Mark loves his job. He does. He really, really does.
At least, he does most of the time.
Mark loves his job when he’s on stage, with a sea of green shining back at him, thousands of people screaming his name. He loves making music, he loves giving his everything when they’re recording and filming music videos. He loves seeing the comments their fans leave, with their green hearts and their exclamation points and their excitement.
But, it’s a lot, sometimes. Almost too much, if Mark was being honest. It’s a lot, but it’s all he’s ever known, and part of him hopes it’s all he knows for a while. Except on the days when everything feels like it’s piling up and up and up, until he’s drowning in it. Until it’s all he can think about.
Thankfully, he has people around him that understand. People that wouldn’ t judge him for having moments where he was less-than-perfect. Yuta was one of one of his most trusted confidants, the man was the easiest to talk to about almost any problem, and he had the least expectations set on Mark. Mark looks up to him, yes, but he doesn’t feel like he has to impress him, like he sometimes feels with Johnny or Taeyong.
It scares him, sometimes. How open he’s become with these people, this family he’s found himself a part of. These friends he knows would never judge him for being vulnerable, but Mark still finds it hard to let go of the expectations he has on himself. Even so, he relaxes around them more and more often, letting little things slip through the cracks as he forgets about the pressure constantly on him.
He forgets, and that is what terrifies him more than anything.
And yet, still, Mark struggles to open up. Struggles to admit when everything starts to become a little too much, struggles to find himself when he’s buried under hours of Mark Lee: SM’s Golden Boy, and not just Mark.
He doesn’t really know what it is that makes it so different. Mark can write entire pages on a singular subject, but maybe it’s the knowledge that only a select few will ever see those, if anyone at all. His entire life, Mark has never considered himself a talker, someone that can speak and keep people engaged. That’s not Mark. That’s Johnny. That’s Donghyuck.
Mark just isn’t like them. Isn’t charming and witty and interesting like they are. Mark just isn’t.
He doesn’t even know why opening up scares him, it shouldn’t. Not when it’s a group of people that he considers to be family, a group of people that Mark, realistically, knows would never hurt him.
He can’t explain it, so he doesn’t try. Rather, Mark pushes the thoughts to the side and tries not to think about them.
Finally. A chance to breathe. A chance for Mark to sit down, collect his thoughts, not have to worry about anything outside of just existing—
“Maaaaaaaaaaaaark-hyuuuung.”
Or not.
“Maaaaark,” Donghyuck whines, shaking Mark’s shoulders with enough force to make the rapper’s brain bounce around in his head, “Hyuuung, hey. Heyyyyyy. Why aren’t you paying attention to me?”
“What, Hyuck?” Mark removes the younger’s hands from his shoulders, wincing at the rattle that has yet to settle against his temples, “What is it?”
Huffing, Donghyuck leans forward with his hands on his hips, “I’ve asked you like three times now if you wanted to do something this weekend, and each time you’ve ignored me like a jerk—”
Donghyuck hadn’t asked him, at least as far as Mark can recall, but he only sighs and waits for the rant to continue.
“—And this is the last chance I’m giving you. Seriously! Last chance.”
“Hyuck-ah, this is my first free weekend in, like, a long-ass time.”
It was his first free day in general since the SuperM comeback was announced, but Mark doesn’t bother to include that.
“Yeah,” Donghyuck huffs, “And that’s exactly why we should do something. You’re not busy, for once, and I want to go to this arcade that just opened. Renjun won’t go because he’s a sore loser, and Chenle promised his mom he’d bring Jisung to spend the weekend at his place, which leaves me with Jaemin and Jeno and I will not third wheel them. I refuse. So you’re going to come.”
On one hand, going out with some of the other Dream members sounds really nice. Jaemin, when they weren’t broadcasting, was usually calm and comfortable to be around, and Jeno was always a warm presence. Donghyuck was really the only force that Mark wasn’t fully sure he could handle.
