Archive of Our Own ^beta

Mark Lee is so dead.

Dying young and pretty kind of comes with the whole demigod thing, so Mark had decided a long time ago how he’d wanted it to go down. It would be a big bang, because he had to go out cool. Guns blazing. Real tear-inducing-fist-flying-awesomeness. It goes more like this:

Donghyuck is on his left. He’s got Jeno’s bloodied head in his arms, and his empty quiver is lying forgotten on the ground beside him as he slowly feeds ambrosia to the unconscious boy in his lap. Jaemin has both of his daggers out, swinging them wildly at the two remaining Chimeras to defend his friends while the creatures snarl at the flash of the celestial bronze.  

It feels too much like a last stand. 

Mark’s pissed, because he’s got the feeling he’s about to die at the hands (claws?) of these hideous hybrid things, and it’s not a cool way to go at all. The quest they’re on is hardly a world-saving one, though the more monsters they run into, the more Mark feels like someone had lied to him several times about the importance of their seemingly harmless prophecy.

When they get out of this— if they get out of this, Mark is going to have some severe words with Donghyuck’s slimy, lying, celestial sun god of a father.

He waves his hands above his head to draw the attention of the monsters. “Over here, ugly!” Mark yells, and maybe because beauty is a very important value in chimera culture, both monsters turn their heads towards him. His body works on autopilot as he sprints in the opposite direction, trying to get them as far away from his injured friends as possible.

"What in Hades name is he doing? ” He hears Donghyuck yell.

It's a good question, because Mark doesn't know either.

He keeps running even though his chest is starting to strain from the effort. One of the other chimeras had gotten a solid kick to his chest before he vaporized it with his sword earlier, and the pain has only gotten worse since.

The chimera closest to him makes a grab at his leg, and he rolls out of the way of a stray talon and stumbles right past the DANGER! KEEP OUT! Sign sticking out from the rocks. 

Huh, he wonders. What's that doing there? 

The monsters circle him slowly, and he grips his sword grimly, realizing he’s completely out of options when he sees just what that sign had been talking about.

Well. 

When life gives you turbulently heated groundwater, make lemonade. Or Chimera soup. Mark’s a bit too scared to be witty. He figures his chances of survival are higher if he controls the stream himself, so in what looks like a foolhardy display of courage, he closes his eyes and prays for his dad to help him out, just this once. He feels a pull in his gut, and before he can think to duck and cover or drop and roll or whatever, the geysers explode.

It is a big bang indeed. 

💐

Okay, so. After some careful consideration, Mark decides he doesn’t want to die. Not yet. 

However, the longer he stays in this limbo, the more his motivations slip away from him. He tries to fight it, he really does, but he’s so tired, and the darkness is soothing, promising release. 

Why fight? it whispers.

Let go.

Don’t you want to rest, after all this time?

He holds onto his friends with failing fingers. Donghyuck, who is probably furious at him for running into the fray on his own; Jeno, solid and dependable and terribly injured. Jaemin. Brave, wonderful Jaemin, his eyes wide with fear as Mark bargained to save them all.

In the end, none of it matters. 

In the end, it’s just Mark, the wide, unforgiving void and his broken dreams. 

💐

It's dark. 

Quiet. It should be over. Mark’s consciousness bubbles in and out, and soon enough he finds his eyes fluttering open to a wide glittering sky. He's on a beach, back pressed against sand that is as white as crushed bone. The breeze carries the smell of jasmine, juniper and pine over to him. He blinks again and tries to breathe more of it in, but even that is difficult. Everything is too slow. Then, strong arms pull him up and out of the tide, and pain explodes all over his body like he might die again.

It’s nothing but delirium that prompts him to utter: “Are you an angel?”

His own voice sounds foreign, like it's coming from across the room. Angels don’t exist in the myths, but Mark has always had trouble conflating his learned Christianity with the reality of being exactly half Greek god, and maybe, maybe—his own blood rushes in his ears, effectively derailing his train of thought. The person's features come in and out of focus. 

Dark eyes. 

A halo of silver hair. 

Skin that glows like it’s been scrubbed with starshine. 

The edges of his vision start to turn dark again, and the last thing he hears before he blacks out properly is, “You’re not dead yet, Mark Lee.”

When Mark comes to, he's in a bed. It’s some comfortable mattress on the floor of a large, scarcely decorated room. He blinks slowly against the crack of sunshine sneaking in from the window, which means it's morning. Or afternoon, maybe. 

The ceilings are high, and there’s a small fan humming busily above him, making him feel small. He doesn't realize he’s burning up until someone lays a cool cloth across his forehead, doesn’t register that he’s alive until the pain in his chest flares up again. 

Even his limbs hurt still, like someone had taken him apart at the joint and put everything back wrong. He tries to sit up and get his bearings but is stopped by a tentative hand to his bandaged chest. 

A face comes into view next, halting his movements completely. It’s the figure from the beach. He appears to be a boy about Mark’s age—18 or 19 at most—and he’s breathtakingly handsome, one of those faces that makes you remember that Aphrodite really does have her favorites. “You have to stay still,” he says. His voice is a small thing. Quiet and soothing.

“Mysword. I have to—” Mark tries. His words are clumsy in his mouth, and his tongue feels too large. Again, the boy speaks to him. “You’re too weak, you’ll hurt yourself.” 

Mark lets himself be pushed back gently. The damp cloth is replaced over his head to placate his fever. “Just relax. You’re safe. Nothing can hurt you here.” 

That's exactly what someone who wants to hurt me would say! He thinks, but he doesn't say as much. A few years of mythological encounters have taught him that a mystical being telling you you’re safe is probable cause to run screaming in the other direction, but he’s got bigger fish to fry. 

Namely, the dull throbbing of his head and the tight pain in his chest that is making it absolutely impossible to chillax. His skin feels like it’s still on fire. He’s not sure he could run if his life depended on it. 

He feels tears prickle at his eyes. Now that he’s coming into himself, the pain is increasingly awful. Worse than the time he pretended to be Spiderman and broke his leg trying to jump out of his neighbor’s treehouse. Worse than the time he’d gotten a handful of lava on the climbing wall at camp. 

Worse than—

He can’t breathe. 

The boy runs cool fingers along his cheek, easily picking up on Mark’s discomfort. His eyebrows are furrowed in worry. 

