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Step #1: understand the sexyness of guitars
Thing is, in the debate of piano versus guitar, Donghyuck would usually choose piano. Why? ‘Cause he plays the piano, it’s nice and classy, and has black on it but — Mark fucking Lee, insists on fighting him.
Him and those fingers holding the neck of his old guitar oh so gently. Strumming it like he loves it more than life. Smiling softly as he hums to lyrics Donghyuck can’t understand.
“Here, you try it,” he says, voice a low rumble in the emptiness of their cloud-covered practice room. He picks up his beloved guitar and places it on Donghyuck’s lap. He scurries to sit behind him, till his arms can envelop the younger’s, guiding him through the notes.
“How?”
He feels Mark’s chuckle next to his ear, and the hairs on the nape of his neck stand. Mark’s side profile, at the moment, is nothing to die for. Sharp jaw still covered in youthful chubbiness, pimples on his chin, hair in an awful 2013 bowl-cut, thick-framed glasses and those sparkly eyes that hold the world in them. But Donghyuck doesn’t want to look away.
“You’d know if you paid attention to my hands, dude,” Mark nags him, the corners of his mouth turned up.
This is the moment where it all starts.
You need strong hands and nimble fingers to hold a guitar. Calloused fingertips and open palms. It’s so, so confusing. And apparently Donghyuck likes to feel like a moron, because he’s still there, staring at Mark, his contradictions and his guitar, like an absolute idiot.
Now, at thirteen and with a tattered acoustic guitar, he can’t really see the appeal. Lucky for him, he grows up. And so, he learns .
Remember, the guitar is sexy, not the (probably) smelly, dude-bro holding it. If you want nasty-yet-sexy guys, go look at the jock section of the mall. Let the more refined homos get the (hopefully but probably not) candle-scented artists, for the love of god.
Then there's him; jock’s body, artist’s hands and a golden heart. Fuck you, Mark Lee, for being such an overachiever. It’s attractive as hell.
He’s digressing. But . Guitars are sexy and it is not about their long necks or curves. It’s about personality.
Nope, there are no voices in his head speaking up for guitars, just hear him out.
A guitar is a storyteller, up there at the front, saying everything words could never convey. A guitar sings with you, rumbling the beats against your ribcage. A guitar travels with you, on your back to practice or home or the eventual busk.
A guitar stays, even after a long time, and it remembers your touch just as well as you remember its music.
And that kind of commitment is fucking sexy.
Possible threats of recognizing said sexyness:
- Developing a hand kink
- Developing an artist kink
- Developing a tiny, friendly kinda crush on Mark Lee
Therefore, the next step is needed.
***
Step #2: deny all affection regarding the guitarist
*Pro tip: emotional avoidance is not a hobby — it’s a lifestyle! Breathe it, eat it, love it.
Respectfully looking, Mark Lee is handsome, to say the least. Nice cheekbones, pretty eyes, contagious laughter, for starters. And well, the toned arms, bubble-butt and his obsession with twirling pens are just the icing on the cake. The oral fixation… let’s not get into that yet.
Then again, Donghyuck is a pro. He can handle it.
“She deserves more from you, Milk,” he scolds, arms crossed over his chest and eyes disapproving.
Mark sits up on the bed, long fingers carding through his washed-out blue hair. “She’s been fine, Hyuck, seriously.”
He has no choice, you see, but to take Mark’s left wrist and pull it close to his body, until his hand gently rests atop his thigh. Finger by finger, he clips Mark’s bitten, broken nails in silence.
“Dorothea would not like an ape playing her, dumbass. You’ll ruin her chords.”
Mark has such beautiful hands. They’re kinda knobby, got a mole on one of his fingers, a small cut on his thumb. They’re very human, if that makes sense.
Things on pedestals look great because they’re too high up for you to properly see them. How they deteriorate, slowly but surely, until all there’s left is an empty carcass. Humans, though… if they’ve got a bright soul, it shines throughout time too.
Mark’s hands are like that. Soft enough to hold his dreams tenderly, but strong enough to protect them. Hands that work until they’ve mastered their task, that sweat and bleed dedication. Hands that care enough to pat arms and pet heads, enough to live with palms facing the sky like it’s nothing.
Someone has to look out for these hands, you know. Someone professional, who will not get mesmerized by them.
