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Mark didn't think much of it when he had a short coughing fit after practice one day.
It's a rather normal thing to experience when you push yourself as hard as Mark pushes himself.
It didn't even last long enough to warrant any worried doting from his members, or in the case of Haechan, unsolicited mockery.
Of course, the younger's eyes snapped to him instantly, but making something of that raises the more important question; when is Haechan not looking at him?
127 had just finished touring in Japan, and the two were able to fly back to record with the Dreamies and finish the tail end of their Beatbox promotions.
Afterward, they decided to goof around in the practice rooms and order as much takeout as they wanted.
They all clung to Markhyuck a bit more than usual, knowing 127 was releasing 2 Baddies within the next few months, and were taking advantage of the little time they had left with the duo while they could.
Everything was the blissful chaos it always was, until Mark was hit with another sudden coughing fit.
This time, Haechan did start to make lighthearted jokes, while Renjun and Jeno genuinely asked if he was okay.
He managed to get a 'yes' out between the coughs, then meandered over to the sink to try and soothe whatever itch had attached itself to his throat with a glass of water.
But when he reached over to the cabinet and saw a speck of pink on his hand, he pulled it back for further inspection, finding a small pale petal, roughly the size of his fingernail.
He froze, the coughing taking its own pause to allow him the time to process what he was witnessing.
I..I've heard of this before..I think Yuta told me about it.
Snapping back to reality, Mark quickly resumed his quest for water, hoping he didn't look out of place during his momentary pause.
He joined his friends back on the couch, nobody but Haechan noticing the slight difference in distance between them from before. Mark now had his leg snugly resting against the younger's, nothing unusual, but not usually so unprompted.
Hyuck thought nothing of it in the moment, and gladly took the opportunity to smother him with his own returned affection.
Mark acted as he always does, gleefully accepting, and laughing along with everything the boy did. But his subconscious seeped in, softening him just a bit more than normal, letting each act of love resonate in his heart a bit longer than it usually would.
In all truth, he didn't know why he suddenly felt so inclined to be attacked with all of their attention, but he chalked it up to his underlying stress of the upcoming 127 release.
Mark never was given enough of a break.
He often wondered if Haechan felt the same, considering he was the only other current member who was actively involved with two subunits.
If he did, then he certainly never showed it.
Haechan thrived in 127, taking any given opportunity to abuse his makne status to its fullest potential.
While he didn't hold such a title in Dream, that didn't stop him from taking up as much attention in every other way that he could.
He always did it in good spirits, only sometimes intentionally being a merciless brat. (Almost exclusively to Jaemin as of late- who Mark is semi-convinced has started to like it, despite his avid complaining. Naturally, of course, the complaining only fuels Haechan's pestilent flames.)
Mark sighed, a soft smile lining his lips, giving the younger's thigh a gentle squeeze.
Haechan paused for just a moment, catching Mark's eyes, his own usually malevolent stare shining with an intruding warmth.
Mark felt oddly defensive, as if the boy's eyes were reading a story Mark hadn't yet begun to write.
But as quickly as it came, the sensation left, and the potent evil in Hyuck's expression returned, as he pounced- literally- on the opportunity to snag a massive kiss on Mark's cheek while his defenses were down.
And the chaos erupted back to its normal explosive state, a colorful jumble of laughter and excessive screaming, and an occasional casualty in the form of an accidental knee to the hip, or in the case of poor Chenle- ending up with Mark's foot a hair away from colliding with his nose.
It calmed a bit after that, but the smiley atmosphere would need much more attacking before it even threatened to die.
************************************************
Mark settled into his bed, a lazy finger scrolling across various social media platforms, a frequent chuckle escaping his lips at the varied responses fans were having to their many different promotional methods.
His favorite came with the memory of their chaotic games, particularly the one where they gave the world's most poorly phrased hints to Haechan about Pikachu.
Jaemin's voice rang through his ears, his tone of absolute disbelief potent in his exclamation "I told you its nationality was a ball!"
Mark sighed, a soft smile setting on his features, planning to stay for the rest of the night.
It felt like so long ago.
Warmth bloomed in his heart, spreading its sunlight through his lungs, the love-coated memories sitting comfortably against his throat.
And he started coughing.
This one was a deeper cough, more guttural, taking a bit more effort to quench.
That, and it increased the size of the petal by another fingernail.
That reminded him of what Yuta had said before, which he had since forgotten, and had been meaning to ask about since he first noticed the tiny morsel of flower leaving his lips.
