Archive of Our Own ^beta

renjun huang hasn’t thought about mark lee in a long time.

he hasn’t thought about the sharp slope of his cheek or his soft hands dancing over the strings of his guitar or the way his dark hair shone amber in the afternoon sunlight.

renjun huang hasn’t thought about mark lee at all.

well.

he tries not to.

but trying not to think about someone is hard when their face is plastered across every glass-encased poster display in downtown, the ones lining the walls outside of paramount theater and across from rain on 4th and lining the sidewalks leading up towards austin hotel.

austin isn’t a big enough city for billboards, but renjun thinks that if it was, mark’s face would be on those as well. the big electric kind that buzz when you get too close and shine annoyingly bright when you’re drunk and stumbling home from the clubs at three in the morning.

mark’s going to be playing a show here soon.

a show in a little bar downtown because austin’s too small for stadium concerts or anything of the like.

renjun thinks it’s better this way, anyhow.

just mark lee. mark lee with his guitar and his soft hands with his fingers dancing over the strings. with the sharp slope of his cheek and his dark hair shining amber under the warm stage spotlights.

a room full of austin teens, with their mansions and lake houses, stark white kitchens and warhols in the living room, boys who spend their afternoons fishing upstate and girls who bust two grand shopping every other weekend, every step of their feet crushing the backs of dozens of people who count every last penny and pinch their pockets until their blood runs thin.

a room full of college kids, who work double shifts at the local coffee house on weekends where the lattes are ten dollars but the hourly pay is only seven, who go back to dorm rooms that cost more than their lives, fingers itching at that spot between their shoulder blades that no one can reach.

renjun is not going.

thinking about mark lee is not going to do renjun huang any favors.

thinking about mark lee and the jagged part of his hair and the pale bridge of his nose and the way his shoulders freckled in the summer.

thinking about mark lee and the way he had saved up eight months of his allowance and lawn-mowing money to buy them both matching rings from the pawn shop in his junior year, the way he didn’t realize they were wedding bands when he promised renjun that they’d be together forever.

thinking about mark lee and the way he sat at the front of their calculus class, all the way back in buttfuck nowhere, arizona, his hands reaching to answer every question. the way he looked back at renjun at every chance, the corners of his mouth pulling, his eyes scrunching, the white shine of his teeth.

mark lee and the way he would twist his fingers through his hair before every test, worrying the strands even though he had never scored anything but perfect. even though he had never been anything but perfect.

renjun remembers the hot arizona days and the freezing arizona nights, where there were not enough buildings, or people, or air, to stop the wind from cutting right through their town, right through their bodies, down to the very bone. renjun remembers the feeling of mark’s varsity jacket on his shoulders, his hands grasping onto the sleeves of the one representation of mark’s worth, his ability to make it out of there.

mark lee had been two years ahead of renjun huang.

skipping a grade with his sharp mind.

winning state track championships with his fast feet.

the only person worth anything in their less than third-rate high school, where all the graduates end up at community college and work at the local liquor store or the tiny emergency clinic or spend the rest of their lives canning tomatoes and tending to horses or whatever else that tiny town had going for it.

renjun remembers those cold, cold nights out in the wendy’s parking lot, sitting in the back of mark’s old baby-blue 1993 chevrolet c2500, the only two asian kids in town, shoulder-to-shoulder with a book in renjun’s hand and a blunt in mark’s, the only fun any high school aged kid has in this town, their heads knocking together.

i don’t want a track scholarship, mark had said. i’m going to be an author, or a musician, or something like that. i want to create, junnie. i want to make something for the world.

the renjun of these memories had scoffed.

you’d have to get out of here first. you’d have to get out of here to do anything.

renjun remembers turning to mark, their foreheads, sticky with sweat, meeting under the bright arizona moon.

and to get out of here, you’re going to need to go to college.

and the only way for mark lee to go to college was going to be a scholarship, but neither of them had brought it up that day.

mark’s dad worked as a religious studies professor at arizona christian university, and drove upwards of ten hours every week to make it to work. mark’s mother was a housewife, she cooked and cleaned and didn’t even know how to drive. without mark’s dad around, all mrs. lee did was sit in her drawing room with the curtains up, tucked into a rocking chair and doing needlepoint patterns from those little vintage embroidery books, humming church songs to herself in the dusty arizona light.

renjun’s parents ran the only chinese restaurant in town, one of five eateries in the whole joint, and renjun’s mama would drive by the lee’s to take mrs. lee out to the grocery store every thursday morning since mr. lee had gone away on monday and wouldn’t be back until friday night. renjun’s not sure if their families were friends, but he remembers his mama and baba packing a basket full of food, dumplings and fish porridge and cornbread, pumpkin pie and homemade kimchi and glutinous rice cakes, for renjun to take over to the lee’s when mark’s brother had passed.

renjun remembers walking down the loosely paved path down to mark’s house, remembers the black gravel rolling away with every step, remembers the dust-packed air creating a haze in the horizon. there were three tall cacti in the lee’s front yard, pebbles made of sediment and petrified wood running up their driveway. renjun had knocked on the door, and mark had answered. he looked the same as usual, renjun had thought. the air inside mark’s home was stale, sticky and sweet with grief and plum pudding. the door to the drawing room was shut, and renjun could hear mrs. lee’s sobs accompanied by mr. lee’s harsh whispers.

after renjun had set his basket down onto the dining table overflowing with bereavement food from other neighbors, friends and acquaintances alike, mark had grabbed renjun’s wrist, and pulled him out of the house like a madman.

the two of them had ridden mark’s old pickup truck down to the wendy’s parking lot, parked in the space two down from the streetlight, and heaved themselves into the pickup’s bed since the tailgate had broken years ago.

renjun wishes he could remember mark’s face from that day, but he can’t. he doesn’t think he had looked, seriously looked, at mark for months at that point. what renjun does remember is the feeling of his ratty old jeans on his sweaty palms, the dust in the air creating a film over his body.

i’m glad. mark had said.

mark’s older brother had died a drunk, flying in his beat-up little toyota corolla over the pasadena highway. he was going forty over the speed limit. he flew and flew in that tiny little four-seater sedan, flew and flew and then flew himself right into heaven with two of his friends in the backseat.

i’m glad he didn’t die here, in buttfuck nowhere arizona.

