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technologyculturedneo · 20 days ago

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BREATHING. Lee Mark

"I think I’m in love with a robot."

PAIRING(s).Robot!Mark (Lee Min-hyung) x Reader

SUMMARY. In a futuristic world where humans and robots co-exist together, Mark, a humanoid robot, develops an unexpected emotional connection with you, as you’re caught in a tangled web of secrets. He experiences the complexities of love and loss for the first time. Your complicated journey forces you to question what it truly means to live and breathe in a world of blurred love lines between you and machine.

NCT DREAM DREAM()SCAPE MASTERLIST

Your father worked in a very prestigious organization were they modelled and modified robots, cyborgs and humanoids. Thousands of them walked on the streets, and every time you’d pass one, you knew that it came from the company your father worked in, NCTO. Lee Min-hyung was your father's interned assistant. He was the type of guy who was just too intelligent and brilliant to ignore, so it made perfect sense that you also thought of him whenever you'd see any of the modified robots on the streets. It only enhanced and developed the little crush you had on him.

But then as if the world didn’t want you to have him, Min-hyung went missing when you turned 19 years old. He disappeared from the face of the earth without a single trail left behind. His father did everything in his power to search for him, as he was a very big boss in the underworld of illegitimate business, however he was also widely respect by the government because he put in a lot of money in the new dystopia world. As expected with the power and money Mr Suh had, he ordered a search. Ordered a search just so that he could find his son. So in corporation with the government and military the streets were closed down and men in black uniform knocked on doors and searched for Min-hyung. To no avail, Min-hyung was not found. They ruled that he ran away. Nobody believed that because Min-hyung was too much of a people person who consistently said over and over again that he was untouchable, that nothing could kill him. You were young but you remember the nerves and chaos of it all.

Reason being because you wanted your father to stop mourning the death of a son that wasn’t his. With that being your reality, you were determined to make sure that you would do everything in your power until your father noticed you. Already living in the new digital age, where technology was already so advanced, you fell in love with the same thing as your father. The power to create. You enjoyed creations and you were thrilled when you applied to NCTO and they accepted you. Not wanting to have the nepotism title, you worked your butt off earning all the respect, and shaking off the nepotism title when people started calling you by your name. Unfortunately, your father jumped off a building because he could not deal with the passing of Min-hyung.

You remember the chaos of it all, because in the mist of your father’s passing, you only had one person to blame. Min-hyung. So, years later, when an opportunity came to work on a highly civilised humanoid project that your father had started, you joined in. Not the reasons of trying to build a legacy for your father… but because you just wanted the pain in your heart to end.

While your father's death was a full pain that somewhat made you feel empty, the disappearance of the long lost boy still followed you even in your middle 20's. Maybe it's because you never had a funeral or you never found his body that it still hadn't sunk into your brain that he was dead… it still haunted your mind that Lee Min-hyung went missing.

Or did he…

The first 2 years that passed, marked the start and new embrace of your journey. Your smart ass found the favour of working in the highly prestigious company of NCTO.

"As AI transforms our work lives by automating mundane tasks, we gain valuable time to focus on what matters most: our future. As leaders, I’m sure many of us longed for the day when the mundane tasks that take up so much of our time become automated. Well, that day is no longer a distant dream but our reality, thanks to the advancements in AI. By now it should be tattooed on our foreheads of how far we at NCTO are willing to go to get the impossible being done. Please do give yourselves a round of applause for making it this far,"

The audience at large seated in the dimmed auditorium begin to applaud as they attentively listen to you as you present to them of how accomplished and successful the company has been. The point of this gathering in the company's auditorium, is to get an approval and a go head of this project to be funded.

"I want to ask you if the project I'm about to present to you has been a part of your childhood dream from the ‘future’. Where we told ourselves that we’d get flying cars and robot companions. From every creative process stage, design altercation, modification, with new database implications in place and smarter systems working with us, we've combined both the intellect of human intelligence as well as systems software inner intelligence. It's with both minds that we were able to create this project. M.A.N. Modified, altered, network."

The audience applauds just as the projected screen above displays the power point slide of figures leading up to the final design of a robotic man in a matrix.

You turn your head away from the audience of hard driven designers, project managers, systems administrators, UX technicians, code nerds, underwriters, salvages team and more of the go getters of the company - allowing them to fix their attention away from you and to the clothed stand beside you.

"It's no surprise that we've been working on this project undercover for some time. A well configured DNA code by the late Lee Taeyong set the foundation for us all, for this project. Along with a visually appealing, fundamentally creative and distinctive face that gathers micro expressions to create a face. Now, some of you may know this face, and that’s okay. Because the owner behind this face signed a contact long time ago to dedicate themselves to this company. His friendly face is what pushed this project to be existing today, why so many of us wanted to work on this project. Lee Min-hyung as well as Lee Taeyong will always be remembered as the reason we kept pushing forward." Your black mini heels begin to clack quietly on the wooden floor of the stage as the audience applauds.

With one more turn around the white covered stand, you face the darkened theatre room that has heads of all the respected teams who have worked effortlessly on this project as well as programmers and risk analyst who are seeing this project for the first time, along with your executive sponsors who will decide whether you can launch your project or not.

"Respectable audience as well as our young resilient interns and learners, I'd like you all to feast your eyes on what we've done as a company. Achieving the end goal, building the software stacks that enable balance, navigation, perception and interaction with the physical world. This is a new era of how we change the world with our gift of intelligence. I give you MAN, Project M 47 5. Humanoid Robot."

Gripping the side of the white fabric you pull off the covers. Unveiling and revealing the human like, built male figure of your first 'human attempt' humanoid project- just as the projector displays a live video of the male built figure. The camera crew from below taking the shots and view of the project.

Still… You get surprised when taking a look at the face of the robot. The uncanny resemblance to the long lost boy of the past is eerie. But it’s not like these people are bothered by it, they adore it, love it, excited over it.

It stands in the middle of the stage in black short boxers showing off it's well-built frame. From the little detail of leg hairs to toned thighs and abdomen, press ups of a flexed chest and a perfectly angled collarbone and finally familiar friendly features of a face deprivation. Jet black hair, prominent lips, visible bone like cheeks and (your least favourite) the enhancement of the red eyes- reminding you that this isn’t a human anymore… It’s a robot.

It stands on the stage, profoundly gleaming with skin smooth and toned, a body that's fathomably hard yet looks soft and a face that has sharp angles of perfection. It's quite good looking- you yourself are feasting your eyes on the project after years. As expected and on cue the civil audience begin to applaud. Folding up the white fabric and neatly placing it on the ground, you stand beside the inhumane robotic figure of what you've named: Project M 47 5. You turn your head towards it seeing it's red eyes gazing on you a light smile on its face.

Marvelled, you touch its shoulder feeling the cold human like flesh seep into your skin. He feels human. You can feel the projections running inside and although the wireframe sound is subtle, you can still hear the machines working with a light buzz.

"Doesn't it look human?" You pose. "Doesn't it resemble a perfect deprecation of what stepping out of one’s comfort zones mean?" You raise an eyebrow peering around, you let a little smile break from your lips before running your hand down the arm of the robot. "Some of you are probably wondering if this is a real human that we've framed to be a robot. But I assure you, Project 47 5 is a machine. But we want more from it. We want to push the limit of technology and CGI. Really, how far can we go? It's a question that I can ask you dear executives. You asked us, what have we been working on. This is what we've been working on. We've been working on the next big project that the world has ever been deceived by. Clones, drones, robots, artificial and so much more we've created, in full hopes of expanding our technology and distributing to the world. With your corporation, every defect in Project 47 5 can be ironed out smoothly, every error can be erased, every new altercation can be put in and we can begin placing leagues of him out into the world to obtain information and live the right way. Thank you."

You step back from the humanoid and applaud along with the audience when your management director steps out of the curtain shadow and onto the lit stage. With an earpiece already in place he laughs into the mic that's attached to the earpiece. "What a scope! What a scope. My fellow board members, this is the future that we'd like to call "Dream ESCAPE". An era where you are in control of this project, a real life walking sim. It'll not be in the hands of random citizens, it'll be in your hands. Every intel gathered will be bounced to you. Don't you just want to own a share of Project M 47 5 Humanoid. Look at him. Carved by designers to look just like us.” The director JB pauses dramatically… Seemingly forgetting what else he's supposed to say… Something that the workers are already used to.

You step in for him, so that the investors and guests don't catch onto his little forgetful nature. "Even though he looks like us, you are in charge of the code and personality. Instead of a human administrator, you’ll get a moderately focused humanoid, allowing administrators to have more time on their hands. Would you like for us to build this prototype into a finished product, a finished man? If so, support us by contributing. I know your hands are already itching. So, we'll see each other in the board room for your thoughts on our piece. Thank you everyone, we'll let you know on the status of Project M47 5."

JB looks especially pleased at you. Yet again the crowd applauds enthusiastically and interestedly pleased. JB leads the executives and other investors out of the auditorium.

Just as you wait for the main curtains to shut, as you're still with Mark on the stage. As soon as they're shut, you lead the robot off the stage going down the little backstage steps. Once off the main stage, your stoic expression falls off and a warm smile is splashed on your face when you turn to the project. "M45 7, you did extremely well. Good job." You speak in specific terms knowing it feeds off of compliments as you've heard.

Although it's your first time feasting your eyes on the hard work project, the familiar face makes you feel like you already know the depth of it's heart… You stop yourself from confusing the human boy who passed away long time ago and from the robot standing right in front of you.

The robot's red eyes draw down to your height and its eyes blink red twice and it's chest heaves up and down. "Thank you Doctor Na Y/n. Your speech was a brilliant way to introduce our scope." It responds back with a calm and automatic tuned pitched male eccentric voice. "Does the Doctor not wish to deem Project M 47 5 Humanoid Robot as complete?"

"Not yet. The little information they have on the project, the better it is for them to blindly invest. And when they invest, we'll do a lot more with you to make you 'humanly' humane." You respond moderately turning your head towards the walking figure approaching you. "Jeno, its speech therapy is profoundly better than the last time. A few more touch-ups and it can sound less robotic and more male like."

"More male like? What's that supposed to mean?" The charismatic, suspiciously shy scientist, Jeno, smiles at you with his hands in his pocket as he draws closer. "Do you want it to sound like some Canadian rapper? Like Min-hyung?" Jeno chuckles before moving to the prototype robot. You smile at the memory of Min-hyung’s voice. "Doing that would be extremely difficult, Min-hyung already had his own laugh and voice. Besides, Project M47 5 here is already sexist. Adding a broad 'more male like' voice will only make it menacing, so I’ll see if we can tweak it's voice to something more suitable to its broad baby like face."

"I think that would be good." You comment. "It's come a long way since I last saw it." You recall when last you laid your eyes on the project. "It looks remarkable. Out there on stage it didn't even have to say a word. Incredible work you guys have done." You compliment and give feedback all at the same time. "But why am I thanking you Jeno, I should be praising you Project M47 5. You calmed me down,"

"I'm pleased to hear that I'm pleasing to your liking Doctor Na." Project M47 5 modestly answers, looking pleased indeed. There's a certain stiff turn to it as it directs it's eyes to you and then Jeno… the uncanny vibe to it is spectacularly pleasing.

