Chapter Text
“Where should I–– do I stand, like here? Or should I–”
“There’s good.”
“Okay, cool, cool. Um, and–”
“Hands in your pockets would be best, I think.”
“Great.”
“Can someone fix his– yeah, that part of his fringe, right there– yes, perfect. Alright, ready?”
“Do I just look at the one right in–“
“Yeah, the one right in front of you is good. We’ll let you know if we want you focused on a different camera.”
A nod, fingers clenching in pockets.
“And, Mark? Relax. You’re gonna do great.”
“…Really?”
“America is going to love you.”
“Take one, Mark Lee intro package. And we’re rolling in 3, 2, 1…”
“My name’s Mark Lee. I’m originally from Vancouver, Canada, but I’ve lived in LA for a few years now.”
Mark, 26, Vancouver.
“I’m a professional songwriter and producer.”
Mark inside a studio, huge headphones over his ears, round glasses on. He’s fiddling with the knobs on a mixing desk. A guitar is perched on a stand next to him, and a keyboard is shoved in a corner of the small space.
“My favorite artists I’ve ever sold a song to? Man, that’s tough… I admire so many of the artists I work with, really. I’m so lucky. But I’ve been a huge Justin Bieber fan since I was like, twelve, so I gotta say selling a song to him was probably the most exciting moment in my career so far.”
“I’m excited to start this journey, I’m such a romantic. I write love songs all the time. I’ve probably written more than a hundred. But it’s been a really, really long time since I was in love. Real love. And I want that. I’m hoping this journey will bring me the kind of love I write about.”
Mark strumming his guitar on a bench in Lindberg park, singing softly, too quiet for the words to be clear. He squints into the middle distance, golden hour sunlight washing over his face.
Back to the recording studio.
“I’m ready to fall in love.” Mark looks down for a moment, grinning shyly. He presses down two keys on the keyboard, then takes a deep breath and stares straight down the lens. “Johnny, I’m ready to write you love songs. For the rest of our lives, hopefully.”
“That was so cringe.”
“It wasn’t.”
“That was so unconvincing.”
“It wasn’t any more cringe than the other intros, trust me.”
“Renjun! I thought you were supposed to be supportive! Donghyuck promised me you would be supportive!”
“You kept pressing!”
“Oh my God. Maybe they’ll just scrap my whole thing? It was pretty boring, right? God, I hope it gets cut. That was humiliating.”
“Mark, seriously, it was pretty good. Everyone knows how these things go. Don’t be so embarrassed.”
“I’m going to look like such an idiot. I can’t believe I let Donghyuck talk me into this.”
“Just trust the process, Mark.”
“I am, I am. Really.”
“And try to enjoy it.”
“Okay, what’s the plan for your limo entrance?”
“Plan?” Mark looked at Renjun in alarm. “I have to have a plan?”
Renjun blinked slowly at Mark, a look of vague disappointment that Mark was beginning to suspect was a signature for the man spreading over his face. “Yes.”
“I thought that was like, your job though?”
Renjun tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. “Producers will help you finesse your idea, yes. And in the worst case come up with something. But that’s for bland contestants who can barely string a coherent sentence together, Mark. You’re Donghyuck’s best friend, and he vouched hard for you. I know you’re not boring. And I know you can write.”
“Songwriting is different than being like, witty off the cuff,” Mark protested. “Or coming up with good pick-up lines.”
Renjun arched an eyebrow doubtfully. “Sure.”
“Can’t I just introduce myself? ‘Hey, I’m Mark Lee, how’s it hanging?’”
“If you want the audience to think you’re boring, I guess.”
“Forget the audience,” Mark said impatiently, looking beseechingly at his producer. “Will it work with Johnny?”
The line of Renjun’s shoulders softened. He put a companionable hand on Mark’s bicep, giving him a little squeeze. “I don’t know. I’ve barely ever met him.”
“This is so stressful,” Mark whined, curling down to press his head into his knees. The folding chair in the green room was sticking to his sweaty thighs. There was no AC in here.
“You know what, let’s go with your idea,” Renjun said, voice taking on an air of decisiveness that was immediately comforting to Mark. He lifted his head, staring hopefully at his producer. There was a determined set to Renjun’s small mouth. “Trying to have you force something will go terribly.”