“I have something else. It’s quite strong and it will make you sleep for a while. Would you like to try it?” he says. 

“Yes, please.” Mark croaks.

The agony in his broken ribs is sharp and greedy, stealing all the air from his lungs. The boy gives him one last worried glance before murmuring his agreement. He gingerly tilts his head up and administers something thick and syrupy into Mark’s mouth with a golden spoon. Then, he disappears somewhere behind him, and Mark only knows he’s there by the gentle fingers combing through his hair. 

“Just focus on breathing, for now.” the boy says. 

Mark tries. He breathes in through his nose and finds it doesn’t hurt half as much as it used to. The boy smells so strongly of jasmine that it reminds Mark of home. He focuses in on that, imagining the potted flowers his mom so dutifully tended to during the autumn months, the crunch of dry leaves under his feet, and the taste of warm apple cider. When the boy starts to sing, the melody seems to seep into Mark’s skin like magic. He’s not sure if it's one or the other, but he lets the honeyed voice and the hand in his hair lull him to sleep. 

The next awakening is a lonely one.

It's nighttime, but he’s not sure if it's later the same day or several ones after. His clothes are different—a soft cotton shirt over even softer pants. His bandages have been changed recently, too. In a moment of panic, he reaches for his neck to feel the jade necklace is still secure around it, his sword enclosed in its magic the way it has always been. He supposes then, if harm were going to come to him, it would have arrived by now. 

He sits up, and the blanket that had been keeping him warm falls away to reveal goosebumps on his arms. He rubs himself warm, carefully taking in his surroundings. The room is a little more cozy than Mark remembers. There’s a harp in one corner, casting long shadows over the polished floorboards. In the other is a worn easel, a half finished seaside on yellow paper. Everything is draped in neutral colors. Clean white lace curtains flutter against the breeze coming in from the window.

Outside, the ink sky looms and stretches, and a strawberry moon hangs quiet. 

He slides out of bed, a little wobbly because his legs are remembering how to function, and he shuffles across the wood floor. Once outside, he takes a tentative gulp of fresh air. The pain in his chest is muted, and although his head aches slightly when he breathes in too deep, he feels much better than the last time he was awake.

The grass is wet on his bare feet. When he tilts his head up to look at the stars the world goes sideways. There’s someone there to catch him, a strong arm wrapping around his waist. “You’re finally awake.” The boy says, peering up at him from his place under Mark’s arm.

“Yeah, I—” 

A litany of questions race to the tip of his tongue at once. Who are you? Where am I? Why does my head feel like it’s stuffed with paint?  

“Was I out for a long time?” he settles on. The boy shakes his head slowly like he’s contemplating it. “Maybe three days, I think? It is always difficult to tell because time works differently here.” Mark follows that up immediately. “And where is here ?”

“Ogygia.” The boy blinks at him. Ogygia. He says it like oh-jee-jee-ah, like it's obvious and Mark should know exactly where he is. It sounds familiar enough. Maybe if Mark had not slept through his Geography classes he would know. As things are, the short answer only serves to confuse him further.

“Okay. Where is that, exactly?”  

“You ask a lot of questions. Few of them are the right ones.” The boy says. 

Mark feels his face flush, because ow?

He thinks of a few rebuttals, the first one being: Your hospitality skills suck, and the second one being: Are you calling me stupid? He doesn't get to try either of them out before the boy speaks again.

“Since you’re up, come and eat dinner with me. We can talk some more after that if you’re feeling up for it.” He releases his hold on Mark, stepping back a little. “Can you walk?”

 “Yeah I’m good.” Mark replies. He goes to show it and almost falls on his face, his legs proving to be stiff and uncooperative. The back of his neck burns hot with embarrassment when the boy catches him again. Mark wouldn't mind it as much if he weren't stumbling around in front of the most gorgeous person he’s ever seen. The boy is not even second to Jaemin Na, who would by all means punch Mark if he heard him say such a thing. 

His caretaker clings to his side and wraps steady hands around his bicep. He’s notably smaller than Mark, but he’s unnaturally strong. Mark looks down at him in awe, and the smile the boy gives him is equal parts kind and teasing, familiar in the way that only long-time friends can manage. How strange. 

“It is alright. We can walk together.” he says.

They eat dinner on a small pavilion that provides a good view of the island. From his seat at the table Mark can see that the garden they had been standing in stops right before the beach. A little bit past that, the water disappears into a thick, menacing fog. It's not the ocean. Mark doesn't know how he can tell, but he’s sure of his ability to tell salt water from fresh by intuition alone. Some other frivolous benefit of being a son of Poseidon, he’s sure. It doesn't help him discern his location any better.

The boy sits across from him, swathed in all white clothing, and dutifully eats his stew. Mark is starting to grow tired of calling him The Boy. He suddenly understands what he had meant in saying Mark was asking all the wrong questions.

“What do I call you?” 

The boy hums appreciatively. Jackpot.

“Renjun. Just Renjun.” 

Again it sounds familiar. Mark wonders where he’s heard it before. “You really don’t know who I am?” Renjun asks. He’s not offended. Mark can tell from the mirth sparkling in his warm brown eyes. “I—I’m not sure. I'm sorry.” he says. Renjun waves his hand in dismissal. The glass of cider in front of him refills itself. Mark’s head swims. One thing at a time, he thinks.

“Where are we?”  

“I told you. Ogygia. It is an island that is both everywhere and nowhere at once. I apologize if it doesn't make sense, but it’s hard to explain to mortals.” Renjun says. “And you’re not…?” Mark laughs, but it tethers off quickly when he catches Renjun's gaze and finds something brooding and quiet underneath his dark irises. It makes Mark’s breath stutter. That makes sense. Renjun is far too ethereal to be mortal. “I think the proper term for it is a nymph. Specifics hold no weight to me.” the boy supplies. 

Not quite a god, then. It’s still hard to imagine the person sitting here is hundreds (thousands?) of years old under that pale smooth skin, but the answer quiets Mark’s anxieties for the time being. He is alive on a magical island, and the nymph who had saved his life is named Renjun. None of this is suspicious. Cool.

“You must be starving," Renjun prompts. "Eat."

Mark stares down at the dish in front of him and realizes that his stomach is indeed churning, so he doesn't say anything else as he lifts the spoon to his mouth. 

