Work Text:
- 1 -
Mark is scribbling down in his diary when Donghyuck’s voice tries to break through his thoughts.
“Did you know Doyoung wants to buy Taeyong a ring?”
He doesn’t look up, but hums to let Donghyuck know he’s listening. He taps his pen against the yellowish pages as he stares at the smudged black lines, Korean and English words mixed up and crossed over like a mirror of his bundled up thoughts. He bought this notebook at the start of the year, a blue tiny journal to write about his day, but he ended up forgetting about it and, now, he only picks it up to scribble lyrics that never make it into songs. They aren’t good enough, he thinks, eyes scanning over loose ideas that speak of summer breeze, broken guitar strings and the empty spaces between his fingers.
“I’m talking to you, asshole,” Donghyuck complains, his voice pitched high. He kicks Mark’s shin under the table, scowls at him with his lower lip jutted out when Mark finally looks up to meet his eyes.
“Sorry,” Mark shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He has to grip his pen tighter, his fingertips going white as he looks at the frown between Donghyuck’s eyebrows, a wave of new lyrics about rosy cheeks and golden butterflies rustling through his mind. He presses the tip of the pen hard against the page, but keeps his hand still, wide eyes fixed on Donghyuck’s face. “What were you saying?”
“Doyoung,” Donghyuck mumbles. His voice is hushed and he’s putting his weight on his arms to lean over the table, closer to Mark, as if he’s sharing a secret. Mark’s heart trips over a beat, leaps in his throat as if trying to jump over the space between them, the tip of his pen denting the pages of his journal. “He wants to get Taeyong a ring. Yong doesn’t know anything,” Donghyuck keeps whispering, his eyes drifting to the side to check the kitchen is still empty, no one hovering around close enough to hear them. Then, he’s setting his gaze back on Mark, bright and shining golden with the autumn sun that sneaks into the room through the open window. “Like, couple rings. Isn’t that pretty cute?”
“What? Is he going to, like, propose or something?” Mark asks, feeling a little short of breath just by the thought of it. Donghyuck gives him a weird look, stuck between amusement and pity, his head tilted to the side as he raises his eyebrows at Mark.
“No, Mark,” he clicks his tongue, exaggerated exasperation dripping from his words. “As if we’re allowed to get married. It’s like a promise thing, I think. For the future,” his cheeks grow pink as he explains it.
Then, Donghyuck lifts one of his hands, sticks his index finger out to press it between Mark’s eyebrows, pushing his glasses up so they are resting on the bridge of his nose properly. When he lowers his hand, he casts his eyes down along with it, gaze focused on his fingers as something tender curls the seams of his lips upwards.
Mark looks down, too, and his eyes get trapped in Donghyuck’s fingers. He’s fidgeting nervously, slipping the digits through the spaces between them just to disentangle them a second later. Mark twists his left hand into the pages of his notebook, the paper crumbling under his pads as he holds himself back from sliding his fingers into Donghyuck’s, just to make him stop.
A ring as a promise seems pretty close to a proposal, if you ask Mark. What can be more committed than promising someone your future? He doesn’t know why Donghyuck is making a big deal out of it, though, when Taeyong and Doyoung have been dating for so long that Mark has stopped keeping count.
“I was there when he chose the ring,” Donghyuck says. He isn’t whispering anymore, but his voice possesses that kind of soft tone only shyness can give him. He’s fisting his hands now, knuckles pressed against the smooth surface of the kitchen table.
“Oh? He bought it already?” Mark asks, even though his mind is only half listening.
He’s way too focused on Donghyuck’s fingers, the bluish color of his veins sneaking through the tan of his skin when he clenches his fists hard. His hands are smooth, bare and delicate looking, they seem small when he wears oversized clothes like the sweater that’s currently pooling around his wrists.