Mark breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, dude.”
“Better to be boring than a train wreck.” Renjun tilted his head for a second. “Well, for you personally. I do need a few of my contestants to be train wrecks though, if I want to keep my job.”
In that moment, Mark became acutely aware that the only thing standing between him and pure chaos was the sheer force of Donghyuck’s personality being on his side. He had a feeling that if Renjun didn’t have a bond of personal loyalty, he could talk Mark into doing some pretty crazy stuff.
IN THE MOMENT
“What’s going through your mind as you’re walking up to Johnny?”
“I’m shitting myself.”
“Without swearing.”
“Fuck, sorry. I’m super nervous, I’m like, shaking. I got anxiety sweat all over. The backs of my knees are slippery. I’m thinking, like, what if Johnny notices how sweaty my palms are and thinks I’m gross and just sends me home right then?”
“Mark!” Laughter. “Plenty of people get really sweaty, especially night one. Nothing to worry about.”
“Well, it’s nice to know that now …”
“Don’t be a whiner.”
“Hey dude, whassup.” Mark grinned somewhat sheepishly and stuck out his hand. “Mark Lee.”
Johnny smiled down at him, little wrinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes like whiskers. Mark fought the urge to melt into the pavement. He clasped Mark’s sweaty palm, giving him a firm handshake. “Johnny Suh.”
“I know, dude, you're literally the bachelor.” Mark clapped a hand over his mouth, wishing he could shove the words back in. Johnny’s eyes went wide. “Oh my God. Forget I said that.”
“No, no – it was honest! Don’t be embarrassed.” Johnny was clearly biting down on his lower lip, fighting a smile. Mark whined in shame, ears burning red. “It was cute, Mark Lee.”
“Thanks, I guess. I should tell you you’re cute too, right?” Mark took a moment to pause and ask Jesus to prevent him shoving his foot in his mouth again. “You are really cute. More than cute, actually, you’re like super fucking handsome – oh shit, I’m not supposed to swear – oh my God, this is going so wrong, ignore me.”
Johnny just laughed, bending over slightly with the force of it. Mark prayed for fortitude while Johnny balanced himself with a hand on Mark’s shoulder, still shaking with belly laughs.
Mark glanced pleadingly over Johnny’s shoulder at Taeyong, the host. “Are there any do-overs?”
Even Taeyong, who was literally famous for keeping his composure, was laughing at Mark. “No. No, there’s not.” Mark groaned. Johnny finally seemed to be done laughing at Mark, trailing off into little chuckles as he straightened himself up. He beamed down at Mark, pushing sleek strands of brown hair that had fallen astray behind his ear. “Oh, don’t look so down! It’s more fun like this.”
“For you, maybe,” Mark muttered mutinously. His ears were still burning, and he knew his foundation wasn’t full-coverage enough to mask that his face was tomato red. He mustered a last smile at Johnny, mindful of the producer pointing at his watch beside the main cameraman. “Sorry. Wish I could say I’m usually really smooth, but that would be a lie.”
“Don’t be too nervous, Mark. Just be yourself.” Johnny squeezed Mark’s hand briefly, granting him a final smile. This one held a slightly dismissive note, more composed than before. No eye whiskers.
The platitude sounded a lot better coming from Johnny’s lips than anyone else’s.
IN THE MOMENT
“What’d you think when you first saw Johnny?”
“He’s like, super tall. Man. He is so tall. And he has – just, the nicest smile. He’s beautiful, really.”
Long pause.
“I’m terrible around beautiful people.”
Laughter.
“No, seriously! I’m so bad around beautiful people. I can’t talk. I mean, you saw it, right? It was a mess.”
“You did fine.”
“Sure.”
“He liked you!”
“Maybe…”
“You need to talk to him.”
Mark cast a doubtful glance out the windows to the patio, where Johnny was throwing his head back in laughter over something a beautiful woman with a blunt bob and sharp shoulders said. “I don’t know, Renjun. He looks busy.”
“You have to make a connection with him, and there’s too many people here for you to wait for him to come to you.”
“I know!” Mark’s voice squeaked. He cleared his throat, flushing. “I know. It’s just weird. I’m very conflict averse, dude.”
