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Lee Donghyuck is Mark Lee, missing posters, and all things macabre.
He grows up in the countryside — with meadows, fresh air, all that jazz and a shit ton of cows. Him and Mark Lee are constants. The neighborhood’s practically seen them grow up together; the rowdy kid and the bookish best friend who reigns him in. They’re the two rosy cheeked children who sell lemonade every summer in front of an old woman’s little brick house. The ones who join the community service club one year in school and walk two whole blocks with a fleeting resolve to pick up litter, before collapsing onto the pavement and calling it quits to go play some video games. They’re the ones always jogging to get to school — Donghyuck with toast in his mouth and Mark chiding him for being late again. Mark Lee may have a perfect GPA but his attendance has gone to shit all thanks to his Hyuckie. It annoys him to no end and he doesn’t talk to Hyuck the whole day after parent teacher meetings, leaving the scruffy haired boy badgering him relentlessly until he caves at the offering of being bought banana milk and muffins. Mark ends up paying for them, but a cheeky, constantly yapping his mouth, Donghyuck with crumbs around the corners of his lips, makes him smile anyways.
They make a best friend handshake and a language of their own. They kiss in the comfort of their bedrooms during sleepovers when they’re sixteen and hold hands when nobody’s looking. In highschool they’re co-founders of the occult club. Mark stresses over not getting club members and Hyuck pecks his worries away, proposing that they ditch this shitty poster business and paint cool skulls on their nails. Nobody joins them, but they have all that they need so it doesn’t matter.
They are puppy love and park dates, idle afternoons and making smores in winter bonfires. Mark reads a novel he loves out loud to him whilst they lay on fresh, damp grass, and Hyuck is too busy counting his freckles to retain any information — something that garners him a swat on the shoulder and a cutely muttered ‘Stop it ’ from a Mark Lee whose burning cheeks make it all worth it.
When Donghyuck accidentally pops a pimple and wails wildly about it, Mark makes him sit on a kitchen stool and nags while gently dabbing some skincare cream onto the spot, rendering him all pouty. When Mark doesn’t do too well on a test, Hyuck threatens many forms of violence on that one kid who has the audacity to gloat, making Mark shake his head in disappointment. But kisses wash these little woes away. Always kisses.
This is Donghyuck and Mark’s world, their hauntingly beautiful love story encapsulated in this little town like an old snowglobe that’ll turn to dust the second you shake it too hard.
But change is inevitable and change erodes away at things even when they’re set in stone. The beginning of the end is university and moving out of the one town where Donghyuck and Mark come as a 1+1 deal, where they exist in each other’s definitions as a permanent trait, just the way Hyuck likes it.
It is, as all beginnings tend to be, an exciting brand of beautiful — filled with hopes and dreams, plans and resolutions to transform like a butterfly finally unsheathing itself from its cocoon, teary goodbyes and boxes full of homemade food to get them through the first few weeks. The only minor setback is that they don’t get into the same university; Mark’s an academic genius so he gets into one of the country’s top schools, Hyuck’s always been more of an average Joe with too many dreams to contain and narrow down to one passion, so he settles for some place that his parents think is decent. But it’s all okay, because at the very least, they’re both in Seoul now. Free to eat all the barbeque and takeout chicken they want, and to visit all the pretty cafes and drink till they drop with no inhibitions — just like the way they’d planned in Mark’s moonlit backyard. Mark settles into his dorm and Hyuck misses him even though it’s just a 20 minute drive from his apartment.
There are no sunny afternoons anymore, just torrential downpour and rainchecks. Even the parks around the city feel too crowded and polluted, and Hyuck never wants to admit this to anybody, but in his gut he thinks that this fast life just may not be for him. It’s an icky sort of feeling, a melting pot of homesickness and imposter syndrome, that sticks with him like gum on the bottom of a shoe but instead of a shoe it’s his sense of self that’s been soiled. Seoul doesn’t grant Donghyuck the liberty to dream like he thought it would. Instead, it chains him down with these invisible social norms and a system he doesn’t quite understand.
But, at least he has Mark. This city may crash and burn into pieces, but at least they won’t.
For a very long time this remains true.