Mark is reaching out before he can help himself. He slides the fingers of his left hand into Donghyuck’s right fist, the skin of his palm damp against Mark’s knuckles. He tugs and Donghyuck goes with the motion so easily, offering no resistance at all as Mark drags his hand closer across the table. His own fingers shake a little in concentration as he lifts the pen off of the journal to bring it up to Donghyuck’s skin.
“He didn’t buy it yet,” Donghyuck is talking absent-mindedly, but Mark can sense his eyes burning into the skin of their jointed hands, can hear the slight strain in his voice. “But he already picked it. A whole Cartier.”
A chuckle crawls up Mark’s chest at the excitement in Donghyuck’s voice as the pen finally comes in contact with skin. Mark swallows his laughter down, holding his breath to prevent himself from fucking up as he starts to doodle a line across Donghyuck’s index finger, right where it meets his knuckle.
“That’s not cute, though. Just too expensive, dude,” Mark mumbles, his voice a little choked, worried he’ll mess up if he talks too loud.
Donghyuck clicks his tongue as a response and Mark’s eyes drift from his hand to his face for a split second. Donghyuck isn’t looking at him, though, eyes trained in the pen between Mark’s fingers, his chest swollen as if he’s also been holding his breath. Mark swallows thickly and gets back to work.
“It’s not about that, dumbass,” Donghyuck says once Mark lifts the pen off of his skin, letting his hand drop back on the table. “It’s the gesture. You know, the meaning.”
Mark hums but doesn’t reply. His hands are tingling a little, so he drops the pen on top of his journal and takes them off the table. He tucks them between his thighs and the chair, so he can force them to go numb.
He knows and doesn’t know all at once. He thinks he can imagine the meaning behind it, the power of a gift like that to someone you’ve been sharing your life with for such a long period of time. But he’s never been in a long-term relationship. He’s never been in a relationship, period.
So he shrugs, looks up at Donghyuck over the rim of his glasses just to find him looking down at his hand, at the black band Mark just drew around his finger, open-mouthed and red-cheeked.
“Are you gonna buy me a ring, Mark?” Donghyuck asks all of a sudden, looking back at him with his eyebrows crooked as if he knows something, as if he knows more. He’s got his full lips pressed in a thin line, the way he always does when he’s trying to hold back his laughter.
“Me?” Mark asks, his voice coming out all high and weird and breathless. He coughs to clear his throat and looks down at his journal. “Me spending that much money on you? Ha. You can dream about it,” he jokes, his chin almost tucked against his chest so Donghyuck can’t read the panic all over his face.
Johnny steps into the kitchen before Donghyuck can find the words to tease him any further. Mark takes the chance to grab his diary with numb fingers and flee out of there, his face burning up at the corny song lyrics flying in circles through his head.
- 2 -
It’s a normal day off. Mark is sitting down on his bed, wearing shorts and no shirt as he fiddles with the strings of his guitar. His blue journal is open next to him and he’s skimming through the pages, his fingers rasping chords as he stumbles over notes that never quite fit.
Music is a tricky thing. You can compose a million different melodies with just the six strings of a guitar, and yet, no matter how hard he tries, none of the rhythms he comes up with seem to flow properly with the words he’s scrawled down. His own handwriting, sharp and uneven and smudged, doesn’t seem to suit the lyrics trapped on the pages. Crooked and pointy letters feel way too harsh for gentle words, for poems about golden seas and feelings hidden under half smiles and time that keep slipping through his fingers.
That’s what he’s doing when the door to his bedroom bursts open and Donghyuck stumbles inside, his lips stretched into a smile so big that his eyes drift almost closed, his cheeks full and soft pink. He’s always soft pink lately, Mark thinks, tightening his grip on the neck of his guitar.
“Look,” Donghyuck walks closer to him, leaving the door ajar behind him.
He shoves his open hand in Mark’s face, his fingers all stretched out and stiff. There’s a gold band on his thumb, thick and shaped like a rope, shining under the white light of Mark’s room.
