Archive of Our Own

January 20xx

Jeno hasn’t seen Mark in a decade.

Or rather, Jeno corrects, taking a sip of his iced Americano, he hasn’t seen Mark in-person in nearly a decade.

It makes sense. Mark left just as he finished high school, bushy-eyed and over-excited to return to Canada—to leave Korea. Jeno could tell he didn’t love it the way Donghyuck did, the way Donghyuck could easily switch between Korean and English compared to Mark’s more eloquent but somehow more halting Korean.

It was always like Mark was trying to be poetic, trying to speak the same way he did in English in Korean. It made his speech patterns awkward enough that Jeno remembers telling Mark to just speak English with them. Jeno—and Jaemin—were in enough academies in their youth to have English be on the roster, their levels decent enough to converse with Mark casually.

Jeno takes another sip of his Americano and turns to watch Jisung shove half a cinnamon roll into his mouth. And then promptly choke on it.

Mark arrives just in time to catch Donghyuck and Jaemin laughing at Jisung—one wholly mocking, the other under a thin veil of concern—while Jeno thumps Jisung on the back. He arrives with winter air on his heels, the rush of frigid air blowing into the otherwise cozy café.

Mark looks—good.

Being only a year older, Jeno never thought Mark looked older than him, and through the lens of curated Instagram photos over the past decade, he looked even younger. Yet the Mark that stands flushed in front of the table now has a chiseled jaw peeking out from the blue scarf Donghyuck bought for him three years ago (Jeno helped), his oversized glasses perched delicately on the gentle slope of his nose (Jeno helped pick those out, too). His confused yet boyish grin has yet to soften into something more mature, his laugh just as loud as it was a decade ago.

Jeno stops slapping Jisung on the back and hides his smile behind yet another long sip of coffee.

“You’re late.” Is the first thing Donghyuck says, eyes narrowed as he watches Mark detangle himself from his scarf and winter jacket. “Mark, how are you late?”

“Missed my transfer,” Mark says automatically in English. He repeats himself in Korean with a sheepish lilt to his voice. “Sorry, Jisung.” He finishes.

Jisung looks up from his cinnamon roll and offers a bright smile. “It’s okay, Mark hyung! I speak English too.” He clears his throat and says, “Hello, my name is Andy Park and I—”

“Andy?”

“Hyung, go order,” Jeno reminds Mark, drawing Mark’s attention to him instead of whatever rant Mark was gearing up to give Jisung. Jeno had to go through Donghyuck making fun of Jisung for his English name back in college. He does not need to go through a second round with Mark.

Mark looks at him then, really looks at him. Stares at him from behind those dorky oversized glasses Donghyuck had asked Jeno to help him pick out, the two of them scrolling through ten different photos Mark had sent that day. Donghyuck never told Mark that Jeno was with him—didn’t think it mattered. The two of them weren’t close in the same way that Donghyuck and Jeno are close. Not anymore.

Not since Mark looked at Jeno—really looked at Jeno. Looked him up and down until Jeno felt like he was being peeled back layer by layer and—

Told Jeno to study hard for his CSAT. And then left. Left and never looked back and let Jeno sort through the mess in his chest, and Jeno isn’t sure if he ever really did—

But now, Mark looks at Jeno, really looks at Jeno, and Jeno remembers that compared to Mark—well. Jeno never posted on Instagram that much. Occasional photos with classmates in college, a photobooth 4-cut with Jaemin and Donghyuck, and their college friend Renjun. Jeno has more tagged photos from other people’s posts than he does actual posts.

So now, Mark is looking at Jeno, really looking at Jeno, his eyes wide behind those stupid dorky glasses that Mark doesn’t know Jeno helped pick out, and Jeno realizes that Mark hasn’t seen him in a decade. Jeno stares back, careful to keep his face pleasantly polite, and takes another sip of his drink.

It’s Jaemin who breaks the silence, looking up from his phone. He glances between Jeno and Mark. “Earth to hyung?” he prompts. It makes Mark jolt, his wide stare sliding to Jaemin. Jeno watches it melt into something a bit softer, the tenseness of his shoulders lessening.

“Yeah, thanks, Jaemin.” Mark smiles, a wane little thing, pats his pocket, and goes to the front of the store.

With Mark gone, Jaemin turns to Jeno. Donghyuck turns to Jeno. Even Jisung turns in his chair to look at Jeno.

Jeno stares at the ice in his cup.

“So,” Jaemin starts.

“Hyung, does Mark hyung hate you?”

Donghyuck scoffs. “Please. Mark couldn’t hate Jeno even if Jeno set his whole apartment on fire and killed me.”

“Oh, well, he would thank Jeno if you died, actually, because you suck—”

Jeno looks up just in time to see Donghyuck lunge towards Jaemin, both of them grinning bright. Jisung is still staring at Jeno, his pretty little mouth pulled into a deep frown.

It makes Jeno smile. “Hyung doesn’t hate me,” he promises. “It’s just been a while—remember?”

Mark comes back shortly after, two steaming cinnamon rolls and two hot drinks balanced delicately on his tray. Somehow, Mark makes it to the table without making a fool of himself, a feat that Jeno isn’t entirely sure is still worth celebrating until Donghyuck gives a low whistle and a clap. Jeno watches Mark flip off his younger brother the second the tray safely hits the table.

Jeno sees a latte in one mug and tea in another. It smells good.

“For you,” Quick fingers pluck the tea off the tray, offering it to Jeno. Before Jeno can say anything—a no thank you perhaps—Mark is setting the second classic cinnamon roll in front of him as well. “This too.”

Jeno’s too busy staring at the drink, at the food, at the fact that Mark remembered that Jeno likes lemon tea to pay attention to Donghyuck’s whining. He’s always whining, Jeno doesn’t care to start listening to it now. Not when his chest curls in on itself, not when he can feel Jaemin’s stare on his face, not when Jisung almost knocks over his vanilla latte and ruins the whole vibe.

Really, Jeno doesn’t say much of anything until he’s halfway down with his tea, cinnamon roll split with Donghyuck, just to shut him up. “Thank you, hyung,” Jeno says softly. Mark looks over at him, really looks at him.

“You’re welcome, Jeno.” A pause. A smile. The stare on Jeno’s face has not lessened, and he really wishes Jaemin would stop doing that. “It’s good to see you again.”

Jeno smiles. “You too, hyung. Welcome home.”

January 20xx

“It’s too cold to be doing this,” Donghyuck complains, cheeks red as he blows on his gloved hands.

Jeno nods.

“Seriously, whose idea was this, it’s so fucking cold,” Donghyuck continues to complain.

Jeno nods again. Unlike Donghyuck, his hands are shoved in his puffer jacket pockets, heat pack in each one. They scald him through his wool gloves, but Jeno will take toasty hands over the icicles on his lower lashes from when he dared to yawn too wide and tear up. The ice lives there now; he’s not removing it.

“Where is Jaemin that damn—” Donghyuck curses in English, then in Korean, then horribly in Chinese.

Jeno does not tell Donghyuck that Renjun is behind him, seeing the way Renjun immediately frowns the second Donghyuck messes up his pronunciation. Jeno’s silence is rewarded when Renjun smacks Donghyuck, scolding him for his piss poor pronunciation. It’s entertaining to watch their bickering, the way Donghyuck slumps forward so Renjun can scold him properly, the ghost of a smile tucked into the corners of his mouth even as he whines and pouts at Renjun. Jeno’s too old to fall for Donghyuck’s tricks; fifteen years of the same tried and true methods do little to move Jeno either way.

Yet, as Jeno watches them, the minutes slip past, and his nose gets colder by the second. “Where’s the others?” he asks Renjun.

Donghyuck straightens, his smile going impish as he looks at Jeno. “You wanna ask about Mark so bad,” he croons.

Jeno ignores him. Keeps his placid gaze on Renjun, who’s flushed pink from yelling at Donghyuck. “Mark went to Ttkeokseom instead. Jaemin and Jisung are waiting for him.” Renjun shrugs. “Jaemin said something about him getting lost.”

“Mhm, Mark’s got a horrible sense of direction.” Donghyuck agrees. He shuffles over to Jeno and shoves one cold hand into Jeno’s pocket. “Oh my god, it’s so warm in here!”

Fifteen years means that Jeno knows all Donghyuck's tricks, unswayed by his theatrics and dramatics. However, fifteen years have also taught Jeno to pick his battles. To not fight Donghyuck at every twist and turn because the winner is always Donghyuck. It’s futile to assume otherwise. The smartest option will always be to give up, to roll over and just let Donghyuck do as he pleases until he’s bored and moves on.

Fifteen years have taught Jeno that it is often best not to react to Donghyuck’s dramatics.

But Jeno is only human, imperfect and impatient, and—

He shoves Donghyuck into the snow. Smiles at Donghyuck’s unattractive squawk, the way his arms try to help him balance before he lands on his ass in the inches-deep snow. “Get your own heat packs,” Jeno says. Donghyuck tries to kick at him, but Jeno knows all his tricks, easily dodging them with soft laughter.

“Man, you’re so annoying,” Donghyuck grumbles from where he still sits in the snow. He looks at Renjun, smile going gooey.

“Renjun don’t—” Jeno starts.

Donghyuck tries to kick Jeno’s ankle again. Jeno dodges, but just barely. “Junnie~ Help me up, please.”

“Don’t do it, Renjun!” Jeno says, a little louder. A lot more dramatic. He even shakes his head and makes his eyes as wide as possible. “All Donghyuck is good for is bringing people down to his level—don’t do it.”

This time, when Donghyuck lunges at Jeno, Jeno lets himself be caught, laughter bright in the mid-winter cold. Landing in the snow hurts, breath whooshing out of him in one gasp when Donghyuck properly tackles him to the ground. Still, he finds it in himself to laugh until Donghyuck joins in.

Until Renjun, shuffling over and staring down at them, joins in too.

When Mark, Jaemin, and Jisung appear not even ten minutes later, arms laden with drinks from a nearby convenience store, it is to Jeno sandwiched between Renjun and Donghyuck, one of their hands tucked into Jeno’s pockets, leeching his hot pack warmth as the three of them giggle amongst each other.

Jeno looks at Mark, really looks at him, and grins. “Wanna join?” he asks. Watches the pink of Mark’s cheeks darken. It makes Jeno’s grin a little sharper, a little more calculating as he shoves Donghyuck away with a low hum. “Hyung, come join.”

On the other side, Renjun calls for Jisung, for Jaemin, the five of them lamenting the lack of Chenle—still thousands of miles away in Shanghai, until mid-February.

By the time everyone is done leeching the warmth from Jeno’s pockets, the sun is lowering behind the trees. They don’t mind, though, even with the snow melting on their jackets, socks damp with it. They don’t mind that their drinks have gone cold, sending Donghyuck Renjun to pick up fried chicken from their delivery driver and get them more drinks from the nearest coffee shop.

The afternoon passes Jeno in vibrant colors against dead trees, in too loud laughter at an otherwise deserted park. It passes with warm fingers against his face, with his hands in Donghyuck’s hair as he shoves him back into the snow, in Jisung’s loud complaints as they bury him in a thin layer of snow. It passes and reminds Jeno that the world may be a little better when friends are there.

And if Mark looks at him, really looks at him, Jeno doesn’t notice. Doesn’t think twice when Mark offers Jeno some of his food—they were all sharing anyway. Doesn’t pay attention to the way Mark angles himself to be facing Jeno during conversations, his eyes curious behind those stupid glasses that look so beautiful on his face. He only notices when they are heading back, trash tossed into the nearest big bin, and making the short trek back towards the station, when Mark hands Jeno his heat pack. Only notices when Mark folds Jeno’s gloved fingers over the warmth, a private smile on his face.

Only notices the warmth bleeding into his chest long after Mark and Donghyuck have left.

February 20xx

The arrival of Chenle means only one thing: soju and noraebang.

Jeno is a fan of neither of these things, but everyone else is, so he has been consistently outvoted since he, Jaemin, and Donghyuck started college. Meeting Renjun, then later Chenle and Jisung, only tipped the scales even further away from Jeno’s favor. The only one who will sometimes agree with him is Jisung.

Which is how Jeno finds himself in a spacious room after work on a Friday night. He’s long since removed his work tie, shoved somewhere in his laptop bag, his button-up shirt sleeves shoved up to his elbows. The top two buttons are undone, and currently, Renjun is trying to undo a third.

Jeno swats him away with a good-natured grumble, rolling his eyes when Renjun slumps back with high-pitched giggles. “Jeno,” Renjun croons, soft enough not to be heard by Jisung and Chenle’s rendition of For You. They do this every time; it’s part and parcel to Jeno now. “Our pretty Lee Jeno.”

Without a word, Jeno hands Renjun his glass of water and smiles. Renjun takes it with another bout of giggles, sipping at it thankfully all the same.

Once Jisung and Chenle finish up, the room settles into near silence, the lack of queued song a bit jarring after so much noise. Jaemin looks up from where he’s been tapping away on his phone; his stare lands on Jeno before it slides over to Chenle. “Lele, what’s up?” he asks.

Chenle grins and slides into the nonexistent space between Mark and Jaemin. “Nothing! I just want to take a moment to talk to my new friend,” he pauses. Stares at Mark for a few moments. “Donghyuck’s older brother.”

Jeno can’t help the laugh that falls from his lips, rolling his eyes along with Jaemin.

“Mark.” Mark reminds helpfully. He turns in the booth to give Chenle his full attention, eyes sparkling even in the lowlight of the noraebang room. Jeno doesn’t understand how he does it. “Chenle, right?”

Chenle nods, all grins and pink cheeks. Jeno eyes the six empty bottles of soju on the table. A smarter, more mature person not nearing the age of thirty would leave the single unopened soju bottle—well, unopened. But Jeno stares at it as Chenle interrogates Mark. The longer it goes, the closer Chenle gets to Mark, the more appealing the green bottle becomes.

A sudden weight against his side has Jeno looking over, grinning when he sees Jaemin next to him. “Hi,” Jeno says, soft. “Are you going to sing again today?” Jaemin has a lovely voice, though he doesn’t use it for much except exaggerated singing to Donghyuck at the café they work at together.

It’s Jaemin who reaches for the bottle of soju, cracking it open and pouring Jeno and himself a shot. “Only if you promise to do Fancy with me before we leave.”

They clink shot glasses. Jeno sticks his tongue out after he swallows and grabs the bottle to pour a second shot. “I’ll need more of this, then.” He says. Jaemin just laughs at him.

Chenle’s over-loud voice cuts in. Jeno thinks they should have done all this in a pocha rather than wasting money in a noraebang—but it’s not his card that paid for the four hours. “Why are you called Mark if Donghyuck is your brother? Do you not have a Korean name?”

Mark’s laughter is softer at the edges, worn by time and soju. Jeno leans into Jaemin’s space and calls for Jisung to bring him the remote. If nothing else, he can rap along with their youngest to a Big Bang song while Chenle’s distracted.

“I do, of course I do. I just don’t like it—it’s not me, you know?”

“Sung,” Jeno calls him back, patting the empty space on the other side of him. Jisung sits, immediately leaning into Jeno’s shoulder with a happy little chirp. It wasn’t Jeno who found Jisung—he came as a buy two get one free deal with Renjun and Chenle—but Jeno’s always had a soft spot for their youngest. “Do you want to sing Fxxk It or Sober?”