“Oh wow. What a show for you,” Renjun muttered. Mark took the opportunity to escape for the moment, snatching a champagne flute off one of the many, many trays and integrating himself into one of the groupings in the living room. A guy with a black ponytail wearing a sheer button-down that showed off a navel ring was an Olympian, apparently. A boy with round cheeks was blushingly congratulating him.
“My family was rooting so hard for Team Japan,” he confided, lifting his champagne flute to his mouth then lowering it again, clearly excited. Mark smiled fondly, and edged further into the conversation. “We were so disappointed when you guys lost the bronze to Mexico. I think my mom cried.”
“Thank you,” the handsome man said graciously, although his wide grin belied any modesty. “It was a disappointment, but I’m proud of how we played. We were all so happy to represent our country, and we played well.”
“I can’t believe an Olympian is here,” the boy repeated, who looked a few years younger than Mark. Probably freshly out of college. “God. No offense, but you could do so much better. Why aren’t you the bachelor?”
“An excellent question,” the man said contemplatively. His amused smirk made Mark crack up.
“Hi. Yuta, nice to meet you.”
“You too, man,” Mark shook his hand vigorously, noting the many rings on his fingers. “Mark Lee. And damn. Congrats on the Olympics. That’s incredible. So you’re a professional soccer player?” Mark was proud that he’d managed to remember how the soccer finals went down the previous summer. Yuta grinned at him, showing off many gleaming teeth. He should do toothpaste ads.
“Former. I fucked up my injured knee badly in our last game.” Yuta didn’t sound too cut up about it. What a way to go out, honestly. “I moved here last fall. I do hair full-time now.”
“That’s so cool!” Mark enthused. “But kind of a big change?”
Yuta shrugged. “I’ve always loved fashion, especially jewelry and hair. And I was planning to retire in the next few seasons, so it wasn’t a terrible transition. I have some friends out here that set me up.”
“Cool. I live in the area now, too.”
Yuta smiled at him, fiddling absently with one of the silver hoops dangling from his ear. “Awesome. I’m going to find some actual food now. Shotaro, after all this is over, I’ll find you on instagram. I’ve got plenty of jerseys if your family would like some.”
The round-cheeked man, Shotaro apparently, gazed at Yuta with starry eyes. “Really? That’s so kind of you, Yuta-san.” Yuta ruffled his hair playfully, and wandered off towards the kitchen. Mark looked around for another conversation to drift to. A guy with his hair bleached out gray was talking enthusiastically with his hands, expression derisive. It sounded like he was disparaging Johnny, for some reason.
“How is he a model? He’s tall, I guess, but–”
Mark edged away from that conversation, and drifted in with some girls who were discussing how they’d managed their luggage. They were happy enough to let Mark listen in as he clutched his flute. Mark didn’t dare to actually drink the champagne. It gave him a terrible headache, and he was such a lightweight. Even with the two-drinks an hour limit, Mark knew he could get wasted. He would not be getting sloppy on national TV. He wouldn’t do that to his poor mother. Bad enough that he’d come on the show at all.
Mark got nearly an hour of peace before Renjun tracked him down again. Presumably, the other contestants he was responsible for had gotten in their four to eight minutes of alone time. Mark obeyed the crook of Renjun’s finger and his arched brow and shuffled to the corner he was standing in. He folded his arms obstinately.
“Okay, I’ll go in.”
“Thank you. But can you make this sound less like a suicide mission?”
“But I seriously don’t know how to grab him. He’s always with someone else.” Mark cut Renjun off before he could answer. “And if you tell me to tell Johnny, ‘Can I steal you for a sec?’ I’m going to kill myself, dude.”
Renjun rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to say exactly that, but you do need to talk to him, Mark.”
Mark glanced at Renjun and sighed. “Okay. You guys got any beers around here?”
Production did have beers on hand, it turned out. They were just by request, not out on platters like the traditional champagne. Mark secured two hazy IPAs from a local brewery and prayed that Johnny was a beer guy. He looked like he was a beer guy.
“Hey.” Mark stood awkwardly, one beer clutched in each hand. The brunette who’d been speaking to Johnny shot him a glare over her shoulder, but Johnny smiled at him encouragingly. “Ah, I hate to interrupt – like, really, truly I do – but um…I brought beer? And it’s still cold right now.”