“Did you steal Taeyong’s ring?” Mark frowns, pushing his guitar closer against his naked chest. It hurts a little, the edge of it digging into his armpit. But he feels stronger this way, with something familiar to hold on to so he can avoid tripping over his thoughts.
“Technically, it’s still Doyoung’s,” Donghyuck says, wiggling his fingers. “Taeyong doesn’t know yet.”
“You’re wearing Taeyong’s promise ring before Taeyong himself?” Mark’s voice rises in pitch. He looks from Donghyuck’s hand to his face, then back to his hand. “Doyoung’s gonna kill you.”
“Doesn’t it look pretty?” Donghyuck says, clicking his tongue.
Mark stares at it some more. It’s too thick for Donghyuck’s hand, in his opinion. But it doesn’t look bad, bright gold hugging golden skin.
Now that Mark thinks about it, it seems a little bit cruel that Donghyuck’s hands are always bare unless they have something to film.Mark lets go of his guitar to place his fingertips in the dips between Donghyuck’s fingers. His hands have been made to be decorated and held, he thinks, the spaces between his fingers soft to the touch.
But what he says out loud is, “It’s too big for you, though,” he pulls his hand away just to bring it closer again, touching the rough surface of the ring with his index finger. “A little ugly,” he laughs.
Mark looks up at Donghyuck’s face when he doesn’t get a reply, still smiling. And Donghyuck is looking back at him, his lower lip pursed into a pout. He curls his fingers around Mark’s before he can pull away.
“Maybe you should buy me a prettier one, then,” he says, tugging at Mark’s hand like a little kid.
And Mark thinks how easy it’d be to slip his fingers through the spaces between Donghyuck’s and curl them around him in the place of a ring. But he pulls his hand away from Donghyuck’s grip, his cheeks growing hot at his words. His mind is reeling, wondering if Donghyuck just wants something pretty for himself or if he actually realizes the heavy meaning behind his words.
He doesn’t know what to say, but he doesn’t have to struggle for too long. Doyoung’s voice reaches them like a popped bubble, echoing through the hallway, accompanied by his rushed steps.
“Lee Haechan! Come here right now, you brat!”
Donghyuck jumps, dropping Mark’s hand as if they’ve been doing something secret, something forbidden. His eyes widen in panic, his lower lip disappearing between his white teeth as he stares at Mark with amused expectation. Mark throws his guitar into his bed and gets up.
“The closet, c’mon,” he hushes, shoving Donghyuck in the right direction with his shoulder. Donghyuck starts to giggle when Mark’s naked skin comes in contact with his body, all pink cheeks and soft eyes. “But don’t be noisy, you idiot.”
And it’s so difficult to keep his lips from stretching into a grin once Doyoung shows up in his room, looking around like a madman.
“I know he’s here, Mark,” he sighs, arms crossed over his chest. “He always comes to you with these things.”
He always comes to me, Mark thinks. Not only with these things.
He says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
- 3 -
It’s uncomfortable to eat like this, Mark’s spoon keeps coming up half empty each time he tries to catch some soup with it. But he can’t use his left hand to tilt his cup a bit and help himself. He can’t move his left hand off the table when Donghyuck’s fingers are skimming over his skin, sliding over the bumps of his knuckles, catching on the spaces between them.
“If someone bought you a ring,” Donghyuck says, his words coming out all muffled due to his position. He’s got his cheek resting on his closed left fist, pink skin all squeezed and soft looking. He doesn’t meet Mark’s eyes as he speaks, his gaze following the movements of his own fingers. “Where would you wear it?”
Mark’s gaze jumps from Donghyuck’s face to their hands, and from their hands to the bottom of his cup. He stares at the yellow liquid, dripping from his spoon when he tries to catch some again, sneaking down the sides inevitably, the same way time seems to always be slipping between Mark’s fingers.
