Recently, during the Bonchon Live, after news broke that Perth and Santa had tied the red string for the second time, everything seemed to explode across social media.
Fans wouldn't stop asking:

"When are Junior and Mark going to Chiang Mai to tie the red string?"
"Wait—aren't they the only two without a red string bracelet photo yet?"
"So when will it finally be your turn~ 🥲"

The questions repeated endlessly, growing louder by the day—from big fan pages to small ones, from comment sections to live streams. And it wasn't just fans anymore—even friends, colleagues, and the Perfect 10 Liners cast joined in teasing them:

"Hey, when are you two going to Doi Suthep already?"
"Look, even Force and Book have theirs~"

Everyone had checked in at Chiang Mai.
Everyone had posted photos of their wrists wrapped in a red string—a thin thread, yet praised as a "symbol of destined love."
Everyone had one—except Junior and Mark.

They were the only pair with no "proof" tied to the red string.

But no one knew...
No one saw...
That between the two of them, that red string...had existed for a very long time already.

No photos posted online.
No behind-the-scenes clips.
Not a single confirmation.

While Junior joked casually on livestream,
"Chiang Mai will happen this year! The red string will happen too, hehe~"

Fans laughed, sent hearts, spammed the chat—"OMG IS THIS A HINT!!!"

And Mark, sitting beside him, only smiled faintly—a soft, pale smile no one noticed was masking the ache that had just slipped into his chest.

The things he kept inside...
No one had ever known.

Only one person should have understood—but chose silence instead.

And everything began with a very short message—one that made Mark's heart miss a beat.

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June 2024. A weekday afternoon.

Junior suddenly sent Mark a photo of a resort in Chiang Mai, along with a brief message:

"Wanna go? Birthday trip."

Mark lifted his head from his phone, quietly watching sunlight slant through the curtains. His heart sank slightly. He had never expected anyone to remember his birthday—let alone plan a trip for it. But when he looked back at the screen, at the name "Junior" glowing softly, Mark replied with just one word:

"Okay."

And so they went.

No announcements.
No third person.
Just the two of them—and a mess of feelings Mark had always kept hidden.

Junior was always the more talkative one. In Chiang Mai's old town, he dragged Mark around to try coconut ice cream "so good you could cry," insisted Mark wear traditional Lanna clothes for photos. Mark only smiled and went along with it. Others might find Mark quiet, distant—but next to Junior, his gaze softened, his expression calm but no longer cold.

Junior liked to joke,
"I'm the Chula Cute Boy, you're the TU Sexy Boy—national-level handsome duo, don't you think?"

Mark didn't answer, just turned his face away—ears already flushed red. He knew he was attractive, but the only person he wanted to attract... seemed completely unaware.

One early morning, Junior suddenly suggested,
"Let's go to a temple today. I heard Wat Pha Lat has a red string blessing for people with destiny."

Mark frowned.
"Red string?"

"Yeah, like good fate. Come on~"

The temple was hidden in the forest, cool and serene, as if detached from the world. The distant sound of bells echoed softly. As they knelt before the monk, he quietly tied a thin red string around Junior's wrist—then Mark's.

The monk's voice was slow, calm, yet heavy with meaning:
"This is a beautiful bond. But to keep it, one must be willing to step back... and one must be willing to stay and wait."

Mark lifted his head. He wanted to ask, Who waits? Who steps back?
But Junior was only staring at the red string on his wrist.

Mark said nothing. He merely tightened his left hand slightly, feeling the fragile thread transmit a quiet, fragile hope into his chest.

That night, Junior walked Mark along the Ping River. The air was cool, the breeze carrying the scent of dry leaves mixed with sweetness from roadside bakeries. Hundreds of paper lanterns hung along the path, swaying gently, their light soft like the breath of night. Each step felt illuminated by unnamed memories and emotions.

Junior walked close—close enough that their elbows brushed lightly. They didn't talk much, only small things: Chiang Mai's slow pace, tiny cafés tucked under wooden eaves, lo-fi music drifting from an old speaker tied up with rope—everything soft, gentle, weightless.

Sometimes Junior bent down to pick up a fallen leaf and quietly placed it on Mark's palm, like a secret game. He said nothing, only smiled—that familiar silly smile he wore whenever he tried to hide something. Mark pressed his lips together in a small smile, eyes fixed on the lantern lights shimmering on the water—where everything already felt blurred.

They stopped at a small café by the road—a rustic wooden place with romantic European touches: white iron chairs, low-hanging yellow lights, dried flowers in ceramic vases. It was strangely quiet, as if made just for the two of them tonight.

Mark chose a seat by the window, gazing at the river. Junior went to the counter.

Minutes later, while Mark was still lost in the lights outside, Junior suddenly appeared in front of him—holding a small cake, just enough for two, with a single flickering candle.

Junior's face glowed under the warm light, and in his eyes was all the tenderness Mark had secretly dreamed of.

"Happy birthday, Mark," Junior said softly, yet clearly.
"I wish you all the luck and good things in the world. I hope everyone who comes into your life treats you well and cherishes you. Let's walk together for a long, long time, okay?"

Mark looked at the cake—then at Junior.

Something real, soft, warm filled his chest.

In that moment, he wanted to believe—
that this wasn't just a birthday.
Not just a trip.
But something... more.

He wanted to say something—Thank you, I'm really happy, or even, Please don't give me hope if you're not serious.