Jisung hums. “Sober?” he turns his head to bury his nose in Jeno’s neck and sniffs. “Fitting—did you get new cologne?”

Across the booth, Donghyuck chokes on his laughter, hitting Renjun, who’s resting in his lap, until Renjun cracks an eye open to stare. “Going to kiss his feet again, Sungie?” Donghyuck calls.

Jeno queues up Sober and grabs an extra mic for himself just as Mark says, “Wait—what?”

February 20xx

When Jeno graduated from college, diploma in hand and smile extra wide, he assumed he would never look back. Assumed that once Jisung and Chenle got their own degrees, the six of them would be freed eternally from the clutches of the academic calendar. That they would surrender themselves to the grind of the adult world—whatever that meant.

Jeno was wrong.

He got his diploma, walking fresh off the stage into the corporate world of architecture—an internship turned job offer before he even got word that he would be graduating. It was a dream job—one of Jeno’s top 3 spots. Even now, though stressed with deadlines and a hierarchy that has had his ideas stolen more than once—Jeno loves what he does. But despite his wishes that the six of them would be freed, Jeno still is a slave to the academic calendar. To the shock of no one, Jisung went right from his undergrad to his Master’s, tucked away on the same campus, in the same buildings. What was shocking was that Chenle, a year post-graduating, turned around and did the same, sliding into Seoul National’s Music department with a cheeky smile and a concentration in vocals.

It’s only fitting that Mark ended up at the same university. Of the six of them—seven now, if Jeno is to include Mark’s hopeful tenure track—Jeno was the only one not to go to a SKY university. It was a gamble, one he battled with through high school. One that kept him up late at night to perfect his scores, dragging himself to academies in hopes that forfeiting a SKY education wouldn’t backfire on him.

“I can’t believe vacation is almost over,” Jisung laments the Saturday before Jeno knows he has a 9 a.m. Why Jisung did that to himself, Jeno will not understand.

Across from Jeno, Mark groans and stretches out across the table, fingers brushing against Jeno’s bubble tea. “I know—feels weird. Korea has such a long winter break.”

“But it’s so nice, right?” Jisung asks. Next to him, Chenle taps away on his phone, sunglasses perched on his nose in a telltale sign that whatever he did last night left him hungover.

Jeno takes his bubble tea before Mark can try to steal it, staring at him as he takes a slow sip. Mark sits up, looking back at Jeno before he focuses on Jisung. “Yeah, dude, it’s so nice. Like, it gave me so much time to lesson plan, and figure out what group projects—”

Chenle looks up, “I forgot you’re a professor,” he says. When Mark laughs, Chenle winces, proving to Jeno that he really is hungover. “Too loud, Mark. Indoor voice.”

Jeno giggles at Mark’s sheepish face, so similar to what it was like ten years ago. “Must be nice,” Jeno says, “to have a vacation.” If he thinks about work for too long, about the project he left on his desk, Jeno’s going to just get angry. That is Monday’s problem, and he will be leaving it there until then.

Jisung laughs, too used to Jeno to feel any sort of embarrassment about being called out. “Sorry, Jeno hyung.”

Mark has no such buffer now, so unused to Jeno’s deadpan humor. He at least looks a little ashamed to be complaining about something Jeno hasn’t had in four years.

Someone’s foot hooks behind Jeno’s. He looks up to find Mark staring at him, head tilted to the side as he studies Jeno. Jeno watches him back, absentmindedly stirring his straw into his bubble tea, humming along to the newest popular K-pop song playing overhead. “Hyung?” Jeno asks. He lets a small smile spread across his lips, head tilting to match Mark’s as he stares. It makes Mark blink, straightening out of whatever daze got him lost in thought, but Jeno doesn’t relent. “You okay?”

A hum. The cafe changes songs. Jisung asks Chenle something about their apartment, or maybe it’s a reminder—Jeno wouldn’t know. “Nothing, sorry,” Mark says while shaking his head. He pauses and looks at Jeno again. His foot is still hooked around Jeno’s ankle. “You look pretty today.”

His smile grows, eyes crinkling. Jeno does not look pretty today—not in a way that would warrant such a compliment. He looks the way he always does when he is not working. Overlarge hoodie baggy on his lithe frame, black sweatpants. Shoes he needed to replace several months ago, he just can’t justify it when he only wears them twice a week at best. Jeno felt the beginnings of a breakout on his chin, several thin pimple patches pressed against his skin, before he walked out the door. “Thank you, hyung,” Jeno says, so sweet that he can taste it on his own tongue.

It’s satisfying to watch Mark blush, to watch him lean back in his chair with a pleased little grin that Jeno isn’t sure Mark knows he’s doing. It’s interesting. Jeno looks at Mark, really looks at Mark, and wonders—

When Mark left, when Mark left, was it the same for him too? When Mark left, Jeno’s non-confession tucked safely in one of two suitcases Mark was taking with him back to Canada—away from Jeno—was it the same for him? Did he feel unmoored without proper reason? Jeno never got to put a name to the mess in his chest, never got to unravel them properly, never got to—

But was it the same for Mark? Did he realize at eighteen that Jeno, that he—that they—were on the path to being something. That the forced casual touches, the gifts Mark would give to Jeno unprompted, the caring smiles and hugs before Jeno even had to ask, did not mean the same thing as when Mark did it with Jaemin?

The question sits on Jeno’s tongue, not heavy enough to be concerning, but just sitting in askance to be remembered. Jeno will not speak the words here, not now. Maybe later, when he’s figured them out again, when Mark starts looking less like Jeno’s past and starts to become a proper part of Jeno’s present.

April 20xx

One month into the semester, Mark sends a message into their group chat talking about how bored he was during his lunch hours—how he knows that grading papers and refining lesson plans were a must, but he took his lunch time seriously. It happens once—everyone offers their condolences, offering up ways to get Mark out of his tiny little office, if only to walk around and take his mind off things.

It happens when Jeno is busy, a client meeting with him and his boss to refine work-related things that Jeno simply puts out of his mind the second he clocks out and can back read. He says nothing, moving on with the flow of the constant conversation that requires Jeno to mute his phone during work hours. He would complain that he’s the only one who works—but.

He is the only one with a classic nine-to-five. Though, truly, it’s more of an eight-to-six with his commute down from Sinchon.

As all group chats go, Mark’s comment gets lost to the overall chaos, a passing thing that none of the others took seriously enough—though Donghyuck did also mention in passing he had visited Mark on campus to, and Jeno quotes, walk the dog. Jaemin had been quick to ask if Jeno was there too. The reply received 5 laughing reacts, and one Kakao sticker of a pouting dog sent from Jeno himself.

One month into the semester, Mark sent a message that he needed to get away from his office during his lunch hour. A passing comment, a casual complaint.

“Whoa, dude, this place is nice,” Mark says as they step into the café. The little bell chimes above them both, workers mumbling a sweet welcome.

Jeno smiles, briefcase full of paperwork and laptop in hand. “It has good reviews.” He replies as they set their things on a quaint wooden table. The café is homey, in a way Jeno would assume someone’s Western grandmother’s cottage would be. There’s random odds and ends all over the café—a stuffed animal of a polar bear, a penguin, a cheetah. He sees what looks like a Christmas town set, like the ones he’s seen when watching those horrible Hallmark Christmas movies Donghyuck forced upon them all in Jeno’s youth. Kitschy would probably be a better word than quaint, but Jeno thinks the café is cute. When Mark reaches for his wallet, Jeno whines, smiling wider when Mark looks up at him. “It’s okay, hyung. I can pay.”

“You sure? I can—”

But Jeno’s already walking up to the register, fingers wrapped around Mark’s wrist as he tugs him along. “Hyung, come on. You only have so much time.”

The café isn’t quite empty, a few other patrons occupying the tables further away from where Mark and Jeno take their seats, but it’s still fairly quiet. A smattering of laughter here, the sound of forks clacking against plates here. Crooning cover music playing lowly overhead. It’s a nice café. One that Jeno spent the past three days looking for, something that he thought Mark would like. Something close enough to the station that Jeno could take it back to work, yet not too far off campus that Mark would have to rush to commute back to his office. Jeno was content with staying late at work if it meant that Mark was able to relax. If only for ninety minutes—Jeno would make it up later.

Their meal passes with Jeno offering little to the conversation. With Mark across from him, a vanilla latte and pesto pasta in front of him as he talks between bites. Of his lesson plans, of his students—mostly of his students.

Though Jeno doesn’t offer much of his own stories, he giggles in all the right places and surely in the wrong ones if the fond little smiles and eye rolls Mark gives him are any indication. Jeno hopes it’s enough for Mark to have a peer to talk to. They aren’t friends like they used to be, but he is still Jeno’s hyung—still his best friend’s older brother. A person that Mark doesn’t have to worry about hierarchy with, someone he can switch into English with without it being confusing.

Jeno hopes that, if nothing else, the lunch offers a respite for Mark in his otherwise hectic day-to-day.

What he didn’t count on was that it was a break for him too.

What Jeno didn’t plan on was that lunch with Mark would go from a weekly occurrence to a biweekly, to nearly every workday. What Jeno didn’t expect to happen was that, despite his longer hours at work, making up for his longer lunch, he never felt drained from it. It made him look forward to the day ahead and let him decompress in the very way he hoped Mark would be able to.

A win for them both, apparently.

In a sense, it becomes a game for the two of them, tossing back various cafes in the area, slipping in during the end of the lunch rush right around three p.m., voice soft as they detail their days so far. Two weeks into their near constant meetups, Mark meets him at the café with a little postcard-sized paper.

“What’s this?” Jeno asks, taking the one Mark offers him before they step into a new café. This one is further from Mark, on the other side of the station, but Mark had sent it, so Jeno follows his lead.

Inside is gorgeous, flowers everywhere. It makes Jeno sneeze, just once at the sudden onslaught of pollen, but the flower shop café is by far one of the prettier cafes they’ve taken their lunch in. Jeno sees a bouquet of pale blue and lilac flowers and thinks about buying one to bring to Renjun later. Of course, since the café is a bit further from the university, the aesthetic is more fitting for Instagram stories than for students studying, and it is far busier than the other cafés Jeno and Mark have dined in.

“A rating card,” Mark answers, “Unless the food is horrible, I think this might be my favorite.” Mark laughs, Jeno following his lead as they wander further into the café. It’s not easy to find a spot, though they manage to snag one just as a couple leaves.

Jeno hums, staring at the little handmade rating card a little longer before he places it next to his phone on the table and plucks his wallet from his pocket. “Hyung—”

Immediately, Jeno’s wallet is taken from him, shoved into Mark’s pocket. Jeno stares at where it’s disappeared, then looks up to find Mark grinning at him, cheeks bunched up under his stupid glasses.

Jeno feels his chest tighten, feels the threads of whatever they left unsaid ten years ago—

“Not today, Jeno,” Mark giggles—giggles, “Let hyung pay today, okay?”

And, really, what is Jeno supposed to do? Mark has his wallet in his front pocket. They are in public. Donghyuck wouldn’t think twice before taking it back, proprietary be damned, but Jeno is not Donghyuck.

Jaemin would slide up into Mark’s personal space, hand on his bicep as he coos until Mark’s ears went red, until his cheeks pinkened. By then, Jaemin would have already gotten the wallet and backed off, his sly smile painted across his face.

But Jeno, again, is not Jaemin either. He’s just Jeno.

And if Mark is anything like Donghyuck, then it’s simply easier to give up while Jeno still has his dignity. “Okay, hyung,” Jeno says, a sweet smile on his face.

It’s not the first time Jeno has allowed Mark to pay, but usually, he puts up more of a fight. In Jeno’s defense, usually Mark doesn’t shove Jeno’s wallet into his pants—so apparently today is a great day for firsts.

Getting their food and drink is as seamless as it always is, Jeno getting a basil ham and cheese panini and his classic iced Americano, while Mark settles on an iced vanilla latte and a Caesar salad. Never mind that Mark always complains that his stomach is a bit uncomfortable afterwards—he refuses to drink Americanos.

“Are you okay?” Mark asks halfway through a story about one of his students coming into his class drenched head to toe, umbrella broken in one hand.

Jeno looks up from his plate, blinking at Mark for several silent moments before he smiles. “Yeah, hyung. I’m okay.” Jeno softens further when Mark reaches out and gently takes Jeno’s hand in his, squeezing it. “Work is busy—I like it. But it’s a lot.”

Mark squeezes Jeno’s hand again, his boyish smile so endearing that Jeno forgets for just a moment they aren’t seventeen and eighteen respectively, that Mark isn’t holding Jeno’s hand as he stresses about studying. “Do you want to stay home this weekend then?” Despite the noise level of the café, Mark keeps his voice low, a soothing baritone that Jeno finds himself relaxing. “I’m sure the others will understand.”

This time, it’s Jeno who squeezes Mark’s hand as he shakes his head. “No, it’s supposed to rain all next week—we should see the cherry blossoms together.” He pauses. “I mean, with all of us.” Jeno can feel the tips of his ears grow hot and prays that Mark can’t see them turning red.

But Mark just nods, releasing Jeno’s hand to go back to eating his lunch. His story resumes—or rather, he summarizes the beginning before continuing forward. If Jeno is a little quieter, Mark doesn’t mention it again. And if Jeno sticks a little closer to him as they walk back to the station, Mark still says nothing.

And if Mark lingers a little longer before he lets Jeno leave him to go back to work, fingers toying with Jeno’s before he remembers to give Jeno back his wallet, Jeno allows it.

He allows it because Mark is Mark. Mark is Jeno’s—something. They are nothing, sure. But Jeno isn’t foolish enough to take the nearly daily lunches and constant touches at surface level. But Jeno won’t say anything. Not yet. Not when he wants to keep Mark’s private smiles and warm touches to himself just a little bit longer.

April 20xx

Two early morning buses and an hour later, Jeno lies across three oversized blankets and picnic mats, squinting up into the clear sky. “Beautiful day,” he comments to no one at all.

It’s Chenle who answers, appearing in Jeno’s vision with sunglasses perched on his nose and his classic black SuperDry baseball cap on his head. “Jeno is prettier.”

“Jeno hyung,” Jisung corrects, already tired. Or rather, Jeno assumes still tired. The three of them were the first to arrive to their cherry blossom picnic, each bringing one mat to secure their place before the masses truly arrive. On the way, Jeno had received a message from Renjun that he would arrive shortly after them, bringing the majority of the food. Jaemin is supposed to handle the rest, while Donghyuck was simply tasked with ensuring that Mark did not get lost once again. Jeno thinks maybe they are also bringing coffee from a nearby café, but he’s not entirely sure.

Above him, Chenle’s still grinning, teeth slightly stained by the horrific amount of coffee he consumes daily. “Lele,” Jeno says, sweet like candy. He can see Chenle’s eyebrow rise over the sunglasses’ frame. Jeno reaches out to tap the bill of his cap. “Come lay?”

