Mark can still hear the low murmur of voices, Taeyong’s and Renjun’s, as he slips into his room. He sees Donghyuck already nestled under the covers, seemingly fast asleep, but he knows otherwise.

“Mark?” The sheets rustle slightly, as Donghyuck’s messy brown bush appears, sleepy eyes taking him in, “You’re back, huh? What time is it now? 5 in the morning?”

“I don’t want to do this right now.” Mark doesn’t even think, as he climbs under the cover, sliding in beside Donghyuck’s nice, warm body, “Please.”

“Yuck, you’re sweaty.” Donghyuck wrinkles his nose in distaste, and Mark knows he understands, “You’re disgusting, ugh.”

Mark laughs a little, but can’t for too long; his chest aches, along with every other part of his body. Donghyuck seems to know too, because he slides an arm around Mark to tug him closer.

“How long?” Is all he asks, even as Mark is practically snuggled in his arms, “Ever since you left?”

“…Maybe.” Mark admits quietly, eyes drifting shut of their own volition. He doesn’t want to think about anything; not Donghyuck’s disappointment, not Taeyong’s overbearing concern, not his own imperfections—

“Gosh, you’re going to work yourself to death, idiot.” Donghyuck hisses, but that’s all he does. Mark smiles tiredly into his neck and yawns in agreement.

“…I heard you guys talking.” Donghyuck admits, and Mark stiffens, suddenly too uncomfortable, “Why didn’t you just tell them?”

“There’s nothing to say.” Mark bites out, because not him too, pushing himself out of bed despite Donghyuck’s protests, “Just go to sleep.”

He doesn’t say anything else, chest burning hot as he climbs to the top, into his own bed. He hears Donghyuck sigh, feels the slight curl of guilt make its presence known as always, before pushing it down. No one understands him, anyway. He needs to be perfect, he needs to be strong and supportive—because he’s the leader. NCT Dream might sound like a kids’ show, but it’s a lot of work, and Mark needs to stay on top, for that.

And if it means going through all of this, then so be it. Half of it’s his fault, anyway.

Mark presses his fingers hard into his palm, biting his lips to keep the stinging in his eyes away. The industry has no time for tears, and he needs to get that into his stupid head. He fails, again, and they drip down his cheeks, drop by salty drop, even as he drifts off to sleep.

When he wakes up in the morning, he’s assaulted by a heavenly smell. Which promptly disappears when he opens his mouth.

Mark can’t help his scrunched features, since he can practically smell his own morning breath; he dutifully rolls out of bed though, ignoring his protesting muscles, and brushes, before slowly padding over to the kitchen.

“What’s cooking?” He murmurs tiredly, chin coming to rest on Donghyuck’s stiffening shoulders. Is he doing something wrong?

He thinks he might have, when Donghyuck simply ignores him, still hunched over the stove. He frowns, trying to remember what on earth he could’ve done, when he stiffens, everything from last night coming back to him in one fell swoop.

He can’t help but grow slightly rigid, before he’s forced to relax, because ouch, his arms and legs are cramping. He’s really glad today’s a free day, even though he knows there won’t be much resting for him.

“Look.” He murmurs as he steps back, hands dropping to his sides, “I’m sorry about what happened in the night—”

“Morning.” Donghyuck interrupts, but doesn’t say much else, still attending to the omelet he’s making.

“Right.” Mark hasn’t felt this small in front of any of his bandmates in a long time, “I’m sorry, it was wrong of me to take it out on you.”

“You ran away from me.” Accusation is strong in Donghyuck’s tone, and Mark winces at the note of hurt it carries with it.

“I’m sorry.” He knows no number of apologies will be enough.

His and Donghyuck’s friendship has always been…questionable, for lack of better word. It’s always consisted of them treading on a thin line; one misstep can fracture their relationship for a long time. Every word has to be well-thought out, else things could turn out bad. And with the way Mark is right now…well, he’s surprised Donghyuck hasn’t pushed him away already.

