Archive of Our Own

ACT I.

INT. DONGHYUCK’S ROOM. DAY

The Breakfast Club plays idly on the laptop’s screen against the warm light of the afternoon sun.

Its rays cast a soft glow through the thin white curtains as cool air travels to the french casement windows along with the melodic sound of birds chirping and tree leaves swaying in the wind.

Cotton white sheets crumple and soft pillows scatter around the four-poster bed that takes space in the middle of the room. From there, the faded olive green of the mid-century modern couch in the tiny living area can be seen peeking through the small gap left by the door slightly open, a painting of black and white swans on a lake right above it.

Donghyuck slowly stirs from his nap.

(The camera zooms in, focusing on Donghyuck’s face.)

Soft, silky pieces of chestnut hair flow down his forehead, the ends of the strands grazing tired, sleep laden dark brown eyes staring at something in the distance, his gaze almost blank.

(The camera slowly zooms out, showing a wide angle shot of the whole room.)

There’s a bouquet of fresh sunflowers left laying on the parquet floor. The yellow hues of its petals hungrily drink in bits of the seeping sunlight, making the whole thing glisten.

Donghyuck dangles his fingers lazily on the edge of the bed, moving them like playing the keys to some kind of an invisible piano, almost like they’re trying to reach towards the flowers’ direction.

His eyes carefully flick to the pale note sitting in between the disks.

In the short interspace, Donghyuck can barely make out the words written in someone’s elegant and slender handwriting, like it took some dear time to try and sincerely relay the words.

‘I hope you feel better soon’.

Donghyuck smiles, just a tiny bit.

Jaemin Na can be unknowingly cruel at times.

The words seem well-meaning enough, devoid of any malice and clearly having no other intentions than to wish him well, but those are not what he needs to hear from his past lover. Not right now.

Donghyuck turns away from it, tucking his knees close to his chest and folding his arms right in front of his face. In doing so, his loose plain white shirt rides up his stomach, the golden expanse of skin smooth and left unmarred.

He stays in the position for quite some time, feeling his body go heavy, like there are hundreds of invisible strings tethering his skin into the mattress and making him unable to move.

Donghyuck remembers he used to love swimming as a little kid. He can still remember what the chlorine water of the swimming pool smells like under the fierce heat of the sun. He used to go every day for a couple of summers before he sorely dedicated his time to the performing arts.

The pool was once his first theater, where he flourished his strokes and first learned how to stay afloat. He loved staying underwater, holding his breath and counting the passing minutes on how long he could go without any oxygen.

Sometimes, when he doesn’t want to be found, he stays underneath until his chest starts burning and his head gets unbearably dizzy.

Donghyuck loved the comfort of the water around him, like it was some sort of blanket, a place where nothing ever happens and when time stands still.

It’s the exact same feeling he feels right now, his bed sheets offering him reprieve from everything else outside of it—a place where only he exists.

And like the chlorinated water of his childhood memories, he wishes to stay underneath it forever.

(A dog barks outside.)

Donghyuck flinches.

He sluggishly tries to hoist himself up with weak arms, using his elbows to support his weight.

He sits on the edge of the bed when he successfully does and fixes his gray cotton shorts that fall on his thighs.

Donghyuck stretches his arms above his head with a small yawn.

On shaky knees, he pads four steps into the spot where the bouquet has been lying around and he picks it up warily, barefoot on the cold floor.

Donghyuck takes his time in smelling the sunflowers.

He scrunches his nose in distate soon after.

He isn’t a stranger to receiving flowers. In fact, he has been given them countless of times before that he believes he has grown quite an aversion to them now. It doesn’t help that they bring him far too many unpleasant memories, too.

Who even wants stale flowers after the reverence has long been done and the curtains have long been drawn?

Not him.

Donghyuck heads to the door, the bouquet swinging mindlessly on one hand.

ACT II.

INT. DONGHYUCK’S KITCHEN. SUNSET

Without even sparing them another glance, Donghyuck dumps the flowers unceremoniously into the trash can right next to the fridge.

He opens it then, taking a single water bottle out and drinks from it in big, hurried gulps.

(The camera zooms in to his throat, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. A lone drop slowly trickles down his neck. The camera zooms out to the bottle left empty on the counter.)

Donghyuck stands in front of the tiled sink, his hands reaching towards the wooden cupboard right above it.

He takes a porcelain bowl out, its surface hand painted with lily-of-the-valley plants all over, the craftsmanship intricate and neat.

Donghyuck grabs a box of cereal and a half-empty carton of milk too. He pours—cereal first then milk—and drags a chair out of the oak table as he gently sets the bowl down. He takes a seat and closes his eyes in momentary silence, a whisper of a prayer on his lips.

Donghyuck takes a bite out of his cereal for dinner.

As he lazily chews, Donghyuck stares directly at the camera’s lens, a single neat eyebrow raised in silent challenge.

(The camera starts zooming in before fading to black.)

BEHIND THE SCENES #1.

Donghyuck silently watches as Mark sets his camera down on the wooden table. He gestures at him to take the seat right across from him.

Mark complies.

“Why did you throw them out?” Mark asks before he even finishes plopping his bottoms down, propping his elbows on the table as he boldly scans Donghyuck’s face.

Donghyuck shrugs. “I didn’t want them.”

“But why?” Mark asks insistently. The question laced with pure curiosity with a hint of mild amusement like he’s trying to figure him out.

Donghyuck sighs, swirling the contents of his dinner absentmindedly with his spoon, cereals now getting soggy. “You’re quite nosy,” he observes.

“I just like knowing.”

“I loathe flowers,” Donghyuck simply replies.

Mark stares at him for a couple minutes, looking a whole lot like he doesn’t believe any of his words but lets the topic go anyway.

“Can I make myself one too?” he asks, nodding towards his bowl.

Donghyuck timidly nods, gesturing for him to go straight ahead.

He watches the way Mark moves smoothly around his tiny kitchen, easily knowing where everything is, almost like he belongs. Like he’s been here a couple of times before already—and he has.

It was some time around June when Mark made his presence known to him with a single email.

Subject: Casting Offer: Lee Donghyuck in Milk Teeth

Dear Mr. Lee Donghyuck,

I hope this email finds you well.

My name is Mark Lee, an independent filmmaker.

I am writing to offer you the role to take part in a short film featuring your everyday life.

I have been following your professional ballet career up until you announced your sudden retirement a few months ago. I am most impressed with your performance on Swan Lake as Prince Siegfried last fall.