“Honestly, I’ve never thought about it,” he says, biting down on his lower lip when Donghyuck drapes his hand all over Mark’s, his warm palm pressed flat over the back of Mark’s hand.
It’s the truth, he’s never thought about it before. What he did think about before, though, is the way Donghyuck’s fingers seem to fit perfectly between his.
Mark sneaks a glance at their hands through the corner of his eye, stares as Donghyuck slots his fingers in the spaces between Mark’s, and grits his teeth to repress the need to turn his hand around and intertwine them properly, tightly. This is the closest he always is to stopping time completely, when Donghyuck’s hand is clasped inside of his, real and close and familiar, with no room to run and slip away.
“What about here?” Donghyuck glides his hand over Mark’s gently, his index finger rubbing Mark’s ring finger, from his nail all the way up to his knuckle. “It would look pretty, don’t you think?”
His eyes shoot up, fixing on Mark’s face, and Mark looks away so fast he almost gives himself whiplash. He sticks his empty spoon into his mouth, shrugs as if he hasn’t just been caught red handed, trying to ignore the burning feeling that’s running up his arm, all the way up to the back of his neck.
“I’d wear it on my ring finger,” Donghyuck keeps talking, his hand sliding further up Mark’s arm so he can tug at the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “Now I just need someone to buy me one.”
Mark turns around to stare at him with his eyebrows crooked up, his cheeks puffed out, the spoon still stuck inside of his mouth so the wrong words won’t be able to crawl past his lips.
“C’mon, Mark,” Donghyuck says, whines, pouting up at Mark as he pulls at the fabric of his shirt. “Why won’t you buy me one? I told you it doesn’t even have to be expensive.”
Mark coughs around the spoon, his eyes drifting off Donghyuck’s face to focus back on the soup. He’s suddenly glad Donghyuck isn’t holding his hand anymore, his palm all warm and sticky against the cold surface of the table.
“Why does Taeyong get to have one and not me?” Donghyuck complains again, all his words pitched high in exaggerated annoyance.
The spoon clatters against the ceramic cup when Mark finally puts it down. It sounds jarring and way too loud in the silence of the living room, like something important breaking.
“Do you even—,” Mark starts, stops, frowns down at his cold soup. “Are you, like, aware of what you’re—,” he cuts himself off again, groaning at his own inability to put his thoughts into words when Donghyuck is near.
Donghyuck whimpers again, his chair creaking under his weight as he kicks his leg in frustration. Mark’s fingers itch with the need to hold a pen, his thoughts running to his blue journal, closed inside of a drawer in his bedroom.
His hands only stop tingling when Donghyuck lets go of his sleeve, fingers draping all over Mark’s one more time, warm and sweaty and sweet.
- 4 -
“He’s been saying it all the time, man. Like, he brings it up almost in every conversation we have?” Renjun hums at Mark’s words, but he doesn’t look up from whatever he’s reading, a book cradled in his hands and open over his bent knees. “And it’s not that he wants a ring. I mean, that’s not—I don’t have a problem with that. I would get him one,” Renjun crooks an eyebrow at that, shifts a little on his side of the couch. Still, he doesn’t look up at him, but Mark feels slightly exposed, his feet folded under his body, going numb under his own weight. “You know. You know how it is, with me and—with him and I,” he tries to explain, gesturing with his hands to get his point across. “I don’t mind buying him stuff. That’s never been the problem. I can buy him whatever if that’s gonna make him, like, happy. You know?”
Renjun closes his book with a deep sigh, sets it down on the couch next to him. Then, he turns around to face Mark, still raising a cocky eyebrow.
“You and him, yeah. I get it,” he says, flapping a hand in the air to prompt Mark to keep talking. “I still don’t see where the problem is.”
