Archive of Our Own

As Donghyuck trudges through the streets, the sun feels like a personal attack, burning his retinas and searing his already throbbing skull. And he clings to the one mantra he always forgets until it’s too late: Stop having one-night stands when you’re drunk. 

Because it always ends the same way, stumbling home with a pounding headache, dehydrated, and filled with regret. Because he doesn’t bring hookups home. Because his apartment is a sacred place. Because he has a roommate. And because he and Mark made a promise to never bring people home to sleep, and Donghyuck doesn’t break his promises. Especially not promises he makes to Mark. 

In the agonizing ten minutes he’s been walking, he’s had to fight back the urge to puke at least four times, but whatever. He’s going to survive. He’s already seeing his building up ahead, so the worst is almost over. 

When he finally steps inside the building, he could almost cry from relief. A couple walks past him on their way out of the elevator, looking far too happy for his taste. He grunts at them in response to their cheerful greeting, his head throbbing too violently for basic human interaction. Fuck mornings. Fuck happy people.

The elevator ride is pure hell. It takes forever, and the walls are too bright, too reflective, too judgmental. By the time he reaches the fourth floor, he’s seconds away from collapsing.

His keys jangle uselessly in his trembling hands as he fumbles at the lock, missing the keyhole twice, three times. Why are there so many keys? Who designed this door? Who designed this life? God, just let him in. 

Finally, the door unlocks, and as soon as he steps inside, a wave of warmth and comfort washes over him. The familiar scent of coffee. Sweet, beautiful, life-saving coffee. 

Donghyuck lets out a groan, pressing his forehead against the door as it clicks shut behind him. He’s never been more grateful.

“Why does this apartment smell like heaven?” Donghyuck shouts as he stumbles toward the kitchen, kicking his shoes off in the most tragic display of coordination ever witnessed, one foot still by the door, the other somewhere in the middle of the living room. “Usually, when you’re in the kitchen, all I can smell is burnt offerings to the gods of incompetence.” 

At the sink, Mark glances over his shoulder, giving him a lazy, amused laugh as he scrubs a few cups. 

“Good morning to you too,” he says. 

Donghyuck doesn’t respond. Instead, he steps up behind Mark and wraps his arms around his waist, draping himself over Mark’s back like a human sloth, chin resting on his shoulder.

Mark grimaces. “You smell like shit.” 

“Shut up,” Donghyuck groans into his shoulder, voice muffled. “I know I smell like sweat and cheap alcohol. You don’t have to remind me.”

Mark giggles, running a wet hand through Donghyuck’s hair. The dampness is questionable, but the touch is nice. 

“Told you to take it easy,” Mark says, scratching his scalp. Donghyuck shivers everywhere, closing his eyes.

“And you know I never listen when you’re not there with me,” Donghyuck mumbles, tilting his head toward the touch like a needy cat. 

“You never listen when I am there either.” 

"Yeah, yeah, shut up," Donghyuck mutters, rolling his eyes. "Are you mad at me?"

Mark's fingers hesitate for a fraction of a second before he lets out a heavy sigh. "Can’t say I’m not."

"I wasn’t even out for that long, hyung," Donghyuck whines against his shoulder, drawing out the word like it might save him.

"Don’t try to sugarcoat me using the ‘hyung’ tactic, okay?" Mark retorts, jabbing a soapy finger on Donghyuck’s cheeks. A bubble pops between them. “You know this isn’t about how long you were gone. It’s about you disappearing with weird dudes I don’t know.”

"You can’t possibly know all the people in the world, hyung."

Mark exhales sharply through his nose. "You know what I’m trying to say, Lee Donghyuck."

"Yeah, yeah, I didn’t text you where I was. Fine. Sorry.”

“You’re never sorry,” Mark muses with a sigh, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn spot on a plate.

“Back to the main topic, you cooked? And didn’t burn the house down?" Donghyuck tries to dodge a fight.

Mark sighs again, like he’s deciding whether or not to throw the dish towel at Donghyuck’s head. But he doesn’t insist on arguing.

Donghyuck grins. “No, seriously. I feel like I should check if the stove still exists.”

“The disrespect.”

“The concern,” Donghyuck corrects.

“First of all,” Mark says, placing a cup on the drying rack with precision, “I don’t always burn things.” 

Donghyuck snorts. “You tried to make eggs last week and somehow set off the fire alarm.” 

“That was one time.” 

“One time too many.” 

Mark flicks water at his face. “Shut up.”

Donghyuck yelps. “Hey! What is this violence? I thought this was a safe space.”

“Safe spaces don’t apply to people who insult my cooking.”

“That’s crazy,” Donghyuck mutters, shaking his head. “I literally complimented you.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah! I said you didn’t burn the house down. That’s growth.”

Mark huffs. “Anyway, I didn’t do the cooking. Minhee did.” 

Ah. 

Donghyuck immediately detaches himself from Mark. “Your princess girlfriend slept here?” he demands, eyes narrowing. “And here I was, sacrificing my comfort, suffering in someone else’s bed for the sake of our sacred roommates rules, while you were breaking it?” 

“I didn’t break shit,” Mark counters, turning to face him as Donghyuck makes a beeline for the coffee pot. “She didn’t sleep here. She just showed up because she’s leaving for a trip today.” 

“Oh, so she came to see her little honey bun before she left. How sweet,” Donghyuck’s voice drips with mockery as he sips his coffee.

For the record, he has absolutely nothing against Minhee. Really. He just likes to piss Mark off. 

“And she made us breakfast,” Mark points out, crossing his arms. “Which means thanks to her, you won’t die of a hangover on an empty stomach.”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes.

Okay, maybe he does have one or two things against Minhee. But nothing too hateful. She’s just too nice. And maybe he feels a bit annoyed. Mostly because of the fact that she’s Mark’s girlfriend. But alright. It is what it is.

“Where's my grand savior, then?” Donghyuck mid sip.

“Right here,” comes a voice from the living room. Then she appears, all soft, composed, and unmistakably Minhee. “I was in the bathroom, Hyuck.”

Minhee is the girl that Mark has been with for the past six months. The only girl Mark has seen longer than a month.

They met at some random party. She was the one to initiate their conversation, and Mark has since admitted that her bluntness impressed him. She also made him laugh, apparently. They talked for a while, exchanged numbers, and after that, it was like magic.

Donghyuck can see why she would be Mark’s type. She has long black hair, always tied into a ponytail or a bun. She has sharp eyes, high cheekbones, and a thin, defined nose. 

Her style is very preppy. She wears a lot of sweaters and pencil skirts, and she always carries herself with a certain poise, the kind of confidence you can only get from being born and raised in a wealthy family.

In short, she looks like the kind of girl you would expect to see on the cover of a music magazine. Or maybe in a music video. 

And Donghyuck should be happy.

Because Minhee is great. She’s cool and confident. She makes Mark happy, and isn’t that what matters?

So really, he should be the happiest person alive. His best friend has found a wonderful girl to love. He’s been in a stable, healthy relationship for half a year—six whole months—which, in Mark years, is practically a lifetime. 

And trust, Donghyuck has known Mark for a long time. Since middle school. Since braces and bad haircuts. Since Mark used to wear cargo shorts unironically and thought freestyle rapping about kimchi was a personality trait. Since the dark ages.

And in all that time, Donghyuck has never seen Mark this settled. This committed.

So, again, Donghyuck should be happy.

And yet, somehow, he can't stop himself from feeling a little bitter everyday.

Minhee walks up to the counter with the kind of effortless grace that makes Donghyuck want to roll his eyes. Before he can react, she leans in and presses a quick peck to his cheek.

“Hi, Minnie,” Donghyuck greets her, tone flat but fond.

"Hey, Hyuck. You okay?" She asks, eyebrows raised in concern. "You look dead."

"I'm fine," Donghyuck mumbles, attempting to force a smile. It probably looks more like a grimace. "Just a hangover."

"As usual. You should eat," Minhee says, ever the responsible adult.

"Yes, I should," Donghyuck agrees, taking another sip of his coffee like it’s the antidote to his suffering. “Thank you for the revolutionary advice.”

"Don't mention it, you poor thing," she smiles, reaching over to ruffle his hair like he’s some pitiful stray cat. Donghyuck scowls but doesn’t move away, mostly because his brain-to-body coordination is currently operating at 50% capacity. “Did you have a good night last night?” She asks, eyebrows arching in that signature suggestive way of hers.

“I do want to say yes, but I’m not really sure,” Donghyuck pouts.

“Rate it from one to ten,” Minhee moves closer to Mark, settling in comfortably, resting her cheek on his shoulder while he finishes drying the sink surface with a towel.

Donghyuck tilts his head, thinking. “Uh… 6.5?” His voice lilts at the end, like even he isn’t convinced.

Minhee lets out a sharp whistle. “So you wasted your night.”

“I mean,” Donghyuck sighs, rubbing his face, “I didn’t exactly have better options.”

Mark turns around with an affronted expression, like this is a personal offense. “What are you talking about? You’re handsome, dude. You could pull anyone.”

“Yeah, and just because I can doesn’t mean they’re good in bed,” Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “But whatever, you two are way too comfortable discussing my sex life. Get a hobby.”

“I’m just concerned for your sexual satisfaction, my child,” Minhee says, voice full of faux wisdom.

“Okay grandma,” Donghyuck rolls his eyes again.

Minhee giggles then turns to Mark, her voice shifting into something softer. "Anyway, I’m gonna head out first, okay? Need to see Yujin. You can have breakfast with Hyuck, and then we’ll meet there.”

“Oh, the lovebirds have a date today?” Donghyuck drawls, his voice thick with sarcasm as he dramatically flutters his lashes.

"Yes, boomer," Minhee shoots back, sticking her tongue out like an unruly child. "I’m going to be away for a few days, so I need to soak up my boyfriend while I can."

Donghyuck snorts. “If you’re going to your aunt’s again, it’s literally an hour away, and you always come back in, like, two days.”

"Still means days away from my man," Minhee replies, hands on her chest. "So shut it."

"Whatever, you guys are disgusting," Donghyuck mutters, rolling his eyes, trying very hard to ignore the usual sting creeping up his spine.

"Anyways, I'll see you in a few, babe."

Then, right in front of his salad, she steps into his space, he leans down, and they kiss. It's short. Barely even a kiss. Just a brief, casual press of lips. But somehow, it scrambles Donghyuck’s brain.

Something tightens in his chest, twisting and coiling like a snake, making his skin feel all tingly. It’s so stupid. It’s just a kiss. People kiss all the time.

But this isn’t just people. It’s Mark. And Minhee.

And it’s right in front of him.

"See you," Mark says when they break apart, looking at her with an easy, affectionate smile.

"Don’t get there late, okay?" Minhee reminds him, tapping his chest lightly.

Mark nods. 

She smiles at him, then turns around and heads for the door.

"Bye, Hyuck!" Minhee waves. “Don’t drown in your puke later.”

"Sure, Minnie. See you."

Then she's gone. The apartment door clicks shut and Donghyuck exhales in relief.

Instantly, Mark barely glances at him. "So… Do you want eggs?"

"Fuck yes, I want eggs."

A few minutes later, they're sitting across from each other at the dining table, eating. Donghyuck is starving. Not even the terrible headache smashing him right now can stop his needs. He devours his food, barely taking time to breathe, and Mark watches him, amusement clear on his face.

"So," Mark says, casually stabbing his fork into his food, "did you have fun last night?"

"No, stop asking," Donghyuck deadpans. He barely even looks up. "Why do you think I look like shit?"

"You always look like shit in the morning."

Donghyuck kicks him under the table.

Mark bursts out laughing.

"Asshole," Donghyuck mumbles through a mouthful of eggs. "Can't believe I'm your best friend." 

"Oh, shut up," Mark rolls his eyes, taking another bite. "If you hate hangovers so much, just stop drinking so much." 

"It wasn’t even about the drinking. I mean, kind of," Donghyuck admits, waving his fork around. "I just ended up sleeping with a guy who was so fucking annoying. Kept asking me questions and wouldn’t leave me alone." 

Mark snorts. "Sounds like he was flirting." 

"He was, but he was doing it all wrong," Donghyuck sighs dramatically, shoving more food into his mouth. "Like, at least be hot about it. Be mysterious. Don't interrogate me like you’re interviewing me for a job."

Mark hums, chewing thoughtfully. "Maybe he just wanted to get to know you."

"I don’t want to be known in a one-night stand, Mark. That’s the whole point."

“You’re terrible,” Mark just shakes his head, laughing under his breath. His foot finds Donghyuck’s left calf, brushing against it absentmindedly. Up and down, up and down. 

It’s muscle memory at this point, something he always does when they eat together. It’s weirdly comforting, a little unspoken tradition.

Donghyuck exhales dramatically. “I need you to never let me go to these parties alone again. Please. I am begging you." 

"Okay," Mark giggles. "I’ll tie you to your bed." 

Donghyuck's eyes light up instantly, eyebrows wiggling. "Oh, don’t say that. You know I like it rough." 

Mark coughs a few times, shaking his head as he laughs. "Shut up, you pervert." 

"Don't call me a pervert. You were the one who brought it up," Donghyuck points out, raising an eyebrow. 

Mark groans, running a hand through his hair. His ears are definitely turning red. "I should’ve expected this." 

"Expected what?" Donghyuck smirks. "That I’d take an innocent comment and make it deeply uncomfortable for you?" 

“Yeah, you and your stupid innuendos." 

"You love my stupid innuendos." 

"Sure, I do," Mark deadpans, but there’s a tiny smile tugging at his lips. 

Donghyuck scoffs. "Ungrateful." 

Mark rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t bother hiding his amusement anymore. "Any plans for today?" 

“Shower and bed,” Donghyuck says between chews. “Sleep for hours. Wake up, eat, watch dumb movies. Sleep again.”

"Wow," Mark says flatly. "So entertaining." 

"Thanks." 

Mark snorts. "Can I join in the dumb movies part later?" 

“Yup,” Donghyuck hums, stretching his arms above his head with a satisfied groan. He stands up from the table, his limbs still heavy with exhaustion. “Right after I wake up from my sleep coma. But first, I’m going to take a very much needed bath.”

“Very much needed indeed,” Mark mutters, taking a sip of his coffee. “Make sure you actually wash yourself properly this time.”

Donghyuck’s head snaps toward him. “Shut up, Mark. It’s not that bad.”

Mark raises an eyebrow, clearly holding back a laugh. “Dude, you walked in smelling like a frat house floor.”

“And you smell like a bitch!” Donghyuck yells over his shoulder.

〰️

The world around Mark is nothing but background noise. The chatter of customers, the soft hum of the display case, the sugary scent of fresh pastries, it’s all just meaningless details. Because right now, his focus is entirely on his phone, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as he debates whether or not to send another "You alive?" text to Donghyuck.

“This one looks so good, baby,” Minhee says excitedly, her eyes lighting up as she stares at the pastries behind the glass.

“Yeah, baby. Sure,” Mark mumbles absentmindedly, barely registering her words as he refreshes his messages for the third time in a row. Still no reply.

Currently, he’s texting Donghyuck for the fifth time to make sure the idiot hasn't choked on his own spit and died.

"Hyuck, answer me."

"If you're dead, blink twice."

"Wait, fuck, you can’t blink if you’re dead. Just text me back. A thumbs up works."

Minhee huffs by his side, clearly annoyed with his lack of enthusiasm. “Baby, pay attention here. What do you want?”

Mark blinks, shaking himself out of his anxious trance. He looks up at his girlfriend, then down at the display case, realizing for the first time that they’re in a bakery. Right. They were here to get sweets. Not to spiral.

“Honey dip sounds good,” he says, mostly just picking the first thing his eyes land on. Then his eyes dart right back to his phone. Because, thank God, the three little dots are bouncing up and down. Donghyuck is typing. Finally.

“I’m alive, hyung. Most likely. In spirit. Because my body is not handling my existence very well,” Donghyuck texts first.

Mark exhales, thumbs already moving. “There’s ibuprofen in my second drawer.”

“Is that the drawer you put your condoms in too? Ugh.”

Mark scoffs, shaking his head slightly. “I will never tell you where I put my condoms. And you know damn well second drawer is for meds only.”

“Whatever 🙄 Either way, joke’s on you if you think I can get up. Just puked my entire breakfast. Yayyy!”

“Baby, do you want something to drink?”

Mark blinks, startled out of his texting tunnel vision. He looks up at Minhee, her expectant face swimming into focus.

“Yes?” He says, then frowns. “Whatever you want, baby.”

Minhee gives him a look but doesn’t bother saying anything, before turning back to ordering. Mark, of course, goes right back to his conversation, his worry kicking up a notch.

“Do you want me to go back home?” Mark texts, already halfway out the door in his mind.

“You’re on a date, hyung.”

Mark can practically hear Donghyuck’s exasperated sigh through the screen, the words oozing with judgment.

“And she will understand if I leave. You’re sick.”

“Hyung. Stay. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. Just need to sleep. Cuddle me when you’re back?” 

And then, Donghyuck sends a selfie.

The little shit is pouting, his forehead slightly damp, eyes gleaming with an exaggerated, over-the-top sadness. His cheeks are flushed, his lips full and soft, like ripe fruit. A peach. A plum. Something Mark suddenly has the irrational urge to sink his teeth into.

Mark catches himself wetting his lower lip, biting it without thinking.

Donghyuck looks edible.

But Mark isn’t about to give him that satisfaction.

"You look terrible," is what Mark texts instead. No way in hell he’s letting Donghyuck know he looks pretty. That’s dangerous information to give a man like him.

Donghyuck’s reply comes instantly, another selfie, this time with his hoodie sleeve half covering his face, his eyes slightly unfocused, brows furrowed in mock concentration.

"Trying to find your bullshit over here," he texts back.

Mark bites back a laugh, shaking his head. “Just being honest.”

“You wouldn’t bite these pretty lips?” Donghyuck texts.

For a solid three seconds, Mark’s brain replays the image of those soft, peachy lips.

He hesitates. Considers.

For just a second too long.

Then, he types: “Go rest.”

“Cuddles when you’re back?” Donghyuck insists.

“Never,” Mark replies.

“Worst hyung ever 👎”

Mark grins, fingers tapping out, “Take the ibuprofen, please? I’ll be back as soon as possible. Will pat your head.”

“Mark.”

His head snaps up. Minhee is staring at him, her face pinched in a seriously? expression.

Mark quickly locks his phone and shoves it into his pocket. “Yeah?”

“Stop bothering Donghyuck.”

“I was just checking if he was alright,” Mark says, raising his hands in surrender.

