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2023-03-25
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fortunately, i believe

Summary:

It starts as barely anything. As a flicker of a possibility, of a notion that’s quickly shoved back into the expanse of his mind. It starts as a rogue thought and Jeno vows to never think of it again.

Notes:

just a heads up this fic is entirely centered around religion and grappling with sexuality in a religious context. this also deals with internalized homophobia, nothing super intense but i just wanted to make it clear what this fic is about. and of course these are just characters and do not reflect anyone or their beliefs irl! this fic is v special to me so i hope you enjoy it!! the title is from the song ‘jesus christ 2005 god bless america’

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

It starts as barely anything. As a flicker of a possibility, of a notion that’s quickly shoved back into the expanse of his mind. It starts as a rogue thought and Jeno vows to never think of it again. 

-

Mark is his roommate and maybe, definitely, his closest friend; the one who actually shows up to Jeno’s swim meets and the one who he sits by during church services. The one he takes communion with as they kneel on the plush velvet together and drink the bitter wine that Mark always subtly wrinkles his nose at. 

Jeno feels like he knows everything about Mark but Mark does not know everything about Jeno. He doesn’t know the dull ache in Jeno’s chest that feels so reverently persistent. That unexplainable feeling that he hesitates to allow words to describe. It overwhelms Jeno consistently and just when it becomes almost unbearable, he realizes, understands , that Mark can never know. 

Sometimes Jeno can’t fall asleep at night and he thinks about Mark. Jeno doesn’t mean to but he does anyway, consumed by a mixture of admiration and veneration and it all becomes too much. Jeno thinks about the way Mark smiles at him, looks at him with big eyes that observe him with tenderness and care and Jeno just wants more, always, so badly. 

There’s something so beautiful about Mark. Something like an innocent, unfair temptation. When Mark lets Jeno rest his head against Mark's soft thighs or when he brushes a hand through Jeno's hair, petting and stroking gently. When he hugs Jeno and runs a hand soothingly down his back, or when their bodies easily tangle together when lying on the couch together. When Jeno feels incredibly sorry for himself. 

Unknowingly, Mark has been placed upon a fragile and precious pedestal in his mind. And through labored breaths and choked sobs, Jeno has broken his vow.

-

It becomes a reality when they’re drunk. They’re at a party at Chenle’s house and it’s not really a party, just their extended friend group getting drunk together and talking and eating. There’s a joint passed around that Jeno avoids but he drinks a few beers and gets drunk quickly because he rarely drinks. So he sits on the couch with bleary eyes watching everyone else, watching Mark .

Chenle ropes a few of them into dancing and doing karaoke with a microphone he randomly produced and Jeno laughs along but doesn’t join because Jeno realized a long time ago that he prefers being in the background. 

He likes watching his friends and Jeno realizes then that he loves them, that he loves his friends fiercely. Jeno feels young and he loves so much. It feels like something, like a moment that he should try and remember for a long time, for forever . Because everything feels almost perfect. He is invisible and satisfied. Jeno is surrounded by love and that has to be enough. 

It’s because he’s drunk, he thinks, he knows . Jeno gets like this, emotional, happy, and euphoric. He gets introspective and he thinks this was all a stupid and horrible idea; to get drunk and sit on Chenle’s couch and think about love. 

But Jeno watches them sing anyway, Mark laughing loudly and Chenle’s flushed face from an attempted loud high note, the way Mark’s arm is wrapped around Chenle’s shoulder tightly like he’s holding and supporting both of them up. 

Ugly feelings begin to subconsciously swarm in his chest but then Mark looks at him from across the room and smiles reassuringly and Jeno feels like the wind is knocked out of him. It’s then that Jeno realizes he doesn’t think he can ignore what he feels– what he has firmly known for a long time. 

The acknowledgment feels kind of anti-climatic. On an uncomfortable couch, surrounded by others, and still all a giant secret and something so beautiful somehow turns into a horrible, uncomfortable mess. Jeno wonders if this is really what love is supposed to feel like. Just a stagnant, dull ache that persists and tugs at him incessantly. 

Jeno just stays sitting, watching everyone else and picking at his fingernails until Mark approaches him, probably to try and rope him into the horrible karaoke. But in the mess of people, a body knocks against Mark and his grip on the solo cup he holds loosens and the alcohol spills onto his sweatshirt. 

Mark looks down at the stain and then back at Jeno in sudden and intense disappointment and surprise, immediately frowning and muttering about how it’s his favorite hoodie.

“Maybe I can wash it out or something,” Mark mutters, eyes looking up towards the bathroom at the end of the hall and Jeno stands up suddenly, only swaying slightly. 

“I’ll help you,” Jeno offers only because he just wants to get out of this room, desperate to get out of contemplating love. 

But in the small bathroom, it’s not much better. Mark is too close to him and his brows are furrowed and his lips are pursed as he looks earnestly into Jeno’s eyes. “Fuck man, this sweatshirt’s ruined.”

“Maybe not,” Jeno says with a quiet laugh because Mark is frowning with shiny eyes and Jeno knows water won’t fix potent liquor. But Jeno still gets a paper towel and water, unsure of what it could do but he tries it anyway, pressing it tentatively against Mark’s chest, against the dark, ugly stain.

“Thanks,” Mark murmurs dazedly, looking down just to watch the way Jeno’s hand slowly moves. 

