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Snoopy’s colourless eyes come alive the longer Jungwoo stares at the calendar, and what was once a carefree puppy’s happy gaze amidst March blossoms starts to feel judgemental with each minute that passes. Who can say how long Jungwoo has been standing in the kitchen glowering at the bright red circle around tomorrow’s date - March 3rd, annotated with Jungwoo’s own neat script.
‘Love At First Sight 3rd Anniversary’
It’s stupid, really. It’s not like he even believes in love at first sight.
Love at first sight is ridiculous. Even a romantic like Jungwoo can admit it, there’s something downright implausible about claiming to look at someone and know they’re the one for you. It sounds nice, though, for dramatic flair. But it doesn’t ring true. Not when his first impression of his true love was of a wide-eyed and clueless freshman, staring up at the lecture hall with his hands squeezing the straps of his massive backpack until his knuckles went white.
Campus was big, Seoul was bigger, and in the shadow of the hall the freshman looked as if he felt alone against the world.
Backpack Boy, his brain dubbed the guy, and after a few moments of standing behind him… Jungwoo’s filter broke.
“That’s a big backpack,” Jungwoo blurted out, and the freshman startled like a cat whose tail was being pulled. But he didn’t look over to Jungwoo, still lost in some moment of reflection.
“Uh, thanks?” The guy replied, still craning his neck to look up at the roof of the lecture hall. He remembers noting the cute accent, a little foreign.
Jungwoo had, in a moment of sheer genius and originality, proceeded to ask, “Are you lost? You look lost.”
“Nah. Well, maybe like - uh, what’s the word… metaphorically, or something, isn’t everyone? But ‘Lecture Hall A’ is right where I’m supposed to be. Physically,” Backpack Boy shuffled his feet, and added in a cute little mutter, “I think…”
“Huh,” Jungwoo blinked, unsure if he was joking or serious. Or if Backpack Boy was high or just a philosophy major. “Well, ‘this is lecture hall A’, alright. And I’ve gotta get to the b block. Good luck, Backpack Boy.” Jungwoo smiled and shook his head as he started walking backwards, still a little transfixed by the strange energy of the encounter. “Don’t ask me why, I just feel like you’ll need it.”
And when Backpack Boy turned to face him, well, after that there might have been a bit of infatuation with his pretty cheekbones and shy smile, the way he was full of nervous giggles that slipped out at the slightest provocation. The way his brows furrowed as he searched for a word he couldn’t find. But it wasn’t love. Not yet.
(“It was for me, I think. At least a little bit,” Mark had said, a year after they met. Lounging on their bed, Mark’s voice was sleepy-raspy and his hair was all in his eyes. Jungwoo remembered tracing the line of his jaw as he spoke, wondering how he ever got so lucky. “You just, like. Knew. That I needed the luck, somehow? Like magic. Magic pixie dream boy. And I loved the idea of that, I guess. The idea of you.”)
“Thank you?” Backpack Boy called out after Jungwoo, lifting a hand from the straps of his backpack to give a cute little wave.
When Jungwoo tells the story, he always says it was love at first laugh, but he didn’t mean the nervous giggle that bubbled out of him as Jungwoo walked away. He means a different laugh. That laugh.
Of course he knew he was going to fall in love from the first time he witnessed that laugh. The big one, the real one, the one that had Mark doubling over, clutching his stomach and shaking. It was only two weeks into the semester, and there had been a strange smell coming from the cafeteria, and Jungwoo made the most ridiculous expression of disgust he could muster. Not a joke, not a barb, just a sour face was enough to make Mark laugh like a manic hyena. Jungwoo loved his laugh long before he came to know his mind, which he loves even more - if such a thing is possible.
Jungwoo sighs. His grip tightens around the phone in his hand. The soft click of his phone waking up, settled safely on his Snoopy lockscreen. Jungwoo doesn’t unlock it. Even if the thought of scrolling twitter is appealing, his heart can’t take the couple selfie set as his homescreen right now. Mark and that smile that makes his nose crinkle would be staring out at him instead of a sleepy cartoon beagle and the time.