Minhee levels him with a look. “Your constant worrying is really sweet, and it shows that you love him, but you need to take a break from mother-henning him. Give him some space."

"I know, I just—" Mark cuts himself off, sighing again.

Because it's true, he worries too much. And he knows Donghyuck would tell him the exact same thing. But Mark is worried, anyway. Because it's Donghyuck. And he can't help it, he  doesn’t know how to not worry about him.

"I’m just worried he will drown in his own puke or something," Mark tries again, hoping Minhee might understand.

"Baby," Minhee coos, voice soft, hand cupping his cheek, thumb stroking gently. “It’s gonna be fine. Donghyuck is a grown-ass adult who’s had way too many hangovers. He’ll survive. You, on the other hand, need to relax.”

Mark exhales, nodding slowly. "I know."

"Good," Minhee smiles. Then, after a brief pause, she continues. "So, what were we talking about before you zoned out?"

Mark blinks. "Uh… honey dip?"

"Before that."

"Uh..." Mark racks his brain, trying to remember.

Minhee sighs. "You're so hopeless, baby."

"Sorry," Mark grimaces.

"You're lucky you're so cute," Minhee shakes her head, pressing a quick peck to his nose. Mark scrunches up his face, nose crinkling. Minhee giggles, leaning in to kiss him again.

Mark can't help but smile against her lips, feeling some of his worries melt away. He's not completely relaxed, not even close, but he'll get there eventually. 

When they pull apart, Mark is the one to break the silence. "Okay, what were you saying?"

"I was telling you that you should pick a drink, baby."

"Oh, yeah. Okay."

Three hours later, after an ungodly amount of sugar consumption and an embarrassing moment where Mark almost choked on a cream puff, he finally drops Minhee off at her door. She kisses him goodbye, all soft and sweet, vanilla lingering on his lips as he pulls away.

By the time he gets home, the sun is dipping below the horizon, casting the apartment in dim golden light. It’s quiet. Peaceful. Suspiciously so.

For a brief, horrifying second, he wonders if Donghyuck actually did drown in his own puke while he was out stuffing his face with pastries. The thought sends a jolt of panic through him, and before he can even take off his shoes, he beelines straight to Donghyuck’s room.

The door creaks slightly as he pushes it open, and relief floods through him the second he sees Donghyuck, very much not dead. Instead, he’s completely knocked out, looking like a human dumpling in his fluffy blanket, the one he swore he hated when Mark first bought it but now refuses to part with. 

His face slack with sleep, his hair is a mess, sticking up in odd directions, his lips pushed into a slight pout. There’s a soft, rhythmic snore escaping him, proof that he’s in for a very long nap. He only snores when he’s completely exhausted.

Mark exhales, tension leaving his body.

His eyes scan the room, lingering on the lone foot peeking out from under the blanket. He already knows that if he leaves it like that, Donghyuck will absolutely wake up and start bitching about how his toes “almost froze to death”.

So, with a quiet chuckle, Mark steps forward and gently tucks the blanket over Donghyuck’s foot, smoothing it down to make sure it’s properly covered.

Donghyuck stirs immediately, mumbling something unintelligible as he shifts slightly, pulling the blanket closer to himself. Mark stifles another laugh, watching the way Donghyuck’s nose scrunches up for a second before relaxing again, falling right back into deep sleep.

He lingers for a moment. Because, truth be told, he likes looking at Donghyuck when he sleeps. Watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, taking in how not annoying he looks when he’s unconscious. There’s no smug smirk, no sharp tongue, no snarky remarks. Just cute. Quiet.

Well, mostly quiet. The snoring is getting progressively louder.

Mark lets out a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair before finally forcing himself to step back. Then he does his best to distract himself. 

Really, he does.

He watches two whole movies—one action-packed, one stupidly romantic—but halfway through the second, he realizes he hasn’t absorbed a single plot point. He’s just staring at the screen, brain running laps around the same stupid concern: Donghyuck is still asleep.

Which wouldn’t be a problem if Mark weren’t Mark.

Because, sometimes, Mark really worries about Donghyuck’s hangovers. Actually, scratch that—Mark always worries about Donghyuck’s hangovers.

And why wouldn’t he?

Because, one, Donghyuck is reckless.

Two, Donghyuck is even more reckless when he has alcohol in his system.

And three, Donghyuck is at his absolute worst when he’s out with Johnny or Jungwoo. Because those three together have the combined brainpower of a goldfish with a death wish. They are neck to neck in the silly spectrum, and when they’re together, any idea seems like a good idea.

The last time Donghyuck went drinking with them, he woke up in a bathtub with a traffic cone and zero memory of how he got there. The time before that? He tried to adopt a stray cat and ended up with fifteen new scratches and a potential tetanus scare.

So yeah. Mark has every reason to be worried.

And the longer Donghyuck stays passed out, the more Mark starts imagining increasingly ridiculous worst-case scenarios.

Which is why Mark is two steps away from calling an ambulance. Donghyuck has been completely knocked out for too long, and Mark is genuinely starting to wonder if he’s still breathing. Is he too dehydrated?

In the end, he does nothing. Because he knows he’s overreacting. So he flips through streaming services, swapping between Netflix, Disney+, and that one app they only subscribed to for a single show—but nothing is holding his attention. 

The only thing keeping him from dying of loneliness and anxiety is Minhee texting him.

“Agaaain: stop worrying so much about Hyuck, he’s a grown man, babe,” she texts, trying to get him out of his current dad mood.

Mark scoffs. He types back: “Hard to do that when he disappears every time he hooks up with someone. He should stop going to random people’s beds.”

Minhee’s reply is immediate: “Don’t slut-shame him! As long as he’s using protection, it’s fineee! 😒”

Mark groans, rubbing his temples.

“I’m not slut-shaming him, I swear! I just don’t think it’s safe to be unconscious in a stranger’s bed. Like, I don’t know, maybe I’m the crazy one here, but what if the guy’s a serial killer? 🙄”

Mark has been like this since the day they met. Always the responsible one. Always the one making sure Donghyuck didn’t get himself killed. And yet, somehow, Donghyuck is the one who goes out and sleeps peacefully without a care in the world, while Mark is the one on the verge of a stress-induced breakdown.

Donghyuck has never understood why Mark gets so worked up. One-night stands are a normal part of his life, and there isn't any reason for Mark to worry.

To be honest, Mark isn't sure why it bothers him either. It's not like he hasn't hooked up with random people himself. But with Donghyuck, it’s different. Because Donghyuck never lets Mark know where he is. Never tells him if he’s safe. Never sends a simple “Not dead. Be home soon” text. And that’s so fucking reckless. If something ever did happen, Mark wouldn’t even know where to start.

So yeah. This behavior bothers him this much.

Mark sighs dramatically, sinking deeper into the couch cushions, when Donghyuck’s bedroom door creaks open.

And there he is.

Freshly resurrected from the dead, dressed in his usual sleepwear, an ancient, way-too-soft T-shirt and a pair of shorts.

Donghyuck blinks at him, his face void of any emotion, just yawns loudly and scratches his scalp, his eyes puffy from sleep.

"I thought you died," Mark deadpans, looking him up and down.

“I was taking a nap, hyung,” Donghyuck says, voice raspy.

“Nap?” Mark repeats, a little grumpy. “That was a full-on hibernation.”

Donghyuck hums, stretching in a way that makes his soft belly peek out from under his shirt. He grins lazily. “Here you go with your grumpy self.”

“Not grumpy.”

“Not happy either,” Donghyuck counters, padding toward the couch. “Were you nagging about me to Minhee again? Like last time?”

“No,” Mark lies, far too quickly. “She was talking about her boring aunt.”

“You suck at cooking and lying, hyung.”

Mark sighs, shaking his head. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Because I’m cute. And charming.”

“And humble too, Hyuck. So humble.”

Donghyuck hums again, and climbs onto the couch like a cat, shuffling until he drops his head right onto Mark’s lap.

Mark doesn’t even think, his fingers immediately go to Donghyuck’s hair, gently raking through the strands, scratching lightly at his scalp with the ease of someone who’s done this a thousand times before. Donghyuck practically melts, humming again, this time in pleasure, like a contented kitten basking in the sun.

“Headache?” Mark asks softly.

"Gone. But I’m kind of dizzy. It sucks," Donghyuck sighs, rubbing his cheek against Mark’s hoodie like it's the best pillow in existence.

“Can I say what I want to say?”

“No,” Donghyuck’s answer is immediate. “You’re still upset with me, I don’t want to hear it.”

Mark hums. “You’re warm.”

“That’s because I’m hot,” Donghyuck quips, cracking one eye open to smirk.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I, hyung,” Donghyuck says before letting out a dramatic sigh. “I’m hungry,” he mumbles, eyes fluttering shut.

“Sounds like a you problem,” Mark teases.

Donghyuck pouts, all big, tragic, Disney-princess levels of pouting.

Mark snickers, pressing his index finger right into the center of Donghyuck’s jutted-out lip.

Donghyuck whines, voice high and wounded. “Careful. Hurts.”

“Did you hurt yourself?” Mark’s brows knit together. 

“I was bit,” Donghyuck mutters, voice muffled against Mark’s hoodie.

Mark hums, feeling a very specific kind of irritation creeps into his chest. “You really gotta stop letting strangers chew on you, man.”

“It’s not like I allowed it, Mark,” Donghyuck groans, rolling his eyes. 

“Yeah, right,” Mark retorts, dryly.

“I’m hungry,” Donghyuck repeats, trying to change topics.

“I ordered pizza earlier, but now it’s all cold,” Mark says, shrugging.

Donghyuck makes a fake happy sound. “Fuck yeah, I love cold pizza. Couldn’t want anything else. Yay.”

Mark gives him a look. “If you didn’t drink like an absolute idiot, you wouldn’t be hungover to hell and could’ve actually woken up in time to eat it while it was still fresh. Don’t you think so?”

Donghyuck lets out the biggest sigh. Then, he pushes himself off Mark’s lap and slumps into the couch like a victim of injustice.

“Did I ever tell you you’re a drama queen?” he mutters, rubbing his face.

“All the time,” Mark deadpans.

Donghyuck clicks his tongue. “Well, then.”

Then he peels himself off the couch and stumbles toward the kitchen, disappearing around the corner.

Definitely for the pizza. That’s what Mark thinks. But five minutes later, Donghyuck emerges holding a full glass and an entire bottle of white wine.

Mark stares. Horrified. “Are you serious?”

Donghyuck does not dignify that with an answer. He casually sets the bottle on the coffee table, places his glass on the floor, and once again drapes himself across Mark’s lap.

“I thought you were hungry,” Mark says, skeptical.

“Took a bite of the pizza and lost my will to live.”

Mark looks down at him. “You could reheat it.”

“Nope,” Donghyuck lifts his head a centimeter off Mark’s thigh, takes a deep gulp of wine, then promptly collapses back down.

Mark sighs, long-suffering. “What am I gonna do with you, Lee Donghyuck?”

Donghyuck smirks, eyes twinkling as he raises his glass toward Mark. “Drink with me, perhaps?”

“I’d rather not,” Mark leans back. “I don’t know where you put your mouth last night.”

Donghyuck clicks his tongue, offended, rolling onto his side to face him. “Trust me, I didn’t put my mouth anywhere other than his lips. I wasn’t even worthy.”

He suddenly sits up, grabbing the bottle and standing in front of Mark with dangerous intent. Mark barely has time to react before Donghyuck is gripping his chin, tilting his face up. “Open up, baby,” he purrs, fingers pressing into Mark’s cheeks just enough to make his lips part.

Mark gives him a flat look. Then opens his mouth. And the fucker pours the wine in the slowest, most excruciating way possible.

It drags down his throat painfully slow, settling warm in his stomach. A bit of it spills past his lips, and before Mark can wipe it away, Donghyuck’s thumb is already there, collecting the drop, pressing it back against his lips.

“Can’t waste it,” Donghyuck murmurs, voice low, eyes glinting.

Mark holds eye contact. And because he’s a little shit, he makes sure to suck on Donghyuck’s thumb. Just because. Just to fuck with him.

Donghyuck’s pupils blow a little bit wide.

Mark lets go with a pop. “That’s a strong wine,” he says, feigning innocence.

Donghyuck just stares at his mouth, blinking. Then, without another word, he puts the bottle back on the table, flops down onto Mark’s lap again, and pretends that didn’t just happen.

Mark doesn’t point out the way his ears have gone bright pink. He just keeps carding his fingers through his best friend’s ridiculously soft hair, pretending the snoozefest playing on TV is worth his attention.

Fifteen minutes in, neither of them are paying attention to the plot. Mark is answering Minhee’s texts here and there and Donghyuck is still sipping wine nonstop. Half the bottle is gone already.

“You’re going to drown if you keep drinking laid down, Hyuck,” Mark warns.

“I’m fine, thanks, daddy,” Donghyuck retorts back, making sure to lift his head against and gulp his wine again. Mark rolls his eyes. Such a kid. But before he can start nagging, his phone buzzes again.

“Did Hyuck wake up?” Minhee texts.

Mark angles his phone, snaps a photo of Donghyuck sprawled dramatically across his lap, wine glass in hand. “Look at this. When I get mad, you tell me I shouldn’t… But how can you not get mad when he’s like this?”

Minhee replies instantly: "Hihi. Hyuck being Hyuck, nothing new. Don’t get mad at him. He looks cute 😚"

A second later, she attaches a selfie of herself pouting, bathed in the golden light of some fancy restaurant. She looks adorable.

Mark giggles softly, fingers absently trailing down Donghyuck’s jaw, caressing while he types a reply.

"I’m watching a movie with him right now. Will be mad at him later. Also, you look cute too, baby."

Minhee texts back saying: “And you go and pay attention to Hyuck and the movie, baby. We can talk later.”

Donghyuck whines softly.

Mark immediately glances down. His hand is on Donghyuck’s throat, thumb idly running along the skin. Donghyuck is staring at him with a slight pout, lips shiny from wine, and a frown.

"Are you, perhaps, trying to stop me from drinking? Or do you just feel the need to choke me to let out your anger?" Donghyuck asks, voice low and obnoxiously dramatic.

Mark blinks. “I was just caressing you,” then, for good measure, he pinches his throat. “Wasn’t paying attention.”

“Well, clearly,” Donghyuck smacks his hand away immediately, grumbling as he sits up, refills his glass, and flops back down in the exact same spot. He looks mildly offended.

“I was just texting Minhee,” Mark says, hand naturally finding the tiny peek of Donghyuck’s collarbone. He knows Donghyuck hates when Mark gets distracted while they’re doing something together.

Mark quickly texts Minhee: "Will give Hyuck some attention, he’s mad already. Talk to you later." Then, he tosses his phone onto the couch.

Donghyuck huffs. Doesn’t look at him. Still pouting.

“You’re always texting Minhee,” he mutters, eyes fixed on the TV.

Mark rolls his eyes. "Jealous, much?" he teases, pinching Donghyuck's cheeks.

"Fuck off," Donghyuck whines, squirming away. "You know I hate this. You're supposed to be here, not there. "

"I'm here," Mark says, a little too softly, caressing the same spot he just pinched. "Not texting her anymore, see?"

“Because I complained,” Donghyuck glances at him, eyes narrowed. He's still visibly annoyed. "You're not even drinking the wine."

“You know it’s not a fave of mine,” Mark rolls his eyes, taking the glass off his hands and sipping everything in one go. "Happy?"

"No, not that much," Donghyuck grumbles.

Mark can't help but sigh. "Stop being a brat," he says.

Donghyuck just scowls at him.

"A brat for wanting his best friend's attention. How unreasonable of me,” Donghyck rolls his eyes, leaning to pour more wine. 

"A brat for acting like this everytime you drink too much,” Mark rolls his eyes.

"Here we go again,” Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “And acting like what, exactly?"

"Like a fucking child."

Donghyuck scoffs. "If you can act like a father, then I’m sure I can act like a child too."

Mark lets out an exasperated breath, "I was not acting like a father. I was just being concerned, that's all."

Donghyuck stares at him. Mark can feel the annoyance radiating off him in waves. “Yes, so concerned. Didn’t even text me or shit.”

“Are you serious?” Mark scoffs. “Would you have replied? In the middle of that fucking frat party?”

“Yes, I would,” Donghyuck huffs. “You always think I’m irresponsible or something. It’s crazy.”

“And you are. How many times do I have to tell you this, Donghyuck? I told you a hundred times, just send me a fucking text and I will be fine. You don't even have to tell me where you are, just a text is enough."

"But I didn't think about it. Didn’t think it was a big deal."

“See? Irresponsible,” Mark says, exasperated. 

“I mean, I was with our seniors.”

“And this does not mean everything will be fine. Even Minhee was worried.”

“Oh my god,” Donghyuck groans, sitting up straighter on the couch. “Here we go. Minhee, again. It’s always Minhee.”

Mark frowns. “What’s wrong with Minhee?”

“Nothing! You just bring her up in every conversation. Even when you’re lecturing me. Can we, for once, not talk about her?”

“You get worked up over the tiniest things, dude,” Mark scoffs, shaking his head.

“Oh, I got worked up?” Donghyuck snaps, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You’re the one constantly on my ass over the most trivial shit.”

“I wouldn’t call ‘not letting people know if you’re alive’ a trivial thing, actually,” Mark retorts.

Donghyuck exhales harshly through his nose, swinging his legs off the couch. “You know what, Mark? Let’s not do this right now,” he stands up, shaking his head. “This is so fucking stupid.”

But before he can storm off, Mark’s hand wraps around his wrist, firm but careful.

“Don’t,” Mark says, softer this time. He tugs Donghyuck back, not hard, just enough to stop him from leaving.

Donghyuck sighs, long and drawn out, but he doesn’t pull away.

Mark takes that as permission, he sighs and pulls Donghyuck against his side, their shoulders and legs pressing together. Donghyuck huffs like he wants to resist, but his body betrays him, his muscles ease, his weight sinking into Mark’s warmth.

"I'm sorry," Mark murmurs. "I didn’t mean to make you upset, okay?"

"It’s fine," Donghyuck grumbles, eyes pointedly avoiding Mark’s. "Just forget it."

“No, don’t say that.” Mark reaches up and cups Donghyuck’s cheeks, thumbs pressing into the soft warmth of his skin until he has no choice but to face him. “I’m sorry. I’m the one to blame.”

Donghyuck’s gaze softens, but his brows stay slightly furrowed, like he’s debating whether he wants to stay mad or not. “I get what you’re saying, but slow down a bit, okay? It’s not like I go around actively searching for trouble.”

