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the hotel room was too hot.
mark was pretty sure they didn't even have the heating on, but he was sweating through his t-shirt anyway, pacing a track into the carpet between the window and the bathroom door. his hands kept moving, running through his hair, rubbing his face, gesturing at nothing. he looked insane. he felt insane.
donghyuck was on his bed, propped against the headboard, watching him like he was a particularly compelling documentary. his laptop was open but he hadn't touched it in forty minutes. his phone was in his lap, screen dark. he'd given up on pretending to do literally anything else.
"– and doyoung is gonna kill me, like actually murder me, hyuck, he trusted me with this, his grandma gave it to him before she died, and i just- i left it. i left it at some random restaurant in osaka that i don't even remember the name of, and we fly back at seven, and chenle's birthday was yesterday, doyoung doesn't even know i brought it to japan, i just–"
"you said that already," donghyuck said, not unkindly. "forty-five minutes ago. and then again at the forty-two minute mark, and the thirty-eight, and–"
"i'm having a crisis!"
"you're having a verbal vomit session. crisis implies you're doing something about it."
mark stopped pacing. stared at him. "what am i supposed to do? break into the restaurant?"
donghyuck's eyebrows went up. his whole face shifted, something clicking into place behind his eyes. mark had learned to recognize that look over more than ten years of friendship, ten years of dorm-sharing and tour-bus-sharing and hotel-room-sharing, more than ten years of donghyuck getting an idea that was either brilliant or catastrophic or, most often, both. he should've kept his mouth shut.
"okay," donghyuck said slowly, sitting up straighter. "okay, yeah. yeah, that's exactly what we're gonna do."
"what? no. no, dude, i was being sarcastic."
"were you, though?"
"yes!"
"because it sounded pretty serious to me." donghyuck was already swinging his legs off the bed, reaching for the hoodie draped over the chair by the window. it was black. mark didn't like that it was black. "c'mon, mark, it's the only option. the restaurant opens at ten, our flight is at seven. we don't know anyone here, we can't call and ask them to hold it, we don't even know the name of the place"
"i know the name of the place!"
"you said you didn't!"
"i said i don't remember. there's a difference."
donghyuck stopped with one arm in his hoodie sleeve, giving him a look that was pure and patient and completely unimpressed. "what's the name of the restaurant, mark?"
mark made a sound like a deflating balloon.
"that's what i thought." donghyuck yanked the hoodie the rest of the way on. "get dressed. all black. we're doing this."
"we are not doing this! hyuck, we're idols. we're literally famous. i can't! what if we get caught? what if we go to jail? i'll be in a cell with some yakuza dude and he's gonna see my face and recognize me and then he's gonna tattoo me all over and i'll have to explain to my mom why i'm covered in irezumi and also why i'm a criminal—"
"first of all," donghyuck said, pulling his own hair out from under his hoodie collar, "that's incredibly racist. second, you watch too many movies. third...” he crossed the room, stopping directly in front of mark, close enough that mark had to tip his chin down to look at him. "do you have a better idea?"
mark didn't.
he wanted to. he wanted to pull some perfect solution out of thin air, some way to fix this without committing what he was pretty sure was at least three felonies. but his brain was static, a television tuned to nothing, and donghyuck was looking at him with that expression that meant he'd already decided how this was going to go.
"we're gonna go to jail," mark said weakly.
"we're not gonna go to jail."
"you don't know that."
"i know that you're gonna put on the black hoodie i packed for you because you always forget to pack appropriately for every climate we visit, and we're gonna walk to that restaurant, and we're gonna get your little book back, and then we're gonna go to sleep and wake up and get on the plane and doyoung will never have to know you're an idiot."
mark stared at him.
donghyuck stared back.
"...you packed me a hoodie?"
"it's november in japan, mark. you own two long-sleeve shirts. i'm not letting you get hypothermia because you think hoodies are 'a vibe you can't pull off.'"
"i never said that."
"you said it to jaemin in 2019 and i was in the room."
mark wanted to argue. he also wanted to cry, maybe, or lie down on the floor and never get up. instead he went to his suitcase and found the black hoodie folded neatly on top of his mess of clothes, and he put it on, and he tried not to think about how donghyuck had packed it for him three days ago without saying anything.