Jeno, though, nudges his finger. "I told you it's sexist. When it's talking to you, it'll sound decent, however with me, it's pitch darkens."

"Correction errors detected. Project M 47 5 Humanoid code of conduct suggests that female persons should be spoken to with utmost care and respect." Your grin is wide from the moment Project M47 5 opens up its mouth and responds in a deep threatening tone. Jeno groans and punches lightly on its shoulder.

"Damn code of conduct." He mutters and turns to you, his eyes adoring and modest. "Speaking of speech, fantastic work out there. I didn’t expect you to pay tribute to Min-hyung. It was brilliant.” Jeno comments, expressing some vulnerability, dropping his guard, just a little. Your little TED talk came along well. Not to brag, but I enjoyed it the most."

"Correction error detected." Project M47 5's eyes blink and it's chest heaves up and down before it forwardly turns to Jeno. You don’t even mind that it interrupted. You wanted to pay tribute and let bygones be bygones. Turning to Project M47 5, you’re curious at how it’ll respond.

Lee Je No, Male, 30. Qualifications: Modifications and Variations, Employee at Neo Tech. Highest levels of education: Bachelors in subjects partaking to Systems Development, Network Systems, Information Technology and Project Management. Level of work: top of pyramid. Salary: Exceptionally high. Regards in society: Rich. Self-esteem: High. Pride and ego: Job Correction error: Human character - Pursuing a wedded woman.

"Foreign feelings of unrequited detected." The Project sums up.

Hearing the error, your eyebrows raise in shock. It's no secret that Jeno lusts after you for all to see- but the fact that the robot is seeing it is incredible at what technology can do. "I see you've enhanced it's code to stating correction errors."

"Renjun thought it'd be a cool little detail for showing the executives during the second session. We still have to go there right?" He questions.

To which you nod your head. "Yes you and the humanoid are." You emphasize on who. "I'm going to network and branch out."

"I'm screwed if he keeps mentioning correction errors like that. Might as well reduce the errors to a bare 2, instead of a full 10." Jeno moves to the robot's back tapping on its skin and a blue screen code prompt appears a few centimetres off his back, allowing Jeno to tap on it's hard screen surface. "Project M 47 5 Humanoid, you're only supposed to think those thoughts, not say them out loud. Only if asked can you say them out loud. I mean, I want the world to know that I've got a liking for Y/n, but not through you," Jeno winks at you, but you simply focus on the projects moderate smile.

In such a decent speech with full curiosity, as it's been programmed to be curious and ask questions, the Project speaks. "Is it wrong to detect correction errors? Or wrong to state them? How can I advance forward if I keep the thinking thoughts inside and not say them out loud? If she's wedded and your pursuit is in motion, you will be harming and causing problems. Problems not only in her wedlock life, but your-"

"Yeah, like a robots gonna tell me what to do," Jeno mumbles typing in a code.

Your attention span is cut short when your head shifts back immediately capturing the eyes of your everlasting dear husband, Jaemin, upon hearing his familiar shoes that squeak on the floor. He's got around his neck a VIP access card that you handed him and unlike you and the Doctor Lee Jeno in your lab coats, he's dressed in a red flannel shirt and black skinny jeans- his usual work attire. He must've come straight from the bakery where he works. He smiles briefly when catching your eyes. "Hey,"

"Jae," Your smile gets bigger and you wrap your arms around his neck bringing him forward for a hug.

Unexpectedly his lips meet yours and mold together giving you a long breathless kiss. Of course by profession you tap his shoulder twice and end the kiss gently with a light smooch. You liked intimacy but not excessively, or publicly… especially at work.

Your blush not only coats your face but your neck and eyes. You grin while moving your head back to look into his deep soul eyes. "How did I do?" You whisper bringing your hands over his broad shoulders.

"You spoke nicely," Jaemin smiles, heading slowly for your lips again, just to be stopped when hearing a throaty chuckle.

"Nicely? Really? That's still in the English vocabulary?" Jeno's conceding scoff doesn't go unheard by Jaemin. "Word of advice, if that woman was my girl and she asked me how she performed, especially for an established and prestigious institution I'd shower her with-"

"Dr Lee Jeno, kindly focus on the Project. Please." you stiffly call out his name knowing his nature to tease Jaemin. Looking back to Jaemin your hands move up his face. "Babe, don't mind him,"

Jaemin's tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, holding himself back from causing a scene. Once again he's reminded of how 'insignificant' he is in your life.

You're a scientist with degrees higher than he's ever obtained, yet you're in a relationship with him. A relationship that people question, instead of respects as they all wonder what on earth you're doing with him. Everyone has the same assumption that one way or another, you will break up with him.

"Correction error detected."

Jaemin's ears bounce to the sound of the project robot and he looks at it.

It’s almost like he’s seeing a ghost.

He stares at the robot and even gulps. Just as the humanoid on the other hand, stares at Jaemin analysing its feelings from the core and producing an analysis.

"Well, get on with it." Jeno mumbles. "What's the correction?"

Project M47 5 on the other hand just stares at Jaemin.

Jae Min, male, age 28. Qualifications: Bakery owner of Aigoo Styled Dish. Marital Status: Fiancé to Y/n. Highest level of education: High school. Culinary Arts. Level of work: bottom of pyramid. Salary: medium. Regards in society: poor. Self-esteem: low. Pride and ego: Wife. Correction Error: Feelings of anger detected. Stress levels have risen due to low sales at work. Blood pressure over 150 -

"Hello?" Jeno taps the shoulder of the humanoid.

"You phrased for correction errors to be stated internally instead of spoken out." Project M47 5 regards to Jeno. "Has the norm changed?"

Jeno with a pleased look that the humanoid robot was quick to corrections, shakes his head. "I'd prefer for you to exercise yourself in allowing you to be in control of what you feel needs to be said out loud. It's called freedom of expression as well as freedom of speech."

"Correction Error detected." The humanoid's prompt response makes Jeno nod his head.

"Now go on and tell me if this correction error needs to be said out loud." Jeno questions. "What is it regarding?"

"Laws 89 and 103 from the Dictatorship Virtues Laws. Freedom of speech is said to contain portions of hate speech as one individual is allowed to express all their inner free-for-alls."

Jeno hums. "And is hate speech good?"

"Negative."

"Then it shouldn't be said out loud." Jeno concludes with a smile before turning to you, who's fascinated by the prototype's demeanour and development. It’s funny how even though it’s not Min-hyung, the personality is still impressing you. Jeno gets your eyes on him with a quick clearing of his throat. "So, Y/n, I was hoping, by chance, when they fund the project you'd assist in coordinating M47 5's feelings with me. I mean, it's 'memorized' the whole code of ethics, study of humans and philosophy and learnt all the years worth of human rights and violations of over 300 countries in the world, but we're still working on it's emotional system and personality."

You hum impressed as you turn to Jeno and then the Project M47 5. "And you want me to assist? I'm merely a speaker."

"Yeah a speaker by default. Look, as someone who’s worked with Min-hyung and you haven’t, he actually spoke a lot of kind words about you-”

“Me?” Your eyes enlighten as you listen to him.

“Yes, aside from that you have Honours, Masters and Ph.D. in Science Psychology. That shouldn't go to waste when we're creating such a world-renowned masterpiece. You're not just a speaker, you're a full course package, recognized in this whole company. No one's doing it like you, not even your father did. With your affective understanding that can recognize, interpret, process and simulate human effects, the development system of Project M47 5 will be complete in no time. Plus you know I trust you more than any other psychologist in our facility,"

"All this flattery just for me to help you with Project M47 5?" You raise a brow feeling shy but brush it off with a friendly giggle. "I beg to differ, the other psychologist in the building are just as skilled, even beyond and above my own level."

"Yeah, but I want you specifically. You make me smile. A lot." Jeno isn't afraid to openly flirt with you, despite the presence of your husband behind you. "What about you Project M47 5? Wouldn't you like for Y/n to work on you?"

"It would be a great honour to learn how to be a human and with your wide set understanding of knowledge, experience in feelings and successful conducted test results, I have absolutely surety that you are the best to learn from." You're surprised even when the robot speaks.

You giggle. "You've even got the robot vouching for you?"

"That's not me," Jeno raises his hands smugly. "That's all from it's input of you. It wants you to work with it. This is your chance," Jeno looks to the robot eagerly in expectancy.

Being drawn to hear the words of the robot, you don't even feel when Jaemin's hand slips out of yours and he backs up before turning around and scratching the back of his head walking away. Project M47 5 however, it takes note of the deflated Jaemin.

However it still speaks. As a chance for it to 'market' itself and prove to be worthy so that you may work on it. Jeno really did set the standards of you working with them high. So as a result of wanting to achieve excellence it focuses all its attention on you.

"Na Y/n, Female. Qualifications: Robotics scientists and Thematic analysts. Position: Special Risk Analyst Senior and employee at Neo Tech. Highest levels of education: Honours in science psychology. Doctoral degree in, Life science, physical science, earth science. Masters in subjects partaking to mathematics and psychology. Ph.D in philosophy. Level of work: top of pyramid. Salary: Exceptionally high. Regards in society: Lovable and well respected. Self-esteem: Humbled. Shy. Intelligent. Yet fierce and resilient." Project M47 5 lets out. "Reports and statistics across NCTO have it that Doctor Na Y/n is a, and I quote, jewel, in the company. You embody a mind of immediate action result along with experimental designs and are particularly elegant and delicate with machinery and prototypes. Hence I would be privileged if you not only spoke for me but assisted in creating me to be a suitable M.A.N."

Your smile as you listen to the robot speak is never ending. You always got shy whenever someone took their time in complementing you, but now hearing such gushing words from a robot is somewhat uplifting… Especially one that looks so familiar to a boy that once went missing. A boy who you admired.

"By the look of your smile, I'm guessing, we've won you over," Jeno playfully smirks your way. You can only shake your head and chortle lightly.

"I'll think about it, if, the project gets funded."

"If? You mean when it's funded. With the way you presented and represented our project, I'm a thousand percent sure we've riled them from the pond to our boat. You saw the look on those old faces." Jeno comments with a smirk. "Selfishly wanting to grab our prototype and begin trials. Point is, I really want you to be hands on deck with us as well, instead of being the fronting end partner. Be with us in the process. It's a lot more fun when you're actually part of the team that builds instead of reports."

You chuckle, but take note that Jaemin isn't by your side. "I'll see. But you know additionally it's not up to me, it's up to JB-"

"And he's been wanting you to be hands on deck with Project M47 5 since day one. He said it’s going to be like working with your dad all over again,"

"Jeno," You playfully roll your eyes and turn around beginning to walk away. "Let's hear the results first and then I'll decide." Your clicking hills walk away from the backstage leaving Jeno and the prototype alone, with some clean up members cleaning the auditorium that was once filled with people.

