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perfeggso · 5 years ago

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till the sun’s seeing through my eyes (yumark)

ace me out

Yuta and Mark are next-door neighbors who grew up together, joined at the hip until Yuta went off to college. Due to their four-year age gap, Mark's freshman year at the same school marks the halfway point of an unprecedented amount of time apart. Yuta is sure he can handle it, until Mark's arrival home for spring break makes him wonder if the fondness he has for his friend might be blooming quite literally into something stronger. It's up to him to handle the consequences.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Masterlist

Characters: Yuta x Mark + NCT ensemble, other SM (and non-SM (?)) idols tbd

Genres: heavy angst, fluff, Hanahaki!AU, small town!AU, slight Witchcraft/Magic!AU, College!AU

Warnings: blood and gore, mentions of death, disease, vomiting, college-typical alcohol use, swearing

Rating: T

Length: 5.8k

“Sunny,” Yuta reckoned, was the word most often used to describe both him and Mark – if in profoundly different ways. Yuta’s favorite season was summer, so it followed that he should be like the summer sun: bright, intense, and all-consuming. Mark, on the other hand, favored fall, and sometimes reminded Yuta of early autumn sunshine: soft in its glow, yet surprisingly bold.

It wasn’t summer when Yuta started feeling shortness of breath for the first time; it wasn’t fall, either. It was in early March, during the part of spring where no one can agree if the world still feels like winter or if it’s beginning to thaw. The thaw was usually something Yuta savored; the slow sensation of sunshine gingerly gracing his skin for the first time in months. Sure, the winter sun was a welcome reprieve from the town’s usual snow and rain-induced gloom, but even when it came out, Yuta had a hard time feeling it. It was the difference between being touched by bare hands and being touched through gloves. Early March was when that transition usually occurred, along with the first appearances of crocuses and daffodils in Yuta’s garden, and he had always relished it; relished the lead-up to his favorite season and how that seemed to elongate it. Since last year though, Yuta wasn’t sure what he thought about spring anymore – if he could still trust it. It was almost exactly a year ago after all – last March – that Yukhei had nearly let himself die of hanahaki.

No, the first time Yuta felt an unusual shortness of breath was after soccer practice on March 6th, the day Mark Lee came home for spring break. The sun was peeking through the clouds and glittering off the distant coast as Yuta kicked the ball around with Kun, who’d met up with him in the park off Main Street once Yuta’d finished running the local junior high soccer team through some drills. Yuta had played intramurally while studying anthropology at the college a half hour away, as well as participating in several dance troops, and since he was only a year out of school, he still considered himself a relatively fit person, even if he was known to gorge on the Seo family’s matcha and azuki bean muffins until he could barely walk. That’s why he found it so odd when he ran for the ball, which Kun had kicked particularly hard and far, and felt like the air was being yanked from his lungs like a chair being pulled from under him.

He kicked it back, his body flailing wildly, and collected himself, hands on his knees and upper body heaving, bent over. Maybe he was developing asthma, he thought. He’d heard of that happening to people nearly at random and with no history of the ailment. He would have to make himself something for that.

“You okay?” called Kun, stopping the ball quickly and jogging over to his friend.

“Yeah I’m good,” Yuta responded, peering up at Kun sideways and flashing him his most blinding grin. “I just felt a little weird for a sec.”

Yuta gazed past Kun, noticing a figure moving on the edge of the field. Was that –

“Mark?” he yelled, heaving one more time before allowing himself to return to standing. Kun wheeled around, looking elated, and sure enough, the figure raised both arms in greeting, breaking into a run.

“I’m baaaaack!” said Mark. Yuta thought he looked older, even, than he had over his winter break, wearing jeans and a brown herringbone bomber jacket, black hair parting down the middle to fall over a pair of round wire glasses. He looked like a city boy for some reason, not a conservation major from the countryside. Yuta practically tackled Mark in a hug, trying to absorb his friend’s smaller frame as Kun looked on in amusement. A grey cloud floated overhead, obscuring the tentative sun and making Yuta shiver. When he pulled away, he indulged in a look of performative hurt, unzipping his pocket and pulling his phone out just to confirm what he already suspected; sure enough, there were no notifications.