⸻⸻⸻
the streets of osaka at 3 am were not empty.
mark didn't know what he'd expected. some movie version of a city asleep, maybe, all silent alleys and dramatic streetlamps. but this was japan, and it was a city, and there were people everywhere – businessmen stumbling out of izakayas, couples walking hand in hand, a convenience store glowing like a beacon on the corner.
every single person they passed looked at them.
or maybe they didn't. maybe it was just mark's brain, convinced that everyone could see the crime written all over his face. he was wearing a black hoodie and black jeans and his most inconspicuous sneakers and he still felt like he had a neon sign over his head blinking THIEF THIEF THIEF.
"stop walking like that," donghyuck said.
"like what?"
"like you're about to piss your pants."
"i'm not—" mark readjusted his grip on his phone, google maps open to the route they'd cobbled together from memory and desperation. "i'm walking normally."
"you're walking like a man who's never committed a crime before."
"i haven't!"
"exactly, it's obvious."
mark made a conscious effort to relax his shoulders. it lasted approximately four seconds before they crept back up toward his ears.
"this is insane," he said. "this is actually, literally insane. we should go back. we should... i'll just tell doyoung i lost it. i'll buy him a new cookbook. i'll find a first edition of something, i'll– "
"it's his grandmother's cookbook, mark. with her handwriting in it. you can't buy that."
mark shut up.
they walked in silence for a block. the navigation said they were seven minutes away. seven minutes until mark officially became a criminal. seven minutes until he crossed some invisible line and became the kind of person who breaks into restaurants at 3 am.
"you know," donghyuck said, casual, like he was commenting on the weather, "if we do get caught, you're definitely matt damon."
mark blinked. "what?"
"in the movie version of this. ocean's eleven style. i'm brad pitt, obviously, and you're matt damon's character. the anxious one who's kind of along for the ride."
"i'm not– " mark started, then stopped. "why can't i be george clooney?"
"because george clooney is cool under pressure. look at yourself."
mark looked at himself. he was walking stiffly, shoulders hunched, face probably doing something embarrassing. he couldn't argue.
"i don't wanna be matt damon," he mumbled.
"too late, universe already cast it."
they passed another convenience store. mark caught their reflection in the glass - two figures in black, walking too fast for a casual stroll, too slow for an emergency. they looked exactly like what they were: two people trying very hard to look like they weren't doing anything wrong.
a cat darted out from between two parked cars and mark yelped. high-pitched and startled and completely involuntary, and the cat paused mid-stride to look at him with what mark could only describe as judgment.
donghyuck laughed a full, genuine laugh, head tipped back slightly, shoulders shaking. it wasn't considerate of their situation, their need for stealth, the fact that they were literally on their way to commit a crime.
"dude," mark hissed, "shut up, shut up– "
"sorry, sorry, it's just– " donghyuck wiped his eyes. "you're so fucking stupid."
"i know." mark mumbled.
"like, genuinely. a kitten on the street. you screamed."
"i didn't scream, i made a sound"
"you yelped, mark. like a little dog. it was adorable."
mark's face was very warm. he blamed the hoodie.
the restaurant looked different at night during the day, it had been charming - warm wood, paper lanterns, a little sign with characters mark couldn't read. now it was just... dark. closed. the kind of closed that felt permanent and impenetrable, even though mark knew intellectually that it would open again in a few hours.
they stood across the street, pressed against the wall of a building that was definitely someone's apartment, and stared at it.
"okay," donghyuck said. "okay. plan."
"we don't have a plan."
"we're developing one now. that's how plans work."
mark watched a man walk past the restaurant, glance at it, keep walking. normal person. normal night. not about to break in.
"the back," donghyuck said. "there's probably a back door."
mark looked at him. "genius. you are literally a genius."
"i literally just watched a movie about this last week."
"still counts."
they circled around the block, trying to look like they belonged there, like they had every right to be creeping through the alley behind a restaurant at 3 am. the back door was metal, windowless, locked tight. mark's heart was just starting to sink when donghyuck grabbed his arm.
