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Mark helplessly wishes that a feeling like jealousy was just one feeling left on its own. A type of feeling that wouldn’t swallow him whole, sucking him in like quicksand. A feeling that wouldn’t bring more things with itself. A feeling that wouldn’t become his whole, taking him with the streaming river.
It gets Mark wishing that envious wasn’t everything he’s been. He thinks he needs to scratch more on the itching spot until he blends with the thoughts, until he’s no longer made of some bones and flesh but some strings that will take hours to be unknotted. He needs to think about how jealousy makes his limbs feel paralyzed because he’s been on his phone, scrolling mindlessly with a cigarette between his fingers just to fill in his void and lungs with something though neither of them happen to be efficient enough. Pathetic, that truly just screams pathetic from the outside.
It’s inevitable. Addictions have been surrounding him lately and he’s been voluntarily feeding off them. He tricks himself, saying this way he can feel like he belongs somewhere, between this smoke, or at least he has something to run back to. Maybe it’s the control, the delusion of being in charge of the only thing he’s capable of being in charge of. It becomes clearer with each puff of smoke he inhales into his lungs that this is not always the case. He isn’t in control despite everything, he’s never the one in charge.
It’s okay, really. It’s okay even if he has to count the remaining cigarettes in his pocket once he opens it in an attempt to light another one because did he really smoke half of a damn pocket just to not feel what he’s been feeling?
It’s okay even if it’s Valentine’s Day and Johnny sent him a picture of Jaehyun and himself with a separate text saying “Jae says hi” earlier at night when Mark was sitting by the window, their window, on his own.
It’s okay because firstly, Mark thinks he can slow down with nicotine once he desires which is completely a lie, and secondly, it’s Jaehyun’s birthday and he’s Johnny’s best friend, after all.
Mark likes Jaehyun. He’s chill, pretty handsome and the silence that stretches between them whenever Johnny leaves them alone for a couple of minutes isn’t as unbearable as it first used to be.
Mark likes Jaehyun, mostly, but something about his closure with Johnny makes him feel sick to his stomach every single time he pictures them together. He’d like to confidently think that he’s good with words, that he has a way of twisting them and making good use of them. But this, this feeling is something he’ll always fail at explaining.
For starters, Mark likes Jaehyun, a third reminder to self. There must be an emphasis. How could there not be any? Body built like a model, always making Mark go out of his way to joke about Jaehyun starting his modeling career. He has one of those smiles you can’t get out of your head, adorable dimples and all. Charming, simply charming, making Mark feel sick, again, over something he will never be. Jaehyun is a Valentine's boy, for fuck’s sake. And Mark will, simply, never be one.
The things that don’t make him feel hatred have indeed grown deeper inside. It’s worse than just hatred. Mark despises himself for this, despises himself for bringing himself this low in the smallest mention of Johnny’s friend.
It must be the way they look comfortable around each other. It must be the way Jaehyun doesn’t flinch under Johnny’s touch because he’s so used to Johnny’s affection and his hands being all over him at the most random times. It must be the way they burst out laughing whenever they talk about an incident that happened years ago or an inside joke that Mark has no idea about, leaving him dumbfounded.
It’s the way Jaehyun is the sweetest in the room, the way Johnny always grabs a beer with him, the way he comes back late when he’s hanging out with him, or the way Mark can’t control his left leg from shaking under the table whenever he’s sitting with the two, wondering if this is the true definition of third wheeling everyone talks about.
It’s about all the little things Jaehyun is to Johnny that Mark knows he will never be. That one friend he’s known for years, who knows Johnny way better than Mark will ever get to know, who will always be the first choice, on top as if it has now become a damn competition to win over Johnny’s heart.
Or it’s rather the way Jaehyun doesn’t mind Mark’s presence at all, not threatened by him the way Mark is, in a way that makes his jaw clench and he has to keep his fingers busy whenever Johnny gets a little too touchy in front of him. He has to cool down a little bit, but his body likes to be stubborn.
Mark wants to steal Johnny from all the memories they have together, selfishly and greedily. It’s disgusting and no amount of pure water can clean this filth off of his heart because at the end of the day, he looks at them, at him and he knows he isn’t deserving of any of it.
Mark has read enough books and heard enough opinions about love but not enough to determine whether love must feel this bitter and fine-edged or not. As oblivious as he is to himself, it’s clear that it’s not the kind of possessiveness he’d have over a friend. Mark doesn’t want to be Johnny’s friend, or even his best friend anymore. He wishes that were all he’d want.
Like an unlovable clueless little thing that begins to comprehend the meaning of love, Mark has begun to think if it has to feel this way. Bitter and making him helpless in the same way all the greatest of artists long for the type of love that is never given to them.
And by this, he knows he should be better, he should know better. It’s ridiculously stupid. It’s stupid because it’s not even about Jaehyun in the first place. It’s about him and him being this insecure and him being a loser and him being a coward. It’s always about him and his damn problems.
Nothing comes out of bravery either. He must’ve said something, something along the lines of “jealousy is a disease” to Johnny once. He also remembers Johnny saying something along the lines of “I can tell” with his face still fixated on their television just so casually as if he wasn't fazed by whatever Mark had in mind. In the darkness of their living room, he must’ve also missed that little curl on the sides of Johnny’s lips.
That was enough to send him into a panic mode right away. That was as far as he’d ever stepped forward so he backed off, went back to his tiny, little dark hole called his comfort zone, and tried not to stutter as he changed the subject even if he was so, so close to open up and rip his heart out, letting all the bitterness he’d been keeping in his little heart leak out in front of his friend.
