If you'd asked him several months ago—back before Mark and Johnny had crash-landed at the centre of his new reality, tearing a gaping, irreparable hole into the foundations of who he had become—Donghyuck would have said that he knew exactly what auto-piloting through life felt like.
He'd known all too well how it felt to become a stranger inside his own body, drifting without an anchor in the perpetual maelstrom that had become his life. Lonely, even amidst a sea of familiar faces; adrift on a boundless ocean of his own design. Detached, save for a few frayed tethers that others had stubbornly refused to let loose, until he'd finally found his way back to them.
He'd thought then that he'd known just how deep the rabbit hole could go.
Now, as he effortlessly navigated the gleaming, polished floorboards of the large stage beneath his feet, muscles in his throat flexing expertly as he hit the final crescendo in his big Act 2 solo, Donghyuck knew that he had been woefully misinformed. This was so much worse, the stilted, increasingly faint vocalisation of his consciousness cried out, as he distantly registered that he had no idea if the words he had just sung were the correct ones or not.
It was worse, he told himself—as he silently made his way off the stage, following closely on the heels of the scene partner whose name he had forgotten, and dropped bodily into one of the high-backed, plastic lawn chairs that littered the left wing of the auditorium—because he could actually see the tethers this time around.
Huge, thick ropes of unwavering patience, affection and hope, coiled around him from all angles, as his friends rallied to support him in his time of need. Anchoring, grounding—they refused to let him drift too far this time, instead leaving him stuck in this strange sort of limbo. They weren't physical tethers, of course, although they felt real in every other sense of the word, and yet the unworthiness he felt whenever he received a reassuring hug or a placating smile from one of his brothers was still like a knife to the gut.
The very worst part, Donghyuck's inner critic offered glumly, was that everyone was being so damn patient about everything, despite the cold shoulder he'd given so many of his nearest and dearest over the past two weeks. He couldn't even recall the last time he'd smiled—now that he thought about it, it might not have been since that late-night card game in the Annex, interrupted by Yuta inadvertently reopening the festering, Mark-shaped wound inside his soul—but that hadn't seemed to matter much to anyone else.
They'd still tried.
In return, instead of actually talking to someone about his feelings, he'd just continued to go through the motions. Walking, talking, eating—but never really present.
It was as though the realisation of what he'd maybe always known, the truth that Yuta had forced from his subconscious like a sucker-punch to the gut, had done the opposite of setting him free. Instead, it had trapped Donghyuck inside his own head, forced him to compartmentalise his fear and doubt, the knowledge of what he needed to face simply too much to handle without risking falling apart.
And so, he had retreated inside of himself, crafting yet another bubble of disengagement to shield what was left of his tattered heart. He'd even cut himself off from Jaehyun, who had called Donghyuck every single day after school for the past week and a half, begging him through increasingly rambling voicemails to please open up and let him in.
From Yuta, who had to know that none of this was his fault, and yet who seemed determined to blame himself for the way that Donghyuck had lost himself a little inside his own head.
From Johnny, who had tried so hard to make time for the boy his brother had moved halfway around the world for, despite his relationship with Ten still being in its tender infancy. Had made the bus journey all the way to the Lee house—twice—only to be told that Donghyuck wasn't willing to speak to him.
Everyone; he'd isolated himself from everyone.
Well, almost everyone, even if he hadn't recognised his one lifeline for what it was at the time. He hadn't gone looking for it, hadn't even known that he'd needed it like he needed oxygen until it was right there beside him. Instead, he'd found himself far too exhausted by having to pretend, by trying and failing to muster a smile that he couldn't bear to fake, and so had taken to eating lunch alone in the drama studio each day.
Quiet as a graveyard and mercifully empty—rehearsals and all associated club activities having long since migrated onto the much larger stage area in the auditorium, given that opening night was just days away—it had served as the perfect place to not have to think. To simply stare into space... to breathe... to just exist.
That first day, Donghyuck's unexpected white knight had made his presence known only by a slight shifting in the air around them, as he folded his lithe form into a nearby chair. They had sat in complete silence, perforated only by the low sound of the other boy's steady breaths in the stillness, until the bell had rung for classes to begin.
