Work Text:
Their story begins in fall—Mark, a transfer student on a scholarship dips a toe into prestige, plays his violin with enough devotion and hope to be cast into gold. His insides are still bronze though, or perhaps metal alloy, chipping away little by little with the wear and tear of time, and rusting because of the water that's seeped through cracks.
He's deep enough in the trenches of this underwater world, that the pressure from the atmosphere gets to him. Any deeper now, and he'll pop—because no amount of persistence will dismiss the fact that he's unaccustomed to all this. To all of them—his peers with big name families and tiny worries.
What takes him to Jeno is a product of that pressure and pure chance.
Two weeks till the end of the first semester, Mark finds a hideaway in a seemingly always empty dance studio on campus. He arrives at 12 on the dot with a coffee and a pile of homework to check, from the kids he tutors. It takes a while to get through all of the messy scribbling—correcting definitions of terms, and fixing musical notation along the way. There's quavers with no tails, and pencilled in minims that have been erased and redrawn so many times the smudge of graphite makes it look like a crochet instead—the semibreve is really the only note the kids ever get right, and Mark ticks it happily, drawing tiny smiley faces in the circle with red ink.
It's when he's correcting an allegro that's missing the moderato that somebody waltzes in. Mark jolts in his place, handwriting losing all finesse. He's sitting by the door, and the person breezes by so quickly that Mark's now empty coffee cup falls to the floor, and begins to roll around. The noise seems to make the stranger jump in his skin too, eyes darting around in search of the source until he finds Mark sitting on the floor, pressed against the wall.
Mark watches his eyes widen, pretty petal-like lips opening into an 'o' of surprise. There's something about him that makes Mark's heart catch in his throat from the get-go. He swallows it down and gathers his things, "I'm sorry," He spares the guy a glance, "I'm not from your department I just—found this place empty and assumed," Mark really wishes he wasn't such a rambler.
"No! no, it's okay," Footsteps grow closer, and by the time Mark looks up—breathless from shoving in all the papers into his backpack in record time—he's already in front of him. "I don't really practice with anybody, and I wasn't um...around for a few weeks—," He scratches the back of his neck, "That doesn't matter. Anyways. What I'm trying to say is—you can stay, I don't mind."
He smiles down at him, and Mark watches his already kind eyes grow into sweet crescents, orbited by the mole on his cheek. The tilt of his lips is warm and forthcoming—and Mark would usually just politely decline an offer of this nature to be by himself, but the smile makes him freeze in place.
"I'll take that as a yes?" The smile grows, "Just try not to laugh at me alright?"
Without waiting for a reply, he jogs away and strips off his hoodie. Mark is left to sit and watch the way his muscles move with every action through the thin fabric of his skin-tight t-shirt. He plugs headphones into his ears, and begins to stretch. Mark feels like this is something he should've never agreed to sit and be an audience to, but he's never been one to let distraction carry his thoughts away—not even one as attractive as this.
He grades all the homework, graceful shuffle of limbs dimmed to nothing but a little blip in his peripheral vision. When he's done, he quietly leaves, but lingers outside the door.
He's come across a lot of pretty people with ugly hearts around here to know the type when he sees them—this one might be the first exception.
But then again, what's it matter to him anyways?
—
Six years later, tangled in his sweet distraction's bed sheets, Mark realizes how much it matters, and how foolish he'd been.
He blinks up at the ceiling and listens to Jeno softly snoring right beside him. He turns his head, and watches the steady rise and fall of his sun-kissed back with every little breath.
Mark's regrets are futile—because it's not like loving Jeno for longer could've ever prevented this.
—
Winter, ironically, is when Mark begins to warm up to Jeno.
After the first encounter, Mark never went back to that specific studio again. It was awkward —definitely awkward, he’d decided that very night in his bed after mulling over every detail relating to the exchange that he'd committed to memory. He'd much rather do his work at the obnoxiously loud library than intrude on a stranger.
New year's eve rolls around, and he gets dragged to a party—which around here is essentially a big disaster compacted in some trust fund baby's top floor apartment overlooking the skyline.
Mark's more the type to relish the new year indoors—ordering in food and binge-watching movies, counting down till the clock strikes 12 and quietly watching fireworks from his balcony, face-timing his family to greet them and then cracking a beer open before bed to sit and contemplate about the past, future and everything in between.