“Puppy wants cuddles?” Chenle mocks. Yet he still shoves Jeno’s arm away to wiggle under it, tossing his cap somewhere Jeno cannot see, his sweet giggles spilling from his mouth. Once he’s settled, head pillowed on Jeno’s chest, Chenle speaks again. “Did puppy have a rough week?”

Before Jeno can answer, Jisung squeaks, “What? Hyung—not fair!” And then Jisung is shoving Jeno’s other arm out of the way so he can burrow into Jeno’s side.

And like that, Jeno’s pinned under the weight of his two babies, caught between staring at the back of his eyelids or the pale blue spring sky, the flutter of occasional loose cherry blossom floating across his vision.

For once, Chenle doesn’t talk his ear off, just plays with the hem of Jeno’s shirt, little pleased hums leaving his lips every so often. On the other side, Jisung’s breath has gone steady under Jeno’s palm against his back.

“Lele, is Sung asleep?” Just in case, Jeno keeps his voice quiet, hoping the rumble of his chest doesn’t rouse Jisung.

“Yeah,” Chenle answers with another sweet giggle.

“Fuck off, ‘m not,” Jisung slurs. It only makes Jeno join Chenle in giggling, which sets Jisung off with sleepy grumbles and even sleepier curses. “’m awake, promise.” Yet his breathing remains steady.

“Don’t lie, Jisung,” Chenle says. “Just take a nap.” It makes Jeno laugh, a near-silent thing he tries to muffle if only to not disturb the babies further than he has. Yet, it has Chenle sitting up with a little yelp. “Jeno, here.” He plucks off his sunglasses and, with gentle motions, slips them onto Jeno’s face.

Jeno can see the dark circles under Chenle’s eyes now, the sleepy droop to his eyes that makes him look far younger than he is. Still, his smile is soft at the edges, petal pink lips stretched into his classic smile that Donghyuck once called a bread smile. At the time, Chenle had scoffed and rolled his eyes, but the name stuck, and now. Now it’s something Jeno looks forward to bringing out of him.

With a final tap to the tip of Jeno’s nose, Chenle settles back down with a pleased little smile, cheek smushing against Jeno’s chest. “Our favorite puppy,” Chenle mumbles, body wiggling until he finds comfort and stills.

Though the angle is awkward, Jeno does his best to pat the parts of Chenle he can reach, his other hand rubbing Jisung’s back for just a moment. “I’ll wake you when Renjun gets here,” Jeno promises, looking up at the sky through Chenle’s sunglasses. It’s easier on Jeno’s eyes, sure, but it takes away the beauty of the pale blue he was staring at before, the pastel pink petals floating through his vision as the warm spring breeze shuffled through the trees.

Despite it, Jeno watches the lazy roll of the thin clouds above until his eyes grow tired, lulled by the cheery chirping of the birds in the trees, the joyous sounds of children in the distance, and the equally happy parents calling after them. Jeno even hears a couple pass by their mats, quietly conversing about what food they should order. Despite the chill of the day, even with the warm breeze that winds around the trees, Jeno feels warm. Blanketed by two oversized children on either side, all three of their breaths in perfect harmony as they rest in the middle of one of Jeno’s favorite cherry blossom spots in Seoul.

Jeno’s unaware of the passage of time, unaware of Renjun arriving until he hears several clicks of a phone camera, followed by the click and whine of the Polaroid Renjun often brings out for occasions such as these.

“Junnie?” Jeno mumbles, squinting his eyes open to artificially shaded skies.

Renjun hums. “Yeah, darling?” There’s some shuffling, a bag dropped somewhere to Jeno’s left near Jisung, and then Renjun’s face is appearing from above Jeno, upside down and tinted gray in these well-tinted sunglasses, but still effortlessly beautiful. “Kids asleep?” he asks.

On his right, Chenle stirs, a whine slipping from his throat before he tries to burrow further into Jeno’s skin. “Yeah,” Jeno whispers. He pats Jisung’s back, only to get no response. “Blanket, please—for both, if you have two.”

Above him, Renjun laughs, cheeks red even through the tint. “I do,” Renjun’s face vanishes, but Jeno can hear him rustling about before a thin blanket is draped across Jisung first, then Chenle. Once done, reappears in Jeno’s vision, this time with a frown. “Better?”

Jeno hums, offering a closed-mouth smile. “Thanks, Junnie.” Yet, the thanks does not soften the frown on Renjun’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re stuck,” Renjun says, eyebrows furrowing. His concern makes Jeno laugh, pressing his lips together so the sound doesn’t wake Chenle or Jisung. “I should wake them up, right?”

“No,” Jeno shakes his head and grins brighter at Renjun. “Leave them, it’s okay. They need it. I’ll let Jaemin wake them when he arrives.” Chenle might be a bit peeved, time wasted asleep when he could have been bothering Renjun, but Jeno’s worried about those dark circles. If Renjun saw them, he’d be fretting before Chenle had the chance to be annoying for sport.

This seems to please Renjun, frown melting into his beautiful sunny smile. “Okay. I’ll be here, yeah? I brought my art supplies too.”

Jeno doesn’t fall back asleep this time, keeping his voice low as Renjun chats to him—easy things about the art classes he’s teaching at the academy he works at in Mokdong, stories of his little ones' first days with pastels. It makes the hours pass easier, stuck like this.

Unlike Chenle, who shifts every thirty minutes or so, Jisung hasn’t moved since he fell asleep, the ease of his breathing slow and steady.

“Are classes tough?” Renjun asks after a lull in the conversation. “For the kids.”

“Yeah, Chenle—you’ll see.” Jeno inhales, pushing it out of his lungs in one slow exhale. “Feed them extra. I think they need this more than we do.”

He can hear Renjun’s wince, can picture the twist of his face. “The semester just started,” he comments. “How can they both be this exhausted already?”

But what Renjun will never understand, what Jeno will never properly understand, though he tries, is the mental toll of graduate education. He can only watch from the sidelines, offering moments like this when their forever-babies seek solace in the comfort of Jeno’s quiet care. He will give them a place to rest—just like he did when Chenle fought with his roommate in his freshman year and slept with Jeno in his cramped single bed for three weeks. Or when Jisung failed his first midterm and cried so hard he threw up and passed out immediately after, making himself so sick that Jeno was the one who skipped his classes just to bring him to the hospital to get an IV drip and some medication.

His care will never be as loud as Renjun’s, but it is there all the same.

Jeno will allow them the rest they so dearly need. Later, when Jaemin arrives to rouse them from their nap with gentle words and steady hands, Renjun will fix their plates with enough food to have them pass out from a food coma. Jeno’s looking forward to it.

“Jaemin’s here,” Renjun says.

Moments later, Jeno feels someone else step onto the mat, bags dropped onto the mat before Jeno sees the pale curl of Jaemin’s hair. “Hi, Jaemin,” greets Jeno.

Shining eyes peek up from over where Chenle sleeps, then the slope of Jaemin’s nose, before his blinding grin greets Jeno. “Good morning, puppy,” Jaemin says. “Shall I wake our babies for you?”

Jeno makes a low noise of agreement, his hand on Jisung’s lower back, patting him a few times. Yet, Jisung still doesn’t answer. “Wake Chenle, please,” Jeno tells Jaemin.

But Jaemin is already on it, vanishing from Jeno’s sight to shake Chenle’s shoulder, “Baby,” Jaemin coos, so gentle and soft that Jeno feels like he shouldn’t be here. Jaemin’s hair tickles the underside of Jeno’s jaw when he leans in to press a kiss somewhere on Chenle’s face. “Darling, you’re killing Jeno’s arm. He’s dying.”

“Shut up, my god,” Jeno grumbles. Jaemin’s right, though, he’s long-lost feeling in the arm tucked under Chenle’s body. He’s not looking forward to the pins and needles once Chenle rolls off him.

“Fuck off,” Chenle grumbles, voice scratchy with sleep.

If nothing else, Jaemin is stubborn—and really, the kids should be getting up anyway now that Jaemin is here to help set up the rest of their massive mat situation. Jeno’s not sure what time it is, but he knows that if Donghyuck and Mark arrive without their mats all in order, Donghyuck is going to bitch and moan the rest of the afternoon.

“Wake up, Chenle,” Jaemin says, tone taking on a more sickly-sweet tone. It makes Chenle press his face further into Jeno’s chest, the groan that leaves his body so guttural that Jeno really thinks Jaemin should take Chenle home to let him rest.

On Jeno’s other side, Jisung finally stirs, making happy little snuffles as he wakes. “Hyung?” Jisung starts.

“Yes?” Jeno, Jaemin, and Renjun answer.

Jisung giggles, low and melodic. Jeno pats his back, though, really, if he could, he would squish Jisung’s cheeks until he got shoved away. Something something cute aggression, Jeno doesn’t care. Jisung and Chenle are his babies. He might have acquired them as a result of acquiring Renjun, first Chenle in Jeno’s second year, then Jisung the following, but Jeno wouldn’t trade either of them for the world.

Not that he would ever tell Chenle or Jisung that. Jeno lets them get away with enough mischief; he does not particularly wish for them to create more.

“I meant Renjun hyung,” Jisung corrects, pushing himself off Jeno’s chest. “Is this your blanket?” he asks.

“Chenle, if you don’t get up, I won’t kiss you for three days.” Jaemin threatens on Jeno’s other side.

Suddenly, Jeno goes from two bodies on him to none. The pins and needles in his arm start up soon after Chenle scrambles away, and Jeno groans. He rolls onto his stomach before pushing himself into a kneel.

After hours, he can see things that are not the tinted expanse of sky and some white fluffy clouds. Jeno can see his friends.

Finally, he can see Renjun, pencils spread out in front of him, his half-filled sketchbook perched on his knees. He looks extra small in his oversized hoodie—one Jeno would assume he stole from some one-night stand if it were not for the fact that they went shopping for it together. Jeno had commented then that the hoodie would be too big on Renjun, likely to swallow him whole. Renjun had smiled at him, giggling as he touched the mint green fabric and told Jeno that was the whole point.

From here, Jeno can spy a few stains, paint, and oils, and probably markers from his children when they get a bit overzealous on the cuffs of the hoodie, but paint stains on Renjun’s most loved clothing are simply a badge of honor in Jeno’s humble opinion.

“Yeah, Sung,” Renjun answers, looking up from his sketch. His stare finds Jisung first, “Can you put it next to Jeno’s gray one. I’ll have Chenle put his blanket on the other side there.” Then his stare slides to Jeno, a little smile curling the corners of his lips. “Hi, puppy.”

“Hyung, I’m up, so kiss me,” Chenle demands from the other side of Jeno. Jeno ignores him.

Well. First.

“Le, sunglasses.” Jeno tugs off his borrowed lenses, wincing at the sudden brightness of the world, and turns to hand them back to Chenle. Jaemin is grinning down at his boyfriend with a near manic smile. “Jaemin, don’t forget the food.”

It seems to spur Jaemin into action, which is to say, it is not Jeno’s words that do anything, but rather Jaemin just happens to move at the same time Jeno reminds him of something. Still, he presses a quick kiss to Chenle’s temple, mumbling something Jeno doesn’t catch into his hair before he stands back up. As Jaemin passes Jeno, he ruffles Jeno’s hair, laughter light on his tongue.

Chenle gets his sunglasses back before Renjun really looks at him, to which Jeno is thankful because while his love is quiet and caring, Renjun’s is not.

Jaemin can take care of Chenle, sure, but there is nothing quite like the shared language and mutual heritage that bonds Chenle and Renjun together in ways that the rest of them simply cannot compete with.

Not that Jeno wants to. He’s seen Renjun go off on Chenle when he puts his mind to it. Jeno might not understand a lot of Mandarin, but he can understand enough tones to know when Renjun is pissed.

Getting the food ready is easy, with everything that Jaemin brought. Jeno assists with setting up several fold-out tables holding the various entrees—fried chicken, half of it a flavor Jeno really likes, a clear container with cut strawberries, a smaller container of kimchi, and—

“Jaemin, what’s in this?” Jisung asks, holding a small opaque metal container. “It’s warm.” Before Jaemin can even answer, Jisung shakes it.

The screech Jaemin lets out has Jeno’s ears ringing after he’s done.

“Na Jaemin,” Renjun barks. Unlike the rest of them, he hasn’t moved from where he was, pencil in hand. There’s a streak of graphite on his face, but Jeno finds it cute, so he doesn’t say anything. “Be normal. We are in public.”

Jaemin yanks the container from Jisung’s hands with a glare, checking the outside carefully as if Jisung’s over-large and clumsy hands could have damaged the contents inside. “We’re always in public—that doesn’t stop me,” Jaemin says, almost haughty if it wasn’t for him staring at the container like it was his firstborn child. Now Jeno is curious.

“It should,” Renjun grumbles.

Jeno picks up a bag of chips to set next to the odd tinfoil-wrapped lump. “Jaemin, did you cook?”

Jaemin looks away from the metal container to stare at Jeno just a second too long. “Of course I cooked.”

Jeno frowns. He could have cooked, too, if he knew that was an option? Or baked, since Chenle had decided to house his mini oven at Jeno’s apartment. While Jeno used it to make the occasional batch of cookies and toast his bagels, he could have made something. If nothing else, Jeno could follow a recipe.

“Why would the b—why would you cook?” Jaemin says, smiling at Jeno as he puts the container on the left-most table. There are three now, covered in various foods and fruits, and snacks; the middle table is left mostly free.

Jeno stands there, chip bag in hand, and stares at Renjun. Immediately, Renjun looks away, ears turning red.

He looks at Chenle next, eyes hidden behind those damn sunglasses. Chenle is the best of them at poker, his face blank. He pauses, fixing one of the mats to look over at Jeno, one eyebrow quirked. “Need something, Jeno?”

“No…” Jeno narrows his eyes, looking to Jisung—forever guilty of breathing, Jeno fears— and Jaemin, who just grins at him, full of too many teeth. Jeno thinks if he ever saw a news article that Jaemin bit someone in self-defense, he wouldn’t be shocked.

Or rather, bit a stranger. Donghyuck has a scar somewhere to prove that Jaemin can and will bite when provoked.

“You’re planning something.” Jeno’s still holding the chips. Jaemin cackles, pitchy and ugly enough to have Jeno wince, and gingerly takes the chips from Jeno’s loosening grasp.

“Puppy, I always have plans.” The words are cryptic, and so Jaemin, a stupid non-answer that Jeno knows anything else he asks, is not going to get an answer. Not from Chenle, or Jisung, or Renjun—the guiltiest looking of them all.

It’s easier to drop it, not to fight it. With Donghyuck, he would keep the bit going, antagonizing Jeno until he gave up. Jaemin being in on whatever Jeno is out of the loop for is simply not worth the hassle of asking. Worse than Donghyuck, Jaemin is about as helpful as talking to a brick wall. Exponentially less fun than Donghyuck.

So. Jeno drops it. Ignores the subtle glances Jisung tosses him, Renjun’s lightning-fast reflexes to answer his phone every time it vibrates when he’s usually one of the worst at replying promptly. Jeno saw his unread KakaoTalk message count once—it was easily in the 400s.

Renjun sighs, tossing his phone next to him and starfishing onto the mat. It makes his sketchbook slide off his lap, open halfway on his leg. Jeno can see the outline of himself stuck under a rough sketch of Chenle. Jisung’s is more detailed, but only barely. “Donghyuck says he’s about 10 minutes away,” Renjun says.

