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It was Donghyuck who'd proposed. Not to Yuta. That would be very disturbing for Mark.
It'd been Donghyuck who'd proposed that Mark and Yuta get married. Because, why not? They were friends, and got along so well. There were people with way worse relationships getting married left and right, he'd said. And Mark had just been dumbstruck, watching Donghyuck go off about all the ways it would make sense for Mark and Yuta to join their things and sign papers and be with each other til death did them apart.
Or until Yuta got his Canadian citizenship, whichever came first.
"Dude," Mark stated, rather eloquently, all things considered, because this was overwhelming.
Yuta laughed, that forced nasal laugh that most people didn't really find as plastic and fake as Mark did. But Mark also knew Yuta better than most people.
"Oh, mon cher," Yuta teased, taking Mark's hand in his and kissing it fondly. "Will you marry me?" But he was joking, because the thing was, he dropped Mark's hand way too fast, and laughter erupted in their group of friends like that was hilarious .
Mark did not find this hilarious. His hand was still burning, along with his ears, thank you very much.
Donghyuck eyed them all ferally, as he often did when he wasn't taken seriously. "I mean it, stop being dicks about it! Yuta's visa will expire, he's too broke to apply for a student visa, and too unskilled for any work that would emit a visa, no offense—"
"None taken, I am quite useless," Yuta nodded.
"—and I don't think any of us wants Yuta to go back to Japan. We've grown too close!"
Johnny raised his glass to Yuta. "Man, I would marry the shit out of you if I was a citizen, but my American ass can't help you."
Mark glared at Johnny.
"Thanks, John, it's the thought that counts," Yuta laughed again.
"But it's not! Aish, why do I even waste my time with any of you losers?" Donghyuck cracked his knuckles one by one, until they were all silent around the bar table. "None of us can offer Yuta a Canadian citizenship but Mark. And it just so happens that Mark and Yuta get along probably better than any of us here. Like, no offense, babe," he turns to Taeil. "I adore you, but if I have to live with you making a mess in the kitchen every time you want to do something as simple as noodles—and the frequency with which you make noodles, like you just can't accept that your body needs nutrients—"
"Point taken, Hyuck." Taeil glares at him too, but not in the same way that Mark had glared at Johnny before. In a cute way, one that makes Donghyuck laugh and steal a kiss from him. And then Taeil holds his face, and kisses back.
"Get a room," Jaehyun threw a French fry at them.
Mark looked at Yuta as the conversation turned to how grossly in love Donghyuck and Taeil were, and how odd it was that it didn't change the dynamics of the group to have two of them start dating. There was still a smile on Yuta's face, but it was the fake kind. He played with the dorm keys in his hands, fumbling under the plastic table.
Yuta was nervous. He knew that his expiration date in Canada was upcoming fast. And unlike any other of their friends, he didn't have an escape route, nothing to apply for, no way to stay.
He would never insist for Mark to marry him, or even ask. It was a dumb idea, after all. But Donghyuck was right. Not only that it made sense, but also that among them all, Mark was probably the best equipped to do it. To marry Yuta. They got along with each other better than with anyone else, quick best friends from the first look, and all jokes about sharing one brain cell aside, everyone knew it. Including Mark's family, who loved Yuta dearly.
It just so happened that there was one problem with Donghyuck's plan.
Mark was in love with Yuta.
Later, after they all paid, Mark lingered with Yuta, offering to walk him to the dorms. They were quiet for a while, and Mark wished he knew what was going on in Yuta's mind. Was he also thinking about what Donghyuck had said? How easy it would be to pretend like they'd always been in love with each other? How easy it would be to share one space, even one bed?
They'd done it before. Sharing one bed. It'd been at either Johnny's or Taeil's, but it was still sharing one bed. Mark had barely slept all night, too preoccupied with the rise and fall of Yuta's chest.
"Yuta," Mark said, after a beat. "But if you want and like, there's no other way. You know?"
Yuta turned to him with a, "Hm?"
"Dude." Mark sighed, stopping. He ran a hand over his head, then shrugged. "Let's just get married."