Donghyuck hadn't even been able to bring himself to look over, that first day, lest he shatter the illusion of peace that the other boy's presence had somehow ushered in alongside it. And yet, although he couldn't have explained why if he tried, when Yang Yang turned up again the following day brandishing a pair of thick, stubby chocolate bars, he had accepted one without protest.
Yang Yang hadn't spoken that second day either, just sitting beside him in companionable silence, watching out of the corner of his eye as Donghyuck slowly consumed the confectionary. It had—well, it had almost been effortless, the way that he'd waved goodbye and then left without a word as the bell rang to signal the top of the hour. In fact, Donghyuck had almost lifted a hand to wave back, hesitating just a moment too long until the younger boy was already gone.
To his bemusement, their impromptu lunch meetings had continued every day since, with Yang Yang producing increasingly outlandish snack options from his blazer pockets to offer up to his equally stoic companion. Donghyuck had honestly expected him to crack eventually, to crumble under the pressure and admit that one of their other friends had sent him in to pry, or perhaps to spy on him.
He never did.
Yang Yang just continued to claim the space directly beside him, seemingly content with the lack of conversation or any meaningful interaction. Eight days now—Donghyuck swore he wasn't counting, but there wasn't much to focus on when he was forcing everything else to the periphery—and nothing. No shoe drop, no mic drop, and not a single word spoken by either of them.
Donghyuck knew that Yang Yang was waiting for him, deliberately letting him set the pace, and it was exactly what he needed right then. Outside of that room, outside of that bubble of unspoken solidarity, everything was just a little too much for him to bear. A little too complicated. Too difficult to manifest the words he wanted—no, needed—to say to those he loved.
To Mark.
To Jaehyun.
To everyone.
But in that room with Yang Yang, for just a few minutes every day, they had somehow carved out somewhere that he could feel safe. Where his responsibilities to his family, his friends, his future didn't weigh down on him quite so heavily—because Yang Yang was there to... Donghyuck didn't really know what. Share the load? Ease the burden? Whatever it was, it meant the world to him.
"Hyuck-ah?"
It took a few moments before the words registered in his brain, the sound so muffled by the all-encompassing fog that clouded his mind that it almost didn't penetrate it. He blinked, the stiffness of the thick plastic seat beneath his thighs and forearms returning first, as he tried to hone back in on the here and now.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?"
Hyojin stood beside his chair, her shadow looming over him in the dimly lit space despite her diminutive stature. She watched his face carefully—patiently, but with a hint of worry in her eyes that had been present in almost all of the interactions he'd had lately—offering up a small, tight smile as he met her gaze.
"I asked if you were okay," she said softly, shifting a little closer until Donghyuck's face was almost entirely concealed in darkness, the various spotlights illuminating the stage area disappearing temporarily behind her thick mane of dark hair. "Your next cue is in less than a minute, and you're still in your previous costume."
Donghyuck glanced down at himself with a frown, realising that she was right. It was only a dress rehearsal, still three days out from opening night, but he had thought himself well on top of the quick changes by now. Detached from reality or not, his fine motor functions had been operating on auto-pilot for years whenever he needed them to—and through much more complex actions than a theatre costume change.
"Oh."
"Do you need to take five?" she asked, glancing over Donghyuck's shoulder at someone hidden deep within the backstage gloom. Donghyuck followed her gaze a few beats later, twisting in his seat to see Chenle folded into a heap on the wooden floor playing games on his phone.
The boy was dressed in a slightly smaller version of Donghyuck's next outfit, playing the understudy role to perfection even though he knew that he likely wouldn't be needed to fill in for a scene today, and his tongue poked out through his teeth as he squinted in concentration at the colourful images that flashed across the screen in front of him.
"I..." Donghyuck looked away to peer up at Hyojin again, ready to tell her that he would be absolutely fine. That he could just change his jacket quickly, in time for his cue, and that the rest of the cast and crew would barely even notice. He could fake it with the best of them, just like he'd been doing for weeks... "I can just—"
"Take fifteen," Hyojin said firmly, reaching out to pat Donghyuck gently on the arm. He tried not to flinch, really tried not to react like he'd been burnt, but the flicker of hurt that crossed his friend's face told him that he wasn't fooling anyone. As he watched, she carefully schooled her expression into something bordering on serenity and called out to Chenle. The freshman was up and on his feet in seconds at her words, dancing on the balls of his feet as he shoved his phone in his pocket, but the damage had already been done.
