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“You look really good, by the way. I’m glad I got to see you.”
Chenle looks up from where he’s been staring hard at the bar the majority of the time Eric has been talking to him. It’s not that Chenle isn’t happy to see him, it’s just—weddings are weird. Chenle has felt weird all day, ever since he woke up to Donghyuck’s panicked call about the very idea that Yangyang might get cold feet. The gut-deep ache and underlying sense of some kind of emotional dread Chenle feels is genuinely not Eric-related, even though this is the first time they’ve seen each other since Chenle was able to hold Eric in his arms for the very last time–arms that tonight remain empty, while Eric totes along his long term boyfriend to meet the gang for the first time.
Eric smiles at him the way he always has—earnest and sweet, if not a little concerned. Regardless of what they've seen each other through, grown towards and grown out of, ultimately Chenle appreciates that the two of them remained on good terms. He doesn't think anyone really saw him before Eric. If they did, Chenle was too caught up in himself to notice that someone might catch a flash of his heart and latch onto it.
“You do too,” Chenle says back to him. “I’m glad you brought Sangyeon to meet everyone. He’s not too scared, right?” He glances across the ballroom where Jaemin has cornered Eric’s boyfriend—he chuckles, and he almost feels bad for the guy, but Sangyeon is unphased when Jaemin draws in close to him and lays a delicate hand on his chest. By the grace of some righteously poetic god, Sangyeon winks at him, and Jaemin goes entirely pink. He visibly flusters, and Jeno wails with laughter.
Chenle snorts and Eric’s gaze softens even further, still watching Sangyeon across the room. “He’s doing better than expected,” Eric says. “I warned him that Jaemin is a little different, but I still thought he’d run for the hills.”
Chenle watches him. It seems like it was in another life, when Chenle would catch Eric staring at him with the same fondness.
“You’re happy,” Chenle says. There’s nothing questioning in his tone or even a hint of suggestion—he states it as fact, because he knows that Eric is.
“I am,” Eric confirms. He turns back to Chenle and swells with pride so radiant that Chenle feels it ricochet around the room. “Are you?”
Chenle takes a second too long to answer. His smile falters. Eric notices, he's sure, but he doesn’t say anything. Chenle appreciates it–he's never been afraid to answer a question honestly, but this night has him feeling uncharacteristically cautious, worried that he might mess something up. Stick his foot where it doesn't belong–namely, in his mouth.
“I’m trying,” Chenle settles on. His smile is less forced but still falls just shy of genuine, and Eric watches him for a long, silent moment. It’s been so long since he’s been subject to the intensity of Eric’s gaze and Chenle feels himself grow fidgety under the weight of it, so he throws back the rest of his drink and sets his glass on the bar. “Do you wanna dance?”
Eric is such an adult now, in a way that Chenle never really got to know. He's so formal, less excitable. He tilts his head, smiles apologetically, and Chenle’s stomach crawls into his throat. “I should get back to Sangyeon, really—Jaemin is two glasses of champagne deep and I’m afraid he’s going to start neck-kissing people soon.”
“Yeah, no, totally,” Chenle says, avoiding Eric’s eyes again.
“But later, if you’re still—“ Eric says at the same time.
“No, don’t worry, it’s—“
“I’m gonna call you soon, okay?” Eric says, cutting Chenle off with his own well known brand of sweet finality that comes across without any harshness. Eric takes Chenle’s hand and squeezes it, getting Chenle to look up at him with mild surprise.
“We should catch up,” Eric continues. “I really mean that.”
Chenle offers some variation of an agreement and with that, Eric leaves Chenle where he sits at the bar. He crosses the room just to wrap arm around his boyfriend’s waist, pulling Sangyeon away from Jaemin to give him a soft kiss. It feels private, too intimate, when Chenle sees Eric lean in and whisper something into Sangyeon’s ear that has the tips of his ears turning red. In turn, Eric bites his lip in an attempt to conceal a sly grin.
Chenle turns away from the exchange, feeling like he's seen too much. He doesn't mean to catch the bartender's attention when he clears his throat, but he figures another pour might do him good.