I believe you will be a great fit to the vision I have for the film.

I have attached my portfolio along with my contact details and a link to access my previous works.

Please let me know if you are interested. I would gladly hop on a call with you to discuss more details.

Best,

Mark Lee

Donghyuck would have sent the email straight to junk, but not until his curiosity got the best of him which made him reluctantly click the link provided.

Dawn was breaking outside his windows by the time he had finished. He didn’t even notice the hot tears freely streaming down his face from the last couple ones he had just watched. Some deep, hollow pit settling in his stomach at how raw and wretched this person Mark Lee had made him feel.

The sun was barely rising when he made the call.

It’s August now with summer on its last leg and two months since Mark had showed up in the flesh in front of him, the photo of him in his portfolio Donghyuck had been admittedly staring at for more times than he should be allowed to did not give any justice as to how he exponentially looks so much better in real life, all boyishly handsome with his high cheekbones and cheeky smiles that he so casually throws around.

Apparently, Mark has a close friend in the same ballet company as Donghyuck’s, making him watch their performances and thus watching Donghyuck as one of its principal dancers.

“Why me?” Donghyuck had wondered.

Mark gave him a crooked smile, a knowing glint in his big round eyes. “I saw something in you on that stage,” Mark says, eyes glinting.

“It felt like I was watching the dance of your life. The way you took center stage and made everyone fall into complete silence. The way you took everyone’s breath away and refused to give it back.”

“And how you never stopped shining even when the lights went off.”

Donghyuck had felt something dark and sharp twisted in his stomach from the words.

He knows the performance he was talking about.

It was his last Swan Lake performance.

The next day, he swiftly announced his retirement from the ballet scene without ever looking back.

“I wanted to see it again.”

In all honesty, Donghyuck had a lot of uncertainty going into this. After all, he turned his back on ballet for a reason, wanting no more of the world of theatrics.

But the sincerity behind Mark’s words soothed something sore in him that he couldn’t help but to trust him.

Mark has given him a good opportunity to rediscover parts of himself that’s long been buried and forgotten, that what they’re about to make is something that will make him see himself in a different light than the one he’s used to.

And before Donghyuck knew it, Mark had seamlessly made his way into his life, as they spent a lot of weeks planning and visualizing the film together, doing countless test shots and recording a lot of voiceovers.

Donghyuck considers him somewhat of a friend.

With Mark it felt safe.

Comfortable, even.

And never performative.

Mark gives Donghyuck full control of the whole narrative, never once giving him any scripts or making him say some stupid lines.

He doesn’t actually make him do anything, only standing with his big, curious eyes behind his camera, a silent but steady presence.

Donghyuck’s no stranger to watchful eyes, but it feels completely different this time.

It makes Donghyuck feel seen in more ways than one.

One that makes him feel at ease and comfortable. Not as a bird watched through a cage but out in the wild. Not scrutinized, waiting for him to make one wrong move, or worse, fail to land intricate allegros effortlessly.

And not stripped naked and bare under harsh lights and even harsher critics.

“Do you miss him?” Mark cuts Donghyuck out of his own thoughts.

Donghyuck knows who exactly he’s asking about.

He smiles, something soft and fond in his eyes. “Of course, I do.” Donghyuck takes a pause. “He was my best friend.”

“Do you want to get back together with him?”

“God, no.” Donghyuck laughs like the whole thing’s absurd. “Jaemin and I, we had a good run. But we’re completely done.”

When Donghyuck retired, he broke up with Jaemin too, who surprisingly was fine with it. He just told Donghyuck to keep in touch and that was it.

Until he realized the reason why.

Jaemin didn’t take his quitting seriously, like he was just going through a rough phase and will return once he gets back to his senses.

“Jaemin, he just can’t seem to understand that I am not going back.”

Donghyuck and Jaemin are alike in so many ways.

The fruit of the crop within their company, they were amongst the best dancers in the country.

At some point, they got so sick of the silent competition that they chose to just fall in love with one another and get it over with, a calculated love affair they both know bound to end in the same way it started.

Donghyuck knows Jaemin will find the next big thing because he is no longer that for him. And quite frankly, he’s not the best for him either, not in the ways that really matter.

Donghyuck knows Jaemin will understand that sooner or later.

Honestly, he doesn’t want any reminders of that past and Jaemin was a big part of that.

He will always be important to him but he just couldn’t love him anymore, he doesn’t now.

Jaemin just needs to realize that he is no longer the person he once knew and shared his bed, dreams, and passion with. Along with that constant ravenous and desperate hunger for recognition they feed from in an industry that tears people down once they do succeed.

Donghyuck chooses to not be that person anymore.

ACT III.

INT. A BALLET STUDIO. NIGHT

The whole space is bathed in dim lights, almost like the light from the moon outside is seeping from the smooth glass walls of the room covered in mirrors.

Donghyuck sits right in its middle, his dark eyes staring at his own.

DONGHYUCK [voiceover]:

Someone once said that you could dream so much better in a room where there are pretty things.

(Debussy’s Clair de Lune starts playing.)

Donghyuck slowly starts by delicately spreading his arms with his eyes tightly shut, letting them flow freely like the moonlight’s shadows are pulling them with its silver strings as it gleam down on him.

Soft as the tune, he tilts his head slightly up to the heavens in a subtle defiance, like the tiny flowers that grow in between cracks on the ground.

And from there, Donghyuck begins his mellow ascent.

He extends one unnaturally straight leg out, black tights like second skin, curled toes honed to mastered perfection and years of breaking in pointe shoes.

In this light, the deep scars and bent bones of his used feet aren't seen but Donghyuck knows they’re there as his spine curves forward to gently support his body up, letting the beat of the music carry half of his weight.

Donghyuck’s knees begin trembling.

DONGHYUCK [voiceover]:

But what happens when the pretty things break?

With ragged breaths, he easily waltzes across the room, graceful and deadly in his careful steps.

Donghyuck weeps with the music as hears it descends, memories of a barren stage and grim faceless lumps of shadows in front of him with their grinning sharp white teeth, taunting him.

His whole body feels heavy, not even close enough to being weightless, as the melody consumes him.

DONGHYUCK [voiceover]:

Ballet is a dignified, elegant, graceful form of art.

His tiptoes start a burn so slow and sickeningly familiar he didn’t even notice at first, refused to.

Donghyuck attempts a series of pirouettes.

Glimpses of blurry images flicker at him in every turn, all the damning evidence that haunts him.

