Archive of Our Own

Hiding isn’t Mark’s forte.

Jisung finds him sitting inside an empty practice room, pressing his palms against his headphones, as if that could block the rest of the world. It can’t.

The music blooming inside his ears doesn’t protect him from watching Jisung’s expression, from the way he strides towards him in fury. His frown is visible even beneath his cap, beneath his blond bangs, and any other person would be a bit scared of him. Mark isn’t a coward, so he doesn’t flinch, but he curses when Jisung snatches the headphones away, both of them fumbling and Mark receiving an accidental hit on his right eye – either from Jisung or the headphones, he’s not sure.

“If you don’t want the solo, I will take it,” Jisung defies him, clutching the headphones so hard that Mark can’t help but think that he’s being intimidated. It’s not an unusual event in his life, though such threats often come from Jaemin, since it’s hard to piss Jisung off enough for him to lose respect for Mark. “I’ll walk into that meeting and steal your spot.”

It’s an empty threat. Mark is the only one who has had the chance to release solos, because his popularity allows him to, and the company isn’t interested in making money out of any other member. Yet it’s not that easy for Mark: he has to carry that weight on his back, the responsibility of representing everyone and make them proud and still enjoy his job.

Five minutes before the meeting, he’s hiding in this room for a very specific reason: another failure will tear him apart. His first solo album was a great success, but none of it was produced or written by him; Mark was given the songs, executed them and soaked in the results.

Then he was allowed to compose for a digital release, a couple of singles that were supposed to make the waiting for his second album shorter – in between, he had promoted with his group, and all of them talked about him with prideful, sparkling eyes. But the industry was harsh, especially towards those that were on the top, and no one had dared to give Mark constructive criticism while he worked on the new songs.

Mark had loved his two songs with his whole heart, but he had been the only one.

“You know?” Mark says, blinking at Jisung and rubbing his eyes. “I think you should. I don’t want to do this.”

Jisung is baffled at that response, but that’s the reason why he grabs Mark by his ear and leads him out of the room. At the stairs, they cross paths with Sungchan, who releases a relieved sigh and dramatically seizes his chest, so Mark can assume that the whole group was sweeping the building to find him.

Mark should be embarrassed, but he’s feeling like a kid with an irrational fit of stubbornness, and he’d act the same in front of any of his other members. He’s lucky that it was Jisung who found him, however, because Mark wouldn’t have been able to look Jaemin into the eye after this behavior of his.

“Everything will run smoothly,” Sungchan assures him, trailing behind Jisung and him like he intends to watch their backs. “We told the manager that you were in the bathroom suffering a little accident, that they shouldn’t worry and you’d get here soon.”

This is what happens when Mark retreats and lets them be in the line of fire. He has gone through worse lies, so a bunch of producers assuming that he needed to use the bathroom shouldn’t be too shameful. That’s way better than admitting that he was running around the building like a kid escaping from a vaccine; which is an eerily accurate comparison, because Mark is about to get his career vaccinated after experiencing the worst type of disease: a public failure.

Jisung doesn’t give him time to consider running away again. As soon as they reach the meeting room, Sungchan grabs the doorknob and pulls, and with the best teamwork they’ve shown in the last three years, Jisung shoves Mark into the room. Neither of them care about the subtle detail that Mark will make his appearance by stumbling inside.

Then Mark is alone, bowing a dozen times and apologizing for being late. Everyone is waiting for him, and some of them are very familiar faces, since at least three of them are producers that were involved in his first album and other two are famous idols. But there is someone else, someone new, and when Mark glances at him, he swears the time freezes around him.

At first, the boy catches Mark’s attention because he looks young, too young to be surrounded by producers of such caliber. It’s not weird to find young prodigies in their world, but they’re usually other rappers and singers, not simple producers – it’s harder to make a living so soon in an industry so dependent on connections rather than talent.

But after a second look, when Mark is close enough to inspect his face, his youth isn’t what stuns Mark. Mark knows him.

He could have never forgotten him, the delicacy of his jaw and the way his dark, smart eyes shine under the lights, or the sound of his voice when he greets Mark, soft and calm yet confident. And he’s still shorter than him, but his smile is even more beautiful, or perhaps it’s because his smiles are unabashed now. It has been just a few years, but he hasn’t changed enough for Mark to mistake him for another boy.

It’s Huang Renjun. And judging the lack of reaction on his part, Renjun doesn’t remember him.

It was a matter of putting two and two together. Mark is a fool.

Mark drops his bag by the door as he walks into the living room and grumbles, “This is a sign of the universe for me not to go solo again.”

Most of the group is reunited in the living room, though they weren’t waiting for him. Jaemin and Sungchan are cuddling under a blanket, eating popcorn on the couch and ignoring everything except each other; Chenle is next to them, but he’s watching a horror movie, his body turned into a ball. Jisung is behind the couch, marking the steps to who knows what song, even though it’s past midnight and the last thing he should do is dance. Jeno is nowhere to be seen, so Mark supposes he’s fast asleep.

All of them crack their heads to look at Mark, their expressions filled with either concern or indifference – the latter isn’t unjustified, because Mark has been complaining a lot lately.

“What happened?” Jisung is the first one to ask, shoulders slumping in the middle of his dance session. “Is Doyoung producing?”

“God, I’d prefer Doyoung,” Mark replies. Those words create a commotion in the room. Mark had a horrible time during his first album thanks to Doyoung, because Doyoung was ruthless, exigent and didn’t take Mark’s opinions in consideration; Mark appreciates him as a friend, but he hopes not to work with him ever again. “It’s Rikatt.”

It takes them a moment to process the name. Mark knows that it’s enough, though.

“Rikatt?” Jaemin repeats, pushing the blanket downwards to spin around and stare at Mark more comfortably. Mark’s ego would be pleased at the marvel in his face in other circumstances, but not today. “The one that produced for Lee Donghyuck last year?”

The one that produced the best song of Lee Donghyuck’s career, the best selling song from last year, that song that still plays everywhere Mark goes, all under a producer nickname. Mark has been hearing, singing and dancing to a product that Renjun created, not knowing it was him.

“Yeah,” is all Mark can answer.

Sungchan gasps out loud, and as theatrical as he is, he covers his mouth as well.

“Dude, that’s amazing!” he says, voice muffled by his own hand. And yes, this is the moment in which Mark should respond with a smile, but he doesn’t. The mood dies down in the blink of an eye. “Wait, why are you sulking?”

Mark walks over to the couch and sits on the only free space for him. Jisung follows him and lets himself fall on the armrest, slightly hovering over Mark, as to wait for a story.

“I know him,” Mark confesses with a sigh. He doesn’t feel pressured by all the eyes on him, because who else would he tell this if not his teammates? “His real name is Huang Renjun.”

That doesn’t give them any valuable information, but for Mark it’s a big step. He hasn’t said that name out loud in four years.

He deliberately ignores how Chenle and Jisung exchange a glance while he’s between them, as if they had their own private language. Then Chenle nudges Mark’s arm, gentle. “Okay, spill.”

The thing is, Mark has never told this to anyone. It made sense to keep it a secret because it was a big deal back then, but after a few years Mark has a detached perspective, and even if he’s overwhelmed by the situation, he’s not afraid of talking about it.

“I was in love with him in high school.” Mark feels his mouth go dry, and much to his shock, Jisung outright scoffs next to him. Without an ounce of hesitation, Mark slaps his arm with so much strength that Jisung nearly falls off the armrest. “Don’t fucking laugh! I mean it. I know the difference between being in love and a whim.”

Jisung presses his lips into a tight line, trying not to laugh and to keep his balance on the armrest at the same time. Mark rolls his eyes.

“And?” Chenle encourages him, because it shouldn’t matter that Mark was in love with him in high school. All of them have liked someone before, except maybe Jeno.

“He was dating one of my friends,” Mark adds. And that does the trick: the silence expands among them, heavy and loud. Jisung looks like he has been punched in the face, which happens terribly often, so Mark isn’t surprised. That’s not the whole story, however, and Mark gives them a challenging look, one by one, and says, “I fell for him after they started dating.”

“Oh my god,” Sungchan mumbles under his breath. “Does he know?”

Renjun never knew. Perhaps he intuited it, because Mark wears his feelings on his sleeve even now, even when he has learned to repress most of them in public. But Mark never verbalized his feelings, they never discussed it, and if Renjun suspected, he didn’t bring it up.

After high school ended, Mark was grateful of how parted to complete separate ways, how they lost track of each other. Mark didn’t have any right to keep him close, anyhow, because for Renjun he was a mere acquaintance, his boyfriend’s friend rather than his own friend.

“This is the funniest part. He doesn’t remember who I am.”

“How is that even possible?” Chenle says, a frown on his face. “He had to see you on TV, even more if he’s a music producer.”

Mark shrugs, unable to disclose that Renjun must have never given him any importance. It’s easy to forget people that one never paid attention to.

No one speaks for a while, though Jaemin elbows Sungchan in what he thinks is a discreet way, and Mark leans back on the couch, tired from all the emotional stress. Jisung pats his head, despite his previous mockery, but he doesn’t have any words for him.

And then Mark finds Jaemin staring at him, with a smile that is becoming bigger and bigger by the second, not an innocent, loving smile.

“Is he pretty?” Jaemin asks, like the conversation they’ve just had was secondary and this, his question, is the most important thing in the universe.

Mark doesn’t hesitate to grip the closest cushion to him and hurls it at Jaemin’s face with all his strength.

“Fuck off, Jaemin, it’s not the time,” he protests.

Jaemin screams at the attack, but Sungchan intercepts the cushion before it can hit him, and both of them cling onto it afterwards. Mark hates that, out of the blue, all his friends are gazing at him with clear expectations of an answer. This is what happens when you put too many friends in a dorm and isolate them from the world, Mark supposes. They only think about one thing.

“Come on, you’re going to spend a lot of time with him,” Jaemin reasons. It’s the opposite of a consolation, because Mark is aware of that and that’s the reason he’s so scared. “And you had a crush on him. I wanna know if he’s pretty.”

“Do you realize that I’m trying to feel better, not worse?”

Jaemin deadpans. “I realize. And I’m asking if he’s pretty.”

Mark has to take a deep breath, because if it depended on him, he’d strangle the person at hand, and Chenle doesn’t deserve that.

“Fine.” Mark gives himself a moment, because he hasn’t stopped to contemplate it. The shock of meeting Renjun had blinded everything else, his capacity of analyzing him as well. Maybe if Mark took a step back, he could see Renjun as he is, not as his first love. “He’s… I don’t know. He hasn’t changed much, but pretty is an understatement now.”

It’s better not to have expectations in life, like the expectation of his friends respecting his emotions. But Mark is used to the heartless teasing, has normalized it to some extent, so he doesn’t feel sad when Jaemin cackles out loud in response.

“Gross,” Sungchan points out, his face scrunched up in disgust. “You still like him.”

“Well, do you think he’d be so worried if he didn’t?” Chenle retorts, and damn, he has a point, a point that Mark didn’t think of.

Instead of getting involved in the upcoming fight, Mark stands up and brushes imaginary dust off his jeans. His friends stare up at him with wide eyes, not understanding the reaction, and Mark merely touches the underside of Chenle’s chin as a goodbye.

“Good night, monsters,” he tells them.

As Mark darts into the hall, he hears Jisung yell in indignation, “You hurt his feelings!”

“Go apologize,” Sungchan grumbles, though he sounds quite amused.

And it’s Jaemin, who must be the one being targeted, who replies, “You apologize, you told him it was gross!”

Mark doesn’t mind, for his friends are right, and right in scary ways. Why should he care that his first love is back in his life? Perhaps it’s not a sign for him to renounce to his solo career, but an opportunity to get closure.

After four years, Mark has had plenty of time to overcome his feelings. He has dated a couple of guys so far, and he had brushed Renjun’s existence off his mind until now; it should be easy to keep up with his routine. Renjun is going to work with him, not to become friends with him, and definitely nothing else.

Mark didn’t know they were going to be alone today.

 “Your preferences matter, okay?” Renjun swings on his seat, serious. “The song is pretty much done, but we’re adapting it to you now.”

Renjun is nice. He looks nice, too, with a dark blue sweater on and his round glasses; his hair is black, though Mark can tell that it’s dyed, black over another color, so he can’t help but wonder what color Renjun wore before.

Even if Renjun doesn’t treat him like a celebrity, Mark is still nervous. His tone has some indulgence to it, and it’s weird, because Renjun is younger than him and despite his success, Mark has had a longer career in the industry. Mark isn’t used to being treated like an equal, like an inferior almost, and he can’t decide if he appreciates it or not.

Mark nods. Most producers wouldn’t let him touch their songs, so he’s both excited and scared. “Sure.”

Not staring at Renjun is hard, especially when Renjun sets his sight on the computer and Mark is free of judgment. Mark watches the small furrow of his eyebrows, his concentration, as he finds the song to play it for him. Then the music starts, and though Renjun doesn’t look at him, Mark can’t say the same thing about himself.

He’s familiar with this: showing something that he created to a stranger. Renjun doesn’t seem to be agitated, but Mark knows better. This moment is nerve-wrecking, and it is for Mark too, because this is going to decide his future.

The song isn’t a ballad, but it’s slow. It’s melancholic, sad, and the singer transmits anything but pain. And overall, it’s alive; it carries a whole person in it, and Mark doesn’t remember Renjun this way, but he can read him better from the song than from his face, his words and his presence.

