Work Text:
the library is haunted.
or cursed at the very least, donghyuck reasons while scrolling through the wikipedia page for the third time this week. there’s a tab under notable events labeled “suicides” which lists descriptions of all three of the deaths that have occurred in the historic building. the article is gruesome, even for him, chronologizing each suicide with an almost disturbing level of detail. knee bouncing against the underside of the table, he reads it again.
donghyuck wonders what it must have been like– spending one’s last moments in this place. from the atrium, the tenth floor is a long way up– although he imagines it might be a longer way down. by his calculations, that’s a little over three seconds of free falling. and although donghyuck’s had his own fair share of falling in his life, three seconds is a long time. it’s enough time to be scared, he thinks, enough time to change your mind, even. he feels a cold, creeping sensation in his lower spine and the back of his throat.
across the table, mark on the other hand is doing something actually productive. at least, it certainly seems like it with his index cards and highlighters and the way his round, wire-framed glasses sit perched on the very tip of his curved nose. his face scrunches in a show of utter diligence and concentration.
donghyuck considers, as he does with most things, all the ways in which he might break it.
mark is afraid of ghosts. donghyuck remembers discovering that detail late one night or perhaps early one morning in a friend's dorm room last semester. they had all been crossfaded that night off some ungodly mixture of shitty, conspicuously purchased vodka and hits from someone’s roommate’s dab pen, seven almost men, and all of them squished together at odd angles like tetris blocks on the much too small bed as they spoke their truths into the dark. they’d been too big that night, and even so, donghyuck remembers feeling very, very small.
the two of them, as they often were, had found themselves inside a quiet little bubble, the world blurry and fading outside the boundaries of each other. at some point, mark had tucked all five feet and nine inches of himself tightly into donghyuck’s side and sleepily confessed how much he feared even the idea of ghosts. “unnatural,” he had said. that, and something about god, clasping his hand firmly around his silver cross necklace and nuzzling his face into the divot of donghyuck’s collarbone.
donghyuck had laughed, eyes glazed over and body limp, lost in his own haze.
“why don’t you tell me one thing you’re not scared of for a change?”
mark had just sighed, eyes sleepy and breath even as it fluttered across the skin of donghyuck’s neck.
“you smell good.”
donghyuck can still remember the way mark’s drunken warmth had seeped out of his body, and into his own through the slots of his ribcage. thinks about it sometimes. thinks about pulling him closer, about ghosting his hands over his abdomen and the long sleeves of his shirt, about clawing his way inside mark’s warm body and finally, finally making a home for himself somewhere beneath his skin. with every bone in his body he wants, craves , the feeling of knowing and being known by someone like mark– innocent, kind, good . and yet he knows he probably doesn’t deserve it. knows that on the surface, mark is something of an angel while he himself is more devil incarnate. he wonders if mark would let him in anyways. would let him see the darkness he knows mark is hiding deep within his bones. the thought always leaves him feeling a little dirty.
but mark scares easily, and donghyuck has always had a cruel kind of way about him, and so he tells mark:
“the library is haunted.”
mark’s pen fumbles on the notecard labeled “kreb’s cycle” for just a quick moment before he moves to the next one.
“shut up,” he mumbles, and his furrowed eyebrows form little wrinkles on his forehead.
“i’m serious, it really is,” donghyuck pushes, solely because he can. “there’s a wikipedia article and everything.”
there’s a pause.
“you’re trying to freak me out again,” mark fidgets slightly, looking up from his notes for the first time in what feels like hours to squint at donghyuck, who itches for his attention. “it’s not going to work.”
and so donghyuck tells him everything, reading the entire suicide tab of the wikipedia page and making sure to include his own observations and calculations while watching the way the blood drains from mark’s face, knuckles white around his pencil.
“how-” he opens and closes his empty fist as if he will somehow fish the words he’s looking for out of thin air. he fumbles for a few moments and then in an almost whisper, like he’s hoping the ghosts won't hear him, “how come nobody told us about that?”
donghyuck laughs, and it’s a familiar mixture of endeared and mean.
“what, did you expect them to put it in the admissions pamphlet?” he puts on a sarcastic voice, “our ridiculously expensive and notoriously stressful university repeatedly drives students to commit gory campus suicides! students and faculty thoroughly traumatized! applications due january first!”
mark bites the inside of his cheek, a deep frown etched into his kind face.
“still though, not even some kind of memorial? there’s nothing?”