Donghyuck sees a little kid, tiny hands gripping the barre tight, so wide-eyed and eager to see the bright future ahead of him.

He sees the boy grow a little older, his body taller and leaner, staring emotionlessly at a mirror with a red mark on one cheek in the shape of someone’s hand.

Donghyuck sees lights so blinding he almost doesn’t notice his very own silhouette leap out of him, as he stands on its shadows and watches its lifeless form command the stage in smiles it didn’t mean and in a stomach so empty he watches it pass out on the ground as soon as the curtain closes.

Donghyuck sees the most beautiful boy with the longest eyelashes and the brightest smile he has ever come to know kiss his way through his bruised body, whispering sweet words of taking on the world and becoming the best together that he doesn’t know if he even has the heart to believe.

Donghyuck watches himself with tears streaming down his worn-out face, sitting stark naked on the cold floor in front of a full-length mirror, knees closely tucked to his chin.

He sees his skin with all the marks, the bruises, and the scars that don't seem to heal, only growing in numbers, no matter how hard he tries to cover them up.

He sees the fragile curve of his spine.

He sees his feet, the wounds still fresh and bleeding.

Donghyuck sees his young body and his bones wasting away along with his potential.

And he sees the moment that he decides, enough is enough.

DONGHYUCK [voiceover]:

(Soft, shaky voice) What happens if you fall from grace?

Donghyuck falls before he even completes the last of the pirouettes.

(The camera shakes slightly.)

He slowly picks himself back up in trembling arms, lithe body succumbing to how the music reaches its rhythm’s peak.

Donghyuck moves in a sort of haste now, spinning and turning like how the stars surround the moon at its fullest.

He’s floating across the room, a beautiful creature made by the night.

Donghyuck drowns himself to the exhilarating feeling of knowing there’s no more audience to impress, no people left to please, and no more fame to chase as he dances away.

He’s a forbidden enigma, a feather blown by the gaunt winds, brewing up a storm and leaving only whispers of his steps in his wake.

He feels light, invincible, like he could do anything and everything all at once.

Donghyuck feels like flying and so he does.

He feels it before it even happens, like a crack of a bone already broken.

He falls, once again and loudly this time, the sharp thud like lightning disturbing the cloudless night sky.

(“Donghyuck!” A voice faintly calls.)

Donghyuck stays down for a couple of seconds, breath coming in little pants now, before pushing himself up once again.

(The music is still playing.)

He barely makes it back to his own two feet before he tries to pivot.

And falls once again.

(The music stops.)

This time, he doesn’t know if he still has the strength to get back up.

Donghyuck still tries to anyway—

(The screen abruptly turns to black.)

BEHIND THE SCENES #2.

“Donghyuck!” That same voice calls, louder and clearer this time.

Mark.

Donghyuck feels a warm body slide down next to him on the floor as well as a forehead against his sweaty ones.

He closes his eyes, breath ragged and chest heaving rapidly.

“Look at me,” Mark whispers brokenly. “Please.”

Donghyuck opens his stinging eyes to Mark’s worried ones, his eyes searching, and feels him visibly relax.

They're so close to each other like this, almost sharing the same breath. Mark wipes a lone tear on the corner of Donghyuck’s eye with his thumb.

He feels thick fingers gently wrap around his slender ones in a tight grip as Mark brings their clasped hands to his own chest.

“Now breathe with me,” Mark instructs.

Donghyuck feels Mark’s heart beat underneath his skin, soft and steady.

Safe.

Donghyuck wills himself to match its rhythm, allowing himself to breathe softly through his nose and steadily out his mouth until the incessant ringing in his ears stop and the only thing he could hear are Mark’s breaths comforting his own.

“I’m sorry,” Donghyuck says after a while. “I didn’t mean for it to turn this way.”

Mark shakes his head, forehead still against his. “You don’t have to apologize for the way you choose to tell your story.”

Donghyuck smiles at Mark’s genuine words.

It was the first time he ever allowed someone to see him get this vulnerable, past the spotlight and entirely different from seeing him naked. It’s the kind of rawness that doesn’t make him want to hide in the shadows and peel his skin off its edges.

With him, the bare naked truth coating the air isn’t mocking, but real and overcomable.

“I’m quite broken,” Donghyuck concludes, a fact he discovers with a surprisingly light and honest heart.

Mark chuckles. “You’re quite broken,” he agrees.

“I am too,” Mark adds, not a beat after.

“I think we all are.” He breaks away, gently pulling one of Donghyuck’s feet from where it’s tucked underneath his thigh and delicately placing it on his lap.

Mark examines it carefully, blunt fingernails grazing the sensitive skin there.

The sensation feels oddly intimate that it sends pleasant shivers down Donghyuck’s spine as he tries so hard to rein in his surprised gasps.

He stares at Mark, at the way he furrows his brows and bites his lip in full concentration. He softly turns his ankles meticulously, making sure that nothing’s too broken. He does the same on the other too.

Donghyuck patiently lets him.

When Mark deems it right and finds nothing too serious, he gently sets Donghyuck's foot down before standing up.

Donghyuck watches his every move as he picks up the camera he left in his haste somewhere in the room, slinging the straps around his neck.

With feigned nonchalance, Donghyuck holds his breath as he sees Mark purposely strides toward him, the darkness of the room highlighting his broad shoulders and sturdy physique.

The sight makes something warm settle in Donghyuck’s stomach.

Mark bends down with his back towards him as soon as he reaches him.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get you home.”

Donghyuck half-scoffs and half-laughs before willingly draping his body on Mark’s back and snaking his arms around his neck. The heat of his body a comfortable presence to Donghyuck’s racing heart.

Mark holds him beneath his knees, making sure that his legs are snuggled securely on his waist and his arms wrapped tightly in front of his chest before effortlessly hoisting them both up like Donghyuck weighs no more than some thin coat he needed to wear.

He adjusts him once, making Donghyuck bounce a little, a small surprised yelp escaping his lips.

“Hey!” he playfully smacks Mark’s back.

Mark laughs in return, the sound echoing in the dim hollow space, making it seem not so uncannily eerie anymore.

He walks them out to where he parked his car, keeping Donghyuck in place from time to time.

Donghyuck naturally rests his chin on Mark's shoulder, like he’s already done it before, only noticing it when Mark tilts his face to check on him.

His nose bumps against Donghyuck’s cheek, the proximity of their faces so close that he feels some heat blossoming in his cheeks that he hopes Mark doesn’t notice.