Twenty seconds in, and Mark’s body is invaded by goosebumps, his guts twisting within. How is he going to perform this song? How is he going to record it, even? It feels too personal. Not too personal only for Renjun, as if Renjun had poured his whole heart in it, but also for Mark. It’s ironical that Renjun has written this; Mark could easily sing it to him.

When silence arrives, Mark gets drawn out of his daze, and Renjun whirls to look at him, eyebrows raised.

Mark can’t give his true opinion: that it’s heartbreaking. So instead he lets his confusion flow and he says, “I can’t sing, you know that, right?” He sings sometimes, but it’s not good. No one is teaching him either. “Like at all.”

Renjun doesn’t answer at first, and if it wasn’t because his eyes display something akin to tenderness, Mark would believe he’s about to get scolded. He should have complimented the song, because it deserves it, because it’s rude not to, because-

“That’s a pity, because you will sing,” Renjun tells him, and the corner of his lips quirk up at Mark’s dumbfounded expression. “I’ve heard you, there’s potential in your voice.”

It’s hard for Mark not to be flustered at such compliment. He’s not in charge of singing; it’s passable at best, and plainly bad when he compares himself to his teammates.

“This is a bit-” Mark thinks about it. A word that doesn’t mean I don’t want to do it. The song is amazing, and Mark’s greed claims it, but he’s afraid he will ruin it. “Vertiginous.”

Renjun bends his head to the side, not able to hide his surprise. “That’s such a big word.” And then he laughs, laughs like Mark remembered his laughter was like, and his heart tries to leap out of his chest. His laugh is deeper, but it’s the same. “Vertiginous.”

Mark is too embarrassed to laugh along, or too disoriented to behave like a normal person, so he distractedly plays with his hands on his lap. Renjun notices, and his mirth disappears right away to be substituted by concern.

“Trust me, yeah?” he says, softer, looking for reassurance in Mark’s eyes.  His glasses slip down his nose, and he has to push them back up with his index finger. “I know what I’m doing. This is my song, I wouldn’t give it to you if I thought you’re going to do a horrible job.”

It’s Mark’s turn to laugh, though he’s too nervous to sound happy. “I trust you. Don’t trust myself though,” Mark half-jokes, half-confesses.

It’s obvious that Renjun finds that very funny, which is understandable for Mark, since he’s aware of how people see him – how they see his teammates too. There’s no room for Mark to doubt himself.

“Who recorded the demo?”

Renjun blinks at him. It’s an odd question, Mark knows, so it’s not surprising that Renjun shoots a question back at him, “Why?”

The voice makes the song sound even sadder, perhaps because of the timber, because it’s clear and vibrant in the high notes, and raspy and soft in the low notes.

But Mark settles for a simple, “They have such a nice voice.” Then Renjun grins at him, and Mark’s instinct kicks in, his heart beating faster. “Why are you asking why?”

“I recorded it,” Renjun whispers, like it’s a secret, leaning forward. “Anyways, we have different styles, so don’t take it as a guide.”

Mark doesn’t care about that, can’t care about anything else except the fact that it’s Renjun’s voice. The file on the screen flashes at his eyes, and Mark catches the title of the song – it might be provisional, but it’s clear: Habitual irony. A strange pain invades his chest, and he can’t breathe for a moment, a moment that feels like an eternity. There’s something in that song that Mark hasn’t understood, and it’s in Renjun’s voice.

He just needs to figure out what.

Mark has always believed that there are two main forces in this world: gravity, for which he fell off the stage five months ago during a summer festival; and Jeno’s pout, for which half of the country has fallen.

So when Jaemin mentions over lunch that Mark has a crush – which is inaccurate, if Mark can say so – Mark is aware that he’s about to confront one of the strongest forces that ever existed.

“I missed a Boy discussion?”  Jeno moans, looking at Mark across the table with disappointment.

Disappointment is an understatement, however: it’s the same face Jeno pulled one year ago until the company allowed him to keep their puppy at the dorm. It hurts Mark’s soul and heart. Sungchan is already mirroring the pout out of empathy.

“Don’t fret, my friend.” Jaemin pats Jeno’s back, mouth full of food, and swallows before talking again. “Short story, he has the hots for his producer. The dude was from his high school, didn’t know Mark existed except because he was getting it on with one of his friends and, you know, who would care about him when you have a boy to kiss? They’re crossing paths again now, Mark is pissing his pants because he’s weak for cute boys and too sentimental to just-”

Mark feels his face burn.

“Why do you have to tell the story like that?” Mark interrupts him, afraid of what Jaemin is about to insinuate.

He’s not going to have a fling with Huang Renjun, which is what Jaemin is insinuating he should do. With anyone, actually. It’s not his thing, no matter if it’s easy and fast and he could do it anytime, no matter he has a few candidates to try.

“You romanticize shit, baby,” Jaemin spits at him, unbothered. He waves his hands around, like he intends to point at the whole world. “This is the crude reality.”

Maybe it is. But Mark is seeing the world through his veil, the veil in which he idolized Renjun, and doesn’t think it’s necessary to get rid of it.

“He’s your producer?” Jeno sounds impressed. Mark glances at him, because he wasn’t expecting to receive acceptance from Jeno so soon. It’s a mistake to do so: Jeno wiggles his eyebrows at him, clearly placing himself on Jaemin’s side. “Juicy.”

And for emphasis, Sungchan smiles with all his teeth and informs Jeno, “He’s Rikatt.”

Jeno whistles. “Juicy and rich.”

Mark doesn’t bother to scold them, because his three friends are just now giggling with each other, as if the idea of Mark having a romance with a guy like that is out of a movie.

Jaemin remarks, “He’s probably not rich, Lee Donghyuck had a lot of success but I don’t think one year was enough to-”

“Are we really having this conversation?” Mark cuts in again, scanning the lunch room in fear someone else can hear them.

“Not you. We.” Jaemin smiles at him like he has just solved all of Mark’s life problems. None of them take pity on him despite Jaemin’s evident mistreatment, or maybe it’s that Mark can’t grow used to exposing his feelings, not to the point of his friends talking about Renjun as if they talked about the weather. “But I want to see his face, for real. I looked him up on internet and he’s not a public figure so there’s like, nothing about him.”

Mark is grateful for that. Renjun is, after all, a secret of his, and as he listens to Sungchan, Jaemin and Jeno talk about him, Mark realizes that somehow Renjun had become a taboo too.

The boy he was in love with, the boy that he couldn’t have – even if he could, for Jungwoo would have never forgiven him – the boy that disappeared from his life without a trace. The boy who comes back, with the same face but different words and gestures, and crosses path with a Mark that has changed too much over the years, but is still that boy at heart.

Working with Renjun is terrifyingly easy.

Renjun might not remember him, but he has an ability to read people’s emotions, to read between lines.

The first night they meet up at the studio, Mark does a good job at hiding how tired he is, since he’s used to doing so in front of the public. His schedule is packed, he’s still promoting with his group, and he’ll have to be working again in five hours. It’s part of the job, however, and Mark is excited to work on his album – excited for other reasons too, which he’d never admit.

His feigned performance doesn’t pass Renjun’s barriers, though.

“You can leave and sleep, if you want,” Renjun says only ten minutes into the meeting, his face invading Mark’s view as he draws closer. Renjun is just trying to inspect his state, but Mark becomes flustered within a second. They already have a stack of papers scattered on the table, a mess to fix, and Renjun has been reading the proposals Mark prepared for the lyrics. “I know how it’s like, I know you’re tired and that part of you is already in bed.”

He’s probably talking about Donghyuck, Mark reckons. And that’s why he sounds so worried, because if Mark remembers correctly, Donghyuck passed out on stage during the last promotions. Or the second to last promotions. Mark is too exhausted for details.

“I’m fine,” Mark lies, which gains him a loud scoff from Renjun. One glance at Renjun and Mark can tell that he won’t let him lie so easily, that Renjun is – still – the sort of person that will force him to drop the plans and rest instead. “Maybe I can take a nap while you have dinner.”

Renjun doesn’t look convinced, but Mark gives him a pleading look, since the last thing he wants is to have him concerned all the time. It’s not Renjun’s duty to take care of him, and Mark is old enough to let him even try.

“Sleep over food?” Renjun asks at last with an understanding smile. It feels like a reward, at least to Mark’s fuzzy mind, that can only appreciate that smile. “It must be bad.”

It is, and when Renjun leaves for dinner, Mark runs to the couch of the studio and crumbles down there, face first. It takes him two seconds to fall asleep.

Renjun doesn’t wake him up. The smell of food does.

Mark rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, examining the studio as if he’s in a dream. Renjun has come back, but instead of tugging Mark out of his sleep, he’s bending over the table and reading Mark’s lyrics on his own. Working on his own. He has pushed some papers away as well to place a box with food, and Mark’s heart trembles in realization.

Once Mark sets his feet on the floor, thudding on the carpet, Renjun glances at him. If Mark didn’t know better, he’d believe that Renjun is startled, as though he has been caught doing something that he shouldn’t.

“Rise and smile,” he tells Mark, however, like those aren’t the sweetest words Mark has heard today. Upon noticing where Mark’s eyes are drawn too, he cackles. “Did you just wake up for the food? Like a dog?”

Mark has the decency to blush at that. He really did.

“We aren’t allowed to eat he-”

“I won’t tell anyone, Mark,” Renjun snickers, not letting Mark finish his objection. He’s aware that they can’t eat at the studio, that Mark probably has a strict ban when it comes to having dinner at all, but he brought food for him anyway. “Please, eat.”

Mark can’t reject the proposal, so he devours the food while Renjun gives him his opinion about the lyrics. Renjun isn’t disposed to include every idea of his, but Mark accepts the criticism well; he’s still amazed at the fact that Renjun will include some of his lyrics, because the song is perfect as it is, and any other producer would have swatted Mark away.

“I’ll look over it again at home,” Renjun concludes after a while. He adjusts his cap, sends Mark a very unfair smile, and Mark swears that this is the only reason he prefers this over sleeping. “I’ll see how I can make them fit into the song.”

There’s no need for Mark to agree, and as soon as Renjun stands up and begins to gather his notes into his bag, Mark breathes again. He carefully lets his head fall on the desk with a groan, the events of the day playing beneath his eyelids in waves. When he’s this tired, he often has nightmares related to the chaos he has experiences; he just hopes that the nightmares aren’t about Renjun.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep here,” Renjun tells him with a laugh. And Mark is about to answer, but his voice vanishes when Renjun’s hand lands on his hair, caressing from the crown of his head to his neck. A contented sigh threatens to come out, but Mark represses it as well as he can. “Can’t take you to my house if you do.”

It’s just a joke, Mark tells himself, since Renjun has been caring for him the whole night. And yet, Mark feels flustered at the mention of going to Renjun’s home, the hair of his neck bristling at Renjun’s touch. He isn’t sure he’ll survive this album.

Much to Mark’s misfortune, the next meeting isn’t at night.

Even if nights provide them with privacy, he’s not against working on his album during the daylight; that’s it, because he hasn’t counted on other variables that could affect their peace.He’s too distracted trying not to get caught when he stares at Renjun instead of focusing on their work, too, so the possibility of an external nuisance doesn’t cross his mind. That doesn’t prevent it from happening.

Renjun is laughing over a typo in Mark’s added lyrics when he catches an odd shadow out of the corner of his eyes. Mark follows it, still laughing along Renjun, just to catch a glimpse of Jaemin through the door glass.

Mark freezes, conscious that this isn’t a positive situation, no matter what Jaemin is planning. Then Jaemin smirks at him through the glass, points at Renjun several times and mouths a clear Renjun? Mark shakes his head in deny, but Jaemin is too smart, knows him too well to buy that lie, so he rolls his eyes at his attempt.

When Jaemin disappears without bothering them further, Mark has a bad hunch.

“So, I like this part,” Renjun is saying, circling the last verses of the sheet. “As I’ve told you, I think you can rap the first verse even if the original is sung. And your verses could be in the bridge, it’ll be easy to fit them in the right tempo.”

Mark blinks down at the paper, processing that Renjun is officially accepting his ideas, not maybes, not coulds. Then he looks up and finds Renjun giving him a questioning glance, for Mark should be participating and not drowning in silence.

“You really like my parts?” Mark licks his lips. “Like, I don’t want you to feel obligated just because I took the time to write them, it’s not a big deal if you-”

“Mark.” It’s the first time Renjun calls his name with that sharpness, so Mark shuts his mouth close right away. The incredulity on Renjun’s face is pretty intimidating, and it makes Mark feel like a kid in front of him. “I’m not here to indulge you, but to get the best out of you.”

The only response Mark can give is a curt nod. Renjun is right. He’s projecting: just because he remembers Renjun, because he wouldn’t dare to contradict him, doesn’t mean that Renjun is treating him the same way.

Before Mark can agree with him, focus on work again, he catches the shadow by the door again. And shit, Jaemin isn’t alone this time. He didn’t leave because he respects Mark’s boundaries, but because he went to fetch Sungchan and Jeno; and so there they are, Sungchan pushing his face against the crystal to get an angle that allows him to see Renjun better, Jaemin with a maniac grin on his face, and Jeno furrowing his eyebrows in interest.

“Are you okay?” Renjun asks Mark, his lips curling in what resembles a pout. He has noticed Mark wasn’t listening to him, but Mark can’t feel guilty because, fuck, Renjun looks so pretty when he’s confused. Mark is so utterly fucked. “You look a bit pale again.”

