Chapter Text
Mark Lee’s faith had always been an integral part of his personality, and if anyone were to ask, he would tell them that there was no grand moment of revelation that came to him.
He never felt like his faith had suddenly arrived or was revealed to him as a result of some major life event.
It was rather more uneventful than that; to him, his faith was there from the beginning, woven into the rhythm of his life like breath.
Ever since he was little, in his house God was never thought of as an idea or a question. God was everything, the very purpose of being, the air in the room and the reason behind everything that was good or needed to be endured.
As he grew up, his routine had always remained consistent; in the mornings he had breakfast with his parents, followed by school, then evening prayers after eating dinner, and Sunday mornings were of course reserved for church service as he sang along with his parents in the middle pews.
His parents were never harsh about it. They were patient with him, teaching him with love and showing him that faith lived more in actions than in sermons.
This is how most of his early years have passed, filled with church services and community events. Mark never did any of them because they were obligations, however, but because he saw them as opportunities to make a difference to his community.
He liked doing good, and grew up internalizing this idea of helping without seeking recognition for it, doing what was right simply because it was the right thing to do.
There was no need for fanfare. Just the knowledge that you’ve done an act of kindness should be enough for everyone, and this is a belief he upheld.
By the time he reached high school age, Mark’s path had a clear contour. He didn’t go to parties like the majority of people his age, he didn’t date and, most importantly, he didn't waver.
Most of his peers thought him strange and unreachable, almost like he lived a few inches to the left of their world, close enough to see it but too far to touch.
To them he must have seemed too uptight and devout, but he tried not to care too much about that.
He wasn’t chasing popularity. What mattered to him at that point was the feeling he got when his church group looked at him in approval, like he was doing something important.
And he was, or he tried to think that it was. And this brings us to the other thing about Mark Lee, which is that he believed in lost souls. That is to mean, he didn't think of them as villains or rebels or cautionary tales.
To him lost souls meant people who wandered too far off from the road. It wasn’t their fault the world was full of distractions and noise and temptation that dressed itself up as freedom.
It was all too easy to lose your way. This is why Mark saw people as simply detoured, not damned, never too late to bring someone back to the right path. What he wanted was to offer a helping hand and guide them back.
Redemption was never too far out of reach, as long as you had the courage to outstretch your hand.
Mark didn’t know when it began for him, but with this tightly held belief in his chest, he had started mapping out neighbourhoods and biked to the farthest corners of the city, knocking on every door he passed.
It wasn’t easy, because lots of doors got slammed in his face or people snapped at him. Mark didn’t grow bitter no matter the outcome. He merely pulled the satchel a little closer to his chest and moved on to the next house.
There were only so many doors left, after all. And he couldn’t stop until he had knocked on every single one and found the people who listened.
Jeno lived three houses away from Mark, close enough that their footsteps had traced the same path for as long as either of them could remember.
They had their own meeting spot since they were little, and each weekday morning they met by the fire hydrant then fell into step together on the way to school. It was their own routine that had remained unbroken.
Him and Jeno have met through church, obviously, since their mothers both sang in the choir together and their fathers led the Wednesday night men's prayer group. It felt inevitable that they ended up being friends.
They were the boys who volunteered for everything: the Christmas nativity play, the mission trip car washes, the food drive for the shelter two towns over.
If there was a sign-up sheet, their names were the first two on the list.
Their personalities were different, with Mark being the more loud and expressive one while Jeno was quiet and dependable.
Still, both of them were bound by their faith, studying the Bible together and making the youth pastor beam with pride when they argued over scripture interpretation together. They were the same when it came to what mattered most.
When Mark had doubts, Jeno always listened and never laughed at him, and when Jeno didn’t have answers, Mark promised to look them up.
It worked. They worked.
This morning Mark was already waiting at their usual spot, one hand shoved into his backpack as he rummaged around for something. His tie was messy, the knot crooked and resting just below his collarbone.
“You’re hopeless,” Jeno called as he approached. As opposed to Mark, his own attire was neat, shirt ironed and pristine, hair combed and no messy strands in sight.
