Archive of Our Own ^beta

Mark gets the spell from Ten, because of course he does.

They’re spread out on the floor of Ten and Johnny’s cramped apartment, having pushed the squashy chair and heap of pillows aside to stretch on the rug. Well, to be fair - they had started stretching after a post-dance practice coffee run, but half an hour later there’s a lot less active movement and a lot more meandering conversation.

It’s kind of nice, though it is hot as balls. Mark’s comfortable enough like this - flat on his back, hands behind his head - so it’s not worth moving.

But their iced coffees are still cool, the plastic cups sweating in the summer heat nearly as much as Mark and Ten themselves. It’s the kind of muggy August afternoon that’s meant for languishing, and that’s exactly what they’re doing.

At least, it’s what Mark is doing, emotionally as well as physically. And as always, Ten is happy to provide commentary.

“It’s just…” Mark sighs, cutting himself off - and not for the first time. “I just don’t know what to say, you know?”

Ten rolls his eyes. “Oh, I know.”

“He’s my best friend,” Mark continues. Ten hums in response, not looking up from idly scrolling through a webtoon on his phone. “And, like. What if saying something messes it all up?”

“You won’t mess it all up,” Ten says, placating.

Mark frowns up at the ceiling, watching as the broad leaves of Ten’s monstera flutter with the movement of the oscillating fan. It’s easier than meeting the pointed looks Ten keeps shooting over at him.

“But it could change things. What if I tell him how I feel, and he stops talking to me? What if he doesn’t feel the same?”

“And what if he does?” Ten raises an eyebrow, locking his phone and flipping it upside down to give Mark his full attention. He props his chin up with one hand. “What if he does feel the same, Mark? Doesn’t that make it worth trying?”

Mark squirms against the carpet. Well that’s the risk, isn’t it?

Ten’s on his belly, pushed up on his elbows in whatever that yoga pose is called - Ten said earlier, Mark can’t remember - which means Mark can’t escape the challenge in Ten’s dark eyes. It’s a no-nonsense look that Mark’s been on the receiving end of a lot lately.

It probably doesn’t help that they’ve had this exact conversation close to a dozen times now this summer.

“I mean,” Mark hedges, swallowing thickly, “I guess so, but -”

Ten snorts and swats at Mark’s thigh. “There’s always a but with you, and not even the fun kind.”

“Hey, c’mon,” Mark huffs, rolling onto his side. “I’m serious! Confessing that you’re in love with your roommate and best friend of ten years is a big deal! Or - or at least it is for me.”

“Sure, but there’s recognizing the fact that you want to handle a conversation carefully, and then there’s sitting on your emotions for so long that you end up agonizing over something that should be simple,” Ten reasons, taking a pause to give Mark a head-to-toe capital-L Look, “and we both know which of those things is happening right now, Mark.”

Mark lets out an explosive exhale, rubbing one eye with the back of his hand. “Okay, okay. I just wanted some advice, bro. No need to psychoanalyze me.”

“As one of your other best friends, it’s entirely within my rights to psychoanalyze you,” Ten laughs. He sits up, reaching out to ruffle Mark’s hair. “You don’t like the advice I give you about this, anyway.”

“Show up at his workplace and kiss him isn’t good advice, hyung.”

Ten examines his chipped nail polish, grinning and unbothered. “It worked for me and Johnny, didn’t it? And we’d been best friends for years at that point, too.”

“But that’s different!” Mark insists. “You’ve said it yourself, dude, you just needed a nudge to figure it out together.”

“It’s not that different,” Ten shrugs one shoulder. He prods at Mark’s shin with his toes. “And what - you’re saying you need more than a nudge?”

Mark groans, flopping flat on his back again and covering his face with both hands. “I need… I don’t know what I need. I just want to get it right. I wanna know that when I tell him, it’s gonna be okay.”

“Unfortunately, baby, the only way to really know is to confess and see what happens.”

Gentle fingers tug Mark’s hand away from his face, and when Mark opens his eyes, Ten’s giving him a fond - if exasperated - smile. He squeezes Mark’s wrist in comfort. “But I know Donghyuck too, don’t forget. I really believe it’ll go better than you think.”

Just the sound of Donghyuck’s name makes Mark’s heart clench in his chest.

How is it possible to feel so many things at once about one person - love, trust, nervousness, exasperation, love, attraction, anxious dread, delight, love? Love more than anything else, though still shadowed by the ball of nerves that has taken up residence in Mark’s belly.

“Easier said than done,” Mark mutters, but he returns Ten’s smile with a small one of his own.

“Anyway,” Ten says, sighing as he pushes himself up to standing, “if you aren’t gonna take my advice, maybe I know someone who can give you some words of wisdom.”

Mark sits up, watching as Ten nonchalantly strolls into the kitchen in his bare feet and grabs a clean glass out of the cabinet. He quirks an eyebrow - knowing Ten, someone could be his landlady, who makes the best cookies Mark’s ever tasted, or fucking Lisa from BLACKPINK, who Ten had name-dropped at dance practice last year,nearly causing a small riot.

“Who is someone, exactly?” Mark asks, wary.

“Not just a who,” Ten shoots a grin over his shoulder in Mark’s direction. It’s such a Ten thing, to be intentionally cryptic whenever he gets a chance. “A what.”

Okay, that does actually pique Mark’s curiosity.

He waits as Ten finishes pouring his glass of water, ice clinking in the glass as he returns to the living room and sits cross-legged in front of Mark.

“A who that’s a what,” Mark says. Ten sips from his glass, eyes twinkling over the rim. “Are you going to tell me or not, man?”

“I don’t know, are you going to stop having a crisis on my carpet?” Ten grins, and then amends, “Another crisis on my carpet?”

“Same crisis, different day.” Mark waves off Ten’s resulting huff of laughter. “C’mon, at this point any advice would help. I am suffering.”

Ten rolls his eyes. “You’re something, all right. Now listen - keep an open mind. But I have it on good authority that if you’re looking for some free, unbiased advice, the best place to go... is a genie.”

Mark stares, and Ten stares back, nonplussed. “A genie.”

“So your ears do work. Lovely.”

“Ten,” Mark groans, “Come on, a genie? I don’t need magical help; I’m not that much of a lost cause.”

“You’re a writer who can’t find the words to confess, Mark Lee,” Ten says, not unkindly. Mark winces a little anyway. “Besides, what do you have to lose?”

Mark hesitates, running a hand through his hair. What does he have to lose? Getting another perspective - and yeah, advice - has been one of the reasons he keeps coming to Ten about his crush on Donghyuck in the first place. It might not hurt to talk it through with someone else, someone who is totally unbiased and unfamiliar with the situation.

A genie, though?

“This isn’t one of those situations where I’ll need to trade for something of the same value, or do some kind of magical contract, right?” Mark says. If there’s anything he’s learned second-hand about dabbling in magic, it’s that it’s important to know as much as you can going into it.

Listen, Mark heard enough stories during undergrad to know that magic needs to be treated with the respect it deserves.

Ten brightens - probably because he can sense that Mark’s starting to seriously consider his proposition. He flaps a hand in Mark’s direction. “Don’t be ridiculous - you’re thinking of devils. Or the fae. You can’t get in very much trouble with genies, especially if you aren’t making an actual wish.”

Somehow, that’s not exactly encouraging. Mark feels his eyebrows climb. “Then what am I doing, if I’m not making a wish?”

“You’re asking for advice,” Ten sighs, like Mark’s being intentionally obtuse. “Keep up, baby.”

Right. Advice. Because Mark’s tired of talking in circles with the friends who will listen to him, and he can’t go to the one person who would actually soothe his fears and set him straight.

Well, not straight, exactly.

Still - Donghyuck would have a practical, non-magical solution to this, if Mark asked for his advice on how to confess to someone else.

But Mark’s not in love with anyone else. He’s in love with Donghyuck, and he’s starting to think that he always has been. And that’s kind of the problem.

“Where’d you get this spell, anyway?” Mark leans back on his palms, giving Ten a skeptical look. “I thought you were done with big magic after you helped Yuta sort out his Winwin Situation.”

Ten smiles ruefully, setting down his glass with a soft clink. “Ah, the Winwin Situation - you know that was just as much helping Yuta get his head out of his ass as it was figuring out the magic that would help keep Winwin here on this plane for good. Much like how I’m helping you get your head out of your ass, actually.”

“Gee, thanks,” Mark snorts. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Mark just gets another cryptic smile in response as Ten leans over to the desk pushed up near the window, rifling through the drawers until he comes up with a pen and notepad patterned with paw prints. He makes a noise of victory when he scribbles a little doodle in the corner to confirm the pen has ink. “Taemin-hyung told me about it, actually.”

“Taemin?” Mark says. “Seriously?”

Ten smirks. “Oh, come on. He’s Catholic, but like - occult Catholic.”

“Occult Catholic,” Mark repeats faintly. This conversation is only getting stranger.

“I’m pretty sure he got the spell from Key, though,” Ten shrugs, “and I wasn’t about to ask where Key heard about it. The point is - it works. You just gotta follow the directions.”

Mark watches, gnawing at his lower lip, as Ten jots a few lines onto the notepad with a look of concentration. Is this - is he really going to try this? Is he really going to dabble in magic in order to get some free advice? It’s not like it could be any worse than reddit, he reasons to himself - except for the part where this is magic, and it could literally blow up in his face.

Like, actually literally.

He’s still debating with himself when Ten caps the pen and tears the top sheet off the notepad, holding it out for Mark to take with thinly-veiled amusement. “So?”

Mark pauses. Something in the air between them crackles with anticipation. Ten’s eyes are bright and intense and knowing, and Mark glances between the coy tilt of Ten’s lips and the little piece of paper. It’s just free advice, right? And Ten wouldn’t steer him wrong.

What would Donghyuck do?

Ten’s smile widens when Mark leans forward and plucks the paper from his fingers, turning it over in his hands to squint down at what Ten had written.

“It’s not too complicated, right?” Mark asks, skimming through the steps. It doesn’t seem very hard at all, actually - he’s pretty sure he already has most of the spell components in his apartment.

“Not at all,” Ten says, picking up his drink to take a noisy sip. He grins, cat-like, and smacks his lips when he sets down his glass. “In fact, I’ll walk you through it. You just have to do exactly as the spell says.”

And, well. How can Mark argue with that, when Ten’s written it all down, easy as pie?

How hard could a genie-summoning spell be?

- 🔮 -

The thing is, Donghyuck would find this entire situation absolutely hilarious.

If Mark could tell him, that is. Which he absolutely, definitely can’t.

Mark mulls it over in bed after leaving Ten and Johnny’s, that folded slip of paper with Ten’s looping handwriting burning a hole in his jeans pocket. He takes it out and smooths out the creases, holding it over his head to reread the instructions.

A bowl of salt. A candle to light. A sprig of - lavender? Ugh. Maybe Mark should have insisted that Ten type it out, rather than trying to read his handwriting in the dim lamplight. Hopefully it’ll still make sense tomorrow - or whenever he finally has time to attempt the spell.

Fuck, he does have a draft due to his agent in a few weeks. At least he doesn’t need the help of a genie for that.

Anyway, Donghyuck would see the poetic irony in all this. How had Ten put it? You’re a writer who can’t find the words to confess. Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.

It should be simple - achingly, beautifully simple. Mark is in love with Donghyuck; why are three little words so difficult to say? Mark knows there’s a part of himself that’s probably making this harder than it needs to be.

Still -

Mark wants to get this right. If he only has one shot to tell Donghyuck how he feels before things go to shit, he wants to make it matter.

Not that he’s totally sure it’ll go to shit, but - god. He doesn’t want to think about all the possible ways a love confession could fracture their friend group.

See, for the most part, Mark considers himself to be an open book with his friends - hah, an author who’s an open book. He doesn’t like secrets, and he’s used to wearing his heart on his sleeve. Mark doesn’t really know how to be any other way.

And usually it’s not a bad thing. Mark sort of loves that Renjun can immediately read his expression when he’s had a bad day, and goes out of his way to do something sweet. He likes being the hyung Jisung comes to first when he wants to ask for an honest opinion, because Mark can’t keep his reactions off his own face. Hell, he doesn’t even mind that much when Chenle manages to weasel plot spoilers out of him for whatever manuscript he’s writing - Chenle usually has decent ideas on how to improve the scene Mark’s working on.

And Donghyuck -

Donghyuck. His best friend, his roommate, fellow dancer and the piano to Mark’s guitar. Sometimes quick to temper but even quicker to smile and laugh it off. The angelic voice he hears in the shower every morning, the chatter in Mark’s ear through every movie and k-drama they watch together.

Donghyuck, who knows Mark better than anyone else. Donghyuck, who Mark is in love with, falls more in love with every single day.

It’s nothing short of a miracle that Donghyuck hasn’t figured it out yet. Even Jeno has called Mark out on not being particularly subtle when it comes to Donghyuck.

And honestly - secrets suck. Mark’s been living it for so long, but this dual sensation - of his chest tearing apart with the need to say something, but then knitting back together at the sight of Donghyuck’s smile - is fraying in the worst of ways.

He’s gotta tell Donghyuck; he has to say something. He just doesn’t know how.

Mark sighs, letting his hand drop to his chest. He’ll look over the directions again in the morning, see if there’s anything he’s missing before he attempts the genie-summoning spell for real.

He owes it to himself - he owes it to Donghyuck - to at least give it a try.

- 🔮 -

Step one: gather all of the spell components.

Mark breaks down and texts Ten to confirm the list of items he needs to pull off the spell, after a day and a half of squinting at his friend’s nearly illegible handwriting under various lighting conditions. Ten replies with a string of amused emojis before actually clarifying what Mark needs - and thankfully, Mark’s assumptions were mostly correct in the first place.

Doesn’t it seem a little unsafe or something, Mark asks, that you can perform like, dope powerful magic with stuff mostly from your kitchen?

welcome to spellcasting, baby, Ten texts back. please make sure u actually use salt, and not sugar.

Mark frowns down at his phone. ?? What happens if you use sugar?

u don’t wanna know, lol Ten replies, and yeah. Mark probably doesn’t want to know.

So Mark digs through their kitchen cabinets and linen closet for the things that he needs, gathering everything in his sock drawer for safekeeping. With one side-trip to pick up fresh lavender on his way home from the market, Mark has everything he needs in hand.

Step two - making time to do the spell - is complicated by a factor that Mark should have foreseen:

Donghyuck is his roommate.

Well - they share an apartment, even though they both have their own rooms. At least fate isn’t quite that cruel, though Mark still has to suffer through seeing Donghyuck coming out of the shower in only a towel multiple times a week.

There are worse ways to suffer. Mark’s gotten used to Donghyuck-induced palpitations.

Anyway, Mark needs to find a time when Donghyuck will be out of their apartment for a couple hours, so that he can cast the summoning spell - hopefully correctly - and then get some supernatural words of wisdom. Or something like that.

It finally happens on Wednesday.