They have ice cream dates and campus tours, outings to the mall and photobooth kisses. Theatres scare Mark just a little and Donghyuck teases him with boisterous laughter right after he admits this as they exit. He gets leftover popcorn kernels thrown at his face, but Mark is very cute when he’s angry so Donghyuck doesn’t mind. He stays over at Hyuck’s for the most part, and his flatmate Jaehyun is more than happy to cater to extra company. They hang halloween decor on every part of the apartment that belongs to Donghyuck, in preparation for the true crime podcast they’re planning on starting. Hyuck carves their initials onto a wall tile in his bathroom and Mark giggles whilst hoisting himself up onto the counter. He tells Hyuck two things — a) his handwriting is shit, and, b) he’ll have to pay for that when moving out. Hyuck groans and makes his way over to stand between Mark’s legs, hands slotting onto the sides of his waist. He buries his face into the crook of his neck and asks, “You don’t like it?” Mark can practically hear the pout in his voice. He cards his fingers through Hyuck’s scruffy hair, and Hyuck can feel his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. It makes him smile into Mark’s skin, and when the boy finally says an “I love it.” Hyuck wastes no time in leaning up for a kiss on the lips.
But then everything warps into some sort of nightmare.
Mark Lee goes missing and Hyuck swears he’s never felt so lost before. He’d been acting strange, the weeks leading up to it, in a manner that was, for a lack of better words, immensely un-Mark-like. He was missing calls and turning down dates and cuddles. Then he changed his phone’s passcode and Hyuck remembers nagging at Mark to tell him again so he could fill up his camera roll with selfies so Mark was never deficient of ‘Vitamin Hyu’, but Mark seemed upset. Then Hyuck resorted to rambling out apologies for that one prank he’d played on him in highschool, trying with a little too much desperation to clear out the tension in the air with comedic relief before it settled with finality. But oh, goodness, it did more than just settle. It exploded, really, and then Mark stormed out, angry. And then, he was missing and that was that. No text, no call, no Mark Lee in his dorm or classes.
First Hyuck tries to look for somebody to blame.
There can be no explanation other than crime for this, just like all the stories they used to research. This isn’t like Mark. Mark doesn’t up and leave. Mark is punctual and dedicated. He is curly hair and soft lips, thin rimmed glasses and moles that make up constellations. There must’ve been people after Mark because, goodness, Hyuck just knows his boy is so amazing and talented, anyone could’ve been jealous. Mark is one of those extraordinary figures who you just know will change the world someday, Hyuck certainly believes he could. For the first week, the authorities believe this too. Then they give up, tell him there’s no hope.
Then Hyuck blames himself — if only he hadn’t nagged so much, then they’d fall asleep together and he’d wake up with Mark in his arms. The feeling afflicts a sense of shame outlined distinctly by failure while instigating a desperation to prove it wrong.
So now, he is caffeine and power naps by the printer. Hyuck is sobs into palms in the dark corner of his room when all the friends who’ve volunteered to help leave, and he is blistering walks around and beyond Mark’s campus, sticking posters onto every surface possible. He sees people walking their dogs and reminisces about the way Mark would pet any in sight. There are bouts of surging hope when his phone rings, followed by hours of emptiness where the only thing bringing him any sense of solace is cuddling an old sweater that smells like Mark. Sometimes he’ll turn on a documentary they used to watch, and act like Mark is somewhere in the room jotting down notes. Any moment now, he’ll get up from his uncomfortable spot on the floor and join Hyuck in bed. Donghyuck will feel him staring at his face, and then pressing a kiss to his forehead before inquiring, “Asleep already?” in a hushed whisper that makes his voice drop some octaves lower. Donghyuck, eyes still closed, will shake his head cutely. Then Mark will chuckle and settle into his place under the covers, and Hyuck will roll over to savour his warmth. Any moment now.
One such night, a particularly coherent one since he’s had a concerning amount of coffee, Donghyuck realizes the moment may never come again and chokes on his tears. It’s ice cold and his cuddly boy isn’t going to show up and hold him to cure the hypothermic state of his heart. His throat is itchy and burning now, and it feels like uncharacteristically feather light blades are making their ways up his trachea. There’s a moment of inexplicable terror where he wants to scream in panic but feels like he has to maneuver through this like one would deal with quicksand. And fuck, when that moment passes he sputters blood onto Mark’s sweater and wails so hard it makes Jaehyun burst through his doors in alarm. His arms wrap around him, and while Hyuck is blubbering about how he really can’t put this in the washing machine because then it won’t smell like Mark anymore — a seemingly trivial loss which is in reality the last shred of comfort being torn away from him — Jaehyun is more concerned about the petals on his bed.
Jaehyun coaxes him into falling asleep for the night, and delivers the finer details of the situation to him the next morning. He assures Donghyuck that they'll see a doctor, that he'll be there with him every step and that Hyuck shouldn't panic at all. That he should hope instead. Hyuck is silent while digesting this information. Then he declines the offer of scrambled eggs for breakfast, and excuses himself to his room. The door shuts softly behind him and he sinks against it before shakily dialling a number he remembers by heart, on his phone. There's pressing affairs he has to get in order, answers he thinks he deserves. Somebody picks up after two rings and after being greeted, Donghyuck cuts straight to the chase, his voice is sharp and accusing, “He reached out didn’t he?”
