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To Mark, summer is a gentle breeze, days spent out in the sun’s reach, his skin warmed by its rays. But it’s also bright eyes, raucous laughter, an uncontrollable heart.
Summer is Lee Donghyuck.
At summer's end, when the trees are a little less green and the breezes a little less warm, when chills shake his body instead of sweats and he finds himself pulling hoodies over his body, Mark finds that his own heart beats in his chest’s cage a little quieter, more calm, more contained. But when he stands on the beach, another too-warm body inches from his own, Mark feels his soul reshape itself into something unfamiliar each and every time his feet are planted in the sand, eyes focused on a horizon so distant that he can't even comprehend it. A horizon just like Donghyuck.
He would turn to him every year, on that last day of summer that Mark so dreaded, and he would say in that voice of his so alight with mischief,
“See you again next year, Mark Lee.”
Just like the dancing summer horizon, Lee Donghyuck would dance away from him.
Every summer, Mark's mother would drag him out to Jeju Island.
It was a trip that, on his first go-round at the lovely age of ten, he’d dreaded; he would be spending weeks away from the friends he’d only made at home, weeks away from that which was barely familiar to him. Mark had only lived in Korea for less than a year, and his heart still ached for the house he still considered his home in Vancouver. At that point, it was certainly fear, fear for the unknown that awaited him on an island that felt so far away.
Instead of renting a home or a hotel or a beach house, Mark’s mom opted to stay with her sister as a money-saver. A win-win for Mark, who was often too nervous to sleep in a bed that was not his own; though he’d never been there, the thought that he was in the presence of family that he knew and loved brought him a certain sense of comfort that perhaps he couldn't even understand.
Mark was a quiet child. That was, perhaps, the reason why he only had a couple friends back in his hometown, a lanky kid named Xuxi and an excitable one named Renjun. Mark's mother had been concerned, at one point, with how little her son seemed to want to communicate with others, but Mark himself never worried about it. It was too hard to try and make other kids understand him, and far more difficult to try and understand them. Even at the age of ten, he was a complex human being, as all other people are.
So he’d stayed inside on most of his days in Jeju, comforted by the cool wind blown around by the fans and the ice cream that was always hidden in the freezer.
One day, though, his mother had opened the door to the room Mark had claimed as his own, her hair hidden with a wide-brimmed hat and wearing a sundress, proclaiming that that was the day they were to go to the beach down the road.
“I hate the beach,” He’d declared, when he in fact had never been to the beach. His mother told him so, and Mark had poured in response.
“How can you know unless you've tried, Markie?”
When they got there thirty minutes later, Mark discovered that he truly did hate the beach. The sand was too hot for the soft soles of his feet, and had managed to sneak its way into every nook and cranny of his body; what could possibly be so enjoyable about this place , he’d pondered, watching as kids his age danced about in the troublesome sand like it was nothing.
So he’d plopped himself in the first patch of shade he could find, and pouted and pouted and pouted as he watched his mother and her sister in the water beyond.
“You look bored,” Came a voice from his left, squeaky and curious. When he spun around to match the voice with its owner, Mark had been greeted with nothing but a face that was far too close to his own, doe eyes staring into his own.
“What's it to you?” Mark snapped in response, reaching out two hands to push the other child away from him, but before they reached the other, his hands were slapping Mark’s away.
“No need to be mean,” The kid said, right before he plopped into Mark’s shade, eyes focused at something in the horizon. “I was just makin’ an observation.”
“Observation.” Mark repeated, still kind of grumpy that the other kid had found it appropriate to invade the only space he’d managed to make for himself on the entire beach. It’s a word he'd never heard before. “What's that?”
Those big eyes were suddenly back on his face. They seemed to scrutinize him for a second, and Mark quickly wrinkled up his nose. “Not from around here?”
“Nope.” Mark replied, simply.
The other kid stared silently at Mark for what felt like minutes. Something in the back of the head was whispering to him, saying this kid is weird , but just as Mark opened his mouth to tell him off, the kid was speaking again.