After dinner, the plates clear up by themselves. It’s another feat that makes Mark’s head hurt. He’ll ask about it later. 

Renjun walks him back to the house and spoon feeds him more medicine before setting up an easel by the window to continue painting the sea foam Mark had been looking at earlier. He’s exceptionally good at it, from what Mark can tell. He hums underneath his breath as he paints in small, confident strokes, and the longer Mark looks the more it feels like the sea is inside, spilling out of the canvas and into the room. “You’re really good at that.” Mark says. Renjun jumps like he’d forgotten Mark was there, and turns to grace him with a kind smile.

“I’ve had a lot of practice.” 

“That’s cool. I don’t think my art skills have improved since third grade, probably.” 

When Renjun just stares blankly at him, Mark clears his throat and nods at the harp in the corner. 

“Um. Do you play that, too?”

“I do. Would you like me to play you a lullaby?” 

Mark’s neck heats up the suggestion. I’m not a baby. He wants to say. Instead, he shrugs. “Sure. I just woke up though, so don't expect me to fall asleep or anything.”

Renjun gives him that amused look again. “As you wish.” 

Mark sits cross legged on the mattress, and Renjun walks up to the harp and strums it a few times. The song he plays is unfamiliar, but soothing. Mark blames it on nothing but magic when he falls asleep before his head even hits the pillow.

 His dreams are less peaceful.

💐

On a cool morning, Renjun runs him a bath with lavender and pink salts and politely turns around while Mark undresses and climbs in. He had told Mark earlier that he could just wait outside if he preferred it, but Mark was quick to decline. 

He’s still unused to the eerie quiet of the house and petulantly afraid that Renjun’s absence would allow one of the invisible beings he’d seen folding laundry earlier to take his place. When Mark is settled in, Renjun draws up a chair close to him, and they talk.  

 “Do you really live here all by yourself? This house is...it's massive.” Mark says. Renjun nods. “It's just me on the island. And the invisible servants, of course.”

 “Aren't you like, creeped out by that? By them?” 

“Creeped out?” Renjun echoes. He tilts his head cutely, frowning at Mark’s curious gaze.

“Oh. Like, um. Don't you find them creepy? Or like, scary. I guess.”

“They clean and keep me well fed. I have no reason to be afraid of them.” 

“Sure, but doesn’t it get boring? You can't exactly hang out with… entities you can't see or hear.”  

Renjun takes a while to respond. He pours more hot water into the bath, and asks Mark if he’s comfortable. One thing Mark has learned during his short (?) time on the island is that Renjun simply will not answer questions if he does not want to, and Mark asks many questions. It's only a little embarrassing when Mark says something and is met with silence, but he cuts him some slack because it seems like Renjun doesn't get to exercise his social skills very often. 

Admittedly, Renjun is pretty and kind enough that Mark finds he would let him get away with virtually anything. He’s not quite immune to kneeling for beautiful people, unfortunately.

“It's not completely isolated,” Renjun says finally. “I get visitors sometimes, and Hermes in particular brings me news of the outside world.” 

“That's kinda cool. I didn't know Hermes was so chill.” Mark says. He leans his cheek against the edge of the bath after he says it, wincing when the motion sends a jolt of pain up his jaw. He leans back, annoyed, and presses a sud-covered hand to his cheek. “Ow.” he murmurs. Renjun is kneeling next to him in an instant. 

“What’s wrong?”

 “I don't know. It hurt just now when I—” he presses his hand against his cheek again, and the pain repeats. Renjun places his hand over Mark’s and guides it away from his face. “Here. Let me see.” he says.  He presses a curious thumb to Mark’s bottom lip until it gives, and then he’s leaning forward to peer into the darkness of Mark’s mouth. 

It doesn't last too long, a few seconds at most, but Mark’s heart thunders in his chest at the proximity. Jasmine perfume and pouted pink lips freeze him on the spot.

Renjun seems unaffected. 

He runs a gentle finger over the raw skin on the inside of Mark's cheek and makes him wince, but Mark doesn’t dare bite down. “I think you were just gnawing on it in your sleep. I can make you a balm for it after you’re done with your bath.” Renjun says. He leans back to study him. 

“Are you still having nightmares?”

“How did you know that I was...” He trails off, expecting it to be some sort of magic, which makes it all the more humiliating when Renjun shrugs his narrow shoulders and says: “You talk in your sleep sometimes,” he pauses, like he’s contemplating what he says next. “And you scream.” 

“Oh.” Mark says. He feels his entire face bloom red, ears hotter than the bath water that he slides into until he’s just eyes above the liquid. He stills completely, holding his breath and begging to become one with the flower petals. Renjun laughs aloud at his clear mortification, and Mark still burns, but it’s a beautiful sound. When Renjun can gather himself, he asks, “Who is Donghyuck? You’ve mentioned him a few times.” 

Mark sits up.

“He’s my friend. My best friend.” 

“And Jeno and Jaemin?” 

“Same. We were on a quest together, when I—” he mimics the sound of an explosion with his mouth. “I guess it makes sense that they’ve been in my dreams a lot since I got here.”

When Renjun smiles this time, it doesn't reach his eyes. It actually looks a bit sad. Mark can’t pinpoint what he said wrong.

 “Indeed. You mentioned a quest?” the immortal asks.

Mark nods. “It's not as glamorous as it sounds. We were supposed to be retrieving Apollo’s water bottle. It’s the only thing that can hold Zephyr, the west wind.” He repeats the logistics of the mission to him, talking about the part where he and his friends had been attacked by harpies in their first hour away from camp, the other monsters that followed, the compass that led them straight into a death trap in the middle of Yellowstone National Park, and finally, the blast that had separated him and his friends. 

“I do not understand this at all. Isn’t Zephyr supposed to be the nice and gentle wind?” Renjun says finally. 

“That's what I said! But apparently he and Apollo have beef that goes way back, I don’t know. None of this stuff ever makes sense to me, either.” Mark says. He had started pruning in the bath a long time ago, so he doesn’t complain when Renjun hums thoughtfully and hands him a warm fluffy towel. 

Now that he’s gotten all of that off his chest, he feels horrible for leaving his friends to fend for themselves while he vacationed on some mystical island with a pretty nymph waiting on his every whim. As though Renjun suspects his train of thought, he cheerfully ruffles Mark’s hair to get his attention. 

