Archive of Our Own

“Okay, final round! Truth or Dare: Chaos Idol Edition,” the MC shouts, laughter already in their voice, “And if you chicken out, you must drink the random smoothie!”

Mark winces. “No more weird smoothies, please. The one with garlic and chocolate scarred me.”

Next to him, Jisung’s grinning, legs crossed and one sock rolled down to his ankle like he forgot it halfway. “Then don’t chicken out, hyung.”

“Hyung?” Mark squints, mock offense. “You’re brave today.”

Jisung shrugs, fingers fidgeting with the label on his water bottle. He’s been buzzing with nervous energy all shoot, partly from the game, mostly from the fact that Mark keeps looking at him during every turn like he’s waiting for a punchline.

He’s never going to survive this.

“Alright, Jisung, your turn,” the MC grins. “Truth or Dare?”

Jisung doesn’t even hesitate. “Truth.”

“Easy one then.” The MC pauses dramatically. “Tell us which member you’d date if you had to.”

The studio erupts into teasing laughter. Jeno dramatically fake fainting behind the couch. Jaemin chants “say my name” like he’s at a concert.

Jisung? Jisung feels like he might pass out.

“Uh…” he starts, heart slamming . He meets Mark’s gaze for half a second too long, warm, open, totally unaware that Jisung has spent the last four years crushing on him like a fool.

Mark tilts his head, smiling, like he’s curious. Like he wants to know .

And something inside Jisung snaps.

“…Mark hyung,” he says, soft but sure, like it’s not the most dangerous thing he’s ever admitted out loud.

The room falls silent .

Even the MC blinks. “O-oh? That was… fast. We love maknae, who know what they like!” trying to keep a dynamic for the show.

Mark laughs, caught off guard. “Wait— me ?”

Jisung’s ears turn red . He tries to play it off, waving his hand. “Yeah, yeah, why not? You’re cool. Play guitar. Kinda dreamy, if you squint.”

Mark blinks again, eyebrows lifting. “Did you just call me dreamy?”

The camera zooms in. Jeno chokes . Jaemin yells “ Yah?! ” like this is live television. The staff are howling . Jisung wants the ground to swallow him whole.

He blurts the only thing his panicked brain can manage:
“Anyway! It’s just a game, right?”

The problem is Mark doesn’t laugh it off. Don't go “ew” or “wow okay.”

Instead, he goes quiet. Just watches Jisung with a strange expression like he’s seeing something new, something he’s not sure how to categorize yet.

Like maybe —just maybe — he’s considering it.

The segment wraps up not long after.

Jisung survives it by sheer force of will, not looking at anyone, not reacting when Jaemin whispers “You’re so dead” like an older sibling watching their younger brother light a house on fire. Jeno pats his back in mock sympathy. Mark keeps… glancing over.

Too many times.

And the worst part? He’s smiling that weird half-smile he only uses when he’s thinking too much . Not amused. Not shocked. Just… considering. Like he’s storing the moment somewhere, like he’s going to revisit it later.

Jisung wants to disappear into a couch cushion and never reappear.

***

“You’re not gonna die,” Jeno says over dinner, shoveling rice into his mouth. “Probably.”

“Not helping,” Jisung mutters, face down on the table. His chopsticks are still unused. “I basically told Mark hyung I want to date him. On camera.”

“You said it was just a game.” Insert Chenle, patting his best friend tight. Him and the rest of the vocal lines weren't there but strangely —or not— Chenle text was the first thing he saw once seated in the van.

“I also called him dreamy .”

Jaemin, scrolling through the group chat where the staff had already sent screencaps, snorts. “Yeah, that part’s going viral.”

“I hope I get banned from the internet.”

“Not before the company milks this,” Jaemin says. “You know how they get.”

Jeno nods grimly. “We’re due for a pairing push. You just made their job too easy.”

Jisung groans. “They wouldn’t.”

***

They do.