He isn't extroverted enough to score an invite to one of these huge parties either. And he would've never gone on his own accord. All of it boils down to Lee Donghyuck's hellish persistence and sudden liking towards him. Mark's awkwardness made him double over into intense, red-in-the-face, nearly medically concerning, laughter one day—and he just decided to invite himself into his life ever since. There's not a moment of peace with Donghyuck around nowadays, but hey , at least it saves Mark the trouble of going around and finding an accompanist for his recitals when he's got a willing Tchaikovsky competition semi-finalist circling him 24/7, who might be slightly haughty but isn’t a complete self absorbed asshole.
Donghyuck picks him up with a whistle of approval at his attire and promises a safe ride back home, whenever that may be.
When they reach, it takes Mark no more than 15 minutes to grow irritated and excuse himself to the kitchen. And there he finds him again—pouting down at his phone, drink swirling in one hand. The shirt he’s wearing does wonders for his silhouette, and his pants fit his hips like a sin. For some reason he’s biting down on one of the many necklaces he’s wearing, and Mark suddenly feels very parched.
He’s really banking on the hope that he doesn't remember him, but it takes just one glance for his face to light up in recognition.
Initially, Mark’s gut fills with dread, twisting in doubt and distrust in both himself and the guy in front of him—a myriad of fears run through him, melded into a singular moment of panic. But the twitch of a lip into an easy-going smile is all it takes for it all to slowly dispel.
Mark's night truly begins with a "Hey, im Jeno." And it winds up somehow with him kissing the same lips that utter the words—hollering and champagne bottles fizzing open in the background, new year's countdown ringing through the air.
There's fireworks in the sky, and on his back where Jeno traces a finger up his spine; in his mouth when Jeno bites down on his lip and slips his tongue in; on the bed they find upon stumbling into a guest room where Jeno pushes him onto the mattress. He takes his sweet time taking off his expensive watch all while Mark flushes at the fact that he’s staring up at somebody with such intense fuck-me eyes. Jeno discards the watch and his rings on the bedside table before pouncing, allowing Mark to undo his buttons swiftly, not caring whether or not he rips a couple of them.
A hand curls around his jaw, thumbs his bottom lip before pulling him in for yet another kiss—and Mark realizes that Jeno’s like a gift that just keeps giving.
The night ends with him arching his back and pressing closer to the body hovering over him as he croons. “Jeno, Jeno, Jeno—,” Being the only words leaving his mouth, like it’s a brand burning onto his tongue.
—
Sometimes when Jeno’s lips twitch up into a grin, be it mischievous or lazy or sweet or indulgent, the sight feels a lot like the lift of dusk. Like the very first beam of light that touches a body of water, the gleam spreading like ripples, life suddenly burgeoning from stagnancy.
It might have something to do with the fact that he always wakes up smiling when Mark’s beside him. “Morning,” Mark cups his jaw, running a finger over his chapped lips and following the corner as it tilts up. Today he smiles with his eyes closed, groggy. They got in late last night, tipsy, just a pair of messy kisses and uncontrollable laughter.
“Good morning hyung,” Jeno stretches his arm and wraps it around Mark’s waist to pull him closer, impossibly closer, as close as possible.
“So greedy,” Mark mumbles, slightly upset when his nose hits Jeno’s firm chest and he has to pull back with a hiss, “Demanding, and inconsiderate.”
“We both know that’s not a bad thing,” Jeno finally opens his eyes and squints at the strong sun that manages to get in despite the heavy curtains, despite the fact that Mark only has one little window in his tiny flat, “Not when it comes to us.”
Mark sighs and shifts to comfortably press his cheek to Jeno’s chest. “Really hate it when the first thing you do is start acting like a smartass.”
Jeno’s chest rumbles a little when he laughs, nosing Mark’s hair. Jeno’s heartbeat is a lot like a metronome—it puts every cell in Mark’s body at ease. Being in his arms like this makes it feel like everything’s alright. Even when it’s not.
—
One night stands are not for Mark—not only because he’s a terribly foolish and intense romantic, but also because he’s too awkward to navigate the mornings after. With Jeno, he’d been lucky (terribly unlucky in hindsight) enough to wake up to an empty bed—dip in the mattress still fresh, and cologne still lingering albeit in trace amounts. It was a bit of a bummer, sure, his loneliness and hangover looming like a storm cloud above his head. But it was also a relief.