Weddings are weird.
As he promises to nurse this drink through the end of the reception and makes to head back to his table, the song shifts into something slower and more romantic. Chenle’s eyes immediately go to Donghyuck, who, instead of grabbing Yangyang by the wrist, sprints across the reception hall to pull someone else entirely onto the dance floor. He’s sucked into the middle of a group of people and Chenle loses eyes on him, can’t even see who he’s talking to. Though Chenle can’t make out exactly what Donghyuck is saying, the tone in his voice rings nasal and whiny, pleading in that obnoxiously sweet and self-aware Donghyuck way, until finally, Donghyuck emerges from the group with a triumphant smile on his face.
Mark Lee follows him onto the floor, with his rich brown hair combed back so neatly, wearing a suit tailored well to his body. Chenle stands up a little straighter. He tightens his grip on the glass in his hand and the twisting of his gut is like some euphoric seasickness. He’d seen Mark briefly at the ceremony and had wandered around the reception hall when he first arrived, trying to find him, but Chenle early gave up and figured he wasn’t going to make it. He probably had plans, Chenle thought—Mark was always notoriously busy, but to say Chenle was disappointed was an understatement that would remain unvoiced, and quite possibly unrealized by Chenle himself, until he sees Mark in front of him, rolling his eyes sweet and fond at Donghyuck. He places his hands on Donghyuck’s waist and Donghyuck’s go over his shoulders, and Chenle watches as Mark leans in to whisper something into his ear that has Donghyuck shriek with delight.
Chenle remembers one night, through the hazy overcast of liquor, Donghyuck had rested his cheek on Mark’s thigh while Yangyang and Renjun played a drinking game on the living room floor. I have spent so many lives with you, Donghyuck slurred, I’ll fuck with you just as hard in the next one, too . Chenle smiles at the memory and at the two of them now, gently swaying from side to side on the dance floor. Donghyuck is teasing Mark, Chenle is sure of it, but Mark never makes any move to leave. He never would, and Chenle is reminded of how much loyalty Mark carries in him. He’d been off on his own for a few years now, doing the whole freelance writing thing here and there and everywhere that was just far away enough from home to make it difficult to get together with anyone. But he looks at Donghyuck in his arms with the same sincerity, the same devotion that he always has, as if they’d never spent a second apart. As if Mark would never deem anything else more important than being here, now, with his best friends. It was all so very Mark Lee , with his built in strength like the chains of an old swing set.
Chenle hasn't seen Mark in, what, three years now? He's made sure Mark has gotten his Christmas card every year, watched Mark respond to the group chat when it was in rare use, but communication otherwise had been non-existent. It wasn't so strange to wrap his head around, but Chenle still feels a pang of regret, maybe guilt, as he realizes how unwoven their lives have become. Distance did a number on the lot of them, only Donghyuck able to keep up with everyone with his endless social battery and nosiness, which he cloaked as a "quest for knowledge." Threads of memories Chenle made with his closest friends and subtle reminders of what they molded each other into frayed and wore thin, like the hem and elbows of Chenle's old college sweatshirt, that he keeps tucked away in his drawer.
It's just that, as it grew older and as a result longer untouched, Chenle still could never bring himself to get rid of the thing. He imagines, though he doesn't indulge in it, that if he pressed the fabric to his face and took a deep breath, it would still hold the smell of all his friends camped out on Chenle's living room floor.
The song ends and Donghyuck reluctantly releases Mark, but not before landing a loud, wet kiss on his cheek that has Mark yelping and shoving Donghyuck's head away from him. Laughter bubbles out of both of them, ringing the sound of adolescence around the room. Donghyuck gives Mark a final squeeze before sauntering back over to Yangyang. Chenle hardly catches Donghyuck pulling his new husband up from his chair by the end of his tie before his feet start moving of their own accord. They carry him across the dance floor, past voices he must recognize, but Chenle doesn't pay enough attention to place them. He lands in front of Mark's turned back.
He figures this is what it must be like in movies. The mere seconds that Chenle takes to raise his hand and tap Mark on the shoulder melt and stretch out, leaving Chenle to recount the last time he and Mark saw one another face to face.