The next morning, he’s called into a meeting. Sitting across from the manager and a very amused PR rep, Jisung folds his hands politely and tries not to scream.

“We just wanted to say,” the PR rep begins, “the response to yesterday’s variety show has been… overwhelmingly positive.”

“Oh,” Jisung says weakly.

“Fans are loving the ‘unexpected chemistry.’ You and Mark, huh?” She smiles, clearly enjoying this. “You’ve got a lot of natural banter. Very sweet.”

He opens his mouth to protest but realizes quickly: any denial would sound like rejection . And he’s not trying to get “Mark-hyung-is-actually-disgusting” trending.

“So,” she continues, “we’d like to let this breathe a bit. A few joint appearances. Maybe a special vlog. Keep it lighthearted. Wink-wink stuff.”

Jisung nods. Nods too fast. “Sure. That’s fine. Totally. Super casual. Wink-wink. Hah.”

He leaves the meeting with a pit in his stomach and four unread messages from Jaemin, one of which just says:

Jaemin > i told you. ur done for.

***

The real problem doesn’t come until later that day, when they’re in the practice room cooling off, and Mark walks in with two drinks.

One he hands to Renjun. The other—to Jisung.

“Got you the ginger one,” he says, casual.

Jisung stares at it like it’s ticking. “Uh. Thanks?”

Mark shrugs, sits down next to him like he always does, like nothing’s changed. Except now everything is horrible.

The room is still too full to say anything dangerous, but Jisung feels the weight of the look again. That same one from the shoot. Thoughtful. Quiet.

Mark sips his drink. “Hey, earlier. On the show.”

Jisung chokes immediately. “Y-Yeah?”

“You weren’t serious, right?”

And there it is. The moment of death. Confirmed. Game over.

He should say no. He knows he should say no.

But then Mark’s eyes flick over again, softer than they should be, like he’s bracing himself for the answer. And Jisung, poor dumb idiot that he is, panics.

“…Kind of?”

Mark blinks. “Kind of?”

“I mean,” Jisung gestures wildly, “it was a game, but like… you’re—you’re cool? And I admire you? Not like in a weird way, just… in a hyung I respect and maybe think about at night sometimes way—NO, NOT LIKE THAT—”

Mark’s ears turn bright red .

“I’m gonna shut up,” Jisung says, burying his face in the drink.

Mark is still processing.

Then he laughs. Not mean or mocking—just a little dazed. “You’re so weird.”

“I know. ”

There’s a pause. Then Mark nudges his knee.

“I don’t mind it.”

Jisung turns to him. “Huh?”

“You liking me. Kinda. I don’t mind it.”

Jisung just blinks. Heart doing actual gymnastics.

“Oh,” he says. Then, stupidly: “Cool.”

Mark nods, like this is a totally normal conversation between friends. Then stands and goes to talk to the manager about rehearsal scheduling like he didn’t just gently wreck Jisung’s entire sense of balance.

Jisung stares after him. He doesn’t move for a solid five minutes.

Renjun walks by and mutters, “You’re making that face again.”

“I need to be sedated.”

***

“You’re kidding,” Jisung says, staring at the concept board.

“Nope,” says the stylist, entirely too cheerful. “Soft date vibes. Matching hoodies. Mark-hyung leads the walk, you follow holding hands. Kind of shy, kind of flirty.”

He turns to Mark for backup.

Mark is… smiling . Calm. Even a little amused.

“Are you okay with that?” he asks gently.

Jisung can’t say no —not with three staff members, two cameras, and a very determined concept director standing ten feet away.

“Yeah,” Jisung says, voice twelve octaves higher than normal. “Totally chill. I love hand-holding. Big fan. Huge.”

The stylist hums and adjusts the hoodie’s drawstring. “You’re shaking.”

“It’s cold.”

“We’re indoors.”

“AC cold.”