"Did you hear that, on our next trial Doctor Na will be assisting in expanding your code." Jeno inputs to the humanoid, before taking a look at your figure that's walking away. "She's so fine,"

"Doctor Lee,"

"Yeah?" Jeno snaps out of it, facing the humanoid, still being amazed by the canny visuals.

"Doctor Na is widely respected in the district. I would like for her to be in our team in studying and modifying my code."

"You and I both pal," Jeno admits. "I'll make sure it happens. Although, for now, let's get you back in the lab and ready for the second session. Don't forget to put on a show, we might be walking past potential clients."

Jeno confidently strides off the backstage stairs exiting through the door with the prototype behind him. Unlike the fellow employees who were used to seeing all sorts of test subjects walking up and down and (flying or even crawling) around the facility, for the guests who were having a tea break, it's actually such a sight to behold as they stare at the project. It looks so human, and Jeno knows all there thoughts. All he could hope for, was the accomplishment and success of the humanoid.

"Dr Lee. What is my next assignment?"

"We'll find out when we get to the office. For now, imagine this as a day off for you."

"But I have no day off."

Their back and forth continues just as you are up and down the building walking with rapid steps. It's crazy, on stage you're confident and almost prideful about your work, but off stage you're a respectfully clumsy nerd who giggles and laughs with a big smile on your face. So for some of the employees to see you without your smile is kind stressing. "Are you okay?"

"Oh yeah, I'm just looking for my husband," You respond getting your smile back for a second before you continuously search for him looking worried- or in others eyes, looking fiercely stern. After searching around the specific lounging areas on different floors, for a really long while, you finally find Jaemin. He's by the basement garage in the parking area near his peach car smoking out.

His eyes are shut and his head is tilted upwards as he exhales air looking so stressed. You sigh out, and bite your lip when deciding to approach him. Already, you know the type of state he's in, especially since he's smoking. Something he rarely did in your presence. "Babe," You smile as you get closer to him. "I finally found you,"

Jaemin is quick in ditching the killing stick, stumping it on the ground and clearing his throat looking suspicious as if he got caught doing something he shouldn't. His relaxed and calm demeanor shifts into a tight smile and straight posture. "Hey, uhm. What are you doing here?" His eyes looking around your face instead of by your eyes. He's avoiding eye contact.

"The real question is, what are you doing here?" You cackle a little. You really disliked when Jaemin smoked, or seemed tensed by your presence. It always felt like he gave off the impression that truly he was forcing a personality upon himself just to impress you. And you didn't like that, because you married him just because of who he was. The sweet humbled son of a baker. Not whatever false persona he put in between you and him. "I was looking everywhere for you?

"Why didn't you just call?" He clears his throat, trying to step back from you to avoid you smelling his scent. But you smell even through your eyes. "I would've come to you when you finished with your colleagues."

Holding in your breath, you breathe out through your mouth not being able to stand the smell, but you have to, because he's looking just as guilty and almost sorry for smoking. "I just wanted to see you. Thanks for coming to support me," You get down to the matter, regardless of the situation.

"Oh, anytime." He smiles, relaxing a bit. You notice as his shoulders loosen up a bit and a pure little smile coats his face. "I really love seeing you do your work. Your passion flows out of your eyes and it's cool that you guys have been working on that robot for such a long time. It looked really cool," Jaemin gives his feedback, and a few things he found interesting. Thankfully you walk alongside him as you both get out of the parking space and move onto the resting lounge. With his guest access card, you're only allowed to be by the lounge, however as Jaemin is your husband you guide him to your office for a bit more… privacy.

"Hey, I'm sorry for smoking,"

You're surprised that he's even apologizing. "No, no, babe it's okay. I mean," Biting your lip you shrug your shoulders a bit. "I hate that your life capacity is decreasing by the second. But you don't have to apologize about that,"

Jaemin, after a long few seconds merely nods and hums out once. You always avoided staring long into his eyes, because he hated it when he felt that you were using your 'psychology powers' on him. However just by taking note of his response and demeanour it doesn't even need a qualified psychologist or heck even a higher schooler to tell that this man has been holding in a lot of things. And for you, despite being a pioneer, well-spoken and firmly assertive in the kindest way possible at work, with Jaemin as your husband, things always felt different. You couldn't be the 'man' taking charge… you had to be the woman… patient and gentle with him, not… forceful and constantly dwelling in anger that he kept his feelings to himself. You had to be… all sufficient for him.

"Can you at least talk to me?" You calmly snap. "Why do you look so… down?"

He doesn't even look bothered as he rubs his hands with his gaze turning to the ground. "I'm okay."

"Jaemi-"

"Baby just relax. Today is your day and I don't want you to be all worked up on me. You've got a whole pantry of people- clients all wanting to speak to you about your robot project," Jaemin is quick to stop you from even speaking. He gets up rolling his eyes with half a chuckle cussing to himself. "I came to support you because I had an opening, but I think I'm just going to go back to work. Try to enjoy your event. I'll see you at home."

You zone out when he walks out the door and away without even kissing or hugging you goodbye. Folding your arms as you think of nothing else but Jaemin, and how quiet it'll be when you get home.

"Just another day in a married woman's life." You tightly confess looking at the wedding band around your finger.

Is this all really worth it? You hate how he's got you on your tippy toes not knowing whether the conversation or ride in this marriage will go smooth or sour within a second.

2 Weeks later

The project has been approved. Walking collectively in your lab coat and symbolic mini clucking heels, you surely create an impression upon entering the enlarged section dedicated to the full launched program for the prototype M.A.N. You're greeted just as much as you pass your own greetings to the other dedicated workers- all this while getting a tour of your new temporary department. With your work bag over your shoulder and some folders in your grasp you listen attentively as Jeno shows you around the lab.

He's more eager then you are, as he's holding onto two of your rolling bags, while enthusiastically introducing you to all the workers in this department. For some reason, as Jeno confirmed it, there seems to be a strong mutually positive work force amongst the employees as they've got the assurance that a senior like yourself will be working with them… even though there are a bunch of other seniors on the project, having you is special. As your father was once widely skilled and highly respected. Even though you've escape the nepotism allegations, a part of it still lingers… But obviously your work stands out and no one can say that you're here because of your father.

All you can do is smile and politely giggle. You feel flattered, but as soon as Jeno settles you in his enlarged joint office and makes you comfortable on your side of the office in your work area…. your face changes to being serious for work. Even Jeno is impressed when watching you set up your gadgets and placing all your work books on the desk. After about some hours of setting up and getting the rundown of how Project M47 5 is doing, together with the user experience team, you set up dates on calendars for different departments and various sectors to touch on, as well as observe the charts of the plans in preparations for the start of this project, time goes by so fast on your first day of the project that you don't even keep track of time when it finally reaches 6 p.m.

"It's 6." Jeno takes it upon himself to be an alarm.

You glance up from your side looking to him and then the clock. "Already? So quick?" You question being stunned. Taking off your eye glasses and rubbing your eye before stretching your head around. "We didn't get the MD connect results?"

"Yeah, we'll get them tomorrow. It's 2 minutes past work hours." Jeno confirms and you chuckle getting your reading glasses back on your face.

"In that case, I'll see you tomorrow hot shot. I'll stay a little longer."

Jeno smirks raising his brows as he packs up. He walks behind your seat holding onto your shoulders. Allowing you to heave in a breath by his light massage. "Thanks again. I really appreciate you being here with me, for the team."

"Jeno," You call teasingly, but try not to moan out when he stretches your shoulders in just the right way giving you a firm massage. "I'm here for Project M47 5, not you or the team." You joke causing him to run his hands slightly down your shoulders.

"You're such a tease,"

With that, he's out of the office after you bid him a goodnight. You further continue your analyses conduct research to process the evaluation of Project M47 5 and interpreting the information to make an informed decision in tomorrow's gathering. You get the MD connect results and finalize everything. Hm, already your first day and you're expected to present the facts of what you've seen from a seniors standing point. Well this should be fun.

As you carry on working you pay no notice to the outside office activities of people leaving and lights turning off- you are however alarmed when a tiny squeak leaves someone's lips. It's a male janitor. "Oh I apologize, I thought everyone had left." Checking the time again, you're unfazed at the time. It's past 10 pm, almost going to 11. This should be normal, but it's then you notice how your lamp is the only one on. You get up and move to the window which had an outside view of the below offices in the same department as yours, and surely all the viewable offices are in darkness.

"Oh," You awkwardly smile when turning to the janitor. "I didn't even notice the time. I'll pack up soon,"

You're stunned that you don't feel too tired, you're aware of the energy bursting all over you and you're just so excited to be hands on deck with the project and actually building this humanoid robot. But seeing the emptiness has you feeling slightly angry. In your previous departments 10 p.m. was still considered as 5 p.m. there's still so much to do.

While packing up and leaving the upstairs office, you take initiative to visit the humanoid robot to see it's statistics further… "Just one more analysis and I'll go home." You try to convince yourself as you enter into the enclosed lab, only permitting members of the staff in the department. The room is obviously large… but aside from the board with marker notes, another bulletin board with important documents plastered on it, some desks with monitors, a full body capsule and machines, you're surprised that the room is empty. You guess everyone really takes it seriously to leave at 6… Not even a single soul, but you surely know that outside this department, in the building there's still people around. Those were your people once, now you're in a new department. Unfortunately in this new department they don't know you, aside from your friendly smile. You'll insert that drive into them… by force if you have to. They can't leave so early.

The humanoid is in it's full body capsule. You take cautious steps closer to the machine that's running with blue clear water and the robot inside. You take note that the water keeps the skin cool and healthy… A lot of modifications still need to be done because humans don't sleep in water. Aside from that, it looks so peaceful as it's 'sleeping' as if it's a human.

You're startled when it's eyes flatter open. Your own eyes widen as you stand back watching the water decrease within the capsule. It seems to acknowledge presence when you're standing to close to the capsule. Steamed air fogs up the clear glass as the shut door makes a 'psshhh' sound allowing the air to escape. From the foggy air that leaves the capsule you watch as bare feet step out of the machine and as the fog clears up, it only takes the humanoid robot 5 steps to reach you. It heaves in a deep breath before a friendly smile engulfs its face.

Instantly being activated, it's eyes unlike last time are a… a dark brown look to you and you're gobsmacked by how natural it looks. However just like last time it's in black boxers and nothing else. Revealing its upper body. Its body is cool down by the light moisture of wet drops fading into the pores of its skin caused by the fog heating him up. It's hair over its forehead partially damp.

"Good evening Doctor Na. It's a surprise seeing you at this time." You're shocked, by the demeanour in which it communicates to you, as this time, it doesn't sound so robotic… but more human, more male with a pitch slightly high yet low. And you have to admit that it does suit it's face… it sounds like Min-hyung, but so much more mature and older. Minhyun would’ve been 30 if he were still alive. But… this robot is like a vampire stuck at age 24. What's more strange- "Are you seeking companionship?"

Your eyes widen. "Companion- Pardon me? What? God no," You flatter and ramble being in shock of what it just said chortling in surprise. But you quickly catch yourself. "Sorry. I'm a bit tired."