"there."
the window. it was small, maybe two feet by two feet, set high in the wall beside the door. and it was open. not wide, just a crack, but enough.
"okay," donghyuck said. "lift me."
"what?"
"you're taller. bend down, make a step with your hands. i'll climb up, get in, open the door."
mark looked at the window. looked at donghyuck. looked at his own hands, which were already starting to shake.
"we should go back," he said. "we should really, really–"
"mark, hands."
mark bent down. made a step with his hands. donghyuck put his foot in it and pushed up, and mark nearly buckled under the sudden weight.
"shit, sorry!”
donghyuck's hands caught the window ledge. he hauled himself up, shoved the window open the rest of the way, and slithered through with a grace that mark found completely unfair. there was a thump from inside, then silence.
then, faintly: "ow."
"hyuck? hyuck, are you okay?"
"fine. landed on something. i think it's a mop bucket."
"are you bleeding? do you need–"
the back door swung open. donghyuck stood in the doorway, rubbing his elbow, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
"come on. before i change my mind about this whole thing."
mark came.
inside, the restaurant was just a restaurant. tables stacked with chairs on top of them, a faint smell of soy sauce and cleaning solution, the low hum of a refrigerator somewhere in the back. it was so normal. so mundane. mark had eaten dinner here twelve hours ago, laughing at something chenle said, completely unaware that he was about to become a burglar.
"where was your table?" donghyuck asked, already moving through the dining area.
"uh. by the window. i think?"
"you think?"
"it was yesterday, hyuck, i wasn't exactly taking mental notes of the floor plan"
they checked the table by the window. nothing. they checked the table next to it, and the one next to that. nothing. mark's panic, which had subsided to a low hum during the walk over, started climbing back up his throat.
"maybe they put it somewhere," he said. "like, lost and found or something. do restaurants have lost and found?"
"probably. check the front."
the host stand was small, just a counter with a register and a stack of menus. mark opened drawers, there were pens, takeout menus, a roll of receipt paper. no cookbook. no grandma's handwriting. no evidence that he hadn't just imagined the whole thing.
"it's gone," he said. "someone took it. why wouldn't they take it? it's a book, just sitting there, anyone could've–"
"mark." donghyuck's voice came from somewhere near the back. "mark, come here."
he went.
donghyuck was standing by the service station, holding up a small cardboard box labeled in sharpie. mark couldn't read the japanese characters, but underneath, someone had written in english: LOST ITEMS.
"you're a genius," mark said. "you're literally the smartest person i've ever met. i'm never calling you annoying again."
"you call me annoying every day."
"okay, i'm never meaning it."
donghyuck smiled. it was a small smile, soft at the edges, and it did something complicated to mark's chest. he looked away, focused on the box.
the cookbook was near the bottom, under a scarf and a kid's baseball cap. mark pulled it out like it was made of glass, ran his thumb over the worn cover. doyoung's grandmother's handwriting was inside, spidery and faint, notes in the margins about adjusting cooking times and adding more salt.
"okay," he said. "okay. we got it. we can go."
they were halfway to the back door when they heard the footsteps.
mark froze. donghyuck froze. they looked at each other, and mark could see his own panic reflected back at him, wide-eyed and breathless.
footsteps, coming from the front of the restaurant. and someone talking in rapid japanese, words mark couldn't understand, but the tone was clearly annoyed. someone was here, someone was in the restaurant, someone was probably wondering why the back door was unlocked.
donghyuck grabbed his wrist and pulled.
they ended up behind the service counter, pressed into the narrow space between the register and a stack of clean towels. mark's heart was beating so loud he was sure the entire building could hear it. he clutched the cookbook to his chest like a shield.
the voices got closer. a man and a woman, by the sound of it, still talking in that sharp, irritated cadence. mark couldn't understand a single word, but his brain supplied options anyway: who left this door open? we've been robbed. call the police.
he was going to jail. he was actually, definitely going to jail. his mom was going to kill him. his career was over. doyoung was never going to forgive him for making his grandma's cookbook the centerpiece of a true crime documentary–
donghyuck kissed him.