Donghyuck clears his throat. “You can put me down now!” he says when he notices them stopping on the passenger side of Mark’s Jeep.

Mark opens his door, not minding his words, turning once again as he safely guides Donghyuck to his seat. He checks Donghyuck’s position, taking care of his seatbelt for him. Donghyuck stares at him as he does, feeling quite lightheaded now.

They drive in silence, only having a few small talks here and there.

Donghyuck notices them stopping outside of some 24/7 drugstore.

“Wait here,” Mark instructs before he quickly jogs inside. Donghyuck nods to his retreating back.

He checks the time, it’s well past midnight now.

It hasn’t even been five minutes before Mark returns with a brown paper bag nestled in his hand.

“What’s in it?” Donghyuck asks curiously.

Mark just ruffles his hair without answering before driving them towards the direction of Donghyuck’s apartment.

He insists once again, to piggyback Donghyuck on their way up, much to his horror.

Donghyuck, too exhausted to even protest, reluctantly agrees.

“Hey man, how are you doing?” Mark easily greets and bumps fists with Donghyuck’s night doorman who gives Donghyuck a teasing wink.

He groans, burying his face at the back of Mark’s neck, feeling it vibrate with his laughter.

Once inside, Mark helps Donghyuck into his room and instructs him to change into looser clothes.

“You good?” Mark asks from behind his door after a while.

Donghyuck yells a small yes! as he sits on the edge of his bed, watching the knob turn slowly as Mark enters with the paper bag.

Donghyuck only has his lamp on, casting soft orange hues in the whole space.

He watches Mark set its contents on his bed right beside him: a wound disinfectant, a couple of pain relief patches, and some bandages.

Donghyuck knits his brow in confusion as he takes in the sight of Mark kneeling on one knee right in front of him. “What are you doing?” he whispers quietly, afraid to make his voice any louder lest it disturbs the peace of the night.

“Do you trust me?” Mark asks in return.

Donghyuck nods almost immediately.

Mark hums, effectively rendering him without words, as he smoothly slides Donghyuck’s pajamas up to rest on his thighs, exposing the hairless and smooth skin hiding beneath it.

“Is this okay?” Mark asks the question a little too late, as he has already taken all of Donghyuck’s breath away with the way he’s looking from underneath him, staring up at him with those big damning round eyes under his lashes.

Still, Donghyuck just nods.

That’s all he could do now anyway as he’s made speechless with the way Mark slides his warm, calloused hand on the underside of his knee, eyes softening at the little wounds he spots from the falls Donghyuck had earlier that night.

It makes Donghyuck grip his bed sheets a little bit tighter, heartbeat racing inside his chest as he lets Mark nurse his wounds with such gentle precision.

He feels quite hot on this balmy night.

After he takes his time in tending to both of Donghyuck’s knees, Mark softly unrolls his pants down, but not before making contact with the thin skin there, the touch bringing forth a wave of goosebumps rising up in Donghyuck’s limbs.

Mark looks up at him, head tilting, like he knows all too well the sensations he’s making Donghyuck feel. He looks like he’s taking a smug satisfaction out of it too, with the way Donghyuck can see the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

Donghyuck bites his lower lip as Mark smoothly slides his palm over his clothes and down to his ankles. He didn’t even have the chance to be conscious of how battered and marred it looks as a gentle thumb delicately sweeps the spot on it, giving him a little massage, all the while maintaining eye contact with him.

It feels so good that it takes everything in Donghyuck to preserve what little is left of his dignity and not let out the soft moan he’s been biting back, a battle he’s beginning to lose as Mark seems like he has no intention of stopping anytime soon, giving the same attention to his other ankle.

Donghyuck squirms, his knuckles on the sheets trembling now.

“Good?” Mark has the gall to ask.

Donghyuck tightly shuts his eyes, refusing to answer.

For what seems like infinite lifetimes and at the cost of his sanity, he feels something sticky and cool wrapping around his ankle replacing where Mark’s fingers have just been, much to his dismay, though he doesn’t want to admit that.

Mark carefully places the pain relief patches right where Donghyuck needs them the most, having watched his face intently and taking note of all the spots that made him flinch when he was still massaging it.

Donghyuck feels a whole lot grateful and a whole lot bothered, as Mark places the last of it.

“Thank you,” he says, voice rough.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Mark says as he stands.

He takes a seat beside Donghyuck on his bed, the mattress dipping in his weight.

They stare at each other in silence for quite some time, Mark’s eyes flickering all over his face.

Donghyuck keeps his at Mark’s mouth.

“I should get going,” Donghyuck reads on his lips more than hears him say.

He doesn’t like the sound of that.

“Stay,” he finds himself saying.

Donghyuck can see the hesitation behind Mark’s eyes, like he’s careful and afraid to cross some fragile line.

But after all that’s happened tonight and all the ways Mark has made him feel, Donghyuck doesn’t want to be left alone, so he begs at him with his eyes, hoping Mark sees the desperate plea in it.

Mark softens and doesn’t fail him.

“Okay,” he says with no hesitation this time.

OUTTAKE #1.

INT. DONGHYUCK’S ROOM. NIGHT

The wee hours have gotten deeper, the sole lamp in the room working twice as hard to chase away the filtering shadows.

Mark aimlessly lays in Donghyuck’s bed in borrowed clothes that are a little too tight for him.

(The camera unsteadily zooms in on his face.)

He squints his eyes at it in feigned judgment.

(A giggle is heard in the background.)

DONGHYUCK [behind the lens]:

(In an interviewer’s voice) So what can you say, Mr. Mark Lee?

MARK:

These are some really comfy sheets.

(The camera zooms in on his lips.)

MARK:

Smells really good too.

(There’s laughter now.)

DONGHYUCK [behind the lens]:

You sound like some sales rep.

MARK:

Let’s go to sleep.

(The screen shows a hand approaching before it fades to black, along with a shriek of protest from behind.)

Mark sets his camera down on Donghyuck’s bedside table, laughing at the pout on his face.

Donghyuck rolls his eyes at him.

“I still want to do some face masks,” he says.

Mark sigh-laughs, shaking his head in resignation but still looking a whole lot amused.

“Please, go ahead,” he gestures with his hand in a flourish.

Donghyuck bounces excitedly off the bed to get to where his skincare drawer is.

“Careful,” he hears Mark remind him.

When he successfully has them, Donghyuck makes Mark lay straight up his bed, tilting his clean face slightly high.