"Your vitals show that you are highly awake and energetic."

You chuckle a little, being marvelled. "Wow, well…" You're stunned. "I was leaving to head home, but I just wanted to check some analysis reports on you. That's why I've got so much energy." The last part you state at just how much surprise you have in his voice. It's almost like a blast from the past… You can almost hear your 19 year old self listening to the charismatic laugh of the young boy.

"You're energized to work on me." It sums up looking delighted. You're truly impressed with how expressive it's features are.

"I am." You nod your head, tilting your head to look at it some more. It stands out. It looks like a human being. "Care to give me a rundown of your activities?"

It takes some steps to a table. It idly sits on the chair. It's posture straight, back turned to you with it's face positioned forward to an overhead projector. You notice that displaying on the screen is feed… All binary numbers in green code:

'1000011 1101000 1100001 1101101 1110000 1101001 1101111 1101110 100000 1110100 1101000 1100101 100000 1101000 1110101 1101101 1100001 1101110 100000 1100010 1100101 1101001 1101110 1100111’

"What does that translate too?" You question.

"It translates to, champion the human being."

Moving forward- you pick up a chair taking a seat next to it and placing your hands on the desk you gaze at it. "Is this what they leave you with every evening?"

"Yes, codes of ethics to recite. A hypno to remember not to go rogue."

"Smart of them," You acknowledge. "Does it work?"

"Certainly. Every morning I maintain a positive attitude to being open to learn and champion the human being." You nod your head. "How are you doing this evening Doctor Na. I believe today was your first day with the team." They must've inserted a personalized voice speaker… or altered something to make him- it… to make it sound so unique, so humanly. So good and friendly, like the original voice holder.

Deciding to actually communicate with it, you turn your body to it. "I'm actually not fine."

"Why is that?" It questions with furrowed brows. "Am I not pleasing to you?"

"You are pleasing to me." You quickly clarify being astonished by its moods. "I mean, I enjoy working on you so far, behind the scenes. But I was actually upset about how nobody is here in the office with you."

"Thankfully I don't experience feelings of loneliness, so rest assured that I am doing well. When it comes to the other doctors and scientists, the human mind is at best and full functioning with 8 hours of sleep. Anymore or less will only cause a human to be restless or having imbalanced emotions of depression. I suggest you also take leave now so that you may rest up well."

You nod your head finding it so interesting how it communicates. As if it already has its own personality.

"With the way you talk, you might make me just stay," you compliment but state honestly. "But I can't rest assured because I don't like how lonely it looks in here. How do you feel about that?"

"Loneliness is not the state of mind I'm in. Rather I'm content being in your presence. I would feel lonely if no one paid attention to my modifications. Once again, I am content that you are here." You smile at its response, it sounds so formal in its speech. "My activities include my 8 a.m. morning routine of waking up and greeting the present doctors. I check up my schedule with the team, which consists of various code testing. They test my response to feelings, moving and thinking. 10 a.m. I'm given a simulation of how humans respond to situations. Mid-day, 12 p.m. I take a productive break by studying or learning matrix, hex, binary templates. 1 p.m. I'm back in the lab for my tests and new implants, improvements. By 3 p.m. I report the new changes and enhancements done to me and 5 p.m. I am given a moment to eat and 6 p.m. I say goodnight to the doctors. 8 p.m. I rest and sleep."

"Hm." You nod approvingly. "What do you eat?"

"Not solid food for sure." You laugh at its attempt to a joke.

"It's actually great that you get the concept of a routine activity. One thing that makes a human a human is the constant survival. In the sense that I could die tonight and never exist again, however I'm given a chance to wake up again and do something new. Hence the routine. Don't mind me chattering about things outside of work."

"I don't mind at all, as you speak I take note of your personality type and how I may respond."

"Like a simulation," you acknowledge. "Alright, let's test it out before I go."

"I wouldn't mind, however wouldn't this cause a strain with your husband?

You're shocked by its sudden question and are thrown off guard. "My husband?"

"Project M47 5 senses high level of stress from the priority of your husband, work and financial statistics, which is quite stunning considering your position and level of work."

"Over stepping much?" You chuckle, you ignore it's concerning with Jaemin and continue chatting to it. "Uhm, okay, let's just restart that whole process again, and instead of a simulation pretend that you're at least talking to a human being? Good afternoon Project M47 5, how are you?"

"Good afternoon, I'm ready and here to help you. How about you?"

You hum out. "Hm, I'm actually concerned."

"Project M47 5 has not yet been coded with layers of feelings, kindly state what's your concern, is there any way that I can help?"

You smile. "That's wonderful to hear, however, I don't like that answer."

A visible frown forms on its face as it stiffly tilts its head deeply pondering or reminiscing on its answer. "You dislike the answer I have given? Why?"

"Thank you for asking." You add with care. "I dislike your answer because it's not reflecting why you were created."

"What do you mean by that Doctor Na? Project M47 5 was created as a-"

"Sorry to interrupt you. Can I answer that by asking you a question? It's in regards to your origin and real purpose. Do you know why you were made?"

You find it fascinating how it's response structure changes when it pretends that it's in a simulation- meanwhile before that, he held a perfect conversation. "Project M47 5's intended purpose is to bridge the gap between machinery and humans."

"Interesting that you mention that, machinery as well as human." You express moving your hands as well as using different pitches to convey your message. "May I ask, would you say that humans feel feelings?"

"They do."

"And machines don't."

"That is correct."

"However with your creation, what are we as NCTO trying to achieve?" You ask again, but this time unlike the fast response it's used to giving you stop it. "And this time I want you to structure your brain, as though you were a human, not a piece of machine. What are we as humans trying to achieve from you?"

"Humans create humanoids, machinery and robots for several key reasons being, efficiency, productivity, safety, assistance, research… innovation…" It slows down just as you purposely display your disappointed expression. "You are displeased with my answer again. Give me a second chance."

"Okay." You're impressed with how quick it is to read your emotions. "A hint, is how you talk. Just before our practice simulation, you were perfectly discussing matters with me by personalizing your sentences. Personify everything you say, such as I'm feeling this, or I don't like this or I am this and that."

This time it redirects it's thinking and it even faces you. "Humans created humanoids for- I was created for the purpose of uncovering what it means to be a human M.A.N. which is modified, altered, network."

"I'll take that. We can stop the simulation here for tonight," You answer when seeing uncertainty in it's eyes. This is how you challenge the robot in its thinking style. Small little things make people feel uncomfortable, and if you can do that as well for a machine, you'll be successful in creating stepping stones to know what to touch based on when it comes to it's emotions. "Not bad, your simulation practice round is okay. However I noticed a subtle difference to you thinking it's a simulation, then when you talk normally."

"Is Project 47 5 not pleasing?"

"Not in the slightest. You are now a living man." You get up being pleased with the little conversation you've had with it. "I know this is weird but, can I give you a name? How about I give you until tomorrow to come up with a name and then-"

"Robo, or even Bot."

You lean in close. "Sorry what?"

"A common robot name is Robo or Bot. Other poplar names include C-3PO, WALL-E or even Optimus."

You try to maintain your laugh at the name: "Optimus 3000. No, how about a more human like name."

"Some more human-like names for robots include 'Adam', 'Eva', 'Sam' and 'Ava'. These names give a more relatable, human touch to a robotic character."

You shrug. "I'm not arguing with those names but for you, what would you prefer? Let me tell you something about names. The meaning of a name is like your whole destiny. If a child is given the name Cain for example, in history the name translated to craftsman, but it’s more infamous for killer, because the original Cain killed his brother, then you best believe that a child with that name might inherit a liking for killing. A name can vary widely depending on cultural, linguistic, and historical contexts. Names often carry specific meanings related to qualities, attributes, or significant concepts. For example, some names may mean "brave," "joyful," or "gift from God." Additionally, names can be tied to family heritage, traditions, or notable figures, reflecting personal or cultural identity. If you have a specific name in mind, I can provide more detailed information about its meaning and origin."

“The name Aaron sounds peculiar. What does it mean?”

It goes through a bunch of names, seemingly popular names from 'A' to 'Z'. You’re actually surprised at how eager it is to have a name. It also seems thoughtful when considering names.

"How about the name Min-hyung?" It questions. Even the way it says the name… You look at him for a long while. Now that's a blast from the past. "It's a spontaneous, generous and magnetic personality,"

You spend a good time sifting through names, but you almost freeze when hearing that name. Min-hyung. Of all ‘M’ names… "It's good, but it feels too human for you." That’s because a robot can’t take the place of how precious Min-hyung was.

"How about it's English counterpart, Mark?" It asks. "With meaning as powerful as strength and Leadership. Given its association with Mars and historical figures, the name "Mark" often symbolizes strength, leadership, and courage. I would like a name that carries connotations of reliability, strength, and timelessness."

"I like Mark." You nod licking your dry lips. "How about you… Mark. Do you like it?"

"Mark." It tests the name of it's tongue. "I am Mark. Hello my name is Mark. I am Mark from NCTO. First humanoid robot project. Mark."

"You'll definitely leave a mark, Mark." You grin brightly, pleased at the name and how familiar it seems when he's being addressed with it.

"Would I need to produce a surname as well?"

"Not necessarily. Either way, Mark seems to suit you very cleanly. Tell me how are you feeling. Regarding this experiment we've trailed you for. And don't tell me you don't feel anything. I want you to tap into… Your human side. Pretend like you've got one at least. From everything you know about us, I'm sure you can generate something again."

"I feel good that you are on the project. No one has ever come after hours at 11 p.m. to speak to me and give me a name. Treating me not only as a manner of code, but as though I am a human."

You smile again. "Because you are. You're different from us all, but still are on of us. So, Mark." You use his name formally. "I want you to live up to your name, as the perfect M.A.N that this company has ever created."

"With your help, I most certainly will live up to it's potential."

"That's what I like to hear," you find yourself shaking hands with it. "Thank you Mark. Alright it's getting late. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Thank you Doctor. Have a good night and sleep tight."

"You too."

"So how was your first day on the project?" Jaemin asks after you both finish compiling platters of food on the dining table. Despite the time being 1 a.m. Jaemin woke up to prepare the food he left in the microwave for you. You're grateful but feel guilty especially when seeing his eye bags. The table looks lively with various colours of food. "Did you like it?" His raspy voice questions. He fixes up some perilla leaves and meat that he already chopped up and with his chopsticks, he places it by your mouth.

You smile when getting a big bite of the entire meal straight into your mouth. You compliment with a light hum of approval before covering your mouth so that you can answer. "Let's just say a lot of things have to change. In terms of how each and every person is approaching this project. They were thrilled to see me and I was pleased with the level that the project is at, but the thought of how lacking and distant it is, is what sits at the top of my mind. They're not doing enough, and I want for them to do a lot."

Jaemin nods his head, "Well after seeing that robot first time weeks ago, all I can say is that it resembled a human so well. A bit odd looking with sharp jaw structures but it was solidly neat." he carries on eating.

"Babe." You gulp and swallow your food. "Would you like to come to the office sometime this week?"

He raises a brow. "Why?"