***

The shoot is for a behind-the-scenes vlog—the kind that “accidentally” releases timed with the variety show’s broadcast. It’s nothing new. They’ve all done couple-style content before. But never like this .

Never when the feelings aren’t acting.

Or—at least—not for him.

Mark, meanwhile, is already in full pro mode. Soft smile, hoodie half-zipped, leaning just enough to look relaxed without slouching. “You ready?”

Jisung nods, regretting it instantly when Mark reaches down and takes his hand like it’s nothing.

His fingers are warm. A little rough. Familiar in a way that makes Jisung’s stomach do cartwheels.

“Why is your hand clammy ?” Mark asks, teasing but curious.

“I don’t know, why are you holding it?”

“You want me to let go?”

“…No.”

Mark huffs a quiet laugh but doesn’t say anything else.

The camera starts rolling.

Scene one: walking slowly across a rooftop deck surrounded by fairy lights.

It’s meant to look like a casual evening stroll. Mark has to glance over his shoulder and “pull” Jisung forward like they’re on a date.

The first time they try it, Jisung trips over his own foot.

The second time, he stares directly into the camera like a haunted man and gets scolded.

“Try to look at Mark hyung more!” the director calls. “Like you’re falling for him in real time! ”

“I don’t have to act for that,” Jisung mutters under his breath.

Mark snorts. “What?”

“Nothing.”

On take three, something changes.

Mark slows his steps just enough for their shoulders to brush. His hand tightens around Jisung’s. Barely. But he does it like it means something. Like he’s not just performing.

Jisung looks at him, heart thudding. Mark’s gaze is soft. Focused.

And for the first time in the shoot, their timing is perfect.

Cut. Perfect. One take.

The staff claps. Someone mutters, “Wow, they’re actually convincing.”

Jisung hears it, cheeks burning.

Mark just squeezes his hand again before letting go.

Scene two: the photo booth.

Jisung sits first, trying to breathe. Mark slides in next to him, knees brushing. The camera clicks rapidly, catching their silhouettes under dim string lights.

“Make it cute,” someone off-screen says. “Maybe do a forehead lean?”

Jisung nearly chokes. “A what now ?”

But Mark—traitor, villain, menace—just tilts his head like it’s easy and leans forward , pressing his forehead to Jisung’s.

The contact is light. Barely there.

But it’s enough.

Jisung forgets how to exhale.

“You’re shaking again,” Mark whispers, breath close.

“You’re too close .”

“I’m supposed to be.”

Jisung can’t think straight. “You’re good at this.”

Mark pulls back just enough to meet his eyes. “At what?”

“…Making it feel real.”

Mark doesn’t reply.

Not with words.

Instead, he tucks Jisung’s hair behind his ear—an unnecessary move for a hoodie shoot—but the camera catches it, and the staff loses it .

“Perfect! Cut!”

They step out of the booth. Jisung feels like he’s dreaming. Or dying. Maybe both.

Mark doesn’t let go of his wrist right away.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” Jisung says truthfully.

***

Back in the dressing room, Jisung stares at himself in the mirror. Still in the matching hoodie. Still flushed.

“Cute,” someone says behind him.

He is startled. Mark, again. Of course.

Mark’s holding his phone now, scrolling through the preview photos from the shoot. “Look at this one,” he says, holding it out.

The picture is of them mid-laugh, heads close, hands still loosely joined between them. It looks… natural. Like it’s always been this way.

Like love.

Jisung stares at it for a beat too long.

Mark nudges him. “You didn’t answer.”

“Huh?”

“Do I really seem dreamy?”

Jisung wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

He tries to deflect. “I mean… depends on the lighting.”

Mark grins. “So under fairy lights, specifically?”

“You were literally sparkling.”

“I think that was sweat.”

“I’m trying to be nice.”

Mark laughs, warm and open. Then quieter: “You’re always nice.”

Something flickers in his eyes again. That same unreadable thing. The maybe-something.

