Taeyong’s staring at him, all pale and worried. Mark can actually see the anxiety lining the bags under Taeyong’s eyes, though he concedes that the older man looks much better than before.

Mark himself, at the moment, is trying to force the bile back down his throat, because he didn’t think he’d ever have to be the one to set things in motion yet, here he is. Sitting across Taeyong, and pulling his leg closer to himself.

Speaking of which, his leg seems to be doing a little better. It was hurting yesterday, but today it’s almost completely healed, save for the fact that, well, Mark can’t actually walk for long. It sends a little reminder sting at that, and Mark can’t help but idly rub at the area—softly, of course—as he looks at Taeyong.

He’s had a lot of time to think about what happened yesterday. Even when Donghyuck was being clingy and loving and everything Mark didn’t—doesn’t—deserve, Mark couldn’t stop thinking about Taeyong’s ashen cheeks, his trembling form; even now, as he stares at his hyung, he can’t help but see it. There’s something monumentally wrong about that picture that it’s become hard to forget.

There’s still a tiny part of him, though, that wonders why isn’t hyung asking me how I feel, doesn’t he care? And it wars with the stronger voice in his head which sneers on about how Mark shouldn’t expect any love, especially not after burdening everyone so much and how Taeyong hyung’s like this because of you.

The thought hurts just as much as it should.

“Uh, Mark?” He’s broken out of his thoughts by his hyung, who’s rocking forward slightly, clearly troubled, “Are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah.” He winces as his voice cracks, shoving those useless (true) thoughts to the back of his mind, “I was just… thinking about stuff.”

Great, he’s so convincing. Mark could hit himself, really.

“Anyway,” He hurries to cover up his stupidity, mouth drying up again, “I, uh… wanted to talk to you about yesterday.”

“Oh.” Something akin to regret flashes in Taeyong’s eyes, and Mark can’t help but wonder if he’s regretting standing up for him, “Yeah, what about it?”

“I just… wanted to say thanks, I guess.” Mark looks awkwardly at his lap, feeling his hyung’s intense gaze almost unbearable to soldier through, “For… for defending me.”

“Oh, Mark,” Taeyong sighs, and Mark tenses up, “Minhyung.”

And oh, he wouldn’t call Mark by his actual name if he were mad, right?

Mark still doesn’t look up, though. Just in case. But he can’t help the shaky exhale of breath when Taeyong surges forward to wrap his arms around him, and doesn’t hesitate to hug him back. It feels nice to hold someone like this, to live in a medium where someone else knows what he’s feeling, what he’s thinking.

“You don’t need to thank me for something like that.” Taeyong murmurs quietly into his ear, still holding him close, “It’s the least I could do for you.”

“No, it’s more than I could’ve asked for.” Mark shuts his eyes, lets the warmth of his hyung engulf him for just this moment, “And with you being sick too, I… I’m just happy you thought of me, I guess.”

His cheeks burn at the embarrassing words, but he needs to get them out, needs his hyung to know how much Mark appreciates him (how much he needs him, even through the pain).

Taeyong stills for the briefest, most heart-stopping moment, before he relaxes, melting back against Mark’s smaller frame.

“I’m always worried about you.” Taeyong says honestly, “But I also know that this isn’t all you wanted to tell me.”

Damn it. Taeyong’s always been good at reading through Mark, just like Mark can see the tiniest nuances in his hyung’s behavior. Maybe it’s because they’ve spent so much time together before this, or maybe it’s because they’re both leaders, or maybe, maybe, maybe. There are so many ‘ifs’ in this that Mark has stopped trying to understand.

“I wanted to know what he actually said to you.” Mark spits out and there, he’s done it, potentially ruined everything, “I—I know you said nothing happened, but I know he must’ve… must’ve said something.”

Taeyong hesitates, and Mark predicts the lie even before he hears it, “There’s nothing, he said nothing to me, so don’t worry—”

“Hyung.” Mark pulls back, even though his body begs him to get back the warmth, so that he can stare Taeyong in the eyes, see the emotions flitting across his hyung’s open face, “You… you were the one who said it: you’re like a brother to me.”

He looks up, again, sees Taeyong’s glimmering eyes, thinks to himself that this isn’t your fault, you’re not making him cry, except maybe you are, maybe you should shut up.

“And we don’t lie to each other.” His voice grows smaller, despite his struggle to come off as strong, and he bitterly wonders why he can’t do even the simplest of things, the basics that any idol should be able to do, “R-Right?”