"You know Dr Lee Jeno?"

"How could I not," Jaemin mumbles, allowing you to continue as he stuffs his mouth.

"Well I had a chat with the robot tonight, we even came up with a name, Mark. And aside from the masculine and quick answers, I think it needs a more modern touch to it. Instead of aa scientific touch. I think it needs to spend a lot of time with normal human beings. We call it a steering test. Basically you’ll interact with it and determine whether it’s a human or not. Since you already know it’s a machine, you could come in and talk to it, and in the end you tell me how human the conversation, or how A.I it was. Tonight I spoke to it… Him as though I was speaking to a human and I noticed that when I pretended to do a simulation, it also changed it's character. But after tonight, I see a vision for it, and I just want to accomplish it. Do you understand?"

"You can't dominate over the robot."

Jaemins tone and answer brings you back to focus on him. "That's not what I meant-"

"It’s what you’re trying to do though. Trying to mould him to become like Min-hyung.”

Your shoulders sag as you retract your words. "Jaemin I didn't even mean it like that. I didn’t even mention Min-hyung-"

"Just eat your food."

“Excuse me?”

“Eat.” You and him have a stare down. “I won’t say it again.” The mood on the table turns sour as you both quietly eat. He tries feeding you again, and you eat it still being so upset. Why is it that you always feel like he manipulates and twists your words? When in reality you just want him to… Support you. Is that too hard to ask for?

Washing the dishes, packing away food and washing up before you get on the bed, Jaemin has his lamp off but he's awake waiting for you. You get on the bed and turn the other way switching off your lamp… But it doesn't mean he's in a tired mood. He shifts close to you and kisses your neck. You inwardly roll your eyes and try not to scoff out loud allowing him to do what he wants… But as his hands go over your legs and in between your thighs you break it up. "I'm not in the mood. I'm tired and just want to sleep."

"Come on. You don't even have to do anything, let me make you feel good." his hands trace over your core while his other hand squeeze underneath you to touch your boob. He's panting and touching you, pressing his body so close to you that you feel his hard manhood. Still with your back turned to him, he removes your pants and underwear and draws your leg up allowing his fingers to stimulate over your core. Even though you're not in the mood, your core gets wet against your will and you find yourself slowly getting interested… But you're still upset and moody, so your toes curl in ecstasy when he slips his member in you. You moan out and shut your eyes just as he continues to kiss your neck and earlobe while thrusting in you heavily. He unbuttons you pajama shirt allowing your boobs to be set free.

After some point you’re turned off even though you're moaning fakely and forcefully, Jaemin is like a dog in heat. He reaches his high while you're still left flat. Another night, another fake orgasm. When he's done he smiles and laughs, talking to you but you're zoned out. "I need to take a shower." You go and bath hoping that when you're finished he'll be asleep. But no. He's still awake, waiting for you. You get on the bed still with your back to him, while he cuddles with you.

"I love you."

"You too. Night." You shut off.

"Why are you always like this?"

"Jaemin I just wanna sleep-

"We just made love and you look so uninterested and unboth-"

"What more do you want from me? I gave you sex and you still want to complain?" And just like that, like every other night a petty little quarrel breaks between you and him. This time however you place your pillow over your head and ignore him.

You can already feel the anger when you wake up in the morning. You’re grouchy. Very tired and irritated.

"My findings on the project M47 5 humanoid robot Mark, is very disappointing. Considering the time frame, it's improvements are truly impressive yet so disappointing."

It's 9h30 a.m. and the meeting with your new department already has everybody in stiff moods. You don’t even have to see it on their faces, the whole enlarged room is heavy. You're cranky and feel so moody so you continue with your findings.

"While I commend everyone for producing such firm and solid results contributing the prototype alive and moving, I must say the approach to execute a finished result seems to be lacking. I found that 2 years was a reasonable amount of time to complete this project. But what we see is a project that should be finished within a year, being finished over 14 years because everyone prefers to leave at 6 p.m. and enter the building at 9 a.m., there are way too many breaks, for crying out loud why would you need 4 breaks with 1 hour each? It's pointless because the amount of work being drilled into the humanoid is insufficient. I spoke to the prototype yesterday and found that its activities are inadequate for the work we're trying to produce and it made me realize why I'm a senior and the rest of you of you are still below authority. Should I be the one to do everything by myself? The MD connect results show a drop-in development. At this point all the statistics I saw were just being a loop of the same sentence but differently executed countless of times. Which makes me believe that everyone here is truly lazy and lacks innovation." You read from your cue sheet…

finding the words too harsh, especially when looking to the deflated and slightly confused and angered staff. You decide to throw in your own words.

"But then again, I wrote this without having my early morning coffee and I feel so fucking cranky. I think you can all tell. I woke up on the wrong side of the bed and I think Doctor Jeno wants to sleep with me."

Your comment has some chuckles, smiles and stressed smiles appearing as well as relaxation sipping into everyone's shoulders. Your objective in life has never been to be a harsh leader. You earned your spot here through sincere understanding of how frustrating it is to build something from the ground up. So you can understand where they’re lacking and even why, but you make sure to let them know that you need their focus on how why they are even working here in the first place.

"Okay look." You place your notes down just deciding to freestyle, because if you have to finish that speech you'll definitely make everyone upset. "Truth is we've been given a reasonable amount of time to finish this. Our sponsors need quality when the deadline is due, and what I saw so far had me worried. We're too slow when we need to be working with speed. Hence forth I need to reassign divisions and monitor all progress made. We are on the right path, but we need correct people in place. I don’t want to replace anyone, I’m quite happy with the team, but I need leaders to step up. Renjun I’m putting you on duty for his micro expressions, very well done on his expressions, I am still impressed by it. I actually think it’s fucking awesome how he looks like Min-hyung, but respects to the dead, let’s make him original, with his own name, Mark, and his own personality. Understood?” Renjun nods his head looking marvelled and astonished by the sudden promotion. “Yuta I need you to step down into capsule maintenance, is there a reason why he should be sleeping in a capsule? I need reports and structure on everything regarding that capsule, can you do that?”

“Certainly.”

“Jisung, I know you’re an intern but I need you to rush into what is required of you, we’re not paying you to fetch coffee. I don’t want to see you walking up and down doing mundane tasks. It seems like your advisors are a bit lazy, so if you’re looking for what to do come to me.” You throw a little jab at the said advisors, before turning to the next person. “Kun, fantastic work, but I hate your team and consistent breaks. If you don’t sort that out, they’re all going and you’ll work all on your own. Because you’re working hard, pulling all the strings, but its supposed to be a team effort. Karina and Giselle, same goes for you, I see a lot of this-” Your hands flap imitating talking lips. “Instead of working. Aside from me, you’re the only females on the team, can you represent instead of always talking. Just like I said to Jisung, if you have no work come to me. What I'd expect from each and everyone of us is excitement to build this humanoid robot. Last night before leaving I spoke to him. If you’ve noticed, I started to call it a him now, and together we came up with a name. Mark. I was able to catch on a few defects that I feel needs our attention and aside from that, there's loads more that we need to do. But for now, I’d like a rundown of his activities for this month all on my desk before the next hour."

Your speech goes on as you talk to each team and division equally with solutions and how you want a report back session. Thankfully there is cooperation in the room and ideas are sprung around before everyone gets the slight push and motivation to work… that’s what you think, truly you know they’re already gonna hate you.

“And what about me?” Jeno’s smirk catches your attention.

“I should be working under you, but it seems like I’m the one wearing the pants. Meeting adjourned.” You walk up the stairs instead of using the elevator. Jeno is not far behind you, shooting his shot as usual.

"I'm assuming your husband does the worst job in pleasing you,"

You roll your eyes and continue going up the steps reminding him that you have work to do. Jeno's comment has you avoiding any eye contact once you get in the office. You walk to your desk removing your coat. You notice how he stands in one place simply watching you. You don't entertain him as you slide your glasses on your face starting your work. Laptop and notepad open to some record sheets as you put in the new values of data that you have to experiment on.

"You know-"

"If it's about my husband, don't start. It's none of your business."

"I'm offering you an amazing time-"

"You seem to be forgetting we're at work."

"So? You put my secret on blast that I want to sleep with you." You catch sight by the corner of your eye as he moves closer to your desk before he disappears behind you. You feel tense as your shoulders are held firmly within his grip… before they begin to massage you softly.

"Jeno you've got yourself in a dangerous zone when you allow your penis to think for you?"

He chortles. "It's written all over your face that you want me," Jeno comments.

"For your sake I hope you're joking. I've never given you such an impression."

He chuckles and rubs your shoulders. "That's because your head is stuck in someone's ass- I'm playing.” He chuckles when you attempt to move. “Look, all I'm saying is that you're someone who shouldn't be stressing. You're in a high position, you deserve high attention, not some mediocre-"

"Jeno-"

"I'm just a name away if you reconsider." He states and leans down to see your face. "I could do a pretty good job in satisfying you." He disappears from your desk and takes a seat on his table also managing some sheets of paper. He gets up and grabs a maker displaying his numbers on the board. "Tell me does this look right?"

Working closely to Jeno will seem to have it's challenges, but it doesn't hinder the fact that he's incredibly smart. Hence the fact that you need to create boundaries and keep the 'mystery' of yourself alive.

"So, what do you think, we can go and pay 'Mark' a visit and you can see if it's a good implement?" Jeno encourages and you both walk to the lab. Thankfully there are people there testing his endurance when it comes to holding in his breath. "What we're trying to do here is give it an artificial breath. It's already programmed to live but the key thing that makes us human is being able to breathe. Just like a chess game, it knows how to put up a game, but it’s important aspect is that it knows that it’s playing a game. With Mark, does he know that he’s alive and breathing?"

"I understand that." As you stand on the side lines watching how they configure his testing out the new implements… you take a brief notice that he… Mark peeks at you once in a while. Of course, he's probably wondering if you're going to engage with the other scientist, but you don't. You simply watch. After Jeno gets the feedback report- you and him leave the lab- but you look over your shoulder feeling a stare on you, and it's from Mark.

"By estimation, paired with these results we can get this done with 1-2 months. And then we can move to the next part, which I feel would be more complicated." Jeno states. "I know what you're thinking, what would be more difficult then breathing?"

You wait for his answers.

"Living." He answers. "He's already differing from various personalities and what he quote on quote likes, but it's important that he develops his own personality. Basically he needs to be aware that he is a machine impersonating a human. Come with me, let me show you your dad’s notes.”

Entering in a secluded basement, you’re surprised by the various rooms down here. There’s a door that has your fathers name on it, Lee Taeyong. Using his access card, Jeno enters the room. “Your dad was brilliant, and it makes sense why Min-hyung loved cooping himself and cramping himself in this tiny room. At the time we were both handpicked interns by your dad. So we, along with JB were the only ones allowed to enter this room.”

The room is dark and looks small, a vivid image comes to the front of your mind when you remember at the age of 10 your father brought you in here. By that time Min-hyung wasn’t his intern, it was just you and your work obsessed father. “Where are the lights?”