“How dare you, Mark Lee!” he accused, pointing his finger in Mark’s face and leaning forward so Mark felt the need to lean back in response. “How could you not tell me you were coming home today?”

Mark broke into a body-racking fit of giggles. “I’m not allowed to give you a nice surprise?”

Yuta huffed in lieu of an answer and pointed at Kun. “Was he involved?”

“Mark texted me earlier and asked if I could find you and detain you for him,” Kun confirmed, and Yuta glared.

“Whatever. Markie, you caught me so unprepared! I hope you know I won’t forgive you.” But that was a lie. Yuta had already forgiven Mark the ambush, if it required forgiving at all, and Mark knew this because the moment he’d schooled his laughing (which was no small feat) he sighed through a tight-lipped smile, eyes so big under his glasses and full of familiar warmth.

“It’s good to see you too, man,” Mark said, adding, “and Kun also. Thanks for being my co-conspirator.”

Now that he’d processed, Yuta realized how giddy he was. His best friend was back for a few weeks and they could do whatever they wanted; make spring sweet like it used to be. He shuffled a bit on his feet as his enthusiasm boiled over, pushing thoughts of asthma out. He slung an arm over Mark’s neck and started walking towards the rest of town while Kun went to fetch the ball like the responsible person he’d always been.

“Ugh, why can’t you just graduate already?” Yuta whined to Mark. “I mean we’ve already gone through this once when I was gone! It hasn’t even been a year yet and I’m already sick of you being away!”

Mark chuckled. “Thanks?” he said. “But you can always come visit me, dude, like you already have…”

Yuta shook his head, petulant. There were moments he thanked his lucky stars that his friends put up with his shit, and this was one of them. “Not the same,” he explained. “Don’t like sharing.”

Mark spluttered.

“Anyway!” Yuta diverted when Kun rejoined them, “Do you want to come over to mine this evening so we can catch up? Kun, you’re invited too of course along with the others, who I can shoot a text too although it might be a LITTLE LAST MINUTE, you know? That could have been avoided, but alas.” Yuta cleared his throat as his friends laughed indulgently. “But yeah, I’m in the barn these days, so we can have a little shindig. What do you say?”

“That sounds awesome!” said Mark. “Just gotta check with my parents, but I don’t think that’ll be an issue.”

Yuta rolled his eyes and scoffed in mock disdain. “Underclassmen…”

They emerged from the park onto Main Street and Kun excused himself to check on the coffeeshop, promising to be at Yuta’s whenever they decided the gathering would be. Yuta turned to Mark.

“I have a couple errands I have to run in town before I go home, and then I need to get ready, so while I’m doing that you can go and make sure you have permission to be out after dark.”

Mark laughed, flustered. That was one of the plethora of reasons he tended to laugh; the others ranging from fear to disgust to joy. “Alright, Yuta,” he agreed. “I’ll see you tonight. Can’t wait to be back with the gang; well – minus Johnny, I guess. Anyway, can I get another hug?”

Yuta grabbed Mark before the request had been fully uttered, rocking him back and forth and groaning in a way he thought only appropriate considering the tightness of his squeezing.

“Whatever you want, Markie,” Yuta teased before letting his friend go. “See you tonight.” And with that Mark was backing away down the street and towards their neighborhood, giving Yuta a dorky little salute when he’d gone far enough to warrant turning around. Yuta shuddered as he watched Mark leave, the cool tinge of early spring evening setting in against his exposed arms. It was already 4:30 and the previous sunshine was diffusing into a blue tint over everything in sight. The shade reminded Yuta of the hour in summer when fireflies usually made their first appearances. If only it were warmer.

On his way down Main, Yuta stopped into the herbalist’s before the shop closed, finding Kunhang manning it, himself home for break. A little bell jingled as the door opened and shut and Kunhang lifted his head from where it had been settled lazily against the metal counter.

“Yuutaaa,” he called, “what do you need?”

“Hey Kunhang,” he greeted, “do you guys have any black seed? I’m all out.”

Kunhang reached under his desk and rummaged around, emerging with an empty jar about the size of a single serving of yogurt. “Sure thing,” he said, turning around and tracing his eyes and pointer finger over labels upon labels until he found the one for the product he was looking for. “Here we go. What’s it for?”