“Man, do you sleep in your school uniform or what?” Mark called out as he adjusted the strap on his own bag, which was dangling by a thread.
Jeno raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I just wake up on time.”
“Impossible, that would make you not human. Ooh, or is it because you are a samoyed?”
Jeno rolled his eyes but gave him an easygoing smile anyway. “One of these days you’re gonna have to learn how to tie your tie by yourself.”
“Why, when I have samoyed to do it for me?”
Jeno came closer, fingers working expertly at the fabric as he twisted it this way and that, then he stepped back to admire his work. “You’ll thank me when you need to look like a responsible adult. There. Try not to unravel on the way to school.”
They fell into step, side by side, their shadows stretching long ahead of them in the morning light.
“So, what’d you do last night? I texted you around nine but you didn’t respond,” Mark asked, kicking a small pebble along the sidewalk,
Jeno shrugged, eyes fixed on the pavement. “Nothing much. Homework.”
“You always respond to my memes. Even the bad ones.”
“They were especially bad yesterday.”
Mark gasped. “Wow, okay, that’s fine. I’ll send them all to Renjun next time, he appreciates me.”
“Renjun blocked you once.”
“It was temporary.”
Jeno smiled, just barely, but didn’t offer more. They crossed the street, the quiet of early morning wrapping around them.
They turned the corner near the 7-Eleven, the brick-red school starting to come into view ahead, buzzing with students already trickling in.
“Wait, did you seriously do homework all night?”
Jeno looked straight ahead. “Yeah.”
“You didn’t game or anything?”
“Nope.”
“Not even a quick Valorant match?”
Jeno shook his head. “Didn’t feel like it.”
“You feeling okay?”
“Yeah, just tired probably.”
“Mood. I stayed up watching YouTube videos again.”
Sometimes it felt like the only time they had to unwind was in fractions. Mark himself only had time for a scroll through shorts before bed, or putting a video in the background as he packed for the next day.
During early mornings they had school, the afternoons were packed with church events and their evenings got eaten up by homework or youth group meetings or various volunteer events that left them running on fumes.
College applications also loomed at every corner, and it was all everyone could discuss nowadays. And beneath it all, there was also the pressure of looking like you had your life together, whether it be spiritually, academically or emotionally.
Some days, it was easier to say you were tired than to explain all of the weight you carried.
The chatter of other students grew louder as they approached the school entrance.
“Do you have time to study later? I’ve got chem homework that’s actually trying to kill me,” Mark asked as they headed to their lockers.
Jeno stopped to wave to someone and then turned back to him. “After class. We can meet in the library. I can bring some brains if you bring the snacks.”
“Deal,” Mark said. “I’ll see if I can get Chenle or Renjun to join us. We need all the extra help.”
When they reached the library after classes it was already full with other students. Only the rustle of paper and the occasional whisper broke through the quiet. Mark and Jeno had claimed their usual corner, meaning the two chairs by the window, one of them bathed in sunlight and peeling slightly at the edges.
Mark flopped into his seat. “I am academically perishing.”
“You say that every Tuesday,” Jeno replied, sliding his notebook onto the table.
“That’s because it's true every Tuesday.”
Mark had barely pulled out his chem notebook when Chenle made his arrival known by sliding dramatically into the chair across from him.
“You guys,” he announced, probably too loud given they were in a library, “our math teacher is actually unhinged. She assigned like thirty problems and then said, ‘I’m feeling merciful today.’ Excuse me?”
Mark held up a hand. “Bro, we’re gathered here today for chemistry not your math trauma.”
Jeno looked up from his notebook. “Also, shhh.”
Renjun’s arrival saved them from any further protests from Chenle. He, too, seemed tired and entirely done with the day as he dropped his bag onto a chair with a sigh.
“If I see one more freshman sword-fighting with a rolled-up poster in the hallway, I’m transferring.”
Chenle beamed. “Gege, I saved you a seat next to me!”
Mark slid his textbook across the table. “Okay, okay, focus. I need help. Jeno promised me brain power because I have to learn about molarity.”
