Archive of Our Own

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Mark is twelve years old when he auditions for SM Entertainment.

It’s a whim, a curiosity at best, but he hears about the Global Auditions from a friend, unexpectedly has the day off school, manages to convince his mother to let him, and just goes.

“Are you sure about this?” his mother asks, fingers tapping against the steering wheel of the car. Outside, lines and lines of people mill about, waiting to escape into the audition building and out of the winter cold.

“Of course,” Mark says, even though he isn’t. His fingers linger on the door’s handle, gripping it tight but not moving. He takes a deep breath, steels himself, and then pushes the car door open.

It’s nerve-wracking and exciting, and even though he’s surrounded by so many talented people, it’s exhilarating being on that stage.

The next day, he waits for a phone call from them. Then, he waits the week. Then, the month. And then, enough time passes that Mark assumes he didn’t make it and goes back to focusing on his studies.

Then, the phone call comes. He makes it.

“I feel like I can’t breathe.”

Johnny laughs from where he’s lying on the practice studio floor next to Mark. Mark rests his head against the polished timber floor, closes his eyes and waits for his breathing to slow.

Mark is thirteen years old and two hours out of passing his first performance evaluation. Bright on his mind is the praise from his evaluators, but at the forefront is the urge that followed, the need to keep moving, to be better.

Johnny nudges Mark’s shoulder before standing up. He offers Mark a hand. “It only gets harder from here,” he says.

Mark grabs Johnny’s hand and lifts himself up. He walks over to where their water bottles are resting on the side of the room. He picks the two up, passes one to Johnny. “Can’t wait,” Mark replies. He unscrews the lid and takes a sip of water, feels it run cold down his throat.

Johnny shakes his head. “Less than a year here and you’re already like this,” Johnny says. “You’re going to make me look bad.”

“That isn’t that hard, hyung.” Mark grins and then dodges Johnny’s hand as Johnny tries to ruffle his hair.

“Brat,” Johnny says, but he’s smiling. He unscrews his own bottle and takes a long swig. “You’re flying home soon, right?”

“Yeah,” says Mark. He dabs at the sweat at his temple with the back of his hand. “A couple of weeks.”

“Lucky,” is all Johnny says.

Mark takes one last gulp of water, before screwing the cap back onto his bottle. His muscles still ache, his body heavy, but there’s a part in the new choreography that Mark wants to perfect. “Let’s continue?” Mark asks.

Johnny shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re going to be a practice monster, you know that?”

When the flight touches down in Canada, Mark feels like he’s home.

The airport is bustling with people, sounds clamouring over one another, but when Mark hears a familiar voice cut through the chatter he turns instinctively to the sound of his name.

“You don’t need the sign every time,” Mark says, wheeling his suitcase over to where his parents are holding a large cardboard cut-out that reads: Welcome home, Mark Lee! There’s a haphazard drawing of a microphone next to his name. His brother seems to tack details on to it every time Mark sees it. This time, there are two small music notes dancing around the tip of the mic.

“Nonsense,” his mother says, pulling Mark into a hug. She holds him tight for seconds longer than Mark expects. When Mark pulls away, she presses a quick kiss to his forehead.

His father hugs him too, and then takes Mark’s suitcase off of him, ignoring Mark’s protests.

In the car, his brother punches him in the shoulder. “Welcome back, bro,” he says.

It’s the best welcome that Mark could have ever hoped for.

In the kitchen of Mark’s childhood home, Mark sits at the table while his mother prepares lunch. “You can tell me the truth,” she says, as she chops up carrots into small slivers, “are you having a hard time over there?”

Mark steals a piece and chews on it, savours the flavour so doesn’t have to answer straight away. He shifts his legs and winces when the bruise on his knee bumps the underside of the table. “I like it,” Mark says. When the silence stretches, he says the truth: “Sometimes,” he says. “Sometimes, it’s hard.”

His mother only hums, and then whacks his hand away when he tries to reach for more carrots.

After lunch, his father takes him to the church. When Mark was younger, he used to sing into the empty church to hear his voice bounce back to him. His father would close his eyes and listen, and then scold him for disturbing God’s house. When Mark walks in, the sunlight filters past the stained-glass windows and colours the empty aisles. It fills the open space.

An hour into filing papers in his father’s office, one of the old ladies of the church drops by to visit. She brings a large platter of cookies. Mark immediately snags one and crams it into his mouth.

“You’ve grown so much,” she says, pinching Mark’s full cheeks. Behind her, Mark sees his father hide a smile. “I heard you’re going into show business,” she says. “There’s a lot of talk and rumours about that. Your father’s the pastor, don’t get caught into one of those scandals, hey?”

One of those scandals. “I don’t—” Mark starts, eyebrows furrowed. He relaxes his face, and forces a smile. “I won’t.”

“Good,” she says, then pats his face and tells him to eat more.

When Mark gets back home, he sits outside on the bench in front of his house in an attempt to wade off his food coma. The summer sun is bright above him. When Mark closes his eyes, for some reason, it feels warmer on his skin than it does in Seoul.

Mark is two steps out of the practice studio when Jisung runs up to him.

“Hyung!” Jisung shouts, before flinging himself into Mark’s arms. Mark stumbles back and catches him. He wrap his arms around Jisung, looks at Jisung’s excited face. “Did you see?” Jisung asks, grinning boyishly. “They announced us. We’re SM Rookies.”

“What?” Mark says, smile wide. He lifts Jisung up for a second and hugs him tight. He’s fourteen years old and invincible. They bounce around together in the hallway, shoes squeaking against the timber flooring.

Mark calls home in the next room over, forgetting the time difference and shouting the news to his sleepy-eyed mother.

“They announced it, Mom,” Mark repeats, and this time she understands. She screams into the phone, and then her voice becomes distant as she starts to yell for Mark’s father and brother to wake up.

Mark laughs all through their FaceTime. Even though their faces are blurry, Mark can feel their happiness for him shine through.

A week later, in the same practice studio he called his mother in, Mark listens as Donghyuck introduces himself. He catches Donghyuck’s eye and smiles, only to get a frosty look in return.

When everyone pairs up to stretch, Mark walks over to where Donghyuck is standing alone. “I could be your partner,” Mark says. “If you need anything, you can ask me for help.”

Donghyuck stares at him. “Thank you,” Donghyuck says, “but I think I’ll be fine.”

Donghyuck walks away from him. Mark’s feels his face burn.

The next time Mark sees Donghyuck, he’s on his way to the practice studio. Donghyuck is sitting alone on the gaudy blue couch in SM’s lobby. The lingering feelings of being a new trainee has Mark striding over.

“What are you up to?” Mark asks, sitting next to Donghyuck.

Donghyuck looks up from his phone and eyes at Mark warily. “My vocal lesson just finished,” he says.

“Do you want to come practice with me?” Mark asks.

“No,” Donghyuck says, and Mark’s face flushes. And then, “I need to go home.”

