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The elevator dings and slides open to an empty hallway: pale walls and bright lights, the floor squeaking under Donghyuck’s shoes as he walks across it. The contents in the plastic bag he’s holding shake and rumble and slide around, and it’s loud enough to drown out the hum of the heater and mumbled chatter from some studio rooms.
Or maybe it just sounds loud because it’s way too late. Donghyuck knows he should be back at the dorms. His eyes tell him he should be, too, because they feel heavy and if he shuts them, he would be out in the next minute. His phone tells him it’s a quarter past one in the morning - not too bad.
But time gets hazy and unimportant, and comebacks and practice and recording all roll by and form a knot that’s impossible to untangle, so Donghyuck doesn’t bother with it anymore. Time slips through his fingers like sand, and he should make the most out of it while he can.
It doesn’t matter if it’s one in the morning. It doesn’t matter that he has an early schedule tomorrow and has to be up at five. It doesn’t matter that he went to the twenty-four hour convenience store and bought a cheap meal and watermelon juice and the clerk gave him a strange look.
He twists the doorknob of the last studio down the line, the one tucked into the corner of the hallway, and what matters is this:
Mark Lee on the couch, drowning in an oversized hoodie, bruises under his eyes behind rimmed glasses and a small smile tugging at his lips. “Hey,”
Donghyuck can’t help returning a tiny smile, too. “Hey,” he echoes, nudging the door closed behind him with his foot. He sets the plastic bag down on the armrest, and Mark’s eyes follow it, catching interest.
“What’s that?”
“Dinner,” Donghyuck says. He sits down next to Mark and reaches into the bag. He pulls out some kimbap, places it in Mark’s lap. “I also got the watermelon juice you like.”
Mark lets out a quiet laugh, all raspy and full of breath. “Hyuck, it’s one am.”
“And you probably haven’t eaten yet. Have you?” Donghyuck continues. He crumples the plastic bag and leaves it aside, and hands Mark a pair of wooden chopsticks. “You need to take care of yourself, Hyung.”
Mark rips his chopsticks apart. “Says you,”
Eating is quiet. A comfortable silence - the closest to peace Donghyuck’s felt in a while. Silence comes in many forms these days: charged and crackling with heavy breaths and sweat on the hardwood of the practice rooms, bitter and self-deprecating when he messes up a line, a note, the producers’ eyes on him as they wait for him to try again.
But here, he feels like it all melts away, worries and stresses turning to dust under their feet. Like Donghyuck can finally breathe clearly, for once.
Then he glances at Mark - and something’s… off. Something’s eating away at the comfortable silence the more he looks at him, at the straight line of Mark’s tense shoulders, at his shaking hands. At Mark’s barely eaten food, the unopened juice.
“Mel,” Donghyuck nudges him with his elbow. Mark just takes it - doesn’t put up a defense and shove Donghyuck back or away. His upper frame sways with the light force, then he goes right back to sitting how he was.
Donghyuck narrows his eyes. “Mar,” he calls, and at this point he’ll cycle through all of Mark’s nicknames until he gets an answer.
It doesn’t look like he’ll get one, though. Mark’s eyes are set on something in front of him, but he isn’t looking at anything. A hollow stare - Donghyuck knows that look, and his heart twists. It’s been happening more and more lately.
Donghyuck places his food aside, prays it doesn’t slip between the cushions, and nudges Mark again - harder this time. “Mark,” he says, dropping the nicknames and formalities.
Mark blinks, shakes his head, blinks again, and then finally looks at Donghyuck. “Sorry,” he says, and it’s so, so quiet, barely above a whisper.
Donghyuck blinks back at him and sighs, hoping Mark doesn’t catch how shaky his breath sounds. “Stuck in your own head again?” he asks. He usually says this as a tease whenever he catches Mark zoning out, but here, it comes out concerned and a bit sad.
Mark inhales a deep breath, rolls his shoulders back, but they still stay tense, worried. “I’m just…” he starts, then stops. Donghyuck waits for him to collect his words - he knows Mark’s mind is racing a million miles an hour, and his tongue never seems to catch up.
“My solo, you know. I’m nervous.” He takes another deep breath, and it sounds unstable, like a million things are cracking and popping in his lungs. It makes Donghyuck’s stomach drop - those breaths sound like the beginning traces of a panic attack.
So Donghyuck does what he does best: giving physical affection. He moves Mark’s food off his lap so it isn’t at risk of spilling all over the place, and gently swings his legs over Mark’s hips, wraps his arms around his neck, making sure their bodies are fully pressed together.
A hug - Mark needs a lot of those nowadays. They both do, really. Working until they flatten themselves out enough to become roadkill, exhaustion heavy in their bones, a day or two of sleep not enough to make up for the constant go-go-go that was 2021.
Donghyuck sighs into Mark’s neck, gets a hint of a dulled out version of Mark’s cologne and shampoo. He can feel Mark’s pulse against his forehead - one, two, three, four, five - all going by in a single second, and he frowns.