renjun had talked to mark’s brother all of three times in his whole life. once in grade school, when he and mark were little angels in the school play, when the two of them were still oh so cute. another time at one of mark’s track meets, the first big track meet mark had won, all the way in tucson. mark had woken renjun up at the asscrack of dawn, and mark’s brother had drove them all the five hours down to support his favorite little brother and his little brother’s best friend. the last time renjun had talked to mark’s older brother, was right before he left for california. he was riding the high of a full scholarship to caltech, because of course both the lee boys had never been anything less than perfect, and he had grinned at renjun and ruffled his hair the way only older brothers can, and promised he’d bring something good the next time he came back.

the next time he came back, he came back in a casket.

the crash had left him and his two friends a mangled mess, their limbs tangled up with each others’, blood mixing with gasoline and metal shavings. by the time police and first responders had arrived, the speed of the crash and the hot california sun had cooked their flesh, muscle and bone and hot pavement all congealing together in a mess of black and crimson. one of his caltech classmates says that the smoke from the crash could be seen from campus doors, rising in spirals and curlicues like temples in the air.

despite having only talked to mark’s brother three times, renjun went to his funeral.

he had promised mark, that night in the bed of his truck, that he would.

i can’t do it alone, mark had whispered, a soft song in the dead of the night. i need you.

renjun had squeezed mark’s right hand between his palms, and agreed.

it didn’t matter that mark almost never talked to renjun at school.

it didn’t matter that he hung out with the other seniors, the ones with ashy blonde hair and blue eyes that did football, or basketball, or cross country in the mornings before class and went hunting after. it didn’t matter that mark left renjun to sit alone at lunch, and at assembly, and at the back of calculus. it didn’t matter that renjun had no friends in school. because as soon as the sun went down, its bronze rays burning propane rainbows across the sky, mark and renjun were best friends.

so renjun went, and stood beside mark in the front pew of their tiny church, as guests came by to pay their respects.

renjun remembers that the casket had been a light, ashy brown, the same color as mark’s older brother’s hair. renjun remembers this because mark’s brother had to be scraped off the highway floor, and his body had been too mangled—burnt and indistinguishable—to have an open casket.

but there had still been a viewing, and people came anyway.

it’s what he would’ve wanted. the lee’s said.

renjun remembers not feeling sad.

but when marks hand had snuck to the side to entwine with renjun’s, renjun remembers his face getting hot, warm with something other than embarrassment.

and the two of them had sat on the hot pavement outside the church later that day.

shoulder-to-shoulder and knee-to-knee, and mark’s face had scrunched up into a scowl, hot tears traveling down his face, the first and only time renjun had ever seen him cry, and mark had cursed all the people that had visited the church that day. people that didn’t really know them. people that had called him and his brother a chink back in middle school, had tripped them in the hallways and made faces on the bus. people that never stood up, dirty jeans and ripped-up converse, screaming and running down the road after pelting them with gravel. people that never gave them a second glance, pressed collared shirts and ironed slacks from the private charter school half-an-hour away, their noses turned up into the dust laden air and their snickers hidden under their breath.

he should’ve been buried in california. mark had sniffed. this is not what he would’ve wanted.

that night, mark had downed an entire bottle of renjun’s baba’s tequila, the nice kind that he kept under watchful eye at the back of the freezer. mark had downed that entire bottle sitting in the back of his old pickup truck in the wendy’s parking lot, with nothing around them but darkness and dusty air and the thin moonlight.

renjun remembers watching the mosquitos buzzing around the streetlamp two parking spaces down.

renjun remembers the way mark’s speech slurred, the way their shoulders were pressed against each others’, their heads knocking together as always.

renjun remembers mark’s hand, palms soft and fingers callused from dancing over guitar strings every evening, coming up to cup his jaw.

renjun remembers the feeling of mark’s lips on his, mark’s drunken tongue pushing into his mouth, mark’s teeth gnashing against his lips, sharp enough to draw blood.

renjun remembers the taste of his first kiss, iron blood and bitter tequila and the feeling of unrequited love.

renjun remembers waking up in the truck bed the next morning at the asscrack of dawn, the sun’s first rays rising over the horizon, and looking at mark’s sleeping face, stained with blood and sticky with tequila.

renjun remembers lying that he was drunk too.

they don’t talk about it.

renjun doesn’t get another kiss for the next three years.

they don’t talk about it.

mark stops trying to write and make music.

they don’t talk about it.

their school advances to nationals for track.

they don’t talk about it.

renjun sees a recruiter knocking on the lee’s door.

they don’t talk about it.

mark leaves for new york the next year.

they don’t talk about it.

mark leaves for new york on a track scholarship to columbia.

they don’t talk about it.

mark leaves for new york on a track scholarship to columbia to study classical literature.

they don’t talk about it.

mark leaves for new york a traitor to renjun’s heart and a traitor to everyone in their town.

they don’t talk about it.

but when he’s packed his bags and is long gone, renjun pours his heart out onto the page. page and pages of poetry he has never had the courage to show anyone. pages and pages of words he has never had the courage to say. renjun gathers ten years worth of love and longing, shoves it all into an industrial-sized envelope, and sends it two houses down with marks name on the front, knowing it’ll be years before he’s back.

renjun sends it down and doesn’t think about it again.

he makes friends in art class and starts spending his time with other people.

he starts posting his drawings on social media.

he forgets about mark.

two years down the line, renjun moves to texas for a tattoo apprenticeship and doesn’t look back.

he sees mark sometimes, through the tinny light of his phone screen, pictures of jazz bars and skyscrapers and statues a hundred feet tall.

renjun can’t forgive him.

renjun can’t forgive mark moving past this place, past the dust and grime, past the food stamps and unpaid water bills, past his brother, six feet under in the cold dusty earth.

renjun can’t forgive mark for studying literature when there’s kids in their town who can’t read ‘til they’re in fifth grade, who shoot rocks at each other with slingshots made with old moldy sticks and the rubber bands from bread bags, whose parents have never set foot in a place with more than a hundred books, and whose families have never heard of a restaurant meal costing more than ten bucks.

renjun can’t forgive mark going off to live high and mighty in new york. that’s why renjun’s going to austin. he’ll be an artist for both of him if mark won’t.

renjun will give something back to the world now that mark has given him nothing but sweat and tears and broken promises.

renjun will not forget the dirt and dust from which he came.

renjun is sure of it.

but then he sees mark’s face plastered across the internet for the very first time.

and he realizes that mark has always been two steps ahead.