“nope,” donghyuck answers plainly. “just a new iteration of ‘suicide proof’ architecture, new tiling, metal barriers, the works,” he gestures vaguely.
mark’s face falls impossibly further. he looks like he might be sick.
“oh.” he lightly touches the center of his chest, right above his heart, where donghyuck guesses his necklace might be sitting. “that’s...really sad.”
and then mark reshuffles his notecards with shaky hands and donghyuck pulls out a sketchbook, and just like that, it’s quiet again.
it’s easy to lose track of time in a place like this. under the ambient, blue-tinted fluorescent lighting of the library’s underground floors, donghyuck feels pretty awake even now, as his phone screen flashes 1:44am back at him.
apparently they’re the only ones strange enough to be down here this late at night seeing the way the floor is completely empty except for the two of them. donghyuck can’t really say he minds though, he’s always been a little selfish when it comes to mark.
he flips around in his sketchbook before settling on a page that seems to have a reasonable amount of space left, as he picks up his long forgotten pencil from the floor. earlier, after a failed attempt to catch mark’s attention, it had teetered unceremoniously off the edge of the table and landed silently against the gray carpet. he twirls it in his hand for a moment, considering his next sketch.
his hand seems to move automatically, almost possessed as he maps out the ghost of mark’s form on the page. he allows himself, solely for the task at hand, to look at him, to really look, and takes in details like the tight pull of his shoulders, and the way his white knuckles pop out in contrast against the black of his pen which, for the record, has not made a single attempt to complete another notecard in the past three minutes. concentration broken: check.
it’s not the first time he’s drawn mark like this during a study session, or at a meetup with friends, or alone under a dim lamp in his dorm room at night, and for donghyuck, a creature of something between habit and obsession, it likely will not be the last. he’s sure by now he doesn’t need to look at mark to draw him– sure that if he closed his eyes mark’s features would probably be burned on the inside of his eyelids, but he keeps them open anyways, taking him in the way a wild animal vores its prey. he’s always taken every last ounce of the pieces of himself mark offers up. it never fails to leave donghyuck feeling full and overwhelmed and hurt.
mark is unlike everyone else he’s ever tried to capture. when drawing him, donghyuck abandons the sharp and harsh lines he’s known so well for and is gentle. he etches the curves of his face and the roundness of his eyes with such tenderness that he feels almost embarrassed to let anyone else see. naked, selfish . for his eyes only. he wonders if mark can tell when he steals glances over at his sketchbook. wonders if he cares. mark’s always been one to care about the little things– letting them consume him in silence for days and days.
donghyuck on the other hand can’t stand the quiet, and so when the silence between them starts to feel like flames engulfing him, he speaks again.
“you realize you haven’t written anything in the past five minutes, right?” he starts, pointing the pencil at mark accusingly. “like, not a single thing.”
mark exhales all at once, like he’d been holding his breath.
“i know,” he replies, frustrated. “i think i’m probably really, really tired.”
donghyuck hums in the back of his throat, pushing.
“you think you’re tired?”
“i’m tired.”
“you don’t sound very sure of that.”
“i am tired,” he says again, and it’s a declaration, “it’s,” he pauses to glance at his phone screen, “it’s 2:03am and i’m really fucking tired, donghyuck.”
donghyuck can hear the emotion starting to rise up in the back of mark’s throat. he hears it all the time from all sorts of people. it’s ugly, and it’s vulnerable, and usually, it makes him despise someone faster than anything else can.
mark gets emotional often– and yet donghyuck doesn’t hate him. he’s instead fascinated by mark. and often likes to spend afternoons just like this, prodding at his soft spots, and pulling on his strings, wondering if all people are this fun to play with.
“you know what i think?” donghyuck pushes even further, a destructive force by nature, “i think you’re just scared.”
there’s a subtle pinkness creeping up from underneath mark’s collar as he turns to look away.
“you know i don’t like ghosts.”
mark attempts to hold his ground.
“i do, but we both know it’s not about that.”
mark freezes.
“then what could it possibly be about? what is it that i’m so scared of, donghyuck?”
the pink has reached mark’s ears by now, his jaw locked in indignation and voice raised in self defense, and donghyuck knows , although he so rarely chooses to care, when enough is enough. knows when he’s being unfair. knows that there are things that mark needs to face on his own, and so he backs down. he shoves his hands into his pockets– about to change the subject when he realizes two very important things.
- he does not have his keys.
- his roommate is definitely asleep.
a soft “uh oh” is about the most he can manage as he tries to piece this information together.
mark tilts his head in confusion.
