Chapter Text
The weather is shit when Jeno wakes up not for the first time that morning, skin prickling where the cold air hits because there is only so much the cheap blinds in Mark’s windows can do about the general lack of warmth in the room.
He was warm hours ago, when the sun was just starting to come up and Mark’s mouth was feverish on his, one of Jeno’s hand between his legs and the other curled so tightly around the front of his shirt that they’ll find out the fabric has been stretched out past the point of recovering. But it wouldn’t be the first time Jeno has ruined something of Mark’s, be it his pristine clothes or perfectly unblemished skin; no, when it comes to these matters, Jeno is inexperienced and still leaves fingerprints in all of his crime scenes.
The bite marks, however, are a trademark, and something he’s not willing to give up for the sake of discipline or even decorum. Mark doesn’t mind, but if Jeno was smarter than he is, they wouldn’t exist at all. He likes to believe, though, that he can still allow himself a little luxury here and then. When he tucks his arms back under the covers and turns around in Mark’s hold, in one last attempt to warm up, Jeno catches sight of the bruises on his neck and collarbones, and spends an awfully long time just studying the different shades of purple that make them up, wondering how is it possible that his mouth is able to do something like that.
The mysteries of intimacy, anyway. When they were younger, Mark would be caught dead before being seen with battle scars like other children did. No bruised knees or scraped elbows, and most certainly no black eyes from street fights, so Jeno prides himself both in his own scarred knees and the fact that he's the only one to have ever laid hands — or rather, mouth — on Mark Lee like this.
He extends a finger and presses the tip of it to a bruise on Mark’s neck, deep plum over golden skin, only so that he can watch the way Mark’s eyes move under his eyelids rapidly for a moment, disturbed in his slumber but only for a few, meaningless seconds. Always a heavy sleeper, never awake when Jeno leaves, and yet he sometimes wonders what it would be like to wake Mark up when they’re no longer under the makeshift safety of the night. He wonders what Mark would do then.
If Jeno leaned in and kissed him on the mouth right now, would Mark kiss him back? If Jeno traced a hand down Mark’s stomach, and coaxed him awake with gentle caresses, would he bury his face in Jeno’s neck and sigh softly? And if Jeno put his mouth around him again, made him come undone again, what shade of pink would his cheeks blush?
Oh, does he wonder. Most of the time Jeno simply can’t stop himself. He’s drawn to him like a moth to a flame, curious to the deepest level, and if Jeno could take him apart in order to find out what makes a man like him from the inside, he wouldn’t hesitate to do so.
The rest Jeno has already figured out, he thinks. On the outside, Mark is objectively very beautiful, no longer the awkward tall child he used to be. He has boyish hands, calloused from playing the guitar, and Jeno is particularly fond of the way they hold him. He has a rosebud for a mouth, always the taste of fresh mint, and Jeno likes sliding his tongue inside its welcoming warmth. He has broad, strong shoulders and a slim waist where Jeno’s hands rest comfortably every time, he has thick thighs like a girl’s that Jeno enjoys both laying his head on and kissing. Hours ago, he smelled like Jeno, like sweat and sex, but now he smells like the clean clothes inside his drawer, and Jeno fights the urge to lean closer to sniff at him, self conscious of his own sweaty body.
He trails his gaze lower, to the gentlest curve of Mark’s chest, his stomach, his navel. Jeno likes kissing his body, likes nuzzling the delicate skin under his navel and leaving bite marks over his hipbones, forever enamored with the idea that a man like Mark lets Jeno poke him around, bite him, lick him to his liking, and doesn’t expect anything in return.
So he almost does — wake him, that is. But Jeno stops himself short of reaching for him, hands prickling with desire. What a silly thing to be thinking this early in the morning. It is a little past nine and he’ll be late for coffee with Jaemin if he doesn’t leave right now.
Slowly, carefully, Jeno slips from under Mark’s arm, rolling off the bed in one well rehearsed take, then crosses the room to steal a shirt and some pants from his dresser only so that he won’t have to go through his own bag and risk waking him up.
He slides inside a random band shirt, arms through holes that fit better than his own clothes, even though Mark has taken a liking into buying things that are twice his size. Jeno still feels oddly good wearing his clothes, even though he is sticky between his legs and overall feeling very in need of a shower. He’s lived through worse, after all, and there’s only so much he’ll be able to do with wet wipes in the bathroom before he hears the distinct sound of a coffee maker being turned on, his usual cue to leave.
There’s probably still a few minutes before Donghyuck wakes up, though. Jeno grabs his jacket from Mark’s desk chair and turns around to look at him one last time, unmoving where Jeno had left him. In one last, selfish whim, Jeno leans down to press a kiss to the mole on his cheek, and this time Mark does move, startling him — but where Jeno nearly falls on his ass to the floor, Mark simply stretches his limbs over the bed, face scrunched up before relaxing again. One of his hands falls to the pillow that Jeno sleeps with when he spends the night, and then pulls it to his chest, burying his face on it.
He sighs contentedly, and Jeno realizes he shouldn’t be seeing this. Mark is… He’s too much, sometimes. Jeno does wish he could take him apart and study him, but he can’t, so he picks up his bag and leaves.
“Oh, hey,” Donghyuck says in the kitchen when he passes by, raising the jar of coffee in his hand. “Care for some breakfast? Sit down, let me make you some toast.”
“No, but thank you,” Jeno replies quietly, already sliding in his shoes. He eyes the car keys on the counter and reaches out for them. “Tell Mark I’ll bring the car back in two hours.”
