Work Text:
And I know for some, it's temporary
Like a shooting star, soon out of view
But this will always be
It's my destiny
To be in love with you
There's no need for lights in a ghost town. To drift amongst the living, being able to hear them but never see, the lilts of whispered promises and soft laughs are a guide, igniting in colorful bursts across his vision. He could cup them in the palms of his hands and watch them spill out through the cracks in his fingers, floating back to their owners like sweet notes of a song.
“What are you thinking about?” Mark murmurs, most likely at the way Jaemin laid his head against his chest and hadn't moved since. He could still feel Mark's heartbeat, phantom beneath his skin. If he listened hard enough, it sounded steady and strong, just as it had when they were alive. He still misses the rush of blood to his cheeks when Mark would smile, the pounding in his chest whenever Mark giggled, the instant wave of warmth when Mark held his hand.
Jaemin hums in response, pressing closer. Whatever he had to say, it could wait. He focuses on the feeling of Mark’s arm secured around his waist, how Mark cards his fingers through his hair, and closes his eyes. With an eternity stretched out before them, like his husband always says— they've got all the time in the world.
Years and years pressed into hundreds of pages, lined with photos lovingly collected. Each holds a picture of their family, their friends, and Jaemin flips through them often, comforted with the knowledge that he'll always have the album to look back on when his memory starts to fade.
"Love," he calls from where he's pressed into the couch. It used to be a name that made Mark blush every time, without fail, but now it's just fond for the both of them. "Come look."
Mark glances up from the papers he's grading, attentive in that way even when Jaemin draws him out of his focus. He leaves his folder on the table and shifts closer, thighs pressing together. Jaemin massages his thigh almost absentmindedly, lifting the page to show the array of Polaroids.
This section is from when they went out to karaoke one night to celebrate Jisung's birthday. Mark taps a photo, and Jaemin leans in as he gushes. "Oh god, we were all so young, look at this!" He sighs in amusement, flitting over the various scenes of glow-in-the-dark bracelets and a long row of drinks. "This was right after Hyuckie climbed into his lap and Chenle started belting to.. Taeyeon, was it?" Jaemin nods, and Mark breathes a breathless wow.
He lets out a noise in acknowledgement to each of Mark's comments as he continues perusing through the album. Jaemin falls back, cheek on palm, content to just admire him reliving memories, taking in his profile. The glasses resting top of nose, his smile as he snorts to himself, the way his eyes crinkle, the age lines setting into his face.
"I think we should get a cat," Jaemin blurts. "I get lonely here all on my own, sometimes."
Mark needs a single look, a split second examination, and his judgment is made. "Okay," he agrees. "When should we go to the shelter?"
Seated outside the university after the students are gone, Jaemin twirls his helmet while waiting for Mark. They planned a date to their favorite lunch spot, and after other previously canceled ones, Jaemin is going through withdrawal. He spots the moment Mark walks out of the building with Jeno, the two chatting animatedly, and he straightens up when Jeno waves to him, feeling accomplished for having the approval of one of his boyfriend's friends.
Jaemin eyes all the stuff Mark's carrying. Mark catches his look and ducks his head, waving him off with claims that it's not too heavy. He allows Jaemin to put his folder in the basket, but insists on keeping his bag over his shoulder. He'll get him one of these days. “Did you bike all the way here?” He asks, falling into step beside Jaemin.
"I did," Jaemin sings, patting the seat of the bike with pride. "No big deal. How was work, Lee-sunsaengnim?"
Mark grimaces, immediately drawn back into the events of the day. "It's still so weird for people to call me that. I'm not much older than they are."
Jaemin nudges him with his hip. "So many years here and you're still not used to it, huh?"
"It's not that!" Mark flushes, swatting Jaemin away. "I just don't feel like a real teacher yet, that's why." Jaemin frowns, opening his mouth to argue, but Mark shakes his head. "That's not really what I'm worried about, though. I know it'll come with time, I've just got to prove it to myself."
Jaemin nods, hand curling around Mark's arm to drag him back from the crosswalk. "What are you worried about, then?" He questions.
Mark groans. "This is so dumb. It just hit me now.. I started making money, right? That means I've got to file taxes." He whines at Jaemin holding back a laugh. "Hey, it's serious!" Mark purses his lips, closest Jaemin's ever gotten him to a real pout. "I still don't understand how any of that works over here."
"Look at us, talking about taxes," Jaemin says, holding the door to the café open. "Stale but exhilarating. There's nothing like narrowly avoiding a tax fraud conviction."