“my keys…”
“you left them?”
donghyuck nods. “yeah, yeah… fuck, ” he says, standing up and starting to collect all of his belongings from the table. “i gotta go so i can figure this shit out.”
suddenly there’s a hand around his wrist as he tries to push his laptop into his backpack.
donghyuck catches mark’s gaze from across the table.
“it’s uh,” mark stumbles over his words, “it’s late. you might be stuck outside for a while, and it’s probably really dark...and uh...cold.” the pink has reached his cheeks by now as he looks down. “you can just sleep at my place.”
“my place,” as donghyuck knows it is a studio apartment two blocks south of where they currently stand. he’s been there plenty of times, and is quite familiar with the acoustic guitars, and the red lights, and the justin bieber posters which, yes, are still embarrassing even if mark’s a canadian. it’s humiliating– and therefore so intrinsically mark.
however, donghyuck has never actually spent the night there. at least not like this, not just the two of them, and certainly not sober as they are now. there’s a tingle in his fingertips and to be honest, he can’t discern whether the feeling he gets from the idea of it is excitement or pure dread. probably both.
and even still, he finds his head shaking on its own accord and the words, “yeah, okay,” falling out of his mouth, and he thinks that despite all the times in his life he’s called mark soft or weak, he himself is a hundred times moreso.
outside, it’s dark and uncharacteristically calm, compared to the typical cacophony of city life. they stand in front of the park, which closed for the night some hours ago. this time of year, donghyuck spends a lot of his time here, emptying out the fiery red, orange, and yellow tins of a new watercolor set, too drawn in to remember how cold he is. he’s gotten sick quite a few times too, rendered immobile by fatigue and achiness. and even then, he’s got mark, who despite everything actually cares about him– who swings by his dorm room bright and early before class with hot tea and a reminder to eat something later. donghyuck always drinks it, even though he hates the taste of tea, obsessed with the way it warms him from the inside out.
tonight, his coat and the quiet storm brewing in the pit of his stomach keep him warm as he stumbles out of the building beside mark and looks out at the night. when he straightens out his back, the two of them are the exact same height, and donghyuck can’t help that it means something to him. with mark, he’s noticed, things often tend to. wordlessly donghyuck follows as mark begins to lead the way.
donghyuck is used to being on the outside- long since having grown accustomed to being treated like an outcast. he’d been a lonely child both at school and in his family, always too blunt, or too cold, too quick to anger, too...strange. and for better or worse, he’s learned how to cope with it.
there had been a time when he thought he knew what it was like to be on top of the world. standing there, with the wind blowing through his hair, he could see everything. the neighborhood park was like heaven to eight year old donghyuck, who had just gotten through his first week of second grade. right across the street, he could see his house, where his mother liked to watch him from the big window in their living room while she read on the couch. she’d never really been the kind of parent to hover– it wasn’t how she’d been raised– but with a child like donghyuck, who was always getting himself into mischief, she felt safer being able to watch him, at least from a distance.
donghyuck wondered if she could see him now, towering above all the other children and their parents too. he paused, looking around a bit, considering whether this would be high enough. he hadn’t been able to reach the branch that he’d originally been shooting for– it had been just a touch too high for his small arms. he leaned back and bounced once on the balls of his feet. no, this would do. he could remember the thrill he’d had seeing his new classmate walk in on monday with a neon green cast from her left elbow to her palm. he’d watched as everyone fawned over it at recess, fumbling with a fresh sharpie as they scrawled their names onto the bumpy material.
“is it broken?” donghyuck had asked after the commotion settled down, poking at the cast with a grubby finger.
“yeah,” she replied plainly, eying the monkeybars longingly. “it hurt really, really bad.”
“how bad?” donghyuck leaned in as if she were telling him a secret.
she thought about it for a moment before spreading her arms as wide as they could go.