***
Chenle had straightened the stole on Mark’s graduation gown and flicked the tassel on his cap, going on to tell Mark how well he’d done. He never heard that enough—something Chenle came to realize when Mark would go soft in the eyes at any kind of praise thrown his way. They announced his name during the ceremony and Mark didn’t trip when he crossed the stage, or fumble when he was handed his diploma. Donghyuck snickered and held his hand out for Jeno to slide a folded bill into.
“You gotta have more faith in him,” Donghyuck murmured, “he’s a college grad.”
That night, the whole gang came to Chenle’s—save for Renjun, but Renjun and Mark were a touchy subject at the time, and no one really wanted to dig into it. There was booze and karaoke and pizza and some kind of hall-assed game of beer pong that Jeno somehow scrounged the pieces together for. Since when did Chenle even own ping pong balls? Regardless, just after one o’clock, Eric was overtired and Chenle had kissed him goodnight, sending him off to his bedroom with a promise that he wouldn’t be long.
When Chenle turned back towards the living room, Mark was standing so close to him that their chests bumped together. Their warm breath mingled with awkward laughter, and Chenle smelled beer on Mark's breath.
“You’re happy,” Mark grinned. He glanced between Chenle and his closed bedroom door. Mark had always loved love. He was a sucker for the little things.
Chenle didn’t hesitate to nod his head and smile back. “I am,” he said.
“I’m glad.”
It may have been the booze giving him a little liquid courage, or the late hour—Chenle liked to think it was mostly for of the lack of consequence there was in saying so, because he was truly happy. He was in love, and Eric was in love with him back, and Chenle knew that if any great heartbreak was bound to happen, it wouldn’t be caused by Chenle clearing his throat, running a hand through his hair, and saying—
“You know, I used to have the biggest crush on you.”
Mark picked at the label of his beer bottle with his thumb. He peeled it back and let the thin paper pill between the condensation and the pressure of his finger. He said nothing, but Chenle didn't miss the corner of his mouth quirkung up, his eyes piquing in interest.
“Before you and Renjun got together. Probably, uh, probably a little after you guys got together, too,” Chenle went on. He himself grow red at his own loose lips, but couldn't seem to stop words from coming out. “Funny thing, Jisung is actually the one who pointed it out to me. Like, it was so obvious to everyone but me that I—“
Chenle abruptly cut himself off when Mark slumped back against the wall with surprise. Still standing outside of Chenle’s bedroom, Chenle wondered if Eric could hear them. If it would matter. It didn’t feel like something that mattered—not in any huge way, anyway. Chenle felt that Mark deserved to know. He didn’t want to hide anything from him, especially when things were about to change so drastically, and all they had was the trust they put in each other.
“I had no idea,” Mark said. His voice was full of amusement, none too teasing. “I wish you’d told me.”
Chenle huffed out a laugh. “I figured it wouldn’t matter, you know? The timing was off. All I wanted to do was get over you.”
Mark’s mouth formed the shape of a word he didn’t let out, a thought he decided not to voice. There was something unreadable in his expression, but Chenle didn’t let himself linger on it—instead, he dragged his finger over Mark’s neck, where the redness had spread down from his ears, until it disappeared under the collar of his shirt.
“You leave tomorrow afternoon, right?” Chenle asked, humming when Mark nodded in response. “We oughta get you to bed soon, big guy. Get some water in you so you aren’t too hungover to sit on a plane.”
Chenle noticed Mark opening his mouth, readying himself to complain, resist, but he went on anyway. “You aren’t as young as you once were! You’ve gotta get rest. Let’s go, make your rounds, Hyuckie is taking people home. You’re sure you don’t wanna sleep here?”
Mark only nodded, smiling a little sadly. “Hyuck is taking me to the airport. He’d be crushed if he couldn’t try and ruin my life a few more times before he sends me off.”
Chenle snorted, shoving Mark’s shoulder lightly. “You love him,” he accused.