Then he watched as confusion turned to amusement, and slowly, Yuta nodded.
It turned out they needed a ceremony. For the pictures that immigration might ask.
Mark felt like the whole thing was a fever dream, wearing a tux next to Yuta, who looked so handsome Mark felt like everyone there knew his secret, that if it were up to him, he'd probably marry Yuta for real for real. Preferably with dating coming before, but he wasn't picky.
Their friends made it feel like a normal weekend party to get wasted together and smoke some weed, only they were all dressed up instead. And they all did clean up really nice. Jaehyun took a thousand pictures, being in charge of everyone's phones as he registered the event in everyone's social media accounts.
Johnny did a striptease. Nobody had asked him for it, but he said it was a present to the newlyweds. Yuta covered Mark's eyes with a horrified gasp when Johnny popped all buttons of his shirt out, ripping it open.
More than once, Mark nearly kissed Yuta. He was just so open and inviting. Also, Yuta was just so happy and he wore that attractiveness better than anyone Mark knew. His smile was white and stunning, and Mark gravitated toward him without even being aware.
Of course, he was only happy he got to stay in Canada. They were all happy about that.
But other than that, their wedding party brought nothing more. Yuta hadn't touched him any more than he usually did—an arm draped over his shoulders here, a hand on his leg there.
When he fell asleep on Donghyuck's couch, he wished it could have been beside Yuta.
Yuta, his best friend.
Yuta, his husband.
They didn't immediately move in together, because there was a lot that needed to be done, and neither were in any rush to share a house. Yuta submitted his marriage papers for evaluation, and Mark had a long conversation with his parents that hadn't been quite the way he'd intended.
"I know this may come as a shock to you, but—"
"No shock, not really," his older brother said, looking up from his phone for only a second before getting his attention back to it. "I wish you didn't make me come all the way from Montreal just to come out of the closet."
Mom and Dad exchanged a look that told Mark they agreed with his brother.
"This meeting could've been an email," his brother added, and Dad actually chuckled.
Mark let out a frustrated sigh. "Okay. So you knew I wasn't straight. But did you know that I… that I had feelings for Yuta?"
"Oh sweetheart," Mom clasped her hands together. "I believe the youth says duh in a moment like this?"
Dad chuckled again. Mark's older brother said, "Nice one, Eomma."
His family could be very irritating sometimes. He almost wished he could have the same earful that Yuta got over video call, his parents yelling at him in Japanese that marriage was something sacred, and it was an offense to the heavens above that Yuta had eloped instead of inviting all known family and making this a proper celebration. His family had already known that Yuta swung both ways—no, all ways. They didn't know who Mark was, but they also didn't know who any of Yuta's friends were, so Mark tried not to be too upset by that.
As for Mark's family, they didn't seem to mind that they weren't invited too much. It was the only time that Dad spoke, in his grave and deep voice, putting a hand over his son's shoulder, and saying, "We just want you to be happy."
They moved into a small house in Donghyuck's neighborhood. It was a bit towards the outskirts of town, but it was a lot cheaper than downtown, it was still Toronto, and they had an immense backyard. "We should adopt a dog when we're ready to be parents," Yuta had joked. Or at least Mark had thought it was a joke.
The immigration could come at any moment, so they had to keep the house lived-in and couple-y. Jaehyun and Taeil had a field day helping with decorations and finding secondhand furniture, so much so that Mark was afraid he'd be walking into something cringy when he stepped foot in the house for the first time. But he couldn't have been more wrong.
It was decorated in tasteful but minimalistic ways, a splash of their personalities together. Not a lot of furniture—Mark suspected this was Donghyuck's influence, telling them that the simpler it was, the simpler it was to clean—and with decoration that hinged between Korean and Japanese, without being orientalist.
There was an old-looking painting of Osaka, Yuta's hometown, in the living room. There was also a Spider-man poster stuck to the side of the fridge. The couch wasn't the most comfortable, but they still had a couch, and a TV to go with that.
"Now that we're married," Yuta teased. "I'm going to make you watch so much anime."