And then, on the other hand, Mark wants to take this weekend to catch up on some much needed rest. Maybe convince Yuta to lay with him for a bit to do the back-tickle thing that always puts him to sleep (not that it would take much convincing, it was Yuta, after all), or something.
God. Even thinking that far ahead was taking a lot out of him already.
“Donghyuck,” Mark sighs, “Can’t you ask someone else to go? Like—Like Jungwoo? I bet Jungwoo would love to go.”
“Yeah, but Jungwoo isn’t you, hyung,” Donghyuck petulantly argues back, “I wanna spend time with you, but you’re always doing things.”
Donghyuck is right, Mark was always busy, and Hyuck understands. At least some of it. He understands what it feels like to be pulled between two groups that needed him, between Dream and 127, and not feeling whole enough to fully give both the effort they demanded from him. Mark has been out of Dream for enough time to get himself regulated again, but that break was over.
Now he has 127, and Dream again, and SuperM, and NCT 2020, and Mark could feel himself buckling under the commitments that seem to never end.
“I really, really want to, Hyuck,” Mark starts, watching as Donghyuck’s mouth opens—probably to say something along the lines of ‘so, do it then’—before continuing, “But I just kinda want to sleep the whole weekend.”
‘And I have to find time to fit this anxiety attack in that’s been brewing for almost a month now before I lose my prime stress-induced-breakdown chance.’ Mark thinks airily, nearly snorting as himself at how accurate that seemed to be.
Having to pencil ‘anxiety-attack time’ into his schedule because he was so fucking busy. Living the dream. Truly.
“Hyung,” Donghyuck mutters, “Don’t joke about something like that…”
Mark grimaces, realizing he must have said that out loud, “Sorry, Hyuck-ah. I wasn’t really thinking.”
Jungwoo’s hiatus was still a touchy topic, for all of them except the man-himself, it seems. Any topics like that, really, stay untouched by the company until it reaches a point of impacting their ability to perform. Yangyang’s eating disorder doesn’t matter. Taeyong’s lack of rest doesn’t matter. Yuta’s depression, Hendery’s ADHD, Jaemin’s back pain. None of it matters until they can no longer put on a smile for the cameras and push through it.
They all have problems. Real problems. Jisung’s social anxiety and Jaehyun’s insomnia. Those are real problems.
Mark doesn’t have real problems. He’s just stressed. He should be able to handle it.
“Did you mean it?”
“Mean what?”
Donghyuck grumbles, “About the thing this weekend.”
“Oh,” Mark sheepishly laughs, “Don’t worry, Hyuck. It was just a joke.”
He hoped Donghyuck would just let it drop, and Mark could continue on with his plans of wrapping himself up in blankets and holding his face against the pillow until he passes out, but he knows that would be too much to ask for.
“I don’t think it was.”
“Hyuck—Please,” Mark sighs, “Really. It’s nothing.”
But Donghyuck isn’t someone to argue with, especially not once he’s managed to convince himself of something. “No, Mark. I’m not gonna let it go until you’re honest with me. Have you talked to Taeyongie-hyung about this?”
“There’s nothing to talk about—”
“Mark,” Donghyuck pushes harder, and Mark knows, without a doubt, that he’s not going to win this argument, “You need to talk to someone about this before it becomes a problem.”
“That’s the thing!” Mark snaps back, that rubber band that usually holds all of that panic, all of that fear in place snaps with him, and he can feel the exact moment that leads to the beginning of the end. “It’s not a problem. It’s not—It’s not going to become a problem. There is no problem. Being stressed isn’t a problem, okay? You get it. I know you do. It’s fine. It’s fine. I’m fine.”
He’s fine.
Mark is fine. Mark is capable. Mark just needs to focus on doing his job and everything will continue to be fine.
Donghyuck reaches for him—slowly, like he’s afraid of startling Mark away—and Mark allows himself to be pulled forward. He all but collapses against Donghyuck’s shoulder, burying his face into the younger’s neck with a shuddering inhale.