“With Mark, right?” Jisung says, settling down next to Renjun, socked feet nudging Renjun’s knee.

“No, he left Mark at home.” Renjun deadpans, sitting up just to roll his eyes at Jisung. “Of course, Mark is with him, darling.”

Jeno hears Chenle cackle as he walks over, reaching for one of the bags of chips. Jaemin leans down to smack his hand, phone in the other hand. “No, baby. Wait.”

Chenle points at himself, then at Jeno, a scoff on his tongue. “Me? Are you talking to me? I’m not the dog here.” He looks at Jeno, a smile that spells all sorts of trouble on his face. “See, watch. Jeno—sit.”

Jeno sits.

Chenle dissolves into giggles; chips forgotten as he collapses next to Jeno, dragging him into a horrible mockery of a hug. “Good boy!” Chenle crows into his ear, the same ear Jaemin was close to when he screamed, the same ear that is still ringing. Jeno foresees future hearing loss.

“Jeno,” Renjun rolls onto his side, his face soft with something like pity and amusement and fondness all rolled into one. “You are a grown man. Get up.”

Now, even Jisung is back to giggling. Jeno cannot see him, but he can hear the pitchy inhales, intermingling with Jaemin’s cackles and over-the-top cooing. Jeno thinks about getting up, about forcibly removing Chenle’s octopus grip around his body, but it’s more fun to play along.

The dog joke had started midway through college, a passing comment that Jeno looked like this one Samoyed Jaemin professor showed a picture of during one of her lectures. The joke had gained traction when Renjun had spotted a different Samoyed when he went back to China that winter, and from there, the homegrown inside joke spread. Jeno’s long been used to being called anything but his name—though he will say that being called Samoyed god old faster than being called puppy.

Still, it is a bit embarrassing to be called such in public, where other people can hear them, where other people can see that Jeno is an adult. An adult with a job. An adult male with a job who has gone through his years of military service and got through the CSAT within the top 5% in the country.

And here he is, half under one of his best friends, chanting puppy and good boy into his ear like Chenle gets paid to do it. And Jeno lets him. Because he loves Chenle more than he hates being embarrassed.

“Oh my God!” Jeno hears Donghyuck shout. Jeno perks up, eyes bright, to see Donghyuck toeing off his shoes at the mat, coffees and other drinks in both hands. “Jeno Puppy Time?” He asks Chenle.

“Not really,” Jeno answers.

Donghyuck hands both carriers to Jaemin, who takes them with a shit eating grin.

“Yeah, Puppy Time.” Chenle answers.

Which is—the incorrect answer, because Jeno Puppy Time hasn’t happened since they were drunk in their senior year of college. However, it is the answer Donghyuck wants, because he throws himself onto Chenle and Jeno, fully uncaring of the yelp that Jeno lets out at the added dead weight. Unsurprisingly, Chenle laughs in manic glee. Truly, Jaemin’s gremlin boyfriend.

“Jeno Puppy!” Donghyuck continues to shout. Jeno goes limp in Chenle’s grip just to save himself energy. Not like it matters, when Donghyuck’s hands soon join Chenle’s. Where Chenle’s hands hold Jeno down, Donghyuck’s pet all over Jeno’s exposed body—the top of his head, his arms—before they settle on his stomach. “Tummy scratches!”

Jeno groans as Donghyuck scritches at his belly, twitching in Chenle’s tight grip before he starts laughing. He’s not necessarily ticklish, but again. Grown man getting tummy pets surely—is not the most normal thing to do in the middle of a park in spring. Or ever, really.

“Oh, hey, Mark,” Jaemin says in English. “Let me take that.”

“Hyung, you’re here!” Jisung chirps, all docile and cute and really. It’s admiration, certainly, but it’s still interesting to see Jisung get so nervous and cute around someone the rest of them simply do not.

“Hi—oh thanks, Jaemin.” Jeno can hear Mark, but he can’t see him. Not between the little giggles that keep his eyes almost squinted shut, and Chenle holding him down against the mat with his and Donghyuck’s combined dead weight. “Hyuckie, why are you scratching Jeno’s stomach?”

“Puppy Time!” Donghyuck and Chenle say in unison. Jeno struggles against their hold, but it’s futile.

There’s a loaded beat of silence.

After a moment, Renjun snorts. The world seems to resume.

“What?” Mark asks. Jeno feels the mat shift next to him, and then Mark’s bare feet are in Jeno’s line of vision.

“Hey,” Jeno says. He kicks at whoever is near his leg and smiles to himself when it’s Donghyuck who lets out a cry of pain. “How was the commute?”

Mark ignores the question. “What’s Puppy Time.” He asks instead.

“A stupid joke.”

Donghyuck scratches Jeno’s belly some more. “Who’s a good boy?”

“Fuck off and die,” Jeno grumbles. He manages to sit up enough with just his core strength to bare his teeth at Donghyuck.

In punishment, Donghyuck slams his stomach, causing Jeno to fall back to the ground. “Bad puppy! No growling!” Jeno actually growls, which earns him another slap to his stomach. “I asked—who’s a good boy?” He gives Jeno scritches again.

Still coiled around him like a leech, Chenle giggles. “Yeah, Jeno. Who’s a good boy? Bark for us, hyung.”

Jeno barks.

Chenle lets him go, but Donghyuck doesn’t get out of the way fast enough before Jeno’s dragging him to the ground with him, growling while smacking his shoulder.

“Bad puppy!” Donghyuck screams, “Mark, help me!”

Rolling until Donghyuck is tangled under him, Jeno looks over at Mark to find him simply staring, eyes wide behind his glasses, teeth digging into his bottom lip. He looks torn between laughter and confusion—a common Mark expression—but decidedly does not help Donghyuck in any way.

“I don’t think I will,” Mark says. He crouches down, head tilting as he stares, really stares at Jeno. The confusion is gone from his face, a little smile playing at the corner of his lips.

Jeno looks back, thighs tightening their hold around Donghyuck as he keeps flailing around. “Hi hyung,” Jeno greets again. A bit calmer now that Donghyuck and Chenle don’t have the upper hand.

“Call him puppy,” Renjun calls out, far closer than Jeno remembers him being. Mark looks away from Jeno, just above Jeno’s head. Seconds later, Jeno feels Renjun’s delicate hands run through his hair. “He likes it.”

Mark looks back down at him, teeth biting at a loose piece of skin. “Hi puppy,” Mark says. He’s so earnest with it, the word falling from his lips so gently that Jeno feels his ears go hot, his cheeks reddening to match the faint red hue on Mark’s cheeks.

Under him, Donghyuck goes suspiciously quiet. Jeno loosens his grip on him and lets Donghyuck slip from his clutches with only a little huff. Jeno hears him press a wet kiss to Renjun’s cheek—and Renjun’s answering groan—before wandering over to Jaemin. Jeno can hear their hushed conversation, half in whispers and odd noises.

Behind him, Renjun’s fingers are still toying with Jeno’s hair, but Jeno can’t think much about that when Mark is still looking at him.

“Is that okay?” Mark asks, softer still. Gentler still. “Can I say that?”

Jeno blinks. Forces himself to sit up. Somewhere behind him, the others are still talking, but really. Really, Jeno isn’t paying attention. Can’t pay attention. Not when Mark is looking at him so intently, overlong hair unstyled with ends hanging into his eyes. He’s so devastatingly beautiful like this and Jeno—

Feels the same knot in his chest he felt at thirteen. At seventeen. At twenty-two, long after Mark left them, staring at Donghyuck’s Instagram story while he was in Vancouver. At twenty-seven, watching Mark stumble into the cinnamon roll café.

“You can.” Jeno eventually says. He blinks again, then nods a few times. “That’s okay, hyung.”

Of the seven of them, only Renjun and Mark went into the humanities. Jeno does not have the language—in Korean or English—to describe the slow, damningly beautiful smile that blooms across Mark’s face. He just knows it makes his ears feel even hotter.

A tug on his hair diverts Jeno’s stare upwards, tilting his head back to grin up at Renjun.

Renjun smiles back down at him, tugging gently on his hair. “Jeno, come here.”

Jeno, understandably, does not know what Renjun is talking about. “Where?”

“Here.” Donghyuck calls from where Jeno set the tables up, a mat and a half away. “Quickly, Jen.”

Confused, but mostly curious, Jeno goes to where Donghyuck, Chenle, Jisung, and Jaemin block the view of the tables. Behind him are Renjun and Mark, the former patting his butt when Jeno slows down. “What did you do?” Jeno hedges, peeking over Chenle’s shoulder to see a beautiful heart-shaped cake centered on the previously bare middle table. There’s an icing decal of a Samoyed, outlined in black to stand out against the smooth white icing around the rest of the cake and elegant lettering spelling out Happy Birthday, Jeno~. It’s not a large cake, but Jeno can see the care that the baker put into it.

“Happy Birthday, Jeno!” everyone says in unison. Belatedly, Jisung adds on a hyung, which makes Jeno press his face into Chenle’s shoulder and laugh.

“Oh,” he says, a little untethered. He straightens up and looks at everyone, at their pretty outfits—Jaemin’s request for photos—at their blinding smiles. “Thank you.”

Jaemin laughs at him, as does Renjun—though he muffles the sound into Jeno’s arm.

Jeno looks from Jaemin and his wiggling eyebrows back to the cake, his chest growing heavier with every shallow inhale. He blinks away the haze in his vision—not quite tears but something probably just as tender if Jeno were to think long enough about it. “Yeah, thank you,” Jeno says again, a little quieter.

Rough fingertips ghost along Jeno’s palm, catching briefly on the hard-earned gym calluses at the base of Jeno’s fingers, before slipping into the spaces between. Jeno doesn’t look away from the cake, from the dog on the cake. From the dog on the cake that has a perfectly placed eye mole to look just like him.

Yet, despite not looking, Jeno would know those fingers anywhere. Would recognize ever since those hands cupped his face, rough skin and dirty hands so gentle where they traced along the cut on Jeno’s cheek. Jeno doesn’t even remember how he got it—not that it scarred—but he remembers Mark’s concerned stare, the warmth lingering underneath Jeno’s skin long after Mark had deemed him safe enough.

Now, those same fingers, skin still rough and touch still gentle, squeeze Jeno’s hand in his. “Happy birthday, Jeno,” Mark says. Just for Jeno’s ears.

Or rather, it would have been just for Jeno’s ears if Chenle hadn’t decided to turn around in that moment, grin bright on his face as he tiptoes into Jeno’s personal space. “It was Mark hyung’s idea!” Chenle announces. Behind him, Donghyuck squawks.

Jaemin, in typical Jaemin fashion, is quick to butt in. “I found the cake.” He says. Jeno looks from his reflection in Chenle’s sunglasses to Jaemin’s proud smile.

“Well, I designed the cake,” Donghyuck adds on.

Renjun starts laughing from where he still stands somewhere behind Jeno. “We know, Hyuckie.” Despite his words, he sounds pleased, a little too fond in the face of Donghyuck’s overdramatics. “You didn’t shut up about it in the group chat.”

“You have a group chat? Without me?” Jeno turns to Renjun, already pouting despite the fact that he really doesn’t care.

“Oh, puppy,” Renjun mocks, grabbing Jeno’s face between his palms, hands chilly with cool winter air.

“Do we have candles?” Jisung pipes up.

Contrary to Jeno’s wishes—they have candles.

And a lighter.

And a personal desire to turn Jeno’s face red as six of them hoot and holler a horrible rendition of Happy Birthday. It’s worse, knowing that they can sing, made even more worse—if possible—when Mark forgets the Korean version of the song and starts to sing in English, prompting Chenle to try and join, and Donghyuck to sing every other word caught between the two languages.

Of course, Jaemin films it all between, voice overly nasally and phone shaking in his grip, though it keeps its aim true to capture the moment. Jeno hates it, will hate it when they show him in a few hours, and will likely still hate it when they show it to him next year on his birthday. But he knows he wouldn’t trade them for the world.

He wishes—really right now, Jeno wishes to trade all six of them for a peaceful life—as they chant for him to blow out the candles, puppy!

He does. Of course, he does, when the other option is to let the wax melt into the beautiful rendition of Jeno as Samoyed.

The second Jeno straightens, fingers falling from where he had them clasped in front of them for a wish he doesn’t mean seriously, Mark tangles their fingers together again. This time, Jeno turns to look at him, seeing the tops of his ears a pretty pink, his cheeks a matching shade.

“Thank you, hyung,” Jeno says, tipping towards him while Jisung acquires a plastic knife and starts horribly cutting the cake to the beautiful tune of Donghyuck screeching that he’s doing it wrong while Renjun tries to coach Jisung through earning his cake-cutting skills. Chenle and Jaemin watch, giggling and taking photos.

Mark presses his smile into Jeno’s shoulder, so tender that Jeno can pretend just for a moment it’s a kiss. “Of course,” Mark says, properly for Jeno’s ears only. “Happy Birthday.”

May 20xx

Jeno doesn’t see Mark for three weeks, after that. It’s unfortunate, surely, but Jeno can’t really find it in him to be anything except exhausted lately. Work has been—

Work.

Which is something Jeno enjoys, he likes his job, he’s thankful his parents understood him when he sat them down in his second year of high school and told them he didn’t want to go to Yonsei, or Seoul National, or Korea University. He’s thankful his internship bloomed into a full-time position before he even walked across the stage with his diploma, his now-boss grinning at him with a contract in hand.

Jeno regrets none of it. He does regret accepting shadowing his sunbae for the two projects he’s on, scrambling from one onsite location to the next and back again with little time to sit in the office and do his own work.

Though if Jeno is being honest, it isn’t all that bad. He likes the hands-on experience, truly, and loves that his sunbae took one look at him the first day Jeno walked into the office as a full-time employee and dragged him under his wing.

That doesn’t mean he’s not fucking exhausted, though, mind reeling from an emergency meeting filled with terms Jeno only loosely understood. He left work without his laptop, phone in hand as he scrolled through the group chat to catch up on messages.

His only reply was a singular laugh react to Jisung’s last message about dropping his ramen on his foot—a picture of the carnage just below.

On the subway, Jeno gets a message from Mark, just one, asking if he was okay. Jeno looks at it in his notification bar, squished between an older auntie with three bags in her hand and a fellow businessman, his haggard expression mirroring Jeno’s own.

No, not really, Jeno replies, ever honest. It’s only Wednesday, two days ahead of Jeno, before he can even think about holing himself up in his apartment. He knows Chenle wanted to go get dinner, wanted to check out a pop-up in Seongsu, wanted to see him, but the thought of dealing with the outside when Jeno feels like this is—well. If he were to unpack that, he would have to unpack a whole lot of things, and simply put, he’s too exhausted for it.

Is there anything I can do? Mark is also ever-honest, sweet in his concern for Jeno’s well-being. Jeno doesn’t want to lie to him, but he’s not sure the truth is something he’s grappled with long enough to tell Mark about it.