Mark’s skin is warm, almost too hot, and Jeno brushes against it as he rubs against the hoodie. Jeno feels like he could lose himself in it and draws his hand away. 

“I think that helped, maybe,” Jeno sighs because drinking makes him tired, sleepy, and dreamy. He desperately wants to be in bed, encompassed by someone. He wants so much that the scope of his desire overwhelms him.

“You okay?” Mark asks, so close– like he always is, his wide eyes watch him with concern. 

“Yeah,” Jeno mutters, looking up into Mark’s eyes with a small smile. “Just– you know how I get when I drink.”

Mark grins in understanding, leaning back against the sink counter. Because he does know, he knows so much of Jeno. But not what really matters. His hand comes to cup Jeno’s cheek, carefully tugging the skin to gently pinch it with a grin. “Cute.”

Mark’s touch feels like it’s scorching, like it’s burning. Jeno feels like he’s on fire and he relishes in it. 

Jeno isn’t sure what happens next. Jeno manages a quiet, sad laugh and Mark’s hand doesn’t pull away, reaction and sense delayed from the alcohol. Because Jeno knows how Mark gets when he drinks too. Affectionate and clingy. And Jeno is uninhibited, at his worst, at his greediest. 

Jeno only leans into Mark’s hand, leans further, waiting for Mark to pull away. Instead, he doesn’t and he watches Jeno like he’s very carefully waiting for Jeno to do the same thing. 

When Jeno doesn’t move and when there’s been a few moments of silence, Mark draws Jeno’s face closer. He can smell the alcohol on Mark’s breath and Jeno knows better than to look into Mark’s eyes. 

It all feels a little hazy but Jeno knows that Mark’s lips touch his first. Doing something Jeno had never entertained and never let himself imagine. It’s tentative and feels weird, Jeno isn’t used to being kissed, isn’t used to another mouth on his. It feels good in a way– mostly because it’s Mark. It feels so nice; Mark’s chapped lips against his in some chast and scared attempt at affection. 

Jeno tries to kiss back greedily and blindly even though he doesn’t really know how to. Jeno has never done this before– with a man. With anyone with this much genuine want and desire. Jeno just wants to love and he feels sick with pleasure, anticipation, and excitement but not enough regret or concern. There’s no immediate, deep sinking feeling of regret, no instant consequence of something so dramatically forbidden, and Jeno really isn’t sure what to think. 

It doesn’t last long and they break apart abruptly when Donghyuck pounds on the door, whining about having to piss and Jeno isn’t sure how much time has actually passed. 

They don't look at each other. Mark runs a hand through his hair and pats his face like he’s trying to wake himself up, out of a dream or out of a nightmare– Jeno isn’t sure. “I’m drunker than I thought,” Mark murmurs, a hand ghosting over his own parted lips like he wasn’t in control of them. Mark won’t even look at Jeno.

“Me too,” Jeno says quietly, he can barely hear himself and he suddenly doesn’t feel drunk enough.

It starts as a mistake.

-

They don’t talk about it.

Jeno is sure Mark is trying to forget it and probably hopes that Jeno is trying to forget too. But it’s hard, it always has been, to just forget. 

They’re still the same as they always have been. Laughing and talking together, staying up late to do homework, and signing up to acolyte the same weeks for church. Mark still picks up Jeno from swim practice and Jeno still buys the lychee jellies from the grocery store because he knows Mark likes them, because he knows Mark. All he knows is Mark. 

The pool is quiet and the water is cold. It’s late at night, barely anyone is there, and Jeno swims until his legs hurt. After he swims enough laps that his arms begin to feel heavy, stinging with an uncomfortable numbness, Jeno lets himself sink further and further down towards the bottom. Nothing really matters when he’s like this, when he’s suspended and floating. He stays there for as long as possible before rushing back up to the surface to gasp for air. 

-

Mark picks Jeno up from practice on a Wednesday and Jeno is wet and tired, exhausted and annoyed, and his joints hurt already from the particularly hard workout. He gets in Mark’s car silently and Mark immediately turns down the radio to look at Jeno because he can just tell. He always understands. “You good?”

Jeno slouches in the passenger's seat, staring at the floorboards, “My coach took me out of all my events for the meet this weekend. Except the relays.”

Mark frowns like he’s genuinely upset for Jeno. “Oh damn, I’m sorry.” He reverses with a hand holding the head rest of the passenger's seat as he looks back. “Did he say why?”

“He said I was distracted.” And Jeno couldn’t really argue with that. He was distracted, distracted by all the most unfair things and it was affecting his form and splits. Jeno hates that other people could tell; that his consumption was so obvious. Jeno hates that he leaves nothing hidden and now he can’t even swim.

Mark sucks in a deep breath and looks at him with a frown, “Well, that sucks.”

“Yeah.” Jeno agrees vaguely. He’s just empty and upset. Swimming is a release and when it’s over he feels like he’s coming down from an awful, awful high. Jeno stares at the windshield, hating how Mark’s car smells like him, like the stale scent of his cologne.  

“You know, that I’m like– I’m here for you,” Mark says, taking a second to look at Jeno sincerely before quickly turning to look back to the road, teeth worrying his bottom lip.