Mark’s all set up at the desk in the living room, tea made and documents open, ready to spend the morning writing, when Donghyuck’s bedroom door slams open. The man himself appears in a whirlwind, hopping to pull on his second sock and trying to worm into a sweatshirt at the same time. Donghyuck’s sweatshirt is on backwards, because of course it is.

God, Mark is in love with him.

“Uh,” Mark says intelligently, “good morning? I didn’t think I’d see you until after noon. Don’t you have a late shift at the cafe today?”

The lamp on the side-table rattles precariously as Donghyuck’s hip knocks into it, but he finally gets his sock on and plants both feet on the floor. His voice comes out muffled from the sweatshirt still caught over his shoulders. “Winwin came down with something, so Ten asked me to take over the kids’ summer camp classes for the rest of the week.”

Ah. That explains the early-morning appearance, at least.

Mark bites his lip, trying to stave off a grin as he watches Donghyuck tug his sweatshirt the rest of the way on - only for the hood to get caught on his face. Because it’s backwards. “That’s nice of you, bro.”

Donghyuck sighs, exasperated, from inside the hood of the sweatshirt. “Isn’t it. He’s paying me, at least, though I think I’m gonna demand he and Johnny treat us to hot pot at the end of the week, too.”

After a moment of defeat, Donghyuck starts squirming to turn the sweatshirt the right side around - but Mark’s mind has snagged on a single word.

“Us?” Mark repeats, eyebrows raised.

“Mmhmm,” Donghyuck hums. His head pops through the hole of the sweatshirt again - the correct way - and he grins at Mark’s confused expression. “Why not? I’m teaching these classes for him, and because I’ll be out of the house most of the week, you’ll be deprived of your writing muse: me. It impacts both of us, therefore we should both get treated to hot pot.”

Mark feels his cheek start to heat. Ever since he mentioned it, he regrets telling Donghyuck that he’s more productive writing when they hang out together. Sure, it’s true, but Mark hasn’t been able to live it down - not with Donghyuck mentioning it off-hand like this all the goddamn time.

At least he hasn’t said anything to their other friends yet, or Mark would really never hear the end of it. Renjun has the memory of an elephant when it comes to potential blackmail.

And Mark’s not even going to acknowledge the little voice inside his head that keeps whispering that a dinner with Ten and Johnny sounds a lot like a double date. Donghyuck didn’t mean it like that; it’s another case of Mark’s over-eager imagination ready to run away with any scrap it can get.

Like all good writers, at least Mark’s fluent in sarcasm.

He rolls his eyes at Donghyuck’s smirk. “Wow. What flawless logic, Hyuck.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” Donghyuck shakes his head, though he’s still smiling. “Just you wait and see, Mark Lee. You better leave your Saturday open for hot pot.”

“I’ll pencil you in,” Mark huffs. Satisfied, Donghyuck breezes into the kitchen, fetching his water bottle and keys before he turns towards the door. “You heading right to the cafe after dance camp?”

“I should have time to stop by and shower before my shift,” Donghyuck says, shoving his feet into his beat-up dance sneakers. “We can eat together then.”

Mark swallows, trying to ignore the warmth that floods into his chest at Donghyuck’s easy smile. Platonic plans, he tells his heart. Platonic! Plans! “Sure, sounds good.”

“Cool.” Donghyuck wrenches open the front door, shooting Mark one last grin over his shoulder. “Bye, hyung!”

And just like that, the door shuts and the apartment is quiet and still again.

Mark exhales a long sigh. How does it always feel like Donghyuck takes the light with him whenever he goes? Even when he’s asleep, or doing something in a different part of the apartment, it just feels…right, when it’s the two of them together. With Donghyuck, the sun shines just a little bit brighter.

Well, for better or worse, Mark has the entire morning all to himself. He’ll miss Donghyuck’s humming and the idle noises of breakfast-making, but Mark feels good about where he left off in the chapter he’s writing. He should be able to get a good amount of it done before lunch, if -

Wait a second. Mark has the entire morning all to himself.

He almost tips out of his chair in his scramble to bolt for his bedroom. It would probably be wiser to wait a few minutes, in case Donghyuck comes back for something forgotten - but Mark’s been waiting the better part of a week now to have the run of the apartment.

Who knows when his next chance will be to try the summoning spell?

Mark doesn’t want to wait any longer for the chance at some good advice. He needs some romantic expertise, pronto.

It takes only a few moments to gather everything from the depths of his sock drawer hideaway, and Mark haphazardly carries everything in his arms as he heads back to the living room. Thankfully the candle doesn’t break when it clatters to the floor; Mark sets the rest of his supplies down a little more gently, sitting cross-legged in the center of the rug.

“Okay,” Mark mumbles to himself, setting the candle upright. “Okay. I’m gonna do this.”

Easier said than done.

Where are the instructions that Ten gave him last week? And he needs his phone; he made a few more notes after texting Ten about the lavender. Mark nearly fumbles his phone off his desk but catches it at the last moment, trying to calm the thunder of his heart and his shaking hands.

He’s gonna do this. It’s fine. It’s gonna go great - he’s gonna get some advice, figure out exactly how he should confess to Donghyuck.

Step three: set up the spell.

Contrary to popular culture - thanks, Disney - summoning a genie is a little more complicated than polishing an oil lamp. Or it is in the 21st century, at least. Mark’s learned a lot about summoning magic in the last week.

It’s a saving grace that Ten wrote up such specific notes for him, and then patiently answered all of Mark’s questions through text. Mark doesn’t think this is the kind of spell where getting every single thing right is a matter of life or death, but he appreciates the detail all the same.

Then again - is it normal for your bros to be so heavily invested in your love life? To the point where they’re offering magical assistance, albeit second-hand?

Mark’s not gonna look a gift spell in the mouth. Horse. Whatever.

He sets up the objects around him exactly as Ten has instructed: a bowl of salt and the lavender for protection, a saucer with Mark’s cross necklace as a capital-F Focus, with a white candle - scented like Soft Blanket, apparently - in the center.

The candle came from the depths of their hall closet, but it’s probably Donghyuck’s; there’s a little bear on the label, tucked between snow-white sheets. It’s very Donghyuck.

That’s probably appropriate, right?

Mark flicks his lighter twice before he gets a steady flame, and lights the candle before he can lose his nerve. There’s a flutter of nervous excitement in his stomach as he surveys his gathered spell components, in a neat semi-circle around him.

Just one last thing - step four. What Ten had called the verbal and somatic components.

Put your hands together and make a wish.

Mark inhales deeply, breathing in the scent of lavender and the metallic-gunpowder smell of the struck match lingering in the air. When he claps his hands together the sound seems to echo loudly in their quiet living room, disturbing the eddies of dust motes in the gold morning light.

He keeps his palms pressed, ducking his chin and, unbidden, closing his eyes. Ten hadn’t said he needed to for the spell to work, but it feels like the right thing to do. If nothing else, this spell is a prayer - a plea - sent out into the universe.

Mark can only hope that something will answer him and have decent advice to give.

“I wish…” he whispers into the quiet.

And waits.

Mark’s nostrils flare as he breathes deep, staying as still as he can and keeping his eyes screwed shut. Is it working? How long is it supposed to take? Ten didn’t say if Mark needed to hold this concentration for like, half an hour or something. Aren’t there spells that require full-on meditation like that? What if -

“Um. Hello?”

Mark’s eyes fly open.

Sitting on the floor in front of him - cross-legged to match Mark’s pose - is a warm-eyed boy. Well, not quite a boy - he looks like he’s maybe only a few years younger than Mark, actually. He has sandy brown-gray hair and bright eyes, a gentle softness in his face that feels youthful. He curls his hands over his knees as he leans forward to peer at Mark with a tentative but curious smile - though that doesn’t distract Mark from the fact that the figure before him is swathed in folds of silky black cloth and ornamented with half a dozen golden necklaces.

Woah. Mark hadn’t even heard him appear - and yet he has no doubt that sitting in front of him is an honest-to-god genie.

“Hi?” Mark sort of squeaks, blinking as he takes it all in. There are gold chains and baubles wrapped all over his guy, belted at his waist and across one shoulder, even around his ankles. And - is he wearing Doc Martens?!

At least the genie - this must be Mark’s genie, right? - looks a little bit nervous, too. “You have summoned me with the ritual spell of my people. What can I do for you? Um -”

“Mark,” Mark exhales. He swallows against the frantic pound of his heart in his throat. “I’m Mark Lee.”

The genie gestures a hand to himself, smiling. “Shotaro. At your service.”

Holy shit. So it did work.

Mark has summoned a genie.

Sitting in front of him is an honest-to-god genie. And for a genie, Shotaro is… not quite what Mark expected. But he has the kind of open, honest face that makes something in Mark unclench.

He can do this. After all, he’s done the hardest part already, right?

Mark licks his lips and lets his hands fall into his lap. “So here’s the thing. I - uh. I don’t actually want to make a wish. I know - um, that’s the verbal component of the summoning spell or whatever, but yeah.”

Shotaro tilts his head and his brow furrows, but it doesn’t feel like judgement. Actually, the longer Mark looks, the more he seems… puppy-like, almost. Or maybe more like an otter. Earnest, keen - observant, if on the quiet side. “You don’t want to make a wish?”

“I know it sounds ridiculous,” Mark picks at the threads fraying at the bottom of his basketball shorts, “to summon a genie and not want to make an actual wish, but… I was kind of just hoping to get some advice?”

“Oh.” Shotaro’s frown clears and he smiles as something in him seems to relax, too. “Um, well. I’ve never been summoned just to talk before. I’m happy to listen if I can, I - I don’t see why I couldn’t try to give you some advice.”

“Cool,” Mark says, finding himself smiling back. “That’s - cool.”

“I’m not very familiar with a lot of human customs, though,” Shotaro adds. “I’m still - how would you say it? I was in training, until very recently.”

Genies go through training? Mark thinks, but pushes it to the back of his mind. He doesn’t know how long he has with Shotaro, and he’s gotta make the most of it.

“Human customs?” Mark finds himself asking anyway.

Shotaro giggles; the corner of his eyes crease as he brings up a hand to hide his mouth. “Well - we learn many things about your culture to aid in the granting of wishes. But we’re taught not to question motivation. A wish is a wish, and genies are meant to grant them, not ask questions.”

Something about the soft lilt of Shotaro’s voice is calming - or maybe it’s the way his whole face lights up when he grins back at Mark. It makes the dark, formal drape of his attire seem less intimidating. And Mark’s never seen so much glittery gold jewelry in one outfit before, at least outside of music videos, but the overall look is pretty sharp.

Weirdly, the way Shotaro talks sort of reminds Mark of Yuta, like the words are a little foreign on his tongue. Then again, maybe all human languages are foreign to a genie. There’s gotta be magic for that, though, right?

Now that he thinks of it, Mark’s glad he hasn’t gone to Yuta for advice. As it is, Ten and Renjun already do a good enough job teasing Mark within an inch of his life.

“Okay, well - um,” Mark pushes a hand through his hair, worrying at his lower lip as he tries to decide where to start. “I don’t think you need to know, uh, human customs for my specific...situation.”

Shotaro hums and nods, swaying just a little bit closer to Mark in eager attentiveness.

God, why is saying it out loud so hard? Mark complains to Ten - and Renjun, and Jeno - about this all the time. Mark has to look away from Shotaro’s bright expression, a blush heating his cheeks.

“I’m in love with my best friend,” Mark says, heart kicking in his chest at the admission. “And I - I don’t know what to do about it. We’ve been friends for so long that the idea of saying it out loud and confessing is - terrifying. I don’t want to ruin our friendship, but I can’t keep it pent up in my chest for much longer.”

Mark’s heartbeat thuds loudly in his own ears as he risks a glance back up at the genie. Silence settles between them as Shotaro raises a hand to rub at his lower lip in thought, the quiet only broken by the faint jingle of his jewelry and the crackle of the Soft Blanket candle.

He’s warming up to the smell, actually. Not that Mark could exactly define what Soft Blanket smells like.

“Mm, I suppose...” Shotaro trails off, brows drawn in once again. “If you had made a wish about this, I would have suggestions about what can be done. Even with wish magic, there are things genies are not allowed to do -”

“Oh, right,” Mark says. “I’ve seen Aladdin - you can’t make anyone fall in love.”

Shotaro blinks at Mark, wide-eyed, and Mark waves a hand. “Sorry. Keep going.”

“You’re right, though,” Shotaro replies softly. “We cannot change that of another’s heart. Meddling with emotions is expressly forbidden, let alone beyond the capacity of wish magic. But…”

Mark’s spine makes a rather loud crack with the force of how quickly he sits up straight. Hope flutters against the insides of his ribs like a fledgling bird. “But?”

“Well,” Shotaro chuckles and gives Mark a luminous, crease-eyed smile, “We have the capacity to help. Whether it’s with words or gestures - or advice, in this case - a genie can help you share your emotions.”

“...Huh,” Mark frowns, scratching at the corner of his jaw. “But I didn’t summon you to make a wish like that, just for advice. So, I guess - what would you do to help someone confess?”

Shotaro’s smile widens and his shoulders relax down in relief. “That’s the right question, Mark Lee. I think - if saying how you feel is giving you trouble, have you thought about showing?”

“Showing?” Mark’s eyebrows rise. “You mean, like - a gesture? A gift, or a dance, or -”

“A dance!” The way Shotaro’s eyes sparkle is nothing short of… well, magical. “Do you dance?”

“Only for fun, but -” But Mark doesn’t have time to finish his sentence before Shotaro has sprung to his feet, gold and crystalline beads catching the sun and throwing sparks of light all over the living room. “Dude, that fit is so cool.”

“It looks even better when I move,” Shotaro dimples a grin at him, reaching out to grip Mark’s wrists with surprising strength and hauling him to his feet. “Why don’t you give it a try, Mark?”

With the snap of his fingers - and some honest-to-god genie magic - Shotaro summons a bouncy pop track with a hip-hop beat, something bright and joyful that immediately hooks Mark’s ear.

It’s not exactly music Mark would choose to confess with, but maybe there’s something to dancing out his feelings, anyway.

So he moves. Next to him, Shotaro has already started to bob his head to the upbeat rhythm, lifting his hands as he dances. The gold of his jewelry glitters cheerfully in the mid-morning light, chains tinkling with every move - especially when Shotaro works in some fancier footwork.

“Wow,” Mark says, fighting down a feeling of self-consciousness. Shotaro is good. But what does he, Mark, have to be self-conscious about? He’s dancing in his living room with a genie; no one else is here to see him and judge.

Pretty much no one would believe he summoned a genie, let alone danced with one, anyway.

Shotaro smiles in delight when Mark lets himself relax, throwing himself into his movements - letting his arms wheel around and bopping back-and-forth to the backbeat, no plan and all just… feeling. Freestyling.

There’s not a ton of room between the coffee table and Mark’s desk and the TV, but they somehow make it work. For a few minutes, Mark just lets his instincts and the music guide him, the wordless dance track taking over and washing the worries out of his brain. He and Shotaro switch places, trading off moves and trying things that Mark’s never thought to do outside of dance classes.