He has to choose between paying attention to Renjun – with the most beautiful, pitiful face Mark has ever seen – and to his friends, who are coming up with even worse ideas. Jeno is inciting Mark to make Renjun turn around, as if he could just tell him to face the door so that some random singers can see how pretty he is; but Sungchan and Jaemin are hugging each other, pretending to make out against the door, and Mark nearly chokes on his own saliva. If Renjun happens to see them-

“Y-yeah,” he stutters. No wonder he’s pale; all his blood has disappeared from his body and he can’t think straight. “For real.”

Renjun doesn’t believe him, for Mark’s gaze is clearly not on him, but behind him. However, he hesitates before turning around with his chair, a disoriented glint in his eyes.

Mark reacts fast, but his brain doesn’t come up with the best idea: he holds Renjun’s hand, tugging him so that he looks back at him. And Renjun does, but his eyes fall on their hands first, his expression unreadable.

This was a mistake. He’s holding Renjun’s hand, and for some reason his body refuses to let go, and his friends are watching. It’s funny too, because he has never hold Renjun’s hand. It’s even funnier because instead of pulling away, Renjun adjusts their fingers and strokes Mark’s knuckles, almost imperceptibly.

Perhaps it’s an irrational, automatic gesture, perhaps he’s used to holding someone’s hand and doing this.

Mark’s voice trembles as he says the first thing that comes to mind, “Do you want to have lunch?”

A perfect excuse to hold his hand, of course. Amusement extends over Renjun’s face, but Mark can’t blame him: he’s a mess right now, a mess that anyone would laugh at, and Renjun has all the rights to do so.

“What, with you?” Renjun whispers. It sounds like he’s teasing him. He is, isn’t he? Mark is going to throw himself off a window once he leaves the studio.

 “Who else?”

Mark swears Sungchan has just licked the damn glass. Jaemin is peppering kisses on his nape, which in Mark’s opinion, is toeing the line between friendship and what they actually want to be, but that’s not new.

“Were you planning to ditch me for lunch, though?” Renjun smartly replies.

There are many reasons why Mark blushes, but the main one is this boy in front of him, that was his first love, talking to him as if he holds all the power over him. Mark has thousands of people falling at his feet, and there goes Renjun, playing with him while they’re alone, face to face, in a situation that would have intimidated anyone else.

“I didn’t assume you’d want to be with me,” Mark answers after a beat, and that’s true.

Even though Mark is sincere, Renjun snorts and shakes his head, like it’s just an attempt to sweet talk him.

“What a gentleman, aren’t you?” he remarks, voice filled with sarcasm.

Since luck isn’t on Mark’s side, Renjun decides to take his offer in that exact moment, and he stands up and stacks all the sheets together. Mark doesn’t have any option but to let go of his hand; he can’t leave the studio while holding Huang Renjun’s hand in any case, and he can’t retain him as a hostage either.

At least Jaemin, Jeno and Sungchan have the good heart to scatter away once Renjun stands up, though Mark suspects that it has to do with not embarrassing themselves rather than with not embarrassing Mark.

Assuming that they’d disappear is pure deception, and Mark has his reasons not to overestimate them, because even if they have given them space to exit the studio, they’re lingering in the hall.

And unlike them, Renjun isn’t naïve, so when he steps into a hall full of boys so closely tied to Mark, he looks back at Mark for a second, like asking if this is a planned thing. Maybe he thinks all of them will have lunch together, but Mark only bites his lower lip in response, ashamed, and his awkwardness is all the information Renjun needs.

There are two terrible things going on: Sungchan has his mouth open, as if he hasn’t seen another boy in his entire life, and Jaemin is beyond speechless, petrified as the rest bow. Mark supposed that they deserve this, to begin with, for snooping in his life. The problem is that this isn’t beneficial for Mark either.

“Nice to meet you,” Jeno tells Renjun with a smile, the only one capable of behaving like a decent person. “We’re waiting for Mark for a quick reunion, if you don’t mind, but we didn’t want to interrupt.”

The excuse is good, but Mark doesn’t need to look at Renjun’s face to know that he can read through Jeno.

“If it’s that important,” he placidly agrees. Mark is going to kill them for being so obvious, and his rage is fueled when Renjun passes his hand over Mark’s neck and Jaemin releases a soft yet loud gasp. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

It’s not a natural gesture: it’s a subtle way to catch Mark’s attention. And when Mark stares at Renjun, he finds a lopsided smile broadening on his face. Which means he’s catching on. Which means that Mark’s crush, if that’s what he’s calling it now, isn’t such a big secret.

“Just to clear it up,” Jaemin starts, propping his feet up on the coffee table. From the other side of the couch – and probably because of the safe distance – he smirks at Mark, very smug of himself. “He’s off limits, right?”

This is the reason Mark wanted to hide Renjun away from the other members.

Not because he’s pretty, not because they might be interested in him, but because they were going to tease Mark until the end of the time. All in all, they’re used to interacting with beautiful people, but Renjun has an air around him – that air of being wished, as if someone had loved him so much that he now carries a special aura around himself. Mark doesn’t know how to explain it, but it’s there. It was there five years ago as well, and to some extent Mark is surprised that life hasn’t destroyed that, because it’s such a beautiful thing that life should have crushed it by now.

Mark flips him off, but Jaemin just laughs. “Do you want to die?”

“I’m just fucking with you,” he defends, as if it isn’t obvious. Mark wishes that Sungchan was in the living room with them, because then Jaemin wouldn’t even dare to joke about hitting on a boy. Maybe he should start blackmailing Jaemin. “You wouldn’t stand a chance against me.”

“Agreed,” Chenle says, hurdled against Jisung. Mark thought they weren’t listening to their conversation, since both of them have Jisung’s headphones and are scrolling down a list of songs. “No bad feelings, hyung.”

Mark flips him off as well. Jisung flips off back at him in Chenle’s name.

“You should tell him,” Jaemin declares then, shoving the thirteenth chewing gum of the day into his mouth. “The sooner the better.”

Pretending that Mark doesn’t understand what he’s referring to, or rather, trying to shut him up, he spits a, “What?”

Jaemin doesn’t even flinch, since he can predict Mark’s moves and words after so many years together. “That you knew each other.”

Mark doesn’t surrender in that instant. He gazes at Jaemin with his most unexpressive expression, as if he doesn’t care about this conversation or Renjun or Jaemin’s advice, and Jaemin gazes back, looking just as uninterested.

It’s a great battle of gazes, with Jaemin chewing on his gum in pure calmness, eyes dead. After twenty seconds, and after Mark got distracted when Jisung rolled his eyes at both of them, he loses. And he loses pathetically.

“It’s humiliating, okay?” he whines. It’s almost scary to realize that he needed to vent so badly. That he wants to tell Renjun the truth, complain about how he doesn’t remember Mark even if he became a Damned Music Star, even if his face is plastered everywhere in the city, even if there are articles about the most insignificant thing he does – like that article talking about how he looks like a baby when he wears beanies and the fifty pictures to prove that point. “What’s more humiliating that not existing for the person you were in love with?”

That question erases any trace of mockery from Jaemin’s face. Of course, Jaemin is just joking, but he’s aware that within Mark’s bottled up feelings, there’s at least one feeling that is torturing him over this reencounter.

“What if he has a medical condition?” Chenle chimes in, completely serious.

Jisung punches him in the arm, a gasp falling from Chenle’s lips, and sends Mark an apologetic, awkward smile. “Don’t listen to him, he’s hooked on a new show.”

On the other hand, Jaemin closes his eyes for several seconds, and Mark would swear that he can hear the wheels turning in his head.

“Maybe he needs a little push, Mark,” Jaemin concludes, like that’s the easiest thing to do. To push Renjun. “What if he remembers you, but thinks that you don’t remember him and he’s afraid of telling you? Of looking like a fool because he remembers a boy from high school that, seeing the circumstances, never cared about him?”

“I’m very offended,” Mark sputters, glowering. “You’re describing me, asshole.”

“I am. And it sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

It does. There is only one reason not to tell Renjun: caring about his validation, about that affection that he never received from him. It makes Mark feel like a kid, and not in a positive way; he’s a kid with a fit of rage, entitled to someone’s love, as if his feelings are the ones that matter and everyone’s lives must revolve around him and what he wants.

Renjun was and isn’t a bad person, and he won’t think less of Mark for remembering him. Renjun doesn’t belong to him, doesn’t owe him anything, and it’s time for Mark to see Renjun as the person he is, not as the romanticized version of a high school crush.

The group leaves to join a couple of festivals in Japan, so Mark has a whole week to rest from Renjun and the turmoil of emotion that he provokes in him.

They take their flight, get mobbed at the airport, they perform and perform and perform, Jaemin pecks his cheek on stage and people scream, Sungchan says they’re disgusting; they go back, get mobbed at the airport again, land on firm floor and fall asleep in the van.

And, during all that time, Mark can’t stop thinking about Renjun.

He doesn’t like Renjun anymore as he knew him. He liked the boy he met in high school, and Renjun is not that kid anymore. They were a blank canvas before, with a couple of brush-strokes on them, but five years have painted over them until they have become a whole piece of art.

Yet the feeling that he could fall for this Renjun, too, lingers around.

“When are you meeting up again?” Jeno pries the morning after they have arrived.

There’s a meeting scheduled in three days, and Mark shouldn’t waste that time by pressuring himself, but he’s physically incapable of resting. Despite knowing the reason, he dismisses Jeno with the normal answer and then lies on bed, fetching his phone from the bedside table.

He has Renjun’s number, needless to say. It’s almost a matter of politeness, but it’s true that he could have let one of their managers take Renjun’s number and not have a direct way to contact him.

He should have done that, for he would have avoided this moment: lying on bed with urge of messaging Renjun, of breaking that limit of professionalism that they’ve established. Renjun either knows that Mark, Mark Lee, has a small crush on him, or has supposed that they’re a bunch of young boys being a little bit excited over how pretty the producer is.

Whatever it is, Renjun has the upper hand here, and Mark takes the next step well aware of how it’ll be interpreted.

Cradling the phone as if he’s hiding a relic, Mark sends the first message, a simple What are you doing tomorrow? His heart beats faster at the mere action of pressing send, and he feels like passing out when Renjun reads the message – it happens too soon, because Renjun must be on his phone, and doesn’t give time for Mark to psych up. Mark wishes he’d ignore him, just to have his hopes crushed and go on with his life, but Renjun is too nice for that.

I’m guessing whatever you want??? is Renjun’s answer.

Mark drops his phone, thankfully on the mattress, but Jeno throws a skeptical look at him from his own bed. Judgment is the last of Mark’s worries now, because he’s too busy convincing himself that Renjun gave in this fast, that he isn’t imagining it.

Mark is a fool. He didn’t even greet Renjun first and jumped right into what he wanted; it’s too late to pretend now, and after a moment of hesitation, he proposes to have dinner together at a restaurant he knows well. A very lonely, guarded restaurant in which they won’t have pictures of them taken, though Renjun ignores that.

And, regardless of that uncertainty, Renjun accepts anyway.

It’s hard to convince the manager to let him go alone. It’s hard to convince her that it’s not a date, that it’s definitely not a girl, and that Mark is just doing extra work. And overall, it’s hard to sneak out of the dorm without the others noticing, since Mark didn’t intend to tell them in the first place.

The mere existence of his secrecy is a sign that what he’s doing is dangerous. Renjun isn’t just another boy. He’s his producer, someone that he’ll have to face during the next weeks even if he messes up in horrible, great ways. He’s someone that Mark used to care about.

Mark waits for Renjun in the spot they decided to meet at. It’s night, it’s winter, and Mark has to shove his hands into his pockets for warmth, but the rest of his body is burning up. The reasons why he did this to himself, he doesn’t remember any of them. At least until Renjun shows up, fifteen minutes late, and runs to him as soon as he spots Mark.

He’s wearing all black, but that’s the only detail Mark can comprehend before Renjun holds his hand. From up close, Mark only sees his eyes, since Renjun has tugged his neck warmer up to his cheekbones; but it’s almost offensive how much his eyes can shine even at night.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Renjun moans, a hint of regret seeping through his voice. He squeezes Mark’s hand as an apology, and uses that grip on him to rush him up. “Let’s go inside, you must be freezing.”

“It’s fine,” Mark says with a laugh. Yet he doesn’t oppose resistance when Renjun drags him, almost running to the restaurant. “I’m not that cold.”

“Liar,” Renjun accuses him.

The restaurant is empty except for an elderly couple and a loner, and Mark feels nothing but relief. The owner of the restaurant is familiar with him, so she chooses a good table for them on purpose and ruffles Mark’s hair after giving them the menus.

Mark needs patience and determination not to admire Renjun while he gets rid of his wool hat, his neck warmer and his gloves. He looks different out of the studio, and Mark is sure that he does as well, except that Renjun isn’t the tiniest bit marveled at him. Renjun doesn’t resemble the man at the studio, but he doesn’t resemble the eighteen-year-old Mark knew either; it’s a whole new person with pieces of the past inside him.

That shouldn’t surprise Mark. He feels that way too.

When Renjun catches him looking, he draws a comfortable, pleased smile. Instead of mentioning Mark’s engrossment, he twirls the menu on the table and asks, “Should I let you choose my food?”

Mark licks his lips, not sure of what Renjun hopes to hear.

“You trust me?” Mark shoots back.

“I did ask trust from you,” Renjun reminds him. Mark has the urge to reply that Renjun has reasons to demand that: his songs are so good that they’re unexplainable, and Mark has no reason to object; but by letting Mark choose his food, Renjun is taking a risk. “So I can give you the benefit of the doubt.”