Mark was almost there, for a short second.
Now that the heat has gone cold and he’s alone he wishes he could find a better way to express himself rather than lighting a cigarette. He wishes for the feelings, multiple ones which all come by right after jealousy to fade away. But they keep on burning him more and more each time. There is a hole in his heart and it stings terribly. Mark can vividly feel it widening. He’s been consumed by this feeling, something he’ll never get close enough to describing.
He finds something tragic in the way he sympathizes with the sound of cigarettes burning between his lips. It makes him feel so ugly that he’s ashamed to turn it into poetry, his only way of letting things out most of the time. Maybe it’s too horrendous for the papers to know how he has sunk so low, how ashamed he is, and how guilty he feels. He doesn’t even ask about Johnny’s schedule anymore. He doesn’t want to know who he’s spending time with or what he’s doing when he’s not around. It’s hilarious because Johnny chuckles whenever he sees him writing down furiously in this one old notebook he keeps around.
“I know, I know. Is it all about me again? Can’t get me out of your head lately,” Johnny often says, stating teasingly, no seriousness weighing on his words when he teases him. Mark hates him so much for this that he can’t do anything but tilt his head down and shove his face between the papers so he can secretly roll his eyes every time Johnny boosts his own ego and presses it right into his face.
He hates that smug grin on Johnny’s lips. He hates the way he sounds so satisfied with himself when he says it. He hates the way Johnny thinks it’s all about him and he hates himself even more for making it all about Johnny at the end, just the way his friend desires. Mark hates the way Johnny just thinks but hasn’t figured out yet that it is, indeed, all about him.
He would’ve kissed that cocky attitude of him away if he could but instead, he holds onto his pencil tighter like his whole life depends on it because that’s all he’s ever got. A small gesture could save all of these wasted words but Mark has never been a privileged one so he makes it all about Johnny only to find himself left with nothing but an old notebook and a pencil at the end of the day.
•
It’s too bright for his liking when he opens his eyes. His body feels stiff from napping on the couch but the realization that he’s overslept hits him immediately, causing him to rise to his feet and check his phone with half-lidded eyes. His body curls in anxiety at the sight.
“Fuck!” He groans as he runs to the bathroom, too rushed out to notice Johnny raising an eyebrow at him from the kitchen with his ‘best dad in the world’ mug full of warm coffee between his hands. Mark thought it was funny as a gift when he gave it to him and Johnny hasn’t stopped using it ever since.
“Why didn’t you wake me up, dude?” He complains, voice still raspy and laced with sleep as he tries to adjust his glasses and wear his converses, his bag still unzipped and ready to fall from his shoulder.
“You can skip a day, you know? It won’t hurt anyone. You can go to sleep and I’ll fix us something to eat. It’ll be better than your stupid morning lecture.” Johnny looks down at him, head resting on the wall with his arms folded, such a dangerous sight to see.
Mark doesn’t answer. Instead, he mouths a hurried goodbye and runs to catch the bus before he completely misses the first period. He’s in such a rush that he doesn’t get the time to admire Johnny’s tender smile, his messy morning hair, his intoxicating words, or his domestic aura that pulls at him to go back in, to stay home, at their home.
He could, just like he was offered to. But Johnny lied about it not hurting anyone. He wouldn’t want to stay in the kitchen with him and hear about Jaehyun’s stupid birthday party, the one he refused to go to by saying he had some unfinished assignments he had to work on.
Johnny has probably teased Jaehyun about Valentine’s Day and all. He might’ve made a couple of friends on the side. Mark can only imagine. He’s always got something to say, can’t even shut his scandalous mouth for the love of God. Mark would rather doze off during a lecturer’s speech instead, and so he does, barely able to keep his eyes open as they grow warm. During the last minutes, He flinches at the sound of his phone vibrating in his pocket. He scans the room with blurry eyes as his hand slides into his pocket, searching for his phone.
[ From: Johffee ] : u awake?
[ From: Johffee ] : how’s it goin buddy
Mark shoves his papers in his bag as he stands up to leave once the class is over. His fingers move slowly on his keyboard to type something, too focused on the tiny screen between his hands that he doesn’t notice bumping into someone.
“A single rose picked from the garden of my heart, or how you nerds like to put it.” Mark stares at the red rose in front of him, then takes another look at Donghyuck’s familiar face and overexaggerated expression before he takes it. It easily makes him distracted, that’s what he says to himself. He forgets to reply to the texts first, mindlessly shoving his phone in his pocket again. It’s a childish way of taking revenge but he can feel stupid about it later. Mark sees himself in the tender and sensitive rosebuds and wonders since when has it become so hard to have a simple conversation with Johnny.
“Wow, thanks?” His face lights up with a genuine smile but Donghyuck, unsatisfied with a big pout on his lips, comes closer, clinging to him in an attempt to earn a kiss on his own, one Mark wouldn’t want to grant.
“Is that it? Where’s my hug at?” He complains, foot lightly tapping on the floor in frustration and his high-pitched voice ringing through his ears. Mark would push him away but Donghyuck’s arms are welcoming, familiar. And Mark is, admittedly, in desperate search of a familiar home to take him in.
“Whatever. Let’s go I’m buying lunch today.” The younger finally puts his weight down, clinging an arm around him as they head out. Mark doesn’t protest, silently tagging along. He knows Hyuck will go to pay at the end, but not with his own credit card, yet it makes him feel nice, comforted, and relaxed because things are a little easier with Donghyuck, easy things that he hasn’t been feeling in a long time so he savors it, letting the younger squeeze his hand and drag him to a place far away from where his heart is resided in.