“You’ve been in chemistry for how long?” Renjun asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“It’s hard to take science seriously when the word ‘titration’ sounds like a sea monster.”
Chenle cackled. “All beware the mighty Titration!”
Jeno looked at Renjun across the table. “Do you remember when it was just the two of us that used to come here and it was peaceful?”
“Every day since then has been punishment,” Renjun said without warmth.
The four of them were a peculiar bunch, because they fell together mostly due to their shared routines and forced proximity initially. They all went to the same school, frequented the same church and were threaded together by the same expectations of excellence.
Mark and Jeno were the neighbors and childhood classmates, then Renjun and Chenle joined the friend group after a school transfer.
They were the two new students from a nearby private school, and as Mark would come to learn, their upbringing had been even stricter, with a heavy academic load and parental expectations.
Both Renjun and Chenle are Chinese, and while they weren’t technically related, they moved through the world like they’d grown up side by side.
From what they had shared, their previous school had been a pressure cooker of rules, and though they never talked much about why they left, it was clear they’d found some relief here.
Mark had instantly taken a liking to Renjun, because he is the one who keeps them in check and challenges their thinking, and for all his theatrical exasperation he loved them all fiercely.
He is observant, perceptive, someone who understands people and makes it hard to lie to him.
Chenle is an outlier in many ways: more outspoken, more irreverent, the type of friend who’d make fun of you to your face but who defended you to anyone else.
He knows how to laugh off the awkward silences and makes it easier for the group to coexist when things get tense.
As the sun began to dip outside the window, the library had become more quiet the more students petered out, done for the day.
Still, the four of them stayed, since Jeno was not done correcting Mark’s answers. Chenle, for one, was tossing in wild hypotheticals like, “What if we all became dancers?” just to see how long it would take Renjun to snap.
Eventually, Chenle yawned and leaned dramatically on Renjun’s shoulder. “Gege, I’m tired.”
“And you’re loud. We all suffer,” Renjun said with a huff.
Mark smiled at the two of them then looked across the table at Jeno, who was quietly fixing his last equation.
Renjun leaned back in his chair, arms extended above his head in a stretch, expression far too casual. “So, you guys still go knocking on people’s doors, or did you retire after the incident?”
Mark froze mid-snack. Jeno didn’t even look up from his worksheet.
“Wait, what incident?” Chenle asked, perking up the instant he smelled a potentially good story.
Mark groaned and dropped his head onto his arms. “Why did you bring it up now?”
“Because it’s hilarious and I will never stop.”
“Okay, someone better start talking or I’m making up my own version, and in mine a goat is involved,” Chenle said as he looked between them.
When the four of them got going, it was like tossing a lit match into a pile of dry leaves, everything becoming an immediate and blazing flame.
Conversations between them were so hard to keep track of because they bounced between topics with zero warning: someone would tell a story one second, then argue over some nonsense the next.
Renjun or Mark played moderator half the time to try and keep things from spiraling while Chenle and Jeno were the instigators who thrived in the mess.
Chenle in particular loved to throw in absurd hypotheticals because he liked to stir the pot while Jeno was the one with the jabs and sarcastic quips.
Jeno sighed. “We were volunteering last summer for outreach week.”
“Stoop,” Mark whined into his arm.
“We had brochures and matching shirts,” Jeno continued through a smile.
Renjun cut in, tone dry. “You know their short-sleeved, white button-ups. They’re so blinding they could cause retinal damage.”
“Very proper, yes,” Chenle said, nodding.
“We were assigned that neighborhood! It wasn’t even our idea.” In all of the time he spent knocking on doors, he doesn't think he's had an encounter that would rival that one. Looking back on it, it sounded funny when telling it to others but back then it had been anything but.
“Anyway, we knocked on this one guy’s door. Normal-looking house. Hedges trimmed, lawn mowed and everything,” Jeno went on.
“Yo, the guy opens the door, and he didn’t have any shirt on. Starts yelling about how we’ve been harassing the neighborhood.”
“Which we hadn’t,” Jeno said. “We’d never been there before.”
“And then,” Renjun added, “he grabs a rolled-up newspaper and chases them off his lawn.”