Renjun pushes his menu towards Mark, a silent statement to claim that he won’t even open it. It’s impossible for Mark not to feel flustered, but he’s sure that this time he conceals his feelings well, gathering the other menu and taking a quick peek at his.

His memory is good enough to choose what Renjun could like – he remembers that Jungwoo always ordered very spicy food for him, and that he loved sweet things. Sweet and spicy. People’s palate can change, but if it goes well, Mark will have the chance he has been waiting for.

As if he intends to make him nervous, Renjun’s stare never leaves him: he follows Mark’s movements as he reads the menu, as he orders for the both of them, lifting his eyebrows at the choices and then grinning at Mark not to reveal any hints about his preferences. Mark gives the last details while Renjun checks his phone for a second, after excusing himself, so he doesn’t hear how specific the order is.

“You won’t tell me if I’m right until there’s no going back?” Mark challenges him, amazed at how far Renjun is disposed to go.

And Renjun confirms, “Aha.”

It’s evident that this is a date, even if neither of them dares to mention it. It’s that sort of truth that one keeps to himself, keeps in secret glances and abashed smiles exchanged over a dinner table. Mark is comfortable in this zone, and feels quite proud of himself because he provoked this, though his original intention was seeing Renjun again.

Renjun doesn’t ask about his job. Mark doesn’t do either. It’d be the easy path, the easy conversation, but Mark lost track of him for four years and he needs to discover who Renjun is nowadays; he wants to know what he did after high school, who his friends are, what he enjoys apart from music, apart from making Mark nervous and invading every one of his thoughts.

Renjun drops familiar names: Jaehyun, Sicheng, Xiao Jun. Mark talked to Jaehyun one year ago, but he has pretty much lost contact with all his high school friends. The rhythm of his life makes difficult to keep up with friendships overtime, unless they’re fellow co-workers. Mark would miss them, but he has wonderful guys around in this life to even consider it.

However, Renjun doesn’t mention Jungwoo. And when the food arrives and Renjun tastes the first dish, his stare falls on Mark with blatant surprise. Mark doesn’t smile, because Renjun’s surprise transforms into puzzlement within a second, and he places the spoon back on the bowl with a trembling hand.

“How did you know?” Renjun whispers, both wonder and fear in his voice.

It must look like destiny for him, which is pretty funny, because even with the rational part of the story added, it feels like destiny for Mark anyway.

And there it is: Mark’s chance. How did he know the dish that Renjun’s mom made for him on his birthday, or when he was sick, or when he was so upset that everyone could notice? That dish Mark made with Jungwoo once because he wanted to impress Renjun, that dish that led them to burn a rag by accident.

“We went to the same high school,” Mark answers, the simple way to explain it. Renjun blinks slowly, so slowly that Mark fears he’s suffering some sort of attack. “You dated Jungwoo, didn’t you?”

Renjun’s lips part in a mute answer, but his expression is blank. His eyes roam over Mark’s face, once, twice, again and again, and Mark detects the hesitation, the uncertainty; but it’s not only that, since it’s mixed with a hint of hope. Mark doesn’t understand why Renjun would hope for him.

Renjun’s eyelids flutter, as though he’s making an effort to keep them open, and after a longer pause, he mumbles, “Minhyung.”

It’s not a question. Mark’s heart halts for longer than it ever should.

He can’t tell when it was the last time someone called him Minhyung. It was a name meant to facilitate his integration at school, so that he didn’t outstand with a foreign name, but not even his parents called him Minhyung at home. His friends did, but those friends were long gone after high school, and he didn’t introduce himself as Minhyung anymore. He became Mark to every new person he met; not to Renjun, though.

With a nod and his throat malfunctioning, Mark croaks out, “Yeah. That was my name.”

Renjun buries his face between his hands and stays in that position for an eternity. Even if Mark is dying to know what’s going on in his mind, he doesn’t pressure him. He interlaces his own hands on his lap, his food untouched, and tightens his jaw to deal with the urge of talking and talking until Renjun reacts.

“I’m sorry I didn’t-” Renjun begins, voice muffled against his palms. He glances up at Mark, taking a breath that inflates his chest, and it’s evident all of a sudden how overwhelmed Renjun is; Mark was just as overwhelmed when he recognized Renjun for the first time, so it’s not an unknown feeling for him. “You’ve changed a lot.”

Mark doesn’t understand what Renjun is talking about. Perhaps he has changed a lot, but he sees himself every day on the mirror and no one else has ever told him that.

“For better or for worse?” Mark asks in the end, because that’s the only thing he can ask.

Renjun runs a hand through his hair, his bangs perfectly flinching back to their original position. “For better?” he tries, like there’s a wrong answer.

The fact that it’s a question cracks Mark up. Renjun is incapable of lying to him, of stroking his ego for the sake of politeness. It feels like a novelty, because people lie to him all the time just to please him; Renjun’s attitude converts a tense conversation into a comfortable one – Mark’s team are the only ones who are wholly sincere with him, and so Renjun is joining that category.

The smile that Renjun sends his way is timid, which is a curious thing to witness. Renjun isn’t shy with Mark Lee, the star he’s working with, but he’s shy with Lee Minhyung.

There’s no point in tiptoeing around, except because Mark should wait a bit longer before jumping into what has been eating him alive. However, no matter how much Mark tries to carefully pick his words and spins the concept in his head, there’s only one way.

“Are you still together?”

Mark doesn’t need to mention his name. Renjun snaps his head up, shock plastered all over his face, and when Mark doesn’t recoil, he lets out a frantic laugh.

Even though Renjun leans back on his chair and takes a deep breath, his smile doesn’t vanish. “Someone should have warned me that you get personal fast.”

Mark isn’t dumb. Renjun is changing the topic on purpose.

“I’m sorry, I just-” Mark apologizes, conscious that he has been too bold. He’s curious, but he’d never force Renjun to tell him. And he’s scared, because Renjun might still be dating Jungwoo, or just another person, and Mark might have built a story between them that isn’t real. “I feel like I know you, but it has been too many years to say that, I guess.”

“That’s not a bad thing.”

It’s not. Past Renjun would never fall for him.

“The food will get cold,” Mark comments, tapping on the bowl.

Renjun grins at his attempt to finish the conversation, yet still hovers over his food and grips the spoon. Mark imitates him, aware that Renjun won’t let him get away with this revelation, and tries to enjoy what’s left of his peace.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Renjun says later, during the second course. He has been laughing for a whole minute because Mark burnt his tongue for eating too fast, but that joy has faded away to give room to a simple, relaxed boy. “I feel like a fool.”

“I felt like a fool too.” Mark shrugs. A fool is an understatement: he felt like a child, like a loser, like a stalker all mixed up together. “Thought that maybe it wasn’t normal to remember you.”

The lack of response from Renjun makes Mark stop and stare up at him, confused. Renjun is observing him with a different emotion on his semblance, stripped off of the previous wariness, and he bends over the table to look at Mark closely. His amusement is replaced by determination, and Mark becomes small before him.

“I remember Lee Minhyung. I do remember him, and he was a little cute kid that couldn’t even look me in the eye,” Renjun tells him, very sure of his own words. And he’s right, for Mark had always been coy around him, had stuttered when Renjun talked to him, and at some point had preferred to observe Renjun while being invisible to him.

Renjun bites on his lower lip for a moment, pensive, and then adds, “But I have a man in front of me right now.”

A shiver travels up Mark’s spine and extends to his arms, goosebumps on every inch of his skin. It takes him a second to accept Renjun’s words, not because Renjun has called him a man, but because he’s looking at him like he’s a man. And it’s not a joke, Renjun isn’t laughing, Renjun is serious.

“Well, I’m not a kid anymore, that’s for sure.”

Despite Mark’s attempt to conceal his reaction, Renjun raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you flustered?”

“Shut up.”

Renjun doesn’t. “People baby you a lot, don’t they?”

Of course they do. Fans, the persons he works with, sometimes even the other members because they know how hard it gets sometimes for all of them. And Mark has discovered that he behaves exactly like the reflection of how people treat him – then he lies alone at night and analyzes every one of his actions, the ones that aren’t characteristic of his real self, and wonders why he does this to himself.

Mark whispers, “Most people do.”

“I can’t baby you, I’m younger than you,” Renjun assures him. Impatient, Mark has to bite his tongue not to reply, because Renjun is playing with him despite his serious expression. “I should be the one getting babied.”

“You already babied me though.”

“Giving you food and letting you sleep so that you don’t faint in front of me,” Renjun starts, putting two of his fingers up to warn Mark not to interrupt, “isn’t babying you.”

“Can I differ?” Mark says, blinking at him. Renjun bursts into laughter, not able to hold it for longer, and Mark laughs along. “Then I differ.”

It’s comfortable, even more comfortable than the last time they were together. Renjun isn’t taken aback after discovering that he’s Minhyung. Mark reckons that going on a date with Mark was a bigger decision than going on a date with Minhyung, after all, and Renjun wasn’t afraid of the first option either.

There’s a chance that Renjun thinks this is not a date, but when they’re waiting for the dessert, Renjun slips his hand over the table, palm facing upwards. And Mark doesn’t vacillate, intertwining their fingers together and cradling Renjun’s hand in a firm, fearless hold. Renjun smiles at him with that same fearless expression.

Mark pays for the dinner, though Renjun protests a dozen of times and they bicker in front of the owner. But the owner knows Mark, which turns out to be an advantage since she accepts his credit card over Renjun’s.

Then they stand outside, in the cold of the night, and neither of them wants to say goodbye. They have to, because Mark has a curfew and it wouldn’t be appropriate to invite Renjun to the dorm – or the other way around. And Mark kind of wants to kiss him, too, but it’s an impulsive thought of his that would ruin their night.

So they say goodbye, and Renjun laughs when he steps back and Mark unconsciously grips his hand tighter, like asking him to stay. Then Mark lets go, sheepish, and his lips curl up into a grin in response to Renjun’s laugh.

Mark walks away with one aim in mind: not taking a last peek at Renjun. And he fails, of course, but it’s not his fault; it would have been if Renjun had given him two more seconds.

“Mark,” Renjun calls him. He hasn’t moved from his spot, and although Mark’s legs have put some distance between them, Mark still can see all the emotions crossing Renjun’s expression. “We dated for five years, Jungwoo and me. We broke up last year.”

Five years. It wasn’t a casual relationship.

Realization blows him: the song is for Jungwoo. Renjun wrote it for him, composed it because of him, and now Mark has to sing for Renjun’s ex-boyfriend. Mark swallows down the knot in his throat with great difficulty.

This is the reason some questions shouldn’t be asked.

“Oh, I-”

Is he sorry? He isn’t. It’s a relief that Renjun isn’t with Jungwoo anymore, but Mark has heard his demo, and he’s sorry for that. Jungwoo is the reason Renjun sings with so much pain.

“It’s fine,” Renjun says. He doesn’t want Mark to apologize again, not just for a question. A comforting smile blooms on his face, as though Mark is the one who needs consolation. “See you on Monday, yeah?”

“Traitor!” Jaemin yells at him, bursting the door open.

Mark is sitting in the corner of the waiting room when Jaemin interrupts, his headphones on and two sheets on his lap: the lyrics for his new song, since he has to record the new demo on Friday; and the short script for today’s interview.

But there Jaemin goes, breaking the peace and Mark’s concentration, and the staff looks at him like he has gone crazy. Mark agrees: Jaemin is aware that barging into the waiting room while screaming at his teammate isn’t very careful or very polite, not to mention it can create rumors if someone working for the show decides this is interesting enough to sell it.

Besides, Mark doesn’t have any idea of why Jaemin is so mad at him.

“What?” he asks, blinking up at him as Jaemin struts towards him like a hurricane.

Instead of shouting the answer, Jaemin bends down, places his hands on Mark’s shoulder and whispers, “You went out with Renjun?” Sungchan and Jeno, who are close enough to them to catch that, make an indignant noise. Chenle and Jisung are too far away, but the reactions are enough for them to gather around Mark. “Out of work hours?”

Mark feels like a cornered animal, so he whines like one. “How do you know?”

“The manager told me!”

“She didn’t know I was with Renjun though, how-” Mark curses under his breath, realizing he has fallen for an evident, beginner trap. “Okay, I’m stupid.”

Jeno hooks his foot in Mark’s chair to tug his own chair closer. “How did this happen?” he pries. Among all of them, he should have suspected first, since he rooms with Mark; but he was asleep when he arrived, and Jeno is a heavy sleeper. “Did you kiss him?”

Mark shushes him, alarmed, and Chenle has a laughter fit right away. This is definitely not a conversation to have in a waiting room, though the rest seem to be more preoccupied with the fact that Mark hid it than with whatever they did on their date.

“Guys, please, we’re about to do an interview.” Mark shoves Jeno’s face away from him, demanding his personal space. “Can we focus?”

“No!” Sungchan protests. He’s just verbalizing what everyone is thinking, Mark notices.

“I’ll tell you everything later,” Mark lies, because no, he’s not going to tell them that Renjun held his hand over the table, or that he insinuated that Mark had to take care of him, or that he paid for the dinner and none of them wanted to go back home.

“Bet you will,” Chenle chirps up. “I’m making popcorn tonight.”

