Archive of Our Own ^beta

Monday.

Mark Lee, contrary to popular belief, is not a masochist. Or, well, not intentionally. It’s not his fault that the only slot available for the one gen ed class he had left was an 8am, nor is it past Mark’s fault for being naive enough to think he could attend a lecture that early three times a week and not want to commit some sort of crime. Whoever decided that waking up early is the key to productivity deserves divine wrath, and Mark prays every day that they’re burning in hell where they belong.

He’s not dramatic, as his best friend Donghyuck insists―which is rich, coming from the king of theatrics himself―he’s just sleep deprived. Far lesser men than Mark have succumbed to the clutches of successive all-nighters, he reminds himself as he chugs his third coffee of the morning as he steps into the lecture hall. It tastes like ass, because he got it from the cafeteria, but the burn of the chemical aftertaste does wonders to reboot his brain.

Then again, he might be hallucinating, because he swears Batman is sitting in the chair next to his unassigned, assigned seat. It’s one of those things where the professor doesn’t bother with a seating chart, but humans are creatures of habit so they naturally gravitate toward the same spot every time they step foot into the room, and Mark has gotten to know his closest deskmate pretty well over the course of the last month. As far as he knows, Matt isn’t Batman.

Matt is a goofy dudebro that makes Mark laugh more than he probably should and loves being the center of attention, and while he’s worn some questionable outfits before (the Versace robe and Nike slides combo comes to mind), Mark’s never known him to straight up cosplay. He’s still not entirely convinced the man folded into the corner of the back row is, in fact, Matt, but Mark is jacked up on caffeine and it’s too early to ponder the existence of orphan vigilantes. Also, college is just fucking weird; there was this girl in his algebra class last year who wore Hogwarts robes every day―carried a wand and everything. At this point, Mark wouldn’t be surprised if he shared a class with a superhero or two.

He doesn’t. It’s definitely Matt’s voice that nearly shouts, “Hey, Marky Mark!” in greeting as his ass hits the cold plastic of the chair.

Now that Mark’s close, it’s pretty obvious that the Batman suit in question is the dorkiest thing Matt’s worn yet; it’s a little too thin, the sleeves are a little too short, the mask is a little too small. Blond tufts stick out into Matt’s eyes from where the hood is smashing his hair into his face, and one of the bat ears refuses to stand upright. It’s weirdly endearing. “Hey, dude,” Mark starts. “Are you―Is this for your presentation?” He gestures vaguely to all of Matt, gaze lingering on the cape tossed over his shoulders.

Matt laughs, loud and warm. “Nah, baby.” The pet name makes Mark’s cheeks go warm, even though Matt addresses literally everyone that way. Mark once saw him address an email to a professor with nothing but a, “hey bb,” for fuck’s sake. “I don’t present till Wednesday.”

Mark considers that for a moment. While Batman doesn’t seem particularly relevant to their current exploration of therapeutic approaches, he can’t think of another reason to wear a Batman costume to a lecture. “So...what’s it for, then?” he tries ambiguously.

Matt shrugs. “Lost a bet.”

“Oh. Makes sense,” Mark concedes. “At least you don’t have to wear it for your presentation.”

Matt shakes his head, shooting Mark a lopsided grin. “Gotta wear it all week. Every class.” He shrugs again, clearly unbothered, even as he tugs at the sleeves in a futile attempt to stretch the fabric enough to cover his wrists.

“Oh,” Mark says again, because he’s intelligent and can carry a conversation with tall frat boys who smell like Gucci. Then the professor arrives, and the conversation is cut short. Matt turns to the front of the room and Mark spins his pen in his hand the whole hour because he really needs to cut back on the caffeine. It’s his RA’s fault for getting him addicted. Fuck you, Johnny, he thinks as viciously as he can. Somewhere across campus, Johnny is probably cackling maniacally like the lame cartoon villain he is.

On the bright side, though, Mark’s racing mind does offer one brilliant idea.

Tuesday.

“Hyuck, have you seen my―” Mark stops halfway through the door, squinting at Donghyuck where he’s laying upside down on his bed, legs propped up so his feet rest flat against the underside of Mark’s bunk. He’s holding a dangerously thick physics book directly above his face, a daring move; but more importantly, his boyfriend is crammed onto the tiny mattress with him, leaning against the back of Donghyuck’s thighs. “Oh. Hey, Jeno.”

Jeno nods at Mark without even looking up from his laptop. His tongue peeks out from the corner of his mouth like it always does when he’s writing a particularly grueling paper, and Mark decides that he’s distracted enough to ignore the incriminating conversation that’s about to go down. “Have I seen your what, Markie?” Donghyuck asks, tossing his textbook against the wall, where it slides under the bed with a dull thump. 