3:38pm
That’s four hours and thirty two minutes until Mark’s morning alarm will blast out of his phone from under the crisp hotel pillow Jungwoo wishes he was laying his head on. Which is a perfectly normal thing to think, Jungwoo reassures himself. He’s allowed to miss his boyfriend while he’s off gallivanting all around the world. And for the most part, he’s barely had time.
When Mark left, he’d been elbow deep in exam season. And now… well, his desk still calls, with all of its colour-coded binders, not to mention the glimmer of the shiny star-themed stickers Mark sent him from his layover in Tokyo sitting there unopened, begging to be stuck on something. Textbooks for the impending school year sit stacked neatly, ready to be picked through. But there are no more deadlines hanging over his head, formulae for thermodynamics and the schematics of a hundred famous bridges and numbers swirling so fast he could barely keep up with himself.
Nothing but space to breathe, rest and ruminate on the absence of his person. The first holiday since their ‘love at first sight’ that Jungwoo hasn’t spent with Mark.
He sighs, out loud to nothing and no one, and pockets his phone.
The desk calls, yeah. But the couch calls louder. Jungwoo flops down onto the soft cord-like fabric, the soft blue he’d picked in Ikea with Mark, feeling the colourful throw pillows they’d stacked their cart with squish under his weight.
The most mundane places could be a wonderland if the two of them are together. Jungwoo suspects it might just be Mark’s magic, but Mark always insists that it’s a magic of mutualism. A special symmetry, a space between them, made of them.
Cheek slowly squishing into the cushion, Jungwoo blindly gropes around for the tv remote and gets Netflix up. A minefield of half-watched shows waiting for Mark to continue them and movies they’d reserved for future dates, one half-watched from last week’s virtual date, which mostly consisted of listening to Mark’s sleepy musings and watch him fight sleep just to exist awake in little video-boxes next to each other, together. Even the sprawl of science-fiction shows that hovers just under their ‘continue watching’ section is all Mark, filling Jungwoo with dreams of Mark’s books on the big screen and wanting to see the way his face lights up when he’s captivated by someone else’s vision of the universe.
He drops the remote on the couch with a sigh and grabs his phone instead. Mark’s face stares up from the phone, and he can no longer see a reason not to reach out across oceans and continents and space and time just to say hello. Selfish, maybe, but it’ll make the ache less, just knowing his words will be waiting there when Mark wakes up.
Jungwoo: ‘ Good morning for when you wake up! ’
Jungwoo switches over to his English keyboard, eager to get in some practice outside of the religious ritual of daily duo lingo and flash-card apps. He dreams, idly, of coming on Mark’s next book tour with him and confidently ordering at restaurants; of mastering the art of making his boyfriend laugh in two languages.
Jungwoo: ‘I’m watching netflix but there is nobody :( To :( Chill :( Netflix and no chill. So sad ;) ’
There’s a ‘love you, miss you’ quickly backspaced, as he trades his phone for the remote again. In the end he gets halfway through a romcom, watches two episodes of an anime and spends a good forty minutes mindlessly flicking through the streaming service void. Until he lands upon a particular mushroom documentary their neighbour Taeyong hasn’t been able to shut up about. Watching it will give him the perfect excuse to wheedle his way into being invited for dinner, and any excuse to eat Doyoung’s cooking sounds like a good one.
And it’s interesting, it really is! It isn’t the mushroom’s fault he drifts off into sleep, thinking about how much Mark would love learning about the mushroom’s network of roots, kind of like telepathy, or the internet. The little real magics of the world, the light it brought to those curious eyes.
One more week, one more week and the month-and-a-half tour will be over. He’ll be able to see those twinkling eyes for himself, boop Mark’s nose when he scrunches it, so cute. Not so bad, right? Not so bad…
He dozes to the steady sound of the documentary’s narrator, half-dreams running in the back of his mind - sweet things that make him smile, but slip by when he tries to reach and remember.