Jeno smiles weakly, “I know.” He tries so hard to smile in a genuine and happy way. He stares at the small cross that hangs from the dashboard, swinging gently as Mark drives and he suddenly feels like crying.

-

Jeno feels guilty every time he touches himself. He has for a long time– but it’s worse now; his mind is uncontrolled and he can’t seem to care. Jeno cannot make himself care. 

Jeno wishes he could find some sense of restraint but he wants , he wants and yearns so badly. So sometimes— a lot of times, he lets himself think about Mark, about his waist, broad shoulders and sharp jaw and collar bones. Jeno lets himself think about a man , about the harsh lines of Mark’s body, wiry yet strong, his muscular thighs from highschool baseball and the obvious veins in his arms. 

Jeno thinks about how Mark’s hands are the exact same size as his own. And sometimes, only sometimes , he pretends his own hands are Mark’s; roaming his abdomen and gilding across his lips gently and tenderly. And then sometimes, Jeno touches himself, wet and needy, moaning with breathy whispers of Mark’s name on his tongue before quickly coming, shaking and riddled with guilt and plagued with admiration. 

Jeno knows that they’re both virgins. Mark because of the cross he wears across his neck and Jeno under the same guise. Jeno had kissed a girl in high school, on the stairwell at a church dance, chaste and unsure. She told Jeno he was bad at kissing but Jeno already knew that. 

He knows that Mark has gone further but he’s still inexperienced; fooling around in the backseat of a car with a girl freshman year before guilt consumed him and then a long series of failed dates after. 

Jeno tries to not think about Mark now as he palms his cock; fist encircling as he fucks in and out of it slowly and languidly. But Jeno inevitably and predictably fails and he resents how his mind always wanders back to him. Jeno wonders why it couldn’t be something, someone , more abstract. Why it cruelly had to be so precisely and entirely Mark. It was always Mark; it always circled back to him in an awful and invigorating way. 

Jeno thinks and grips his cock in his wet hand, still slow because he has time and he tries to think of anything else, to let his mind have some sense of relief. Jeno lets himself fall into a deep haze of impending pleasure until there’s a quiet knock at his door.

Jeno’s hand immediately stills and he exhales shakily, squeezing his eyes shut to wake himself up, like it was all a dream. There’s another knock and there’s Mark’s voice, soft and low, “Jeno?”

Jeno shakes, trying to steady his breathing but it doesn’t really work, “Yeah.” His voice sounds so obviously affected and guilty, wavering and uneven.  

“What’re you doing?” Mark’s voice is barely muffled by the comically thin wood of the door.

“What do you think?” Jeno snaps, he doesn’t mean to sound so abrasive but it sounds tense anyway. 

Mark doesn’t respond and the door opens slowly, barely even cracking it open, only a small sliver of yellow light from the hallway. 

Jeno’s breath hitches and he scrambles to cover himself and his body feels like it’s on fire. Jeno haphazardly yanks his boxers back up, still hard and heart beating rapidly and he doesn’t know why he let Mark come in and he really doesn’t know why Mark would want to come in. Nothing feels entirely real and Mark is obviously waiting for Jeno to tell him to stop. But Jeno doesn’t— it feels too sudden and dreamlike and Jeno tells himself and hopes it isn’t real. 

Jeno doesn’t say anything, he just can’t make himself tell Mark to stop because he deeply does not want Mark to stop. He wants Mark here with him, in bed, arms wrapped tightly and firmly around Jeno, he wants it all so badly.

When Jeno doesn’t protest, Mark opens the door wide enough for him to slip into Jeno’s room. 

“You said my name.” Mark says distantly , still standing in the doorway, almost looking like a ghost. His voice is hollow but he doesn’t seem upset or disgusted. 

Jeno feels his chest immediately constrict and contract and twist in mortifying vulnerability, in cruel transparency. He wonders how Mark could have heard him. 

Was he that loud? Was Mark listening? 

Jeno knows he should have been more careful and then quickly corrects himself subconsciously: Jeno shouldn’t have been doing it in the first place. He knows the walls of their apartment are ridiculously thin and now, Jeno can only apologize. 

He feels like he’s quickly wilting and withering under Mark’s gaze. Mark still hasn’t moved from the doorway and Jeno silently mourns everything he’s ever known. 

“I’m sorry. I— I’m really sorry.” Jeno says weakly and he pauses and can’t bring himself to actually say Mark’s name now, plagued by an intense mortifying sensation. 

“Why?” Mark asks simply in a whisper and Jeno doesn’t know what to say to that. Because he can’t tell Mark the truth, even if Mark has seemed to discover some part of it. 

It's in the dark and Jeno isn’t sure if he really wants to see Mark's face fully; the stubble along his jaw or the acne dotted across his forehead. Mark is still like a shadow, faceless and quiet but Jeno doesn’t say anything and the shadow moves as Mark walks closer. 

Mark walks to the side of Jeno’s bed, now so close to him. He looks down at Jeno with something on his face, but not something of disgust or judgment, but it’s something that Jeno doesn’t totally understand. All he can feel, all he can understand, is the consuming panic and the hotness of his body and the rapid beating of his heart. 

“Can I– can I try something?” Mark’s voice is shaking, quiet like it’s vulnerable and fragile and Jeno has never heard him sound like this. 

