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Twenty minutes past 5 in the morning, darkness still curls around the corners of Mark's bedroom.
A timid orange light is trying to break the horizon, it sneaks in through the window and crawls all over the carpet like an uninvited guest. Still weak and faint, sunlight sharpens the wrinkles of the tangled bedsheets, the edge of the furniture, the outline of Donghyuck's body—lying peacefully across Mark's mattress, on his side, with his back to Mark and his face turned to the awakening sun.
Mark has been here countless times.
Every night, he breathes in deep, waits and watches in silence how the sky slowly lights up the secret bubble inside of his bedroom. It defines every corner and curve, puts the world into motion outside of his window, kick-starts all the things that threaten to steal his minutes.
He's got a little bit more time during the summer. Everyone is still fast asleep when the sun rubs its bleary eyes clean and decides to come over earlier than usual, knocking on Mark's window light and soft but strong enough to startle him awake just in time.
Everything mapped out in his head out of habit, Mark rolls around the moment he blinks his eyes open. The mattress creaks under his weight when he drags his stiff limbs closer to Donghyuck, erasing the space their night stirring has put between them.
The undersheet is still warm with the remnants of Donghyuck's body heat. Their blanket is just a bundle of creases and folds in between their legs because Donghyuck overheats during the summer, but he always refuses to take off his shirt when he comes by in the middle of the night, goosebumps all over his arms until Mark hugs them away.
Now, at half past five, Donghyuck's bare arm is scorching to the touch when Mark traces its orange outline with his index finger, from the edge of his short-sleeve down to the inside of his wrist. The back of his shirt is pleasantly balmy against Mark's naked chest, cotton caressing his sensitive skin when he drapes himself over Donghyuck's back.
Mark locks his kneecaps into the crook of Donghyuck's knees, his hairy thighs pressing up to the smooth skin of the back of Donghyuck's legs. He swirls an arm around him, over the fabric of his shirt, places his open palm to the softness of Dongyuck's belly, and waits.
Waiting and thinking, looking back to all their shared mornings through the years, trying to recall the first one and always failing.
He can't tell when they started nor when they ended up like this. He can't remember the first time Donghyuck whined his way into his bed, nor when Mark melted just enough to let Donghyuck mold his body into his side past midnight. He has no memory of the first morning he opened his eyes to the piercing feeling of something-is-missing, nor when he figured out that the missing piece was Donghyuck's solidity digging into his ribs.
When's and why's don't truly matter if Mark knows how to do it all. If it is second nature.
A quarter to six and Mark starts to dance his hand up and down Donghyuck's stomach. From the point where his ribs meet, down to the elastic of his boxer briefs, Mark runs a straight line up and down the middle of Donghyuck's body with the very tip of his fingers, his nails accidentally catching on the wrinkles of his shirt, riling up the fabric only to smooth it out again.
One, two, three, four trips across his middle, and Donghyuck’s chest starts to swell up into Mark's. Mark presses closer, his left leg slipping between Donghyuck's, pushing their bodies rib-to-rib so Donghyuck's heart resounds into Mark's chest as it picks up the pace.
Mark has this feeling mapped out, too. He's had to learn how to live with it the hard way, with Donghyuck at an arm's length since he was 14, sending Mark's heart into overdrive without even knowing how, not yet.
Eyes drifting shut, Mark's hand falters, slips away from Donghyuck's stomach to clench fingers around his waist. He leans his head closer, buries his nose into the back of Donghyuck's neck, and breathes him in as deeply as he can, the sleep-messy strands of Donghyuck's hair tickling his closed eyelids.
Five minutes to six and Donghyuck pushes back against him.
Mark's heart gets trapped between chest and throat, suspended in a place it doesn't belong to, swelling up so much that he gasps.
It's always like this, heart so big and fast and out of place that it gets hard to breathe, but instead of pulling away and running, Mark sneaks his fingertips under the hem of Donghyuck's shirt and holds on. He holds on and holds on and holds on. He's been holding on since he was 14, waiting breathlessly to see how much he can handle until his heart inevitably bursts.
