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As Eve chipped the branch of its ripe fruit, she must’ve felt exhilarated. A gust of white and gold, the erotic twinge of bright red in her hands leaving pools of saliva flooding her molars, the thrill must’ve left her stunned. The delicious poison of unraveling everything, but knowing that in the current moment, everything was just sweet. There might’ve been a brief overlap of delight at her sugared tongue and the apple seeds turned to cyanide in her throat, the sting of joy in pain.
Adam, on the other hand, would’ve taken the fruit and only scratched his bottom row of teeth through the skin before tossing it aside to rot. A taste too good to not be the product of an outsider, a miasma come to disturb his utopia. Even in Eden, the place they’d always desire to return to, he was wise to always mistrust its bounty. Too full of fruit, too clean of water, too obedient of creatures, he rarely spoke to Eve. And that is why one could argue that Adam would never have done the same.
Head on your shoulders, eyes to the northern horizon. Never see the ground, never face the sun. Focus; one sin befell the earth.
—
The years were getting to Mark. Another practice with NCT 127 left him flat on the floor, blinking at the ever-bright hospital lights dotting the ceiling and wishing they would stop battling his eyes for just one moment. He lolled his head to the side. Heavy eyes fell open just enough to see Jaehyun standing on the side, plastered from head to toe in sweat. His eyes were calm, his mouth was drawn neat, and his thin white shirt was soaked grey, fitting around his broad shoulders and gracing the top of his muscles.
Apollo.
Mark drew his hands back and tightened his core to get up but fell back to the floor instantly. Groaning, he clenched his body before relaxing and rolling his head back over. Jaehyun had his back turned to him, and Mark could see his shoulder blades pinch his spine. Whether it was the blur of exhaustion or the lights, Mark focused on the muscle as much as he could and tried to fashion himself with them, a broad, calm, and handsome Mark Lee.
It became routine; whenever he felt like he couldn’t lift a finger, he’d look at Jaehyun and imagine himself as strong as him, marble cut with steel. Sometimes it would get him off the floor, and sometimes it just kept him staring. Once or twice, he’d even talked to Jaehyun. Basking on the floor as Jaehyun stood over him and toweled off his neck, Mark asked him about his body. In response, he got:
“Trust me, if I had your schedule, I’d be right there on the floor with you.”
Still, Mark admired him. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I think I just need to wake up earlier.”
Jaehyun crouched down and laid beside him, the side of his arm sticking to Mark’s as sweat curdled into glue. More than anything, Mark felt embarrassed. Maybe his pride was sensitive after seeing Jaehyun stoop to his level, the two years between them a chasm in the eyes of a teenager. After Jaehyun cushioned the back of his head against his forearm, he grinned and wiped Mark’s neck with the dry side of his hand towel. “I think you do enough, but let me know if you need a gym buddy.”
Mark never reached out.
In a week or so, Donghyuck, who usually sprawled out on the couch during breaks, accompanied Jaehyun, teetering back and forth on his feet with exhaustion just to manage standing beside him. Where Jaehyun was a neutral sort of poised, Donghyuck was lopsided, fickle to the breeze. His shoulders were hunched over, his eyelashes drooped with beads of sweat, and the light powder of sleep deprivation pounded under his eyes.
Apollo and Ate.
Mark rolled his head back to center and closed his eyes, starting to fall unconscious to the sound of light chatter bouncing off of the mirror, a nasal laugh in his ear, and a low rumble in his chest. He could increase his reps, switch to bland chicken, or start on some supplements again. He involuntarily tensed as Jaehyun muttered something quiet to Donghyuck. He clung to that image of Jaehyun, wishing to look back once again, but to glance again at him would be to roam with a witness.
Jaehyun and Donghyuck had always been close, Mark thought to himself. Everyone was; their career rested solely on the ability to work with others, but where Jaehyun had been a relatively guarded person around Donghyuck, much like Mark, now he was just… different. In the wings of KBS, the only light came from the glow of the main stage, the flickers of phone flashlights, and the flashes of small cameras. So it was by chance that Mark could make out the two figures standing toward the back of the area, Jaehyun and Donghyuck. They stood close to each other while keeping away from the others, their bodies nearly silhouettes in the low light.
As a light slid by, Mark caught the red tint of Jaehyun’s drooping lip against his searing porcelain skin before darkness obscured it again. Another flash, Donghyuck’s irises glowed amber and aimed at Jaehyun’s mouth before his eyelids clamped shut, his mouth ajar too, his moles like burn marks. Back in the dark, he saw nothing but their proximity. He squinted to try and make out what was happening, but as soon as a camera mounted on a stick pointed towards him, he tore his eyes away.
The staff member briefly greeted him and launched into her question. “In your opinion, what’s the killing point of Kick It?”
“Um…” Mark folded his arms and looked down, swearing he wouldn’t peek to the side. “At the end when we, uh, get in a circle. And they all get knocked down. Yeah.” Mark nodded and looked at the camera.
“Ah, yes, yes, I agree…”
The camera moved on. When Mark looked back, Jaehyun was a yard from Donghyuck, smiling and chatting.
Seeing Donghyuck so close to Jaehyun made Mark very aware that Donghyuck had become an adult. There was an air around him as he moved around the dorms, an energy palpable in him.
While Donghyuck had treated Mark’s personal space as his own for the first couple of years, things had changed. Emergent from puberty or some other ritual Mark wasn’t privy to, Donghyuck seemed to go out of his way to create tension with others, but seemed to avoid it with Mark, opting for shallow teasing instead. It intimidated Mark; he didn’t know if he wanted to be left out entirely, but couldn’t trust himself to bear the brunt of it, whatever it was. Before they’d shifted, Donghyuck’s face was an inch away from Jaehyun. If that made Donghyuck an adult, then what was Mark?