Mark beamed at him.
Now that we're married.
But it didn't really feel like they were married, and Mark wanted more than anything to not feel frustrated about it, especially when he knew he was mostly the one to blame for this. They slept on the same bed, but for the first full month, Mark got home only after Yuta was already sound asleep, and made sure to bolt out of the room before Yuta could wake up.
He tiptoed around the house so he could avoid his best friend, which was just not right.
They still went out as a group, but over the weeks, less so. Now that Yuta and Mark lived together—were roommates at best—it was easier to get together at their place.
One night Mark drank too much, Yuta took him to their bedroom, and helped him into bed. Mark kept trying to push him away, and it was odd, because although he was boozed, he still could see the hurt in Yuta's eyes.
"Mark, what are you doing?" he asked, frank and open.
"Just—putting some distance," Mark tried pushing him away again. But he was drunk and not thinking right, so in trying to push Yuta away by the shoulder, he smacked Yuta in the chest instead. "Oh I'm sorry. Oh, no, I'm so sorry."
Mark felt like crying.
Yuta's brows came together in confusion, and he sat on the bed beside Mark. "I'm sorry for my jokes, okay? I didn't think this through. I don't want you to be… afraid of me."
Mark only wanted to cry harder, because he'd never be afraid of Yuta.
He missed their banter, the way Yuta flirted with him.
But most of all, he was afraid Yuta would find out about his feelings, and feel used.
So he just groaned and turned to his side, pretending to fall asleep.
Mark woke up with a buzzing headache and the bed empty on his side.
It catapulted the emptiness in his heart to a maximum degree as well. It broke his heart to look down and find Yuta sleeping on the floor, curled into a ball with the couch blanket. He'd done that. By pushing Yuta away, Yuta didn't even feel like he could share a bed with his best friend anymore.
But perhaps this was for the best. It was better that their friendship changed, than for Yuta to feel like Mark premeditated all of this, perhaps come to even be disgusted by him.
All Mark needed was strong black coffee, and he'd feel better.
After a quick stop in the bathroom, Mark went to the kitchen. It didn't really surprise him to see someone sitting by the kitchen table, with their nose buried in a book. Often their friends would stay over without telling them first. The only thing off-putting about it was that one of them was reading a real book.
Mark sighed a tired, "Good morning," before turning away and getting the coffee powder.
"Ah, it's you. The fucking idiot."
A cold shiver went down Mark's spine. Not only he wasn't used to being talked to like this by any of his friends—not with this jaded and serious tone of voice, anyway—but the voice was also… perhaps he was still dreaming. That could be it.
He pinched himself. Nothing.
"Did you just pinch yourself? What a dumb fuck. I can't believe I have to sit here and actually watch you do this. Just take a seat across from me so I can help you not ruin your life."
It was… it was Mark's voice.
Mark held his breath, standing very still, and tried for another pinch, this time harder. It would bruise later, and he let out an offended, "Ouch," much to his visitor's annoyance. Left with no other option, Mark slowly turned around.
His eyes only got wider when he saw the person sitting on the chair, now the book lying in front of him. It was Mark, but it wasn't. It was Mark, but older, hunched back, tired-looking and with a mean smirk.
"Ta-da! It's you, loser." Older Mark spread his arms, a sarcastic cheer in his voice.
Mark gripped the kitchen sink behind so he wouldn't fall.
Older Mark rolled his eyes, murmuring, "So fucking dramatic."
Mark barely ever swore. This was… this was a lot.
"Sit," older Mark proposed; or rather, demanded. "I don't have a lot of time."
Mark still felt like he wasn't breathing. This very rude person couldn't be him now, could it? Mark certainly had his off days, but the middle-aged man sitting across from him was a bitter asshole who didn't seem capable of recognizing kindness if it punched him in the face.
"Yeah, take a good ol' look," the older him added, cocking an eyebrow. "You don't like what you see? Well, I don't like what I see either."
Mark finally breathed, in a gasp. Not because he was surprised, but because he realized he'd held his breath for too long. Well, that, and he was surprised. He was shocked. He still thought perhaps he could be sleeping. He looked around the kitchen, but nothing else seemed out of place. Only this older version of him.