Donghyuck sighs noisily, breaking Mark from his reverie. He isn’t looking at him, still, but he waves a hand towards the table.

“Sit down, I’ll get you your eggs.”

“I can try?” Mark offers weakly, and feels only slightly offended when Donghyuck balks.

“And get food poisoning?” Donghyuck exclaims, shaking his head, “No way.”

“I heard we’ll need to eat Mark hyung’s terrible cooking?” Mark needs to bite back a sharp retort when Jisung enters the room, the brown-haired boy smiling serenely.

Instead, his shoulders slump at the sound of musical laughter. Well, at least he made them smile, right?

“Where are you going, hyung?” He stops short on his way to the door, to see Chenle blinking at him innocently. Mark grimaces—not because it’s Chenle, of course not—but because someone had to notice. He’s just glad it’s not Donghyuck, or Jeno.

“I’m just going out for a walk.” He smiles as reassuringly as he can, but not enough, because Chenle frowns, reaching out to thread his hand through Mark’s hair. Mark stiffens in surprise, but relaxes at the kind gesture.

“No stress.” Chenle tells him gravely, still stuttering over some words, “Hyung should relax.”

Mark’s eyes widen, before a small smile takes over his lips; he ruffles the Chinese member’s hair for an extra-long second, before stepping back, features soft.

“Don’t worry.” He says simply, opening the door, “Hyung will take care of himself, okay?”

He sees Chenle’s unsure nod, before he shuts the door, and is left with his own thoughts.

On his trek to the dance studio, he has the time to reflect on what’s been happening for nearly a month, now (or is it more?). Gosh, Mark has promised himself so many times not to think about it, to keep it out of his mind but, well, promises are meant to be broken. And he can’t keep this one to himself.

Yesterday, during their talk with Taeyong, Renjun was half right. And Mark is so, so glad Chenle doesn’t know the whole story, so he couldn’t tell Renjun. He really admires Taeyong, looks up to him; he doesn’t want him to know when Mark’s at his lowest, and he doesn’t want his pity. What’s happening right now is a problem with Mark, and Mark only. He doesn’t want Taeyong involved (even though he loves him so much for the concern, misguided it may be).

Everything always starts simple, doesn’t it?

He did tell Taeyong the truth yesterday. Maybe not the detailed version, but truth nonetheless.

Mark knows it’s not easy to be a leader. Hell, he’s awed every time Taeyong does something responsible, something caring, and manages to bounce back into his cute self in the blink of an eye. It’s something he can only aspire to do—Taeyong is only someone he can aspire to be—and Mark has accepted that. But he still wants to do his best.

So, when Chenle was asked to stay back that day, Mark did as well.

And, when he was getting yelled at, it made Mark so, so angry. Is it Chenle’s fault when he hasn’t gotten the hang of a foreign language? Of course not, but the man didn’t see it that way.

Mark exhales shakily, stopping mid-walk, to make a beeline for the restrooms. He knows he can’t stop his tears now, so he might as well try not to be in public when it happens. His fingers are shaking as he locks himself in a cubicle, and his vision swims dizzyingly, the floor spinning from under his feet as he trips back onto the closed lid of the toilet.

He drags his hands to his hair, tears spilling from his eyes, as the cruel words come back to bite at him.

“You think you’re being chivalrous or something? You have no right.”

“Is that even how you dance? , how did they even cast you?”

“You didn’t deserve to debut.”

He sighs tiredly as he pushes open the door to their dance room. No one’s inside yet, probably because they don’t have any schedules—Mark checks wall clock for the time. It’s around 11. He needs to get back by around one, so he can eat and get ready. 127 has an interview or something lined up.

Mark doesn’t exactly like the idea of being in close proximity with Taeyong, especially after yesterday, but he knows he’s got no choice. If he kicks up a fuss, they’ll probably replace him.