“I don’t think you are.”
Mark feels himself cracking.
Like all of the stress, all of the anxiety, all of the pressure he’s been struggling to keep up with is all pushing its way out. In the most violent, most physical way it can.
Donghyuck doesn’t say anything when he starts crying, and for that, Mark is grateful. He only holds Mark a little bit tighter, one hand stroking through his hair, and the other wrapped securely around the rapper’s waist as tears cut lines into the makeup left over on his face. He hadn’t even taken the chance to wash it off after the schedule ended. There hadn’t been any time. There never seems to be enough time.
The scattered sobs pick up until Mark can’t do anything but gasp against Donghyuck’s neck, his fingers tangled in the other boy’s sweater tightening when he can’t catch his breath. “I—I shouldn’t b-be complaining—right?” Mark chokes out between cries, “I w-wanted this—I wanted—this.”
Donghyuck hums, before cautiously starting, “It’s okay to be overwhelmed, you know? You…You do a lot for this company. If it’s too much, you should say no. If you need a break, take a break.”
“It’s not—”
“It is that easy, though. If you need time off, take time off. You’re spreading yourself too thin across all of these groups. How do you expect to give it your all each time? When you’re constantly seconds from this happening?”
Mark wants to argue back, but the words never come and he gives into the pressure weighing down on his chest, letting himself melt against Donghyuck’s body.
Donghyuck is someone that Mark has known for years. Someone that Mark has seen go through so many phases—incredible changes, and incredible struggles—and grow as a person in an immeasurable number of ways. But, no matter what, Mark knows one thing for certain: Donghyuck is the longest running constant in his life.
There were very few times in his life that he hasn’t been able to reliably predict Donghyuck’s actions, or his thoughts, even though Mark hasn’t quite figured out why. Donghyuck is predictably unpredictable, but there are always underlying patterns in his actions, ones that Mark has come to find familiar. Comfortable.
He doesn’t want to argue with Donghyuck, not when he knows the younger boy is probably right. Mark loves his job, but it’s clear that he’s just not cut out for it like he thought he was. He’s always wanted just one thing in his life, and that was to make the people around him happy. He wanted them to be proud of him, sure, but he’s only ever sought out their smiles, not their praise.
Really, the praise almost feels overwhelming, which is a ridiculous thing to feel overwhelmed by, since it meant he was doing something good. Something right.
“You’re doing so much,” Donghyuck assures, holding Mark closer, “You do so much for all of us, you know? Even the hyungs. You—You’re always so willing to listen to Yuta, because you know you’re the only one he really opens up to about anything. You handle Chenle and Jisung’s fighting when it gets out of hand, even me and Injunnie. We’re constantly bickering, but you’re always there to mediate and step in. You were the one that Jaehyun first confided in when his insomnia started up again, even though he tried to hide it from the rest of us.”
Mark doesn’t answer, doesn’t really know how, when Donghyuck hadn’t left anything open for him to answer. Although, he thinks that was Donghyuck’s intent all along. Whatever it was, Mark can’t help but be thankful for it. He likes hearing that he’s useful. He likes being useful, and hearing Donghyuck say that…means a lot.
“I’m tired, Hyuckie,” Mark mumbles. He isn’t sure if he means tonight, or in general, but neither would be a lie. Mark is exhausted, and he doesn’t think any amount of sleep would be enough to fix this. “I’m just…tired.”
Donghyuck hums as he reaches behind Mark to shift the covers on his bed, pulling them back just enough to allow them to wiggle under, and Mark finally begins to feel that restless energy dissipate. He waits with bated breath, letting the beating of Donghyuck’s heart pull him into whatever sense of security he can manage to catch between his trembling fingers.