"Who… who are you," Mark murmured, not very sure of how to phrase it.
He knew who the man was. But why was he?
"The question is when, not who," his older version corrected him, like he couldn't even get his thoughts right. He made a face. "I'm you, thirty years in the future. And no, you never win the lottery, and to be fucking honest, this is as good as your life is going to get. All downhill from here on." He chews his bottom lip for a while, looking around. "Fucking hell, do I crave a cigarette. But you don't smoke yet, right? You'll only start when he leaves you."
It felt like a slap across his face.
There was much to unpack, but somehow, all he could focus on was, "Yuta?" His voice is small, just above a whisper. "Yuta leaves?"
"Of fucking course, wouldn't you get tired of you too? Because I am." He scratches the back of his neck. The older him has a receding hairline and deep wrinkles around his eyes, certainly deeper than Mark thought he'd have at fifty-something. "I thought… I have thought about this for a long time, before this chance came up. I thought of talking with him, begging him directly, but it wouldn't work. He'd probably just be freaked out by me. By us."
Mark slouched on his chair, looking down at his own lap instead of the man in front of him. "So he finds out. Then he leaves, because he thinks I'm a freak that took advantage of him."
The man got up and came closer to him, and for a moment, Mark thought he was going to go through the surreal experience of being comforted and hugged by his older self. But then older Mark slapped him strongly in the back of the neck, nearly making him hit his chest against the table.
"What was that for?!" he demanded, a bit too loudly, hands massaging the hurt spot.
Older Mark sat back down, shaking his head in disbelief. "Such an idiot. I hate young people."
Mark gritted his jaw. Was he always this difficult?
"Stop pushing him away," the man said. "He's scared senseless right now, and he's about done taking the initiative. If you don't do something to show him you care, that you see him as a man and not only as a friend, he's going to leave. And unlike you, he won't be alone forever."
Mark shook his head. "No, no, you don't understand. He's my best fr—"
"Markie. Young, pure, baby Markie." The older him said, with the first hint of fondness since Mark had first seen him. "Are you trying to get me to slap you again, harder this time?"
So much for fondness. Mark closed his mouth.
"I know every excuse you're going to think of, and believe me, they're all full of shit." The older man made a face, then looked over his shoulder. "I have to go now, I can feel the pull of the future."
The man blinked and, true to his words, his image flickered, like he wasn't solid like Mark was sure that he was, because he'd been slapped by a very solid hand.
But he was also talking to himself, only thirty years in the future. He supposed he could suspend his disbelief for a little while longer and accept whatever means of transport older him had going on.
"I can't risk it," Mark begged. "I can't risk losing Yuta."
"You're going to lose him anyway," the man told him, reticent and sad. "Be better than I was. Be honest. Make him stay."
Mark pressed his lips together.
What if Yuta didn't want him? What if it only caused a majorly awkward situation, one that Yuta couldn't escape because of his papers?
But he couldn't ask that, because before his eyes, the older version of him disappeared.
Mark kept asking himself if that encounter had been real.
He also asked himself whether that even mattered.
The one unintended consequence of forcefully drifting away from Yuta was that now that he'd stopped, Yuta did all the work for him. There was never a long moment when their eyes met—Yuta always looked away far too soon. They didn't sit close to each other on the couch, and there was an abyss in the bed between their bodies.
Not even the very tame jokes that used to populate Mark's imaginarium were left. Yuta was pulling away, all in response to him, and Mark hated it so much.
Four days after Mark's meeting with his older self, he decided it was time to do something about the aching in his heart. Or, rather, it was way past time, but no time like the present.
Yuta had just showered, and the whole room smelled like soap and Yuta-ness. In the past, way before they got married, Mark used to hug Yuta from behind, and bury his nose in Yuta's scent and his hair, always at a cross between affection and arousal.
Now he waited patiently in bed, feeling so nervous he'd long murdered his cuticles.