“Oh,” Mark says. He licks his lips. “That’s fine, then.”

Mark should leave. He should, but he doesn’t, instead sitting next to Donghyuck in silence. Occasionally, Donghyuck glances up from his phone to Mark, probably wondering why Mark is still there. Ten minutes later, Mark is about to get up and leave when Jeno walks up to the two of them.

“Mark-hyung?” Jeno asks, head tilted curiously. “Are you joining us for practice?”

There’s a weight in that question that Jeno doesn’t seem to understand. Mark glances over at Donghyuck but Donghyuck isn’t looking at him. “He isn’t,” Donghyuck says, answering for Mark. “Let’s go, Jeno.”

Donghyuck pulls at Jeno’s jumper and drags Jeno away. Jeno throws a final look of confusion at Mark before turning back to Donghyuck. Donghyuck laughs at something Jeno says and doesn’t look back.

Rejection on Mark Lee feels like this: it’s cold air filling his lungs, a tightness numbing his chest, heat rising to his face, tingles travelling down to the tips of his fingers. The come down is slow but it leaves him uncomfortable. Mark stews there in silence, overwhelmed by embarrassment, jealousy and a little bit of hate all at once.

Despite that, Mark tries his hardest to get along with Donghyuck. It feels like every time Mark tries to extend a hand, an olive branch, Donghyuck turns away and tosses it to the ground. 

“I don’t understand,” a voice says, echoing in the restroom. Sitting in one of the stalls, Mark curses his life when the next words out of the trainee’s mouth are, “Out of all the trainees, why did they choose Mark Lee?”

The other boys start to snicker and agree. “He isn’t even as good as any of us,” one chimes in.

“He should’ve just stuck to dance,” a third voice says.

Mark flushes the toilet and hears all conversation stop. He opens the restroom door and smiles at the group of boys on his way over to the sink. Mark soaps up his hands, rinses them under the cold water and takes his time drying his hands under the hand dryer. He could slice through the tension with a spoon.

Two days later, he sees one of the same trainees practising alone in one of the empty rooms. Mark slowly opens the door, craning his head to listen to the trainee rap. He listens for a minute, but then his sleuth plan fails when he trips on his feet and stumbles head first into the room.

The trainee stops rapping and looks at Mark. First with surprise, then with distrust.

“Your flow,” Mark says, when he gets his bearings and manages to stand up. “How did you switch it up that smoothly? It sounded cool.”

At Mark’s praise, the trainee looks shocked. Mark licks his lips, and waits patiently for the trainee to reply. Mark leaves the room an hour later, with the trainee’s contact details in his phone and an offer to practice together again later.  

In the first few months of his trainee life, Mark nearly called his mother and asked her to buy him a plane ticket home.

It wasn’t that it wasn’t enjoyable, or that Mark couldn’t take it—it was more that sometimes Mark saw the passion in the other trainee’s eyes and wondered whether he was even worthy of working towards the same goal. Mark didn’t audition as a rapper, and it’s an insecurity that rears its head whenever Mark lets himself think too much. To compensate, Mark tried to put in the work.

He told Taeyong as much, when Taeyong pulled him aside and asked him how he was going.

“I’ve always liked music,” Mark started, fiddling with his hands. The sunlight danced between his fingertips, light on his skin for seconds at a time. Taeyong shifted beside him, pulling on his jacket to block out the wind. Over the edge of the rooftop, the city high rise stretched out into the grey. “I’ve always liked music, but I wanted to be a writer.”

Taeyong had dropped a small notebook in Mark’s lap the next time he saw Mark. “Try writing your own lyrics,” Taeyong said. “Maybe you’ll get the best of both worlds.”

“What?” Mark asks. The basketball that Mark had been dribbling hits the front of his right shoe and bounces away from him. Mark is fifteen years old and has seen too many people come and go. This time, for some reason, it floors him.

Johnny runs and picks the ball up. “Yeah,” Johnny says. He dribbles the ball and then takes a shot. It passes through the hoop easily. “Someone found pictures of Jinwoo with his boyfriend and leaked it to management. They say he left but everyone knows he was forced out.”

A chill slides through Mark, starting from his chest, down to his stomach, reaching out to his arms and his legs. It’s supposed to be a warm day out, but Mark can’t feel it. He just feels ice-cold.

The thing is, Mark knew him. Jinwoo used to buy Mark drinks from the convenience store whenever he saw Mark practising late at night. He turned the light off after Mark and made sure Mark always got home safely. When Mark first became a trainee, Jinwoo was the rapper that Mark looked up to. He had talent, he had passion, he would never leave his dream on his own accord.

When Mark used to go to bible study, the leader used to always say that same-sex relationships were a curse. “We accept all,” the leader said, “but not when they act on it.”

Mark wonders where the line is, where Jinwoo stopped being accepted and started being a sin.

“Hey,” Johnny says, waving a hand in front of Mark’s face. “Are you okay?”

Like the pull of a rubber band, Mark snaps out of his thoughts. “Yeah,” Mark says, even though the chill hasn’t left him. He catches the basketball when Johnny passes it to him. “I’m fine.”

Donghyuck takes it hard too, even though Mark never really saw Donghyuck talking to Jinwoo.

“He was really good,” Donghyuck says, when Mark asks him about it after practice. The two of them are walking home together, on a precarious truce decided by Taeyong. After Donghyuck had been announced, Taeyong had pulled the two of them aside and told them to be professional.

Mark hums. “He was.”

“He was going to be announced next,” Donghyuck says. His fingers tighten on the strap of his backpack.

“Yeah,” Mark says, staring at Donghyuck’s knuckles, turning white. “It’s not right.” He knows what his bible study leader would have referred to, but Mark isn’t sure himself, whether he’s talking about the fact that Jinwoo liked boys or the fact that he suffered because of it.

Donghyuck doesn’t ask Mark to clarify, but after that Mark sometimes catches him staring at Mark like he’s looking through him.

Donghyuck is nicer after that, their truce no longer precarious. Mark likes it better, how it’s less forced in the way they start to travel in each other’s spaces.

It’s a surprise when Mark tries to search for his family during his middle school graduation and spots Ten and Taeyong waving enthusiastically at him in the crowds of parents sitting on the sidelines of the school gym. Johnny pops his head up from behind them and pulls his face into an ugly grin that has Mark stifling his laughter. Hansol shoves at Johnny’s shoulder when he sees. Doyoung is there too, and he pushes the others out of his way to wave at Mark and gesture at him to look towards the front again.

Mark meets them outside and is immediately bombarded with hugs and flowers.

“Congratulations,” Johnny says, before lifting Mark up onto his shoulders. On Johnny’s shoulders, Mark feels closer to the sun. They take a photo like that, and Mark can’t keep the smile off his face for the rest of the night. 

Koeun is bright and straightforward, and she doesn’t take any of Mark’s shit.

In the break between discussing their plans for Mickey Mouse Club, she pulls him aside to a restroom that’s seldom used. “When are you going to kiss me?” Koeun asks, and it’s not a question of whether Mark was thinking about it, but rather of when Mark will.

