too, babe.”
Mark pouts at Donghyuck’s disapproving tone but shoves yet another spoon of cereal into his mouth. He’s about to speak when he meets with Donghyuck’s eyes. They’re narrowed. Mark promptly shuts up (not that he’s said anything in the first place) and starts chewing, utterly cowed under his boyfriend’s glare because if there’s anything Donghyuck detests the most, it’s Mark talking with food in his mouth.
(In Mark’s defence, he blames Donghyuck’s company dinner. It allowed Donghyuck to dress up and made him so fucking handsome that evening [not that he isn’t usually, but].
For that dinner, Donghyuck had cleaned up nicely. He brought out his two-piece suit and shiny dress shoes. He artfully styled his hair and combed the strands that usually obscured his forehead up and away from it. And while Donghyuck does makeup on a daily basis for his internship and on dates with Mark, it was nothing compared to what he had done that evening.
For, oh god, not only had he lined those beautiful eyes of his with kohl, he’s smeared his eyelids with a palette of dark, glittery eyeshadows Mark hasn’t seen before.
[“Yeah, the palette’s new. Bought it for the dinner.” was Donghyuck’s reply when Mark asked him about it over breakfast the following morning.
Then, he smirked. “I knew it’d fuck you up.”]
That night, Mark saw an entire universe on Donghyuck’s face. There were stars around and in his eyes, and a constellation over his cheeks since Donghyuck never conceals the splatter of moles on his face. [Which he only started doing after Mark kept wiping the concealer off his boyfriend’s beauty marks and kissing them amidst Donghyuck’s protests of no public display of affection, Mark!!]
Donghyuck looked so damn fucking beautiful that evening, Mark wanted to cry and sing praises and kneel in front of his gorgeous boyfriend and worship him—exaggerations, but Mark did kneel down to lace Donghyuck’s dress shoes.
Enveloped in his awe of Donghyuck, Mark forgot about the sugared donut his mouth was full of and all but spluttered, “Fuck, you’re hot.”
His barely-chewed pieces of donut flew out of his mouth and onto the carpet.
Donghyuck was not pleased.)
“What do I do with you, sweetie…” Donghyuck sighs, fingers coming up to pinch his nose bridge.
Mark swallows the cereal in his mouth. “Let me finish my cereal in peace?”
The deadpanned expression on Donghyuck’s face is, as always, impressive and Mark’s certain he shouldn’t have said that. But what’s done is done. Spilt milk can’t be returned to the carton.
“I need a drink,” Donghyuck abruptly says and he makes his way to the kitchen, seemingly to retrieve a can of beer. Mark knows there’s a pack of six in the fridge; they did just go to the supermarket the day before on Sunday. He sees Donghyuck emerging from the kitchen with a can and he would have been able to crack it open if not for Mark who suddenly launches himself at his boyfriend. They end up on the parquet flooring.
“Oi, give it back!” Donghyuck yells as he attempts to wrestle the (poor) can of beer out of Mark’s hand. Unfortunately, he’s a tad shorter than his boyfriend and although they’re tussling on the floor, Mark still has the upper hand with his hand stretched beyond his head.
Ignoring his boyfriend’s loud protests, Mark gently pushes Donghyuck off of him and he quickly goes to the kitchen to store the can back into the fridge. He stands in front of it for good measure, in case Donghyuck gets any ideas of wanting the alcohol back. The glare on Donghyuck’s face is very telling; Mark’s not taking any chances. He deadpans, “No one drinks in broad daylight.”
Donghyuck’s face immediately warps into that of disbelief. “I do! And daylight is almost ending!”
Mark knows when he’s being out-argued (which happens more often than not because Donghyuck). So, he promptly ends the conversation with a fake cough and says, “Well, no drinking for you or have you forgotten how we met? When you got drunk and was almost assaulted by that drunk man–”
The disbelief on Donghyuck’s face grows. “It was one time!” He pushes himself off the floor. “I was drunk once and you make it sound like I’ve committed a crime,” Donghyuck hisses as he stomps into the kitchen and crowds onto Mark, face glaring up at him.