“Do not worry too much, I am sure your friends are safe. All you can do now is heal quickly so you can get back to them.” 

Mark hopes he’s right.

💐

Mark isn't used to having so much time off, but he finds he has no choice, especially since whatever he’d done in Wyoming renders him incapable of walking around for more than a few hours without facing extreme bouts of nausea. Even if he had the capacity to swim, he still has no idea how to get away from the island.

That being said, Ogygia is not a bad place to be stranded. The sky is always the prettiest shade of blue, the air is always tinged sweet, and every plant, rock, and structure on the island thrums with an undoubtedly magical haze. It should unnerve Mark, but instead he’s lulled into such a firm sense of security that even the invisible forces tidying his room everyday stop drawing his attention. 

He naps during the day to burn time and keep his energy up, which means at night he finds himself restless, staring up at the sky way past his regular bedtime.

Tonight, he’s lying spread eagle on the beach trying to remember all the constellations Donghyuck had taught him. He catches a few: Ursa Major, Minor, Cassiopeia and Perseus. He laments the fact that Donghyuck isn't here to call him a dumbass when he forgets the rest.

Renjun finds him lying there silently almost an hour later and peers down at him with an expression that can only be described as hopelessly endeared, like he thinks Mark is naturally funny but doesn't want to embarrass him too much. 

“Can't sleep?” he asks. 

Mark nods and sits up. Renjun crouches down so that they are eye to eye, and again Mark is struck by how unnaturally attractive he is. He looks especially stunning in the moonlight. The blonde parts of his hair are highlighted silver, and the raven black on top compliments his dark eyebrows well. Mark wonders who his hair stylist is. Were there two-toned dyeing techniques in Ancient Greece? Does he dye it himself? Does it grow out like that? 

Renjun holds out a hand that startles Mark out of his spiral. “Come with me. I want to show you something,” Renjun says. “I promise you’ll like it.” 

Mark would have taken his hand anyway.

Behind the house, behind a little white gate, lies a cluster of trees that is far bigger that Mark remembers it being. This is where Renjun takes him. There's a stone path curved through the woods, and the moon is high and bright enough that Mark isn't worried about stumbling. 

Still, he presses close to Renjun as he leads him somewhere, the boy humming softly under his breath. Renjun has really soft hands. Like, baby powder soft. There’s a dark smudge of a birthmark on his right hand that Mark wishes to run his thumb across.

Mark’s spent a whole lot of time looking at them, so to have and hold is completely new territory. He’s unfortunately extra aware of their intertwined fingers and how well they fit together, but he tries not to make it the focal point as they continue their walk.

 They come to a stop at a pond, and Mark isn't sure what he’s supposed to be looking at until Renjun draws his attention downwards, to the silver flowers planted all around them. 

“I planted them here a little bit ago, but they only bloom at night. They are called Moonlace.” Renjun explains. He breaks away to squat next to the patch of flora, and Mark silently mourns the loss of his hand before joining him. “They’re beautiful.” Mark breathes. He crouches forward to thumb at a glowing petal, entranced by the way it seems to reflect the light of the moon. “I used a little bit of magic to help them along,” Renjun says, a little conspiratorially. “Are you interested in gardening at all?” 

“Uh, not really. I’m too good at killing things.” Mark murmurs. Renjun raises both his eyebrows. “I mean—uh—I have whatever the opposite of a green thumb is. Jaemin got me a succulent for my birthday once and it died the next week.”

“Oh, but they are so easy to take care of.”

“I know! It's awful. I tried so hard, too.” 

The memory brings a smile to his face.

Donghyuck, Jaemin and Jeno, braving Dionysus’ worst threats and barging into his cabin after curfew on his birthday with a triple chocolate cake courtesy of Jaemin’s baking prowess. It was terribly iced, droopy in all the wrong places because Jeno had insisted on helping.

 Mark had loved it terribly. 

They’d sat on his bed and shared the dessert and Donghyuck had obnoxiously sang him happy birthday over and over until Jeno put him in a headlock to make him stop. Jaemin had then taken the opportunity to reveal his gift, pressing the small potted plant into his hands and telling him to put it in a place with lots of sun. The joy he feels is immediately erred by guilt. At leaving them behind, at being so ready to die without thinking about how they would have felt about it— 

He’s so distracted that when Renjun splashes water on him, he yelps and jumps back in surprise. His clothes are still dry, but Renjun looks rather accomplished. “I can't get wet unless I want to.” Mark states, matter-of-factly. Renjun simply splashes him again. “Don't care. You just had the dumbest look on your face.” Mark lets out an affronted noise, and summons a small wave that completely drenches the boy in front of him. 

Renjun gasps and pushes his wet hair out of his face. He should look like a drowned kitten, but the sleekness of this look only adds to his sphere of prettiness. Mark’s heart skips a beat. “You’re finished, Mark Lee.” Renjun says, and then Mark’s heart is acting up for a different reason, because the look Renjun levels at him is downright murderous. 

Mark isn't sure how long the fight goes on for. Renjun had pushed him into the water, and Mark had kept on spluttering for all of two minutes before he remembered he’s half sea-spawn.

“Truce!” Renjun says, gasping for air in between his boisterous laughter, and Mark relents. They’re both soaked to the bone now and Renjun can't stop laughing, holding onto Mark as he shakes with glee. To be fair, Mark is laughing just as hard, for no other reason than the fact that he hasn't felt this content in a long time. 

“You are evil, awful, and terrible.” Renjun says finally, red cheeked and out of breath from his outburst.

Mark places his free hand over his heart. “You wound me. Surely you don't mean that.”

 “I do! I’ve done so much for you, and in return you try to drown me in my own backyard, it is absolutely treacherous, Son of Poseidon.” 

“Hey, you started it!” 

“And I regret nothing!”

It is then that Mark realizes how close in proximity they are.

His eyes hover down to Renjun’s mouth, cherry blossom pink and wet with enchanted pond-water, and briefly entertains the thought of, well…

“Mark Lee. You’re staring.” Renjun interrupts. Mark drags his gaze upwards with some effort, only to find Renjun is looking at his mouth too now, hand frozen on his bicep. Mark bites down on his lip nervously. 