Jisung looks away first. “We should change.”

“Right.” But Mark doesn’t move.

***

That night, Jisung’s phone buzzes with the vlog teaser.

The thumbnail is him and Mark, forehead to forehead, eyes half-lidded. The title reads:

“Dreamy Looks, Leader-Maknae Love? Jisung and Mark’s Couple Shoot Has Fans Swooning 💘”

He doesn’t even have the energy to scream. But a few seconds later, his phone buzzes again.

Mark hyung > you were good today.
really good.
…also i don’t mind if we hold hands more. just saying.

Jisung stares at the screen. Then lays back in bed, heart pounding, and types:

Me > oh. okay. cool. i’m chill. this is fine.

He deletes that. Types again.

Me > me too :)

He hits send before he can stop himself.

And maybe—just maybe—it feels a little bit real.

***

It’s late when it happens.

The kind of late where the air feels different. Quieter. Closer. The dorm is mostly dark—lights off, save for the faint glow of Jeno’s desk lamp in the other room. There’s music playing from someone’s phone, muffled and warm like the inside of a dream.

Jisung sprawled sideways on the couch, hoodie still on, blanket thrown over his legs. He wasn’t planning to stay up. He wasn’t planning anything, actually—just scrolling through comments from the new vlog until the whole thing blurred.

He hears footsteps. Then the soft creak of the kitchen tap.

“You’re still awake?”

Mark. Of course.

Jisung lifts his head a little. “Barely.”

“You’re lying horizontal in a full hoodie like you passed out mid-escape.”

“Maybe I did.”

Mark laughs, quiet. He comes over, two mugs in hand, and sets one down next to Jisung’s phone. The smell hits immediately—something warm and familiar.

“Chamomile?” Jisung says, surprised.

“I remembered you liked it.”

Jisung blinks. He tries not to overreact. “Thanks.”

Mark shrugs like it’s nothing. Then he sits, not in the armchair, not even on the opposite end of the couch, but right next to Jisung—so close their knees brush under the blanket.

“Comfortable?” Jisung asks, voice dry.

“Very.”

They sit like that. Not talking. Just sipping tea in the dim dorm silence.

Jisung can feel his heartbeat in his throat.

***

After a while, Mark sets his cup down, angles toward him slightly.

“Can I ask something?”

Jisung glances over, wary. “Sure?”

“That night,” Mark says slowly, “when you said you liked me. On the show. Did you think I’d take it seriously?”

Jisung freezes.

He wants to lie. He should lie. Keep it light. Joke it off. But it’s Mark, and it’s 2:08 a.m. and the space between them feels too honest for pretending.

“I didn’t think at all,” Jisung admits. “I panicked. You looked at me, and it just… came out.”

Mark hums. “You looked so nervous.”

“I was nervous.”

“You’re nervous now.”

“I’m sitting next to the guy I accidentally love-confessed to on national television. Obviously I’m nervous.”

Mark lets out a soft laugh—but it’s the quiet kind. The kind that means something else is behind it.

Then he says, voice even softer: “But was it really an accident?”

Jisung’s breath catches.

There’s a long beat of silence.

The TV is off. The dorm is hushed. The only thing Jisung hears is the blood rushing in his ears.

He shifts. “You don’t have to—like—talk about it if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Mark turns his head to him.

“I’m not uncomfortable.”

That throws Jisung completely off. “You’re not?”

“I’ve been thinking about it.”

Dangerous , Jisung’s brain screams. Abort mission.

“What does that mean?” he asks carefully.

Mark doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans back slightly, arm stretched along the back of the couch. His fingers accidentally graze Jisung’s shoulder, but he doesn’t move them.

“You’ve always been kind of hard to read,” Mark says, still thoughtful. “You and I are the same when you’re serious. But when things feel too real, it’s terrifying to look at you. Like you’re just gonna start run waay”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

Mark grins, corner of his mouth lifting. “I didn’t say I was better.”