“What's your name? I’m Donghyuck. Lee Donghyuck.”
Mark sniffed. “Why should I tell you?”
Donghyuck blinked. “‘Cause.”
No arguing with that . “I'm Mark. Lee Mark.”
Donghyuck's mouth formed an “o” shape, shocked by Mark’s answer. That’s how most of the kids were, surprised by his admission that he was from another place, a lot more far away than they had ever expected.
“You're really not from here.” Donghyuck observed, before humming in some sort of affirmation. Mark had no idea what the boy was affirming, but Donghyuck was nodding his head anyway. “Cool. We have the same surname.”
“We do.”
Finally, Donghyuck looked away, his eyes back on that faraway place. Distantly, Mark wondered if he saw something out on that blue horizon where the sea stretched out beyond them endlessly, where the ocean met the sky, where the sun would sink in a few hours. His eyes glinted like they did. For some reason, Mark let his eyes follow the direction of Donghyuck’s gaze, searching for something out in the emptiness.
“Can I show you around?”
Donghyuck’s voice rose up again, and Mark flinched at the sound. He had gotten comfortable in the boy’s presence as they stared out at the blue together. Any sort of anger or discomfort he’d initially felt at the boy’s presence had faded away with time, in the short amount that they had been there together. Mark found that to be curious.
Intrigued, Mark nodded. “Okay. Let me ask Mom, though.”
“Awesome.” Donghyuck replied, and the shine in his eyes rivaled that which Mark had so desperately sought out shade to avoid. Interesting, how Mark had tried to outrun the sun only for it to chase him into his hiding place.
Mark returns the next summer, and that time, he was much less upset. Again, again, and again, Mark visited Jeju Island, a place that at first held all of his qualms, now a land of fairytales far away from the quiet days in his house.
Every year, he would spend those weeks on the beach with that peculiar child named Lee Donghyuck.
The beach that he had so long tried to avoid suddenly became a second home to him, a place that he craved in wakefulness and in his dreams alike. When he shut his eyes on cold winter days, he imagined that he would be on the beach in Jeju the following day, his feet buried in the sand, and Donghyuck beside him.
Donghyuck was always an enigma. He would talk about things that most would consider to be mundane or uninteresting; he would whisper to Mark about the games he would play and the people he would talk to, the meals his grandmother would cook for him on summer nights and the popsicles he would eat with his sister, the new trading cards he was collecting. Mark didn’t find those things to be interesting, usually, but strangely enough, when it was Donghyuck muttering about them, Mark found them to be magical.
At the age of fourteen, in the depths of winter, Mark tells Xuxi and Renjun about Donghyuck at a sleepover they have at his house, tangled together under blankets as the heater tries the best to do its job.
“Holy shit. Mark Lee has a crush?” Xuxi had exclaimed, loud and booming in the quiet of the night. Renjun had shushed him quickly, but the mirth glittered in his eyes too.
“No! No, I don't have a crush on the random beach boy I see every summer.” Mark retorted. Uttering those words made him feel odd, like he wasn't telling the truth, even though he knew he was. He should know himself. He should understand what he’s saying. Why doesn't he?
“He does.” Renjun whispered into Xuxi’s ear, snickering at the kick Mark delivered to his calf in response.
Mark supposes it's foolish to fall in love with an idea .
That's all Donghyuck is, when everything is laid out in front of him. An idea. Mark has met him, has spoken to him, has shared snacks and secrets with him, but Mark doesn't know a single real thing about Lee Donghyuck.
(He’s lying to himself a little bit, there: through the stories Donghyuck has told, winding tales of his family and friends on Jeju Island, Mark has learned a lot; his favorite color is blue, like the ocean, and Mark, did you know that the sky is blue because of the reflection of the ocean? And he really really likes strawberries, because strawberry lemonade is the most refreshing part of summer, and he loves video games, especially Zelda, because I think the story is just so cool .)