Mark’s shoulders are still taut under Donghyuck’s arms, back rimrod straight. He lifts his head and looks at Mark, and Mark’s gaze is fixed somewhere behind his shoulder.
“Look at me, baby,”
It takes a few moments, but Mark slowly meets his gaze. It’s always been hard for him to look into Donghyuck’s eyes - and though they’ve been dating for months and it’s gotten better, easier, there are still moments where Mark falters.
“That’s it,” Donghyuck encourages softly. He takes Mark’s face in his hands, cradles it as gently as he possibly can. He swipes his thumbs under Mark’s eyes, over the purple smudges that will probably never go away. “Breathe with me, yeah?”
Mark nods the best he can with Donghyuck holding his head in place. Donghyuck starts, “Inhale,”
The breath Mark takes sounds like brittle. Donghyuck tries not to flinch at how close it sounds to breaking. He swallows and continues, “Hold for five. One, two, three,” Mark’s cheeks puff out under his fingers, “Four, five. And release.”
Mark’s exhale definitely sounds better than his inhale, but it’s still gravel, rough and rocky.
Progress, Donghyuck thinks.
They repeat the cycle a few more times: inhale, hold, exhale. Mark’s breathing evens out into a more stable pattern, sounding closer to normal and farther from a panic attack. A wave of relief washes over Donghyuck, thankful the chance of a panic attack has gone down tremendously.
(Because Donghyuck’s learned Mark and panic attacks don’t mix: Mark’s positive attitude bleeds out of him completely, and it leaves a crying mess of a boy behind who can’t catch his breath, who folds in on himself until he can’t anymore, and then erupts into pieces that Donghyuck has to stitch back together.)
But tonight, he has Mark in one piece. We’re in a good place.
“It’s okay to be nervous,” Donghyuck says, and right after, he thinks he should take that advice too. It’s hard to accept ugly emotions as normal emotions sometimes, especially with the pressure they’ve been under nearly all their lives.
“I know,” Mark murmurs, and it comes out through a sigh. It trembles a bit, but it’s not about to shatter. Progress. “I know. I’m…I don’t know. I can’t tell if I’m excited about it anymore.”
And right in that moment, Donghyuck’s heart freezes. Stumbles, then breaks.
“What?” he asks. He knows it’s the nerves speaking - of course Mark’s excited for this. He’s been talking about this solo project since last year, and he bounces on his toes and his eyes sparkle whenever he does. Still, Donghyuck can’t help but ask next, “What are- what do you mean you’re not excited?”
“I am,” Mark says quickly, all in one breath. “I am,” he repeats, and it seems like he’s confirming it to himself more than to Donghyuck. He takes a deep breath. “I’m just feeling more nervous than excited about it right now.”
Ah. A gear clicks into place in Donghyuck’s brain. He knows that feeling too well.
“And that’s okay,” Donghyuck says. He takes his palms off Mark’s cheeks and takes Mark’s hands instead. They’ve stopped shaking - that’s good. “You’ve worked hard on it. We’ll love it. The fans will too.”
“Yeah,” Mark says, but it doesn’t sound like he agrees. He looks down at their fingers laced together in their laps. “Yeah,”
“Yeah?” Donghyuck asks. “Yeah, it’ll be great. I know it will.”
Because everything Mark pours his whole soul and heart into comes out beyond incredible, and Donghyuck will never stop admiring him for that.
“But you haven’t even heard it yet,” Mark’s voice is at the edge of a whine, but there’s disbelief in it too.
It makes Donghyuck ache, and he wants to tell Mark to stop doubting himself, but instead, he says, “Then show it to me.”
Mark blinks, confused. Not processing the words for a moment until it hits, and he blinks again like he’s doing a double-take. “What?”
“Show it to me,” Donghyuck says again, voice a bit more quiet, a bit more tender. He rubs circles on the back of Mark’s hands with his thumbs. “And I’ll tell you I love it.”
“You’re just biased,” Mark grumbles, but he pulls out his phone and starts looking for the file anyway.
The beats and rhythms of Child sound exactly like Mark. Donghyuck can’t explain why, but everything about it is so authentic, and really sounds like Mark poured his blood and bones into this. The lyrics - god they’re sad, but they’re true, and it makes Donghyuck ache. What the hell.
This is Mark. This is his Mark.
Mark doesn’t look at him while the track is playing. His gaze cycles between the space behind Donghyuck or their hands, and he keeps playing with Donghyuck’s fingers - a nervous habit.
The last beat filters out into thin air, and they’re left with silence again. A truly comfortable silence, this time.
“How was it?” Mark asks. He sounds out of breath.
Donghyuck opens his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything. Not yet. He’s still trying to sort out all emotions he’s feeling right now, but most of all he’s proud and giddy - he feels like he could jump out of Mark’s lap and run around this little cube of a room.
He smiles, soft and sincere, “I loved it.”
Mark returns the smile, then leans forward to kiss Donghyuck on the lips. Short and sweet, but there’s so much packed into it: Thank you for calming me down. Thank you for liking the song. Thank you for supporting me.
Donghyuck kisses him again, and he smiles against Mark’s lips: You’d do the same.