Jisung shifts again. His shoulder stays pressed under Mark’s hand. Too much. Not enough.

Mark keeps going, softer now. “But when you said it—even if it was for a game—I kept wondering… what if it wasn’t.”

Jisung stares at him.

And for the first time, Mark doesn’t look away.

The moment sits heavy between them. Warm. Breathless. Something delicate blooming and threatening to tip over all at once. Then Mark’s hand slides down Jisung’s shoulder. Fingers pause. Hover. Slowly, slowly—they graze the side of his neck.

Jisung’s breath hitches.

And Mark leans in— not all the way , not quite—but enough that his forehead brushes Jisung’s temple. A touch. An echo of the photo booth.

“I’m still wondering,” Mark whispers.

Jisung turns his head just slightly. His lips almost brush Mark’s jaw.

Almost.

But then someone coughs in the hallway.

The moment fractures .

Mark pulls back gently. Jisung exhales like he’s been holding his breath for a year.

Neither of them moves.

“I should…” Mark starts, then trails off.

Jisung nods. “Yeah.”

Mark stands. Doesn’t quite meet his eyes this time. Picks up his mug, but hesitates.

Then—quietly, almost like he doesn’t want to say it out loud:
“I didn’t hate it.”

Jisung looks up.

Mark’s eyes are steady now. Focused. “The hand-holding. The shoot. Sitting here.”

Jisung doesn’t say anything.

But he’s smiling. Barely.

Mark goes. Leaves behind the scent of chamomile and something else. And Jisung stays frozen on the couch, heart stuttering, hand still warm from where Mark touched him.

It wasn’t a confession.

But it was close.

***

Mark’s not overthinking it.

Really. He’s not.

He’s just… thinking . A normal amount. A healthy, not-at-all-heart-racing amount about how Park Jisung’s hand felt in his, and how the weight of Jisung’s head against his shoulder—accidental or not—lingered longer than it should’ve.

Totally normal.

Probably.

He doesn’t bring it up the next day. Or the one after. But he keeps noticing things.

Like how Jisung says “hyung” softer now, like there’s something unspoken at the edges.
Like how he doesn’t pull away when Mark’s knee bumps his under the table.
Like how he’s quieter when they’re alone. Like he’s waiting.

And Mark—who’s always been good at figuring out what people mean , even when they’re not saying it—can’t stop wondering if maybe… maybe Jisung did mean it. The “I like you.” The dreamy. The almost kiss.

He keeps hearing it in his head. Not the actual words—just the feeling of them.

He tries to play it cool. Like usual. But it’s Jaemin who ruins that.

***

It happens during lunch, when they’re filming behind-the-scenes content again and Jaemin plops into the seat across from him with a knowing smirk and exactly the kind of energy that spells doom.

Mark doesn’t look up from his food. “Don’t start.”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You’re thinking it very loudly.”

Jaemin grins. “So.”

“No.”

“So.”

Mark finally looks up. “What?”

Jaemin leans in. “You’ve been acting weird.”

“I always act weird.”

“No, no. This is different. This is ‘I’m ignoring my feelings because they snuck up on me and I don’t know what to do about them’ weird.”

Mark groans. “Please go away.”

Jaemin props his chin in his hand. “Just tell me this. Are you thinking about the confession?”

Mark doesn’t answer.

“That’s a yes.”

“I’m not thinking about it.”

“You’re thinking about the fact that you’re thinking about it .”

Mark scowls at his rice. “It’s complicated.”

Jaemin shrugs. “Doesn’t have to be.”

Mark sighs. “It’s just… I thought it was a joke. Like, obviously. He panicked. He even said he panicked.”

“But?”

“But it didn’t feel like a joke.”

Jaemin raises a brow.

“And the shoot…” Mark rubs the back of his neck. “It was supposed to be fake. But he looked at me like—like he meant it . And now I don’t know if I’m just imagining that. Or if I’ve been ignoring something for a while.”

