Work Text:
In truth, Renjun had not discounted sex with Mark until they were rounding the corner to his hasukjib and Mark said suddenly that Renjun should be more wary of older guys.
Renjun makes a face that Mark can’t see with his eyes fixed responsibly on the road. He’d been fine with not being recognized at first, and the revelation that this shitty car wasn’t even Mark’s or that he could hardly drive it — as evidenced by his jerkiness and how he’d swatted Renjun’s hand away from the radio when he’d intended to kill the first silent minutes of the ride, Mark claiming that he couldn’t concentrate with it blaring music. None of this diminished Renjun’s sexual curiosity; what had definitively killed it was his patronizing tone.
“Well,” Renjun starts, his courtesy beginning to fray around the edges. “You’re an older guy,” he makes several pointed emphases. ”And I am in your car.”
“Yeah, but I know you,” Mark shoots back, unbearably smug. “And I’m only older than you by, like, a year. Isn't Younghoon a senior, though?”
He tried to call him again after he’d hooked his phone up to Mark’s portable battery, he must have peeked at the caller ID. His fingers twitch in mild annoyance. Personally, he didn’t think having attended the same, crowded international high school constituted knowing someone — even if, once upon a time, Renjun had harbored the smallest, most harmless crush on him. Now, he knew nothing about Mark except that he couldn’t drive a manual, he sang in a band, and he went to Yonsei. None of which helped to make this car ride less awkward or justified the random dig at Younghoon.
“But I know him better than I know you, he’s…” Renjun says, instinctively defensive but quickly faltering. He isn’t sure why he’s about to get into all the intricacies of his latest situationship with some guy he went to high school with. Maybe because Mark, despite his ego, is deceptively trustworthy; a friend to everyone, but he manages to stop himself. “He’s my friend.” he settles on, if a little weakly.
Mark scoffs, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel. “A friend that ditches you in the rain in the middle of the night?” he whistles, sarcastic. “Some friend he is.”
Renjun’s lips pressed into a line, disquieted at being reminded of the events earlier in the night.
To say that Mark had rescued him would be an understatement.
He found him stranded like a sopping wet kitten under a flimsy university club tent; its metal legs beginning to buckle under the sudden downpour. Renjun had been trying to call Younghoon for the last ten minutes when his phone died. Now, he couldn’t even check if the trains were still running, or text Chenle to pick him up, or call his parents to tell them that he loved them before he succumbed to the bone-chilling cold. He allowed himself to curse and stomp his feet, the puddle water splashing up his jeans making him madder. He was about to give up and stay put when he noticed an opportune silhouette across the empty field, floodlights catching on the promising glint of an umbrella.
Desperate, Renjun waved the stranger over. They stopped in their tracks, then hurried over, realizing at once that they must have been the only people left.
The stranger wore baggy, Yonsei blue too, and had a black guitar case slung across his back, but when he made it to the tent and lowered his umbrella, it turned out he wasn’t a stranger at all. Renjun blinked at him in surprise.
“Hey, you alright?” Mark asked, his voice careful and expression unreadable as he studied him.
Like everyone else, Mark had noticed his hair first; a long, tinseled silver that framed his face, but must have hung limp now that it was soaked. Renjun tried to be careful not to get his face wet because he hadn’t wanted his makeup to go runny just in case he had to ride the train back — they were way past that, he felt the blue hearts he’d drawn on the apples of his cheeks drip down his jaw and neck. He had finished off his makeup with a generous smattering of a shimmery dust he borrowed from Yizhuo and he was sure that had been misted off too. Renjun had insisted to himself and everyone that he didn’t get dolled up for Younghoon, but now he just felt stupid.
He shivered but stood still as Mark tried to get a better look at him. “Uh, yeah. I’m just,” he replied weakly. “Just stranded, I guess.” He hugged his arms tighter to his chest, appearing more pitiful than before.
Mark stalled, his grip on the umbrella handle slacked. His eyes softened but still flicked around to assess the situation. “You know,” he started slowly, as if it pained him to offer. “It’s late, ‘s not safe out here — the weather’s pretty brutal. I can give you a ride if you need it.” he gestured over his shoulder to the parking lot, then suddenly laughed in a strange, nervous way. “As long as you’re not a crazy fan or something.”
Renjun snorted at that, then noticed that Mark looked especially earnest, jaw squared and eyes large; expecting a serious response. He tried to remember if Mark was this much of an egotist in high school. “Not a fan. I swear.”
Mark’s eyes narrowed slightly, like he wasn’t really convinced but he nodded. Weirdo. Renjun thought. “Okay then, let’s go,” he said. “Don’t want you dying on me or something.”
As they walked across the field, huddled under the same umbrella, Mark seemed to relax slightly; though he kept his distance, and only let Renjun walk slightly ahead of him, glancing sideways constantly, like he still wasn’t sure what to make of him. When they reached the car and Renjun climbed in, he noticed Mark studying him out of the corner of his eye.
“You sure you’re not a fan?” Mark asked again, only half-joking this time.
Renjun rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mark. I’m sure that I am not a fan of you. Now, can you please drive me home?”
"Wait, how did you know my name?” His face went a little white with unease. He tried to sound casual, but there was that sharpening edge of uncertainty, like he was half about to kick Renjun out of his car. “You know me from the band, right? We had a lot of gigs recently, I get it, if you’ve seen me — or, uh, us around.”
Renjun could only blink, the realization was breathtaking. Not only had Mark not recognized him, but he thought Renjun was a fucking groupie? “You don’t know who I am.” he deadpanned, a statement, not a question. “Oh my god.”
Mark seemed to be on the verge of figuring things out, he averted his eyes and scratched his temple. "Uh, sorry, man. I meet a lot of people. Are you… not a fan?"
