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They’re at the café across from the local church, catching up over coffee and watching the world go by, when she asks.
“Are you sure you don’t mind, Renjun?” she asks. “We can pay you for your work.”
He shakes his head immediately. “This is my present for you guys, there’s no way I’d make you pay for it,” he gives her a soft smile. “I can start on design now and it’ll be done with more than enough time to spare. Anything in particular you want incorporated in it?”
She shakes her head. “Just put yourself into it, yeah? I want to look at and just think 'Ah, yeah, Renjun painted it.”
Distantly, he hears the sound of the church bell chiming for the afternoon mass.
He tries to block out the noise as he chuckles. “If you’re sure.”
She breaks out into a grin and reaches over to pull him into a hug. Her actions and her thanks are too sincere and too genuine for Renjun to complain.
Her smile blocks out the annoying part of his brain that tells him he shouldn’t do this to himself.
He can do this. For them.
(deep down, he knows it’s going to be torturous. he knows he’ll treat this more like a project from a client than a gift for a friend. but he’ll do it anyway. for him.)
“I like the design,” Chenle sifts through the sketches for the painting. He leans against one of the home-studio walls that is adorned with dried paint, his back hitting the wall with a soft thump.
The younger came by his apartment, unannounced, a week after Renjun was asked to do the painting.
“I’m not responsible for any paint that gets on your clothes,” he replies, not looking at him, concentrating on finding his supplies.
“You act like you paint often enough to always have wet paint on your walls,” his friend replies with a snort. “Is it on canvas yet?”
He makes an affirmation sound and blindly points behind to where he vaguely kept the canvas. He hears Chenle’s footsteps and the sound his canvas being picked up.
“The sketch looks even better on a bigger scale,” Chenle says, “you could give them just this and they’ll be happy,” he jokes.
Renjun rolls his eyes and pulls out his box of oil paints from his shelf. “If you’re done now, leave,” he puts the paints on the desk. “I have to start the painting.”
The younger eyes the box as he sets it on his desk. “I thought you didn’t like the oil paints?” he places the canvas on his easel.
Renjun shrugs. “It’ll look better for the design,” he replies. “Besides, they both love oil paintings, they bonded over my oil paintings I did back in school,” he continues.
He walks over to the window and slides it open, the pleasant April weather coming into the room.
When he turns back around, Chenle has his eyebrows. “I think they bonded over the fact they both knew you. And doesn’t hyung like—”
“Don’t you have a date with Jisung or something?” he cuts him off in hopes of changing the subject.
He smiles when Chenle blushes and mumbles that it was a study session and not a date.
“Go on,” he nudges the younger towards his door, “mind locking my front door when you leave?”
“But ge,” the endearment slipping out to get through to the older, “if you don’t want to do oil paints, don’t do them. She already said to do whatever you want for the portrait, and he—”
“Bye Chenle!” he pushes his friend out of his studio, closing the door before he could say anything else. He turns and slumps against the door.
He faintly hears a sigh from the other side. “I’m taking the muffins from your fridge!” Chenle calls out, footsteps heading to the front of his apartment.
Renjun doesn’t move from his spot even when he hears the front door closing and Chenle locking the door with the spare key he keeps under his doormat.
His gaze lands on the canvas sitting on his easel, eyes eventually dropping to the oil paints and paint thinner on his desk.
He sighs. “Let’s do this,” he mutters to himself, his walls being the only listener.
“How is it coming along?” she asks while taking a bite of her pasta.
It’s May now. He had been out buying some new jeans, after ruining most of them with paint, when they bumped into each other. With neither of them in any rush, they decided to grab some lunch at a bistro down the road from the mall.
“It’s going good, I’ve actually started putting paint to canvas,” he replies after sipping his water. “Don’t worry, I promise it’ll be good.”
She smiles and shakes her head. “No need to promise. It’s a painting done by you, I know it will be.”
Renjun can’t help but smile at her response. She always had a way of passing on her smile.
“These preparations are really driving me up a wall,” she tells him, giving a pout.
“Is he helping out?”
She laughs—it’s bubbly like his—and rolls her eyes fondly. “He seems to be more into planning than I am. I haven’t even started looking at cake options yet.”