The urge to kiss Renjun is manifesting as a new ache beneath his gums. Mark involuntarily begins to wonder what the other boy would taste like and how his own hands would feel pressed against his slender hips. Would Renjun lean in and sigh against his mouth? Would he keep his hands on his shoulders or would he slide them into Mark’s hair and pull? It wouldn't take much to find out. 

Mark is celestial-bronze-and-fire-breathing-monster-brave, but he’s not that brave. 

The fear of hurting Renjun and being hurt in turn keeps him frozen in place. 

“Renjun, hey. I—um.” The ‘really wanna kiss you right now’ dies in his throat when Renjun finally looks up at his eyes.

The moment breaks. 

One minute they’re hovering dangerously close, and the next Renjun’s expression is shuttering and he’s clearing his throat. The hand that was cool on Mark’s slick skin falls away as he turns and wades out of the water. Mark watches him get all the way to the shore, dazed.

“We—we should get back to the house. The sun will come up soon.” Renjun prompts.

“Uh, yeah. Right.”

He follows then, watching with small amusement as Renjun struggles to wring the water out of his robes. He’s so cute. It feels odd to think that, knowing he’s lived for millenia, but it's the only adjective that comes to mind as he watches Renjun drop the ruined robes in defeat. Mark likes him so much.

The change in atmosphere from earlier still nags at him. Before Mark can stop himself, he asks:

 “Why do you do that?”

Renjun tries to smooth over the goosebumps on his arms with an exasperated sigh. “Do what?” he frowns. 

Mark looks down at his feet in the grass, unable to look at him when he says, “You always seem like you’re trying not to enjoy yourself too much.” 

“I simply believe in liking things in moderation.” The nymph says back, but he’s unguarded enough that Mark summons some water from behind him and splashes him again, laughing at his scorned expression as he’s pushed forward by the stream. “Mark! ” Renjun whines. His tone is mellow, but he swears at Mark with his eyes alone, and Mark giggles out an honest apology as they start back up the path.

“Seriously though, if there’s something I’ve done to hurt you—or make you uncomfortable, you need to let me know so I don’t do it again.” 

“There is nothing. You’re a very easy person to be around, Mark Lee.” He appears to hesitate, body jerking awkwardly before he reaches for Mark’s hand and squeezes it once. “I’m serious. Let’s just go home, alright?” The smile Renjun gives him is supposed to be comforting, but even later as Mark slides into bed with the melted sunrise, he can’t help but think that the other boy is hiding something from him. 

They don’t really talk about what happened in the pond. Not that there's much to talk about, but Mark finds himself wondering about it more often than not, remembering the way Renjun had leaned into him with all the warmth in the world, and how quickly he had retracted that affection.  

The days blend into each other, but as time goes on, Mark stops being disoriented by it. He follows Renjun around more during the day, much to the other boy's feigned annoyance. 

“There’s an entire island to explore Mark. You do not need to sit two inches away from me all the time.” 

“But I want to, Junnie. I feel better when I’m close to you like this. Don’t you want me to feel better?” 

“Call me Junnie again and I'll slip something awful into your morning tea.”

Renjun had turned away from him then, hiding pink tinged cheeks. Mark couldn't tell if it was from irritation or something softer. 

He doesn’t dwell on it. 

Their nights are quieter, characterized by quiet moonlit walks along the island. Renjun adds a few more constellations to Mark’s mental library, they visit the night flowers, and Mark works to keep his hands to himself.

💐

As much as Renjun complains that Mark talks a lot, he doesn't say much about himself, or much at all, in fact. He lets Mark fill the spaces between them, talking about all the things he’s missed the most since he started living year-round at Camp Half-Blood. 

He talks about Michaelangelo III (his beloved Shichon back home) and Tim Hortons (home of the best donuts in the world) and Vancouver (his first home sweet home) and Renjun listens while he tends to the garden, occasionally pausing to brush away the little string of hair that falls in his face whenever he bends down to turn the soil. He also asks a few clarifying questions, like: “What on earth is a Tim Hortons?” but mostly, it's Mark rambling in between bouts of comfortable silence. 

Mark never gets the sense that he’s actually bothering him, and he really likes watching Renjun while he works because it means he can stare without the other boys' sharp eyes on him. After spending so much time around Renjun, Mark memorizes the names of all the flowers in the main garden, and decides (secretly) that Renjun is his favorite one. 

“Do you think you’ll be ready to leave soon?” Renjun asks randomly. They’re sitting underneath an open umbrella on the beach, and Mark had just been in the middle of a very important story about the time Jaemin had let a scorpion loose in the Aphrodite cabin. He pauses to process the question. “I don’t know, my chest still feels pretty banged up.”

It's a small lie, because while he still suffers from the residual stiffness of his injury, he’s actually never felt better physically. He can't think of a reason why Renjun would bring this up on his own.

 “Why? Are you tired of me already? I’m a little hurt by that.” Mark jokes. Renjun looks down at his lap for so long that Mark fears he might have guessed correctly. “Wait, Junnie—” he starts. 

“I was just thinking, that perhaps your friends at Camp Half-Blood might tire of waiting for you to reappear.” 

Mark grows quiet at that. Renjun is right. He doesn’t know how long it’s been. They probably think he’s dead or worse. 

“You should come with me. Visit camp. I’m sure they could find room for you in the Hermes cabin—Or you could just stay with me since I’m the only one in the Poseidon Cabin? We could make s’mores and visit the strawberry fields and you could meet my friends! And, uh. Stuff. ” Mark feels his ears grow hot at his own suggestion. He’s not sure why it makes him nervous to say this. Renjun has literally seen him scream in his sleep. 

“That sounds nice, but I’m afraid I’ll have to refuse.” 

“Oh,” Mark says, trying not to sound too deflated. “I swear it's not as bad as I’ve been saying. I just like to complain; I think Jaemin rubbed off on me. It’s ok if you don't wanna though. I just, you know, I like having you around.” he admits. 

Renjun looks nauseous. He fidgets with the hem of his linen shirt. Mark thinks he might have upset him again.

“I can't leave the island, Mark.” Renjun says, finally.

 “Oh. Not even for a little bit?” 

“No.”

 “Ever?”

 “Nope.”