“Great,” Johnny said warmly, looking down to smile at the woman in front of him. “Thanks for chatting with me, Madison.”
“I’ll catch you later,” she said stubbornly, still not leaving. Johnny nodded absently, now looking over her head at Mark. Finally, she seemed to get the hint, and stalked back down the gazebo steps to the living room.
“That was so awkward,” Mark muttered, mortified. He realized he was still holding Johnny’s beer, and jerkily passed it off to him. ”Here.”
“Thank you.” Johnny accepted it politely, opening it and taking a small sip. He probably did really like beer, then. Thank the Lord.
Mark popped the tab on his beer as he tried desperately to think of an icebreaker that wouldn’t be mind-numbingly cliche. “So how’s your ni- OH my God. Oh my God, shit, shit fuck–”
The beer fucking exploded on him. Foam spilled all over Mark’s hands, down his wrists, onto his suit jacket and white shirt and freshly dry-cleaned pants. He stepped back in horror, trying to keep the carnage far from Johnny’s impeccable outfit. Mark could only hold his hands out as far from his body as he could and watch in horror as he chances with Johnny washed down the drain.
“Are you…” Johnny blinked at the puddle of beer around Mark’s shoes, face blank with shock. He didn’t even finish the question. Mark took one step back, then another. His dress shoes squelched audibly.
“I didn’t think…that was going to happen.” No response from Johnny. He was still staring at the mess of liquid soaking down Mark’s front. Mark wanted to crawl under a shrub. “I’m gonna – I’m gonna, go – g-get, get changed… sorry.” He scrambled away before Johnny could reply, nearly running as he tuned sharply to escape the gazebo.
Mark felt tears spring to his eyes, and covered his face with his palms. He wasn’t even a crier, but he was about to ugly sob over this damn suit.
A small hand on his shoulder. Mark bit down on the inside of his cheek and turned to see who it was. Renjun. Thank God. His face was soft with sympathy. “Come on, we just need to film a quick confessional and then we can go upstairs. You can change into a different outfit you brought and come back down.” Mark didn’t move for a second. Renjun gave him a gentle push. “Don’t be like this, Mark. Pull it together. You had some good luck. It didn’t get on your face.”
Realizing that he very nearly had beer spray into his eyes made Mark feel worse, but it was the jolt he needed to start moving again. Head lowered in mortification, Mark shuffled after Renjun. He sat down in front of some red curtains and fake plants, and somehow managed to get through his confessional on autopilot. He had no idea what came out of his mouth. He wasn’t sure how long it had been when Renjun put his hand on Mark’s elbow, pulling him out of the chair and herding him past the filming area. That was when reality began to sink in. Mark stopped in his tracks.
“Oh my God.” Mark took a deep breath, trying to get the awful lump out of his throat. “This suit is totally ruined. All of it, oh my God. It’s all stained, it’s ruined.”
“It’s no big deal, Mark. I’ll have an intern get it dry cleaned.”
“Stoppp, that doesn’t make me feel better. I don’t even want to think about the dry cleaning bill,” Mark whined, letting Renjun shepherd him down a plain hallway. They had to skirt around the filming area to get upstairs, and Mark was acutely aware of the two handhelds trained on him as they weaved between crew members and wires. Before they turned up the staircase, Mark couldn’t resist the urge to glance over his shoulder. Johnny was talking to a tall, buff blonde dude, beer hanging loosely from his fingers. He wasn’t looking at Mark.
Sighing, he followed Renjun up the stairs. Might as well be looking presentable when he was dumped night one on national television.
IN THE MOMENT
“It. Fucking. Exploded.” A slow blink. Mark’s eyes look bloodshot, and his nose is slightly red. “What the hell? What are the chances?! I have the worst luck in the world, I swear to god. My suit is ruined and I smell like beer. This could not get any worse. There’s no way Johnny keeps me after this. That’s it. It’s over before it even began.”
"You don't know that."
"Yeah. Um...yeah. So. Can I – can I go? Sorry. Yeah."
Mark put on one of the other suits he’d brought along, a dark blue one. Not like I’ll be needing to save them for future rose ceremonies, he thought glumly as he adjusted his blazer. Might as well use as many of my outfits as possible.