Yuta shrugged, fishing for his wallet. “Just a little chest tightness. Think I exercised too much today. I’m an old man, you know.”

Kunhang turned back around, jar of black granules in hand, and placed it on a small metal scale. “You’re the furthest thing from an old man I can think of, but alright.” He said, then named the price. Yuta laughed at Kunhang’s comment and exchanged a few bills for his purchase, which Kunhang had packed for him in a lavender-colored paper bag folded over at the top.

“You close at five?” Yuta asked, loitering a few feet from the door. Kunhang nodded. “Perfect. You know Mark’s back?”

“I heard,” said Kunhang, settling his elbows back on the counter’s copper top. “But I haven’t had time to see him yet. I don’t think he knows I work here now.”

“Well, I’m trying to have a get-together tonight at my place to celebrate. I’ll send out details soon I think.”

Kunhang looked pleasantly surprised. “Oh! That’s awesome!” he said. “I’ll definitely be there. Is it, like – what kind of get-together?”

Yuta chuckled and Kunhang’s expression hinted at embarrassment. College kids…

“It’ll be chill, but I’m cool with BYOB if you have something in mind. I have a few herbal liqueurs I’ve been wanting a reason to break out, anyway.”

“Sweet,” said Kunhang. “See you tonight, I guess.”

Yuta let himself out with a chiming of the bell. “I hope so!”

Next stop was Taeyong’s flower shop. Yuta steadied himself before crossing the street, breath hitching again strangely at his trachea. He cleared his throat, trying to fight the mild jolt of terror it gave him not knowing what was wrong. It was as if when he drew air into his lungs, a small fraction of it transformed into something else that he couldn’t breathe. It was…strange; there was no other way of describing it. He pitched forward a bit and forced himself to take a full breath to calm his nerves. He’d been conditioned by his soccer coaches his whole life not to catch his breath in this position, but now that he was actually struggling, he found it was the only effective strategy. Once he felt a bit better, he crossed the street and walked into the Lee family flower shop.

“Evening, good sir,” he said jovially upon entry. Taeyong seemed to be in the process of tallying up the day’s total from the till.

“Yuta!” he said, looking from under his bangs. “What a surprise. You need something or just stopping in to say hi?”

“Both,” Yuta answered, calm normalcy settling back into his brain as if he’d crushed it up and taken it in a little pill. “I’m getting some flowers in Mark’s honor. Have you seen him yet?”

“Yeah,” Taeyong said, setting down a handful of bills and rocking against the counter in front of him, “he stopped by earlier today. Didn’t get to talk long though. He warned me not to text you anything about it.” Taeyong smirked.

Who else’d seen Mark before Yuta had? He pushed his petulant thoughts aside. “I’m having a little impromptu party in the loft tonight if you could be bothered. Just to celebrate being reunited as a mostly group, you know – now that all the young’uns are back from break.”

Taeyong nodded. “Sounds perfect. Just tell me the details and I’ll be there.”

“Great. In the meantime,” Yuta continued, “I’d like to acquire a bouquet to decorate; make it homier, I guess. Also, I want it to be something Mark would like.”

Taeyong pursed his lips in thought and hummed. “What about bluebell?” he asked. “They just came into season and Mark likes blue.”

“Sounds good,” Yuta agreed as Taeyong cut a square of paper, scissors gliding with a satisfying crisp sound, folded it into a cone, and began arranging the bauble-like periwinkle blossoms inside it.

“Anything else you want in there?” asked Taeyong. Yuta hadn’t come with a plan, so he found himself pondering his options uselessly. That is, until a golden bundle of baby sunflowers caught his eye.

“Oh!” he said, pointing in their direction. “Maybe a few of those; since I like them and because Mark brought the sunnier weather with him today.”

Taeyong smiled softly, plucking three of the blooms and situated them amongst the bluebell in the least awkward arrangement possible considering their vast difference in size.

Yuta nodded his approval. “Looks good,” he remarked. “By the way, where did you get them? It’s not really the season...”

“The sunflowers?” Taeyong asked, and Yuta nodded again. Taeyong leaned over the counter and put a flattened hand on one side of his mouth like he had a particularly juicy secret. Yuta leaned in too. “I don’t know if you’ve heard but they have this very exciting new technology called a greenhouse. It’s still part of a classified experiment, but you know, I figured I could trust you…” Taeyong giggled at Yuta’s expense and at his own jest.