“Chocolate,” he replies after taking a bite of his own pasta. “It’s his favourite.”
She makes an affirmative noise before sighing, the sound engulfing their table. “We should have hired a professional planner.”
“Don’t worry, it’ll be alright. It’ll be perfect.”
She looks him in the eye and smiles slightly. “Hopefully.”
(he can’t bring himself to hate her, he never could. he understand why he fell for her. he would have too, if he didn’t fall for him instead.)
Donghyuck drops by his apartment one evening in mid-June.
“And I said to him, ‘I’m going to do it without you then’ and slammed the door behind me as I left,” Donghyuck was—dramatically—recounting a fight he had with one of his collogues at work.
“You really are a theater kid,” Renjun replied with a roll of his eyes while he finishes cleaning his brushes, he makes a mental note to buy more paint thinner tomorrow. “So what happens now?”
He shrugs. “Beats me. I’m on the current project, so there’s no way I’ll get fired.”
“I’d fire you,” he remarks, taking a teasing jab at the other and looks around for the small drying rack he uses to rest his clean brushes.
Donghyuck flips him off with a scoff and hands him the rack.
Renjun takes it with a fond eye roll.
“It’s coming along well,” Donghyuck comments, looking at the oil painting sitting on the easel. “As expected.”
He looks up and sees his friend walking up to look at it more closely. “Careful, it’s not dry.”
“Do you think I’m stupid?”
“Do you want me to answer that?”
Donghyuck scoffs and resumes looking at the painting. “It really is nice, Renjun. They’re going to love it, I know they will.”
“Yeah,” he replies quietly. “I watched the proposal a bunch of times to get the feeling right,” he continues, thinking about the video he recorded nearly two years ago of the moment.
There’s a silence that follows his words and Renjun knows his friend is trying formulate his probe of the topic. He quietly finishes laying his brushes on the rack, waiting for the inevitable questioning.
“It’s really happening, huh?” Donghyuck eventually says.
“Yup,” he carefully places the drying rack on the corner of his table. “They’re happy.”
“They are,” he muses. “They’re that couple, you know? The ones all the parents compare you and your partners too.”
He swallows the lump in his throat as he dries his hands. He nods. “They are.”
A brief silence engulfs them.
“And what about you?” Donghyuck begins his probe.
“What about me?”
“Are you happy?”
He swallows another lump in his throat before responding. “Of course I am,” he mentally curses that his reply comes out with a slight tremble.
Donghyuck’s a theater kid. He majored in it at university, works at the local theater part time and will probably transition to full time next year. If anyone could recognize trembles in voices it’s him.
“Renjun…” his voice is soft, attempting comfort.
“No, no.” he cuts him off before he can speak any further. “We’re not having this conversation.”
“But you’re unhappy, Renjun,” he reminds him, walking closer to him. “You’re allowed to be unhappy, after all, he was…”
“It doesn’t matter, Hyuck! It doesn’t matter!” his voices raises involuntary and it bounces off the wall harshly.
Donghyuck takes half a step back in order to give him a sense of space.
“They’re getting married, Hyuck. They’re happy. It doesn’t matter if I’m happy.”
His friend scoffs. “That’s such a stupid thing to say. You wouldn’t tell me that if I was in your place,” he says pointedly.
“I wouldn’t,” he agrees. “But you’re not in my place.”
They’re engulfed in silence once again.
Renjun reaches behind him to untie his apron. He turns away to hang its hook.
“They’re happy, Hyuck. He’s happy. As long as he’s happy, I can live with that,” he makes sure there’s a finality in his tone.
His friend sighs. “Fine then.”
The topic is dropped for the rest of the evening.
Renjun can’t decide if he’s thankful or not.
“So when are you going to start dating again?” she asks.
It’s late July now and they’re out looking for birthday presents.
He scoffs playfully. “Who’d want to date me?” he jokes.
Her lips pull into a slight frown. “You’re amazing Renjun, anyone would be happy to date you.”
The statement is so genuine that it throws him off for a moment. He gives a short laugh, “You say that, but I’ve been single for years.”
