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Jeno staggers as Mark shoulders most of his weight, there isn't much time before Jeno’s body will give out to the virus, icky black blood oozing down his open mouth, panting and fighting with everything he has left.
Truth to be told, Jeno had nothing left in him.
No power, no hope, no nothing. He’s sure that he’s still barely holding on to a silver lining because Mark is by his side, calling out for his name every five seconds even when he’s as out of breath as Jeno is. Come on buddy, don’t fall asleep on me.
Unlike Jeno, Mark is still hopeful. Sweet, ever so kind-hearted, hard-headed and optimistic Mark. Jeno lingers his gaze at the way his left hand is gripping tightly on his waist, every inch of the blond haired boy that is touching Mark, it seems like Mark is trying everything he can think of to radiate that hope onto him. Jeno wants to die by his side. In his arms.
Jeno is tired. So, so, very tired. His eyes weigh no less than a pound, pain courses through every nerve in his body, veins stretch through his arms and his cheeks with ugly black streaks. His knees give out first, like his bones crumbled into thin air. Jeno’s knuckles blanched at how tightly he had been holding on to Mark’s shirt.
“No, no! Jeno, Jeno. Get up Jeno,” Mark gasps when his body tumbles down along with Jeno’s. Jeno had always been stronger between the two anyways, bigger frame, taller build. Mark doesn’t have the luxury to regret that he hadn’t worked on strength training.
“Jeno, please.” Mark begs in a way that stirs up frustration within Jeno, a thin veil of urge in his chest to yell at him, to get him to shut up, concentrating between his brows.
Jeno breathes short, quick breaths, trying not to break into sobs, because he’s frustrated. So fucking frustrated. Not towards Mark, no. At himself, for collapsing now, when Mark is so sure that they’ve almost reached the peak of the mountain. At the virus, for forcing him to leave Mark when he promised he’d stay by his side to the end. At everything but the black-haired boy. Mark’s breath stutters in his lips, and Jeno wants to tell him to calm down, “Jeno, no, please no,”
“Mark,” Jeno gurgles at his own words, the rotting taste of crank-turned-blood in his mouth. “Jeno stop, we’re almost there. Let’s get up—“ Mark tries to pull Jeno’s body up to his lap, searching inside himself for the strength to pull Jeno back on his feet, to balance a weight too heavy for him to carry on one shoulder.
“Markie—“ Jeno breathes through his bloodied teeth, tugging on his shirt as strong as his grip lets him, and Mark knew he wouldn’t make it. He still refused to let go, even when the odds are not in his favor. He had to try.
“Markie, listen to me!” Jeno grits through the pain, and Mark doesn’t accept it. He wouldn’t. He stays frozen in place with Jeno’s head on his lap, Jeno looks into Mark’s eyes, tears collecting in his eyes.
Jeno hated it when Mark cried, it hurt his eyes, his favorite part of Mark. It was the prettiest he’s ever seen. But he looked ethereal with glassy eyes and reddened cheeks, in shallow choking breaths. Jeno indulged in the beauty for the last time.
Seeing Mark break down at this very moment brings the sense of deja vu wash away his pain like the waves of calm oceans, the need to calm his best friend becomes a second nature to him, like it's coded in his being. Jeno exhales through his teeth to cope with the tormenting pain of his own organs shutting down on him, solely focusing to prioritise the person dearest to him. "Sing with me, Mark. "
"I don't want to hear it!" He shakes his head violently, "If you have the energy to fucking sing, you'd be better off saving it to get your fucking ass up," Yet Mark is glued to the ground, keeping Jeno's head on his lap. Picnic basket and fresh lemonade on a sunny day was what he daydreams of, not a goddamn apocalypse.
"I can't fucking sing... you know that." Mark sobs and Jeno just lets his tears fall on his face. "Learn to." A cough, and he continues, "I wish I could hear you play it on the guitar." Mark laughs in disbelief because who the fuck even thinks about some guitar chords in their final most critical moments?
"I won't finish it before you get that serum, asshole, so you better get your ass off the ground now." I need you to hang on, you can't leave just yet. You still have things to finish, I still owe you those chords.
"I know, so sing with me. I want to listen to it again, so I can imagine what our song would sound like with the guitar." Jeno could barely talk without having to wince with every passing second, sweaty palms shaking from the throbbing of every neuron existing in his body.
Jeno starts first to lead,
“Got the music in you, baby.. tell me why.”
Jeno strains his failing lungs, trips on his own pants as he whispers the lyrics to a song Mark has grown sickeningly familiar with, forcing him to calm the chaos in his brain.