“Renjun, that's awful. I’m so sorry I shouldn't have asked at all, I—I really didn’t realize.”

 “Mark, It's fine. It's not a secret so much as it is my fate. Or punishment, I should say.” 

“Punishment? What did you do?” 

Renjun scoffs and blows a stray strand of raven hair out of his face. “I didn’t do anything. My family, however, did plenty.” 

It is then that Mark remembers. It slams into him like a solid wall, how blind he’s been. 

It’s a myth that was retold by Jeno on one cold evening at the end of last summer. The two of them were sharing a secret flask of vodka on the floor of the Poseidon cabin while the rest of the camp wreaked havoc in their own way, and Jeno had pressed their shoulders together and told him. The myth of Calypso, the powerful sorceress who’d been banished to spend the rest of her life on an island for siding with her father in the Titan War.

He should have picked up on it the moment Renjun told him what he was.

“It’s not fair. You’re not a bad person.” Mark says finally. 

“You sound so sure.” Renjun muses. 

“I am sure. I have reason to believe you’re the nicest person I’ve ever met.” Mark insists. Renjun looks at him like he’s positively stupid. The tips of his ears are bright red. When Mark reaches over to embrace him, the cherry hue goes up in intensity. Mark ignores it, pressing into a tight hug that has his heart beating closer to Renjun’s. His own chest aches with a loneliness that he’s never been privy to. He can't even imagine it. Small, powerful Renjun all alone for millennia, with nothing but his art and his flowers to help the time go by. 

“This isn’t fair.” Mark says again. He hugs him tighter, and Renjun squeaks, but he doesn’t pull away. His hands slide up Mark’s back, delicate. The smell of jasmine is so strong on him, even now. Home. Mark thinks. 

“Is there any way I can help?” Mark asks, soft. 

Renjun doesn’t speak for a long time. He turns his head and buries his nose in Mark’s hair, breathes in deep. His answer is quiet, defeated. 

“You cannot help me. Not at all.”

💐

It’s several days later, or only a few, when Mark finishes breakfast by himself and steps outside to see Renjun sitting on the porch steps. He turns when Mark gets close and brushes at his eyes like he’s just been crying. “Oh good. You're awake,” he starts. He has that half smile on again, watery and artificial. “I was just on my way to get you. You have a visitor.”

“What—What's wrong? Are you okay?” he reaches out to brush his cheek, and Renjun ducks swiftly out of the way. When their eyes connect, Mark sees that his eyes are rimmed red, and his heart twists painfully in his chest. Renjun sniffs wetly and nods toward the pavilion. “Go on. It's not polite to keep a god waiting.” he says, and then he’s brushing past him and ducking into the house. 

It’s Apollo on the beach, sipping a berry smoothie and looking quite normal. Well, as normal as you can appear when you’re eight feet tall and glowing with the sun. The last time Mark had seen him he had arrived in the form of an eighteen year old boy. This shape is far more menacing, making Mark uneasy as he draws up a chair and sits down next to him. 

The god greets him with a blinding smile. “Mark Lee! It’s good to see you in one piece. I suppose Ogygia has been treating you well?” 

“It has,” Mark says slowly. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know. Checking your progress. Would you like a smoothie?” 

The smoothie in question appears without an answer. It smells like strawberry and watermelon, Mark’s favorite. Mark digs his nails into his palm, outraged by the sheer nonchalance of the being in front of him. “Did you know Yellowstone was a trap?” he asks cooly.

The god hums thoughtfully. “I find the word trap subjective.” 

“You almost got me and my friends killed! We didn’t even find your dumb flask, so pray tell: what was the point of sending us on a wild goose chase?”

 “Ah. Silver linings, Mark Lee. You mortals are always talking about them. Find one.” Apollo says. He seems rather amused with the whole situation, which isn't helping Mark's growing hostility. How blasphemous would it be to kick a god underneath the table?

“You’re joking, right?”

“I’m quite serious, I’m afraid. The flask was moved without my knowledge, and the Chimera nest was… unfortunate, however it was not my doing.” Apollo says. Mark doesn’t believe him. 

“Did you get them back to camp safely, at least?”

 “Of course I did. I promised you my protection, did I not? They're worried about you, though. Donghyuck tried to weasel his way into getting an update about where you are, but my mouth is a steel trap.” Apollo says, and mimes zipping his lips shut. 

Mark deflates a little at the image of Donghyuck stooping to smooth-talk his dad just for Mark. Donghyuck, who wouldn't speak to Apollo outside the cursory dinner offering if he could help it. 

“You didn't tell them I survived?”

 Apollo shakes his head, pausing to take a long slurp of his smoothie. “It is not my place.” he says simply, “Especially if you decide not to come back.” 

“Of course I’m coming back. What does that even mean?”

Apollo quirks an eyebrow. “You caused quite a bit of damage at Yellowstone, Mark Lee. The Chimeras were taken care of, but you almost triggered a supervolcano eruption. Real epic stuff.”

“What?” Mark asks, voice small. 

“Oh, yeah. When you set off the geyser it also started an earthquake that had half the country thinking that overdue eruption was finally coming to pass. It was on the news for days. Those apocalypse bloggers had a blast with the end of the world doomsday nonsense, pun intended. I think you spawned about 500 new Youtube videos.” 

“Oh.” 

 “What I’m saying is: it’s not far fetched to believe that you kicked the bucket in the midst of everything. It would be an easy out.” 

Mark, still reeling from the ridiculous mess he made, finally leans forward to take a sip of his smoothie. His hands are shaky. “I couldn’t. Donghyuck and the others—they need me. I can’t just bail out on the rest of my life.” he says. 

“Can’t you? There are a lot of people who need you. Some...newer than others.” 

It takes a while for that to set in. 

“You’re talking about Renjun, aren't you?” Mark realizes. “He doesn’t even—He’s been asking me to leave since I got here.”

“Listen, Mark Lee. I’m not really one for relationship advice considering the main reason why we’re in this mess is because of my ex-boyfriend, but. You have to know by now that things aren’t always the way they seem. You also can’t assume how people feel without asking them first. That being said, you’ve definitely got a couple of choices here, and I trust you to do the right thing.” 

Mark’s head races through the implications of that. Is there a right choice? There’s certainly an obvious one, and an easier one too. An eternity in the arms of a doting nymph sounds…indescribably wonderful. Things this good don’t usually happen to Mark. They simply don’t. He should be taking this and running, no questions asked. 