Mark kicks him lightly once they're sitting, and Jaemin puts his hands up in surrender, grinning. "You're right though. You'll need to soon. I could teach you, they're due at the end of each year."
Mark perks up at that, sliding Jaemin's plate towards him. "Really? You're sure?"
Jaemin taps his head, pretending to think about it. "Well," he drawls, nearly giving in to Mark's wide eyes, "I don't go giving my secrets out for free." Stealing the cake right off Mark's fork, his face breaks into a brilliant grin. "You'd have to marry me first."
He's lost a lung, had a gaping hole carved in his chest by a knife that twists with every breath he heaves. Mark's everywhere in tre apartment, and he's nowhere. The reality is too jarring, devolving from a home to silent walls, to having someone and then to processing the fact they'll never come back.
The only sounds in the house are soft meows and the pitter-patter of Neela's claws against the wood. She curls into his lap constantly, asking for pets, the familiar warmth keeping him tethered. At her age, she's less active, but follows behind wherever he goes, just enough so that Jaemin is always in her line of sight. He aches. She does her best to fill in the empty spaces, the silence where she can. He loves her.
Today, there's that ever-present furry weight on his face, the first thing he registers before anything else, before the pain chokes him. She gets him up in the mornings, and that's enough. That's all he needs.
"Hey girl," Jaemin whispers. He lifts a shaking hand to pet her, feeling a distinct wetness on his cheeks as she licks away his tears.
When Jaemin peers closer, the thick skin of his fingers becomes visible. Calloused, bumpy, and wrinkled from age, a sign of the years he spent stitching, a few needle pokes too many, every scar telling a story. He’s proud of what he lived, but the difference between them is so stark; countless pieces of evidence of when he’s grown where Mark hasn’t, still the same as decades prior, untouched by time.
The wind whips around, taking a flurry of petals with it as flowers sprout out from the earth, slowly unfurling in hues of pink and yellow and blue, remnants of a past spring. The memory comes rushing back as the landscape changes beneath their feet, and Jaemin as remembers getting on one knee, accidentally scraped in the process, but the slight pain was nothing to the sheer excitement thrumming through his veins. His world focused in on Mark, offering his heart in that tiny velvet box. Together they're thirty-five years old again, with Mark gathering him up and crushing him to his chest while crying into his ear.
After Mark was gone, he remembers thinking he'd trade anything for more time. If forever had a price, he’d have bought it three times over. It finally came, with patience, and sealed the deal with his life. An equal trade for an eternity.
"When did you get so wise?" Mark teases, his whole face scrunching up with the force of his smile.
Jaemin gives a little laugh in response, conversation trailing away when he glances at their joined hands, at Mark's wedding ring. He thumbs over the crushed jewel, but it doesn’t hurt as he runs his finger over the cracks and jagged edges. Mark goes quiet and gazes at him, considering, giving him time to collect his thoughts.
"'Till death do us part,'" he mutters, and the statement is heavy with the past. Everything he's bottled up suspends in the air, the love and desperation and heartache and relief, before he finally lets it go, lets it rest. Then he chuckles, crossing their ankles. "Guess we broke that too, didn't we?"
Mark's lips curl up at that. "When I said forever," he grins, eyes flicking up to Jaemin’s, and they sparkle; reflective of the endless expanse of stars overhead, all glowing from the strength of a long held promise, a wish fulfilled. "I meant it."
"What're you doing?" Mark calls from the kitchen, peering curiously as Jaemin fiddles with his radio. It's a dinky little thing, having belonged to Mark's mother, but it meant the world; Mark would sit there for hours after school, listening to songs on the radio and strumming along to them on his guitar.
"Playing the classics, what do you mean," Jaemin replies, gently placing the CD into the slot, holding it by the edges like he recalls from vague flashes of his childhood.
"Where did you even find one of those nowadays," Mark says, mostly to himself, pausing when the music crackles then gives way to sweet, melodic voices. It's that American 50's music his husband's a huge sucker for. Mark is weak for its romantic lyrics and slow pace, the sheer nostalgia and longing in every note never failing to tug on his heartstrings.
"I got it from that record shop when we went to the US," Jaemin admits, sheepish. He takes a deep breath, hovering over the buttons as Mark steps close, and turns as the chorus starts, dripping with honey. "Happy birthday."