“Alright, whatever,” Yuta grumbled, reaching again for his wallet. “stupid question.”

“What are you doing?” Taeyong shot at him.

“Paying you?” Yuta responded.

“No, you’re not. Friend discount; on the house.”

“ Discount isn’t supposed to mean free,” Yuta protested.

Taeyong gave a proud look as he forced the flowers on Yuta. “I am the house, therefore I get to decide what to put on it. That’s the final word.”

Yuta tried to argue again but lost due to Taeyong’s hard-headed generosity.

Taeyong gestured to Yuta’s bag of seeds as he was preparing to leave. “That for Mark too?” he asked.

“No, this is for me,” replied Yuta. “Just out of some herbs. Also, the flowers aren’t only for Mark. You’ll all get to enjoy them!”

Taeyong’s eyes rolled up into his head for a moment, contrasting the sweetness of his face. “Okay, okay, fair enough. I’ll see you later tonight, then. I can’t wait!”

When Yuta was out the door, he transferred his baggie so it was pinned between his elbow and side, giving him a hand to manipulate his phone. There was a text bubble on the screen from Mark confirming he could come over any time after 6:30. Yuta grinned, sending off a quick message in their friend group chat requesting the pleasure of everyone’s presence at his home at 7:45.

Yuta’s family lived in a craftsman farmhouse with a compact cluster of woods in the backyard and a garden out front. The Nakamotos were not farmers, though, so the rest of the land which had once come with the house they sold in part and gave up in part to be used as communal land for the town. This meant that Yuta grew up with a slew of gardeners, hikers, picnickers, and campers hanging around his home, and his friends credited this with his sociability.

The house’s old barn had been converted into storage space and a study for Yuta’s father, but once he’d graduated from college and returned home, the upper loft area was turned over to Yuta so he could enjoy more privacy from his parents and younger sister. It was really nice of them to let him move in there while he decided what to do with himself. He remembered transferring his belongings to the barn like he was moving into his dorm freshman year all over again.

Yuta and Mark hadn’t met in school, since they were four grades apart. Instead, they met because they lived next door to each other; their families’ properties separated only by a short hawthorn hedge. Once when they were in elementary and preschool respectively, they became convinced there were dinosaur bones entombed in the plant’s roots and went to work hacking at them with plastic toy shovels until they had unearthed a series of interestingly-shaped rocks, or as they had put it to their horrified parents, “triceratops horns.”

Yuta still had those rocks on a silver saucer he kept on his dresser to display random natural objects he’d collected over the years, and the memory flashed through him at the sight of them when he walked into his room that day. He placed his bouquet in a flouted cut crystal vase which he set in the sitting area on the far end of his loft, then ran a hot shower, figuring the steam would do some good for both his chilled nerves and constricted lungs.

When he exited the shower, he rummaged through his herb cabinet, pulling out some honey, turmeric, ginger, and ginseng. He placed the herbs into his quartz mortar along with a small spoonful of the black seed he’d bought from Kunhang, then crushed it all up with his pestle. He dumped the resulting paste into a mug, added some honey so that it all resembled liquified amber, and doused the mixture in hot water from his portable kettle. Before drinking it, he thought up a short prayer that the infusion might permanently sooth whatever inflammation was bothering his airways. He figured the strange discomfort wasn’t anything serious, but you could never be too careful.

Yuta sipped the pungent concoction and scrolled through his phone. To his delight, most people were responding positively. Everyone besides Chenle and Taeil (who happened to be home visiting) was available, and when Yuta offered to reschedule, both of them said they could just have another gathering later and it would be for the better – Yuta’s loft was going to be a tough fit for all of them as it was. In a way it made him feel better that Johnny couldn’t be there. That was the trouble with large friend groups: finding a time when everyone was free and motivated was as difficult as finding a spell Yuta’s mother hadn’t practiced.

Yuta hooked his phone up to his speaker and played some music while he got dressed, swapping his black bathrobe for jeans, a white t-shirt, and the letterman cardigan that’d been purchased ironically with the rest of his contemporary dance troupe in college, but quickly turned into one of his favorite items of clothing. Yuta peeked at his clock. An hour and a half and he’d be dancing around his room with his friends, pleasantly buzzed and listening to all the hijinks Mark had undoubtedly gotten himself into his freshman spring.