Mark crawls gently on his bed next to him, slowly like he’s still waiting for Jeno to tell him to stop. Jeno is only in a thin t-shirt and his boxers but Mark is unfazed. He stares at Jeno, so, so close . “You can say no.”

Jeno should say no, he should tell Mark to leave, he should be scrambling to preserve whatever of their friendship and himself that he can at this point. But Jeno is not interested in self preservation. “Yeah, yes .”

Jeno can see the moles that dot Mark’s face and neck and the slight parting of his full lips, the way his chest rises with every deep inhale. Mark slowly leans down and runs a hand tentatively across Jeno’s boxers, barely even touching him and Jeno’s breath hitches instantly.

Jeno is already worked up from the one ghosting touch and its promise of pleasure and his softening dick hardens again; ridiculously fast, tenting in his boxers and Mark presses gently, touches over his erection like he’s exploring something unknown. Jeno instantly withers and exhales shakily. It’s the smallest touch and it makes him feel everything. 

Mark’s hand slowly moves to almost grab Jeno’s dick through the thin material, just barely, and Jeno doesn’t dare look. He just stares at the sheets and lets himself feel. Mark doesn’t pull his underwear down or drip his hand past the waistband but it’s already enough. 

It’s embarrassingly enough. It doesn’t quite feel real, not at all. Jeno can’t quite process that it’s Mark , touching him, right next to him; warm thighs pressed against him, arm resting against Jeno’s abdomen. Jeno belatedly realizes he’s holding his breath like he forgot how to breathe. 

Mark’s hands press and move, brushing over his tip and the now wet spot in the front of his boxers and Jeno tries to forget that they’re the same hands that hold the Bible at Mass, as the priest read from it; gloved in pure white, precious and reverent, and now defiled. Now touching Jeno, holding Jeno. 

Jeno feels unworthy and neither of them say anything. 

He hasn’t looked at Mark yet because Jeno is afraid but he tries to be brave and brings his lips so close to Mark’s face to kiss him chastly. 

“I–” Mark tries to start and then stops. Instead of saying anything, Mark kisses him back like he could somehow have the same want Jeno has. Mark grabs and palms roughly at Jeno’s dick over the thin fabric like he’s newly invigorated. 

Mark pants against Jeno’s mouth, all sweet and soft sounds. He pulls away only to look at Jeno gently and his palm presses against his cock firmly and Jeno comes with a low whine and grunt in his boxers. 

Mark just silently holds him and pulls him roughly against chest like he knows what Jeno needs. 

All in the dark. 

-

The next morning Jeno wakes up to his alarm in his bed alone, like usual. Jeno feels vaguely gross and he immediately feels the dried cum on his boxers, evidence of himself and none of Mark.

Jeno quickly remembers that it’s Sunday and realizes he doesn’t have time to think about any of this, of his want, of Mark. Jeno realizes he needs a shower and he hopes Mark isn’t in the bathroom. Jeno hopes he’s not awake yet.

Mark is not in the bathroom and Mark only texts him after an hour to check if he’s ready. Mark is in his blazer and nice dress pants. Mark asks Jeno, with his low and rough voice, with sleep still in his eyes, how he slept as he drives them both to church. Again, Mark says nothing and Jeno expects nothing.

Jeno takes communion and the wine burns and scorches his throat. He feels like the ornate, opulent walls are confining and constricting and closing in on him, like they are somehow all knowing and omnipotent. Jeno feels like a traitor, like a fraud. Like something deeply out of place. But Mark is still right beside him like he always is, singing hymns, eyes squeezed shut while praying. 

Watching Mark, Jeno selfishly wants him all to himself. He doesn’t want to share. Jeno feels raging jealousy at some entity that he doesn’t understand. He doesn't understand how something could hold so much of Mark in limbo, in a trance. Jeno wishes he understood, Jeno wonders why he has to understand all of the wrong things. 

Jeno shuts his eyes as he’s thinking and it looks like a prayer. 

-

In the dark, it becomes some sort of twisted routine. 

“I’m stressed,” Mark begins to offer as an explanation, exonerating him from anything real like Jeno is an easy and handy solution. And Jeno is too willing to be a solution. 

Neither of them know what they’re doing, not really. And that makes it easier to rationalize somehow. Mark laughs easily about it and it always makes Jeno laugh too. 

Mark’s hands quickly start to gain more confidence when he holds Jeno’s cock, with more desperation and with more obvious interest in the way Jeno withers and the whimpers that escape past his lips. 

Mark is always beside or next to him, warm thighs always spread freely and touching him. He kisses Jeno with more confidence even if it’s still a little clumsy. Mark’s lips are firm and still soft, they feel encompassing like Jeno could get lost in it. 

Jeno learns that Mark really likes his muscles, running down his biceps and trailing the prominent veins with his fingers. He squeezes Jeno and kisses, noses, at his pale, exposed skin. Jeno can only allow himself to feel good, better than he has in maybe forever

Mark’s lips sometimes ghost over Jeno’s neck and chest as his hands run over the deep divots of his abdomen from hours of exercise, from swimming repetitive and continuous laps. “God,” Mark sighs out, looking up at Jeno. “You’re beautiful,” He says it like some objective, indisputable truth.

Jeno blinks with parted lips and Mark’s hand touches his cock. Jeno gasps quietly and ruts into the touch instinctively. He’s never heard that before, he’s never thought that before. Never thought that he could really hold beauty. 