Jeno was kind enough to leave a sweet message and his number on a sticky note beside Mark’s phone—so he could rest assured that he hadn’t wasted the night with an asshole looking for an easy lay after all. But Mark crumpled the paper up into a ball and threw it in a bin on his way back home anyways. He wasn’t looking for anything serious. He wasn’t looking for anything not-serious. He wasn’t welcoming romance, of any kind, into his life at all. Could-be’s were useless thoughts weighing on the mind and Mark couldn’t afford to be distracted. He presumed getting rid of the paper would put thoughts of Jeno in the backburner too—out of sight, out of mind, right?
But winter comes to an end, and Mark sits by the window at a pretty cafe, staring down at his pretty notes with a head full of could-bes swimming around.
Jeno, Jeno Jeno—maybe he’d be a gentle lover. Maybe he’d be a funny one. Maybe he’d have nuances to him, like a terrible childishness Mark would unearth during an argument that’d make him want to both break out in a fit of giggles and also rip his hair out. He’s got a vicious bite, that much Mark’s already learned from the one night when he came out of it with a body littered with lovebites (What is he, a mosquito?)
He is gentle too, now that Mark thinks a little harder about it. And he seems reserved, if what he said on their first encounter, or his lonely stature in the kitchen the night of the party, are anything to go by. And for a person who is so polite, almost meek, Jeno’s got a delightfully filthy mouth behind closed doors. And he actually makes sure to care for his partner too. And he didn’t just hit it and quit it, he actually spent the entire night with Mark. And he’s got stamina. And finesse. Oh, and he’s right outside in the rain feeding a cat—
Pause.
He’s right outside in the rain feeding a cat?
Mark watches as Jeno shrugs off his jacket, pulling it over the little kitty while nudging a canned meal closer. His hair is damp and sticking to his forehead, flimsy t-shirt doing nothing to shield him from getting soaked to the bone.
The sky’s been a depressing gray the entire morning, and he really didn’t bother to bring an umbrella?
Jeno Lee is stupid—Mark adds to his unofficial list. Then, as he watches the first shiver make its way down Jeno’s form, he curses and snaps into action. From the side pocket of his backpack, Mark pulls out the hefty umbrella that’s stuck by him for many monsoons now. He pushes through the double doors of the cafe, leaving his coffee to grow cold and braving the torrential downpour instead—all it’s icky, sock drenching, chilly, glory. His umbrella clicks open right as Mark steps out, and he fights against the wind to raise it above his head. The sloshing footsteps should give Mark’s presence away, but Jeno only realizes he’s there when the umbrella casts a shadow overhead, startling him into looking up.
Mark sees a flicker of recognition in his eyes, they brighten only fractionally before Jeno schools his expression into something unreadable. The look doesn’t bode well within Mark, but that’s something to dwell on when he’s alone with his thoughts.
“Mark,” He mumbles, “What are you doing here? I mean—you could be busy and all but like—nothing’s wrong with you being here but why are you here? Like here here, beside me—,” Jeno stops only to sniffle. Mark shakes his head and huffs before crouching down. He adjusts the umbrella so it still somewhat covers the both of them, suppressing the urge to shiver himself when he feels damp splotches on his back where the chill bleeds through the fabric of his sweater and onto his skin.
“Watching you be an idiot,” Mark raises an eyebrow. Jeno flushes and looks away, but Mark beckons his attention again when he curls his fingers around Jeno’s wrist. “I don’t think any place around here is gonna let you in like this and with a cat—but my place is nearby. Do you—would you like to come over and dry up? Unless your place is nearby too—I’m not asking for an invite by the way just—,” Mark thinks his brain cells have abandoned him, “In the most non-intrusive, non-creepy way possible—I caught sight of you from there and I wanted to help. So umm…take your pick…I guess?”
When he looks back up at Jeno after putting all inner demons and mortification to rest, Jeno’s smiling down at the pavement. It’s like he fought a long and hard battle in an attempt to keep it off his face. He looks up, slightly sheepish, “In the most non-bothersome way possible, I’d really appreciate your help.”