Mark raises an eyebrow.

Donghyuck sighs. "Not on purpose, at least. Sometimes I just do things mindlessly, and yeah, I’m sorry for worrying you. But please, don’t be so harsh. You know that shit annoys me.”

Mark stares at him for a moment, guilt twisting in his chest. Because yeah, he knows. 

He knows Donghyuck isn’t a reckless idiot on purpose. He knows Donghyuck is impulsive, not malicious. He knows Donghyuck hates being treated like he’s fragile, like he needs babysitting.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” Mark says, finally letting go of Donghyuck’s face, his hand sliding down to rest on the bare skin of Donghyuck’s thigh, warm under his palm. “I’ll slow down. Promise.”

Donghyuck exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing, just a little. “Okay.”

Mark watches him carefully, head tilting, eyes scanning for any lingering frustration. “Are we okay?” he asks, voice softer now, treading carefully.

Donghyuck sighs again, deeper this time. “Yeah, we’re okay.”

He still doesn’t sound completely convinced, but at least he doesn’t look like he wants to beat Mark over the head with the wine bottle anymore, so. Progress.

And really, what else can Mark say? It’s not the first time they’ve had this argument, and it sure as hell won’t be the last. It’s just their thing. They fight over stupid shit, blow it way out of proportion, and then resolve it just as fast.

Because Mark worries about Donghyuck. And Donghyuck hates when people worry about him. It’s always been like that.

Maybe that’s why their friendship works so well. Because Mark cares, and Donghyuck pretends he doesn’t want him to. Because Mark frets, and Donghyuck reassures. Because at the end of the day, no matter how much they bicker, they always come back to this.

And just like that, there’s nothing left to argue about. Not really.

Mark squeezes the flesh of Donghyuck’s thigh, adjusting it comfortably over his own. Donghyuck doesn’t protest. He just settles in against Mark’s side, wine glass dangling lazily from his fingers.

The shitty, snooze-fest of a movie is still playing, but Mark knows neither of them are actually paying that much attention. They lost half the plot explanation when they started bickering.

“I feel like this is a totally different movie from what it was in the beginning,” Mark says.

“I feel like this movie sucks, that’s why,” Donghyuck scoffs, shifting slightly so he can take another lazy sip of wine. “You always choose these weird-ass movies.”

“Hey!” Mark protests, affronted but not really, because it’s true. He has a terrible habit of picking obscure indie films that either turn out to be masterpieces or complete dumpster fires. No in-between.

Donghyuck shakes his head, dramatically disappointed. “You’ve got, like, negative taste, hyung.”

Mark huffs, pretending to be wounded, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he slouches deeper into the couch. “Drink your damn wine.”

Donghyuck lifts his glass and takes a deep, unbothered gulp. The wine disappears in seconds, his throat bobbing with each swallow before he sets the empty glass carelessly on the floor, the soft clink barely audible over the low hum of the television. 

A faint stain of red lingers on his lips, a darker hue against his already flushed skin. Mark watches, just for a second longer than necessary, his gaze catching on the curve of Donghyuck’s mouth, the way his tongue darts out absentmindedly to swipe away the last trace of wine.

It’s nothing.

It’s normal.

Sometimes, Mark is a little bit overwhelmed by the fact that he notices too many things about Donghyuck. But again, it’s normal, right? They’ve been best friends for ages. Of course, he notices everything.

The gentle rise and fall of Donghyuck's breathing. The heat radiating off his body. The scent of his soap and the faintest trace of cologne, which Mark knows for a fact is his own. Because Donghyuck stole it. Even his hair smells like tangerine.

Mark’s fingers glide lazily along the length of Donghyuck’s leg, up and down, slow, unhurried. The skin is smooth, warm, like silk beneath his touch. Minhee’s thighs are nice too, sure, but they don’t have that golden, honey-dipped glow that Donghyuck’s do. They don’t feel like liquid honey poured over soft curves. They don’t sink so effortlessly beneath.

His fingers linger just a second too long near the hem of Donghyuck’s shorts, barely brushing against the exposed skin there. But no one says anything. He knows it’s fine. Donghyuck doesn’t mind. He doesn’t flinch away, doesn’t tense up, doesn’t even acknowledge it.

Instead, he just melts into Mark’s side, sighing contently, pressing even closer. Like he always does. His own hand finds Mark’s, resting on his thigh, and absently begins tracing shapes over his skin. Mindless patterns. Following the faint map of his veins.

They’re used to this. Used to skinship, to closeness, to cuddles and to casual touches that don’t have to mean anything. Between these walls, between them, it’s second nature.

And yet, sometimes, it feels different. Like today.

Sometimes, the air feels heavier, like the room is filled with some sort of unspoken tension. Like the air is charged.

And sometimes, like right now, Donghyuck smells a little bit sweeter. Looks a little bit softer. Feels a little bit warmer. 

Maybe it's the wine. Maybe it's the way his skin glows, a little golden under the soft lights. Maybe it's the fact that he's still wearing his sleepwear, his shorts so tiny, the fabric slipping further and further up his thighs the more Mark keeps his hand moving.

Or maybe it's just the way Donghyuck looks a little hazy, a hint of pink dusting his cheeks. His eyes are hooded, heavy-lidded, and his eyelashes look so long and dark, the color of his eyes deep and sparkling, like deep pools of honey.

Sometimes, Donghyuck is so pretty it hurts. And Mark doesn't know why, but in moments like these, the urge to touch him is so intense it's almost scary.

But then again, Donghyuck has always been a little bit scary for him. 

So he keeps touching. Because it's comfortable. Because it's what they do.

He can feel the goosebumps rising on Donghyuck's skin when his fingers trail up his inner thigh. He can feel the way his breath catches in his throat, the way his chest stutters.

Mark can feel all these things. But he can't understand them.

He doesn’t know why he’s doing this. Why he’s testing boundaries, toeing some invisible line. But he's always had a thing for making Donghyuck react. And maybe it's a little bit stupid, and maybe it's a bit unfair, and maybe Mark is being a little mean, but whatever. 

He keeps touching. 

And Donghyuck isn’t stopping him. 

So Mark doesn’t stop.

It's silent, the only sounds in the room are the characters on TV arguing about something stupid. The whole scene is absurd, and if someone asked Mark what the hell is happening, he wouldn't know how to answer. Both in the movie and in reality.

All he knows is that he wants to make Donghyuck shiver again.

And so, his hand creeps higher and higher, until his fingertips are brushing the soft, plump flesh of his inner thigh just below his ass. His skin is so warm, so smooth, so damn soft. Pliant. Mark can feel the way his leg twitches the tiniest bit at the contact, the way his muscles clench, like he’s fighting not to react.

Mark feels something stirring low in his belly. He risks another glance at Donghyuck, taking in the way his jaw is set, how his bottom lip is trapped between his teeth. His eyes—fixed stubbornly on the TV—are glazed over, unfocused, distant.

"Ticklish?" he asks, his voice barely audible.

"Yeah," Donghyuck whispers. And his voice is softer than usual. Lighter. Almost fragile.

His eyes are fixed on the TV, but Mark knows he's not paying attention. Because he's breathing a bit faster, a little uneven, chest rising and falling quicker than usual. And his eyes are glazed over, the flush spreading down his neck and blooming on his cheeks.

Mark doesn't know why, but the sight makes him feel hot. The urge to touch grows even stronger. Donghyuck shifts, squirms, breath hitching in his throat, but his hand is still tracing patterns on Mark's palm, his leg is still draped over his lap.

So Mark keeps going.

His fingertips keep brushing the inside of Donghyuck's thighs, soft and slow and feather-light. He can feel a hot swollen spot under his wrist, a bit hard and slightly damp. He knows what it is. And he knows that Donghyuck is hard.

There's something incredibly dangerous about that. Something so dangerous it makes him want to stop, to pull away. But he doesn’t feel like it. So instead, his hand travels upward. Higher. Until the palm of his hand rests on top of the swell of his dick.

Donghyuck whimpers. A tiny, muffled sound, barely audible. His nails digging into the palm of Mark’s hand. His dick is pressed right up against Mark’s palm. And Mark just stays still, fingers splayed on the front of his shorts, and waits.

Donghyuck doesn't say anything. He just breathes, quiet and heavy, his eyes shut, his cheeks flushed and his lips parted. He doesn't say stop.

And Mark wants to hear him whimper again. 

He presses his hand on it and the effect is instant. Donghyuck lets out another tiny moan, his hips shifting, back arching off the couch, trying to find friction.

Mark's stomach twists, heat spreading across his skin, making his head spin. He shouldn’t be doing this. He has a girlfriend. And the person pressed up against him, soft and warm, is his best friend.

But the will to stop is not there. The thought barely holds weight, slipping away as easily as it comes.

Especially when Donghyuck's legs are sliding further apart, giving Mark more access. Especially when Donghyuck’s hips are slowly rolling into his hand, trying to get some sort of friction.

He presses harder. Donghyuck's hips buck, pushing his clothed dick into the warmth of his palm. Mark lets out a shuddering breath, his heart racing.

"Hyung," Donghyuck mewls, a tiny, pleading sound that barely escapes his lips.

It's so quiet, but it's enough to make Mark's exhale sharply, his own dick throbbing in his pants. And his hand moves, fingers curling around the shape, pressing a bit harder, a bit firmer, feeling the weight, the heat, the way it pulses.

Donghyuck's hand moves. It slides from his palm to his wrist, grip tight, like he's holding onto something. His eyes flutter open, a dark, hazy look in his eyes, and he looks at Mark, looks right into his eyes, and Mark feels like he's drowning. He’s seen it before, just never directed at him.

He can't really think. All he can feel is the warmth of Donghyuck's hand, the warmth of his dick, the way his body trembles, the way his lips tremble. And Mark is suddenly unsure if stopping is even an option anymore. Honestly, it’s the last thing on his mind.

Mark's thumb strokes the underside of his shaft, and Donghyuck throws his head back, a broken moan falling from his lips.

And he starts moving. His hips start rocking into Mark's palm, grinding his dick into his hand, and fuck, it's so hot. Mark's mouth waters, his tongue darting out, wetting his dry lips.

Donghyuck lets out a shaky moan, and all Mark can do is watch, transfixed, as his best friend rubs himself against his palm.

He feels his own dick throb again, his own arousal stirring deep in his belly, and he can't help but wonder. What would it be like to feel him, bare, wet and hot, leaking into his hand?

It's a thought that should be horrifying. But Mark can't help himself.

He presses his hand down harder, applying more pressure, and the reaction is immediate. Donghyuck's hips snap, and he's thrusting his hips faster, grinding himself against his palm.

And Mark doesn't know if it's the way he's fucking his hand or the way his voice is so fucking sinful or the way his face is so pretty, flushed and sweaty and blissed out. He feels the dampness through the thin material, the way his hips move, the way his breath comes out in little pants.

"Fuck," Donghyuck moans, a desperate sound. And his hips move faster, his fingers digging into his wrist, holding him there.

He looks so hot, his lips red and shiny and swollen from the way he's biting down on them, trying to hold back. He's panting, his hair sticking to his forehead, and his hips are moving faster, fucking his hand harder, chasing his release.

Mark’s phone buzzes against the couch, a sharp, vibrating reminder of the harsh reality. It barely registers, just a faint noise against the rush of blood in his ears. But it’s enough to crack something in his daze, to remind him that this should not be happening.

The guilt should come next, cold and sobering. It should be enough to make him pull away, to create space, to put an end to this before it spirals further. But it doesn’t.

Because the only thing clawing at his mind right now isn’t regret, it’s hunger. A twisted, selfish need to see more, to hear more, to feel more of Donghyuck’s desperation. It’s a sadistic thought. A dirty one. A thought he has no business indulging.

But Donghyuck looks so pretty like this. Rubbing his face on Mark's shoulders, trying to muffle his whines, his hips working faster. His eyes are screwed shut, and his face is so red, and his lips are parted, letting out these sweet, needy noises.

Mark is mesmerized. Because Donghyuck is losing it, and Mark has never seen him like this before. He's always so put together, always so controlled. People only see what he wants them to see. But right now, he's a mess.

So Mark’s fingers press harder, and his thumb finds the tip, stroking him through his shorts, and Donghyuck lets out a desperate moan. He's a fucking sight. His lips parted, his cheeks flushed.

Mark knows why. He can feel it, the way his dick is pulsing, the way his body is shaking.

"Don't stop," Donghyuck pleads, his voice breaking, his hips moving faster, grinding harder.

His hand is squeezing Mark’s wrist so hard, and he's holding him there, like he's afraid Mark will pull away. But Mark doesn't. Instead, his hand moves with him, the pace growing more erratic.

And when Donghyuck comes, he’s not that loud. His back arches, his hips stuttering, and he lets out a broken moan, his head thrown back.

His dick twitches, and Mark can feel the wetness seeping through his shorts, the heat and the stickiness spreading against his palm. He can feel his best friend's dick twitching, and it's so fucking dirty.

He knows he shouldn't be turned on, but he is.

He's so fucking hard, his own dick aching, the arousal in his belly burning white-hot, and he can't help but groan.

Donghyuck is breathing hard, his face flushed, his eyes half-closed. He looks beautiful.

"Oh my god," Donghyuck sighs, his voice raw, his face flushed.

Mark lets go of his dick, his fingers leaving his skin. He stares at his hand, feeling like a total pervert.

Can't believe he made Donghyuck come in his shorts.

Can't believe he wanted him to.

The only thing that disrupts the silence is Donghyuck's ragged breathing, the sound of his labored breaths, the soft little moans he's making.

It's only after Donghyuck's body stills that the guilt actually hits him.

He did this. He did this to his best friend. He did this while being in a relationship.

And then the panic sets in.

What the fuck did he just do?

〰️

Donghyuck knew his life was a fucking joke the moment he fell in love with his best friend at fifteen years old. The humiliation of living with him, watching him fuck around, and pretending to be unbothered? That was the sequel to the joke. 

But having said best friend—who is still pretty much in a relationship—touching him like that on the couch? Out of fucking nowhere? At this point, calling his life a joke was a goddamn understatement. 

It’s not like Donghyuck doesn’t know that Mark is bi. He’s known since they were sixteen, since the night they sat side by side in the dim glow of his bedroom, voices hushed but hearts pounding. 

He remembers how he came out first, the way his fingers twisted in his sheets, the way his chest felt too tight as he forced the words out. And then Mark, blinking at him, rubbing the back of his neck, confessing in that same nervous, breathy voice that he was bi.

It was just another thing they knew about each other, tucked away with all the other things that made up who they were.

But even though Mark is bi, he was never a cheater.

That’s the last thing Donghyuck expected from him. Not Mark, with his stupid moral compass and his guilt-ridden conscience.

The Mark who once apologized to a stray cat for accidentally stepping too close to its tail. The Mark who, at eighteen, nearly cried because he thought he disappointed God by smoking weed at a house party. 

Mark, who’s always been stupidly loyal, annoyingly good, the kind of person who could carry guilt like it was stitched into his skin.

And yet, here they are.

When Donghyuck opened his eyes this morning, he thought, maybe. Maybe it was just a dream. One of the many delusional, sad, pathetic dreams he’d had over the years. But no. Reality sucker-punched him in the face. 

Because he could still feel it. 

Mark’s hand on him. Mark’s touch burned into his skin. The weight of it. The warmth of it. The way Mark’s fingers had lingered. Had traced. Had crept higher and higher and higher— 

Donghyuck slaps a pillow over his face. 

Fucking hell. 

Because he can still feel everything. 

Including the deep, unbearable, soul-crushing shame curling in his stomach. Because after all that—after touching him like that, after making his brain short-circuit and his heart trip over itself—Mark had bolted. 

Gotten up so fast you’d think he was on fire. Didn’t say a single word. Didn’t even look at him. Just ran to his room like a guilty motherfucker. 

And Donghyuck had sat there. Alone. Stunned. Still burning. Still aching. Still wondering if he should just go ahead and throw himself off their balcony.

Donghyuck groans into the pillow again, kicking his legs in frustration when he thinks about it.

What the fuck was last night?

What the fuck was Mark doing?

And why the fuck did Donghyuck let him?

He peeks out from under the pillow, staring at the ceiling like it holds all the answers to his suffering. But nope. Nothing. Just the same ugly ass ceiling he's been staring at for the last two years.

Maybe if he stares hard enough, it'll cave in and end his misery.

Unfortunately, the universe isn't that merciful.

With a deep sigh, he forces himself to sit up. His body feels weird. Like it’s too aware of itself. Of every touch, every shiver, every goddamn inch of his skin that still remembers Mark’s hands.

Donghyuck grimaces. His stomach growls angrily, a dramatic plea for sustenance. He doesn’t want to get out of his room, but if he doesn't eat something right now, he’s going to perish. 

With the biggest sigh in history, he forces himself out of bed. He’s already awake, might as well suffer properly. And unfortunately, suffering means facing Mark.

It’s not like he can avoid him. They live together. Mark exists in the same space. Which is annoying.

So whatever. Might as well get it over with.

The walk to the kitchen is the longest, most painful journey he’s ever embarked on. Worse than a marathon. Worse than those pointless philosophical debates in class. Worse than the time he accidentally liked his highschool crush's old Instagram post from 2016.

He knows Mark is there before he even enters.

Because the entire apartment smells like disappointment. Or, more specifically, burnt pancakes.

Donghyuck peeks into the kitchen. And there Mark is, completely intact, completely Mark, like last night never even happened.

Phone propped up against the coffee pot, flipping what should have been pancakes but now look like charcoal coasters. And he’s smiling at his phone.

Donghyuck’s eye twitches.

Like clockwork, Mark’s weird sixth sense activates, and he turns just as Donghyuck steps into the kitchen.

Their eyes meet.

Mark looks at him exactly like he always does. Except there’s a flicker of something. Something hesitant.

“Morning, Hyuck,” Mark says, giving him a small, cautious smile.

The fucking audacity.

Before Donghyuck can respond, a familiar voice chimes in from the phone speaker.

“Hyuck is there?” Minhee’s voice rings out, cheerful, oblivious.

Donghyuck’s stomach drops.

“Yeah, baby,” Mark replies, looking down at the phone with a smile.

Mark picks up his phone and there she is. Lying in bed, looking soft and sleepy, like she’s been talking to Mark all morning.

Like everything is perfectly fine.

Donghyuck feels like puking.

“Morning, Hyuck!” Minhee waves at him.

Donghyuck forces a tired smile. “Morning, Minnie.”