The warmth in his chest dried a bit when his mind wandered to Yuta.
It brought him to 127.
To the increase of stress he was avoiding for the few days he could get away with it.
His smile fading, he swiped over to Yuta's contact, hesitating a moment over the bright green dial, before he gave in and tapped it into darkness.
************************************************
The conversation was relatively unproductive, Mark only casually mentioning the concept, being told nothing more than its name.
Hanahaki.
The rest of the conversation diverged into Yuta jokingly praising the fact that they were all currently free of Haechan's presence, but the call ended with him bidding Mark farewell, reminding him that 127 simply isn't the same without the two of them there.
He woke with a strong desire to do absolutely nothing, in natural objection to the alarm he received in the form of Haechan physically smothering him until he stood up and left his room.
This was very common Hyuck behavior, and it was endearing as much as it was annoying.
But today, despite his potent rejection of any kind of labor, he felt comforted by Hyuck's routine, even to the point of feeling saddened at the thought of it ever stopping.
So without thinking much of it, he draped himself over the younger's back and instinctually reached down for his hand, delighted when he decided to not make a scene of it, easily slipping his fingers between Marks' without a sound.
More often than not, Hyuck could sense when Mark was doing something for the fun of it, and he knew this was not one of those times.
Underneath the explosively bright sunlight that radiated whenever Haechan would do anything, there was a soft sunset, tailor-made to fit each one of Dream's night skies.
He painted Mark's sky with honeydew and laughter, the vivid imagery of Hyuck's infectious smile lining the clouds as they hugged the sun.
When Mark was with Dream, he felt like the sun.
He felt needed, depended on, wanted, cherished, and when he didn't have his six stars to look at when the night came to take over, he felt misplaced.
Right now, arms strung around his morning star, Mark watched over his best friends, warmth returning to his soul at the sight of his stars shining so brightly on their own.
Renjun was like the moon, a soft peace that always unified the Dreamies when they would feel a pull away.
Jeno and Jaemin were the twin lights, inseparable but selfless beyond all measure, shining their light onto everyone else before even considering themselves- as they sustained each other so perfectly there was no need.
Chenle was like a shooting star, full of abundant energy, bouncing off the walls, never finding a place to land and fizzle out.
Jisung was an eclipse. He was so young when Dream came together, timid and reluctant to even come close to the sun or the moon, not wanting to take away their spotlight. He's grown so much since then, finding himself through his fellow stars, working his way to his moment to shine. An eclipse is a one-in-a-lifetime thing to witness. Mark feels blessed beyond measure to have one to call his own.
And Haechan.
Oh, Haechan.
He was Mark's sanity. As ironic as that sounds.
The boy was a soothing song, whose mere presence was enough to calm the ever-present storm in Mark's heart. His foundation, the only thing that always has him by the hand, and his only connection to his night sky when he's forced to leave them behind.
Haechan was his gateway to peace. To his family. To his stars.
And while he looked at them, the universe sitting in his eyes, his lungs bloomed with warmth once more.
He managed to catch it this time, though he was still surprised by how quickly the coughing crawled up his throat.
It almost felt like his lungs were pumping those tiny petals through his airway more naturally than his own breath.
This time it was a full petal.
Whatever flower his body had begun to produce was a beautiful one- and was a kind that had bundles of tinier flowers comprising its anatomy.
Hanahaki.
Mark needed to know more about this odd happening, and why he had never seen it before.
So after nuzzling his face into the crook of Haechan's neck for a few seconds too long, he gently slipped away, retreating back to the stale depths of his room, replacing the warm light of his night sky with the icy glare of his computer screen.
************************************************
Hydrangeas.
The tiny pink flower that kept springing from his lungs uncalled for were frequenting themselves on his pillow after a night's rest, a shockingly difficult pest to hide away from Dream's wandering eyes.
At least now he knew what they were.
Though, the realization wasn't particularly kind in its delivery.
The text from Yuta had sprung to life on his phone screen a few minutes before he clicked out of the tab of hydrangeas, delighted in how pretty those flowers were, even on the screen. They felt familiar, and not just because they were dancing around his tongue when he would try to speak to his members, or when he would try to swallow a swig of water, or when he would yawn a bit too comfortably that one fell right out into his hands.
[Why'd you ask about Hanahaki btw?]
Such a simple question, one that Mark fully intended on answering.
But then a stray click lead him down a search tab, a string of text; blurry words saying impossible things that simply couldn't be real.
All the more reason to keep reading, of course.