They walk like this—Jeno holding the umbrella and Mark cooing at the cat clutched to his chest.
And after reaching home and drying up, cat cosily napping in a box Mark set-up for it, all lined with blankets and warm, Jeno confesses truthfully—he was waiting on Mark’s call. They’re chatting over a shared bowl of ramen, and Mark thanks God that he was only blowing on the bite he was about to take instead of slurping because he’s sure that his knee jerk reaction would be to choke instead of just freezing.
“Oh.” He manages, watching Jeno slump a little. He can feel the table rattle just slightly from how vigorously Jeno must be shaking his knee. “Uh—why?” Mark’s voice cracks and that makes Jeno look up again, the slant of his lips a fond one.
“Because I think you’re lovely.”
Mark blushes, but he’ll always blame that on the spicy noodles. It’s a good thing that in the future Jeno will know him adeptly enough to still see the admittance hidden in there somewhere.
—
Jeno’s love is unbidden—like a tide of unimaginable force crashing against the weak, papery dam of his restraint. And boy does Mark enjoy the look on his face as he keeps Jeno from giving in—pretending not to notice what he means when he slides a finger down Mark’s arm and watches his lips half-lidded, eyelashes fluttering. When Jeno goes in for a kiss, and meets the corner of Mark’s smirk instead of plush, pliant, lips he can wreck all to his heart’s desire. When Mark turns to him and blinks up all coy—absolutely terrible at acting and keeping the amusement at bay.
It’s awfully entertaining to watch Jeno get all riled up in little ways—watch his pout get bigger and bigger, and hearing him fervently deny being dissatisfied. “I could never,” He grumbles every time, surging forward to hide his face in Mark’s neck and absolutely losing his shit when Mark catches him before he can and actually laughs in his face.
“You’re having fun,” His sulky tone only manages to draw more giggles from Mark who stretches and attempts to roll away. He finally caves into putting his true feelings into words, “I’m here suffering and you’re just laughing.”
Jeno reaches out and pulls Mark in again by snaking an arm around his waist. Mark is beginning to think that he only works out so hard for opportunities like this. Jeno flips them over so he’s hovering over Mark again and swoops in to pepper kisses all over his face as an act of vengeance. He looks way too satisfied with himself by the time he’s worked it all out of his system, their chests heaving to the same rhythm.
And Mark can’t stand that goddamn look on his face—so he wipes it off himself. He kisses Jeno long and hard, until little victories and losses merge and shrink into nothing but the dust illuminated in the sunlit room. Until the only thing of significance is Mark and Jeno and their little love story forged and furthered where lip moves against lip, where skin brushes against skin—until nothing else remains.
—
On their first date Jeno tells Mark to dress casually, and then picks him up from work in a jaw-droppingly sleek car. A few of Mark’s students stare and point and erupt into starstruck ‘ooh’s and ‘wow!’s whilst making their ways out of the academy. The window rolls down and Jeno smiles all satisfied—and Mark realizes in that instant that getting himself tangled up into Jeno’s world that feels topsy turvy to him is going to be quite the experience.
He’s still the one who brings up the prospect of a second date—Jeno too hesitant to take that step, too scared that Mark had lost interest. He had rambled on about how ice cream flavour slander exhausts him, after all, spooning the pink-blue, cotton candy flavoured scoop with extra sprinkles into his mouth while Mark stuck by the same old chocolate chip and listened intently. For the second one they dine by the seaside from a food truck, the dining ware disposable, plastic table too weak to resist being pushed around by the wind, food the best Jeno claims he’s had in eons. When they walk barefoot in the sand, Jeno clasps onto Mark’s cold hands and pulls them into the pockets of his own hoodie to warm them up, all while Mark attempts to stave off the fluster from showing in his expression.
For their third date, Jeno invites him to one of his recitals. Mark shows with his hair gelled back, a bouquet of flowers in his grip to greet Jeno with, not an inkling of what to expect. Jeno is magnificent on stage—poised and controlled, meticulous, not messing up even as much as by the wrong curl of a finger. When it ends, he trades that calmness out for an infectious elation, pulling Mark backstage to first hug him and muffle a scream of excitement into the skin of his neck before kissing him long and hard.