it was a hand clamped over his mouth in a different format, a desperate bid for silence, donghyuck's lips pressed hard against his to physically stop the sound that was building in his throat. it was not romantic or soft or any of the things mark had imagined in the secret, shameful part of his brain that thought about donghyuck's mouth more than was strictly appropriate for two people who were just friends.
mark stopped making sound.
he also stopped thinking, mostly. his brain, which had been running at maximum panic capacity for the last two hours, suddenly just stopped working. there was nothing in his head except the pressure of donghyuck's mouth on his, the warmth of him, the faint smell of the hotel soap still lingering on his skin.
the footsteps moved past them. the voices faded toward the back, still annoyed, still incomprehensible. the door opened and closed. then donghyuck pulled back.
they stared at each other. the space between them was maybe three inches, definitely less than five. mark could count donghyuck's eyelashes if he wanted to. he didn't want to. that would be weird.
"uh," donghyuck said.
mark's voice was not working. he tried it, got nothing, tried again.
"...was that necessary?"
donghyuck blinked. something flickered across his face, too fast to read, gone before mark could even name it. then his expression shifted into something familiar, something easy, a shrug and a crooked smile.
"you were being loud."
"i wasn't... i wasn't making any noise."
"you were about to."
mark wanted to argue. he also wanted to kiss donghyuck again, properly this time, and that was such a dangerous thought that he physically recoiled from it, pressing himself back against the counter.
"we should," he said. "um. they're gone. we should go."
donghyuck looked at him for one more second. just a second. then he was moving, unfolding himself from their cramped hiding spot, reaching down to help mark up. mark took his hand.
they didn't talk on the way back to the hotel.
mark kept expecting donghyuck to say something - to joke about it, to make some comment about mark's face or his kissing technique or the sheer absurdity of the situation. but donghyuck was quiet, walking beside him with his hands in his pockets, looking straight ahead.
the streets were emptier now. even the convenience store seemed dimmer, like the whole city was settling in for the last few hours of night. mark's hoodie felt too hot. the cookbook was a solid weight against his chest, tucked inside his jacket, and he kept checking it every few seconds to make sure it was still there.
they reached the hotel. took the elevator up. walked down the hallway to their room. mark swiped the key card, pushed the door open, stepped inside.
donghyuck closed the door behind them.
"so," he said.
mark turned around. donghyuck was leaning against the door, arms crossed, expression unreadable. the dim light from the window caught the edge of his face turning his skin gold.
"so," mark echoed.
"you're not gonna say anything?"
"i don't– what am i supposed to say?"
donghyuck shrugged one shoulder, casual, like it didn't matter. "i don't know. 'thanks for helping me commit a felony.' 'you were really cool climbing through that window.' 'i can't believe you kissed me to shut me up, that was so gay.'"
mark's face was on fire. "it was pretty gay."
"yeah." donghyuck paused. "i mean. brad pitt was also pretty homo in ocean's eleven."
"brad pitt wasn't kissing matt damon in ocean's eleven."
"no, but you could tell he wanted to kiss geroge clooney."
the room was very quiet. somewhere outside, a car drove past. mark could hear his own heartbeat in his ears.
"did you?" he asked.
donghyuck's expression shifted. that flicker again, the one mark couldn't name. "did i what?"
"want to. kiss me. or was it just, you know, shutting me up."
the silence stretched. mark wished he could take it back, shove the words into his mouth and swallow them. this was why he didn't say things. this was why he let donghyuck's jokes slide off him, let himself be the straight man in their endless comedy routine, because if he ever actually acknowledged the possibility that donghyuck might mean any of it...
"mark."
he looked up.
donghyuck wasn't leaning against the door anymore. he was closer, somehow, without mark noticing him move. close enough that mark could see the slight tremor in his hands, the way he was gripping his own elbows like he was holding himself back from something.
"second time," he said.
mark blinked. "what?"