Hyojin eyed Donghyuck sadly, before she hurried over to help brush dust off the front of Chenle's jacket. He almost missed the words she threw over her shoulder as she walked away, the sound partially muted by the thick curtains blanketing the walls around them, but they still managed to cut deep enough to make him feel nauseated.
"Feel better, my friend."
--
Donghyuck had, as it turns out, taken quite a few more than fifteen.
He'd started with a brief walk to catch his breath—which hadn't helped one iota—and had ended up telling the drama teacher, Mr Choi, that he wasn't feeling well. The man had been understandably concerned—losing one of the stars of the school musical, in the middle of one of the final dress rehearsals, had to be far from ideal—but he also must have sensed some of the overwhelming exhaustion clinging to Donghyuck's frame, because he released him immediately.
Donghyuck had practically poured himself into bed as soon as he got home, the toll of his lingering mental funk enough to have him wiping out in minutes. He'd slept like the dead for the rest of the afternoon and then right on through the night, finally waking with the birds chirping animatedly outside his open window at six the following morning.
It was too early to tell for sure, but it definitely felt like something fundamental had shifted back into place during the night. As he forced his tired limbs out of bed, yawning loudly despite the exorbitant amount of sleep he'd just had, Donghyuck realised that his heart felt lighter than it had in days. His head was clearer, and some of that thick fog that had shrouded his consciousness was slowly starting to dissipate.
He wasn't about to go and shout from the rooftops that he was back to normal—problem solved—but the issues that he'd been trying so hard to put off thinking about didn't seem quite so insurmountably daunting anymore. He still didn't know how to actually deal with any of them, not yet at least, but thinking about them didn't make him start to hyperventilate this morning, which was a plus.
It took him a few seconds to figure out where he'd left his clothes, eventually finding them piled haphazardly on the floor by the door where he'd abandoned them yesterday afternoon. His phone was close to dying, as he rescued it from the pocket of his jeans, so he business himself with fishing the charging cable out from under his bed as he started to scroll through the dozens of unread messages that he'd been ignoring for days.
Love you, Hyuck!
Jaehyun had taken to sending him the exact same message every single morning, one notification for every sunrise that Donghyuck had refused to talk to him. He'd known deep down that it was selfish not to respond, and that he was causing his brother yet more unnecessary heartache by shutting him out, but it had also felt in the moment like invisible weights were threatening to pull his fingers out of joint, every time he'd tried to draft a response.
Today, though, something was different. The weights were was still there, cautioning the end of the universe if he typed out a single character, but there was a fresh sense of longing too—one that hadn't been there yesterday. A longing to reconnect, to let Jaehyun know that he saw his messages and that he cared.
Cared more than Donghyuck could ever express in words, even if he couldn't always say it out loud.
He sat on the edge of his bed for several long moments, staring down at Jaehyun's smiling face in his contact photo, unsure of what to say. How to say he was sorry. How to tell him everything that he was feeling. How to express his regret that he hadn't been able to say any of this before today.
Finally, he went with something simple, which he hoped might go some small way towards communicating his heart:
Love you too, hyung!
It took nearly an hour, but he eventually responded to messages from many of his other friends too. Carefully crafted messages; short sentences to let them know he was finally back to being fully present—to tell them he was sorry, even if he couldn't bring himself to type those exact words. Yuta. Taeil. Johnny. Renjun. The list went on...
They had all reached out; even Xiaojun and Hendery sent a few motivational gifs in the group chat that the three of them shared, just to show that they were there for him. One by one, he did his best to make amends, knowing that few of them would see the notifications yet at this unearthly hour of the morning, but not wanting to waste another second wallowing in self-pity.
Finally, when he could put it off no longer, he reached the person he'd been most dreading. Their conversation was near the bottom, the last message received almost a week ago. Donghyuck had already read all of them, not caring that Mark would see that they had been opened. He'd memorised every line, even as he'd tried to convince himself that one more glance wouldn't cause either of them more pain.