Mark doesn’t remember which date makes him fall in love—but he knows he didn’t fall all at once. Loving Jeno has never felt like a plummet, but maybe that’s because Jeno’s always been there, just waiting to soften the collision with open arms and an open heart.
When the meet-the-parents phase comes around, Mark’s parents are swayed on first encounter, prancing around about Jeno being their son-in-law someday.
Jeno’s parents don’t even have to meet Mark to disapprove of him, and even when they do get to see him in the flesh, he doesn’t manage to charm them into thinking his little life measures up to the standards they view the world through.
Mark and Jeno still tough it out for a good five years before their differences come back to bite them in the ass.
—
Mark isn’t a stranger to the feeling of inadequacy. It stirs in his gut every few nights, twisting and twisting like a bowstring pulled too taut. But somehow, it’s always worse when it begins to pulse through his system in broad daylight—because when the sun’s out, it decides to bring along its friend called shame.
Most of the time, Mark makes it a point to not be ashamed. To ward it off stubbornly even in the face of boastful, all knowing sneers. For all the claims of having superior upbringings and pedigrees, you’d expect the rich to be more mindful, more mature, just more in general. But even money can’t put the ugly portions of human nature to rest. Mark’s seen through different eyes because his normal isn’t their normal, and change not boding well is just another intrinsic and heinous instinct.
But every morning, when Jeno’s blaring alarm cuts through the sweetness in the air, Mark can’t help but be hyper aware of the shame that trickles through his veins, marching under his skin, permeating from his fingertips everywhere his touch wanders. Jeno doesn’t say anything, and the silence is better because acknowledgement would only deepen the horrible feeling, stamping it onto Mark’s skin forever. He offers Mark an apologetic smile, leaning in to drop a kiss to his forehead. His lips linger there. Jeno’s still sour breathed and sleepy and always, always unwilling to leave.
Eventually though, he has to kick away the covers and pull himself up—because asking Mark for the courage to do this would be cruel to both of them. Mark would never say the right thing, and even if he did one day out of sudden self awareness, Jeno wouldn’t be willing to accept. The words please stay aren’t ever uttered syllable for syllable, no matter how much Mark attempts to curl his tongue to speak them into reality. It would be selfish. It would make things more difficult for Jeno.
He always has been the stronger of the two of them. What good would it bring, to weaken him?
Eventually, Jeno has to stretch and feel around the bedside table for a ring. Without a word he hands it to Mark, and Mark slides it on. A tiny charade to soothe two broken hearts. The rock glimmers when it catches sunlight, reflections painting the ceiling with a beautiful show of translucent light.
It weighs a lot. It brings Mark’s heart crashing down from his chest down all the way to his feet—because he’ll do this every morning, but never at the wedding.
—
When word about the engagement runs around, making newspaper and magazine headlines—which in itself is a splash of cold water onto Mark’s face because only then does he remember again that Jeno is newspaper and magazine headline material—it catches both of them by surprise.
Jeno’s parents never told him ahead of time. His answer would always be a no, this much was certain. An unfamiliar rage bubbles within Mark, making its way up, coating his tongue with venom. The world is unfair. Jeno is unfair.
Mark never wanted this—to fall in love. He knew Jeno would be a wonderful person since the first day they met, he knew he’d grow addicted and bend and break in all sorts of ways under Jeno’s ministrations. It’s precisely why never sought him out a second time, and why he threw away his number, and wanted just for a second in that cafe to turn his head back to his notes and ignore the boy out there. But not loving Jeno is impossible. It’s like suctioning air out of Mark’s lungs, hooking him to an oxygen tank and saying don’t breathe before leaving him unattended. Of course he’s going to breathe. It’s inevitable.
Mark watches his phone blow up with texts from Jeno, just staring mindlessly at the notifications, fingers itching to say something back but brain too overwhelmed to pinpoint what he’s feeling. His student calls for him, and Mark promptly turns his phone off before painting on a smile and answering questions. That school of prestige taught him there was no place for him in the world of music, so Mark’s still here at the academy years later, feeling of strings under his fingers already long lost from muscle memory, sharp brain full of theory his only asset. Jeno was truly the only good thing in his life that he’d gotten out of there.