•
It’s strangely quiet when he closes the door behind him. He sneaks around quietly to find his housemate sitting by their coffee table. Johnny is still wearing the same black shirt and brown cardigan from the morning. He still looks like home. He will always look like home.
“Hey,” Mark greets him in a low voice as he puts the rose on the counter, busying himself with washing his hands because Johnny always complains about these little things like a mom. Mark sees it, the way Johnny can’t calm his curious eyes from scanning him. And maybe, Mark’s doing it on purpose. Not that he’d ever admit.
Johnny will most probably end up teasing him about it, and probably call him a boomer because he himself gets multiple gifts every time his pictures get nominated and placed somewhere in their college hallways. That’s one thing Mark isn’t jealous of because Johnny deserves it all and they’ll get rid of the flowers soon not to trigger his pollen allergy. Everything leaves but he’s lucky enough to stay for a little longer. So he doesn’t mind.
“For me?” Johnny’s siren eyes blink at him, his voice teasing as he moves from the couch to reach out to him, hand resting on his shoulder and giving it a tight squeeze. Mark knows this little act of his very well when Johnny says something in a deep serious tone and adds a little giggle to it at the end. It's ambiguous, and Mark hates the stiff, silent atmosphere the walls of their apartment are drowning in.
Mark can feel the weight on his shoulders and back. Johnny doesn’t do this often, putting his whole weight on him when he knows it’s Mark who gets affected by their size difference the most. He might be feeling a little funny today so he lets it slide.
“Ugh, it’s from someone else but you can keep it if you want to.” Mark sees that expression on Johnny’s face when he laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. He knows it’s most probably nothing but curiosity coming from Johnny’s side and his playful mouth that’s ready to babble at any given chance but Mark holds onto it, doesn’t tell Johnny that it’s from Donghyuck just to make him feel the tiniest ounce of fire in his guts, the one Mark’s whole body has been vibrating with.
“Wow, okay little Valentine boy. I cooked some chicken stew. You hungry?” Surprisingly, Johnny changes the subject way too quickly for his liking when Mark doesn’t give anything away. Mark feels his knees giving in. Of course, he could be a lover boy, a Valentine boy even, but that's an indefinite article. His heart screams to be definite, concrete, belonged. Johnny’s Valentine boy.
And maybe he isn’t feeling as funny as Mark had comprehended. Maybe Johnny is just trying to be an understanding friend to see what the hell has been going on in his friend’s little head instead. He looks down at Mark for a second, hands still squeezing at his shoulder while they make their way to Mark’s room until the younger one stops by the door. How can he stop this from upsetting Johnny if all he’s being is a total asshole over nothing?
“I ate lunch, Hyung. Thanks.” He finally looks back at Johnny, eyes apologetic and lips pursed. Johnny’s arm falls but his smile grows wider, eyebrows raising at Mark while he bends down a little to take a better look at him, making Mark wonder if the height difference is really that evident, if he’s that small in Johnny’s eyes.
“You had a little date then. Dude, you could tell me so I could empty the house for you, ya know.”
Oh. Mark knows this stinging tone too well.
He loves the curls in the corners of Johnny’s lips. They remind him of all the portraits kept at the museums even if there is something about that smile right now, something Mark can’t quite put a finger on. His own heart clenches at the words. Johnny’s obliviousness is like cold water splashing brutally on his skin. It makes him numb in the worst way possible, the bitterness stinging and Mark can’t even feel his fingers from how cold they’re growing from being stared at like that, like Johnny is really waiting for Mark to cut the crap and just remind him that he’s not even close to seeing anyone.
“No, like—no, I didn’t, dude.” Mark lazily scoffs, hand brushing lightly at Johnny’s chest as he goes to his room. He leaves the door slightly open, just this one time because he isn’t the kind of person to shut people off like this whenever he’s this broken and blue. Because the little child inside is praying that Johnny would come back knocking on his door, and then they would be just alright again.
It’s a struggle to get out of his tight jeans but he finally succeeds, leaving his hoodie on the chair on top of his pile of clothes. He then collapses on his bed, cheek instantly hitting the cold pillow and it’s hilarious how he still keeps his eyes open in case Johnny wants to enter that door.
He’s tired, tired enough to feel the dark bags under his eyes, tired enough to give him a headache. Mark is tired, but his heart beats in his ribcage as if it’s trapped there, as if it wants to escape like it no longer belongs there, or to him.
•
“What’re you doing?” He asks as he rubs his eyes. Their TV is the only source of light for Mark to see Johnny’s face. So he mindlessly drags his feet on the cold tiles to reach him. There is something cozy about the dim light or the low volume of the television that makes Mark open his arms and collapse next to him with his head resting against his shoulder. He figures out that when somebody feels like home, they’re always welcoming and they can smell of safety even from miles away. Sometimes it feels like Johnny’s arms—Mark’s home—call him from afar. He’s also come to realize that Johnny is patient and doesn’t hold grudges for a long time, as much as he’s dramatic and likes to do.
His eyes travel from Mark’s face to his bare thighs, his upper body still covered by his plain black shirt. Mark is still too sleepy to care about showing too much skin than he’s usually comfortable with. It’s not like Johnny is considerate enough to walk around with a cardigan in front of him all the time, taking advantage of showing off his muscular figure and pretty waist as often as the chances appear.
Mark swears most of the time he tries hard not to stare, well at least for most of the part. And the other times, well, he goes back to his room filled with guilt.