But before he could, Junior turned away, gaze drifting to the street, that familiar half-joking smile returning:

"Chiang Mai's really beautiful. When you have a lover someday, bring them here."

Mark froze.

Those words—spoken so casually—were like cold water poured over a heart quietly learning to hope.

Junior was always like this. Kind. Gentle. Warm...
Yet unaware.

Or perhaps he understood—
and chose not to.

And that was what exhausted Mark the most.

Mark lowered his head, smiled faintly.
"Do you really think it's that easy for me to have a lover?"

Junior laughed.
"You're the TU Sexy Boy, aren't you?"

Mark didn't answer. After a while, he whispered—almost to himself:
"It's not easy... because there's only one person I want to bring."

He didn't know if Junior heard.
Or maybe he did—and chose silence.

The next morning, Chiang Mai was still. Sunlight lay thin like a veil over the quiet streets.

Mark woke early, packing carefully, each movement gentle—as if afraid of disturbing something already too fragile. The red string was still on his wrist—thin, light, almost nonexistent—yet all night, it had been the only thing keeping his heart from breaking apart.

When they rolled their suitcases down to the lobby, Mark turned, about to ask Junior something— And then he froze.

Junior was talking to the receptionist, lifting his hand to run through his hair out of habit.

His wrist was bare.

The red string was gone.

No explanation.
No sign that he even remembered it.

Mark didn't ask. He simply turned away, gripping the suitcase handle tightly—as if trying to hold onto something silently slipping from his chest.

In the car, Mark opened his bag and took out his notebook—the one he always carried. Every page was about Junior: glances, accidental touches, long nights filled with words never sent. He kept it all—not out of hope, but because he lacked the courage to let go.

He removed the red string from his wrist, folded it neatly—as gently as folding a dream.

Then he placed it on the first page of the notebook.

Chiang Mai slowly faded behind the window. Mark sat in silence, the breeze filling every empty space inside him.

"Things that seem special—if only one person protects them, they become ordinary to the other.

Destiny—if only one person believes in it, was never destiny at all.

Just a memory I embroidered myself, believed in myself...and let go of on my own."

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A year passed.

The trip seemed long asleep—until the fandom started pressing Junior and Mark about the red string again.

Chiang Mai was still gentle as ever—but people had changed.

Another year passed. Mark's birthday came again.

This time, Junior didn't send a brief photo. Didn't make careless jokes.
He planned everything himself—booked the same room, chose the same riverside path.

Everything was the same—except one thing.

They were lovers now.

At Wat Pha Lat, the cool air felt familiar. But this time, Mark wasn't walking quietly behind Junior. He walked beside him—hand in hand.

The monk tied a new red string around their wrists.

When the ritual ended, Junior paused, pulled a small box from his pocket, and opened it.

Inside was the old red string—the one Mark thought he had forgotten.

Junior said nothing. He looked into Mark's eyes, gently lifted Mark's left hand, and tied his old red string onto Mark's wrist, knotting it neatly.

"I kept it for a year," he said softly.
"Waiting until I could tie it back on you myself. This time, I won't take it off. I'll keep you by my side... forever."

Mark stood frozen. Then whispered,
"Then... why did you take it off back then?"

No accusation. No anger.
Just a question that had lived in his heart for a year.

Junior was silent for a long moment, eyes lingering on Mark—touching emotions never spoken aloud.

"Because back then... I thought I wasn't worthy of keeping it."

Mark turned to him, stunned. Junior continued, voice steady:

"I thought you deserved someone who was certain about their feelings. And back then... I wasn't. Not because I didn't like you," his chest rose slightly, forcing out the truth, "but because I was afraid. Afraid that if I kept the string without being able to stand beside you properly, I'd only give you hope... and hurt you."

Silence settled between them.

"I took it off not because I didn't want it," Junior said softly, "but because I wasn't brave enough to keep it. I thought if one day I became certain enough—grown enough—to stand before you without hesitation... then I'd be the one to tie it back. With my own hands."

Mark lowered his head, lips trembling slightly. After a few seconds, he whispered:
"Do you know... I was angry at you for a long time?"

Junior nodded.
"I know," he said gently. "And... I was angry at myself for just as long."

Mark said nothing more. He opened his bag and took out something small—the red string he had kept for a year.

He smiled softly and tied it onto Junior's wrist, hands trembling—as if tying his heart there too.

They looked at each other. No words were needed.

Mark raised his left hand, gazing at the two red strings—one old, one new; one carrying an unfinished dream, the other proof of a complete present.

That night, Junior posted a single word on Instagram, with one photo:

"Finally."

The fandom exploded.

"WHAT??? BOTH WRISTS??? TWO RED STRINGS???"
"Classic Junior. If he ties it, he ties TWO???"
"I'M ACTUALLY CRYING I'VE WAITED SO LONG!!!"

And so the hashtag #JuniorMarkTwoRedStrings shot straight to the top trending.

Later that night, Mark sat in the resort room, studying his wrist under warm yellow light.

"You kept this... for a whole year?" he asked softly.

Junior nodded, pulling Mark into his lap.
"At first, out of guilt. Later... because of love."

Mark smiled, leaning against his shoulder.
"So... does that mean we have two destinies now?"

Junior tightened his arms around him, teasing:
"No. Just one. But tied twice—so we'll never be afraid of losing it again."

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The end.