He pretends that he hasn’t been pining after his friend since middle school. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t need to know.
“You just can’t be bothered to meet people,” she argues while holding up three different dress shirts. “Which colour?”
He frowns. “None of them look that great to be honest,” he reaches out to take them from her, inspecting the shirts a bit closer.
“I’m terrible at gifts.”
“Really? Couldn’t tell from the box of cable ties you got me for Christmas last year,” his teases.
She pouts before sighing. “I think we pretty much went through the entire shop,” she scans the store again just to make sure.
“How about we just wander the mall for a bit? Maybe you’ll see something that’ll catch your eye.”
“Good idea,” she smiles.
They leave the store, ignoring the judgmental looks from the cashier for not buying anything, and starting their window shopping.
“So, about you dating,” she starts up again as they walk.
Renjun huffs. “This again?”
She rolls her eyes. “Come on, there has to be someone that’s caught your eye. What about that PR lady who hired you do graphical design for her company?”
He scrunches his nose up. “Yeri? She’s just my client. We’re in a completely professional relationship.”
She pouts slightly. “Johnny?”
He winces. “You do realize I’ve known your future cousin-in-law since I was a kid right?” he reminds her. “Johnny’s attractive and all but he’s just one of those people that is always going to be off limits.”
“What about—,”
“Taeyong too,” he answers her off before she can ask. “Older brothers and older cousins of close friends are very much off limits.”
“Yeeun!”
“Jeno’s cousin? She has a girlfriend.”
“What about Jaehyun?”
“You want me to get together with Taeyong’s, your future brother-in-law, ex-boyfriend? The one that cheated on him.”
This time she winces. “Okay, bad idea,” she agrees as she pulls him in the direction of a fancy watch store. “There has to be someone,” she continues. “I’ve known you for years now and you’ve never dated anyone.”
He shrugs as they enter, the soft music playing over the speakers accompanying them entering. “That’s not true,” he argues. “I did a poly with Yangyang and Jaemin for like five months.”
“That doesn’t count,” she whines. “It was in freshmen year of high school, you three barely went past kissing,” she peers at the silver plated watches in the display cases.
“I had a thing with Ten.”
“You guys made out a few times before he and Kun got together. That doesn’t count.”
“What exactly is your point then?”
“You’ve been single since then,” she stresses. “We’ve graduated high school, gone to university, gotten jobs, we’re in our late-twenties and living adult lives. I’m getting hitched and you still haven’t dated anyone since we were teenagers.”
The acknowledgement of the marriage stabs at his gut, just a little. He’s thankful that she’s still looking at the watches in the case.
“I don’t know,” he sighs, “I never thought I’d still be single by now. Always thought that by now I’d already be in a long term with someone,” he decides to be honest with her, just a hair.
She shifts her attention from the watches to him, their eyes locking. “Was there someone? Is there someone?”
There’s a genuine pleading look in her eyes that throws him off a moment.
Before he gets a chance to reply, the sales associate comes over to him, bringing their attention back to the watches.
The topic of Renjun’s love life is seemingly forgotten, both of them focusing on which watch she should buy as her gift.
(later, when he’s home, he wonders if she was hoping for him to reply with his name. he can’t shake the feeling that the look in her eyes was almost begging him to say his name. he wonders what would have happened if had answered her question with his name.
after a moment of thought he shakes his head and forces himself to work on the oil painting, reminding himself that it’s a wedding portrait for her and her soon to be husband. as his room fills with the sound of his brushes, his repeatedly tells himself this is for her husband.)
It’s mid-August when he’s out at the bar with Jeno and Jaemin.
“I’m starting to think Donghyuck is oblivious,” Jaemin sighs, resting his head on Jeno’s shoulder. “We’ve been dropping hints for months now that we’re both interested in him.”
“Maybe he’s not interested,” Jeno muses.
It’s hard to miss hint of sadness in his voice.
“I think you need to be more upfront,” Renjun chimes in. “He likes you two.”
“You’ve been saying that for years,” Jaemin huffs.
“He likes you two,” Renjun repeats, his tone more certain. “Anybody can tell that he does. He just needs a little push to confront his feelings.”