Every letter felt like it wrapped the roots around his lungs tighter. As if learning about it somehow made it that much more real.
The prickly roots weaved around his intestines, a sickly sweet feeling coating his tongue, as larger petals began to take over as the normal size to expect replacing the air in his system.
He felt weary, like there was a little more left to learn about this disease- though it felt more akin to a curse- that was waiting to pounce from the shadows.
So he pretended the text was never sent.
Yuta didn't need to know about the petals on his pillowcase.
Nobody needed to know about the garden blooming inside his lungs.
He wished he didn't even know about it- that maybe it's toll would have less to take if he was simply unaware.
But it never let him forget.
After every dance practice, threatening to give him away in his poor excuses to use the bathroom, it would wind a root through his stomach, crawling up his throat, full flower head lined in a frighteningly small amount of blood falling into the porcelain sink.
This is tiring, cried the cavern of his throat, rubbed raw by intrusive thorns who never earned the right to be planted in the first place.
He didn't want to think about the words he saw on that screen.
The digital confirmation of something that still didn't feel possible, even as the flowers dug deeper into his heart.
The victim will die if the love remains unrequited.
What did that mean?
Mark didn't love anyone- not like that, anyway- though there were certainly some interactions that got him wondering the validity of such a statement- but nonetheless, it most definitely was requited.
So who was causing these damned flowers to invade his heart?
"Mark?"
He froze.
"..yeah?"
"You okay? It sounded like you were coughing."
He nodded, as if anyone but his reflection could see him, pulling his confident tone out of anything but sincerity.
"Yeah- it's just a tickle in my throat."
Haechan waited a moment before he spoke again, the worry in his voice very hidden, but very present nonetheless.
"..you've been coughing a lot lately."
Damnit, Hyuck.
"I don't know- I may just be coming down with something."
Another pause.
"..can I come in?"
Mark inhaled much too calmly for how his heart handled such a proposal.
Allowing Hyuck to even chance seeing him this vulnerable was an idea that Mark was not keen on, but denying him would raise more questions than he had the physical ability to worry about.
So he used the heartbeats it took to reach over and open the door to collect himself, praying his smile looked sincere.
The moments their eyes were together felt off.
Mark was trying his very hardest to put up an emotional wall, and Haechan was trying equally as hard to tear it down.
It wasn't awkward, like you may rightly expect such an encounter to be, but instead it was grey. Like all color and life had been washed out of the air, leaving behind the smell of bleach and over-scrubbed memories.
"..you messed up the chorus," Haechan said simply, expression scarily blank for the eccentric character he usually was.
Mark blinked.
"..is that what you came in to tell me?" He held back the urge to scoff.
Haechan didn't move his eyes once. Mark began to question if he even saw them close.
"You never mess up the chorus," he echoed. "Not after this long."
Mark started to feel small- like the walls of his chest were becoming too tight to hold his thinning lungs.
"You came in to scold me? To tell me I'm losing touch?"
"You never mess up," Haechan repeated, voice dropping to a minimal effort. He didn't budge.
"Listen," Mark huffed. "You can get after me later. I don't have the time for your nonsense right now."
"I thought I was just overreacting," Haechan continued, not once breaking eye contact. "So I asked Jaemin if he noticed anything."
Mark was growing increasingly impatient, the strain on his heart not assisting the thorns it pressed into his veins.
"So?"
"He said the same thing as Jisung and Renjun."
"Which is?"
"We aren't blind, Mark." Haechan softly snapped. "We all know something's wrong, and you're not telling any of us."
Mark went to respond, but found that Haechan jumped on the words between them far quicker than Mark felt the need to contest.
"I knew something was wrong, and I was worried I had done something to upset you, but when I asked them all about it they said you hadn't said anything."
Mark only then managed to notice the shake in the younger's voice.
"And I know you don't always feel perfect, but there's a difference between feeling 'meh' and feeling trashy."
A silence fell to allow two twin tears to prick his eyes.
"And I know you don't wanna hear it, but you're making me feel awfully trashy lately." He ignored the quiver in his lips as the tears kept curling into the corners of his delicate eyelids. "But at least I have the decency to talk about it to someone."
Mark felt like a fraud in that moment.
Standing there pretending everything was fine, when everything that could be going wrong was going wrong. When every wall he thought he built up was nothing more than a frail piece of paper, burning through the transparent cover thought he was safe hiding behind.
"You're distancing yourself from us," Haechan continued, still refusing to let his eyes wander- lest the tears consume his vision more than they already had.