He then carefully places the wet mask on his face, while Mark closes his eyes.

Donghyuck laughs at his face as Mark opens them beadily once he’s through.

“Do it on me too,” he instructs Mark, plopping down right next to him and closing his eyes in anticipation.

He feels the bed shift until a gentle, warm palm sweeps his bangs off his forehead.

There’s a brief moment of silence before he feels the face mask delicately placed on him.

Donghyuck opens one eye to see Mark’s face in absolute full concentration.

“Done,” Mark announces, quite proud of his work.

He slides down next to Donghyuck on the bed, both of them with their hands placed on their chests as they stare silently up the ceiling, waiting for the alarm Donghyuck set that indicates the time to remove it.

Donghyuck gets up first, turning his body to Mark’s and slowly peeling it off his face as he does the same to his own right after, discarding the sheets on top of his bedside table.

He then lays back down, body facing Mark’s.

Mark side-eyes him before he does the same, the both of them now lying side by side and facing one another.

Mark props his elbow on the pillow.

Donghyuck wordlessly studies Mark’s face.

Mark does the same.

“Thank you,” Donghyuck says, sincerity coating his words. “For being here.”

Mark pinches his cheek, the action making Donghyuck squint.

“I’m glad to be here,” he simply says.

A beat passes, and then tentatively, not quite sure if he should, Donghyuck hears himself asking, “Can you hold me?”

“Come here,” Mark says, voice rough, looking at Donghyuck sleepily. He swiftly pulls his waist closer to him and lets his hand stay there.

Donghyuck tenses for a beat, before he feels his body relaxing, surrendering to the warmth of the body in front of him as he buries himself on the crook of Mark’s neck, inhaling his scent, his lips ghosting on the warm skin there.

He feels Mark tighten his hold on him, his fingers now delicately tracing the curve of his spine.

It feels so natural, he realizes, being this close to Mark, like his body couldn’t help but crave to be close to him.

Donghyuck isn’t sure why.

He surmises that he’ll think about it later, as his body slowly succumbs to sleep, but not until he faintly hears Mark whisper something to the still air of his room, almost like he’s saying some kind of prayer.

“Now that you don’t have to be perfect to the world, you can try to be good to yourself.”

Donghyuck wonders if he dreamt it all up.

ACT IV.

EXT. A PLAYGROUND. NOON

The midday breeze was a delightful contrast to the blazing sun high above the canopy of trees blanketing the humble playground covered in dirt.

At this time of day, the place is quite desolate with the little kids forced to take their naps, and the adults not paying the place any mind.

Donghyuck sits in a metal swing set, pumping his legs absentmindedly, its rusty chains breaking the otherwise solemn space.

It’s a few blocks away from where his old ballet company is located, tucked behind a couple of old and dated apartment buildings.

He first discovered it two years ago, when the class ran particularly brutal and the ballet studio is not unlike hell on earth, when Donghyuck’s resident choreographer had offhandedly made some comments about his poor technique first, followed by his disgusting posture.

The insults would have kept coming, in ballet they always do, had he not stormed out the room.

He could be the best dancer in the room, have the most beautiful lines, an impeccable fluidity and control, and still be not enough.

Donghyuck had enough of hearing a hundred of them for the day, needing some space to breathe.

He wandered around then, feet raw and sore from all the plies he had to maintain, dance bag swinging with his steps until he found the place.

Since then, every time he desperately needed to breathe he came here, sometimes to think, more often to cry.

It’s amusing to think about now, looking back at those times.

Donghyuck feels like he crawled his way out of there.

It feels like a decade ago and not just some months that had passed, another life he lived, some version of him in that cutthroat society that has been constantly living in survival mode.

After being away, Donghyuck surprisingly feels like a different person now, not close to perfect, never perfect, but hopefully just a little bit better.

DONGHYUCK [voiceover]:

I danced.

The music didn’t stop.

I willingly turned it off.

Not because I have forgotten or missed my steps.

But because I was afraid that it would make me lose my way.

Or consume me.

Until nothing would be left to try to even save.

I refused to be shattered into pieces.

Donghyuck looks up at the clear blue sky, at the sunlight seeping into his skin like a lullaby against the tormenting thoughts of his past.

He softly smiles, savoring in the warmth.

DONGHYUCK [voiceover]:

(To the heavens) You can choose to be different from who they want and make you to be.

Somehow, in the place where he used to take shelter from the world that he had buried, a part of Donghyuck desperately and sincerely wants to take comfort from his own words.

He takes his phone and wired earphones out of his jean pocket and tucks them in his ears.

(Some loud, pop rock music plays.)

Donghyuck wholeheartedly listens to the beat, his head bobbing freely, before he decides to stand up and move his body unapologetically.

It’s the kind of music he had never danced to, not even once.

And it feels awfully liberating, to not have to do no more extensions, no long lines, and no turnouts.

Donghyuck’s dancing just for the heck of it.

DONGHYUCK [voiceover]:

And the thing about falling, even from grace, or from simply running away, is that you can pick yourself back up.

Donghyuck’s hip swings unrhythmically, his legs uncoordinated, and his arms comically flailing.

(The camera follows his body’s movements as he sweeps through the whole place.)

Donghyuck’s steps then glide right to the screen, so close now.

His face takes up the whole frame, all bright and giddy, his eyes looking past it.

Donghyuck takes off and offers the other earphone piece, extending his hand well beyond the lens.

(A deep giggle is heard off camera before the screen fades to black.)

BEHIND THE SCENES #3.

Mark takes it and puts it on one ear, the wires connecting them stretch as Donghyuck takes Mark’s arms to dance with him.

He hears Mark protest, and sees him all shy and blushing.

It makes Donghyuck tighten his hold on him.

Donghyuck guides him through some silly movements, both of their hips swishing and feet stomping.

Mark shakes his head but allows himself to be led, smiling from ear to ear.

He takes Mark’s hand and spins him, like he’s some sort of ballroom dancer, the both of them doubling in laughter and clutching their stomachs at how ridiculous they both look.

A giggle escapes Donghyuck as Mark does the same to him, going as far as dramatically dipping him close to the ground before catching him with one veined arm.

The songs end with their laughter mixing in the wind, a melody the birds in the sky try hard to outsing and failing to do so.

They look at each other, both their faces are flushed and their bodies sweaty.

After some short minutes, little, excited voices then slowly start approaching and filling the space.