“It’s that… He keeps saying, like Taeyong’s ring,” Mark finally blurts out, looking at Renjun with wide eyes, expecting to get a significant reaction out of him. But Renjun only tilts his head to the side. “He wants a ring like Taeyong’s, Jun. I mean, I—How am I gonna get him that?” Mark winces at his own voice, coming out like a squeal, loud and all over the place, the way it always sounds when he’s nervous. “Is he… I don’t think he realizes what he’s asking for. Like, we’re not together, how am I gonna get him a couple ring? We’re not. We’re not a couple? We’re not—”
“Haechan is far more clever than you’re giving him credit for,” Renjun cuts him off, leaning back on the couch, his arms crossed over his chest.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mark asks after a beat.
“I think he knows exactly what he’s asking for,” Renjun says. “You are the one who doesn’t realize.”
They stay quiet for a few moments, Renjun looking at Mark pointedly and Mark frowning back at him. The seconds keep stretching between them, lingering as if trying to give Mark enough time to set the pieces into their right place.
“Alright,” he sighs, leaning closer to Renjun. “And what’s that supposed to mean again?”
“Oh my god,” Renjun groans, throwing his head over the backrest of the couch, his hands coming up to rub his face. “You’re a nightmare. I don’t understand how Haechan is able to deal with you.”
“Me? I’m the nightmare?” Mark jabs a finger into Renjun’s unguarded belly, causing him to yelp at the ticklish sensation. He frowns at Renjun, watching him as he curls into himself on his side of the couch, his knees drawn up to his chest like an armor. “He’s the one who keeps saying all this weird shit! I’m losing my mind, Jun.”
“Mark, listen,” Renjun sighs dramatically, still scowling at Mark from across the couch. “The question here is, do you wanna buy him a ring?”
“I already told you I wouldn’t have a problem getting him one,” Mark says, shrugging a shoulder. It’s so easy for him to give in to whatever Donghyuck asks from him, it’s been this way since they were kids. The need to comply just to make Donghyuck smile is like muscle memory to Mark’s body, it’s what he’s supposed to do. “I buy him stuff all the time.”
“That’s not the point,” Renjun rolls his eyes at him, sighing one more time. Mark has already lost count of the number of times Renjun has sighed today. “You, knowing the implications, would you wanna get him one?”
Mark’s brain halts at the question, words running away from his hands as his throat closes up, making it hard to breath for a moment. He hasn’t even allowed himself to think about it until now, Donghyuck’s warm, soft hands decorated with something Mark gifted him, a shiny band wrapped around his ring finger for everyone else to see. Even though they are not together—not like that, never like that—he thinks it’d be pretty damn cool, a ring on Donghyuck’s finger for when Mark isn’t close enough to hold his hand.
He doesn’t know how to voice this, though. He ends up stuttering and stammering, warm on the cheeks with a feeling he can’t explain unless he’s got a pen between his fingers. But Renjun doesn’t need him to put it into words, he looks at him with a small, knowing smile on his lips, laughter hidden in the seams.
Mark reaches behind him for a cushion, and smashes it against Renjun’s face when he starts to laugh out loud.
- 5 -
Doyoung and Taeyong are pretty sweet together, if Mark is being honest.
They’ve always been like this, he thinks as he chases them through the practice room with his eyes. They’ve been bickering for the past fifteen minutes, running around in their sweaty training clothes, crashing against each other just to push and run away a second later, spreading annoying screams mixed up with laughter everywhere.
“I swear to god, I will return your damn ring,” Doyoung yells, cornering Taeyong against the mirror.
Taeyong is laughing way too much to reply, his head thrown back as he shakes with the happiness of his own giggles, eyes screwed shut, hands tangling on the front of Doyoung’s shirt. And Doyoung is so weak for him, he goes soft so easily, dropping his guard down in the blink of an eye.
It takes Taeyong one second to slip under Doyoung’s arm and away from his grasp one more time.
“Lee Taeyong, come back here!” Doyoung screams for what feels like the millionth time, already taking off after Taeyong again.