He does, eventually, wake up and make himself dinner. Flip through some textbooks, trying to prepare himself for the year ahead and stop sighing like a tragic damsel from an old movie, black-and-white with a smooth jazz soundtrack. He’d coped so well for the first month of Mark’s absence, but the closer homecoming came the louder the worst of it got, the constant ticking of a too loud clock. But as the night wears on, the frustration turns slowly into anticipation, for the moment he’ll feel the vibrations in the pocket of his hoodie.
And when it does, there’s no feeling like it. The clock stops, and the world falls out of careful balance and into bliss.
“Hey baby,” Mark’s morning rasp is heaven, and the ‘baby’ sends a thrill through Jungwoo, a little electric tingle in his tummy. Even through the tinny phone speakers it feels like a touch of magic, like Mark could call him slimy mashed potato in that voice and get the same reaction.
“Markie~ Good morning.” Jungwoo snuggles further into Mark’s spot on their couch, curling up like a stray cat on a sun-warmed pillow. Staring at Mark’s profile picture, mouth stuffed with watermelon and smiling with his eyes, he imagines the sun streaming in through the hotel window in Toronto and the shadow of stubble on Mark’s face. He almost asks to switch to video there and then, but there must be a reason Mark didn’t video call to begin with. He gets so self-conscious sometimes, and Jungwoo understands.
Besides, the only light reaching Jungwoo is a slither of streetlight through the crack in the blinds, and the soft glow of the lamplight on the coffee table. But it’s enough to show the dark circles under his eyes, and late nights pouring over assignments and dissertations spelled out on his skin - so maybe it’s for the best that they’re left with the sound of each other’s voices.
“Mm,” Mark huffs into the phone, sleepy. Cute. “It is now. Missed your voice…”
The sleepy admission has Jungwoo’s heartbeat speeding up, but not even the shock of it could make him hesitate.
“I missed your voice too,” Jungwoo says without missing a beat. Saying he misses his boyfriend unprompted makes him feel too needy, insecure - but echoing the feeling is easy as breathing, with all the longing that bubbles up inside him while Mark is away. “Today it got so bad I called our landline just to hear you on the answering machine.”
Mark laughs, but it’s not mean spirited, because he’s honestly not capable of that. It’s ripples of delight in soundwave form.
He could have used that a few hours ago, when he was aching with loneliness. Jungwoo flashes back to lying face down on the sofa earlier in the day, pressing redial and waiting for their home phone to ring out.
(“Hello you’ve reached Mark- “
“Woo!” Jungwoo stage whispers, “That’s our couple name.”
“Haha, oh my god, stop it,” It’s Mark’s giggle, precious and muffled by his hand. He had every chance to restart the recording, but instead he had beamed up at Jungwoo, “Alright take two, let’s get it. Hey this is Mark and-”
“Jungwoo! If you have a message for one of us-”
“-You know what to do, yo. Alriiiight.”
The message cuts out at the start of a fit of laughter from both of them, one that Jungwoo remembers left them doubling over with their arms around each others shoulders.)
“I’m not kidding,” Jungwoo grumbles over the giggles.
“I know,” Mark almost melts him with the fondness, not an ounce of judgement. He chuckles, a little sheepish. “I actually like. Recorded it. Cause I figured, you know, like why do we even have a landline any more, though? Do we get any calls that aren’t from robots? If we cancel it then that piece of our history would be gone forever,” Mark muses through the phone, in that tone he uses when he’s tangled somewhere between thoughts and dreams.
“There’s your next book idea, babe. The stories lost with the destruction of the analogue world. Or like, a robot call centre factory from a robot’s perspective. Oh my god, I’m such a genius,” Jungwoo proclaims in his silliest voice. Stupidity usually works, to bring Mark back down to Earth when he can’t go join him in the stars, when his feet need to be on the ground. (Which they do, Jungwoo has the spreadsheet of his schedule memorised and today he’s got a talk show interview.)
“You are a genius though,” Mark insists, and Jungwoo can hear how hard he’s trying not to laugh just to prove his sincerity.