Buy me dinner? Jeno says, half a joke. Mark’s nowhere near Jeno now, tucked closer to where Seoul National lies, a short 15-minute ride to Sadang compared to Jeno’s nearly 60 minutes up into Sinchon. Still, he’s bought Mark dinner and gotten it sent there via delivery apps, ignoring Mark's complaints that Jeno didn’t have to in favor of sending cute puppy stickers into their private KakaoTalk chat.

More people shuffle on at Daerim, squishing Jeno so tight that he feels the sweat-damp press of the haggard businessman’s shirt against his. Disgusting, Jeno thinks, staring at his phone unseeingly, but it is just part and parcel of Seoul’s rush hour.

Thankfully, many of the riders vanish at the next stop, squeezing and shuffling past Jeno until he spies a seat between a student and the lone pink seat for pregnant ladies. He slips into it just as the wave of new riders step on, pressing around Jeno but no longer pressing into Jeno.

Suddenly, though no less tired, Jeno feels a little less like the world is ending.

What do you want???? Mark has messaged so many question marks that Jeno knows it’s a habit he picked up from Canada. Hyung will buy for you, puppy, Mark sends a moment later.

Jeno looks at his phone for one long moment. Locks it. Stares straight ahead at the person in front of him, none the wiser that Jeno is blushing with their face shoved into a test prep book Jeno vaguely recognizes.

When Jeno looks back at his phone, the words are still there, just with an added giggling Kakao Sticker underneath. Ah, Jeno may hate Mark Lee a little bit.

The pajeon by the station, Jeno replies. He doesn’t need to specify. Mark knows the exact place. It’s closer to Jeno’s job than to Mark’s, just outside Sadang station, really, but it’s tucked into the alleyways and side streets that Jeno cannot help but find the little restaurant endearing. But really, any pajeon is okay.

The expected response would be laughter, would be for Mark to console Jeno that the pajeon restaurant is too far, unable to deliver from Sadang to Sinchon, but Mark just thumbs up Jeno’s message and says nothing else.

It takes several stops for Jeno to grow suspicious, but by then, it’s too late. His stop is next.

Hyung, what are you planning? Jeno hastily sends, slipping out of the doors with the rest of the lingering crowd. The escalator is closest to him, but the line is long and Jeno—well. Now that Mark isn’t immediately replying to him, Jeno feels antsy. He takes the stairs two at a time and taps out of the station with his phone.

Mark has yet to reply. Jeno had joked about the pajeon fifteen minutes ago. Jeno narrows his eyes at his phone and steps up onto the escalator to his exit.

Hyung. Jeno messages. Sends an angry dog sticker. Then a crying sticker.

All of them go unread.

Jeno steps off the escalator and makes the short trek to his apartment, a spacious little villa that’s perfect enough for him. Though the hour commute is not something he enjoys, it does allow Jeno enough time to decompress to now bring work stress into his apartment, so he appreciates it.

Yet.

Jeno grumbles to himself, grumbles at a Mark that is nowhere near him, and keys in the code to his apartment. It’s oddly cool inside, a nice reprieve from the lingering humidity Jeno doesn’t wish to think too hard about.

“Oh.” A voice says, Mark's head poking around where Jeno’s fridge to blink at Jeno.

Jeno blinks back, too shocked to move from the tiny foyer.

“You’re home!” Mark says, his face lighting up. He’s in pjs, an oversized shirt mismatching with the duck-printed pajama pants.

Jeno stares a bit more, just to be sure it's really Mark. “Hyung?”

Mark, really Mark, smiles even bigger. He shuffles his way towards Jeno, a takeout container in hand. “Hey, Jeno,” he says, so soft that Jeno thinks about crying just for a moment. “Let’s eat dinner, yeah?”

It’s easy for Jeno to nod, to toe off his shoes and follow Mark into the kitchen. Jeno doesn’t have a proper dining table—there’s no point when it’s usually just him, and maybe Donghyuck and Jaemin—but he does have a little bar with barstools that he and Mark sit at.

Neither talk as Jeno nibbles on pajeon and kimchi jeon, Mark nibbling on the danmuji that came with their food. Midway through their meal, Jeno hooks his foot around Mark’s, their socked feet rubbing against each other. Jeno hopes it conveys what he can’t say. Not now—maybe later, but not now.

When Mark and Donghyuck moved to South Korea, they moved to Songpa in the same complex as Jaemin and he, Jeno was so excited. Donghyuck was a spitfire ten-year-old, chatty in his broken Korean and even chattier once he realized that Jeno knew enough English to sometimes understand him. Mark was far quieter at the start, but he was ever-so-kind. Jeno remembers the three of them running around the complex, scooters and bikes forgotten as Jeno and Jaemin ignored the weight of academies on their shoulders for just a few precious hours a day, Mark trailing behind with a backpack full of snacks and water. He took care of them, even when he didn’t quite have the language to do so. And when he did, ultimately coming out of his shell enough to speak in sentences longer than a couple of words, Mark still looked out for them.

Even still, nearly twenty years later, Mark is still taking care of him. Jeno would feel more touched if he could feel much of anything at all today.

It is Mark who cleans up the dishes, navigating Jeno’s kitchen in an endearing, bumbling way, semi-familiar but not enough to be as efficient as Jaemin or Donghyuck. “Go shower,” he tells Jeno, stepping up to him and pushing back Jeno’s flyaways from his face. “Hyung will finish cleaning up.”

This makes Jeno smile, leaning into Mark’s touch a bit. “Okay, hyung.” He says, a mumble. A whisper. Jeno loves his job, but today was—it just was. Not even a bad day, or a long day. Not any longer than yesterday—and it won’t be longer than tomorrow. He’s simply tired. Mark cups his face, and Jeno cannot help but melt into the hold, a little sigh parting his lips. “Thank you, hyung.”

Jeno makes quick work of his shower, scrubbing away the dirt and grime and exhaustion of the day until his arms and legs are pink. He’s far gentler with his hair, massaging in his shampoo once, then twice, then conditioning it while he stands under the lukewarm spray. Stepping out of the little shower area, separated from the rest of his bathroom by a small, frosted glass partition, Jeno towels himself off the best he can, tugging on a pair of boxers. He’s quick to towel off his hair, arms too heavy to do much of anything else before he yanks the door open to let in the cool air from the rest of the apartment.

“Skincare, Jeno,” Mark calls from the main room. Jeno’s only taken one step out of the bathroom before Mark repeats himself.

Jeno steps back in, leaving the door open, to pat his skincare into his face.

When he walks out a second time, he finds Mark curled up on the two-seater couch Jeno got as a deal from a student moving back into their parents’ house when he first moved in. He sinks into the cushions next to Mark and lays his damp hair and skin on Mark’s shoulder. “Hi, hyung.”

Under him, Mark’s shoulders shake with quiet laughter. “Bad day?” Mark asks. His fingers find Jeno’s, playing with them absentmindedly.

Jeno lets his eyes close, and a long sigh escapes him. “Not really. I’m just tired—really tired.” Mark squeezes Jeno’s fingers, a hum escaping him to let Jeno know he’s listening. Jeno goes into how his day was, how his week has gone since he’s barely been able to keep up with the constant conversation of their overactive group chat. By the end of it, Jeno is curled closer to Mark, a yawn splitting his face so wide he hears his jaw crack.

With a pat to his side and a squeeze of Jeno’s fingers, Mark shifts so that Jeno is sitting straight. Mark gets off the couch, slowly pulling Jeno with him. “Come on, puppy, let’s go to bed.”

With another yawn and a sleepy noise of discontent about being moved, Jeno slinks back into Mark’s arms before he straightens himself out. “Are you staying?” It’s a silly question, Jeno thinks the second it leaves his mouth. He only has his queen-sized bed, tucked into a corner of the room, between the wall and his dresser, covered in three pillows and a stuffed animal on the windowsill above the white headboard. Mark could fit, if Jeno thinks longer than two seconds about it, but Jeno also hasn’t shared a bed within the past four years. Unless he counts the times Donghyuck and Jisung and he had gotten too drunk off soju while watching a drama together one weekend and piled into bed in a cuddle pile that Renjun found the next morning, slipping in with Americanos and pastries from the café across from Jeno’s building.

“Yeah,” Mark answers. He frames Jeno’s sleepy face between his palms, tilting Jeno’s head this way and that. “I’m staying, puppy.”

Jeno stops, but Mark doesn’t, leading Jeno to stumble forward. He laughs, a small thing that’s more incredulous than anything else. “I was joking, hyung,” he says, a bit lost. Mark still leads him forward, as if Jeno doesn’t know the path from his couch to his bed, a fifteen-step path that Jeno’s made more times than Mark’s been living in Korea again. “You don’t have to stay—don’t you have an 8 a.m. on Thursdays?”

Mark hums. He pauses in their steps, head tilting before he pulls Jeno forward and pushes him to sit on the bed. Jeno does with little resistance, his own little noise of confusion swallowed by Mark’s words as he steps between Jeno’s parted legs. “I canceled.” The words are stated firmly, Mark’s palms once again cupping Jeno’s face to tilt his head up.

The look in Mark’s eyes has Jeno averting his gaze. “Hyung, I’m fine—”

“You should call out,” Mark states.

Jeno immediately giggles, shooing Mark’s hands away from his face so he can properly get on the bed. He’s not really prepared for guests, but he guesses that Mark can take one of Jeno’s three pillows. “I can’t do that, hyung. I’m supposed to go on-site with my sunbae in the morning, and I have a meeting with our manager in the afternoon.” He slips under the thin summer sheet and the fluffy, yet thin blanket Jisung got him for his birthday two years back. Jeno loves it. “Turn off the aircon before you get in bed, please.”

Mark listens, padding over to grab the remote off Jeno’s kitchen counter, the dual beep the indicator that Jeno’s aircon has been powered down for the night. Mark stays over by the kitchen for a moment, before the lights slowly turn off one by one. Without the light, Jeno can only hear Mark stumble through his apartment, snorting when Mark slams his foot into the bedpost. “Careful, hyung,” Jeno says with a small laugh.

Mark slips into bed with only a whisper. Jeno stays on his back, eyes barely open as he stares up into the darkness. Usually, the building over has its light on, allowing Jeno to make out the shapes of his furniture—but tonight the room is dark.

“Jeno,” Mark calls, a warm hand on Jeno’s bicep. Jeno hums. “I really think you should call in sick.”

“Okay.” Jeno will not be doing that.

The bed shifts, dipping next to Jeno, the air radiating warmth where Mark’s body is. “Jeno,” Mark says again. Jeno feels the muscles in his body relax, just in time for Mark to clumsily gather Jeno in his arms and squeeze him. “Call out, please.” A pause. “I’m worried.”

Maybe if Jeno hated his job, he would. Maybe if the burnout had a reason besides being tired, he would call out, would heed Mark’s advice. But Jeno does like his job; he loves what he gets to do. Overall, his work environment is nice—full of hierarchical ladders that Jeno’s long learned to play—and the stuff he doesn’t isn’t so monotonous he feels like going crazy. He’s just tired.

“Being tired doesn’t have to have a reason, Jen,” Mark speaks the words into Jeno’s temple, squeezing him tighter. “If you won’t call off, let me be here? Let me take care of you.”

It’s much easier to accept that. “Sure, hyung.” Jeno mumbles, squished into Mark’s collarbone. “Can we sleep now?”

If Jeno feels the ghost of a kiss across his temple, he ignores it in favor of settling into the curve of Mark’s body. He’s not ready—not for that conversation. It’s only been what—five months since Mark’s return? Jeno’s not ready to talk about it all, and he would guess Mark isn’t either.

It’s okay, though; Jeno tells himself as Mark tugs him impossibly closer. They’ll get there, Jeno knows that much. He can be patient.

June 20xx

Jeno loves Donghyuck. He’s loved Donghyuck since they were barely ten, the new kid from Canada forced into Jeno and Jaemin’s 2^nd grade class, face round and skin looking like it was blessed by the sun herself. Jeno loves Donghyuck even when Donghyuck made Jeno’s life objectively hell—his pranks and tricks knowing no boundary, crossing over lines Jeno drew to protect himself until he laughed along with Donghyuck instead of trying to punch him. They have a friendship borne of blood and laughter—a camaraderie built upon time and dedicated effort until Donghyuck being annoying felt more like a truth of the world and less like a death toll in Jeno’s pre-puberty mind.

Jeno loves Donghyuck.

Jeno actively wants to kill Donghyuck right now, though.

“God, your crush on my brother is so—soooo—annoying,” Donghyuck says on his birthday. At his birthday celebration in Chenle’s oversized apartment his parents bought him when they realized their son had no plans to come home. At his birthday celebration with fewer than ten people, one of those people being Mark. Mark. The brother in question.

“Shut up,” Jeno says. Points the beer bottle at Donghyuck. “Just shut up.”

They are four hours in, and between the ten of them, they have drunk nearly fifteen bottles of beer and are just shy of eighteen bottles of soju. Jeno can feel the maekju mixing with the blood in his veins and curses the day Donghyuck was born.

“Pour me another, puppy,” Donghyuck coos, sliding up into Jeno’s space until he almost spills the damn bottle. Donghyuck doesn't seem to care and presses further against Jeno. “He likes you, too, you know.” Jeno knows. “Want to make him jealous?”

Jeno snorts. Stabs the mixing chopstick into his maekju and then starts making Donghyuck’s. Donghyuck is a heavyweight, liking the taste of soju, so Jeno counts to five before he stops pouring it. “With you? No thanks, hyung will get mad at you, not me.”

A tongue licks Jeno’s neck. He allows it. “Yeah, that’s the point, puppy. I can handle Mark mad at me—please, he’s mad at me at least once a week.”

“Deserved.”

Donghyuck ignores him. “But maybe he’ll kiss you tonight, in hopes that it pisses me off, or something.”

Jeno laughs. Hands Donghyuck his glass and turns to face him. His cheeks are ruddy with alcohol; lips quirked into his signature smirk, dark hair too long and falling into his eyes. He’s done his makeup—or rather, Renjun had done his makeup. He looks hot. Looks like something Hell would let come up and tempt the masses. Jeno would love to kiss him, would love to--

But no.

Mark.

“I know hyung likes me,” Jeno says. Taps the tip of his finger to Donghyuck’s nose and giggles when he goes cross-eyed. “Hyung isn’t ready to talk about it—I'm being patient, Hyuckie.” Jeno pauses and looks over his shoulder to see Renjun gripping Johnny’s arm while he giggles, drunken infatuation written across his face. “Do you want to make Junnie jealous?”

This makes Donghyuck scowl, a pretty thing that Jeno thinks he should kiss off him, but does not. “Fuck you.”

“No thanks.” Jeno wanders off after this, leaving Donghyuck pouting by the dining room table. He has no goal in mind, just to mingle.

It’s easy to do so; he knows most of the people there. Despite Donghyuck being the world’s largest social butterfly, he doesn’t keep many people close. The only people Jeno is unfamiliar with are Johnny—Mark's friend from Canada who moved down to Chicago before ultimately returning to Korea when his parents retired—and his boyfriend, Dongyoung. Another person is wandering about, their beauty almost painful to look at. So Jeno just doesn’t, making his way towards the black suede couch where Jisung and Chenle are giggling with Jaemin. Jeno joins their conversation with ease, slipping between Chenle and the armchair of the couch. He sips at his maekju as they talk, distantly taking note of the fuzziness at the corner of his vision. He’s had four of these already within the past two hours; he should probably stop drinking.

