Chapter Text
The silence in Donghyuck’s room was always different. Sometimes it was cozy, when he was scrolling through his phone; sometimes it was annoying, when he had homework to do. But right now, it was as thick as molasses and as heavy as lead.
Mark was sitting on the edge of his bed again. This time, the wound wasn't as terrifying as the last—just a long, deep scrape across his stomach left by something sharp—but Mark still looked beat up. He sat with his head hanging low, his shoulders trembling slightly from ragged breathing.
"I guess no one ever taught you how to give a heads-up," Donghyuck grumbled, trying to keep his voice sounding normal—cranky and bold. But his hands, as he twisted open the tube of healing ointment, betrayed him. They were shaking ever so slightly.
"Sorry," Mark answered softly. His voice was hoarse. "Your place was the closest to that area where... well, you know."
Donghyuck didn't reply. He stepped closer, knelt between Mark’s spread legs, and reached for the hem of his gray T-shirt. Mark obediently raised his arms. As the fabric slid up, revealing a firm, toned torso covered in faint scars and fresh bruises, Donghyuck felt his throat go dry.
He tried to look only at the wound. Only at the damaged skin. But it was damn near impossible. Mark’s proximity was searing. Donghyuck squeezed a bit of ointment onto his fingers and touched his skin.
Mark flinched. His abs involuntarily tensed under Donghyuck’s cold fingers, and that brief contact sent Hyuck’s heart racing. He began to rub the ointment in slowly, trying to be as gentle as possible, but with every circular motion, his face grew hotter. He could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks, his ears beginning to burn. He was deathly afraid that Mark would look up and see this treacherous blush.
“Don’t look at me, don’t look at me”, Donghyuck repeated to himself like a mantra.
But Mark was looking. He couldn’t help it. From above, he had a perfect view of the top of Donghyuck’s head, his fluttery lashes, and the way his neck was slowly turning pink. Mark felt a heat of his own rising from his chest to his face.
It felt like the air in the room had run out. Donghyuck could feel every beat of Mark’s heart through his fingertips, and Mark could feel every hitch in Donghyuck’s breath against his skin.
"Done!" Donghyuck almost shouted, recoiling abruptly.
He scrambled to his feet so fast that his vision blurred for a second. He began feverishly shoving the ointment back into the first-aid kit, pretending to be incredibly busy rearranging bandages.
"Thanks," Mark said, quickly pulling his shirt down, his voice cracking on a high note.
Mark looked like he’d been left in a microwave too long himself. To break the silence, he nodded toward the console:
"So... FIFA or Mortal Kombat?"
"Mortal Kombat," Donghyuck grabbed a controller. "I'm gonna show you who's daddy here."
They settled onto the bed. For the first few minutes, there was nothing but the clatter of buttons. Donghyuck played as if his survival tomorrow depended on it.
"Where are you even pressing, you lagger?!" Donghyuck yelled when Mark blocked his combo. "Do you have high ping in your brain? Use your super, come on!"
"I am using it, it’s not registering!" Mark snapped, biting his lip. "You’re elbowing me in the ribs, that’s cheating!"
"Oh, poor little spider, backed into a corner!" Donghyuck cackled as his character performed a fatality. "Go cry about it."
Mark tossed the controller onto the duvet and threw his hands up:
"Forget it, your controller is modded. I pressed jump!"
"Yeah, sure, blame the controller," Donghyuck leaned back, laughing his head off. "You're such a total noob at games; my grandpa probably plays better. Does your spider-sense not extend to gamepads? You’re such a scrub, seriously. City hero but can't hit a button."
"Shut up," Mark shoved him in the side. "I just don't grind for ten hours a day like you. I have things to do, you know."
"What things? Rescuing cats from trees?" Donghyuck continued to roast him, not noticing how their shoving was turning into a real scuffle. "Just admit you’re a loser at games."
"Watch it, you're asking for it," Mark lunged at him, trying to snatch the second controller, which Donghyuck held triumphantly over his head.
"And what are you gonna do? Web me in the face? Go on, try it!"