“this bad.”
donghyuck was amazed.
he’d wondered what it might feel like to break a bone. was it more of a pop or a crack? how long did it hurt for? he’d never been able to feel his bones before, they were just there. they couldn’t possibly hurt that much, right?
and so standing on that branch of the tree, he’d known he needed to find out. he’d taken one last sweeping look around the park, took a deep breath, and jumped.
as he’d later tell his sobbing mother in the back of the ambulance, the sensation was actually something more of a snap .
he started therapy one week later, a fresh white cast on his arm. he’d wanted blue. he’d heard his parents talk about it before, therapy that is, in hushed voices or behind closed doors. in retrospect, he never really seemed to care very much that they thought he was weird– or that he might grow up to kill people– or whatever it was they really thought about him. he didn’t care about much, especially not back then, and if the sessions where he was made to sit on a colorful carpet and identify different emotions off of smiley faces on flash cards or suffer through what must have been hundreds of didactic stories and cartoons with the intention of teaching him how to feel and be nice were anything to go off of, donghyuck not caring was the problem. after a few sessions, the therapist had told him and his parents that he was a very bright boy and just needed somewhere to focus his feelings. a month later, they decided on art therapy.
and as it had turned out, he had a natural gift. nothing in the world could ease his mind like the scratch of a pencil or the smell of fresh paints. he’d found a place there, in his art. not a home, but somewhere he could exist and be good enough for everyone else. he was not sick or strange, but brilliant. he could make art and for once, people didn’t care what he was or wasn’t. he was worth something. and so he tore his way through countless sketchbooks, and oil pastels, and charcoals, all in search of the proud smile on his mother’s face, and his father’s pat on the back and the feeling that maybe things would be okay.
he’d taken the test when he turned fifteen, and watched his mother cry tears of joy when the doctor confirmed that her son didn’t appear to have developed antisocial personality disorder. he’d wondered if it meant things would be okay for him from then on.
they weren’t.
he still never knew the right words to say and he still scared off almost every new person he met within a few short weeks. he still sat at the dinner table with a knife and fork in his hands watching his younger siblings get doted on and trying his best to not let himself despise them as much as he wanted to. he knew in his heart that he had no desire to be like them– only to be treated like them, at least sometimes. to be allowed to feel normal, maybe even loved. aside from the whiffs he’d get every now and then after unveiling a new art project, the feeling eluded him for the majority of his childhood.
and then he’d left, gone off to be an art student at some elite school his parents were paying for with the slight hope that maybe he could start over. be someone else this time. normal.
he hadn’t been normal, but he had met mark. the kind sophomore who he’d literally walked into one day at the park last year. donghyuck had been looking up at the trees. mark’s eyes were focused on the ground. they’d met somewhere in the middle.
for the first time, donghyuck knew what it felt like to be inside the bubble– to be a part of something. and it was addicting. through mark, he’d even made some friends. mark had told them he was “some kind of genius,” and they’d actually taken the time to get to know him. to genuinely like him. with mark, he felt like he could be seen– seen past his meticulous exterior and the whispers of others, he was donghyuck. mark looked at him like he recognized some part of him. and because of that, donghyuck had felt in his gut that they must be two sides of the same coin somehow. and so he pulled at him. he poked and prodded relentlessly with the hopes that one day, mark would let something slip, a piece of himself that he kept secret from the world– and it would be his and his alone.
he’s not sure when things started to change between them. he thinks maybe he’s always felt a special kind of attraction to mark. he’d been a conscious observer of the intensifying ache in his chest each time he got to watch mark smile and know that it was because of him. but things were changing, slowly, like the leaves on the park trees, becoming explosive with color before fluttering carefully to the ground. there are moments when the space between them feels like it’s just one spark short of a fiery explosion.
he can’t say what it is, but that static electricity crackles between them again tonight, a magnetic field pushing and pulling at the boundaries of their friendship. donghyuck’s not afraid of being shocked. honestly, he’s hardly afraid of anything. and so he decides, right there on the dirty city sidewalk that if he finds himself on the precipice of something earth shattering tonight, he’ll let it consume him.
if asked to write a list of all the things he’s scared of, mark could probably write a novel. there are, of course: ghosts, the dentist, aliens, people who smoke at gas stations, global warming, hospitals, god, disappointing people, the ocean, fire, and his seventh grade algebra teacher, to name a few. but despite all his fears, he considers himself a pretty well adjusted person– feels like he can get by in his day to day life without being paralyzed by them, regardless of how rational or irrational they may be.
that is, on most days. but there are times, even at the distinguished age of twenty, that his fears come back to haunt him– and often when he least expects them.
he can still vividly remember his old family home, a charming three bedroom in the canadian countryside with mustard plank siding. it was a two hour drive from toronto, and a ten minute walk away from his closest neighbors. his bedroom had a picture window, from which he could gaze out at the vast woods behind the house on days when it was too rainy or too cold to go play. he’d had all sorts of beautiful memories from that time, proud to be his mother’s special helper and his father’s brave little explorer.
one of his most prominent memories was of his tenth birthday. his father had spent months building him a treehouse as a surprise with the help of some old buddies from the construction company. he’d left that job some time ago– back injury– becoming a preacher at the local church soon after. but the man had a love for building and an even greater love for his son, and so he’d put everything he had into it.
the structure had been fairly simple. it sat an impressive eight meters off the ground, perched on what had to be the sturdiest hickory tree in the whole woods. his father had spent days making sure it was properly sanded down and splinter proof, to the point that even mark’s mother had given her full stamp of approval.