“Binge-watching Harry Potter I guess. We got rice and chicken in the microwave if you’re hungry.” Johnny’s smile feels so warm when he briefly looks down at him, not forced like when Mark closed the door on him, not like all the times he laughs and talks in his customer service voice whenever he’s around some strangers.
It’s faint but Mark knows it’s sincere. He thinks despite the fact that Johnny tries to fake a smile around people almost every day, he’s hardly good at it, or maybe Mark has been getting better at reading his facial expressions after all the times they’ve spent together under the same roof.
“Does it taste fine? It got a little too spicy,” he asks once Mark returns to the couch, occupying the space next to him with a bowl of delicious food in hand. He nods enthusiastically and turns to look at Johnny with his big eyes and a mouth still full of rice.
It draws a soft giggle out of the older, making Johnny pull Mark closer as his arm rests on his shoulder once again and Mark feels like he’s just been called an adorable little thing the way it fills him with joy. This one right here feels better, Mark supposes, because Johnny’s touch is light and warm and he looks so cozy like this. Mark swallows down the compliments he’s kept for him with water instead.
“Is it that good?” Johnny asks again, eyes shifting between his face and the big screen in front of him. Mark knows he wants to hear it so he is more than happy to give it to him, whatever Johnny wants to take from him.
“Dude, you kidding me? You know I would die to eat this every day.” Mark can’t help the pitch in his voice when he answers, giving away the fact that he’s excited to eat something this delicious. The truth is since he moved out, he’s lost the chance to eat homemade food. And somehow, Johnny makes everything taste good even the simplest tea.
It makes Johnny smile again, his eyes turning into half-moons this time. It’s Mark’s favorite. And it’s all for him to see and admire, all meant for him when Johnny tilts his head to show it to him. It does something to his little fragile heart.
His weight lightens on Mark’s shoulder for the wrong reasons. When he bends down to reach over for something and a blue box appears in Mark’s sight, his smile drops. He tries to prepare himself for Johnny to show him the Valentine's gift he’s received. Mark should’ve known Jaehyun’s birthday party would take the wrong turn but he’s late at blaming himself.
“Open it.” Johnny holds the box on his thighs as he urges. Mark’s mind almost goes blank for a second.
“It’s— is it for me?” He makes the mistake of turning his head to see Johnny’s smile, one that hasn’t faded once since Mark’s woken up. His voice sounds strange when he asks and he flinches a little when he sees his own name on a little piece of card. Is this what it is about?
“Oh, I...I didn’t know we were doing it this year.” His hands get busy searching inside the box as he sheepishly confesses. There’s this one new red leather notebook. When Mark traces the bottom with the pad of his finger, he can feel the letters J and M under his fingertips.
“Wow, this is like, so cool dude.” It gets him bouncing on his seat like a kid, eyes sparkling in the dim light of their living room. He knows there’s enough light for Johnny to see his stupid, cheeky smile.
“There’s more.” Johnny’s voice is colored in excitement when he says back. He almost mirrors Mark’s childlike excitement. It gets him to search inside again.
“This is—oh my, it’s cute, so cute. I needed one, dude, I really needed one.” It’s a white lighter but not just any typical white lighter.
“You light me up!” Mark reads it out loud, heavy, red, italicized words that sound much easier to say out loud when they’re carved on a tiny lighter.
“It has a Hello Kitty behind too.” He moves on from the words he hasn’t fully processed yet to focus on a winky Hello Kitty instead.
“It reminded me of you, so” He tries to ignore being called a kitty that is only five apples tall. Did Johnny think about him when he bought it? Does Johnny think about him every time he sees a cute thing like this? Mark can feel his cheeks heating up just by the thought of these ridiculous questions.
“I felt a little pathetic when you straight up went to bed. I was getting all excited to see your reaction first.” Johnny admits easily but it sounds weird even to Mark’s ears. It makes him feel just as bad because Johnny is the last person he wants to disappoint, even unintentionally. Mark wants to share all the love with him and keep all his bleeding wounds to himself. He really, really wants nothing but to make him feel good when he’s with him just as good as Johnny makes him feel good without even trying to. But lately, lately he hasn’t been able to.
“I’m sorry, Hyung. You know how it’s been. Also, ugh—sorry I didn’t get you anything. I’ll make it up to you later, promise.” He excuses himself as soon as Johnny finishes his sentence. He doesn’t want to make him wait, doesn’t want that little frown on his face to stay there any longer. He would kiss it away but he hopes for the words to be sufficient for now even if they’re powerless and not nearly enough to show how sorry he is for not being himself earlier.
“Make it up to me?” He finds himself laughing, uneasy, and taken aback because Johnny looks funny with his eyebrows raised this close to him, and it's definitely not because of the shift in the tone of his voice and gestures that get Mark nervous when he’s under that heavy, confident gaze.
“Sure, coffee?” Johnny makes a sound out of disappointment and pouts as he rubs his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. Mark doesn’t know whether he’s disappointed or he’s just thinking about the offer. He clearly has more to offer but coffee is as far as he can go without stepping outside of their usual zone. Or his own comfort zone, to be specific.
“I’ll think about it.” And Johnny’s cocky grin is there again, making Mark sigh in disbelief as he rolls his eyes. One minute he's pushing and in the next one he's pulling. Mark has grown so fond of these games they play.
“You know, I’m kind of busy. I have to check.” Johnny looks him up and down, a lovely smile forming on his lips as Mark tilts his head down and nods in understanding, he’s smiling back.