He registers a shaky sigh on the other line. There’s some shuffling, hushed whispers in the background before Mark’s mother speaks again, “Well...dear, you see,” She pauses to find a way to lay it on him gently. But there’s no nice way to put this. “Yes. Two nights ago.”
Donghyuck swallows whatever is bubbling up his throat, he doesn’t know if it’s emotions clogging his airways or petals, and manages to inhale a ragged breath. “And?”
“He said he’ll call you. When the time is right.” Donghyuck isn’t even sure if he has enough time to spare for that.
“Please tell him to call soon. The sooner, the better.”
“I’m sorry it ended up this way honey, I’m disappointed in him, I am.”
But he is her son and she is his mother. At one point Donghyuck may have considered her to be his too, but that’s long gone because Donghyuck and Mark aren’t a 1+1 deal anymore. Donghyuck isn’t even sure if he’s a solid 1 anymore. He loved Mark relentlessly, with such vigour, that his feelings numbed all sense without Donghyuck even realizing it. He tore parts of him and gave them away happily without Mark even asking for them. Maybe it was all too much. What do you do anyways with love so unconditional that it becomes a burden? Maybe Mark didn’t know where to put it, maybe it collected on his shoulders bit by bit, caging him, or making him sink, until he didn’t have a choice but to run. Donghyuck understands, maybe. Donghyuck forgives, maybe.
But Donghyuck doesn’t have time to dwell on the thoughts for too long to come up with a proper answer. He’s busy trying to eat properly and catching up with classes in between episodes of throwing up and coughing up blood until it leaves him dizzy. His pulse throbs in his head, in his ears, everywhere, and Donghyuck feels like he’s on the brink of death. Memories flash through his bleary vision; sometimes they hurt more than the physical pain. Jaehyun stays with him through it all just as he promised he would. He rubs his back and brings Donghyuck water; moves the hair sticking to his forehead, matted down by sweat, and opens the windows to let air in when he can finally breathe. There’s appointments to the doctor and waiting in sterile hallways with painfully fluorescent lighting. Watching grief unfold in front of his eyes is a different experience now, given that he may become the cause of it himself any time. Death could come for him today, tomorrow, in this hallway, or even in the middle of his X-ray.
He’s given up thinking about Mark’s call too. That may end up coming too late. Donghyuck can’t live for the future.
The doctor scans his reports with furrowed brows on the final day of their consultation. Jaehyun’s knee bounces in anxiety beside him, Donghyuck’s arm aches where all the needles have pricked him. “So?” Jaehyun prompts. The doctor says surgery is possible, it’s risky but it’s the best option. It’ll wipe his memories. Donghyuck hates that the fond moments in his mind will be replaced by lonely summers, he denies it immediately. Jaehyun nudges him to consider and he purses his lips in indecision when he sees the desperate look in his eyes. The doctor gives them a week to decide.
Jaehyun takes it upon himself to make calls. To Donghyuck’s parents and other close friends and peers who know them well enough. Donghyuck is opposed to it initially, but Jaehyun reprimands him. You can’t go ahead and die without telling anybody just because you got your heart broken.
He supposes Jaehyun’s right.
Whoever visits, brings flowers for him though. He has to hide his vehemence for them and force polite smiles and ‘Thank you’s. The sweet aroma reminds him of all the times they clogged his throat in asphyxiating ways, the pungent smell of iron mixed in that made him nauseous. The sight of petals pains him now, reminding him that his throat throbs because he’s coughed his airways raw, all for them.
Nakamoto Yuta is the only one who doesn’t bring any bouquets with him. He arrives two days before Donghyuck has to make up his mind, hands stuffed into his pockets, looking all hollow and bare. He sits on one end of Donghyuck’s bed and begins telling him a story. It’s about a boy, tall and beautiful. About croissants and cafes, promises of matching tattoos and sweet laughter. About a letter and being stupid for admitting things too late. He says he doesn’t know if he could’ve ever healed him, but he wishes he was alive even if he couldn’t remember him. Yuta cries in front of Donghyuck, a complete stranger, bares his soul to him so he doesn’t repeat the same mistakes Doyoung did. Donghyuck agrees, and promises that he’ll live. For everybody around him; for his parents, Jaehyun, Yuta, and Mark. When Yuta’s sobs are reduced to sniffles and he shows signs of calming down, Donghyuck reaches out and clasps his hands together, runs a thumb over his palm and asks, “Do you dream of him?”