Mark’s eyes squint into beautiful half moons under the breadth of his close lipped smile. “I do. I’m gonna miss him just as much as I do you, but like, don’t fuckin’ tell him I said that or anything. I won’t hear the end of it.”
Chenle could have laughed. He could have smiled sweetly and brushed it off, but the fact was this—Mark was leaving. Chenle was going to miss him so much. He found himself throwing his arms around Mark’s shoulders, wordlessly, pulling him into a tight hug. Marks held Chenle too, close enough to his chest that Chenle smelled the fading musky cologne Mark wore for special occasions.
Chenle’s chin tucked right over Mark’s shoulder, and Mark squeezed him tighter.
“Be good, okay?” Chenle mumbled, clearing his throat in an attempt to cover up the weak sniffle he let out. “Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t forget to call home.”
Mark nodded again. Chenle pretended he didn’t hear the shakiness of his breathing, since Mark pretended not to see the tears that welled up in Chenle’s eyes when he pulled away from the embrace. Chenle started to speak, got half a syllable out, before Mark wrapped his fingers around Chenle’s wrist and shook his head.
“Let’s—let’s not say anything else,” Mark said, and oh, if that wasn’t so like him. Sentimental to a fault, inclined to leave things unsaid, to savor the words he wanted to hear or say the most, heavy and saccharine on his tongue until the next time they’d meet.
Mark pulled Chenle in for another hug that they mutually sighed into, only to be interrupted by Jaemin rounding the corner and squawking. To others it might seem horrific, but Chenle heard it as a sound of adoration.
“I think that’s my cue,” Mark whispered into Chenle’s shoulder. “Donghyuckie must be looking for me.”
Chenle only nodded and let Mark break their embrace once again. “Um,” Chenle sniffled, voice weak and on the verge of cracking. Tears stung in his eyes but never threatened to spill over. “Bye.”
Mark smiled at him one last time, cheeky and earnest as ever. “See you later, Lele.”
***
Mark’s shoulders are broader now than the last time Chenle saw them, walking away from him the night of Mark's graduation. Chenle taps his shoulder and Mark’s eyes light up as soon as he turns.
“Dude, oh my god,” Mark breathes, then laughs. “Chenle, I—“ Mark turns back to the woman he’d been speaking to, someone Chenle hardly recognizes from Donghyuck’s days in theater, and excuses himself. “This is so rude, I’m sorry, but I haven’t seen this guy in like, three years. Do you mind?”
She looks at Chenle, then at Mark, giving them each a once over and then a smile, like she knows something they don’t. “By all means.”
She leaves them standing together at the back of the reception hall, and Chenle opens his mouth to speak, but suddenly he’s lost every meaningful word he’d wanted to say in Mark’s absence. Instead, he settles on something simple.
“Hi.”
Mark’s smile has grown more charming. There are tiny wrinkles that form in the corners of his eyes when he flashes all of his teeth, a telltale sign of long term happiness that Chenle has always admired Mark for displaying so proudly.
“Hi,” Mark says back. He looks Chenle up and down and then says, “you look really good, man. What have you even been up to?”
It plays out something like a montage. Over the sound of the wedding band and one more drink—okay, maybe two more, but really Mark, that’s all —Chenle and Mark find their footing again. The pacing hasn’t changed, Chenle realizes. Mark still brings out quick wit overlaying the urge Chenle has always felt to dote on him. They play together, like they’re boys again, teasing and poking and remembering just how good it felt to know each other, to sit so close their knees bumped together.
Mark was late to the reception because he’s got to take Donghyuck and Yangyang to the airport in the morning, and had to make sure everything was in place with the hotel. He’d offered to drop the lovers off on their honeymoon before Donghyuck could even ask, and Chenle cackles when Mark tells him Donghyuck had nearly kissed him for being so gracious.
Mark asks Chenle if he's single. Chenle nods and admits there have been a few little things here and there, but—he finds Eric in the crowd, watches him laugh as Sangyeon twirls and dips him—nothing serious since the summer after he graduated.
Mark has been busy. Mark hasn't really come home since he left. He’s traveled a lot, still freelancing, but Chenle knows that from pictures he’d send to the group chat every few months, or quick updates he’d get from Donghyuck if they’d had a phone call.