~♡~

the first time renjun sees mark again, it’s inside a little thrift shop just outside of the city. which is ironic, to say the least.

renjun’s stooped over to inspect a footstool that only has one suspicious looking stain on the side, when he catches a head of beach-blonde hair out of the corner of his eye. which isn’t suspicious to say the least, renjun’s sure there’s more bleach-fried hair than not in the great city of austin, but what makes his brows furrow is the slope of the stranger’s cheek. it’s too familiar, too reminiscent of dusty sunday light and old karaoke machines that don’t work and pennies rolling between the wooden slats of a schoolroom floor.

the stranger turns, just a fraction, and renjun’s heart stops in his chest.

he doesn’t know why he’s surprised, it’s not as if he wasn’t warned beforehand. mark’s face had been plastered across every message board, every instagram ad and trending twitter tag, across all the traditional, paper-and-glue billboards in austin’s downtown.

but it’s still a shock.

a shock to see the blue boy from his childhood, now in his city.

a shock that he looks the same as he’s always been, light wash denim and red plaid and a dark blue yankees cap. his hands and his fingertips and the way his cheekbones look sharp under the light.

renjun looks different though.

his hair all grown out and his arms snaked with tattoos. renjun huang refuses to be the same person he was in his childhood, the boy tagging along with the kid that ran too fast too far, always one step behind. always in the shadows.

renjun likes to think that he’s one with the shadows now.

renjun likes to think that, maybe if he pretends that mark isn’t actually here, in this goodwill a solid thirty minutes outside of austin proper, then maybe mark won’t even notice him.

maybe mark won’t recognize him at all.

hopefully mark won’t recognize him at all.

what would they even say to each other?

should renjun scream at him? curse him for leaving him and the rest of their town behind. berate him for going off to live his own life while the rest of them burnt away under the arizonian sun, baking themselves in regret and festering in their own poverty. should renjun remind him of what it felt like to have sweat and dust congeal over his skin, to have dirt perpetually under his fingernails, to walk around in an amber storm?

perhaps mark would scream back. scream at renjun for being the giant hypocrite that he is, for condemning mark and then turning his back to do the same thing. perhaps mark will tell renjun to look around at himself, look at the way he is living his life now that the groceries have gotten too easy to buy, the bars too easy to drink at, the boys too easy to kiss. too easy to pump his gas and too easy to pay his rent and too easy to forget about his parents even though he sends five hundred dollars of his paycheck to them each month.

too easy to hate mark lee and too easy to love the memory of him.

and then the boy is standing right in front of renjun.

and the dark roots under his grown-out blonde hair shine amber under the dingy yellow thrift store light.

too easy for renjun to forget that this boy and the boy from the past are not one in the same.

~♡~

dear mark lee,

i hope you don’t forget this town, and me along with it.

i hope you don’t forget the way we open our shutters, the way it lets the smoke out and the sun in, the way dust settles in the crack of the window panes and along the floorboards and between the strands of our hair.

i hope you don’t forget how hot the summers are here, when it hits 115 but there isn’t anyone on our street that has paid the energy bill this month, so all there is to do is sit in front of the window and wait for a breeze.

i hope you don’t forget the way we used to ride in your pickup truck down main street on thursday nights, not fridays only because you had track meets on saturday mornings, the way the dusty wind would run through our fingers and the moon would cool our feet.

i hope you know that i wasn’t drunk that night, but i knew you had hoped i was, so i lied.

mark lee you have made me into a liar, except, i have been lying to you all my life.

mark lee i hope you know that every time you pretended like you didn’t know me at school, because it’d be embarrassing for the only two asian kids in the whole school to be friends or whatever other excuse you came up with at the time, it hurt me. it hurt me to know that i was embarrassing for you, even though i and everyone else knew you would choose me in a heartbeat if it came down to it.

i don’t know if we were still best friends when you left, but i hope at the very least that you don’t hate me.

i can’t promise that i won’t hate you.

but i think the both of us know that you deserve it, just a little bit.

cheers to the first and last letter i’ll ever send you, mark lee.

yours,

renjun huang.

~♡~

the first time renjun huang sees mark lee outside of arizona, it goes a little something like this:

renjun huang is crouched at center stage, inspecting a footstool with only one questionable looking stain on the side.

mark lee enters from stage left, taking short, quick strides to where renjun is sitting, and stops right in front of him.

renjun huang looks up.

and screams bloody murder inside the goodwill.

~♡~

mark is trying to make small talk but renjun is having none of it.

they’re sat in renjun’s prius, it’s mint green with a myriad of stickers littering the bumper, because renjun has taste and that taste is one of progressive teen-aged girls across america.

mark clears his throat.

“to think that we met here!” he chuckles, “i’m guessing you aren’t here for my show or anything like that huh.”

renjun scoffs.

“the world doesn’t revolve around you, mark lee.” he looks at mark from the side of his eye. “besides, i heard those tickets have been sold out for weeks.”

mark gives him an awkward grin.

“well, it’s cause the venue’s so small. i guess everything in austin is cute and local.” he gives renjun a once-over. “including you.”

renjun snorts.

“it’s funny that you’re being rude to someone who has ever so graciously invited you into their home. i could just drop you off in the middle of downtown and let the fangirls have at it.”