He doesn’t give Donghyuck the time to convince him — before the next word falls from his mouth, Jeno is already out of the door.
“Oh, my God,” Jaemin says as she slides into the passenger seat. “Did you steal Mark’s clothes? Did you steal Mark’s car?”
“Of course not,” Jeno replies exasperatedly, and self consciously tugs at the sleeve of his shirt — well, Mark’s shirt. Stupid Metallica, anyway. Mark doesn’t even like them. It probably belonged to Johnny before him, and it probably belonged to Yuta before them all. “Now, about the car, he said I’m the only one allowed to drive it, so I borrowed it. I didn’t want to take the bus in this weather. You know I hate the cold. And the clothes— yeah, I stole the clothes. Anything else?”
Jaemin lets out a noncommittal hum. She crosses her legs over the car console in the way they taught Jeno was perhaps not prohibited by law, but severely frowned upon — he cannot help but imagine that if they get in a car accident, her knees will reach her ears, and Jeno will be haunted by that thought for weeks now, fighting the urge to press the heels of his palms against his eyes until he sees stars in a futile attempt to get rid of them. How great.
Well, then, welcome to his life. Lee Jeno is first and foremost an overthinker, someone heavily plagued by intrusive thoughts at the worst moments possible, and Jaemin is far too carefree when she’s wearing the tailored pants that make her legs look like they’re a mile long; she looks back at him as he’s starting the car again and says:
“You stole Mark’s car.”
“God, Jaemin, we’ve been through this. He let me borrow it.”
“You know what’s funny, though?” She rolls a long strand of hair around her finger. She has dyed the tips black — according to Donghyuck, it no longer makes her look like a princess, but a cartoon character instead. Jaemin seems to enjoy the comparison more, and the last time they hung out, Mark looked extremely smug about it. “Even if you had stolen his car, he wouldn’t mind.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means that Mark lets you get away with anything,” Jaemin responds, matter of factly. She lets out a small giggle, and then goes quiet quite quickly. Jeno sends her a look, and she taps a finger against her cheek. “Look, pardon me for being nosy, alright?” He lets out a hum. “You haven’t been seeing anyone but Mark recently, have you?”
“Of course not,” Jeno replies, though he would’ve replied we’re not seeing each other if it was anyone else. Say, Renjun or Chenle. But it’s Jaemin, after all — Jeno didn’t tell her, but whatever she knows, it’s because Donghyuck told her, and Donghyuck knows pretty much everything that goes on in Mark’s life. They’re a package deal and Jeno cannot fight against it.
She hums, and only that. It’s concerning — Jaemin talks everybody’s ears off most of the time. Jeno has grown used to her ways, and she is most lovely to him. However, when she’s silent, he can never know what she’s thinking.
“Why,” he asks, turning left on the street. He can’t remember the way to the cafe they like by car, but he’ll figure it out. “Is he?”
His chest hurts all of a sudden, and Jeno hates himself for it. He thinks of Mark cuddling up to his pillow, and the way his skin smells and tastes, and the low rumble of his voice on Jeno’s ears — he knows he’s not entitled to anything, but this is different, Jeno swears it is. “Is he seeing someone else, Jaemin?” He asks again, allowing himself this moment of despair only because it’s her. “Does— does he want to? Is that why you’re asking? He wants to meet other people and stop— and stop—?”
God, he’s humiliating himself right now. Stop what, anyway? Getting each other off at night when they feel like it, when Jeno is pent up and his mind is full and Mark’s mouth tastes so sweet? Does Jaemin even know that’s what they do, or does Donghyuck think they’re dating? Does he think that, or did Mark just tell him they’ve been seeing each other? Does Jeno even know what Mark thinks of their thing? He pinches the bridge of his nose with the tips of his fingers, breathing in through his nose, exhaling through his mouth.
Instead of rubbing salt on his wounds, Jaemin looks back at him and shakes her head negatively, face unreadable. “Okay, then,” Jeno says, not one bit relieved.
“Okay, then,” Jaemin echoes. She stays silent for a moment, and then says: “I have something to tell you, but you should park the car first. We could go to that cafe in the corner, I don’t care if it’s not the one we like.”
“What is it?”
“Park the car, Jeno.”
He does just that, but spends an awfully long time simply looking at the snow outside before turning to her. Jaemin smiles sweetly at him, and starts:
“We all know it’s hard to like someone who doesn’t return your feelings—”
“I am not in love with Mark,” Jeno tells her promptly, although her words do sting a little bit. Even if that was the case, why would she say that? Who says that? “Jaem, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but…”
“Be quiet and let me finish,” Jaemin bites back. “I was going to say that it is way harder to like someone when you don’t know if you are an actual option for them. I know you don’t like talking about this sort of thing, but—” She takes a deep breath, motioning between the two of them. “We are wired differently, aren't we, love? We know people aren’t dying to date us, and even when they do, they don’t exactly take us to meet their parents. But I don’t think Mark—”
“Jaemin, I don't think this is a road I should go down,” Jeno insists, this time his tone softer than before. “Things are fine the way they are now, and I don’t want to ruin anything. Also, I don’t care if Mark will not take me to have dinner with his parents because I think his parents are fucking cunts.” A pause. “And also because he’s not my boyfriend. Why are we having this conversation in the first place?”