His voice is calm. Collected. Even though his insides feel like they’ve been put through a shredder.

Mark, still not meeting his eyes, puts the phone back against the coffee pot and keeps talking to Minhee.

Like nothing happened.

Like last night never existed.

Donghyuck scoffs bitterly, the sound coming out hollow and self-deprecating.

Of course. Of fucking course.

What else did he expect, really?

A heartfelt apology? A guilty confession? Mark looking like he lost sleep over this, too?

Yeah, right. He should know better by now. He knows his best friend. This is going to be a pain in both of their asses.

And yet, seeing Mark so comfortable, so at ease, so fucking happy—while he barely got two hours of sleep because his brain wouldn’t shut the hell up—it makes him want to commit a felony.

Multiple felonies, actually.

Because what the fuck?

How is Mark so fine while Donghyuck feels like a pathetic, emotionally unstable, possibly unhinged wreck?

He wants to rewind time, shove last night into a black hole, and pretend it never happened.

But no. He has to stand here and suffer instead.

So, with the enthusiasm of a man walking to his execution, Donghyuck forces himself to move. Shuffles past Mark. Grabs a mug.

He can feel Mark’s gaze on him, heavy and awkward as hell, but he refuses to look up.

The silence between them is loud.

Minhee is still chatting away on the phone, but Donghyuck isn’t really listening. Mark hums, nods along, pretending to be engaged in the conversation. 

And Donghyuck just wants to hurry up and get out of here, trying to keep his expression neutral. But he can feel his whole body buzzing with tension, like a time bomb ready to explode.

“Do you want to eat?”

Donghyuck glances up, and there’s Mark, looking right at him with that infuriating ‘I’m-trying-to-diffuse-the-tension-by-being-a-dumbass’ expression.

"I burned the pancakes, though," Mark adds, face twisting in shame.

Donghyuck deadpans. “Yeah. I could tell. Nothing new.”

“We have cereal.”

"Yeah, I'm aware, Mark," Donghyuck mutters, already walking past him, straight to the living room, where hopefully, he can sulk in peace.

Donghyuck turns the volume of the TV on and settles to watch anything that will drown out their voices. The minutes drag on. Donghyuck feels like an eternity passes. He sits there, sipping his coffee, staring at the screen, not even paying attention to the words coming out of the actors' mouths.

He's vaguely aware of the fact that Minhee is still talking, and Mark is there laughing at anything. And the sound of their voices makes his blood boil. So he does the only thing his fragile, post-humiliation brain can think of. He lays down and he doesn’t care.

Fine. Fine. If Mark wants to act like nothing happened, Donghyuck can do that too.

But about thirty minutes later, footsteps. 

Mark stands there, by the couch’s side, and Donghyuck feels the weight of his stare.

“The fuck do you want?” Donghyuck grumbles, not really taking his eyes off the TV.

Mark just stares at him, holding a plate like he isn’t the most confusing person on the planet. “Are you sure you don’t want some?”

Donghyuck narrows his eyes. “You’re a fucking douchebag, you know that?” 

Mark blinks. “Because I offered you pancakes?”

“Because you offered me burnt pancakes like you didn’t do shit to me last night, and then ran off to hide like a rat.”

Mark clears his throat aggressively, the tip of his ears a little bit red. He opens his mouth. Then closes it. Then looks away.

That’s what Donghyuck thought. “So? What’s your excuse?”

Mark shifts uncomfortably. 

“I—” he starts. Stops. Scratches the back of his head.

Donghyuck raises an eyebrow, waiting.

Mark sighs. “Look, I don’t know, okay?”

Bullshit.

Donghyuck sits up on the couch, mug of coffee long forgotten on the floor, elbows on his knees. “You don’t know?” He repeats, tone mocking. “So what, your hand just slipped there?”

Mark groans, rubbing his face. “Hyuck—”

“Or maybe,” Donghyuck continues, voice syrupy sweet, “your hand has a mind of its own. Maybe it mysteriously wandered all the way up my thigh because of, oh, I don’t know, the wind.”

Mark groans louder. “Can you not—”

“Oh, no, I can. And I will.”

“God, you’re so insufferable.”

“And you’re a coward.”

Mark flinches.

Bingo.

Donghyuck watches as Mark’s jaw clenches. As his grip tightens around his plate. As he refuses to meet Donghyuck’s eyes. He hates being called that.

And just like that, the amusement of provoking fades. Because, underneath all the teasing, underneath the sarcasm and the jokes, it hurts.

Donghyuck swallows. Forces a laugh. And pretends that didn’t sting.

Mark sighs, setting the plate on the coffee table.

"Sorry, Hyuck. Really. But—" he starts. Stops. Takes a deep breath. "It's not like that, okay? It's not—I don't even know what I was doing. I don’t even know what to say. It was an accident."

Donghyuck feels the sting grow worse.

"Accident? Right. So your hand just accidentally landed on my dick and then started caressing it?"

"Well, no. I just—"

"Just what? Didn't mean it? Thought I wouldn't mind?"

Mark sighs again. "Stop interrupting me. Don't be like this, please."

Donghyuck laughs, cold and humorless. "Don't be like what? Like a person who's upset? Sorry, I can't help it. Guess I'm human, after all."

"Hyuck—"

"No. Stop. Don't say my name like that. I can't believe you have the audacity to act like a fucking victim right now."

"What do you want me to say?" Mark retorts, his voice louder. 

"An explanation would be a good start,” Donghyuck retorts in the same tone. “But no. Nothing. You've got nothing. Just excuses."

"Donghyuck, I don't know, okay? I don’t know,” Mark waves his hands. “I can’t explain something I don’t know!"

"Then make something up!" Donghyuck explodes. "An accident is when you burn pancakes. Or bumps into someone. Touching me until you make me cum is not a fucking accident, Mark."

"I’m just as confused as you are. Trust me,” Mark retorts, voice a little bit desperate. “It was a mistake, okay? A big one. I fucked up bad. But I didn't mean to do that."

"Yeah, but you did."

“And I regret it deeply.”

Silence.

So thick, they could cut it with a knife.

It hangs there, suspended between them, heavy and suffocating.

Donghyuck feels a bittersweet taste on his tongue.

Mark is looking at him. Like he always does. Soft, warm and apologetic. All stupid.

And Donghyuck wants to punch him. Wants to punch himself. Wants to fucking evaporate.

"Look," Mark starts again, voice low, like he's afraid to break the silence. "I'm sorry. But I can’t give you a proper answer to your questions. Can't we just forget this and move on?"

And the thing is, Donghyuck doesn't want to fight. He doesn't want to yell or argue or be bitter. He doesn't want any of this. He just wants to go back and forget. But he just can't do that. For the sake of his spirit.

"You want me to move on?" Donghyuck whispers, and his voice comes out softer than he meant it to. Like it’s some kind of wound.

Mark sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Yes. We can't change what happened, and I can't undo what I did, but—"

"You think we can just go back to how things were?" Donghyuck cuts him off, his voice sharper, louder, angrier as he pushes himself up from the couch, hands clenched into fists. "After all that shit? Oh my fucking god. I should just stab you.”

Mark winces, but he doesn’t back down. 

“I’m trying to apologize here.”

“Apologizing is not enough,” Donghyuck lets out a sharp, bitter laugh, his hands flying up in exasperation. "And, on top of that, an apology with no real intent behind it means shit."

"But it has intent! I am sorry!" Mark insists, voice rising, hands gripping his hair in frustration.

"No, you’re not,” Donghyuck narrows his eyes, tilting his head, disbelief curling in his throat like smoke. “You're just trying to acting like it’s no big deal."

Mark shakes his head, jaw clenched, his foot tapping restlessly against the floor. "No. That's not what I’m trying to do. I just—" He exhales sharply, shaking his arms out like he’s trying to rid himself of some invisible weight. "I don’t know how to put it into words. I’m not gonna blame the wine, because I’m not that weak to alcohol and you know that."

He pauses, rubbing his face with both hands before dropping them to his sides. His shoulders slump, his brows furrowed, and for a second, he just looks conflicted when he says, "It was just an impulsive act, I guess."

Donghyuck stares at him, as if he's searching for something that makes this explanation acceptable. But all he finds is the same Mark standing in front of him. The same Mark who did all those things last night. The same Mark who is now trying to reduce it to impulse. It makes no sense.

He scoffs, sharp and bitter. His fingers curl into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms, grounding himself in anger because it's easier than anything else.

"Always knew you acted like some kind of bitch about certain things, Mark. But I didn't think you'd be like this. Not with me."

The words are cruel. He knows that. 

He doesn’t really mean it. Not completely. But he’s pissed, and he’s hurt, and if he doesn’t let it out, it’ll swallow him whole. So he throws the words like knives, aiming for the softest parts of Mark, the places he knows will sting the most. If he has to bleed, so does Mark.

Mark's head snaps up, his entire body going rigid. His eyes darken, flickering with something sharp and wounded, and for a second, he just stares, like he can't quite believe what he just heard. Like Donghyuck physically reached out and struck him across the face.

A beat of silence stretches between them.

"What the fuck did you just say?" Mark's voice is quiet, dangerously so.

"I said you're a fucking bitch, Mark Lee." 

And Donghyuck’s voice is cold. Icy. Sharpened to cut.

Mark scoffs, a humorless laugh bubbling out of him. "And you're a fucking asshole. What the hell?"

"At least I'm not the one running from my fucking problems,” Donghyuck tilts his head, unimpressed.

"I'm not running, Donghyuck. Can’t you see this? I'm literally trying to fix it."

"Fixing is different from avoiding. But whatever. Fuck off,” Donghyuck shrugs. “Go back to your stupid, lame, vanilla-ass relationship. Ask Minhee for ass pics to satisfy your-fucking-self next time."

That one lands.

Donghyuck sees the exact second it hits, the moment Mark’s expression darkens. His jaw twitches. His fingers flex. And then, he moves.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Mark mutters through gritted teeth, grabbing Donghyuck’s wrist. He steps closer, so close Donghyuck can feel his breath.

Their chests rise and fall in harsh, erratic sync. The tension is so thick it could strangle them both. 

They haven’t fought like this in years, not since they were barely eighteen and Donghyuck had thrown a fit over Mark skipping their game night to go to his cousin’s birthday party. Back then, it had been childish, fueled by petty jealousy and bruised pride, something that resolved itself with a few stubborn apologies and a bag of chips shoved into his hands.

But now? The tension is like a rope, tied too tight, cutting through skin.

Neither of them moves. Neither of them backs down. 

They stand there in silence, their gazes locked, both unwilling to be the first to break. Mark’s grip on Donghyuck’s wrist is firm, almost possessive, fingers pressing just enough to remind him that he’s there, that he won’t let go. But there’s no comfort in it. No reassurance. Only a challenge.

And Donghyuck doesn't know who moves first. Maybe he did. Maybe Mark did. Maybe they’ve both been on the edge for too long, waiting for something to push them over. But the next second, Donghyuck is being slammed against the wall.

There's a crash, the sharp, piercing sound of glass shattering against the floor. Neither of them flinches. Neither of them even looks. Because in the very next second, they’re kissing.

It’s not careful, not hesitant. It’s rough, hungry, demanding. A collision of lips, a force of nature, like a storm ripping through everything in its path. Messy, desperate, almost violent.

Donghyuck doesn’t think. He just grabs.

He pulls. He yanks. He claws. His fingers tangle in Mark’s hair, nails digging, dragging, marking. Punishing.

Mark groans, but it only makes him hold on tighter.

His hands are everywhere, pushing, shoving, gripping, pinning. Donghyuck feels the sharp bite of fingertips pressing into his hips, his waist, like Mark is trying to imprint himself into his skin.

They kiss, and they bite. They pull, they bruise.

It’s a fight, not an embrace. A clash of teeth, tongues, and tangled limbs.

It’s not soft. It’s not sweet.

It’s a war.

And Donghyuck melts into it, dissolving like sugar in heat.

His back stings from the impact, but it barely registers, drowned out by the overwhelming sensation of Mark’s hands, Mark’s mouth, Mark’s everything.

He dreamed about this too many times.

And sure, in his fantasies, it was a little bit softer, sweeter. But the way this feels raw, feverish, all-consuming, it still knocks the air right out of his lungs.

So he kisses back, hard, fast, messy. His hands fist into Mark’s shirt, yanking him closer, desperate to erase any space between them.

Mark growls, his hands sliding down his back, and Donghyuck shivers as he feels the warmth of his fingers, the heat of his touch.

Then Mark bites his lip. Sharp. Possessive. And Donghyuck hisses, grabbing the back of Mark's head. Hungrier. Needier. 

His whole body is burning, his skin on fire, his chest aching, his lungs screaming.

He whimpers into the kiss. Soft. Breathy. And Mark groans. Like he's losing his mind.

Donghyuck's hand slides up the back of Mark's shirt, fingertips trailing along the length of his spine, tracing the ridges, the muscles. He's always been a bit obsessed with the way his back moves, the way it flexes, the way his shoulder blades shift under his skin.

Mark's hand finds the curve of his waist, sliding lower, cupping the swell of his ass, his palm resting on the base of his spine, right above his tailbone. And his other hand, the one still buried in Donghyuck's hair, gives it a sharp, commanding tug. Donghyuck moans, the sound swallowed by the press of their lips, the slide of their tongues.

"Is this an accident too?" Donghyuck murmurs against Mark’s lips, because it’s in his veins to push, to prod, to instigate. “Tell me.”

Mark’s breath is ragged, uneven. His pupils blow wide as he stares at Donghyuck through half-lidded eyes. But he doesn’t answer. He bites down on Donghyuck’s bottom lip. A warning.

His fingers slip from Donghyuck’s ass, trailing up until they wrap around his throat.

Donghyuck sucks in a breath when Mark’s fingers press his skin, but it comes out as a very embarrassing sound. Another hand tightens in his hair, yanking just enough to make him arch a little bit. "Just shut up," Mark breathes, his voice low, rough.

And Donghyuck is a little bit stunned. Mark is never like this. But fuck, if he isn’t loving every second of it.

Mark leans in and his lips trail down his neck, sucking on the skin, the wetness cool against his feverish skin. Donghyuck tilts his head, allowing Mark better access. He closes his eyes and his lips part, his hands coming up to Mark's back, holding onto him like his life depends on it.

He feels himself being yanked off the wall, the firm grip pulling at his neck, until the back of his knees crashes into the couch's armrest, sending him tumbling into the soft cushions. He lands heavily, and almost immediately, a weight presses him deeper into the couch.

Mark's hips push against his, and the feeling is so good. Donghyuck lets his head fall back, his mouth opening in a silent gasp. Then Mark is pushing his knee between his thighs. The fabric of their shorts is whisper-thin, a mere barrier that does little to mask the friction or the heat. He can feel the way Mark is hard, the way he's straining against the confines of his shorts. 

His own erection strains against the material, aching, begging.

And his body burns, the fire inside him roaring, blazing, consuming.

Mark's lips trail down his neck, the pressure soft, teasing, before they're replaced by the sharp sting of teeth, biting down hard. Donghyuck gasps, his fingers digging into Mark's shoulders, and his hips rock, desperate for some kind of friction.

Mark lets out a throaty groan, the sound barely audible as it's muffled against Donghyuck's skin. His hands are in constant motion, exploring every contour they can reach, caressing and discovering with an eagerness that matches the fervor of the moment.

They settle on his thighs, palms flat, and his fingers dig into his skin, holding him in place, and Donghyuck shudders at the feeling.

Mark's touch is familiar, but it's also new, different. It's rougher, hungrier. More intense, like he’s relearning the shape of him but with an urgency that wasn’t there before.

He grinds against him, the weight of his hips pinning him against the couch. And Donghyuck groans, his fingers clawing at Mark's back, dragging blunt nails down the ridges of muscle.

Mark responds with a sharp hiss, his fingers tightening like a vice. His knee shifts, the movement sending sparks of pleasure shooting through his entire body, and his hips rock, grinding his thigh into his dick.

Somewhere between Mark's mouth leaving a constellation of bruises across his neck and the stretch of his shorts being pushed down, Donghyuck finds himself turned over, his chest against the cushions, his face buried into the fabric. It's disorienting, the quickness of the shift; he can barely catch his breath, barely even think. 

He feels the drag of Mark’s fingers on his skin, feels hands grip his hips, feels heat sear over him, through him. A shiver wracks his spine when hot breath ghosts over the small of his back, and all at once, a mouth dips lower. He thinks Mark is going to go slower, but then Mark is pressed against the base of his spine, tongue out, licking, sucking. Mouth working across his skin with heated determination. 

Donghyuck can't help the sound that tears its way out of him, a half-moan, half-sob that feels like it’s been torn from the depths of his ribs. His hands fist into the couch, holding on for all he’s worth.

Mark's hands find his ass, pulling the cheeks apart, and his mouth moves lower, his tongue dragging along his rim. Donghyuck cries out, his fingers gripping the couch cushions, his hips rocking against Mark's mouth.

"Oh, fuck," he moans, his eyes fluttering shut, his head spinning.

Mark hums, his tongue circling his rim, before he presses the tip inside. And Donghyuck shudders, his fingers twisting on the couch.

A distant voice in his head whispers that this isn’t real, just a figment of his fevered imagination. But that voice dissolves into nothing the moment Mark’s fingers dig into his ass, spreading him even more open, his tongue swirling around the puckered skin. And Donghyuck's eyes roll back, for more than one reason.

Because Mark is eating him out.

The guy he's been in love with for so many years is currently kneeling behind him, face buried between his cheeks, tongue buried deep in his ass.

And it's fucking dirty.

So filthy, obscene, and depraved. But fuck, does it feel good.

Donghyuck whimpers, his hips rocking, grinding himself against Mark's mouth.

Mark groans, the sound vibrating against heated skin as his tongue delves deeper, and his hands squeeze, his thumbs brushing the puckered skin.

When the heat leaves him, Donghyuck whines, the sound lewd and low. His hips jerk, desperate, yearning for the contact, the touch, but the loss only lasts for a moment. It's brief, so brief, and in the very next instant, it's replaced by the feeling of a finger. A single, steady finger. He feels it pushing past his rim.

His ass pushes back against Mark's hand, and he looks back, catching a glimpse of the way Mark's lips are parted, his expression wild, eyes dark and hazy. His shorts are shoved lower, and Donghyuck lowers his eyes just enough to catch a glimpse of Mark's hand wrapping around his dick, jerking himself off in rhythm with the thrusts of his finger. 

