〈 I Wish You Were Mine ╱ MarkHyuck 〉 ✓

스물둘

The campus was golden in the late afternoon, the sun tilting low, spilling honeyed light across walkways and classrooms. Donghyuck's backpack swung lazily at his side, but he wasn't paying attention to the ground, or the students, or the faint hum of voices drifting from the library. His eyes were searching—looking for someone familiar, someone he had missed more than he realized.

He spotted Minhyung at the edge of the quad, alone as usual, headphones slung around his neck, notebook open but untouched. The older boy looked like he belonged to the shadows: quiet, meticulous, everything measured. And yet, the world felt suddenly smaller with him there.

"Hyuck." Minhyung's voice was low, barely a thread of sound, but Donghyuck picked it up like a beacon.

Donghyuck's pace quickened, heart drumming against his ribs. "Hey! Minhyung!" he called, and the sound of his own voice made him realize how much he'd missed it, missed him.

Minhyung looked up, startled, and his expression flickered—recognition, a hint of caution, a faint warmth. "Hey..."

"You didn't hang out with anyone today?" Donghyuck asked, sliding to his side. "I looked for you around the lounge."

"I... I had stuff to do," Minhyung said carefully, trying to sound casual. His fingers fidgeted with the strap of his bag. "Projects. Notes."

Donghyuck noticed, of course. He always did. His chest tightened, an ache blooming in his throat. "You didn't need to hide from me," he said softly. "I wanted to spend time with you... with us."

Minhyung blinked, caught off guard. "Us...?"

Donghyuck smiled, a little sheepishly, but earnest. "Yeah... us. Just... hanging out. Like we used to." He gestured to the quiet quad, the empty benches, the golden dust of sun setting over their familiar paths. "You know... the way we used to."

Minhyung's lips twitched, trying not to betray the wave of emotion crashing through him. He swallowed. "I... I didn't think you wanted that anymore."

Donghyuck's gaze softened. "I did. I do."

The words were simple, but they carried weight. Minhyung's chest ached. He wanted to take Donghyuck's hand, to pull him close, to tell him everything he'd been bottling up since... forever. But he couldn't—not yet. All he could do was nod, tight-lipped. "Then... okay. Let's... sit for a while."

They found a quiet bench under the boughs of a tree, leaves rustling in the soft evening breeze. Donghyuck leaned back, exhaling deeply, letting the tension drain from his shoulders. Minhyung sat a careful distance away, pretending to adjust his notebook, watching him quietly.

Donghyuck turned, catching his gaze. "You've been... distant," he said gently. "I noticed. It's okay to admit... if I hurt you somehow."

Minhyung felt his throat constrict. He wanted to tell him, "No, it's me. I hurt myself every time you're happy and I can't say anything," but the words lodged somewhere deep, unspoken. Instead, he said quietly, "I'm... fine."

Donghyuck didn't press, only offered a small, understanding smile. "I missed you, you know. Even when we're together, I feel like... I need more. Just... more time with you. Like right now. I don't care if it's just sitting here doing nothing. I just want it... with you."

Minhyung felt his chest tighten so sharply it hurt to breathe. He wanted to argue, to say he had obligations, responsibilities, that life didn't stop for longing. Instead, he nodded slowly. "Okay. We can... do that."

And just like that, the tension of weeks—the distance, the angst, the fear of losing Donghyuck—dissolved into a fragile, golden silence.

They didn't speak for a long while. Donghyuck's presence was enough, a tether that kept Minhyung anchored even as his heart threatened to shatter. He watched Donghyuck laugh quietly at something he saw in the distance, a small joke shared with a friend passing by, and his own chest ached. Not with jealousy, not exactly. But with the raw, poignant realization of how deeply he loved him, and how much he wanted this—these small moments of closeness—without ever losing him.

Donghyuck leaned back, stretching, glancing at Minhyung. "Remember when we used to race across the quad? You always cheated."

Minhyung let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "I never cheated."

"You did!" Donghyuck said, mock indignation in his voice. "I remember! You tripped me on purpose!"

Minhyung smiled faintly, the gesture small, restrained. "I might have... lost track of fairness," he admitted.

Donghyuck laughed openly now, warm and genuine. The sound hit Minhyung in the chest like a physical force. He wanted to reach out, to hold him, to never let go. But he couldn't. He could only sit, silent, heart breaking quietly in measured restraint.

"You know," Donghyuck said suddenly, voice low, "I don't care about classes, or who's studying where, or if I mess up. I just... I want to be around you."

Minhyung's breath hitched. The words, so unguarded, struck straight into him. He wanted to say everything, to pour out his heart, to tell him he felt the same, that he had always felt the same. But he couldn't. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I... know."

Donghyuck's eyes lingered on him, searching. "You do?"

Minhyung nodded slowly, careful, holding back the storm inside. "I do."

Donghyuck leaned back, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. "Then... let's just sit here a while. No one else, no obligations. Just us."

Minhyung's chest tightened, but he nodded. "Just us."

They watched the sun dip lower, the campus shifting from gold to a soft, muted orange. The world around them seemed to blur, leaving only the space they occupied, the ache and warmth of shared presence, the fragile, unspoken truths lingering between them.

For Minhyung, every smile, every careless laugh, every glance was an electric jolt, a reminder of how deeply he loved Donghyuck, and how impossibly difficult it was to navigate that love without destroying it—or himself.

Donghyuck shifted slightly, nudging his shoulder against Minhyung's in a fleeting, almost accidental gesture. Minhyung's stomach twisted, heart hammering. "Hyuck..." he whispered, voice catching.

Donghyuck tilted his head, catching his gaze. "Yeah?"

"You... you have no idea how much this means," Minhyung murmured.

Donghyuck's smile softened. "I think I do," he said quietly. "I think I always did. That's why... I want more of this. More time with you."

The weight of the words hung between them, silent, aching, electric. Minhyung wanted to argue, to push him away, to protect himself from the raw exposure of emotion, but he couldn't. He just nodded, letting the words sink, letting the moment stretch, fragile and infinite.

As evening settled fully over the campus, Donghyuck shifted closer, not touching, not fully, but close enough that Minhyung could feel the heat radiating from him, the soft cadence of his breathing. Minhyung wanted to reach out, wanted to close the space, wanted to dissolve the distance between them entirely. But he restrained himself, biting back the ache, holding onto the tether of presence, knowing this—this closeness, this awareness—was enough for now.

And in that quiet, lingering space, they sat together. The world could wait. The promises, the obligations, the future—they could wait. For once, there was only this: the shared warmth, the fragile silence, and the aching, unspoken love that pulsed between them like a living thing.