"second time i've kissed you. and you're still asking if i wanted to."
mark's brain stuttered. the practice room rose up in his memor. 2015, sweaty and exhausted, the rest of the members already filtering out, mark lying on the floor, exhausted, donghyuck closing the distance. the shock of it, donghyuck's mouth on his, desperate and quick. then donghyuck pulling back like he'd been burned, face white, saying “i don't know what that was, i'm sorry, i lost control, please don't tell anyone.”
and mark, sixteen and confused and terrified by how much he wanted it to happen again, saying “what the fuck, hyuck, are you insane, someone could've seen.”
it became a funny story, something to reference vaguely when they were drunk and reminiscing. remember when donghyuck lost his mind in 2015? remember when mark almost had a heart attack? so funny. so normal. such a classic donghyuck-being-weird moment.
mark had spent years convincing himself it meant nothing.
"that was different," he said.
"was it?"
"you said you lost control."
"yeah." donghyuck's voice was steady. "i did. i'd been wanting to kiss you for like eight months at that point, and you were lying there looking all..." he gestured vaguely at mark's entire face. "whatever. and i just did it."
mark's mouth was very dry. "eight months."
"conservative estimate."
"that was eleven years ago."
donghyuck smiled. it was small and crooked and didn't quite reach his eyes. "i'm aware."
the room felt very still. mark was holding the cookbook so tight his knuckles were white.
"so this time," he said. "tonight. was that...?"
"i still want to, if that's what you're asking." donghyuck said it like it was simple. like it wasn't the most terrifying thing mark had ever heard. "that part hasn't really changed."
mark's brain went white.
he'd spent so long not thinking about it. not letting himself think about it. donghyuck was flirty with everyone, that was just his personality, that didn't mean anything. the practice room was a one-time thing, a freak accident, hormones and proximity and nothing deeper. mark had built an entire architecture of denial around this, brick by careful brick, and donghyuck had just kicked the door in like it was nothing.
"oh," he said.
donghyuck laughed. it was shaky, real. "yeah. oh."
they stood there. three feet apart. mark could feel his pulse in his throat, his temples, the tips of his fingers.
"i don't–" he started, stopped. "i don't know what to do with that."
"you don't have to do anything with it." donghyuck shrugged, but it was forced, his shoulders too high. "it's not a problem. i'm not making it your problem. i just... you asked."
"yeah."
"so now you know."
yeah. now he knew. now he knew that it wasn't just jokes, wasn't just donghyuck being donghyuck, wasn't just mark reading into things that weren't there. now he knew that donghyuck had been wanting this for eleven years, and mark had been wanting it for almost as long, and neither of them had ever said anything.
he thought about all the times he'd watched donghyuck flirt with the others too loudly and felt something twist in his stomach. all the times he'd told himself it was fine, he didn't care, he didn't feel that way about guys anyway. all the times he'd caught himself looking at donghyuck's mouth and immediately looked away.
he thought about being sixteen, alone in his bunk after the practice room, staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out why his heart was still racing. why he kept replaying it. why he was angry, and why his anger felt like it was covering something else entirely.
"i didn't," he said. "i didn't know."
donghyuck tilted his head. "didn't know what?"
"that you still– " mark's voice came out wrong. he cleared his throat. "i thought it was just. a thing. that happened. and then we never talked about it and you kept flirting with everyone and i thought maybe i made it up in my head or something."
"you didn't make it up."
"yeah. i'm getting that."
donghyuck was watching him.
"i also," mark said, and then stopped. the words were stuck somewhere between his chest and his throat, tangled up with all the years he'd spent not saying them. "i thought it was weird. after. like, not what you did, but–” he made a vague gesture at himself. "that i couldn't stop thinking about it."
donghyuck's face did something complicated.
"like. i'm not," mark was definitely doing his constipated face now, he could feel it. "i didn't think i was. that. and then you kissed me and i kept thinking about it and i was like, okay, maybe i am, but also maybe it's just you? like maybe it's just a you thing. and that was even more confusing because what does that mean. why would it just be you."
he knew he was rambling and he couldn't stop.
"and then i thought about it for like three years and i still didn't figure it out, and then i stopped thinking about it because thinking about it was giving me a headache, and then you kissed me again and now i'm," he gestured at the room, at himself, at the general state of his entire existence. "here."
donghyuck blinked at him.
"that was," he said slowly. "the most mark lee sentence i've ever heard."
mark's face was burning. "i know. i'm not good at this."