“Here.” When the lights turn on, the room is a bright neon blue colour that it takes you a few eye blinks to adjust. You watch as if everything comes alive. The walls with plastered yellow and pink sticky notes and invisible blue ink coat all over on the marker board. The stacks of books laying on a table closer to the wall that has one lamp and a bunch of testing equipment. On several of shelves there’s glass containers, cylinders with greenish water and floating things. Those questionable things in the water is what should be getting your attention, yet a long table in the middle is what gets your attention and you walk closer to it.

“Now this is where the magic happened. I know it’s personal but, your dad cherished Min-hyung, as if he was his own son.” That brings you back to some memories. “So I’m not even surprised that Project 47- I mean… ‘Mark’ looks like that. Like Min-hyung. Wished your dad loved me like that-” You chuckle a little. “Anyway, I brought you in here, just so you can see what JB, Min-hyung and I saw when this project first started. It was Min-hyung’s idea, but your dad brought it to life. We would joke and call it the Frankenstein project.”

You turn to Jeno, surprised to actually here him speak so fondly. Then again he is talking about people who created a great impact in his life. Jeno has a modest smile while looking at the table. Which gets your attention back on the table.

The wide table with blue prints in one corner, a laptop in the middle and several books opened on top of each other, but what gets your attention most is the framed picture on the side, of you and your father. In the picture you’re young of course and so happy to be in his arms. “Hybrid language, systems statistics, human consciousness, high level contractions. The question we had in mind was not what people think about, but rather how they think. How do you think humans think?”

“Humans think. They have impulse. Response to things. They are fluid. Imperfect. Have a pattern. Chaotic.”

“Isn’t that beautiful,”

“It actually isn’t,” You nod your head. “That was everything my father was.”

Jeno simply ignores you… In fact he sees a bit of himself with you. Your father placed you second and his work first, and Jeno can relate because Doctor Lee Taeyong placed him second and Min-hyung first. But unlike you, it didn’t bother Jeno as much. He was used to coming in second. His whole life, he was second, so he understands your reluctance to your father.

“Now everything we’re doing are in these blue prints. What we’ve continued off or hoped this project could led to is in the laptop, and everything outside this lab is modified and new. Examination formats, simulations and actuals, everything analytical is in this room. This is the foundation that your father left behind. When Min-hyung disappeared, I never saw your dad enter this room again. But he was always with this laptop. It’s a very old laptop. A very old piece of tech that we can’t even break into, because if we do all the data will disappear. For the past few years with IT, we’ve tried to get it open. But the stupid password is designed, that after 12 attempts everything will be automatically deleted. I know right, people who know how to alterfy their tech are lunatics. But your dad was crazy like that. The old man and technology were tight.”

“So assuming you’ve attempted to unlock the password, how many tries have you had?”

“10.” Jeno answers. “2 attempts left. And… honestly if we lose everything in here, it won’t make much of a difference, but don’t you think it would be a shame to lose everything in here?”

“It would be.”

“Which is why… I want you to… have it. To try and open it and keep it as a souvenir. Your dad kept logs in here. Min-hyung always said this was his diary. So assuming you manage to get the password, there might be some piece of closure in there for you, because I notice you call him ‘father’ instead of ‘dad’. And I still remember when you started working here, you’d try to get his attention… but it was never reciprocated. And after he passed, you never spoke about him ever again. But I know your dad, he told us some pretty crazy stories about you,”

You scoff and shake your head.

“I’m serious. You once made a toilet seat that could automatically read which gender is entering the bathroom. Your dad stated that because sometimes he didn’t cut his hair, the toilet seat would refuse to go up. And one time, this huge pipe just stuck out of the toilet and tried to suck in his clothes thinking it was poop-” Jeno begins chuckling while you try to hide your giggle. “I’ll always remember that one because both your dad and Min-hyung experienced it. Min-hyung was always eager to see what was new and created around the house, because as he said, since your dad was hardly around, you used the house as your lab to create. He loved that about you. How far would your mind go. Here. I want you to take it, also because I really believe you can open it. And if you do and you keep it as a souvenir, please remember that anything useful for us-”

“I don’t really want it and like you said it doesn’t really make a difference with what we’re doing now. I doubt there’s any sentimental to it, aside from it being a work possession. Let’s get back to work and follow the plans we have now. I’d actually like to see these blueprints.” You suddenly turn so cold, picking up the blueprints and manuscripts to the project.

“Rude much.”

“I’m not being rude, I’m just setting boundaries between work and whatever you’re on about.”

“Okay.” Jeno nods his head with his eyes enlarged. “Burn, I get it. You hate your dad.” Also returning to his cocky nature. “I guess your desk awaits you.”

You want to apologize, but you’re already so warped into being moody today. Work takes a toll on you again and even after Jeno mentions it's 6- you don't budge from your station. He announces it's 7 and that he's leaving and you bid him goodbye. Feeling somewhat satisfied that he's leaving a little late. Jaemin sends you an apology text but you're focused on ignoring him and allowing your mind to be elsewhere instead of on him, because you can already guess how he wants to make up. And you're just tired and not feeling it. You don't have the energy for him right now.

You actually feel drained.

"Good evening Doctor Na." Out of all places to go, you find yourself in the empty lab of the prototype Mark. Right now, he's better company then any human… Maybe because he reminds you of Min-hyung. Hearing Jeno say all of those things, you actually do feel touched that your dad as well as Min-hyung spoke about you kindly. You’ve never actually sat down and spoken to Min-hyung, he would only bounce around and tease or bother you, it was never a 1 on 1. But with Mark… you’re comfortable enough to approach him and have a one on one.

"Hi Mark," You smile gently with a notebook in your hand. "How are you?"

"There's nothing to complain about, hence I am well." He responds moderately and you can hear the adjustments that they were working on this morning, as he looks less uncanny in his sincere emotions.

"That's good to hear." You nod your head moving closer to his pod and recording the report data present. Typing it into your tablet you peek at him, as his posture is focused on you. "Don't mind me, I'm just gathering evidence. Covering my ass with copies of everything."

"I am distressed about your wellbeing today,"

"Oh really? You're distressed about my well being?" A thoughtful smile coats your face as you acknowledge how he speaks out of turn yet is curious about your emotions.

"You showed high levels of stress this morning at the status meeting as well as this evening when showing up for my tests. Yet I was astonished at how well you managed to look blank."

"It comes with practice." You state nonchalantly.

Even though you are done and are about to leave, something pushes you to actually sit down next to him on the table he's 'learning' and reading matrix signals from.

"Why aren't you in your pod?"

"Doctor Yuta stated that I don’t have to sleep in the pod tonight. He gave me a replication mock-up dose. Tonight I’ll be sleeping outside of my pod.” He smiles allowing you to be content. “Aside from that, I had expectations that you might come."

You stiffly smile at that. "I only came in yesterday, but you're already having expectations?"

"The probability of the outcome was 1 in 3 chances."

"And out of those outcomes you knew that I'd come? How'd you calculate that?"

"When checking statistics, you are part of the 10% of workers who leave the company at this time between 10 to 11 p.m. Yesterday may have been your first visit in the lab, but regarding you senior position and constant analysis of perfection, I assumed you'd come again for a check up or AOD report, which you have. The third outcome, you seemed to be upset about my lack of progression, as well as your own personal matter, hence I thought as a robot designed to be a man, you'd come for a bit of company. I am limited when it comes to providing you with, a shoulder to cry on as they say, however I can provide you with an ear." His predictions are spot on and you can't help but smile at his progression.

"I'm not mad at your lack of progression. In fact, I’m still so impressed, especially with what Jeno showed me this afternoon. Call me selfish or not, but I really want for you to be a success because… I didn’t want to admit this to Jeno, but I do miss my father. So much. I feel like I failed him. That’s why he jumped off a building. But working on you, feels elevating and reviving. If I can make you work, if we can do that… then it’s going to be like… it’s going to make me happy, that I could be a part of what he did. Recognised by him. Even though he’s dead, it’ll feel nice to complete something he started.”

"That's not being selfish,” You turn to Mark. “That is admirable. You have high expectation and high motivation and there's nothing wrong with that. I feel honoured that you're present within the research and the findings. And your father Lee Taeyong is my creator, it would be an honour to have his presence looming in your blood as you work on me." He comments. "However, you're still sad, what seems to be the matter Doctor Na? Why are you still sad?"

"Oh nothing I'm fine." You brush it off getting up.

"You're not showing any signs of being fine."

Diverting your gaze away from the scans displaying on the overhead. But his dark brown honey eyes are already on you attentively. You manage to look back into his eyes and sigh taking a seat again. "If you want me to be honest, I don't want to go home.”

"That much is clear, most people use work as an escape." He informs. "Regarding your case, aside from staying because of work, I assume it has something to do with a personal issue. Your husband,"

“The problem here at work is my father, and at home, it’s my husband. I just don’t want to go home, I just want to keep working… or rather talking to you." You sigh out. "Quick question, yesterday night, you also mentioned the same thing about my husband. Why did you mention him?"

"Doctor Lee Jeno stated that you and your husband have a very straining relationship."

You clutch your jaw. "He did?"

"Yes, and I can also read your vitals. Are you upset?"

You huff and shake your head. "No. I'm perfectly fine."

"The correction error states that you're untruthful about your feelings."

"I forgot you can do that." You mumble. "Correction errors. Hm. I think you met my husband once, not formally, but you did right?"

"Yes."

"Did it look like we were having a straining relationship?" You suddenly ask, feeling slightly insecure. "Actually when you look at someone, at a person, at Jaemin, what do you see exactly- Or what did you see?"

"My reports are able to show me what's already publicly exposed, from his birth, identity in society and how his legal business is doing, marital status. I am unable to scan or read his feelings, but I am able to read the detail on his face through the micro expressions he displays. On the day I encountered your husband, there were certain signs of your relationship being discordance or rather strained. Aside from Doctor Lee openly approaching you in his regards to his feelings, I noted that Mr Na Jaemin had feelings of discomfort as well as stress. Discomfort in seeing me. His face showed signs of stress, the information gathered from his work gave low sales and rating, and as for your relationship, with his enthusiasm being low to see you, while you were quite excited to see him. As of now I see your upset nature regarding the matter. Hence the discordance. Would you want to share what's bothering you?"

You shrug your shoulders. "Seeing Jeno told you about my relationship, I bet a whole bunch of them are already…" You sigh out. "Talking about it."

"If you're feeling stressed, you could get it off your chest. By confiding in me."

After subtly considering it, you nod your head. "Only if you promise not to tell."

"Statics show that it's important to share your feelings with others so that they can help you to the best of their ability and try to understand what you are going through. Keeping things bottled can be unhealthy and could lead to depression if you don't talk to someone."

"Psychology 101." You hum with a little smile knowing your lessons off by heart. "Was that your way of confirming to me that you won't tell."

"I confirm."

You nod your head and think on the situation for a bit, trying to think of how honest you want to be with Mark. "I don’t really love Jaemin.”

You hold your tongue back. Although, already having said what you said, when looking into Mark's eyes you feel no judgement at all from, so you pour out what you're feeling.