Donghyuck can't quite see his dick, but the slight glimpse he catches is enough to send heat pooling into his gut. Mark's eyes lock on his, and the way he's looking at him makes him clench around his finger.

He watches, enraptured, as Mark's fingers curl around his dick, his wrist twisting at the end. The head is swollen and leaking so much that each slide of his palm leaves a shiny trail and Donghyuck feels his mouth water. 

It's a sight straight out of his darkest fantasies. It’s actually crazy to think about it.

But he doesn't want to think about the fact that Mark is literally about to fuck him on the couch where they've shared so many meals. He doesn't want to think about anything, actually.

The sight is so hot, the knowledge that Mark is getting off while fingering him is so debauched. He wants to turn around and just watch the whole thing, but then Mark adds a second finger, and all thoughts leave his brain.

Even with so much spit, the stretch is still a little painful. Not the most comfortable thing in the world, sure, but Mark's fingers are long and nimble, and it only takes a few moments for Donghyuck to adjust, for his body to open up for him.

Mark's fingers are pumping in and out, stretching him, scissoring him, his tongue occasionally lapping between the two digits. Donghyuck gasps. He can feel the warmth gathering in his belly, his own dick leaking onto the couch, his skin slick with sweat, even when he’s not doing a single thing.

His ass moves back against Mark's fingers, and Mark's breath is hot against his skin, his fingers curling inside him. And then, suddenly, the fingers leave him. And a sob breaks from his throat, a raw, aching sound.

But before he can even whine about it, Donghyuck feels the warm head of Mark’s dick brush against his rim. 

And he knows it's going to be a dry fuck, but he doesn't care. Doesn't care about anything but the need burning in his stomach, the heat pulsing between his legs.

He feels the blunt tip pushing against his rim, and his eyes flutter shut, his mouth opening in a soundless moan. The stretch is tight, a little uncomfortable, but Mark's hands are strong, steadying him. 

Mark's fingers dig into his hips, his grip almost bruising, as he pushes deeper. Donghyuck hisses, the slight sting of pain becoming more present as Mark's dick pushes deeper. And deeper. 

It's not an unknown feeling, but it's always weird at first. A fullness he can't describe. A sensation he can't put into words. It's like his body is trying to reject him, trying to push him out. Mark's dick is thick. He can feel that. And it's not unpleasant, not exactly, but it is uncomfortable.

But then Mark's hands shift, sliding around his hips, wrapping around his dick, stroking him. It's slow, teasing, his thumb brushing over the slit, smearing the precum gathered there. His mind instantly goes somewhere else.

His hands scramble to grip the edge of the couch, and his eyes close. His mouth opens, and a soft moan slips out, his body relaxing. Donghyuck doesn't even realize his hips are moving, pushing back, until he hears Mark groan.

"Don't push back," Mark grunts, his hand grabbing Donghyuck's hip, holding him still. And it's the first thing Mark has said since they started. "It's going to hurt you."

"Shut up," Donghyuck pants, his voice raw, shaky. "I can take it."

He feels Mark's dick twitch inside him as soon as the words leave his mouth.

"Not like this. Don't push,” Mark's tone is firm. Commanding. Donghyuck looks back and Mark's eyes are dark, his gaze intense, focused. "I'll do it. Just don't move," he says. The way Mark orders him is hot.

"Just hurry up, Mark. Are you scared of cumming too soon?"

"Fuck you," Mark groans, and Donghyuck can hear the frustration in his voice.

"Yeah. That's the plan," Donghyuck replies, a little breathless, and his voice sounds so different, so needy. "So hurry up, hyung. Please."

Donghyuck doesn't usually beg, doesn't usually plead, but when does, he does it with purpose. Because Mark always breaks when he begs, when he calls him hyung, and it works every time.

And sure enough, it does. The effect is instantaneous. Mark groans, a ragged, animalistic sound. His voice rough and strained. And he begins to move.

Mark's hips rock forward, the sudden movement making Donghyuck's body lurch forward, his arms barely able to hold him up. He cries out, his mouth falling open as the thick, wet heat stretches him wide. 

The pace is slow at first, almost torturous, each thrust dragging out, making him whimper. Mark holds him down enough to trap him, his palm pressing down on his back, preventing him from arching away.

Donghyuck doesn't really look back, but he has an idea why Mark is going so slow. He can feel the way his fingers are digging into his ass, and the soft curses Mark is letting slip from his lips. 

Mark is digesting the image, like it's a dessert.

This thought alone is enough to make his stomach flip. The knowledge that he's getting Mark off just as much as Mark is getting him off.

His ass clenches around the length inside him, and Mark hisses. Donghyuck turns his head to look at Mark, and the sight alone nearly makes him lose his mind. 

Mark's shirt is clinging to him and his hair is sticking to his forehead. He's panting, his jaw clenched, and his eyes are fixed on the spot where their bodies meet.

"Hyung," Donghyuck mewls, the word spilling from his lips before he can stop it. Mark’s eyes snap up to his face, all big and sparkly. "Faster, please. Just fuck me faster," his voice comes out in a broken, desperate plea.

And that seems to break whatever resolve Mark had, because Donghyuck barely finishes speaking before he feels the shift in Mark's grip. It tightens, hard and bruising around his hips, and the next second, he's fucking into him, fast and rough, just the way Donghyuck knew he would. It's exactly what he was hoping for.

It turns frantic, brutal, as Mark loses himself a little bit more. Donghyuck isn't even sure how he's still holding himself up, but his arms are shaking, barely able to support him as Mark takes him, uses him. The sound of his own moans fills the air, falling freely from his lips, and his eyes flutter shut as Mark pounds into him.

The couch squeaks under the strain of their movements, the sound loud and frantic. It's almost drowned out by the wet slap of skin against skin, a rhythm so filthy and obscene that it makes Donghyuck's ears ring. He holds on for dear life, his knuckles white on the couch. 

One of Mark’s hands digs into Donghyuck's hip, pushing him back, meeting the snap of his hips with a devastating precision. The other grips his shirt, twisting around the fabric, pulling it. Stretching it. Each thrust pulls the cotton tighter and tighter around his torso, and it bunches, gathering under Donghyuck's armpits. The shirt is damp, sticking to his skin, and the way Mark is pulling on it makes him move even more.

The couch squeaks even louder, his vision blurring from the way each thrust pushes him forward. It feels more frantic, more urgent. Desperate.

“You’re going to rip my shirt,” Donghyuck chokes out, words tumbling from his lips with as much dignity as possible, which is almost nothing considering he says those words between whimpers. The words come out more like a moan than a protest, his voice half-swallowed by the need in the back of his throat.

"Fuck your shirt, Hyuck," Mark retorts, voice raw, harsh, breathless. And Donghyuck feels his gut twist at the sound, at the way Mark’s voice sounds like it’s been dragged out of him. At the way Mark’s grip on him is tightening, at the way he is touching him like he wants to consume him whole. It’s possessive. All-consuming. "Fuck your fucking shirt."

Mark's focus is on Donghyuck as the pace gets even faster and more intense.

Donghyuck feels a hand on the back of his head, fisting into his hair, yanking him up. His neck is tilted, exposing his throat, his back glued to Mark’s clothed chest and, a second later, he feels Mark's mouth and the sting of teeth.

And the angle changes.

Donghyuck moans, his entire body trembling, his skin tingling.

"But I don't want to rip your shirt," Mark grunts, his hips never faltering. He slides the hand holding the shirt to Donghyuck's stomach, wrapping his arm around him, his palm flat on his abdomen. "I know you like this one."

"I do," Donghyuck manages, and even though he tries to sound indignant, the words come out breathless. "It's a nice shirt."

"Yeah, it is a nice shirt," Mark murmurs, his voice rough and husky. His hand slides up, slipping beneath the fabric, his palm pressed to the bare skin of his chest, warm and damp.

Donghyuck's head drops back onto Mark's shoulder, his eyes closing. 

Mark's arm tightens around him, pressing their bodies together. Donghyuck is practically being held up now, his entire body relying on Mark's hold, his legs barely supporting him at all. The hand wrapped around him starts to slide lower.

Donghyuck hisses, the sound low and sharp. He feels Mark’s fingertips brush down the length of his shaft, the touch teasing, deliberate. Mark's thumb traces over the slit, and Donghyuck shudders in response. He can feel himself leaking, knows how close he is.

"Oh, shit," Mark mutters, like he can't believe it, his voice thick with desire and strained, like he's holding himself back. He sounds like the air is being punched out of him. His fingers curl around Donghyuck's length, his grip tightening, his wrist twisting. It's slow, deliberate, but Donghyuck's hips are jerking, pushing back on Mark’s dick, seeking more of the stimulation.

 He feels the way his thighs are shaking, his muscles straining. He can't stop the way that Mark's name keeps tumbling from his lips, again and again. Over and over. A breathless, pleading mantra.

Mark curses, and it's a rough sound, desperate and raw in a way that makes Donghyuck's gut twist. Mark buries his face in Donghyuck's shoulder, his breath hot against his skin. His fingers slide along the length of his shaft, his palm cupping the swollen head, his thumb rubbing circles around the tip.

It's messy, it's sloppy, the slick sound of skin against skin, the way Mark's fingers are wrapped around his dick, his hand pumping and all the noises together are obscene, filthy in the best way possible.

And it's a sensory overload. And Donghyuck can barely keep up.

He's not even sure if he's saying words or just making noises.

Mark’s pace is picking up, his hand moving faster, and Donghyuck can feel himself helplessly getting closer, the heat in his belly so hot that it might kill him. He knows that Mark can tell how close he is because his hand is speeding up, because his body is pinning him impossibly tighter.

The muscles in Donghyuck's legs are clenching, his whole body shaking. His eyes clenched shut, his mouth open in wordless desperation. Mark shifts his hips up, and Donghyuck can't stop the way he cries out. It feels like his entire body is about to break apart, like it's shattering under the force of how much he's feeling.

"Mark. Hyung," the rest of the sentence dissolves into a broken moan as Mark's fist tightens.

White bursts behind his eyelids. White noise fills his ears. The world goes white and quiet for a few glorious, frantic moments, and Donghyuck comes so hard, so intensely, that it feels like he's been hit by a truck. 

Mark groans, his hips stuttering, his voice getting lost in the mess of noise. The sound is wrecked and throaty and perfect. He pumps into Donghyuck once, twice more, and then he stills, his whole body tensing. 

Donghyuck is boneless, barely present, barely conscious. He can feel the way his dick is still pulsing, the way it's still spilling onto Mark's fingers. It's been a long time since he's come like this, since it's felt like every part of him is burning up.

His body is limp, and he’s breathing hard. He can hardly feel it as Mark rides out his orgasm, as his hips spasm and jerk and twitch. Everything is warmth and light, and Donghyuck can't even tell which way is up, which way is down, which way is his own body.

He lets out a shaky, shuddery whimper, blinking his eyes open. "Oh my god," Donghyuck says, and he can barely hear his own voice. It sounds so far away, and it's so high, and it's so thin that it almost doesn't even sound like him. 

He slides forward, falling limp on the couch, face pressed against the cushions, the side of his cheek sweaty. 

Mark pulls out and Donghyuck feels his cum oozing out, dripping down his thigh. But the couch is ruined already. So there's no point.

He hears Mark let out a soft groan, hears him mumble something. He feels Mark's sweaty forehead against his back. He can feel his warm breath on his spine.

It’s peaceful. Until Mark makes sure to break the silence in the most anticlimactic way possible.

“This can’t happen again.”

〰️

Mark is a simple guy. A creature of habit. He likes his coffee black, his food salty, and his relationships uncomplicated. He's not into drama, or angst, or any of that. He prefers things neat and tidy, and he prides himself on keeping everything organized, from his life to his wardrobe.

So, imagine his surprise when he walks himself into the biggest mess of his life.

Yeah, yeah. Funny.

Mark doesn’t even have the words to measure how badly he fucked up. He’s never made so many wrong decisions about one person in his entire life.  

And that’s saying something, considering that person is Donghyuck, his best friend, his partner in crime, the person who has been at his side since forever.  

Mark’s childhood was normal. Simple. He was born in Toronto, played in the snow, rode his bike, did all the things a kid is supposed to do. But when his family moved to Korea, everything changed. 

He didn’t speak the language well enough to blend in, didn’t know the right way to act, and the other kids noticed. They made fun of him, called him weird, picked on him. He was a scrawny kid with awkward Korean and glasses too big for his face, an easy target.  

One day, some asshole thought it would be funny to shove him into the sandbox. Mark still remembers the way his knees scraped against the rough ground, the way his glasses cracked against his face. The sting of dirt in his mouth, the sharp ache of bruises forming on his skin.  

What he remembers most, though, is Donghyuck.  

Donghyuck, who saw it happen and didn’t hesitate. Donghyuck, who stormed over and punched the kid so hard he left a mark. Donghyuck, who got suspended for fighting, who sat outside the principal’s office grumbling about how Mark needed to grow a backbone.  

From that day on, it was them against the world.  

Apparently, now, it’s them against each other.  

Or at least Donghyuck against him. And honestly, Mark can’t blame him.  

Almost a whole day passed and Donghyuck still hasn’t said a word to him. Actually, Mark hasn’t even seen him. It’s like he’s made himself disappear, slipping through the cracks of their shared space, avoiding him with a level of skill Mark didn’t even know he had.  

And it’s driving him insane.

Mark has no idea what to say. He has no idea what to do. How can you explain something like this? How can you apologize for something so reckless?

So, instead of figuring it out like a normal person, Mark does what he does best, he stalls.

He waits.

He waits for Donghyuck to come home. Waits for Donghyuck to seek him out. Waits for Donghyuck to say something, anything.

He camps out in his room, pretending to work, but really just staring blankly at his computer screen. He paces the apartment like a caged animal, eyes flickering to the front door every time he hears the faintest sound from the hallway. He leans against the kitchen counter, drumming his fingers against the surface, counting the minutes, the hours.

But nothing.

Donghyuck is avoiding him, and the longer he does, the more Mark feels the tension building. It’s like he’s developed some sixth sense for Mark’s presence, slipping out of the apartment like a goddamn ninja, leaving no trace behind.

And that’s just problem number one.

Problem number two? Minhee. His actual girlfriend. The person he’s supposed to be texting, calling, being a decent boyfriend to, but every time he tries, the guilt knots so tight in his stomach he feels like he’s going to die on the spot. 

He stares at their chat for way too long, trying to type something normal, something that doesn’t sound like hey, sorry I cheated on you but I’m currently having a crisis about it or you ever accidentally ruin your entire life in the span of two days? No reason, just wondering.

Two hours ago, Minhee had texted him something sweet:

"Baby, I’m missing you already. Can’t wait to come back."

Mark had sat there, phone in hand, thumbs hovering over the keyboard like he was about to defuse a bomb. His brain screaming at him to say something sweet back. Something normal. Something boyfriend-like. 

What was he supposed to say? Miss you too, babe! —? Counting down the days! —? No. That would be a lie. And Mark is already sitting in a deep, deep pit of dishonesty, and the last thing he needs is to start decorating it.

So, after ten minutes of sheer panic and existential dread, he finally replied:

"Yeah, there’s nothing like home."

That was it. That was the best he could come up with. A sentence so vague and emotionless it might as well have been typed by an AI chatbot. Hell, he barely even knew what it meant.

And now, on top of everything else, he’s praying Minhee doesn’t come back early. Because right now, the only thing more terrifying than talking to her is seeing her.

And problem number three is, well, himself.

The absolute, raging, unholy war happening inside his own damn brain about feelings and what they mean and facing them like a responsible adult. Which, frankly, Mark would rather gouge his own eyes out than deal with.

He’s spent years successfully not dealing with this shit. He had it under control. He was a master of self-denial. A champion at pretending. He deserved an award for how well he had deluded himself into thinking whatever this was didn’t exist.

And now, thanks to one incredibly bad decision, everything is falling apart.

Two days ago, when Mark had the absolute audacity to put his hands on Donghyuck, it wasn’t the first time he’d found him attractive. That much, he could admit. But it was definitely the most inconvenient time. So inconvenient that his brain had decided to completely shut the fuck down, leaving only his impulsive, idiotic instincts in charge.

And then, like the dumbass he apparently is, he went and did it again last night. Because fighting with Donghyuck has always been a full-body experience for Mark. A head rush. A gut punch. A tension so thick it presses against his ribs, curls hot and tight inside him. And instead of using, like, coping skills or conflict resolution strategies like a normal human being, he let the heat win.

Now, this entire fucking apartment is haunted.

Every corner. Every room. Every surface. Donghyuck is there. Like a poltergeist. Lurking. Waiting. Taunting him.

He thinks about the way Donghyuck sounded. The way he moved. The way his body fit against his. The way his hands felt on him, the way his mouth felt on his skin. The way Donghyuck kissed him back. 

He can still feel the heat of his skin, the desperate grip of his hands, the soft, needy whimper that escaped him when Mark bit down just right.

His mind replays the way Donghyuck gasped when Mark’s lips touched his neck, the way he melted when Mark’s tongue traced over his skin. The way he shivered when Mark squeezed his waist, when he pushed a knee between his thighs, when he—

Mark groans, dragging both hands down his face. Because holy shit, what the fuck has he done?

It’s not fair. Not to Donghyuck. Not to Minhee. Not to himself.

Mark has never cheated before. Not even come close. The idea of it has always made him feel sick, because Mark Lee prides himself on being a good guy, an honest guy, the kind of guy who does the right thing.

But now, he’s the kind of guy who fucked his best friend while his girlfriend was still very much in the picture. And he’s feeling more guilty about stressing Donghyuck than the cheating thing itself.

Mark feels like a fucking ghost in his own apartment. A ghost trapped in an endless loop of sexual confusion instead of regret. He even laid on the couch, staring at the ceiling, and tried to will himself into cardiac arrest so he never had to deal with this mess.

It didn't work.

And thank God, because two hours later, past midnight, the front door opens.

Mark looks up from his spot on the couch. His heart jumps into his throat. And then, all the air leaves his lungs in one quick rush.

Because Donghyuck is standing in the entryway, a little disheveled, his hair sticking up on one side, a slight flush in his cheeks. His eyes are wide, his expression a little surprised, like he wasn't expecting Mark to be there.

But the surprise quickly shifts, his brows drawing together, his lips pulling into a tight line. And it's like a switch has been flipped, the sudden tension in the air crackling like static.

They just stare at each other.

Seconds tick by. Long, slow, agonizing seconds.

Then, finally, Mark breaks the silence.

"I was starting to think you were never coming back," he says, aiming for casual. It does not land. His voice comes out tight, a little dry, like he just swallowed a fistful of sand.

