A/N: Many thanks to Neegahosh for encouraging me while I was struggling with this! And to everyone who Subscribed, Upvoted and shared their thoughts on Mark Me, there are not enough words to express my gratitude for your support. I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)

     In retrospect, all the things he did to Seungkwan was greatly unlike him. Was it the weather? The giddiness from having someone to talk to? The fact that Seungkwan technically held information that can get him kicked out of school?

    No, it wasn’t any of those.

    It was the nervous palpitations he felt when the other boy refused to tell him how he knew. It unnerved Chan to know that as much as he liked observing others, he didn’t like being observed himself. He felt raw and exposed and he’d treated Seungkwan horribly.

    When Monday came, Chan expects to be escorted out of the school premises on grounds of failing to uphold the principle rules of Hanseong High School. He’d sat through all his classes before he realizes that, no, the other shoe was not going to drop. He wants to confront Seungkwan but he realizes that he didn’t even know which class the other boy belonged to. He was still mulling over how to find the other when an umbrella is to his chest.

    It has frills in the pattern of yellow and pink polka dots and apparently Seungkwan thought he needed it? 

    “You’re gonna need it– the forecast said it may rain again.”

    “I don’t–”

    “Look, I know you don’t care but,” He clutches a matching umbrella, one with blue and green polka dots, while gnawing on his bottom lip, “But I really, really need to see a you-know-what and I wouldn’t trust just anyone, so I came to you because you seem like a nice kid, okay?”

    Seungkwan barely takes a breathe before launching on to a longer tirade on how shady tattoo artists are and how he couldn’t really just ask anyone. But Chan had already been ready to nod his head and lead him to the end of the rainbow if Seungkwan wanted, because no one has ever told Chan that he was a nice anything.

    “I’ve also made sure to shut those other guys up– they won’t dare breathe a word.”

    “Okay.”

    “And also I’ll– wait, okay?”

    “Okay.”

    “O-okay then!”

    They get dropped off in Seungkwan’s Lexus– the other doesn’t know how to drive yet but he had a chauffeur for that anyway. Chan only feels a little jealous; he liked being able to observe people in the bus, so he’s not as bothered. Seungkwan is visibly surprised that they’re in the lush downtown area of Seoul. The sign is minimal, written in thin cursive on a wooden plank painted in white. “Adore You” greets them and Seungkwan thinks they may be in the wrong place. Chan just shakes his head with a chuckle, swinging open the glass door that led down a staircase. Hopefully Wonwoo-hyung won’t scare away his-- dare he say it?-- new friend.

    It’s raining again. They wait in silence, for what, Jihoon doesn’t know. Mingyu can’t drive yet and he doesn’t have his bus pass on him, so possibly, they’re just standing still with nowhere to be. The itch under his skin from the silence is something he’s long gotten used to—but not with Mingyu. Mingyu was supposed to fill all the empty spaces with his soothing voice. He isn’t, right now.

    “What did you tell them?” He’s terse, his words clipped. It becomes more evident, how much taller Mingyu was than Jihoon, as his shoulders tighten and his gaze pointedly look towards the ground.

    He contemplates not answering. Let the rain swallow his words and silence reign. “I fell against the opened cupboard and the plates and mugs fell on me.” He didn’t.

    A strange sound comes from bellow Mingyu’s throat. It takes a while for it to register as chuckles. Jihoon has heard all the different types of laughter Mingyu was capable of; the one that’s loud and obnoxious that ends with a high pitched hee; the one that’s barely a laugh, more of a snort, a quick intake of garbled breath; the one that’s shocked out of him, slow to start but warm in its conclusion—this was none of those. It’s a tired sound. And he manages to sound simultaneously like he’s about to scream and like he’s choking back tears. Jihoon looks up to say something, interrupt whatever is happening because he didn’t like it. But Mingyu’s already walking away into the rain.

    He’s soaked and he turns to face Jihoon, who’s still standing under the safety of the hospital’s front entrance, as a car pulls over in front of him. Someone comes out of the driver’s seat, holding an umbrella. Mingyu gestures toward Jihoon, his eyes remaining pinned to Jihoon’s quivering form, dwarfed in a large blanket.

    It’s bad. Because Mingyu hated calling on his family chauffer.

    Wonwoo is glad that Chan had made a friend. Really, he is.

    “Why is it so nice and clean?” But did he have to make friends with a little ?

    He starts prepping, intent on getting this over with as fast as he can. But before that, “You must be over eighteen years of age in order to lawfully receive a tattoo without parental consent.” It’s not often that he gets to say this line, but he had to keep the business as above board as possible—too many people wanted tattoo shops shut down as it is, no need to give them a legitimate reason.

    The boy reluctantly hands over his identification, visibly trying not to touch fingers with him. Wonwoo just raises an eyebrow while shooting a look towards Chan. What did the boy think he did for a living? Kill people?