Mark’s first kiss is awkward and nothing but a quick press of lips, but when he pulls back and opens his eyes, Koeun is smiling at him.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” Mark asks, because that’s how he thinks these things work. Koeun bites her bottom lip between her teeth and nods. Mark stares at her mouth, before leaning in and kissing her once more.

They hold hands all the way down the empty corridor and Mark feels like his heart is on fire. It’s only when they’re outside the door to the meeting room that Koeun pulls her hand away. She smiles at Mark and then puts a finger to her lips, sharing a secret. She opens the door and walks back to the rest of them.

Mark sits back down next to Donghyuck, who takes one look at him, and asks, “What happened to you?”

Donghyuck’s tone is nasal, sarcastic, the one he uses to rile Mark up. Mark doesn’t take the bait, completely over the moon. He just shakes his head and dreamily says, “Nothing.”

It comes back to bite him when in the car ride home, Donghyuck mockingly says, “Nothing.” When Mark looks over, Donghyuck is staring out the window. “Hina told me. Can’t believe Koeun-noona agreed to go out with you.”

“Shut up,” Mark whispers. There are only the two of them in the car, plus the manager who shoots a curious glance at Mark through the rear-view mirror. “Do you want me to get caught?”

“It’s not like it matters.” Donghyuck scoffs and then pinches his face up. He still hasn’t looked at Mark. “You guys aren’t going to last long.”

“You know what,” Mark says. He curls his hands into fists, digs them into the leather upholstery. “I don’t know why you’re acting like this but I don’t need this right now. So please, just stop talking.”

Donghyuck listens to him for once, and Mark sits in the silence the entire drive.

Thirty minutes into his lunch with Johnny, Johnny puts down his chopsticks and says, “Okay, tell me what happened.”

Mark looks up from where he was poking his rice, eyes wide. “What do you mean?”

Johnny just sighs. “Mark,” he says, dramatically. “You can’t hide anything from me. Something good happened, I can tell.”

Mark opens and then closes his mouth. “Nothing happened,” Mark lies.

Johnny realises as much. “Liar,” he says, and then his eyes seem to sparkle. “Is it a girl?” Johnny hedges, and when Mark’s face flushes, Johnny starts to laugh. “This is great. Hey Taeyong,” Johnny calls out to where Taeyong is sitting with another group of trainees. Taeyong glances at them. Mark leans over, quick as lightning, and puts a hand over Johnny’s mouth.

“Don’t,” Mark whines. “She wants to keep it a secret.”

It turns out for the best that Mark didn’t really tell anyone, when a couple weeks later, Koeun breaks up with him in middle of the building’s cafeteria.

“I think we’re better off as friends,” she says. Mark’s a little bit shellshocked, a little bit heartbroken, but he nods his head anyway, not wanting to make a scene. She takes his nod as affirmation, pats his hand once, and then walks back to the table with the other trainee girls.

Mark’s tray is still full. A couple of tables over, Jaemin and Donghyuck are sitting together. Mark could move to sit with them, but he feels frozen in his spot. He picks at his food, eating slowly, not wanting to see whether anyone noticed his rejection.

When Mark finally ventures to look up, Donghyuck is staring at him.

“Did you and Koeun-noona break up?”

Mark finishes tying his laces and scowls up at Donghyuck. “Are you here to rub it in?”

Donghyuck looks shocked. “I wouldn’t,” Donghyuck says, the way he does when he feels unsure.

Usually, Mark would change his tone but Mark doesn’t want to deal with Donghyuck's smugness. “No, that sounds like exactly what you would do,” Mark says. “Yes, we broke up. I hope you enjoy seeing me knocked down.”

Mark gets up, starts to practice, and doesn’t look back at Donghyuck.

“You’re a jerk,” Jeno says, when they’re walking to the convenience store to get some snacks.

It’s out of nowhere, and Mark turns to Jeno in surprise. There’s a part of him that wants to say, hey, I’m your hyung, but that part of him is overshadowed by the knowledge that no one really listens to that anyway. “What did I do?” Mark asks instead, because as far as he remembers, he hasn’t done anything to Jeno.

“Donghyuck was really upset,” Jeno continues.

It’s all he has to say for Mark to get it. When Mark walked into the practice studio the day after the confrontation, Donghyuck had avoided Mark’s eyes during the entire session. “As if,” Mark says.

Jeno stares at him. “He nearly cried, hyung,” Jeno says. “When I found him, he asked me if I thought he was a bad person.”

Mark’s chest constricts. “He didn’t,” Mark says. “He isn’t.”

“We both know that.” Jeno hasn’t stopped looking. “But when you make him feel terrible what else is he going to think.”

“He doesn’t even listen to me most of the time,” Mark argues. “He doesn’t care what I say.”

Judgement radiates from Jeno’s face. “Apologise to him,” Jeno says, and Mark knows he probably should.

“I’m your hyung,” Mark tries, pulling the door open and letting Jeno enter first. “You’re not supposed to tell me what to do.”

When they get back to the practice studio, Donghyuck is sitting against the wall, earphones in and eyes closed.

Mark apologises by pressing a cold can of soda to Donghyuck’s face. Donghyuck yelps in surprise, glares at Mark before realising it’s him, and quickly looks away.

Mark sits down next to Donghyuck and then passes him the drink. “What are you listening to?” Mark asks, shoulder pressed against Donghyuck’s as he tries to peer into Donghyuck’s phone.

It takes a moment for Donghyuck to accept the drink, but when Donghyuck passes over one of his earphones to Mark, Mark knows they’re alright.

Wong Yukhei is tall, handsome and smiles in a way that draws down any of Mark’s defenses.

After the initial shock of Yukhei’s introduction, Yukhei goes up to Mark in a break. Mark is sixteen and still hasn’t grown into his skin, not like Yukhei, who looks confident as he saunters over to Mark and grins. “We’re both born in 1999. Does that mean we’re friends?” Yukhei asks, in a mix of broken English and bits of Korean.

Yukhei’s smile is infectious and Mark finds himself nodding and returning Yukhei’s smile. They don’t have a lot of overlapping training schedules but whenever Mark sees Yukhei, his heart speeds up in his chest, and he starts to feel warm.

It reminds Mark of the times he was with Koeun, and Mark starts to think that maybe Koeun was right, and they were better off as friends. 

Lee Sooman calls Mark into his office on a cloudless day in January.

“You might have heard that we’re debuting a new group soon,” Lee Sooman says, staring at Mark with a blank expression on his face. Mark’s hands start to shake. He grips them tight behind himself as the seconds of silence stretch for hours. “I want you to be in it.”

Before he knows it, a smile covers Mark’s face. “Thank you so much,” Mark says, voice shaking. Everything else that Lee Sooman says afterward feels like a blur.

When Mark walks outside of the office, Taeyong is there pacing hard enough that he could make a hole in the floor. Taeyong spots Mark, sees his expression and immediately runs over to hug him.