In private, Mark felt like a child. His limbs still laid strangely, his cheeks were still large, and all around him were people moving through the world faster. Other stones skipped along the water while his sank. He wondered if there was somebody who would fling him hard enough to catch up.
As children, or really as teens, he and Donghyuck fought. Hard. It was notorious, so notorious that the idea of hiding it from the fans was abandoned. Jaehyun was brought in directly when Mark and Donghyuck had to be separated in the dorms. One night, just as Mark was seconds from killing Donghyuck, Jaehyun opened the bedroom door. He had heard their blowout fight through the walls and, desperate to help, took Donghyuck to spend the night in his room with his phone and pillow in tow, agreeing to stay like that until their manager could reassign roommates in the morning. The following day, he heard Jaehyun complaining to Doyoung in the van about the crick in his neck from sleeping on the floor.
So many years had passed, an abundance of fights and reconciliations undergone, yet Mark could only fixate on little things like that. Donghyuck seemed to be out of Mark’s understanding again, and Mark theorized that his reaction was born out of fear. If Jaehyun got too close to Donghyuck, who would Jaehyun become?
Then again, Jaehyun expressed his adoration for Mark openly. If Jaehyun could find something in Donghyuck that he couldn’t find in Mark, wasn’t the team better for it?
—
As time went on, Mark felt more and more like he was finally shedding the persistent air of adolescence. His cheeks got sharp even as his eyes remained youthful, his lyricism grew teeth, and he didn’t rely on the others to help him figure out Donghyuck. Lee Donghyuck was easy. A lover of skinship, a fiend for attention (positive or negative), and a determined performer, Mark found a way to solve their issues: not worrying about them.
The Jaehyun situation was sorted out thus: Mark turned his head away from their faces nearing each other and then it simply didn’t happen. He didn’t know or care about the result; Jaehyun was unavailable at night when they’d normally share a meal.
‘Sorry, something just came up, I have to make a run.’
The text hit Mark’s phone. It had been the third time in a month and, opening his bedroom door, he saw Donghyuck and another member leaving out of the front door.
In a friendship as long as Mark and Jaehyun’s, some things had to be let go. Shared meals fell through, but they’d have other things. Plus, Mark naturally gravitated towards other members afterwards.
Johnny was always down to do activities, making sure that Mark’s stomach cramped from laughter each time. Although, when Mark was hanging out with him most often, Donghyuck started getting saddled onto their plans, usually with a text from Johnny asking if he could come along. Mark didn’t ever have a good reason to say no because he and Donghyuck were good. When Johnny and Hyuck became roommates, it became impossible for Donghyuck to not find out about their plans, but instead of bringing the maknae along, he started staying in.
From Johnny: ‘Our dongsaeng needs so much attention, haha.’ Another cancelled plan.
Mark had no reason to push it. He was exhausted anyways, their grueling practice sessions leaving him in desperate need of recovery. However, he did envy Donghyuck, his energy seemingly endless when it came to spending time with the other members. Looking at the text from Johnny again, ‘our dongsaeng,’ he felt a wave of fatigue wash over him, lying down in bed without brushing his teeth.
—
After comebacks switched over and Mark moved his things to the Dream dorm, he seized a chance to talk with Jaemin.
“About Donghyuck? Wow, I’m not sure you’ve ever asked me about him…” Jaemin overacted, his exaggerated contemplation turning real when it was clear that he’d lost his train of thought. Mark reminded him of what they were talking about. “Oh, yes! Well, I’m no expert.”
Mark just wanted to know what Donghyuck’s schedule was like without asking him directly. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to get out of it, but Jaemin’s response had him regretting asking. Coming to his senses, he said, “Never mind, forget about it.”
“Shy?” Jaemin pinched his ear, his attention securely caught. “What do you want with our Haechan-ie? I’m sure he’d tell you himself if you asked.” Unfortunately for Mark, his mouth twitched into a smile even as his chest sank in terror, only spurring Jaemin. With arms trapping him in and a wide smile, Mark was unable to escape. That and attempting to would be incriminating. “Planning a surprise? Something for his birthday? Maybe a—”
“What’s up?”
Both parties froze, staring at Donghyuck in the doorframe of the living room, bag of delivered food in hand to take back to his room. Either out of guilt or distraction, Jaemin released Mark.
“Nothing much,” Jaemin exuded coolness as he spoke, and Mark was thankful for it.
Donghyuck eyed both of them. Even after knowing Hyuck for so long, Mark couldn’t tell if he bought it. If he didn’t, then Mark was in for an interrogation, if he didn’t and Donghyuck was in one of his moods, then it’d be an execution. Donghyuck had to have known that they’d been talking about him. With each millisecond that passed, it felt like a minute had gone by, and Mark was trying not to get upset preemptively as he waited for Donghyuck’s response, but to his surprise, Donghyuck ignored him entirely, looking only at Jaemin.
“Where’s your boyfriend?”
Mark nearly lost his composure at the question, but Jaemin acted as though nothing was amiss. “You mean Renjun? Chenle? Jeno?”
“You don’t even know which one’s your own boyfriend? Wo-ow.”
The sarcasm was vicious, threatening enough for Mark to risk drawing attention to himself by sliding past Donghyuck to leave. Donghyuck didn’t even seem to register Mark’s existence as he went by and out into the hall. As Mark neared his bedroom door, he heard Jaemin murmur something. Turning ever so slightly, he saw Donghyuck enter the living room with his tongue pressed into his cheek. Letting the door nearly close, Mark paused to listen in. If they were going to fight about something, Mark felt as though he should witness it. Actually, the idea of him not being at the end of the stick excited him. After a moment, he heard Jaemin’s low voice.