With that depressing thought, Mark wandered back out into the house. The clamor of the living room kind of made him want to cry, and Mark bypassed it immediately. He just wanted somewhere quiet to sit and get a hold of himself. He found himself walking to the pool. The area was fairly empty, only one other contestant in a deep red suit perched on the edge of the outdoor furniture.
“Do you mind…?” The man who’d been sitting alone looked up at Mark and shook his head, smiling slightly. It looked strained around the edges. Mark could relate.
“Thanks, man. I’m Mark.”
“Sicheng,” the man replied quietly, and left it at that.
Mark sat down on one of the cushioned couches that surrounded the pool, sighing in relief as he propped his elbows on his knees. For the first time in hours, it was quiet. Mark could hear crickets chirp and waves lap at the walls of the pool. Voices from the living room sounded distant here, and he sank into the companionable silence with relief. He stared blankly at the small ripples in the water’s surface, the way the lights flickered from underneath it. Mark let his vision swim out of focus, and tried not to cry.
He was going home tonight. Night one. It wasn’t a big deal. Johnny was really hot, and he seemed funny and like a chill dude, but Mark wasn’t in love with him. He didn’t even have a proper crush on him. It shouldn’t be a big deal to go home. It was probably for the best, actually. Get out before he made an even bigger fool of himself on national television. So why was Mark on the verge of tears?
“Mark? I’m glad I found you here.”
Mark started at the sound of a voice. Certain he must be hearing things, he twisted to look over his shoulder in disbelief. But sure enough – there was Johnny, standing six feet away at the edge of the circular couch. Mark had been so spaced he hadn’t even heard him walk up. He blinked owlishly, eyes flicking between Johnny and the bevy of cameramen posted up behind him.
“Hi, Johnny.” Mark cleared his throat and heaved himself up from the ground. Johnny was tall enough already. He shifted awkwardly between his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Look, I wanted to apologize about–”
“Don’t worry about it. Actually, I was hoping I could talk to you alone?” Johnny gave Sicheng a significant glance, smiling hopefully at Mark. He froze for a second. By the time his brain rebooted, Johnny’s smile was starting to fade, worry creeping into his eyes.
Mark rushed to reassure him. “Oh! Yeah, sure, I would love to talk to you. Alone. That sounds…that sounds super fun and great. Yeah.”
“Okay. Awesome.” There were the eye-smile whiskers again.
Mark’s heart thumped painfully as Johnny took his hand and led him away, over to a spot in the garden with a stone bench. There was lighting set up around it, clearly a prime private locale for filming. Johnny made no move to sit on it. He grabbed Mark’s other hand, holding them both between them. His hands were so big. Johnny was standing close enough that Mark could feel the heat radiating off of him through their clothes. Mark tried not to shiver.
“I know there’s been some…accidents tonight, with us,” Johnny began. Mark stopped breathing. He stopped blinking, eyes fixed on Johnny’s face. “But I’ve really enjoyed our time. Relationships aren’t always smooth sailing, so finding someone who I can laugh with is important to me. You’ve made me laugh so much, even though you weren’t trying.”
“Thanks,” Mark whispered, voice gone. He felt light-headed, but Johnny was looking at him expectantly. He swallowed and took a breath. “I feel like I keep embarrassing myself in front of you, but that’s kind of how I always am in front of my crush. Knowing that you weren’t judging me is…wow. It’s so good to hear that, Johnny. And I like your laugh so, so much already. I want to hear it more. All the time, really.”
“Yeah?” Johnny’s voice had dropped to a whisper. “Good.”
To Mark’s distress, he dropped one of his hands and turned slightly. Was Johnny walking away? Johnny met his producer's eyes. “Now’s a good time, thanks.” The man stepped forward and pressed something into Johnny’s hand. He kept it held behind his back and turned back to Mark, looking down at him with a small little smirk. His heart began to race. Could it be – but there was no way –
“Mark Lee, will you accept this rose?”
Mark stared down at the flower in Johnny’s hand, held out to his chest. His hand drifted up, barely brushing over the silky petals. He exhaled slowly, then flicked his eyes up to meet Johnny’s once more. They were so dark out here, under the night sky. “Yes,” he breathed.