“do you like it?” his father had asked.
it was a lot taller than mark had anticipated. and the sight of the long rope ladder he’d have to climb to make it inside stirred anxiety within him. his father of course had known he was afraid of heights– this was a test. that was just the kind of guy he was, always encouraging him to push himself– to wake up each day as a better version of himself. and mark looked up to him so much. more than anything he wanted to make him proud– to just trust him– and so he nodded his little head, home-cut bangs flopping against his forehead, climbed his way up the shaky ladder to the top. once he pulled himself up that last rung, he’d looked out and felt like he was on top of the world. when his father smiled up at him and flashed him two thumbs up, he was invincible and nothing could ever touch him.
he was quickly cured of his fear of heights, it seemed. in the coming months he would spend almost every free moment up there, fresh air billowing through his t-shirt, as he read his books, or listened to music on his mp3 player. the structure had no roof, so on nice, warm days, he would just lie there on his back watching the clouds pass through the gaps in the leaves and feeling the sun on his arms and legs, until the birds and the clouds lulled him to sleep. he’d usually wake up an hour or so later, often to the sound of his mother’s voice calling him for dinner.
during autumn, the leaves would turn the most vibrant orangey-red and fall right off the branches into perfect sunset-colored mounds on the treehouse floor. they were so pretty that mark would just leave them there until winter came and the wind would sweep them all away.
as he walks alongside donghyuck now, he notes a couple of things. one; the leaves in the city aren’t quite as nice as the ones back home. on the trees they’re just as vibrant, but when they flutter down and fall into the murky puddles of city water on the sidewalk, they don’t crunch like they’re supposed to, instead collecting in sad, wet piles and sticking to the bottoms of his new boots. and two; he misses his treehouse– misses the smell of the wood floor, and the initials he’d carved into the trunk with his father’s boxcutter. he’d never felt quite as alive as he did back then, when life was simple and he didn’t have to worry about what he was doing with it, or how many questions he missed on his chemistry test, or figuring out how to be exactly the right person at exactly the right time to please everybody. he was just mark, lying on his back as his heartbeat went slow, watching the seasons change in real time.
on his left, donghyuck’s being uncharacteristically quiet– much like the city itself which seems to have already turned in for the night. there are only a few cars, and even fewer pedestrians at such a late hour– a ghost town, or maybe a ghost city, for lack of better words. and while mark usually finds such intense silence unsettling, he doesn’t mind so much with donghyuck’s footsteps echoing off the wet concrete behind him. they’re the same height, yet mark somehow feels smaller next to him– like he could fit into donghyuck’s fuzzy coat pocket if donghyuck ever decided he was something worth hanging onto.
he still hasn’t forgotten what donghyuck said, although the bitter november air has managed to cool the blood in his ears. if he tried, he could blame the frequent reddening of his face on any host of things– like his pale complexion, or the warm, long sleeved shirts he wears no matter the season, but the truth is, donghyuck had caught him off guard yet again tonight. he thinks maybe he should be used to it by now– bold statements and morbid fascinations have been a constant of donghyuck’s personality since the first day they met.
mark understands that it’s just because donghyuck is different. he can’t pretend he doesn’t hear the things that people say about his friend– whispers in lecture halls and coffee shops when donghyuck’s back is turned or they think he’s too distracted to hear.
“sociopath,” they say, as if they actually know what they’re talking about. and mark’s never been one for confrontation, so he bites his tongue and looks away. he’s not sure how far a correction would go towards someone who is clearly only interested in the shock value. he thinks they’re all ironically similar to donghyuck in that way.
donghyuck’s story was shocking, no doubt, it was dark, gory, and deeply unsettling (mark had been serious about his fear of ghosts), and donghyuck’s fascination with knowing all the details is more than a little bit worrisome, but it’s what he’d said after that really sticks with mark.