“What’s gotten you in a mood, Hyuck?”
Instead of fighting words, Jaemin’s sounded like endearments, inviting instead of angry. With only the lilt of Jaemin’s voice, he could imagine the smile that curled around it. With the lack of a verbal response from Donghyuck, Mark shut the door and pushed the conversation from his mind.
—
“Have you met his brother before?” Doyoung asked Jungwoo politely. A few of the 127 members were gathered at Johnny’s place for dinner together, including Mark.
“I’ve met yours,” Jungwoo responded.
“Well,” Doyoung’s hands dropped. “I know that, but have you met Mark’s?”
Yuta chopped a piece of meat in half and intercepted the question. “I haven’t. What’s he like?”
Johnny spoke. “He’s a lot like Mark. You can tell in the nose and eyes and—”
“Definitely the ears.” Doyoung added. Yuta and Jungwoo both leaned over to look at Mark’s ears. With everyone’s eyes on them, those ears turned rather red.
“Does he really look that similar to me?”
“Totally!” Johnny said.
“But he’s more handsome than you.” Doyoung said. “Like, more masculine. He’s very charismatic, and he’s got this deep, low voice.”
Mark’s fork delicately sawed at his steak. It wasn’t the first time he’d been told that; he’d heard of it for all of his adolescence, but hearing it from a member made him feel… uncertain. He couldn’t place the issue.
He’d been an idol for so many years. Fan cams, cafes, fan signs, art, plushies, cardboard cutouts, marriage proposals… Although those things were flattery beyond compare to the average person, they were common fare for any idol, so the logic followed that if it was his brother in his place, if he had debuted, then he too would be showered with those compliments, maybe more so. ‘Sexy,’ ‘husband material,’ and other terms said wholeheartedly by others weren’t exclusive to Mark; every idol heard them.
‘Soulmate.’
Mark jolted slightly when he felt Yuta touch his hand underneath the table, flashing him a questioning glance. Mark shook his head subtly. Clearing his throat to speak to the entire table, he said. “Everyone says my dad’s handsome, and my brother looks more like my dad. I took more after my mom, so…”
“Your mom’s pretty,” Johnny closed off the thought.
Jungwoo looked around curiously. “So he’s like Mark but less pretty?”
The table laughed. Mark laughed with them, even though his mind had left the dinner conversation. The insecurity that had rooted itself in its youth had sprung to the surface after so many years. In a family of good-looking people, he wasn’t the handsome one. In a sea of idols, models, and the like, he certainly couldn’t be the handsome one. There were too many talents to bother comparing himself to, Taeyong had long encouraged them away from it, but something about kin was too close, too small a pool of comparison.
As a child, he’d kneeled by his bedside and asked his Lord to dim his brother’s light just a tad to let him shine through. In karmic revolt, he’d gotten sick with guilt and was out of school for an entire week, missing a field trip with his class. As an adult, he didn’t make the request formally to God but secretly desired it all the same, accepting the consequences of such a curse.
—
The rulers at SM Entertainment had descended from their lofty thrones to grant Mark and a few other members a duty-free week. After getting back to the dorms and folding his clean laundry, Mark immediately called up his mother and let her know that he’d be coming home for a few days. As he was telling her, she excitedly pulled his dad into frame and told him the news, telling him to not schedule anything on top of it. Rambling on with various things they could do, food she’d prepare, and restaurants they’d visit, Mark’s heart was warmed. At that moment, he thought of the constant phone calls they’d had as Mark trained in Korea while getting through secondary school abroad and was thankful for her attentive watch over him.
Even regarding his exhaustion after a full day of meetings, he was so excited that he nearly started packing right then and there.
“How are the boys? How’s Haechan?”
Mark’s brain shorted, his hands slowing down. “Haechan?”
“Yes, yes, how are they?”
Mark cleared his throat, trying to figure out why she brought up Donghyuck specifically. He must’ve taken too long to answer because his mother started checking to make sure they weren’t breaking up.
“No, I can hear fine, Eomma. Donghyuck is fine. All the babies are good. We’re excited for the tour, just tired from promotions.”
They cycled through all their usual updates and things. The break was a month out, so even his brother was expected to take multiple days off of work to commit his time to him. When they finally hung up, Mark’s brain was fuzzy from all of the talking they’d done. In the silence of his room, when his brain was drained of its swirling thoughts of Vancouver, only one thought still remained.
Haechan. Why Haechan?
—
“You’ll do it for me though, right?”
Donghyuck couldn’t have been just a year younger than him; Mark always felt that he was taking care of an elementary school student when they were together. They were supposed to be getting ready to continue practice, their trainee regiment getting harder and harder.
“Go away,” Mark’s thick Canadian accent oozed with annoyance, but as usual, Donghyuck thought that Mark was playing it up for his enjoyment.
“You don’t really mean that. In Korean, ‘go away’ means that you don’t want to give me a kiss, you want me to move away from you.”
“Exactly.” Mark rolled over.
“Well, why would you say that?”
“Because I want you to go away!”
The other trainees and future Dream members knew what that voice meant—their argument was about to get serious.
“Why!?”
“Because you’re annoying!” Mark tried to push Donghyuck away by the shoulders, but Donghyuck grabbed his hands and drew closer, sitting on Mark’s legs with his lips perked out.
“Stop! I mean it, Hyuck, stop!”
Moving both of Donghyuck’s arms and legs away, he inadvertently made Donghyuck fall over. Donghyuck’s arms barely stretched out in time to soften the landing, but his head still touched the ground. Holding his cheek, Donghyuck turned around, tears welling in his eyes.
“Mark.”
A few trainees gathered around to check on him and help Mark stand up. One grabbed the manager.