She lets out a small sigh. “Jeno…”
“Jaemin, I love you, you’re one of my bestest friends, but I’d appreciated it if you believed me when i say I am not in love with—”
“I don’t think Mark knows he’s not your boyfriend,” is what she settles for saying, reaching out to put a hand over his mouth, even though Jeno is… Speechless. He wouldn’t be able to come up with a snarky response even if he wanted to. “And if you actually let me talk for once, we wouldn’t be having this conversation in chopped parts. Will you let me speak now?”
He nods.
“I don’t know what it is that’s going on between you,” Jaemin continues. “And I do wish that you’d talk to me about it because I am your friend, Jeno, and I am more similar to you than any of the cis people you hang out with. But I’ll respect you if you wish not to share that for now. I get it. I know what you’re feeling. I need you to understand that I know.”
He nods again, and she retrieves her hand.
“However,” she adds. “I also know that it is so good to find someone who loves you, someone who wants you, someone who cherishes you not in spite of who you are, but because of it too,” and as Jeno senses where this is going, he looks away. “I think Mark could be that for you. I think he already is, but you won’t let yourself have any of it. Why?”
“I am not in love with him,” he repeats. “And he is not in love with me either. I’ve known Mark all my life. Jaemin, I think I would notice if we had feelings for each other.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Jaemin—” Jeno lets out a small sigh, curling a hand around the steering wheel nervously. He wishes they wouldn’t be having this conversation here — everything is him, from the angle of the driver’s seat to the trinkets hanging from the rearview mirror, the scent under Jeno’s nose, the shape of Mark’s hands under his own on the steering wheel. It’s unfair. Jaemin didn’t have the right to do this to him right now. “I am not drowning in transgender self pity here. I just don’t think that’s the case at all. What Mark and I have, it’s... It’s just sex, and that’s fine.”
“You don’t see the things I do,” she insists. “You don’t see the way he looks at you because you won’t look back. As in, physically, you won’t look back at him. It’s frustrating. It’s almost as if you know what you’re going to find, so you don’t do it. And you don’t know how he talks about you when you’re not around. If you’re not in love with him, that’s fine. But that man is so—”
“Don’t say that. Please don't say it.”
Jaemin ignores him. “—so in love with you that it makes him look stupid. It’s almost embarrassing. If you looked back then you’d know the stupid face he makes.”
He closes his eyes with force, takes a deep breath, and then lets it out. “Let’s say that's the case,” Jeno tells her. “Let’s say that's true, and Mark is in love with me. What am I supposed to do? Find the solution to my problems in him because— because he is him and I am me? Is that it? Will everything that hurts go away if I let—” he shakes his head. “If I let him love me, is that what you're saying? Will the cis dude I screw sometimes fix all of my fucking issues, Jaemin?”
At that, Jaemin actually looks offended, and Jeno is sure that he picked at a scab that will most probably never heal, like a damn jerk. She pulls her legs off the console and crosses her arms tightly over her chest, and Jeno does wish that words were not impossible to take back once you’ve said them — he sees in her eyes that he crossed the one line she won’t forgive him for.
“You know damn well I would never, ever say to you, or even do as much as imply it,” Jaemin replies. “Don’t you think for a moment that I believe in any of what you said. It’s bullshit. What I do believe in, however, is that we do not have to walk on our knees for a thousand miles to be worthy of love. We don’t have to repent because we have not sinned. I’m not saying that letting Mark love you will fix your life because he’s cisgender. I’m saying that letting Mark love you might make you happy, and God knows that despite your incredibly sour mood and rudeness, you still deserve some happiness in your life,” She reaches out for the door handle and opens it. “So think about everything that I just said, Jeno. And remember to stick that attitude up your ass while you’re at it, too.”
Then she gets out. Jeno struggles with the jammed door of Mark’s car for a good five minutes before he’s able to do the same, filled to the brim with shame, and then finds Jaemin sitting inside the cafe with an espresso doppio in front of her and a mocha latte for Jeno, as well as some french toast. He sits in front of her with his metaphorical tail between his legs.
“I’m sorry that I lashed out on you,” he says. “I have no right to say that to you, of all people, and I will never, ever do it again. I really am so sorry, Jaem, I was a total jackass. Do you think you can forgive me?”
Jaemin lets out a long sigh before taking a sip of her coffee. “I can forgive you, yes. It is very hard for me to stay mad at you.”
As Jeno smiles, she kicks him lightly under the table. “But that doesn’t mean you didn’t act like a total brute. I was speechless.”
“You didn’t look speechless back then.”
“Now is not the time for your little jokes,” she shakes her head, setting the cup down on the table. “I’m— I am speechless. I’ve never seen you speak to anyone like that, ever, and you’re lucky that I think before I act on it because others wouldn’t be so forgiving. But you were straight up mean, Jeno, and I didn’t do anything to deserve it. I would never treat you like that. What’s happening with you?”
He stays silent. Truth is that Jeno doesn’t know — he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on with him. He’s anxious and feeling pent up most of the time, like there’s something inside his throat that’s been trying to claw its way out, to no avail. Making sense of it is useless.
“I don’t know,” he admits quietly. “I don’t know, Jaemin, and I’m sorry for that as well. To be fair, I don’t think I’m being a good friend to anyone right now.”
Jaemin lets out a hum and pushes the plate of french toast closer to him. Then Jeno eats, because he knows this is a fight he cannot win against her, and tries to make some sense of his thoughts as he chews. He does feel awful for saying those things to her back in the car — it is true that no one should speak to Jaemin like that ever, but Jeno feels particularly bad about it. What she said back then is true, anyway; they are more similar than anyone else around, and Jeno is a jackass for being so rude. Fucking hell.