Renjun comes around at some point, pretty pink on his cheeks, but his lips are kiss-bruised. He looks at Jeno, grins, and sits in his lap. “I got asked to be a third,” he whispers, all sly and coy as he tries to slide his hand up Jeno’s shirt. Jeno lets him, pleased at the way Renjun’s cool hand presses flat against his stomach. It feels nice, the skinship. Jeno tenses his abs just to hear Renjun giggle, fingers patting at Jeno’s tummy.

“Yeah?” Jeno knocks their heads together and giggles. “With Johnny?” Jeno doesn’t add that he would pay to see that, Renjun’s slight figure swallowed by the wide expanse of Johnny’s hands, the delicate way Renjun holds himself tucked between two towering figures.

Renjun hums, his nails scratching Jeno’s skin. It makes shivers run up Jeno’s spine. Makes his lips part in a soft little gasp, shifting in his seat, trying to inch Renjun away from where he rests right on top of his dick, now interested in Renjun’s drunken ministrations. Renjun notices, because of course he does, and tilts away to get a better look at Jeno, his grin all teeth. Jeno licks his lips and gives a languid smile of his own.

For a moment, it looks like Renjun is going to do something about it, his impending threesome be damned, but Jaemin interrupts them with a slap to Renjun’s thigh. “Junnie, play nice.” He scolds. “Off limits.”

Neither smack nor reprimand do much to quell the devilish grin on Renjun’s face, and he turns to face Jaemin to stick out his tongue. “Fuck off.” Renjun counters with and purposefully shifts in Jeno’s lap.

Jeno is just a man, his hands flying to Renjun’s hips to still him with a low groan. “Junnie,” Jeno begs.

Chenle cackles from between Jeno-and-Renjun and Jaemin, his fingers pulling at Renjun’s hair. “Go be a menace elsewhere, gege,” Chenle says.

Sensing that Renjun would and will start a fight, Jeno tightens his grip on Renjun’s hips, squeezing them until Renjun pays attention to him again. “Jealous, puppy?” Renjun coos, small fingers threading through Jeno’s hair.

Jeno shakes his head. “No fighting with Chenle.” Is all he says, tilting into Renjun’s touch.

Renjun shifts closer, giggling when Jeno gasps again. He kisses at the high point of Jeno’s cheek, a sweet little gesture despite everything about him dripping sin. “I’ll be good, since you asked so nicely.”

Jeno turns to sniff Renjun’s hair, one hand leaving his waist to hold Renjun by the nape of his neck. He does it again and then laughs into Renjun’s hair when he notices Renjun has gone tense all over. Jeno is a good boy, a good friend, and doesn’t comment on that. “Oh, what about Donghyuck? It’s his birthday.” Really, Jeno doesn’t care, but despite Donghyuck being a little bit of a coward, Jeno is a really good friend.

Renjun turns a bit to look at Jeno, careful not to dislodge Jeno’s hand on his neck. The giggles on his tongue are syrup sweet when he dips down to kiss the corner of Jeno’s mouth. “Mhm—Johnny’s gonna ask if he wants to watch. As a birthday present.”

It’s impossible not to laugh, Jeno’s head tilting back as he does so. Renjun chases after him, clingy and horny as always. Jeno’s always allowed it—regardless of Donghyuck’s little crush, all of them have fallen into bed too many times during their college years to care much for simple things like jealousy. Hell, Jeno can even remember the feel of Jisung under him from a few years prior, pale skin flushed red and eyes teary.

Now, the last thing Jeno sees before his eyes slip close is Renjun’s mischievous grin. Then, they are kissing, giggles muffled in between. Renjun’s hand is still under Jeno’s shirt, but now it slides up, fingers playing with Jeno’s nipple as Renjun swallows every hitched moan Jeno lets loose.

“Pretty puppy,” Renjun coos, licking at the corner of Jeno’s mouth before moving to suck just under his jaw. “You’re always so good for me.”

Jeno laughs, content to keep his eyes closed, pressing Renjun closer with a pretty little gasp. He can hear Chenle cackling from next to him, hears the crack of a slap against Renjun’s ass from someone, but it does nothing to deter Renjun from nibbling on his neck.

A heavy hand lands on Jeno’s other shoulder, a second hand brushing Jeno’s hair before it lands in Renjun’s, shoving his hair back with a voice that sounds too pretty to be cursing the way he does.

“Fuck,” Jeno hears Dongyoung say, the musical lilt of his voice a gentle croon despite his vulgarity. “Too impatient to wait for us, pretty?” he asks Renjun.

Renjun immediately straightens, hair disheveled where Dongyong messed it up, lips even pinker than they were when Renjun first plopped into Jeno’s lap. Jeno watches how Renjun lights up for a moment before he’s slinking forward, the hand not pressed flat against Jeno’s sternum reaching behind Jeno. “Hyung,” Renjun whines. His eyes go half-lidded, the same coy look that once seduced Jeno into Renjun’s bed in college.

Dongyong’s hand threads through Renjun’s hair again, a little cruel when he tugs Renjun to the side. Renjun goes willingly, a pretty gasp on his lips. Jeno arches up to capture it, but the fingers on his shoulder only dig in, anchoring him to the couch. Jeno could overpower whoever it is—he has his guesses, only one—but it’s more fun to sit still. “Let us take you home—or, Chenle—”

“No.” It’s not Chenle who answers, but Jaemin. “Take him home.” Another pause. Jeno’s stare doesn’t waver from Renjun’s face. Dongyong lets go of his hair, but Renjun still sits pretty, waiting for whatever comes next. “Not now—later.”

Renjun dips back down to catch Jeno’s lips in a quick kiss, laughing when he pulls back. “Thank me later.” He says, as if Jeno isn’t thanking him now. He climbs off Jeno’s lap with grace that someone who has drunk at least five maekjus should not have, plucks Jeno’s glass from his lax fingers, and disappears from Jeno’s view. Off with Dongyong, perhaps. He can hear Johnny and Donghyuck in the kitchen, above the low volume of whatever playlist Chenle made for this specific night.

Jeno still doesn’t understand why Donghyuck requested them to just gather at Chenle’s house, when the year before he demanded they go to a five-star resort so he could go swimming. It was annoying, but Jeno had enjoyed the two-night stay, so he didn’t complain much.

With Renjun’s weight gone from Jeno’s lap, the hand on his shoulder feels heavier. Jeno doesn’t turn around, but he does look at Jaemin, who’s already leering at him.

Never a good sign.

“You’re fucked, puppy,” Jaemin says, too cheery for Jeno’s liking. Jaemin looks over Jeno’s shoulder, then down at Jeno, then at Chenle. “Jealousy looks hot on him, though.”

Behind Jeno, Mark laughs, fingers digging into Jeno’s shoulder even harder. It hurts, but it’s physical proof of Mark’s jealousy, so Jeno will take it. “Can I borrow Jeno for a bit?”

“Don’t be polite now, hyung,” Jisung pipes up from Jaemin’s other side. “You’ve been glaring at Renjun for the past, like, ten minutes. Just take Jeno hyung.”

In the end, Mark doesn’t have to do much of anything at all, as Jeno willingly follows after him. He ignores the hoot and holler Chenle calls after them, stumbling over nothing at all as Mark pulls him close, only to press him into the wall, hands flat against the wall on either side of Jeno’s head.

Like this, their minuscule height difference is a lot more apparent. Jeno finds it adorable. Perfect, even. He looks down his nose just enough to see Mark staring at him, his lips pressed into the prettiest pout. “You’re pretty,” Jeno tells Mark.

Mark pouts harder. “I thought Donghyuck was joking,” he says, one hand leaving the wall to press at the marks Renjun’s surely left on Jeno’s neck. He can’t feel them; knows they are faint enough to disappear by the morning. Still, he bares his neck for Mark, smiling when Mark groans. “Jeno.”

“Hyung.” Jeno parrots. “Why would Hyuckie lie to you—about what?”

The finger on his neck presses harder. “You. And Renjun.” Mark looks up to stare at Jeno, pout long gone to be replaced with a facsimile of a smile. “Just him?”

There is no reason to lie, but that’s not what Jeno wants. He doesn’t want to talk. He wants Mark closer. Wants Mark to kiss him, to lick into his mouth and taste the bitter mixture of beer and soju on his tongue. He wants to taste the iron tang of blood when Jeno bites at Mark’s lips, to hold his hand between his fingers and pull and tug and—

“Kiss me, hyung,” Jeno asks, neck still bared. He keeps his voice sweet, a little airy, a little needy.

Now Mark hesitates, fingers gentle on Jeno’s jaw, eyes going round as he inches closer. Jeno loops his arms around Mark’s neck, fingers curling into the fine hair at Mark’s neck. He pulls Mark even closer, until he can feel the warm ghost of stale beer breath on his cheek.

“Or what?” Mark whispers against Jeno’s lips. He trails his lips along Jeno’s chin. “You’ll go kiss Renjun again?”

“Kiss me, or I’m kissing your brother.” Jeno threatens. That makes Mark look back up at him. He doesn’t look angry, just amused, a little fond. It makes Jeno itch to just do that. “Hyung, please, just kiss m—”

Mark kisses him.

Finally.

Jeno has been kissed by many people. The boy in middle school who had glasses like Mark did back then, their lips too clumsy and hands too eager. He has kissed all his friends, sober and drunk, the taste of their tongues a flavor Jeno will always recognize. There was a time in college when he slept with his professor—not even because he wanted better grades, but because Donghae was hot and recently divorced and Jeno had just been dumped and needed to let off steam. They dated—or something—for nearly a year and a half, the relationship kept so carefully under wraps that Jeno still feels guilty for breaking it off.

Fireworks are something Jeno no longer expects, used to all sorts of kisses, to all sorts of love in his life that simply a kiss is nothing to write home about.

But Mark.

Jeno’s never been kissed by Mark. Once, he wished to, but they were nothing then. Not in the way they are nothing now. Now they are older, they can navigate the nothing in ways that they could not at seventeen and eighteen.

Mark kisses Jeno like he’s more precious than the air itself, despite Jeno being bratty to egg him into this very situation. Mark kisses Jeno with one hand cupping his jaw, the other still pressed flat against the wall. The kiss remains closed-mouthed, though Jeno would like it to be anything but.

“Hyung,” he says against Mark’s mouth. Mark kisses the rest of the sentence out of Jeno’s mouth.

Barely hidden in the shadows of Chenle’s hallway, Jeno lets himself be taken apart by Mark’s mouth, Mark’s hands, Mark’s too-hot touch everywhere he presses. Jeno feels like he’s on fire, chest burning as he gasps for air, one hand tangled tight in Mark’s hair while the other presses flat against the cold wall for some sort of stability. For anything, really.

“Hyung,” Jeno whines. Mark hums his reply against Jeno’s throat, kissing over to nibble at his neck. “Mark.”

“Shit,” Mark pauses, presses his forehead to Jeno’s shoulder, and groans. Jeno feels the full body shiver that runs down Mark’s spine, feels the way his body tenses, and then goes lax against Jeno.

“Mark,” Jeno says again, just to feel Mark shiver again, breath hot and damp and uneven on Jeno’s skin. “Oh, hyung, you like that.”

The laughter that escapes Mark is breathless, “Yeah.” Mark straightens and kisses Jeno again. “So much, puppy. I like it so much.”

I like you so much, Jeno doesn’t say. Instead, he traces the roof of Mark’s mouth with his tongue, licking the bitter tang of beer from the crevices of Mark’s teeth. His moans are muffled in the press of their lips, little sighs barely having room to slip out.

Somewhere, out in the living room, Donghyuck screams. It’s immediately followed by Chenle’s pitchy cackles. Mark breaks the kiss to turn towards the noise.

“Should we—” Mark begins to say.

Jeno thinks he really will kill Donghyuck if he ruins this for Jeno. Untangling his hand from Mark’s hair, Jeno cups Mark’s face in between his palms. “Hyung, focus on me,” he whines, licking his lips to at least have the hint of Mark’s flavor on his tongue. “Just me.”

Half hidden in the hallway, shrouded in the shadows and noises covered by the playlist out in the living room and Donghyuck’s gleeful giggles, Jeno falls apart under Mark’s hands.

August 20xx

“Happy birthday, hyung,” Jeno says, crawling on top of Mark’s half-asleep form. It’s nearly half past nine, a horrific time for Jeno to be awake, considering when they finally got back to Jeno’s apartment from their late dinner and secondary location of noraebang, it was nearly three in the morning. But Jeno’s body is a creature of habit, and sleeping past nine is already far too late for him, so here he is. Thankfully, he’s not as hungover as he could be, sipping water about halfway through and ensuring that Mark was sober enough that they wouldn’t run any risk of him throwing up in the taxi home.

Now, Jeno sits on Mark, grin sleepy but bright, staring at Mark as he squints his eyes open. They are both shirtless, Jeno in slow slung sweats and Mark in his boxers, and Jeno thinks Mark is beautiful.

“Happy birthday, hyung,” Jeno repeats, a bit bossier now that he knows Mark is a bit more awake.

“Can we start with good morning?” Mark grumbles, voice so low and scratchy with sleep that Jeno melts down to kiss his cheeks, giggling when Mark just groans. “Puppy has too much energy.”

Jeno shifts in Mark’s lap and snorts in his face. “You too,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Had good dreams?”

“About you, yeah.” Mark gives him a quick kiss before he rolls them both over, hovering above Jeno with his classic cheeky grin. Jeno thinks he’s so damn handsome. “Always about you.”

They—haven’t. Talked about it. Not since Jeno said he would wait. Not since Mark grinned at him in the dark of Chenle’s hallway, to the tune of Johnny hooting as Dongyong and Renjun kissed in the dining room. Mark had left his brand in the shape of scratches down Jeno’s back, his ragged gasps a haunting tune in Jeno’s ears for weeks to come. Mark had promised Jeno later, had promised they would talk. Jeno had agreed—he doesn’t regret it.

But it’s been two months. Two months of waking up early to Mark in his bed, sleepy and beautiful, and somehow, he’s Jeno’s. Somehow, he’s not. Jeno wants him.

He knows Mark wants him, too.

They haven’t talked.

Two months of Jeno waking up early to look at Mark before he makes breakfast, before he kicks Mark awake right before Jeno disappears to shower. They rarely eat breakfast together, spending their time trading kisses that taste like toast and eggs and coffee, until they have to rush out the door. Technically, Mark doesn’t need to leave when Jeno does, but their commute is the same, with Mark getting off a handful of stops before Jeno. They don’t kiss on the subway, not here. Not in Korea. Not when Jeno can remember--

Sometimes, they still have lunch. But more often it’s Mark going home after his classes to shower for the evening, to pick up dinner either near Jeno’s work while he waits for Jeno to clock out for the evening, or closer to Sinchon. More often than not, they eat dinner together, relax together, and go to sleep in Jeno’s bed to start the routine all over again.

It’s nice. Jeno loves it.

On the weekends, sometimes they see the rest of their friends, who wisely stayed quiet after Jeno dusted off their six-person group chat to kindly ask them all to never mention anything. Only Donghyuck had given Jeno shit about it—as expected—but Jeno was quick to remind him that he had yet to sleep with Renjun without Johnny or Dongyong as a buffer.