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry.” mark looks down at where he’s wringing his hands in his lap. “i’m just really glad you didn’t punch me in the face or something.”

he laughs to himself but renjun doesn’t respond.

renjun’s just secretly glad that mark hasn’t brought up the letter. it was really a one-and-done deal, letting go of the boy he had spent the majority of his life attached to. that letter had truly been the one last physical proof of renjun’s attachment to mark. and he had bid it goodbye half a decade ago now. half a decade is a long time, but not long enough to quell the sting in renjun’s chest every time he thinks about the mark in his memories and the walk down the street to mark’s house.

the rest of the drive back to renjun’s apartment is silent.

small victories, renjun thinks.

they pull into the parking lot at the back of the little square renjun lives in. it’s across from his studio, which makes getting to work a hell of a lot easier in the mornings. the building is built in a u-shape, with two stories of apartments overlooking a little fountain in the middle of the ‘u’. the hallways aren’t enclosed, and the wooden staircases creak under mark’s footsteps. not under renjun’s though, he’s memorized where to step so he makes the least amount of sound at night. there are two black-and-white apartment cats that lounge about the second floor, and one is close enough to renjun’s apartment door that he makes a quick swipe and manages to pet it’s fluffy head before it darts away. he turns back and mark is looking at him with some unsaid emotion in his eyes, but a smile on his face.

renjun hasn’t looked, really looked, at mark in over five years.

he’s not ready to look now.

the lock to renjun’s door slides open with a sharp *click* and renjun ushers mark in before the bugs come in with them. he closes the door and slides the deadbolt with a thud. better safe than sorry in this part of town.

mark is looking around renjun’s place as if it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. he goes around inspecting all the cushions renjun has on his ratty couch, all the trinkets lining his shelves and the books on his coffee table. mark has always been like this, renjun thinks. too soft and smart and curious for his own good. renjun ignores mark sniffing around in favor of making some tea. he’s got a green tea tiramisu roll cake from a nice little fusion bakery downtown that he thinks mark would appreciate. he busies himself, pouring them both tea and slicing the cake. mark invites himself into the kitchen as well, big, clumsy hands searching for teacup saucers and the cute little plates that match.

they bring everything over to the dining table, and sit.

not side-by-side, but across from each other, each one looking into the others’ eyes.

renjun keeps his focus on mark’s mouth. he hasn’t looked, truly looked, at mark lee since over five years ago and he’s not about to start now.

mark breaks eye contact to fork in a mouthful of cake.

renjun sighs.

“how have your folks been.” he picks up a spoon and stirs his tea. “is it lonely back at home?”

mark grins.

“you still call that place home? neither of us have lived there in years, do we even still know the place?”

“yeah right, as if there’d be anything new in the middle of nowhere. the most that would have changed is probably a new dairy queen.” renjun rolls his eyes.

“ah right! we were all so sad when the old one burnt down.” mark shakes his head. “it was the most exciting thing that year!”

“it was the most exciting thing that decade.” renjun counters.

except your brother getting into caltech. except your brother dying drunk, going 120 on the highway. except you getting into columbia despite all that.

renjun doesn’t say anything else.

“listen, jun,” mark starts. “i know it’s been a while.”

“yeah, it has.”

“and i know we didn’t get off on the best of terms.”

renjun snorts.

“that’s the understatement of the century, mark lee.”

“look, i know it’s mostly my fault,” mark concedes. “and i know that you don’t owe me anything, and there’s probably a lot of stuff we need to work through and a lot of emotions and history we need to sort out.”

“no there isn’t” explodes out of renjun’s mouth. “no there isn’t anything, okay mark. there’s nothing between us, i promise it’s fine. everything is perfectly fine, people grow apart, people leave, we were kids for christ’s sake. did anyone expect for all of us to stay the same? as if you weren’t going to move away for college and i wasn’t going to graduate either?”

renjun lets out a breath. maybe this is what he’s truly thought all along.

“there’s nothing wrong with what you did, leaving.”

okay, maybe he’s still lying to himself.

“and whatever happened before that is well in the past, we probably don’t remember half of that stuff! and who would want to, anyways. i’m sure you don’t.”

oops, renjun hadn’t meant for that last part to slip out.

mark looks at him pointedly.

“don’t even lie to me, renjun huang. i can read you like an open book.”

you could always, renjun thought.

“listen, i think we should talk, alright? if you didn’t hold any hate for me you would’ve listened to at least one of my songs these past years, okay, i’m not even bragging but they’ve played on every radio station up the east coast, and i know that you haven’t.”

renjun huffs.

“how do you know i haven’t listened? i could’ve totally listened to one of your songs.”

mark raises an eyebrow.

“okay so have you?”

“...”

“yeah, that’s what i thought. i want to talk, jun, talk like we did before. and before you say anything– i know we can’t, but we need to talk anyways. talk about what i did and what you did. talk about everything.”

mark takes renjun’s hand and runs his thumb across the top of it.

“but before we do that, i want you to listen to one of my songs, alright? because maybe, maybe it’ll give you some insight into why i did what i did. and, because–” mark pauses “–because i think i know why you did what you did. and if there’s just a sliver of the renjun from back then still in you, i want him to know too.”

renjun’s hand gets squeezed between mark’s, his palms pressing in onto renjun’s, a soft but unrelenting pressure.

mark gets up, and fishes out two tickets from his jeans pocket.

“for you and a friend. i know you definitely won’t go alone.” he dusts himself off and makes his way to the door, placing his left hand on the knob. “please, i’m not forcing you. just think about it.”

he swings the door open.

renjun runs to meet him before it closes.

“don’t you need a ride back.” renjun’s brows furrow.

“awweee, are you worried about me junnie?” mark smiles. “don’t worry, i called an uber on the way here.”

the door slams shut, and renjun’s hand slides the deadbolt on instinct.

he was never going to stay, he thinks.

then he mentally slaps himself, because half a decade and three thousand miles should be enough to forget that you once longed for someone forever out of your reach.

but it isn’t.

nothing has ever been enough for mark lee.

he looks at the two tickets sitting on his dining room table.

maybe after this, he’ll finally have enough closure to let go.

~♡~

when renjun shows up for work the next day, there’s a deep set of bags under his eyes.

he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep the night before, his head running with thoughts of mark lee and his golden eyes and his deft fingers running through renjun’s hair.

it’s a good thing that the studio doesn’t have any clients scheduled today, because renjun doesn’t think he’d contribute to a healthy work environment. he’s groggy, and cranky, and the coffee he’d brewed that morning had over-boiled and started running down the sides of the coffee pot. then, he stubbed his toe on his way out the doorway, and as he bent down to make sure no toenails had been broken, the front door swung back and slammed him right in the ass.

when he walks into the studio, which is conveniently just across the complex, he’s greeted by the smiling face of jaemin, his insufferable but begrudgingly favorite coworker. while renjun mainly focuses on blackwork and heavily lined abstract pieces, jaemin does more colorful stuff, sanrio characters and little cats with fairy wings and portraits of little grassy fields covered in wildflowers. jaemin’s bubblegum pink hair is bouncing along to a pop song that’s playing from the radio, and his table is covered in test prints and old flash designs that he’s reworking into even more colorful and flowery designs.

jaemin looks up when the door hits the little bell that one of the seniors in the studio had installed (renjun’s pretty sure it was taeyong, who loves treating the studio as if it was a cute little bakery cafe and not a place people come to get art stabbed repeatedly into their skin).