“I’m having… A shit week,” he says after a while, and Jaemin looks back at him in surprise. “Or a shit past couple months, I think. Maybe a shitty life. I know it’s not an excuse, but… I don’t know. It’s weather. It’s that new brand of T that makes me feel on edge all the time. And it’s the thing about Mark. I’m not even going to lie and say it isn’t because it is the thing about Mark.”
“The thing about Mark,” Jaemin echoes. “The— well, your… Your arrangement?”
“The casual sex, yeah.”
“Why? Are you not enjoying it?”
“No, I am,” he rubs a hand against his face. “But that’s the thing, okay? I enjoy it too much. When I’m with him, I want stuff. I want him. I’ve never had it like this with anyone else and it worries me because I don’t want to ruin things between us.” He pauses, looks outside the window where the world is shitty, the snow covers the streets, and he really does hope Donghyuck remembers to tell Mark he has the car, and that the idiot doesn’t think of going out in this weather without it. Jeno sighs and adds: “I don’t wanna lose him, Jaemin. Call me selfish for it.”
“I won’t, and I don't think you’ll lose him anyway.”
“You don’t?”
“Jeno.” Jaemin sighs exasperatedly. “I literally just told you that I don’t think Mark sees what you have as just casual sex, and he doesn’t seem to have any problem with it either. Usually, I would let you figure things out on your own, but you’re so dense—”
“Hey.”
“And so is he!” She throws her hands in the air. It earns them a few looks from a waitress, but Jaemin pays her no mind. “Lord, help me with this one because I’m not sure I can do it.” With a sigh, she adds: “Jeno, I truly think that he has feelings for you. Romantic feelings, alright? I’m talking about actual gay—”
“I understand what you mean by feelings, Jaem.”
“Good.” Jaemin leans back on her chair, sighing tiredly as she wipes off her forehead. “Good. Now I think I need another coffee.”
“But I still don’t believe—”
She sends him a look, and Jeno immediately goes quiet. He finishes off his french toast and licks his fingers clean, watching in silence as Jaemin leaves their table to get another drink, and then goes back to watching the window.
Say it is true, and Mark likes him — loves him, even. What does it mean for them? What changes? Jeno realizes then that he had blurred the lines too much, unable to see where his friendship with Mark ends and this thing of theirs starts. He hasn’t been with anyone since he started transitioning, and back then things were different than they are now, so Jeno wouldn’t be able to pinpoint the exact differences between a romantic relationship and what he and Mark have right now. It’s not like he had envisioned being in a romantic relationship at this point in his life, anyway.
Perhaps he has fucked up. But Jeno is selfish. He never claimed not to be selfish. He does want Mark’s time and attention and he does enjoy being wanted, despite the two of them translating all that want in peculiar ways.
He’s aware that what they have is not conventional, even if one would call it dating. Jeno can’t even name it himself. But just because it is unconventional, does that mean it’s wrong? He doesn’t think so.
Thing is, Mark would be mad if he knew he’s having this sort of questioning. He would say something along the lines of the general idea of sex is phallocentric and falls under outdated concepts of the gender binary, and then it would take about all of Jeno’s willpower not to jump him in that very moment.
He doesn’t know what to do with himself now that he’s thought about it, though.
“Do you think—” he starts as Jaemin sits down again. “That Mark would date me?”
Jaemin stares blankly at him. “I’m starting to think that you have hearing problems.”
“I’m being serious, Jaemin.”
“So am I. It’s that music Mark makes you listen to. Too loud. Too shitty. Try some jazz, maybe.”
“Could you be any more of a grandma?” Jeno asks her in a teasing tone.
“Haha. Fuck yourself.”
“Well, now you’re back to being Donghyuck’s girlfriend.”
“I am not Donghyuck’s girlfriend.” Jaemin takes a sip of her iced americano. “Donghyuck is my boyfriend. It’s semantics, dear. And yes, I think Mark would date you. You share the awful sense of humor, terrible taste in music, and the preference for making my life so difficult.” She pauses. “And you’re already acquainted in bed, which is a whole step crossed out of the list. I honestly don’t know what you're waiting for. It’s Mark. I told you he’s in love with you. Knock yourself out.”
“It's Mark.” Jeno echoes. “It’s Mark, Jaemin.”
“That’s what I said, yes.”
Well, she doesn’t get it. And maybe Jeno doesn’t either. He presses both hands to his face and lets out a long, loud groan.
“It’s Mark,” he repeats. “And I had a huge crush on him when we were younger.”
At that, Jaemin lets out a noise — something bordering on animalistic, immediately reaching out to pull Jeno’s hands from his face and holding onto them tightly, her eyes the size of saucers. “You— you… ? Lee Jeno. How dare you keep this from me, I’ve known you for years.”
“I mean, is it even that surprising?” He smiles sadly, and Jaemin purses her lips into a fine line. No, it really isn’t that surprising — it’s not surprising at all. In fact, what’s surprising is the idea that no one suggested it before. “It’s just… It’s sort of pathetic, isn’t it? That I carried a torch for him?”
“No, I think it’s very sweet.”
“I didn’t like being in love with him, though,” Jeno blurts out, and now he’s holding onto her just the same — they must look like an odd pair. “Because I didn’t— I wasn't even out back then, and it felt pathetic and confusing so I tried really hard to ignore it. It was the worst thing in the world. So forgive me if I don’t want to go back to that.”