“You got in, right?” Taeyong asks. When Mark says yes, Taeyong holds him tighter. “Me too.”

“We did it, hyung,” Mark says, his voice muffled in Taeyong’s shoulder. Years of pressure, struggle and uncertainty seem to be undone with those three words. “We made it.”

“We made it,” Taeyong says into Mark’s hair. He repeats it like a mantra: We made it, we made it, we made it.

“Yeah, hyung,” Mark says, gripping him tighter. The office building is cold but Mark feels warm in Taeyong’s embrace. “We made it.”

When Johnny hears, he hugs Mark tight. “I’m so proud of you,” Johnny says.

Mark hugs him back and hides his face in Johnny’s shoulders. He doesn’t like to cry in front of people, but pinpricks of tears form at the corners of his eyes.

Mark will only ever know about four years of uncertainty, of not being sure whether all the hours and days and months and years spent training will ever become something tangible. Mark can’t imagine what it feels like to have eight years of uncertainty, a possibility of a debut taken away from him and the next debut just out of his reach.

“We’ll be on that stage together one day, hyung,” Mark says, voice breaking. Johnny doesn’t say anything and just holds on. 

The difference between being a trainee and debuting is larger than Mark expected.

Somehow it’s stricter and more controlling, something that Mark didn’t even think would be possible. Every hour of Mark’s day seems to be micromanaged. Mark excuses himself to the bathroom one time just to breathe.

On stage, all of Mark’s worries disappear. The fans chant to the lyrics that Mark helped create and nothing, not even his lack of sleep and lost autonomy, can take that away.

It’s easier the second time around when Mark debuts again as part of NCT 127. It might be because Donghyuck is there right beside him, poking at Mark so Mark doesn’t break at the seams.

On a rainy day in July, Donghyuck finds Mark sitting in the stairwell right next to the practice studio.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Mark says, when Donghyuck sits next to him. Donghyuck leans his head on Mark’s shoulder. The steps are hard beneath them. Mark stares at the white wall in front of him, eyes focused on a crack in the paint.

Donghyuck just hums, links his arm through Mark’s and then pats Mark’s thigh. “Why can’t you?”

There are a lot of reasons why Mark thinks he can’t be the leader for NCT Dream. The gap is too wide, from being maknae in one group and leader in another. Mark can’t make the leap.

“Did you see what happened in there?” Mark picks at a thread hanging loose off his jumper. “It was a mess. It wouldn’t have been like that if Taeyong-hyung was there.”

“You’re not Taeyong-hyung,” Donghyuck says. His hair is right below Mark’s nose, a mixture of soap, sunshine and the saltiness of sweat. “You’ve never led us before.”

“You’re not helping,” Mark says. He pulls the thread but it catches. “I know that.”

“No.” Donghyuck lifts his head, stares at Mark until he looks. “You’ve never tried to lead us before,” Donghyuck repeats. “That doesn’t mean you didn’t.” When Mark doesn’t answer, Donghyuck looks away and then hides his face in Mark’s jumper. “Shut up and be our leader,” he says.

Mark laughs. “Thank you,” he says, but Donghyuck just shrugs him off. He looks up at Mark again. Donghyuck’s face is so close. They stare and Mark’s eyes start to drift lower. Upstairs, a door bangs open. Mark starts to get up. “We should head back.”

Donghyuck clears his throat. “Yeah,” he says, standing up too. He points at the door and grins. “Lead the way, leader.”

Mark laughs again, nudges Donghyuck with his shoulder, and then walks through the door.

At seventeen, two important things happen in a span of three months:

In October, Mark kisses Donghyuck’s cheek on broadcast. He ignores the traitorous way his heart beats in his chest, the way that his peck to Donghyuck’s cheek feels different to that to Doyoung and Chenle.

In December, Mark stands on a stage in front of a crowd of people and accepts the Best New Male Artist award with NCT 127.

“Everything cannot be accomplished alone,” Mark says, when it’s his turn to speak. He stares resolutely ahead and doesn’t look at Donghyuck, when he thanks everyone who helped them, their fans, all the members, and God.

“It’s up to you,” his manager says, tapping the papers on the table and sliding them over to Mark, “whether this is a challenge or an opportunity.”

Mark stares down at the brief that his manager gives him that says, High School Rapper. He gulps. “This is my only chance to do this, right?”

His manager nods. Mark flicks through the papers in his hand, reads a few lines from each page. Five minutes later, Mark says yes.

When Mark walks into the waiting room, no one knows his name. It’s a conflicting confrontation—refreshing but eye-opening. Nearly all hands raise at the mention of another contestant’s name. It should spike jealousy, but it doesn’t. Mark feels a thrill. Mark didn’t audition as a rapper, but this just might be his chance to prove himself as one.

On stage, he introduces himself as Mark, a student from SOPA. Afterward, Yang Hongwon goes up to him. “Why didn’t you say you were an idol?” It isn’t judgemental. He’s the best rapper there and knows it.

Mark shrugs. “I’m not an idol here.”

He makes it through to the final round. Over dinner, Renjun teases him, says it’s a shock he made it past the first. Mark laughs and pretends like it wasn’t a worry that filled his head. Between schedules, he writes more and more lyrics and hopes the right words come to him for the finals.

At two a.m. Taeyong walks into the dorm lounge and flicks on the overhead light. Mark squints into the brightness. His phone is still illuminated, words written on the screen.

“We have to be awake in three hours,” Taeyong says. His eyes are half closed, voice husky with sleep. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

Mark smiles, sheepish. The back of his head is throbbing. Slowly, he says, “I had an idea.”

Taeyong sighs. “Go to sleep right after,” he says and then drags his feet back to his room.

Right before his final performance, Mark paces backstage. The Dream members are already in their seats. They visited him in the waiting room, wreaking havoc before Mark kicked them out. It’s dark where Mark stands. Three metres away, the light peaks through from the stage. The cheers from the crowd are muffled. It’s like a different world.

“Are you ready?” Seulgi asks, fixing her in-ear mic. She glances over at him, watches him shake out his arms.

“No,” he says. Mark shakes his shoulders next, then his legs, one by one. He stops, still. “But let’s do this.”

The crowd screams loud when Mark asks for the beat and walks to the back of the stage. Behind him, old footage of him rapping plays. Mark would cringe, but that’s not what he’s here for. In the darkness, Mark can still see the Dream members. He spots Donghyuck first who throws him a thumbs up and a smile. Chenle sees him doing it and in the next minute, the five of them are waving their hands at Mark.

The beat drops. Mark opens his mouth and performs. He raps his thoughts, dances with Seulgi, high fives Donghyuck’s and Renjun’s hands, and sticks to his roots. Mark didn’t audition as a rapper, he auditioned as a dancer, but who said he couldn’t be both? 

Mark’s father calls on one of February’s sunnier days.