Mark dumps his backpack onto the floor, right in the middle of the room, and sits down at his desk in the corner, sideways in the stiff wooden chair so he can face Donghyuck. “I need my Spider-man suit,” he says without preamble. In the past three semesters he’s roomed with Donghyuck, he’s found it’s best to be direct. It’s usually the least painful route for everyone involved. He learned that the hard way.

Donghyuck cocks an eyebrow, finally moving to sit like a normal human being and jostling Jeno in the process. Jeno doesn’t react beyond a furrow of his brow and more rapid clacking against the keys of his laptop. “What for?” Donghyuck questions, and Mark would really rather not go there.

Unfortunately, if he wants Donghyuck’s help, he has to. “Uh. There’s this―I need it for class.” He clears his throat, and Donghyuck stares at him, unconvinced.

“Why do you need to dress up for class, exactly?” Donghyuck asks nonchalantly. To anyone who doesn’t know him, it would sound innocent enough. Too bad Mark knows better.

“An assignment?” he tries, and Donghyuck just squints at him. Mark sighs and flops back into his chair. The sharp edge of the arm digs into his spine as he concedes, “Okay, fine. I need to impress a boy.”

Donghyuck looks at him like he’s gone mad. Even Jeno looks up from his screen to give Mark a judgmental eyebrow raise, pushing his glasses farther up his nose as he glances over at his boyfriend to see what Donghyuck has to say about that. “Mark,” he says flatly, like this whole interaction is emotionally draining. “In what universe does showing up to class dressed in dorky spandex come off as impressive?”

Mark can feel his face go hot, blood rushing to his cheeks at record speed. “I dunno, dude. I’ve...seen it work before.”

Jeno is apparently invested at this point because he slams his laptop shut and says, “You’re gonna have to elaborate on that.” Donghyuck nods enthusiastically, waving a hand in a vague indication that Mark should go on.

Mark bites his lip and stares at the Canucks poster stuck above his desk. Braden Holtby gives him a steely look, but making eye contact with a Stanley Cup winning goaltender is somehow less anxiety-inducing than meeting his best friend’s gaze. Mark can still feel Donghyuck’s eyes boring into his soul, anyway. “There’s this guy in my psych class,” he says simply. “And he has to wear a Batman costume to class all week, so I thought, I dunno. I thought I’d show some solidarity, or whatever.”

Donghyuck and Jeno both stare at him for a solid minute before either of them reacts. Jeno gives Mark a pitying look, but Donghyuck is the first to open his mouth, naturally. “I think that explanation raised more questions than it answered.” He purses his lips like he’s debating where to start (which he probably is) but he just ends up spitting them out rapid-fire. “Why does he have to cosplay in class? Like, who is forcing this onto him? And what makes you think he wants your misguided show of support, anyway? Won’t that just draw more attention to it?” Okay, Mark hadn’t actually thought about it like that. Maybe Donghyuck has a point for once.

Mark doesn’t have much time to dwell on it either way because a second later, Jeno is cutting in with a curious, “Who’s the guy?” and that is the million dollar question. Leave it to Jeno to ask what is simultaneously the most mundane yet damning question of all. Mark has to give him props for that.

Donghyuck seems to agree, because he just tilts his head and studies Mark’s rapidly reddening cheeks like this is the best turn the conversation could’ve taken. He’s definitely having too much fun watching Mark clear his throat repeatedly before choking out a tiny, “Matt.”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes, exasperated, as Jeno says, “Matt from psych class? That doesn’t narrow it down at all, Mark.” Unfortunately, Mark has to admit his best friend is not wrong. It’s not Mark’s fault that Matt is arguably the most generic name ever, but he doesn’t even know the guy’s last name, so he can’t really clarify any further.

When he says as much, Donghyuck shakes his head decisively. The determined set to his jaw makes it pretty obvious he isn’t backing down till he has all the information he needs to clown Mark for the foreseeable future. “Give us deets. What’s his major?”

“Marketing, I think.”

“What’s he look like?” Jeno tries.

Mark feels the blush creep down his neck. “Uh, he’s tall. Like, really tall? And blond.” He’s never been very good at describing people. He’d be a horrible crime scene witness―a fact their friend and resident forensic science major Jaemin reminds him of every single time he describes a match from Tinder only for Jaemin’s mental image to be completely shattered the second he sees an actual picture from their profile.

“How tall?” Donghyuck asks despite this, which prompts Mark to narrow his eyes suspiciously. He still answers, obviously.