Mark’s entire face was red. His first emotion was anger, then guilt, then anger again at Donghyuck for making him feel bad for hurting him. “It’s your own fault!”
Donghyuck looked away, still holding that cheek. As sad as it felt to hurt Donghyuck, Mark felt that it was worth it if he learned his lesson.
It was only a week later when Donghyuck would try to kiss him again, this time with a successful outcome. Mark swore up and down that he’d go back to Canada and abandon his dreams over it. Angrier than he’d ever been, sadder than he’d ever been, Mark packed the luggage he came in with tears running down his face. Too full to close, Mark slammed down the top and tried to yank the zipper to no avail. He took out half of the clothes, swearing he’d donate them to Jeno, and still couldn’t shut it. On the journey there, his mom had packed it so neatly that his entire world had come to Korea. Without her, he could only bring back half.
He heard a knock on the door before his manager calmly entered. After informing him of Donghyuck’s punishment, promising that they’d make up soon, and soothing Mark’s refusals, Mark was left alone to unpack his suitcase.
The first three days of separation that followed were peaceful, Mark relishing how easy it was to focus during the day when Donghyuck practiced separately. After a week, Mark felt unnerved.
Thinking back to that moment, when Mark could peel back the curtain of rage, the moment had been… nice. He’d been lying there in the practice room to let the cold floor take all of the heat away from his body, a stomach full of ice water unable to do the job. With his back cold and his face hot, a soft pair of lips depressed his, touching just enough to make his heart jump. He’d never been kissed before and always imagined that it’d happen on a date in the dark, nerves ruining everything. He’d thought about how bad he’d be at it, about what God would think, about what his friends would think, but he’d never thought about how good it’d feel to just have it happen to him.
It happened to him. And then he opened his eyes. In a room full of boys, it shouldn’t have surprised him who looked down from above with utter terror spelled across his face before Mark had even said a word.
Even when Donghyuck apologized and they made up, adapting to a functional bickering, Mark never fully relaxed around Donghyuck again. Still, Mark sought him out, called him the devil, and then watched fan videos of his aegyo. He couldn’t trust him, but he couldn’t be without him. Donghyuck would grab Mark’s neck, his legs, his back, anything, and Mark would find a way to tell him, ‘No. Never.’ After so many years, Mark didn’t have to try as hard to push him away, and Donghyuck stepped away naturally.
In the peering eye of the camera, Donghyuck could do whatever, but as soon as it turned off, Mark understood very clearly that it wasn’t serious, that Donghyuck had given up the game when he’d snagged his first victory. He’d done it—he’d stolen Mark Lee’s first kiss and gotten away with it.
Donghyuck was… gay, wasn’t he? Probably. ‘He must’ve moved onto other people. Good for him.’
Mark blinked at his bedroom ceiling. How long had he been reminiscing? He checked the time and scrolled through his Instagram feed to pull his mind away from the past before finally falling asleep.
—
Standing on the doorstep of his parents’ house always made his chest feel full in pride. Knowing he could provide them a comfortable life lifted the weight off of his shoulders. As he listened to his mother’s footsteps, he heard a muffled voice through the door and didn’t recognize it as any of his family members.
“Aegi, you finally made it!” His mom embraced him and kissed his cheek. Standing behind her was—
“Aegi, you finally made it.”
His mother turned her face to Donghyuck and gave a genial laugh. She must’ve felt how tense Mark was because after he reciprocated the hug, she pulled back to part his bangs and feel his forehead, always neurotic about him getting sick. “Honey, the plane ride went okay, right? Haechan said that he got off of work a little earlier than you, so he managed to get in a day early.”
Donghyuck hadn’t gotten off earlier. They’d been given the exact same schedule. He had to have left work, sped to the airport, and yelled from across the terminal for them to hold the plane in order to have made that flight.
“Ah,” she put a hand to Mark’s chest. “Did I raise such a rude son? You’ll have to forgive me, Donghyuck.”
“It’s no problem. He’s had a long flight.” Donghyuck grabbed Mark’s luggage and brought it inside. “I’ll bring these to his room.”
“How sweet. Well, make sure you both come downstairs and catch me up on everything that’s been happening. I’ll start on dinner.”
“That sounds lovely, Eommanim. I’ll be back down in a second.”
And like that, the two left Mark alone in the foyer, sinking with a feeling he hadn’t had in a decade. It bound his feet in place, petrifying him with the profound sense that nothing in his life would ever be under his control, and more presently, that he’d never understand Lee Donghyuck even if he committed every year of his remaining life to studying him.
—
Mark skated his fork around his plate, ringing the porcelain like a singing bowl. His eyes flickered from the home-cooked meal to across the table, where laughter erupted from everyone but him.
“I’d forgotten how good your japchae was,” Donghyuck puffed out his cheeks and drew out every syllable.
“Oh, stop it!” Mark’s mom gave Donghyuck a light tap on the shoulder. “You can’t tell me you remember it from back then.”
Donghyuck rested his hand on top of hers. “Of course I do, Eomma.”
He was just… confused. When did Donghyuck get so close to his mother?
“Mark,” his mother was facing him, as was everyone else. “Did he tell you about the new porch?”
Donghyuck blinked at Mark, his hands bundled together just by the side of his chin. Mark’s brother and dad chewed while they waited for a response, nothing on their faces.
“No,” Mark took a bite. “No, actually.”
“Oh. Well, your brother spent the whole summer working on it with Dad, but Donghyuck chipped in when he flew down two weeks ago.” She pinched Donghyuck’s cheek. “Isn’t he just so sweet? I’m glad you have a friend who’s so caring.”