“You never called,” Chenle says. It’s not an accusation. He shrugs. “I didn’t call either, though.”
Sadness briefly flashes through Mark's smile. “We both had a lot going on, didn’t we?”
Chenle hums. “Life is fucking weird.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Mark laughs, knocking his glass against Chenle’s.
When they raise them together and knock back the rest of their drinks, Chenle realizes how pleasingly airy he feels. He’s not drunk by any means. He's probably not even buzzed, but since Chenle sidled up to Mark and leaned against the bar with him, he doesn’t feel like he’s drowning under the ballroom lights anymore. Free of the crushing weight of 20 tables of cotton tablecloths, dishes, and cutlery, the lights in the room seem brighter and the music louder, neither of which overstimulating. Chenle catches Mark staring at him with a dopey grin on his face.
Chenle punches his arm. “What?”
“I just really missed you, man,” Mark grins. “I’ve, uh—I’ve been thinking about you. I’m glad you’re here.” His gaze lingers just below Chenle’s eyes long enough that he starts to feel warm, and when he speaks, it comes out hushed.
“I missed you, too.”
“Do you wanna dance?” Mark asks, rubbing his palms on his knees. Chenle can tell he’s nervous but, for the life of him, can not figure out why. The band is playing some 90’s pop hits—one that everyone knows, but no one is quite sure of the words. They seem to have it covered on stage, though, and Chenle makes a mental note to tell Jisung he did a good job, pulling them together at the last minute.
Chenle sees a few familiar faces on the dance floor. “Absolutely I do,” he answers, setting his glass out onto the table before taking Mark by the wrist and whisking him into the crowd.
It’s not so much dancing, really. It reminds Chenle a lot of school dances, where people more or less jumped to the beat of the song and laughed with each other, singing along as best as they could. Mark and Chenle are no exception to this, eventually getting Jaemin and Jeno’s attention, then Donghyuck and Yangyang’s. By the time one song fades into another, then another, the two of them are surrounded by their college friends, singing along to a Bowling For Soup song that they used to crush on karaoke nights.
Not long after, all of them need a break to catch their breath. Between minutes of idle chatter and giving Donghyuck and Yangyang more congratulatory hugs, Chenle bumps his shoulder into Mark’s. It's funny, really, how after all this time, Chenle is still pulled in Mark's direction.
“Are we getting old?” Chenle wheezes, making Mark’s head fall back with a laugh. He smiles at Chenle with a look of beautiful disbelief that Chenle can’t quite place, but he thinks he understands the sentiment nonetheless.
Instead of answering, Mark brings Chenle along with him to get a glass of water. They find a quiet place to sit, a table that is miraculously empty, though it stays quiet even as they settle down. There’s no worry woven into the silence—as easily as they could fill up space, Chenle has always found just as much comfort in the space they didn’t. There's an announcement made by one of the band members on stage, the tall, model-like one that Chenle remembers Jisung having his whole bisexual crisis over–Donghyuck and Yangyang will cut their wedding cake, he says, and then there will only be half an hour more of music before the reception ends.
“This is hardly going to be the most exciting time we’ve seen them feed each other,” Chenle deadpans, and Mark snorts, clapping him on the shoulder.
“Dang, dude, do you remember that spring break we spent at Jaemin’s dad’s lake house?” Mark asks, and Chenle’s wild grin matches his. “We had that bonfire, and Yangyang—“
“I still can’t look at marshmallows the same way,” Chenle cuts in. They fall into each other, giggling like kids at a sleepover.
A crowd forms around the cake table but Mark and Chenle stay put, sat at their lonesome table but not lonely.
“We had fun, didn’t we?” Mark asks. He’s staring at the crowd of people in front of them, and Chenle isn’t sure if its a question he’s meant to answer—Mark used to get like that sometimes, verbally introspective without looking for any advice. Chenle figures that much hasn’t changed, until Mark turns his head and smiles softly at Chenle.