“you’re just scared.”
he’d said it, not in the teasing way that he usually does, but with such confidence, that it sounded like he was just stating a fact. and maybe mark is reading too deeply into it, always far too quick to fall for donghyuck’s distractions when he knows full well he’s got more pressing things to worry about– like his rapidly approaching biology exam– but it makes him feel like he wasn’t just talking about the suicides or the alleged ghosts. like he’d somehow looked right into mark’s soul and seen something mark had yet to see for himself. donghyuck can be like that sometimes– he’s brilliant and with his view of the world so unclouded by emotions, he’s always been able to easily understand things that others can’t, often making bold claims like they are the most obvious things in the world.
and that’s okay, it’s honestly probably one of the reasons mark likes having donghyuck around so much. if donghyuck is anything, he’s unpredictable. it's like he screams, i am the kind of person who is supposed to shake you up. get you out of your head. and mark just nods along, lets donghyuck grab him tight by the shoulders, and asks, what kind of person am i, then?
the door to mark’s building buzzes as he holds it open. within the walls of the building it’s nearly silent, so the sounds of their heavy steps reverberate loudly throughout the stairwell. once again, mark has forgotten to lock the door to his apartment, and it opens easily when he pushes the handle.
inside it’s dark, save for the dim red glow of a desk lamp, and the white string lights above the window. there are a couple used plates on the table, and clothes strewn everywhere. mark's ears tint red with embarrassment, but donghyuck doesn't seem to pay much attention to the mess as he pulls off his shoes and lines them up neatly by the door before shrugging off his coat. his movements are slow, eyes a little droopy as he sweeps away the hair that’s fallen over his eyes. mark mirrors him, kicking off his own shoes, and sliding his bag off his shoulder and onto the cool, hardwood floor.
they’re alone now.
there are different stages of being alone with someone, mark thinks. there was alone outside, on the streets, out in the open, where despite no one having been out, he could feel the eyes of the city on them. then there was alone in the library. they’d been the only two people on their floor, but in such a wide open place, the aloneness wasn’t quite as stark as it is now– face to face in the narrow space of his kitchen.
for the first time tonight, mark’s suddenly not sure what he’s supposed to say or do. although he is different from most people, over just about a year of being practically immersed in each others’ presence, he’s grown pretty comfortable around donghyuck. used to the way he acts and the things he says, but every now and then, at least lately, the atmosphere grows different. there’s a hint, no more than a touch of something in the air that makes mark hyperconscious of every movement and word choice he makes. it’s jarring, he thinks, being lost and powerless in his own domain like this. and mark’s always been a pretty goal oriented person– a box checker, rule follower, stem major– he’d rather listen to someone tell him what to do than have to face the burden of deciding what happens next– of having to define what this even is.
he looks at donghyuck, who has just finished hanging his coat up using the hook on the wall. mark’s is across the back of some chair. he’s always been the less organized of the pair. donghyuck’s got on a pair of skinny jeans and some designer hoodie. paired with his expensive looking shoes and even more expensive looking coat, mark’s not sure how donghyuck affords all this stuff, but he does know that he will not want to sleep in that.
“do you wanna borrow something to wear?” he gestures vaguely at his messy but functional closet and when donghyuck makes no move to respond, just staring at him blankly, “you know, just if you want.”
more silence.
mark is sure there isn’t much more he can bear before his face starts to do that thing again or his body just decides to explode, and then-
“you are so canadian,” donghyuck says, making his way across the room to sift through mark’s clothes.
mark doesn’t even have time to process his words before donghyuck is filling in the blanks for him.
“the way you pronounce ‘borrow.’”
mark can’t help but smile to himself at that, loosening up. he takes a seat on his bed, stretching a little.
“i’m sorry you people pronounce it wrong,” he replies, overemphasizing his canadian pronunciation and stifling a yawn. “i’ll do better next time.”
“no,” donghyuck says and mark can hear a faint smile in his voice. “it suits you.”
and mark doesn’t get to properly react to that because donghyuck is speaking again, still sorting through his closet.
“you know, i’m pretty surprised that you actually do own short sleeved shirts,” he says, pulling out some worn blue t-shirt with mark’s highschool mascot spread across the chest. in his other hand he has a pair of sweatpants.
mark rolls his eyes at the comment. “of course i do, hyuck. is that what you want?”
donghyuck nods quickly, “yeah, i’m gonna go change.” and with that he crosses the small studio and ducks into the bathroom.
mark falls backwards on his bed, just catching his breath for a quick moment. it’s almost overwhelming having donghyuck here, in his space, wearing his clothes, and yet, he doesn’t hate the feeling of his heart jumping against his ribcage. he gets up after a quick moment making his own way to the closet in search of a clean shirt.
and apparently, donghyuck ought to be an olympic clothing changer because mark’s still pulling his shirt up and over his head when the bathroom door opens again behind him and bright fluorescent light is flooding his room.