"no, it's–" donghyuck's mouth twitched. "you just said 'maybe it's just a you thing' like that's a normal thing to say. like that's not the gayest sentence i've ever heard in my entire life."
"dude."
"i'm serious. that's actually insane. you couldn't figure out if you liked guys so your brain just made an exception. specifically for me. do you hear yourself."
"okay, when you say it like that it sounds...!"
"it sounds like you're in love with me, mark."
the word hung in the air between them. love. mark had never said it, not like that, not out loud. he'd thought it, maybe, in the dark hours of the night when his defenses were down. but he'd never said it.
donghyuck's expression shifted. the teasing edge softened into something else, something almost fragile.
"are you?" he asked.
mark opened his mouth. closed it. tried again.
"...maybe?"
a real laugh, surprised out of donghyuck, his face crinkling at the edges. "maybe. he says maybe."
"i don't know, okay! i've never done this before!"
"done what?"
"said it!" mark's voice came out louder than he intended. "admitted that i... that you...that this is a thing i actually want and not just something i'm supposed to pretend i don't think about."
the room went quiet again. donghyuck was looking at him with an expression mark couldn't name, something soft and surprised and a little bit wondering.
"you want this?" donghyuck said.
mark swallowed. "yeah."
"like. actually want it. not just 'mark is being nice to his friend' want it. not 'i don't want to hurt your feelings' want it."
"like 'i've been thinking about kissing you again for eleven years' want it." mark's voice was barely audible. "like 'maybe it is just a you thing because you're the only person i've ever felt this way about' want it."
donghyuck's whole face changed, the tension draining out of his shoulders, his mouth curving into something that was trying very hard not to be a grin.
"okay," he said. "okay, you can't just say stuff like that."
"why not."
"because i'm trying to be normal about this and you're making it really difficult."
mark felt something loosen in his chest. "you're never normal about anything."
"yeah, well." donghyuck ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. "neither are you, apparently."
they looked at each other. the space between them felt smaller than three feet.
"so," mark said. "um. what now?"
donghyuck considered this. "well. first of all, i'm reconsidering my ocean's eleven casting."
mark blinked. "what."
"you can't be matt damon anymore. that was based on pre-kiss data. post-kiss, you're clearly george clooney."
"i literally just admitted i've been in love with you for years and your takeaway is movie roles."
"george clooney's character wanted brad pitt so bad, mark. it was the whole subtext of the film. you being clooney makes way more sense."
mark stared at him.
donghyuck stared back, absolutely serious except for the tiny crinkle at the corner of his eye.
"i hate you," mark said.
"no you don't."
"...no. i don't."
donghyuck smiled. that small smile again, soft at the edges, but this time it stayed.
they stood there for another moment. mark's heart was still going too fast, but it was a different kind of fast now, less panic and more something else. something that felt dangerously close to hope.
"we should sleep," donghyuck said. "we have to be up in like three hours."
"yeah."
neither of them moved. the room was very quiet. mark could hear the hum of the mini-fridge, the distant sound of traffic, his own breathing.
"hyuck."
donghyuck looked up.
"i don't know what i'm doing," mark said. "like, at all. i've spent eleven years not thinking about this and now i'm thinking about it and i don't have a plan or anything. i don't know what this is supposed to look like."
donghyuck nodded slowly.
"but i don't want to just go to sleep and pretend it didn't happen," mark continued. "i did that last time and it was the worst. i don't want to do it again."
donghyuck was quiet for a long moment. then he pushed off the door and walked past mark toward the beds.
mark watched him go, heart sinking a little. okay. maybe that was too much. maybe donghyuck wasn't looking for this. maybe he just wanted to–
donghyuck sat down on mark's bed. not his own bed. mark's bed. he looked up at mark, waiting.
"what are you doing."
"bed." donghyuck patted the space next to him. "sleep. you said you didn't want to pretend."
"i meant like emotionally. i didn't mean physically. i didn't mean– you have your own bed. it's right there."
"yeah, but yours is closer."
"it's literally three feet away."