The last message had been short, almost unassuming if one didn't know the context. Didn't know that it had followed on the heels of approximately fifty others, all radiating concern for Donghyuck and so inexorably kind that it had felt almost suffocating to read them. Didn't know that the author was currently sleeping in his house, just a few shuffled footsteps down the hall from where Donghyuck currently sat, enduring the gulf between them with unending patience as the other boy avoided him like the plague.
Can we talk?
Mark hadn't pressed after that, hadn't followed up with a thousand fresh demands. He hadn't even knocked on Donghyuck's bedroom door, even though it would have been by far the easiest way to get the younger boy's undivided attention. Instead, he'd let the message speak for itself, allowing his friend time to work through his demons before they dealt with their relationship.
Yes.
Donghyuck wasn't expecting a response, given that it was Saturday morning and there were no signs of life from anyone in the rest of the house yet. He left his phone on his pillow, surrounded by crumpled sheets and the last vestiges of sleep, hopping into the shower and taking his time to dispel the remaining fog in his brain amidst the sweltering steam that rapidly filled the bathroom. He emerged feeling more alive than he had in weeks, even the individual breaths that lifted his chest in a steady rhythm seeming to come easier than they had the day before.
He was just pulling an oversized black t-shirt over his head, peering inside his closet for the pale blue hoodie he could have sworn had been hanging from one of the hangers right in the back sometime last week, when he heard soft footfalls behind him. They stopped before they got too close, silence falling abruptly again, and Donghyuck turned to see Mark watching him sleepily from the doorway.
"Good morning." If Mark was hesitant to greet him, after the cavernous void that Donghyuck had once again forced between them lately, he didn't show it. His voice was gravelly with sleep, and his eyes were still noticeably bleary, but the gaze that he fixed the younger boy with was warm and affectionate. Understanding. Unwavering.
"Hi." Donghyuck cleared his throat, cringing at the way his voice didn't seem to want to work the way he needed it to, and tried again. "Morning. Did I wake you?"
"No." Mark shook his head, a small, indulgent grin transforming his entire visage and threatening to take Donghyuck's breath away. Even sleep-addled and partially relying on the doorframe to keep him upright, Mark was still the most beautiful person he'd ever seen in his life. "I haven't been sleeping well lately, so I was already awake. I, uh... I saw your message, so I figured I'd see if you wanted to grab breakfast with me."
"Oh." Donghyuck hadn't exactly expected them to be having this conversation quite so soon, but he guessed it wouldn't get any easier to parse in his head if they waited a few more hours. "Uh, sure." He couldn't help the twinge of guilt that coiled inside his chest, as Mark's comment about not being able to sleep well finally registered fully in his mind, but the older boy didn't seem to be giving it a second thought. "I think we have leftovers in the fridge."
"We had leftovers," Mark said sheepishly, shifting against the doorframe to glance over his shoulder towards the stairs. "I got hungry after practice yesterday, and your mom said it was fine." He paused, a tiny frown eclipsing his previously sunny outlook. "Sorry."
"No. No, it's fine," Donghyuck insisted, desperate not to be the reason for any more of Mark's anguish, however small the catalyst. "We could go to that little shop on the corner instead. The one we went to with Jaemin and Jeno last month, near the park. It should be open by this time on a Saturday, and they have your favourite flavoured coffee."
"Sounds like a date." The bridge of Mark's nose wrinkled a little under the sheer force of his gigawatt grin, and Donghyuck's heart couldn't seem to decide between plummeting into his socks and flip-flopping around like a drunk butterfly. Instead, he offered Mark the first trace of a smile he'd managed to muster in weeks, and scooped up the missing hoodie that he'd just spotted on the floor next to his desk chair.
"Do you need to shower? I can wait for you down—"
"Two minutes," Mark interjected quickly, cutting off his line of questioning. "Pyjama-chic is all the rage at seven-thirty in the morning, after all..." When Donghyuck stared at him in obvious confusion, Mark shrugged. "I can grab some clothes and shoes in no time. Just give me a quick minute to brush my teeth, and I'll be good to go. I showered after practice last night, and we're not walking far."
"Okay, sure."
Mark didn't give him time to respond further, disappearing back into the hallway without warning. Donghyuck heard the bathroom door click softly, followed by the unmistakable sound of water starting to run in the sink, before he realised that he was still staring, unmoving, at the spot against the doorframe where Mark had been moments earlier.