“One time is enough!” Mark doesn’t back down (not when he knows he’s taller and he, well, usually wins most [read: 6%] of their arguments). He glares back. “And if I wasn’t jogging on that path that night who knows what would have happened to you–”
“You don’t know what would have happened–”
“And after I saved you, you even asked me to stay to protect you while you continued to drink and rant to me.”
“… Dumbest decision I ever made,” mutters Donghyuck. There’s a defeated expression on his face and Mark knows the argument is almost over. “For the record, I was drunk.”
The pout on Donghyuck’s face is, as always, adorable and Mark can’t help but smile, fondness defining his expression. He’s not truly angry at his boyfriend. Probably won’t be but who knows. Maybe one day they’ll have a terrible quarrel and Mark might just actually be mad at Donghyuck but this time, he isn’t. Instead, Donghyuck’s growing pout is making him want to kiss his boyfriend’s lips.
Which Mark does, catching Donghyuck off-guard by dipping his head down for a quick peck on the lips. He pulls away with a pout of his own as he mock-disappointingly says, “Are we truly having this argument six years six months and twenty-eight days into our relationship, Hyuck?”
“…”
Then, what happens next occurs as naturally and easy as though it’s happened a whole lot of times before this. Mark opens his arms at the same time Donghyuck steps into them and presses his forehead against Mark’s as Mark wraps his arms around his boyfriend. Two pairs of eyes meet, fondness and affection spilling out and onto cheeks itching to rise.
“I’m sorry.”
Like clockwork, both Mark and Donghyuck apologise at the same time. And, then, their itching cheeks are allowed to rise as smiles form on their faces.
Mark’s lips are brushing against Donghyuck’s when he whispers against them, “May I kiss you, sweetheart?”
Rolling his eyes (fondly), Donghyuck whispers back a yes of course doofus before Mark presses his lips onto his boyfriend’s.
Suddenly, Mark’s stomach growls. He buries his face into Donghyuck’s neck when Donghyuck barks out in laughter.
“How does french toast sound for tea break, and pizza for dinner sound?”
“Perfect,” replies Mark as he leans into for another kiss.
(“How does a french kiss sound right now?”
“You do know that I’m trying to make you tea break, right?”
“Fine. I’ll just…”
“Ugh, fine. Come back here and fucking shove your tongue down my throat, Mark Lee.”)
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With the bubbles in your bath water, I would spell out that you are adorable.
---
“I swear to god, Lee Donghyuck.”
“No!”
“Come here!”
“No! The answer is still no!”
“I swear–” Mark lunges at his boyfriend, his head barely missing the edge of the coffee table as he lands on the carpet in a heap and with a loud oof. “LEE DONGHYUCK!”
Peering into the living room from the doorway, Donghyuck sticks out his tongue in mischief. “You can yell at me all you want, sweetie, but my answer is still a big, fat NO.”
“It’s just a bath,” says Mark exasperatingly as he rolls over to lie on his back, eyes darting to look at his cheeky, misbehaving boyfriend. For a split second, Mark once again wonders why did I fall for him?
“It’s not just a bath!” Donghyuck shrieks. “It’s a bath taken with one of your weird bath bombs! I don’t wanna smell like a new car!”
Mark is offended. Those weird bath bombs were birthday gifts from his mother (amongst all the other bath essentials and food items he’d gotten in the mail from his parents in Canada). Also, having sniffed every single one of those bath bombs, Mark genuinely likes their scents. He’s 100% (read: 66%) certain that none of them smell like new cars. (Or at least to his nose they don’t.)
“It’s just one bath, Hyuck.”
“One bath too many!” Donghyuck immediately retorts. He’s still hiding behind the living room doorframe, fingers cutely curled around the wooden structure.