"three feet is three feet." donghyuck was already pulling back the covers. "are you gonna stand there all night or are you gonna come here."
mark's legs moved before his brain caught up. suddenly he was sitting on his own bed, next to donghyuck, their shoulders almost touching. the mattress dipped under their combined weight.
"this is weird," he said.
"you're weird."
"you're the one who invaded my bed."
"your bed is my bed. we share a room."
"we share a room, not a bed."
donghyuck looked at him. his face was half in shadow, but his eyes were very dark, very focused.
"do you want me to leave?"
mark's mouth opened. nothing came out.
"...no," mark said. "i don't want you to leave."
donghyuck nodded once, like that settled it. then he shifted closer, pressing his shoulder more firmly against mark's, and pulled the blanket up over both of them.
mark sat there, rigid as a board, staring at the wall.
"you can breathe," donghyuck said. "it's not that serious."
"you're in my bed."
"yeah, and you're being really weird about it. we've slept like this multiple times. relax."
"how am i supposed to relax when you're literally–” mark gestured vaguely at the entire situation. "doing this!"
donghyuck didn't answer. instead, he tipped sideways, letting his head fall against mark's shoulder.
mark's brain went white again. donghyuck's hair was soft against his jaw. he smelled like hotel soap and the faint sweetness of whatever shampoo they'd provided. his body was warm where it pressed against mark's side, a solid weight that was somehow both grounding and completely disorienting.
"this okay?" donghyuck mumbled.
mark's voice came out strangled. "yeah."
"cool."
the room settled into silence. mark could hear donghyuck breathing, slow and steady. could feel the rise and fall of his chest against mark's arm.
he didn't know what to do with his hands. they were just sort of hanging there, useless. he tried resting them on his own legs. too stiff. tried putting them on the bed. too casual. tried crossing his arms. too defensive.
"you're thinking really loud," donghyuck said without opening his eyes.
"sorry."
"don't be sorry. just stop thinking."
"i can't just stop thinking."
donghyuck hummed. then, without warning, he shifted, looping his arm through mark's and lacing their fingers together.
mark stopped thinking.
"there," donghyuck said, satisfied. "much better."
mark looked down at their joined hands. donghyuck's fingers were interlaced with his, warm and solid and real.
"oh," he said.
"yeah. oh." donghyuck's thumb was tracing slow circles on mark's knuckle. "you really need to work on your vocabulary."
mark didn't answer. he was too busy trying to memorize the feeling of donghyuck's hand in his.
god, he was embarrassing.
eleven years of pretending he didn't want this, and now here he was, holding donghyuck's hand in a hotel room in osaka at 3:47 am, his heart doing something that felt suspiciously like flying.
"hey," donghyuck said. his voice was softer now, drowsy at the edges. "we got the book back."
mark looked at the cookbook, still clutched in his other hand. he'd almost forgotten he was holding it.
"yeah," he said. "we did."
"doyoung's never gonna know you almost caused an international incident."
"don't say international incident. now i'm gonna be paranoid on the plane."
"that's a you problem."
mark smiled. "hyuck."
"mmm."
"thanks. for tonight. for this.” he gestured vaguely with their joined hands.
donghyuck cracked one eye open. "you're welcome, clooney."
"i'm not clooney."
"you literally confessed your undying love to me forty-five minutes ago. that's clooney behavior."
"i didn't say undying love."
"you said maybe. which is basically the same thing."
mark wanted to argue. he also wanted to never move from this spot, ever again, just stay here with donghyuck's head on his shoulder and their hands intertwined and the cookbook warm against his chest.
he set the book carefully on the nightstand.
"okay," he said. "maybe it's basically the same thing."
donghyuck smiled against his shoulder.
they stayed like that, not sleeping, as the minutes ticked past. the window faced east, and eventually, the sky began to lighten just a little, just the barest hint of gray at the edges.
mark watched the dawn creep in and thought about all the mornings he'd woken up in this his room, in his bed when they shared dorms or hotel rooms, and pretended he wasn't already aware of donghyuck's breathing from across the space between them.
this morning was different. this morning, donghyuck was right here, warm and solid and real, his hand still loosely tangled with mark's. this morning, mark didn't have to pretend.