The World Stopped Moving {MarkRen} | complete

cinq

Renjun can't help but wonder if Mark is right. He knows he isn't, knows that Mark is his soulmate, that it can't be anyone else, yet the thought troubles his mind while he tends to his houseplants. Mark's insistence made his own confidence dwindle. He waters each plant, as he does every day, and murmurs to them. They always get the privilege of hearing his inner thoughts. Questions dance off his lips and fill the air with a hushed whisper, but of course none of his plants bear the answers, leaving him to sink into the chair at his desk with a heavy heart.

Despite having said that Mark doesn't owe him anything, the memory of the hickey on the elder's neck plagues him, taints his thoughts with more jealousy, not letting him forget that Mark is still not much more than a stranger, that he has a whole life Renjun knows nothing about. He doesn't know what brought the literature student to the art rooms. Nor does he know who gave him the hickey, or the cause of his exhaustion.

One thing he does know, however, is that not getting closer could harm them both. And now that he's crossed paths with his soulmate, he decides he doesn't want to waste the opportunity.

Renjun plucks the slip of paper Chenle gave him off his pinboard and scans it for the hundredth time. He entered the number into his phone earlier. The contact remains untouched, the drafted messages unsent. A quick search on Google maps confirmed that Mark lives in an apartment about twenty minutes from the university, in an area commonly occupied by students in their second and third year, and his housemate, Jungwoo, studies engineering, so there's next to no chance of them ever having met either.

"What do you think?" Renjun asks the collection of cute erasers. He's arranged them in a little parade across the back of his desk, a single neat line amongst the scraps of paper and piles of textbooks, and he selects the cat to toss between his hands. "I should just message him and not be a damn coward about it," he continues, still making no move to follow through with his words.

Restless with the need to pour out his nervous energy, Renjun snaps open his palette of watercolours and paints his cactus. He doesn't bother to dig out his watercolour paper, so the pigment bleeds too far, then fades to a weak green when he blots it with his sleeve, not caring since the fabric is already stained with an assortment of acrylics from over the years. The cactus was a gift from his cousin three years ago. It's small, a cute ball that's grown a little to the left, and on Renjun's paper it becomes even wonkier, the spikes thick and nothing like the shiny hairs that sparkle in the light. On paper, the cactus looks menacing. In real life, the cactus is like his child, never harming a soul.

He's mixing a deep terracotta shade for the pot when his bedroom door opens without a warning knock. "Renjun."

Jaemin is pale, cheeks just as white as his knuckles that clench around the doorknob, and he bites his lip and runs a hand through his hair, the attempt to tame it only making the strands stick up more. The skin around his eyes is rubbed red. The soulmate dust around his neck pulses as though shouting in protest.

Renjun dries the paintbrush then crosses the room. Jaemin lets him smooth his hair down and untangle the knots, eyes fluttering shut when he frowns deeper, fighting the urge to lean into the touch. "Are you up for a walk?"

They put their shoes on. Renjun passes Jaemin his coat, knowing the younger wouldn't wear it otherwise, and they slip out the front door to trace their usual route through the park. By the time they reach the quaint footbridge over the river, Jaemin is sniffling.

Renjun watches him rub the tears away, irritating the skin around his eyes, and closes the distance between them so their shoulders brush together, although his hands remain deep in his pockets. "What's the matter?" He asks gently.

Jaemin inhales but doesn't speak. Renjun gives him time, doesn't push, and knows if he remains quiet it will give the younger the confidence to say something. There's no pressure to say anything at all, but the silence provides the needed space. As always, Jaemin stops halfway across the bridge. Hands clasping the weathered brick wall, he leans over to gaze into the water below. The ripples and currents distort his reflection, and Renjun recalls the time Jaemin told him he liked that.