Donghyuck blushed and played up how shy he was about the compliment while Mark was calculating how he found the time to travel, when he decided to do so, and most importantly, why. He tried to hide his surprise as everyone moved on, but the way Donghyuck stared at him, smiling effortlessly, made him overly aware of his inability to school his expression.
Mark excused himself early. Normally he could scarf down anything set on his mother’s linen tablecloth, but her food wasn’t sitting right on that evening. Before he walked up the stairs, he promised her that he’d eat more after he got some sleep. Never before had he been able to leave the table so discreetly in this house before, their busy celebrity son too taxed to take off even for Easter, but that night, he could hear the lively conversation continue perfectly fine below without him, Donghyuck’s charming tongue standing out amongst the others.
Following Donghyuck’s wry laugh was the booming echo of his brother, and the comment from Doyoung about his brother resurfaced in his mind: ‘he’s more handsome.’ He blew it off at the time, but now Mark’s face scorched. His clammy hands rusted the iron railing while he climbed up the staircase.
As he pulled water over his face one last time, bubbles sticking to the lip of the drain, he heard those same two voices. Frozen completely, he listened intently as they passed by the bathroom and headed down the hall to only one room at that end—his older brother’s. After hearing the door shut, his jaw clenched.
His heart was entrenched in tension, the decision between dissecting that heavy silence and fleeing as far away from it as possible shocking his chest with fury. Refusing to witness anything, even innocence, he whipped the bathroom door open, rushed downstairs barefoot, and practically leapt out the back door.
It was a cold night on the patio, the wind kicking Mark so hard as to bruise him. For all of his life, his dad had talked about building a patio. Even when Mark gave him the means to pay someone else to build it, his dad was insistent. ‘No, I want to do it myself.’
Where there once were spare pavement blocks strewn about, the ones he and his brother used to lift after rainstorms to find insects, there was an elevated expanse of wood. The gutter that hung over the yard often got clogged and dropped rain into one spot, forming a small mud puddle much to his mother’s annoyance. That spot was where he and his brother found the fattest, pinkest worms, collecting them for his father to use as bait, and was now covered by the stairs leading down to the lawn. But the deck was beautiful. He could imagine his father’s hands working on it with such precision.
He was glad, really. It had been a mainstay of his conversation with his parents for years. The always theoretical deck saga was now concluded. It looked lovely. The end. But for him, the little sibling, it felt like anything but a happy ending. Mark wanted to cry. In fact, the weather gave him no choice; the dry air scratched his eyes and pulled out a tear. He kneeled over and pushed his knees to his chest, as if afraid his body would get away from him if he didn’t cling on. Everything felt like glass beneath his feet, fragile as snow and slippery as those old pavement blocks.
Tears only making the wind feel sharper on his eyes, he tried to think happy thoughts. Only one of them made the feeling stick: the idea of calling one of the members back home just to reconnect with some stability, but then again, there was a member right inside.
He looked up at the house, at the dim light of his brother’s room on the second floor. When they were young, it was code for ‘I’m in bed but still awake. Come on in.’ He stared at that familiar plain ceiling and prayed that nothing moved inside, that all was still and frozen, that he could knock with his pillow in hand and spend all night talking about anything and everything.
The wood didn’t even creak when Mark stood up, not broken in for that. He brought his body back inside and tried to fall asleep thinking of nothing and no one.
—
Cherubs used to scare Mark, the church ceiling adorned with a hobbyist’s depiction of paradise, telling the story of the first two humans and all of the exotic flora they were surrounded by, Il Paradiso. Copied poorly from masterworks, the variety of styles were misaligned with each other. The nostalgic vortex of clouds, plants, and chubby babies sank Mark’s chest down to his stomach.
His mother taught him how to ignore the massive thing and keep his eyes on the pastor and the scripture. Words beyond his comprehension scribbled out the strange images in his memory. When three years passed and they painted over the thing with titanium white, he hardly even noticed.
Donghyuck was harder to ignore. Far away from his churches, Mark couldn’t bury himself in his book or follow the melody of his pastor’s advice. He could’ve prayed, but as an adult he clammed up with guilt at the thought of requesting such a thing; his lord had better plights to ease.
In his dream, the cherubs were back, spinning around on skinny wings as he tried to focus on his pastor’s fuzzy voice. His body was young again, a preteen with legs just able to touch the floor. Layers of Latin folded on top of each other, unable to be parsed through the filter of the dream, his book a similar slew of nonsense.
Next to him was Donghyuck at the same age. His tanned skin—really tan—matched the nostalgic color of the pew’s wood. With his gangly legs and empty hands, he watched Mark instead of their pastor.
As if the mural was being repainted on the spot, Adam’s expression changed, a grimace matching his downcast eyes. In the blink of an eye, in the ignorance of Eve’s actions, he had realized that he was naked. They both did.
Donghyuck sat watching Mark’s expression. Mark did everything in his power not to notice. He used to be good at this. Why wasn’t he good at this anymore? Why didn’t Donghyuck feel the same shame Mark did?
When everyone began a psalm, Mark broke out into a sweat. He tried to switch out his book for the correct one only to find that every one he picked up was wrong. Looking over to his mother’s, the text was too blurry to decipher, the music notes tangled together in a language Mark couldn’t read.
Next to him, a nasally, cough-drop-sweet voice rang out. “Blessed is the one who does not walk in step with the wicked, or stand in the way that sinners take.” His vocal tone had always been like Cupid’s bow, like he was kissing each syllable as it left his lips. It sweetened the shame for Mark, suckered saliva for the swallow.
The church dimmed and left the two together. Overwhelmed, tears welled in Mark’s eyes. The words sounded wonderful and so, so impossible. “That person is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season, and whose leaf does not wither—whatever they do prospers.”