“Does this happen a lot?” Donghyuck softly asks after a few minutes of silence, Mark tries not to let the younger boy notice how his entire body seems to tense at the question, but he doesn’t think he succeeded, if Donghyuck’s own strained sigh is anything to go by. “I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but I really, really think you should.”
He doesn’t want to think about that, not right now, not when his chest still feels like it’s seconds from collapsing back on itself. Mark doesn’t want to think about anything past this point, this moment, with Donghyuck’s arms around him keeping him from shaking apart. Mark just doesn’t want to think anymore.
Saying as much would be a waste, he has a feeling Donghyuck already has that figured out, so he doesn’t. Mark stays quiet and pulls himself closer to Donghyuck, wishing to keep this blanket of serenity with him for as long as he possibly can.
It doesn’t last. Of course, it doesn’t last. Why would it? How could it? When Mark had little to no time to himself, leaving every muscle in his body feeling tense, like a loaded spring ready to go off. The only upside of his SuperM schedules was how much they kept him away from Donghyuck’s searching gaze and less-than-subtle hinting that Mark needed to speak up, but that only meant he was in the leader’s line of sight for even longer. Meaning, Mark has to be careful, has to watch what he says, what he does, how he holds himself around the others. He’s the youngest in SuperM, but they don’t treat him as such, and for that, Mark is grateful.
Today, though, he can’t help but wish Donghyuck was with him. Mark’s hands are numb this morning. Numb and painful, and that’s usually the first sign of a bad day.
SuperM schedule. Mark needs to be up and ready in 20 minutes. Maybe less, now that he’s been sitting on his bed just looking at his hands. Turning them over and over as he examines the pink, jagged lines that run across his palms, the shock of blue-ish veins that crawl along the backs, the wiry tension in his tendons.
He balls his hands into fists. The skin over his knuckles turning white with the stretch. Too tight. His skin feels too tight. Constricting. Something feels wrong. Everything feels wrong. He reaches for his phone. Late. He’s going to be late.
Mark feels anxious this morning. He squeezes the phone in between his fingers, repeating the motion several times, until the tension reaches its way up his own, across his shoulders. Clench. Release. Clench. Release. Clench.
Release.
He drops the phone, watching as it slips from his fingers and hits the floor with a dull thud. He picks it up. Stands up. He has to get dressed, but the numbness in his fingers doesn’t go away. He doesn’t know how to make it go away, he’s never figured it out. It stays there, hiding under his skin, like a thin layer of ice over his blood. Mark knows, when he feels this bad immediately after waking up, there’s only one thing that it leads to.
There’s a stretch of time between standing up and being ushered into one of the company cars that Mark feels like he’s watching through a screen. He sees his hands reaching for things, door handles, his wallet, but he doesn’t feel any cool metal or smooth leather against his skin. He doesn’t feel much of anything, really, and that alone is enough to make him consider trying to skip this schedule altogether, but the thought is brief and pushed away as soon as it comes. Mark can’t do that, he’s the most coherent English speaker in SuperM, and while he knows the others would be fine on their own, he also knows that they all feel more confident with a native speaker beside them.
Not to mention the fans. The last thing Mark wants to do is disappoint them.
SM isn’t all that different from most big companies, but the one area Mark thinks no one can hold a candle to them in is how much they enjoy overworking their idols. Contrary to what fans may think of him, Mark does have friends outside of the group. Friends in other groups, other companies, that he can swap grievances with and share what little information he’s legally allowed to disclose—and SM seems to be the only company that’s main problem is too many schedules.
This interview is just one of many to Mark, and he wishes he could say it means something to him but he can’t, it doesn’t. It’s just another person asking them what it’s like to be the ‘Avengers of K-Pop,’ or ‘If they think BTS’ fame has helped mainstream the concept of K-Pop in the Western market?’
They’re all questions Mark has heard numerous times before, ones that he’s sick of hearing, but that only makes it easier to answer without having to think too strenuously on what he should say. It’s easy to rely on PR training when they’re all scheduled questions.