And Mark doesn’t remember them any other way: endless bickering and non stopping care and infinite laughter, simmering and burning and blowing up into ashes just to be lit on fire again and again and again.
Mark wants. He wants something like them so badly that his fingertips ache with how hard he’s pressing the tip of his pen into his journal, filling up page after page with words about humid practice rooms and peeled off knees and shared exhaustion, about familiarity and steadiness and lifelong friendship.
Then, Donghyuck is flopping down right next to him. The couch is empty aside from the two of them, a large patch of gray cushion free for Donghyuck to sprawl over if he wants to. But he presses himself up to Mark’s side instead, his sweaty, damp skin sticking to Mark’s with sweat. And it’s so familiar and comforting and natural.
Mark snaps his journal closed before Donghyuck can read his latest words.
“Mark,” Donghyuck wiggles his shoulders against Mark’s, his plush lips already pursed into a pout when Mark finally looks up at him. “When are you going to get me a ring?”
He’s so close, Mark can see every single detail of his face. He can see the sweat that’s pooling in the crook of his brows, shining on his cupid’s bow. The deep blush high on his cheeks, a bit swollen due to the heat of the room. The paper-thin skin under his eyes, faded with lack of slip. The four moles on his left cheek, as if they’ve been painted there to mark the right spots to kiss. His full, heart-shaped lips, jutted out in a childish sulk, chapped and red and so kissable.
It’s dizzying, how easily the mood around them changes, like the lilting flame of a candle. One second, Mark is scribbling down everything he wants, and the next he’s got everything he’s ever wanted sitting right next to him, tangible and steady and at hand reach.
“You’re gonna buy me a ring, aren’t you?” Donghyuck says, whispers, the corners of his mouth twisting upwards because he knows exactly what’s going on. He always knows exactly what goes on.
Mark can’t see it, can’t draw his eyes away from Donghyuck’s, but he feels Donghyuck’s hand on him, fingers intertwining together as he leans closer. Mark holds his breath, scared he’ll blow off their candle if he breathes too hard. He swallows hard to try to calm his heart, thrumming frantically on his temples, scared it will burst their bubble if it beats too loud.
He’s still trying to find the words, thinking yes and whatever you want and as always, when music shatters the moment in a million tiny pieces. And Mark doesn’t have enough time—never has enough time—to lock them back together in place.
Taeyong claps loudly, calling them back to work. Donghyuck springs away from Mark, his hand inevitably sliding out of Mark’s grip.
- 5 + 1 -
Mark comes back to the dorms when it’s already dark, the soles of his feet stinging after an entire day spent walking around, strolling from jewelry store to jewelry store in the hope of finding something just right for Donghyuck.
He keeps his hand tucked in the pocket of his jeans as he rides the elevator to the 10th floor, his fingers curled around the small jewel. It’s not too much, just a simple gold band with a little sun engraved on it. It’s not too expensive either, because he didn’t know how much money he should spend on it when he doesn’t really know what it means.
The weight of it is comforting in his hand, though. Metal biting into his skin as he tightens his grip around the ring when he walks into the dorm.
He isn’t expecting to find Donghyuck on his bed when he walks into his room. But there he is, curled up between Mark’s blankets, a small blue journal propped open on his knees.
“Is that my diary?” Mark asks in lieu of an actual greeting, his throat so dry with agitation and panic that his voice sounds way too loud in the quiet of the night.
“Oh,” Donghyuck mumbles quietly, looking up at him through the soft sandy bangs of his hair, falling right over his eyes. He’s blushing, this pink color lighting up his skin gently, prettily. “Uhm, yeah?”
“I didn’t—,” Mark starts, walking close enough for his knees to bump against the edge of the bed. “I didn’t say you could read it.”