Because he does, misguidedly, delusionally, believe Jungwoo is a genius. It’s kind of ridiculous actually, how he can’t see his own genius and artistry but seems to think Jungwoo hung the fucking moon - sometimes it makes him a little nauseous - like he’s the centre of a conspiracy, like one day Mark will find out his hanging of the moon was staged in the middle of the American desert and he’s actually a complete fraud, never came anywhere the moon. Certainly never hung it in the sky. Definitely, absolutely is not a genius.
“No but like, I mean it,” Mark says, sounding less in the clouds. In the background of the call a door slams, and Jungwoo makes out the whinny of an engine starting.“I keep thinking about all the shit from college we just threw away, you know like, all the history. All the moments that we’re just gonna forget in the end. And it’d make a good book, yeah. But more than anything I just wanna make more memories with you, and find a way to keep ‘em.”
Jungwoo isn’t quite sure what Mark means, but he knows if he waits, he will. Because Mark is, definitely a genius. His mind a beautiful mechanism, a system of solar systems. So much spinning and turning, stars burning and birthing, sometimes it takes awhile for Mark’s mouth to catch up with it all - and other times it takes Jungwoo awhile to put what he’s saying together. But if Mark is one thing, it’s capable, capable of anything. Jungwoo didn’t always know that of course, or about the genius thing. He hides it pretty well the way he changes, adapts to his setting. His mannerisms, cute and awkward, and frankly a stupid amount of humility. It’s not the kind of thing someone can pick up on just from encountering him, you can’t just see the universes behind his eyes by looking.
He has to show you.
Jungwoo knows he’s one of the luckiest people alive. He’s had the full experience of Mark’s walls coming down and galaxies inside of him lighting up the room, the world. He has the privilege of watching Mark’s process, the way he weaves thoughts and feelings together into something magnificent. Sometimes a struggle, others smooth sailing; sometimes a wild ride and other times mundane, putting one word in front of the other. To watch him work, to help bounce his ideas and hear all the little details that slip through the cracks. To get to hold him and listen to everything, to fall asleep to the scribbles of his lucky pen on paper, to coax him to sleep after one too many late nights, to hold his hand while he’s lost in thought. Jungwoo can’t believe the life he gets to lead. Loving Mark is like having one foot in another world, and a better lens to see the beauty of the ‘normal’ one they’re anchored in.
Jungwoo remembers staying awake, fighting bloodshot eyes and awareness of the time in the right hand corner of his laptop, fighting to stay awake just to get to the end of the manuscript. He knows readers get the tapestry, the curated glimpse into Mark from the words he puts to page, the far-off worlds that live in his mind. The planets, the people, the lyrical prose of it all. Every person who reads his books is lucky to behold something that beautiful.
But Jungwoo, Jungwoo gets Mark. Mark gets Jungwoo. They’ve got each other.
So Jungwoo says, “We’ll make all the memories. And you know, we still have a lot from the dorm. More than you think. ”
He thinks to the box at the bottom of the closet, the fraying cardboard with remnants of ripped off packing tape. The small army of cats with knives drawn in permanent marker from when Ten-hyung came with Johnny to ‘help’ them move. How can a year ago feel like a million years, ancient history? Is this just getting older?
“I kept all the poems you used to write in my margins.” Jungwoo admits, colour flooding his cheeks. He’s all of a sudden glad they’re not on video. “Cut them all out and put them in a scrapbook, actually. I don’t really know why I never told you, but if you ever want to see them, they’re here.”
A white lie, or a half truth. Jungwoo might not know for sure why he never told Mark, but he suspects. The nagging fear in the back of his mind, one that keeps him up at night. The fear of loving so much that it frightens, that is smothers, that it would send Mark running for the hills.
The crackle of bad connection and the distant honking of horns from Canadian streets was the only sound for a good few beats, but Jungwoo doesn’t rush to fill the space. He’s come to like the silence, as much as it is the enemy of the anxious. With Mark, he knows it’s the prelude to well-thought out words. Silence is the space in which they form, and it’s always worth the wait.