Panting and out of breath, they continue staring at each other with identical expressions of mirth and glee.

“Come on,” Mark says as he takes Donghyuck’s hand, his palms dwarfing his own.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Donghyuck allows himself to be pulled, bright eyes never taking themselves off of looking at their intertwined hands, his heart pounding somehow more loudly than it was when they were still dancing.

BEHIND THE SCENES #4.

Donghyuck sits cross-legged on the floor in the wool carpet of his living room, right across the coffee table from where Mark is doing the same.

He’s still wearing the earphones on one ear, some sensual R&B playing soulfully pooling in his ear.

Donghyuck watches Mark bury his nose in his laptop, editing away with his round glasses on, a still steaming coffee mug on his side courtesy of Donghyuck.

He has a book opened in his lap, long fingers absentmindedly flipping through the pages without really reading them, as he’s more focused on stealing glances at the man in front of him every so often.

Sometimes, Mark accidentally catches his eye, and gives him small smiles in return that results in Donghyuck immediately averting his eyes away as his face gets unbearably warm.

Mulling it over, Donghyuck abandons the book that he’s not reading, propping his elbow on the table with his chin on his palm instead, as he solely dedicates his time to shamelessly watch Mark after gathering enough needed courage.

“You have very pretty moles,” Mark suddenly says, cutting through the comfortable silence they’ve unknowingly established.

“Huh?” Donghyuck cluelessly asks, caught off guard by the statement.

With crinkling eyes, Mark turns his laptop around to face Donghyuck’s way.

The screen shows some type of a video editing software which displays a still image of Donghyuck's whole face in it.

He can clearly see the moles that Mark was talking about, the ones he never really paid any kind of attention to before, only feeling mildly irritated by them as they are another thing that needs to be properly covered up in stage makeup.

Donghyuck stares at his own face.

In all the years he’s had to look at himself in front of floor-to-ceiling mirrors, forced to, he has never seen himself this way.

Donghyuck’s face was completely bare, free from anything, scrubbed raw and clean from the shower he remembered taking moments before they started filming.

This was supposed to be some test shot.

Donghyuck can clearly see all the marks and the peach fuzz adorning his face all over.

And it’s quite fascinating to him, the way Mark captures him like this, his skin bathed in the glowing daylight.

It looks golden and very real.

So human, you could tell just by looking at the image that he has flaws, that he has his own thoughts, and that he lives and breathes.

Donghyuck looks like he has his own story to tell.

And for the first time in a very long time, he doesn’t hate it.

BEHIND THE SCENES #5.

Donghyuck did lie.

He has always loved sunflowers.

It fascinates him how sunflowers have spirals in their centers, the Fibonacci spiral.

The swirls a golden ratio that follows some sort of sequence, made so that the best number of sunflower seeds can grow and help in enhancing sunlight and taking in nutrients.

The whole thing is honed by creation and the universe itself, a precious gift to the earth, its sequence like steps to some kind of an ancient dance that’s never been gone, only passed down to generations.

Donghyuck should really give Jaemin a call one of these days. He hasn’t even thanked him for the flowers yet and he does regret throwing them out in a moment of shameful weakness.

It’s truly the little things that make everything in life so revelatory, like the flowers being used as a metaphor for organic growth and order in chaos.

But most often than not, like a sunflower’s spirals, it’s also the little things that kick off cascading moments that make you look a lot closer, like how there are tiny cracks in the mantle that are otherwise unnoticeable if you don’t know where to really look.

Donghyuck has spent most of his life looking, has been ruthlessly trained for it, and so of course he notices.

It starts minuscule, inconspicuous, like finding something that’s hiding in plain sight.

Donghyuck was walking home one day from the corner grocery store when he belatedly noticed something missing. Or rather, he feels something is missing, something that he knows has always been there but gone now.

It makes him stop at his tracks at the side of some random narrow alleyway, clutching his shopping bag tightly to his chest.

The dull pain he always feels in his feet every time he takes a step is not there anymore.

Donghyuck frowns.

Huh.

The whole thing doesn’t really come out as a complete shock, only mildly bothering as he wills his body to keep on walking, not sure what to make of his feet.

One thing that Donghyuck also knows about the little things is that they are the ones that can cause the biggest ripples.

A couple of days later, he was eating dimsum takeouts with Mark in his apartment, the aromatic smell of food filling the space and making his mouth pleasantly water.

He excitedly splits his chopsticks apart, teasing Mark by stealing some of his food into his own as Mark laughs at him and even helps him by putting them into Donghyuck’s own plate.

Donghyuck’s been feeling a lot hungrier these days, his stomach grumbling at all the appropriate meal times.

The thought itself makes him stop mid chew, eyes going wide.

He sets his chopsticks down.

Of course Mark notices. “What’s wrong?”

Donghyuck swallows the bile slowly rising in his throat. “Nothing,” he shakes his head, picking up his chopsticks once again as he continues eating.

He feels something like dread building in his throat.

Donghyuck thinks about it more.

Now that he’s slowly noticing it, he’s been waking up feeling quite refreshed and well-rested these past couple of weeks, so far from what he has always been used to: waking up feeling like he has a big boulder for a blanket as he wakes up with aching bones and his muscles screaming at him.

It makes Donghyuck stare into nothing in particular.

He’s been eating well these days.

He’s been waking up feeling good.

Donghyuck’s feet don't hurt.

His body is healing.

The realization cuts so deep it feels like someone just punched him from the inside out.

Taking deep calming breaths, Donghyuck shakily stands.

He numbingly makes his way to the glass windows of the living room, sweat starting to form in his temples.

Donghyuck stares at his reflection that’s barely reflected by the shiny, smooth surface of the glass. Still, he sees himself well enough.

He dreadfully sweeps his gaze all over his reflection and sees his body, so much more fuller and healthier now.

Normal.

And like the flowers he so loves, Donghyuck spirals.

He doesn’t know what to make of the fact but it does make him lose his appetite and all of his senses and there’s this growing incessant pounding in his head that makes the room feel like it’s spinning and everything feels so tight and heavy, like a big dark cloud has engulfed everything with a black smoke and he can’t find his way out and it’s drowning him.

It’s all too much for him, that he dashes out of the room in a hurry, barely grabbing a jacket and slamming the door shut behind him.

He faintly hears Mark calling for him.

Donghyuck’s vision is blurry as he runs out into the street where the sounds of traffic and noises of every kind can’t mask the ringing in his ears.