And he's so fucking in love that there's no space left for denial. He’s so in love with him acting like this, loves that exaggerated tone in his voice. Mark loves him so much that if he looks at him right now, look at that playful grin on his face, his own eyes will become a telltale to Johnny and betray him. Mark can't have that. He can't turn into a traitor.
“Ye, keep thinking about it, dude. Keep thinking. I’ll wait”
•
Mark waits, patiently. It’s also a crystal clear lie. For the most part, he thinks he has always waited, especially for good things to arrive. But also, he has always been eager, desperate, and in a rush for nothing. Donghyuck keeps reminding him that he’s getting old and that he needs to watch after his feet whenever he stumbles as if Mark hasn’t been patient for the good things that never seem to cross his path and even if it’s hard to take bits of advice from a person like him, Mark stays awake for some extra minutes to think about it all over again some nights.
Now, he's at the library, testing his patience again. He tries to think about the same question when he looks around. About how people can come to a place like this to concentrate because all he’s been doing is opening a blank page full of words that are no longer worthy of his attention. A paper dusted with black ink is just like a blank paper at the end.
He might’ve forgotten to take his pencil case with him, again, which doesn’t matter that much either. Nothing matters. Nothing really matters when he can’t stop his racing mind and buzzing body that hasn’t rested in weeks. Nothing matters when all the creations of god have decided to go to war with him today. Time isn’t clicking anymore. The time to go home never approaches him. The good thing, Mark’s little good thing at home never gets any closer to him.
He moves to the side, searching inside his backpack to see if there’s anything in the world more important than what he has in mind right now. And there it is. A good thing, a good reward that he’s earned with patience: the notebook Johnny gave him. The one you’d find accidentally at a store when you weren’t looking for it in the first place.
Mark pulls it out. Or maybe it’s the other way around. Maybe the notebook pulls at him and he decides that he loves the way the two alphabets feel under his finger when he traces them. Two alphabets that are worth so much more than all the history books in this library. It tastes sweet on his tongue though it’s a little cheesy coming from Johnny. Mark wishes he could be smaller than he already is in Johnny’s gaze, small enough to be able to get inside his head and read his mind. Or small enough for Johnny to love so he would be so used to being filled with adoration that he would stop staring at those two damn alphabets with a heart in between like they’re the most valuable thing he’s ever seen in front of him.
He wants to question it, the heart and the letters and the soft feeling of actual rich blank papers that are so worthy of his attention to be already painted with love by him.
And Mark has been patient. And he was probably a little nervous when he first saw the blue box in front of him that he forgot to even scan the notebook. It’s a habit of his to take a look inside, see if the lines are superbly spaced or not, and check to see if there is anything written between the papers, as a little surprise for him, a little secret somebody had written and patiently waited for somebody like him to find it.
He’s also hopeful, so hopeful that the polaroid he pulls out of the notebook falls between his legs and he has to blink several times before bending to pick it up. He can feel the goosebumps, can feel his cold fingertips holding a polaroid picture of himself. How could a piece of paper ever feel this heavy between his fingers?
And then, Mark is forgetful, Johnny knows. Like all the times he forgets his cup of coffee on the table if Johnny doesn’t bring it to his room or all the times he forgets to feed the stray cat outside so Johnny calls back for him before he’s out of the door. Like all the time Johnny holds his wrist when they’re crossing the street.
Johnny knows all the things he forgets and all the things he doesn’t. Like the first picture, he took of him. He’s on his bed that smells nothing like him without his bedsheets on and a little box laying next to him. His face doesn’t look as sharp as it does today and despite wearing those huge glasses, Johnny had already succeeded at capturing the dark circles under his eyes like Mark carried them all the way from home to college as a little souvenir. His smile is awkward, showing how he was not used to having a camera shoved onto his face at the most random times before then, at how he was unfamiliar with Johnny’s voice saying: “hey, Markie, here! Look over here!”
It’s bittersweet. Sweet because now he can hear Johnny’s voice echoing in his ears and bitter. Bitter because; he thinks again. Maybe because Mark wishes he could steal Johnny and himself and their tiny little corner from the world, snap a picture of it like that, and put it in a tiny glass, somewhere no earthquake could shatter their home.
It’s childish. It reminds him of how his mother wished he could be young and pretty again, about how he wishes he could be a bubbly child and fit into her embrace again, about all the times we wish we could steal and just keep and keep and get stuck into our tiny honey jars.
He sighs as the cracked smile on his face disappears, the bittersweet moments flashing in front of his eyes in a matter of seconds and then he flips the polaroid, no longer waiting or even expecting.
There’s a sentence written with a permanent black marker behind it. He has to blink again for the floating words in front of him to get in line and make sense and then he feels an unexpected rush of emotions surging toward his heated body.
Well, you had me from hello
He thinks he’s tripping the first time he reads it, the smiley face next to the lyrics staring at him maliciously as he reads it over again and again. He knows he isn’t mistaken. The words look way too familiar to his eyes. Mark remembers holding his guitar close to his bare chest to play this song for the first time. Johnny joined him in the middle of it, making his finger stutter on the keys as his roommate whistled at the sight of a shirtless Mark in front of him.
I felt love start to grow the moment I looked into your eyes
Mark’s first thought is to run back home. A good thing is calling for him, a good thing that he needs to chase before it slips out of his hands, again, like all the times Mark froze in his place when he could’ve followed the good thing and grasped at it.
without even texting to check if he’s there in the first place, a little grumpy Donghyuck screams at him in his head and tells him to wait even more because he’s old and if he stumbles this time he might fall and not be able to get on his feet again. Mark swears, helplessly, that he’s been waiting enough.