Working with other producers allows Mark to clear his mind, that mind infected with Renjun and the memories of him and how different he is now. The good news is that Mark likes all the songs that will be in his album; the most challenging one is the title, which he’s growing confident in. His confidence comes from the desire to do a good job for Renjun, to honor the effort he insufflated into the song, but no one needs to know that small detail.

When Mark manages to tell his group about the date, Jaemin’s ecstasy results pretty funny, since often he’s the harshest on Mark. If Jaemin has reasons to hope, to not call him delusional, then Mark can hope too. Renjun would have rejected him by now if he wasn’t interested in him, Jeno says; Jisung agrees that maybe Mark isn’t that crazy.

But Mark wonders if Renjun might change his mind. Dating one of his ex-boyfriend’s friends isn’t the brightest idea, even if Jungwoo is in the past for the both of them.

“Don’t give him heart eyes,” Sungchan warns him on Friday as Mark exits the dorm. Only Sungchan has woken up, or hasn’t gone to sleep yet, so Mark is lucky that he doesn’t receive more pestering. “Okay, just not with people around.”

The problem is Renjun does give him heart eyes. His smile is much more sincere too, and even if Mark made an effort to pretend he doesn’t care about him – which he doesn’t even try – he wouldn’t be able not to mirror every one of Renjun’s smiles.

It’s the first time that recording feels like a little game. Mark isn’t nervous. Renjun plays a joke on him, scolding him when he begins the first verses, for not getting the lyrics right, and Mark looks at him like a kicked puppy through the glass. It helps him to get into the mood, for he’s too happy to sing a sad song, and Renjun gives him a thumbs-up after the seventh attempt.

“Good?” Mark asks as he leaves the cabinet.

“Good enough,” Renjun confirms. He tips his cap up to let Mark see his face, and Mark plops on the chair next to his. “There are a couple of notes that are too high for you, but it’s your technique what doesn’t let you reach them.”

That doesn’t surprise Mark. He has been struggling to get the right notes, even; he’s not a singer anyhow, so he wouldn’t even dare to defend himself.

“Teach me?” he says instead, just in case it works.

“Teach you?” Renjun asks back, and laughter bubbles up one second later. It’s a joke, but Mark would jump right into the lessons if Renjun happened to accept. “I don’t get paid to be your vocal coach.”

While Renjun searches for the right file to play the new version for Mark, Mark gets closer and closer to him. He sees Renjun draw a smile, but Renjun doesn’t turn around to look at him, so Mark eats the territory bit by bit. He stops when his knees are between Renjun’s knees, and even when he supports himself by placing his hands on Renjun’s thighs, Renjun doesn’t flinch.

The new version begins to play, and only then Renjun gazes at him, tearing his eyes away from the screen. Mark hasn’t calculated the distance well, because when Renjun spins around, their faces are inches away. Renjun doesn’t jerk away, not a single trace of coyness, and his smile remains as wide.

Mark feels breathless. He can hear himself sing; they listen to the song while looking at each other, Renjun bathing in Mark’s reactions when one of the added parts begins.

“Indulge my excuses,” Mark says then, and he doesn’t know what he’s talking about anymore, but he vaguely remembers something about making Renjun teach him to sing.

“Indulge your excuses,” Renjun muses back at him, like he can’t believe his words. “I said you could sing, didn’t I?”

Truth to be told, Mark doesn’t sound horrible. A bit nasal in some parts, a bit strained in others, but he’s discovering that he has a breathy, soothing tone that doesn’t come off as unpolished.

“You hold so much wisdom,” Mark admits. When the bridge hits, perfectly interlaced with the rest of the song, Mark isn’t the only one that is breathless. It’s impossible for him not to glance at Renjun’s lips, just once, to watch how he has to take a small breath of air. He has red, delicate lips. “It’s such a pretty song, Renjun.”

It is, but both of them know that the special part is how they managed to fuse their lyrics and ideas together. It’s still Renjun’s break-up song, it’s still a song about Jungwoo, and somehow it harbors a part of Mark too.

The song ends, and Mark thinks that there’s no way this will be a failure. And if it is, Mark won’t care that much, because he has all the validation he needed.

“Thank you,” Renjun says, breaking the silence.

His tone has lost its sweetness, which drags Mark out of his daze, and Mark sits up with the only thought that he can’t touch Renjun this way at the studio.

Renjun isn’t annoyed at his behavior, to Mark’s relief. He observes Mark with pure affection and the hidden wish of dragging him closer again, and it’s wonderful for Mark to discover that he prefers this to touching him: the evidence that he’s wanted, that Renjun wants him.

They discuss when Renjun will show the new versions to the creative director, he explains to Mark that it might take a few days, and then they’ll be ready to record the album as long as the other producers are available. The excitement shows through, both through Renjun and Mark, and he wishes he could leap back to the microphone and start recording the official versions.

When it’s time to part ways, Mark offers to help Renjun to gather his stuff, but Renjun sends him off – always concerned so that Mark gets enough rest, though Mark knows that Renjun pulls all nighters as well. Mark obeys, but when he has a grip on the doorknob, he remembers something apart from his desire to spend more time with Renjun.

“Hey,” he calls, almost too weakly to be heard. Renjun gives him a nod without turning around, so Mark can comfortably show all the suffering crossing his face. “You know some of us are going for drinks on Sunday? Not this Sunday, the next one.”

That announcement drives Renjun to glance at him, wary. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It’s not like that,” Mark clarifies, a bit ashamed. Renjun doesn’t look like he’d appreciate that sort of party. “The company rents this place for their workers from time to time, for bonding time. But it always becomes drinking time, so.”

Renjun’s lips crack into a smile. “You want to get me drunk?”

Mark scoffs. The idea doesn’t terrify him, to be exact, because he bets Renjun must get pretty entertaining. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

Renjun slings the straps of his bag over his shoulders and adjusts his shoes, as though he had taken them off while Mark recorded. As he walks to the door, where Mark is waiting, it’s impossible to tell if he despises the idea or not.

“We went from having dinner together to drink with your friends,” he points out, setting his hand over Mark’s hand on the doorknob. It’s a smart move, because even if someone sees it through the glass, they won’t assume anything. Renjun mutters, amusement in his eyes, “So romantic.”

Mark needs a second to convince his voice not to shake. “You want romantic?”

“The walls have ears, Mark.” Renjun smiles, ignoring his question. It’s a reminder that they shouldn’t talk about this here. He taps the underside of Mark’s chin, careful, and adds, “And eyes.”

Mark regrets the invitation two days later, when the topic comes up in the van and Mark tells Jaemin, in all his innocence, that Renjun will likely join them.

Jaemin bangs his fist on the seat in front of him, which seems to be an act of celebration or an attempt at killing Chenle. Mark isn’t sure.

“We’re going to meet him?” Jaemin asks, so excited that one could swear he has been offered to eat a whole cake by himself.

Mark glowers, tired of such excessive enthusiasm. “You already met him.”

“I didn’t!” Jisung exclaims from the front seat, like his mere presence is the most important point here.

“I didn’t either. I saw him, but didn’t meet him.” Jaemin sends Mark a malicious smirk. And god, how much Mark hates those technicalities of his. “I can’t wait to laugh at how you look at him.”

Sometimes Mark could punch Jaemin in the face, but the manager has enough stress in her life as it is, and Mark is too good of a person to worsen her life.

As if he’s reading Mark’s thoughts, Sungchan spins on his seat and tells Jaemin, “Give him a break.”

Silence, coming from Jaemin, is never a good omen. But he blinks at Sungchan and then zips his mouth, dragging his fingers over his lips in solemnity. Mark fears.

Days pass by painfully slow for Mark. From time to time he has enough courage to text Renjun and they message for a couple of hours, but never for too long, because Mark texts at night and if he refuses to go sleep, Renjun stops answering all together.

Mark isn’t used to being ignored – the exact opposite, he receives attention even when he doesn’t want it – so it’s frustrating at first. It’s supposed to be that way, he learns, because that frustration wouldn’t exist if Mark didn’t care about Renjun.

Besides, Renjun toys with him, doesn’t tell him if he’s attending the getting together on Sunday. Deep inside, Mark is sure that he will, not because Mark will be there, but because there are other producers and important people that Renjun should mingle with. And Mark anticipates his presence for more reasons than his own desire, because if Renjun doesn’t show up, Jaemin will be even more disappointed than Mark. And he’ll blame Mark.

The manager drives them to the restaurant, but she leaves afterwards, warning them that if one of them gets minimally tipsy, they should phone her. Last time this happened, however, Jaemin carried Jisung like a sack of potatoes on his back all the way to the dorm; not a good option, of course, but none of them were in the right state to make decisions.

Mark doesn’t spot Renjun inside the restaurant, but he doesn’t intend to become an impatient version of himself. The chances of finding a short guy with black hair among a lot of tall guys with black hair are low. Everyone is chatting, still standing, and Mark can recognize some of their seniors, which means Jisung will suffer unrequited affection the whole night.

“Where’s your boy?” Jaemin asks as he trails inside after Mark, visible dissatisfaction on his face.

Sungchan shushes him. “Be quiet.”

“Thank you,” Mark says, happier with Jaemin’s offended expression than with his silence.

The truth is that Renjun is nowhere is to be seen, and Mark kidnaps Chenle to sit in one of the booths with him, not in the mood to socialize until his cheeks are in pain for forcing smiles.

“You’re using me as your shield,” Chenle complains.

“Yes,” Mark confirms, shameless. He clings on Chenle’s arm, making him furrow his nose in disgust. “I need no one but you.”

And yes, Mark chooses Chenle because every time someone approaches them, their attention ends up directed at Chenle, since he’s more talkative.  Mark can relax, swallow his shots down and laugh at Jeno in the distance, for he’s already trying to steal food for them. Drinking on an empty stomach is risky, but they’re still not allowed to have dinner, and this sort of parties is the perfect moment to grow their food stash at the dorm.

 “You sure you only need me?” Chenle glances at him, the corner of his lips rising. “Look who Jaemin is talking to.”

Mark doesn’t need to, for Chenle’s tone gives it away. But his gaze falls on Jaemin and Renjun anyhow, the latter laughing at something that Jaemin is telling him, and Mark feels too content to agonize over what terrible things Jaemin might be revealing. Renjun is wearing casual clothes, looks small next to Jaemin, and even smaller when Sungchan approaches them with a huge grin on his face.

“Should I save him?” Mark wonders out loud, watching how Sungchan slaps a hand over Renjun’s shoulder.

Chenle shrugs. “He’s good. Doesn’t need any saving.”

In any case, it should be Mark getting saved, because the next thing he knows is that both Renjun and Jaemin are staring at him across the restaurant. It takes him a while to process what’s happening, because then they’re strutting to him and Chenle, and Mark realizes Jaemin was just sweetening Renjun before shoving him into Mark’s arms.

“You came,” is what Mark says when Renjun greets him, a smile fighting for a place in his lips.

“He did!” Jaemin yells, as if they couldn’t see it themselves.

Renjun sends him an odd look, but his focus drifts to Mark as he sits next to him. He retorts, “Did I say I wouldn’t?”

He has a point, so Mark merely smiles at him, not interested in bickering. Renjun notes his good mood without trouble, snuggles against him when the others aren’t looking, and presses their thighs together under the table.

“Were you planning to attend this thing if you hadn’t invited me?” Renjun whispers, observing the scenery before them. “I wouldn’t say this is your thing.”

Mark watches Renjun’s side profile with a subtle frown. “You always ask the right questions, don’t you?”

“Does that mean I’m right?”

“Yeah.”

Jaemin keeps bringing them drinks, and Renjun starts rejecting them after the third one – both in his name and Mark’s name – because Jaemin doesn’t measure well. Mark feels his body warm up because of the alcohol, and despite not being drunk, it’s a good excuse to drop his head on Renjun’s shoulder. He doesn’t know in which moment they hold hands under the table, or when he stops caring about Jaemin’s mischievous glances thrown at them, but he’s very comfortable in that booth with Renjun by his side.

The rest don’t behave as well as Renjun and he do, so after a couple of hours they slur words instead of talking, and they’re too busy handling themselves to mind how Mark and Renjun are whispering to each other, completely excluded of their conversation.

Renjun squeezes Mark’s hands and plays with them, and they laugh and laugh, even if Mark doesn’t remember what’s so funny tonight. And once they’re alone in their private corner – either because someone noticed they needed intimacy or because they’ve decided to bother other person – Renjun tosses his head back on the padded seats, a smile dancing on his lips.

Perhaps Mark is a bit tipsy, because Renjun looks prettier than ever, with flushed cheeks and that gaze of his that makes Mark think he’ll be devoured alive.

“How do you remember me?” he asks, laughing when Mark imitates him and throws his head back too, so that both of them are a mess slumped on their seats. “Who was I for you?”

He isn’t asking why Mark remembers him, but what impression Renjun left on him. Mark left the impression of being a shy, scared boy, which isn’t accurate, but he must have become that in front of Renjun.

Mark scoffs to himself. There’s no point in lying. “I had the biggest crush on you.”

Renjun’s eyebrows shoot up, disappearing under his bangs, but the way he smiles denotes that he thinks Mark is messing up with him.

“Yeah?”

Mark doesn’t recoil. He wishes Renjun would believe him on the first attempt, but perhaps it’s not the confession what is unbelievable, just that Mark is revealing it. Calling Renjun a crush still doesn’t feel right, doesn’t feel like it fulfills the purpose of describing what Mark felt for him.