They tumbled onto the bed, wrestling and pushing. This was their usual way of communicating—through teasing and playful aggression. They laughed, trying to pin each other down. Donghyuck squirmed, trying to break free from Mark’s hold, while Mark, despite his injury, was surprisingly quick.
But at some point, everything changed.
Mark ended up on top. He pinned Donghyuck’s wrists to the mattress on either side of his head. His knees were braced against the bed next to Hyuck’s hips. The laughter cut off instantly.
The silence returned, but now it was different. It was electric.
Donghyuck lay there, breathing heavily, looking straight into Mark’s eyes. They were so close he could see the golden flecks in his pupils. Mark didn't let go of his hands. His gaze dropped to Donghyuck’s lips, then traveled back up to his eyes.
The room went dead quiet. To Donghyuck, it felt like time had slowed down. He saw Mark’s face begin to move closer—slowly, almost imperceptibly. His heart hammered against his ribs so hard he felt Mark must be able to feel it through the mattress. Donghyuck didn't move. He didn't try to pull away. On the contrary, he involuntarily leaned in a fraction, frozen in anticipation of something inevitable.
And at that exact moment, the door swung open.
"Donghyuck, your uniform from the dry cleaners..."
Donghyuck’s mom froze in the doorway, holding a hanger. Her gaze moved from her son to Mark, who was essentially hovering over him in a very unambiguous position.
Donghyuck reacted faster than lightning. He shoved Mark in the chest with all his might, sending him flying to the other end of the bed. Both scrambled to their feet in a split second, frantically smoothing their clothes and trying to fix their faces into an "everything is fine, nothing happened" expression.
"Um... yeah, Mom, thanks," Donghyuck’s voice shook, and his face was so hot you could have fried an egg on it.
His mom looked from one to the other, gave a slow nod, and placed the uniform on the chair by the door.
"Dinner’s in ten minutes. Mark, you stay too," she said, and then just as suddenly, closed the door.
Silence again. Only now, it was catastrophically awkward. Mark stood by the window, staring at his sneakers as intently as if he were seeing them for the first time. Donghyuck stood by the desk, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.
He felt a strange surge of bravery rise up inside him. He had to know. He had to finish what had been hanging in the air between their faces a second ago.
"Um, Mark..." he started, taking a step forward. "What were you trying to—"
"Well, I gotta go!" Mark blurted out at the exact same time.
He didn't even look at Donghyuck. He grabbed his backpack in a flash, cleared the windowsill in one leap, and vanished into the night air without looking back.
Donghyuck was left standing in the middle of the room.
Alone.
The silence now was empty. Vacuum-like. He walked over to the window and looked out, but there was no one there—only the shadows of trees and the distant hum of cars.
"Dumbass," Donghyuck whispered.
He felt sick. Not just uncomfortable, but truly miserable. Mark had run away. He hadn't even said "bye." He had just disappeared, leaving Donghyuck alone with his racing heart and unasked questions.
The next few days turned into a sophisticated form of torture. Mark started avoiding him. And he did it professionally, using all of his superhero abilities. In the cafeteria, Mark would suddenly be at the farthest table, his back to the entrance. In the hallways, he would fly past, buried in his phone or animatedly discussing something with Doyoung. A couple of times Donghyuck tried to corner him at his locker, but Mark simply vanished around the corner before Hyuck could even open his mouth.
He forced himself not to think about him. After all, he had his own life. He started spending more time with Renjun and Jeno. They went to the arcade, ate spicy noodles after school, and talked about random nonsense.
"Hey, Hyuck," Renjun narrowed his eyes, looking at him across the table in the cafe. "You’ve been jumpy lately. You’re going to burn a hole in your phone, you’re staring at it so much. Waiting for a text from someone?"
"I’m not waiting for anyone," Donghyuck snapped, biting into his burger. "I’m just checking the time."
"Yeah, every thirty seconds," Jeno chuckled. "Look, if this is about Mark..."
"Mark has nothing to do with it!" Donghyuck almost shouted, drawing attention from the neighboring tables. "He and I... we’re nobody to each other. Got it? We had one joint project, and that’s it. Forget it."
He tried to convince himself of this first and foremost. But it wasn't working well. In the evenings, when he returned home, his hand would instinctively reach for the window. He left it open. Even when it was cold outside. Even when his mother grumbled that he’d catch a cold.