It’s freeing, to just let the beat flow through him, pounding in time with his heart. He can feel the warmth rising to the surface of his skin as he works up a sweat, but Mark doesn’t mind - he’s having fun.

This really wasn’t how he expected his genie-summoning to go.

“See?” Shotaro beams at him, laughing brightly when Mark spins in place on his heels, unable to resist showing off a little. “Doesn’t it feel good to dance it out?”

“Yeah!” Mark pants, twisting and twirling in response to Shotaro’s movements - he really is quite good at dancing - and they end up facing each other again, back where they started. “I mean, this is - better than I expected. I’m not much one for choreography -”

“Mark,” Shotaro grins warmly, “the point isn’t to create choreography. It’s about expressing your feelings, and connecting, and -”

- and then Mark loses his balance, steps out from his half-spin, and knocks the candle flat to the floor.

“Shit,” Mark hisses, dropping to his knees as wax pools on the rug, watery but cooling in ashy white streaks. Ugh, wax is so hard to clean - he knows from many birthday-candle incidents with Chenle and Jisung. At least the flame gutted out and hasn’t caught the rug on fire, because -

Oh, fuck. The candle is out. Does that mean the spell is -

Mark looks up to find Shotaro smiling down at him, hands on his hips as he rocks back on his heels. The music has already started to fade into a faraway rhythm, strains of the chords thinning like mist evaporating in the light of the sun.

Shotaro doesn’t look mad about it, though. He just chuckles, eyes glittering in amusement.

“Sorry,” Mark sighs, hands cupped uselessly around the tipped candle. It’s still warm in his sweaty palm, a narrow ribbon of grey smoke rising from the dark, guttered wick. “I wish we had had more time to talk -”

“Well, you know the spell,” Shotaro nods to the rest of the spell components - at least, the ones still sitting in an undisturbed crescent around Mark’s knees. “But I think you’ll be fine, Mark Lee - especially if you just let the gesture come from your heart.”

Mark hums, looking down at the Soft Blanket candle. “Like with the dance.”

“Like with the dance,” Shotaro repeats; there’s a smile in his voice. “And you know what they say about the power of dance, anyway.”

“What do they say?” Mark muses with a wry smile. There’s a beat of silence, and when Shotaro doesn’t respond right away, Mark looks up -

To find that he’s once again alone in the quiet of his living room. It’s exactly the way it was ten minutes ago - the only difference is the hardening wax on Mark’s carpet and the smoking candle in his hand.

Huh.

As Mark’s heartbeat starts to slow, he lets himself slump against the side of his desk. Aside from the odd collection of objects on the floor and a slightly sweet-pungent scent, there’s no trace of genie summoning at all.

At least - nothing visible. Mark wanted advice, and he’s gotten some.

He’s got plenty to think about before Donghyuck comes home.

- 🔮 -

So - a gesture.

Mark mulls it over as he picks up the spell supplies, tucking everything away in his sock drawer again. Okay, not everything - the bowl of salt goes to the kitchen, and he finds a narrow vase so the lavender can go on the windowsill by his desk. Then he collapses back down onto the rug, worrying at the hardened puddle of spilled wax with his fingernails.

All things considered, a gesture isn’t a bad way to confess, especially if words are failing him. It’s still a pain in Mark’s ass that his words aren’t working for him - him, Mark Lee, published author! God.

Well. Love makes people act strange; Mark’s certainly seen that for himself. And he’s currently living it, apparently.

He’s really not sure that dance is the right answer, though he knows that Ten would jump at the chance if he asked for help. And Mark doesn’t think his dance skills are too shabby - you don’t do dance team at university and then as a hobby in the years afterwards without picking up the instinct to feel the music and move. As fun as it had been to let it all out, that’s not quite what Mark wants.

Mark needs something - less open to interpretation. Clearer. Undeniable. Maybe still a gesture, but something more like... flowers?

Hmm. Flowers are a classic gift for a reason, and as Mark scrapes at the last of the wax, he can just imagine it - Donghyuck’s face, flushed and sun-bright with a wide smile as he gazes down at a bouquet of sunflowers in his arms. A full dozen of them, wrapped in heathered brown paper and tied with twine, petals as vibrant and lovely as Donghyuck himself.

Mark swallows and shakes his head, dispelling the daydream. Yeah, that sounds - perfect.

At the least, it can’t hurt.

But first, he does have some actual novel writing to do. After all, he’s done plenty of waiting and deliberating already, when it comes to confessing to Donghyuck. What’s a few days more to figure out the perfect gesture?

- 🔮 -

Mark stops by the florist a few days later, at the end of Donghyuck’s week as the fill-in instructor for New Heroes’ dance camp. It’s been a strange couple of days, with the apartment so quiet; Mark knew he would miss Donghyuck’s presence, but Donghyuck really does bring color and light and motion into Mark’s life.

He comes home from Ten’s studio understandably exhausted - eight year olds, honestly, Mark’s amazed that Donghyuck still has energy to get himself home at the end of the day - and even on his nights off from the cafe, he’s more subdued.

But it’s temporary. Winwin’s on the mend, according to the group chat, so Donghyuck’s tenure is coming to a close.

So Mark hits up the florist a few blocks away from their apartment and leaves with a bouquet of sunflowers and lacy baby’s breath wrapped in paper. He only has a moment of hesitation in the shop, but he picks up a small bundle of lavender, too - just in case. Shotaro may be a newbie genie, and Mark still doesn’t want to cast the spell to make an actual wish, but Shotaro had been a surprisingly good listener. Easy to talk to.

It doesn’t hurt, right? In case Mark wants a little more advice.

The florist doesn’t think anything of it, at least. Mark’s more surprised when she asks about who the large bouquet of sunflowers is for, and stammers through a reply with a red face. He gets an awfully knowing look at the answer “Um, my roommate. He’s - uh. Yeah. My roommate.”

Anyway. Mark puts the bright bunch of sunflowers in a vase when he gets home, dutifully trimming the ends and doing his best to arrange them in a way that’s… arranged. God, he knows nothing about flowers. But they’re beautiful - they’re perfect.

He probably does need to figure out something to say along with the flowers, but - but it’s a start. And he still has a few hours before Donghyuck comes home.

Of course, that plan goes out the window as soon as the key turns in the lock to the front door.

The sound snaps Mark out of his writing fugue state; he looks up from his laptop to find that the light through his window has gone amber-warm with sunset, the shadows slanting deep along the wall. Fuck, he hasn’t -

“Hey!” Donghyuck calls as he shoves the door open, kicking off his shoes unceremoniously in the pile on the mat. His bag follows right after, making a thunk as it hits the hardwood. “You won’t believe what those gremlins put me through today.”

Mark swallows, trying to keep the nervous strain out of his voice. “Yeah?”

“Seriously, at what age to children develop an interest in torture? I’m the oldest of four and my siblings were never this bad, I swear.”

Donghyuck pads into the living room and Mark twists around in his desk chair to catch his eye; his roommate does look a little more worn and rumpled than usual. Well - Donghyuck is still beautiful, of course, all lovely warm skin and long legs and cute moles, even when his mouth is pushed forward in a pout.

Especially when his mouth is pushed forward in a pout.

“I don’t know,” Mark shrugs one shoulder, shooting Donghyuck a wry smile. “I’m the younger brother in my family, remember.”

“Ugh,” Donghyuck rolls his eyes heavenward in faux-annoyance. He breezes past Mark, heading for the kitchen, and Mark’s heart leaps into his throat. “Don’t remind me, I - oh.”

Oh is right. Mark doesn’t need to follow Donghyuck’s gaze to know that he’s caught sight of the lush bouquet of sunflowers on their kitchen counter, caught in a hazy beam of afternoon sunlight.

Mark stands slowly from his chair, wiping his palms on his sweatpants. “Yeah, uh. Surprise?”

Donghyuck turns to him, eyes wide. There’s a bit of a flush on his face - from dance, or maybe from the trek up the stairs.

“They’re for you,” Mark clarifies, feeling self-conscious under the full light of Donghyuck’s attention - but then Donghyuck looks back to the sunflowers again, a small smile blooming on his lips.

“For me?” he says, stepping forward into the kitchen. He bends closer to smell them, nose buried in the gold petals, lashes sweeping low as he closes his eyes.

Whatever words Mark had started to conjure dissipate before he can find the voice to speak them. He’s stupefied by the vision in front of him - how perfect Donghyuck looks, even with tired, slumped shoulders and damp locks clinging to his nape. The late afternoon sun brings out the bronze-blonde tones of Donghyuck’s hair, giving him a halo from Mark’s view in the doorway.

“Yeah,” Mark manages to exhale. His heart’s drumming against the inside of his ribs, insistent.

Donghyuck looks up at him, face still bent towards the bouquet. Something about his eyes makes Mark’s stomach twist, but not unpleasantly. “I didn’t know you were planning on going out today.”

“I - I was just running an errand,” Mark fibs, tongue-tied. “I saw them and they made me think of you.”

At least that second part is the truth - and even if Mark hadn’t meant to blurt it, it’s worth it for how Donghyuck’s eyes crease and his smile widens. His eyelashes are burnished gold, when they catch the sun.

“You didn’t have to,” Donghyuck murmurs, but his gaze keeps dipping back down to the sunflowers, warm and pleased. He runs a gentle fingertip along one silky petal, delicate.

“I know,” Mark says, smiling back. God, his heart is throbbing so hard he’s surprised Donghyuck can’t hear it. “Why - uh, why couldn’t I just buy flowers for my best friend?”

Something subtle shifts in Donghyuck’s expression; maybe it’s his shoulders falling just a little, or the dimple in his cheek smoothing over. But he still looks - happy, right? That Mark went out of his way and - and made a gesture.

Fuck. There’s no way he’s getting the words out now. Mark mentally winces.

“Well, they’re beautiful,” Donghyuck says, giving Mark one last closed-lipped smile before stepping away from the bouquet with a lingering glance to bright flowers. He stretches with a sigh, then shuffles forward to slip past Mark and back into the living room. “Give me a few minutes to shower and then we can order something for dinner, okay?”

“Sure,” Mark says faintly. He looks between the vase full of sunflowers and Donghyuck’s retreating back, until he’s out of sight and the bathroom door closes with a soft click.

Mark sighs. That certainly could’ve gone better - though he’s not quite sure what happened, when the tension in the air shifted. It doesn’t account for how he totally flubbed a confession, but… something happened. It was almost like…

He’s not sure what it was almost like. But Mark is sure of one thing:

He knows who to ask about it.

- 🔮 -

Mark gets out the spell supplies a few days later when Donghyuck goes over to Yangyang’s for a game night with a couple of the other guys. He waves to Mark as he leaves, wishing him good luck with the novel writing; Mark needs help all right, but of a decidedly different variety.

But that’s why Mark’s plan is to do the genie summoning spell again.

Maybe Shotaro will have another idea, or can help Mark come up with a different gesture to show his feelings. Or perhaps help Mark figure out whatever the hell had happened with the sunflowers.

The lavender still smells good - the sunflowers haven’t started to wither and fade either, though Mark feels a weird mixture of emotions in his chest when he looks at them.

Anyway. Bowl of salt: check. Lit candle (Soft Blanket): check. Mark’s cross necklace and sprigs of vibrant lavender: check and check.

Put your hands together and make a wish.

Mark sits on the carpet in front of his neat row of spell components, wriggling to get comfortable cross-legged. At least he’s done this once before - and he knows Shotaro now. It’s nice to know what to expect, as he claps his hands together and squeezes his eyes shut.

“I wish…” Mark murmurs.

Like before, there’s a pregnant pause - what feels like an unnaturally long span of silence as Mark waits. And waits.

He resists the urge to open his eyes, taking a calming breath through his nose. Hmmm. Could he have fucked it up? How long did it take Shotaro to appear? Mark’s fairly certain that he did all the steps of the spell exactly the same as last time, and he’d reviewed his notes and his texts with Ten, too. So what -

There’s an unceremonious crash in the kitchen.

Mark wrenches his eyes open, leaning forward to peer through the open doorway. Nothing looks out of place, but that was quite the noise.

He nearly jumps when a hand slaps down on the counter and a young man comes into view, heaving himself up to standing from - from the floor. Oh.

It’s not Shotaro.

Mark gapes as the dude pats himself down, dusts himself off - okay, their kitchen isn’t that dirty - and straightens his strange pale shirt. It’s patterned all over with swirling purple and tan-gold paisley shapes and twisting florals; his pants match, down to the bright blue piping. His hair is so blond it’s practically white - the whole look is sort of ethereal, in a weird, high-fashion sort of way.

Once he’s put himself to rights, though, he takes stock of his surroundings: Mark’s kitchen. He seemingly doesn’t notice Mark himself, or is too distracted to pay him any real attention.

“Uh,” Mark calls from the living room rug, “hello!?”

He doesn’t get a response. The genie - this guy is definitely a genie, despite his entire vibe being so, so different from Shotaro’s - starts to rifle around in the kitchen instead. He opens and closes Mark’s cabinets with a series of bangs - and begins whistling, of all things.

God, Mark’s neighbors are going to hate him if they’re home to hear all this noise.

“Dude, what are you doing?” Mark says, finally giving in to the impulse to jump to his feet and jog into the kitchen himself. Carefully, of course - he’s learned his lesson about the candle and melted wax.

“D’you have any good snacks?” the genie asks, tugging open the door to Mark’s fridge. He doesn’t even spare Mark much of a glance, bending down to peer at the shelves. Is he - is he frowning at Mark’s strawberry yogurts?

Mark’s eyebrows climb, and he slaps a hand on the fridge door. “Do I have any - bro, what does a genie need snacks for?!”

“To snack on, obviously.” The genie looks up at Mark and rolls his eyes, clearly amused in an annoyed kind of way. When Mark starts to push the door closed, he stands out of the way with a snort, crossing his arms over his chest. “What does a human need wishes for, huh?”

“To -” Mark shuts his mouth with a snap. Right. “I didn’t summon you to make a wish.”

The genie leans back against the counter, arms still crossed. He raises a single perfect eyebrow. “You summoned a genie… to not make a wish.”

“Look, man, if I’m taking up your time or whatever, you can just go,” Mark sighs. This is nothing like talking with Shotaro. “I was hoping to get some, uh - free advice. No wish necessary.”

There’s a beat of silence as the genie tips his head to the side and considers this, giving Mark an obvious once-over and then glancing out to the living room, where Mark’s spell components are still set out in a semicircle on the rug. He looks back at Mark. “What kind of advice?”

Mark should’ve expected the question, but his cheeks still flush pink. “Um. Romantic advice?”

Now there’s a little smile on the genie’s face, one that grows into a smirk that has Mark’s stomach flip-flopping. God, what has he gotten himself into? “Well. You’ve certainly summoned the right genie for that.”

Mark perks up. “Really?”

“Really,” the genie replies, uncrossing his arms to sketch a jaunty half-bow. “Although it’s a shame you don’t want to make a wish; that means I don’t get to keep your soul at the end of this. Still - Jaemin, at your service.”