“awwweeeeee, renjunnie’s sooooooo tired today.” jaemin sings. “isn’t that right, fluffy baby?”

jaemin has somehow roped one of the complex cats into the studio, which renjun would totally yell at him for, since it’s tainting the sanitation of the space, but there aren’t any customers today and honestly, renjun’s too damn tired to care. the cat, who usually looks insanely disgruntled whenever anyone picks it up, is actually purring in a little ball on jaemin’s lap. renjun is totally not jealous of jaemin and his cat-whispering abilities and his bleached hair that somehow stays fluffy even though he changes the color every other week and his cute boyfriend that is a total sweetheart despite spending basically every waking hour at the gym.

“jaemin, i swear to god, please don’t test me today.” renjun groans as he plops into his chair.

“oh my god, did you finally get dicked down last night? i knew you could do it renjunnie! did you meet the cutie at the thrift store?”

renjun glares at jaemin.

“no. i did meet someone else though..”

jaemin gives him a quizzical look.

“you know that guy from my hometown? the one that sings now?”

“mark lee? like the one that’s playing here on the weekend?”

renjun’s forehead slams down onto his desk.

“yeah that one. apparently he wants to talk or smth after his show ‘cause he gave me two tickets, jaem.” renjun shifts his head onto an arm and stares out the window. “i don’t know if i wanna go though. it’s probably more trouble than it’s worth.”

jaemin gives him a long, hard stare.

“renjunnie, how is free sold-out concert tickets and reconnecting with an old friend bad news?” he spins around in his chair. “sounds pretty good to me.”

“we’re not exactly friends.”

“so y’all didn’t know each other?”

renjun buries his head in his arms.

“no… it’s not that…”

“ohhhhhhhhhh,” jaemin thrusts and arm out to steady his spinning, the force of the spinning jolting the table and scattering his design sheets. “y’all were… in love.”

renjun moans into his arms.

“okay,” jaemin concedes, “not in love, probably not lovers then, which makes him an unrequited crush.” he extends out his leg and nudges renjun with his foot. “am i right?”

renjun lifts his head just enough to peak one eye out at jaemin.

“he kissed me though. once.”

“ahhhhhhhhhh!” jaemin screams. “your maybe-requited unrequited love. even spicier.” he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “maybe he’s inviting you to his concert and the two of you are gonna have steamy backstage sex afterwards.”

renjun scowls, but it’s hidden within his arm-fortress.

“he was drunk. and then the next day i pretended i was drunk and then we never talked about it ever again.” renjun sighs. “i sent him a love letter? sort of a love letter. anyways, i sent him one of those after he left for new york. dunno if he ever received it though. he didn’t mention it to me yesterday.”

“okay, so maybe he loved you. maybe he didn’t.” jaemin shrugs. “wouldn’t you like to know though. it seems like you’re still caught up in all of this–” he waves his hands around “–emotions nonsense.”

“you can go to the concert, see what he wanted you to see, and then talk it out afterwards. win-win”

“or lose-lose, i see something i don’t want to see and we fight and spend another half-decade not talking to each other at all.”

jaemin giggles.

“i know being pessimistic is kinda your brand,” he gestures vaguely at renjun, “but the chances of that happening are pretty unlikely. if it actually ends up that bad, we can go get blackout drunk afterwards and i’ll pay your whole tab.” jaemin does the weird eyebrow wiggle again. “you in renjunnie?”

renjun thinks for a moment. can it truly go that bad? i guess not. and i’ll finally get closure and hopefully never think about him again.

“okay, fine. i’m in.”

jaemin makes a celebratory noise and turns back to do his work.

“wait.. did you just scam me into giving you my extra ticket???”

“jaemin na!!!!”

~♡~

the venue is a low-key. there’s a stage on one side with space for a singer and a band, and on the other side sits a bar with rows of barstools flanking it. there are little tables with stools scattered around the bar, and the rest of the space is for standing.

renjun and jaemin are dressed decently, at jaemin’s insistence, of course. renjun had wanted to just pull on a random tee and jeans from his closet, but jaemin had complained a little too much about “not making an impression” so he had changed into a nicer shirt and some tighter jeans. they had gotten there early, and were now sitting at the bar and watching the other concert goers with green wristbands and overflowing beers mill around.

a gaggle of teenage girls walks past the duo, laden with little banners and cutouts of mark’s face.

“i heard his childhood sweetheart is in the crowd today,” one giggles.

“me too! i totally don’t believe it though.” another responds. “it’d be mean of mark to invite his ex to a show when duckie’s going to be right there on stage with him.”

“oh my god yeah, i just want to focus on mark and duckie today, i’ve seen the concert videos and i’m so ready for the stage chemistry between them.” a third girl squeals.

the group of them starts fighting their way to the front of the bar.

renjun turns to jaemin.

“who the fuck is this duckie person? what even is that name??”

jaemin laughs.

“i keep forgetting that you know like, absolutely nothing about mark now. duckie is donghyuck, he plays in lucille, they’re the band that’s doing mark’s tour.” jaemin takes a sip of his drink. “they’re a rock band. you’d like them. well, maybe not.” he give renjun a side-eye. “apparently donghyuck and mark have a thing.”

renjun snorts.

“like a sex thing?”

“nah, at least not that we know of. but they do kinda get handsy with each other on stage.” jaemin shakes his head. “are you disappointed that you might not get into mark’s pants tonight?”

renjun swishes his martini around. “no, jaem. you know that i’m just here to get closure. please shoot me if you find me in a room alone with mark lee after this whole thing.”

“can’t promise that renjunnie~” jaemin’s smirking. “maybe the two of you will be so hot that i’ll stay for the show~”

renjun reaches a hand over to swat at him.