He yearned to be the tree that grew right. He yearned to be the boy that grew into a son right, a good brother. Distraction was death, and the psalm was a vice grip on his throat, burning it like a chalky wafer.
The notes were all in tune, but a holy doctrine being spoken faithfully through the devil’s mouthpiece was still the word of Satan. Mark pushed him away, and then, without even having to check if Donghyuck had gotten close again, pushed him even harder a second time. The voice remained even.
Palms smacked squarely against Donghyuck’s slouched shoulders. Silence—the empty pew was all that was left.
His god instructed Adam to keep Eve as his companion, and so the loyal man bedded his betrayer, staying by her side until their mortal end. It was upright, but besides that, nobody could make the choice to abandon the only person suited for them. He loved her, or simply lived with her. Either way, he found a way to.
Mark laid down on the pew and felt the chintzy velvet on his cheek, hoping that taking up the space of two would dispel the absence. The spot soon grew cold, and Mark felt himself slip away.
—
Church service started without him, his mother having let him sleep in. He woke up past polite hours to a text and the sun streaming through his window. Mark didn’t even know that he could sleep in, his long, grueling schedule seemingly ironing that out of him.
Breakfast was a task carried out in silence. Mark scrolled through his phone while shoveling eggs into his mouth. Even with the extra sleep, he was running on half fuel, his stare a mile long. The scrolling seemed to numb his thoughts just as easily as it restarted them, the various chatter of NCTzen and official news a mixed bag for his nerves. After seeing news of Dream’s upcoming leg of the tour, their promo shots bombarded with love, he decided to lock the screen and try to figure out his mother’s coffee machine. It was a newer model than last time.
The doorknob clicked, and the quartet filed in. Donghyuck had not slept in; he was fitted in a suit from Mark’s closet, one bought when he was eighteen and still skinny-shouldered. Last time Mark tried it on, it was tight around his arms, but Donghyuck fit it perfectly.
“Mal, we brought you donuts.”
“Oh honey, I hope you don’t mind. Last time, we didn’t get to take him to Tim Horton’s, it just felt wrong not showing him around. You still like the chocolate ones, right?”
He did. Donghyuck peeled back the paper wrapping and held it up to Mark’s mouth to feed him. Mark took it out of his hand and took a modest bite.
“Did you sleep poorly?” His mother asked, laying her purse down and bringing a hand to his forehead. “What time did you boys get to bed?”
“Midnight,” his brother responded from the living room.
Donghyuck went to the sink to rinse his hands of the residual grease. “Midnight. I slept like a baby, Eomma.”
His mother waited for Mark’s response, pulling her hand away when she felt no fever. Her church outfits were the same as always, starched and wrinkle-free. Mark had a hard time ignoring her concern when the word of God had just been on her ears.
“One, one-thirty maybe.”
She didn’t seem satisfied by the answer. “It must’ve not been very good sleep then. I even checked on you while we were loading into the van.”
“Even God took a day to rest,” Donghyuck said. “I’m sure that he can look past a missed Sunday.”
Mark wasn’t really paying attention to his words, every sound cottony in contrast to his thoughts. The voices past the bathroom door, the cold night wind, the view of his brother’s ceiling. He wanted to rip that stupid suit off of Donghyuck, flip the jacket off his shoulders, loosen his tie, pull off his belt, rip all the buttons off his shirt, and stuff the whole thing in the back of his bottom dresser.
He looked at the rest of the chocolate donut and set it on the counter. The thought of his mother finding his suit crumpled and hidden away shattered the illusion for him, guilt settling him back into a dull exhaustion. “I think I’m gonna lie back down.” Mark headed for the stairs.
“Okay, dear. Let me know when you wake up so we can do something together.”
With the last speck of energy he had, he gave a smile to his mother and ascended the stairs.
He locked the door and closed his eyes. Within a moment’s time, he’d be flying home to Korea, leaving his family alone again for months. This room would get dusty again, be laundered, be vacuumed, and then get dusty. His brother would go home, and they’d go back to texting with days in between, back to missed connections and proposed outings Mark could never muster the energy for.
He spent the whole afternoon fretting over what he and Donghyuck would look like when they got back. Mark was a recluse for the rest of the afternoon, purposefully trying to drown out any noise he heard beyond his door. He buried himself in his phone for hours, and just when he’d thoroughly exhausted his social media, he received a text from his mother about gathering around the fire pit in an hour.
—
The iron basin was already full of freshly chopped wood when Mark made his way out to the porch, the new outdoor couches not yet occupied.
“Mark! Did you have a good rest?” Mark’s father came up behind him with a bag of charcoal and some fluid.
Mark gave a noncommittal groan, taking a seat in the middle of the large sectional and watching his dad go to work. Watching him set everything up made Mark feel calm. His father chatted about the porch again, and just when Donghyuck’s name was brought up, his mother appeared with him in tow.
“Hey, honey.” His mother leaned down to see his face and checked his temperature, making Mark question how pitiful he looked. Even for a habit, she was doing it too often. “You’re still waking up?”
Mark nodded, accepting a blanket from her before leaning his head against the back of the couch. He knew that he wasn’t able to doze off, yet the exhaustion prevented him from perking up. As he flopped the blanket on his legs, Donghyuck claimed the spot next to him, Mark’s nerves already standing on end.
When Donghyuck’s leg brushed his, Mark’s jerked away like it was licked with hellfire. He was sitting close, nearly hip-to-hip, but it occurred to Mark that they’d spent a third of his life crammed into waiting room sofas with much less than a blanket to separate them. A deep breath brought his heart rate back down. Lately, everything was making him so sensitive.
The fire starter dropped into the pit, gnawing away its casket in seconds and catching the kindling. Everybody was seated to watch it burn.