"Are you sick? Did the managers talk to you?"
The boy then let out a suffocated gasp of horror.
"Are you leaving Dream?"
It seemed as though he answered himself before Mark could, as his hands came up to cover his mouth and the tears began to fall in gentle succession with the tiny hiccups he was holding back as best he could.
"M-Mark I know we're all getting older, but we all decided that we would just grow with the concept," he choked, "and we wouldn't leave eachother again."
The hiccups grew stronger, hindering his breath and halting his tongue, even though he kept trying to pull words forward.
Mark cracked.
"..no, of course I'm not leaving Dream," he whispered, avoiding the tears in his own eyes.
Had he really fallen that far away?
He lead them to think he was leaving them?
Abandoning them?
Again?
His heart took a stabbing, both the helpless look in Haechan's eyes and the thorns disguised as sunflowers wrapping their water reliant roots around the soil of his soul.
"If you needed some time alone we'd understand," he said, muffled behind the weight of his hands. "But- you don't have to leave us. Please, Mark- please don't leave us again."
Mark shook his head.
He couldn't bring himself to say anything else.
Haechan attempted to say something more, but it was lost between his tears and his hands.
So Mark just hugged him.
What else was there to do right now?
The boy lost it, cradling Mark's shoulder with the remaining pieces of his strength, grip growing tighter with each second he didn't let go.
************************************************
The day ended dismally, neither party particularly interested in continued practicing after bawling so hard their heads hurt.
Mark knew he couldn't leave it like this, but with the current state of his mind, he didn't have the faintest clue how to change anything.
It was also, evidently, getting much harder to breathe.
The Dreamies obviously noticed at this point, but were contently deceived by Mark's appeal to reality; when he told them he got it checked out and was diagnosed with asthma.
How greatly he wished it was just asthma.
Asthma was livable.
Asthma was fine.
Until the staff took note of his fatigue, and of his inability to practice to his fullest, and issued a statement of hiatus due to his declining health.
Now it wasn't just a misfortune between the company—because now half the world was aware that something wasn't okay.
And that made it worse.
So, so much worse.
He stayed in his room half the day, his bandmates checking up on him in a scheduled order, which honestly did make him feel better, until the day Haechan left, and he heard him start sobbing beyond the door.
The hydrangeas had no sympathy.
They merely choked him of his ability to cry with him.
They started to really fricking hurt, too.
Rather than just a whole flower head, an entire vine would uproot, crawling up his esophagus, and he had to force it up high enough to pull out, dragging uncomfortably against his throat.
He almost didn't get them a few times.
That was horrifying.
For the faintest moment, he thought it was the end, and he couldn't come back from it this time.
But then he caught the petals, and it was okay again.
He was okay.
The bloody roots in his hand would disagree, but he was okay.
Perhaps that was a way to repress the lingering sensation that next time wouldn't end so nicely.
That there wouldn't be a next time.
Perhaps that's why he decided to stop hiding it.
Why he finally left his room, despite his fatigue, and joined his best friends on the couch, his heart warming painfully when Haechan attached to his hip with the softest contact he thinks he'd ever felt.
"We were planning to watch a movie," Jaemin says softly, returning from the kitchen. "Your pick, if you want it."
Mark shakes his head, leaning into Haechan's embrace. "I'm good with anything. I just want to be here with you guys."
Chenle enters the room too, Jisung close behind, having just grabbed a bag of chips and salsa respectively. Their eyes both warmed and saddened to see Mark on the couch, as Chenle hurried to take the seat opposite side of Haechan, also curling up as close to Mark as he could.
"We were planning on something simple, like a Disney movie," Jisung remarks, taking the rocking chair and pulling it up beside Chenle. "At least pick the princess?"
Mark offers a gentle laugh. "Snow White? Go back to the classics?"
Jaemin nods, ruffling Jisung's hair before he took to the opposing loveseat and cozied up there with the apple he'd grabbed. "Snow White it is."
And he wanted to watch this movie with them. He really did. But the flowers lodged deep in his lungs had other intentions, ticking like a bomb, and he knew he had to find a better way to value the consistently shortening amount of time he had with them while he could.
Renjun had joined them in the living room at this point, Jeno close behind, and the older greeted Mark with a soft kiss to his forehead.
Very out of character, but so welcomed it hurt.
Mark wanted nothing more than to save this conversation for after the movie, to just enjoy one last pointless activity with his best friends, but he could feel the weeds in his throat shaking their head with disapproval. He didn't have that much time before they stole the spotlight again.