Jaemin’s voice softens. “And how did you feel?”

Mark’s quiet.

Then, after a beat: “I didn’t hate it.”

Jaemin nods like he expected that. “And how do you feel when he looks at you like he wants more?”

Mark finally meets his eyes.

“…Scared,” he admits.

Jaemin doesn’t make fun of him. Don't tease. Just nods again and leans back.

“That’s fair. But if you’re scared, it probably means it’s real. You’re not afraid of pretend stuff.”

Mark frowns. “I’ve never thought of him like that before. Not seriously . He’s always been the maknae, you know?”

“But people grow up,” Jaemin says simply. “And sometimes they grow into someone you’d fall for if you let yourself.”

Mark is very still.

He thinks about the soft buzz in his chest when Jisung laughed during the shoot. How it lingered.
He thinks about the near-silence of the dorm couch. The almost.
He thinks about how badly he wanted to lean in and not stop this time.

“…I think I’m in trouble,” he says.

Jaemin grins. “No. You’re just late.”

***

That night, Mark opens their group chat to drop a selfie from rehearsal—and pauses.

Jisung’s last message is still there.

Jisungie > me too :)

It had been in response to something he said.
Something that, at the time, felt like a joke but might not have been.
He scrolls up. Read his own words again.

Me > you were good today. really good.
…also i don’t mind if we hold hands more. just saying.

He stares at it. Then type a message.

Me > what are you doing right now?

Jisung replies almost immediately.

Jisungie > bed. trying not to spiral. u?

Mark smiles a little.

Me > same. but in my case jaemin just gave me a full therapy session and now i want to scream into a pillow.

Jisungie > uh. should i ask why?

Me > you

A long pause.

Jisungie > oh.

Mark hesitates. Then adds:

Me > i don’t want to say something dumb over text. can i come over?

Jisungie > yeah. door’s unlocked.

He has five minutes. Maybe less.

Mark said “can I come over” and Jisung said “yeah” like it was nothing , like it was casual, like it didn’t mean the person he’s been low-key in love with since he was nineteen is about to walk into his bedroom and maybe— maybe —wreck him emotionally. Or kiss him. No, okay here is being delusional. Or both. Cool.

He looks around his room. It looks lived-in , which in this case means “disaster-adjacent.” Hoodie on the floor. Crumpled water bottle. Two socks that do not match and one mystery spoon.

“Oh my god,” he mutters, grabbing everything within reach and launching it into his closet like it’s a portal to Narnia.

Then he pauses. Backtracks. Opens the closet and takes the spoon back out because what if Mark opens the door and sees that. What if he sees the spoon? What if he thinks Jisung eats yogurt in the dark like some kind of emotional gremlin. Stop, why Mark would open the closet in the first place?

He tosses it under the bed instead. (Which is somehow worse.)

He runs to the mirror.

His hair is doing… something. Flat on one side, sticking up on the other like he lost a fight with a pillow. He wets his hands and tries to pat it down, which only makes it look like he’s been sweating in fear.

Which he has , but still.

“Chill,” he tells his reflection. “Be normal.”

His reflection looks unconvinced.

He glances down at his hoodie. It’s soft, faded, kind of nice in a "boy-next-door" way. But what if Mark thinks he’s trying too hard? Or not hard enough? Should he change?

He changes. Then immediately changes back.

He sits on the bed. Then stands.

Then flops face-down and groans into his blanket.

What does Mark want to talk about? Why now ? Why is his heart pounding like they’re back in the photo booth and the director’s yelling “forehead touch, more intimate this time!”?

Jisung thinks he might actually die.

***

The knock comes sooner than he expects.

Two short, soft raps. Familiar.

He jumps up like he just got caught doing something criminal, trips over his charger cord, and barely manages to make it to the door without full-body collapsing.

He hesitates with his hand on the doorknob.