“you know this stuff is actually kinda- holy shit,” donghyuck cuts himself off mid sentence and just goes silent. never a good sign.
mark pops the shirt off of his head, turning slightly.
he finds donghyuck’s eyes, which are not meeting his, instead fixed somewhere on his back, and that’s when all the pieces fall into place.
he turns around quickly, holding his shirt close against his chest and upper arms. he doesn’t know what to think, let alone say, and so he just stands there like an idiot, waiting for donghyuck to say literally anything.
donghyuck seems to be choosing his words carefully, something he’s definitely never been known for, and then, “what...happened?” and more quietly, “does it hurt?”
mark lets out a sigh he didn’t realize he was holding, and drops the shirt, stepping into the light from the bathroom.
“they’re burns,” he says slowly. “third degree. they’re from a long time ago– an accident. they don’t hurt anymore.”
“oh,” and then, “i’m sorry.”
“don’t be.”
mark doesn’t think he’s ever seen donghyuck be this silent for this long. he moves to go sit back on the bed, leaning his back against the wall. he’s given up on the shirt thing completely by now. there’s not much to hide anymore, he presumes. donghyuck flicks the bathroom light off, closing the door before following suit and sitting beside him. for a long while they don’t speak, just staring out at the city lights through the window.
“are you gonna tell me what happened?” donghyuck asks eventually once the fog seems to have settled.
they’re sitting close, thighs almost touching and mark doesn’t dare look down at them, for fear any small action might break the delicate tension between them.
“i used to have a fear of heights,” he begins, speaking the words as they come to him. “it was pretty bad. i think my dad wanted me to get over it, so he built me this treehouse, in the tallest tree he could find. turns out i didn’t mind heights as much as i thought i would, because i ended up spending a lot of time up there.”
beside him donghyuck listens attentively, wordlessly urging mark to continue.
it’s been years since he’s talked to anyone about this. he remembers back in middle school how the students were made to sit through a talk about accepting people who look different on his first day. he could tell from the way the students and teachers pointedly avoided his eyes that they’d meant him. he’d gone home that day and torn all the short sleeved shirts he owned out of his closet, throwing them into the hallway, where his mother would find them later.
“anyways, during the fall, i really liked to collect the leaves and put them in these piles on the floor. they were perfect, the kind that snap in your fingers and just crumble into dust, you know? i thought they were so pretty, so sometimes i’d pretend to be, like, i don’t know, a scientist or something, and i’d look at them under my magnifying glass. one day i guess i left it out in the sunlight. when i woke up everything was on fire.”
he pauses thinking back to that day, to the smell of smoke, to the sound of his mother crying and his father yelling, begging him to just jump, promising that he’d catch him, the distant sirens that would not make it in time, the unbearable heat that tore away layers of his skin so deep it never truly healed.
“apparently, i was a lot more scared of falling than i was of heights.” mark notes rubbing at his arms. “i was so scared to jump that i literally let myself get burned. i still remember the smell and everything. my dad was standing, like, right there. watched the whole thing happen and couldn’t do anything. i blacked out then. fell. got some scratches on the way down, broke my arm on a branch, and at the end, somehow my dad managed to break the fall. my mom told me later, in the hospital, that it had looked like i wasn’t breathing. that my dad thought i’d died. even now, he still blames himself, i think. it’s like, sometimes he can’t even bear to look at me. sometimes, i feel like i can’t either...”
there’s a sudden realization that he’s said too much as mark’s mind snaps back into the present. he turns to look over at donghyuck, half expecting to find him completely tuned out, but instead he finds donghyuck staring right at his face, wide eyed.
he looks like he’s probably got a million thoughts racing through his head when he says: “you’re just like me, but…opposite,” like he’s absolutely sure of himself. “i can’t believe i just noticed it.”
and mark’s not really sure what that means, or how donghyuck managed to come to that conclusion, but somehow, he knows that he is right. knows that there is something shared between the two of them that cannot be described with words alone.
and so he just nods his head, “yeah, i guess i am.”
donghyuck looks down between them, unabashedly this time, unlike all the stolen glances during study sessions or walks in the park, he looks at mark intensely, like he wants to remember every last detail of his scarred body. he starts to reach out his hand before stopping suddenly.
he catches mark’s eyes again. a simple question. can i?