Jaemin replies: “Everything feels like that when you're a teenager. I’m sure it wasn't that bad.”
“Oh, it is, because his parents hated me. I told you they were cunts. I was the talk of the town because everybody knows there’s something wrong with you before you learn the word transgender, right,” he sighs. “And Mark was— Mark. He was perfect. Perfect grades, perfect behavior. And he was so perfect that he actually treated me like a real person, so of course I carried a gigantic torch for the literal one guy who wasn’t a complete dick to me. Fucking groundbreaking.”
“Well, I would be very disappointed if you carried a torch for the wrong ones,” Jaemin squeezes his hands. “Jeno, none of this that you said is a bad thing. Your brain is telling you that because it is a little bitch, but loving Mark isn’t a bad thing. It’s not pathetic at all.”
“Okay, but—”
“Your brain is a little bitch. Say it with me.”
He sighs again. “My brain is a little bitch.”
“Thank you, I’m glad that you’ve acknowledged it. Anything else?”
Jeno presses his lips into a thin line, nervous. He really doesn’t have anything else to say — he’s successfully exhausted all the thoughts he’s locked for years at the very back of his mind regarding the matter, and Jeno knows that none of it is actually bad. He knows it. But why does his tongue still taste so stale?
“I don’t know, Jaeminie, I guess I’m insane.” He concludes, and Jaemin lets out a giggle as she lets go of his hands and leans back on her chair. Jeno curls his hands into fists over the table, then flexes them open nervously. “Pardon me if I’m confused with the recent turn of events, I did not expect to have this sort of conversation when I woke up this morning.”
Jaemin reaches out and picks one last blueberry from his plate, tossing it inside her mouth. “You mean when you woke up this morning alongside none other than a very naked Mark Lee and fled the house before he woke up.”
“Okay, ma’am, you and Donghyuck seriously need to stop with the joint operation. Tell your boyfriend to stop spying on me and then maybe I’ll start telling you stuff, how about that.”
“Did I lie, though?”
“Yes. He wasn’t naked, he had shorts on. But I mean what I said. Don’t tell Donghyuck that I told you any of this.”
“Silly Lee Jeno,” she says teasingly. “Some things really only concern you and I. No boyfriend in the entire world can’t change that.”
Jeno hums. “Well, that, and the fact that Donghyuck can’t keep his mouth shut to save his life.”
She knows she can’t argue against facts, so Jaemin remains quiet. They pay for their coffee and stumble back into the snowy world outside together, and as Jaemin squeezes his arm in small attempts to let him know she’s there, Jeno breathes in the cold, cold air and reminds himself that none of it really is as bad as it seems.
I don’t think Mark knows he’s not your boyfriend.
God. What does that even mean? Does Mark think they’re dating? He can’t be that silly. Jeno trusts him not to be that silly. On his worst days, he wonders why would anyone get that idea — that Mark thinks they’re dating. That he’s someone Mark would date. That they would even work out.
On better days, though, he lets himself think about it without all the self flagellation. During Jeno’s teen years, when all he knew was bad haircuts and looking up ways to be masc without outing himself by accident, he did want to date Mark. And he wanted it badly. The feeling was new and often overlooked, mixed up with the feral need to just walk like him, talk like him, look like him, and Jeno knew that boys like Mark didn’t go out with people that walked, talked and looked like Jeno did — people that couldn’t even call each themselves boys without clasping a hand tightly over their own mouths right after, afraid of what people would say it they heard, afraid they might realize they really meant it.
But he still was a boy, sometimes infuriatingly so, and Jeno would simply let it pass. Mark left for college and he could start over, delete his social media, come out to his parents — and yet, a part of Mark remained with him, hidden behind the very name that had been chosen for him. Jeno. Je-No. Two syllables put together to be him, and it was Mark who did it.
Remember when you asked me to choose your name?, Mark had asked not long ago. Why did you do that?
Funny. How could he not?
It does feel silly to think about that now. Jeno is past the age of crushes. He either feels or he doesn’t. But when it comes to Mark, he’s never sure. He’s never sure. Why did he even let Jaemin get inside his mind like this, anyway?
Unsurprisingly so, he’s ambushed by Donghyuck.
“Ambushed is hardly the right term for it,” Donghyuck argues, pushing two paper grocery bags onto Jeno’s chest. “You were literally standing in front of the building, looking lost. If anything, I rescued you. Like a puppy!”
Jeno ignores him — he meant to come over to talk to Mark, but chickened out a few times. Were anyone to take a look at the security cameras, and then he’d easily be mistaken for a robber or something of the likes, lingering near the building where Mark and Donghyuck live for hours in the cold, staring at their window. And since Donghyuck caught him red handed, well, he can’t defend himself from that. The truth is what it is.
“Is Mark home?” Jeno asks instead, and Donghyuck is objectively bad at concealing his teasing smile. Jeno still pretends it’s not there, for his own sake.
“Probably asleep in his room,” he replies. “Or working. Or pretending to work while he thinks of you. You never know with Mark, right?”
Jeno ignores him again. He follows Donghyuck into the elevator and peeks at the grocery bags he’s carrying — he spots not only one, but two pints of his favorite matcha ice cream. “I like these,” he says, pointing at them with his chin, and Donghyuck leans into his space to take a look and then leans back with a shrug.
“Yeah, I know, Mark asked me to buy some for you.”
The doors to their floor open, and Jeno waits until Donghyuck has put in the code to slide into the apartment and dump the groceries on the counter quickly. He means to leave, but Donghyuck curls a finger around his collar and pulls him back inside.