Johnny pressed the rose into his palm, and Mark clutched at it clumsily. He barely managed to move it out of the way before Johnny ducked down and pressed their lips together. For a moment, Mark was frozen. There was no way. There was no way that five different cameras were on him, and he had a mic pack taped to his back, and Renjun was standing ten feet away, and Mark was being kissed by the bachelor.
But it was real. Johnny’s large hand cupped the back of Mark’s head, and he finally started to kiss him back. He tilted his head to the side, sliding their lips together slowly. Fuck, he hoped this didn’t look awkward on TV, because it felt really good. Johnny’s lips were so soft, and the dip of his cupid’s bow felt divine, and Mark melted. His hands found themselves on Johnny’s chest, and he pressed into him, kissing him again, harder. Johnny’s fingers scratched through his hair, digging into the back of his skull. Mark could feel his breaths on his cheeks. He went up on his toes, trying to press into Johnny more fully, get more of his mouth, and more, and more. He licked at the seam of Johnny’s lips, and his mouth parted, and –
“Sorry.”
Mark jumped. He felt Johnny flinch beneath his palms, and nearly smashed his head into his nose in his haste to pull back. Mark let go of Johnny’s shirt, which he only now realized he’d been clutching and leaving obvious wrinkles in, and folded his arms over his stomach. The rose lay along the top of them.
A man with frankly shocking eyebrows and startling good looks stood awkwardly in front of them, one hand stuck in his pocket and the other plucking at his shirt hem. “Sorry to interrupt. But if I could talk to Johnny for a minute…?”
“Oh, yeah.” Mark took an unsteady step back, hoping it wasn’t extremely obvious that he and Johnny had been sucking face ten seconds ago. Judging by how cool the air felt on his spit-slick lips and reddened ears, no luck. “Um…Well, bye. Thanks, Johnny.” Mark waved the rose in his hand, then immediately regretted it. He winced. Johnny was folding his lips against what might have been a smile.
Aw, fuck it. Mark went up on his toes and pressed a kiss to Johnny’s cheek. “Catch you later.”
He escaped to the safety of a row of hedges a few yards away, pacing up and down the grass like a caged animal and taking deep breaths of the night air. Holy fuck. Holy fuck. He wasn’t going home tonight. He, Mark Lee, was holding a rose in his hands. The first impression rose.
He had kissed Johnny.
A dumb little smile rose to his lips. Mark pressed his fingers against his mouth, trying to keep it a secret.
“Ready for your ITM, loverboy?”
Mark whirled around, nearly falling on his ass as he turned to see Renjun. The producer was smiling with teeth, and in that moment, Mark realized why Donghyuck was half in-love with the guy. He coughed, and looked down at his rose again. There was no stopping the smile on his face. Mark gave in to the happiness, and grinned at Renjun. “Yeah. Holy shit, did you see that?”
Renjun steered him to a camera set-up in front of an arbor of flowers with a convenient stool. “I sure did.”
IN THE MOMENT
“When Johnny pulled you aside, did you think you were getting the first impression rose?”
“I really did not.”
“We need the whole thing. My voice gets cut, remember?”
“Oh, shit. Yeah. Um… I really did not expect to get the first impression rose. I thought I totally blew it, and Johnny was sending me home early.”
“Why?”
“I’m not the type of guy who stands out in a crowd. I’m like, just a pretty normal dude, I guess? And there’s so many cool people here… like, Yuta is an Olympian! And everyone is so gorgeous. And I’m just like, ‘Hey, haha, whassup, I’m Mark Lee from Canada!’ You know? Awkward as hell. I spilt half a can of beer all over myself and nearly had a breakdown, like…That does not scream ‘Date me’! I’m nothing special.”
“Johnny seems to think you are.”
A blush. Fiddling with the rose. “Yeah…”
“Don’t twist the rose, hold it still.”
“Sorry!”
“It’s okay, Mark. What do you think Johnny sees in you?”
“I have no idea what Johnny sees in me.”
“You must have got that rose for some reason.”
“I really couldn’t tell you. I just feel lucky he saw something, even if I got no clue what it was. Maybe he’s just really an IPA guy.”
“Are you happy you got the first impression rose?”
“Of course I’m happy I got this rose. I already like Johnny a lot, he seems really great and he has a sense of humor and he’s obviously like, so hot. And it was nice to feel seen, I guess? Even if I don’t know what he saw. I mean… I’ll sleep easier tonight, for sure.”