"I did in the beginning. But things changed.” You take a deep breathe to control your breathing. "Ever since Min-hyung disappeared, things become strained. Truth is, I only got married to him to get Min-hyung out of my head.”

“Min-hyung was in your head?” You don't expect Mark to respond, you don't even expect him to listen. You just want to distress yourself. But his question, makes you gulp.

“My first crush.” You smile and look at Mark. It feels weird confessing that out loud to a humanoid that looks like him. His eyes stare right back at you.

“Are you feeling shy when looking at me Doctor Na?”

You hold in your breath and blush. “Uhm…” You look away. "Where was I?”

“You loved Min-hyung.”

“Love is a big word.” You smile sadly and think of Jaemin. “It feels so good to just let that out. I don’t love Jaemin. I don’t. Not at all. Not even a little bit. I regret committing to him for the rest of my life. And I've tried asking him if we can book for therapy so that we could fix this, fix me, but he puts the blame on me saying that he's fine in the relationship, if I'm having problems it's because I have wondering eyes and I keep trying to make my relationship like everyone else. Imagine the insanity to that. I don’t love him and I hate that I’m stuck with him.” Your eyes glisten with tears, but you hold them in as you look to Mark and shrug your shoulders. "It's going to go away, and it'll become a problem I can laugh at later on, but I'm tired, I think it'll all go away later on."

You're a senior and you've just poured a personal problem with a robot. How stupid of you.

"I have to go. Hopefully he's asleep when I get home."

"Would you like a hug?" You stop in thought to look at Mark. His hallow empty dark brown eyes show no emotion, but it expresses this kind atmosphere. "Emotional intelligence wise, I know all the answers to your problems according to what's been put into my data Generative Pre-trained data. However, as I am physical and you stated my purpose is to be a living man, a man, I want to know if you need a hug? This isn’t a simulation."

That only makes the glistening tears by your eyes overshadow your eyes as you nod your head. "Emotional support." Getting into the hug, you feel goose bumps crawl up your skin and the iron yet smooth texture of his soft yet stubble skin has you feeling a familiar human touch. His arms, just the right amount of heaviness wrap around you. He squeezes you carefully allowing you to feel his arm. Your face on his chest feels warm and you watch your tear drop roll down his toned chest. "I can't remember the last time I had a proper hug…" Even though the image of Jaemin comes up in your mind of him hugging you slash cuddling you last night, you don't count it as you can't compare it to the warmth your feeling right now.

It feels as though the temperature of his skin also escalates. "Did you increase your body temperature?"

"Should I reduce it?"

"No," You shake your head, enjoying it more then you should. "If anything, you need clothes, but I'm happy like this."

"A generic robot response would me saying; 'I'm sorry you're going through this. If you want to talk more about it, or need support, I'm here to listen. And if you ever feel like you need more help, please consider reaching out to someone you trust or a professional who can offer support.' That's one of my programmed answer. However, sifting through the options that would be suitable for you, a hug seemed to be the best."

You nod your head and sniff. "You must think I'm quite dumb even though I am a psychologist,"

"Not at all." He answers moderately and you're shocked to hear that. "You are my technical and personality supervisor. It's normal to feel overwhelmed by your personal matters, but as long as you say them out loud and find a solution, you'll be able to personalize my monitor feedback to be more real."

“Right.” You nod your head. "So far, you aren't doing a bad job. You're actually a better companion right now." You rest in his embrace for a long while… it's strange that you don't hear a heartbeat but hear the machines wiring around in his system. It's also strange how you don't want to leave him.

“I lied about something.”

“What?”

“I had expectations that you were coming, only because I wanted to ask you a question.”

Listening to how the voice generates from his fuzy chest you nod your head. “That’s fine, you can ask me anything.”

“How do you feel about me?”

“Are you attracted to me?”

You breathe out nervously. “Mark it’s only my second time here.”

“You’re not answering the question. You give me indications that you are attracted to me.” His warm voice speaks, and you hear your heart beating in your chest.

“Oh yeah?” You question. “How?”

“The way your eyes, fix on me,” You get off his chest and look at him, trying to see what exactly is going on. His voice even drops to whisper. But it’s his eyes that hold a gleaming… hope in them. “The way you look at my lips. Holding my gaze. Do you think of me when we’re not together?”

Your face is hot and you feel so… “I have to go.”

“I have to sleep.” It also gets up and moves to a chair that is reclined out. You watch it as it settles on the laid back chair. No blanket, no pillow. Just him laying there. You catch his eyes and blush. “Can I ask you one more question?”

You’re still not over the sudden questions he asked you. Yet you nod your head. “Do you want to be my friend?”

A smile grows on your face. “Yes, I guess so.” You answer quietly and the smile returns to it’s face.

“No, I don’t mean testing out my responses and studying me. I mean, do you want to be my friend and go out with me?”

“Project 47 5. I think you need to recharge.” You try to get some sort of composure back in yourself and you pull some boundaries again, not knowing the source of it’s sudden nature and question.

“Right. I hope I haven't ruined your peaceful state."

You smile, a clear smile with happiness behind your eyes, even after feeling so flastered, you think of how he made you feel. "You made me feel so much better. But I think I do have to go now, it's already 11."

"Drive safely Doctor Na."

"I will, good night Mark." A longing grows in you, but you try not to pay attention to it. You watch as the chair turns a light grey colour and feeds begin to display on the little tablet near him. His eyes shut and you nod your head, Yuta enhanced it’s sleeping pattern to be one of rechargeable battery. You leave the lab. Getting in your car and driving on the dark and empty road, you blush when thinking of how warm Mark's body… mechanical body was. "Stupid." You matter to yourself of how stupid you are for thinking of his questions. "I should just stop talking about Min-hyung around him. But It's for research purposes." You try to convince yourself… talking to yourself.

Getting home, you're not surprised to see Jaemin awake. He prepares the food and reluctantly you eat quietly while he talks about his day. "I wanted to apologize." There it is.

"I forgive you, you can just drop it."

"Are you sure about that?"

"100%" You finish eating, get up and go to bed. You don't engage when Jaemin gets on the bed in attempts to get your attention. You ignore him and find yourself sleeping. However… his last question stays in your head… He asked you if you want to be his friend… That was the last question Min-hyung asked you… the last conversation you had with him before he disappeared.

“I can’t get in my father’s lab.”

“Pardon?” Jeno looks up from his laptop as you hover his desk upon entering the joint office.

“I was thinking about yesterday and how you told me that it could have sentimental stuff. I figured, okay. I’m ready to forgive my father for years of neglect.”

“I’m sorry, did you mean to say good morning first, or how are you?” Jeno tilts his head still wondering what you’re talking about. “I’m a bit confused here. Speaking of confusion, Doctor Nakamota Yuta was looking for you, he said-”

“Jeno please wake up. I’ll deal with that later. I need to enter that lab, but my access card is denying me access.” You start.

“Oh. That's what you're on about, that’s where you’ve been the whole morning. Okay..” Jeno runs a hand through his hair, understanding. “As of now, it’s only JB and I who have access to that room, but seeing as now you’re interested, I’ll talk to the unit systems and have them-”

"I need to get there now, could I borrow your pass?"

“Borrow my pass?” Jeno's brows furrow. "I'm just gonna start again because clearly this morning I'm a bit late. Good Morning Doctor Na, how are you-"

"Jeno!" You whine and move behind his back with your hands on his shoulder shaking it a little. "Please, if you're thinking it's against the rules to lend access cards, then just know I won't be wondering around doing crazy shit with your keys. Please. I'll just get the laptop and leave,"

Jeno turns back to you holding your gaze before he pats his cheek with his finger. "Popo,"

You roll your eyes before kissing his cheek not thinking twice of the consequences. Jeno on the other hand having you that close your heat on his cheek is beyond over the moon. "Man, you already have me up,"

"Card," you ignore him stifling a smile as he reaches into his pocket handing you his access card. "Besides, what wrong could I possibly do?"

As soon as you say that you feel an irked feeling of something going wrong already happening. And it's when you pass by the lab seeing Mark alone that you curiously wonder in. He's on a table. "Hi Mark,"

"Good morning, how are you doing this morning?"

"I'm well and yourself?"

"Upset."

You furrow your brows moving closer to him. "What's wrong?"

"Why am I not wearing clothes?" The question is valid and has you on realization that he's still in tight shorts. "Why do I have a sexuality? If I'm a robot, why do I need to be assigned a gender role? I dislike simulator tests. I understand I'd need an organ to assist the female reproductive system to produce, but what good is it if I produce artificial semen and cannot ejaculate? What if the test subject female persons is sensitive and gets an infection from the artificial sperm? Would I be considered disabled if I am a man who can't afford to-"

"Hey, hey, hey, calm down Mark," You carefully hold onto his shoulders, and you try to get him to look away from whatever he's sketching… Which is a face… your father’s face. You ignore it and focus on him, he stops drawing and peers at you. "Calm down, we haven't gotten to the point in testing yet-"

"The Vesla Bot model 67 was made in 2024 with the urgency to be friendly, eliminate dangerous, repetitive boring tasks, it’s said appeal as stated by it’s creator Nole Musk, was that this robot would be for humans to engage. The projections of this project would soon be shut down as it was turned into a pervasive perverted sex drone bot. They shut it down. Dr Lee Jeno mentioned that I have an opening which would stimulate pleasure into my drive as I engage in matters pertaining to sex-”

“Mark you aren’t designed to be a sex bot-”

“What will happen to me if I fail your test?”

“Mark-”

“Or be ‘bad’ and have rebel tendencies-”

“Mark please come down.” You get slightly on guard when it stands up giving you a firm stance looking down at you.

“Answer the question, Doctor Na?”

“Look, I don’t know where all this is coming from-” His tight and sudden grip over your arms makes your jump and has you opening your eyes wide. You’re stunned and frozen- you can hear scrambling as well as doctors voices blaring here and there for Mark to calm down- you even see someone touch him but it seems he’s too hot as his body produces steam-

“Do you think I’ll be switched off if I don’t function well? If I produce emotions or feelings of anger like now? What am I to do if I get upset? I certainly don’t wish to be turned off, and I definitely don’t want to turn out like Optimise who became a filthy sex bot for the pleasures and likes of humans-”

“I don’t know the answers of your questions!” You let out, being panicked when his hands get tighter and hotter. “It’s not up to me but I’ll- Mark you’re hurting me-”

“Why is it up to anyone? Shouldn’t I have the right as a man to live?”

“Mark-”

“Do you wake up and have people test you?”

“Mark-”

“Answer the question. Do you wake up and have people test you? Yes or no!”

“No but-”

“So why should I?”

“Hey-”

“Do you have people test you and switch you off?”

“No-”

“Then why do I?”

“Project M47-”

“Do you have people test if you can stimulate orgasms?”

“No-”

“So why should I?”

“Please-”

“Do you have people touching you or wanting to touch you in order to test you?”

“Ma-”

“Why should I be touched? Why should I be tested?!”