“He sprinted after us is what he did,” Mark emphasized. “Like, full Olympic form. His sock was falling off mid-run, I swear.”
Chenle was laughing, nearly choking on a rice cracker. “You guys got chased?!”
"It was terrifying. Jeno just bolted without looking back once.”
“I can’t breathe,” Chenle wheezed.
“We did not go back to that neighborhood,” Jeno said, ears going pink.
Chenle wiped his eyes, still giggling. “This is the best thing I’ve ever heard. You two got chased down a street like criminals. You guys are never living this down.”
“Oh, I know,” Mark sighed. “I’ve accepted it.”
By the time they packed up, the sky outside had melted into a deep indigo. They were all walking slowly, backpacks slung over shoulders and shoes scuffing on the tiles. Tonight they were in no rush to be anywhere else in particular.
“Same time tomorrow?” Renjun asked.
“Absolutely,” Mark said.
“Unless Chenle gets banned again,” Jeno added.
"We all know I’m the life of this party.”
“Tragically,” Renjun muttered.
They laughed, walking out together into the cooling evening air, still joking as the doors swung shut behind them.
The church smelled like old wood and lemon polish, the morning sunlight coming in through the high windows to reveal the dust motes swirling in the air.
Inside, the space was small but warm, rows of polished wooden pews stretching toward a modest altar, above which a single wooden cross hung against a cream-colored wall.
Mark had always loved to look at how the light would come in through the stained glass windows, painting the walls and the heads of the congregants in various colored hues of red, blue and gold.
Today he sat with his family in their usual spot, second row and center. His mother's hand was resting on her open Bible as she hummed along under her breath with the final notes of the worship song.
His father stood beside her, his tie a little crooked, but no one seemed to mind.
A few seats down, Jeno sat with his own family. Their posture was stiffer, backs straight and hands folded neatly atop their knees when they weren’t holding hymnals.
Jeno’s father was in a suit like usual, even though it was a bit too heavy for the warm day, but for him being proper came before anything else. By his side, Jeno’s mother held a Bible marked up with color-coded tabs, a pen poised between her fingers.
Mark caught Jeno’s eye once in a quick sideways glance. Jeno gave him the barest smile in return and then snapped his gaze forward again when his mother nudged his arm.
Mark turned back to face the pulpit, but not without a small twist in his chest.
The final chord faded and Pastor Kim stepped up to the lectern, clearing his throat into the mic. The congregation quieted instantly, everyone stilling to pay attention to him.
"Good morning, church," Pastor Kim said and a chorus of polite "Good mornings" rose in return.
The pastor flipped open his worn leather Bible, pages so softened by time they barely made a sound. He leaned into the microphone and the church seemed to shrink around his voice, everyone leaning in almost imperceptibly.
"This world will tell you that truth is a feeling. That if it feels good, it must be right. That if it makes you happy, it must be true."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"But feelings," he continued, "are slippery. Truth is a rock. Truth is the Word of God, and a house built on anything else, on the sands of what feels good, what feels easy, will not stand."
Mark knew these words by heart at this point. He did not even need to glance at his own underlined Bible to read the passages anymore, its old pages marked with neon pinks and yellows from long afternoons of study.
As he listened to Pastor Kim, he felt the truth of those words settle over him once more. The truth that he spoke about was also something that he chased, wanting to live on a solid rock foundation and be steady like the Bible talked about.
When he looked up again he noticed Jeno’s father listening attentively, barely moving, as if every word demanded his attention.
When Pastor Kim asked the congregation to turn to Matthew 7, Jeno’s parents already had it open before Mark managed to flip a single page.
There was a moment, just a flicker, when Jeno dropped his bulletin. It landed softly against the floor with a whisper of paper, but his father’s hand closed tightly around Jeno’s arm almost instantly, and even across the distance Mark could tell the grip was firm.
Jeno bent to retrieve it and didn’t meet anyone’s eye when he sat back up.
Mark looked away, pretending he hadn’t seen. Pretending he didn’t feel the slight pinch of discomfort crawl up his neck.