“Mark,” Mark says faintly, and then - “Wait, is that really a thing?!”

Jaemin snorts. “Nah, that’s devil contracts, not genie magic. Anyway, you wanna tell me about this romance of yours that you need help with?”

Mark sighs and slouches against the counter opposite Jaemin, crossing his feet at the ankles. “Well - lack of romance, to be honest. And that’s kind of the problem.”

“Oh? A handsome guy like you?” Jaemin quirks an eyebrow even as his toothy grin stays firmly in place. “Do tell.”

So Mark explains the whole thing - the years of friendship with Donghyuck that has somehow transformed into something more. On Mark’s part, that is. He still isn’t sure if falling in love with Donghyuck happened so gradually that he just didn’t notice the depth of his feelings until he was in so deep, or if it happened all at once in a lightning-strike that has left him flat on his back ever since.

And, of course, he explains his inability to confess, the failure to launch - and the genie spell as a solution, at least to get advice. May as well bare it all, if he’s gone this far to summon a second genie anyway.

Jaemin listens attentively - though not as calmly as Shotaro. He keeps butting in to make comments, eyes glittering in amusement at Mark’s expense.

Hey, Mark can’t exactly blame him - he would find this to be an entertaining situation if it was happening to anyone else besides him. But he’s the one living it, the poor schmuck of an author who can’t find the words he desperately needs and wants to say to his best friend.

How’s that for irony?

“I have to say,” Jaemin drawls, when Mark is finished recounting all of this, “this is far more interesting than the problems I’m usually summoned to solve.”

“Oh yeah?” Mark huffs a half-laugh. “Do I even wanna know the kinds of things you’re usually summoned for?”

Jaemin’s smile goes a little sharp. “Probably not,” he says affably, shrugging one shoulder. “Humans. You’re all so great at creating problems for yourselves and then not knowing how to get unstuck. No offense.”

“It’s fine,” Mark waves away the comment. “I know this is, uh, a personal problem.”

“Well - full offense, then,” Jaemin grins. Mark’s the one to roll his eyes, this time. “Listen - you know you’re making this more complicated than it needs to be. Whether it’s through words or dance or whatever the hell else, if you think you gotta tell your boy how you feel, then you gotta tell your boy how you feel.”

This time, Mark can feel the warmth of his blush all the way to his ears. “He’s not my boy.”

He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t like how the words sound, though, in Jaemin’s no-nonsense tone.

“But you want him to be.” Jaemin’s dark eyes bore into Mark, brokering no argument - it’s not a question.

“Yeah,” Mark exhales. “Yeah. I want him to be mine - but it’s so much to gamble. Like I said, he’s my best friend -”

Jaemin scoffs. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard all this already. Best friend, a decade of knowing each other, you don’t want to nuke your friend group, and - oh, is that him?”

Mark follows Jaemin’s gaze as the genie approaches the refrigerator again, squinting at one of the photos tacked up with bright-colored magnets. It’s a shot of their dance group from last fall, when they performed to a 90s hip-hop track done up in hockey team uniforms. It’s a pretty great photo, actually - they’re all laughing with their hands thrown in the air, giving gloved peace-signs and draped all over each other. Donghyuck’s hair was honey-blond; it’s one of Mark’s favorite colors on him.

But Mark’s pretty sure that Jaemin isn’t even looking at Donghyuck.

“That,” Mark leans in to tap on the photo, “is Jeno, not Donghyuck. This is Donghyuck.”

“Jeno, huh.” Jaemin looks up from the picture to waggle his eyebrows at Mark. “Sexy.”

“Can we, like, focus?” Mark groans, rounding the other side of the counter to throw himself onto a stool, slumped forward to rest his chin in his hands. The bouquet of sunflowers sits on the counter between them, mockingly. “I need help, here. Or advice. Something.”

Jaemin straightens and faces Mark, raising an eyebrow. “You know what I think? This isn’t a problem with knowing how to confess. This sounds like a self-confidence problem.”

Mark blinks up at Jaemin, surprised into silence. “A… self-confidence problem?”

“Sure,” Jaemin smiles - a little softer, this time. He waves a hand in Mark’s direction. “I mean, come on. Look at you, for one. Just from what I’ve seen and heard from you today, I’m not sure why you’re convinced that this Donghyuck wouldn’t like you, too.”

For some reason, it cuts right to the quick. Mark winces. “I know he likes me; we’re roommates and best friends. But that doesn’t mean -”

“- that he feels the same way you do, yeah, yeah,” Jaemin snorts. “The only one telling you that is yourself. Why is it totally outside the realm of possibility that Donghyuck could feel the same? You summoned a genie. Magic is real, but you don’t think he could love you?”

Mark sighs, dropping his hands into his lap. “I know, dude. But I’m me, and he’s -”

Unbidden, Mark’s eyes catch on the sunflowers. He can’t look at them without thinking of Donghyuck, remembering that perfect golden moment when Donghyuck leaned in, pressed his face to the bouquet. How Donghyuck’s eyes had closed and his eyelashes caught the last rays of sunlight, how he’d looked stunning and warm and beautiful. Lovely.

He’s always lovely, even when he and Mark butt heads, or he gets too competitive or short-tempered from exhaustion. Mark loves him even like that, in the moments that crack and then, later, heal over.

That’s what it means to be friends as long as they have. That’s what it means to love - to be in love. Mark loves all of Donghyuck.

“- Amazing,” Mark finally says. “Amazing exactly the way he is.”

Jaemin regards him for a moment, eyes narrowed. He rests his elbows on the counter, leaning in towards Mark. It’s a little weird to see him so intense and solemn, when this whole time Jaemin has been grins and sly jokes and arched eyebrows.

He’d probably get along great with the rest of Mark’s friends, actually.

“And you’re not amazing?” Jaemin asks quietly.

Mark flushes. “I mean -”

“Two things, Mark,” Jaemin says, holding up a finger. “Firstly, if you’ve convinced yourself that Donghyuck couldn’t like you for who you are - that’s ridiculous. I’ve known you for less than an hour and I know that you’re a catch. I don’t think Donghyuck would be your best friend if he didn’t think so, too. Come on.”

It’s uncomfortably close to the lectures that Mark’s heard multiple times before - from Johnny and Ten, especially. And Renjun, when Renjun’s feeling particularly done with Mark’s bullshit.

“I guess,” Mark hums, rubbing at the back of his head. He’s not really used to thinking of himself as a catch, but maybe that’s the problem. “What - what was the second thing?”

Jaemin smiles wryly. “Secondly - bottling all of this up obviously isn’t healthy, but more than that - telling yourself Donghyuck isn’t gonna love you like you love him isn’t fair to Donghyuck, either. And not just because you’re hiding your feelings. You’ve decided how he feels without giving him a chance to decide for himself.”

Mark’s brow furrows as he mulls it over. That’s… probably a fair point, honestly. This whole time he’s been so concerned about his own feelings, and convinced he knows what Donghyuck’s answer might be. Donghyuck should get to say for himself.

It’s almost enough to make Mark roll his eyes. Donghyuck rarely has a problem with letting his opinions be known.

But...

He licks his lips, meeting Jaemin’s eyes again. “I just think loving someone as a friend is different from loving something as… more than that, you know?”

“I know,” Jaemin says, “but Donghyuck is the one who needs to figure out how he feels about you - once you confess, that is. You have to trust that to him.”

Right. Once Mark actually confesses.

Sure, this conversation has solidified Mark’s gut feeling that he needs to confess, but it hasn’t gotten him any steps closer to actually doing the confessing.

“And until you tell him, Mark, you gotta adjust your attitude,” Jaemin continues. “Have some more confidence in yourself. Convince yourself that you’re a catch, by the time you confess.”

“So we’re back to square one,” Mark groans, threading both hands into his hair. “I have to confess. And I gotta figure out how before it drives me insane.”

“No shit,” Jaemin laughs, eyes creased with amusement. When he smiles wide, he doesn’t look quite so much like the ethereal, intimidating - maybe annoying - genie that Mark first saw in his kitchen. “But something to think about, all right? The confidence thing, especially. You owe it to yourself as much as him. Oh, and thirdly -”

Mark looks up with a huff. “There’s a third thing?”

Jaemin’s eyebrow-waggles are back, and he gestures to the photo on the fridge. “Can you introduce me to this Jeno?”

- 🔮 -

Ten takes Donghyuck and Mark out to dinner, like the dutiful hyung that he is. Well - Johnny pays, actually. Ten insists that it’s the thought that counts, since it’s all coming from the same bank account anyway.

Like Ten needs to flex the long-term relationship status any more than he already does.

But it’s a fun meal, even if Mark feels a little bit like a tag-along at first. Donghyuck was the one who did all the hard work of wrangling and entertaining two dozen eight-year-old dancers for the week - a fact that Donghyuck lets none of them forget for the entire evening, to many eye-rolls and indulgent smiles. Still: they’re all bros, and as their broth comes to a boil it feels less like a Thank You Dinner and more like just a meal between close friends.

It feels even more like a meal between close friends when Donghyuck goes to the bathroom, and Ten takes the opportunity to strike.

“So?” Ten leans over the table with a conspiratory smile, heedless of the steam rising into his face. “Spill, Markly. Have you done the spell yet?”

Mark darts a glance towards the back of the restaurant as he chews - Donghyuck could reappear at any moment, and Ten wants to hear about this now? “Hyung, can’t you interrogate me later? I really don’t want him to overhear that I’ve been -”

“Dabbling in magic?” Ten’s smirk only grows. “Do tell.”

“You may as well tell him,” Johnny advises, leaning back in his chair as he sips at his beer with a wry smile. “You know he’ll annoy it out of you eventually.”

Ten shoots a glare over his shoulder at his boyfriend, but Johnny just raises his eyebrows - challenging Ten to deny it. Which he can’t, of course. Ten’s the nosiest person in their friend group - maybe after Donghyuck himself.

They do some kind of silent couple-communication thing - disgusting and adorable, as always - before Ten turns back to Mark with bright eyes and a sharp smile. “So?”

Mark lets him simmer in anticipation for as long as it takes to finish chewing. “I’ve done the spell twice, and -”

“Twice?” Ten whisper-shouts. Mark ignores his outburst and trudges on.

“ - and got two very different genies who gave me very different advice. Did you know it was going to be, like, a different dude every time you cast the spell?”

Ten shrugs one shoulder. “I haven’t done that one personally, but it makes sense, I guess. What were they like?”

“I mean,” Mark scratches at the side of his jaw. It’s kind of hard to describe Shotaro’s sweetness and Jaemin’s… Jaemin-ness in the same sentence. “They were just guys? Well, genies, obviously - they dress pretty wild. And their advice was…”

Johnny puts his chin on his hand, smiling. “Good? Worth going through the effort?”

“...Not bad, exactly,” Mark says with kind of a wince, “but no easy magic solution, either. Gave me some stuff to think about - and I know, before you say it, that I gotta figure this out. And I will. I promise.”

Ten and Johnny exchange another loaded glance - and then Ten’s gaze darts to somewhere over Mark’s shoulder. The corner of his mouth has turned up in a fond smile when he looks back to Mark.

“You know, Mark, it isn’t us you should be promising,” he murmurs softly.

Mark opens his mouth to reply - but then Donghyuck slides back into the booth next to him, and the moment is lost.

He can’t feel that bad about it, though, not when Donghyuck grins at him as he picks up his chopsticks. His brightness leaves no room for Mark to dwell on Ten’s words. “What did I miss?”

“Mark ate the last of your pork belly slices,” Ten says without preamble, and laughs when Donghyuck whips around to gape at the empty plate, and then at Mark himself.

“Mark! Betrayed by my best friend!” Donghyuck gasps, affronted - or, at least, putting on a show. “How dare you, you know it’s my favorite -”

“We can always order more pork belly! We’re in a restaurant!” Mark protests. Donghyuck doesn’t stop his whining, though - and Ten doesn’t stop snickering at the two of them, either. Johnny wisely chooses not to get involved, though he does keep shooting secretive smiles at Mark over the rim of his glass whenever Donghyuck grabs onto Mark’s arm to complain.

So yeah - a typical night out for them, all in all.

Donghyuck’s favor is easily earned again with another round of pork and the promise of dessert - on Mark’s dime - on the walk home. The warm night air is occasionally punctuated with bright laughter from one of the four of them, leaning into each other as they joke and smile and walk off their full bellies. Ten and Johnny trail behind them, hands clasped and talking quietly.

Donghyuck loops his arm through Mark’s and keeps it there all the way to the ice cream shop, his skin warm wherever they’re touching. It’s - good.

Mark wants to make it even better. For both of them.

- 🔮 -

The clink of a necklace on ceramic. The delicate softness of tiny petals. The bright spark as the wick catches, and the scent of gunpowder giving way to warm wax and clean linen.

Third time’s the charm, right?

Mark crosses his legs in a familiar position, not wasting any time now that his components are all set up. He’s familiar enough with the whole thing that it only takes a few minutes, including digging everything out of his sock drawer and making a trip to the kitchen for the salt.

Something’s gotta give. At this point, it might be Mark’s patience - with himself more than anything. But there’s something to be said for strategy, and having more of a plan than just blurt how I feel to my best friend over cereal without milk.

It’s a good thing he doesn’t need milk for this spell, actually. They’ve been out for three days.

Anyway. Mark claps his hands together to make a wish.

This time, he hears it: a soft pop and a muffled thump, followed by a rush of air - like something has suddenly displaced it. The scent of smoke and candle grows as it wafts towards Mark, and he opens his eyes when he hears the tell-tale tinkle of beads.

“Hi,” says the guy in front of him with a small, nervous smile. “You called for a genie?”

Like the others before him, this genie is about Mark’s age - or he appears to be. (Is that a part of the magic, that any genie you summon looks to be the same age as you?) But unlike the other genies, he’s dressed in more modern clothes.

Well, they’re still stylish in that flashy, maximal, music-video way, but the genie’s outfit seems more or less from the human world. He’s wearing jeans with rips in both knees, and a yellow satin jacket over a plain white tee. The look is complete with a dozen pearl and gold-beaded necklaces around his neck, clinking cheerfully when he moves.

Oh, and black-and-red sneakers that say Saint-Laurent on the tongue. Jeez, those probably cost more than Mark’s rent payment.

Where does a genie get stuff like that, anyway?

Maybe most surprising, though, is that the genie’s hair is bleached and dyed an even brighter yellow than his jacket. Well - Mark assumes it’s dyed. Maybe genies can just grow whatever color hair they want. Yangyang would be jealous of that.

Also - damn, this guy’s eyebrows.

“Hi,” Mark says, taking it all in. Three genies, now, and always something new. “Um - I’m Mark. I was hoping to get some advice, rather than making a wish.”

“Oh,” the genie’s brow furrows, his smile fading into an expression of confusion. “I - uh, I guess I can give you some advice, if that’s all you need.”

Mark needs a kick in the ass, honestly, but for now advice is going to have to do.