They’re called for a break, Mark doesn’t think too hard about Lucas’ hand as it moves from his thigh to his shoulder, gently leading him up and away from the obnoxiously red couch they had been seated on.
“Is that Haechan?” Lucas pats him on the shoulder, pointing somewhere off to the side of the room. It takes Mark longer than he’d like to admit to lift his head and find just where Lucas is pointing, and, just like Lucas said, Donghyuck waves his hand once in their direction before being distracted by Ten running to his side. “I wonder why he’s here, oh—I think I see Renjun!”
Without another thought, Lucas races off in search of Renjun, leaving Mark behind with his fuzzy head and numb hands. He looks back down at them, squeezing them again, and again, and again, and again, and—
“Mark,” Donghyuck stops him, slipping his fingers between Mark’s, “Johnny-hyung decided to swing by, I followed. You look like shit.”
Mark snorts. Donghyuck doesn’t look nearly as amused.
“Is it bad today?”
For whatever reason, the question takes Mark aback. Donghyuck, however unnecessarily, clarifies a moment later that he’s asking about his ‘anxiety,’ like it’s a real thing. Like it’s not just all in Mark’s head.
Never had that been an option. It was never that, only ‘You’re extra jittery today,’ or ‘stop picking at your hands, it makes them look ugly.’ Mark had always been a nervous kid, it was just in his nature. Restless energy that he never knew what to do with, energy he only learned how to calm when he began dancing, and writing, and performing. His mother assumed he would grow out of it, but Mark has been waiting years for that to come true.
But the older he gets, the longer he’s had to learn to deal with it, and Mark had been doing so well for so long. There isn’t any reason for it to come rushing back. Not when he’s expected to lead Dream once again. Not when he’s expected to be Mark Lee: SM’s Golden Boy.
Donghyuck’s face appears in his vision, crowding into Mark’s space and causing him to stumble back several unsteady steps. His vision blacks out for a second. Lightheaded, he feels lightheaded. Moving too fast. Sweat ices down his back, freezing over his skin.
The feeling passes almost as quickly as it appeared, leaving no trace beyond the sheen of sweat covering his skin and the blurriness he has to blink from his eyes. Donghyuck stares back at him with genuine worry on his face, something he very rarely showed. He stares at him for several long seconds, eyebrows knitted together and a frown tugging the corners of his mouth down.
“You’re really pale,” Donghyuck points out, “Are you okay? You don’t look okay,” he remarks, before Mark even has half a mind to answer.
It comes out on reflex, “I’m fine,” but they both can clearly see it’s a lie. Donghyuck regards him with something closer to skepticism than anything else.
“You don’t look very fine.”
Mark snorts, wiping the sweat from his forehead off with his sleeve, ignoring the makeup that comes off with it. He’ll deal with that later. “Well, I feel fine, so stop pestering me.” He pushes past Donghyuck, heading to the backroom to do something about his shirt and pretending like he can’t feel Donghyuck’s stare on his back as he goes.
He changes his shirt, the interview resumes, Donghyuck’s eyes never leave him. It makes him feel both comforted and tense; he feels like a rubber band, pulled too tight and ready to snap. Mark makes it through, unable to remember anything from the latter half, not a single question sticks in his memory. He stumbles his way back to their dressing room, trying to remember something, anything, from the interview, but he can’t. He can’t remember anything. Why can’t he remember anything? He can’t remember what it was he was promoting, there were so many schedules. Was it a Dream comeback? Mark doesn’t remember the interview, but he remembers Donghyuck. Golden eyes and golden skin, warm and gentle. Mark remembers Donghyuck.
Donghyuck. He needs to find Donghyuck.
Donghyuck will be honest with him. He’ll tell Mark if he fucked up or not, he’ll tell Mark why he’s there. Donghyuck will know. Donghyuck can help.
“Mark?”