Jeno feels so consumed and knows that he wants this forever, wants to feel like this forever, so surrounded by pleasure that the guilt momentarily isn’t there; temporary relief because he can only feel Mark next to him. 

Jeno feels safe and he never wants Mark to leave or take his hands off of him. Jeno aches for so much and he isn’t sure how or why this could ever be bad; feeling this good, weightless and consumed in such a pleasurable way. Jeno keeps thinking and thinking, hoping that he can find an answer, something to validate and approve, instead of the constant struggle against what is not supposed to be, supposed to exist. 

But it doesn’t work because Jeno does not feel bad. It is consuming but Jeno does not feel bad. Not in the throes of it, not with Mark’s hot breath and lips on him. Mark right next to him. His moles, lashes, cheekbones, and pretty big eyes and small smile. Mark’s boyish, manly somehow, with his unshaven stubble across his jaw. By existing Mark has done something terribly unfair to Jeno. It is everything he should not want—     

“Hey–” Mark says suddenly, pulling back and losing a weight and warmth Jeno had forgotten about. He draws him from his thoughts and Mark looks at him. They still don’t talk about it. Anything like this. They just do. And that has to be good enough. It is, usually. It just has to be. 

“It feels so good.” Jeno says obviously, now drawn from his overwhelming thoughts. 

“I know,” Mark whispers with a small laugh, like it’s a secret and they’re complicit accomplices. Like he’s comforting Jeno. Like they’re exploring uncharted territory together. Like they could maybe love each other. 

It would be so easy, Jeno thinks, it would be so beautiful and so nice.

“I–” Jeno starts to say something because he isn’t sure that he can do this, it’s not fair to him, to Mark

Because Jeno isn’t stressed , he isn’t searching for an easy solution, he is entirely consumed . He and Mark are not the same and Jeno begins to tell him everything. Jeno wants this to last forever in the greediest way possible, wants to fall asleep and wake up to Mark, lean against him, laugh and smile at him, lay in his lap, let him run his fingers through Jeno’s hair. Heads knocking against each other, maybe it could really be love. 

Jeno could never be sure. Jeno could never ask. But he could tell. Jeno could tell Mark everything and let it out and maybe he would feel better– become better. Maybe he wouldn’t be plagued by this thing inside of him that feels so good. Jeno needs to tell Mark. 

“I know,” Mark interrupts immediately with a weak smile, hand running down Jeno’s stomach, inching towards his cock to distract him and Jeno stops and doesn’t say anything else. 

Jeno does not think that Mark knows. 

-

Mark comes to Jeno’s swim meet the next week and he swims all his events this time. He swims the 1000m and climbs out of the pool exhausted yet filled with the overwhelming adrenaline of competing and winning . Jeno places first because he always performs well in the long endurance based events. Mark embraces him in excitement that Jeno tries really hard to share. 

But at night he dreams that he’s back in the water; falling and unable to get out, treading water that he can’t control. 

-

The first time the lights aren’t off Jeno is trembling. 

He’s not sure how it got to this but it did and now it’s in the light, during the day right before Jeno leaves for his Physics class. 

They’ve never kissed like this until now, now everything is changing. In the solace of their shitty apartment, Mark kisses Jeno like they’re lovers, tenderly and unashamedly and like they have infinite time. 

Jeno, invigorated, moves to Mark’s neck to kiss and suck but Mark's breath hitches and his hand snakes around to Jeno’s back, grabbing the firm muscles to pull him up. “Dude,” He says with a breathless laugh, “I have to acolyte tomorrow. Don't mark me up.”

“You wear a collar though,” Jeno mutters, thumbing the hot skin of Mark’s neck gently. Jeno wants to burn the way it feels in his memory forever, firm and warm skin and the way he can feel Mark swallow thickly against his fingertips. Because the touch and presence of Mark feels so good, Jeno doesn’t want to be lonely anymore. 

“Yeah, but guys will see when we’re getting dressed.” Mark looks at him pointedly and expectantly, waiting for Jeno to understand, “Think about it.”

Jeno does think. He thinks about the other guys spotting dark, purplish spots along Mark’s neck and slapping his back, asking him about the girl, what it was like, and teasing him until his ears go a bright red. 

It gives Jeno a weird feeling that he’s desperate to act on. But he is as desperate as he is realistic so he pulls back and sits on his heels, watching Mark like he’s waiting for whatever he could say next. 

“I didn’t mean you couldn't kiss me,” he murmurs, hand coming to scratch the back of his ear gently. “Just, you know, be careful,” Mark smiles like he’s reassuring him and Jeno nods. He’s good at being careful. It feels like careful is all he is these days. 

So Jeno is careful. He kisses Mark’s lips and jaw but leaves no proof, no marks. Jeno only sighs against his mouth, laughing as Mark topples over him in bed. Staring at him with wide eyes. 

Jeno loves him so much and he’s not sure what to do about it. About the tender way Mark touches him, about how much he wants it, how ashamed he should be but Jeno can’t find it in himself, no matter how hard he searches. There is only want and it is overpowering. Jeno wants Mark like this, in bed, together and alone, away from everything else. In the mornings and at nights. Jeno is very in love but he knows that he has to be careful. 