“That…” Mark starts, soft and sheepish. The tone is enough to light up Jungwoo’s face with a smile. “That makes me so happy. I guess, that we both kept stuff just because… because of us. You know I brought the backpack with me, right? Like, it’s stupid practical and fits so much stuff but keep having to duct tape up a hole in the side. Yuta keeps telling me I need a new backpack, but I… when I pull on the straps I hear your voice. I’m remember I’m backpack boy. Your backpack boy.”
Mark rambles, and Jungwoo can hear his face reddening. He cherishes the mental image of Mark in the backseat of a hire car with flushed cheeks and the phone held close to his ear, voice dreamy and quiet.
“My backpack boy,” Jungwoo coos, smiling - smiling so much his cheeks are starting to hurt more than the ache in his chest. “So cute how you used to pretend to hate it when my friends called you that.”
“Yeah, well. It was different when they said it. Like they were making fun of you,” Mark says, a little grumble. His head hits what Jungwoo imagines is the car window with a soft thud.
“They were making fun of me, Markie,” Jungwoo giggles, “For having such a massive crush on you, when all I knew about you was that you had a giant backpack. Backpack boy this, backpack boy that, I drove Ten-hyung so crazy.”
Not that Ten had any grounds to stand on when it came to making fun of Jungwoo’s motives for volunteering to help out at International Student Association meetings, when he himself had joined for a certain Vice President Suh.
“And you keep saying it wasn’t love at first sight,” Mark teases, “Are you sure about that?”
Danger, Jungwoo thinks, there’s every danger those words will lead Mark back to the words around tomorrow’s circled date on the calendar and make everything hurt a little more. So he puts on his best impression of a stuffy lawyer (which may or may not sound more like Doyoung than anything else) and clears his throat.
“I’m sorry, Kim Jungwoo is not taking questions at this time.”
Mark laughs, and it’s the sound of home. Jungwoo’s fingers tighten around his phone.
“Bestselling author Mark Lee is taking questions though, isn’t he? I hope they ask you lots of fun ones this time,” Jungwoo says, already daydreaming of getting to watch him charm the interviewers in that way of his, earnest and sweet.
It isn’t even surreal, watching Mark’s interviews. Despite the way he gets a little camera-shy, the essence of Mark always shines through the screen. Like he was meant to be there, speaking his heart and sharing his art with the world.
It’s not until Mark speaks again that Jungwoo realises he had a long silence with which to daydream.
“Huh? What are… Ohhhh, yeah! The interview. Yeah, uh, I’m on my way to that right now. I’m actually pretty excited about it. Feelin’ buzzed,” Mark’s voice comes through the phone, all of a sudden jittery in a way that’s more than nervous.
Jungwoo’s eyes flutter closed as he smiles. Always such a terrible liar.
“Really? I thought you didn’t like breakfast show interviews?” Jungwoo asks, pulling at the little loose thread.
“Well, yeah, but like, the publicity is good. Even if they ask boring questions. Yuta wouldn’t book them if they weren’t important, y’know?” Mark laughs an awkward laugh, and it’s not hard to imagine him scratching the back of his neck like he always does when he gets squirmy.
He knows how it goes by now, the more Jungwoo prods the more Mark unravels until the truth comes spilling out in a rush of words that come out even faster than his panicked little cover ups. He lifts the phone from his ear to check Mark’s schedule, and sure enough Yuta’s email is attached to the event.
“Oh~Yuta~ Hihi! He’s in the car with you, right? Tell him hi from me!”
“Fu- uh, no he’s uh… uh, he’s doing other like… literary agent stuff? Somewhere else…?” The intonation of the question is more like a squeak, followed by a defeated sigh. “God, you totally know something is up…”
“Totally! But, I also know you’d tell me about it if I needed to know. I trust you.” Jungwoo knows how innocent he sounds, contrary to the smugness in his smile.
“That’s even worse!” Mark groans, the start of his sentence muffled by what Jungwoo guesses to be a hand covering half his face. “You know that’s even worse than asking what’s up! You’re so evil.”