Something in your voice called me, caused me to turn my head
He finds himself cursing thirty minutes later, thirty minutes that’s long and torturous. With his sweater over his head to shelter him from the refreshing breeze and the rain, Mark takes hurried steps to reach home. The traffic condition has deteriorated as the rain heavies so Mark walks all the way home, his red converses soaked in dirt and his glasses barely helping him to make out the way. His clothes begin to stick to his body, making him feel disgusting in them but they’re his last concern even if he can hardly see where he’s stepping behind his foggy glasses.
He blames the feeling of being completely soaked and cold to cover up the fact that his handshakes on the doorknob when he tries to unlock it. The lights are on and this left alone lights up something new inside him. Something that is strangely great and is spreading its wing inside of him, something that he’s been afraid to hold within himself.
Johnny is home. Johnny is home and nothing can top the feeling of going back home to him for Mark. But he’s home and Mark isn’t ready to confront him, he’ll never be ready enough to look him in the eyes.
This is stupid. This could mean anything and nothing at once. It’s just a song, a song Mark has played so many times before in a corner of his room or in front of Johnny. Johnny might’ve thought it would be funny to tease him. Mark wishes he was wrong.
As someone who tries to express himself with words out of anything else, he ungratefully debates that literature is powerless and that words have no soul to them. He finds it ironic how the words he didn’t trust until yesterday are all he’s grasping at today.
He also feels like he’s walking on thin ice but ice is meant to melt at the end of the day and so he’ll be damned by this. He knows the moment he sees Johnny coming out of his room, drops of water falling from his temple all the way down to his neck like sweet honey glorifying his blooming skin as he dries his hair off with his towel. Mark will be a stuttering mess if he opens his mouth.
“Hi.” He tries so hard to get this one single word out, forcing his body to take the order to bend down and take off his shoes before his mouth falls open and pours all the nonsense Johnny would side-eye him for. He has to close his eyes and count his breaths if he wants to do this right. As if he knows what the right way to deal with such a great thing is.
His heart is flying out of its cage. He thinks, maybe, at this moment nothing else matters but also he must’ve been looking like he’s seen a ghost because to Johnny he’s just his not-very-subtle roommate whose face is already flushed red before he even gets the chance to sneak a peek at him.
“Oh, you walked all the way here? You could give me a call, me and Jae could pick you up.” And that same, old thing again. Of course.
“Yeah, no, I’m fine.” On my own. Like a fucking kid, Mark purposefully drops his backpack on the floor loud enough for it to make a sound. Mark is quiet, always, always so quiet, and he’s never been this loud before. He feels that childlike rage inside, and that very childlike loneliness blending in. He has a very little heart in there and he doesn’t want it to break anymore.
There’s a single tear beading at the corner of his eye that he can clearly feel when he tries to stand up at his full height again, his gaze glued to the floor the whole time and there’s a raging fire burning inside of him. It must be a drop of rain. It must be the weather. It must be, it must be anything but the thing that it really is.
Something is crashed. But nothing really matters so he breathes through his nostrils and lines his dirty converses to the side like the good child that he has always been. Then he leaves his watch on top of his soaked jacket before taking steps toward his room.
“Wait. You mad? Is something wrong?” Mark stops. Well essentially, his heartbeat skips a beat but his feet keep on going even when he walks past Johnny. He sees those hands in the air, that clean, white shirt he’s wearing and Johnny’s warm fragrance follows him from behind. Like a dream. Like a curse. Like a gift wrapped in keen rose thorns.
“Nah, we’re good.” Yeah, it’s all good. It doesn’t really matter. He should just open the door, get his towel and head to the shower and sleep it off. Sleep it off, Mark is capable of that much. But then his hand freezes on the doorknob and he turns around. God, he shouldn’t have, but he does.
“I didn’t know that you kept that picture of me.” Fuck it, fuck it, fucking god. He looks around, at the ceiling, at Johnny’s room that is drowned in the dark, and then at Johnny, with raised eyebrows and blurry glasses.
He wants to yell out before Johnny takes one more step toward him but his hand has frozen and he couldn’t even bring it up without stuttering like it’s such a big deal. It is a big deal, enough of a big deal to make his face burn in heat when his body is shivering. But Johnny doesn’t need to know any of that. He won’t notice. He won’t notice the dry tears or the furious pink shade on his cheeks.
“Yeah. well, I keep them, the pictures. I have them all, you know?” All of them, that could mean not just the ones with Mark in them. Indifferent. This void is killing him. Mark tries hard to gulp down the bitterness. It lingers. It always lingers.
Johnny’s hands are no longer in the air. They’re in the pockets of his sweats and his confused gaze is making Mark feel cruelly smaller, to the point he feels like his bones might break if they do this any longer. It doesn’t really matter that Mark doesn’t matter at all.
“And you had me at hello? That was like, so cheesy, dude.” He laughs. The same, old laughter that he has kept just for Johnny to hear. That same awkward, free laughter that is gripping tightly at his throat right now as he’s trying to keep the remained pieces together. Chase, chase, chase, he’ll keep chasing until the last breath. Mark will keep waiting for him, he’ll keep chasing after him. He’s a loser, Renjun would say. Mark thinks this single adjective fits him just right.
Johnny’s face softens, and it’s a miracle that Mark can see a faint smile forming on his lips. It’s like the smallest gleam of sunshine peaking from behind the dirty clouds, one that Mark could die without at the moment.
“I guess I can be romantic sometimes.” He then shrugs, his voice playful and light. Mark hates how his heart flutters in his ribcage the more he recognizes the soft, easy gestures of Johnny.