Donghyuck stirs slightly. He barely moves, Mark wouldn't have been able to notice if he wasn't wrapped around him like a bindweed, rooted around his legs and crawling across his stomach.
It's six sharp now. Head tilting further into the pillow, Donghyuck bares the line of his neck to Mark in a silent plea.
His shoulders go stiff when Mark caresses his nape with the tip of his night-cold nose. His chest catches mid-breath when Mark presses a fleeting kiss to the place where Donghyuck's shoulder meets his neck. He only starts breathing again when Mark rubs his fingertips across the soft flesh of his belly, Donghyuck's chest shaking in a broken gasp when Mark's nails follow down his happy trail feather-light.
Dry-mouthed, chest pulled tight, Mark peppers close-lipped kisses from the base of Donghyuck's neck to the thin skin behind his ear, stopping on the corner of his jaw to catch his breath with a quick flick of his tongue against the bone. His hand roams free all over Donghyuck's belly now, the cotton of his shirt brushing Mark's knuckles as he touches heated skin in nonsensical lines. He lifts goosebumps with his fingertips just to rub them away with his palm, and Donghyuck sucks in his stomach at the gentle touch, his belly going concave with the lack of breath.
It's past six in the morning now.
In less than half an hour, Donghyuck will throw his legs over the side of the bed and get up. He will stand up on sleepy knees, hug his pillow to his chest, and walk down to his bedroom with the wrinkles of Mark's sheets imprinted on his arm and thighs, the smell of Mark's bedroom clinging to his hair and shirt.
Mark knows how this goes, he knows it by heart. Donghyuck will walk out and tiptoe-run to his bedroom in ghost-quiet feet so no one catches him. It will take him an entire minute to open the door to his room silent enough for Johnny to stay asleep. And he will curl alone in his cold bed until his alarm goes off.
Afterward, officially awake, Donghyuck will get in the shower and wash Mark off of his skin just to do it all over again the following night.
No words, no questions, no answers. That's how it goes.
But when Mark pulls his face away from the crook of Donghyuck's neck, he opens his eyes to a soft-blue room. Everything is awake enough to look real, and Donghyuck goes solid under his fingertips when Mark thumbs circles around his belly button.
Pushing himself up on his elbow, Mark looks down at the side of Donghyuck's face. He's got his mouth closed and his eyes shut, his cheek heat-flushed and sleep-swollen, but his eyelids tremble a little with every sweep of Mark's fingers across his stomach.
Mark runs his thumb around Donghyuck belly button one, two, three, four times before he sticks it in with a sharp jab. Donghyuck's eyes snap open, a startled yelp falling out of his parting mouth, mouth open around a strangled, stolen chuckle.
"Oh, god," Donghyuck groans, words muffled into the pillow when he turns his rosy face into it. He curls into himself, the line of his back curving into Mark's stomach when he brings his knees to his chest. "God, you're an asshole."
A small smile pressed into Donghyuck's shoulder, Mark giggles from behind. He snakes his arm around him again, presses his palm flat over the naked side of his tight when Donghyuck keeps his stomach caged between arms and knees.
"You seriously are an asshole," he complains again, all rough and sleep-hoarse in the quiet of the room. "Why would you do that?"
"It's your fault, honestly," Mark says, lips catching on the sleeve of Donghyuck's shirt when he talks. It's his turn to groan when Donghyuck elbows him on the ribs with yet another asshole, whispered, terribly fond. "It's true," Mark insists, his fingers kneading the smooth skin of Donghyuck's thigh, slipping into the damp crease of the back of his knee. "If you didn't fake that you're still asleep every single morning maybe I wouldn't have done it."
Donghyuck doesn't reply, he only recoils into himself more, hugging his knees to his chest. He keeps his back to Mark, his face pushed into the pillow so they can't look at each other.
And it's six past ten now, the sun is settling into the corners of Mark's room as if it owns it. The white summer light washes everything sharp and clear, a solid reminder of why Mark has never been brave enough to do this before. It hurts twice as much like this, out in the sunlight, with no room to hide.