“He’s not the only one that needs to confront his feelings,” Jeno says, sipping his beer.
Renjun notices the pointed look Jeno gives him, and knows exactly what he’s hinting at.
He sighs, reaching for his own beer. “The conversation is about you guys and Donghyuck, and how you guys want to enter a poly with him,” he reminds Jeno.
“Maybe it’s time for a new conversation topic,” Jeno shoots back.
“Maybe you should just—”
“C’mon, don’t argue,” Jaemin cuts in. He raises his head from his boyfriend’s shoulder to give him a look. “If Renjun doesn’t want to talk about it, don’t force him to talk about it.”
“But babe—”
Jaemin puts a hand over his mouth, forcing him to be quiet.
It amuses Renjun and he appreciates the gesture, even though he knows he practically feels the same way as everyone else.
With his hand still over Jeno’s mouth, he turns back to Renjun. He gives him a look that’s somewhere in between neutral and biased.
“And you,” he sighs. “You already know how I feel about this, I won’t give you another lecture about it. But know that everyone is saying this because we care about you and we just want to help you deal with this. But if you really don’t want to talk about it, we won’t.”
Renjun sighs and leans back into his chair. “I know, I’m sorry,” he sighs. He runs this thumb over his half-empty soju bottle for a few moments.
It’s after Jaemin release his hand from Jeno’s mouth—all while complaining how dry his lips were against his hand—that he decides to down the remaining of his drink.
He needs liquid courage to do to do this.
“I’m happy for them. That needs to be stated,” he begins, catching their attention. “They’re two of my most important people in my life, and them being happy, makes me happy. You know?”
He goes back to rubbing his thumb over his empty bottle, not sure if he can handle looking at his friends.
“But, I think, if I wasn’t close friends her, I probably wouldn’t have said yes to the painting,” he admits.
“If she wasn’t your friend, would you have told him?” Jeno asks. “Like back in high school?”
He shrugs. “Maybe, I don’t know,” he replies. “If I knew that it would end up like this, maybe I would have.”
He bites his lips in concentration, sorting out his thoughts before continuing.
“I feel like he would have been flattered but inconvenienced. I can’t even remember how many times he called me ‘a brother I never had’,” he presses his nail into the bottle, slightly tearing the paper label.
Jaemin scoffs. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look at you in a brotherly way,” he rolls his eyes. “I think he just kept saying that to throw you off.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Why hide that?”
“Because he’s just as oblivious as you are,” Jaemin rolls his eyes. “I swear everyone, except the two of you, can see how you two look at each other.”
Renjun frowns at the words, unsure if Jaemin is pulling his leg or not.
“Coming from third party,” Jeno begins, “it always looked like you two were longing for each other. Every moment held some sort of meaning, even if both of you thought it was one sided,” he takes a sip of his beer.
Jaemin makes a sound of agreement. “And every time we thought you two would finally get together, you two always threw us a curve ball,” he adds on.
He tries to think, he really tries, of everything that’s led up to this moment. He tries to analyze his memories to see if Jaemin and Jeno were seeing things right, if his feelings were requited all this time.
Her face flashes in his mind while he recalls memories. He feels guilty.
Eventually he sighs, too tired and guilty to keep trying. “It doesn’t really matter anymore.”
A small silence falls over the table. Renjun keeps his eyes on his beer bottle, his thumb having fully torn the paper label.
“You know,” Jeno softly breaks the silence, “I always thought that you’d be the one walking down the aisle.”
A new stream of people come into the bar, dressed in nice outfits. When the door opens he hears the distant sound of the church bells ringing, signifying the end of the evening mass.
He tries to block out the sound as he gives a short, humorless laugh. “Ironic, isn’t it? The guy I’ve been in love with, for nearly my whole life, is getting married. But I’m not the one marrying him.”
He ends the conversation after that, the taste of guilt still lingering in his mouth, and the sound of the church bells still flutter in through the door.
He finishes the painting in late September. It nears midnight, just a half hour after he finishes, when he receives a phone call from the bride to be.
“Can I tell you something?” she asks, not bothering to beat around the bush.
She sounds like she’s crying. She sounds like she’s been crying for hours.