mark knows there’s more. knows there’s a storm brewing. he can see rain clouds and thunderstorms in donghyuck’s dark eyes– insatiable heat, forest fires. he knows that he himself would never be able to put it out, and yet, he’s not sure he wants to. there’s this inexplicable loneliness– emptiness really, that’s been haunting him for far too long. it creeps up on him. in the dark, at night, when he remembers things– his childhood, the accident, his parents, the weird looks in middle school– even before the accident, he thinks, maybe he’s felt like this his entire life. he sits there, letting himself be seen while knowing he’s got something to hide, and as simple as that, the emptiness just disappears. his pulse pounds in his throat as he nods.
then donghyuck reaches out and touches his shoulder. his hand isn’t quite soft, but it’s kind and gentle. donghyuck’s an artist after all. mark watches as his fingers ghost further down, tracing the burns on his bicep and then down to his forearms. he reaches out his other hand, mirroring his own actions. mark’s lost almost all of the sensation in the areas where donghyuck lingers to destroyed nerve endings, and usually he can’t feel much besides pressure or weight, but watching him now, mark could swear the tingles of electricity consume his whole body, warming him from the inside out. he’s touching the insides of marks wrists now, his palms, fingers, the backs of his hands. places he doesn’t even have burns. and then he’s touching his shoulders again. then his collarbones, his chest, and mark feels like he might cry.
“donghyuck,” he just about whispers, afraid that if he speaks too loud, the magic will disappear, or maybe donghyuck’s hands, truly one in the same to him at this point.
mark is not sure what he sees when donghyuck’s gaze lifts to meet his. he’s not sure if donghyuck is the fire– hot, dangerous, wanting to swallow him whole, or his father's arms, safe, reliable, and loving. but he finds that regardless of what he is, burning heat, gentle warmth, or something in between, he wants all of it like he’s never wanted anything in his life. he wants to be seen, felt, consumed. and so he lets his gaze flicker towards donghyuck’s mouth and back up.
a simple question. can i?
donghyuck smiles and the image is so lovely mark almost doesn’t kiss him.
almost.
he places one hand on the boy’s cheek, and then the other when he decides it looks too lonely there by itself, and presses his mouth against donghyuck’s still smiling one.
it’s gentle, and innocent, and kind, and mark feels like he’s going to explode, or float away maybe, like a distracted child’s balloon. it’s simultaneously too much for him and not nearly enough. he needs to ground himself, he needs-
suddenly, donghyuck places a hand on mark’s waist, and then another one, and squeezes gently. mark’s not sure how or why, but it ignites a fire in him. he can’t describe what comes over him, feeling like all of an ocean as he crashes himself into donghyuck, just like the day they met, all but climbing into his lap, tugging at fistfulls of donghyuck’s hair as he kisses the life out of him. he can feel it as donghyuck makes a surprised sound in the back of his throat. like this, he thinks he can feel everything.
eventually, there comes a point where they can’t breathe, and donghyuck gives mark’s shoulder a gentle push.
they’re sitting there, centimeters apart, desperately catching their breaths when donghyuck starts to laugh, loud and full, with his entire chest. and maybe it’s just the moment, but mark thinks it’s the kindest sound he’s ever heard come out of him.
donghyuck’s laugh is contagious and before long, both of them fall to their backs, laughing uncontrollably into the dark. all of mark feels warm.
“it’s like, really late,” donghyuck says, breathless, and mark can hear his smile more than see it. “we should seriously go to sleep.”
mark nods his head, “yeah, yeah, you’re probably right.”
for a while neither of them move, just lying there and willing the moment to stretch into eternity.
and then just like that, it’s over, and donghyuck is plugging in his phone charger, and mark is brushing his teeth. and then the light is being switched back off and they’re lying beside each other again. this time under the covers, their breathing slow, as they face each other.
mark can already sense donghyuck’s silhouette staring at him when he begins to speak.
“i want to be,” donghyuck says sleepily, reaching out a pointed finger. “right here.” he taps it against the center of mark’s chest.
mark feels his face go red at that. there’s a kind of intimacy to the confession that mark can’t quite place. he’s not even really sure what it’s all about, but he knows it means something. he thinks of death, and leaves, and city lights, and smoke, and heights, and fire, and the way donghyuck’s mouth had felt against his and it all means something.
“you already are,” he replies softly.
they fall asleep like that with donghyuck’s hand limp against mark’s chest and mark’s body still burning, somewhere hidden in between night and day– and it means something.