***

Yuta might have been a diviner, he thought stupidly, he had been that accurate in predicting how the night would go. Of course, it wasn’t hard to anticipate an outcome he’d had a hand in orchestrating, but he excused his jumbled thoughts as they could be easily chalked up to the multiple Campari drinks he’d made himself over the course of the night – or, at least, that he’d convinced Doyoung to make for him. He was in the sitting area of his room, dancing with Mark and trying not to disrupt any of his furniture in the cramped space.

“Mark Lee,” he said, setting his glass on the coffee table so he could gesture more freely, “you mean to tell me you haven’t been up to anything of note since winter break?”

“I’m telling you man, I haven’t,” replied Mark, bouncing his way into the side of Yuta’s couch and pulling a startled face in response. A fit of tipsy giggles poured from Yuta, causing Mark to practically heave laughter.

“Okay, anyway,” continued Mark before anything else could throw him off. “It’s been midterms and stuff, so I’ve been really busy. That’s about all I can handle if I’m still gonna try to keep the radio slot Johnny left to me and I promised him I would! Some people sleep, you know.”

Yuta scoffed. “I sleep,” he said, reaching towards the table to take a swig of the herbal red liquid in his glass. “Anyway, point taken.”

“You really saw me at my wildest point, Yuta,” Mark said, sipping from his cider, “I’ve calmed down since senior spring. I was nervous about college and I let that get to me whenever I came to visit you. Now I’m adjusted; I’m a new man.”

Yuta did a little spin and found that it made him lightheaded. He chose to ignore that observation. “What have you done with the Markie I knew?” he joked, pouting. “It’s alright, I guess I just bring out the devil in you and you’ve gone soft now that I’m not around as much.”

Mark spluttered. “Yeah, dude, definitely. It’s all that dark magic and shit – total bad influence.”

Yuta rolled his eyes, nearly sending a knee into his table since he couldn’t see his legs for a moment. “Oh, shut up, that ‘dark magic’ stopped you from needing crutches after you turned your ankle playing drunk badminton of all things! Imagine explaining that to your parents. You should be thanking me.”

Mark took a performative bow, extending a leg and outstretching his arms as if he were a 17th century gentleman.

“Thank you, your majesty,” he said. “Although I seem to remember thanking you, like, a lot at the time.”

Yuta placed a hand over his chest. “That’s of little importance, Markie. Don’t you know a despot always needs his ego stroked?”

Mark looked at Yuta blankly. “A what?”

Yuta stopped dancing to stare in dramatic disappointment. “You’re kidding, right?”

Before Mark could answer (and Yuta knew, of course, that Mark had been dead serious), they were interrupted by the ringing of metal tapping against glass. Yuta turned around to find Donghyuck teetering on his bed, surrounded by Yuta’s other guests. He had a glass of something in one hand and a copper candle holder in the other, clearing his throat.

“Is this a toast?” yelled Yukhei.

“No,” Donghyuck replied, “this is a complaint. Yuta Nakamoto: I have a personal issue with you that needs redress.”

Yuta scoffed as all his friends snickered in his direction. “Alright, Hyuck, do tell.”

“I couldn't help noticing that Yukhei got back a week ago and you never threw him a party. Same goes for Kunhang!" The supposedly offended parties just stood below Donghyuck, apparently surprised by their friend's little interruption. Jaemin and Jeno stood next to them, grinning with their arms tangled around each other by the edge of the bed. Yuta could never see the two of them together without a near violent glee overcoming him at the thought that everything had worked out. “And! And, you can't even be bothered to tune into a single one of my Twitch streams! What's up with that? You’re obviously playing favorites!”

“Hey,” Yuta began in his defense, “I’m your friend, not your teacher. I’m allowed to have favorites. Get your own best friend.”

“Oh, so he admits it!”

“He’s just jealous you’ve been hogging Mark all night, Yuta,” Doyoung interjected, and everyone laughed save Donghyuck, who wheeled around to glare at the source of the interruption. He cleared his throat.