The sky was brightening to a cool blue by the time they were all shepherded into a lavishly furnished room for the rose ceremony. It was way too crowded, everyone bunched together on the riser and wrapped around the wall, trying to navigate around all the sound equipment and cameras. People tried to chat as they waited for the set-up to finish, but every eye invariably ended up drawn to the center of the room, where a podium stood ominously. It was so clearly cheap as fuck, and yet everyone was palpably afraid of the power it radiated.
Mark was stood beside the man with the incredible eyebrows who’d interrupted him earlier. They were of a similar height. Mark shifted on his feet, trying not to fidget with his new shirt cuffs. The man kept sneaking sideways glances at him. He tried not to let it rattle him.
“Hi.” The whisper caught Mark so by surprise he nearly toppled right off the risers. He caught himself, hand to his chest as he steadied himself. The man beside him looked mortified. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry!”
Mark sucked in a deep inhale. “S’okay dude, I’m just mad jumpy right now.”
“Oh, yeah. I get it.” The man visibly relaxed, smiling shyly at Mark. He was painfully attractive. Mark was supposed to compete with people who looked like that? “I’m Dejun.”
“Mark.”
“I just wanted to apologize, for earlier…”
Mark shook his head, waving off Dejun’s concerned tones. He accidentally used the hand holding the rose and nearly whacked Dejun across the face with it. He immediately tucked his arms in close to his chest, eyes going wide as he stared at Dejun.
Dejun stared back for a second, before they both burst into laughter.
“Man, I’m sorry! Gotta be careful with this thing, sheesh. It could be a weapon.”
Dejun smiled at Mark, casting the rose a short glance that was only tinged a little with envy. “I am sorry about interrupting earlier. I needed to let Johnny know about something, and I’d hyped myself up too much to back down then, you know? I didn’t realize he was… you know. I would’ve waited a few minutes if I had.”
Mark very carefully bumped his shoulder into Dejun’s. “Seriously man, no biggie. That’s what you gotta do, right? I interrupted someone too. You gotta get that time in. I know how it works.”
Dejun visibly breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, good.”
They waited in silence for another few moments. Mark looked at Dejun out of the corner of his eye. “What was it you needed to tell Johnny?”
Dejun’s eyes flashed, and he leaned in closer to Mark to whisper the gossip. Apparently one of the guys had been saying he thought Johnny was lame as hell, and couldn’t believe everyone was falling over themselves for him. Mark realized he’d probably overheard part of this conversation himself, but had purposefully avoided listening in. “And then he said the network was losing it for picking Johnny as the bachelor, and that was it. I had to let Johnny know, right?” Dejun’s eyes were wide and earnest, two spots of color high on his cheeks. “He should know that someone here is shit-talking him when he’s literally done nothing wrong.”
“What’d he say?” Mark asked, curious. Dejun straightened up a little, looking a cross between self-satisfied and proud.
“He thanked me for letting him know, and then he went and pulled Chenle aside to talk. No one’s seen him since.” Dejun sounded satisfied by that fact, and perhaps a smidge smug. Mark nodded in understanding. Not how he would’ve handled it, but he couldn’t fault Dejun. Reasonable enough to make sure the guy who straight-up hated the lead went home and didn’t take anyone else’s spot.
“It’s time.”
A hush fell over the crowd. Every eye fixed on the podium as Johnny stepped in, tailed by the short man who must be his personal producer. Johnny smiled at everyone as he settled himself beside the podium, picking up the first rose and playing with it between his fingers casually. The air was thick with tension and sweat. There wasn’t enough air conditioning or Xanax in the world to handle this. Mark clutched the first impression rose like a lifeline, thanking God he didn’t have to make the lonely walk down to the podium. Judging by how his night had been going, he would’ve face-planted and taken out the bucket of roses to boot.
The process took forever. There was a brief production break between every name, and a tall blonde woman tripped over her dress while descending the risers and sent them into a ten-minute halt. Alexa, as was apparently her name, took it in good humor, laughing and waving her hand, tossing perfect waves over her shoulder and apologizing profusely to everyone for creating a delay. He marveled at her composure as she breezed through his worst fear. Mark would’ve melted through the floor with embarrassment if that had been him. Did everyone here but him know how to be on TV?
