The World Stopped Moving {MarkRen} | complete

trois

The mental image of Mark's face follows Renjun back to his bedroom, where he slouches over his sketchbook, eyebrows sunken with apprehension and with his new despisal for art. Another pencil falls victim to his frustrations, and the wood splinters, the break far from neat as the tension shoots through Renjun's knuckles and dissolves away when the two halves drop from his fingers. He rubs his temples. All he's managed is a few more annotations of paintings that aren't even his own. Of paintings he wishes were his own. A few pointless sentences that will likely go unnoticed and will certainly score him no marks. He digs his nails into his scalp, draws ragged circles across his skin, bites his lips to silence the complaints of his stomach. The afternoon has set in by now, made itself comfortable with a clear sky, and Renjun is long due a meal, the pasta not satisfying enough to cover both lunch and his missed breakfast. He'll eat once he's completed a spread of sketches, he decides at two. Then again at three. And by four o'clock, Jaemin's knocking on his door, nudging it open to poke his head in the room.

"Go away," Renjun mutters, without lifting his head from his hands. He presses his palms into his eyes until they ache and his brain turns fuzzy. He hears the unmistakeable shuffle of Jaemin's bunny slippers on the thinning carpet, and as the younger approaches, his heart clenches, beating fast and sending a deep longing through his chest.

"Nope," Jaemin replies. Renjun sniffs at Jaemin's defiance, then keeps his eyes shut when he squeezes a rubber between his hands like a stress toy. It's cold, and years' worth of unsatisfactory drawings smear across his fingers, the pencil lead turning his skin grey.

"Please?" Renjun looks over his shoulder now. Jaemin perches on the end of his bed, legs crossed, arms folded, eyes wide with determination, and Renjun's glare softens under the control of approaching tears.

He sniffs again and knows there's no use in fighting the nail hammered through his skull, or the tremor in his fingers, or the way Jaemin's gaze drops to the soulmate dust glowing yellow against his grey oversized jumper. Renjun lets a tear roll down his cheek. He blinks slowly as a second follows, pulling his knees to his chest and tipping his head back as though that would help him breathe through the rock in his throat, when in fact it only makes him vulnerable to more emotions, each tear glistening with the next fear that comes to mind.

Jaemin doesn't mention the dust. Instead, he beckons Renjun over and embraces him. Renjun sinks into the hold like he's done hundreds of times, but now he doesn't quite rest his cheek on Jaemin's shoulder, or wrap his arms around the younger's waist, scared to admit how well they slot together. Jaemin doesn't mention that either.

"Wanna talk?" Jaemin asks, voice sweet enough for Renjun to sob, finally surrendering.

He tells Jaemin about artist's block, the black canvas in his mind, a canvas so empty, a mess of dark thoughts and emotions that spits and bubbles and snarls, never allowing anything to reach paper. Then his soulmate dust. Jaemin pulls away a little to look, but hugs Renjun tighter a moment later as though just as afraid to admit the reality. Renjun cries in his arms. Something about Jaemin has always settled his heart. The younger studied his mood swings over the time they were together and is skilled in wordlessly calming any storm, fingers tapping a soft rhythm into the elder's back or playing with his hair.

Renjun's heart is far from settled this time. He gasps when it cramps again, pain searing his insides until fresh tears sting his eyes, and he digs his nails into Jaemin's shirt with a broken wail. Maybe if he clings on, their dusts will be compatible. Maybe they can force their way into each other's hearts. Renjun's yellow and Jaemin's pink could have blended into an orange as gentle as the younger's thumb when he wipes the tears away. An orange as bright as their smiles when they used to chase each other to the ice cream van after a long day of school. An orange as warm, yet as clashing, as the sunrise where they clung onto each other just a week into their lives at university. It was the last time they'd share a bed, both scared to kiss each other for the last time under the glare of Jaemin's pink soulmate dust, set alight by Donghyuck's blue.