If he were less desperate, maybe Renjun would have parted ways here and just waded to the nearest security booth to bum a much-needed call. Instead, he gave Mark a withering look — the kind his friends said he was too good at. “We went to school together.”
Mark stared at him, owlish and ridiculous, the cogs in his brain clearly working overtime, trying to process the information; and when that was done, his jaw dropped. “Holy shit, Renjun? From high school?”
“Yes.” he replied with finality, angling himself away from Mark, inclined towards the passenger seat’s window instead, but his head turned to a loud thud.
Mark had let his head drop to the steering wheel and groaned, he turned his face to look at Renjun: red in the forehead from the impact, but flushed around the cheeks from embarrassment too. “Dude, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even recognize you. I thought you were… you know, one of those people who shows up at our gigs.” He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly. “Sorry, for thinking that you were — the band is just really taking off right now.”
He spoke about the band like it was some universal phenomena and he was stupid for not knowing, but Mark was giving him a ride home, so Renjun could be gracious for now. “Right,” he says, hoping to put an end to this talk. “Don’t worry about it.”
They sat in that awkward, suspended silence for a moment, the rain hammering down on the roof which hardly hampered the sound. Mark started the car, his previous guardedness replaced with a newfound embarrassment. “Well, I guess I owe you a better explanation for being all weird back there.” He glanced at Renjun, offering a sheepish grin.
Renjun just shrugged. “I’ll take the ride as an apology.”
They pull up to the front of his building, the car sputtering as Mark eases it into park.
“So, this is it?” He moves to put an arm around the passenger seat to lean in and take a better look, but he catches himself when Renjun side-eyes him.
Renjun doesn’t reply immediately, fixing his gaze on the glowing windows of the hasukjib. At the promise of warmth, his clothes felt especially damp and cold clinging to him; it made him want to do nothing more than shed all of tonight’s mistakes and mortifications, and crawl into bed. He finally nods minutely, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Yeah.” his voice quieter, the edge entirely gone.
If Mark feels like he’s overstepped, it’s apparent in the regret on his face. He began to reach for the umbrella he’d callously tossed to the backseat but Renjun waves him off.
“Hey, look…” Mark starts, sounding a little unsure. "About what I said —"
“It’s fine.” Renjun cuts him off curtly. “Really.”
Mark frowns, stressing the hollows of his cheeks and his brow furrowed, like he has more he wants to say but then seems to think better of it. “Yeah, okay. Sorry.”
Renjun sighs, his hand lingering on the door handle. "Thank you for the ride, Mark.”
He shifts in his seat. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” he raises his head to take a proper look at Renjun. “Well, uh… I’ll see you around, I guess?” Mark says, an almost hopeful tone in his voice.
Renjun doesn’t respond to that right away; just opens the door and steps out into the drizzle, shivering slightly as the cool air hits him. He leans back into the car for a final glance at Mark, who’s still sitting there, watching him with that almost signature, awkward expression.
“Goodnight, Mark,” Renjun says.
Mark nods once, a slight smile playing on his lips. “Goodnight, Renjun.”
The following days are less eventful, but it doesn't last.
Renjun let two calls from Chenle and one from Younghoon go by while he was at the studio. The latter had predictably been trying to get in touch with him since the university festival debacle, but he didn’t think he was equipped to deal with that yet, so he skims his chat with Chenle first.
[2:31 PM] zhong chenle: why is mark asking for your number
[2:31 PM] zhong chenle: what do u want me to say
[2:31 PM] zhong chenle: should i…
[2:32 PM] zhong chenle: are u still in class?
[2:32 PM] zhong chenle: is that why ur not answering
[2:33 PM] zhong chenle: call me after
[2:35 PM] zhong chenle: and buy me a coffee if ur coming over
He huffs out a laugh, at Chenle’s directness and the memory of Mark. His fingers hover over the screen, without even knowing what to say yet. But before he could type out a reply, his phone buzzed again. Renjun answers the incoming call automatically, sandwiching his phone between ear and shoulder as he undid the knot of his apron.
“If Mark wants to apologize, you can tell him it’s fine. He doesn’t have to — ”
“Woah, Renjun?”
He stiffened at the voice, deeper and definitely wasn’t Chenle’s.
“Younghoon-hyung?”
“Yeah,” he answers carefully. “Were you expecting someone else?”
Renjun let the question answer itself. He pulls his apron off and hangs it up, takes out a stool from under a bench to sit on, but doesn’t and just ends up pacing around. The silence is brief, Younghoon knows he’s still upset.
He clears his throat. “I’ve been trying to talk to you since that night. I didn’t mean for things to go like that.”
Renjun rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I noticed,” he says flatly, leaning against the cold concrete wall of the studio. “You kinda just left. You didn’t think you could’ve at least told me?”
“I meant to,” he confessed immediately. “A lot of things just came up behind the scenes, organizer duties.” Renjun could almost picture Younghoon standing there: running a hand through his hair, his big pleading eyes under big wrinkled brows. “Probably the wrong time to ask you on a date, in hindsight.” he tries to joke.
“Right.”
It’s like he doesn’t know what to do without Renjun’s usual, instant absolution; rendered silent in its absence. “Listen, hyung, I can’t really talk right now.” he says finally, but without conviction. “But, uh, we should talk about this — us, some other time at least.”
Younghoon’s hesitance is palpable, but so is Renjun’s will. He acquiesces. “Yeah, okay. We should.”
Renjun exhales, the weight of everything unresolved between them heavy in the air. “Take care, hyung,” he says, not waiting for a response before ending the call.
He puts his phone down, stares at it, and comes to a decision.
[2:31 PM] zhong chenle: should i…
┗ [3:02 PM] me: 👍