“Mark, I'm home and I brought a surprise,” he calls out, flashing Jeno one big, teasing grin. “I couldn’t find a nice bow to wrap around it, but why don’t you come see what it is?”
“You’re an awful human being,” Jeno reminds him, and bats Donghyuck’s hands away.
There’s noise coming from deep within the apartment, a loud groan, and then silence. He most probably fell from the bed. Jeno spares Donghyuck one last glance before heading down the corridor. He stalls by Mark’s closed door for a few seconds and then reaches for the doorknob.
Inside, the mild darkness of his room is familiar, the mess of blankets on the floor illuminated by the faint light coming from the idle screen of Mark’s computer on the desk. Jeno eyes the lump under the blankets and climbs past it towards the bed, landing on the mattress softly.
“What a pity,” he says, sighing dramatically. “The weather’s shit outside and I thought I’d find some cuddles if I came here, but I guess there’s no one around to warm me up. I shall lay here alone and so very cold, poor old me.”
The lump moves — a hand breaks through the folds in the blankets and rests on the edge of the bed, chipped nail polish that was a surprise the first time Jeno saw it years ago, followed by a tired groan when Mark lets himself fall to his side on the bed, pulling the covers over the two of them.
“C’mon, move,” he grunts, trying to pull Jeno’s arm over his body as well, and when Jeno doesn’t move, Mark rolls over and immediately tucks his head on the curve of his neck. “Didn't you say you were cold? I’m cold. Cuddle me, Lee Jeno. Warm me up.”
“You know, it’s one in the afternoon,” Jeno reminds him. “Did you even have anything to eat today?”
Mark lets out a series of mumbles that sound like Donghyuck, sandwich, back to bed, and Jeno hums as he brings a hand to the back of Mark’s head, burying his fingers on the soft strands and massaging his scalp.
“Are you feeling sick?” Jeno asks, and Mark exhales heavily against his skin. “Mhmm, are you? I’ll get you anything you need.”
“It’s just a shit mental health day,” he curls an arm around Jeno’s torso and squeezes him tightly for a moment. He’s warm from sleep, perhaps a bit too much even, and his body melts into Jeno’s with familiarity. “This is good, though. You’re good to me. Tell me about your day.”
Jeno lets out a short sigh — it wasn’t all that interesting to begin with. He went to class, he took notes, he spent some time at the model lab questioning his life choices, he had lunch with a few colleagues and then went home. He doubts any of it is of Mark’s interest. Perhaps Jeno should try to make him laugh.
“Did you know someone spray painted a huge dick on the building opposite to the model lab last week?” He asks, and Mark immediately lets out a giggle. “I mean, I’m talking huge. We did some calculations and found out it reaches all the way up to the fourth floor.”
“Of course you did. But how did someone even do that in the first place?”
“I don’t know, but I appreciate this sort of effort.” Jeno pauses, then closes his eyes for a bit. “You should have lunch with me after class so we can take a picture in front of it before they paint it over. I think this one is for the books.”
“You want a picture in front of the huge dick? How Freudian, Jeno.”
“Some people in my major have been calling it The Phallus. It’s a capital P, pun intended.”
“Oh my God. How Freudian indeed.”
This time, as Jeno laughs, Mark does too, muffling his laughter in Jeno’s hoodie. Once it subsides, he rolls on his back and looks at him — cheeks marked by pillow creases, eyes puffy from sleepy.
“You’re such a boy,” Mark accuses him, and brings a hand to his mouth as he yawns. “It’s exactly what Jaemin says about trans men hitting puberty in their twenties. Are you thirteen again? Do I have to have a talk with you about the birds and the bees?”
“If I say yes, will you take me to class on the back of your bicycle again?”
“I don’t think I still know how to ride a bike,” Mark admits. “But I have a car now.”
“Boring.”
“Boring?” Mark exclaims. “Says the man who’s always dying to ride it.”
Jeno smiles at him teasingly. “That’s what she said, huh.”
With a groan, Mark reaches out to pinch his cheek a bit too tightly, and Jeno tries to angle his mouth in a way he’ll be able to bite him. It doesn’t work, but he does brush his lips against Mark’s thumb, and Mark lets out a tiny, tiny noise that would be overlooked had it not been for Jeno’s everlasting curiosity about him, and so he wraps a hand around Mark’s wrist and does it again.
“Jeno,” he says, softly, and then Jeno is struck by something.
Something new, deep, and entirely his. He realizes he can do anything with it. And so Jeno kisses his wrist and palm, feels the warmth of Mark’s skin on his lips and chases after it, sliding his own fingers across Mark’s hand so he can move it the way he wants to, and Mark lets him — he watches, silent and doe eyed, as Jeno kisses the pads of his fingers and lets them slip past his lips and into his mouth.
He enjoys it like this, personally. His preference isn’t news to anyone — pens, straws, hoodie drawstrings, Jeno simply enjoys having something in his mouth at times. And Mark’s fingers are warm and salty and a comfortable weight on his tongue, so Jeno does it mostly for himself, even if Mark’s flustered face is very nice to look at. The sounds Jeno lets out are lewd, perhaps not fit this early in the day, but enough for Mark to snap out of it and press his digits to Jeno’s tongue, deep inside, before he pulls them out slowly, spreading spit over his lips and down his chin.
“Jesus Christ,” he lets out. “You’re gonna be the death of me, did you know that?”
“Am I, now?” Jeno laughs, looking up at the ceiling and closing his eyes. “Why is that?”