“Yeah, uh - romantic advice,” Mark clarifies, combing his hair away from his face. Explaining is getting a little bit easier every time, at least. “I’m in love with my best friend.”

The genie’s eyes go wide, and his face clears in realization. He breaks out into a wide smile and claps his hands together in his excitement. “Wait - ah! Mark! You’re the human Shotaro and Jaemin were talking about! I’m Xiaojun.”

“Wait - what?” Mark’s mouth drops open. “You guys know each other? They were talking about me?!”

Xiaojun grins at him, unphased. “Well, sure. Being a genie is more or less customer service, you know. Of course we talk about our summons and the things we’re asked to help with.”

Oh, actually - that makes sense. Wow. Mark really doesn’t know much about how genies work, even though he’s done this summoning spell three times already.

To be fair, he knows basically jack shit about all magic. He’s just lucky he has friends who can point him in the right direction.

“Besides,” Xiaojun continues, eyes twinkling, “it’s not every day that we’re summoned for advice rather than wish magic. We all wanted to hear about it!”

Mark sighs and gives Xiaojun a rueful smile. “Well, um, glad to provide some entertainment, I guess. But I really could use any advice you have, bro.”

“Right,” Xiaojun nods. His jewelry clinks together gently as he adjusts his seated position, leaning forward to rest an elbow on his knee and his chin in his upturned fist. “Advice. Do you - do you mind telling me the whole story, first? I'd rather hear it from you.”

That’s easy enough, at least.

So Mark does - he tells Xiaojun all about the boy he’s fallen in love with, his best friend and closest confidante. The entire time Xiaojun sits rapt, interrupting only to react to Mark’s stories. Shotaro had been attentive - and pretty perceptive, honestly. Jaemin had been blunt and teasing in turns, willing to challenge Mark about his assumptions.

Xiaojun, Mark learns, is a romantic at heart.

When Mark leans back with a sigh, Xiajoun is practically glowing with fondness. “It sounds like you have something really special, to me.”

Special. No single word can really encapsulate what Mark and Donghyuck are to each other, even as best friends. Mark’s tried - and he’s an author. There are too many facets to their friendship to even try to sum it all up with a single word, but maybe special fits for now.

Mark just wishes that something special was romantic. He has no idea how to make the leap.

“I… yeah,” Mark replies, “and I know I gotta confess, for both of our sakes. I can’t keep my feelings bottled up forever.”

Xiaojun nods sagely. “Your situation isn’t quite as clear-cut as the other genies made it seem. But it does make me wonder…”

Something about Xiaojun’s tone makes Mark perk up his ears in interest. Does he have an idea? “Yeah?”

The genie unfolds from his cross-legged pose, leaning back with his hands on the floor behind him. He quirks one of those impressive eyebrows at Mark, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Why don’t you just flirt with him?”

Mark sputters. “Flirt with him?!”

Xiaojun shrugs one shoulder, looking unflappable and unapologetic in the face of Mark’s shock. “Why not?”

“My dude - Xiaojun,” Mark shakes his head, feeling a flush creep into his cheeks despite himself at the very idea. “You’ve never met Donghyuck. I can’t flirt with him! I - I mean -”

“Listen, it wouldn’t be the worst way to feel out if he’s interested,” Xiaojun argues. Like this - leaning back on his hands, shoulders rounded looking up at Mark through his blond fringe - it’s like Xiaojun is giving him a demonstration of how to be flirty. “If it’s clear that he’s not into it, you can laugh it off. What’s the harm in giving it a try?”

What’s the harm in giving it a try, he says. Like it’s that easy to successfully flirt with your crush.

The operative word, of course, being successfully.

“The harm is to my sanity, bro,” Mark rakes a hand through his hair. “The problem with that plan is that I know Donghyuck - I know he would just lean into whatever I was doing and go just as hard. And he’s - uh, a pretty tactile person already. It’s enough to drive me crazy as it is.”

This information doesn’t phase Xiaojun in the slightest. He tips his head to the side, grinning. “I think it’s worth a shot - would he really act like that if he wasn’t interested? From one Leo to another -”

“How do you know I’m a Leo?!”

“ -there’s a time to take a little risk, be a little bold. Maybe this is one of those times.”

Mark and Xiaojun stare at each other - the genie smiling knowingly at Mark, who just squints back. He can feel himself starting to frown.

“Do - do you like flirting that much, Xiaojun?” Mark asks.

Xiaojun’s smile dips into a smirk again, his eyes glittering in a way that’s not magical, exactly - but certainly coy. “Why not? Isn’t it fun?”

“Maybe when it’s someone you’ve just met,” Mark groans, collapsing backwards against the arm of the couch as he resists pinching the bridge of his nose, “or if you’ve already gotten together! But not when you’re in this weird space of - of being in love but not sure if the other person likes you like that. Right now, flirting just sounds… stressful.”

“That’s too bad,” Xiaojun sighs, shoulders slumping. “I guess it hasn’t happened to me like that.”

“Have you ever been in love?” Mark asks, and then, “Can genies fall in love?”

Xiaojun snorts. “Rude. We’re people, Mark - of course we can fall in love.”

“And you?” Mark presses. “Have you fallen in love before?”

It’s starting to become a pattern, watching Xiaojun react - and this time, Mark’s question is confirmed by a high flush that comes over Xiaojun’s cheeks. It’s an undeniable tell even before he lets out a soft giggle.

Right. Xiaojun is definitely a romantic.

“That’s a yes, then,” Mark huffs a laugh, not unkindly. Honestly, this is probably what he looks like to all his friends whenever someone mentions Donghyuck.

It’s cute on Xiaojun, at least.

“Well…” Xiaojun finally looks up to meet Mark’s gaze again, and can’t contain his fond smile. “You haven’t met him yet - but maybe you will. It’s hard not to like him.”

Mark raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms. “And the flirting works, you think?”

“I think so,” Xiaojun hums - Mark notices his ears are getting more and more red. “If you don’t think it will help the situation with your Donghyuck, I guess… you do know him better than I do.”

Yeah, Mark does know Donghyuck - and he has a feeling he knows how it would play out. He’s seen Donghyuck hang all over Ten at dance practice - watched as they tossed flirty compliments back and forth. Mark isn’t sure what would be worse - Donghyuck taking any flirting as a total joke and laughing it off, or looking at Mark like he has three heads, because they’re best friends, and in all the years they’ve known each other, Mark’s never really been one to flirt like that.

Banter? Yes. But outright flirting?

“I’ll think about it,” Mark tells Xiaojun. The genie gives him a hopeful smile.

As far as advice goes, he’s heard worse.

- 🔮 -

The truth is, Mark really likes the dynamic he already has with Donghyuck. They know each other so well, spending time together is as easy as breathing. Easier.

Well, except when Donghyuck does something that steals Mark’s breath away.

But that’s a relatively recent development and, as Renjun would put it, a capital-P Personal Problem. One Mark has been careful to make sure that Donghyuck isn’t aware of.

Anyway, it’s not like Mark wouldn’t enjoy adding a new dimension to their dynamic - like flirting, for example. If it also came with, y’know. Reciprocated romantic feelings and the shiny new title of boyfriend. Maybe he’d manage to hold his own while flirting with Donghyuck, under such circumstances.

This does, unfortunately, more or less leave him exactly where he’s been this whole time: waffling on how, let alone when, to confess his love to his best friend.

He wants Donghyuck to take his feelings seriously, not dismiss them as a joke. Maybe that’s why flirting feels dangerous - not just because it’s a taste of what Mark so desperately wants and can’t have, but because if he tries and Donghyuck meets him there, flirts back only to laugh him off…

In some ways, that’s just as bad as an outright rejection.

So for now, Mark does what he’s done for months: he settles for this.

The notebook spread in front of him jostles violently as Donghyuck throws himself down onto the other end of the couch, dumping himself unceremoniously at Mark’s side. The fan whirrs lazily, but it’s a pretty mild night for mid-summer; Mark’s perfectly comfortable in his threadbare quarter-zip and basketball shorts.

After a long shift at the cafe, apparently Donghyuck feels the same: he’s tugged on shorts and a hoodie, leaving the hood up as he makes himself comfortable on the squashy cushions. It’s late, but this is something of a tradition between the two of them - evening jam sessions that last into night, murmured banter and playing clips of songs so Mark can untangle the chord progressions. Trading off verses, even when they can’t quite remember the words.

Donghyuck wraps his arms around the giant bear plushie Mark won him two years ago at an amusement park, blowing a few stray strands of hair out of his eyes with a huff. It’s - it’s really cute. The whole look is really cute. “Any new songs tonight?”

Mark hums, draping his arm over the side of his guitar so he can flip through the creased pages of his notebook. He’s been putting more time into finishing his novel draft than writing lyrics lately, for better or worse.

“Nah,” he shrugs one shoulder, “but it’s been a while since we’ve done this, right? We can just run through some favorites.”

“Cool,” Donghyuck pulls up his legs and folds them underneath him, criss-cross. “Hey, it smells nice in here. Were you burning a candle earlier?”

Mark’s stomach flip-flops dangerously underneath his ribs. He has to remind himself that lighting a candle is a totally normal, totally mundane, not-necessarily-magical thing to do as a roommate.

Also, yeah. Mark does just like candles. He probably has a Pavlovian response to Soft Blanket by now, with how often he’s been lighting it to summon genies.

He releases the breath trapped in his chest as carefully as he can, shooting a smile in Donghyuck’s direction. “Yeah - it’s nice, right?”

Donghyuck wiggles to get more comfortable; his thigh slots alongside Mark’s, unthinking and innocent skin-on-skin. Mark quietly burns. “Mm, glad we’re beating the bachelor stereotype. Nice-smelling apartment, clean dishes. Although…”

Mark quirks an eyebrow, steeling himself for whatever argument is to come. “Although what, man?”

“There are some stereotypes that are true,” Donghyuck smirks, knowing. “How many Justin Bieber songs were you gonna play tonight?”

“Hey,” Mark protests, “you like Justin Bieber, too!”

“If you’re going to learn stuff on guitar, you could do a little more variety,” Donghyuck continues, but his smile softens. “Your own stuff is my favorite, anyway.”

Heat blooms on Mark’s face as his heart - none too gently - kicks against his breastbone. God. Donghyuck doesn’t - he can’t know what it does to Mark, to hear him say these things.

“Thanks,” Mark ducks his head, hoping the pleased, lovesick smile that takes over his face doesn’t look lovesick, at least.

It isn’t fair that Donghyuck can say these sincere things and rip right through Mark’s walls. Mark’s such a goner for him - and yet the thought of tipping the scales just a little, of flirting, still seems out of his reach. Even as the sincerity of this conversation sends his heart into overdrive, he just - he doesn’t think he could flirt with Donghyuck and survive.

“So, then - from the top?” Donghyuck says, catching Mark’s eye. His cheeks are still flush-warm from his shower, hair in a soft, damp disarray under his hoodie. In the yellow lamplight his skin looks golden-bronze, face and sweater-paw fingers and the plush of his thighs in those shorts.

But his smile - his grin is that small, private one for Mark, something softer than a dare but more than just a question. Are you ready? I want to see if you can keep up.

Mark clears his throat and wills his heart back into his chest; he knows he’ll have trouble singing around it.

“From the top,” he says, smiling back, and sets his fingertips to the frets.

- 🔮 -

Mark has fond memories of learning how to drive with his dad, back when he was a teenager in high school.

They’d find an empty lot at an office park in town where Mark could get in the driver’s seat and press carefully at the pedals, clutching the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip. And then, later, going on drives long and short to put all of the pieces he’d learned together.

The important thing is that you can’t get complacent, his dad had said. A lot of driving a car is just muscle memory, but that doesn’t mean you should forget about the little things. You always have to pay attention, and stay safe.

Mark imagines it must be somewhat the same with doing magic.

This is his fourth attempt at the spell - although, is it still an attempt when it’s a success? Anyway - it’s still foreign enough that he’s meticulous when setting out the lavender and filling the little bowl with salt. He uses the same saucer every time for his cross necklace - and, uh. Well, he’s learned his lesson about spilled wax already.

This part is muscle memory, though. Mark closes his eyes and puts his hands together.

He bows his head. He whispers, “I wish.”

Mark has been careful with all his spell components. He’s taken care to replicate his steps exactly. He’s done everything right.

So there’s no reason as to why, this time, the spell goes off with a literal bang.

There’s a crack like lightning in his living room and Mark jumps in surprise, eyes flying open at the noise. The scent of ozone in the air overpowers the calming lavender; the candle flickers violently, but stays lit. To Mark’s relief, nothing has fallen over or broken or spilled, but -

But there are two genies on the rug in front of him, half-tangled, staring at each other in shock.

Which - yeah, Mark thinks fainty. Shock is the correct emotion for this situation. What the hell?

“Uh,” he says, when the tension doesn’t break.

Both of the genies whip their heads around to look at him, as if only now aware of their surroundings. They don’t look surprised at the state of Mark’s living room - from what he’s learned so far, very little about human life phases an experienced genie - but they certainly look gobsmacked to see each other.

Mark would be the first to admit that as much as he’s getting familiar with the summoning spell, he certainly doesn’t know enough about magical theory to understand what summoning is like from the genie's side. It looks like these genies must have been arguing, or something, when the summoning triggered. The dark-haired genie is poised above the other on his knees, with a hand wrapped around the brown-haired genie’s wrist.

Otherwise, they’re clad rather similarly to Shotaro, drapes of silk and satin wrapped around their bodies with glittering gold chains as bright accents. The only other difference is that the fabric is a soft grey-blue rather than black.

And also, there are two of them.

“Hi,” one of the genies replies, raising a hand in greeting - the hand not held in a death-grip by the other genie. “Uh - sorry about this. Guess you got two for the price of one.”

The second genie - slimmer as well as dark-haired and clearly not amused - gives a tug at the first’s wrist. “I cannot believe you. This is entirely your fault, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun glances away from Mark with an easy smile, which is not received well by the dark-haired genie. “From where we’re sitting, it looks like you’re the tag-along here, Doie.”

“Doie,” the genie repeats with a hiss, flushing pink through his cheeks. “It’s Doyoung, in front of the human.”

“Mark,” Mark says faintly. “Uh. The human’s name is Mark.”

Doyoung’s glare cuts over to Mark, who is still too surprised to react. Jaehyun just rolls his eyes at Doyoung’s vehemence. “Relax, will you? So the summoning pulled us here together. It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s not protocol,” Doyoung insists.

“And when have you known me to follow protocol to the letter?” Jaehyun grins, waggling his eyebrows, and Doyoung drops his wrist with a huff. He shifts away, sitting primly at Jaehyun’s side.

“You’re lucky it’s something I like about you,” Doyoung mutters. There’s still a lingering blush on his cheeks.

Mark watches as the genies catch each other’s eyes again; neither of them moves to be further apart, though at least they aren’t entirely entangled anymore. Jaehyun’s knee stays pressed against Doyoung’s upper thigh, their glittering jewelry chiming together every time their broad shoulders brush.