Which.

Shut him up fast enough. Renjun even laugh reacted to it. Sent Jeno a personal message that he was simply waiting for Donghyuck to gather enough wit to ask him on a date. Their feelings were mutual; Donghyuck was and is just an idiot.

Plus, Renjun had told Jeno even though Jeno did not ask, Johnny and Dongyong were great in bed. Again, Jeno had not asked.

But by asking his friends to let Mark and Jeno move at their own pace, the pace has not moved.

It kind of makes Jeno want to scream.

It’s Mark’s kisses that drag Jeno back to the present, a series of gentle pecks that have Jeno arching under him, giggles on his tongue. “Hyung,” he says, blinking up at Mark, teeth biting into his bottom lip. “Say thank you.”

“Hm?” Mark leans down to kiss him again, just as languid as the first kisses, body pressing down against Jeno. “Thank you for what? Saying happy birthday?”

Jeno nods.

Mark kisses his nose. “But I haven't gotten a present?” Mark leans further down to bite Jeno’s neck, laughing when Jeno yelps under him. “Are you the present?”

Jeno is not the present. He’s not that cheesy to offer himself up, not when he knows it’s not special—not unique enough to be considered a birthday present. “I’m not the present, hyung. Happy birthday, say thank you.”

Another kiss, this time just atop the mole on Jeno’s cheek. “Thank you, baby. Was last night the present?”

Again, Jeno shakes his head. He tilts his chin up, silent askance for another kiss. Mark answers with little more than a fond smile. Despite Jeno’s jokes that Mark woke up too excited on his birthday, they don't go further than just trading lazy kisses in Jeno’s bed; soft giggles punctuated with soft gasps.

The moment Mark rolls his hips down, a hum on his tongue and a plea on his lips, Jeno breaks the kiss, laughing when Mark pouts at him. “Up. Breakfast.” He pats Mark’s flank, his smile blinding when Mark just stares down at him, confused that Jeno wouldn’t want to go further.

Which is shocking—as Jeno is always trying to shove Mark into corners, or bathrooms, hands too restless and body aching with the need to just be as close to Mark as possible.

In hindsight, Jeno shouldn't have tried to make Mark jealous at Donghyuck’s birthday, shouldn't have allowed himself to get yanked into the hallway. He definitely shouldn't have agreed that they would talk later—because it’s been two months, and they haven’t.

But Jeno doesn't regret it, so he doesn't see the need to dwell on it. What he will regret is letting Mark touch him now, because Jeno has plans.

“Jeno, puppy, come on.” Mark tries to plead, even as he moves out of Jeno’s way so Jeno can get out of bed. He turns his round eyes up at Jeno. “It’s my birthday, I want to stay in bed with you.”

Jeno holds out his hand with his prettiest smile, laughing when Mark happily takes it. “Oh, Mark,” Jeno says in English. He takes a step back and yanks Mark nearly off the bed, cackling when Mark screams. “Fuck me later. Breakfast now.”

Jeno leaves Mark halfway off the bed, moaning and groaning about how his puppy is naughty and won’t get any more kisses today (a lie, Jeno knows this) in favor of making them breakfast. The afternoon before, before he rushed off to Mark’s dinner, Jeno had prepped an American breakfast. He wanted to make something Canadian, but that wasn’t turning up any results on Naver or Google, so Jeno gave up and went with French toast. The local market had a discount on peaches, so Jeno picked up a few of those as well as some pears. He did most of the prepping already, thankfully. Jeno didn’t realize that French Toast could be so time-consuming.

“What are you making?” Mark wraps his arms around Jeno’s waist, kissing Jeno’s nape. “Do I need to do anything?”

“Yeah. Go shower.” Jeno smacks his side until Mark lets him go. “Get out of my kitchen. You stink and you’re still banned.”

Laughter follows Mark as he leaves, hands tossed in the air. He grabs his overnight bag—a daily accessory for him for the past two months—and heads to the bathroom. “That was one time.” Mark defends.

“One time too many,” Jeno grumbles, too quiet for Mark to hear. He waits until the bathroom door shuts before he starts cracking the eggs to make the batter.

Being a good cook is something Jeno doesn’t aspire to be, but between Jaemin and Chenle being the chefs of Wunderkind, Jeno was delegated as a sort of lesser chef (Donghyuck’s words). He can follow a recipe—but he won’t do too much to deviate from it. Not unless he knows it won’t fuck up the whole thing. Still, he’s efficient and semi-confident enough in the kitchen that his homemade breakfast of French Toast and sunny side up eggs are nearly done by the time Mark appears from the hallway, jeans unbuttoned and low on his hips, chest dotted with water droplets.

“Clothes, hyung,” Jeno whines, looking up to see Mark grinning shamelessly at him. Jeno debates throwing an eggshell at him. “A shirt, please. I am asking nicely.”

Less than a minute later, Mark has a shirt on. Five minutes after that, they are tucked close at Jeno’s little bar, sides pressed together as they eat their breakfast together.

“Is this the present?” Mark asks.

Jeno shakes his head. “No hyung, it is not the present.” Jeno takes another bite of his French Toast and poached pear. “I am not the present either, don’t ask again.”

A sticky kiss to Jeno’s temple. “Okay, baby.”

In the back of Jeno’s mind, he can hear Renjun’s nagging about how they are behind schedule, all but pushing Mark out the door by a quarter-past eleven. Thankfully, Jeno doesn’t really have a schedule. Or rather, none of the places he’s picked have any sort of hard deadline. Jeno has several drafts of plans, all loosely related to things that he knows Mark will like, but—well.

He wasn’t entirely sure he was going to be able to resist Mark upon waking up. Jeno knows himself, and he’s only human.

“Umbrella?” Jeno asks when they enter the elevator. Mark shows off his brand-new messenger bag Jaemin and Chenle bought for him in lieu of a reply. Jeno smiles—he’s so cute.

They hold hands up until they exit the building, a daily routine for them that is borne of mutual unease over prying eyes. Still, Jeno and Mark stick a little too close together as they make their way to Sinchon station. Mark doesn’t ask where they are going, just dutifully follows Jeno’s lead through the turnstile. It’s late morning on a Saturday, so of course the station is busy, locals and tourists and students alike mingling in the stagnant air.

“Dude, I seriously think Korea is allergic to air conditioners,” Mark grumbles, peeling away from where he’s stuck to Jeno’s arm. It’s gross. They both make a face.

“Mhm, come on, hyung.” Jeno’s gentle where he tugs Mark along, towards a less packed area of the station, the line only two people deep.

Soon after, the familiar chime signaling the approaching subway rings out into the station. Jeno and Mark wait for their turn to enter, small crowds of people filtering off before they are able to step inside the air-conditioned subway car.

“Where—”

“Somewhere, hyung. Please.” Jeno looks at Mark, seeing his cheeky grin, and pouts. “Don’t be annoying,” Jeno says in English.

“Okay, I’ll be good for you,” Mark replies, also in English. It makes Jeno’s cheeks heat up, so he narrows his eyes at Mark for good measure and takes out his phone. If Mark is going to be annoying and a flirt in public, Jeno will simply just ignore him.

This works until Mark starts playing with his fingers, on the subway—in public. Jeno shoots him a look, but Mark is merely standing next to him, also on his phone, so Jeno just. Let’s it happen.

Besides simple directions and a few sweet words tucked into Jeno’s neck when Mark gets shoved forward by the crowd, they don’t talk until they get out of the station. Thankfully, the sky is still clear, but Jeno’s been periodically checking the weather and eyeing the fluffy clouds in the distance.

“Come on, hyung. We have some time until we have to go in, and I found something I think you’ll like.”

They end up tucked into a smaller room inside the DDP, surrounded by clean walls and a sterile white aesthetic. In the center of the room is a white table, covered in ancient technology ranging from old phones to what Jeno thinks is a whole printing press.

“Whoa,” Mark says from next to Jeno, taking a step forward before looking back at Jeno. “Dude—baby—Jeno, this is so cool!”

It’s easy to let Mark take the lead here, following half a step behind him, listening attentively to the way Mark explains the various pieces of technology scattered around the table, offering information that the little cards next to each object don’t have. It even has other visitors tuning in, casting curious glances as Mark jumps between Korean and English to articulate himself.

Of course, Jeno doesn’t understand everything, especially when Mark goes off on a tangent about old typewriters and switches almost entirely to fast-paced English. But he listens diligently, holding Mark’s hand in his with a warmth in his chest that Jeno really wants to put a name to.

Seriously. Two months and they haven’t talked about it. Jeno’s about to go a little crazy.

Mark’s enthusiasm is palpable enough that eventually other visitors come to ask him various questions, turning what Jeno assumed to be a cute little detour before he drags Mark to the actual exhibition he bought tickets for on the subway for one-thirty into a whole thing. Even the staff monitoring the ins and outs of the visitors wander over when Mark starts to talk about old radios, hands moving in grand gestures as he explains.

It’s almost like Jeno is able to see the Mark that his students see, his infectious joy when talking about things he’s knowledgeable in. It’s adorable to see this side of Mark. Different than the Mark who lies in Jeno’s lap while they watch dramas on Netflix, or the pirated shady website when Mark brings his laptop over, with his three different adblockers. Jeno doesn’t understand—his one adblocker works just fine—but he lets Mark do as he pleases.

“Hyung, we have plans,” Jeno says, tugging on Mark’s hand with a polite smile to the small crowd around them.

If Mark’s joy was infectious while explaining things to others, his smile grows when he turns to Jeno. Instinctively, Mark leans towards Jeno before he remembers himself, straightening with a sheepish little laugh.

Jeno almost says fuck it and kisses him then and there.

He, having restraint, does not do that.

“Okay,” Mark says. He waves, gives a little bow, offering his condolences. One of the younger girls—no older than fifteen—in the crowd asks if he’s a content creator, but Mark just laughs. “No, just a professor at a university. If you study hard, maybe you’ll be my student one day.” The girl and her friends giggle at that.

After that, Jeno tugs them out of the free little exhibition, to the actual exhibition that he had planned for them to go into all along. Now he feels it will pale in comparison, just a digital art exhibit that he thought Mark would like, that they would both like.

Like most things in Korea, the exhibit—while beautiful and awe-inspiring—gets dumbed down to being a photo-op spot for most patrons. Mark doesn’t seem to mind, waiting out the wave before he takes in each and every room, listening to the music overhead, eyes taking in every small detail that flickers across the room walls.

Again, Jeno doesn’t feel the need to talk, content to follow Mark’s lead, to trail after him with their fingers tangled together. He takes one photo of Mark in every room, sending a few of them into the group chat sans Mark to giggle with the others just how cute he is.

Donghyuck sends one throwing up emoji, followed by Chenle sending a whip emoji, but everyone lets Jeno have his fun.

When buying the tickets, Jeno had read the reviews that the average visitor spent an average of around an hour and a half inside the exhibition, but they aren’t even halfway by the time an hour passes. In fact, by the time Jeno sees the sun again, high and bright in the sky, nearly two and a half hours have passed.

Jeno looks from his phone to Mark. “Did you like it that much, hyung?” he asks, a little impressed.

“Of course,” Mark doesn’t hesitate to press a quick kiss to Jeno’s temple, squeezing their still tangled fingers. “It was beautiful, thank you, Jeno.”

Jeno ducks his head to hide his smile. “Yeah, happy birthday, hyung.” He mumbles. Suddenly, Mark stops walking, and Jeno looks up to find him looking back at Jeno, lips parted in an unasked question. “Not the present.” Jeno giggles. “What do you want for lunch?”

Lunch is. Alright. A quick Naver search tucked under the shade of the DDP and a ten-minute walk later took the two of them to a little quaint café. They get in-house paninis, too hot on their tongues, the delicious burn only soothed by their Americanos. Still, they take their time, feet tangled together under the table, casual conversation easy between them as they swallow each bite.

For a moment, Jeno thinks Mark gets it. But the moment passes when Mark hiccups and burps, and then the two of them dissolve into giggles.

When they emerge from the café, the sky has gone cloudy. Mark looks over at Jeno, “Where to?”

And Jeno. Smiles back, grabs Mark’s hand, and leads them back to the station. They barely make it to the stairs before the rain starts, startling both of them into almost missing a step. Again, they laugh, rushing down underground to avoid the first drops of rain.

“I hope it stops soon,” Mark says once they settle into their seats. “How many stops?”

Jeno leans into Mark, head on his shoulder for just a moment, and breathes. “Two.”

“Ah—it’s not going to stop when we get out, huh?”

“Probably not.”

They fall back into silence. Across from them, there’s an older man reading a real-life newspaper. Next to him, a toddler stands on the seat, watching all the emergency lights go by. Jeno finds himself smiling at the baby, fingers squeezing Mark’s. “Look.” He says.

Mark huffs a laugh just as the toddler makes unintelligible toddler speak, her mother reaching out to hold her hand as the baby bounces excitedly in the seat. “I think I want kids one day,” Mark admits.

As if Jeno didn’t know. As if they met only eight months ago. “I know,” Jeno says softly. He sits up, looking at Mark with furrowed eyebrows. “Hyung, I know—of course I know.”

Mark only looks back, the ghost of a smile on his lips, his eyes so gentle that Jeno feels his body ache with it. “I know,” Mark lowers his voice, a little wistful. A little in awe. “I think you understand me the best.”

It takes all of Jeno’s self-control not to take them back to his apartment right then, to turn them around and send them straight back to Sinchon, back to the spacious comfort of his larger-than-normal shoebox apartment.

He doesn’t do that, not when Mark deserves to be taken around today, a day of things Jeno thinks he will like. Their cohabitation has revolved so heavily around Jeno, around his schedule, that for once, for at least one day, it should be Jeno doing things for Mark.

And maybe, along the way. Mark will realize. And they will talk about it.

It’s been two months. Jeno thinks he’s about to reach his limit.

Somehow, it is not raining when they emerge from the underground, the sun barely visible from the thick clouds, but the clouds have broken up from angry gray to almost fluffy white. Weaving into the rest of the Saturday crowd, Mark and Jeno make their way through the tiny alleyways of Jongno, ducking into small boutiques to shop.

Despite it being Mark’s birthday, the two of them pick up Jaemin’s birthday gift, three cat figurines that look suspiciously like Jaemin’s three cats back at his parents’ house. They even find one that looks like Jeno’s childhood cat Nal, so they buy that one too.

The next shops are little clothing stores, catered more towards women than men, but still, they look inside, pinning ribbons and bows into each other’s hair to pose with them in the mirror while Jeno takes too many photos. As they pass by the original Flippers location, both Mark and Jeno lament over not being hungry enough to head inside, the idea of soufflé pancakes almost too good to ignore.

It's Jeno who presses up against Mark, hooking their pinkies together with a promise of next time. That Jeno will carve out a weekend to go outside again with Mark.

The comment makes Mark pause, tugging Jeno under the shade provided by a large trinket shop. His hands rub at Jeno's shoulders, “Are you tired, Jeno?” His eyes go wide, worried as he squeezes Jeno’s arms. “We can go home—I think. We can go home—I mean, we can go back to your apartment, right?”