“shut up. besides, the show’s starting.”

mark lee’s band, lucie or lucky or whatever, seems to have great timing because they start making their way on stage at that moment. the people standing around the stage start screaming. then, the golden boy himself, mark lee makes his way in from behind the curtains. the screaming, unsurprisingly gets even louder.

he does a little introductory speech, a spiel of the same old stuff, how he’s thankful for his fans supporting him and how he’s loving austin so far, something or another about cowboy hats and texas shaped waffles, etc. and then hes singing.

it’s a soft, crooning song about small towns and love, surprising, but nothing out of the ordinary. the lyrics don’t resonate with renjun, mark does not sing of dust and dirt and the baking sun. mark sings up a small town of his imagination, one with wide country roads and mom-and-pop ice cream parlors and little dates after school.

renjun sits back, convinced that there won’t be any special revelations to be gleaned from mark’s music.

the next song is similar. a breakup song about the way a person’s skin feels in the morning light, the softness of their lips and the way their hair sticks up in the morning. renjun has only woken up with mark once. only kissed him once. this song does not describe the night from his memories.

by the third song, renjun is pissed. he doesn’t know why mark has invited him here to listen to songs that have nothing to do with him, with their relationship, friendship? their whatever-it-was. also, mark and the bass player, which renjun can only assume is that ‘duckie’ character, have started getting really touchy onstage. at one point in the song, mark walks around to the other man, and runs his hand through duckie’s curly hair, giving it a tug on the way. duckie gives mark a salacious little grin, tongue slipping out between his teeth. renjun is going to throw up.

renjun tunes out the next few songs, his liquor is beginning to run dry, and quite frankly this bar is too expensive for him to fork over the money for another drink. he’s debating grabbing jaemin, the traitor that’s bopping his head along to the music, by the arm and making a break for it when suddenly–

you and i drive through our town,

the dust kicking up as the wheels spin,

little townspeople in their little houses all the way down,

opening their shutters in a way that lets the smoke out and the sun in,

my hands through your hair just to tease,

everything’s empty in our town,

nothing to do but wait for a breeze.

renjun freezes.

those are his words.

his.

and mark, that good-for-nothing motherfucker, has written them into his song and blasted it on the radio for the whole damn country to hear. this is what he wanted renjun to hear? did he really think renjun would be happy that mark fucking stole his words and put them in a song?

renjun’s hands are shaking in rage under the table.

mark had read his letter. okay. mark had read his letter and put it in his song, maybe he wanted renjun to hear? maybe renjun would hear the song on the radio and realize that mark had been thinking of him all along. okay. still a dick move, but renjun can deal with that. renjun can deal with well-meaning little markie and his clumsy little mistakes.

renjun lets out a heavy breath.

okay. it’s not that bad. just relax, you can talk to mark after this.

renjun looks up again.

mark and the ‘duckie’ character are making out on stage.

mark’s hands are gripped tight on his microphone and duckies hands are wound around mark’s neck. the crowd is cheering harder than ever. renjun is going to scream.

he watches the way their mouths move against each others’, slivers of mark’s pink tongue and duckie’s pierced one. their makeout session is smearing duckie’s heavy eyeliner, sweat making it run down his face in a pantomime of tears. mark catches duckie’s lower lip between his teeth. renjun suddenly tastes iron blood and bitter tequila and the feeling of unrequited love.

the table that he and jaemin are sitting at crashes to the ground.

when renjun comes back to, jaemin’s got one hand around his wrist, pulling him out of the bar. renjun can see the fallen table laying on the ground, drinks and broken glasses scattered around it. he looks up, and there mark is. he looks like a deer caught in the headlights, face ashen as if he has just done something irredeemable.

maybe he has.

~♡~

that night, jaemin stays true to his word, and buys enough liquor for renjun to drown in.

he drinks himself into a stupor, slurring his words and sloshing cups around. too drunk to stand properly, too drunk to think properly, too drunk to properly feel sad.

jaemin stays next to him the whole night.

in a rare moment where renjun’s just sober enough for coherent thought, he thinks, jaemin looks like he’s pitying me.

then, he goes right back to drinking.

he vaguely remembers stumbling down sixth street, his shoes dirtying as he walks right through puddles of dirty water and piss and probably vomit.

he remembers jaemin calling someone, and then being loaded into the back of a car.

he remembers being carried through the doorway into someone’s room, getting dumped on the bed, a cold towel to his head, and then–

darkness.

renjun hopes he’ll never wake.

~♡~

the next morning, he wakes up to brightness coming in through the blinds.

he recognizes the room and jaemin as jeno’s spare room, and spots his phone on the nightstand next to the bed. he checks his messages, grimacing when he realizes that he probably threw up on his clothes from last night as he’s now dressed in a neon-pink graphic tee and his boxers. he’ll have to buy jaemin a cake later as thanks. there’s a myriad of instagram likes and twitter notifications and a couple texts from people at work, one from a fellow artist friend at a different studio, and–

one from an unknown number, but renjun knows it by heart.

hey, i’m so sorry about last night. please, will you meet me to talk.

renjun sighs and makes his way out of the bedroom.

there’s a note on the table along with an aspirin and a glass of water. his clothes from yesterday are cleaned and folded next to it.

i hope you’re feeling better today renjunnie :)

renjun owes jaemin at least two cakes.

he pulls on his clothes, while texting back a quick response.

the coffee place on third. 12:00 today.

mark doesn’t deserve fresh clothes from renjun anyways.

~♡~

the bus ride to the coffee shop is a quiet affair.

there’s never really anyone up on sunday morning, and right now it’s around eleven, meaning that most people are still in church.

renjun soaks up the texas sun while the bus hits every single bump, curb, and pothole on it’s way towards the coffee shop.

after five stops or so, renjun pulls the line to get off, and the bus makes a shuddering, creaky stop at the station. he thanks the bus driver as he gets off, because people are just rude these days and being a bus driver is probably a thankless job. the bus station is not far from the coffee shop, and he can see a bleach-blonde silhouette in the window.

of course he’d be early.

renjun ignores him, though. he walks into the coffee shop, past the man waiting near the windows and up to the counter, orders a lavender latte with oat milk and a fruit tart, and then waits at the far end of the counter, playing candy crush on his phone. mark, to his benefit, does not come up to renjun at all. small victories.

renjun’s order is announced, and he goes up to the counter. one latte in a recycled-plastic togo cup, and one fruit tart in a little paper bag. then, he finally spins around and sees mark sitting in a little booth at the window. he looks nervous, there’s a horrendously light coffee-esque drink sitting in front of him, and he’s wringing his hands in his lap.

renjun plops down not side-by-side, but across from him, and sets the food he paid a painstaking seventeen dollars for onto the faux wood table.

mark looks up at him, and then looks back down at his hands.