Mark observes as all of this plays out, his hammering heart starting to slow. He’s seen this kind of banter before; this Doyoung and Jaehyun argue like a married couple. In fact -

“Are you two, like - together?”

Doyoung and Jaehyun both freeze. Doyoung’s flush gets deeper; to Mark’s private delight, Jaehyun’s ears start to turn pink, too.

Jaehyun turns away from Doyoung’s gaze and coughs into his fist in something that’s almost a laugh. Doyoung narrows his eyes at Mark. “What makes you say that?”

“Dude - no need to get defensive or whatever, I’m not gonna judge. I've just - I know a few couples who, uh,” Mark bites his lip, trying to restrain a smile, “who bicker like that, but it’s really just how they show that they care.”

“I see,” Doyoung says, words clipped. He shakes his head as if to clear it, sitting up straighter and squaring his shoulders. “Well. As much as I hate to say it, Jaehyun is right. Both of us are here, what’s done is done - we may as well help you as best we can.”

“Try to sound more excited about it, dear,” Jaehyun mumbles, and makes a noise of half-pain, half-amusement when Doyoung elbows him in the side. “Ow.”

“I’m always ready to help a summoner,” Doyoung crosses his arms over his chest, head held high. “I’m a professional.”

“Right. Well - you still only get one wish,” Jaehyun says, turning back to Mark. He shrugs when Doyoung raises his eyebrows. “Rules are rules, as you so often like to remind me, Doie.”

Mark jumps in before another argument breaks out - he can see Doyoung opening his mouth to snark a reply. “Actually - I didn’t want to make a wish. I was just hoping to get some advice. And, uh…”

“And?” Jaehyun looks intrigued, if still amused.

“...and if you two are together, then it’s kind of perfect, really.” Mark admits. He smiles and rubs at the corner of his jaw; all things considered, this is - unexpected, but too good of an opportunity to pass up. “So, uh. Are you? Together?”

Jaehyun looks to Doyoung - and they do that thing Mark has seen Ten and Johnny do, where they have a silent conversation with their eyebrows and the corners of their mouths. Yeah, he’s pretty sure they’re a thing.

Really. They’re not particularly subtle.

But then Mark watches as Doyoung’s face softens into an exasperated but fond smile. He rolls his eyes at Jaehyun - whose dimples have come out in full force. “Yeah. We’re together.”

“Despite your better judgement?” Jaehyun teases. He holds out his hand, palm-up on his knee, and Doyoung doesn’t hesitate to take it. The way they fit together, side by side, seems so effortless and seamless. Like puzzle pieces.

It makes Mark’s heart twinge in his chest. He and Donghyuck fit together like that. But not - not quite like that.

But that’s why Mark is here, sitting on his living room floor with two genies, ready to figure it out.

“Okay - okay,” Mark knits his fingers together, leaning in as he composes his thoughts. “Can I ask - uh. How did you get together? Did one of you end up confessing, or…?”

“How did the two of us end up together?” Jaehyun grins. “Now there’s a story. Do you remember, Doyoung? I know it was so long ago you might not recall -”

“I’m not that much older than you,” Doyoung snorts, and then quirks an eyebrow at Mark again. “Why? Is this related to the advice you need?”

Mark feels his own cheeks start to heat, now. “Uh - yeah. More or less. I’m having trouble confessing to the guy I like, and I guess… it would be nice to hear how it’s gone right for someone.”

At that, Doyoung softens, his shoulders relaxing from his puffed-up pose. The small smile he gives Mark is friendly, warm. “Feelings, huh. You’re lucky that you didn’t want a wish to help with that. But we’d be happy to give you some advice.”

“We would, huh,” Jaehyun grins - more at Doyoung than at Mark. Mark’s starting to sense a pattern here.

No wonder genies don’t usually get summoned together- or maybe just these two genies, who seem to be so into each other that they have trouble keeping their attention on the person who actually summoned them.

It’s pretty charming, if Mark’s honest. Hashtag relationship goals.

Doyoung doesn’t let Jaehyun’s amusement bother him. “Of course we will. Mark, was it? You wanted to hear how we got together?”

“Yeah - yes,” Mark nods, hoping he doesn’t appear too eager. “Please.”

“We were introduced by a mutual friend,” Doyoung begins, mouth twisting into a half-smile. He raises a single eyebrow at Jaehyun before turning his attention back to Mark. “Another genie, of course. But I can’t say it was love at first sight.”

“It was something at first sight,” Jaehyun smirks, leaning back against the base of the lumpy couch. “The chemistry was undeniable.”

Doyoung matches Jaehyun’s smirk. “You were kind of an ass when we met.”

“He punched me in the mouth,” Jaehyun says to Mark. “With his mouth.”

“Uh...huh,” Mark says, trying to fight down another smile. “You were - um. Involved before things were...romantic?”

“Like I said,” Jaehyun’s smirk widens lasciviously, “the chemistry was incredible. It was hate at first sight and I never wanted it to end. Classic enemies to lovers. Doyoung fucks like a- ”

He doesn’t find out what Doyoung fucks like, thank god, because Doyoung slaps a hand over Jaehyun’s mouth before he gets any further. Mark winces at the sharp sound of skin-on-skin; Jaehyun just keeps grinning under Doyoung’s palm, eyes glimmering.

Yeah. Mark definitely doesn’t want to know.

“Anyway,” Doyoung continues, soldiering on despite the way his blush has only gotten redder, “maybe it was inevitable with how things were going, or maybe it was always meant to be - that our feelings grew and changed. Sooner than I expected, I found I actually cared for Jaehyun.”

“I was just as surprised,” Jaehyun nods, when Doyoung’s hand drops from his mouth. “Both about my own feelings and that Doyoung felt the same.”

It’s Doyoung’s turn to glance at Mark and smirk. “Jaehyun cried when he confessed that he’d caught feelings for me. That’s how I knew he was sincere.”

“Besides the fact that we were both naked?”

“Yes, besides that,” Doyoung huffs, fond. “All things considered, I wouldn’t change a thing about how it all worked out.”

Mark smiles, resting his elbow on his knee and putting his chin in one hand. “It sounds like it turned out exactly like it was meant to, even if you didn’t expect it to go the way it did.”

“You could say that again,” Jaehyun laughs, eyes creasing into crescents. “If you’d told me two centuries ago that we’d end up like this, I wouldn’t have believed you. Now look at us.”

He squeezes Doyoung’s hand in his, and Mark feels something in his belly flutter. Despite the rocky start they may have gotten, these two genies have worked it out and found love - but they had centuries, apparently. Decades upon decades to figure out how they feel and what to do about it.

Mark doesn’t have time like that to wait. Hell, he doesn’t want to wait another week if he can help it. Living with Donghyuck and loving him from an arm’s length away is already driving him to extremes.

Like performing a series of genie summoning spells to figure out how to confess and get his feelings out in the open.

“I’m really glad for you guys,” Mark says, giving them a wry smile, “and I’m, like, really glad to know that love like this is out there. But I still don’t quite know how to make it happen for me.”

“Right,” Doyoung hums thoughtfully, rubbing at his chin. “What did you say before? It’s the confession you’re having trouble with.”

“Yeah,” Mark exhales, “it’s - yeah. I know how I feel, but I don’t know if Donghyuck feels the same. I just wanna do it right.”

“Listen - Mark,” Jaehyun says, dark eyes serious for the first time all evening. “It doesn’t matter how you tell him. What matters is that you’re honest about your feelings. Whether it’s a good confession or a bad one, the important thing is that it’s how you feel.”

Mark’s more or less heard this before - from the three other genies he’s summoned so far. Not that it’s bad advice, of course.

“I still want it to be good -” Mark starts, but Doyoung interrupts with a cluck of his tongue.

“It’ll be good because it’s you,” he says with a smile. “I mean, objectively I can’t say that Jaehyun’s confession in bed was the best choice he could have made -”

“Hey!”

“- but now I look back at it fondly because it’s a part of our love story. No matter how it happens, whether or not your love feels the same - it’ll come out the way it’s meant to come out. It’ll happen how it’s meant to,” Doyoung says, with the shrug of one shoulder.

Mark wants to be that optimistic - he really does. There’s a part of his heart that latches onto Doyoung’s words like a lifeline. He wants to believe that no matter what he does, or says, that if he and Donghyuck are meant to be together - as anything more than roommates and best friends - it will work out.

But - but. There’s always a but.

There’s still the possibility that Donghyuck doesn’t feel the same. There’s a chance that what is meant to happen is Mark’s confession falling flat on its face. There’s a very real risk that it won’t work out. That they won’t end up together, at the end of all this.

Maybe the calm acceptance of things will happen how they are meant to happen is something that comes with being a centuries-old genie. Mark knows he does not, and probably never will, have that level of chill.

Well, not when it comes to Donghyuck.

“I wish I could believe that, man,” Mark exhales, fighting off the instinct to pinch the bridge of his nose, where the imprints of his glasses always leave a mark. “I guess I’m just still, like. Scared, and all.”

Jaehyun cocks his head to the side. “I was scared, too - but the longer I held it in, the worse it felt until it just burst out of me. Luckily for both of us, it was the final push we needed to figure ourselves out.”

“You romantic,” Doyoung rolls his eyes fondly. Jaehyun dimples a smile at him. “Anyway. Don’t worry too much how it could go, Mark. It’s gonna work out.”

“You sound like my mom,” Mark huffs - but something inside him settles a little. Maybe because it’s coming from Doyoung, the most unflappable and no-nonsense genie he’s met yet. “Is that your professional, magical opinion as a genie?”

“Something like that,” Doyoung says cryptically, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk.

“Mostly you give off kind of a… stressed vibe,” Jaehyun admits, reaching out to pat Mark’s knee. “I get why you wanted advice rather than an outright wish - not that we’re allowed to meddle with human feelings, of course. But maybe we can help you talk through how you want to confess?”

Doyoung nods. “I usually feel better with a plan. Even if it doesn’t turn out perfectly.”

“Sure,” Mark’s shoulders unwind with relief. This sounds more like the practical advice he was hoping for - though he won’t say no to a pep-talk. They may not have intended to get summoned together, but Doyoung and Jaehyun play off each other well for giving advice. “I -”

Suddenly, a sound catches Mark’s ear: the tell-tale metal jangle and scrape of keys being shoved into the lock of the front door.

Mark’s stomach drops. Only three other people have the key to his apartment, and he doesn’t want any of them to see what he’s been up to. He doesn’t need Ten to catch him in the act, or for Renjun to lecture him on the dangers of the supernatural.

But who is Mark kidding? He already knows from the faint humming on the other side of the door that it’s Donghyuck.

Not to mention - shit, it’s not just a candle and a bowl of salt and a collection of trinkets. Doyoung and Jaehyun - the genies themselves - are still here.

Fuck, what time is it? Did he forget when Donghyuck was supposed to return home? God, Mark has half a dozen spell components strewn about the living room floor and two living genies sitting on his rug, and about six seconds to do something about all of it.

“Is that your crush?” Doyoung asks, leaning forward to peer at the door with curious, bright eyes.

Jaehyun snorts, looking from Doyoung to Mark - and from whatever expression of panic is on Mark’s face, Jaehyun must see the answer to Doyoung’s question.

“Come on, Doyoungie,” he says, wrapping a hand around Doyoung’s shoulders and tugging him close. “I think our work here is done, don’t you?”

Doyoung murmurs something grudging in reply and Jaehyun laughs, but Mark doesn’t pay attention. He’s jumped to his feet, wiping his sweat-damp palms on his shorts as he darts a look around the room, trying to figure what he can do - if anything - to make this scene look normal when Donghyuck pushes open the door.

It’s probably already too late. At least the stuff on the floor he can excuse as, like, writing research, maybe? But the genies -

“Can you guys, like,” Mark says, frantically looking back and forth at the bowl of salt and the front door, adrenaline flushing cool-hot through his veins, “be chill for a few minutes? Or -”

Mark turns to look at Doyoung and Jaehyun to find that they’ve already disappeared.

There’s a faint shimmer in the air, and the floor pillows are still creased from where they were sitting. But maybe that’s for the best; Mark still has to figure out what he’s going to say to Donghyuck, and -

The door clatters open with a creaky sigh and Donghyuck nearly trips through it, balancing a cardboard drink tray with bubble teas in one hand and trying to keep his side-bag on his shoulder with the other. His keys are in his mouth, for whatever reason, which partly explains why it took him so long to get the door open.

The sight of him catches Mark like a deer in headlights - not because of how strange it is to see Donghyuck like this, but because until about three seconds ago, there were genies in their living room.

Also - it’s Donghyuck. It’s not that unusual for him to make Mark’s heart batter against his ribs, no matter what he’s doing or wearing. Mark likes this unpolished Donghyuck, though. The one who doesn’t care what he looks like in front of Mark, because Mark is home - or, at least, part of it.

Right now, his face lights up when he sees Mark, grinning around the keyring between his teeth. And then he raises an eyebrow, precariously shuffling his sliders off his feet.

“A little help here?” he mumbles, amused, and it’s enough to kick Mark into motion.

Mark jogs forward and takes the offered drink tray from Donghyuck’s precarious grip; the ice inside sloshes as he balances the tray. “Sorry, sorry. You surprised me, man. Didn’t think you’d be home for another few hours.”

Donghyuck shoots him a quizzical look, hefting his bag off his shoulder and onto the floor by their pile of shoes. “You haven’t looked at your phone? Well, that explains why you didn’t answer my text.”

“Text?” Mark asks, following when Donghyuck moves past him to head into the living room, making a beeline for the couch.

Donghyuck waves to the drinks in Mark’s hands before sprawling on the couch. “I got your favorite anyway. You’re lucky I know you so well, Mark Lee.”

“Oh.” Mark looks down, and - oh. One of the bubble teas is a creamy red-pink that he knows is watermelon; the other is regular tan milk tea. Because of course Donghyuck remembers his bubble tea order, just like he remembers how Mark takes his coffee and what he likes on his pizza, and which of the two ramen shops to order takeout from, and to ask for no ketchup if Mark forgets -

“You’re welcome,” Donghyuck grins.

Mark blinks back at him, pulled from his thoughts and the rush of his heartbeat in his ears. Donghyuck’s giving him that small, private smile, the one that Mark wants to think is fond, but it usually appears too briefly for him to tell for sure.

Mark swallows thickly, but before he can think of what to say, Donghyuck’s grin widens and he makes grabby-hands in Mark’s direction. “C’mon, hand it over. And sit down, will you? What were you up to when I got home?”

Uh oh.

“Uh,” Mark says helpfully, putting his full attention on carefully prying Donghyuck’s bubble tea out of the tray’s grip and handing it over.

He perches on the edge of the couch as he stabs a straw into his own drink, mentally flailing for an answer that makes any sort of sense. Out of the corner of his eye he can see the spell components still arranged on the floor, on the other side of the coffee table from where they now sit. It’s sheer luck that Donghyuck had decided to head for the couch rather than go into the kitchen.

And still - there’s no way Mark can pick up the spell components and hide them with Donghyuck in the room. He’s just gonna have to come up with a decent excuse.