Then opens it.

Mark’s standing there.

Sweats. Hoodie. Hair slightly messy like he’s been running a hand through it. Eyes wide, but steady. He’s holding a water bottle, like this is just another midnight chat between members and not whatever heart-crushing thing it’s probably going to be.

“Hey,” Mark says quietly.

“Hey.”

A beat.

“You good?” Mark asks.

Jisung shrugs, pretending not to be actively melting. “Sure. Just… existing.”

Mark smiles faintly. “Can I come in?”

Jisung steps aside, heart hammering.

Mark walks in.

Jisung shuts the door behind him.

And that’s it. That’s the moment before everything changes.

Mark sits on the edge of the bed like he’s done a hundred times before. But tonight, everything feels sharper.

The air is too still. The room is too quiet.

Jisung sits beside him, careful not to touch.

There’s a stretch of silence. Not awkward. Not yet. Just waiting .

Jisung fidgets with the hem of his hoodie. “So,” he says softly, “what did Jaemin say that made you want to scream into a pillow?”

Mark huffs a quiet laugh. “He thinks I’m a coward.”

“Are you?”

“I think,” Mark says slowly, “I’ve been pretending not to feel things for so long that I forgot what it’s like to want something honestly.”

Jisung’s fingers freeze.

Mark continues, voice low. “You said you liked me. I laughed. I told myself it was just a joke. But you didn’t laugh.”

“I panicked.”

“Yeah.” Mark turns his head. “But you meant it, didn’t you?”

Jisung breathes out. “Yeah.”

Mark nods. Looks down at his hands, clasped in his lap.

“And I didn’t know how to handle that,” he says. “Because I didn’t want to lead you on. I didn’t want to mess things up.”

“You didn’t.”

“But I didn’t not like it either.”

Jisung finally dares to look at him. “What does that mean?”

Mark looks back. And this time, he doesn’t look away.

“It means I’ve been thinking about it. A lot. Too much.”

Jisung swallows.

“It means I started noticing how I always find you first in a room,” Mark says. “That I remember stupid things you say for no reason. I watched that vlog five times and kept pausing at your smile like some idiot.”

He exhales. “It means that the thought of you liking me scared me not because I didn’t want it, but because I do .”

Silence.

Then—

“Mark,” Jisung says, barely above a whisper, “what are you saying?”

Mark’s voice shakes, just a little. “I’m saying I think I want it to be you.”

The words hang there, full and weightless all at once.

Jisung stares. His throat is dry. His heart is loud.

“I don’t know how this works,” Mark says. “I don’t know what you need me to say or do. I just know that when I think about what I want next—who I want—I keep thinking of you.”

Jisung blinks once, then again, like he’s trying to make sure this isn’t a dream.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Mark adds quickly. “I just needed you to know. That it’s not a joke. Not for me either. Not anymore.”

Jisung stares at him for one long, overwhelming second.

Then he laughs.

Not mocking. Not disbelieving.

Just… breathless. Giddy.

“I’ve imagined this conversation like twenty different ways,” he says. “And none of them involved you actually saying it back. ”

Mark smiles, soft and shy. “Guess I’m full of surprises.”

Jisung nods. Then: “So… what now?”

Mark hesitates. “Can I—do you want me to—?”

But before he can finish, Jisung leans in. Just a little.

Their foreheads touch. Like the photo booth. But this time, there’s no director yelling. No script.

Just them.

Jisung whispers, “You can kiss me if you want.”

Mark breathes out like he’s been holding it in for days. Then nods.

And when he kisses him—slow and uncertain and so, so careful —Jisung leans in like he’s falling.

It’s not fireworks. Not exactly.

It’s something quieter.

Like finally exhaling. Like being seen.

Mark pulls back after a moment, eyes searching.

“You okay?”

Jisung nods, stunned and smiling. “I’ve never been more okay.”

Mark laughs, soft and disbelieving.