“Wanna sing something with me later? I’ll bring Dorothea to your room,” Mark whispers, kind to their soft silence.
*Pro tip: for further emotional distance, call your guitarist “soulmate” constantly.
This might be general knowledge already but, just in case you forgot, boys are stupid. Men are stupid-er. If your guitarist gets it, he actually (probably) doesn’t. And if he doesn’t, then he doesn’t. Simple as that.
Plus, most guys probably think it’s a joke because frat-boy type and ‘no homo’ bullshit. Big sigh.
“Read my mind, Markuri. I told you we were soulmates!” he smiles. The older boy rolls his eyes at him, but he can’t hide from Hyuck. He’s happy, too.
Donghyuck puts Mark’s hands palm to palm, opens his arms and claps over them loudly.
“OW! You’re so violent, dude!”
“You like it,” he winks. And he knows he’s done a good distancing job when his stomach churns (probably due to cringe) as he sees Mark’s ears go red.
He confirms his progress next time he sees Mark playing the guitar, hair still gelled up and full of accessories. He proceeds to throw Mark out of his own bed and onto the floor, positioning him between his legs to take all the pins off. Then, he gives his hair a rough pull, for good measure.
Mark gasps and Hyuck swears his toes curl up at the sound (likely in disgust).
“If I go bald, I’ll sue you, Donghyuck!”
“Dorothea doesn’t associate with idiots with unkempt hair, anyway.”
He thinks of it as a type of conditioning. Every time Mark holds his guitar in his hands, he will think about the way Donghyuck cared for her. Just her. And Donghyuck is a boy with confidence, he doesn’t mind if Mark thinks about him a lot. It’s natural, with someone as magnetic as himself.
“You’re making excuses to annoy me,” the elder huffs. Although, he doesn’t look that annoyed when he meets Donghyuck´s eyes. Despite the pout on his lower lip, he keeps shooting soft eyes at him.
“Well, teasing you is a full-time job, Mark.”
“I’m glad it’s yours.”
“Oh, are you, now?”
“I take it back—”
***
Step #3: exposition boosts immunity, so go get it
It’s like vaccines, you know? You get a taste and bam! You’re free :) … Or you develop a lifetime condition… but well, it’s not a science, exactly.
Source: https://his-knees.com — and do not discredit his knees, he can predict the weather with them, he swears.
Anyway, discipline is key.
So Donghyuck sets his monthly objectives to a minimum of one guitarist a month and a maximum of whatever his hormones demand. And just to be safe, he gets a daily dose of Mark Lee, too. Teasing, nagging, touching, eating, massaging and napping are all acceptable activities in his attentiometer (device that measures attention gradients, created by Dr. Lee PhD, 100% legit science).
With his goals in mind, Donghyuck tries every type of guitarist available to him. Tall, short, city, country, rock-ish, acoustic, poetic, edgy, asshole-y, band and soloist. Every category you can imagine, to all levels of performance.
The effect is… well, his brain relates guitars with sexy times. But he also becomes way pickier about it. Not just any guitarist can play him, you know.
“You don’t know any Bieber songs?” he asks the guy on-turn, irritated to no end with people's bullshit. “You think I’m stupid? Call me after you learn your basics, gosh .”
He goes back to the dorm, grabs a can of coffee coke from the fridge and promptly enters Mark’s room. Without a word, he takes a pair of his ugly (but soft) basketball shorts and a (well-worn) t-shirt from Mark’s closet. He changes out of his clothes and pushes the older boy until he lets him get under the covers.
“I thought you weren’t coming back this early, dude,” Mark mentions, a weird tilt to his voice.
Donghyuck shrugs. “Well, he was boring. But not as boring as you.”
Mark giggles as he throws his heavy arm over Donghyuck’s waist, buries his face in the crook of his neck. “I know I’m your favorite.”
“You wish,” he scoffs back.
*Pro tip: never let the guitarist sleep next to you.
And no, he is actually following the rules when he lies in bed next to Mark. Because he’s the one sleeping next to Mark, not Mark sleeping next to him . If you don’t get it, then maybe you’re just not mature enough to get it. Donghyuck is the expert here.
Jeez. Kids these days… the utter disrespect, he swears.