He rolls into his back and away from Donghyuck, suppressing a shiver at the sudden cold, the something-is-missing feeling that pierces through him the second his skin says goodbye to Donghyuck's.
"Why do you fake it, huh?" Mark forces himself to ask because he can't stop now that he's started. He keeps his eyes on the flaky paint of the ceiling and a hand over his chest, clutching at that place where his heart is forever stuck, swelling and swelling and swelling. "Don't wanna talk to me in the mornings? Do I look that ugly?"
Donghyuck mumbles something into the pillow, but the rumble of the sheets drowns out his voice when he stretches his legs.
Mark turns his head towards him. He looks at the tense line of Donghyuck's shoulders before his eyes slide down, catching on the patch of tan skin of his hip where his shirt has riled up. He reaches out tentatively, dabbing his fingertips into the exposed flesh lightly, his mouth falling open when Donghyuck visibly shudders, knees jerking under the messy blanket.
"What was that?" Mark asks, voice dropping low. He turns on his side again and rubs his thumb up and down the goosebumps on Donghyuck's hip, but it’s way too bright to erase the space between them. "Donghyuck, what did you say?"
"It's just," Donghyuck's words die in his throat when they are only halfway out. He coughs, flopping into his back. "I just want cuddles," he admits with a small mouth, eyes to the ceiling, uncharacteristically shy when he's raw with sleep.
He's flushed a brighter tone of red now, a shade too deep for the weak morning sun to be the culprit. Biting down on his lower lip to keep his breathing at bay, Mark takes his fingers off Donghyuck's hip to press his knuckles to his cheek instead, skin blush-warm against the back of his hand.
"I cuddle you every night, though."
"Yeah. Yes, but-" Donghyuck grips Mark's wrist with careful fingers, his eyes slipping shut again. Mark's oversized heart has grown so much that it's beating down to his fingertips, but Donghyuck tugs at his wrist so gently that Mark hopes his grasp is loose enough for Donghyuck's pads to miss the frantic thrumming. "Not like this," Donghyuck whispers at the same time he brings Mark's hand back underneath his shirt. He turns his face toward Mark, blinks hazy eyes open at him when he presses Mark's hand flat against his warm tummy. "You never touch me like this when I'm awake."
Mark doesn't say it out loud, but he does.
He does touch Donghyuck like this when he's awake, he does spread his fingers wide across the expanse of his stomach, he does stroke his way up Donghyuck's sternum with open palms. Mark knows he does because he's got it all mapped out, he knows the difference between a sleeping Donghyuck and a fake asleep Donghyuck better than he knows himself—the expectant tension between his shoulder blades, the breathless erratic shake of his chest, the jelly-weakness of his legs between Mark’s.
He doesn't say it out loud, but he leans closer to Donghyuck's warmth, rubbing feather-light fingertips all the way up to his chest, riding up Donghyuck's shirt with his arm.
"Why?" Mark asks into Donghyuck's flushed cheek, breathing oh-so-softly so the wreck going on in his chest won’t startle Donghyuck away. He pushes his hand flat against his chest, pressing down just enough to feel Donghyuck's heart bouncing into his skin, thumb tracing a hardening nipple. "Why should I touch you like this when you're awake?"
"Because," Donghyuck starts, cutting himself off to swallow loudly. He turns to his side, their knees knocking together, and Mark's hand finds shelter in the dip of Donghyuck's waist. "Because if you did, then I'd be brave enough to do this."
Donghyuck moves closer, his leg slotting between Marks as he pushes himself up on an elbow. He bends his body over Mark's, his lips descending in slow motion to land on the naked curve of his shoulder.
"And this," he mumbles, lips gliding over Mark's skin as he moves to his collarbone.
He leaves closed-mouthed pecks across the bone, one, two, three, four times before he's flicking his tongue into the hollow, licking up Mark's throat with the tip of his tongue. Mark's fingers clench on Donghyuck's waist, digging into soft flesh to pull him in closer. And Donghyuck moves along with him so easily, his thigh fitting between Mark's legs perfectly as he keeps mouthing at his neck.