“I’m sorry,” Donghyuck snaps the journal closed, throwing it on top of the mattress hastily, as if it’s burning his skin. “It was on the bed for everyone to read. I didn’t think there was anything wrong with it? Since you’ve never hidden it away from me before…”
Mark licks his dry lips, tries to swallow thickly past the stinging lump in his throat. He isn’t even mad about it, he just feels weirdly exposed, laid bare for Donghyuck to nitpick. He tightens his fist around the ring as he flops down on the bed next to Donghyuck.
“They are good,” Donghyuck whispers softly as he scoots closer to Mark, near enough for them to be touching from shoulder to thigh. “They are all about me, anyway.”
It’s so weird to hear those words out loud. Mark has only come to that realization a few days ago, but Donghyuck talks about it so surely, like he’s stating a fact he’s known for years. And Mark can’t even act surprised, though his entire body is simmering up with the knowledge of his vulnerability. Donghyuck’s always been a step ahead of him, hasn’t he? Doesn’t even need to read between Mark’s lines cause he’s always been able to see right through him.
So, instead of getting mad, instead of complaining, Mark takes his hand out of his pocket and confesses, “I’ve got something for you.”
Donghyuck’s eyes light up like candles, shining under the white light of the room, widening in expectation. He straightens his back, rubbing his palms back and forth on the fabric of his sleeping pants.
“Is it my ring?” he asks, eyebrows crooked and the corners of his lips tugged up. “Did you finally buy me one?”
Mark swallows on nothing again as he turns his hand over, opening his fingers slowly to reveal a small golden band in the middle of his palm. He’s a little self conscious as he looks down at his hand, the shape of his own nails and the circle of the ring imprinted on his sweaty skin due to how hard he’s been squeezing the tiny thing.
Donghyuck doesn’t seem to care, though. He reaches out with steady fingers, presses his pads against the small jewel before he seems to think better of it, retreating with a loud gaps.
“C’mon,” he urges, bumping his shoulder against Mark’s, bouncing on the bed a little. “Put it on me.”
Suddenly, Mark’s got Donghyuck’s small hand right in front of his face, his fingers all stretched out and stiff and ready, like an offering. He’s brought back to that time Donghyuck burst into his room wearing Taeyong’s ring, but there’s a different edge to the moment, something sweeter and safer and theirs.
Still, Mark’s left hand sweats and shakes slightly as he curls it around Donghyuck’s, the fingers of his right one holding onto the ring gently as he slides it around Donghyuck’s ring finger, all the way down until it’s resting right under his knuckle, hugging his tan skin beautifully.
Donghyuck’s hand goes limp in his grip, and Mark stares at it with his mouth hanging open, the tips of his ears burning up for some reason he still can’t understand. He sighs as he rubs his thumb over the ring, the surface smooth under his pad, the feeling of it making his heart leap up his throat.
“It’s kinda big on you,” he says with a cough that turns into a nervous giggle. “I’m sorry, I’ve never bought a ring before. I didn’t—Didn’t know which size to buy, you know? You can, like, change it or return it or—”
“Mark,” Donghyuck cuts him off gently, his fingers squeezing softly around Mark’s. When Mark looks up, Donghyuck is already looking back at him, all pink cheeks and golden skin and soft, shy smiles. “I think this is when you kiss me.”
Everything seems to freeze around them, there’s only the weight of Donghyuck’s hand on Mark, the smooth surface of the ring warm under Mark’s thumb, and Donghyuck’s eyes burning up with something gentle.
There it is again, the feeling that seconds ticking by never feel like wasted time when he’s sharing them with Donghyuck.
Mark blinks at him, his chapped lips falling open as he tries to find the right words to put the sensation into a coherent sentence.
“I don’t—I mean, I didn’t—”
But the words get cut off in his throat by Donghyuck’s lips on his.
It’s short and fast, just a tender press of soft, warm lips against Mark’s, lingering long enough for Mark to process what’s happening and slide his eyes closed.