"So this is really happening, huh," Donghyuck muttered to himself, squatting down to extract a sturdy pair of sneakers from where they had become entangled in his discarded school shirt from who-knew how many days ago.
Paling as he realised just how many dirty clothes were currently strewn across his room—collateral damage from the fugue state he'd found himself in over the past few weeks—he quickly started shoveling underwear into his laundry basket, praying that Mark had been too distracted by his text message to notice.
Five and a half minutes later, give or take a few decades of anxious pacing, the pair set off down the driveway, bypassing Donghyuck's car in favour of the sidewalk that stretched out beyond. Cutting a sharp left, skirting the grass line of the neighbour's front lawn, Donghyuck felt Mark's elbow graze his own through his sleeve as they fell into step side by side.
He let his arms swing free, hoping Mark wouldn't notice the tiny shivers that wracked his entire body every time their arms or fingers brushed, but unwilling to step away. Mark seemed to have the same idea, because they bumped into each other a lot as they walked, fingers entangling enough that eventually it seemed only natural for Mark to loop his into Donghyuck's permanently.
They separated for just long enough to enter the small store, a tired-looking one-story building on the corner of a major intersection several streets over, and scout the items they wanted from the well-stocked shelves. Purchases made, Donghyuck looped an arm through Mark's elbow as they crossed the street and made their way into the small park opposite.
It was entirely deserted this early in the morning, leaving plenty of available options for seating, but Donghyuck happily let Mark lead him through the mass of trees and evergreen shrubs until he reached a secluded bench, set a little bit back from the main path under the shade of a huge camphor tree.
Setting the bags of food between them on the bench, Mark started to pull items out and methodically distribute them into two neat piles, giving Donghyuck a few moments to simply sit and watch him as he worked. Mark's sweet face was contorted in concentration, as he examined a carton of milk before placing it carefully onto Donghyuck's pile, and the focused furrow of his brows beneath his glasses mustered a genuine smile onto the younger boy's face.
"You look cute like this," he said quickly, before he could allow his brain time to regret the comment. Mark flushed pink almost instantly, and Donghyuck grinned even more broadly at the way that the colour spread to the tips of his ears before Mark could get his emotions under wraps.
"T—thanks."
"You're welcome."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, working their way through a small fraction of the food and drink that they had bought. It looked like they would have enough to eat breakfast for at least a week, if Donghyuck's barely dented pile was anything to go by, but the lightness in his chest as he breathed in the fresh morning air was enough to make him dismiss the devastating hit that this would be to his bank account.
"So, uh—" Mark set down an empty wrapper, tucking it under something heavy to prevent the gentle breeze from carrying it away. "I missed you this week."
"Me too." That wasn't entirely true, Donghyuck thought soberly as he stared at the wonderful boy crowded onto the bench beside him. He hadn't really been in a headspace that gave him the capacity to actively miss anyone, the overwhelming absence of feeling a stark antithesis to his spoken words, but he'd felt the emptiness of Mark's absence like a vacuum inside his chest despite the apathy. "I'm sorry."
"You don't need to be sorry, Donghyuck." Mark reached out to pull one of Donghyuck's hands closer, curling his splayed fingers around it in a gesture that was too reverent to be anything but doting. "You've been through a lot this year. You're allowed to take time for yourself sometimes."
That wasn't exactly what Donghyuck had been doing, but it didn't seem like the right moment to try to explain the intricacies of his brain right now. Besides, he was far more interested in the way that Mark's index finger was now slowly tracing figure eights into the soft skin of the back of his hand. His touch was both a brand and an ice bath, and Donghyuck didn't know which was worse, just that he wasn't nearly strong enough to pull away.
"Thank you." Mark's innocent, entirely open expression disarmed Donghyuck in a way that he'd never been able to resist, and he allowed himself to get lost in those warm brown eyes for a few brief moments. "Thank you for being so patient."
"Always."
The response was immediate, with absolutely no trace of hesitation, and it almost broke Donghyuck's heart. This right here was why he'd been so reticent to have this conversation in the first place, so afraid of what he needed to say that he'd been willing to push away everyone he loved for a few scant days reprieve.
"Mark—" He tried to keep his tone conversational, hoping it was light enough to not immediately freak the older boy out, but a hint of his fear must have bled through. Mark's smile faded just a little, and his grip on Donghyuck's hand tightened in response.