Jeno was an adult now, technically, but it didn’t seem to matter much to his parents. They still treated him like a child, watching his every move.
The sermon went on, talking about storms and the strength to endure them as you build your life on solid ground, how obedience was not only outward, but inward, "written on the heart."
Every so often, Pastor Kim would raise his voice slightly to emphasize a point, and when he finished his sermon, the organ began playing in the background.
As the final hymn rose up, Mark sang along automatically, the words etched into him since he was a boy.
Around him, the voices wove together, but even through the noise Mark was able to make out that Jeno’s voice was quieter than usual.
When the final "Amen" echoed into the small space, Mark’s father clapped him gently on the shoulder.
"Good word today," he said, giving him a smile. Mark smiled back, feeling a little lighter and a little stronger. A good sermon had that effect on him.
Across the aisle, Jeno stood rigid between his parents, hands at his sides. Only when they were dismissed did his posture relax a fraction, like someone had cut some invisible strings.
Mark waited by the door for him, knowing without anyone needing to say it that Jeno wouldn’t linger behind for small talk with the other teens. His parents were already heading straight for the parking lot, not ones for small talk with the other congregants.
"Hey," Mark said when Jeno caught up.
Jeno offered a tired smile. "Hey."
They didn’t say anything, but when they reached the sidewalk where the church lawn gave way to the gravel road, Jeno bumped Mark with his elbow.
And that was enough.
The next morning the air was cool and damp, the sky a pale blue washed thin by the early hour. Mark tightened the straps of his backpack and waited at the same corner for Jeno.
A few minutes later and the other boy came into view, his dark hair perfectly into place as usual, headphones tangled around his neck.
He raised a hand in greeting, the faintest ghost of a smile pulling at his mouth.
“Yo,” Jeno said, voice rough with sleep.
“Morning,” Mark replied, shifting his backpack higher up his shoulders as they fell into step side by side.
Their sneakers scuffed lightly against the sidewalk, the street mostly empty except for a few cars rolling lazily past.
For a while they talked about nothing important: the math test coming up, how Chenle had declared he was going to “fail spectacularly and take Renjun down with him.”
They always had these conversations that didn’t ask anything from either of them except to be there, but Mark kept glancing at Jeno out of the corner of his eye.
Eventually, after he felt like they shared enough small talk, he said, as casually as he could, “Hey, about yesterday at church. Your dad...”
Jeno kicked a loose pebble across the sidewalk, watching it bounce into the street, but didn't say anything.
Mark swallowed, pressing on. “I just wanted to check in. You okay?”
Jeno gave a short laugh, one that didn’t sound much like a laugh at all. “They’re just... you know. Them. It’s always like that.”
Mark frowned, unsure if he should push. He usually didn’t but today felt different. “I mean, it kinda looked like... I don’t know. A lot.”
Out of the periphery of his eye he could see Jeno shrugging, his shoulders tense under the fabric of his jacket.
“They think if they don’t stay on me, I’m gonna mess everything up,” he said, voice tight. “Like I’m one bad decision away from ruining my whole life. So they watch. All the time.”
Mark stayed quiet, letting him talk. This time he realized it was important. If he said the wrong thing this fragile moment between them might shatter and he won’t be able to get it back.
“It’s not like I’m doing anything wrong, you know?” Jeno said as he kicked at another pebble. “I go to church, I volunteer, I study. I’m doing everything they want and it’s still not enough.”
They crossed the street together, the crosswalk paint faded and cracked under their feet.
Mark rubbed the back of his neck, trying to search for the right words that wouldn’t sound fake or make the situation worse.
“They’re scared,” is what he settled on. “They think the world’s trying to pull us away. Maybe they don’t know how to show it any other way.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
They walked a little further. The school building loomed in the distance, brick and glass catching the first real light of morning.
Mark bumped Jeno’s shoulder lightly with his own. “I see you, though. You’re doing good, even if they don’t say it.”
Jeno huffed out a breath that might have been a laugh. “Thanks, dude.”
Mark grinned and kicked another pebble toward Jeno’s foot like a challenge. Jeno kicked it back, and just like that, the atmosphere became light once more. The tightness was not gone, but it was easier to carry a burden once it was shared.