“look, if you’re not going to talk, then imma go. i’m not here to waste time. especially not with you.”

mark clears his throat, embarrassed.

“look, i just want to say, i’m really sorry–”

renjun makes a noise in the back of his throat and looks at mark pointedly.

“no. none of that.” he shifts in his seat, pulling one leg up to fold beneath himself. “i just want to know why you did it.”

“renjun, i–”

“no, don’t say you’re sorry. i’ve had enough of sorry, especially after last night.” renjun takes a deep breath. “look, don’t interrupt me, okay? i need to say this. last night, seeing you on stage… you have no idea how much that hurt.”

“i didn’t mean to… i didn’t think that–” mark stutters.

“you didn’t think that it would hurt me to see you eating face with another guy on stage? after you read my letter and knew how i felt? after you took my words, my feelings that i had given to you over half a decade ago, and put them in your song?” renjun gives a hysterical laugh. “you didn’t think!??”

“renjun, i… i thought you’d be happy.” mark’s breathing catches. “happy with me.. and happy with us.”

“happy? is that really what you thought? that i would be pleased with you using my deepest emotions as fodder for your groupies?” renjun can feel his eyes tearing up. “you thought i would be happy that you used my hurt to feed your fans?”

“i thought.. i mean, i thought you’d realize. i thought you’d realized that i’d loved you and had been thinking of you all this time.” marks hands twist in his shirt.

“loved me!? if you loved me, you wouldn’t have stolen my words, made them your own, spread your claim across every radio station in america, and then kissed your band member on stage when you knew i was in the crowd. when you personally invited me and begged me to come.” renjun swipes at his eyes. “was that what you needed to tell me? that you’re in love with the sexy bassist of a rock band and now the two of you are going to fuck off into the sunset together? did you think knowing that you had loved me was an easy way of letting me down?”

“it was just a… a heat of the moment thing, jun. i didn’t plan it, it just… happened, is all.”

“just happened? mark, we both know you’re not the type to let anything just happen. you’re a performer, your whole job is centered around knowing how to control a crowd, how to create the perfect image of yourself. and you did. just at my expense.”

“renjun, i–”

“no, mark.”

renjun shivers under the cold cafe air but pushes onwards.

“i’ve listened to you. i listened to you all last night. now, you have to listen to me.”

mark blinks back at him but says nothing.

“you might’ve liked me, hell you might’ve even loved me, but you’re not ready. you’re not ready to commit to me, or to anyone, for that matter. you’re in love with the spotlight, mark. you’re in love with the fact that you supposedly made such a great, grand gesture of love to me through your song, through whatever the fuck happened last night. you’re in love with the idea that a small town boy turned music star can waltz back into the lives of everyone he left behind and sweep them off their feet. that you can waltz back into my life and sweep me off my feet.”

“i… i promise, that isn’t it, renjun. i haven’t change–or i will change–whichever is better. renjun, please–”

“can you? change or not change. isn’t this just another performance? another act for the fans, for the media. you might be in love with me, mark, but you’re in love with yourself much more. your in love with the idea of being in love, with the idea of been wanted. well, here’s the news. you can be the knight-in-shining-armor to every girl in america, but you aren’t mine.”

“that isn’t true, jun.” mark’s getting upset, his legs tensing under the table, “i have never thought that way about you.”

“it’s okay, mark. i think.. i think it’s time for both of us to move on. that’s what i went for yesterday, closure. you have your life, your music. it’s time that i found a path leading away from you.” renjun sighs, looking into the distance. “i keep telling myself that i’ve spent the last seven years without thinking of you, but in truth, you’ve infiltrated every part of my life. just like the dust back home.”

he turns back to mark. renjun looks, honestly looks, at mark for the first time in over five years.

“do you remember arizona, mark?”

“of course i do.”

renjun raises an eyebrow and the quick defense.

“do you remember our little town of buttfuck nowhere?” he laughs to himself at the nickname.

“renjun, we grew up there, of course i remember.” mark’s brows furrow.

“here’s the thing, i don’t think you do. you left it all behind. you left us all behind. your parents, your brother, me…”

“jun, it wasn’t like that.” mark sighs. “i wanted to tell you, i really did, i wanted to talk–”

“did you, mark?” renjun raises an eyebrow. “do you remember how after your brother left, we were the only two asian kids in that tiny ass town? how you, with your sports and your effortless good grades and fancy upperclassman friends, would avoid me at school and only hang out with me after? wasn’t i your best friend?”

“i didn’t…” mark choked.

“didn’t what, mark? didn’t mean to? you always avoid inconvenient things, don’t you? just like the night of your brother’s funeral.” renjun’s talked himself into a frenzy, words slipping out of his mouth.

“jun…”

“do you remember that night, mark? the night of your brother’s funeral. how i snuck that fancy tequila out of the back of my family’s fridge, and you downed the whole thing sitting in the back of your truck in the wendy’s parking lot?”

“renjun, i…”

“i’ll admit, i lied. the day after, when you joked about how drunk the two of us were, i lied and went along with it. but both of us know i didn’t have a single sip of that liquor.” renjun wets his lips, chapped from all his talking. “you left me hanging for a year after that, mark. a year of silence, even though you knew. a year of wondering if that night was simply a figment of my imagination.”

“renjun, it wasn’t like that. i… i was scared.”

“scared!? scared of what? what could perfect mark lee possibly be scared of?”

“scared of the townspeople, jun. you know how it’s like back there, how they treat anyone that’s just a little bit different. the kids used to throw rocks at us at school, jun, don’t you remember? and that was before either of us knew why we were different.” mark finally takes a sip of his long forgotten coffee. it’s watery, the ice long melted. “scared of ruining our friendship, that what i felt for you would change everything. i… i know it was wrong, but i avoided you. i didn’t want anything to change so, i hoped that if i just let it be, nothing would.”