“Hyuck,” he breathes out, voice coming out strained from the tightness in his chest. He must turn around too fast, because the room continues to spin long after he stops. Mark tries to hold himself still, but the spinning doesn’t stop.
His legs give out, knees hitting the ground hard enough to send a dull ache shooting up his hips, the sound echoing around in his head.
“You okay?” Donghyuck asks, crouching to Mark’s level to block him from the view of the staff.
“No.”
He chokes on air like he’s suffocating. He is. He might as well be. Everything is too bright and too dark and blurry and he can’t breathe. He can’t. Breathe.
He’s vaguely aware of Donghyuck’s hands pulling his own away from his wrist, stopping the clawing that Mark wasn’t even aware he had started.
He was—He’s been doing so well. He was doing fine, he was doing fine so why had that rubber band snapped like it had mid show? He was fine, he was doing fine fine fine so why was he panicking like this?
“Mark, you’re alright,” Donghyuck mutters, “The recording went fine. You were fine.”
Fine. He was fine. The recording was fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. He was fine. Nothing was happening.
But—That’s not—He wasn’t. He barely talked, and he’s the leader that should be his job that’s why he was the leader that’s why is there that’s what his use is and if he doesn’t have that use then he doesn’t—He shouldn’t—
“Mark, Minhyung-ah,” Donghyuck tries again, more firmly this time, “I promise you, nothing bad happened. You just seemed a little spaced out, that’s all.” He leaves out how Mark had been unconsciously clinging to Lucas' hand most of the interview, mainly because he knows drawing attention to it would make Mark force himself away now, even after the fact. “And you don’t have to be the leader now, we’re all big boys, Renjun has been doing a lot to step up while you were gone. Jeno, too. We can help you shoulder that burden.”
This isn’t good, Mark reacting this way in front of so many staff members, but it wasn't the worst-case scenario, either. They managed to finish the interview out just fine, and Taeyong and Baekhyun were doing their part in clearing out the room while Donghyuck stayed with Mark.
Donghyuck squeezes his hands, “Just breathe with me, right? In—” Squeeze. “Out—” Release.
In and out. In and out. In and—
And—
“Mark, c’mon. Just focus on me, okay?”
Donghyuck’s voice stays calm, and sure, and Mark hangs on to every syllable. He tries to focus on the younger boy, he does, but it’s growing increasingly harder to hear it over the ringing in his ears and the sound of his own choking breaths.
There’s a point where the threshold hits its max, where the fear can’t be chased away because Mark’s too terrified to run from it, unable to do anything but latch onto the nearest thing he can deem safe.
And usually, that’s Donghyuck.
So Donghyuck wraps his lanky frame in his arms when Mark lurches forward, burying his face in the singer’s shoulder.
There’s a point. Where Mark tries to hold his ground and fight it off, instead of running, and Donghyuck does his best to stand with him but sometimes it’s easier just not to fight it.
This is that point.
“Just let it happen, hyung. I’m here, I’ve got you,” Donghyuck tries to gently coax Mark into letting the attack run its course, knowing he was too far past the point of preventing it. Not when his breaths shorten ever further, speeding up and increasing in volume as Donghyuck’s own heart thuds away in his chest.
Mark trembles in his arms, gasping and unable to even sob fully with how fast everything hit.
“Hy-Hyuck, Hyu-ck. I—breathe. Can’t. I c-ca-n’t. Hyuck—”
“Shhh, Minhyung-ah,” Donghyuck’s arms loosen enough to make Mark scramble to latch on, in fear of him leaving but he doesn’t. He never does. “You’re gonna be okay, it’s gonna pass in a few minutes. Just like it always does, okay? You’re okay—“
He’s cut off by Mark’s usual thrashing, but rather than trying to force himself from Donghyuck’s arms, he’s trying to yank the turtleneck off and away from him because it’s suffocating and his skin feels like it’s on fire.
He feels like he’s going to throw up, he always feels like he’s going to throw up. Like the panic and paranoia and fear can just expel itself from his body in the most violent manner they can.