When thunders crackle with the deafening patter of rain, Mark finds himself curled up in Jeno’s warmth, long fingers scratching his scalp, barely there breath on his forehead. His favorite song, a melody that grounds him, his lullaby. No matter where they are, in The Glades, in the desert, as long as Mark has Jeno by his side, a dreamless sleep will come to him.
Mark tries to swallow a mouthful of air for him, waiting, patiently waiting for Jeno to continue singing, slightly off-key due to the swelling of his vocal chords.
“You’ve been locked in here forever—“ Jeno clenches his jaw when he inhales, enduring the dizzying burn in his chest, in every rib.
“And you just can’t say.. goodbye.”
The world becomes muted around them, fires breaking out and gunshots turn into nothing but background noise. It was like there isn’t a fucking riot happening right now, like the whole world isn’t falling and burning. Like nothing else mattered except for what they have now.
Because it didn’t.
There was a pause when Jeno hums so lowly that it flees past Mark’s ears from the aching, but Mark waits for the cue to the next lyrics because he knows what he’s doing. Their favorite line.
Mark lets his tears spill over, “your lips, my lips,” Mark wobbly whispers with trembling lips, dropping his head closer to Jeno, to listen to his silent song with salty tears somewhat washing away the soot in Jeno’s bruised face. It’s what he tells himself, to listen to Jeno sing for the last time before that is ripped away from him, so he can steady the contraction of his lungs.
What he tells himself is different from what he knows.
Mark knows he wants it. He needs it. He needs it so badly, he isn’t sure what would he be if he loses this opportunity.
Mark stops when he feels Jeno’s fading breath on his lips, when they are breathing the same air. Jeno lets a quiet sigh in content, and forces his hands to cup Mark’s face, despite the overbearing pain in his joints, the prickling in his veins, forces himself to take a deep breath when he thinks he’s about to lose his sanity from the searing pain in his lungs.
“Apocalypse.”
Jeno barely finishes his lyrics when he pulls Marks into his, and Mark kisses back like he will die with Jeno if he doesn’t convey everything he’s been burrowing for far too long, in this very moment. Like the regret will break him down to pieces if he doesn’t tell him about every last bit, Mark closes his eyes, letting him remember what Jeno tastes like through the disgusting putrid smell of crank blood, pressing harder to make sure he remembers what it feels like.
Jeno pushes him away earlier than Mark would’ve liked with a groan, like he hated it, like it was the most horrid thing he’s ever done in his life, to get Mark as far away from him as possible. Because he’s terrified that he’s not strong enough to hold the virus back any longer, he doesn’t trust himself that much anymore. The last thing Jeno wants right now is to risk hurting Mark in his most vulnerable moment.
It wasn’t only for Mark, rather for him as well. The least Jeno could ask for, and the least that the virus could grant for him is for him to die with his favorite memory. Mark chases after the ghost of his lips before he hears Renjun through the P.A., stealing his attention away from what’s more important to him.
“Mark, please come back. You can save him.” Renjun’s voice sounds like he’s holding back from tears, and Mark steels himself so he doesn’t give in to him like he always did before, he could barely tell if it was the effect of the P.A., or if Renjun really has a lump in his throat, like Mark does right now.
He freezes and waits for Renjun, stunned at what he’s telling him when he should be going back to Jeno right now, to hold him close to his chest, closest to where Jeno can hear his heartbeat the clearest, so that Jeno wouldn’t feel freezing and empty—alone in his last moments.
“Jaemin was immune to the virus, but your blood— Mark, your blood was destroying it.” He emphasizes. Mark stays fixed in his position, palms breaking out in cold sweat and prickling on his nape. Mark’s breath grows ragged with each passing word, a crushing pressure between his brows, and he curses himself when he finds his feet still firmly nailed to his ground. Fucking move, Mark! God damn it!
“You could save him, Mark. You could save us.” Now, don’t get Mark wrong, he’s never been the type to abandon someone in need, but Mark decides that has to change when he gags at his words. He hates when “us” includes Renjun, ever since he destroyed The Right Arm.
“Please Mark, you should understand this mor—“
And the whole city shuts down.
Mark’s hands shake when the warmth of anger erupts in his chest, repulsed by Renjun, by himself, for not being there for Jeno when he needed him the most.
The orange glow of fires and the collapsing of the skyscrapers gives light to the fallen city. Mark turns back to storm his way to the medical wing, to murder the young scientist, only to find Jeno up on his feet. Mark’s rage slips to the back of his head and goosebumps envelops his being, knowing that it's Jeno, wishing he could run back to his orbit and drag him to the cure he needed so badly less than a minute ago.
But that’s not Jeno.
He’s scaring him, and Mark is never scared of Jeno. “Jeno? Are you okay?” Mark tries to start a topic, praying to whichever god that was willing to help him that Jeno somehow, miraculously, got the virus out of his system and lived.
Please answer me, Jeno.