Madison, the girl whose time Mark had so awkwardly interrupted, was sent home. Apparently she was a Shih Tzu breeder by profession. Who knew? Mark couldn’t say he was going to miss her. Nat and Jisung, the very tall, very nervous boy Mark had noticed, also did not receive roses. Along with Chenle, who had either self-eliminated or been walked out by Johnny (depending on which whispers you listened to) that made four contestants cut. Twenty more to go if Mark wanted to be the last one standing.
He felt vaguely sick at the prospect.
By the time they were released from the claws of production, it was well past sunrise. Mark stumbled up the stairs after a crew member, muttering a weary ‘thanks’ as he was gestured towards the room where his luggage was left. Three other guys shuffled in with him. It felt a bit squashed, particularly with their bags taking up the center of the floor.
He glanced around at his new roommates, trying to place them. There was Yuta, the super-hot former pro soccer player, who’d been on the Japanese Olympic team in 2020. Mark tried not to feel intimidated, but it was hard when their sleepless night made Yuta look like a partying rockstar while Mark looked like a drunk raccoon. Sicheng, who Mark had sat quietly with by the pool for some time (Before Johnny pulled him. Before Johnny kissed him), was here. That was nice. The last guy took Mark a few seconds longer to place. He was the tall blonde who’d been so loud in the middle of the living room when they first came in, the one who’d lead the cheers and the generic toast. Fuck, what was his name… Jake! Jake P., because there’d been at least a dozen Jakes on this show before and he wanted to stand out. Relieved he knew everyone he was living with by name at least, Mark grabbed his suitcases and pulled them closer to him.
Yuta looked around, hands planted on his hips. He surveyed the dingy twin-sized bunks, one on either side of the small room, the beat-up blinds half-pulled up over a window, the depressing poly-blend quilts and limp pillows. He nodded.
“So it is shit,” he announced, with no small degree of satisfaction. Mark glanced at him, startled.
“Notoriously so,” Sicheng said dryly, slinging one of his bags on the right bottom bunk. Yuta darted across the room and claimed the other bottom bed before Mark could blink. He ventured to speak, wondering what was so notorious about the room.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, come on,” Jake P. said, sounding slightly impatient. “Everyone knows Villa de la Vina is disgusting.”
“Is it?” Mark asked, voice small.
“Apparently, contestants have found roaches, ” Yuta informed him with relish, leaning forwards conspiratorially. “And rats, too. As big as a toaster–“
“The rats are just a rumor, I think,” Sicheng said evenly, removing his bag of toiletries from his duffel. “Now, I’ll take the bathroom first, if no one minds?”
Jake looked about to protest, but went along with Yuta and Mark as they shook their heads. With a slight smile, Sicheng disappeared into the bathroom, pajamas folded neatly under his toiletry bag.
“Are there really roaches?” Mark asked timidly. Jake shot him an annoyed glance. Mark edged over to Yuta’s side of the room.
Yuta stood from the mattress and slung an arm around Mark’s shoulders companionably. “I think they’ve fumigated since then, never fear. Now come on, Markie, put that suitcase on the stand. No, I’ll use it after you, it’s fine.”
“Have you never seen the show before?” Jake asked, voice somewhere between incredulous and judgmental. “Did you think the Bachelor mansion was like, nice?” His tone implied Mark would be an idiot for believing so.
Mark flushed, fucking his head and concentrating on his luggage as if something very interesting were inside his suitcase, now propped open on the stand at the foot of the bunks. “I’ve seen the show,” he muttered defensively, shoulders around his ears. “Just not… a lot of it.”
“It’s never mentioned on the show anyways!” Yuta declared boisterously, clapping Mark on the back. “You have to watch outside content for that kind of info. Podcasts and guest appearances on obscure talk shows and such. They make it look nice on camera, don’t they?”
Mark glanced up to meet Yuta’s eyes, looking down at him kindly. He smiled shyly, bobbing his head. “Yeah, they do.”
“Anyways, It’s no big deal. I’ve lived in worse,” Yuta said dismissively. Jake snorted. Mark wanted to back his new ally up.
“Same. Freshman dorms, yo. Actually, any dorms, really…”
tbc.