He sets up his phone with the stereo after warming up, blasting Chewing Gum so he can practice that a bit. He barely wobbles as he gets on the hoverboard, and does a few practice circles. His eyes are on the mirror as he dances, maneuvering his body while imagining the positions of the other members. It can’t be exact, he knows, but he needs to make sure it’s close enough.

So, when the music cuts off, Mark breathing heavily, he feels an inkling of something in his chest. Pride, because this is the best he’s danced in a long, long time. He grins stupidly at the mirror, ignoring the plum shades under his eyes, and the way his muscles scream for relief. He grins, because it’s working and he’s getting—

“Not good enough.”

He just about has a heart attack as he whirls around, no longer on his hoverboard, to see a dark-haired man push himself off the wall, narrow eyes closed in irritation. Any semblance of happiness is now gone, and Mark bites his lip.

“Kim-ssi.” He says formally, body stiff with tension, “I didn’t see you there.”

“This wasn’t satisfactory.” The man doesn’t even bother to answer Mark’s statement, which makes him grit his teeth.

“I thought I did much better!” He argues, making the man’s eyes narrow, “In fact, this is probably the best I’ve ever done—”

“’Better’ isn’t going to cut it, kid.” The man spits out, advancing slowly, “Do you think people are going to care about you, when the rest of your little group advances past you. When you’re the one left standing in the dust?”

“I’m…I’m not that bad.” Mark insists, even as his voice wavers, “We’re all doing fine, a-and—”

“You’re the leader, aren’t you?” Mark has to bite his lip to keep himself from crying out when his arm is wrenched out in a bruising grip, “Take responsibility. You need to be the best, not just better. In this industry, you can’t be good, you need to be good enough.”

“Kim-ssi,” Mark says quietly, eyes hooded, “You’re hurting me.”

The man blinks in surprise, before stepping back, letting Mark’s arm go from his painful grip.

“Right, well.” His young features curl unpleasantly, “From the top, then.”

“W-What?”

“You heard me.” Mark shrinks back at the glare directed his way, “From the top.”

“B-But,” Mark protests feebly, even as the instructor makes his way to the stereo, “I have a schedule—”

“At five, right?” The man interrupts and, at Mark’s nod, “Then you can practice till four.”

He swallows the protest that’s aching to get out, only bowing his head as his ears, his mind, his entire body, are flooded with music.

His muscles ache, but his heart aches more.

By the time he’s done, his head is ringing.

Not good enough, not good enough, notgoodenoughnotgoodenoughnot—

He doesn’t know how he’s managed to make it to the other dorms, but when he does, it’s to the sight of everyone glaring at him.

“Where have you been?” Doyoung almost literally screeches, the second Mark gets inside, “We’re going to be late!”

Mark knows Doyoung doesn’t mean anything by it—that he’s just stressed—but can’t help but flinch back, head dropping.

“Sorry hyung.” He mumbles, lips trembling, but he holds on. He wants to say I’m tired, I’m done with everything, let me go home, please can I go home? But he knows he can’t, that he signed up for this and that he probably deserves everything coming his way.

“Well, hurry up and get ready then.” Johnny snaps, and that really surprises Mark, because when has the American ever been angry at him?

He doesn’t say anything, just digs his fingers into the inside of his wrist as he beelines for the bathroom to wash up really quick. It hurts a bit, but it grounds him, makes him snap out of his haze. He can’t afford to be drowsy now, even as his stomach screams with hunger.

He curls an arm around his midsection, head dropping onto the sink counter with a dull thud. He’s…locked the door, right? As he turns to look, he’s caught off guard when warm hands push him back by the shoulders, vision adjusting slowly as they shut the door behind them.

It’s Donghyuck, who’s gazing at him knowingly, eyebrow raised and arms open.

Mark doesn’t even think about it, just barrels into the warmth and lets his tears soak the soft wool of Donghyuck’s sweater, arms wrapping around his back. He can’t get the words out of his head, the angry snarls that came with them, and the bruising grip on his forearm.