“Mark, I…” Taeyong’s curling his fists loosely in his lap, expression wavering, before his voice trails off into an unknowing whisper, “I… I can’t, I… I’ve always been a really good liar. Haven’t I?”

The last part is said mostly to himself, ended with a bitter chuckle.

“What?” Mark says, and he really doesn’t understand, I’m sorry, but Taeyong’s already shaking his head and getting up, hand carelessly swiping at his eyes.

Holding back tears. Because of Mark.

“Nothing.” His voice is thick, and Mark feels small, so small, sitting on his bed, “It doesn’t matter. I already said nothing happened, so let’s just… let’s just leave it at that, okay?”

He doesn’t give Mark any time to answer, because he steps out of the room and shuts the door behind him all too quickly, in a matter of moments. And Mark does nothing, just sits there, feeling… feeling nothing. Is his chest supposed to be this empty?

He doesn’t even notice Donghyuck slipping back in, not until the brunette takes his hands in his cooler ones.

“Hey, hyung.” Donghyuck’s sweet voice is softer than usual, and Mark forces a smile to his lips, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Mark takes a leaf out of Taeyong’s book, lying through his teeth, “I just thought of something unimportant. What do you want to do?”

“Right.” Donghyuck gives him an entirely knowing look, and it nearly makes Mark flush from the guilt, “I don’t know, maybe ask the hyungs if we can go back to our dorms?”

“This is our dorm too.” Mark remind him, but he sees Donghyuck’s point. He doesn’t think he could ever forget his friends’ ashen faces, dull eyes and broken breaths. All his responsibility.

“You know what I mean.” Donghyuck pokes his cheek, always the mature one, and Mark—who’d normally react sensitively—doesn’t even bat an eye, shoulders slumping, “Okay, what’s wrong?”

“What Taeyong hyung said the other day… it’s really bothering me.” Mark admits—he’s always been a terrible liar—looking unsurely at Donghyuck, and bolstering on when he only sees his understanding, “I don’t know how to say it, really, but… it’s like something’s up with him. I think Kim-ssi might’ve said something, but—”

“You don’t know what, or even why.” Donghyuck concludes, small smile etching onto his lips at the sight of Mark’s eager nod before it quickly dissolves, “Let’s get one thing right though: you don’t address that pile of respectfully. He isn’t ‘Kim-ssi’ or whatever to you, oh no.”

“Donghyuck…” Mark draws out, uncertainty crawling up from an icy pool.

Donghyuck’s eyes flash, “He is trash to you.”

“Donghyuck!”

“It’s true!” The brunette insists, taking Mark’s cheeks in his hands, so that Mark has to look him in the eye, see the sincerity and warmth and love, “He’s trash.”

“O-Okay?” Mark’s cheeks flush—he can’t help himself—and he gives a tiny, jerky nod.

“Say it.” The younger boy’s eyes flash, and something in Mark’s stomach coils, “He’s trash.”

“I…” Mark wants to refute, wants to stop, but something in Donghyuck’s eyes makes him want to stay, “H-He’s tr-trash?”

“More conviction.” Donghyuck presses, hands taking Mark’s instead.

“He’s trash.” Mark snaps out finally, before shaking his head, “What’s the point of this?”

“I want you to say it until you believe it.” Donghyuck says, “Because it’s the truth. Say it again.”

“I—he’s trash.”

“He shouldn’t have touched me.”

“What?” Mark is confused—did he hurt Donghyuck? Did he… did he...?

“Repeat it.” Donghyuck has the patience of a saint, “He shouldn’t have touched me.”

“He… He shouldn’t have t-touched me?”

“He shouldn’t have hurt me.”

“He…” Mark’s eyes are starting to sting, clouding over with familiar tears as he recalls everything; every snide remark, every hurtful order, every stinging touch. The doubt creeps in, again, and Mark wonders why the man’s so obviously in the wrong, for Donghyuck: if Mark messes up, shouldn’t he… shouldn’t he take the blame?

“Mark?” Donghyuck asks softly, and Mark can’t help the tiny sob that escapes him, “Talk to me?”

“I k-kept messing up.” He chokes out, vision blurring as the tears push their way forward. “He was… he was only trying to h-help me.”

“Is that what he said?” Something’s off about Donghyuck’s voice, Mark can tell; but, he keeps his head down because he’s a coward, shameful, embarrassing, “Mark hyung? Is that what he said?”

Is it funny that every time Donghyuck remembers to use honorifics, it hurts? Mark should be grateful, but all he can feel is the distance wedging itself between them, digging the knife in his gut deeper and deeper and deeper—

“D-Don’t do that.” Mark bites out, “Don’t call me hyung, please.”