Mark watches Jeno’s hand move across his skin so gently and settles across. “Oh,” Mark sighs like he's relieved, not saying much else, just watching, placated. Jeno kisses him and does not leave any evidence of himself.  

-

Jeno knew somewhere, ignored yet at the forefront of his mind, it would eventually collide. Jeno figures it might be his fault, his fault that he couldn’t be content with simply these few encounters, of just taking what he was given. 

But it’s consuming, because somehow Mark forgets and Jeno ruminates, falls into consumption that’s deep and intense. So much that Jeno cannot help but want more and more.

Jeno knows that it is his fault. For wanting more. For being greedy. For wanting something he should not have. Jeno knows he shouldn’t have asked, he should have continued in his weak facade of placated understanding, like there wasn’t this want and ache still festering, growing, blooming, and dying all simultaneously inside of him.

Jeno can’t take what he’s given and be okay, and let it be enough. There’s something unsatisfied, burning deep unresolved aching inside of him.  

But Mark just mouths at his neck greedy, tired from school and finals, and needy. He looks at Jeno with big eyes and Jeno doesn’t say no to, that Jeno can’t resist and it should be okay, it’s been okay for months. 

This terrible, hidden and greedy thing. 

It’s abrupt and awful and awkward when Jeno does ask. When Mark is beside him in bed. 

“What are we doing,” Jeno whispers weakly and Mark pulls away to look at him for a long time. 

“I don’t know,” Mark says simply and then won’t look at him and Jeno feels sick. Until he does with a small, reassuring smile. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Don’t let feelings and shit get in the way of something good.”

“It’s just– what we’re doing,” Jeno starts, worrying over his bottom lip, “It’s just, it’s not–” Jeno stops himself before inevitably continuing, “You don’t get it.”

Mark looks at him. Something in Jeno’s chest tightens cruelly because he knows that Mark does not understand. “What’d you mean?”

Jeno doesn’t say anything and tries to stay in the silence as long as possible because he desperately does not want his one sided fantasy does not want to end. 

Mark continues, suddenly watching him carefully and Jeno sighs. He’s thought about it a lot because there were never right words that he could figure out. “I just don’t understand what you– you want from me. Or why, why you even want me.” Jeno tries clumsily and he finishes quietly. He's not totally sure how to ask Mark, or how to talk to him. How to navigate whatever dissonance Mark seems to have. If Mark even thinks he’s gay, if he even likes Jeno or Jeno was just a body, some replacement that doesn’t count, that doesn’t even enter the scope of a lover and relationship. Jeno just doesn’t know. 

Mark stares, hard and judgmental. “Jeno, I– I don’t get you . I thought we were friends, we were so similar but now it's just– it’s different now.” 

Jeno shifts and stares at Mark’s plaid duvet until his eyes burn and he blinks. They are different and Jeno has tried, has tried for a very long time. But it was Mark, Mark who looked at him first, who looked at his lips. Who kissed him first, who held his hand and mouthed at his jaw. 

Jeno can’t forget it, it’s like his mind is consumed by it in blind anger and fleeting rage and then acceptance and then sadness, this overwhelming crippling debilitating feeling of hopelessness, bitterness. Confusion. And so much love. Everything, he feels everything. He feels sick and empty and vulnerable and selfishly exposed. And he resents so much. 

“Why did you kiss me, Mark?” He asks weakly, choked and not having the courage to look him in his eyes, “Why’d you have to do that?” 

“I didn't do it,” Jeno tries to sound strong, voice instead hoarse and sad, sounding very pathetically weak to himself. “And I was going to get over it. I was getting over it. But now—” He balls his fists. “I’m here. Doing– I don't even– I don't know.” 

Mark bites his lip like he’s angry and he stands up suddenly, pushing off of the bed. Because Mark is defensive. Jeno has seen him like this but never directed at him and he immediately blames himself.  

“Well what do you want us to be, Jeno? I don’t get it. You’re living in this alternate reality where we can just do whatever the fuck we want.” Mark pats down his hair like he’s resisting the urge to tug on the strands. 

“Anything but this, you won’t even acknowledge or talk about it,” Jeno argues and Mark makes a face like he just doesn’t understand and Jeno feels sick. 

“Maybe because I don’t know, I dunno know either. I’m just so fucking confused.” Mark looks at him, “Because of you.”

Jeno’s chest aches deeply and he feels wounded. He feels so much immediate seeping, deep guilt. That it’s because of him

“I’m sorry,” Jeno murmurs, pleading because he hates what he feels like he’s done to Mark. But Mark kissed him first, Mark came into his room. Remembering that is the only thing that keeps Jeno grounded. 

Mark looks at him like he suddenly feels bad and squeezes his eyes shut tightly, hands gesturing faintly and vaguely like he’s unable to articulate what he thinks. “Don’t be sorry. I just– I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t know. I like being with you too much.” He offers some sort of weak smile as a consolation but it doesn’t mean much. 

Jeno frowns, trying to avoid the defeated tears that burn in his eyes from overwhelming. 

Mark sighs, but not in an annoyed way like minutes before. “C’mere,” he murmurs, moving to hold Jeno. “It’s okay.” 

Jeno tries to jerk away from Mark’s hold but he gives in too easily and he probably should hate himself for it. Jeno should probably leave and get far away from Mark. But Jeno stays in the aftermath of the collision because it is all he knows.  