“Why do you ask?”
“A friend told me something about dreams.”
Mark told him these words when they were laying on his porch one night, with fresh cut grass against their skins and a sky full of stars above them. Somebody in their neighbourhood had died, they were growing up and learning how to grapple grief.
“He said,” Donghyuck’s mind flits to the memory, remembering the tears, the anguish.
“Maybe when you’re dead, you’re asleep until someone wants to summon you in their dreams because they miss you or want to reach out to you.”
Donghyuck looks into Yuta’s eyes and squeezes his hand in reassurance. Yuta’s eyes well with fresh tears but he smiles, small and distant. “I do. I miss him. I dream of him.”
“He lives in dreams with you.”
“We’re always happy in them too.” Yuta giggles with a semblance of new found mirth.
That night, Jaehyun calls Donghyuck’s doctors. He’s ecstatic, his parents are ecstatic. They set a date for the surgery three days from now, Donghyuck will go to the hospital the evening prior to be prepared. Sharp at 9AM, he’ll be wheeled to the operating room. The procedure will take a couple of hours and by the time his consciousness is back, most of the day will have passed. There will be scars running across his chest, and he’ll stay for 7 days to allow the doctors to monitor his recovery. With him in the hospital, his parents and friends will remove images and trinkets of Mark from his life. Before the surgery, Donghyuck helps with this too. He gives his phone to Jaehyun for him to wipe the memories, sits beside Yuta and packs old photo frames and clothes into boxes to be given away.
He stares at a sweater in his clutches; the one that doesn’t really smell like Mark anymore. It’s devoid of blood stains now and he beckons Yuta to keep this. One thing to remind his heart, if not his mind, that Mark was once in his life.
When he’s at the hospital, munching on bland oatmeal which will be his last meal until the surgery’s over, and watching some random show on cable, Donghyuck’s phone rings. It buzzes beside him and he answers quickly. Jaehyun and Yuta are asleep on the couch in his room, Yuta cuddled into Jaehyun’s side, and Donghyuck doesn’t want to wake them. The quick glance he manages before answering tells him that the number is an unknown one.
“Hello?” Donghyuck’s escaped outside his room now. He was quick to become friends with the nurses so they don’t mind him slipping into one of the deserted hallways after he points at the phone to his ear and mouths ‘important’. The voice on the other line doesn’t answer for a long time. Donghyuck’s glad because it buys him enough time to find a comfortable spot to talk in. “Hello?” He repeats, sighing as he slides down a wall to sit on the floor. His knees are pressed together in front of him, nearly pulled to his chest. He traces the yellow ducks printed onto the fabric of his hospital wear.
“Hello? Is anybody-,”
“Hi.”
The air leaves Donghyuck’s lungs immediately. Breath hitching, heart racing and roaring in his ears. His mind grows blank and there’s an itch in his chest. Donghyuck feels ice cold. His fingers are trembling.
“Mark.” The same Mark who used to be his Mark. “ Mark .” He whispers again with a tinge of fondness that’s escaped his heart and into his tone against his will.
“Hyuckie.” His voice sounds small, so full of shame.
Donghyuck nearly wishes to comfort him but he shouldn’t. For his own sake, he shouldn’t. He feels at a loss for words so he says nothing. Mark knows what to say though, so he continues.
“I’m sorry.”
Donghyuck doesn’t speak. He doesn’t know what will tumble out of his mouth and into the open.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left like that,” Mark inhales a shaky breath, there’s shuffling, and then something rattles on the other end before it’s silent again. “I can’t come back though. I’m going to Canada. I..I don’t have a reason. I don’t have an excuse I was just-,”
“Just trying to breathe.” Donghyuck mumbles and curls into himself. Mark was trying, just like Donghyuck is right now, to escape the suffocating emotions gripping him like a man underwater, trapped by seaweed curling at his ankles.
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be.”
“I do. God, I do. You didn’t deserve any of that just because I’m an emotional fuck up.”
His words are true so Donghyuck doesn’t speak up to defend him despite the twisted part of his heart that wants to. It wants Donghyuck to throw himself into the train of loving Mark uncontrollably again, to tell him that he’ll forgive him for this and a million more things. It wants Donghyuck to give himself up to appease Mark in hopes that he’ll come back. But, no. Mark doesn’t want to be appeased. Him and Mark aren’t supposed to be made of appeasing or giving away or loving in dizzying desperation. They are teasing and soft, warm summers, libraries and sun scorched backs, and melting vanilla ice cream during walks on long stretches of sand. When the fuck did that change? When did it become this way?