Anyway, Donghyuck is practically immune to guitarists now. They’re nothing more than the random guys that hold gorgeous, sensual guitars. And Mark Lee is one more in the bunch, he assures you.
***
Step #4: avoid all contact with music from the soul
Mark Lee has a big problem , you dirty-minded hoe. But he has a big dick too, and that’s the real issue here. So focus .
Donghyuck’s inner slut has an achilles heel and it’s electric guitars. He hears them in a song, and the whore in him wants to crawl out his throat and get him drilled in search for petroleum. Hopefully with a rock soundtrack on the speakers while they’re at it.
Mark Lee’s dick jokes are not helping in the slightest.
He wants his insides scrambled and his eggs fertilized right about now. Thanks for your concern.
The thing is, Mark loves to work on his music, and he never goes halfway on anything. When a beat is stuck in his head, he gets into it until he can put it out there, perfect to his fucking high standards.
And that kind of discipline is sexy. What can he say? Music is a physical act, too. You need skills to do it and Mark’s careful fingers on a guitar, or careless mouth on a pen makes him imagine all sorts of deranged things.
The method makes him horny, but the music itself makes him want to eat his weight in fried chicken and cry for his (inexistent) unrequited love. Which is worse, and the reason why he should’ve avoided soul music more skillfully.
Because with Mark, it’s always about the inside, isn’t it?
Talking silly to hide his golden heart. Laughing extra loud to quiet his unfunny thoughts. Keeping his work in the dark until it’s too shiny not to let it out. That’s Mark Lee for you.
“You worry too much. Have confidence! It’s all about attitude!” he says as he walks into the studio, arms out in big gestures.
“That’s easy for you to say, with the sun being the biggest star and all,” Mark mumbles, red-tinted face looking down to the black electric guitar on his lap, hiding.
“What are you talking about, dumbass? You’re bigger than the sky.”
…And if Donghyuck could fuck an instrument, it would totally be an electric guitar, ‘cause damn . That’s what makes his tongue loose, he swears.
It’s not the fact that Mark is mature enough to look into himself and be brave enough to actually work through those feelings. Brave enough to put them down on paper and match them to the beats of his heart. Brave enough to let the whole world see it, too.
Sitting on the (mildly uncomfortable) sofa in the recording studio at fucking 4 AM, with his dye-stringy hair under a beanie, purple bags under his eyes and a sleek black guitar in his ink-stained hands, Mark looks so captivating.
*Pro tip: prove to yourself that your guitarist is nothing more than a cutie to you
Donghyuck has to do something. Anything. So he crosses the booth to plug the guitar to the amplifier, leaving Mark’s headphones by the side. He kneels right in front of his open legs and looks him in the eye, unflinching.
“Play it for me, c’mon,” he demands a hand on Mark’s bare thigh. He sees the big breath he takes in before straightening his back, and strumming.
Here’s what Donghyuck would like to say about the Golden Hour draft the elder shows him: if Mark were to write a book, it should be titled ‘From responsible aesthetic caretaker hyung to absolute manwhore in two seconds: a freaky guy’s guide to fucking up breakfast in a delicious way.’
No further comment.
Donghyuck keeps thinking that, well, he’s already on his knees and god has mysterious ways, right? Right ? And if the guitar wasn’t sexy enough, his lyrics and his voice — good god, his voice is so mmmh exquisite. What the fuck, Mark Lee.
And he has the audacity to wet his lips, bite at them before asking: “So?”
Donghyuck keeps staring at him, mouth hanging open. Mark looks down, scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. He puts the guitar aside and leans down till his face is centimeters away from Hyuck’s.
There is no right way to tell your best friend you would like to choke on their metaphorical guitar. Or that you want them to play your G-string. Or that your turner isn’t working because they get your D string sharp. You can see Donghyuck’s problem now, huh.
This is where he fails. The moment he grabs Mark’s face between his hands and replies, almost brushing his lips.
“If you keep making such nasty, profound beats, I’ll cook your eggs for the rest of your life, Mark.”
He chuckles, breath short, ears going pink again. “Are you proposing to me, Hyuck?”
He saves it like a pro, though. A kinky, horny, musically-oriented pro. “Shut up. Play it again.”
Mark shakes his head at him, a snarky smirk on his mouth. He clears his throats and does as told.