“Not much,” he finally says, once he’s taken a sip of his bubble tea and relaxed back into the couch’s lumpy cushions. “Got some writing done earlier today, then took a break once I got hungry. But making progress, at least.”

“That’s good,” Donghyuck chews thoughtfully, propping his socked feet up on the coffee table. It’s - ugh. Mark’s not gonna remind him that he shouldn’t when it’s just the two of them, though it does put Donghyuck’s tanned calves on display.

What? Mark’s not a saint. He can secretly admire his best friend’s legs. It’s fine.

Donghyuck idly stirs his drink with his straw. “When’s the next section due to your editor again?”

“Not for another few weeks,” Mark mumbles around a mouthful of boba. Donghyuck sends him a look - like he can judge, when it comes to talking with a full mouth - but Mark still chews and swallows before he continues, smiling back. “But I’m not worried. Just have to keep plugging along.”

They sit in companionable silence for a few moments, sipping at their bubble tea side by side. Donghyuck’s sitting close enough that Mark can feel the heat of his skin, even though they’re not touching; it makes for a heady contrast with the cool drink in his hand.

It’s enough to distract him, so Mark is thoroughly caught off-guard when Donghyuck asks, “Has it helped?”

“Has what helped?” Mark blinks owlishly from behind his glasses.

“The ritual,” Donghyuck says, and Mark’s insides turn to ice. The ritual.

Oh, no.

No, no, no. Mark freezes in place, adrenaline and dread trickling down his spine. Does Donghyuck know about the magic? Does he know about Mark’s feelings, and why he’s been doing so much magic? Donghyuck can’t have found out about-

“Or - meditation… thing,” Donghyuck continues, oblivious to Mark’s impending panic attack. “Whatever it is that you’ve been doing in the middle of the day and burning candles for. Has it helped with the writing flow, or whatever?”

Wait - meditation? Donghyuck thinks he’s meditating? Oh. Well.

He’s uncomfortably close to the truth, but at least Mark can work with this.

So Mark laughs lightly, ignoring the tightness in his chest. His face is burning, but hopefully Donghyuck will chalk it up to being caught out at attempting… meditation. “Haha - um. I think it’s been helping. Words are happening, at least.”

Donghyuck sips noisily at his bubble tea, observing Mark’s reaction, and of course his silence spurs Mark to keep talking. “I mean, I’ve never done anything like it before, so I don’t know if I’m doing it right?”

“You’re the writer, Mark,” Donghyuck finally says, shrugging one shoulder and stretching out a little further on the couch. “I certainly can’t tell you if you’re doing it right or wrong.”

Mark rolls his eyes. “Okay, but you love correcting me and butting in with your opinion.”

At that, Donghyuck shrugs again - but the smirk that pulls at the corners of his lips is impish. “Don’t lie, Mark Lee. You love it when I do that. Arguing with me is just more fun. I make your life interesting.”

And oh, that’s not even half of it. Mark’s stomach does some kind of acrobatic maneuver; he’s helpless to that particular smile of Donghyuck’s directed at him, let alone those words.

Donghyuck doesn’t know how right he is. If only Mark could find the right words to say in return.

“Interesting is one way to put it,” he says, aiming for wry and amused - and hopefully pulling it off. “But - yeah. Sorry if, uh, the candle smell bothers you or something.”

“I don’t mind,” Donghyuck waves Mark’s apology off with a casual flick of his hand. “Seriously, do whatever you gotta do. I gotta say, though -”

“Here we go.”

“- that you could stand to be a little less suspicious about it,” Donghyuck huffs. “Honestly. As long as you clean up after yourself, I don’t care what you do to get in the writing groove. But you don’t have to act like I caught you jerking off in the living room.”

Privately, Mark thinks that it would be less embarrassing if Donghyuck caught him jerking off, compared to the magic he almost walked in on. Well - almost.

All things considered, he’s still hoping that if and-or when Donghyuck sees his dick, it’ll be under better circumstances. Romantic circumstances.

But this, at least, they can laugh at.

“What can I say? I’m kind of a weird dude,” Mark chuckles, the tension in his shoulders finally starting to unspool. Somehow - despite the odds, despite the fact that genies had been right where they’re sitting only minutes ago, he’s managed to pull this off. “But you love me, anyway.”

Mark’s barely realized what has come out of his mouth before Donghyuck’s rolling his eyes in turn, giving Mark a gentle shove - not so strong as to spill his bubble tea - and they both laugh. “Yeah, yeah. So do you wanna hear about my day today, or what?”

Of course Mark does, and of course as soon as he says so, Donghyuck launches into a complicated story about something that happened at Taeil’s cafe with Jungwoo and Sunchan. For better or worse, Donghyuck doesn’t comment on Mark’s blurted but you love me, anyway.

It doesn’t escape Mark’s notice, though, that Donghyuck doesn’t deny it.

- 🔮 -

It’s been a long couple weeks of wishing.

Mark chews on the end of his pen, leg bouncing underneath his desk. He has a reason to be a little jittery - his novel deadline is inching closer and closer, he really needs to pay attention to it, now - but his mind isn’t on the writing. Of course it isn’t. Whether Donghyuck is in their shared apartment or off doing other things, going to work or spending time with other friends - Mark’s mind is on him.

Donghyuck isn’t home - it’s a Thursday morning so he’s at the cafe, and it’s not weird that Mark has his best friend’s schedule memorized. And when Donghyuck isn’t home, several things happen:

One: Mark thinks about Donghyuck, and how much he misses him.

Two: Mark frets about Donghyuck, and how he really needs to confess his feelings.

Three: Mark summons genies to figure out said method of confession, because apparently that’s a thing that he does now. How many times do you have to do a thing before it becomes a habit, again? Mark’s fairly certain he’s approaching the point of no return.

He’s gotta run out of new genies at some point, right? That or the neighborhood florist is going to stop supplying his lavender habit.

Anyway. None of the above things are working on the latest draft of his novel, which is the thing Mark actually should be doing on this Thursday morning.

But no - he’s thinking. Thinking about wishing. Mark’s been doing a lot of both all summer: thinking, wishing, and then wishing. Like with genies.

Wishing, but not doing.

Objectively, asking for advice is a pretty decent tactic for most things in life. Mark still believes this, despite his recent experiences. Generally it’s good to get an outside perspective to help make an important decision. It’s what people do all the time when trying to choose universities, or buying couches, or - or -

Or confessing to their best friend.

Mark sighs, finally setting down his pen. The cursor on his word document blinks at him in silent judgement until he closes the lid of his laptop, too. He can just tell that he’s not going to get much writing done until he figures this out for real.

And to do that… well. Mark’s eyes slide to the narrow vase on the windowsill by his desk. The lavender tucked inside has been without water for a few days now, and has started to crisp up. It’s shedding tiny dried purple-blue petals, the thin green stems starting to slump.

He’s only ever used fresh lavender so far. But people dry lavender, right? To preserve it all year? So, if he wanted to get some supernatural advice one last time....

But this does have to be the last time, Mark tells himself, even as he reaches for the vase.

After this, no more asking for the answer. It doesn’t seem like there is an easy answer to this, anyway. Mark knows this is something he needs to figure out on his own. After this last attempt, that is.

And who knows - maybe he’ll finally meet Shotaro again and get some final level-headed words of wisdom. That wouldn’t be the worst thing to use his last bit of lavender on.

When this is done, any flowers he’s buying are for Donghyuck. If this all works out, that is.

Mark gets everything out one last time, fidgeting with how the flowers sit in the narrow vase, making sure the surface of the salt is smooth and even in its bowl. It probably doesn’t matter - he’d made sure everything was perfect last time, and look what happened. Still: if he’s going to do this one final time, he’s going to do it right.

By the time he eases himself to the floor and folds his legs criss-cross in front of him, the warming scent of the candle has filled the room. It’s another bright mid-morning, silvery sunlight coming in through the windows and painting a broad stripe across the couch and desk and carpet.

Mark puts his hands together. One last time, one last try to make a wish.

He closes his eyes and whispers the words. This time, more than any of the times before, he really means them.

Something tugs in Mark’s belly, below his navel. It’s not a sharp jerk - just an odd pulling sensation, paired with a rush of air against his cheek and a faint roar in his ears. Light blooms in front of him - bright enough that Mark can see it through his closed eyelids in a red-orange glow.

He can’t resist blinking his eyes open, squinting at the sudden brightness that has enveloped his living room. For the first time, he’s treated to the sight of magic as a genie materializes in front of him.

In the first moments it’s all swirling light. The silhouette of a seated figure expands from a shimmering ball of magic, a torso and then head and legs and arms all the way down to fingers and toes. Mark blinks, trying to take it all in, though it only takes a few breathless moments for the genie to fully appear.

And then, the glowing white silhouette bursts like a bubble popped, points of light scattering out like a firework before fading completely. In its place is a genie, legs crossed to match Mark, blinking in surprise right back at him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Mark says, swallowing thickly. Meeting someone new this way still hasn’t gotten comfortable, despite the number of times Mark has done it. “I’m, um. I’m Mark.”

The genie’s expression of surprise clears. He sits a little straighter, leaning closer with a smile. “Mark. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Taeyong.”

Despite knowing what to expect - Taeyong is the fifth genie he’s summoned and the sixth he’s met, technically - Mark can’t help but take a second to absorb Taeyong’s… everything. His hair is a downy grey-blue, though in the morning light some of it appears almost purple. Most of his hair is tucked underneath a brightly-patterned scarf, which matches his jacket.

His Gucci jacket.

Also, his mauve pants - Mark thinks they’re kind of mauve? - are, like, full-on glittery. Every movement Taeyong makes throws a haze of sparkly light on the rug and the nearby furniture.

“I’m sure I’m not quite what you were expecting,” Taeyong says, giving Mark a gentle, if self-deprecating smile. His voice is low and warm - but it suits him, Mark finds. “There are plenty of misleading stories about genies. But I’m here to help, if you have a wish to make.”

Mark’s breath leaves him in a rush. “Great. Uh. I actually wanted some advice.”

Taeyong’s smile broadens. Of all of the genies he has met so far, Mark’s gotten the impression that Taeyong is particularly… chill isn’t quite the right word. Understanding? Easy to talk to?

It’s about the vibes, as Donghyuck would say. Taeyong has pretty good older-brother, advice-giving vibes.

“Well, then I’m here to listen,” Taeyong says, clasping his hands together in front of him.

“Thanks,” Mark says on an exhale, finding that the tension in his spine melts even more as Taeyong gives him an encouraging nod. “It’s - it’s kind of a long story, but essentially my problem is this: I’m in love with my best friend. Who is also, uh, my roommate. And I don’t really know how to - how to tell him what I feel.”

Taeyong’s jewelry tinkles gently when he tilts his head, necklaces and rings chiming as they clink together. Genies sure do like to accessorize. “You’re worried about sharing your feelings?”

“Yeah, I mean - who isn’t?” Mark grimaces, lips pressed together. “I don’t know how he’s gonna react.”

“Hmm,” Taeyong hums, leaning back. His eyes flit around Mark’s face, searching for something. Mark doesn’t know what he sees. “But you said he’s your best friend. I’m sure you know him pretty well.”

Mark groans. “Not with - well, not about this. It’s because he’s my best friend that I’m worried about getting it right. And everyone has been telling me that it’s not about getting it right, it’s about sharing my feelings - but I can’t help but be nervous.”

Taeyong’s eyebrow quirks up. “Do you mean - you’ve asked other genies for advice, too?”

“Yeah,” Mark admits, face heating. His hands clench and unclench in the fabric of his shorts.

He doesn’t feel judged under Taeyong’s curious gaze, exactly, but it’s testament to how nervous he is about the whole thing that he’s done this summoning so many times. “You can never get too much advice, right?”

There’s a beat of silence as Taeyong looks at him, and then he shuffles closer, until their knees are almost touching. Taeyong gives him a soft smile, placing a hand on top of Mark’s - stilling the nervous motion of his fingers.

“Mark,” Tayeong says, “I think you’re making this more complicated and more scary than it needs to be.”

It’s something Mark has heard before, and something he’s suspected of himself all along. His shoulders slump. “I know.”

“I’m not telling you not to be nervous,” Taeyong says, giving Mark’s hand a squeeze before returning it to his lap. “I think that’s pretty normal, when it comes to figuring out love. But…”

“But?” Mark prompts, when Taeyong remains silent for a long moment.

Taeyong looks around the room - at the collection of trinkets on the windowsill, the haphazardly-organized bookshelf off to the side of the TV, the lumpy couch with too many pillows, Mark’s paper-strewn desk. Of any room in the apartment, the living room is where Mark and Donghyuck spend the most time, and it’s a perfect combination of the two of them. Something in Mark’s chest aches to see the detritus of living together, the things they’ve collected and woven together over the years.

What does Taeyong see, from an outside perspective?

“...But you’ve already decided to say something, right?” Taeyong asks, turning back to Mark with a grin. “You’re just stuck on how.”

Mark swallows. “Uh. Yeah. I want it to be - I want it to be perfect. That’s what he deserves.”

Taeyong blinks at him. “What about you, though?”

“What about me?”

“Are you sure that… well,” Taeyong chews at his lower lip, thinking through what he wants to say. Mark’s stomach twists in anticipation, but he doesn’t have to wait long. “Are you sure you don’t want it to be perfect for you?”

Mark breaks Taeyong’s gaze to frown at the carpet, turning the phrase over in his mind. He can feel his nape go warm. “I’m not… I don’t get what you mean.”

“You’re a writer, right?” At Mark’s look of surprise, Taeyong nods to the desk, with its clutter of open folders and printed-out drafts marked up in red, the half-dozen notebooks spilling out of a drawer.

“Yeah - novels,” Mark replies, sitting up a little straighter. He scratches at the side of his neck, giving Taeyong a faint smile. “And a little of everything else, when the words flow. Poems. Uh. Rap.”

Taeyong’s smile grows even wider, encouraged by Mark’s response. Despite himself, Mark feels heartened by the genie’s reaction. “I’m sure no matter what it is you’re working on, it can sometimes be a struggle to find the perfect words.”

“When you put it like that…” Mark huffs a half-laugh, but Taeyong is right. “I mean, yeah. That’s what writing is - finding the right words and putting them in the right order, whether it’s to tell a story or - or- ”

“Or confessing to your best friend,” Taeyong grins, eyebrows raised wryly, challenging Mark to deny him.

“Or…yeah. Telling my best friend I’m in love with him,” Mark exhales. It takes effort to resist pinching the bridge of his nose underneath his glasses. Taeyong pats his hand again, consolingly. “Is this where you tell me that admitting it to myself is half the problem?”

Taeyong chuckles, eyes bright. “If it’s any consolation, your problem isn’t unique to humans. I know many a genie who has needed to hear the same advice.”

“And what is your advice?” Mark asks, feeling a kernel of hope flare in his chest. “I’ve heard a lotta different things, but… I wanna figure this out.”