“I wouldn’t trade anything for the memories I made back then,” Chenle says. Mark has always made him feel so honest—he made no habit of lying, but veered on the edge of hard shelled and closed off—but there’s something about Mark’s saucers for eyes blinking at him, always staring at Chenle like he painted every shade in the sky Mark’s favorite color by hand, that has Chenle feeling a little more vulnerable.
One of Mark’s hands twitches where it rests on his knee. Chenle resists the urge to take it into his own, then feels taken aback by the temptation crawling out of him. “You wouldn’t change anything, if you could do it over?”
Chenle hums. “Of course I would,” he answers. Mark’s eyes on him start to feel a little heavy, but he won’t look away. “But I really like where my choices have brought me, now. I don’t regret anything.”
Mark nods. He glances over Chenle’s features, trying to map out something Chenle is unsure of, then he clears his throat. After running a hand through his combed hair, Mark fiddles with the strands he’s knocked out of place before rubbing his palms over his knees again.
“Do you remember the night before I left?” Mark asks, suddenly averting his gaze in favor of staring at his cuticles. “When you told me you used to like me? Like, you had a crush on me? I, uh—“ Mark clears his throat again and stammers idly, like he’s waiting for his mouth to catch up with his brain. It’s nothing new to Chenle, and though his heart has picked up in pace and his eyes have widened he remains patient, waiting.
“I really wish you would have told me. I would have really liked to take you out.”
The crowd in front of the cake has since parted, Donghyuck and Yangyang have taken their seats on the other side of the room to enjoy their dessert before they share their last few dances. Chenle watches Yangyang laugh after he’s swiped frosting across Donghyuck’s nose, and when he looks back, Mark is looking at him again with that same, searching look.
I wish I had , Chenle wants to say. I don’t think I ever stopped , Chenle wants to say even more, I don't know what I'm supposed to do.
“I can’t believe you remember that,” Chenle settles on.
Mark shakes his head and smiles, almost to himself, and says, “I don’t think I could forget it if I wanted to.”
Chenle’s cheeks are hot. He can feel them prickling in spiderwebs over his face, up to his ears. He doesn’t like to feel caught off guard. Mark knows that, but he keeps looking at Chenle like he knows some grand secret, some sacred, universal truth that he’s waiting for Chenle to catch without dropping any hints.
Chenle opens his mouth to ask Mark what he’s doing, what he means–Mark has always been so open and so forward and now he’s not , and Chenle is really getting stressed out by his lack of read on the situation–but the tiny guitarist on stage comes to the microphone and announces the last song. The music slows, the lights turn warm as they dim, and Chenle watches Yangyang lead Donghyuck to the floor. Sangyeon brings Eric, Jeno brings Renjun as a far-gone Jaemin coos and hiccups sleepily from his seat. Donghyuck's mother pulls a Jisung away from the stage and into her arms, getting a good laugh from the crowd, and–
“Come dance with me,” Mark says. Chenle looks back to see that Mark is standing, holding his hand out towards him.
Chenle puts his hand in Mark’s and marvels at how the touch is electric, fizzling between their fingers. It makes him feel five years younger. It makes him feel so clueless.
“Okay,” Chenle says, and then he's being tugged to his feet and then to the floor.
With the hand that Mark doesn’t keep clasped in his own, Chenle finds Mark’s shoulder. Mark finds Chenle’s waist, and then they’re stunned by each other’s closeness into a silence that feels just a little too intimate.
“Mark,” Chenle says, shocked at how quiet, how breathy, the name falls from his lips. He doesn’t hear the music, just moves his body and lets himself be moved by the current of Mark’s guiding hand moving to rest on his lower back. Hardly a few inches taller than him, Mark’s gaze is still downcast, pretty eyelids fluttering with thick lashes, his lips barely parted and he says Chenle’s name back to him.
He trails off, as if he wants to say more, but the only other sound Mark lets out is a quiet, shaking breath when he pulls Chenle a fraction closer, just close enough to brush his nose against Chenle’s soft cheek.
Oh.
Oh.