He pushes his way through the throngs of people walking by the sidewalk, not really caring to apologize, doesn’t have enough strength to.

He doesn’t even know where he’s going, feet moving on their own accord, like he’s just a bystander in his own damn body.

Donghyuck tries clenching his fists and finds his palms numb and his fingers cold.

He vaguely feels his hands opening knobs and pushing doors, his chest painfully taking every breath until a single moment of clarity makes him recognize the room he just put himself into.

The haze clears and he's taken himself to the same place he’d always wanted to run away from.

His old ballet studio.

Heavily breathing through his mouth, Donghyuck takes in the whole room.

It’s been left empty for the day with all the lights turned off, no single soul left for it to perish but even then he can still feel the blood, sweat, and tears poured and pooling down its floors including his own.

The single faint light coming from the emergency light is the only thing that makes him able to even see his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors that have been his companion and undoing all at once.

Donghyuck slowly falls to his knees in front of it, the thud it makes barely registering.

He folds them close to his chest, hugging them tightly with his arms, as he rocks himself slowly.

Donghyuck feels his body gradually relaxing as he continues to stare at himself, fat hot tears streaming down his face.

Momentarily, he hears someone enter the room, one whose scent immediately fills up the place. Mint soap. Fresh sheets. Comfort. Safe. Mark.

Donghyuck feels him wordlessly sit on the floor beside him, body fully angled towards his shaking one.

“What if this was all a mistake?” Donghyuck blurts out, his voice sounds so deadly broken even to his own ears.

“What if I never should have left?”

Mark gently takes his wet face to face him.

“Did it waste my potential or did I waste it myself when I walked away from it?”

He feels stripped raw as he looks Mark straight in the eyes.

“I feel like I’m a different person now and I’m not sure if it’s who I should be.”

Donghyuck’s voice continues shaking.

“Did I do the right thing or did I just fail myself?”

Mark’s teeth clash and his nose bumps into his as soft lips take his full mouth before he can even say anything more.

In an instance, the whole room falls away, until all he can feel are their bodies automatically inching closer to each other.

Donghyuck tastes the fear and desperation in between their kisses.

It lights everything in him up.

Mark is the first to break away.

“I understand you,” he says, looking at Donghyuck with nothing but tenderness. “But I also want you to know that a wound realistically doesn't magically heal in just a few days, some deep gashes take long months to heal, and the scars, they do itch.”

Mark takes his mouth once again, wet tongue making him open up, all surrendering and trusting. The sound it makes when Donghyuck’s own mingles with it sends a delightful shiver down his wretched spine.

Donghyuck’s fingers bury into Mark’s silky hair, anchoring him back into all things soft and good.

He angles his face to let him in deeper, allowing Mark to take the heavy bitterness he feels and replace it with a feeling that feels light and sweet.

They pause halfway once again, taking the time to stare deeply into each other’s eyes.

“You are allowed to mourn who you were and still feel the most alive with who you’re becoming,” Mark says before he impossibly dives in deeper in his mouth.

He feels Mark swallow all of his hurt and fears until he’s left all breathless in the way that doesn’t hurt but instead soothes.

Donghyuck’s already on the verge of falling apart, but Mark’s kisses feel like they’re mending his bones and sealing all of his scars.

He would like to keep kissing him until he’s all blue and painfully breathless, but Mark pulls away when he notices him taking deep short gasps in between.

“Sorry,” he says, referring to the sudden kiss, not looking apologetic at all, his lips swollen and bitten by Donghyuck’s own. “Couldn’t help myself.”

Donghyuck chuckles weakly.

“Don’t be,” he says. “I was waiting for you to.”

Mark rests his head on Donghyuck’s shoulder for a couple of seconds, before he decides to change spots.

He watches as Mark goes behind him before he sits, caging his legs around Donghyuck’s body.

Mark hugs him from behind as he tucks his head in the dip of his shoulder, Donghyuck couldn’t help noticing that it fits perfectly.

“You don’t have to go through this alone,” Mark says carefully, lips leaving tiny kisses in his shoulder blades. “You can ask for help from someone who can make you process the change that you are going through now.”

“And I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

Donghyuck looks at him, to the honesty and gentle support swimming in his eyes.

He nods before giving him a small smile.

“I would love to try.”

He feels Mark smile, relieved.

They stay like that for a couple of minutes, holding onto each other and basking in the peace after everything that’s happened.

Donghyuck’s tears have long dried out.

He quietly looks at their reflection in the mirror.

“Film me,” he says.

He sees Mark’s reflection lift his head up.

“Donghyuck,” he sighs. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“I want to,” Donghyuck insists. “Come on, do your thing,” he says before craning his neck to give Mark a soft kiss, silently urging him.

Mark sighs into it before taking his phone out.

Donghyuck thinks it’s as raw as it can get and watches Mark position himself on his side once again, angling his body so that the only thing that can be seen is Donghyuck’s side profile and the sliver of mirror he’s staring at.

Mark hits the record button.

ACT V.

INT. OLD BALLET STUDIO. NIGHT

The melancholy and smell of nostalgia isn’t harrowing this time, only tamed.

Donghyuck feels the new set of tears falling, but this time, he’s smiling through it.

DONGHYUCK:

Sometimes the darkness revisits you.

He wipes his tears with the back of his hand, looking at himself.

DONGHYUCK:

Of course it does.

It’s always there.

And most times it succeeds in pulling you in.

Donghyuck slightly turns his head to look at the small gap between the door and the floor.

And then once again, to himself.

He smiles, a small and subtle one.

DONGHYUCK:

But there’s a crack in everything and that’s how you know that the light can still go in.

Donghyuck softly looks behind the lens.

DONGHYUCK:

And you have it in you to let that small light fill even the darkest, deepest, and twistiest parts.

DONGHYUCK:

(Like a mantra, he repeats someone’s words) And you are allowed to mourn who you were and still feel the most alive with who you’re becoming.

(The screen fades to black.)

BEHIND THE SCENES #6.

There’s tiny laughter all around him.

It warms Donghyuck’s heart, as he takes in the little bodies dressed in the prettiest tutus and the most adorable leotards.

Bright, eager eyes follow his movement as he teaches them basic beginner ballet steps.

“Imagine the prettiest flower you can find,” Donghyuck begins, chuckling at how their cute faces scrunch up in deep concentration.

“Like a dandelion!”

“Or a lily!”

“A sunflower!”

The chorus of tiny voices fills his ears.

“Yes,” Donghyck agrees, patient. “Like all of those.”