Home, Jeno repeats in his head. He stares at Mark, unable to stop the smile that spreads across his face at the word. Home. Mark called Jeno’s slightly larger-than-average apartment home.

Maybe Jeno doesn’t need to talk about it. Maybe they just need more time, though he’s not sure how much more he can wait before he pins Mark down and tells him they are dating.

“I’m okay, hyung,” Jeno finally says, his smile growing even as Mark continues to look at him with his round, concerned eyes. “I promise.”

But Mark’s worry does not dissipate. “You sure?” Jeno nods, because really. Really, he’s fine. A little tired, a little worse for wear with the idea that the day isn’t quite done—but! He planned this day—kind of. He’s been making plans all day, and it’s exhausting, and he’s not really used to being the person to both plan (alone) and implement the plan. Let alone the plan being more than one or two stops. Jeno is tired, but it’s okay.

It's okay because it is Mark. If Jeno asked, Mark would take them home, and that knowledge is what keeps Jeno going.

“Positive, hyung.”

Mark’s eyes search his face, pausing at Jeno’s lips for a moment before they dart elsewhere. They glance behind Jeno’s shoulder, where Jeno’s shielded from the quickly crowding hustle and bustle of these tiny alleyways. Jeno watches, a little bemused, a little fond. He thinks, just for a moment, it would be nice to kiss Mark here.

Suddenly, Mark looks back at him and does just that. Jeno laughs into the short kiss, covering his mouth with the back of his hand when Mark pulls back. “I just thought,” Jeno says around his laugh, “I wanted to kiss you.”

Mark’s hands rub up and down Jeno’s biceps again, “Let’s go back, Jeno,” grins up at him, only to dim when he notices the frown on Jeno’s face. “Jeno?”

“We should stay—I,” Jeno looks around. He accidentally makes eye contact with the staff inside the trinket door they are stealing shade from, and offers a mockery of a polite smile. “I wanted us to go somewhere else.” He finishes, a little quieter, his head lowering to stare at his feet.

For a moment, all Jeno can see is his and Mark’s shoes, can only hear the chatter of the crowd behind him—a mix of Korean and English and other snippets of languages Jeno is unfamiliar with. A warm breeze blows through the alleyway, the trinkets clinking together as they sway in the wind.

For a moment, Jeno cannot see Mark’s face. But he can feel the weight of Mark’s stare, of the gaze against the top of his head. Mark’s hands are still on his arms, kneading soft muscles in his grip. “Puppy,” The word is so achingly fond, yet Jeno refuses to look up. His shoes are interesting. “Jeno,” Mark tries again.

“What.” Jeno does not look up, but he can easily picture the look on Mark’s face, the gooey smile, and squishy cheeks. Mark’s hands squeeze Jeno’s arms tighter and tighter until it borders on a bit painful.

“Ah!” Mark yells, then laughs as he shakes Jeno back and forth. “You’re so cute.” Once he stops, Jeno is staring at him, but whatever Jeno wants to say is swallowed by Mark kissing him again. “So cute! Let’s go home.”

Arguing would be pointless at this point, so Jeno just nods. On the subway back, Jeno shows Mark the little bar he wanted to take them to, with low lighting and picturesque cheeseboards. Tucked into the handicap corner and forced to stand, Mark smiles at Jeno and knocks their foreheads together, a promise of next time on his lips.

The skies are dark, clouds low and angry as they dump warm rain onto the streets. Mark is quick to yank open the umbrella, huddling him and Jeno under it’s cover as they walk towards Jeno’s apartment. This would be fine—Jeno and Mark have shared an umbrella before—except the wind chooses today to slant the rain just enough to render the umbrella almost useless. There’s even a close call where the umbrella threatens to invert, though thankfully it doesn’t.

With about three minutes left to Jeno’s apartment, he grabs Mark’s hand on the umbrella handle. “Hyung,” he looks over at Mark, already looking back at him with the same boyish grin he always wore when they were teens, about to get into some trouble. “We should run,” Jeno suggests.

“In the rain?” Mark’s already using his free hand to tug his messenger bag closer to him.

Jeno nods, their walk slowing to a leisurely pace. Jeno tugs on the umbrella handle. “It’s not far. It’ll be fun.”

It is fun, the warm water and wind refreshing on Jeno’s quickly dampening skin and clothes. He may, however, have misjudged how hard it’s raining, because by the time he and Mark are keying into Jeno’s apartment, they are leaving small puddles with each step.

“Clothes off,” Jeno says, their socks making twin wet slaps against the tile in the small foyer. “You can shower first; I’ll bring you clothes.”

Mark kisses Jeno’s dripping wet temple; his smile smothered into Jeno’s skin. “Thank you. I won’t take long.” He strips efficiently, shirt and pants falling to the floor on top of his socks until Mark—wet and still a little too skinny for Jeno to not worry about him and so so beautiful—stands only in his boxers. He runs a sheepish hand through equally wet hair and offers Jeno his signature boyish grin. Jeno tries not to stare. “Leave those there. Once your out of the shower, I’ll start the laundry—okay?”

Jeno hums, unbuttoning sodden denim while Mark scurries to the bathroom, giggles trailing after him until he likely slides on Jeno’s fake wood flooring, and screams.

“Please do not die, hyung,” Jeno calls after him. Mark just squawks again, the bathroom door closing a moment later.

True to his word, Mark doesn’t take longer than twenty minutes, trading with Jeno. He stays in the bathroom while Jeno showers, doing his skincare routine as Jeno uses his washcloth to gently scrub his body clean.

“Did you want to take a nap?” Mark asks over the sound of the running water. “Or should I set up the TV for Transit Love and order food?”

It takes a moment for Jeno to answer, thinking about it while he scrubs his arms, then his chest. In the meantime, he hears Mark knock over something near the sink. “Transit Love and food, please,” Jeno says. It should be him asking these things—it’s Mark’s birthday. But he allows it, because Mark likes taking care of Jeno just as much as Jeno likes being taken care of by Mark.

Not even half an hour later, the two of them are curled up on Jeno’s well-loved couch, the newest episode of Transit Love playing on Jeno’s TV. Their food had arrived far faster than either of them had anticipated, Jeno’s hair still dripping wet, and their clothes in the washer yet not started. Jeno’s aircon is running, which he doesn’t need much, but Mark kept complaining that the apartment was getting stuffy, so Jeno allowed him to turn on the aircon for a little while.

“I fucking love Kyochon,” Mark says around a too-large bite of chicken, eyes trained on the television. They opted for half red, half honey flavor, since Jeno doesn’t like spicy, and Mark swears that the red flavor isn’t that spicy. They compromise. It works, since Jeno can’t eat a whole thing of Kyochon by himself anyway.

Halfway through the chicken and almost done with the episode, Mark looks over at Jeno and says, without any warning at all, “We’re dating, aren’t we?”

Jeno is not responsible for dropping the chicken on his sweatpants. “Uh,” He looks to Mark, who is looking at the half-eaten chicken wing staining the fabric of Jeno’s sweats, the longer it stays there. Jeno also looks at the half-eaten chicken wing.

He picks it up. Holds it in front of his face as if he’s debating whether he’s going to continue eating it. His sweats are clean, and he just showered. Jeno eats the chicken wing. “Do you want us to be dating?” Jeno asks as he chews meat off the bone.

Mark gives him a look, and while Jeno really is thankful they are talking about it after two months of not doing that—he’s hungry, Transit Love is playing, and Jeno is a little sleepy. He adores Mark so much, but the timing of this conversation is horrific.

“I think we are dating, dude.” Mark looks at the chicken, his half nearly gone compared to Jeno’s half full half. “Jeno, you need to eat more—oh my god, I’m nagging.”

Jeno nods, sets the bone aside, and picks up another chicken wing. “You are nagging.” He confirms. He keeps his eyes on the TV, but he’s not sure what is going on anymore. He just isn’t sure if he can look at Mark right now.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mark blurts out, then groans. When Jeno looks over, he sees Mark with his head in his hands, fingers sticky and red, and kept far away from his freshly washed hair. “Sorry, that sounded mean.”

Jeno offers a shrug, but Mark isn’t looking at him. “Why should I tell you we are dating, hyung? That seems—silly.”

“Yeah.” Mark doesn’t look up. His shoulders rise and fall with the force of his sigh. “When did we—when did you notice?”

Reaching for another wing, Jeno takes a dainty bite and watches the end of Transit Love. He’s going to have to rewatch this later, because he does not remember what the hell happened the past couple of minutes. The ads that play after the episode ends don’t really hold Jeno’s attention, but they are cheering and annoying enough to keep him entertained at least a little. “Donghyuck’s birthday. You kissed me.”

“Well—yeah, but—”

Jeno doesn’t let Mark finish. “There’s all the lunches, too, you know.” Another ad comes on, this time, some makeup brand with the newest It girl idol as their ambassador. Jeno thinks she’s pretty, in a cute cat way. “Hyung, I think we’ve been dating for months.”

This makes Mark groan again, shaking his head in his hands. His dirty fingers are dangerously close to touching his hair, so Jeno grabs the wet napkin and rips it open to clean his fingers, then reaches over and cleans Mark’s. “Careful, hyung,” Jeno says, gentle.

“Thanks, puppy.” Mark looks up before Jeno can move away, their faces a little too close for Jeno’s comfort, given the situation. Like this, he’s overcome with the urge to kiss Mark, to scoot over until he’s curled in Mark’s lap. “Horrible timing, given the conversation—but I really want to kiss you.” Mark lowers his hands into his lap and licks his lips. “Really bad.”

Jeno laughs in his face. “Hyung,” he scolds, but he’s laughing too hard for it to hold any of the heat it should. “This is serious.”

"Yeah, but,” Mark sits back, putting space between the two of them. His eyes flick behind Jeno’s head. Without another word, he grabs the remote and turns off the TV. “Does it change anything? Us dating?” He stares at Jeno, hair damp at the tips, and hanging into his eyes.

“Do you want us to be dating?” Jeno ends up asking. It’s stupid because he knows Mark likes him. He knows he’s been wanting this conversation, wanting to talk about what they are after two months of domestic cohabitation and nearly four months of what Jeno looks back and thinks is dating. Yet, in the face of the actual conversation, all he can feel is nerves.

What if he read the room wrong? Which is silly, but Jeno still worries.

“Do I want us to be dating?” Mark echoes. He licks his lips again. Jeno tracks the movement, including the follow-up motion of Mark sinking his teeth into his bottom lip. “Jeno, I’ve wanted to kiss you since I came home in January.”

And what does Jeno say to that? What can he say when Mark casually says these things, says things that make Jeno’s cheek warm. “Hyung, please—”

Mark leans forward so fast that Jeno reels back and almost falls off the couch. Mark doesn’t notice, because of course he doesn’t. “No—Jeno, man—listen. You were, so absolutely gorgeous in that cafe, I don’t think I ever told you.” He stops. “Jeno, I’ve wanted to kiss you since—”

This is something Jeno cannot hear. Not now. He’ll cry, or worse, get upset enough on Mark’s birthday that he ruins everything. They can revisit that conversation later, when Jeno doesn’t feel so unmoored. “Later, hyung. We can talk about that later.” Jeno drops his stare to his hands, where his fingers have been ripping up the wet napkin until it rests in a nearly dried pile of tissue on his sweats. “Are we dating, hyung? Do you want that, really?”

With gentle hands, Mark wraps his fingers around Jeno’s wrists. He keeps his movements slow, delicate in the way he pulls Jeno forward until Jeno has no choice but to straddle Mark’s legs. He doesn’t want to sit down, doesn’t want to assume intimacy when Mark might not want any—even if he knows the thought is stupid and deprecating. But those same fingers uncurl from Jeno’s wrists to settle on his hips, extra gentle even while they exert enough pressure to tell Jeno to sit down.

Jeno does so carefully, his stare on the stupid chicken wing stain on his sweats.

“Jeno—puppy—look at me,” Even Mark’s words are gentle, so full of—so tender that Jeno can’t find it in him to disobey. He looks up to find Mark already looking at him, stars in his eyes as he meets Jeno’s hesitant stare. His fingers push Jeno’s hair out of his face, that same damp palm cupping Jeno’s cheek after. “Of course I want to date you.”

That’s nice, but. “Why didn’t you say anything before?” Jeno pouts. “Hyung, it’s been two months.”

Even Mark’s laughter is pillow-soft, full of joy that Jeno doesn’t fully understand the source of. “I thought we were taking it slow! I’ve been telling myself the past like week that I’m looking too deep into it, that we are just friends—”

“Hyung, you fucked me literally last night—”

“—and besides, you’re my brother’s best friend, and I didn’t want to make things complicat—”

Jeno leans forward and slaps his hand over Mark’s mouth. “Hyung, quiet, please.”

Mark nods and goes quiet. Jeno narrows his eyes and slowly removes his hand from Mark’s face. “Hyung wants to date me, right?” Mark gives another nod. It takes one slow inhale, followed by an even slower exhale, before Jeno speaks again. “Mark, I think we have to talk about this, but I want to date you, too.”

“Then we can be boyfr—” Mark cuts himself off. “Sorry.”

Though he should be a little mad, Jeno can’t find it in him to really be mad at Mark. Not when Mark treats Jeno like he’s something to care for. Not quite fragile with Jeno’s heart, nor his feelings, but considerate in his misguided way. Jeno knows Mark’s reasons are going to be convoluted and confusing to him, but Mark’s thoughts have always been convoluted and confusing. It’s why Jeno finds him so interesting. “Ask me out,” Jeno says.

For several long moments, Mark stares at him. Then, he starts laughing. Jeno feels himself smile too, leaning forward as Mark straightens to kiss Jeno’s forehead. “Demanding,” Mark says, pressing another kiss to the high point of Jeno’s cheekbone. “So beautiful, so demanding.” Another kiss to the hinge of Jeno’s jaw. “You are the best person in my life. I don’t know how I survived without you.”

“Hyung, come on.” Jeno wiggles in Mark’s lap, laughing when Mark’s hands squeeze at his waist. “Just ask already, come on.”

Another squeeze to Jeno’s waist has Jeno settling back down. Mark leans back to kiss the tip of Jeno’s nose, then stops. He looks at Jeno, really looks at Jeno. The smile on his face tells Jeno so many things, though he’s not sure he’s articulate enough to do Mark’s emotions justice. Still. Mark is looking at Jeno, really looking at Jeno, and Jeno thinks that the world could end now, and he would be happy. Just this moment, standing at the edge of the same something that left Jeno confused when they were just tipping their toes into adulthood, now ready to take the next step. Unsure of the future, but so sure of their devotion to each other. “Jeno, will you go out with me? Officially?”

When Jeno says yes, it is muffled into the press of his lips against Mark's, fingers curling into Mark’s sleep shirt. “Yes,” Jeno says again, clearer. “Let’s date, hyung. Officially.” This time, it’s Jeno’s laughter that gets swallowed by Mark’s kisses, the sun peeking out from the clouds to illuminate Jeno’s apartment in a muted golden glow.

In the back of Jeno’s mind, one last thought rings out before it’s swallowed by whatever Mark is doing with his hands up Jeno’s shirt.

Happy Birthday, hyung.