Chenle’s gasp is near inaudible, and though Mark catches it, he doesn’t move away. “Mark,” he breathes out again, this time sounding something like a warning. Something like a plea. At the least, a cry for clarity. Confirmation.
“I never stopped thinking about it,” Mark says back to him, voice low and deep. “I never stopped thinking about you, I—“ Mark squeezes Chenle’s hand. “I feel like I kept missing out on you. I don’t want to do that anymore.”
Chenle’s heart beats so loud, so quick and heavy, that it feels almost cartoonish, like it’ll thump its imprint through the breast of his suit jacket. He thinks for a moment that it feels like a dream before he realizes, no, it just feels like things are falling into place like they were always meant to. Like no other version of Chenle would be as suited to fall into Mark and feel the even pressure, the blanketing pleasure of Mark falling back into him.
“Do you want to get out of here?”
Chenle is as surprised at his own question as Mark is, but he doesn’t falter in his step despite the wide, confused eyes Mark lays on him. Their dance continues as the song swells to its bridge, though it feels like no one else is in the room with them anymore.
Mark’s eyes flicker between Chenle’s own and the pout of his lips. “Do you?” He asks. His smile is small and coy, as if now is the moment he chooses to be bashful. As if he’s itching to hear Chenle’s voice turn teasing.
Intentional or not, any time Mark has offered him bait, Chenle has taken it and bitten down hard, without any regard to his own sense of self preservation—Mark hasn’t changed though, not really, and Chenle has never felt less threatened by the pull of his line.
“Mark Lee,” Chenle grins. He lifts his hand from Mark’s shoulder to dig into the pocket of his suit jacket and brings out a rectangle of plastic. He pokes Mark in the chest with the key to his hotel room and scrunches his nose. “Answer the question.”
Mark fights the growth of his smile by pursing his lips at first, then digging his teeth into his bottom lip as he nods. “Yeah,” he finally answers. He squeezes Chenle’s hip, looking like he’s about to lean in and kiss Chenle right here, and Chenle feels like he could fucking fly . “Yeah, I do.”
They sneak out of the reception fairly easily, before the song has ended. Chenle doesn’t look back to see if anyone has noticed them leaving, has caught them in the act, but he’s hard pressed to believe that anyone could stop him from briskly leaving that hall with Mark’s arm tucked into his. Their walk to the elevator is silent, but Chenle can feel Mark’s giddy energy reflecting his own. He hopes Mark doesn’t notice the slight tremble in his hands, even as they’re grounded by Mark’s touch.
Soon the elevator door closes behind them, and after Chenle presses a button that resembles what’s meant to be floor 20, he leans back against the wall and tilts his head at Mark. He doesn’t get a very good look in before Mark crowds into his space, placing both of his hands on Chenle’s hips.
For a moment they do nothing but breath each other in, teasing with phantom brushes of lips against skin and slowly tracing features that are by no means new to one another, just previously untouched. Chenle draws his finger over the part of Mark’s collarbone that flashes where the top buttons of his dress shirt have come undone. Mark drags a hand up Chenle’s side then cups Chenle’s jaw. His touch is so tender, so tame and delicate, leaking every ounce of emotion that he’d apparently kept to himself in Chenle’s absence—every ounce that Chenle has always returned tenfold since they were still boys, and let lay dormant while he found a version of himself without too many variables in need of testing.
“Mark,” Chenle says again. The shape of Mark’s name feels different in his mouth now. It tastes different on his tongue. He wishes Mark would taste it, too.
“Mm,” Mark hums, brushing his nose against Chenle’s and only half aware of the desperation in Chenle’s voice.
Chenle places his hand over Mark’s own, and Mark almost startles at the touch—Chenle watches him come back into his own body and snickers quietly in disbelief. “What are you waiting for?”
Mark flushes a pretty shade of pink. His free hand remains on Chenle’s hip and he gives it a light squeeze. Big, shiny doe eyes ask so much of Chenle that Mark has no idea of, but Chenle is more than willing to give. Just before he touches his lips to Chenle’s, one more stunned giggle jumps out of Mark. They're so close that they're practically kissing already, separated only by millimeters of static energy.
“I have no idea.”