“Anyway,” Donghyuck continued, “In all seriousness, the reason everyone here agreed to attend this highly disrespectful event is because we love you, Mark, and we’re so happy you’re home. If your being away has taught me anything, it’s that I actually do miss your dumb face and accidentally genius sense of humor, but it’s also made me appreciate those things even more when we’re together. Don’t let Yuta keep you all to himself for the next two weeks because then I might have to challenge him to a duel, and we all know that wouldn’t end well for him.” Everyone tittered at that except Yuta, who just crossed his arms and tried to look dispassionate.

“Well, I should be concluding, but I think if anyone else has some thoughts for Mark – or for any of the college kids for that matter since they didn't get their own parties – you should express them now.”

The group gave Donghyuck a round of applause and he took a bow, wobbling dangerously as he jumped back to the cedar wood floor.

Next it was Taeyong’s turn. He stood where he was by Doyoung’s side rather than climb on the bed, clutching a cup in both hands and teasing Mark good-naturedly until he was a mortified mess against Yuta’s shoulder.

Kun went next, joking that he’d hired Jisung as his temporary delivery boy, so if Mark wanted to make any money over break, he’d need to scramble and get his shit together. He concluded by telling him not to let Yukhei talk him into too many keg-stands when they’re visiting each other. Mark shook his head like a madman, waving his hands wildly in front of him as if trying to dispossess his parents of a bad impression.

Jaehyun did get up on the bed, declaring that Mark is only in college once and should be allowed to make as many bad decisions as he wants, Kun . Yuta found himself wondering unwelcomely exactly what kind of Bad Decisions Mark was making without him around. As Jaehyun moved on to reminiscing about childhood days of cow-tipping, Yuta was suddenly seized by another bout of breathlessness. It hit him like the slap of cold water in a polar plunge and made him feel as though every bit of tissue in his body was encased in plaster. He tried to breath through it, but it only got more uncomfortable the harder he focused on the mechanics of his breathing. Sicheng had draped himself on his side over the bed, preparing to speak no doubt, but Yuta realized guiltily he would need to miss it. The coughing was starting in earnest.

Mark noticed. He leaned in towards Yuta, eyes wide in genuine concern.

“You okay, man?”

Yuta nodded, covering his mouth with his fist and holding up one finger to indicate he’d return in a moment. Then, he took off to the bathroom, the eyes of the group following him in discrete curiosity until Mark assured them all he thought Yuta was fine.

They probably just think I drank too much , he reasoned as he heaved over the sink. He felt like he had something stuck in his chest that needed to be hacked up, but nothing arrived no matter how much he coughed. After a few minutes of this, he stuck his head under the faucet and drank down as much water as he could manage, feeling whatever was stuck inside him being doused back down. His breathing shallowed, but at least he didn’t have a violent need to cough anymore. Suddenly, a terrifying thought hit him: if this was asthma, the potion he’d made earlier coupled with the prayer should have taken care of it. What was it, then?

He looked in the mirror as he heard Sicheng finishing up, the sound of his words filtering in through the bathroom door but not actually registering in Yuta’s brain as coherent ideas. He thought he looked fine; his skin didn’t have a sickly pallor and his gold-dyed hair didn’t look greasy or sparse. His eyes were a bit glassy, but Yuta attributed that to all the coughing and gagging he’d just put himself through. He grabbed a lavender potion his mom had made him from his medicine cabinet and pressed it into the pressure points on his head and neck, trying to breath deeply as he did so. He would ask her about it in the morning and surely, she’d know what to do.

When Yuta emerged, everyone was still milling around the bed, the quiet chatter that always signals the waning moments of a party setting in. Mark abruptly cut off his conversation with Donghyuck and bounded over to meet Yuta on his way to the group.

“Do you feel alright?” he asked, hushed, “we were about to send someone to check on you. Need me to do anything to help? You can direct me and I’ll make you a potion or something. It might not be as good as one of yours but if you’re too tired –”

Yuta forced a laugh, cutting off Mark’s cutely concerned ramble. “No, I’m fine, thanks though. I just felt a little nauseous for a minute there, but I’m good now.”

Mark nodded like a bobble head. “Oh, uh, okay. Cool. That’s actually probably good, you know. Now, you won’t get a hangover.”

“Yeah,” Yuta agreed, a pit forming in his stomach as he looked into Mark’s dark brown eyes. “Probably good.”