Donghyuck clears his throat, doesn’t know if it’s the medicine or his emotions that make him feel woozy. “Is there...somebody else? Romantically, you know.”
“Yes and no. Not really? I mean we’re not y’know but we still,” Mark blabbers nervously which incites a chuckle out of Donghyuck. One that he barely restrains from turning into a full blown coughing fit. Mark doesn’t understand this from the other line though. He only revels in sweet, melodic laughter. When he speaks again, he’s a little more composed.
“There’s somebody. I think I love him and I think he loves me too. We’re not together yet, I wanted to talk to you first. I wasn’t looking for romance when I left...really, I didn’t want to cheat on you or anything like that, but it’s just...becoming something. Yeah.”
“That’s okay, feelings come and go,” Donghyuck doesn’t know how he manages to say this when his lungs feel like they’re on fire. When his heart feels like somebody’s whacking at it like a maniac and it can do nothing but throb painfully in fright, “Tell me about him.”
He wants to make sure that Mark is happy.
He is. His voice is full of love when he speaks, a certain kind of adoration that he probably doesn’t recognize himself.
Mark tells him about a boy named Yangyang. He says they met in a small town by the sea where Mark went to clear his mind. They met at a record store, Mark doesn’t even have a record player but he enjoys perusing through vinyl albums anyways. The first thing Yangyang said to Mark was “You look like crap” and a string of other things in a language Mark is yet to learn. It wasn’t enchanting or love at first sight. It was slow, in less than ideal situations, of drunk afternoons and tears. It is love, nonetheless, Mark says. Yangyang is a traveller, Mark says. He’s witty, Mark says. He’s quiet but when he speaks, his words have such weight that they may as well be punching you straight in the face. He makes Mark laugh at silly things, like clouds shaped like cowboy hats and milkshake foam moustaches. He’s going to Canada with him, they’ll be there for a year maybe and then travel to Germany for a bit. Mark doesn’t know where he’ll end up after that but he seems to have found a home in him, in Yangyang. ‘No, not found,’ Mark corrects himself, ‘Built.’ He seems to have built a home in him, in Yangyang.
I really want to kiss him , Mark concludes. He allows a beat of silence to pass, Donghyuck only breathes. It’s all he can do and struggles while he’s at it. He feels the itch in his throat rise, it’s difficult to contain.
Maybe Mark has assumed that Donghyuck is alright with everything and has miraculously fallen out of love with him too, because the next time he speaks his voice is full of mirth. He’s expectant and hopeful, like he already knows the answer, “Can we still be friends?”
Donghyuck weighs his options carefully. He doesn’t want to throw away everything between them, but at the same time, does it really matter if the memories are going to be taken from him anyways? Saying yes will entail telling Mark the truth, Donghyuck knows he’ll beat himself up over it. He will want to meet him at some point, after recovery and maybe in a few years. He will want to make sure Donghyuck is okay. And although Donghyuck will not have his memories, he will gravitate towards Mark anyways; because Mark has become a habit for him and habits are difficult to quit.
“No, I don’t think we can. I really hope you live happily though Mark.”
This is better, easier. Mark will respect his decision, he won’t seek Donghyuck out, and they’ll both go separate ways.
“I hope you live happily too, Hyuckie. I love you.”
It’s not in the way Donghyuck would like it to be, but he basks in the warmth those three words bring him anyway. It’s the last time he’ll hear them, the last time they’ll mean this much.
“I love you too.”
Donghyuck’s love is a different kind. A love so intense that it became him, and then the end of him.
Then they hang up. Donghyuck remains sitting in his spot for a couple more minutes, zoned out and digesting the fact that Mark is truly and permanently gone from his life. His first love, made of sweet summers, is one that he will never remember. He mourns it all night, in the darkness of his cabin.
In the morning he’s taken to surgery. As the anaesthesia lulls him to slumber, Mark’s face flashes in his mind one last time. Then everything goes dark.
Donghyuck wakes up as the sun is setting, gains consciousness when the nurses are wheeling him back to his room. He’s groggy and his limbs feel like soggy papier mache. He feels so, so, light, it’s like he’s floating. With a croaky voice Donghyuck asks for explanations and his parents feed him a lie about a car accident. Jaehyun and Yuta are there too, he remembers them, and smiles at their nervous looking faces.
Donghyuck recovers exceptionally quickly, heads home earlier than anticipated after just four antsy days. He’s wearing the sweater that doesn’t smell like Mark anymore. When he closes his eyes during the drive back home thinks of summer, but doesn’t put a face to his feelings.
The love that felt like summer is gone. The flowers are gone. The old Hyuck, Mark's Hyuckie, is also gone.