After work, Mark doesn’t want to go home and confront his thoughts. He stops by a restaurant nearby, not minding the fact that it’s empty and that the man and lady who are presumably the owners bicker about whether or not they should serve him or send him away. The man grumbles in defeat, and the lady approaches him with a warm smile, places a hand over his shoulder and hands him the menu. Mark manages a wobbly grin back and orders a simple dinner. He eats as quickly as his constricting throat will allow, and doesn’t stay back to drink, picking up alcohol from the convenience store instead to drown his woes in the intoxication at home. He takes a detour on his walk back, the longer way to his apartment, just feeling the sudden coolness that’s seeped into the summer air void of its usual humidity now. His anger rises and wanes inversely to his sadness.
Mark knows there’s no way out of this. There’ll be no loopholes. Jeno’s parents are just as meticulous as him, and they know Jeno would move mountains to be with Mark so they’ve probably taken precautionary measures to prevent just that.
Moving this mountain’s only going to end in a meaningless earthquake full of collaterals. Neither of them want to shoulder that responsibility, neither of them are so selfish.
Mark’s got nothing—no power, no money, no stability to even dare to tell Jeno to stay. To say fuck the world, I have your back.
With all this frustration and nowhere to put it, it’s only natural that Mark wants to snap when he sees Jeno waiting for him by his front door. He looks more miserable than Mark could’ve ever imagined him, eyes cratered in dark circles, lips chapped and bitten, outfit unruly like he’s spent the entire day thrashing. “Hey,” He still manages a smile when he croaks the word. His voice sounds like he’s spent the whole day yelling too—Mark doesn’t blame him. While this all only means the loss of a romantic partner for him, for Jeno it is the loss of that and much more—the loss of free will, of safety, of certainty and trust.
Mark has to bite back any impulsive and undeserving words he ever wished to hurl at him. And he forces a smile back, “Hey, come in.”
“Did you eat dinner?” He discards his bag on the couch and Jeno trails behind him almost hesitantly. This calmness isn’t what he expected from Mark. And it’s true that he should be reacting a lot more explosively right now, but the devastation written across Jeno’s semblance is what ceases the onslaught of his frustrations. Now, more than ever, he needs him. They need each other.
“Probably not,” Mark turns to Jeno and finds him still silent, sheepishly staring at the floor, “I only have ramen, I’ll make you some.”
With that, he turns and heads to the kitchen. Maybe just stewing alone will let Jeno find the words he wants to say. And maybe focusing his energy on cooking will help Mark redirect tha tremble that overtakes his entire body. His world, as he knows it, is coming to an end—and here he is chopping scallions while waiting for the water to come to a boil.
He hears it when Jeno steps foot into the kitchen, and he’s distinctly aware of him drawing closer. Mark is inept in his attempts to seem calm. He can’t fight the tenseness of his shoulders, or his white-knuckled grip on the counter when they’re the only things grounding him. Jeno’s hands snake around Mark’s waist, chin hooked over his shoulder, soft breaths on his neck. Mark moulds to his touch instinctively, running a soothing hand down his hair and cheek.
“I love you,” Jeno says, as sincere and unwavering as the first day he said the words. “You know that, right? I’ll find a way for us I’ll–,”
“Jeno,” Although he doesn’t want to sound so wrecked, Mark’s voice borders on a plea. Jeno goes quiet, “Don’t do this to yourself. You already know what’s easier.”
“I don’t want easy. I want you.”
“You can’t always have what you want.”
“But I’ve never wanted anything else, Mark,” Jeno’s head droops. Mark feels more than hears the shuddering breath he takes, and it cracks his heart into two, “It’s unfair, it’s so unfair. Why is this happening to me? To us?”
Mark knows a lot about unfair—enough to know that you don’t just demand fair and receive it. You fight tooth and nail for it, knowing you may lose regardless. But that’s not comforting nor pleasant to think about.
The water comes to a boil and he works carefully with Jeno latched onto his shoulder, dunking the noodles in and stirring before allowing it to sit and simmer.
“I don’t know. But, if you choose me, if you lose everything because of me—,” Mark shuts his eyes, face screwing up in anguish just thinking about it, “I’ll never be able to forgive myself. I don’t wanna do that to you. I don’t want to be that to you. Go through with it, Jeno.”
Jeno falls silent. No matter how much he’d like to delude himself into thinking that love can and will conquer all, that he can defect and be granted the chance to live a little life with Mark—it’s undeniable that pulling out of such a publicized wedding may just ruin him irreparably.