***

Yuta awoke about two hours later in his maroon upholstered armchair, one foot extended on his coffee table right next to the bluebell and sunflower bouquet he’d picked up what seemed like days ago by now. Most of the party had gone home, but Jaehyun and Kunhang were snoozing on the bed, Jeno and Jaemin shared whispers in the corner, and Mark lay across the sofa facing Yuta. Yuta stood, ready to cattle-prod people out of his room if he had to. He woke Jaehyun and Kunhang and extracted everyone from his room with as much decorum as he could muster, and once he’d made his way back to Mark, the boy had woken up from all the hushed thank-you’s and goodbyes. His glasses were askew, and he looked around the room the way people do when they wake up somewhere they don’t remember having fallen asleep.

“Oh, hey,” he said, voice scratchy. “Am I the last one?”

“Yeah,” Yuta confirmed, perching on the couch’s armrest, “but don’t worry about it. I saved you for last since you’re easiest to get home. Let me walk you?”

Mark giggled. “You don’t have to, it’s not like I could get lost.”

“I insist,” Yuta said, smiling firmly.

They walked, exhausted, from Yuta’s lawn to Mark’s, Yuta’s flip-flop-clad feet dampened by early morning dew cold enough to make him shiver.

“Did you have fun?” he asked, as they came to pause by the hedge between their families’ properties.

“I really did,” said Mark. “Thanks for getting everyone together on such short notice. I’m lucky to have a guy like you for a friend.” Mark smiled. Sunny , Yuta thought, like real warmth was hitting him.

“Same for me about you,” Yuta reciprocated, cringing silently at his awkward phrasing. Mark didn’t seem to notice.

“By the way,” Mark added, “I forgot to say anything, but I really like the blond hair.”

“Why thank you,” Yuta said, fidgeting side to side. “This color makes me think of summer. A lot of personal changes can happen in three months, you know. I’m still convinced I’ll get something interesting out of you, yet.” Mark guffawed as he took a step into his yard. “I mean, come on, Markie,” Yuta pressed, “not even a significant other or anything? You used to be a hot item.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, dude,” Mark said, “and if you insist on prying into that, you’re only gonna be disappointed at the lack of anything to report.”

Yuta felt the air flow freely into his lungs for the first time in hours. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed his best friend – or rather he hadn’t allowed himself to realize; probably because the realization hurt. Yuta’s four years away had been a struggle, but eight was seeming like borderline cruelty.

“Fine,” Yuta offered, “I’ll not pry, then. Let’s do something tomorrow, hm? I have work but we can meet up after.”

“Sounds good.”

“Goodnight.”

“’Night. Thanks again, Yuta.” Mark started the rest of the way towards his house as Yuta waved him off.

“It was nothing.”

Yuta tidied up a bit and got ready for bed, checking his almost dead phone before turning the light off. 3:42 in the morning, oh dear . Below the time was a short message from Mark. “ Btw I liked the flowers in ur room. Might get some tomorrow from ty .”

Yuta stifled a cough.

***

Yuta woke up the next morning gasping. He was sure the only reason his body had jolted him to sitting was because he’d stopped breathing in his sleep and it was a last-ditch effort to save him. Once he’d gathered himself and gotten mostly ready for the day, he sat at his table to do a quick tarot reading. He shuffled his art deco set against the coffee table surface, then brought them back into a deck, settling for a one-card reading since his tired and confused mind begged him for simplicity. He took the top card in the deck and flipped it over. It was the ace of cups, reversed, the image showing an orange goblet ringed by water lilies around its base and crowned by rays of sunlight shining off the rim. All of it, upside-down.

Self-love, intuition, repressed emotions … Yuta rattled off the card’s associations in a slow attempt not to be concerned by its imagery. Self-love, intuition, repressed emotions… “repressed emotions” kept jumping out at him when he landed upon it. Something about that made him uneasy. Was he repressed? He took the deepest breath he could muster and slotted the cards back in their case, figuring this hunch would grow clearer the longer he lived with it. He had to be at work soon, but wanted to ask his mom for advice about the breathing situation before he headed out, so he grabbed his soccer bag and rushed down the stairs. The skylight above them revealed nothing but a grey sky.

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