“Looks like you have some thinking to do. I know things like this can seem so big to you mortals, but remember that no matter what you decide, the world will go on regardless. It’s okay to live for yourself sometimes; to choose to be happy.”

Mark thinks Apollo sounds a little biased, but in any case, he’s right. Mark has always had a hard time choosing himself.

“Goodbye, Mark. Thank you for all your help. I mean that.” Apollo says. He stands to put on his sunglasses, and before Mark can speak, the god is disappearing in a violent flash of light. Mark raises his arms to shield his eyes against the celestial glow, but it’s a near thing, and he’s still blinking spots out of his vision as he gets up and heads back to the house, mind racing. 

He finds Renjun inside working on a painting that is looking to be a spitting image of the bowl of fruit in front of him. He doesnt turn around when he hears Mark enter, but he does set down his palette. 

“What did he say? Did he order you to return?” he asks, soft.

“He didn’t order me to do anything. He said I had a choice to make.” Mark says.

 “You’re leaving, then?” Renjun asks. 

Mark lets out a weary sigh. “Renjun. Look at me, please?” 

Renjun turns around then. He keeps his distance, but even from here Mark can see he has a small stripe of blue paint on his cheek. He’s not crying, which Mark finds small comfort in. He steps closer to him, treading carefully above his own words.

“I haven't made up my mind yet. I’m…confused, to be honest. Apollo implied that there are some pieces I’m missing, but I don't even know where to start.” He comes to a stop in the middle of the room,  regarding the other boy carefully. “Renjun. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“You think so highly of me. I’d hate to break the illusion.” Renjun says. 

“Everybody’s allowed to keep their secrets, Renjun. I just want to know what I've done to make you look at me the way that you’re doing now.”

Renjun lets out a shaky breath before he speaks again. “When I first told you about my curse, you said you wanted to help me. I told you it was impossible. That was a lie.”

A lie. Mark didn't think he was capable of such a thing. 

“I’m trapped on the island, yes, but that is not the full story. Every thousand years or so, the Fates allow an injured hero to wash up on my shores. I nurse them back to health, and sometimes, against my better judgement, I befriend them.”

 “What’s wrong with that?” 

“The problem is this: it's never random. Never permanent. They always send me the kind of hero that cannot stay. Worse than that, they always send me the kind of hero that I—” his gaze flickers for a moment. “That I can’t help but fall in love with.”

Mark’s chest is tight. He feels like he could burst into a million colors or melt down into a puddle of them. Both. Neither. All this, because Renjun is implying that he’s in love with him. Renjun. In love with Mark.

Renjun continues. “So you see. The only way you can help me is if you stay. That's it. That’s the whole truth.” 

“But you—you’re in love with me ? Why ?”

“Of course I’m in love with you, idiot.” Renjun says, he lets out a wet laugh like he can't believe Mark couldn't tell, all this time. “You should see your face. Gods.” He reaches up to wipe at the tear that rolls down his cheek and leaves another blue streak there.

He's trembling now, sadder than Mark has ever seen him, like all the weight he’s been carrying around is finally crashing down on him and threatening to turn him into fine powder. 

Mark doesn’t think. He doesn’t even breathe when he crosses the room and pulls him close, hugs him tight, tighter, like it will hide the quiet sobs that steal Renjun’s breaths away. As he rubs circles into his back, he realizes, in an agony of his own, that he’s going to hurt Renjun terribly—that he probably already has. The Fates are too cruel. 

“I can't stay.” he whispers, though he suspects the boy already knows this, considering his reaction. “I know. I promised myself I wouldn't ask you to,” Renjun croaks. His tears are soaked through the shoulder of Mark's shirt, and they’re still clinging to each other with a finality that Mark can't bear to think about. “When you asked if you could help me that day on the beach, I almost wanted to beg for it. You would be immortal here. We would be forever.”

An eternity of midnight walks and the cloying sweetness of the garden. An eternity of Renjun’s soft laughter and pink cheeks and attentive hands. No prophecies or deities or demigod eating monsters. What was Mark thinking earlier? About taking and running?

“I want to stay. Gods, I want to. I wish—” 

 “It’s not your fault. Your friends need you. You have a whole life outside of this place, I understand.” 

“But Renjun—” You need me too. He almost says.  

“Mark. I promise I'll be okay, I don't want to hear anything else on the matter.” 

Renjun pulls away to wipe his eyes and takes in a steady stream of air before speaking again. “At sunset you will leave. You’ll reunite with your friends and get your great prophecy and you will be so swept up in your own eminence that you will forget me. Easily and painlessly.” he says. 

He holds Mark's gaze despite the way his chin shakes, and Mark cups Renjun’s cheeks, burning hot beneath his fingers. “As if I could never forget you. You’re so stubborn, Junnie.” he says, soft and true. Renjun leans into his touch and places a hand over his. “It comes with practice.” he says. Mark fondly gazes down at the wet sparkle of his eyes, the gentle slope of his grief-pink nose and the upper bow of that rose tinted mouth. He slides his right hand down and presses a thumb into the swell of his bottom lip, and that longing he thought he’d gotten rid of comes back in full force, bursting out and over the sides of his bottle cap heart. 

His next words, like most things, are impulsive.

 “Can I kiss you?”

 Renjun closes his eyes and swallows, and Mark thinks he shouldn’t have asked until he speaks up again. “Yes,” he breathes. “Please.”

 Mark leans down to press a soft kiss against his bottom lip, fleeting and delicate. They're apart for a breath of a second before Renjun tilts his head up again, holding him steady by the nape of his neck and kissing him so solidly that Mark can't do anything but hold him and kiss him back. Their lips slot together easily, and when Mark’s tongue swipes across his bottom lip, Renjun opens up for him, blooms underneath his touch in a way that is not unlike a flower. He makes a soft sound against Mark’s mouth, and Mark memorizes the shape of it.

Renjun tastes, unexpectedly, of sun dried berries. He kisses with a whirlwind of determination, slowly backing Mark into the wall and kissing him once, then twice, sliding his cool fingers up into his hair. Mark realizes belatedly that his own cheeks are wet, but he can’t tell if the tears are his or Renjun’s. It’s bittersweet and inconsequential all at the same time. 