After a very long time, when Mark’s shoulders ache because of the weight on it and when he’s done stirring the sauce into the noodles, Jeno rises. He steps away and Mark turns to him with the bowl, which Jeno plucks and then promptly places onto the counter nearest to him. He clasps Mark’s hands in his and kisses him long, languid, and solemn. Into the quietness of the night Jeno murmurs against his lips, “I’ll still never be able to give you up, Mark.”
—
“You don’t have to come to the wedding.”
Mark stifles a yawn, blinking back the wetness in his eyes and watches Jeno towel his abdomen dry. He’s been coming in and out of the bathroom, getting ready for the day, while Mark twists and turns in the bedsheets. Classes at the academy don’t start until late in the afternoon, when school’s out for most kids. “Come again?” His face screws up in confusion. Despite chit-chatting with Jeno for so long, he’s still a little disoriented and will be until he’s had his morning coffee.
Jeno pulls a hand through his crisp white shirt, and leans in without even wearing it completely to drop a loud kiss on Mark’s cheek. “You’re too cute sometimes.” He hovers over Mark, kisses him again chastely on the lips before pulling away unwillingly. “But I said—you don’t have to come to the wedding if you don’t want to.”
No, of course not, I’ll be there— Mark wants to say. But the words die on his tongue because truthfully? He still doesn’t know if he can take the sight, or handle the awkward encounter with Jeno’s parents, or hold himself still when the priest asks whether or not anybody objects to the union.
“I don’t know,” He glances at Jeno. He’s buttoning his shirt, eyes flickering now and again to Mark in concern. “The date is nearing isn’t it?”
Jeno nods, “Unfortunately.”
“Hey,” Mark sits up, mustering as much energy as he can. The blanket falls to reveal his chest, and he wholly indulges in the way Jeno’s eyes follow the movement. Mark wraps it around his abdomen and scoots closer, doing the last of Jeno’s buttons before holding onto his hands. He drops a kiss to each knuckle. “You’ll be alright, yeah? It’ll be okay. You have a sexy tux, and a sexy face, and the most husbandly energy I’ve seen.”
“You look at other men and judge their husbandly energy?” Jeno squawks, falling onto the bed dramatically, “I can’t believe this.” He clambers over to Mark until his head rests on his thighs, “I thought I was the only one.”
“I’ll tell you a secret to make it up then, okay?” Mark entertains his dramatics. He runs his hands through Jeno’s hair and then pats the locks down smoothly. Jeno stares up at him with unfettered fondness, “The competition’s got nothing on you baby.”
Jeno smacks his chest and erupts into laughter, “Ew, ew, ew, ew! Let’s never do this again, okay? We’re not meant for this.”
“I don’t know what you mean—you loved it when I was flirty last night?”
“It’s only sexy when your dick’s out, Mark!”
Mark holds onto him and tips forward, all the way until his forehead meets Jeno’s. “God, I love you.” The sun paints them golden.
—
Mark does go to the wedding, and he takes Donghyuck along with him as a plus one because he’ll make sure he behaves. Donghyuck ends up flirting with more than half of the crowd, but Mark knew what he was getting himself into when he asked.
Jeno beams at him from afar the whole time. There’s whispers going around about how happy he is, how it’s not artificial, his grin genuine and attitude forthcoming. They say it’s a testament to how much he actually loves his husband, that it was love and first sight. Mark only downs his drinks and clamps down on the urge to roll his eyes.
He already knows that one half of Jeno’s happiness is business, and the other half is entirely Mark.
The husband—Na Jaemin—catches his eyes a few times. And it makes Mark’s skin crawl for no reason in particular. He holds his ground quite well though, sizing Jaemin up himself and not breaking eye contact until a guest tugs Jaemin into conversation. Mark watches when he laughs, with his full chest and all hollow. But he doesn’t dwell on how Jaemin makes him feel.
Jaemin can have Jeno for all his expensive dinners and parties and the picture perfect life in front of the press—but it’s Mark who’ll be the only person privy to where Jeno disappears every night. It’s Mark who Jeno’s going to circle back to at the end of the day.
It’s Mark who’ll get to wake up beside Jeno and watch him stir from slumber with the sweetest grin.