“You love me,” Jungwoo says, softly. The confidence in it surprises him, just how sure he is of Mark’s feelings.
And his conviction is matched.
“I do. So much, baby. To the moon and the sun, all around the galaxy and back, and then some. But I gotta go. I’m almost there.”
Mark never misses a beat in their rhythm, or a shift in tone. He’s tender, but so utterly sure. Rubbing his eyes, Jungwoo tries so very hard to will the tears away.
“At the ‘interview’?” He teases, met with another nervous laugh.
“Yup,” Mark pops the ‘p’, right alongside the sound of a car door opening.
“Alrighty. Well, good luck. Remember, I love you too.” It still feels warm and fuzzy to say, coupled with a childlike glee when he adds, “To infinity and back.”
“Hey!” Mark is pouting, Jungwoo hears it as clear as he can hear cars whir past him in the streets. “That’s cheating, I can’t top infinity - there’s nothing more than that. Damn, look, okay - this isn’t over. Talk to you soon, okay? Night night.”
“Have a good day! Bye-bye,” Jungwoo singsongs, and makes obnoxious kissy noises into the microphone until he’s met with a beep.
These nightly conversations, he knows it’s a cliche but they’re like a sunburst. The clouds part, and everything is bright and warm. So warm and pleasant, he feels himself sinking further into the pillows as his eyes begin to close. The memory of Mark’s voice is fresh, playing through his mind like a song on repeat.
Maybe, he thinks, he can make it a week. Maybe he could make it a month, years, decades even. Forever if it meant knowing a love like this, something so real. Something so honest and good.
“I love you to infinity and beyond. Haha!” Mark says, yells - more like.
Jungwoo knows deep down that the correct response is obviously ‘ okay, Buzz Lightyear ’ like a truth of his goddamn soul, but that thought is thrown out the window the moment he realises he didn’t hear it in his mind. His eyes shoot open and he sits up so fast he gets a little dizzy, and sure enough-
Mark’s in the kitchen, smiling like he never left.
Grinning, triumphant, one hand on the strap of his backpack and the other one resting on the handle of the suitcase. The look on Jungwoo’s face must be priceless, because Mark scrunches his nose in the cutest way.
Before he can blink away the gathering tears, Jungwoo is running. Socks sliding against the floorboards to the point he nearly trips over his own feet trying to wrap himself around Mark as fast as possible. Chest to chest he feels the rumble of Mark’s laugh as he hears it and tries to pull him closer, as if it were possible. One of his legs is curled around one Mark’s, his arms wind tight around Mark’s waist and his eyelashes tickle the skin of Mark’s neck, hot tears smearing against his boyfriend’s skin.
“Now I’m home,” Mark murmurs, a low hum in his throat. He slips his arms around Jungwoo’s neck, and Jungwoo chokes back a strangled noise.
“I missed you so much,” Mark says, his fingers tangling in Jungwoo’s hair. The light pull is perfect, wanting to be closer even though it isn’t possible. Not with their clothes on, not standing in the kitchen.
Glee bursts from Jungwoo in a giggle that sounds too close to a sob, trembling shoulders soothed by the sense of Mark finally home, home in his arms; flesh and blood, in the moment of stillness Jungwoo can feel his pulse fast against is forehead until Jungwoo is finally brave enough to lift his head.
“I missed you too, so much, so so much,” Jungwoo sniffles, watching Mark squeeze his eyes shut - trying so hard not to cry. The questions rush forth the moment Mark opens his eyes, glazed over and full of stories untold. “But how are you here? The interview- The podcast next week-“
“The interview got cancelled last week, actually. And Yuta pulled a few strings with the podcast so we’re doing that interview digitally now, you know how he is. I guess I complained about missing you too much,” Mark chuckles, cheeks darkening a little at the admission.