When they reached the school gates the noise of the day started to creep in, other students spilling onto the lawn, backpacks swinging, someone blasting music too loud from a phone.
“Bet Chenle’s gotten detention and we’re not even in homeroom yet.”
Mark laughed. “Oh I bet Renjun’s going to have him by the ear by lunchtime.”
They pushed through the doors together and let the crowd swallow them up. They were walking ahead to try to get to their second-floor lockers where Renjun and Chenle usually waited for them, but halfway there the energy shifted.
Mark caught the shift first and he touched Jeno’s arm as he nodded toward the cluster forming near the classrooms.
At the center of it, a boy. It was not anyone Mark recognized personally but he knew of him, in that vague way you knew faces you passed in the hallway every day.
Lee Donghyuck.
Same grade. Rumored to be trouble, depending on who you asked.
There was something immediately striking about him: the smooth tan of his skin caught in the light, and his brown hair curled the ends, soft and pretty.
He stood tall, his posture loose but composed, like he didn’t have to try to take up space. He just did.
Donghyuck was pressed against his locker, casual as anything, while an older, broad-shouldered boy, probably one of the senior football players, stood a little too close, voice raised enough to carry.
Donghyuck didn’t flinch, not even a little. His gaze was calm, meeting the senior’s with a look that could’ve been amusement as he leaned back against his locker.
“I heard rumors about you. I will let you know that no one wants that around here.” The senior took a step forward, his voice rising.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Heard you like guys. Thought you were just a loudmouth who likes attention but I guess you’re also a faggot.”
Donghyuck straightened, his smile widening. “Yeah? And who told you that? Maybe I should get the full story. Sounds like I’m way more interesting than you thought.”
“What, you think you're special? You’re some freak who’s too bold for his own good,” the guy sneered, voice threaded with mockery.
“You wished I liked guys like you, dude," Donghyuck said, loud enough for everyone to hear. That earned him some laughs from the crowd.
The guy got more aggressive than before, his hands balling into fists. “Don’t make me teach you a lesson, I will show you what happens to faggots like you around here.”
“What? You think I’m some kind of target for your jokes? That you will scare me into not being myself?”
The senior paused, his expression flickering. “I’m saying you better watch it,” he muttered, clearly losing some of his earlier aggression. “No one wants to deal with that here.”
But before any of them could say anything more, Mr. Han, one of the math teachers, appeared, frown deepening by the second. “That’s enough,” Mr. Han barked, voice cutting through the noise. “Both of you get moving.”
The senior grumbled under his breath and stomped off, shoving past a group of freshmen on his way down the hall.
Donghyuck stayed where he was for a beat longer, smoothing the front of his hoodie like he had all the time in the world. Then he caught Mark's eye, just for a second, and winked.
Mark startled like he’d been caught doing something wrong.
He turned quickly, dragging Jeno with him by the sleeve toward the stairs. They didn’t say anything at first as they weaved through the river of students.
Only when they reached their lockers did Jeno break the silence.
“Well,” Jeno said, popping the lock open. “That was… interesting.”
Mark nodded, but his mind wasn’t really on it. He was still stuck replaying the scene of Donghyuck standing his ground without blinking, like it was the most natural thing in the world to be himself, even with a crowd watching.
Mark didn't understand it. He didn’t understand how someone could know that about themselves and be so open about it when everything Mark had ever been taught said that was wrong. A path you had to save people from.
And yet…
Donghyuck had stood there as he laughed in the face of cruelty, and there had been nothing broken about the way he smiled.
Mark bit the inside of his cheek, shoving his books into his locker harder than necessary.
He didn't know what to make of the strange flicker of feeling that twisted in his chest when he thought about Donghyuck looking at him.
Jeno nudged him lightly with his elbow. "You good?"
“Yeah, just thinking.”
Jeno made a noise of vague agreement, busy with digging through his bag for his history notes.
Mark stared at his own reflection in the tiny dented mirror stuck inside his locker door, willing the weird heat in his face to go away.