“I mean, I haven’t exactly asked him, but if I had to guess...six and a half feet, maybe?” He shrugs noncommittally. It’s kind of hard for him to judge someone’s height when (a) they're at least a solid foot taller than him and (b) he only ever sees them sitting at a desk. He’s doing his best.

“Wait,” Jeno cuts in. “Does he have like, a really nice voice? Kinda deep, super smooth?”

Donghyuck gives his boyfriend a look, and they must be communicating telepathically because Mark’s barely started nodding before Donghyuck is all but yelling, “Oh my god. No fucking way!”

Jeno’s nodding now, too, and Mark is completely lost. Donghyuck steals Jeno’s phone from his pocket and hurries to pull up a website before disentangling himself from his boyfriend and walking up to Mark. He shoves the phone in Mark’s face, blue light mildly blinding him, and says, “Is this him?”

Mark has to push Donghyuck’s hand back a good six inches just so he can look at the screen without compromising the integrity of his retinas, but yeah. That is definitely Matt’s face in the little icon. Mark nods even as he asks, “How’d you find that picture?”

Donghyuck’s mouth curls into the most shit-eating grin Mark’s ever had the displeasure of being on the receiving end of. “Mark Lee,” he says with a dramatic flourish, “I regret to inform you that you’re in love with a Soundcloud rapper.”

Mark only misses a beat before he recovers from this revelation. “Sweet. Send me the link?” he asks Jeno, because it’s his phone and Donghyuck has already tossed it back onto the bed, next to Jeno’s knee. Jeno nods because he’s a supportive friend, unlike some people.

“Sweet?” Donghyuck sounds offended for absolutely no reason. “His Soundcloud name is Mr. Butter. This is a new low, even for you.” He looks at Mark like a disappointed dad, but Mark is older than him and therefore immune to such tactics. Plus, Donghyuck has no room to judge. His taste in men is fine―Jeno is one of Mark’s favourite people―but his taste in literally everything else is questionable at best and downright concerning at worst. He once willingly wore a pink sequined jumpsuit to brunch, for fuck’s sake. Renjun didn’t invite him out for a solid month after.

Jeno, at least, is on Mark’s side. “He’s actually pretty good, babe.” He offers Donghyuck a sweet smile before shooting Mark a thumbs up. “I sent you some of his stuff. Give him a listen.”

“Thanks, dude,” Mark says, and he means it. It’s baffling how he ever survived friendship with Donghyuck for a year before Jeno came along to act as a buffer. Mark can’t prove it, but he thinks Jeno might be his guardian angel.

Donghyuck sulks just long enough for Jeno to notice, and once Jeno takes his hand to stroke soothing little circles over Donghyuck’s knuckles with the pad of his thumb, Donghyuck shifts gears. “So, you never answered my question. Why is your boy posing as Batman all week?”

“He lost a bet,” is all Mark says, because that’s really all he knows.

“What bet?” Jeno asks offhandedly as he grabs his laptop and drags it back onto his lap. Apparently, he’s reverting back to his studious ways. At least one of them will graduate with a decent GPA.

Mark just shrugs. “I dunno. Didn’t ask.”

“Does it matter?” Donghyuck questions.

“Not really,” Jeno says amiably. “I was just wondering what constitutes tight ass spandex as a form of punishment.” He goes back to typing away at his keyboard, effectively tuning the rest of the world out in favour of surrendering himself to the wonders of Russian fairy tales. Why Jeno chose such a niche course when all he needs for his pre-med degree is Comp I is beyond Mark, but it probably has something to do with the fact that he’s a chronic overachiever.

Mark, for his part, diverts his attention back to Donghyuck. “Hyuckie?” is all he says, punctuated with the most pitiful puppy dog eyes he’s ever pulled in his life.

Donghyuck sighs, resigned to his fate of being a decent best friend. He’d probably do anything for Mark, even if he’d never admit it. Case in point: “Yeah, okay. I’ll help you find your stupid suit.”

Wednesday.

Mark feels ridiculous.

He knows, logically, that college is nothing like high school. No one gives half a shit what he does with his life or how he dresses while doing it, nor do they even notice, probably. He’s seen people show up to class in various states of undress, or in pajama onesies―and one time, even a literal garbage bag. The only thing he could do to draw a bit of attention to himself is streak across the quad, but even that’s been done before and probably wouldn’t earn him a second glance. Maybe he’d get a double take if he dyed his hair pink or something, only because it would make him harder to ignore.