So Jeno cries. He didn’t cry when he broke his wrist in high school or when the stress from school and athletics really reached a peak last year. Jeno hates crying; he hates feeling weak and vulnerable but he cries now. He cries for what he feels like he lost but yet never had. 

“I didn’t– I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Mark says, his voice sounds hoarse. He pets at Jeno’s hair, splayed across his own chest and Jeno melts into his side into his offender and comforter all at once because it’s Mark. Mark could do anything and Jeno would want to be curled into his side. 

Jeno looks up at him and Mark wipes a tear away, careful like he always is. Jeno tries to curl in on himself and ignore Mark– do the impossible, but Jeno is tired and falls asleep easily and selfishly, wrongly relishing being in Mark’s hold. 

-

Jeno is underwater and he’s drowning, silent sobs rip through his throat and his lungs fill with water. Jeno feels the entire world closing in on him desperately clawing for air for any relief for something to save in. The water isn’t familiar like it usually is, it’s spiteful and cruel and Jeno wakes up sweaty and disgusting.

Jeno belatedly realizes he’s crying again. He's so scared that he doesn’t fall back asleep for a long time and Mark is not beside him. 

-

Jeno wakes up in the morning alone and Mark is not at their apartment. And it feels like his world is over, it’s all ending rapidly and cruelly. 

Jeno fills in for Jisung and acolytes today when Jisung texts him with the explanation of a horrible hangover, promising to take Jeno’s next time slot. 

Jeno’s gloved hands mask everything with a white, pure, and pristine facade. Clean, unstained, and not marked by Mark or by his sins. Nothing feels real and the rose and blue tinted light from the colored glass hurts Jeno’s head like he’s the one with the hangover. 

The communion bowl Jeno carries feels suddenly so heavy in his hands and Jeno is scared he might drop it.

-

Jeno doesn’t sleep that much anymore. 

He swims, rides the bus back to his apartment, eats shitty protein bars instead of meals, and does his homework at the library until it closes in the early hours of the morning, coming back to their apartment when Mark is already asleep in his room. 

But when Jeno comes home tonight, the lights are on and Mark is in the living room, laptop open, typing away with furrowed brows. He looks up when Jeno opens the door. “Hey,” he says simply, fixing his skewed glasses.

Jeno throws up a hand in vague recognition and doesn’t say anything. He grabs a bar from the kitchen and tries to hurry to his room. They haven’t spoken in weeks and Jeno isn’t sure what could have changed now– Jeno isn’t sure he wants to talk. 

It might be best for Jeno to just not– not be around Mark, to move on. To try and be better and pure, even if it’s hard for him. Jeno feels like he has already done enough damage. Jeno is the one who has a problem, Jeno is the one who wants what he should not have, Jeno should keep to himself– 

“Jeno,” Mark starts suddenly and Jeno’s chest constricts. 

“Mark, please .” He mutters, still avoiding eye contact, already at his bedroom door. 

“I just wanna talk, Jeno,” Mark says, standing up. Jeno turns to look at him. Mark looks fine, Mark looks like how he always has, unaffected and beautiful. 

“No,” Jeno mutters, opening and then immediately closing and locking his door. He hears Mark walk up to stand on the opposite side and sigh. “Can we talk like this then?”

Jeno doesn’t respond. 

“Okay, well, I’m going to talk anyway,” Mark decides, voice muffled from the door. 

“What’s wrong with us,” Mark asks, met with silence because Jeno has nothing to say.  “I’m sorry,” he continues, “That didn’t— that doesn’t change anything. We’re just, you know, having fun. I don’t–“

“I’m sorry I made you upset,” Mark finishes. He sounds genuine, like he’s sorry he hurt Jeno but it’s more complicated than he could know. “It’s not– it’s not bad .”

Jeno stares at the wood of the door. The barrier between them makes him feel a little silly but braver, safer

“No it does, I–” Jeno starts. He inhales sharply, staring at the door now, Jeno doesn’t see a reason to lie. “I’m sorry. I can’t lie, Mark. I think I love you. I know I love you.” His voice is hoarse and so vulnerable sounds like it could break at any moment, so incredibly unlike him. “So much, so much that sometimes it hurts me, Mark, how much I love you. How much I see you and– I wish I understood it. And I wish I could stop because I would.” 

Mark is silent on the other side of the door but Jeno still continues. “And I don’t know what to do but I’m going to– I’m going to figure it out, how to stop and I will . I just need time away,” Jeno says very carefully, “for right now.”

It’s silent for a long time and Jeno thinks that Mark might have walked away– until he finally speaks. Jeno feels on fire, feels so rawly exposed. 

“But what if, what if I don’t want you to stop,” Mark whispers. 

“No, don't– don’t say that.” Jeno pleads, “don’t say that just to make me feel better.”

“I’m not, I’m trying too. I'm just, I'm a little scared Jeno– I don't know what it means.” Mark has always been strong, Mark has never been scared. Mark has always been sure of himself. 

“I kissed you and touched you because I- I like the way it feels and you . I like being around you. It’s not me, you’re right, and it’s scary. And I shouldn’t have ignored it and made you feel like you were in the wrong. I’m kind of, I dunno. Scared . And I mess up too. Even if I really like you, I still hurt you. And I’m sorry.” Mark’s voice cracks when he apologizes.  