Tempting his luck, Mark brings a finger up to Renjun’s lips and caresses the edges; Renjun’s surprise is just mild, because the hint of his gaze shifts to something different as Mark’s finger traces a path from his lips to his neck, touching only enough for him to notice it.

Mark breathes out, “Big as in, I dreamed of marrying you.”

“What?” Renjun lets out an incredulous, low laugh. He furrows his nose at him, but it’s evident that he’s very satisfied after hearing that. “You’re insane.”

Mark whines, “No, you were insane.”

There’s a silence; they smile at each other, and it’s sweet, intimate. Mark’s eyes are drawn to Renjun’s lips for a moment, and Renjun notices, smiles wider, teasing.

“Were?”

Renjun is challenging him.

“Still are.” Mark sounds pleased at his own truth. Renjun is pleasantly insane. “So pretty, so untouchable.”

Renjun kisses him first.

Mark texts the manager so that she picks up, at least, Jaemin. Then accepts Renjun’s offer, and after a few minutes they’re in the parking lot of Renjun’s apartment, kissing over the handbrake.

And then Renjun is on his lap, and Mark fumbles to unbuckle his seatbelt, hands trembling because he wants to touch Renjun and nothing else, no one else. Renjun doesn’t kiss him with the sweetness his eyes transmit, or the sweetness and care he always treats Mark with. He kisses hungrily, and Mark is just as hungry, pulling Renjun closer and closer until he has pressed his ribs enough for him not to breathe.

It doesn’t feel real. Mark is ready to wake up any moment, because he can’t be kissing Renjun four years after losing him. But he is, and Renjun’s hands cup his face and lead him into the kiss, once and again, lips burning and slick against his. Mark keeps his chin up, making it easier for Renjun, and grips Renjun’s waist to keep him in place. Mark doesn’t mind being a mess, he doesn’t mind that he touches Renjun more than it’s appropriate; he doesn’t mind that Renjun laughs in the kiss a few times, pulls away and whispers to him to calm down.

Mark knew that he wanted to kiss Renjun, but he didn’t know how much he needed it.

“Wanna go up?” Renjun mumbles, planting a kiss on the corner of his lips.

Mark isn’t sure of what he should do. He wants to go to Renjun’s apartment, that’s why they drove here, but it might not be the proper decision.

But he looks into Renjun’s eyes so, so close to his, Renjun’s breath hovering over his lips, and Mark’s mouth acts on its own. “Yeah,” he whispers.

Renjun leans for another kiss, pleased with the answer, yet he doesn’t let Mark deepen it. He snatches the car keys and opens the door, jumping outside, and Mark gives himself a moment to recover his sanity.

They spend a couple of hours in the apartment, though Mark doesn’t see anything of the apartment besides Renjun’s bedroom. They kiss, they talk about banal topics and about important topics, they laugh, and kiss a thousand times, until Mark can’t remember if they’re talking, laughing or kissing or everything at the same time. Mark tenses up and kisses and lets Renjun kiss all over his neck, repressing the sounds that threaten to leave his mouth; unlike him, Renjun isn’t embarrassed of letting out small groans when Mark’s hands are too rough, or when he draws away from the kiss so that Renjun chases behind. Renjun ends up latching on his side, head on his sternum, and Mark strokes his hair until both of them are half-asleep.

When his phone vibrates, Mark realizes two things: that he has no idea how his phone fell on the carpet, far away from the bed, and that Renjun knows what that call means. So Mark tries, tugs Renjun closer when he tries to sit up, though Renjun glares before letting Mark cup his nape and bring him into another kiss.

“Mark, you have to leave,” Renjun tells him, brushing their noses together. Mark lifts his jaw to leave another peck on Renjun’s lips, and they automatically expand into a smile. “The manager is going to kill you.”

“No,” Mark protests, coming off a little whinier than he intends to. “Let me stay, please.”

Renjun considers it for a moment, or so Mark wishes to believe. Renjun brushes his thumb over his cheekbone, a warm glint in his gaze, and bends down to trap Mark’s lower lip between his. Mark takes it as a challenge to convince him, licks into his mouth and hums when Renjun responds the same way. He threads his hands in Renjun’s hair and keeps him into the kiss until Renjun’s breath accelerates, until he can feel Renjun’s chest rising against his, until he’s convinced that Renjun is losing control.

But Mark loosens his hold, and that’s enough for Renjun to break away and thus, break their moment.

“I’ll call a taxi for you,” Renjun decides, moving away.

This time, Mark is in a daze and can’t retain Renjun before he slips off the bed. Feeling empty and miserable all of a sudden, he watches Renjun strut out of the room, barefoot.

 “Are you kicking me out?”

“Yes!” Renjun yells from the hall, but Mark can hear him snicker afterwards.

Mark really wants to stay.

Jisung stands in the middle of the kitchen, determination plastered all over his face, and announces, “I think we should call a doctor.”

Everyone else looks up from their breakfast bowl to glance at Jisung in concern. Mark was wondering why Jisung wasn’t having breakfast with them, but if he’s sick, that explains it.

“What for?” Jaemin asks, inspecting Jisung’s face with a squint. “Your hangover?”

Jisung shakes his head and regrets it the next second, judging how he winces at his own movements. It’s the first time he has a hangover, and Sungchan has been following him for an hour around the dorm just to annoy him; it wasn’t that funny when Jisung vomited again, the six of them gathered in the bathroom for moral support.

“Mark is acting weird,” Jisung assures with great solemnity.

Mark frowns, offended. “I’m not acting weird.”

“He said thank you this morning because I stopped in the hall not to bump into him,” Jisung continues. That’s not odd, Mark wants to say, but Jisung lifts his index finger at him and accuses him, “Did you think I’d tackle you?”

“He also prepared our breakfast,” Chenle points out, a little surprised at his own realization.

Both Chenle and Sungchan stare into their bowls as though they expect to find evident poison in them.

“It’s just that he made out with Renjun yesterday,” Jeno reveals, unbothered, like it’s the most boring story ever. “Unless Renjun had a cold, there’s no reason to-”

Mark’s heart skips a beat, though he’s more confused than anything as he turns to Jeno. “How do you know that?”

Jeno grins. “I didn’t.”

“I can’t believe he fell for the same exact trap,” Jaemin says, and then bursts into laughter.

Mark can’t believe it either.

Mark might have many complaints about Jaemin, but the truth is that he’s the only one that offers to cover up for him.

At first, Mark doesn’t know what that means. He learns, a few days later, that it implies Jaemin lying for him. Jaemin claiming that they’re together when Mark is having dinner with Renjun, Jaemin accompanying him when the manager insists in driving them somewhere and then disappearing until Mark’s date is over; Jaemin helping him because he has all he wants at home, but wants Mark to experience it too, not to have sporadic meetings until the relationship dies because Mark has too much baggage, too much to worry about.

Mark doesn’t feel that he’s doing anything wrong. When he’s with Renjun, it feels like the right thing. Sometimes he just needs to listen to Renjun after a tiring day, because Renjun loves being listened to and stares at Mark in pure gratitude. Renjun understands him too, perhaps because he knew Lee Minhyung and now knows Mark Lee, thus he can put all the pieces together to complete the puzzle that Mark is today.

They talk about Jungwoo, because it’s an unavoidable issue that they have to discuss sooner or later. Mark had supposed that Renjun would be reticent to tell him, but it turns out that Mark is more reticent to listening to the story than Renjun to telling him. It was Renjun who broke up with him. It was painful. They don’t speak to each other anymore, but Renjun thinks that overtime they’ll be able to. Mark can live with that.

“They gave us green light,” Renjun announces one day they cross paths at the company. It has been a while since they sent the new proposal, so Mark started to fear that it’d be rejected. “We’re trying to schedule the recording.”

“Congrats, dude!” Jaemin chirps up behind Mark, reaching out to pat Renjun’s shoulder.

Mark wants to congratulate him too, though it’s absurd because all the changes were meant to fuse Mark’s ideas into the song. He should thank him instead for taking his opinion into account, yet Renjun looks so happy with the news that Mark would have sworn, if he didn’t know better, that it was all Renjun’s doing. The fact that Renjun is so happy for him revolves something within him.

Before Renjun can leave, Mark encircles his wrist for a moment and whispers, “I hope it doesn’t end there.”

It’s not a wild petition. Mark has seen how relationships come and fly away; it has happened to many of them, not only to Mark, and if he has learned something throughout the years, it’s that it’s impossible to see it coming. It’s perfect, they’re happy, and suddenly one half is gone without notice.

And even if Renjun doesn’t reply, Mark knows that he understands.

The recording gets scheduled for a Sunday, but Mark isn’t surprised.

There are certain activities that they do only when the company is empty to avoid leaks, and Mark’s album requires strict privacy. Even though Jeno and Jaemin request going with him to give him support, the company forbids them to, so in the end Mark has to psych himself up to be alone with the producers.

Upon noticing his nervousness, Renjun invites him to practice beforehand, and that formal invitation is the perfect excuse to invade his apartment with permission.

They do practice, at least the first three hours, one hour per song that Renjun is producing for him. Then he demands to hear the rest, and without the playback, Mark has to rap all the lines a cappella while Renjun observes him with a smirk.

Mark hasn’t been embarrassed in a long time, but he is as soon as he finishes, burying his face in the crook of Renjun’s neck. “How are you going to record in front of me like this?” Renjun teases him, heartless.

“Just don’t smile at me. I feel judged.”

Mark detaches, just to find Renjun’s inquisitive eyes filled with endearment. That glint isn’t foreign for Mark. That’s how everyone looks at him when he’s on stage, when he has a microphone in his hands even if it’s not for performing. The difference is that Renjun knows him, so he knows who he’s in love with. Mark is sure that it’s the first time someone falls in love with him.

At Mark’s silence, Renjun strokes the back of his hands, pretending to be distracted. He doesn’t break their eye contact, however, and asks, “Want to practice something else?”

Renjun doesn’t need to specify, because Mark is chasing his mouth one second after; to his shame, Renjun moves away and laughs out loud, making Mark stumble on his lap.

“Don’t you think I worked enough for today?” Mark moans, and instead of indulging Renjun’s joke, he fastens his arm around Renjun’s thighs and drags him over the couch..

Renjun falls on his back, and he’s still laughing when Mark climbs on him, and he still is when Mark dips down to kiss directly on the underside of his jaw. That alleviates his bad case of laughter at last, pulls a faint gasp out of him, and Mark feels his body squirm beneath him.

“It’s not that funny anymore?” Mark defies him.

Renjun doesn’t let him win the fight so easily, but Mark forgets about it as Renjun swallows his kisses. Under Mark, he fits like a perfect piece, even if Mark is always scared of crushing him, and no matter how much they kiss, Mark could go on forever. It’s usually Renjun who forces him into breaks, but tonight Renjun is more lenient than ever, and by the first time Renjun pushes him away, breathless, Mark’s lips are burning.

Then he hooks his finger over Mark’s swollen lower lip, pushing down until it slips up his finger, and mutters, “What would people say if they saw their little, adorable, innocent Mark Lee like this?”

Mark wonders too. Renjun guides him to free a part of him that he often represses; that’s it, talking and acting without fear, and now on the couch with Renjun, it’s showing how much he wants him without thinking about when Renjun will leave him. It should be scary, for Mark hasn’t given it all in a long time, yet Renjun makes him feel safe.

Mark attempts to bite Renjun’s finger, but he moves faster, tucking his finger in his fist. “I’m deprived of love,” Mark assures him, as if that justifies his impatience.

“Of love?” The corners of Renjun’s eyes crinkle up in amusement. “Everyone loves you.”

He’s not wrong, but explaining why Mark exclusively counts Renjun for that would be too complicated. So he drops his forehead on Renjun’s, careful, aware that Renjun will jerk away just to enjoy Mark’s reaction if he goes too fast.

“Okay, not love. Maybe deprived of touch,” Mark retorts instead. Taking him by surprise, Renjun slides a hand under his shirt, a hand that travels up Mark’s back, and Mark’s whole body weakens at the contact. Renjun laughs a raspy laugh, and Mark mutters, “Definitely touch.”

“What a cruel world,” Renjun says, eyes inspecting every inch of Mark’s face with intent.

Mark tries to kiss him, but Renjun spins his head to the side and his lips land on Renjun’s cheek instead. It happens at least half a dozen times before Renjun allows him to get a kiss, and then Renjun begins again, snickering at Mark’s incredulity. In the end, Mark sighs and rests his head on Renjun’s collarbones, where Renjun cradles him; he plants a peck on the crown of his head as a reward, but Mark grunts anyhow.

“Will you let me stay?” Mark asks, careful, as though raising his voice will scare Renjun away.

“Only if your manager doesn’t call.” Mark muffles a whine in the back of his throat. The objection is logical, and that’s the worst of it. Renjun’s fingertips walk behind Mark’s ear like little drops. “So you might want to turn your phone off.”

Mark jolts out so fast that he falls on the floor first, and ignoring Renjun’s yelp of fear – because Mark falls quite hard – he runs to fetch his phone.

Mark isn’t afraid of falling, but it happens anyway.

Renjun doesn’t call the next day, and that’s fine, because they spent the previous day together. But he doesn’t answer Mark’s message the day after that either, or the next, or the next. And though Mark ignores his pulsating concern, it’s too late for him.

Mark knows when someone is in love with him, or so he intends to believe. But being in love with him isn’t all that fantastic. It’s scary, pressuring, restricting. Mark has seen two boys crumble under the pressure of his life, and the relationships weren’t that serious yet. And it isn’t serious with Renjun either, because they’ve moved too fast, too happily, and Mark hasn’t stopped to think twice about it. Some kisses, some touches, some laughter and an innumerable amount of secret dates aren’t a sign of commitment.