    His other eyebrow shoots up to follow the other as he reads his date of birth. The 16^th of January. Someone was eager. Too eager because it’s obvious that he’s exactly six days early, it’s only the 10^th. Underneath the I.D. are a couple of bills and Wonwoo smirks. This kid thinks he can bribe him.

    He nods, and with a welcoming smile, he ushers his customer towards the reclining leather chair. He goes to the back to fetch the prank coil machine equipped with an inch wide needle he’d received from a particularly friendly customer.

    He sets it down on the metal tray right next to the boy’s arm, deliberately slow in cleaning and assembling the tattoo machine.

    “Um, isn’t that a little…big?”

    “Oh, you wanted a smaller needle?” The boy nods, eyes hopeful. Wonwoo smiles, his eyes crinkling shut, teeth gleaming under the fluorescent light.

    “Sorry, this is the only one we have for today—we can have a smaller needle arranged at a later date, if you want?” He asks, as he starts testing the coil machine. Ever the trusty tool that it was, it made ominous buzzing sounds that sent the brat quivering into the leather recliner.

    “Alright, I’ll see you in six days then.”  Wonwoo waves the boy out, pushing his school bag towards his chest, before resolving to have a talk with Chan.

    Seventeen. Two boys who barely knew what they were doing. It’s a wonder, how far they got when they were just nothing but naive little birds in the vulture’s den. Jeonghan’s hair is glossier than he remembers it ever being and his skin was as clear as the purified water especially bought for them. But he feels dirty and weary and everything is unpleasant. For every note about empty sentiments of love that left his lips, he feels like barfing a thousand unpleasant words; for every service he does for the fans, he feels a piece of himself crumbling away; for every time he laid awake at night staring up at nothing, he feels the void within him grow bigger– there was something missing and he wasn’t going to find it where he was now. 

    The van stops and he’s ushered off inside the hospital. Today, he was supposed to make a “surprise” visit to the children’s wing of Seonpyang Hospital. Seungcheol’s supposed to be with him but apparently something important came up. Jeonghan wishes he could say the same but there’s only two of them, so the duty falls on him. Gotta keep up their image, the company says. Gotta put on your face, Jeonghan thinks.

-----

    Jihoon can’t tell how many times he’s thought of leaving. How many times he’s folded his clothes into a bag, looked up flight tickets and came so close to stepping one foot outside their apartment door. Can’t tell how many letters addressed to Seungcheol, stained with words of good bye and I love you and I’m sorrys, he’s sneaked out late at night to throw into the incinerator. He can’t tell and he hopes Seungcheol won’t ever find out.

    “Hyung, you…you know it can’t keep going on like this?” Half an hour into traffic and the incessant beeping of Mingyu’s phone, Mingyu finally speaks again but he really doesn’t need Mingyu’s constant beseeching. He knows. Jihoon knows perfectly well.

    “I know, Mingyu-ah.” He’s tired of this. Mingyu takes Jihoon’s hand in his and it’s warm. It makes him want to melt into oblivion.

    “Hyung,” Mingyu tightens his hold, biting his lip before looking to Jihoon’s half-lidded eyes. He pockets his phone, still vibrating,”I have a plan. To spirit you away.”

    He couldn’t help it, a small huff escapes him. Mingyu doesn’t waiver and Jihoon’s tired, so he gives him a non-committal nod of the head. The first smile Jihoon’s seen on Mingyu’s face today lights his face up brighter than the sun. It would be endearing, if it wasn’t so ing depressing.

    “Hyung, I can get you to our vacation home—the one in Jeju. It’s really nice there—“

    “And it’s also you’re parent’s. It’s not yours to lend.”

    “I’ll ask them. I’ll make them a deal they can’t turn down. Then, we can invite your parents to stay with you—“

    “I haven’t talked to them in over a year. They didn’t take well to my choice in lovers, remember?”

    “Well…then I can move there and stay with you! That’s easy enough.”

    “What about my job?”

    “I can find you a different job, something to do with music too!”

    “No one will want to hire someone who can’t abide by their contracts and word spreads fast in the industry. Even if we try, Seungcheol will know then.”

    And that’s just what it is. Seungcheol. It was like he’d emptied out Jihoon and took the largest chunk of space within Jihoon’s life and stuck himself there. Gave him a job, an apartment, insisted he paid for every single thing even when Jihoon vehemently refused and it was sweet. It was sweet until he started throwing it all back to Jihoon’s face. Really, it was Jihoon’s fault, for letting himself get so dependent. He’d just woken up one day, buried in Seungcheol’s sheets with Seungcheol’s arms around him inside Seungcheol’s apartment and realized he was in too deep and there were no life guards.

    He can see the cogs continuing to turn in Mingyu’s head so he stops it short, “Hyung is tired,” He squeezes Mingyu’s hand, “Can I borrow your shoulder?”