I got carried away so have another update <3

𓆩♡𓆪

Renjun finds Mark reading on Monday morning. No one else has dragged themselves out of bed to spend extra hours on their projects, so Renjun's footsteps echo through the art room, tentative and dwarfed by the colours that spill across every canvas and every table. He wants to speak to Mark, but also doesn't want to disturb him. The elder turns the page, then clears his throat and leans back on his elbow and continues reading as though the world around him didn't exist. A particular sentence makes him smile, then another makes his brow furrow in concentration, lips parted slightly.

The screech of the chair legs sliding across the floor has Renjun wincing when he goes to sit down, and Mark jolts up, book snapping shut. He relaxes with an audible sigh when he sees who it is.

"Hey," Mark says. A reminder of their awkward meeting at the café must flicker through his mind, because he casts his gaze down and spends the next moment mumbling to himself as he tries to find the page, marking it with a slip of scrap paper.

"Good morning," Renjun replies with a smile. Mark traces his fingers over the book cover, flicking the dog-eared corners with his thumbs. The swirly lettering of Pride and Prejudice sings amongst a mosaic of flowers, and the navy cover has faded on the spine, cracked from years of being read. "When did you get here?" The younger asks, checking his phone. It's hardly half eight in the morning.

"Seven." Mark rubs his eyes under his glasses. It's no wonder he's so tired.

Renjun does a poor job of hiding his surprise. "Did you sleep here or something?" Mark shakes his head with a truncated laugh that pricks Renjun with guilt, who clears his throat to continue. "Jaemin isn't my boyfriend, by the way."

"Who's Jaemin?" Mark asks. His voice is gruff, unused for hours, and the slight crack brings heat to Renjun's cheeks.

"At the café?" Renjun says. The elder squints, then nods when he remembers, although still seems confused. "We weren't on a date or anything." Renjun wants to make that clear. Mark nods again. "But he is my ex. Turns out we're not soulmates." It's Renjun's turn to laugh now, and his doesn't have any more life than Mark's did, only bitter where Mark's was full of indignation.

"That sucks," Mark offers, and the conversation doesn't venture any further.

Renjun opens his sketchbook to the mind map. There are a few more additions now, thanks to Chenle prodding him and telling him to just put anything down. As long as he can waffle on about his project in a way that vaguely justifies it, it doesn't matter what he does. Those were Chenle's words of wisdom. He begins to experiment with various thumbnails anyway. A human heart, deformed by the torment of heartbreak, preserved in a glass jar. A tiny boy lost in a jungle of his houseplants. An empty, discarded sketchbook on his desk, surrounded by blunt pencils and crumpled pages and spilt paint water.

"You seem upset by that," Mark says after countless quiet minutes. They're still alone, but students have started to fill the nearby corridors, so the scratch of Renjun's pencil disappears amongst the chatter that creeps in.

"Upset by what?" Renjun examines the worry on Mark's features, then realises he's gripping the pencil hard enough for his fingers to cramp, pressing hard enough into the page to leave fierce indents in the paper, and it must alarm the elder. What were intended as experimental sketches are etched forever, resistant to the threats of being erased.

He bites his cheek while he scrutinises the drawings. He likes them all. He hates them all. Mark tilts his head, doesn't answer his question to nod in appreciation of them, and Renjun deduces what he's talking about.

"I'm not. We're good. Best friends, in fact," Renjun replies, reaching for a rubber to try to fix a few lines anyway. The graphite smudges a little, but the dents in the paper don't shift. He drops the rubber, lets it bounce across the table with a dull thud, then presses his thumb into it. The release of pressure only slightly alleviates his frustration.

He can deny it all he wants, but the constant drone of anger never stops, never gives him a break, a slow but deadly torture that nudges him closer to insanity with each passing day.

"Why are you always in art?" Renjun changes the topic. Mark has learnt something about him, so he wants to make things even.

Mark shrugs at first, yet his face scrunches as though he's having a fierce mental debate with himself. "I've been trying to... find a new way to vent... you know... vent my emotions. Art is supposed to be good," he says finally.

"Like art therapy?" Renjun says. Mark inhales, caught off-guard by that word, then smiles a wonky, unsure smile.

"If you want to put it like that. I... I guess?" It's clearly a sensitive topic. Mark fumbles to explain that he loves reading and writing too, only that it's become more of a chore since he hit his second year of university, and Renjun wants to listen, he really does, but the elder fiddles with his soulmate dust and his mind can't focus on anything else.

Jaemin had been right: it is possible to buy fake dust. And it's not beyond a student budget. The idea entertained Renjun all weekend. During their Saturday movie night, he curled up next to Jeno on the sofa and tuned out Chenle and Jisung's sarcastic comments towards the dumb protagonist of the dumb horror movie, and for once detached his eyes from Jaemin and Donghyuck on the beanbag to create a list of theories in his mind.

Mark lowers his hand to twist the ring on his left thumb, but Renjun still examines his neck. He's wearing an oversized white t-shirt that wouldn't provide protection for any sort of necklace to hide underneath, so the theories crumble to dust in a single second, exasperation filling Renjun's chest like a spray of fireworks, hot and thunderous.

