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For nearly two thousand years, Mark has roamed the Earth as one of the Old Gods.
He has walked through fire and lived through wars. He was there throughout the industrial revolution, and he witnessed firsthand the deaths of too many children that led up to it. He was there when the French began colonizing what is now Canada, and he liked the land so much that he returns there most often. He’s met a few of the other Old Gods, and they’ve all become family in some way or another.
Mark has walked through fire and lived through wars, yet none of that compares to the danger of Lee Donghyuck.
The boy is a few hundred years younger than Mark, and they’ve known each other since his formation. At first, they bickered and clashed and fought more than any other gods, their natures so inherently different that seeing eye-to-eye was nearly impossible.
Somewhere along the line, their arguments simmered and a friendship blossomed. They began meeting up as often as possible. Whenever Donghyuck passes through Canada, he’ll find Mark and they’ll go to some secluded area— a mountain, a laundromat, an empty parking garage— and they’ll tell stories of what’s happened in each other’s absence. They avoid the topics of their domains, neither truly interested in whatever responsibilities they bear to humanity.
Mark holds reign over nostalgia, over those moments of familiarity that make people feel safe. His powers are by no means grand, yet they’re so important to the lives of mortals. He restores artifacts that have lost their place in the modern world. Restores them for the ones who yearn for their childhood summers. He keeps the memories of records and stick-shifts and newspapers alive, preserves them until society deems them relevant once more.
Donghyuck, though— Donghyuck is anticipation. He is the hour just before sunrise, the thrill that rushes through one’s spine as they reach the top of the slope of a rollercoaster. He creates the adrenaline that pumps through a person’s veins before any stunt, performance, fight, confession; he permeates the Earth in a way that is more vibrant, more consequential than anything Mark could ever hope to achieve.
Maybe, Mark thinks, maybe that’s why their relationship hasn’t evolved in the decades they’ve known each other. Maybe that’s why the two of them are constantly on the cusp of something new. Maybe that’s why they’re stuck as more than friends but not quite lovers.
Donghyuck’s nature, his very being prevents him from pushing the boundaries. For their relationship to progress, Mark has to be the one to take the first step. He’s a coward, though, and he’s never been one for change.
But now, as they sit shoulder-to-shoulder on the hood of an abandoned pickup truck, one that’s been left in the forest long enough that vines have overtaken the truck bed and roots have twisted around the wheels, Mark can think of nowhere he’d rather be. He wonders if tonight is the night he’ll be brave, if tonight he’ll cross the threshold and give in to his feelings. In his heart, he knows it’s long overdue.
The vehicle creaks and groans when Mark pulls himself to his feet, dusting off the back of his pants and grinning in response to Donghyuck’s confused stare. He opens his palm and presses it into the rusty metal. A whispered chant, a rush of power…
“Come to life, you piece of junk.”
Mark barely registers Donghyuck’s snort before a hot jolt of electricity courses from his heart to his hand. The truck rumbles and growls and whines in protest, but the dim headlights glow and the engine vibrates beneath the hood and static buzzes from the ancient radio in the dashboard. White noise fades into some melodramatic pop tune from one of the local stations, a song Donghyuck immediately recognizes and begins humming along.
Clearing his throat, Mark offers the boy a hand.
“Dance with me?”
Even after nearly two thousand years, his voice still cracks when he’s nervous. Mercifully, Donghyuck forgoes the usual teasing and simply accepts Mark’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled up. He balances by gripping the other’s shoulders, while Mark’s touch settles around his waist. Mark inhales, catching a whiff of Donghyuck’s scent. He smells like the air before a thunderstorm mixed with a shot of espresso. It’s something so captivating and unique and so wholly Donghyuck that Mark could recognize it with his eyes closed. Mark kind of wants to taste it.
They sway to the gentle strum of an acoustic guitar, the audio a bit cracked and muffled from the aging quality of the radio. Donghyuck is lightly singing, now, his voice carrying through the boundless stretch of forest surrounding them.
The orange glow of sunset reflects off of Donghyuck’s honey skin, and a golden halo radiates from the boy in his arms. Absentmindedly, Mark reaches up to brush a strand of silver hair from his face, causing his friend’s voice to stutter just the slightest bit, before he melts into Mark’s embrace.
At that moment, an overwhelming rush of affection surges through his chest. He can feel it building up, knows the words are threatening to spill from his lips, and yet—
And yet. Mark can’t seem to push past that barrier. There they are, locked in a perpetual state of almost. Their bodies sway, pressed together while Donghyuck whispers a fleeting melody. His friend likely has no idea he’s even using his power, has no idea how his essence is keeping Mark prisoner. And usually, Mark would let it go and enjoy the moment, enjoy what he can get from Donghyuck. Not today.
Today, he wants to try.
Gently, he urges the wave of nerves and anticipation away, feeling it disperse like dust around them. He trembles in Donghyuck’s hold, but doesn’t release his waist, instead wrapping his arms completely around the boy’s torso.
Donghyuck has stopped singing, leaving the indecipherable tune to disappear into the sounds of the forest. Crisp air envelops them. Donghyuck shivers, and Mark holds him tighter.
It’s as though time has stopped. The thrumming in his veins ceases, and Mark can finally breathe again.
“Donghyuck…” he sighs into the crook of his friend’s neck. The boy hums in response.
Mark draws back just enough to rest his forehead against Donghyuck’s, his own longing gaze reflected in the other’s eyes. He cups Donghyuck’s face with one hand, his thumb tracing over the mole on his cheek.
“I love you.”
Before the rush of shock and stagnancy can invade their bubble once more, Mark seizes the opportunity and surges forward, capturing Donghyuck’s bottom lip between his own.
Donghyuck stills, eyes wide and muscles tense. For one long, excruciating minute, nothing happens.
Then, all at once, Mark is hit with the full force of Donghyuck’s power. Adrenaline floods and courses through his blood, making his head so fuzzy that he hardly realizes when Donghyuck starts reciprocating the kiss.
They stumble from where they’re balanced precariously on the old truck. Mark lands on his back with Donghyuck on top of him. Tongues and teeth clash. Hands tangle in hair and bunch in clothes. They kiss and kiss and kiss until the heat wears off and Mark is gasping for breath.
Donghyuck peers down at him from beneath his thick eyelashes, half-lidded gaze filled with adoration and reverence. If he were a mortal, Mark thinks he’d dedicate his life to worshipping Donghyuck. Hell, he still might.
As the sun finally dips below the horizon, and they’re bathed in the glow of the truck’s headlights, Donghyuck nuzzles his nose into Mark’s cheek.
“I love you, too,” he whispers.
With only the forest and an old pickup truck as witnesses, the pair continue to share delicate kisses, barely-there touches of lips as they mutter confessions and words of praise into each other’s skin. They stay like that well into the night, and Mark begins to think that, maybe, change isn’t so bad.