An excitement flashed over Mark. Donghyuck was leaning forward on his knees, face heavy in its neutrality, with his bony shoulder blades apparent through his thin shirt. Mark could hear his breath, the sound like the shuddering of a rain cloud, twinkling. The night was lovely, his parents’ happy faces and light conversation like nursery rhymes lulling him into safety.
All of those things had occurred to him in the same second, the feeling leaving him as quickly as it had arrived. That excitement… Mark had glimpsed into the universe where he let everything go, where Donghyuck’s leg bumping into his was nothing but the warm touch of his friend, where his family was his haven away from the social ails of the industry. The illusion dissolved before his eyes and all he could see was three happy people who brought him no comfort.
When Donghyuck’s bare knee rested against the blanket once more, Mark didn’t dare move. Donghyuck’s face was igniting, pressed forward to catch the very first of the flames on his skin. Mark unfolded the blanket to cover his chest and held his position: leaning back with arms crossed, his watchful eye on Lee Donghyuck as his mother started telling old stories about Mark.
Once upon a time, there were two brothers, the younger of the pair being more studious. She would tell the older one to be more like the younger one, especially when he’d stay out late with friends and try to skip classes the next day, but he hardly listened to her advice. Dedicated and focused, the youngest even committed to a creative side; in his free time, he wrote. Although he was much too shy to show it to anyone, he scribbled prose and tested lyrics on his acoustic guitar.
Mark could fill in the rest. One day, the older one went to an audition and was told to bring the younger one along. Only the younger brother passed. It surprised everyone, even him at the time, but his talent was undeniable, his brain like a sponge whenever it came to picking up new songs and routines, regardless of the language. It didn’t matter, and it wasn’t very humble to say, but his name would become known internationally, all while his brother’s stayed within his alma mater.
There was also a Korean boy in the story, the one that nearly made him quit. The one that incessantly bothered him, his remorse fluctuating since. The boy paid lip service to the younger brother, repentance leaving his mouth like smoke expelled from slackened lips, but he was bold enough to sit there and tell Mark’s parents that he was closer to hyung than Mark. ‘Kidding, kidding.’
Mark could see how Donghyuck’s fingers twitched high on his thigh over the box in his pocket, even as his face kept his full attention on his mother speaking. The hand nearly touched Mark’s hip in its anxiety, but the stray mutt was reeled in.
He was a piece of shit. He smiled as he drank up each word, taking each embarrassing detail and storing it away to use against Mark later. Was the box of cigarettes the excuse to touch Mark or the other way around?
Then, something occurred to Mark. The cigarette brand of the box wasn’t his, it was—
“Scoot over and give him a bit of room, dear.”
Mark’s brother had appeared, eyeing the empty spot next to Mark. Mark groggily complied, and while Donghyuck gave him a bit of extra room to fit three, it wasn’t enough to keep them apart when Mark finally moved.
“I’m cold,” Donghyuck muttered in fluent pout, lifting the edge of the blanket to cover his knees. Mark could feel his freezing knee against his leg, but when he tried to adjust, Donghyuck’s hand held it down.
“Did Seoul get a lot of snow this year?” Mark’s father asked.
Donghyuck answered for Mark. “No. We got a snowstorm in December, but everything after has barely stuck to the ground.”
“Did it snow enough to ski in December at least?”
“Maybe.” Donghyuck looked at Mark. “It was only heavy enough for a week or so.”
Mark’s brother was chipper. “We should go snowboarding together next time you’re in town.” The grin on his face was almost as off-putting to Mark as the matching one on Donghyuck’s.
“We should.”
When Donghyuck squeezed his thigh, Mark was through. He shot up, and immediately all eyes were on him.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” he settled on, before squeezing his fists and storming into the house. When his mother moved to check on him, Donghyuck went over and put a hand on her shoulder.
—
He slammed the door, guilt washing over immediately as he heard the sound. The days of teenage brooding had long passed, yet he was handling his emotions as well as a toddler.
Pacing his room, trying to even recount the series of events leading up to this was a struggle. It eluded logic; it eluded comprehension. All there was was Donghyuck at the end of each hallway, the prick of each pin.
Angry and senseless, he started putting things into his bag, posturing as if he’d pack up and leave, as if he could handle disappointing his family further. Just as he grabbed his deodorant stick, already half-convinced to end his sulking, he heard a light knock at his door.
He hoped that she hadn’t heard the slamming, looking away from the door in embarrassment. It was tempting to ignore her, but shutting out his own mother for her justified concern was a sin that God may never forgive. Their time together was running out, and he’d spent much of it sick with anguish, and although it’d felt impossible for her to relieve him of any of his grief, he wanted to at least try. His guard was down as he turned the doorknob.
Donghyuck.
He didn’t even ask to come in; he just did it as soon as Mark stepped back, shutting the door behind him. The fury returned, having graduated into a full outrage.
“Why are you…?” Mark waved his hands around, the fingers clenching towards nothing, trying to find their meaning. “…everywhere! You’re everywhere!”
“Oh, Mark…”
Mark’s posture softened; the sound of Donghyuck injured by his remark made him second-guess his tone.
“It’s just—“ Mark tried to filter his frustration. “My mom’s in love with you, my whole family is. You’ve been talking to her, or them, for months now? And now you’re making plans with my brother… Why didn’t I know anything about this?”
“Mark…” Donghyuck drifted to him, raising a hand to his shoulder before Mark deflected it out of instinct. Standing still, Donghyuck continued. “You’re just now noticing?”
Mark froze.
“Your family loves me so much, Mark…” Donghyuck pressed a hand on Mark’s shoulder to force him to sit down on his bed. “You’d think that they’d lost a son or something.”