"Hey, guys," he began, already sinking into repressed sorrows he knew he'd have to face eventually. "I really want to watch this with you, I promise I do, but I don't—I don't think I can last that long."
Chenle tilted his head in quiet confusion. "We can pause it if you need a minute," he reasons softly, blissfully unaware of what kind of time limit they were under.
Mark had to destroy that innocence now, and that killed him more than the disease he'd been living with for far too long.
Though, it would soon be proving itself as the true problem here. Despite everything Mark could attempt to counteract it. It had already won.
He clung a bit closer to Haechan, absorbing as much comfort as he could from the younger's arms, already needing to quietly wipe away the silent tears that pricked his eyes.
Pathetic, yet again. He hadn't even begun this torturous conversation.
"Thanks, Lele. But it's not that simple."
His expression soured, sadness daring to cross his face. "What do you mean?"
Shaky inhale number one.
"I don't..have that much time left," he says, so quietly he could barely hear himself, hoping that was enough to make it untrue.
The weeds took it as their first step to final victory.
Jaemin stiffened in his seat. "Tired?"
God, he didn't want to do this. Not to them. They didn't deserve this.
"I wish it was just that," he says just as quietly, now afraid that the tears would start flowing freely no matter what he did. So he kept them at bay as long as he possibly could.
"It's..not?" Renjun tried, just as quiet.
"I'm sick," he finally managed, unable to look any of them in the eye.
"We knew that, hyung." Jisung sank into his seat. "Do you need medication?"
Mark shook his head. "This is what I need. To be with you guys one last time."
Chenle broke right then and there, and Mark followed suit.
"What—what does that mean?" The poor boy tried so hard to maintain composure outside his hiccups, to a failing avail. "Last time?"
Haechan's arms locked in place, growing tighter with each second he refused to cry.
The hydrangeas tightened too, as if this was about them right now.
"Mark," Jeno began softly, a very flimsy wall keeping his voice steady. "Please explain. This is a bit cryptic."
He wished he didn't have to. He wished beyond any reason, that if he didn't say anything, the damned flowers would go away.
But they wouldn't.
They've been making that abundantly clear since the moment he sat down.
"Have any of you heard of hanahaki?" He asks, hating himself more with each syllable.
They all reluctantly shook their heads.
Of course he had to explain it too.
"It's..essentially, a disease about love."
Jisung exhaled carefully. "Love?" He clawed at the edge of his sleeves. "You're—lovesick?"
"I wish," Mark gives a pathetic laugh, leaning further into Haechan, who still hadn't said a word. "But it's about unrequited love."
Jaemin soured. "Someone doesn't love you?" He stiffened even more. "Is it Yuta hyung?"
Mark shook his head. "It's not anything romantic," he manages, and feels Haechan's grip steady for the faintest second, before tightening twice as much as before. "In fact, it's not just one person."
"Who then?" Chenle whispers, the tears not pausing for even a second to allow him any peace.
Mark opens his mouth, hating the words he's about to speak, but finds his own tears halt his endeavors for just a moment longer.
"It—this isn't your fault," he says so quietly it breaks him. "I promise this isn't your fault."
Jisung flatlines. "..us?"
Mark wants so badly to tell him it's not true. To take all of this back and take their hatred when he says it was all just a sick joke.
But the hydrangeas are being kind enough to wait a little longer, so he has to get this over with before they decide they've had enough waiting.
"I'm so sorry," he says breathlessly, the sobs now hitting his frame.
Renjun can't look at him anymore. Tears welling in his eyes, lip curled under his teeth, eyes aimed far across the room. But even that wasn't enough to quench his shudders, as much as he tried to deny them.
Jeno breathed as calmly as he could, pulling Renjun closer as he did. "Can we help?"
Mark shakes his head, as slowly as he can. "God I wish you could. I wish you could make this all go away."
And that's when Jaemin broke.
One at a time, Mark has to watch his best friends lose all hope. And that hurts so much more than the thorns in his heart, which is the only shred of victory he could ever hope to achieve.
They were truly his world. His love. His everything.
And his love for them was literally killing him with each breath he took.
"Well what—" Jeno's voice shook, a foreign sound against his tongue, and Chenle only cried harder. "What is it gonna do to you?"
"Flowers," Haechan says, voice so utterly destroyed he hardly sounded like himself. "Flowers are growing in his lungs. The more he loves us, the more they grow."
Jisung looks away now, too.