(Correction: Mark knows a lot about Lee Donghyuck. But he still feels like an abstraction, like something so far out of his reach; almost like how the stars are visible from the surface of the earth, yet he could never reach out a hand to grab one and cradle it in his palm.)
So he deflects, tells himself that it's the summertime that makes him feel the way he does. Tells him that it's the warmth of the sun above, the crashing of the waves, the taste of salt.
(When Mark thinks of Donghyuck, he thinks of ocean blue, warm skin, curious eyes, and the sun as it floats below the surface of the water.)
“See you again next year, Mark Lee,” He would always say. As time went on, it started to feel condescending. Because Mark had given Donghyuck his number years ago, but the boy had never texted him; autumn would see Mark staring at his phone screen, quiet nights under his sheets, never glowing with a notification that would tell him, hey it's me, donghyuck!
(At times like that, Mark started to really wonder if Donghyuck was a figment of his imagination, the boy birthed of sunlight that lived only on summer days on Jeju Island’s most beautiful beaches, that smelled of cotton and the ocean breeze and drifted around just like a cloud.)
The summer after his freshman year of college, Mark doesn't go to Jeju. He goes to Vancouver instead- the place that felt like his only home once- and his dreams are full of big round eyes and rambling stories and high pitched laughter, melona bars and feet buried in sand, sunlight twinkling in a way that could never compare. His nightmares were simply the lack thereof.
The winter of his sophomore year in college brings nothing but snow.
In all of his years, Mark has never seen so much snow. The forecast vowed that ice would be the only thing in their big city for the foreseeable future, and to hunker down and be prepared for closures and delays; it had been at least a week since Mark had seen the sun , since he’d looked up at the sky and seen anything but a murky gray.
However, finals wait for nobody, not even Mother Nature’s worst plans.
He and Xuxi had crawled out of the hovel they called an apartment after what felt like years of nothing but studying in search of nutrition that their refrigerator most certainly would not supply them with; at Xuxi’s suggestion, they wandered down the street coated in inches of white snow to their campus’s resident coffee shop, still open, still serving the absolute best drinks in the neighborhood.
They brush in quietly, and the place is unsurprisingly almost empty; for a moment, Mark feels bad for coming in such conditions, but when he spots a familiar face in the form of Jaehyun sat behind the counter, he feels a lot less bad, and feels his guilty conscience silence quickly.
There’s no line, but there are a few people milling about by the condiment counter, digging around in the sugar packets and the straws. Hey , Mark wants to ask. What drew you all out here?
As Xuxi strides towards the barista on long legs, Mark trails behind him, moving much like a ghost.
Something stops him in his tracks.
What drew you out here? Says Mark’s conscience once more. Yet this time, it's turned in to question his own self and not the people who mill around him. Suddenly, his heart is beating in his chest, badum, badum, badum. Nervousness fills his veins like a shot of freezing cold water, and he's glancing around, looking for the source, looking for why -
“That's him,” Mark whispers, so quiet under his breath that for a minute he's unsure of whether or not Xuxi could even hear him. However, his friend lets out a questioning grunt.
“That's who?” Xuxi says, but Mark isn't looking at Xuxi beside him. His eyes are fixed forward, fixed towards the mop of brown hair not three meters from where the two of them stand, back to the two of them. For a moment, Mark thinks that if he shuts his eyes, he’ll smell the ocean breeze, feel its warmth as it brushes his skin like the waves that roll onto the shore.
Even when he closes his eyes, Mark can still see the light from the sun as it bears down on his form. He’s unsure of whether it's because it had already burned its way onto his retinas, or if the light was simply so powerful that it breaks through even his eyelids, but either answer settles his heart; the sun is an undefeatable force, one that no one thing in the universe could imagine destroying; no matter how far Mark wanders, no matter how hard he squeezes his eyes shut, it still glows.