Warm hands finding Mark’s naked skin, Donghyuck settles his palms on his broad shoulders, thumbs digging into the curves of his neck when Mark hugs him rib-to-rib, scratching the line of Donghyuck's spine with his nails. Donghyuck's shirt has ridden up, crumpled under his armpits now, and Mark can feel it when he sucks in his stomach at the bite of Mark's nails on his lower back.
Wrapping a leg around tight around Donghyuck's thighs, Mark pulls him in impossibly closer. Donghyuck sighs softly through his nose, gasps sugar-sweet even when his desperate teeth bite down into Mark's chin.
Mark cards fingers through Donghyuck's tangled brown hair, fisting the strands at the base to pull him off his skin. "Are you brave enough to kiss me now?"
And Donghyuck is. Red cheeks and shaky fingers and damp palms, he's brave enough to cup Mark's jaw with warm, warm hands and take the leap, open-eyed and short of breath.
Mark swears his heart bursts in his chest.
He tightens his grip around Donghyuck's middle, digs thumbs into the underside of his ribs, opens up to meet him halfway, and he swears his heart bursts open but the world doesn't stop. His heart just bursts and kick-starts. It bursts and kick-starts, again and again with each brush of Donghyuck's mouth over his, with each sweep of his tongue against Mark's, with each nip of his teeth into Mark's lips.
His heart bursts and he keeps going breathless, arching into Donghyuck between broken gasps, tight-throated. But every time Donghyuck pulls away, Mark chases after him to dive back in closed-eyed, reckless, willing to live a permanent sinking.
It’s late when they stop, swollen lips still brushing against each other, breathing in shared air.
Donghyuck's got bleary eyes and sheet wrinkles up to his right temple. He's got tangled hair sticking into his eyes. Dry, bitten lips that peel off when he smiles with swollen cheeks and says, "Your morning breath is terrible, did you know that?"
Mark arches an eyebrow at him and digs his fingers into his sides, pressing into the right dips to have Donghyuck shaking against his chest, forehead-to-chin, breath damp and stale on Mark’s neck. "I didn't hear you complain a few seconds ago."
They are still tangled together when they roll around on their sides, and Mark can feel the seconds ticking by under the sweet aftertaste Donghyuck has left on his tongue, the clock way past half-past six.
He is a little roughed out, a bit twisted up, as if he’s been pulled out of his own skin just for his body to be shoved back in the wrong way. He curls into Donghyuck's side because that's the safest place he knows, face hidden in the crook of his neck, arms and legs caging him in firmly just so he can play pretend for a few minutes and act like their time doesn't have a deadline.
But Mark's got it all mapped out and this room is far too bright for them to exist together between its walls.
Still, he presses his nose to Donghyuck's cheek and asks, quietly, selfishly, "Don't go."
Donghyuck deflates under him, lips brushing over Mark's forehead for a second they can't even afford. "I have to," he says, already slipping through Mark's fingers. "But, Mark."
Hugging an empty bed, Mark looks up to a familiar Donghyuck, standing on his carpet with weak knees and ready to bolt. He's hugging a pillow to his chest, sheet marks all over his thighs, backlit by the harsh morning light. But he's sticking around to say goodbye.
"Mark, I—"
"I know,” Mark says, eyes flying to the closed door when footsteps resound across the hallway. Mark stretches out an arm for Donghyuck to grab his hand, stealing another second they definitely don’t have. "I know, alright? Me too."
Donghyuck nods, fingers squeezing Mark's lightly, only once because, sadly, time doesn't stop for them.
"Hey," Mark calls just at the last second, when Donghyuck is already halfway out the door. "See you tonight, yeah?"
He never gets an answer, the door clicking closed after Donghyuck hastily when muffled words come from the bathroom.
But a full day later, twenty minutes past 1 in the morning, Mark is wide awake. He breathes in deep, waits, and watches as the door to his bedroom creaks open at the push of Donghyuck's hands.
Mark likes it all mapped out, and Donghyuck is his favorite case study.