There’s a chance that Renjun wants to be with him over all that pressure, but the moment he steps back to observe the situation from afar, he’ll realize he doesn’t belong there, to Mark. That they might be happy when they’re together, but that won’t be enough in the end, and that he deserves a normal relationship.

So even if Mark tries to contact him, by the fourth day he forces himself to stifle the pain growing in his chest. But it grows and grows until it’s bigger than Mark’s chest and Mark himself, and he blames himself. He understands why Renjun would cut all contact with him; he just wishes they could have talked it through and, most important, that Renjun hadn’t taken this decision after spending the whole night with him.

All in all, Mark doesn’t know how he’s going to face Renjun in the last meeting before the recording.

“Do I have to kill him?” Jeno asks one night after walking into their bedroom and discovering that Mark is already in bed. There’s no need for him to even check Mark’s expression, because Mark goes to sleep early when he’s in a bad mood.

Mark grunts, “Don’t be dramatic.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Jeno retorts. He takes his socks off, strides to Mark’s bed and climbs on top of him, disregarding that Mark protests because Jeno hasn’t changed into his pajamas yet. “Don’t fall asleep, we’re going to drink tonight.”

Mark would decline, but Jeno sends him a threatening look, not disposed to take a no as an answer. And perhaps Mark needs that, for he might be overacting and projecting his past fears on Renjun, plus the fear of losing him so soon when he has just gotten him back.

Renjun did warn him that he’d be busy, and he didn’t explain much, but he could be busy to the point of not checking his phone or calling Mark. He doesn’t owe Mark anything, anyhow. His job might be a priority, especially because Mark has just entered his life and Renjun can’t throw everything away for him.

Assuming that Jeno bought alcohol was a mistake, because when Jeno steps into the room again, this time with Mark’s coat hanging off his shoulder, it’s obvious that he’s planning to go out. Mark doesn’t put up a big fight, lets Jeno cover him up to his eyes, and then they’re running into the cold, Jeno pulling him into a few bars until they find the right one.

The right one is the emptiest one, as usual. It’s not even a bar, just a restaurant which food hours halted and only offers drinks now, but it’s perfect for them. It’s perfect for Mark to drink as much as he wants to without being judged.

“You shouldn’t be worrying this much,” Jeno tells him, noticing that he’s shooting those drinks down too fast. Jeno isn’t a master at nursing drunk people, so Mark is risking his own dignity. “When you meet him again at the studio, you’ll realize it’s all in your head.”

“Why would you know that?”

“Because,” Jeno begins, banging his palm on the table. “He told you he was busy, and he must be, and you have this tendency to think everyone is out to use you for the fame and nothing else.”

Mark is too sober to receive the hit with his pride intact. “That hurt.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Still hurt.”

Jeno shrugs, then takes Mark’s drink and his own and makes a toast. “You’re a little insecure shit. And so am I.” He chews on his lips, deciding if it’s right to keep talking, and Mark has to nod for Jeno to continue. “Remember what we promised? That we wouldn’t assume everyone was out to use us? That we can be loved for real and not just for-”

Jeno gestures to his own face, not knowing how to elucidate his thoughts; Mark sighs at him, but he gets the point.

“You’re right, Renjun gave me no reasons to doubt,” Mark admits.

But it’s hard to shake his doubts off. He’s wired that way thanks to his job, to doubt his performances and analyze every millisecond of them just to improve them. And that’s what happens to his relationships in general, to his relationship with Renjun, except they already have a past and it’s easier for Mark to be negative and predict that Renjun will leave again.

“One week and you’ll be recording your second album.” Jeno rests his head against his hand, elbow on the table. He’s so happy about that fact, even more content than Mark, that Mark captures that moment in his head for later; when, in the future, he questions why he’s trying to succeed again, he will remember Jeno’s face tonight. “I can’t wait to listen to it. It’s so unfair that they didn’t let us listen.”

“Can’t risk that you’ll betray me,” Mark jokes.

Jeno laps his lower lip over his upper lip, feigning sadness.

The rest happens too fast for Mark to process it. Jeno’s expression shifts from sadness to fright, and he tenses up on his chair, eyes travelling from the door to Mark, from Mark to the door. Mark knows him well enough to figure out his intentions when Jeno grabs his hand over the table, and that’s why his heart drops to his stomach. Jeno gives him a pleading look, but Mark doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t follow his silent advice: he spins his head to check what’s behind him, or better, who.

He suspected that it’d be Renjun, and Mark doesn’t need to see his face, because he’d recognize his coat from miles away. Mark would have never suspected the company, however, because out of all people, Lee Donghyuck is perched on his arm, a huge grin invading his face.

It feels like someone has punched him in his stomach and is twisting their fist in the hollow. Renjun barely talks about Donghyuck to Mark, yet Renjun isn’t busy for one of them only. Mark’s messages are ignored in his phone, waiting, but he’s on a random bar to drink, past midnight, with Donghyuck.

It feels like a cruel joke of the universe too. Because Renjun could have walked into the other dozen bars of the zone instead of walking into the one Mark is at, but he supposes that Donghyuck deemed this the most appropriate one, the most discreet, just like Jeno and he did. Donghyuck’s company isn’t far away from here either, so it’s likely that he has just gotten out from work, that he met up with Renjun on purpose and they looked for the closest, most private place around. Renjun could have walked in with a thousand possible persons, but it had to be Lee Donghyuck. It had to be him.

It’s almost funny that Renjun doesn’t notice them, but it’s logical because his attention is on Donghyuck, just like Donghyuck’s attention is on him. They sit on the opposite side of the restaurant, and though Mark wants to tear his gaze away, he can’t help but notice how much they’re laughing with each other, how he can spot a playful glint in Donghyuck’s eyes all the way from here.

On the contrary, Jeno looks like he’s praying for a quick death. “Maybe you sh-”

“I’m not going to say hi,” Marks cuts in, a bitter smile that startles an already startled Jeno. He shoves his hand into his pocket, fishes his wallet out, and leaves all the money they have to pay on the table. “Let’s get out of here.”

When they’re outside, Mark glances at them through the glass one last time. Renjun looks so, so pretty with Donghyuck in front of him. Perhaps it’s meant to be that way.

A few hours later, Mark reaches a conclusion: it wouldn’t bother him this much if it wasn’t Lee Donghyuck. There are so many boys in this world, so many boys Renjun could choose over him, yet it had to be Donghyuck.

Mark feels childish. He’s aware that he’s being childish, especially because when Jeno tells the story to the rest, all of them agree that it’s not a big deal. Jaemin advises him to talk to Renjun, assures him that meeting a friend, even for leisure, counts as being busy. Something about living the moment instead of sinking the nose in his phone. No one thinks Renjun is betraying him, less cheating on him; Sungchan smacks him on the head once Mark insinuates it, and truth to be told, the size of Sungchan’s hands is dangerous for any living creature.

Mark’s feelings are more complicated than that.

While he was terribly failing, Donghyuck was having the best year of his career – with Renjun by his side. The press pitted them against each other, just for the sake of creating drama, to humiliate Mark, and every time Mark crossed paths with Donghyuck, Donghyuck never greeted him like he should have. Mark didn’t want to suppose that Donghyuck hated him, or that he was rude, but it was evident that he intended to feed that rivalry.

The fact that Renjun is the only personal link they have with each other unnerves Mark at best. The fact that having Renjun in his life implies having Donghyuck, even if he’s far away from Mark, is disturbing.

Mark has to swallow down that hard pill, because Renjun is allowed to have friends, no matter if he has worked for them or not, no matter if Mark holds a competitive grudge against him. Whether Renjun is updated about their rivalry or not, it’s not his problem. But Mark wishes he wouldn’t have got ignored for days.

“Take a deep breath,” Jaemin tells him, flattening the sides of Mark’s hair. “It’s just a short reunion.”

As usual, Jaemin is right. But Mark is standing in front of the meeting room and feels nausea rise in his throat, because he’s a coward, because he can’t face Renjun after the turmoil of paranoia he has drown in, because-

There aren’t any more options, though.

“It’s a lot of short meetings,” Mark explains, like he’s contradicting him, like that detail matters. “When Renjun’s reunion ends I’ll have to go on with the next reunion and I don’t know if I’m-”

It’s a test, to some extent, because if Renjun ignores him in a formal situation, Mark will have to accept the signs and give up on him.

“Shut your mouth,” Jaemin groans, and places two of his fingers over Mark’s mouth just in case. “He’s not going to break up with you in the middle of a meeting.”

Mark pales. “Break up?”

“Who’s talking about that? I’m talking about that not happening.” Jaemin furrows his eyebrows at him, frustrated. “Stop thinking, Mark.”

Even though it seems that Jaemin is about to dedicate him some encouraging words, the door opens and Mark is called in by one of the managers. He stumbles inside without properly replying to Jaemin’s whispers, and for sure without being ready for it.

Mark can’t help but wonder if they’re obvious, because when he enters the room, his eyes are unable to recognize anyone except Renjun for the first fifteen seconds. He counts them, one by one. Renjun bowing to him, smiling at him, staring at him with tenderness first and then with blatant worry in his eyes. Renjun has a special skill to read through him, Mark has learned that, and it’s the case today; Mark’s expression screams his emotions to the world.

Mark’s sight expands when he sits down; he notices the rest of the team, notices that Renjun is dressed up, not with casual clothes, and that his manager is sending him odd glances as well. And it’s indeed a short meeting, because they go over the final proposals and agree that everyone gave green light to Renjun’s final songs, and then it’s over.

Unlike Renjun, Mark has to stay for the next producer, so his eyes follow Renjun as he leaves the room. Renjun exchanges jokes and laughs, the creative director patting his head, and he looks his age for a moment. Mark doesn’t laugh. And then Renjun stares back at him, when everyone else isn’t looking, and mouths, “I’ll wait for you.”

Mark doesn’t know how he understands that.

The walls have ears and eyes, but after two hours of waiting for him, Renjun doesn’t seem to mind that anymore.

The studio he pulls Mark into is in complete darkness, and in a silent agreement, neither of them reaches out for the light. Darkness is safe for them when Renjun tiptoes and molds against Mark’s lips perfectly.

Mark forgets his troubles right away, but his heart trembles at how happy he feels with Renjun’s body against him, at how he doesn’t care that they’re one door away from getting caught. It’s this stupid, fearless love, that can become this scary at times.

Renjun breaks away just enough to whisper, “I missed you.”

This is tougher than Mark thought, because a wave of pain surges from his chest at those words, at Renjun leaving a quick peck on his lips to steal another kiss. “You missed me?”

Renjun’s placid, relaxed gaze flickers up to look into Mark’s eyes. “Yeah.”

“You didn’t have time to miss Donghyuck though.”

Immediately after speaking, Mark wishes he’d have slapped a hand over his mouth. Renjun’s joy vanishes in the blink of an eye, substituted by confusion and pain; but it’s too late for Mark to control his impulsiveness, to spit what’s on his mind without consideration.

“What are-?” Renjun says, rapidly blinking up at him. He steps back, and though Mark makes a desperate attempt at jerking him back, an apology on the tip of his tongue, Renjun has too much strength. “Mark, are you kidding me?”

Renjun is too smart not to put all the pieces together by himself. Asking how Mark found out that he went out with Donghyuck isn’t a priority for him, it doesn’t matter; the problem is that Mark is reproaching it to him, a tiny warning of possessiveness.

Fixing his attention on the floor is less unnerving than doing it on Renjun, so Mark does that, cheeks flaming up at his own stupidity. “I didn’t mean it like that,” Mark mutters.

Perhaps because he’s hurt, Renjun is unforgiving, and shakes his head like he won’t accept that excuse.

“I work for other people too, you know?” Renjun presses his lips together, and Mark doesn’t miss out on how he wipes them with his sleeve for the split of a second, trying to erase the taste of Mark. “Or am I your exclusive producer now, Lee?”

“Don’t call me Lee.” Mark feels all the air leave his lungs, as though someone had kicked him in the chest. Renjun has never used his surname. “You don’t call Donghyuck Lee.”

Renjun lets out a bitter scoff. “We are friends, why would I call him Lee?”

The silence eats them whole. Bringing this topic up wasn’t a good idea, because Mark feels the control slip between his fingers bit by bit, and Renjun turns around and sits on one of the chairs, still with that bitter, incredulous smile on his semblance.

It makes Mark feel so immature. Because Renjun is laughing, and not happily, at how irrational he’s being, and Mark agrees with him; he’s embarrassed, but his previous feelings remain alive, an itching he can’t scratch.

“And what are we?” Mark should be counting to ten, counting to one hundred if necessary, anything except speaking. “You can’t just go around kissing whoever you want and then ignoring them and calling them by their last name as if you hadn’t spent the whole night with them.”

Renjun is speechless for once. Despite being aware that he has just made the situation worse, Mark has the idiotic sensation that he had a small win over him.

And he should be scared of this conversation. He is. But not more scared than Renjun, who is afraid not of the conversation, but of someone overhearing them. Of someone hearing that they spent the night together, which couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. That’s why Mark isn’t surprised when Renjun sits straight on the chair, erases any trace of emotion except disappointment, and closes up.

“You’re being unprofessional,” he says, only that, gulping.

And it’s true. Mark hasn’t been professional since the first moment he saw Renjun, and if he had the chance to replay his life from that moment, he wouldn’t be able to change a single thing about it; his heart always gets the best of him, and that’s not always the right path.