Which is another thing the turtleneck worsens, the material clings too thickly across his chest and around his neck, causing the nauseous feeling to swell with every breath he can’t take and he wants it off.
Donghyuck helps, and soon enough the sweater is on the other side of the room, leaving Mark in just the thin, black tank top he had on underneath.
There’s no brief moment of Donghyuck wanting to worry over his too-thin frame showing in such a tight shirt, not when Mark starts shivering. Forcing his already labored breaths to strain even further between his clenched teeth. But the cool air ultimately does help. It gives Mark something to focus on, a reason for Donghyuck to shift closer behind him and gently pull Mark back into his chest, rubbing small circles on his stomach with his thumb and Mark breathes.
It’s heavy, and shaky, but it’s the first full breath he’s been able to take in what feels like a lifetime.
“There’s my Minhyung-ah,” Donghyuck breathes out, Mark breathes in, “I've got you.”
Mark finds the hand that isn’t still tracing circles over his shirt and latches onto it, holding Hyuck close to him.
“I’m not gonna let you go.”
Good, Mark thinks. He doesn’t want Donghyuck to let go, not when he was the only constant in Mark’s hectic, chaotic life.
Things calm down. Not by much, but enough that Mark feels like he can breathe again. Taeyong had been the driving force to getting him a week off, after their SuperM schedules came to a close, and Mark had only agreed under the pretense that Taeyong took some time off as well.
There’s no reason for Mark to wake up with that awful, tingly feeling in his fingers; the feeling that always made it obvious that it wasn’t going to be a good day. Nothing is even happening. Nothing is happening. Nothing is happening.
Mark sighs, flexing his fingers as he tries to rid himself of the static that runs through his veins. He’s going to be fine, he reminds himself, Nothing is happening.
It’s just another day off. He’s going to get up, take a shower, and then do nothing. Maybe he’ll catch up on a show, or write some lyrics on his phone—
No. No. Taeyong made him promise that he wouldn’t do anything work related on this week off, and Mark couldn’t say no, because a week off for him meant Taeyong has to do the same. Except Taeyong has other things to do, things that are actually important, and not watching some stupid show on Netflix because it’s the only thing mindless enough to keep him from thinking about how he should be practicing. Or writing. Or doing literally anything.
Mark doesn’t know how to relax. Which is really, really pathetic, if he thinks about it hard enough.
Hot shower. That usually makes people relax, right? It’s easy to go through the motions of gathering clothes up, purposely picking another set of pajamas, in the hopes that it will keep him from impulsively toeing on his shoes and heading to the company building, before grabbing his phone with static-ridden fingers and heading out of his room.
It takes a few attempts to slide his finger along the correct points to unlock his phone, and Mark feels himself let out a shaky breath when he finally gets it. It’s okay. Nothing is happening. There’s no reason to feel like this. Nothing is happening. Nothing is happening. Nothing is happening.
His chest feels too tight, and Mark tries to ignore the way his tongue feels heavy in his mouth, but it’s not working. Nothing is happening. Nothing is happening. He’s being ridiculous. Nothing is happening. Nothing is happening. Nothing is happening.
So why does Mark feel like the walls are closing in on him?
The bathroom door clicks shut. The sound echoes around the otherwise silent room, the only sound being the low humming of the light above him. It’s bright. Too bright. Too loud. His breath hitches.
His fingers move before his brain has time to catch up, chest moving in short, panicked heaves as he presses the name at the top of his contact history. The dial-tone starts, the ringing making Mark’s skin crawl. He can’t breathe.
“Mark?”
At the sound of his name, he forces himself to suck in a breath, hating the way it rattles around in his chest as his mouth opens and closes. Useless.
“Hey, are you okay? Mark?”
“N-Nothing is happening. Nothing—Nothing is—” Nothing is happening. Nothing is happening. Nothing is happening. “Nothing is—Nothing is happening. Nothing—”
“Hey, hey. Mark? Can you tell me where you are?”