Donghyuck scoffs, but doesn't say anything. Just slips his shoes off as he goes to the kitchen. Mark listens as the fridge door swings open, hears the clink of a water bottle being grabbed, the quiet pop of the cap being unscrewed.

Then Donghyuck reappears in the doorway, takes a long, slow drink before finally lowering the bottle and locking eyes with Mark.

"Where have you been?" Mark asks, his voice softer than he intends.

"Around," Donghyuck replies flatly, as he sets the bottle on top of their table.

"Where?"

Donghyuck's eyes narrow, his lips curling into a scowl. "I have other friends, you know. I'm allowed to have a life."

Mark sighs, frustration already creeping into his tone. "I wasn't saying you couldn't. I'm just asking where you've been. I got worried."

"It's none of your business."

"I'm making it my business," Mark fires back without thinking. But then it hits him. He's in no position to act like the concerned, responsible best friend right now. He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I wasn’t trying to be an asshole. I just… I wanted to talk to you."

Donghyuck lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Oh, well. Isn't this convenient?" He crosses his arms, tilting his head in mock curiosity. "I'm all ears."

Mark swallows, straightening his shoulders. "Okay,” he nods, pushing himself off the couch and stepping forward. "I'm really sorry, Hyuck, for—"

"For fucking me?" Donghyuck cuts in, eyebrows shooting up. His tone is light, almost playful, but the sharp edge beneath it is unmistakable. "No, no. It's fine. I didn't mind. Just a little casual best friend dick appointment, right? Not a big deal at all,” he giggles, but it's dripping with sarcasm.

Mark clenches his jaw. "I didn't mean to hurt you," he says, ignoring Donghyuck’s biting tone. "It wasn’t my intention."

Donghyuck’s expression hardens instantly. "Well, your intentions aren't worth much, are they?" His voice is light, mocking, but his eyes are burning. "Not when you're balls deep in someone."

The words are blunt, biting, and it stings a little bit. Mark knows he deserves it. 

"Can we not do this?" Mark asks, his voice cracking at the edges. "Please. I don’t want us to fight, I really don’t."

Donghyuck lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Yeah, you and your dick have had enough action this week. No need to get greedy."

Mark exhales, dragging a hand down his face. "That's not fair, Hyuck."

"Not fair?" Donghyuck repeats, his voice dripping with disbelief. His gaze is sharp, cutting, like he's seconds away from sinking his teeth into Mark's throat. "Do you have any idea how this is to me?"

"That's why I'm trying to fix it," Mark insists, taking a small step forward.

Donghyuck shakes his head. "You're not gonna fix shit if you're about to stand here and tell me you're sorry and that it was just an impulse, again," he snaps. "If you're going to lie, at least make it good."

"I'm trying to be honest."

"Well, try harder."

“You’re not really helping me over here. It’s not like I did it all alone.”

"Sure you didn’t," Donghyuck scoffs. "And I know exactly where I stand. I know my feelings, but I’m not gonna share shit when you're out there doing all this to me while having a girlfriend, Mark."

Mark swallows, suddenly hyper aware of how tight his chest feels. "I'm not sure," he starts, his voice quieter now, careful, like he's stepping on a landmine. "I'm not sure how I feel just yet. And that’s not an apology. And it doesn’t make things okay either. I know that. But I don’t want us to stay like this. So all I’m asking is for you to give me some time to figure things out first."

Donghyuck's jaw tightens, his fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie. "And why can’t you do that now?" he asks, his voice low, controlled—dangerous. "Why can’t you just tell me right now how you feel? Or what’s going on?"

"Because it’s all tangled and I just need some space, okay?" Mark sighs, running a hand through his hair. "To sort through my thoughts and stuff. Especially with Minhee."

Silence.

Donghyuck’s expression is unreadable, his gaze locked onto Mark’s like he’s trying to burn a hole through him. For a split second, Mark dares to hope maybe, maybe he finally said something right. Maybe this is the start of fixing things.

But then, the switch is being flipped, and Donghyuck’s lips curl into a slow, sardonic smirk again. His eyes go cold, flat, devoid of warmth.

"Wow," he says, voice laced with venom. "What a good little boy. You really care about her, huh? Or is that just a convenient little excuse?" He tilts his head, mockingly thoughtful. 

Mark’s brow furrows. "What?"

"Nothing, forget it,” Donghyuck scoffs, waving a dismissive hand. "Go do what you have to do. Figure things out. I won't wait around for you to stop being a dickhead."

"Don't say that. Don’t act like what I’m asking is not something reasonable," Mark says quickly, his voice laced with frustration. "I just don’t want to start something on the wrong foot, you know?"

Donghyuck lets out a humorless laugh. "Bad news, Canada. It’s a little late for that. You’ve already started something with a very wrong foot."

"And I’m trying not to make it any worse, Hyuck. Do you even hear what I’m saying?” Mark argues, rubbing a hand over his face. "What do you want me to do? Don’t be so difficult."

"Me? Difficult?" Donghyuck repeats, eyebrows shooting up. His voice sharpens like a blade, slicing through the room. "You’re the one who started this. And now you’re standing here telling me you can’t figure it out yet?" His arms cross over his chest, his eyes burning with anger. 

“There’s a lot going on in my head, right now. Because there’s a lot at risk here, Hyuck. It’s too hard.”

"It’s too hard? Really? All you have to do is be honest with me. It’s not rocket science."

"I’m being honest right now. And I will be even more, right after I sort things out," Mark says, his voice almost pleading. "It’s not simple at all."

"Then what’s it, huh?" Donghyuck challenges, taking a step forward, his presence suffocating. "What’s the elaborate plan to fix this shit?"

"There is no elaborate plan," Mark sighs, exasperated.

"Clearly. You’re just afraid."

Mark clenches his jaw, exhaling through his nose. "That’s true," he snaps back. "Congrats, Hyuck. You got me."

Donghyuck’s eyes narrow. "And what now? You keep me on standby while you sort your very complicated feelings?"

"Yes! I just need time!” Mark says, his voice strained. "To end things with Minhee and go back to organizing my thoughts. Doing something the right way."

Donghyuck snorts. "You say that like you’re about to go on a fucking spiritual retreat. Meditate for ten days, find enlightenment, and then finally decide whether you actually want me or if it was just a ‘heat of the moment’ thing."

“I know you’re saying all that because you’re angry, but you know I’m right,” Mark counters, his voice firm but laced with an underlying tremor. He drags a hand through his hair, a nervous habit, as he exhales. “I’m not saying this isn’t serious. It is. That’s exactly why I need to be careful. Minhee is coming back tomorrow. It’s not that long.”

“You creampied me, Mark. In our couch,” Donghyuck retorts, and Mark feels the ultimate heat of shame going up the top of his cheeks. “How am I supposed to wait, if I just keep thinking about it?”

“Don’t say it like that,” Mark asks in a weak voice. He feels the full-body flush of shame crawl up his neck, burning at the tips of his ears. He clenches his jaw, eyes darting away, but the image—the memory—is there, vivid and inescapable.

“And you know what’s terrible? Right after, you just go and say ‘This can’t happen again’. Like, do you even realize how that sounds? It’s not exactly comforting, Mark. Hearing that right after my best friend fucked me,” his lips twist, bitter and hurt. “I felt like absolute trash.”

Mark feels something yank inside his chest, like an invisible thread pulling tight around his ribs.

“Hyuck, no.” His voice is urgent, pleading. “That’s not—I didn’t mean it like that. I meant it couldn’t happen like that again, okay? Like, with me still being with Minhee and all that shit. I didn't regret it… But you didn’t even let me explain. You just bolted to your room, wouldn’t talk to me, wouldn’t even read my messages.”

Donghyuck’s expression flickers. “Can you blame me?” he asks, voice quieter now, but no less intense. “What was I supposed to do? Stick around and listen to you say it again?”

Mark flinches, guilt settling deep in his bones. “It wasn’t meant to hurt you,” he says, but it sounds weak. Even to his own ears, it sounds flimsy, a poor excuse for the damage already done.

“But you did hurt me,” Donghyuck presses, stepping forward, closing the space between them. “You did a lot of things. And now I have to stay here, wondering if you actually want this, or if you’re just curious. Or out of your mind.” His voice wavers for the first time, the vulnerability creeping in beneath the frustration.

Donghyuck takes a breath, steadies himself. And then, softer now, but just as insistent: “Is that fair?” He lets the question hang between them, waiting, daring Mark to answer. “Do you really want me or what? I’m so, so confused,” he adds, voice quieter now but no less demanding.

The question hangs in the charged air between them. Heavy. But if Mark is being honest—and he needs to be honest—he knows the answer isn’t heavy at all. It’s light. So light, it should be easy to say. But the weight of everything else around it is what makes it difficult, wrong.

And yet, even knowing how complicated, how messy this is, still, no amount of overthinking can change the truth. He knows what he wants. He’s always known.

"I do," he murmurs, scratching his nape. Donghyuck lifts a single eyebrow. "Want you, I mean."

"You do?"

"Yes."

Donghyuck doesn’t say anything for a beat, just narrows his eyes slightly, like he’s trying to pry the truth out of Mark’s soul. Then he scoffs. “You have a really weird way of showing it.”

"I know,” Mark lets out a humorless breath. “But it’s true. I want you.”

The words aren’t dramatic, aren’t wrapped in poetry or grand confessions. But they are simple. Undeniable.

And also just the tip of the iceberg. 

Now, it’s out there. No more running.

Donghyuck’s lips part slightly, his gaze searching. “Then what’s the problem with opening up to me right now? Wanting me, right now? I’m literally right here.”

"This is not the right time, Hyuck."

Donghyuck steps closer, and his eyes are blazing.

"When will be the right time then?" he asks, his voice smooth, steady.

Mark’s feet feel cemented to the floor as Donghyuck takes another step forward, then another, until there’s barely any space left between them. His expression is eerily calm, and somehow, that’s far more terrifying than when he’s angry. There’s no shouting, no dramatic outburst, just a quiet, razor-sharp intensity that slices right through Mark’s resolve.

"When will it be the right time, Mark?"

Mark inhales deeply, and holds his breath. 

"I can't break up with her through the phone, you know that, right?” He asks. And his voice is barely a whisper. Because, in a way, this is a confession. A promise. "It needs to be done face to face."

Donghyuck nods once. Twice. Slowly, deliberately.

"Okay. Face to face," Donghyuck repeats, his eyes never leaving Mark's. 

"Yes," Mark breathes out. "Then we can come back to this. Go through it the right way. No wrong time."

Donghyuck is inches away now. His eyes are dark, and there's something dangerous behind them. Something sharp and lethal. And Mark knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that Donghyuck means no good.

"So, if I go down on you right now, would that be the wrong time too?"

Mark’s stomach drops. His hands suddenly feel too clammy. "What?" he chokes out.

"If I got on my knees, right here, would that be the wrong time too?" Donghyuck asks, voice smooth, calculated, too even for a question like that. His expression is cool, but the look in his eyes is like fire. Like the flames of Hell. "Or it’s just the wrong time when it comes to being responsible and facing your feelings?”

Mark swallows hard, but it does nothing to clear the lump in his throat. His mind blanks, buffering like a slow-loading screen, because his imagination works way too well. And hearing this, picturing it, sends a pulse of heat straight to his fingertips.

Donghyuck doesn’t move closer, but he doesn’t step back either. He lingers in that charged space between them, letting the tension stretch, daring Mark to react. Mark can feel his pulse in his fingertips, in his throat, in the place where Donghyuck’s breath fans against his skin.

He should step back. Should say something. Should break the tension before it breaks him. But he doesn’t.

And Donghyuck waits.

"You’re quiet," he muses, tilting his head again. His voice is teasing, but there’s an edge to it. Something sharper. "Thinking about it?"

"No," Mark lies, and Donghyuck lets out a soft chuckle, amused.

"Liar."

"Donghyuck," Mark breathes, his chest tightening. "This is not how this conversation is supposed to—"

"Because I will, Mark," Donghyuck interrupts, invading his space, breath fawning over Mark's cheeks. His voice is low, dangerous. "Just say the word, be honest with me, and I'll do it."

"Don’t do this to me," Mark whispers, shaking his head.

Donghyuck hums in response, tilting his head before dragging his teeth lightly against Mark’s jaw. It’s a barely-there bite, more promise than pressure, but it shoots straight down Mark’s spine like a live wire.

Mark's fingers find their way into Donghyuck's hair before he even realizes it, tangling in the soft strands. He tugs, firm and commanding, yanking Donghyuck’s head back so their eyes meet.

And just like that, Mark is lost. Lost in those eyes, deep brown, warm yet burning, sparkling like stars, like trouble, like everything Mark has ever wanted and shouldn’t have.

"Don’t you think we’re going through enough shit as it is, Donghyuck?" Mark breathes, searching his face, pleading for him to just stop. Just let this go.

Donghyuck blinks up at him, but he doesn’t look guilty. He doesn’t even look sorry. His lips part slightly, and his tongue darts out, slow, deliberate, dragging over his bottom lip as his gaze flickers down to Mark’s mouth.

"So what are you gonna do about it?" he challenges.

Mark tightens his grip on Donghyuck's hair, but it’s not to push him away. That’s the problem. Donghyuck tilts his head further back, exposing the smooth line of his throat, and Mark's resolve wavers.

His grip tightens in Donghyuck’s hair. Not enough to hurt, but enough to keep him right where he is. “You really wanna find out?" he asks, his voice lower now, steadier, though his heart is anything but.

Donghyuck’s breath hitches. Barely. Almost imperceptible. But Mark catches it. He always catches it.

For a second, just a second, Donghyuck hesitates. Just like Mark does. And it’s in that split moment that Mark finds himself desperately clawing for control. Clinging to whatever shred of restraint he has left.

“Can’t you just wait?” Mark practically begs. His voice is quiet, almost pleading. Because his moral compass broke two days ago. What he wants is drowning out the right thing to do. “Can’t you be patient?”

Donghyuck’s expression shifts, the teasing edge softening just enough for something else to slip through. “Waited for so many years, you have no idea how patient I’ve been, hyung,” he says, and it’s not teasing. Not playful.

And that, more than anything, makes Mark’s heart slam against his ribs. Makes the heat curl tighter, heavier, low in his gut.

Donghyuck looks like he wants to say something else, but instead, his gaze drifts back down to Mark's mouth, his tongue darting out, wetting his lips.

That's when Mark finally gives in.

Because what can he do? He's only human. So he leans in.

And it's not the same. The kiss is not the kiss from yesterday. It’s not the desperate, frantic, clumsy meeting of lips.

This is different.

This is a slow, deep slide of mouths, a languid push and pull, like they have all the time in the world. Like this is not wrong. This is not the kiss of a man who is taken.

Mark feels it, in the pit of his stomach, in the back of his throat, the way his body is responding in a vile way. Like he wants to consume Donghyuck whole. And Donghyuck bites his lips like he knows that.

They pull apart, their breath mingling so instigating. Donghyuck looks at him with heavy-lidded eyes, mouth all wet and tempting, like he knows exactly what he’s doing, how he’s breaking Mark down until there’s nothing left but want and need.

It’s a challenge. A taunt.

"Kneel," Mark orders, and the power in his voice surprises him. 

The word hangs between them, charged and unshakable. It surprises even him how easily it leaves his mouth, how natural it feels.

Donghyuck doesn’t move at first. He just stares, lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. Then, slowly, his lips curl into something almost amused, almost satisfied. His chin tilts up. But his eyes stay locked onto Mark’s, unwavering.

"Yes, hyung."

His voice is soft, obedient, but the way he holds Mark’s gaze is anything but.

The words vibrate in the air, in Mark’s chest, in Mark’s jeans, and then Donghyuck drops to his knees like he’s been waiting for this moment his entire life

The sight alone is enough to make Mark’s stomach drop. Because the moment he looks down and sees Donghyuck's face, he can't even begin to care about anything else.

Donghyuck looks up at him through his lashes, his gaze heavy and wanting, his mouth open, pink and wet. It’s the single hottest thing Mark has ever seen, might ever see, and that’s saying something, considering the tons of dirty images literally burned into his brain.

Mark pushes the pad of his thumb against Donghyuck's bottom lip, letting it sink into the softness, pressing down, forcing his mouth open wider. He hooks his thumb on his teeth, his nail biting into the soft skin, and tugs. Donghyuck's lips stretch around his finger, his tongue sliding along the digit. Mark is already hard, throbbing, with just that.

He pulls his thumb free, his gaze fixed on the shiny, glistening trail left behind. Donghyuck’s mouth is red, a little swollen, and Mark loves it. Loves that it’s because of him.

Donghyuck looks up at him, his tongue dragging across his lips. His hand comes up, reaching out, his palm pressing against the front of Mark's jeans. His fingers curl around his length, stroking him through the denim. And then, slowly, he leans forward, nuzzling against Mark's jeans. As if asking permission. As if Mark still has any control left to give. 

Mark's hips jerk forward, and Donghyuck's gaze dips, his eyes falling to Mark's crotch, his breath coming out in short, hot bursts. He presses harder, his palm rubbing along the outline of his dick.

Mark should step away right now, while he still can. He should wait until this isn’t complicated, until he’s free to do what he wants without the burden of consequences. But he can’t bring himself to stop. Because he’s been here before, and he knows how it ends. 

He knows that he’s weak. That self-control is nothing but a myth. That if he was capable of that, he would have never fucked Donghyuck the first time. He wouldn’t be thinking about fucking him again right now. He’d have taken his time, thought it through, been the better man he’s trying so hard to be. He would have waited. 

But that's not the case.

Logical thoughts have never been the case when it comes to dealing with Donghyuck. Right now, his body is begging him to take what's in front of him. To grab it, pull it, tear it apart. So he does. 

He reaches down, fists Donghyuck's hair, and forces his head back. The movement is rough, almost violent. It’s more brutal than he means it to be, more desperate than he wants to admit. Donghyuck lets out a sharp whimper, his lips parting, his eyes going wide. 

Mark could back off any time now to follow his own thoughts, his own plans. The standards he settled earlier. But then Donghyuck's hands reach out, fumbling with the button on his jeans, his fingers pulling the zipper down, and the decision is made. His own moral compass had died two days ago. 

And, once again, guilt doesn't show her fangs. Why would she? His morals have shriveled. Dwindled to dust. Maybe it’s because he’s finally letting himself slip, giving in to the temptation, to the peril that he has always known was there.

So, the choice is simple.