When Donghyuck pulls back, he doesn’t go too far away. He stays close enough for Mark to feel Donghyuck’s nose brushing alongside his, the hot puffs of his breath hitting Mark’s tingling lips. Mark keeps his eyes squeezed shut, afraid he’ll wake up in an empty bed if he dares to open them up. But Donghyuck’s hand on his is steady and familiar, molding into his grasp like the missing puzzle piece Mark couldn’t read between his lyrics, like the lost melody he wasn’t able to rasp out of his old guitar strings.
“Shut up for once and just—,” Donghyuck whispers. His lips brush softly against Mark’s when he speaks.
Mark swallows hard when Donghyuck’s other hand comes up to cradle his neck gently, and he wonders if Donghyuck can feel it, with a thumb pressed against the side of his throat. His heart keeps thrumming wildly under Donghyuck’s fingertips, giving away everything Mark’s been uselessly trying to hide for years. But who cares anymore? When Donghyuck’s figured it out long before Mark was able to figure himself out. So Mark swallows one more time and leans closer, catching Donghyuck’s lips in a longer kiss.
The tiny gasp that falls from Donghyuck’s mouth gives Mark the confidence to press in harder, gliding his tongue along Donghyuck’s bottom lip until it’s falling open under the pressure. Donghyuck’s mouth is so warm and sweet and inviting, like everything else about him, his tongue meeting Mark’s halfway because it could never be any other way.
They kiss and kiss until Mark feels himself going dizzy with it. He’s still holding Donghyuck’s hand in his, squeezing tighter than necessary to keep himself grounded. He’s got his other hand tangled in Donghyuck’s sleeping shirt, knuckles digging into the small of his back to bring him closer. Mark’s lungs are full of honey, veins tingling with sugar as he licks into Donghyuck’s mouth, trying to memorize his taste to write about it later.
“Wait,” Donghyuck pulls away, but barely. He’s still molded into Mark’s side like a perfect puzzle piece, his breath fanning over Mark’s heated cheeks as he speaks. “The ring. Where’s yours?”
“My what?” Mark asks dumbly, blinking down at Donghyuck’s lips, getting lost in the redness of the skin.
“Your ring, Mark,” Donghyuck says a little louder, squeezing Mark’s nape to bring his attention back to his eyes. “What’s even the point of it all if we aren’t wearing couple rings?”
“Oh,” Mark mumbles, pushing himself away so he can think. “I didn’t know… I wasn’t sure if you wanted that? I didn’t know if—”
“I’ll buy you one tomorrow,” Donghyuck says with a roll of his eyes, clicking his tongue as he leans closer again. “I have to do everything myself in this relationship,” he sighs.
“Wait,” Mark says, leaning back when Donghyuck tries to catch his lips one more time. “We aren’t—I mean, we aren’t in a relationship, though?”
Donghyuck stares at him with his eyebrows raised high on his forehead, his tongue pinched between his teeth as he offers Mark an amused smirk.
“We aren’t?” he asks with a tilt of his head.
And Mark is stuck in the red tip of his tongue, in the curled up seams of his mouth, in the pink blush dusting his full cheeks. He’s leaning in again before he can help himself, kissing Donghyuck open mouthed and unrestrained, trying to kiss all the words he can’t find into Donghyuck’s open, welcoming lips.
“Now, that’s what I thought,” Donghyuck chuckles. Mark swallows his laughter.
- ∞ -
Mark will never get used to it. He swears his heart rattles in his rib cage whenever Donghyuck forgets to tuck his chain into his clothes, or when he’s wearing shirts and it slips between the open buttons, the gold ring dangling from it, shining and exposed for everyone else to see.
It’s almost breathtaking. But it’s also oh so easy for Mark to tangle his hand into the chain. So easy to tug and pull Donghyuck closer, close enough to kiss unsaid words into his lips.
Mark loves the way Donghyuck’s chain looks around his hand, golden lines across pale skin, the silver band on Mark’s ring finger shining just in tune.