Dancing like fools is a pastime they don't often have the opportunity for, so they trip over themselves to their heart's content, singing in each other's ear and stealing kisses between twirls. Eventually their energy winds down as the songs do as well. Mark pulls him in, chest to chest, heart to heart, Jaemin's chin resting on Mark's shoulder. They sway like that for a while, listening as the tracks mellow out.
Jaemin drops his hands from Mark's hips to his back pockets. He laughs at Mark's indignant huff against his cheek, reigning in his smile enough just so he can peck Mark on the lips. The tips of his ears are red when Jaemin pulls back and pats Mark's butt, taking in how he looks underneath the sunset, the sky painted across his skin.
Jaemin beams. "What's up, love?" He chirps, Mark scrunching his nose at his antics. Jaemin resists the urge to kiss him again as Mark shakes his head, staring at Jaemin for a breath, two, before he's hugging Jaemin once more, arms wound tight around his torso.
"Thank you," he mumbles into Jaemin's hair, the sounds of the track fading off into the CD's rhythmic spinning. "I love it. Love you."
"I can't stop," Jaemin cries, "I can't stop thinking about it, all the time." He shudders as Renjun's arms circle around him, the weight of the world pressing him on all sides. "I just.. I don't know. I don't know what to do anymore."
"I know, I know," Renjun says, voice breaking. They stay like that, embracing until they calm.
Renjun cradles his face. "I miss him. And I miss you so much," he says, urgent, determined. "It's going to be the first thing you think of when you wake up, every single day, until it's not anymore." He brushes the hair away from Jaemin’s forehead. "But you’re still here, Jaemin." Renjun shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. Jaemin knows he's speaking to himself with this, too; these are words that he had needed to hear, before. "Don't be afraid to keep on living."
Jaemin pushes off the ground, the plastic swing creaking under his weight. He closes his eyes and lets the light breeze pass through his hair. It's familiar, the smell of the grass and the faint noise of children playing, yells and calls of each others’ names plucked from his own childhood, but he knows this is somewhere from Mark's memories— a place where he was in the flesh, something he lived once upon a time.
“Yeah, I tried to land after swinging up high,” Mark muses, feet kicking against the pebbles. He pulls up his shirt sleeve and holds his arm out straight, pointing to a small line above the elbow. "'S where I got my scar from. Too many nails in the wood." He huffs a small laugh, ducking his head. "The neighborhood kids would come here a lot. We all got pretty banged up doing stuff like that."
Jaemin slows to a stop. He traces the scar with a finger, the fondness in which Mark spoke settling around them. He bites his lip, contemplating, and glances up. "Did you ever miss it?" He asks, voice quiet, gripping the chain in his hand. "Canada?"
Mark tilts his head at that. "A little," he hums, "Good times. But I don't regret it." He smiles softly, palm warm over Jaemin's knee, grounding him. "Home's a lot of places."
Their tombs lie side by side. Mark is unperturbed, gazing out at the graveyard in a sort of appreciation, a sense of kinship. Jaemin sucks in a sharp breath out of reflex as the realization settles over him. This is his life, afterlife. Has any of it been real? Now, is he real, or his experiences, Mark beside him? Jaemin doesn't know anymore. There are flowers atop his grave and his body is lying underneath the dirt, expression serene, all dressed up in a suit. Slowly rotting away day by day, and he’s helpless to do anything but watch, until there'll be no trace of him left, that he ever existed, and he's dead, he's dead, this is the end of it all—
Jaemin nudges Mark with his shoulder, swinging his legs as they relax on the ledge of a high-rise complex. He admires the new view of the city, flickering windows and alive, even at this hour. He gestures towards the sky at the pillars of light, beacons maybe, stretching upwards into the heavens.
Mark hums in appreciation, and Jaemin resumes his place against him, sleepy. He wonders if he falls asleep now, if it'd truly be the last time, if that would be the final rest, if this has all been a dream. With Neela in their laps and his head on Mark's shoulder, Jaemin thinks that he wouldn't mind if this was the last sight he'd ever see.
He dreams a lot about the sun overhead, the heat against his sticky skin, beaming rays beating down on his face. He goes to raise an arm over his eyes to see, but with his ice cream in one hand and Mark’s hand in the other, he sighs and resigns himself to squinting the day away.
Taking note of his struggle, Mark clicks his tongue and places his sunhat on Jaemin's head, which is quickly squished against his face when Jaemin goes in to kiss him. They both still smell like the salty air from their morning at the beach, and he wipes away a streak of sunscreen Mark forgot to rub in as the latter complains about the sand in his flipflops.