“Just, please .” Mark ends weakly. Jeno stares at his door like he can see through the wood, like he was looking straight into Mark’s eyes. Jeno opens the door carefully and Mark looks scared, dazed.

Mark touches him first, like he always does. He walks into Jeno’s room and kisses him so tenderly, so gentle in a way he never has before. “You, Jeno, oh .” Jeno’s hand shakes. 

“Let me please, please. I- I can’t say it, please let me show you.” Mark says and what could Jeno say except yes. 

“Okay,” Jeno smiles weakly. 

Mark moves slowly and looks at Jeno intently, like he’s scared Jeno will leave, will change his mind. But he doesn’t, he leans closer, lets Mark tug him into Mark’s side. 

Mark cups Jeno’s jaw, hand thumbing gently over his cheek, eyes glassy and mouth parted, like he’s almost in awe.  His other hand trails his shaved stomach, dipping into the waistband of Jeno’s sweatpants, tugging them down and stroking Jeno’s cock, moving his wrist in a way that has Jeno’s hand flying to grab the sheets next to him.

Jeno isn’t afraid to look down now, to look at Mark’s hand on his dick, already hard and already so painfully yearning. 

Jeno inhales sharply and watches as Mark silently moves down to kneel near the bed and take his cock slowly into his little mouth, slowly like Mark always kisses him. His pries his mouth open, carefully taking almost all of Jeno’s cock. 

Jeno feels full, content, and satiated, watching Mark’s pretty lips stretched so perfectly around his cock; something they’ve never dared to do before, but now it feels so right.

Mark’s hand comes to find Jeno’s wrist and Jeno instinctively intertwines his hand with Mark’s. His fingertips tap against Mark’s knuckles subconsciously. Its’ intimate and warm and encompassing in an overwhelming, terrifying way. In a way Jeno is still not used to. In a way Jeno wants to feel for forever

Mark bobs up and down on his cock, clumsily and slowly, careful and nervous— but so, so good. Mark’s hand runs up and down his base and Jeno fights the urge to buck his hips into Mark’s mouth. Mark sucks and lips in a determined and invigorated way, like he’s proving something to Jeno, proving whatever they have is real. And Jeno believes him. 

Jeno exhales shakily, trying to ground himself in a moment he can barely believe and understand, but a moment he has longed for for a long time.

Mark pulls back to suck intently on his tip and Jeno groans, palming his own chest. He’s never had pleasure like this, he’s never has intimacy like this. “I – oh,” he breathes out, almost incoherent and already so overwhelmed by Mark’s wet, warm mouth. 

Mark plants a hand firmly on Jeno’s thigh to balance himself and inhales through his nose before sliding his mouth down over almost all of Jeno’s cock. He immediately tenses and only a few seconds later Jeno feels himself abruptly coming. He momentarily tries to pull away, unsure of coming in Mark's mouth but Mark stays put, still sucking and swallowing carefully. He looks up at Jeno for the first time in a while and Jeno isn’t sure that he has ever felt like this, he isn’t sure if he will ever feel like this again.

Mark’s watery eyes stare up at him as he pulls off of his cock with a lewd noise. 

“Beautiful,” Mark says, voice hoarse, the first thing he’s said in minutes. “Jeno you’re so –” Mark doesn’t finish whatever he was going to say, choking back his words.  He stands up to crawl onto the bed next to Jeno, cock obviously tenting his own pants. 

Jeno's chest aches, he loves so much. It makes him sick with desire and a rush of something that he’s never felt before. 

Mark is so close, all his moles, his nose, lips, and warm dazed and serious eyes, he holds Jeno's face, hand finding Jeno’s, sweaty and warm and Jeno feels like he’s on fire.  “It’s okay, I love you, I— can love you. I want to.” Mark squeezes his eyes shut tightly like it’s difficult to articulate. 

Jeno blinks, feels Mark's dick press against him. Mark is so close and Jeno never wants him to leave. “I’m trying— I’m going to try, Jeno, I–"

“I know,” Jeno says, staring at Mark’s arm wrapped around his waist, fingers ghosting over his abdomen. He tugs Mark’s pants down and only has to wrap his hand around Mark’s leaking cock, running up and down, thumbing over the head carefully. 

“Oh god,” Mark chokes out, already tensing, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“It’s okay,” Jeno smiles, “you can come for me.”

Mark looks at him and smiles, obviously so affected by Jeno and it makes something beautiful and satisfying bloom inside of him. 

Mark comes quickly, over his pants that he mutters he’ll have to wash. Jeno breathes heavily, worried still, desperately wanting the euphoria to never end. 

“Here,” Mark mutters, scooting behind Jeno and pulling him gently into his chest. It’s warm and encompassing. It’s safe and Jeno wants it to never end. 

“Mark,” he whispers, “can you just stay this time, please .” Jeno twists to look into Mark’s eyes, watching them widen and then soften; Mark’s soft and sweet eyes, the same ones Jeno has loved for a long, long time. 

“Of course,” Mark whispers hoarsely and pulls him impossibly closer. Jeno thinks Mark might be shaking. 

In the water, Jeno swims easily and reaches the surface. He is not treading and he floats easily. Jeno’s lungs are not heavy and he is not weighed down. Jeno feels free. 

Notes:

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