“Congratulations on winning,” his father says. In the background, Mark’s brother fake cheers and plays Mark’s speech from the encore of their first win. His mother shushes him. “We watched your performance,” he tacks on, unnecessarily.

Mark smiles, then shifts so he’s sitting up, arms around his knees. Donghyuck whines from where he’s lying on top of Mark’s feet, spread out on Mark’s bed.

“It was a group effort,” Mark says. He wiggles his big toe. Donghyuck turns from where he’s playing on his phone to glare at him.

“Of course,” his father says. Through the phone, Mark hears the sound of movement. Mark’s mother coughs. She sounds closer. “You’re treating your members well?”

“No,” Donghyuck calls out but Mark already has his hand over the speaker. Donghyuck pulls a face at him when he sees.

“Yeah,” Mark says, back into the phone. “As well as they treat me.”

His father laughs. “Donghyuck?”

“Yes,” Donghyuck sing-songs. He rolls over and sits up in one motion. He pulls the phone from Mark’s hand. “How are you?” Donghyuck asks.

They spend the next hour, faces pressed close as they try to talk over each other on the phone. “Your family loves me,” Donghyuck says, afterward.

Mark pulls a face. “I wish they didn’t.”

Donghyuck gasps in mock outrage. Mark tries to push him off the bed. He gets a pillow to his face in response.

A quarter past midnight, two days into the Cherry Bomb comeback, Donghyuck’s voice breaks the silence of their shared room. “Mark-hyung,” he whispers. On previous nights, the room is filled with the whir of cars driving on the road outside. Tonight, it’s silent. Donghyuck’s voice feels ten times as loud.

Mark grunts, still on the verge of sleep. He hugs the pillow between his legs and doesn’t open his eyes. “What?”

“Are you asleep?”

Mark turns over on his bed and tosses an arm over his eyes. “Not anymore,” he says. He can hear Donghyuck breathe. “What’s wrong?”

Silence answers him. And then, Donghyuck, “There’s something I want to tell you.”

“What happened between you two?” Jaehyun asks, in the car seat next to Mark. Outside, Donghyuck begs Johnny to swap cars with him. Jaehyun cranes his neck to watch. “It’s like we’re back to when you two first met.”

Mark turns to stare out the opposite window. “I don’t know,” he says. He scratches at his arm. “Donghyuck just started acting like this.”

Johnny enters the car and shuts the door behind him. “You two should work it out,” Johnny says. His backpack nearly covers his face. Johnny pushes it down, squishes it to fit between his legs. “Taeyong isn’t going to fix it for you this time.”

Mark just nods. Johnny sighs and turns back around.

It’s a battle, afterward. Mark didn’t realise how much he’d opened up to Donghyuck until Donghyuck starts to pick under his skin. For two weeks straight, Mark’s days are filled with arguing—in the practice studio, backstage, in the waiting room, in the dorm room.

In the end, Mark is the one who caves. He knocks on Doyoung’s door with his pillow in his arms, eyes bloodshot. Doyoung takes one look at him, lets him pass into the room, then grabs his own pillow and walks out in the direction Mark came. In Doyoung’s bed, Mark closes his eyes to sleep and counts sheep.

At a café, two blocks down from their dorm, Mark sits in silence at a table with Donghyuck.

Donghyuck hasn’t touched his drink. It sits waiting in front of him while he stares out the window. Mark is decidedly not staring at Donghyuck. He swipes his finger through the condensation on the iced coffee that Taeyong bribed him with instead. At eighteen, Mark still has Taeyong there fixing his messes. Johnny was wrong. But Johnny probably didn’t expect Mark and Donghyuck’s argument to spread all over the internet.

Mark’s brother had sent him the photos over KakaoTalk. i'm going to frame this, the message read. The photos were blurry, previews from one of Mark’s fansites. The first was of Mark, eyebrows furrowed at the airport, staring off into a distance. The next had Mark with his face scrunched, lips jutting out in frustration. When Mark saw them, he wanted to melt into the ground. these are gold, his brother messaged, but is everything okay?

Mark isn’t sure himself. He sips through the straw, and the bitter taste of coffee fills his mouth. Neither of them have spoken since they sat down. A good ten minutes that Mark has been counting. Outside, people go about their day, oblivious to the tension that threatens to suffocate him.

The tension draws closer to his neck. Mark speaks while he still can. “Are we going to talk about it?”

Donghyuck doesn’t look at him. The slight twitch of his hand tells Mark that Donghyuck heard. “Do you know why I’m upset?” Donghyuck asks, eventually. It’s tentative, a small offering of peace. Mark will take anything. He’s sick of looking at Donghyuck’s profile. “If you don’t know,” Donghyuck says, when Mark doesn’t answer, “then I guess it doesn’t matter.”

“I don’t,” Mark says, “but I’m sorry.” Between Mark and Donghyuck, Mark will always be the first to cave.

Finally, Donghyuck looks at him. “Don’t say you’re sorry if you don’t know what you’re sorry for.”

“Sorry,” Mark says again.

Donghyuck stares at him. Mark wants to hide under his gaze, but feels like he’ll lose if he looks away. Donghyuck turns his body to face Mark, steals Mark’s coffee and takes a sip. “Let’s forget about it, then,” he says.

Mark goes to the restroom before they head back to the dorm. He washes his hands in the sink, and stares at his reflection in the mirror. It opens its mouth and says, Mark Lee is a liar.

It takes two more weeks before they start being themselves again. On a Thursday in September, they finally settle completely. Mark gets a message from Renjun on his phone that just says, donghyuck.

Mark gets out of his bed, throws on a jacket, and heads off to the Dream’s dorm. When he gets there, Chenle pulls it open and ushers him into Jeno’s room.

“What are you doing here?” Donghyuck asks from where he’s burrowed under Jeno’s quilt. Jeno is sitting on the floor by the head of the bed. When he sees Mark, he evacuates—he pats Mark once on the shoulder in support, and then leaves the room.

Mark takes his spot. He rests his back against the frame of his bed. Donghyuck’s stare feels heavy on his skin. Donghyuck pokes the back of Mark’s head. He keeps doing it until Mark turns and grabs his finger.

“What’s wrong?” Mark asks.

Donghyuck pulls his finger back and burrows more into his little cocoon. When he doesn’t say anything Mark turns around again and sits back down on the floor. He opens his phone and scrolls through his messages but doesn’t see anything. “I’m just—” Donghyuck says. He sighs. “I’m just tired.” Donghyuck runs his fingers through Mark’s hair. He lifts up the strands until they start to stick up. “I don’t want to fight with you anymore,” he says, quieter.

“I don’t want to fight with you either,” Mark says. He leans his head back into Donghyuck’s touch.

They hear a thump against the door, and then, “Jisung, shut up.”

Mark clears his throat. Donghyuck sits up in bed. Slowly, the door opens and the rest of the Dream members come pouring in. Nearly everyone looks sheepish.

“This is my room,” Jeno says, unashamedly. 