“Yeah, I mean that only happens once a year, right?” Mark looks down when he feels his eyes stinging. He tries not to sniff, not to take his glasses off and wipe the tears away. He just stands there, on the edge, with nothing to hold onto and it feels like their worlds are years away from each other, that their words aren’t loud enough to reach each other’s sides.
Johnny chuckles, then bothers himself enough to hold Mark’s arms, pretending to pull him a little closer, still, years away.
“That’s a little mean.” He drags each word, faking a sigh like he’s heartbroken. Mark selfishly decides that he must have no idea how heartbreak can make someone like him become so ugly. He would’ve apologized, laughed it off, or bickered back if they were back in the time he wasn’t thinking about shoving himself somewhere in the frame this helplessly.
Johnny’s grip on his shoulders tightens, rubbing his hands on Mark’s back a few times then he does hold him close this time, so close that he lets himself tilt his head so he can rest his cheek on Johnny’s chest even if he can feel his body shaking and tensing up. Too close, so close that Mark can hear his heartbeat, feel him inhaling and exhaling. If given the chance, Mark would love to stay right there to familiarize himself with the warmth of Johnny’s body, to sniff in the worn perfume on his skin.
“Dude, you’re so cold. Do you wanna take a shower? I can make something warm while you do.” Johnny’s tone no longer hints at a tease. It’s concerned, deep, so soothing like a warm cup of hot chocolate on a rainy day, like he wasn’t intentionally trying to act like his worst enemy this whole time and Mark wishes he could close his eyes and allow himself to drown in the sound of his heartbeat instead of hearing his own that’s been thudding the whole time, begging to fly out of his chest.
“Don’t do that,” he begs, gulping down again as his voice comes out strained.
He remembers that one friend he made at the hospital when he was six. She told him to look up whenever he felt like crying, and roll his eyes until the tears would dry out. And he did, for a long time so he does it again but the tears fall regardless as if his sorrow is now too great to be held back by a wall. His dam bursts and he can’t do anything but stand there as it takes him with itself. He might not be drowning anymore. This way, he’s just water itself.
“Please, don’t do this to me.” His breath hitches when Johnny lowers himself to look at him, taking his glasses off and cupping his face. Mark can’t see the look on his face, can’t see anything anymore as huge drops of tears keep streaming down his hot cheeks.
“Hey, baby, what’s wrong? Tell me what’s wrong?” Baby. His frown deepens. He remembers Johnny calling him baby that one time he got so sick he had to stay in bed for a whole week. He remembers all the times Johnny called him baby when the food was ready by the table. He remembers being called baby that one time he got a stupid haircut that made him look like a lame teenager all over again. But if he’d been called by these sweet names enough times they wouldn’t make him cry any harder. How could such a sweet little action from this man be so damning to Mark?
“Tell me what’s wrong so we can fix it, okay?” Johnny says, tone soothing and warm and small and Mark hasn’t felt this fuzzy inside for a long time. That feeling of a strong wave of love punching through him again.
He shakes his head rapidly, wiping one side of his face with the palm of his hand as Johnny lets go of his face to pat his back instead, holding his waist close, his fingertips leaving blisters behind.
“You can’t, Hyung. We can’t fix it.” He takes a sharp breath inside.
“I just wanted you to like me.” It’s ugly once it’s out. As ugly as it has always been in his head. Even uglier when it’s said out loud by words that mean so little yet are so heavy, too heavy to be out there for Johnny to hear. Mark feels his knees giving in and he hasn’t even said the forbidden word " love" , yet. And the word ‘like’ doesn’t feel enough, isn’t doing him any justice.
“I hate myself so much, Johnny. Do you get it?”
“Whenever you talk about Jaehyun I wonder what he has that I don’t.” That’s it, he supposes. Mark will move on, like how the noblemen yell at all the racers in the field who are left behind to speed up and catch up with the furious waves of the ocean.
Except his heart will call for Johnny whenever he hears those songs that he once used to carefully listen to with the thought of him in mind and he’ll think about how he destroyed a precious friendship that could’ve lasted for decades, but won’t, thanks to him.
Mark will move on, and man up, but the little boy inside of him that walks around with his heart on his sleeves will end up knocking at his door with teary eyes and bruised knees and ask him for love again, a love who doesn’t ask for him.
“why?” Why can’t it be me?” Scrabbled, somewhere on a piece of forgotten paper, Mark has written: ‘it’s easier to be a monster. I’ll growl and hide and paint the ground crimson red when I head for the hills. At least this way, my heart will be at ease. I’ll let you believe that I’ve always been this vile and wild, this unpleasant to be around. We both know it’s a lie. I feel terrible; can you recognize me?’
“I can’t stand to be where you don’t see me and it’s”—he pauses briefly—“tearing me apart.”
He covers his eyes in shame. The ugly truth is out there that he’s nothing but a pile of fragile pieces of hollow bones that will be gone with the next blow of wind.
“I don’t like being like this,” he cries out.
“You don’t have to be like this, Mark,” Johnny whispers.
Johnny opens his mouth again, wetting his lips, and purses them again. He manages to press his temple against Mark’s when he decides that words are not enough, trying to shush him as he runs his hand through his damp hair instead, maybe this one will do for now. Then Mark feels a light kiss being pressed against his temple, a shiver running down his spine, then one on his cheek and then another one on the corner of his lips. Mark sees the faintest flicker of light catching his eyes.