The way he fit in seamlessly like a vacuum seal, spending time with his parents while Mark neglected their calls, ‘Next month, Eomma.’
“What did you talk about with my brother last night?” He had the image of them sitting across from each other at the dinner table burned into his mind, a festering glow against the stone-cold night.
Donghyuck moved close to Mark, his legs just outside Mark’s knees pressed together. “Do you want to know?”
Mark didn’t hesitate. “Yes!”
“You really want to know?” Donghyuck leaned down and brought his knees to the comforter. Mark felt his back tighten as he tried to support himself while Donghyuck slowly lowered himself, lips at his ear and a hand next to his hand.
“…Yes?” Mark’s voice cracked.
Donghyuck’s hand picked up the edge of Mark’s shirt as his heavy breath fanned across Mark’s cheekbone.
“No you don’t.”
The sliver of exposed skin at Mark’s waist, the night breeze punching his window, Donghyuck over him—everything transplanted onto the image of them last night with his brother’s fingers curling on Donghyuck’s wrought iron arms.
“Where?” Mark’s voice was broken and sharp.
Donghyuck’s weight finally made Mark’s back crash against his bed, Donghyuck’s open mouth hovering over Mark’s, barely waiting.
Still stubbled, he could see the gentle smear of ivory rush across Donghyuck’s cheek as a car passed by the house. Behind him, a claw of light swept by the wall and rushed to the ceiling. His room was torn to smithereens, and Donghyuck’s lips looked so sharp. Mark’s back balanced against the bedsheet as the vision came to him:
‘Hyung, ah,’ Donghyuck’s voice would be an octave higher than usual. ‘We shouldn’t, hyung.’ The ‘sh’ of shouldn’t would spray onto Mark’s brother’s cheek, the idea of resisting taboo a preface to demolishing everything sacred.
Donghyuck’s thigh would be slung over his thigh, the way he always tried to do to Mark. His brother’s short sideburns would pierce the comforter as he turned his neck to Donghyuck, but Donghyuck would grab his chin and bring his face back to look at him.
Lap to lap and lip to lip, Mark forced the image out of his mind only to find Donghyuck’s lips on his own just as he succeeded.
Donghyuck grinded down on Mark and forced him to take his tongue. They tasted the same: same meals, same dessert, same wine. With a tongue in his mouth and dick on his mind, Mark felt trapped in his own clothes, his own body even. The life he’d lived thus far had restrained him, and he felt the barrier breaking. He was a Canadian-Korean born and raised in the church, a straight man, a normal person, letting the devil do whatever he wanted to him.
His desire outgrew his skin then and burst into Donghyuck’s. He grabbed Donghyuck’s hand and forced it down his pants, he gave Donghyuck his tongue with all of his teeth, and he shot a knee to fit in between Donghyuck’s tight ass. Donghyuck jerked his hands away before undoing both of their jeans, tasting every crown in his jaw.
When Donghyuck sat himself on Mark’s dick and started moving, Mark knew then that this had been a culmination of everything, as in everything that ever occurred in the universe: schooling, training, debuting, performing… meeting Donghyuck, fighting with Donghyuck, lying to Donghyuck, Donghyuck lying to him. The plane, the bus, and the bed—Donghyuck was everywhere, filling every cell with the demand for Mark to do something about his pitiful life.
Donghyuck kissed the sensitive part under Mark’s ear, and his jaw cringed. Donghyuck was his ears. Donghyuck squeezed Mark’s arm just to hold him down harder. Donghyuck was his arm. Donghyuck rose before sinking down to engulf himself entirely in Mark, throwing his head back with a loud moan. Donghyuck was his—
“Mark.”
Mark looked up at him to see what was the matter, but Donghyuck was just staring at the ceiling, lifting himself up again.
“Mark.”
He mumbled it, slurring it all together and lifting his shirt over his head, extending his ribs out.
“Mark.”
Mark was so hard it was painful; it was like all his blood had rushed to his crotch at once and left all of his other limbs to ache in pain. Donghyuck kept repeating his name to the sky like he was telling God, ‘I finally got him.’ A stray car’s headlight flashed over Donghyuck in all of his glory and Donghyuck leaned over again, catching Mark off guard.
“You turn, aegi.”
Donghyuck propped himself up on his arms and began to pick up speed. He stayed quiet as he focused while Mark’s exhales began to get raspy.
“Don…”
“Yes, Mark,” Donghyuck egged him on as he made the mattress squeak. Mark put the back of his hand over his own mouth, but Donghyuck ripped it away.
“Donghy…”
“Mark,” Donghyuck heaved.
“Donghyuck…” Mark felt his torso tighten at the mere word, a name he had called on for so much of his life. The boyhood well and alive in his heart recalled how great his heart swelled at their first meeting, the love just as vibrant as the fear. “Donghyuck—ah!”
The walls thinned as Mark lost his sense of space. His mouth opened, and while he would later swear that he said something, in that moment he couldn’t even hear his own voice. Everything was stark when he was thrusting his orgasm into Donghyuck. Everything was white and the window had collapsed open, tearing the wall paint away as it fell into the void. Nothing outside of himself and Donghyuck was real. There was nobody on the other side of the door, there was nobody waiting for him overseas, there wasn’t a drop of another man on Donghyuck’s body.
When Mark’s body began to call back to him, he was on Donghyuck’s body, just lying on him. The high had passed long ago. He felt Donghyuck’s dick still leaking on his stomach, but he didn’t care to move. Donghyuck closed his eyes, letting himself be crushed.
“You’ll still pretend for me, right, Mark?”
Pretend… Mark’s vocal cords couldn’t fathom a single syllable. The body under him was even warmer than himself, lulling him into a deep, deep sleep.