The school anthem plays at Mark’s high school graduation. Unexpectedly, Mark’s throat tightens. He coughs a little to hide it. His friend next to him glances at him and smiles. His eyes are watery too.

After the ceremony, he’s given the biggest flower bouquet he’s ever seen in his life.

“We got it specially made for you,” Johnny says. The colours are vibrant, in bloom. It makes Mark feel warm.

It’s like a photoshoot in the hallway. Mark knows how to act during pictorials and during family photos. Standing in the middle of the group, Mark Lee is split between high school graduate and idol. Jaehyun flips through the pictures on the camera, while Mark peeks over his shoulder. Jaehyun laughs at Mark’s awkward smile and pinches Mark’s cheeks.

Mark wriggles away from him. Further down the hall, he spots Doyoung talking to his mother. His mother pats Doyoung’s arm and gives him a hug. The emotions come back at full force.

When it’s time for the group photo, everyone turns to Taeil.

“Hop on,” Taeil says, grinning wide. He ducks down and pats his shoulders. Mark laughs so hard that he nearly falls on the way up.

After hundreds of photos, Marks ducks out from the group and takes the camera. “What are you doing?” his mother asks, but Mark just tells her to smile. The camera is heavy in his hand. He centres their faces, orders them to smile big, and takes photo after photo of family and family intertwining. 

Sometime after Life Bar airs, Johnny and Taeyong get jealous and drag Mark along to go drinking with them. Taeyong and Johnny don’t have schedules the next day, but Mark does, so he nurses his drink while they get considerably drunker.

“When did you get so big?” Taeyong asks, pinching Mark’s cheeks. He widens his fingers in front of him. “You were this big when I met you.”

Johnny starts to chuckle from where he’s seated across them, his head resting on his arm. The chances of getting spotted are low, but still, Mark pushes Taeyong’s fingers away. “Let’s go home,” Mark says.

Somehow, he manages to drag them back to the dorm. He’s sweating by the time he opens the door. He flicks the light on, only to be met with Donghyuck’s bright eyes, staring at the three of them confused. “What are you doing in the dark?” Mark asks, as Johnny and Taeyong amble off to their rooms.

Donghyuck dodges the question, wrinkling his nose. “Are you drunk?”

Mark isn’t, but something makes him want to tease Donghyuck. He stumbles as he walks over to Donghyuck, then plops himself down on the couch. “Nah,” Mark says, drawing out the sound. “I’m good.”

“You are drunk,” Donghyuck says. He pushes Mark’s head away when Mark leans in, trying to rest his head on Donghyuck’s shoulder. Mark shakes his hair at Donghyuck, annoyingly. Eventually, Donghyuck gives up and lets Mark lean on him.

They sit in silence. Donghyuck lifts his hand and cards his fingers through the back of Mark’s hair.

Mark used to think the cruellest thing he’s ever done was at seventeen, on the verge of sleep in his dorm room with Donghyuck. “There’s something I want to tell you,” Donghyuck had said, and Mark felt the weight of the words. Something was going to change.

“Don’t,” Mark had said. Donghyuck snapped his mouth shut. “Don’t say it.”

It turns out that maybe crueller than that is what Mark does now, courageous under the fake guise of alcohol, nostalgic from memories brought up by Taeyong and Johnny that were always filled with the one person in the room. “Donghyuck.” Mark didn’t drink a lot but his mind feels buzzed. “I think I like you.”

Mark hears Donghyuck’s intake of breath, feels Donghyuck’s shoulders pulling in tight. Donghyuck laughs, forced. “I didn’t know you were sappy when you get drunk.”

“I’m not being sappy,” Mark says. He opens his mouth to say more, but Donghyuck’s hand covers it.

“Hyung,” Donghyuck says. “Don’t do this. Not when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not,” Mark says. He looks at Donghyuck in the eyes. Donghyuck looks like he doesn’t believe him.

“Tell me when you’re sober,” Donghyuck says. “Tell me in the morning.”

“I’ll tell you,” Mark says. He feels tired all of a sudden, but his mind feels lighter.

Donghyuck leaves after that. He pats Mark once on the head, before extracting himself from underneath Mark.

In the morning, Mark remembers everything. The difference is, the peace from the previous night is gone, replaced by frantic worry. He sits up in bed, then wraps his cold, shaking hands around himself.

Mark passes Donghyuck on the way to the bathroom. Donghyuck gives him a small smile, expectant, but Mark just walks into the bathroom. Donghyuck’s face drops. Mark turns the shower on high heat to stop feeling so cold.

When Mark goes out to the kitchen, Donghyuck’s eyes are bloodshot, but he smiles at Mark like nothing happened.

The next night, Mark dreams in black and white. He’s driving a car down an empty highway. The wind blows through his hair. It smells like the sun and sea salt. He has one hand on the wheel, the other is resting on his thigh, fingers intertwined with the person next to him.

The sun is white and blinding. The person beside him sings to the sound of the music. Mark can’t place the voice but it fills him with joy. Overlooking the ocean, Mark stops the car at the top of a cliff. He unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to the other person.

Their face is still a blur, but still, affection bleeds through Mark. Mark leans in closer and closer, looks up into the person’s eyes and sees—

Ten minutes later, Mark wakes up in his bed, sweating. His dream is still vivid in his mind, the feeling of hands on his skin so real.

Mark wipes a hand down his face, turns to his side and curls into himself. Mark closes his eyes and clasps his hands together in prayer. He doesn’t know whether to ask for acceptance or forgiveness.

Kang Daniel is handsome, charming and interested.

On the second night of rooming together, the crew tells them that they’ll be checking the cameras and won’t be filming. Opportunistic, Daniel corners Mark in the bathroom. Mark’s coming out of the shower, towel around his waist, when Daniel pushes him back in.

“What are you doing?” Mark asks, hand on Daniel’s chest, holding him back.

Daniel grins, mischievous. His eyes flick down to Mark’s lips. Mark freezes, and Daniel’s smile drops. “Hey,” Daniel says. His face contorts. “I think I misread this.” He runs his hand through his hair, worries at his bottom lip.

“Um,” Mark says. There’s a cross necklace that hangs from Daniel’s neck. Mark can’t stop looking at it. He grips the towel around his waist, tighter. “It’s fine.”

“I’m sorry,” Daniel says. He steps outside, and for a fleeting second, Mark sees panic. “Are you going to tell anyone?”

Mark’s eyes widen. He shakes his head. “Hyung, no, don’t worry.”

“Oh,” Daniel says. The panic is gone. “I didn’t think you would but sometimes you don’t know.” He grins again, more casual this time. “I’m usually good at this stuff. Sorry, I just thought you—”

“I had a girlfriend,” Mark interjects.

Daniel raises his eyebrows. “Okay,” he draws out. He’s looking at Mark a little more curiously now.

“I don’t know,” Mark admits. He doesn’t know why he’s talking about this. But Daniel is basically a stranger, and telling secrets to strangers has always been easier. In the back of his mind, Donghyuck’s lost smile pushes its way forward. “How do you know? Like for sure?”