"It’s just for ventilation," he lied to himself.
He lay on his bed, scrolling through his Instagram feed. His finger kept pausing over the chat with onyourm_ark. The last message—that one about jealousy—hung there, a reminder of a time when they at least still talked.
Resentment grew. Deep, childish, and stinging. It felt to Donghyuck that everything that had happened between them—the fights in the bathroom, the secrets in his room, the tending of wounds, that moment on the bed—mattered only to him. To Mark, he was just... someone insignificant.
"I wonder what he's doing?" he whispered to the ceiling.
He hated this feeling of uncertainty. He hated Mark for making him feel something special and then just slamming the door (or, more accurately, jumping out the window).
Donghyuck closed Instagram and tossed his phone away.
"Fine, Mark fucking Lee. Let’s play your game."
Mark continued to play "the invisible man," and it drove Donghyuck crazy at first, but then it just wore him out. At some point, he caught himself thinking that he was spending too much energy on someone who was originally his "enemy."
He stopped looking for him in the crowd. Stopped watching first-aid videos just in case a certain someone showed up at night. The world didn't stop: Renjun still stole his fries in the cafeteria, Jeno still invited him to play basketball after school, and his mom still fried eggs in the morning. Only she didn't ask about Mark anymore—she clearly saw her son's face and understood that the topic was strictly closed.
Donghyuck honestly tried not to think. He spent time with the guys, and it felt right. They were his people; everything with them was simple and clear. It was supposed to be like this from the start. Without Mark.
After leaving Donghyuck's room, Mark raced across the rooftops, not caring where he was going. The cold night air whipped his face, but inside, everything was burning. That moment on the bed... those few centimeters that separated his lips from Donghyuck's... they played in his head on an endless loop.
He stopped at the top of a water tower, breathing heavily.
"You almost did it, you idiot," the thought hammered in his temples.
Mark sat on the edge, head in his hands. He knew how this worked. Anyone who gets close to him is put in danger. If "they" found out that Donghyuck meant anything to him, Hyuck’s life would turn into an endless nightmare of kidnappings and threats.
Mark couldn't let that happen. He would never forgive himself if a single hair on Donghyuck’s head was harmed because of his own selfishness.
"Better to let things stay as they are," Mark whispered into the void. "The main thing is that he’s safe."
The decision came quickly, like an electric shock: ignore him. Cut everything off. Become a stranger. But in practice, it turned out to be a hundred times harder.
At school, Mark wanted to howl. Every time he saw Donghyuck in the hallway—cheerful, loud, surrounded by Jeno and Renjun—Mark’s heart skipped a beat. He saw how Donghyuck initially tried to catch his eye, how his face fell in confusion when Mark just walked past, staring at the floor. It was physically painful. To see the spark of interest in Hyuck’s eyes turn into a dull resentment.
Mark convinced himself: "This is right. It has to be this way. He’s better off without me."
He made up a bunch of excuses for himself. Donghyuck probably likes girls anyway. For a normal guy like Donghyuck, Mark’s feelings would just be a burden, extra weight he didn't need.
But the nights... the nights were the hardest.
Almost every night after finishing his patrol, Mark would "accidentally" end up in the familiar neighborhood. He sat on the roof of the neighboring house, hidden by the shadow of a chimney, and watched Donghyuck’s window.
It was open. Donghyuck left it open for five nights in a row.
Mark clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. He wanted so badly to just jump down, tumble into that cozy room that smelled of a normal life, and say:
"I'm sorry, I'm just so afraid of losing you."
He saw how Donghyuck would occasionally walk to the window, peer into the darkness, and then return to his bed with slumped shoulders.
In those moments, Mark felt disgusted with himself. He didn't feel like a hero; he felt like a coward. He could see that Donghyuck cared. He could see that he was causing him pain with his silence.
When Donghyuck slammed the window shut on the sixth day and turned the latch with a loud click, Mark, on the neighboring roof, felt something inside him finally snap.
He turned and jumped into the darkness, trying not to think about the fact that this "right decision" tasted like the most bitter poison in the world.