Not the whole story. Not a lie, but Mark’s modesty has a way of making things opaque. Jungwoo can already hear Yuta’s cackle as he explains the truth is closer to Mark asking if there was any way he could be home in time for their anniversary and making the suggestions himself. Jungwoo does indeed know how Yuta is, how he’d move mountains for Mark on a whim, because of a casual suggestion. But Jungwoo knows he asked for it from the way Mark purses his lips and looks away, and somehow he falls a little more in love.
There isn’t a way to quantify just how much Jungwoo wants to kiss him. Kiss his lips, nose, forehead, kiss right along his jawline, smoosh his lips into those cheeks, pepper little kisses on eyebags left by the long flight. Kiss the crown of his head, skin tickled by Mark’s disheveled hair sticking up all over the place. He holds off though, he waits. Just to savour the pretty expressions that flicker across his love’s beautiful face.
“You kept this a secret for a whole week? Ahh, I’m so proud of you! That’s the best you’ve ever done,” Jungwoo giggles, nuzzling his nose against Mark’s. “I didn’t even suspect anything until tonight.”
The pout is irresistible, something Mark wouldn’t be caught dead doing in front of their friends.
“How could you make fun of me after I flew all the way home just to see you,” Mark whines. Wide-eyes and pushed out lips, all this cuteness just for Jungwoo. He can’t help it, who could resist the temptation to kiss away the pout?
Cute, quick kisses; Mark’s lips are chapped and his lips move eager and sweet, always coming back for me. Better than any firework, it’s hot-chocolates and warm blankets, it’s the feeling of knowing he is exactly where he belongs.
“Aww, my poor baby. You probably want to go to sleep, huh? All that jet lag,” Jungwoo pulls back, heart jumping into his throat with the thrill of the way Mark’s lips chase his, parted and wanting. It never gets old, even when it’s easy.
“Well,” Mark has that look in his eye, a spark of mischief as his eyebrows rise in a way that is positively questionable and red-flag-esque to the untrained eye. “I mean sure, I’m tired but… your text got me thinking all about netflix and chill, y’know?”
Lucky Jungwoo has a degree in Markology. He never imagined he could know or love someone so much that a creepy eyebrow move would be sexy, but love makes you silly. Love makes you pine. Love fills you with bees and butterflies and blurs the line between anxiety and anticipation. Love, love shows you beauty where others couldn’t imagine its existence.
And sex appeal, where other’s would see the eyebrow slant of a serial killer.
“Perfect. Maybe we can even make it to midnight.” Jungwoo bats his eyelashes, grinning at Mark’s chuckle as they untangle enough to make it over to the couch.
Mark’s shoulders are snug against his arm, right here in Seoul instead of halfway across the world. Instead of a text at 12:01am, Jungwoo knows he’ll feel Mark’s lips touch the shell of his ear in a kiss, feel his heart melt in real time at the rasp of Mark’s voice when he says, “Happy anniversary, baby.”
“I’d like that,” Mark tilts his head just to smile at Jungwoo, all sweetness - the playful teasing replaced with pure tenderness, almost an innocence.
It hits him like a tidal wave, an awakening. Jungwoo fully understands the meaning of home is where the heart is, leaning his head against Mark’s, humming softly.
Not for the first time that night, he catches himself feeling certain. Not a feeling he’d ever known much of, not before loving Mark. But he’s sure, he’s so sure of this love, he knows it like he knows the mechanics of the universe, like he knows the earth orbits the sun. Faith based in facts, a logic mixed with love.
He still can’t bring himself to believe in love at first sight. It feels wrong to credit mysticism, fate or destiny with the life they’ve built together. Not when they’re two people who have chosen each other at every turn. Mark chose to stay in Seoul after landing his book deal, to move out with Jungwoo and make a home with him instead of returning to his family. Jungwoo chose to stay, through every struggle and bump in the road, through Mark dropping out of college, the long months of uncertainty and the distance that followed. Maybe, Jungwoo thinks, this is what love is. Always choosing each other, every step of the way.
The sentiments swirl restless inside him, and he hopes Mark can feel them in the kiss he presses to the crown of his head, and hear them in every word.
“Welcome home, love. It really wasn’t home without you here.”