Taeyong bites his lower lip to stifle a smile; it doesn’t quite work. It’s a pretty cute look on him. For all his older-brother charm, there’s something sweet and puppy-like about Taeyong.

Not that Mark has any idea how old Taeyong is, really. Or any of the genies he’s met. Jaehyun had said something about centuries, didn’t he?

“It’s going to seem deceptively simple,” Taeyong warns.

Mark returns the smile, shrugging one shoulder. “Yeah, well - maybe simple is what I need.”

“That’s the spirit,” Taeyong says, “because I think your inner perfectionist needs to take a step back. The writer in you is getting in the way of the lover in you - or, at least, making this a headache for you.”

“The inner lover in me,” Mark can’t stop the wide grin on his face, and Taeyong giggles.

“Not the best phrasing, maybe,” he admits, “but I mean it. You’re going to worry yourself in circles wanting this one moment - this confession - to be perfect. Instead of thinking about it as the end goal, think about it as a beginning.”

A beginning, huh. Somehow, that sounds… right.

For all the time Mark’s spent agonizing about finding the right time, the right words, the right way to confess, that’s always been as far as he has dreamed. Maybe it’s because he can’t fathom what Donghyuck’s response might be - but Taeyong has a point. A confession is only the beginning.

And he’ll never even get to have a beginning with Donghyuck if he doesn’t act on his feelings.

“Okay,” Mark says slowly. The little flare under his ribs is growing, filling his chest with warmth - with hope. “Okay. Gotta just let go of making it perfect and… see what happens?”

Taeyong nods encouragingly, necklaces jangling together as he moves. “See what happens. You won’t know until you’re honest with yourself - and with him.”

For some reason, with Taeyong talking him through it, the prospect doesn’t seem too daunting. Mark grins. “You know, you’re pretty good at the advice thing, for a guy who usually grants wishes.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Taeyong smiles - though from the way Taeyong leans backwards on his hands and shakes his head, Mark gets the sense that he’s done this many times before, too. “Sometimes it feels like I have 22 younger brothers, and they all need help with something.”

“I think I’ve probably met a few of them,” Mark replies. “Nothin’ wrong with needing a little help and advice though, right?”

Taeyong’s smile is as bright as the sun glinting off his jewels. “Nothing at all, Mark Lee. Nothing at all.”

- 🔮 -

When Taeyong leaves - in a shimmering burst of light and glitter, grinning and waving all the while - Mark puts all his spell components away, one by one. He opens the creaky window, a faint breeze clearing the stuffy room. Mark’s already finding it easier to breathe - though he’s pretty sure it has nothing to do with cracking the window.

Maybe some fresh air isn’t a bad idea.

“Let’s do this,” Mark nods to himself, resolute.

He pockets his phone without looking at it, swiping a pen and dog-eared notebook off his desk before throwing on a light hoodie. Before he can question himself, Mark shoves his feet into his favorite beat-up Converse and grabs his keys off the hook by the door.

Fresh air. He’s taken walks to clear his mind before, a tried and true strategy for novel-writing blues. Maybe getting out of the apartment for a little bit and stretching his legs will help him get through the mental block he has with this confession business.

Because he’s gotta get through it. Mark’s tired of wishing, and wishing that things were different. If he wants something to change, he’s gotta do it himself.

He nearly trips down the flights of stairs in his haste, spurred on by the hot flame of determination in his chest. Because Taeyong’s right, and Doyoung and Jaehyun were right, and Xiaojun and Jaemin and Shotaro were right -

Mark doesn’t have to wait for the right moment, his words don’t have to be perfect - they don’t even have to be good. His confession just needs to be the truth of what he feels, and whatever happens after that, it’s gonna be okay.

And it will be okay, no matter what Donghyuck says - or feels - in return. Mark has to believe that.

He squints in the midday sun as he steps out onto the sidewalk, filling his lungs with a deep breath of air. It’s still summer-humid outside, but there’s a faint breeze that trails through his hair. Before he can think too hard about it, he turns in the direction of the nearest park. Mark has a few hours before Donghyuck will return home; it should be plenty of time to see where his feet take him and get some ideas on paper.

Yeah - maybe it’s the author in him, but he still wants to jot at least a few things down, at least see where it takes him. Maybe it’s just that hard to let go of the inner perfectionist. But Mark’s gonna try. Even if he doesn’t love what he writes today, he feels resolute in finally confessing.

After all, it’s Donghyuck he loves. And Mark will be damned if he keeps letting his errant perfectionist streak win out against love.

So it’s with a skip in his step that he makes for the park, and then wanders through the dappled, tree-lined paths. It’s close to midday, and plenty of other people have had the same idea as him - joggers and people walking their dogs, parents pushing strollers and office workers on coffee breaks. For someone who usually works alone, often cooped up at home, it’s a nice change of pace.

Well, he’s not alone-alone all the time. Donghyuck is all the company Mark really needs.

Mark walks until he finds a quiet bench with less foot traffic, overlooking one of the wide, grassy lawns. He leans back with a contented sigh, stretching his legs as he digs his little notebook and pen out of his shorts pocket. No time the present, right? He has to start somewhere.

He clicks his pen a few times, nervous. He can already feel the tension locking his spine and tries to force himself to relax. First draft, he tells himself. If Donghyuck were here right now, what would Mark want to say to him?

Mark bites his lower lip, and presses the tip of his pen to the top of the page.

What I Wish I Could Say, he writes.

Somehow, miraculously, the words flow.

It’s been so many years together that I can’t imagine my life without you. Maybe that’s why it has been so hard to find the words to confess; you’re my best friend. I don’t want to lose you.

But I have to be honest: I want ‘us’ to mean more than roommates. More than best friends. I want more - I want it all. And to have it all with you is worth baring my heart and taking the risk.

Loving you is worth the risk. I wish I could have told you sooner.

And after that - he just keeps writing. And writing.

Not all of it’s good - Mark’s sure he writes in circles and repeats himself more than once, but it feels good to leave it all on the page. It’s like the act of writing by hand is leaching the thoughts out of his brain and depositing them on paper, leaving his mind swept clear and clean and - and settled in a way Mark hasn’t felt in a long time.

He might not use any of this when he actually confesses - it’s a brain dump as much as it is confession material - but he needed this. And hey, some of it isn’t half-bad.

More than anything, it’s a start. And that’s what Mark needs more than perfection.

When he looks up from his writing fugue state, it’s hard to tell how much time has passed. The park looks more or less the same in the bright afternoon sunlight, maybe with fewer clouds obscuring the blue sky.

Mark smiles, pocketing his pen and flipping his notebook closed. Is it weird that he feels lighter? Like it’s somehow easier to breathe? He stands and stretches, shaking out his legs and inhaling deep. It feels like he’s crossed some kind of threshold.

He finally has words on the page. Mark still has to confess, but this feels like actual progress - more progress than just asking for advice.

Maybe there’s still time for an actual walk through the park, too.

Notebook tucked away, Mark heads off along the path, under the canopy of trees. He lets his mind wander as much as his feet, glad to be free of some of the knotted tension in his shoulders. When was the last time he actually felt relaxed - or even went on a walk, besides to run errands around the block? He’s gotta do this more often.

When the paved path opens up to a sunny clearing with an empty playground, Mark doesn’t even hesitate. He doesn’t want to go home to his stuffy apartment just yet, even if it is empty. He’ll swing a little bit, he decides, since there’s no one else here.

It’s what Donghyuck would do.

The dark plastic is warm when Mark sits, holding onto the chains as he does. Maybe they can come back here together sometime, take a walk and then grab some bingsu or ice cream if the playground isn’t empty.

Mark closes his eyes and tips his head back - enjoying the gentle sway of the swing underneath him, the easy rock of his feet back and forth, barely touching the ground. He takes a deep breath through his nose, letting his mind clear, feeling the sun and wind on his face.

The only thing that would make this moment better is if Donghyuck was at his side. But Mark knows better, now, than to wish for it. Because -

“Hey.”

Mark’s eyes flutter open.

It’s Donghyuck. Of course it is; there’s no one else whose voice induces the same heart-tripping, face-flushing breathlessness in Mark with just a single word. He looks almost as surprised to see Mark out here on the swings as Mark is to see him, striding off the main path and onto the grass that surrounds the playground.

“Donghyuck - hey,” Mark replies, skidding his feet in the dirt to bring his swinging to a stop. “How did you find me?”

Wow. The warmth of the sun has nothing on the heat that Donghyuck’s smile lights under Mark’s ribs. It shouldn’t take Mark by surprise every time it happens - but it does.

Donghyuck rolls his eyes even as he grins. “How do you think? I walk home this way sometimes, you know. Today we just happened to choose the same path.”

Mark smiles back as Donghyuck slides his bag off his shoulder and deposits it in a grassy patch. The little notebook with its three pages of words burns a hole in Mark’s pocket, but if Donghyuck notices anything off about him, he doesn’t mention it. He just drops into the empty swing at Mark’s side, gripping the chains on either side with both hands as he starts to ease his feet back and forth.

“The real question is,” Donghyuck continues, eyebrows raised, “why are you out here? Shouldn’t you be working on your novel, holed up in front of the computer like a hermit?”

“Hey now,” Mark huffs, but he can’t deny it. He licks his lips, averting his gaze to the scuffled-up rubber toes of his shoes. “I just had a lot on my mind, I guess, and wanted to get out.”

“Mmm,” Donghyuck hums thoughtfully, tipping his head to the side. “Like what?”

Well, it’s now or never.

Mark swallows past the lump in his throat and looks up to meet Donghyuck’s eyes. “Like, uh. Like you.”

“Oh, yeah?” As always, Donghyuck is quick to raise an eyebrow, a smirk on his lips. “You miss me that much, do you?”

“Of course I do,” Mark says. He plants his feet flat on the packed dirt and holds Donghyuck’s stare, feeling the flush starting to creep into his cheeks. “I miss you when you run to the convenience store for snacks. I miss you whenever you’re not around. Dude, I’m - I’m kind of in love with you.”

Donghyuck blinks, mouth dropping open in a soft oh of surprise. Mark’s stomach flip-flops and it feels like his heart is trying to hammer its way out of his chest.

But - but he did it. He said it. After all this time.

And it was… easy. Freeing, to just let the words go, to finally open his mouth and say them after keeping them pent in. No need to come up with some grand gesture, or memorize choreography, or even use the notes he’d made. His draft was there in case he needed it, but it turns out he didn’t.

His heart knew what he needed to say even when Mark’s brain didn’t.

Mark watches Donghyuck’s expression as his mouth softly closes and he clears his throat. His eyes don’t leave Mark’s, and a split second before Donghyuck starts to speak, Mark recognizes the playful glimmer in his eyes.

“Dude?” Donghyuck repeats, breaking into a beaming smile. “Kind of?”

“Fine - completely! Stupidly!” Mark throws his hands into the air, only to let them drop into his lap. It’s very Donghyuck to call him on using the word dude in a confession, but… “I’m just - really. In love with you.”

Donghyuck’s smile softens and he glances away, eyes downcast. His lashes cast shadows across his cheeks, and - and is he starting to blush, too? “I knew those weren’t Best Friend sunflowers.”

“Not my, uh. Not my best move,” Mark admits, rubbing a hand at the back of his head.

Donghyuck scoffs, leaning over to nudge Mark in the side with his elbow.

“Shut up, I loved them,” he says, and then pauses, licking his lips, “but you really weren’t being very clear.”

“I know,” Mark groans, pressing his hands to his face. He peeks out through his fingers at Donghyuck, brow furrowing and stomach clenching. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed - are you, uh. Are you gonna leave me hangin’?”

Donghyuck is quiet for a moment, lips pursed as he watches Mark, assessing. But Mark can already spot the tell-tale twitch at the corner of his mouth that belies Donghyuck’s amusement.

“Stupidly in love is right,” he finally says, standing from his seat on the swing to loom over Mark with his hands on his hips, “if you didn’t figure out this.”

Mark doesn’t have any time to react before Donghyuck reaches out to cup his face with both hands and pulls him in for a kiss.

Oh.

Donghyuck’s lips are soft and plush against his, a gentle press despite Donghyuck’s bravado. He makes a soft noise in his throat when Mark’s brain finally catches up and he starts to kiss back, tentative at first but growing bolder. Mark leans forward, the swing chains fisted in each hand to keep his balance as they kiss, and kiss, and kiss.

This is everything Mark has imagined and more. Not that he imagined their first kiss to be on the swings in a quiet playground, but still. Their knees knock together, and he can feel the graze of Donghyuck’s nose against his cheek, smell the roasted-coffee scent from his day in the cafe, and -

And it’s perfect.

They part for air and Mark feels like he’s run miles. Blinking up at Donghyuck is like staring into the sun, but they’re both grinning ridiculously at each other, flushed to their ear and lips kiss-swollen already.

“I’ve been in love with you for ages,” Donghyuck says, letting go of Mark’s face to cover his hands on the swing’s chains with his own. “I thought you didn’t feel the same, and that’s why you didn’t ever say anything. That’s before you started acting even weirder, though. Lucky for you, I like you no matter how weird you are.”

Mark smiles wryly. “Yeah, well. I thought I was being crazy obvious. And then I was so caught up in trying to figure out how to confess to you that it took way longer than it should have. Ask literally anybody we know.”

“Oh yeah?” Donghyuck quirks an eyebrow. “Did you ask all our friends for advice about confessing?”

“Something like that,” Mark laughs, and the only warning he gets before Donghyuck swoops in again is a quickly-muttered cute.

“For the record,” Donghyuck says once they’ve separated, wiping at his wet lower lip with his thumb in a way Mark knows is gonna get stuck in his brain, “that was a pretty good confession. Dude aside, of course -”

“You’re literally never going to let me forget that, will you?”

“- it was a very Mark Lee confession. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”

“Yeah?” Mark squints up at Donghyuck, grinning. “You only say that because you haven’t seen my crazy pages of notes I made about what I wanted to say to you.”

Donghyuck gasps, batting his eyelashes. “You made crazy pages of author notes? About me?”

“I’m an author,” Mark doesn’t resist rolling his eyes, now. “I always have a lot of things to say about you.”

“And now you can say them,” Donghyuck tilts his head, eyes sparkling in that mischievous way of his. “Though I don’t think talking is all we’re gonna be doing tonight.”

Mark’s cheeks burn. “Donghyuck, please.”

“Like you don’t want to kiss me, too.” Donghyuck just laughs, leaning down to peck Mark noisily on the cheek - because he can, Mark realizes with a happy swoop of his stomach. It’s exactly what he’s wished for - a seamless weave of their teasing and friendship with something more.

Something theirs.

“C’mon,” Donghyuck smiles, tangling their fingers and tugging Mark up to standing. He lets their hands swing between them as they start to walk, and - god, Mark loves him so much. “Let’s go home.”

Home. Mark grins, letting Donghyuck pull him away from the playground and down the path into the trees. Donghyuck looks over his shoulder and shoots Mark that private, fond, just-for-Mark smile.

And that, Mark thinks, is real magic.

No wishing necessary.