He bites his cut lips in anticipation, heart sinking slightly when Jeno remains soundless with his back facing Mark. Mark wants to spin him around and make him look at him again, look for adoration in his eyes. The distinct way that Jeno looks at him and only at him.
“Jeno..?” Mark gets into a defensive stance, almost like attempting to calm a wild animal. Better safe than sorry, even when his guts tangle at the thought of regarding the shell of Lee Jeno as a beast, a non human.
The creature that used to be Jeno turns and screeches at Mark, pouncing on him. Mark flinches as his heartstrings tug harshly in his chest, maybe one of them snapped. Hot tears trail down Mark’s bloodied and battered face again, the aftermath of many hard fought battles to get them where they stand now. “Jeno, it’s me! Mark!”
‘Jeno’ doesn’t respond to his pleas and continues to roar at him, black veins growing in his cheeks. “Jeno, please!” Mark sobs as he grasps on the crank’s shoulders so hard that it will bruise his fingers, to prevent him from biting him. The crank’s deafening hiss triggered Mark’s instinct to squeeze his eyes shut and face away from its mouth. Mark screams at it again, praying that Jeno could listen to his pleas. “Jeno!”
The thing stops, and Mark takes the advantage to catch his breath and stop crying. He has to do something about the weight holding him in place.
The crank starts to weep, “Markie… Mark—“ Jeno sits on top of Mark, his weight locking the smaller one below him, and he sobs. He sobs like he’s human, “Please, please kill me. Don’t let me turn into those things— Please.!” Jeno begs, begs harder than he’s ever in his life. It’s not like he remembers much of his life anyways, it’s always been about The Glade, and the blessing that is Mark Lee.
Mark stammers, he feels tears pooling again, his heart heavy as ever when Jeno reaches for the gun strapped to Mark’s hips and cocks it to the side of his head.
He lifts his head to look at Mark with his pointer on the trigger, gasping for air to mentally prepare himself. Mark panics and springs back up, knocking the gun away from Jeno’s hold, and Jeno seethes, why can’t you understand me? Why won’t you save me?
Jeno’s hands fly down to his thigh harness to unsheathe his knife as soon as Mark takes his opportunity away. Jeno shouts when he holds the knife with both his hands, diving down to where Mark’s heart is buried. Mark grits his teeth hard and sweat trickles down his forehead as he places both his hands on top of Jeno’s, trying to stop him from stabbing him straight to the heart.
He should’ve known it was only delaying the inevitable, Jeno had always been the stronger one. Mark throws his head back and screams as his hands tremble at Jeno’s force, the tip already nicking his chest. Mark puts every last drop of adrenaline to help him push Jeno’s knife away from his chest, and when Jeno’s weight lifts off him just enough, Mark scrambles to his feet, backing up when he is greeted with a furious Jeno, swishing his knife at him so violently that it could cut through air. As expected of Jeno, you never have an opening. Mark wants to sob at his terrible luck.
Jeno cries out again, and charges at Mark with the most frightening expression he’s ever seen, he barely even recognizes him. Alarms are blaring in Mark’s brain, telling him that he’s going to get sliced, that he’s going to die. In the midst of the ear splitting bells, Mark prepares himself to catch the blade in his hands to let it cut his palm instead.
Mark charges back at Jeno, bracing himself for the numbing pain,
Yet it never comes.
Mark stares down at Jeno's hands, the handle of the knife sticking out of Jeno’s chest and he smiles weakly at him, still as lovingly, with a tinge of longing. The world goes white.
“No, no.” Mark’s lips wobble at the realization, hands subconsciously out to catch Jeno’s collapsing body.
“No, no, no! It wasn’t supposed to be like this!” Mark’s sobs are stuck in his throat, everything feels like nothing. His ears are ringing, the ground is missing, yet it’s melting underneath him.
Haze starts to grow in his vision, every breath he takes is painfully freezing and it burns. Cold sweat breaks out from every pore in his body, pins and needles. His knees buckle and he stares at the unmoving corpse of his best friend, hoping that if he stares hard enough, if he stares long enough, Jeno will break character and start laughing. Maybe his fingers will twitch and he will come back to him.
None of that happens.
Tears filled his eyes for the nth time that night, falling to his dirt-covered calloused hands. As Donghyuck comes back with the serum in hand with Jaemin behind him, his hand drops to his side when he sees Jeno’s lifeless body on the floor, Mark sobbing his heart out. He brings his fists down to the debris, not caring if the glass cuts into his fists, or if the skin splits. Mark stresses his already hoarse throat further, reverberating all over every cell of his being. Bawling his eyes that it starts to turn sore, drowning forever in a bottomless pitch of grief.
Lee Jeno died that night. But so did W.I.C.K.E.D.