Mark hangs his head.
"That—" Renjun's voice cracks. Broken. "That shouldn't be possible. It—to hell with the idea this isn't requited, Mark." He met his eyes, tears breaching both of their vision. "We love you more than we love ourselves."
Mark inhales carefully. "I know."
"But he loves us more," Jaemin says slowly, quiver to his lip. "So it doesn't matter. We can't do anything."
At these words, Haechan holds on so tight it begins to hurt. "Hate us then."
Mark turns to him—a grand mistake, as he loses all sense of composure when he sees the sheer darkness in the younger's eyes—and shakes his head. "I could never hate you, Hyuck. Any of you."
"Do it anyway."
His fists tighten around the fabric of Mark's shirt. "Hate us for the rest of your life. Live your life. Hate me." He inhales sharply, a sheer shrill in his voice that pierces the air with a vengeance. "Hate me so much I die in your place."
Mark bites his lip so hard it nearly bleeds. "Absolutely not, Donghyuck. Stop talking like that."
"You stop talking like that!"
The boy both distances himself and pulls himself ever closer, as if there was no right way to express his desperation. "Stop talking like this—"
His voice shatters, all at once, and relentless sobs consume his frame. "..like this is goodbye."
Mark is crying just as hard, now.
And so is everyone else.
With these next words, Mark feels like there is absolutely no worse feeling in the world than the direct gunshot of despair aimed directly at his heart, fired twice for each word he forces off his tongue.
"..this is goodbye, Hyuck."
There's no hope, now.
They've all piled on him on the couch, soaking eachother in endless tears, sharing the horrible sounds of sorrow, tuned perfectly to the tune of imminent death.
And the clock just hit zero, because the coughing began, and this time, he knew it wouldn't stop.
Haechan begs him pointlessly, hysterics an understatement, head shuddering painfully against Mark's chest, right above his beating heart, waiting with the shared knowledge it was about to still.
Jisung keeps whispering melodic 'I'm sorry,'s in his ear, hand protectively clamped against his shoulder, eyes shut with a depressive fervor.
At one point Renjun falls to his knees, folded over the couch, hand tightly entangled with Mark's, the tone of his sobbing reaching a volume he isn't sure he'd ever heard before.
Jaemin shared the side Chenle was on, both of them consumed in a half hug, their other halves wrapped as far around Mark's frame as they could manage, Haechan trapped between.
Jeno has his other hand, rubbing rhythmic circles along his palm, other hand hovering over his mouth in silent sobs.
He hated this. Every last second of it.
Because the flowers grew, and grew, and they didn't know when to stop.
The sobbing grew sickening once his coughing turned to gasps for air he couldn't get.
His heart picked up the pace, and Haechan screamed at this point, and all Mark could do was sit back, close his eyes, and hope the rest of this was painless.
His head tilted back, as his frantic heartbeat was squeezed into silence, thorns taking one last bite at his life, sprouting to life as he lost his own.
And Haechan's cry of pain would make one think it was him who had just died, from the guttural sorrow it ripped from the pits of hell, dissipating darkness, only to fall silent.
This was the true death of love.
And from his mouth, where the parting words of love weren't able to leave his lips, Mark's dying breath was eternalized by six beautiful flower heads, hydrangeas brighter than any other flower to ever bloom.
Sun yellow, for Haechan, the tips of each petal coming to a snow white, because he burned so brightly he was pure.
Pale rose for Renjun, a summer moonlight that warmed his breath when winter was encroaching.
Two perfectly white twin flowers for Jeno and Jaemin, the most caring pair one could ever find, an even path that always lead Mark back home safely.
A bright blue, streaked with purple and green, for Chenle, so bright it glowed like the shooting star he is. It held all the colors Mark would ever need to see.
And for Jisung, it was a white core, fading to black on the edges, his very own eclipse. Mark watched him grow on his journey of life, and he is eternally thankful to know the person Jisung had grown to be.
To know who they all had grown to be.
Though his last memories were smothered in tears and relentless sorrow, it was equally as drowned in love. A love he would never be able to replace, each cementing their own special mark on his heart.
And he withered. Not because they didn't love him, but because he loved them so much nothing could compare.
He was home, with his night sky, and it was safely in their arms, that he breathed his last, and faded away in the whispers of their love, tears watering the flowers he'd made just for them.
This, was truly the death of love.
And in its place, the memory of a love that never, in ten thousand years, could ever die.
And it would stand the test of time.
Again and again.
Forever.