"Don't."
"Mark—"
"Please don't." Mark's voice was beseeching, his eyes wide as he held Donghyuck's gaze. "Not right now. I know there's so much that we need to talk about, and I'm not going to like all of it, but can we please just enjoy breakfast together first?"
Donghyuck had never been able to resist Mark when he asked earnestly for something, and this was no exception. In the absence of anything coherent to say in response, he simply nodded and turned his attention back to the food in his lap. Mark's finger returned to its former path, tracking invisible patterns across his chilled skin, and Donghyuck contented himself with just living in this moment. The calm before the final storm.
They ate far more food than either of them wanted or needed, just to extend the odd truce that had been erected between them with Mark's words, but soon enough they had no choice but to load the remaining items into the shopping bags and make their way back towards the road.
Donghyuck let Mark lead, no entangled fingers or looped arms this time. There was visible tension in Mark's shoulders and back as he walked just ahead, eyes fixed on the park gate in front of him as he moved. Donghyuck's gaze was firmly on the back of Mark's head, unable to look away, but the older boy made no indication that he was aware of the scrutiny.
Once on the other side of the gate, the older boy kicking it closed with his foot once Donghyuck had cleared the perimeter, Mark stopped and turned to face him, knuckles white and taut as he gripped the bags in his hands. He froze in place for a moment, going so still that Donghyuck's gaze instinctually flicked down to his chest to see if he was still breathing, and then took a decisive step towards Donghyuck.
"This isn't exactly how I wanted this to happen," Mark said slowly, voice pitched so low that Donghyuck had to strain to hear him even amidst the quietness of the empty neighbourhood. "I was hoping for more time to—" He broke off, sighing heavily. "Hyuck, I had this big gesture planned. Hell, I even had stuff written out on a piece of paper. All these stupid, corny lines that would convince you that—"
He moved so quickly that Donghyuck barely had time to react. All of a sudden, Mark's face loomed large in front of his own, fingers reaching out to grip Donghyuck's elbows firmly. Enough to make his intent clear, but deliberately not too tight as to make it impossible for Donghyuck to break free. In the blink of an eye, Mark had closed the distance between them, pressing in so close to the boy in his arms that there was no misinterpreting his actions.
Donghyuck saw the moment that Mark's eyes fluttered closed like it was happening in bullet time. He was still moving too fast, the moment entirely too much to process in the half-second that he saw it telegraphed across Mark's face, but it also encompassed the entire expanse of human history as Donghyuck let himself be dragged into Mark's embrace.
It would have been the easiest thing in the world, to allow Mark's lips to connect with his own. He wouldn't have even needed to act, the older boy taking charge of the situation so decisively that it actually startled the tiny portion of Donghyuck's brain that was still functioning.
He couldn't even deny that he wanted this; he had wanted to kiss Mark Lee for so long that it was a full-embedded aspect of his personality at this point. He wanted it so badly that his heart threatened to burst in his chest at the prospect, and without thinking he actually started to shift towards Mark in a way that would make it easier for them to meet in the perfect caress.
And yet, he couldn't ignore the conversation he'd had with Yuta two weeks ago. The conversation—and resulting revelation—that had been the catalyst for this moment, and the exact reason why he'd been avoiding Mark so fastidiously for days. As much as he wanted to kiss Mark, as much joy as it would give him to be able to feel how much Mark felt for him through this new connection, it wasn't fair to either of them.
Not when he knew that they could never be.
Not when he'd already made his choice.
Nearly too slow, half the conflicted thoughts swirling inside his head screaming for him to let this happen, Donghyuck turned his head at the last instant, and Mark's lips came down firmly against his right cheek. The very corners of their lips just barely brushed, and for a moment it was almost too much to resist shifting to meet him fully, but then Mark was rocking back on his heels, shock and panic playing riot across his face.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry!" Mark released Donghyuck's elbows like he'd been touching scalding hot metal, causing the younger boy to stagger to regain his balance, and then his fists were firmly clenched at his sides. "I didn't mean to—I mean, I did, but—"
"Mark..."
"Hyuck, you have to—" Mark sounded utterly despondent, eyes darting frantically from Donghyuck's cheek to his eyes and then back down to his lips, which had so narrowly avoided meeting his own. "I'm sorry."