He thinks he manages to get the work ‘bathroom’ out, but he’s breathing so fast that he nearly bites his tongue. The phone slips out of his hand. Static shooting up his arms. He flexes his fingers. Nothing is happening. Nothing is happening. Breathe. Breathe. He can’t. Nothing is happening. He felt like he was dying. Breathe.
“Mark? Mark, hey. I’m here now. I’m right here.”
Donghyuck’s voice is quiet, but firm, just loud enough for Mark to hear over his own gasping as he desperately tries to pull air into his lungs. Donghyuck is never quiet, unless something is wrong, but that wasn’t the case. Nothing is wrong, because nothing is happening. Mark is being dramatic.
“Can I touch you?”
No sooner than Mark manages to nod, does Donghyuck plaster himself completely against Mark’s back, pressing him against the solid, cool plaster of the bathroom wall. Firm enough that Mark can feel the expanse of Donghyuck’s chest against his back, feel the way it rises and falls with each breath he takes. It gives him something to hold on to. Donghyuck hums in his hair.
Nothing is happening. Nothing is happening. Nothing is happening. He’s fine. Nothing is happening.
“Breathe, Mark,” Donghyuck gently reminds him, taking an over-exaggerated inhale following the command.
Mark tries. He does. Forces himself to take a breath, however ragged it may be, scratching his lungs and his throat until he lets it go with Donghyuck’s. It hurts, but it gives him something to focus on, so he tries again. Take another breath. The walls don’t quite feel like they’re trying to crush him.
“That’s it,” Donghyuck says, “You’re doing so well.” Then he’s moving back, and Mark’s hand flails behind him, trying to keep Donghyuck from leaving, “Hey, hey. It’s okay, you’re okay. I’m not going anywhere. Keep breathing.”
Mark does as he’s told, trying to focus on the steady rhythm of Donghyuck’s chest, or the lilting cadence of his words. Nothing is happening. He’s breathing. Nothing is happening. Slowly, he can feel the pressure in his chest begin to lighten up, until he’s able to inhale without nearly choking on it. He blinks. Breathes. Flexes his fingers. Donghyuck still hasn’t moved.
Donghyuck. The longest running constant in Mark’s life.
He turns around, Donghyuck doesn’t move, and Mark finds then pressed chest to chest, faces uncomfortably close to one another. Mark watches as Donghyuck’s eyes dart all over his face; right eye, lips, the mole on his cheek, left eye, before finally flicking to some spot on the wall just above his head.
“Hyuck?”
They’re pressed so close together that he can feel Donghyuck’s answering hum, making Mark’s mouth feel dry in such a different way than before. Donghyuck continues to avoid his gaze, his eyes never lingering in the same spot for more than a few seconds.
It doesn’t take long for Mark to start recognizing a pattern, just like he always can with Donghyuck. No matter how seemingly random Donghyuck’s actions may seem, Mark will always be able to find a pattern.
Mark doesn’t say anything else, and it finally makes Donghyuck meet his gaze as he prompts him again with another hum. Their eyes stay locked for a few moments, and Mark is about to take another breath when he finds himself pressed back against the wall.
With Donghyuck’s lips against his own.
It’s barely more than a second, but it’s enough time for Mark’s eyes to shoot open in shock as Donghyuck pulls back, apologies tumbling out past his lips at a mile a minute.
“I—I shouldn’t have done that. That was—I wasn’t thinking. It was a distraction? Ignore that it happened, please—”
“Hyuck,” Mark laughs, pressing the palm of his hand against Donghyuck’s mouth, “It’s fine. I…I wouldn’t mind if you continued, you know, distracting me?”
Donghyuck blinks at him. Eyes wondering over Mark’s face. Linger on the mole for a few seconds before returning to his lips. Mark smiles.
He breathes.