He could step away and be a good guy. He could leave the room and get a grip on himself, immerse himself in ideas of what is right, let the waves of integrity drown out his impulse. But why should he? Why should he try so hard to do the right thing when he doesn’t want to? When it’s him who doesn’t actually feel bad about it? The standards he set for himself become sandcastles. So weak. So futile.

Donghyuck's mouth is inches away from his dick. Donghyuck is staring at him like he's dying of thirst and Mark is a fucking waterfall. But he could end it all.

He could put a stop to this, pull Donghyuck back up, insist that they wait, that he wait. He could take a hard look at himself and do what he knows is right. But what would that accomplish? He's already ruined. Already more fucked than anyone could possibly imagine. 

Because the truth is, this is all he wants. 

A lifetime of wanting and not having. A lifetime he's not about to continue living. So, in a second, his pants are down.

Mark pulls Donghyuck forward by the hair, his dick rubbing against his plush, red lips, smearing pre-cum along the skin.

Donghyuck whimpers, and Mark feels it shoot right through him. Feels it ignite something animal, something feral. Donghyuck’s mouth falls open, shameless, and he sticks his tongue out. Licks a slow, hot stripe along the underside of Mark’s shaft.

It’s barely a touch, just a tease, and yet it’s enough to send Mark reeling. To make his thoughts go dark.

He tightens his grip, pulling him closer, his dick sliding against his tongue.

He watches as Donghyuck swallows his dick, taking him deeper, his lips stretching, his cheeks hollowing. And Donghyuck is looking right back at him. Staring up at him through, eyes burning with hunger and need and a million other things.

It’s a sight to see. Something right out of a wet dream. One of the many he tried to forget he ever had. 

But he doesn’t have to try anymore. He doesn’t have to pretend. Because Donghyuck is here, on his knees, putting every single filthy, shameful fantasy to shame.

Donghyuck hums, the sound vibrating through his body. And Mark is gone. 

He watches in as Donghyuck swallows him down, inch by inch, his hard length disappearing into that perfect mouth. His lips stretching, cheeks hollowing. The wet heat starts a fire in the pit of his stomach that burns, that consumes, a spark on a fuse that’s bound to blow him up from the inside.

He takes Mark deeper, his lips wrapping around the base, his throat tightening.

The sight alone is enough to make him throb, enough to make him wonder if he can even survive this, if he’ll make it through with his sanity intact.

Mark’s hand fists Donghyuck's hair, watching him through hooded eyes. He’s mesmerized. Hypnotized. Losing himself in the way it feels. He can't resist tugging on the strands, pulling him forward, making him take him deeper. Forcing him to take all of him. 

And suddenly Donghyuck shifts forward, his mouth sliding along the length of him, taking him in, deep, deeper, his lips wrapped tight around the base, his throat constricting as Mark breaches him.

Donghyuck gags around him, but he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t back off.

He takes him all the way, his nose pressed against Mark's skin, his lips stretched wide.

Mark groans, a deep, guttural sound, and Donghyuck pulls back just enough for his cock to fall from his mouth, a thick string of spit and pre-cum connecting his swollen lips to the tip. He doesn't stop, though. Not even for a second.

He licks up the underside, tracing the thick vein, his tongue pressing against the ridge. He sucks on the head, his mouth tight and hot and wet, and Mark feels his knees buckle.

Donghyuck's hands move, one gripping the base of his dick, the other sliding between his legs, cupping his balls. He squeezes lightly, teasing, and then his tongue is sliding back down his length, tracing along the veins, his mouth following closely behind.

His lips wrap around the head, his tongue swirling, his eyes locked on Mark's. And it's too much.

Mark is losing himself, falling into the dark depths of his desire, of his shame, of his greed. And he doesn’t want to stop.

Donghyuck bobs his head, his pace quickening, and Mark's grip tightens in his hair. His hips buck forward, a sharp, sudden thrust, and Donghyuck takes him all the way again, his mouth stretching around the thick shaft.

And that's the end.

His fingers clutch Mark's thighs, pushing him closer, his eyes instigating him to just fuck his mouth like he wants. Like they both want.

And then Mark does.

He thrusts his hips forward, sliding his cock along the slick heat of his tongue. Donghyuck relaxes, lets him in, his mouth opening wider, his throat clenching as the head hits the back of his throat.

Mark does it again. Again. Again. 

He pulls him closer, his fingers tugging on his hair, and Donghyuck's grip on his thighs tightens, his nails digging into the fabric of his pants. His eyes are locked on Mark's, a silent challenge, a dare.

The coiling pressure in the pit of his stomach is building, hot and heavy and urgent. The need is taking over, clawing at him from the inside, demanding that he claim, that he take, that he devour.

He yanks Donghyuck’s head back, pulling his dick free, leaving it slick and wet and throbbing with desperation. Donghyuck’s breathing is coming out in harsh pants, his eyes glazing over, hungry and blown, looking up at Mark like he wants to eat him alive. His lips are red and swollen, spit-slick and shiny. He looks like everything Mark has ever wanted, everything he should never want to have.

He could only wish he was as strong as he thinks he is. As strong as he pretends to be. But he's weak. So weak. As weak as he was two days ago when he gave in. And as Donghyuck’s hand slides on his dick, tongue darting out to finish him off, Mark wants to break. 

Donghyuck slides his hand up and down, his palm creating a sinful friction against the wet skin. His tongue darts out, swirling around the head, tracing the ridge, and Mark’s entire world goes bright,

And Mark thinks he might pass out when he sees his load all over his best friend’s face.

〰️

Donghyuck knows he’s a little stubborn. Just a bit stubborn. But only when he wants to. Which is all the time. Because he prefers things handed to him exactly the way he wants. Which, tragically, does not always happen. Case in point: last night.

He’s mad. No, pissed. Because Mark didn’t fuck him. 

Well. He did. Kind of. 

If you count getting fingered like some kind of appetizer before the main course that never came. 

Mark, in his infinite wisdom (read: bullshit), said, "We have to wait." And, honestly, why the fuck does that even mean when they had already done everything, last night, but the actual deed? 

Donghyuck might not be a scientist, but he’s pretty sure they had already crossed every single moral, ethical, and religious line that mattered. But fine. Fiiine. He didn't argue. Couldn't, actually, because Mark had him pressed down into the sheets, whispering in that unfairly low, unfairly hot voice, "Promise you’ll be patient,” while his fingers were brushing right on that spot and his other hand was jerking him off.

So yeah. He didn’t argue much, because he passed out right after.

And that’s exactly what he’s mad about now. 

Because, against all logic, dignity and basic self-respect, he was patient and didn’t touch the topic when he woke up the next day. He didn’t bother asking what’s up? the next day either. Like a good boy. A fucking dog. Waiting for his master to toss a bone.

And he’s still waiting. Because Minhee is back, and Mark still hasn’t grown the balls to cut the crap and his shit.

Minhee has been back for a whole forty-eight hours, and there's not a single sign of a break-up in the horizon. That's why Donghyuck can't, for all the love he has for his life, stop looking at them across Johnny's living room.

Because it’s Johnny’s birthday. They’re all friends. It’s supposed to be a small gathering. Just cake, beer, and the closest friends. Which, somehow, still means ten people crammed into Johnny’s apartment. And Donghyuck had four beers, so he’s a little bit loose with his thoughts.

"Are you trying to drill holes through Mark’s skull?" Doyoung asks, leaning close enough that his breath tickles Donghyuck's ear. "Or are you thinking about murdering him?"

Donghyuck rolls his eyes, pushing his head away. "Hyung, you don't get to talk."

Doyoung laughs. "I'm not the one sending death glares."

"Shut up."

Donghyuck turns back to his cake, stabbing the spongy surface. It's chocolate, one of his favorites. But somehow, the taste is just a little too bitter.

"So," Doyoung begins, sipping on his beer. "What's happening with you and Mark?"

"Nothing."

Doyoung hums, but he doesn't look convinced. "Doesn’t look like nothing to me."

"How would you know?"

"You have this sad, stupid look on your face. It’s the ‘I fought with Mark’ kind of face. Kind of hard not to recognize it," Doyoung points out.

"I'm not doing anything, hyung," Donghyuck says, forcing himself to take another bite, as if his appetite is not completely ruined. "Mark is the one who's being a bitch."

"A bitch, huh? What did he do this time?"

Donghyuck exhales, stabbing his fork through his cake again. "I don't need you to give me a speech, hyung. Thanks."

"Just tell me what's going on," Doyoung replies, his voice still calm and patient. "Let me help."

Donghyuck sighs, poking his cake again. He risks another glance across the room, where Mark and Minhee are laughing with Johnny, looking like a picture-perfect couple. The ugly knot in his stomach tightens when Minhee’s hand lands on top of Mark’s.

"Let's just say," Donghyuck mutters, turning back to his increasingly mutilated cake, “that Mark is currently the biggest coward I’ve ever met.”

Doyoung raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Mark? A coward? The same guy who jumped off a second-floor balcony, straight to a pool, because Jungwoo dared him to?"

"That was stupidity, not bravery," Donghyuck grumbles.

Doyoung hums thoughtfully, taking another sip of his beer. "So, what exactly makes him a coward?"

Donghyuck sighs, shoulders slumping. He doesn’t want to talk about this, but the way Doyoung is looking at him makes it clear he’s not letting this go. 

“I assume something serious happened,” Doyoung adds.

“Yes.”

“And?”

Donghyuck hesitates, stabbing his cake again. It’s beyond saving at this point, a total disaster zone. He debates for a few more seconds before sighing. Doyoung is trustworthy. A little too nosy, but also a man of wisdom. “He kissed me.”

Doyoung repeats. “And?”

“And fucked me,” Donghyuck hisses, glancing around to make sure no one’s listening. Not that anyone is, everyone’s too busy laughing at whatever ridiculous lie Jungwoo is telling.

Doyoung doesn’t react right away. No shock, no choking on his drink, no dramatic gasp. He just takes another casual sip of his beer, like Donghyuck just told him he got a new haircut or something. Then, he hums. “Huh.”

Donghyuck stares at him. “Huh? That’s all you have to say?”

“Well, huh and finally," Doyoung deadpans. “Honestly, I was wondering when you two would get around to it.”

Donghyuck gapes. “What the fuck?”

“Oh, come on. Everyone knew this was coming,” Doyoung says, waving a hand. “The tension between you two has always been unbearable. You guys were just too stupid to do anything about it.”

Donghyuck lifts his head just enough to glare at him. “So not the point, hyung. I’m freaking out over something else.”

“I’m just saying,” Doyoung shrugs. 

“He cheated. And with me.”

“Not a correct thing, but it’s life. Happens.”

“The point is, he did all that, and then he told me he needed time to figure things out. As if I’m some kind of fucking test run.”

Doyoung winces. “That’s bad.”

"He's just—he's dragging his feet. Taking his sweet-ass time figuring out whatever this is," Donghyuck gestures vaguely at the air, "while I sit here like an idiot, waiting for him to get his shit together."

Doyoung makes a noise of understanding. "Ah. So, he’s being emotionally constipated again?"

"Yes,” Donghyuck grumbles. “I don’t even like waiting. I’m not patient. But here I am."

Doyoung glances over at Mark and Minhee, his expression unreadable. "Well. To be fair, breaking up with someone isn’t exactly easy."

"Hyung," Donghyuck deadpans, "he’s had forty-eight hours."

Doyoung squints at him. “Are you serious?”

“What?”

“I thought he was making you wait for, like, weeks.”

“For me, forty-eight hours feels like a month. He should’ve done it already.”

Doyoung snorts. "Oh, yeah. That’s plenty of time to end a relationship without making things messy."

“Please, don’t talk,” Donghyuck groans, dragging his hands down his face. 

"Mm. You hate when I make sense, don’t you?” Doyoung grins, clinking his beer against Donghyuck’s untouched glass. 

“Get drunk already.”

Doyoung is quiet for a moment. Then, finally, he sighs. "Hyuck," he begins, his voice soft, gentle, like he's approaching a wild animal. "Don't get mad, okay?"

Donghyuck doesn't look up. "Why would I get mad?"

"Because I'm going to say something you don't want to hear."

Donghyuck snorts. "Just say it, hyung. I'm a big boy."

"Okay," Doyoung starts, carefully. “Mark is not like us. He doesn't work like that. He needs time and space and a lot of planning. He's not as spontaneous as you, and that's not a bad thing, okay? It's just the way he is."

"Hyung," Donghyuck protests, shaking his head. "I know that, and I understand that. But this isn't a math exam, okay? There's no studying. It's a simple choice."

"Well, you’re wrong. I mean, yeah, it sounds easy, but when you're in a position like his, you have to be careful. He has to think about how his actions will affect her."

"Why isn't he thinking about how his actions are affecting me?"

"He is. He cares about you."

"Not enough."

"Donghyuck," Doyoung sighs. "I get it. You're mad. I would be, too. But maybe try to look at it from his perspective."

"I've looked at it from every perspective, hyung," Donghyuck argues, stabbing his cake again. “I've looked at it so much I could write a whole thesis on it.”

"He's just a nervous person, Hyuck. And he's dealing with a lot of pressure right now. Not just with her, but with you too," Doyoung points out. “Especially you, apparently.”

Donghyuck huffs, deciding that he's officially done with this conversation. He wants to stay mad. Sulky. Bitter. Immature. But then his eyes land on Mark across the room again, looking like that.

What the hell were Mark’s intentions when he picked those pants?

Skin-tight, leg-hugging, sin-inducing pants. Paired with a silky black shirt, unbuttoned just enough to hint at his collarbones, downright illegal. What was the goal here? It’s just a reunion.

It’s almost comical how much of a walking fuck me now sign Mark looks like tonight. Like he woke up this morning and said, You know what? Let me single-handedly destroy the rest of Donghyuck’s will to live today.

And it’s working just fine.

Donghyuck is so obsessed with the way the fabric clings to Mark’s thighs, disrespectfully so, that he doesn’t even notice Mark staring back at him.

By the time his gaze finally drifts up, Mark has a knowing smirk curling at the corners of his lips. And those teasing eyes that make Donghyuck want to punch him square in the face.

Right. He’s mad at Mark.

Definitely mad.

Donghyuck quickly slaps on his best I’m mad at you face—creased brows, slight pout, the full package—and forcibly rips his gaze away, snapping his attention to Johnny, who’s currently trying to down an entire bottle of whiskey while Jungwoo cheers him on like it’s an Olympic event. Much safer to look at than Mark.

But then his phone buzzes in his pocket, and without thinking, he pulls it out. Because he's a dumbass. Because his stupid, traitorous body reacts before his brain can remind him that no good can come from this.

And sure enough, Mark’s name flashes on the screen.

Obviously.

“You like my fit?” Mark texts.

“Hate it. Glad I came straight from work to this party. Imagine if I saw you at home. Jumpscare.” Donghyuck answers.

“These jeans not good enough for you?”

Donghyuck inhales sharply through his nose. “No. Let me take it off in the bathroom.”

He barely has a second to regret it before Mark replies. "I don't think that's appropriate behavior for a reunion, Hyuck. But I wonder how good of a boy you would be for me there. Would you be quiet?"

Donghyuck bites down hard on his lower lip, eyes searching for Mark on the other side of the room. Mark is already looking at him, the heat of his stare sending a rush of warmth in his stomach.

“You're not allowed to ask questions like that,” Donghyuck types, trying to sound cool, but he can't help himself from adding, “But I would do a very good job of being quiet.”

A moment later, Mark replies. "Wish I could accept the offer, then."

Donghyuck looks over and Minhee, all too innocent and unaware of everything, is leaning on him. They are still holding hands. And just like that, the anger comes rushing back, hot and fierce.

“Fuck you. You're a dick.”

He can see the moment Mark reads the text and sighs.

“We talked yesterday, Hyuck.”

Donghyuck’s nostrils flare. His fingers move fast. “Yeah, and you’re not following your part of the deal. So why should I follow mine?”

“It’s not like this. I’m going to talk to her after the party.”

“Yeah, sure,” Donghyuck rolls his eyes and puts his phone back in his pocket, just in time to see Minhee lean her head onto Mark’s shoulder.

"So, what’s the plan?” Doyoung interrupts his jealous thoughts. “Stare at him all night until he spontaneously combusts?"

"That was the original idea," Donghyuck mutters, begrudgingly taking a sip of his beer.

“Solid plan.”

“But now, I just want to mop here all night. I don’t know yet.”

Doyoung chuckles. 

"Well, if that doesn’t work, you could always get really drunk and make a scene."

Donghyuck blinks. "You know, for once, you might actually be onto something."

Doyoung stares at him. "Wait. No. That was sarcasm, don’t—"

But Donghyuck is already standing up, heading straight for Johnny and his whiskey. He steals the bottle right from Johnny's hand, ignoring his indignant squawk.

"Hey! I was drinking that!"

Donghyuck tilts the bottle to his lips and takes a long sip, relishing the burn. It goes down easily. So smooth, he can already feel his muscles loosening. He ignores the way Doyoung hisses his name, warning him not to do anything stupid. He ignores the way Mark is staring at him. He takes another swig. 

Johnny barely manages to yank the whiskey bottle out of Donghyuck’s grip, clutching it to his chest. “Wow, calm down,” he squeaks. “You don’t handle whiskey that well.”

Donghyuck clicks his tongue, making an annoyed, downright childish noise as he turns on his heel and stomps toward the kitchen. Because he needs a moment. A break. Some peace of mind moment and all that jazz. 

But, of course, the worst best friend in the world follows him.

“Hyuck.”

Donghyuck hums, yanking Johnny’s fridge open.

“What are you doing?” Mark asks.

“Getting another beer. What does it look like I’m doing?” Donghyuck arches a brow, pulling out a bottle.

“Drinking half a bottle of Johnny’s whiskey, straight up, like it’s fucking water?”

Donghyuck twists the cap off and takes a long, exaggerated sip. “Very observant, Mark,” he deadpans.

Mark levels him with a look. “Don’t give me that tone.”

“What tone? I’m just peaceful over here,” Donghyuck says, taking another sip, leaning on the counter.

“Are you seriously mad?”

“No,” Donghyuck shrugs. “I’m just a great actor. Maybe you should pay for my services sometime.”

“Didn’t I promise you? I will break up with her.”

Donghyuck scoffs. “Really? Because your behavior right now is the opposite of promising. Why are you even here with her, playing happy couple? Holding hands?”

“Can’t really just shove her away,” Mark shifts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “And we promised to give Johnny’s gift together, like, way back. I would feel like an ass if I broke up with her before that.”