Daniel studies him. “Get changed,” he says. “Then we can talk.”

Mark never says the word, but he listens to Daniel and goes to sleep feeling a little less lost.

Sometime past midnight, Donghyuck turns off the music at practice.

“I’m tired,” Donghyuck says, standing stock still in the middle of the practice studio. Only their bags are left on the chairs. Outside, the hallways are empty.

Mark unwinds himself from the choreography. “What?” Mark asks. He glances at Donghyuck, worried. “Should we head back to the dorm?”

“No.” Donghyuck closes his eyes. His hands are shaking by his side. Mark takes one step closer to him, reaches out his hand. Donghyuck seems too fragile to touch. “I’m tired of this.”

Mark’s heartbeat races in his chest. There was talk of a comeback in the works. Donghyuck seemed fine when they were discussing concepts. “What?” Mark repeats. “Donghyuck, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I know you weren’t drunk,” Donghyuck says. “Johnny-hyung told me you hardly drank anything that night.” An opposite reaction in minutes: Mark’s heart drops to his stomach. Donghyuck’s eyes are still closed. There’s a bittersweet smile across his face. Mark doesn’t say anything but inside he’s screaming. “Why—” Donghyuck stops. “Why did you even tell me?”

“Donghyuck,” Mark says, taking another step forward.

Donghyuck shakes his head. “You got to say what you wanted, but I never did.” He opens his eyes and looks right at Mark. Mark feels like he’s been stabbed. “I’m saying it now: I like you, Mark-hyung.” He grabs his bag and walks out of the room.

Two days later, Donghyuck hasn’t looked at him.

There’s a different sort of tension between them. The other members don’t know what to do, exchanging glances that they think Mark doesn’t see. Mark doesn’t know what to do either, so he retreats into his work. Every free second, he spends it writing lyrics, practising choreography, or working out.

One night, Mark leaves the practice studio two hours after everyone else. His arms feel like lead. His legs keep walking and Mark ends up in a park. He sits on a swing, lets himself sway back and forth. There are no stars in the sky. For the first time in years, Mark feels the emptiness of loneliness. He pulls out his phone and dials the one person he knows will answer.

“Mark?” Johnny’s voice is husky. Mark grips the phone tight.

“Johnny-hyung,” is all he says.

More alert, Johnny asks, “Where are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m at the park.”

Mark can hear background noises. Johnny rummaging around. “Send me your location. I’ll meet you.”

Fifteen minutes later, Johnny walks over and sits on the swing next to Mark. The moon is bright behind him. It isn’t chilly but when Johnny hands Mark a jacket, Mark accepts it.

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” Johnny leans back on the swing, lets it move him further and further each time.

The words are on the tip of his tongue. “I don’t know,” Mark says. “Sorry for calling you out here.”

Johnny drops his legs down. The swing slows. “Mark,” he says. He looks a bit sad. “Don’t be.” He pauses and studies Mark’s face. “Do you want me to guess it?”

The words are still there, fighting for a way out. Mark nods his head.

“Hmm,” Johnny says. “It can’t be a girl, right?” He says it as a joke, but Mark’s heart constricts. At fifteen, Mark had been embarrassed to be caught out. At eighteen, the assumption gives a different feeling of being caught. Johnny stops laughing when he looks at Mark. Cautiously, Johnny asks, “Is it a boy?”

There’s a simple answer. Mark tests the weight of it on his tongue. The words, they finally escape. “Yeah.”

“Oh,” Johnny says. And then, like it’s normal, “What happened?”

Mark nearly laughs at the simplicity. He grips the metal chain of the swing, and stares at his feet in the dirt. “I did something really cruel,” Mark says. He grimaces.

Johnny is silent, then he stands and pats Mark’s shoulders. “I know you,” he says. “You know what to do to fix it.”

Mark’s parents fly out to visit sometime in June.

Mark gets driven to their hotel room by his manager. He pulls a face mask on and hides his hair under his hoodie when he exits. The hotel door swings open to his mother’s smiling face. The first thing she does is hug him. Mark digs his nose into her shoulder, remembers the scent of home.

“Come in,” she says and pulls him inside.

His father has more grey hair than the last time Mark saw him. He says as much and his father pretends to push him out the door.

They order room service and sit around the table in front of the television. The afternoon news is background noise to their chatter.

When his mother packs away the dishes, his father goes out to the convenience store. Mark stays at the table, his leg bouncing up and down. His opens his mouth to speak, feels his voice trapped in his throat.

“Minhyung,” his mother says. She sits back down at the table and grabs Mark’s fingers, runs her thumbs over the back of his hands.“What is it that you want to tell me?”

Mark opens his mouth again. “Mom,” he says, his voice breaks. His mother just hums. Her fingers are smooth and comforting on Mark’s skin. Mark shudders out a breath, then says, “I like someone.” He stares down at her hands. She doesn’t speak. The television is still on but Mark can’t hear it. “He likes me back.”

His mother doesn’t stop stroking his hands. She doesn’t speak though and every second feels like heartbreak. “Is he a nice boy?” she asks, finally. Mark looks up, and her eyes are shiny.

“Yeah,” he breathes. He thinks of Donghyuck and wonders who else would describe him like that. He nearly laughs. His mother pulls him into a hug, and Mark holds on tight. When Mark looks up, his father is there watching them. Mark didn’t hear him come in. His father has a cake in his hands.

“Dad,” Mark says, but his father walks back out the door.

Mark feels his chest pang. “Give him time,” his mother says, patting Mark’s back. Mark gasps in breaths, closes his eyes and rests his head on her shoulder.

Two hours later, his father comes back to the hotel. Mark, curled in his mother’s arms, wakes up when he hears the door open. His father meets his eyes. He walks out to the balcony and gestures for Mark to join him. Mark slowly extracts himself from the arms of his sleeping mother, pulls the cover over her, and follows his father outside.

It’s humid outside. Mark pulls at his shirt, the short seconds of air are refreshing.

His father doesn’t speak at first. The city is bustling, the moon bright among the stars. “Do I know him?” his father asks.

Mark thinks of conversations pressed together in Mark’s room. He wonders if they’ll love Donghyuck as much when Mark tells them. “Yes,” he says.

His father pauses. “If I said I didn’t approve of this,” he says. “What would you do?”

Mark’s heart plummets. “I wouldn’t do anything to make you feel ashamed,” Mark says. Sometimes, Mark thinks that if the world turns against him, he would be fine. If it was family, Mark doesn’t think he’d survive.

His father sighs. “Mark,” he says, the way he does when he gives a sermon. “You’ll never make me feel ashamed. I have a picture from your debut up in my office wall. No matter what, you’re my son. No matter what.”

Mark stands there, staring at his fists curled on the balcony banister. His father reaches out an arm and puts it over Mark's shoulder. “Thank you,” Mark says.