There’s a beat of silence, where Mark contemplates removing his hands from the tanned boy’s more slender ones; but he doesn’t have the chance, because his grip tightens.

“Alright.” Donghyuck’s voice sounds stuffy—well, stuffier than usual—and Mark worries, “Okay, Mark. Is that what that pile of trash told you?”

Something about the venom in Donghyuck’s tone loosens up Mark’s stomach. It tightens again, though, upon remembering the soft, parental brush of a hand through his hair, the tiny, whispered words:

“I only want what’s best for you.”

“Yes.” Mark sighs shakily, fingers twitching against Donghyuck’s, “I-I mean he had a point, I k-kept messing up that day…”

“That day?” Donghyuck’s eyes widen, “You mean… when your hip was busted?”

“I, uh, yeah?” Mark cringes at how much he failed at being casual about it.

“Mark!” The shrill tone makes him flinch back, too many bad memories of the same kind of loud, overpowering voice filling his memories, “Mark, you were hurt. He should’ve pardoned you in the first place.”

“In fact,” Donghyuck adds, “He should’ve shown you to a doctor.”

Mark’s hip throbs again, in reminder.

“It was my fault.” Mark asserts, still not looking up, “You don’t know how much I’ve screwed up, Hyuck, it’s just been one mistake after the next for me. And he was right: how am I supposed to survive this place if I… if I’m not good enough?”

There. He’s said it. It’s out there, he’s left himself bare and open.

“Oh god.” Donghyuck breathes out shakily, sounding close to tears himself, and Mark’s pulse quickens, sweat beading at his forehead because is it because of him? Donghyuck, please don’t cry, “No, that’s not how it should be! You’re the most talented person I know: I mean, you debuted in three units! Who else has done that?!”

“It’s just… they probably had high hopes for me and I failed?” Mark doesn’t feel as sure about this as he did before.

“Are you kidding me?” Donghyuck’s lips quirk up into a sad smile, and Mark looks up fully now, “If that were the case, I’d have been kicked out a long time ago.”

“What?” Mark protests hotly, unstoppable current rising up, “No, you’ve got a beautiful voice and it’s so unique! They’d never do that—”

“So, why’re you any different?” Donghyuck asks quietly and, for a moment, Mark is struck dumb, “You’re the best rapper SM has had in ages, and you can’t deny it. Not to mention…”

Mark must be seeing things, because his friend’s cheeks definitely couldn’t have turned pink, “Your…uh, aesthetic is very nice too. But, anyway—”

“You think I look nice?” His voice comes out a lot more unsure than he wants for it too, and Mark wants to hit himself. He shouldn’t be this needy; hell, he’s never even known that he’s needed so much validation, and it makes him hate himself all the more.

“Y-Yeah.” Donghyuck answers, instead of refuting it like he thought he would, and Mark flushes, “Anyway, he could’ve asked you to improve on stuff in a better way! Like… like positive reinforcement?”

Mark doesn’t really understand, so Donghyuck clarifies.

“Like, praising you when you get something right!” He explains, and the idea seems so foreign to Mark that it’s actually kind of scary, “And when you don’t, he could just tell you what you did wrong, nicely. Maybe help you out a bit.

“Think of it this way,” He says, and Mark feels bad for being so dumb about everything, “When you were a kid, and didn’t understand a particular math problem… did your parents smack you around? Call you names?”

“No.” Mark answers dutifully, still confused, but he waits patiently for Donghyuck to explain.

“Exactly.” He concludes, “If they didn’t, then what gives this man the right to do that?”

Oh. Oh.

Donghyuck sees the slow light of understanding dawn in Mark’s eyes, because he gives him a watery smile.

“Do you get it now?”

“I…” Mark’s voice is dry, and he wets his lips, “I think I do, I’m just… confused.”

His voice trails off, a broken whisper. It’s like the world’s been pulled from under his feet, a carpet he’s gotten too comfortable staying on. It’s like someone’s just hit him with a brick, information making his mind hurt, throb, with confusion but also understanding and pain, so much pain.

“Can you say it now?”

Mark knows what Donghyuck means now and, lips pressing into a thin line, he gives in, saying the words he never thought he would.

“He… he shouldn’t have hurt me.”

His voice cracks and his face shines wetly with tears, but he doesn’t care, as his shoulders shake and he all but breaks down in Donghyuck’s arms.