Mark taps his bottom lip twice, caressing it with the tip of his middle finger, and Jeno’s mouth falls open again. He takes Mark’s fingers in again, this time curling his tongue around them more carefully as Mark works them in and out for a moment. The latter pulls out with a whispered shit, cupping Jeno’s jaw with that very same hand to turn his face towards him.
When Jeno blinks up at him, Mark leans in to peck him on the mouth, soft, chaste. Jeno licks his lips out of spite, and Mark laughs against his mouth.
“Everything you do,” he tells Jeno in a whisper. “Takes my breath away.”
Jeno could say something — tease him, maybe, say he’s mushy, but his heart is pounding in his ears as he presses a hand to Mark's chest and pushes himself off the bed. He throws a leg over Mark’s lap, mounting him rather harshly, and Mark raises both eyebrows at him.
He thinks about it for a moment, just a tiny second, and then takes off his hoodie, trying not to squirm as Mark’s hands immediately trail a path under his shirt and up his sides, over his stomach where the muscles pull tight underneath his touch. When the tips of his fingers reach the twin scars on Jeno’s chest, he takes off the shirt as well, throwing both garments to the floor.
“Am I taking your breath away?” Jeno asks. It’s selfish of him to do it — Jeno wouldn’t be caught dead asking him this on most days. But he does want Mark’s attention and all of his affection. He does want to feel beautiful, he does want to be desired. Sue him for it.
“As I said,” Mark adds as Jeno leans in, hands on each side of his head, raising an eyebrow at him. He brushes his thumb over the scar on Jeno’s left pec, the one that gave him a bit more trouble healing and looks a little funny, more jagged than the other, and smiles up at him. Jeno prays he’s not blushing. “Completely breathless.”
He snorts. “Shut up.”
“Don’t wanna,” Mark replies. “And you can’t make me. You’re so beautiful, Jeno. I can’t stop looking at you.”
Jeno nuzzles Mark’s nose with his own, trying not to think much about the fact that his breath hitches, that he chases after Jeno’s mouth and sighs softly as Jeno finally kisses him. There is only so much tenderness he can take before becoming unable to ignore it — he can’t push away Mark’s caresses, can’t pretend his hands aren’t gentle and that he doesn’t yearn for them.
I don’t think Mark knows he’s not your boyfriend, Jaemin had said. Is this how it is, then? Is this what she means? If it was someone else, would Mark treat them like this? Would he be as tender? Would he be rougher, if it wasn’t him?
Jeno does want to take him apart and put him back together in order to understand him, so much that it makes him ache. He swears he’d donate Mark to science if he could.
Squeezing Mark’s waist with his knees, Jeno lowers himself on him, smiling as Mark moans softly. He usually doesn’t do this, but right now, Jeno wants it — he’s hyper aware of the way Mark is growing hard under him, desire pooling at the pit of his stomach as he gives in to the urge to grind against him. His packer is for show only, filling up space in his underwear, but it does feel good when it presses against him. It probably feels weird for Mark, though, so Jeno raises himself on his knees again, self conscious.
Mark squeezes his waist. “‘t was good,” he whispers, as if he knows. When Jeno was younger, he used to believe Mark knew his thoughts before he even had them. “That felt so good, baby, do it again.”
Shyly, he does, and Mark lets out a noise, tiny and needy in the way he rarely is. Jeno can’t take his eyes off him, rolling his hips slowly so he’ll hear it again and again and again, trying not to moan loudly because it does feel so, so good. Mark’s hips buckle underneath him, hands pressing to his own face as he lets out a small shudder under his breath.
He can’t believe just how worked up Mark is. It’s— it’s surprising, and a bit flattering, and so fucking hot. Jeno wants to eat him up, and he can’t help himself.
“We barely did anything and hyung is already hard,” he teases, despite his own affected tone. Mark’s cheeks blush a deeper shade of red.
“And I wonder whose fault is that,” he whispers. “When someone’s so happy to grind his cock on me.”
Jeno tilts his head to the side, sheepish smile, caught red handed, exhilarated. Mark’s eyes drop from his face to his chest and then lower, hands twitching where they’re resting over Jeno’s thighs, so the latter brings a hand to rest over his own collarbones, grabbing his attention once more. Jeno trails his fingers down the expanse of his chest, brushing the space where his twin scars almost meet under his pecs. Mark likes to kiss him there, and Jeno likes it too.
“But it feels so good, hyung,” he says, and Mark hums absentmindedly, eyes following the path he traces down to his lower stomach. Jeno scratches the patch of thin hair under his navel and chuckles as he feels Mark’s dick twitching under him. Predictable. Jeno reaches out to pinch his stomach, over the fabric of his shirt. “Naughty boy you are. I think you’ve beaten a personal record of boner speed.”
“Boner speed— when did you become such a tease?” Mark asks, pinching his ribs in retaliation. Jeno squirms above him, trying to decide whether he does want to stay on top or not, but before either of them can do anything, the door swings open and Donghyuck’s “Holy shit, I’m sorry!” startles him.
Jeno’s blood runs cold, as if he’s been splashed with freezing water. He topples over in an attempt to get off Mark, landing on the floor in a mess of limbs.
“Lee Donghyuck!” Mark yells, sitting up and aiming a pillow at him. “Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you, get the fuck out!”