He’s not doing any of that, though. He’s sitting in the back of a lecture hall with spandex riding up his ass crack, trying to look as nonchalant as possible under a shitty Spider-man suit from one of those pop-up halloween stores that he wore to a party a couple years back. His friends had always questioned why he even kept it, and he’s never really understood their confusion until this moment. He was super drunk last time he wore this costume, which made it considerably more tolerable.

He’s staring into the middle distance, intently rethinking his life choices, when there’s a plop as someone throws their body into the chair next to him. Mark’s eyes snap up to meet Matt’s, who’s looking at him with a furrowed brow. Mark can’t tell if that means something or he’s just leaning into the Batman character. “Spider-man, huh?” is all he says, so Mark just nods. “Not that it doesn’t fit you,” he continues as he gives Mark a very obvious once-over, “but why?”

Mark is suddenly wishing he’d worn the mask that came with his costume for the sole purpose of hiding how quickly his face ignites under Matt’s attentive gaze. “Solidarity?” he tries, then clears his throat. “Y’know, so you’re not...alone, I guess.”

Matt nods like that makes perfect sense, and the visible half of his face breaks into a smile as he nods in agreement. “Thanks, man. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” Mark offers because it’s true. “But I wanted to.” That’s also true, but saying it out loud still makes Mark want to hide under the desk.

Matt’s smile grows as he punches Mark lightly in the shoulder. “I’m glad you did.”

The professor calls attention to the front of the room, effectively shattering the moment, and then class begins and the first presentation of the day kicks off rather uneventfully. Then it’s Matt’s turn, and his eyes keep drifting back to meet Mark’s the entire time he’s presenting, shining with something like camaraderie. Mark valiantly tries not to read too much into it. He fails miserably.

Thursday.

Mark is just biting into his overcooked burger when Jeno slides into the chair across from him, cafeteria tray hitting the tabletop with a muffled thud. Donghyuck quickly follows, throwing himself into the seat beside his boyfriend and swinging his leg out to hook it over Jeno’s thigh. Jeno’s hand instantly finds Donghyuck’s knee even as Donghyuck steals one of his fries.

“Hey, loverboy,” Donghyuck says around a mouthful of food.

Mark rolls his eyes, looking pointedly at where Donghyuck and Jeno are all but joined at the hip. “You’re one to talk.”

Thankfully, Chenle chooses this moment to drop into the spot next to Mark, effectively saving him from any further third-wheeling. Normally Chenle offers a welcome distraction from Donghyuck and Jeno’s blatant PDA, but when Mark turns to greet him, Chenle has a grin on his face that can only mean trouble. “So,” he starts, dragging out the vowel as if that makes him sound less suspicious, “I heard you got the hots for Mr. Butter.”

Mark resists the urge to bang his head against the table, but just barely. “Oh my god, please don’t call him that.”

“That’s what he calls himself, dude,” Chenle argues as he picks the tomatoes out of his soggy salad. Mark looks to his friends across the table for backup, but Jeno just shrugs dismissively and Donghyuck nods because well, Chenle has a point. Mark still feels betrayed.

The treachery only continues when Jeno says, “Hey Lele, don’t you have a friend in his frat? You must’ve seen him at parties.” It sounds innocent enough, but there’s a glint in his eye that suggests Jeno has ulterior motives.

So Mark isn’t surprised when Chenle’s face lights up in recognition as he connects whatever dots Jeno has laid out for him. “Oh, yeah!” he says too loudly over the din of the cafeteria, and Mark winces even though no one is paying them any mind. “I go to every party ‘cause Sungie doesn’t like being the only sober one, and Mr. Butter―”

“For the love of fuck, can you please just call him Matt?”

“―is always the DJ. Sometimes he even performs live.” Well, that’s news to Mark. He tilts his head, eyebrows raising in a silent question. Chenle doesn’t notice, too preoccupied with spearing carrots onto his fork, but it doesn’t matter because he keeps talking anyway. “Literally all of his songs are about fucking people’s moms. Do you think you have a chance? Like, are you sure he even likes dudes?” He stuffs a forkful of vegetables into his mouth, peering at Mark from the corner of his eye.

Mark, for his part, is currently experiencing a mild existential crisis. He’s usually pretty good at picking up cues, but maybe he read this whole thing wrong, after all. Matt’s never explicitly flirted with him, has he? Oh, god. Was Mark projecting this whole time? Has he made things weird? He can never show his face in that psych lecture again.

Donghyuck must sense his internal spiraling because he kicks Mark’s shin under the table to get him out of his own head. “I think Mark’s got more than a chance, to be honest. This shit’s practically in the bag.”