In response, his father squeezes his shoulder. “When your mother wakes up,” his father says. “We’ll light up the candles on your cake. We can’t fly over for your birthday but I hope it’ll do.”

Mark smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s more than enough.”

Inside, his mother sits on the bed waiting for them. She watches them come in and then runs and hugs the two of them together. “I told you,” she whispers into Mark’s hair. “He just needed time.”

On his way back to the dorm, Mark decides to walk home. It’s late enough that Mark doesn’t think he’ll be recognised. The breeze is cool and the walk is nice. It clears his head.

Mark stops by a vending machine and searches his pocket for change. He pulls out an empty gum wrapper, a folded paper and a tissue before he wrangles up some cash from his other pocket. He slides it into the vending machine and pulls out two drinks.

When he gets back, only Yuta and Taeil are sitting on the couch. They’re staring at the television, looking entranced.

“Where’s Donghyuck?” Mark asks, from the door. He slips his shoes off one by one.

Yuta shrugs, still staring at the screen.

Taeil looks at Mark and raises an eyebrow at the drinks in his hand. Mark hides them behind his back. “On the roof?” Taeil suggests.

Mark smiles, appreciatively. “Thank you,” Mark says. Mark drops by his room first and grabs a blanket off his bed.

Doyoung blinks awake, glances at Mark curiously. “Where are you going?”

“To Donghyuck,” says Mark. Doyoung just nods, and then closes his eyes again.

Mark says goodbye to Taeil and Yuta, slips his shoes back on and heads back out the door. He takes the steps two at a time, grateful that they’re second from the top floor. When he pulls the door open, Donghyuck is there, sitting on a rug in the middle of the rooftop. The stars and city lights surround him. When Mark shuts the door behind him, it’s like they’re the only two people in the world.

Donghyuck doesn’t move at the sound of the door closing. When Mark edges closer, he realises Donghyuck is sleeping. Donghyuck’s head lulls, swaying slightly as if pushed by the wind. Mark wakes him up by pressing a can of soda to Donghyuck’s neck.

Donghyuck jolts awake. When he notices it's Mark, he avoids Mark’s eyes. It’s like deja vu. “What are you listening to?” Mark asks, sitting next to Donghyuck. There are no earphones in his ears.

Donghyuck seems to get it. “You can’t apologise in the same way,” he says, but he takes the can when Mark offers it.

Mark pulls the blanket across both of their backs. Donghyuck huddles in closer to stop it from falling. It gives Mark a bit of hope. Donghyuck doesn’t say anything afterwards. He opens the can and takes a sip. Mark hears it fizz.

“I’m sorry,” Mark says, when the silence draws thin. Donghyuck doesn’t need to clarify. “I don’t—” He takes a breath. “I don’t have an excuse. What I did was cruel.”

“It was,” Donghyuck says. He isn’t looking at Mark.

“I spent a long time thinking about things. About right and wrong. About us.” Mark pauses, takes a sip of his own drink. “I don’t know all the answers just yet. But one thing I know is that I’m sorry, and that I’ve liked you for a long time.”

He waits. His heart nearly beats out of his chest. Donghyuck doesn’t say anything for a long while. “I don’t know,” Donghyuck says. Mark’s hopes start to fall. “It took a long time to get the courage for me to tell you. I didn’t know rejection hurt that much.” He takes another sip. “But,” Donghyuck says, “it’s you. And I guess I’m willing to give you a try.”

Donghyuck’s hand, resting on the floor, inches closer. Mark puts his palm over it and squeezes it tight.

“Thank you,” Mark says and Donghyuck finally looks at him. Donghyuck leans his head on Mark’s shoulder. Mark rests his head on Donghyuck’s hair, and closes his eyes.

Mark opens his eyes again when he feels a poke to his ribs. He didn’t realise he dozed off, but when he wakes, Donghyuck is there smiling at him.

“Look,” Donghyuck says. “The sunrise.”

Colour fills the sky, over the buildings, the cars, the blanket covering them. Colour lights up Donghyuck’s face. Mark stares.

In the background, the sun rises. Donghyuck looks over and Mark kisses Donghyuck’s smile.

After SMTOWN, Johnny takes the seat next to Mark on the flight back home to Seoul from Osaka.

“Hey,” he says, when the plane is nearly vertical in ascension. Mark grips the armrests. He nearly doesn’t hear Johnny when he says, “I’m glad it all worked out.”

Mark is too busy squeezing his eyes shut to respond. The armrests probably have permanent indentations of his fingertips. “What do you mean?” Mark asks, when the seatbelt sign clicks off. The plane is steady, and Mark starts to feel more relaxed.

“Your boy,” Johnny whispers into Mark’s ear. He grins at Mark. “I’m glad it worked out with him.”

Mark tilts his head, confused. Johnny looks past the top of Mark’s head. When Mark follows his line of sight, Donghyuck is there in the middle seat, earphones in and eyes closed. Mark looks at Johnny, surprised. Johnny lifts his eyebrows twice. Mark hides his head in his hands and groans. “How did you know?”

Johnny tuts and shakes his head. “Don’t you remember?” He claps his hands once and gestures wide. “You can never keep anything from me.”

Mark pretends to push Johnny out the window. Johnny keeps laughing until Taeyong, from the seat across the aisle from Mark, shushes them.

Halfway through the flight, Mark says, “Thank you.”

Two words, meaning so much more.

“It’s no problem,” Johnny says. He ruffles Mark’s hair. Mark lets him.

Mark’s lying in his bed when the door opens. Light creeps in before the door closes, and darkness fills its space again. Mark’s facing the wall, but he can tell it’s Donghyuck from the sound of his footsteps.

Quietly, Donghyuck pulls the sheets back and slips into bed. Mark rolls over onto his back and extends his arm. Donghyuck rests his head there and takes his place.

“I thought you were sleeping,” Donghyuck whispers. Mark closes his eyes as Donghyuck traces shapes onto his chest with his finger. First, it’s a star, then a heart, and then a sun, the rays of it pointing in every direction.

“I was going to before you disturbed me,” Mark says. Donghyuck pokes Mark's chest hard. Mark laughs, pulls Donghyuck in closer, presses a kiss to his hair. Donghyuck whines and tries to get free. When Mark finally lets him go, Donghyuck turns and presses a kiss to Mark’s shoulder, then the base of his neck, and then the line of his jaw.

Mark glances down. Donghyuck’s face is so close. He leans down and kisses Donghyuck’s cheek, then the corner of his mouth, and then the centre. Donghyuck parts his lips, slightly. Mark kisses him once more.

Mark loses track of time. When he pulls back, he feels light-headed.

Donghyuck darts up to press another kiss to Mark’s cheek. “Happy birthday,” he says. The clock by his bedside reads twelve a.m., it's midnight. Mark smiles and whispers his thanks into Donghyuck’s ear.

With the prospect of a comeback in front of him, the boy he loves in his arms, and the thought of celebrating his birthday with all the members and their fans in the morning, Mark is nineteen years old when he realises he likes where he is now.