"Mark, calm down." At his barked command, Mark's shoulders slumped and his whole body seemed to deflate like a punctured beach ball, although the initial wave of panic still hadn't loosened its grip. "It's okay. You don't need to apologise."
"But I—"
"You didn't do anything wrong." Donghyuck needed Mark to know that he didn't think badly of him because of this. Just because he hadn't been able to reciprocate, hadn't been able to give Mark what he needed, he didn't blame Mark for any of it. He still had a very difficult conversation to have with him, one that might just destroy both of them, but he wouldn't take this moment from the older boy. Wouldn't allow it to be tainted by guilt or shame. "I just—"
"You need time," Mark said quickly, appearing to make a decision that Donghyuck couldn't quite follow. His eyes flashed with something akin to dogged determination, and his mouth set into a firm line that tensed his jaw almost painfully. "Of course you do. I know that I messed up, but I promise I can do better—be patient. You can take as much time as you need."
"I—" Donghyuck knew that this should be the moment that he told Mark the truth—the moment he broke Mark's heart once and for all and finally let him go—but, as he opened his mouth to say the words, nothing came out. He couldn't force his lips to form the words, and his tongue felt like it had grown three sizes as it sat heavily in his mouth.
"Let's head back," Mark offered helpfully, that hopeful, earnest look in his eyes returning as he scooped one of Donghyuck's hands into his grip and started to walk purposefully in the direction of the house. He made sure to keep pace with the younger boy, who walked beside him in stunned silence, but didn't try to catch Donghyuck's eye again.
Instead, Mark fixed his gaze on the tarmac under their feet, a small determined smile gracing his lips. Donghyuck couldn't look away, heart clenching painfully at the sight of it, as he allowed himself to be dragged along. When he was certain that Mark wasn't looking, he dug his phone out of the loose pocket of his sweatpants, keeping it concealed by his outer leg as he navigated directly to the group chat he shared with Jaemin and Renjun.
I think I really fucked up.
He glanced back up at Mark quickly, half to make sure he wasn't watching the finger tapping away on his phone screen and half so he could try to commit that wonderful half-smirk to memory. He didn't think he'd get to see it again after this, after he ripped off the bandaid and did what he had been too cowardly to do this morning.
He wasn't sure Mark would ever even want to look him in the eye again after this. All over again, he wondered if he was making the right decision. He'd meant what he'd said to Yuta—and to Johnny. He'd already made his choice, but that didn't mean he couldn't make a mistake. It didn't mean he wasn't making the worst decision of his life.
Everything will be okay.
Donghyuck's phone vibrated in his hand, as Jaemin's message lit up the display briefly, like a lighthouse beacon on a dark night. His hand shook a little as he tilted the screen to read it, but the words sunk into his soul as surely as if Jaemin had been stood right beside him, arms outstretched to welcome him into a tight, reassuring embrace.
He'd made his choice. He'd considered the consequences, and just how much he would be giving up, and then he'd made it anyway. He would make it a thousand times over, because there never really was any other option for him. Come hell or high water, he had to remember that. No matter how much it hurt, Donghyuck knew that every one of his brothers would support his decision—even Mark, eventually, no matter how much it hurt in the moment.
We're here if you need us.
The screen flashed again, and this time it caught Mark's attention. He frowned down curiously at the device in Donghyuck's hand, just before the younger boy tucked it carefully back into his pocket. Donghyuck had barely had time to read the message himself, afraid Mark would see too much, but the words still managed to fill him with a bone-deep warmth that worked to thaw some of the unease that had gripped him after the aborted kiss. No matter what, he wasn't alone in this—any of this.
"Everything okay?" Mark asked, voice deliberately pitched so that nothing but courteous, polite concern came through in his tone as he spoke.
"Yeah."
Not yet, but it will be, Donghyuck thought pointedly, as he let Mark's eyes rove attentively across his face. He didn't try to force a smile, still not able to fake the gesture just yet, but he needn't have bothered. Mercifully, Mark didn't linger on the moment, accepting Donghyuck's answer at face value. He gave their intertwined hands a gentle squeeze, just enough to let Donghyuck know that he was there if he needed him, and then deliberately averted his gaze.
"Okay."