It’s hard. It’s hard growing up to believe that he’s an unlovable creature and then being touched in a way that could make him think he’s not. Mark doesn’t belong to this place, to Johnny’s embrace with his face being this close, so close that the warmth of his body pulls at him to get away from the edge. He’ll be gone soon and when he goes he’ll take everything from Mark again. And the bright colors that sing a chirpy song, he’ll take them with him too.
“I don’t need that.” He scoffs because you can’t pull your dirty mask off at the faintest promise you hear, can you?
“I don’t need your pity.” And it’s hard. It’s hard to be so unloveable. One can never get used to it. Mark can’t stop stuttering when he vomits those words out either as if he hasn’t been keeping these words down in his throat this whole time. He fists his hands on Johnny’s chest, going one step backward, pressed against his door. He doesn’t even mean it. He doesn’t mean to go away.
Johnny scorns back and Mark feels a loud voice inside him yell when his hands leave his waist.
“You’re ridiculous, Mark. Do you know that?” he says, coming even closer. Mark sees the reflection of his own anger in his eyes, between his furrowed brow. This is what he’s done, dirtying Johnny’s hands, pulling him down until they’re both jumping on the mud splash together. Maybe Johnny is capable of being a monster too. The realization relieves Mark.
“Yeah, yeah I’m an asshole.” The last bit of pride he had left gets him face to face with Johnny, his chest pressed to his. After all, a shared burning fire between them is better than a one-sided love.
“Yeah, you are. You really don’t got a clue in the fucking world, do you?” He shakes his head, almost looking like he’s disappointed and Mark’s heart goes through a thousand feelings when he sees it. Staring at his lips, his eyebrows pulled up together, Johnny opens his mouth again. He’s not a monster, neither is Mark.
“I cooked what I knew you’d like and thought you’d like to stay.” His voice is small and low when he says. Spider legs begin to crawl through Mark’s cold bloodstream.
“You should’ve been there with me at Jae’s, Mark. You should’ve seen me, I just couldn’t shut up about you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” There’s another wave of rage in there, calling Mark an idiot.
“And I thought our song would, I don’t know” Our song, hot, burning tears that keep on streaming down his face at a single mention of that word, ours.
“I thought it would make you stop running away from me this much.” His pained voice rings through Mark’s burning ears, slapping him harshly across the face.
“What do you take me as? Do you think I’m gonna run away if you come and talk to me instead of rotting away in your room? Do you think I can’t see the way you’ve been acting? Mark, you act like you hate me or something.” He scoffs again, looking at both sides. He can’t believe it either. He knows Mark could never like him any less. Mark thinks, his little body is no longer capable of holding onto this profound ocean of emotions. He knows he hasn't been good, not nearly as good as how Johnny has treated him since day one, but the words, god, these meaningless, void words can have very sharp edges sometimes.
“I’m not standing on your opposite side, Mark. Stop acting like this is what I want. Or, I don’t know, do you feel powerful when you push me away?” I don’t. I don’t. I don’t. Mark wants to chant religiously, but instead, he just brings his shaky hands to his eyes, his lips shaking.
“If you think that’ll take you anywhere, fine. Go on, but I’ll stay here so you know where you can find me. And we’ll talk it out whenever you feel like it’s the time.” There’s a hint of strong confidence in his voice when he says it. It’s like a statement Mark has to follow. It gives him the right to shrink and fit himself between Johnny’s shoulders. Johnny doesn’t protest. He pulls him in a tight hug, letting Mark bury his face in the crook of his neck. He forgets all the pressure he's been enduring once his lungs are filled with Johnny's sweet fragrance.
“I don’t wanna scare you, Mark, but I really, really don’t want us to fall apart. I like you, so much,” Johnny says after a moment or two. Mark scratches at his shirt, holding him close like a lifeguard, still afraid of drowning. His heart begins to flow on a wrinkled sea. He feels his eyes watering again. He presses his cheek tighter to Johnny’s neck, his fingers behind his back, searching, familiarizing themselves with Johnny's whole being.
“I can hear your little heart pounding. Did you like that?” He runs his hand on his back a couple of times too. Mark has to pull away a little to breathe, to laugh, to clear his vision, and to see Johnny’s smile.
“Dude, shut up.” His voice comes out broken and strained. Johnny is looking at his eyes, then he lowers his gaze and then moves them up again. Mark's heart flinches a little and then he’s kissing Mark again, on the lips. It’s tender. Just the feeling of Johnny’s lips on his, present, and so enough to fill in the void within him. Mark closes his eyes shut, thinking, it’s no longer a curse, not even a dream. It’s better. Johnny is gentle, more than anyone has ever been with him, more than he himself has ever been with himself. The way he tilts his head down, cupping his cheeks makes Mark feel small, the kind of small that Johnny would like to love, to hold, to comfort, to adore. Mark’s lungs are screaming: "god, please make this last."
“I don’t know if it’s like, too early to say this but I love you, like, you have no idea.” Mark feels that pain back at its place again. There is so much to tell Johnny, so much to show him. There is so much love in his heart and Mark is afraid that maybe not enough time will be given to him if he wastes another moment.
But Johnny doesn’t laugh this time even though Mark manages to stutter a few times over his words. Instead, he stays, really stays this time, unlike all the possible theories Mark had made up in his head, even when he can taste Mark’s salty tears on the tip of his tongue. His hands are still cupping Mark’s face. He can’t remember anyone ever kissing him like this, like he was too dear not to be held close.
“I know. I know. It’s okay. We’re okay. I love you too,” Johnny whispers, low enough just for Mark’s ears to catch. He presses a light kiss to his forehead, then one under his puffy eyes and two at the corner of his lips. Mark could get used to this. He would really love to get used to it.