“mark, how–”

“i know, okay. i know it was wrong of me to do but i had no other solutions at the time. i just felt guilty, i felt guilty about you, about the idea of us all the damn time. it haunted me, renjun, i haunted me my every waking moment.” mark lets out a slow breath. “that’s why i committed to columbia, even though all i wanted to do was write and make music. i know you felt betrayed that i was giving up my dream to go play pretend with all the rich, pretentious new york kids, but i had not choice. i needed to do right, do right by my parents, do right by god, do right by you… god, jun. you have no idea.”

“so you just ran away.”

“i said, it’s not like that.”

“it seems exactly like that to me. you ran away from us, from the food stamps and dirt roads and dead-end jobs, from the burning sun and the dust that settles into our bones, creeping into our clothes, our homes, our memories. you ran off to new york, away from the horrors of small-town arizona, from old mr. davis that shot a kid dead in his front yard, from mary-anne who got pregnant at thirteen, from yourself, the you that kissed me, dead drunk in the back of your pickup truck. ran away from this place where instead of haunting, our sins eat us from the inside out and make a warm little home to stay in our bodies, forever. you embraced those prissy city kids, mark. kids who bust two grand shopping every weekend. new york champagne and all the big city girls a college kid could ever dream of.”

renjun grins, but it’s sharp. cutting.

“that’s not fair, renjun. you did the same, didn’t you? a little one bedroom just outside of downtown, thousand-dollar tattoos inked up on your wrists. enough weed and booze to kill a small child, three times over.”

so mark had paid attention that time he was over, renjun thought.

“what’s the difference? we both moved out. we both moved on, indulged in the clean kind of drugs, drank bottled water and ran our ac’s every moment of every day. there is no difference.”

renjun looks down at his drink.

“the difference is in how we remember, mark. the difference is in how we respect the place that made us who we are, brought us up and shaped us into the people we have become. you used arizona as a stepping stone, you got that track scholarship and then forgot all about us. but for me, it’s home. i tried not to look back, i really did, but i couldn’t. there was too much tying me there. our families. our friends. our memories, sweet and painful all at once. that town is the taste of our drunken kiss, iron blood and bitter tequila. it’s the taste of the silence that followed, and the yearning that has never walked away, even when you did.”

mark speaks up.

“i miss arizona too. i do. do you think there’s not a time where i don’t picture your face in my memories? that i don’t think of my parents, singing and playing the piano in our living room? of the way my brother would ruffle my hair and take me out on little adventures? i’m allowed to both miss them and also move on. just like you did. you’ve obviously moved on too.” he looks pointedly at renjun’s tattoos.

“yes, i did. i left them all behind,” renjun spits. “but i didn’t abandon arizona. i didn’t abandon our roots. i go back to your brother’s grave and i walk along the sideways of that dusty little town every year. i send money back to my folks and whenever i’m home i wash the sheets and wipe down the windows just like i did before i left. i go from white picket fences and porch swings to chain-link and tires every damn year because i’ve gotta pay respects to the place that raised me. even if i don’t want to. even if every step in that town cakes me in dust, it mixes with my sweat and covers my entire body, but i still go.”

renjun chokes on his words.

“back there it’s safe enough to walk outside in the dark of night with nothing but the clothes on your back, and that’s only because any sane neighbor won’t shoot you if they know your name and that your daddy’s got two shotguns himself, but there’s still bear spray in my back pocket ‘cause i can’t shake austin off my feet. but i still go. there’s not a day i don’t dream of dying here, surrounded by rich kids and thousand-dollar-a-gram cocaine, but then i wake up, and i know in my heart that i’ll be buried back at home. back in arizona next to my mama and baba, next to the plot that your brother’s in, that your parents will be in some sixty years down the line. but not you. i know you’d never come back, much less die in that town. even if i had wished that we would sleep next to each other, for eternity.”

a tear threatens to slip down renjun’s cheek, but he wills it away.

“even though i hated you, i always hoped that you would read that letter, the poems i had written over those long ten years. i always fantasized that you’d read them, and drop everything to come back to me. i wished that you would be my prince charming and whisk me away from that horrible place.” renjun sniffs. “i prayed that we’d be together forever. fated to be born in that dusty little town and fated to die there. just the two of us. and everyone else would ignore us because that’s just what people did back there, like they ignored it when high school girls came back to after break pregnant and when little boys would walk out of the gas station with their pockets bulging and when the old couple down the road would shoot rounds upon rounds out into their backyard in the bleak of the night.”

renjun looks up at mark. his mouth is pulled back into a thin line, his chin quivering with unexpressed emotion. wow, renjun thinks, for the second time in my life, i might see mark lee cry.

“i never meant to hurt anyone,” mark started. “i never… it just hurt too much to look back. i visited once after junior year but–it was too different and similar at the same time. it both hurt me and soothed my hurt all at once and i… i just couldn’t do it again.”

“but you did, mark. you did mean it and you didn’t look back. and now you’ve hurt me all over again.” renjun chuckles to himself. “this time in a completely new and profound way. i never made promises i couldn’t keep, mark. i never took someone else’s word and made them my own to broadcast all over the country. i never deluded myself with blissful fiction and then tried to push someone else into my delusion. i’ve never told someone i love them and then kissed someone else.”

mark swallows, and looks away from renjun’s face guiltily.

“i know i have my faults, mark, and i’m not innocent here. but you… you need to finally realize that you aren’t perfect. your mistakes exist, mark, and they’re big enough to swallow you.”

“jun, i promise… i didn’t mean to–”

“you never mean to, mark, but it keeps happening. you left arizona, you left me, and you’ve left yourself behind, too. you’ve left yourself behind in a relentless and valiant pursuit of something grand, grander the the life you had lived and the people you had known. but, can you tell me, mark… was it all worth it? the big-city lights, the fame, the grandeur and applause… did it fill the void you left behind? did it bury all the dust? did it erase the taste of our kiss with a sweeter drug?”

renjun lifts the necklace hidden under his shirt this whole time, and mark’s breath catches when he sees the pendant; a silver ring, bought using eight months worth of a high schooler’s savings.

“don’t worry, i’m not giving it back.” renjun smiles, a real, genuine smile, for the first time. “i’ll be keeping it with me, until the next time we talk.” he pauses. “i hope then, we can have a good conversation, as friends” he takes mark’s hand one last time, “but more importantly, as our own people.”

the bell on the cafe door rings on renjun’s way out.

~♡~