Without even realizing it, Mark had actually gone and closed his eyes. With a firm shake of his head- he’s assuredly embarrassing himself now, in front of all these people and in front of Xuxi- he blinks them back open.
And that mop of brown hair is staring right back at him.
Through the blinds, the sun outside is shining again. Moments ago, snow had been falling in heaps, so white that Mark and Xuxi had regretted even wandering from their dorm room, but now, it's all stopped. Like a diamond in a sea of coal, one ray bursts through the windows of the cafe, almost as if to say: “Look at me! Even the snow is no match.”
It illuminates an expanse of tan skin, far too underdressed for the weather, even with the thick puffy jacket slung over one forearm. Brown eyes gleam, shine with a familiar twirl of mischief, of lightheartedness, of alacrity. And, in the same color of the irises that it covers, that brown hair cascades over a face so warm and sweet that Mark feels his heart stop beating.
“Look who it is.” Says a teasing voice, though it lacks any sort of fire. Instead, it's full of what Mark hopes is the same amount of affection and nervousness that he feels swirling in the dark pit in his chest.
In that singular ray of sunlight stands Lee Donghyuck.
Suddenly, Mark feels self conscious. Does he look worse in the winter sun than he does in the bright oranges and yellows and reds that the summer sun so generously bestows upon them on those beach days full of sand and laughter? Does he look different now with dyed blond locks twisting every which way on his head? Does he look different tugged into a warm and thick hoodie lifted from Xuxi’s closet than from when he’s dressed in nothing but a tank top and a pair of swim trunks? Does he-
“I can almost see the engine in your brain smoking,” That voice says again, and without even realizing it, Mark had traversed nearly the entire shop to get closer to it. Xuxi stands a few paces behind, a ball of curious energy.
“Donghyuck,” Mark breathes, and it's an almost desperate sound. He’s suddenly made aware of the person standing next to the man in question, who snorts so loudly a girl not too far from where they’re all bunched together flinches. He quickly quiets down with an elbow to the stomach from Donghyuck.
“Mark Lee.” Donghyuck responds in kind, and that familiar grin is tugging at the corner of his lips. The sunbeam crosses over his face almost overwhelmingly, emphasizing the brown of his eyes.
“Um-” Mark hears Xuxi start, but the roaring in Mark’s brain silences him quickly.
“Who knew you existed outside of Jeju Island?”
At Donghyuck’s snort, Mark feels his heart skip a beat. What a lovely sound, one he hasn't heard in so long, one that he can barely detach from the sounds of the waves and the winds.
“First time for everything, right?” Donghyuck says, and his voice is so much more quiet when they're not shouting over the noise of the beach. “Freshman vocal music major, at your service.”
“That's crazy,” Mark knows he probably sounds absolutely insane, if Xuxi’s laugh says anything, but he doesn't care. He’s staring at the brightest sun.
It's then that Mark realizes that, despite them only having met in the summertime, when the sun is the brightest and the air crisp and warm, Donghyuck shines just as magnificently. When his hair isn't being rustled by the ocean’s breeze, it's still beautiful; when the glow of his skin is perhaps dampened by the quiet shadows of the cafe, it's still beautiful; when he’s wearing a shirt that only comes down three-fourths of the way down his arms in the middle of winter and black jeans instead of swim trunks, he's still beautiful.
Because it's snowing outside, and Mark is still held in a vice grip by the brightness of Donghyuck's eyes.
No, it’s not the summertime that has Mark so entranced by Lee Donghyuck. It’s him . Like the sun, he is everywhere and everything at once; he is the sun that shines energetically in the height of summer, and the one that still manages to warm the skin on a calm autumn afternoon; he’s the sun that returns in the spring after a long winter with a vengeance. And though the sun is supposed to be the weakest in the winter, the sun before Mark is anything but.
“We’ll be seeing a lot more of each other now, huh?”
Mark feels the nerves in his chest swell like the tides for just one moment more, before they settle just as quickly.
“Yeah. I guess we will.”