He shakes slightly, pressing closer as Donghyuck gently along his scalp—he hates that he’s being so weak, but he just can’t help it. Donghyuck is his only confidant, though even he doesn’t know the entire story.

“Why do you keep doing this?” Donghyuck murmurs, unusually quiet and Mark can’t help but think it’s his own fault, “Stop beating yourself up so much.”

“I’m not good enough.” Mark blurts out, but it’s more than he means to say. Donghyuck knows it too, because Mark can feel him grow rigid in his hold; he quickly steps back, swiping at his eyes, and the sweat.

“I need to wash my face, at least.” Mark murmurs feverishly, turning on the tap and splashing some cold water onto his face. It does clear out some of his exhaustion, and he quickly dabs at his face with a towel, before moving onto his neck.

The entire time, Donghyuck’s silent, but when Mark looks up, he’s frowning.

“I know you said not to pry, and I won’t do it right now since we’re already late,” Donghyuck gestures at the door, and Mark winces because it’s his fault, “But when we get back, you are going to tell me what that head said to you that day.”

Not just that day. Every day.

“Language.” Is all Mark says feebly, which makes Donghyuck roll his eyes in exasperation.

“Avoid it all you want, but I’ll get you.” Donghyuck crosses his arms, but not before shoving something into Mark’s, “I’m going now, but hurry up and come out before Taeyong has an aneurysm.”

“Yeah.” Mark winces as the door slams behind the boy, and looks down at the thing in his hands: clothes. He really doesn’t know what he’d do without Donghyuck.

By the time he gets back to the living room, Taeyong’s waiting, antsy, by the door, Jaehyun’s hand pressing comfortingly into his lower back. Yuta sees Mark, and pushes himself off the wall to fling his arms around him.

“Oof! Hyung!” Mark complains, though he secretly enjoys the warmth of Yuta’s body against his own.

“Shush you, where were you?” Yuta worries, stepping back and letting his gaze travel over Mark’s form, “You look so tired.”

“I was at dance practice, but I lost a track of time.” Mark murmurs quietly, so Taeyong can’t hear, “Sorry hyung.”

“Well,” Yuta frowns, but nods his assent, “Don’t let it happen again, okay? Doyoung was pretty worried too.”

“Oh.” Mark mutters, even though he wants to say that it’s ridiculous, because wasn’t Doyoung the one who yelled at him? But it doesn’t matter, Mark doesn’t matter so he stays quiet, lest everyone find a fault in him.

“Is everyone ready?” Taeyong calls, opening the door; his eyes travel over every member, as he takes a head count, but his eyes land on Mark, who bravely stares back at him. Mark hasn’t realized, but Donghyuck’s already at his side, tugging him through the door way and towards the van.

“I got you a granola bar.” Donghyuck whispers, as they get into the van, “It’s not much, but it should help.”

Mark smiles at him gratefully, making the tanned boy look away with a huff, pink hue decorating his cheeks.

The car ride is stiflingly silent, and Mark can hardly breathe right, much less eat his granola bar. He tries anyway, when his stomach feels like it’s eating itself inside out, but gives up when the loud crackle of the wrapper makes Doyoung stiffen and glare at him. Mark flinches back, not expecting the elder to be that pissed off that he’s late, and he looks at the treat in his hands guiltily.

Donghyuck squeezes his thigh in what’s supposed to be a comforting motion but, to Mark, it seems pitying. And he hates it, so, so much.

He tucks the bar back into his pocket, deciding to eat it after the show or something. He can survive for a day, he decides, without needing to eat something. He had breakfast anyway, so it should be enough, right?

He doesn’t realize that he probably should’ve braved through it, despite Doyoung’s obvious irritation. Sure, his hyung would be pissed off for a bit, but he’d eventually get over it. But right now, Mark’s head isn’t straight. He’s tired and he’s famished but, above it all, he’s eager to please. He doesn’t want to get kicked out. So, he does what he thinks best.

Then, is it such a surprise that it’s the exact opposite?