“Now imagine that flower blooming, the beautiful petals opening delicately that you can’t help but hold your breath until it reaches its full bloom.”

“Like this,” Donghyuck demonstrates, slowly and delicately opening his arms, lightly extending it as he fluidly flicks his wrist while he keeps his posture perfectly straight.

He does a little twirl afterwards for some flair before doing a dramatic curtsy.

“Woah!” A little boy exclaims in the background.

“I want to do it like that too!”

He hears the tiny set of hands clapping, like they have witnessed something truly majestic and not some of the most basic things he has ever done in his entire career, watching awe coloring each pink chubby cheek.

“Pretty,” he hears someone whisper from the back of the group.

It was from an adorable little girl, blushing as she sees Donghyuck turn his attention towards her.

She somehow found a way into Mark’s lap, sitting at the back of the room, who was silently watching everything unfold with nothing but a fond smile.

Donghyuck chuckles at them.

Shy, the girl hides her face in Mark’s neck.

“I agree, he’s so pretty,” Mark murmurs in her ear, just loud enough for Donghyuck to hear.

A few weeks after Donghyuck started attending therapy, Mark suggested that he teach a volunteer beginners class for the little kids at a local dance studio that hosts it during the weekends, the kids' parents barely making the whole thing stay afloat.

The pure gratitude on their faces when they learned Donghyuck was willing to teach and the starstruck wonder on the kids' faces has healed something a little bit more inside of him.

Donghyuck slowly approaches the two, sweeping his gaze around the room and laughing once more at the faces focused on copying what he just did, the littlest of hands gripping the barre tight.

He squats in front of Mark, offering a hand.

“Come,” he coaxes the little girl out of hiding. “I’ll teach you something even prettier,” he says.

The girl slowly peeks at him, still shy.

Mark pats her back softly. “Go on,” he encourages her. “He’ll teach you how to fly like a butterfly.”

The kid perks up at that, hesitantly offering her hand to Donghyuck. He smiles, genuine and sweet, before guiding her, hand in hand as they step into the middle of the room.

Mark gives him a wink and Donghyuck fights not to roll his eyes in front of children.

He carefully positions the girl's arms, guiding her limbs delicately, not forgetting to whisper words of praise and encouragement, before gently lifting her up.

Donghyuck glides them from one side of the room to another, hearing delighted giggling in his ear, before he sets her down just as gently.

The girl looks at him, awestruck and mouth gaping, before she gives him a tight hug.

There was a brief moment of silence before chaos erupted.

“Me too!”

“Make me fly too!”

“Do it to me!”

Donghyuck laughs merrily as the little kids crowd around him, their bright faces looking up at him.

“Okay, okay!” He says, “One at a time.”

And despite the cute commotion, his eyes flick to where Mark is still seated at the back of the room.

He still has this fond look on his face as he stares back at him, one that makes him feel like something settled its soft wings in his heart that makes a thousand petals bloom.

Donghyuck pats all the little kids' heads, a sort of way to thank them for making him rediscover the innocent love he has for the art.

His art.

“I want you guys to remember one thing,” he tells them, sitting on the balls of his feet and making sure to make eye contact with each and every single one of them.

Donghyuck feels himself wanting to listen to his own words intently like them, too.

“In the right eyes you will be the most beautiful thing to ever exist.”

ACT VI.

EXT. A LAKE. SUNRISE

The sun has fully risen to its peak now.

It’s his favorite time of day, the early morning hours slowly waking everything that slumbers, its voice whispering of soft hope to the long day ahead.

There’s a muted glow to everything, soft to the eyes, a kind of peace only nature can bring.

Donghyuck stands in front of a lake.

It’s situated just on the tail end of a small hill, the grass-filled ground tickling Donghyuck’s bare feet.

The water is still, like it’s holding a breath, but he feels the breeze as it greets him, mildly shivering as its whispers flow down his body.

Donghyuck is wearing some linen shirt and trousers, loose and light on his body.

He has his back to the camera.

DONGHYUCK [voiceover]:

Was it only ever passion?

He starts moving his body to music only he can hear.

DONGHYUCK [voiceover]:

A single performance meant to please?

Donghyuck feels his body letting go, like he’s one with the wind that blows through his hair, all fragile and airy, and makes himself loose.

DONGHYUCK [voiceover]:

Would you keep on dancing even if no one is watching?

He dances to a dance he remembers doing before, something that’s so familiar, the moves graceful and elegant. He feels light in his feet as the steps shift to another kind, still just as exquisite as the last, until all of his movements become a delightful medley of all of the dances he ever did and learned, a blend of his craft paying homage to him.

DONGHYUCK [voiceover]:

I would.

Even if I fall.

Donghyuck allows himself to fly, his strong and proud feet digging into the ground as he fearlessly does all of the jumps, all of the spins, all of the twirls, that he has loved doing before—still do.

Never once did he fall, as he dances to his own terms.

Donghyuck abruptly stops, chest heaving, his clothes delicately flurring in the wind.

DONGHYUCK [voiceover]:

Because then you can grow new pair of wings.

Ones that you can use to fly again.

He lifts his head up to the sky, the sun’s rays draping its glimmer like a curtain on his body.

DONGHYUCK [voiceover]:

Or grow a new set of teeth.

Ones that you can grit once again as you fight your way back like hell.

And then he turns to face the camera, looking so alive with his cheeks flushed and his eyes clear.

With grace, Donghyuck does one last reverence.

(The screen fades out.)

OUTTAKE #2.

EXT. A LAKE. DAY

The lake’s almost sparkling this time.

Its glitters bounce off the smooth surface in a million different ways, dazzling and nothing short of heavenly.

Donghyuck’s sitting in the grass now.

DONGHYUCK:

It’s too quiet!

He reaches his hand out.

(The camera flips, revealing two faces on the screen.)

Donghyuck sticks his cheeks closer to Mark, who’s been sitting beside him all along.

Mark playfully side-eyes him, but smiling gently when their eyes meet.

DONGHYUCK:

Come on, play a song.

Mark:

Just any song?

DONGHYUCK:

Play one on shuffle.

(Don’t You (Forget About Me) by Simple Minds plays on the background.)

Donghyuck squishes Mark’s face in one hand, mushing their cheeks as he grips his chin with his thumb and index finger, tilting it so that their lips meet in a pouty kiss.

Mark looks straight at the camera after with an endeared look on his face.

Donghyuck beams.

(End of scene.)