“You are being unprofessional.” Mark bites down on his tongue until it hurts, yet that doesn’t prevent him from continuing. “You kissed me.”

For a few seconds, Renjun merely stares at him, unable to process that accusation.

“Yeah,” he replies in the end, voice raspy and agonized. Yet he stands up, walks past Mark as if he doesn’t exist, and opening the door, he finishes, “Looks like I made a mistake.”

If Mark didn’t know Jaemin has good intentions, he’d swear that he’s asphyxiating him on purpose.

But at least Jaemin doesn’t look at him like he’s the most pitiful creature in the universe. Sungchan does, for example, and Jisung and Chenle roam around the dorm avoiding him on purpose, in fear Mark will decide to pour an emotional rant on them and they won’t be able to handle it.

It’s Jaemin who cuddles him on the couch until Mark crumbles down, giving him affection just to destroy his barriers. Not that breaking the barriers would have been that hard, not this time, but Mark lets him believe otherwise.

“I’m so sorry,” Jaemin laments, arms around Mark’s neck with excessive strength.

Mark doesn’t want anyone to feel sorry for him. He got himself into this mess, or rather, he destroyed a mess that was worth it.

Whining against Jaemin’s chest, Mark says, “I’m a fucking idiot.”

That’s an understatement. Mark got jealous, or that’s how he’s calling it, for no reason other than his insecurity of being inferior to Donghyuck. And he could have apologized to Renjun for mentioning it, for looking for issues that don’t exist, but instead he talked and talked until Renjun was angry at him.

“We know that,” Jaemin assures him. He pats his head, and then shifts on the couch a bit to look behind them. “Right, Jeno?”

Jeno is striding past them and into the kitchen, but he still yells, “Right.”

There’s no room to feel offended, for Mark knows that he deserves it. He whirls in Jaemin’s embrace in an attempt to look at him, and it turns out that their faces are uncomfortably close; Jaemin grins at him as though he’s capable of kissing Mark just to gross him out.

“What do I do now?” Mark mutters, a clear invitation for advice.

“You’re going to kill that album recording,” Jaemin declares, cupping his face between his hands. His enthusiasm would be contagious if Mark was capable of believing in himself. “Then you’ll make Renjun listen to you, will tell him that you like him a lot and that your weird self thinks he’s your destiny. Destiny, it was, wasn’t it?”

“I should have never told you that.” But it had to be destiny, there was no other explanation. Life couldn’t have put Renjun twice in his road by pure coincidence, less when Mark is so inaccessible now.  “But yes.”

Jaemin nods, more to himself than to Mark, and palms Mark’s butt to cheer him up. “And then you’ll kiss him and go to his apartment and I won’t have to put up with your sad ass anymore.” He smirks. “Time to emancipate.”

It doesn’t go as Jaemin planned.

Two days before the recording, Mark’s anxiety shoots up to the sky and beyond. He tries to do anything except practicing, since listening to his title song worsens his mood. It’s a terrible sign, because he shouldn’t allow himself to develop negative feelings towards a song that he’s going to be performing at least for a whole year.

Aware that the fight was his fault, he messages and calls Renjun, but Renjun outright blocks his calls. It’s a harmful move for the both of them, but Mark understands that Renjun isn’t disposed to listen to more nonsense. There might be a tiny chance that instead of fixing the problem, they’ll make it bigger if they discuss it, and Renjun might not want that to invalidate their work. Mark doesn’t trust his own tongue, and less his insecurities, not to betray his good will.

The worst would be telling Renjun that, deep inside, Mark thinks Renjun could be using him, a pretty thing to open and toss away. That’s what people always do with them, anyhow.

“Well, I’m not going to propose drinking again,” Jeno tells him the day before the recording, standing in front of the dorm’s door and hiding sweets under his jumper to sneak them in. “That didn’t go well last time.”

“You’d get a strike if they found out,” Mark agrees. Both because of the alcohol and the sweets, actually, but Mark isn’t going to be a party pooper. “I wouldn’t be able to sing tomorrow.”

“Sing,” Jeno repeats, like it’s a joke.

“Did you already forget that I sing in the title track?”

Jeno smiles to himself, not even looking at Mark. “No, but it’s still funny.”

A resigned sigh escapes Mark’s lips. Singing seemed to be a good idea at some point, but he’s not that sure anymore. He’s risking his solo career to all or nothing, and although it’s sort of terrifying, it’s also a relief. If his album is an absolute failure, the company won’t trust him again and Mark will be free from this pressure at last; but if it fails-

It’s something he created with Renjun. He might lose Renjun forever in the future; perhaps he already did, so Mark wishes their song would thrive as a small memory of all the things they could have been together.

Mark’s voice trembles. Once, twice, three times. Too many mistakes to fix them.

When Renjun stops the song and tells him that they will start all over, his eyes avoid Mark on purpose. Mark doesn’t know why he’s looking at Renjun like he could solve this problem; not even Mark knows what’s going on with his voice.

It’s the first time this has happened to Mark. Recording is tough, he’s aware of that, and other producers have made him repeat his lines to obtain the exact result they had imagined, but no one ever decided that his job was too much of a mess to keep any of it.

Mark nods, and so does Renjun. The other producer, next to Renjun, bites his lips in nervousness.

The music plays. And then it happens again, even though Mark is doing his best, even though he’s rapping like he always does; his body doesn’t respond him, his throat clutches on itself, the air scraping his vocal chords when he tries to sing.

He catches the frown on Renjun’s face through the glass, but Renjun isn’t looking at him this time either. The other producer looks both frustrated and confused, and Mark can’t blame him: they’ve worked together before, and this isn’t Mark’s usual self.

“Let’s start all over,” Renjun announces, coming closer to the microphone so that Mark hears him inside the cabin. A third time. Renjun will make him do it until Mark has a decent result for them. “Punctuate the first verse clearly; it sounds completely monotone and soulless right now.”

Overwhelmed, Mark takes a deep breath and grips the headphones harder against his ears. He closes his eyes to isolate himself from the world, even if the cabin is there to do exactly that; he needs to forget that Renjun is there, that they fought and that Renjun doesn’t care about him at all. Mark is a toy, a product, isn’t he? That’s what everyone sees, and that’s what Renjun sees too. Mark should be used to it, shouldn’t let that ruin his career.

The music starts playing once more, and Mark prepares himself as best as he can. It doesn’t work: he misses the tempo in the chorus, sucks in a breath so hard that it gets recorded, and mistakes some words for others in the bridge.

Renjun halts the song before it can reach the end. Mark has the sudden urge to cry, quickly blinking to shoo his own tears, and for once finds Renjun’s eyes on him, evident pity in them.

This time, Renjun doesn’t talk to him, doesn’t even touch the microphone. He leans towards the other producer and they exchange a few words. Mark’s hands tremble at his side. The other producer smiles at whatever Renjun is telling him and then, to Mark’s shock, he stands up and leaves the recording room.

With wide eyes, Mark observes how Renjun hooks his index finger to summon him. Mark isn’t sure he wants to leave the cabinet, not just to hear that he’s doing a disappointing job, but he can’t run away from this situation either.

Mark isn’t the type to pity himself, but he admits that it’s pretty pathetic that his legs are shaking as he leaves the cabinet. Unlike him, Renjun isn’t afraid, spins with his chair to face him.

“Hey,” he says, extending his arm. It takes Mark a moment to realize that he’s offering his hand. “Come here.”

Mark takes his hand, a warm hand that sends a chill through Mark’s cold skin. Perhaps it’s not about the temperature, but the way Renjun’s eyes stare at him under his cap, as though he can tell why Mark is malfunctioning.

Broken isn’t the right word to describe how Mark feels, it’s a word beyond that, but that’s the only thing he can think of when Renjun softly pulls him to the free seat. At least his legs don’t shake that much when he’s sitting.

Renjun draws closer, their knees bumping, and Mark doesn’t realize his head was hanging low until Renjun slides his palm under his chin. It’s ironical that it’s Renjun who makes him look into his eyes, because Mark finds the consolation he needs in them.

Renjun doesn’t hate him. The affection is there, just slightly blurred by a veil of pain, because even if Mark hasn’t considered Renjun’s feelings and has spun around his own feelings for day, their fight hurt Renjun too.

And then Renjun drifts closer and closer, and Mark feels the ghost of his breath over his lips. Shutting his eyes close, Mark lets Renjun kiss him, no matter how dangerous is to do it here, in this moment. Renjun is careful, waiting for Mark to push him away; instead Mark responds, clumsy and nervous, melts against Renjun’s touch and mouth.

It barely lasts, and Mark has to control himself not to follow Renjun’s mouth for another kiss. It’d be easy to do so, because even if Renjun distances himself, he doesn’t let go, and his left hand travels up to accompany the right one.

“Everything is fine,” Renjun whispers to him. And Mark wants to believe him, but a kiss isn’t enough to eradicate all the worries he has been growing for days. “Please, focus.”

On some level it’s disturbing that both are aware that Mark’s performance is a disaster because of Renjun. He could deny it, but Renjun must have encountered a lot of singers unable to sing due to their mental state, and Mark must be even more obvious to him.

“Everything is fine?” Mark asks, unsure of his own hearing. It’d not be the first time he hears what he was hoping for.

“Between us?” Renjun asks, checking that they’re on the same page. Then Mark nods, too weak to answer with words, and Renjun rubs his thumb over Mark’s cheek. “We’ll talk it out later, okay? I promise.”

Mark believes him, because Renjun wouldn’t lie to him when he’s on his lowest point. Giving him a chance to talk is more than Mark has imagined, an improvement from Renjun’s determination to ignore him.

“Will you listen to me?” Mark whispers.

“Of course.” Renjun gives him a demure smile, trying not to laugh at his question. It sounds childish, Mark supposes, though Renjun doesn’t mind. He detaches, sits back on his chair, and hums, “Do you think you can use this pain to sing?”

Mark blinks several times, confused. Renjun is asking him to use the pain he’s feeling to make the song more emotional. It equals to undressing himself, except he’s baring his feelings and not his body, and Mark is sure the latter option isn’t the scariest one.

“I don’t know,” Mark replies, and it’s sincere.

“We’ll try, you and me alone.” It’s not an order, for Renjun tilts his head to the side, waiting for Mark’s confirmation. That’s the reason he catches Mark sending a wary glance to the door, though he’s not doubting Renjun’s words. “I won’t let him in until we’re done, okay?”

“I trust you,” Renjun whispers then. He smiles with a calmness that Mark can’t even picture in this moment, a calmness that only Renjun could provide him with. “Trust me.”

Mark understands now. Trust him. It’s not about the song.

“What the-?” Jaemin drops his bag by the door, his face a cross between confusion and indignation. “Why are you here?”

There is a reason why Mark and Renjun are at the dorm, though it’s not a convincing one. It’s just bad luck that Jaemin decided to arrive fifteen minutes before Mark’s album dropped, thus catching them lying on the couch and completely alone at home.

Mark should be biting his own nails out of nervousness, but he’s resting his head on Renjun’s lap instead, a complacent smile on his lips.

“Don’t trigger him,” Renjun warns Jaemin, snapping his fingers in the air to shush him. Jaemin groans out loud, closes the door with the heel of his feet, and strides to them to check what they’re doing. “He doesn’t want anyone to tell him how the song will chart.”

Mark grins up at Jaemin when his face hovers over them just to witness the current situation: Renjun is holding both his phone and Mark’s phone so that Mark remains oblivious to reality. The time shines on the screens. Ten minutes.

“You’re no fun,” Jaemin grunts, shoulders plummeting. “What if it goes well? You don’t want to know either?”

Mark shakes his head and hums as Renjun caresses his hair. “I’m in peace with the world.”

Jaemin signals towards Renjun’s face, waving his finger around. “Because of this one?”

“Exactly.”

“This is kinda gross,” Jaemin sentences. He walks back to his bag and picks it up; even if he acts tough in front of them, Mark knows that he’s just confused because of the lack of concern over the album, since it was Mark’s biggest worry for a year. “Everyone will be checking it for you. I hope you’re happy.”

Not disposed to feel guilty, Mark gives him a thumbs-up. And Jaemin is lucky to turn around one second later, because the next thing Mark knows is that Renjun is playfully biting his finger. Mark jerks away with a moan, pretending that Renjun bit too hard.

“Two minutes,” Renjun announces, snapping his teeth as a threat.

“I might die, right?”

Renjun bends down, laughing, and plants a kiss between Mark’s forehead and the line of his hair. “Where’s your confidence now?”

Sincerity is Mark’s only card. “It’s all in you.”

There’s a shift on Renjun’s expression, and though Mark is starting to get used to the tenderness in Renjun’s eyes, he’ll never get used to the affection his voice transmits.

Renjun strokes the line of Mark’s nose with his index finger and says, “The job is done.”

The job isn’t done, for the hardest side is about to come. But Renjun isn’t talking about the song, so Mark closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Renjun plants another kiss on his forehead, and another, and another, until Mark furrows his nose at him.

“Is it time?”

“It’s time,” Renjun confirms. “Do you want to listen to it?”

Mark contemplates his options. It’s not a mere step, not just a song for them, and Mark can see the realization in Renjun’s eyes too. Part of them, part of their story – both when they were apart and when they were together – is being shared with the world, with that heartless, critical world.

Mark’s lips curve into a smile. “I mean, why not?”

And so Renjun plays it.