***
Step #5: make sure your guitarist is not Mark Lee
First things first: this is not Donghyuck admitting defeat. He’s simply redefining the meaning of success in this specific matter.
Donghyuck has a winner’s smile, awesome hair, and cool sunglasses, the world should be at his feet. Let’s not even talk about his talent, silver tongue or next-level wits. He is The Man, that should be clear. Guitarists, beware, ‘cause heartbreaker#1 is here.
But this is Mark motherfucking Lee we’re talking about.
He’s sweet and magnetic and consistent. The turning point of his life. The person he was meant to discover the world with. His passion, his talent, his true self. The reason why he got here, in the first place. The one who filled their way with smiles and bad jokes and random singing.
Don't get him wrong, he knows there’s a less nice side of Mark Lee. He knows he eats with his mouth open and is as stubborn as a mule. He knows he gets stuck in the little things and lashes out when he’s pissed. He knows he’s petty and proud. But it’s still him. And that’s worth it all to Donghyuck.
They get off the van in their sneakers and hoodies, trying not to fall asleep on their way up to the dorm. They still have to shower and probably eat something… but the ride made them kinda sleepy.
He follows Mark to his room, because he’s feeling particularly tender after singing about forever with him. And does the look of Mark’s long hair in braids get him going. Plus, he knows Mark’s dude-bro tendencies; if it were for him, he’d fall asleep just as he is and regret it tomorrow.
So he grabs the front of the older boy’s hoodie and pulls him to the bathroom. He sits him on the toilet lid, like he’s a kid, and hands him a wet wipe for his face. He unbraids his hair quietly and quickly. Doesn’t let his fingers tangle themselves in a massage like he usually would.
Donghyuck washes his face and drags Mark to bed. A black case draws his attention and he stops.
“You never told me her name,” he says, chin pointed to the (probably) electric guitar case.
Mark flops face-down on the bed. “He,” he mumbles. Donghyuck quirks an eyebrow up and Mark explains. “He’s beautiful in a cool way. A little arrogant, difficult to handle, but… yeah.”
Donghyuck scoffs. Of course Mark is unexplainably fond of that fucking guitar. Between how sexy it is, and the fact that he’s used for both of his solos. “And his name is…?”
“Donghyuck.”
“Hmm, I’m listening,” he mumbles back, eyes droopy. He gets under the covers.
“No, his name is—” he cuts himself off, sitting up on the bed with wide eyes. Donghyuck feels so awake right now, his heart could win a gymnastics all-around in the olympics.
“Did you just—”
“NO! No, nope. You— why do you ask me stuff when I’m sleepy?!” and just like Donghyuck taught him, Mark resorts to violence and hits him with a pillow. “You know my head glitches when I’m sleepy, you asshole!”
Donghyuck is so stunned, he doesn’t even try to fight back. He simply looks up to Mark till he stops hitting him to hide his burning face in the pillow. A smile breaks out on Donghyuck’s face.
“Did you name your guitar after me? Seriously?”
“I know another Donghyuck, actually. He’s nice , doesn’t tease me and never asks stupid shit when my brain-to-mouth filter is not working,” Mark snipes back, like the child he is.
The younger boy hums, a gentle hand caressing Mark’s head until it settles on the nape of his blushing neck. “Tell me more.”
“He’s inspiring, and I like his voice. He… you know, he’s part of my dream.”
Now Donghyuck has to laugh because this is ridiculous. He waits for Mark to look up, so red and sheepish and lovely . And he does what he does best.
“Admit you’re in love with me and I won’t kink-shame you for your thing with guitars.”
“Hypocrite.”
“You have no proof, Mark Lee,” he smiles so big, he can’t see all that well. Or maybe it’s how close they are when he pulls Mark in and kisses his forehead with a loud “Mwah!”
He giggles at the elder’s shocked expression, drops back down on the bed, feeling like this is the best day of his life. Great concert, great teasing session and a confession? He’s rocking it tonight, folks.
He’s the one to be surprised, though, when Mark grabs his chin between his fingers. “If you’re gonna kiss me, do it right, Hyuck.”
So he does. He kisses Mark like he’s always known how to kiss. How to kiss him. Softly, with everything that he is, everything he has. With his heart trying to beat its way into Mark’s own chest so that they can finally reunite.
“I can’t believe you made me like guitars for you, Lee.”