“What’s wrong?”
She takes a breath before she speaks again.
“I want to call it off,” she whispers.
Renjun feels too many things at once. He wants to reassure her that she’s just stressed, that it’s the wedding planning getting to her. He also wants to tell her that if she wants that, then she should do it.
He goes with the former.
“No you don’t,” he tells her. “It’s just the stress from planning. You guys are doing this on your own, it’s only natural to be stressed. But it’ll be worthwhile, come March you’ll be walking down the aisle and everything will be perfect.”
His last sentence leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but he pushes it back.
“You’re going to be fine,” he says.
“I want to call it off,” she repeats.
He huffs. “No you don’t,” he tries again. “You—,”
“I want to call it off! Tell me to call it off!”
The raise of her voice and the genuine pleading surprises him.
“Please, Renjun. I know it’s hurting you. Just tell me to call it off and I will.”
His heart practically stops in his chest. He quickly collects himself before replying. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re just stressed.”
“I’ve seen the way you look at him, Renjun. He looks at you the same way,” she confesses. “I know it’s killing you, I can’t stand seeing you two hurt yourself because of this.”
The August night at the bar comes back to him. Everything Jeno and Jaemin told him that night rings loudly in his mind.
He takes a breath to collect himself before trying to reassure her. “You’re seeing things,” he begins, “you’re stressed out, it only makes sense that you’re going haywire,” he tells her.
A brief silence from the other end.
“He’s happy with you,” he adds on.
“But he’s alive with you,” the tone of her voice makes him imagine a sad smile on her face.
He feels too many things again. The part of him that wants to be selfish is banging against its cage, desperate to be free. He wants so many things, and he can get it all with one sentence.
His eyes choose now to look at the painting he’s been working on for the past couple of months. The guilt of ruining her chance of love overpowers his desire to have his fairy tale ending.
“You’re stressed and tired. You don’t know what you’re talking about anymore. You don’t want to call off the wedding. You want to get married in spring, and you will. You’re going to walk down the aisle and start a new life.”
She gives a laugh that reminds of the one he gave Jaemin and Jeno back in August. “Yeah, I’ll walk down the aisle and start a new life,” she repeats, “with the person you love,” she sounds defeated.
“Get some sleep,” he tells her and ends the conversation. He lets his phone fall to the floor, the thud imposing the usually quiet room.
(he doesn’t sleep that night. he spends more than an hour hating himself for not calling it off. and spends a longer time hating himself for not saying anything when the feelings were returned the entire time. when the sun starts to rise, he’s still in his studio staring at that stupid wedding portrait.)
It’s Halloween evening when there was a knock at his door. The sound isfull and echoes through his apartment; it startles him out of his reading.
He put his book down and makes to answer it. Without bothering to look through the peephole, he unlocks the door and yanks it open.
“Yes? Can I help-” his question dies on tongue when his mind registers who’s at his door.
He feels his body tensing all over.
“Hey,” his greeting is short and quiet.
Renjun opens the door a bit wider so his whole body is shown. “It’s like midnight,” he raises a brow, more in question rather than annoyance.
“It’s not even 10 yet,” he replies with a soft chuckle. “But sorry for coming by so suddenly.”
“And to what do I owe the visit?” even though he asked, he really didn’t want to know the answer.
A silence falls between them for a few heartbeats.
He sighs. “We…we need to talk,” he says, meeting Renjun’s eyes. They’re earnest and pure, just like hers, go figure.
His eyes leaves the elder and land on the chain around his neck. At the end, where the pendant should be, is a golden band.
The wedding ring.
In the back of the mind, he swears he hears those stupid church bells ringing. He swallows the lump in his throat—trying his hardest to not think about how the ring will be on his finger come March—and moves aside to give way to the apartment.
“Yeah, I had a feeling. Come in, Mark.”
(mark takes in renjun’s apartment after stepping through the threshold. nerves go through his entire body when he hears him move to close the door. he doesn’t turn around, not yet, but instead lets the sound of renjun’s movements bounce off the walls of the entryway.
the door shuts and is locked.
and, as the final note of the lock rings out, mark turns around.)