Mark stops thinking and lets himself be kissed breathlessly, taken apart by Renjun’s hands in his hair and put together again by the warmth of him against his lips. 

They share many more kisses after that. 

In the late afternoon, Renjun climbs into bed with him and tangles their legs together and kisses him so gently that Mark almost forgets how little sand they have left in the hourglass. It doesn’t matter, he decides. What matters is this: Renjun is soft, from the vulnerable line of his throat down to the gentle slope of his belly. Mark doesn’t miss any of it, pressing a kiss to his pulse while his hands roam perfect skin, committing it to memory. “I love you too. I’m sorry I didn’t think to say it before.” he murmurs, and Renjun responds by pulling him down and kissing the apology off his lips. 

There are hours lost to Renjun’s mouth. Mark doesn't mind it at all.

💐

The evening creeps up quickly, and pretty soon Mark finds himself standing on Ogygia’s shores for what appears to be the last time. The finality of it is still scary, but he’s found a new hope in the curve of Renjun’s smile.

 “I’ll find a way to convince them to change the stupid sentence. I'll come back for you myself if I have to.” Mark says. 

 “You’re very cute, Mark Lee, but you’re just a man, and no man has ever found the island twice.” he looks better in the gold-pink of the sunset. More relaxed, none of that shaky worn down thing Mark had seen that morning. His hair is perfectly wind-blown, his skin is glowing, and there’s a love bite that Mark left against his collarbones just a few hours ago. 

He blushes at the memory, warmth flooding him all the way to his fingertips.

“I meant it when I said I’ll never forget you.” Mark says. 

“I’d hope so,” Renjun laughs, “because I won’t forget you either. Plant something for me when you get back home, okay?” He presses a small packet of seeds into his palm. “I enchanted them so they won’t die as easily.” he smiles, like Mark's gardening sins only serve to make him sweeter. Mark curls his fingers around the gift, and he lets Renjun's hand linger in his. “What kind of flowers are they?” he asks. 

“You’ll have to plant them to find out. Promise me you will.” Renjun says. Mark wants to poke a finger into the slant of his cheeks, wants to kiss him again one last time to be certain of it, but he doesn’t want to make things any harder than they already are. “I promise.” he says.

Renjun tilts his chin up, pulling Mark’s gaze from the white sand to his amused expression. “Oh, don't look so sad, Mark Lee. You’ll get to see your friends again soon. Isn't that exciting?” he says.

“Are you sure I can’t sneak you out of here? Nobody has to know.” Mark tries. He’s not expecting it, but Renjun leans up to press a chaste, lingering kiss against his lips. “Enough of that. You promised me we wouldn't speak of it.” Renjun says. Mark had promised. He kisses him again to stop himself from saying something stupid. 

They don’t say goodbye. Mark had made Renjun promise earlier that he wouldn’t. In a stubborn way Mark hopes leaving it open-ended means they can see each other again. They’ve made a lot of promises to each other. Mark intends to keep every single one.

He gives Renjun a stiff backwards salute before stumbling onto the raft, and the boy rolls his eyes but doesn’t leave, not until Mark has drifted so far out that both Renjun and the island have disappeared into a shifty pink mist. 

💐

Mark’s not sure how long it takes, but somehow the lake blends into the ocean, and eventually he’s looking at the pine trees that ring Camp Half-Blood. Chenle Zhong spots him first, which means that in exactly a minute, half of the camp comes running to see this supposed ghost. His friends are leading the cavalry. Jeno and Donghyuck elbow some poor Iris kid out of the way while Jaemin looks on and appears a bit tired of them both. 

Donghyuck gets to him first, tugging him forward into the sweetest hug before leaning back and slapping him right across the face. He switches up so quickly that Mark gets whiplash. 

“What the Hades?” Mark sputters. 

“That’s for making me think you were dead.” Donghyuck says, like it makes perfect sense. When he swings again, Mark is ready for him. He catches him by the wrist, which only serves to make the brunette more upset. “That was supposed to be for making Jeno cry.” he says solemnly.  

“I didn’t cry.” Jeno protests weakly, though Mark knows him well enough to know Donghyuck is probably telling the truth. Jeno wrestles his boyfriend off of him long enough for Mark to speak. 

“How long was I M.I.A?” he asks. 

“Three weeks. We burned your burial shroud a few days ago. Donghyuck gave a very beautiful speech.” Jaemin answers. 

Three weeks. Mark’s stomach twists. 

“Let go of me, Jeno. I’m defending your honor.” Donghyuck whines. Jeno is holding him fast, strong arms pinning him to his chest as Donghyuck struggles fruitlessly. “I think you’ve done enough.” Jeno says. He kisses Donghyuck on the cheek, and that’s that. 

Mark has to make his rounds at camp, as is protocol when you’re newly risen from the dead. Dionysus couldn't care less, but Chiron, at least, is relieved to see him. Jisung and Chenle are less apathetic, nearly breaking his ribs all over again when they run into the Big House to hug him. Mark can’t discern much in between Chenle’s rapid-fire questions and Jisung’s teary-eyed rambling, but it’s a warm welcome.

Over meat and fruit in the mess hall, Donghyuck, Jeno and Jaemin give him an abridged version of everything that has happened since he disappeared. He listens carefully, relieved to hear that not much has changed. The flask remains a mystery, but they’d all gotten back in one piece. Mark still doesn't know what Apollo had hoped to achieve, or what big prophecy awaits him, and he doesn’t care. He decides that he’s equal parts thankful and resentful of the god of music, and the rest is now an issue for another day. Or month, preferably.

“Sorry for dying.” Mark says sincerely. 

He’s missed them all terribly. Violence, teasing and all. 

“Apology accepted.” Jeno says immediately. Jaemin is more deliberate in his response. “If you try that again, I will find you and kill you myself. Remember that.” he says.

“I second the decision,” Donghyuck says, but he shuffles closer to Mark and rests his head on his shoulder despite it. “Where were you marooned anyway? How did your dumbass survive on your own for so long?” he asks. 

Mark pauses and reaches for the seeds in his left pocket. They’re safe and very much real. He thinks of Renjun, of how dream-like everything on the island had been, and says as casually as he can: “Oh, you know. Ogygia.”