Donghyuck lets out a low, disbelieving laugh. “Oh, wow. Yeah. That’s a great reason to put off breaking someone’s heart.”

“Just because I’m hesitant doesn’t mean I’m not going to do it, okay? I’m building up courage,” Mark sighs, stepping forward.

Donghyuck opens his mouth to retort, but Mark is already cutting him off.

“I spent six months with Minhee. It’s hard. Because, yeah, there are feelings. I do like her. Not as much as I thought, clearly, but still,” Mark exhales sharply. “You can’t just expect me to be so cold, to tell her all these things like she’s some kind of stranger that doesn’t deserve some respect or empathy while I break up with her.”

Donghyuck wants to argue. Wants to tell Mark that he feels like a stranger right now. That Mark should’ve figured all this out before he ever kissed him.

But instead, he just grips the kitchen’s counter, voice quieter than he intended when he finally mutters, “Then hurry the fuck up, please? I’m getting pissed. And, yes, that’s selfish. I don’t give a fuck.”

He expects Mark to launch into another Nobel Peace Prize-worthy speech, the same just-wait-a-little-longer, I’m-handling-it spiel he’s been recycling for the past two days. But instead, Mark giggles.

Donghyuck squints his eyes. 

“It’s not funny.”

Mark bites his lip, eyes crinkling at the corners. “It is a bit.”

Donghyuck sends him the meanest glare he can muster, but Mark just grins wider, like an idiot.

“Sorry,” Mark says, not sounding even a little sorry. “You’re just so impatient. And you’re not even the one who has to, y’know, admit to cheating on his girlfriend.”

Donghyuck clicks his tongue, looking away. He doesn’t need the reminder. “Well, maybe if you’d done it before touching my dick, we wouldn’t be having this conversation over and over again,” he retorts.

Mark exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fair.”

A moment of silence passes between them.

Then Mark moves closer and reaches out, fingers brushing over the nape of his neck. The touch is soft, affectionate, and way too nice for a situation this fucked up. Donghyuck hates how easily he melts into it, how the simple motion makes him hum without thinking.

“Been feeling insane all night,” he mutters. “Watching you. It’s not fair, you dick.”

“Sorry,” Mark says, not sounding sorry at all. “If it comforts you, it’s just as bad to me.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Donghyuck whispers weakly as he feels the scrap of Mark nails on his skin.

Mark’s fingers move slowly, teasing, like they know exactly how to push Donghyuck’s buttons. The soft scrape of his nails against his neck makes him shiver involuntarily, his breath catching in his throat. “You don’t get it,” Mark murmurs, voice low and almost too intimate. “I’m trying so hard not to lose my shit right now.”

Donghyuck can barely concentrate on the words as Mark’s hand slides from his neck to his shoulder, thumb stroking a path down his skin that feels far too good for the initial context of their conversation. 

Donghyuck’s resolve is already paper-thin, so he doesn’t even hesitate before muttering, “Just give me one kiss.”

“Can’t.”

“What?” Donghyuck challenges. “We already did everything. It’s not like we’re somehow less guilty if we don’t kiss.”

Mark lets out a small, breathy laugh. “I mean, technically, doesn’t that make us more guilty?”

“It doesn’t make me want you any less, I will tell you this,” Donghyuck arches his brows. “The damage is done. One little kiss won’t make a difference.”

Mark’s grip tightens where his fingers rest against Donghyuck’s skin, like he’s physically restraining himself. “We are literally in the kitchen.”

“The bathroom is right there,” Donghyuck points to his left, very helpfully.

“I love how your brain turns into a peanut the second alcohol hits your bloodstream,” Mark pinches Donghyuck’s cheek. 

“Fix your attitude and maybe I’ll fix mine,” Donghyuck slaps his hand away, scowling. 

Mark just smiles, entirely too amused, before leaning in and pressing a quick, featherlight kiss to Donghyuck’s mouth. It’s over before Donghyuck can even process it, and when Mark pulls back, his cheeks are just the slightest bit pink.

"Happy?"

Donghyuck wants to say no, to complain, whine, and drag it further, but his stupid brain is quite content with it.

So, instead, he mutters, "Very," and downs the rest of his beer before going back to the living room.

It takes about an hour, an excruciating hour of mindless chatting, weird bursts of laughter, Johnny tearing through his gifts like a kid on Christmas morning, and, worst of all, way too much skinship between Mark and Minhee, for Donghyuck to finally hit his limit.

He tries. Really tries. He downs more beer, pretends to be deeply invested in Jungwoo’s rambling about conspiracy theories, and even plays along when Doyoung insists on an arm-wrestling match that ends in both of them cheating. But none of it distracts him enough.

Not when Minhee keeps tucking herself into Mark’s side like they’re in some goddamn romance drama. Not when she runs her fingers through Mark’s hair, and he lets her. Not when she leans in close, whispering something in his ear that makes Mark smile.

Donghyuck slams his drink down on the table a little harder than necessary. “Time to go,” he mutters, pushing himself up so abruptly that Doyoung and Johnny pause mid-conversation to glance at him.

“You good?” Doyoung asks, brow raised.

“Fuck yeah, I am. Good night, everybody,” Donghyuck announces, waving a hand without looking at anyone in particular. 

Behind him, there’s a scattered chorus of “Bye, Hyuck,” “Get home safe,” and, most annoyingly, Mark’s small voice calling, “Wait—Hyuck?”

Donghyuck pretends he doesn’t hear it. He goes on autopilot until he’s all the way down the building, reaching his taxi and practically throws himself into the backseat.

Getting home is relaxing in the way that only pure, bone-deep exhaustion can be. His brain has been running in circles all night, trying to be reasonable with Mark while simultaneously being pissed off at him is a special kind of mental gymnastics. 

It was draining. He’s drained.

The taxi driver’s radio hums softly, playing some old ‘80s song that makes Donghyuck want to take a handful of sleeping pills and wake up next month. So, he rests his head against the window and closes his eyes, letting the neon lights of the city blur past him.

The city keeps moving. People keep existing. He kind of feels like everything should just pause for a second.

He gets it. Really. Minhee is great. Sweet, kind, doesn’t deserve to be in the middle of this mess. Mark must feel awful about hurting her, of course he does. Donghyuck feels like shit about it, and he’s technically the homewrecker here.

But the longer Mark drags this out, trying to spare Minhee’s feelings, the more he ends up pissing Donghyuck off. And that’s the part that stings. Because somewhere along the way, this stopped being just annoying and started hurting.

Donghyuck isn’t sure which one he feels more. Probably both.

His phone buzzes approximately four times in the taxi, vibrating against his thigh like a particularly persistent mosquito. It buzzes again—twice—when he’s fumbling with his keys, barely getting the door open without dropping all his shit in the process. Then, one final time, just as he sinks into his mattress, fresh out of the shower, hair damp and skin warm from scrubbing away the night.

He doesn’t bother looking. Whoever it is, whatever it is, it can wait.

Right now, he just wants to stare at the ceiling, let exhaustion settle into his bones, and maybe—if the universe decides to cut him a fucking break—shut off his brain for a few blissful hours.

His hair is still damp, leaving a cold patch on his pillow, but he can’t be assed to care. The air in the apartment is still, quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen and the occasional creak of the pipes.

He should check his phone. He knows who it is. But that’s exactly why he won’t.

Mark is a big boy. He can take a hint.

So, Donghyuck stares up at the ceiling, watching the shadows shift across the dark surface, listening to the sound of his own breathing, counting the seconds in between each inhale and exhale.

He is a little too used to pushing the uncomfortable emotions aside, to shoving the unwanted thoughts down deep.

Donghyuck sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. He needs a distraction.

A very specific kind.

His hand dips beneath the covers, palming his own crotch. Just a bit. Not really doing anything, just teasing, just thinking. And, yeah, it feels good. He thinks about Mark, the way he looked tonight. The way his muscles flexed beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, the way his pants clung to his thighs.

He imagines what could have happened, if he could have reached over, slid his palm along the smooth skin of his leg, teased the hem of his pants, traced his fingers up his inner thigh, brushed his fingertips along the length of him.

The fantasy is so clear in his head, the image so vivid, that his dick actually twitches. He rubs his palm over the front of his shorts, biting his lip.

Would Mark have been able to keep his cool?

Or would he have let out that low, needy sound from the back of his throat?

Would he have pushed his hand away, or grabbed his wrist and held him there?

Donghyuck can practically feel it. Mark, his grip tight around his wrist, pulling his hand down, guiding him closer.

The image alone makes him hard.

His dick throbs, pressing up against his shorts.

And the thing is, this time he doesn't have to imagine. He knows what Mark looks like. Knows what his voice sounds like. The way his mouth falls open, the way his hips roll, the way his dick twitches and leaks, the way his fingers tighten on his wrists.

He knows what Mark looks like, sounds like, feels like when he comes.

He knows how he tastes.

It's that thought, that memory, vivid and seared into his brain that makes him slide his hand beneath the waistband of his shorts.

He wraps his fingers around his length, hissing at the contact, at the relief, and that’s when he hears the front door opening.

Donghyuck curses, yanking his hand out of his shorts. His fantasy vanishes into thin air, taking his dignity along with it. He groans in frustration, flopping onto his stomach and shoving his face into his pillow, willing his erection to go away. 

There’s a knock on his door, but before Donghyuck can even consider pretending he’s dead, the door creaks open.

“Donghyuck?”

"Why are you here?" Donghyuck mumbles, voice half-smothered by the pillow.

Mark takes that as an invitation to step inside. "What? Why wouldn’t I be?"

"Because," Donghyuck groans, turning his head to glare at him, "I don’t want you to be."

Mark has the audacity to laugh. "That’s tough, buddy."

"Go away,” Donghyuck dramatically rolls onto his stomach again, hoping Mark will take the hint.

He does not. 

Instead, Mark just plops down right next to him, all comfortable and completely uninvited. "Did you get my texts?"

Donghyuck lets out a long, suffering sigh, his gaze settling on Mark’s chin because that’s a safe place. Neutral territory. No risk of getting lost in his eyes or, God forbid, lingering on his mouth.  

"Hey, talk to me," Mark coaxes, voice soft and annoyingly sweet.  

“I’m trying to sleep," Donghyuck grumbles, rolling his eyes, but there’s no real bite to it.  

Mark just smiles, that gentle, affectionate curve of his lips that always makes Donghyuck feel some type of way. Before he can react, Mark’s hands are cradling his face, tilting it so their eyes meet.  

And yeah. He’s still devastatingly handsome, just as much as he was hours ago. But now Donghyuck notices the faint dampness clinging to Mark’s lashes, the slight redness around his eyes. His heart stutters.

His head snaps up immediately. "Were you crying?" he blurts out, sitting up so fast he nearly headbutts him.  

Mark exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Not really. Just got teary-eyed a bit." He shrugs, as if that’s supposed to downplay it. "It wasn’t easy."  

Donghyuck stares, processing, then his eyes widen. “Did you—?” 

"I told you I would do it," Mark says simply.  

And there it is, confirmation. It hits Donghyuck like a freight train. Mark actually did it.  

"She cried. I felt so bad,” Mark admits, voice quieter now. He runs a hand through his hair, shoulders slumping slightly. "It sucked, man."

Donghyuck watches him, a weird mix of emotions stirring in his chest. Guilt, relief, something else he doesn’t want to name. "Does she know about what happened between us?" he asks cautiously.  

Mark shakes his head. "I thought it was better to spare her some of the details," he says carefully. "I just told her that it happened while she was gone."

Donghyuck nods, unsure if the answer makes him feel better or worse. Probably a little of both.

"I apologized," Mark continues, voice quieter now. "Told her it wasn’t fair. She was sad, yeah, but mostly she was just mad. Even threw a shoe at me."

Donghyuck hums. "Makes sense."

Mark sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It’s not like we were ever gonna work out anyway. I think… I just kept holding onto this idea of how things should be instead of facing the reality of what they actually were."

Donghyuck doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t. Just listens.

Mark shifts, leaning his head back. "I mean," he exhales, "now that I can actually be honest, with you, with myself, I guess I just didn’t want to admit that I’ve had a thing for you for some time now."

Donghyuck’s stomach flips. His throat goes dry. He doesn't say anything, doesn't even breathe, afraid that one wrong move will break the moment apart.

Mark doesn’t seem to notice. He keeps talking, gaze fixed somewhere in the distance. "I didn’t really see it at first. At least not fully. But I think it started eating at me when we moved in together. And then you started going out with all those dudes, and I just—" He exhales sharply, shaking his head. "I got way more protective than a best friend should. I was annoyed."

Donghyuck grins despite himself. "If I knew our fights were indicators of your crush on me, I would’ve been way happier to fight with you."

"Fuck off," Mark huffs, shoving Donghyuck’s shoulder with a laugh. "Anyway, I didn’t think too much about it. Just thought you were cute and stuff."

“Cute and stuff?” Donghyuck repeats, arching a skeptical brow as he leans back against the headboard.

Mark shifts uncomfortably, cheeks flushing. "I don't know," he mutters, shrugging like it's no big deal. "You're my best friend. It didn’t seem like a big deal."

Donghyuck narrows his eyes. “It doesn’t sound like that’s all there is.”

Mark exhales, long and slow. “Fine,” he mutters. “There were a few times when I had thoughts.”

Donghyuck stares.

Mark shifts again, clearly regretting this entire conversation. “Sexual thoughts,” he clarifies, like that was the part that needed explaining.

Donghyuck is certain he’s delirious. Sparks flying. Systems failing. Entire power grid shutting down.

"Not often, though!" Mark insists.

Donghyuck laughs, and it’s not even funny. This entire situation is just so fucking absurd that it loops right back around into comedy. "How long?" he manages to ask, voice slightly hoarse.

Mark blinks. "How long, what?"

"How long have you realized you had a thing for me?"

Mark’s expression turns thoughtful, his brows furrowing as he hums, thinking. Then, finally, he looks back at Donghyuck. "Remember the cosplay party a couple months ago?"

"No."

"Come on, it was—"

"Mark, I’m kidding," Donghyuck huffs, rolling his eyes. "Of course, I remember. It was, like, seven months ago? The one where we both got shit-faced, and you met Minhee."

Mark nods. "Yeah."

"What about it?"

Mark hesitates, his gaze flickering down to his hands. "I didn’t really think too much about my feelings back then. Didn’t want to. But after the party, when we were drunk and walking home, you said something really stupid—"

"Sounds like me," Donghyuck interrupts.

"Shut up," Mark says, smiling for a second before it fades. "And I was looking at you, and I had the sudden urge to kiss you. It was terrifying as shit. I was like, ‘Damn, I am fucking drunk.’ And then the next day, I was very much not drunk and still thinking about it." He sighs. "That’s when I let Minhee come into the picture."

Donghyuck goes still.

He should say something. He wants to say something. But his brain is currently buffering at 2% completion, so all he can do is sit there, staring.

Mark isn’t finished, though. "I was in denial, so I dated Minhee. Because she was nice and attractive, of course, but also because I thought these weird thoughts would go away. They didn’t. They were just shoved aside."

Donghyuck feels lightheaded. He needs a moment. Maybe several. Maybe a time machine to go back seven months and shake Mark until his teeth rattle.

But, alas, all he has is a very weird silence.

"I'm sorry, by the way," Mark says, voice so soft that it makes Donghyuck ache. "For hurting you with my confusion."

Donghyuck sighs, meeting Mark's gaze. "I'm sorry for being such an ass."

"No," Mark chuckles, shaking his head. “You were completely right. Even though you were pointing out the right things in your very annoying way, you were right. I should have handled things better."

"Okay, well, thanks for admitting that, I guess." Donghyuck nods.

"Thanks for putting up with me," Mark murmurs, reaching out to take Donghyuck’s hand in his own. He brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

It’s quick. Soft. Barely anything, really. But Donghyuck feels it everywhere. His heartbeat stumbles, warmth rushing through his veins like a shot of something strong.

"And," Mark continues, thumb brushing over the back of Donghyuck’s hand, "you were also right when you said I was afraid. I am. Less than I was yesterday, more than I will be tomorrow. I’m a bit conflicted. Bit sad. But relieved too. I don't know."

There's a little bit of silence while questions are loading inside their heads.

"What happens now?" Donghyuck asks first, carefully, not quite sure what Mark is saying.

"I don't know," Mark says, shrugging. "But I like you."

The words hit Donghyuck like a truck, like an 18-wheeler loaded with bricks, going 120 mph. It takes every ounce of self-control not to jump out of bed and start doing victory laps around the apartment.

"I like you," Mark repeats, and Donghyuck thinks he might actually die. Right here, right now, on this stupid bed, from the sheer lethal dose of affection in Mark’s voice. "Even though I'm terrified, because we're best friends. And I can't fucking lose you. But I can't take this back either.”

Donghyuck barely hears the words over the rush of blood in his ears. He nods instinctively, like Mark's fear is his own, because, well, it is. "I can’t lose you either," he breathes.

"I just wanted you to know that. I'm scared, but I really do like you."

Donghyuck swallows hard, trying not to let too much emotion show on his face. "Yeah," he croaks. "Me too."

"I figured that when you said you wanted to stab me," Mark teases.

"You're a fucking jerk," Donghyuck grumbles, pulling him closer.

Mark just grins, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips, soft at first, like he’s testing the waters, but lingering just enough to make Donghyuck’s breath hitch.

Donghyuck huffs against his mouth, muttering, "Such a fucking jerk," before yanking him closer, pressing their lips together again, harder this time, like he’s trying to make up for seven months of wasted time. “Can't believe I had mid sex with mid men because you were a pussy. I could be feasting like a king,” he grumbles against Mark’s lips.

Mark wheezes, breaking into laughter even as Donghyuck keeps trying to kiss him. “Mid men? I thought they were worthy.”

“Yes, Mark. Mid men. The most mediocre dick of my life. I lied most of the time.”

Mark hums, clearly entertained. “And my sex isn’t mid?”

“I let you fuck me on a couch. That says a lot.”

“You being half-hard right now says a lot too,” Mark teases, trailing his fingers down Donghyuck’s spine. “I was just confirming.”

Donghyuck glares, but it lacks any real bite. “Now you owe me. Like, a lot.”

Mark grins, tilting his head playfully as his fingers trace light patterns against Donghyuck’s side. “Owe you how?” he asks, feigning innocence. “Details, please.”

Donghyuck levels him with a look. “Do you really want me to stab you? Because I will. You’re still on thin fucking ice, Canada.”

Mark snickers. “I’m good with ice. Used to play hockey.”

“Take your clothes off before I lock you outside, Mark Lee.”