Yuta paused when he saw that Mark was sitting there. He was wearing a pair of sweats and T-shirt two sizes too large, but he still had a towel around his shoulders, his hair nearly damp. He shifted his weight to the other foot, unsure on how to deal with Mark's sudden presence.
They had been missing each other so much that even both being in the same room, looking at each other, felt slightly like an invasion of privacy.
"Let me dry your hair?" Mark offered.
Wordlessly, Yuta nodded.
Mark's hands were shaking uncontrollably at first. Yuta sat on the floor between Mark's legs, and after setting the towel aside, Mark turned on the hairdryer. Touching Yuta like this felt intimate, right in ways he could not describe. They'd never done this, not anything quite like this — so dramatically domestic, so small in its importance, so big in the way it made Mark feel.
Yuta was quiet, sitting up straight, letting Mark touch his hair and care for him.
It felt a little juvenile to be turned on by this, but Mark couldn't help it. To be able to freely run his hands over Yuta's soft hair made arousal pool in his lower belly. After turning off the hairdryer, he styled Yuta's hair back with his fingers, feeling as though every touch burned both of them.
Unexpectedly, Yuta purred into his touch, contently.
Mark smiled so big he thought he might split his face. "What was that?"
Yuta hooked an arm around one of Mark's legs, leaning back so his head rested on Mark's inner thigh. The touch only intensified the heat in Mark's face and stomach. He'd been touch-starved—not just touch-starved, but Yuta-starved. It'd been so long.
"Nothing, just happy," Yuta responded.
It was a little threshold that Mark had started to bring down, but Yuta obliged, so ready, so beautiful, so fucking his.
Mark held his breath, his heart beating hard. He was going to be sick. Either going to be sick, or be the happiest man in the world. He wasn't sure which yet. Perhaps he could be both.
One of his hands still lingered on Yuta's hair for a little while longer. Then they both slid to Yuta's sides, stopping on top of his shoulders.
"Yuta."
"Mark?"
Mark sighed. "I have to tell you something. But I'm scared."
This time, Yuta didn't make it easier for him. He didn't say a thing. He only waited, the hand around his leg tightening the hook a bit, Yuta's nervous thumb on Mark's ankle. Yuta was willingly wrapping himself around Mark, and all Mark had to do in response was be honest.
Be brave.
Why was this so hard?
"I'm trying," Mark chuckled awkwardly, and Yuta chuckled back, with even less heat. Mark held his breath. "I'm sorry I pushed you away so much. I shouldn't have. I keep thinking about it, and I want to… I want to slap myself for it."
Yuta turned to him, letting go of any touch that connected him. "It's okay," he said, like it wasn't okay. "You don't have to apologize."
"I do," Mark insisted. "I do, because it hurt you, and the only thing I hate more than taking risks is hurting you."
Yuta raised his chin up in defiance, something about his expression saying that he was cooking up a joke to alleviate the mood. But Mark didn't want that. If he was stopped now, there was no guarantee of when he'd be shot with a rush of courage again.
"Yuta, I love you." Mark held his gaze, and fisted the sheets, one hand by each of his sides, as if that was the only thing that kept him from running. "I love you as my best friend, and I love you as a man. And I'm not great at confessions, but I think… I know I'll regret it so much if I don't tell you this."
For an agonizingly long moment, Yuta just stared up at him. Then he breathed out, heavy and loud. He said, "You're a mess, Lee Mark." He smiled.
And he pulled Mark's face to his, one hand cupping his cheek, until their lips met.
Mark could not have predicted the chain reaction that came from Yuta's mouth on his. He pulled up by his arms, closer and closer and impossibly closer until Yuta was in bed with him, straddling his lap, pressing tender kisses to his jaw and cheek before kissing his mouth again. They were both giddy, the kiss interrupted by their need to smile.
And then it caught up to him. Mark asked, putting minimal distance between them. "Just to be clear: I am your mess, right?"
Yuta caressed his face, his hair, smiled so big. "Yes. My mess. My husband." Yuta kissed the tip of his nose, then held his face with both hands again. "I love you too."
Mark beamed. And kissed his husband again.