“I’m sorry,” Donghyuck repeats, protecting himself behind the door. “I was going to— I was gonna ask if you guys wanted food because I knew you ate very little, don’t be so— oh, were you gonna do it while I was at home? I thought you were sleeping! What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Sighing, Jeno sits up and pulls his knees to his chest, resting his forehead on them. His shoulder hurts. His head hurts. He listens as they argue — something about lack of decorum, some sort of rule about waiting until the other leaves the apartment, and Donghyuck’s laughter is loud even as Mark chases him down the corridor with a series of curse words. But Jeno stays put, quiet, deep breaths to calm his heart.
Not long after, he feels fingers brushing his bare back, and then Mark rests his forehead on his shoulder.
“You good?” He asks, and Jeno hums affirmatively. “I swear I’ll fucking murder Donghyuck. I’ll— I’ll lock the door, okay. I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright, Mark,” Jeno laughs, and reaches for the discarded shirt on the floor. He lets Mark help him put it on, and then leans in to steal a quick peck from him. “I have to go anyway, there’s an essay that I need to finish by friday. I was nearby and just wanted to check up on you.”
“Oh,” Mark breathes out. “You— you don’t want to stay?”
He sounds disappointed — Jeno is, too, in himself. So he’s a fool and a coward, big fucking deal. He smiles weakly, reaching out to brush a stray lash from under Mark’s eye.
“Donghyuck is going to spend the night at Jaemin’s, though,” Mark adds, hopeful. “We could, like, order food and watch a movie. We could—” he shrugs, giving Jeno a shy smile. “Finish what we started, if you want to?”
If Jeno’s bravado hadn't faltered then, it would now. “I don’t know, hyung. I think I should go.”
“I’ll write your essay for you. You know I can do it, I’ve done it before in school.”
“Hyung,” he laughs. “That’s a tad too much, even for—”
“Stay,” Mark’s voice is soft, achingly so, and it breaks Jeno’s heart in the worst ways. The sudden hitch in his breath makes him feel as if he’d been electrocuted, entirely too aware of the way Mark’s finger curls around the hem of his shirt. “Please. Stay with me? We don’t have to do anything. I just don’t want you to go. I don’t want to be—”
The thought dies on his tongue, his bravado equally gone, and Jeno leans in, pressing his mouth to Mark’s cheek. You don’t have to be alone, he’d like to say, you won’t be. But Mark has always been better with words than he is, and Jeno pushes him into bed again wordlessly.
“Thanks,” Mark whispers, and Jeno hums noncommittally as he pulls the covers over the both of them again, resting his cheek on the curve of Mark's shoulder.
He knows, for a fact, that Mark is still half hard down there, but if he won’t do anything about it, neither will Jeno. He waits until Mark is profoundly asleep to peel himself off him and take off his jeans then his packer, because it’s uncomfortable to sleep with it, tucking both inside his bag.
In one last whim, Jeno picks up one of Mark’s shirts from the dresser and puts it on as well, bringing the collar up to his nose to sniff at it and sigh. Mark always smells clean and cozy like fabric softener, never keen on using cologne even if he’s been gifted plenty by none other than Jaemin, and Jeno martyrizes himself a little for being so attracted to it.
He could probably sneak into the bathroom and do something about the dull throb of his own dick, but rubbing one out just for the sake of getting off is so tiring, and it’s not like he can fool himself into thinking it’d be better than doing it with Mark. That, and the fact that Jeno’s still on edge after being walked on by Donghyuck — he feels exposed, even if he had just taken off his shirt then. Probably not the best idea, after all.
Fuck this shit. World’s worst case of blue balls, and he doesn’t even have balls. The crosses one carries.
The thought has laughter erupting from deep within Jeno’s chest, the latter pressing a hand to his mouth as he snorts. He’s so stupid. In bed, Mark lets out a confused hum, and so Jeno slides under the covers once he goes quiet again, and for a moment simply lays down curled on himself, watching the relaxed look on Mark’s face as he breathes in, breathes out. Jeno scoots closer, then, draping an arm over Mark’s torso and keeping the other under the pillow.
He likes the way Mark leans into him subconsciously, turning his handsome face towards him, lips parted just slightly. Mark is so careful when he’s awake, always in control of everything — Jeno likes to think that the real body is the asleep body. There are things Mark tells him in his sleep that he would never say out loud.
He will be gone by the time Mark wakes up, and that is a fact. But Jeno can allow himself to have this for a bit, can’t he? He can watch him for a little longer, can rest a hand on his chest that rises and falls with the steady rhythm of his breaths and not feel guilty for it, focusing on the warmth from Mark’s body that seeps through the fabric of his shirt, on his warmth, his scent, everything else.
Here are the things Jeno admits to himself: Mark’s body is a home made of bones, muscle tissue, blood cells, scars, acne and beauty marks, all of his hopes and dreams, and Jeno would be lying if he said he’s not utterly enthralled by him. He wants to get inside him and become something vital, turn himself into bone marrow, wants Mark to need him to survive. Wants to know what it takes to make a man like this and be that for him, let Mark teach him how to quench his life long thirst of becoming, and become the thing that keeps his heart safe from the perils of the outside world. So perhaps he is selfish, yes. Then again, Jeno has never claimed to be anything but.
He leans in, presses his lips to Mark’s warm cheek once, and then to his lips when Mark leans into the touch, thick eyelashes parting to reveal the dark orbs of his eyes for just a second before he flashes Jeno a smile, curling a hand on the back of his neck to caress Jeno’s nape, and falls asleep again.
Jeno keeps him close like this: pressed together as if they were one, like his most selfish yet hopeful desires.