The noise in the corridor outside fades with the turn of nine o'clock, time for the first lectures of the week, and a small group of girls in their third year walk in. Mark tenses, but they don't spare a single glance in their direction, simply passing through into the next room. Only when the door clicks shut does Mark release the breath he was holding.

Renjun searches for something to say. "Art can be really good. But it's not so good for me anymore. It's so hard to find motivation these days."

"I guess we're the same, then," Mark says softly, eyes glinting as the final traces of sleepiness are replaced by excitement, the spark of an idea. "Maybe we can draw together? Like make it a thing. You can teach me some techniques and maybe I can help you find inspiration again."

Honestly, Renjun doubts anything can bring him the inspiration he once had for art, but he nods anyway. He agrees, even offering his hand for a shake to set the deal in stone before he remembers and draws it back like he'd touched a boiling pan of water, hiding it under the table where Mark can't reach it. Sympathy melts across Mark's face. Renjun draws another cat.

He wishes he could touch Mark. Hug him, hold his hand. Well, he can. But it scares him. Knowing that he's so affected by just the slightest contact while Mark feels nothing stirs up the worst kind of fire in his stomach. It growls and spits and rises to his chest, engulfing his heart, capturing it in its searing clutches. No matter how hard it beats, it can't run free. His heart wants Mark. Needs Mark, even. Renjun trembles, struck by another wave of yearning when Mark shows him a photo of his baby cousin.

"He turned two yesterday. Look at his little face!" Mark exclaims, laugh bright and eager and full of joy. He slaps Renjun's shoulder as his whole body vibrates, oblivious.

Renjun clenches his jaw and manages to smile despite the heat that sears through his shoulder. It bursts and fades away, leaving him dizzy in its aftermath, leaving him wanting more. He leans closer to Mark to look at the pictures from the baby's birthday party. Then he leans away to return to his art. The touch hurts, but he knows it shouldn't.

Perhaps it hurts because it's unrequited, a sick joke by a law of nature no one ever knew existed. Perhaps it hurts because Renjun is in denial, because he refuses to admit that the universe would pair him with anyone but Jaemin.

Jaemin's touches never hurt him. But they never had him physically aching for more, either. They never had such a lasting impression on him; even a night spent together would fade by the time they stirred awake.

Renjun finds himself laughing alongside Mark. The delight in the elder's eyes sucks him in and he doesn't struggle for freedom, instead sinking into the contagious nature of every laugh and joke. He forgets about the dilemma. All he can think about, listen to, see, is Mark. He knows Mark is right for him.

"Here's my number." Mark removes the scrap of paper from his book and borrows a pencil off Renjun to scribble the digits down, then slides it to Renjun.

"But what about your bookmark?" Renjun asks.

"It's alright. I can just remember where I got up to. I've read it far too many times anyway," Mark says, smiling as he gestures to the battered condition of the book.

Renjun wonders what other stories the book contains – how the back cover came to be ripped and patched up with yellowing tape, and what all the annotations mean as Mark flicks to the right page. He doesn't know if he should politely tell him that Chenle gave him his number, so decides against it, accepting the piece of paper and placing it securely in his pocket. It's smooth under his touch when he runs it between his fingers. His heart likes it.

Mark leaves not long after Renjun has given him his number in return, but Renjun stays. The blood in his body feels fresh, alive with even more spirit as it pulses in time with the golden glow of his soulmate dust. Renjun allows himself a moment to marvel at how a single drop of blood can create such a magical phenomenon. He never paid much attention to that topic in school, for he felt betrayed by it all, like the teacher's slides were laughing in his face when it turned out Jaemin wasn't his soulmate. But now his blood feels static. It seems to spark with excitement and happiness that Mark is becoming more talkative. That they're getting to know each other.

The next few sketches are of a boy sat in the corner of a playground with a book. His round glasses are oversized, slipping down his nose, but a playful smile decorates his lips. In another drawing, he's laying down in a field to read amongst the spring flowers, expression more nostalgic this time. No matter the location, the wide eyes and curved lips and messy bangs couldn't possibly belong to anyone except Mark.

Renjun sits back to admire his work. For the first time in weeks, a page has been filled. An entire page spread. Some sketches are messy, the lines coming together to form an approximation of an idea, but they're there, filling the white paper that has tormented him for so long. He smiles to himself. He never considered that the world through his eyes could centre around a person.

His phone buzzes, and it's a message from Mark.

Found a bookmark dw hahahaha

Renjun opens the attached image. It's a photo of a soft grey bookmark with a pink ribbon at the top, and it's decorated with blue spots of all sizes and shades. The text is random, but somehow Renjun wouldn't expect anything else from Mark despite knowing him for so little time. He replies with a simple:

It's so cute!

Mark responds less than a minute later.

I promise I didn't sleep in the art room

Thank you for worrying tho🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Renjun blushes. The cursor blinks back at him, impatient.

It's alright. I was just surprised to see you

He wants to suggest another time they could meet, but deletes the message when Mark sends another string of puppy eye emojis. He doesn't even bother to hide his silly grin from the next group of students that enter and sit at a nearby table.

𓆩♡𓆪