He dreams of flashes of ice cream cones, sweet, melting over the side and onto his fingers. Mark's smile, the faint wrinkles around his eyes, the walk light signaling Go, the footsteps of the crowds around them. The sudden screech of wheels, too close, a desperate push. And then—
Neela paws at his hair as Mark laughs, voice still thick with sleep. He slips off the bed while Jaemin indulges their cat, knowing that if he doesn't, he'll never leave.
"What do you want," Jaemin huffs in Neela's face, picking her off the pillow and cuddling her to his cheek.
Mark watches for a few minutes as he shrugs his clothes on, reluctant to leave the room and get breakfast. "I'm heading out," Mark says, leaning over the bed to pet Neela. "I'll see you later."
"Alright," Jaemin yawns, already creeping back under the blankets, now with a purring. He shoots him an air kiss. "Have fun, babe. I love you."
Warmth and contentment seep into his old bones. He blinks, willing his vision to focus at the black lump near his feet. It finally registers in his mind as his cat, resting in her normal spot. He trails his line of sight around the room. Everything's in place; his books, the clothes folded at the corner of his dresser, the stray photos on his nightstand. And there's Mark, perched on the rocking chair like he'd never left it. That train of thought jolts Jaemin out of his haze and he sits up with an energy he hasn't had in his entire life, let alone the past thirty years.
“Oh.” He holds up their joined hands, settled atop his chest, fingers interlaced as Mark caresses his thumb over his. He sees Mark’s face, bathed in the soft light of the sunrise, gazing at him like he’s the only person in the world. His small, trademark smile and glittery eyes. He’s home. It’s a sight Jaemin’s seen countless times, before— He'd seen it everyday, watching Mark grow older and older until— “Oh.”
Sharp pain slices through him. Jaemin tries to speak but it comes out a croak, not able to find words or force his sentences out, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what he's feeling, everything he’s wanted to say and kept to himself for the past thirty years bubbling up in his throat. He chokes on tears, tears that once soaked through pages and pages of journals, tears that Mark gently wipes away. He clutches Jaemin to his chest, rocking him back and forth until he can breathe.
Mark smooths his hair down and kisses his temple, answering what Jaemin couldn't say. "I missed you too."
And just like that, all the years being lost and lonely melt away when he's in Mark's arms.
"You did good, girl," Jaemin forces out, throat tight. He runs his nails through her fur and her purring is steady, like she knows. He hopes she does. He scoops Neela up, close to his heart as the purring starts to taper off into nothing. "Thank you so much."
If Jaemin strains his ears, he can hear the bustle of cars and people around them. He thinks he's been along this street before, distant calls of laughter and cheering between friends rippling through him, stumbles and arms intertwined, the echoes of life.
Mark comes to a stop in the middle of the road. He faces Jaemin and takes his other hand, clasping them between their bodies. "I had a wonderful time today, Jaemin-ah," he says, in a voice so serious and sincere that has them both giggling and him kissing Mark's cheek.
"Dork," Jaemin answers, leaning in to peck his lips this time. "What're you saying that for?"
Mark just smiles without replying, nodding towards the sky, comforting when Jaemin hesitates and looks to him for confirmation.
Tentative, he reaches up into the purple shimmer, barely visible in the brightness of daytime. The next moment he's hurling through the atmosphere, free falling, time and space rushing around him, He glimpses everything and nothing, thousands of colors and lights soaring past, things he can only begin to comprehend. He gasps and jerks his hand back, staring at Mark with wide eyes. He notices the lamppost behind him, adorned by candles in a circle, flowers, somewhere he avoided until the end of his days. Until now.
"Is this—"
"Where to move on," Mark affirms, thumbing over his knuckles. "Are you ready?"
He exhales shakily. “I’m scared,” Jaemin admits, pressing foreheads together, gripping him like a lifeline. "I don't want anything to happen to you."
“Me too,” Mark whispers. "But we're both here, now."
His world begins and ends at Mark. Jaemin is the half moon in all its cycles and Mark is the dark sky beside him, reaching to every corner of the universe, surrounding him, constant.
Under the cover of the sun, the air shimmers where some once stood, hidden by the dance of passers-by. Only the faintest wisps of smoke are left in their wake, as if the image were smudged, almost as if they were never there at all.
Some people fall in love for life
Others never get it right
Love's fickle when it calls
One thing that I know for sure
Longer than our lives endure
You’re my forever fall