Mark sighs. “Okay. Fine.” Pushing himself up to a sitting position, Mark looks at Donghyuck straight-on, eyes unblinking. “If you don’t want to smell like a new car, then what do you want to smell like?”
A thoughtful expression flits onto Donghyuck’s face. “Hmm,” he hums, an index coming up to tap at his chin. “Christmas?”
“How does one smell like Christmas?” Mark wonders, tone incredulous. “You wanna smell like… Santa Claus?”
An emotion akin to horror instantly floods Donghyuck’s scrunched-up face. “Ew, what!? No! I– I don’t want to smell like an old geezer!” He sticks his tongue out at Mark again. “Anyway, if you want me to take a bath with a bath bomb, make sure it smells like Christmas!”
With that, Donghyuck disappears from the doorway, leaving behind a confused Mark.
Where do I find Christmas-scented bath bombs??
And, most importantly, what does Christmas even smell like??????
A bath bomb sails through the air in a beautiful arc and… lands in the bin next to Mark with a loud thunk.
Mark absentmindedly peers into the bin, heart sinking at the sight of the new ecru-coloured arrival. Apparently, toffee nut doesn’t smell like Christmas. He sighs. Six down, twenty-two to go.
Pain suddenly erupts at the back of his head. Two seconds later, a coffee-coloured bath bomb (tauntingly) rolls into Mark’s field of vision. Christmas doesn’t smell like coffee either, huh.
“Sorry,” Donghyuck apologises; Mark doesn’t hear any note of an apology in his boyfriend’s tone. “Your big head was in the way.”
Mark frowns. “Rude.”
“Sweetie, what’s rude are these bath bombs,” retorts Donghyuck. He brings up a green-coloured bomb up to his nose. A sniff. “These—ugh, artificial pine scent—wannabe Christmas bath bombs.”
The thunk of that (poor) bath bomb landing in the bin doesn’t faze Mark as he, for the umpteenth time in that hour, sighs. “They’re all from the store’s Christmas collection, Hyuck.”
Donghyuck snorts. “Some Christmas collection.”
Mark bites on his lower lip as Donghyuck sends yet another bath bomb sailing into the bin. He bites down harder when another leaves his boyfriend’s hands after a sniff. And the pressure on Mark’s lower lip only increases with every rejected bath bomb.
“C’mon, sweetheart.” Mark pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “One has to smell like your definition of Christmas.”
“Well,” Donghyuck drawls. “I do have a bath bomb that smells like my definition of Christmas.” There’s a glint in Donghyuck’s eyes and a knowing smirk on his face. In his hands is a bath bomb that Mark doesn’t recall purchasing alongside the ones he got at the store. He would have remembered its colours of red and green if he did. Donghyuck must have gotten it on his own.
At his boyfriend’s sudden change of demeanour, Mark unconsciously gulps, inexplicably feels nervous. “Y-Yeah, and what s-scent is that bomb you’ve got there?”
“Why don’t you find out when I take a bath?”
(“I’m surprised you didn’t visit me in the bathroom just now, sweetie.”
“Says the person who locked the door.”
“Aww, is my baby upset?”
“… No.”
“You are!”
“I’m not!”
“You are~”
“I’m– Why do you smell like watermelon?”
“Because that's the scent of the bath bomb, duh.”
“Watermelon doesn’t smell like Christmas.”
“To you, it doesn’t. But to me, sweetie, it does.”
“And… why’s that?”
“Mm, because watermelons are your favourite fruits and you smell like one most of the time. And since my definition of Christmas is you, naturally my definition of a Christmas scent would be a watermelon scent.”
“… Cute.”
“Thanks, sweetie, I know.”
“… My definition of Christmas is you, too, Hyuck.”
“Great! Does this mean you’ll be willing to take a bath with a sunflower-scented bath bomb?”
“Sur– Wait, what!?”)