“He shouldn’t have hurt me.” He repeats again, words sounding unfamiliar to his ears, but so sweet. He feels Donghyuck tremble too, in his hold, and can’t help but burrow into his shoulder, tears tracing shapes into the soft fabric of the brunette’s sweater, “Y-You were right, he shouldn’t have hurt me. He shouldn’t have, I…”

He hiccups, sobs mingling with Donghyuck’s. He doesn’t need to say any more, because he knows the brunette understands, knows he gets it.

Mark’s been drowning for so long, but with these words, it’s enough to pull him back up, just for those few gulps of precious air.

He shouldn’t have hurt me.

“Can you believe they kicked us out of our own dorms?” Donghyuck jokes weakly, as he helps Mark limp his way through the corridors, “I mean: rude.”

“You wanted to go back, anyway.” Mark points out with a sigh, head thumping, “Besides, they had a point. I think… I think we need to all have a talk.”

His voice is still hoarse from all the crying, and the shaking and the sobbing from before. His chest feels inexplicably lighter, like a huge burden has been lifted off him, no more expectations weighing him down. His mistakes still cling to him, though, little wisps hanging on, and Mark can’t help but feel ashamed, still, for how naïve he was. How heartbreakingly dumb and weak. If he hadn’t been so embarrassingly easy, this wouldn’t have happened. Nothing like this would’ve happened.

“Well, it’s different when they force us out.” Donghyuck clucks his tongue, cheeks still flushing under Mark’s inquisitive gaze. He finds it kind of cute, actually.

“They didn’t force us.” Mark laughs, though it doesn’t feel right, “They asked us as politely as they could.”

He remembers a tiny detail, sticking out like a sore thumb. Mark wants to tell himself he’s overthinking it, but he can’t help but feel it must be somewhat true.

Jaehyun was there, Johnny and Doyoung too; they were the ones who told them to head back in the first place. Yuta came by to check up on them, making sure they had the bare essentials with them, and Taeil came by to give them a warm pat on the shoulder. Even Sicheng—awkward, clumsy, lovable Sicheng—came over to wish them luck but Taeyong… Taeyong didn’t come. Taeyong…. His hyung wasn’t there.

“Why’ve you got that weird face on?” Donghyuck cuts into his thoughts, and Mark quickly rearranges his expression into something that he hopes is far more pleasant, “Nope. Not working, it’s too late. Is it ‘coz Taeyong hyung wasn’t there?”

Sometimes, it’s scary how well Donghyuck knows him. Mark remembers a time where he’d look at Jaehyun and Taeyong, wish for an easy dynamic like them; he remembers wanting. A friend, a confidant, someone who’d be able to ground him. But Mark has Donghyuck. It’s all okay.

Donghyuck’s eyes narrow, then, and Mark feels like he’s going to say something dumb.

“Want me to beat him up?”

“Donghyuck!” Mark yelps, making the brunette chuckle and adjust his grip, since Mark’s flail disrupted their balance, “Why would you say that?”

“If anyone hurts you, I’d rip them to shreds.” The boy says honestly, looking forward the entire time. Mark doesn’t miss the blush filling his cheeks, but doesn’t comment on it because he’s too busy holding back his own happy flush from creeping up his neck.

“I, uh. I’d do the same for you,” Mark says, and it’s true. Donghyuck nods like he understands, giving Mark a muted smile as they reach their hall.

“We’re best bros, right?” There’s something about the way that Donghyuck’s smile sobers up that has Mark uneasy, but he brushes it off, squeezing Donghyuck’s arm, as he helps him limp his way forward.

“Yeah, of course—” And that’s where Mark cuts himself off, blood growing cold. Because there, in front of their door, stands Kim Yeongsu, restlessly pacing with tension underlying in the calm line of his mouth.

Mark swears quietly, catching Donghyuck’s attention. The younger boy looks, and it takes only mere seconds for the confusion to solidify into hate. The deliberate squeeze of his wrist is what holds him back from actually trying to physically rip him to pieces like he said he would.

“Go get one of the hyungs.” Mark says lowly, eyes shining in warning, and Donghyuck can only mutely nod, voice lost. He doesn’t protest, like he normally would; they both know this is out of their league. Everyone inside is emotionally vulnerable right now, and Mark knows that he has make sure they don’t get hurt. Still, the absence of Donghyuck’s warmth makes Mark shiver, but he bolsters on bravely, as the man’s eyes catch his.

Trash, he reminds himself, He’s just trash.

Besides, this is what he should do. As a leader.

Why, then, does his heart pound so quick?