Chenle gives him a doubtful look, but Jeno steps in before he can argue the point. “I mean, he could be bi―I saw him wear a fur coat once. To a football game.”

Chenle purses his lips, contemplating. “Okay, you got a point there.”

“Plus,” Donghyuck chimes in, “who could resist Spider-man?” His teasing tone makes it feel a little backhanded, but Mark will take what he can get.

“Solid argument,” Chenle says approvingly. “Okay, Mark, go get your man.” With that, he goes back to scarfing down his lunch before his next class and Jeno brings up some gossip he overheard in the library this morning, and the subject of Mark’s questionable crush is dropped.

Friday.

Matt is late to class.

It’s not all that noteworthy, really, except for the fact Mark is once again dressed as a certain web-slinging superhero and this time, there’s no one to share his shame with. It’s excruciating to stand at the front of the lecture hall, slides on cognitive therapy glaring down at him from the projector, trying not to look as foolish as he feels in the multicoloured spandex. In reality, he probably looks like a lame little kid begging for candy on Halloween night.

The professor prompts him to begin his presentation, and Mark is generally okay with public speaking, so he’s not nervous, exactly, but he is restless. He stumbles through the first couple minutes before he finds his footing, and then the door off to his right swings open abruptly.

Matt tumbles into the room, clearly out of breath from running the whole way, beat up Jansport slipping off his shoulder as he apologizes for the interruption and finds his way to his seat. Mark makes it a point to ignore the fact that Matt is wearing a different costume today, and focuses all his energy on something more productive, like remembering all the points he planned to bring up in his presentation.

By some miracle, he manages to pull it off. Matt shoots him a thumbs up as he walks back to his chair, holding out a hand for Mark to fist bump as the next student gets their PowerPoint ready. They’re silent for the rest of the class, Matt scribbling something into his binder as Mark doodles in the margins of his notebook. Mark thinks he’s about to have a brain aneurysm. He really wants to ask about Matt’s sudden costume change, but he was raised to be polite, and talking while someone else is speaking is definitely not a respectful thing to do. Even if they’re speaking about something as uninteresting as holistic approaches to therapy that Mark already has memorized.

He gets his chance once the professor dismisses them, turning to where Matt is shoving his pencil into his pocket. “Iron Man?”

Matt nods as he swings his backpack onto his shoulder. “Yeah. I, uh―My buddy Alex let me borrow it.”

Mark cocks an eyebrow, curious, as he stands up. “What, you got tired of being Batman?”

Matt huffs out a laugh, more a punch of breath than anything. “Batman and Spider-man aren’t even from the same universe,” he says like it’s obvious. “I just...thought we should match. This was the only Marvel costume I could get on such short notice.” He shrugs, trying for nonchalance and missing the mark by a considerable amount.

Mark pauses, caught off guard; he just assumed the other suit was dirty or something. Finding out that the switch was intentional makes something in his chest flutter against his ribcage. “Oh. Well, today’s the last day of your punishment. It was a good note to end on.”

Matt furrows his brow, like he’d forgotten about the bet altogether. Truthfully, Mark kind of did, too. “We should make the most of it,” he says, leading Mark down the stairs to the front of the room. Even two steps below Mark, he’s so much taller. Mark trips on three steps in a row. “Do you wanna go out for lunch? Really flaunt it, y’know?”

Mark’s lips curve up into a tiny smile. “Sure.” He pauses, hovering by the door uncertainly. “When are you done with classes?”

Matt’s eyes light up, lopsided grin spreading across his face. “I’m free now, baby.”

Mark once again tries not to read into the pet name. Maybe it’s Chenle’s words from yesterday still ringing in his ears, but he wants to be sure. “So, like, just to clarify―”

Matt gives him the warmest look Mark’s ever seen, slinging his arm around Mark’s shoulders as he hikes his backpack up with his other hand. “Yeah, Mark, it’s a date.”

Mark can feel the colour bloom across his cheeks, mouth breaking into a grin as he looks up to meet Matt’s gaze. “Sweet.” The fondness in Matt’s eyes gives Mark just enough courage to reach up for the hand Matt has hanging off his shoulder. They walk to Matt’s car hand in hand, and their outfits get some side eyes along the way, but Mark has never been more grateful for stupid Halloween costumes.

"So I've been wondering," he says as he climbs into the passenger seat of Matt's Honda. "What was the bet?"

Matt cuts him a look as he starts the car, rolling the windows down to let the crisp spring air in. "That I wouldn't ask out the hot guy from my psych lecture," he says with a smirk, shooting Mark a pointed look as he slides a pair of sunglasses onto his nose. "Looks like I won, after all."