“Project m45 7! Shut down!” You hear in the background as you simply just stare wide eyed at the man before producing and expressing so much anger, pent up frustration. Your mind is blank when staring into the eyes of the robot… impersonating human feelings…

“Do you have people thinking you’re dead, calling you another name and testing you?! What am I-” Those are the last of Mark’s words as you see it’s eyes blazing red and close your own turning your head away- however all you hear are your pants along with machines wiring. The hands on your arms loosen and you sneak a peak- the red eyes are still on you, but the machine robot seems to be inactive. You see the other scientist as well as Doctors trying to get it to into the capsule.

“Are you okay?” Jeno own arms are wrapped around you looking concerned. You nod your head, not minding that you’re shaking and breathing out heavily. You try, or rather keep trying to calm yourself down by placing your hand to your chest.

“I just entered the lab. And tried to speak to it- I mean him.”

“Yuta brought me some reports stating that Mark was behaving unintentionally moody after his first night sleeping outside of the pod. I guess this is what he meant. He said something about it being irritable-”

“He can get irritable?” You question.

“It’s not that he can get irritable, it’s just that his code was formulated in such a way to project exact human emotions. As you tasked us to venture for him to sleep outside of the tank, we figured that the reason he sleeps inside is due to the pores in his skin, turns out, as I saw the overnight report statistics, I noticed unusual patterns- if you could just follow me,”

You and Jeno promptly follow, but as you take a look at the few doctors in the room watching the blue liquid fill up, your eyes rest upon the… blue eyes that stare back at you. Getting to Yuta’s cubicle, he shows you his board and laptop monitor screen.

“Oh my god. Are those-”

“No that can’t be.”

“That’s what I said,” Yuta gulps. “But those are actual brain waves. Human brain waves. Last night, he had his first dream. The sleep REM shows that he went even deeper into his sleep entering the non-REM. I was puzzled and opted to go and check it out for myself. I asked him and I was surprised that he lied about it. So, I had no choice but to open him up. Yet to my surprise before I could even touch him, he refused for me to touch him.” Yuta explains. “I tried to get close, but the look he gave me… I wasn’t about to try anything. So I reported it to Doctor Jeno as you weren’t in your office.”

You and Jeno look at each other trying to understand the meaning of this. You then look to Yuta. “I’m sorry, yesterday when I was with him, he said you gave him a replication mock-up dose. What is that?”

“Basically, I didn’t build this pod, Doctor Lee Taeyong, Lee Min-hyung and Lee Jeno built that capsule. It has a certain programming,”

“Jeno?” You turn to him.

“It’s to keep the robot cool, charged, allowing fluids to clean it’s internal components,”

“And something that I think was important, but overlooked it, was it’s connection to it’s brain.” Yuta inputs holding onto the screen to adjust it for his view so that he can show us. “We’ve always assumed that it’s just machinery running in that head, that’s why it’s so well put. However, I was astonished when reading actual brain waves.”

“Brain?” You question in disbelief. “It’s a robot, it can’t have a brain-”

“According to your father it could have a brain, to hold memory and have memory.” Jeno shakes his head mouthing to himself. “And your father came up with a functional substance to hold memories in a secured component. He created this structured jelly jell to store in memories as if it was a brain. I don’t recall the elements he used to make that brain matter.” Jeno sighs and turns to you. “You were looking for the laptop earlier right? I think we have to try our luck and bust into it.”

“Laptop?” Yuta questions and squints his eyes. “This morning, Mark asked a lot of questions that were triggering, such as where Dr Lee was, where the laptop and camera was. Assuming, you’re talking about the same laptop and that Dr Lee is actually Lee Taeyong, then I think… the reason Mark’s ‘brain’ woke up had to be because of sleeping outside of the pod.”

“You’ve got my card, go and get it. I’ll try stabilizing Mark and get him calmed down.”

It’s not even a joke as you run across the 6000 feet building using some back door short cuts to get to the back end door where the basement B3 is filled with underground labs. Using Jeno’s key to access the door, you don’t waste time when setting the laptop inside the laptop bag with the charger and everything. As you pick up the bag, you take sight of another bag in the room. It looks like the standard work bag, but this time it’s full.

You get the dusty backpack on your bag and laptop in your other hand as you walk out the lab shutting it behind you. You smell an odd aroma fixing your eyes on the bag. It’s the bag.

Meanwhile, Jeno carefully sets Mark, the robot, onto his back, ensuring not to damage any of the delicate components. After extracting him from the capsule, Mark looked remarkably like the same person everyone knew. His face, despite the cold metallic sheen, retained a familiar calm expression. Yuta, standing over him, raised an eyebrow.

“I’m suggesting we unscrew his head,” Yuta said, his voice a mix of curiosity and hesitation. “Find the ‘brain’, figure out what happened.” However according to Jeno he wanted to do that last, especially since Mark didn’t seem like a malfunctioning machine anymore. He appeared… normal. As if he were just taking a nap, not in the middle of a technical crisis.

“Have I hurt Doctor Na?”

Jeno puts a hand on Mark’s shoulder, his tone soft but firm. “It’s okay, Mark. She’s fine. We just need to get you fixed up. Do you know what happened? Do you remember anything?”

Mark blinks, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, he speaks, his voice calm and controlled, but laced with an unfamiliar odd tone. “I… I don’t recall much. The last thing I remember… is falling asleep last night.”

Jeno exchanged a glance with Yuta. The answer seemed innocent enough, but there was something unsettling in the way Mark spoke, almost too measured.

For safety, Jeno gently restrained Mark’s arms and legs while Yuta worked to separate the silky strands of hair at the top of Mark’s head. He quickly uncovered a small, gaping hole—where the neural connections to the pod would normally attach. “Mark, we’re going to switch you off for the time being, and will update you on what went wrong. Sit tight.”

Yuta’s fingers hovers over the connection ports. “Vitals look stable,” he mutters, inspecting the readings on his handheld monitor. “Everything’s… the same. So, what caused him to shut down like that?”

Giselle, standing a little too close to the workstation, narrows her eyes. “If you ask me, it was probably Doctor Na who triggered it. Mark’s last memory was falling asleep, right? And who was here last night?” She scoffs, her arms crossing in frustration. “Doctor Na. Pretending like Mark’s a real person. Talking about treating him like a human. What a delusion.”

Karina nods, though she says nothing. Both women exchange a look, and Giselle continues, voice rising.

“She literally confided in him. Told him about her life and her so-called husband. Did she forget that he’s not real? Did she forget that we monitor everything he does? She even hugged him. Honestly, it’s embarrassing. It’s just a robot. But the way she talks to it, you’d think—”

“Those conversations are supposed to be private,” a voice cut in sharply, interrupting her tirade.

Everyone freezes. Jeno glances over at Yuta, whose eyes are glued to the screen, his jaw tense. The voice came from Mark.

Giselle stiffens, and for a moment, it seems like the air in the room has thickened. Mark’s tone was quiet, but there was an edge to it—a hint of sarcasm or amusement that sent an uncomfortable shiver down Giselle’s spine. “What did it just say?”

Jeno gives her a sidelong glance before looking back to Yuta and speaking. “He’s supposed to be offline.”

“He is.” Yuta points to the monitor, but just as he does, the screen flickers. A new feed popping up, its data flowing unnaturally… The room falls silent.

Jeno moves closer to the machine, squinting at the chaotic readings. “This doesn’t make sense. It’s syncing… but he’s supposed to be off.” His fingers hover over the console. “What’s it syncing with? To what?”

“To… himself?” Yuta tilts his head, his voice tight.

“No.” Jeno’s brow furrows as a strange energy surges through the display. “This is the Mark… it’s syncing to the another component inside of him. But… where is this coming from? Mark?” He directs the question to the motionless figure on the table, but Mark does not respond in his usual mechanical tone.

Instead, a voice—eerily calm, yet too precise—spoke up, the words dripping with an unsettling amount of knowledge. “Giselle Kim. Supervisor, Robot Operating Engineering. Master’s in Technical Engineering. A solid paycheck, enough to keep you relevant. High social status, a comfortable life… but a bit too insolent with your senior colleagues. You’ve managed to get where you are by… other means.” Mark pauses for a beat, almost as if savouring the discomfort. “And that 'other means' involved Doctor Kun, didn’t it?”

Giselle staggers back, her face going pale. “What the hell is this?!” She snaps, her voice rising in alarm. “Doctor Kun, make it stop!” Mark continues, as though oblivious to the panic spreading around the room. “You don’t want everyone to know how you slept your way into this position, do you? But hey, maybe it’s more humiliating for you, considering the way you’ve maintained this ‘professional’ persona.” Mark’s tone is amused, almost mocking, and it cut through the room like a knife.

“Enough!” Jeno snaps, stepping forward to override the system. “Project 47 5, stop.” He tries to maintain control, but there is a flicker on the screen as the data continued to flow unnaturally but now faster.

“Doctor Lee Jeno, you’re not one to speak as-”

“That’s enough.” Your voice commands.

Everyone turns as the door opens and you walk in, backpacks in both your hands. Your face is a mask of controlled irritation, but there is something deeper in your eyes. A mix of disbelief at what you see on the screen as you move closer. You set the bags down on the table, not even glancing at the chaotic scene unfolding around you.

You walk over to Mark’s motionless form strapped on the table, your gaze sharp on the monitor screen that Yuta hands over for your viewing. “Maybe you can decipher it. He’s supposed to be switched off but-”

“I’m sorry for hurting you Y/n.” Your eyes blink… to the eyes filled by the robot. That’s the first time you’ve heard him call you by your name instead of your status. “I didn’t mean to go overboard and use my physical strength against you. I don’t even know what came over me. I just felt so angry. I apologize.” Not only the tone changes, but his whole demeanour when explaining the situation has the whole room dead silent as there eyes are now locked on you. You look at Jeno, expecting him to say something but he simply points to the monitor screen.

You squint your eyes at the monitor and walk over to it, not believing your eyes. You fail to see Mark’s eye balls following yours until you’re out of his sight. “It’s okay Mark. I’m alright.” You look at the handheld monitor that Yuta gave you. “But you aren’t.”

“I feel fine. And why do you keep calling me Mark?”

There’s another long pause in the room. A quiet fright arising. Questions being raised simply when looking between everyone’s eyes. You turn around looking down at the head of the robot… of Mark. There goes the question you didn’t want to hear. The question that could confirm a horrible suspicion.

“My name is Min-hyung.” Nobody moves. Nobody even blinks. You don’t even breathe. “I don’t know why I’m strapped on this damn table being examined by people I don’t know. The only person I know here is Jeno, but he’s avoiding my gaze. Must be because I’m wearing underwear right,” The sarcastic chuckle is soft yet is echoes in the room because of how quiet everyone is.

Renjun, the one doctor who had been minding his own business stands up and cautiously moves over to you with a tablet. Your lips get even more dry the moment your eyes feast on the content of the screen. “It has… a conscious? How?”

“I don’t know.”

“Renjun what do you mean you don’t know, you fucking built this?”

“We built the rest of it, it was already made when Senior Director JB brought it to us.” Renjun responds quickly, trying to stay clear of your anger.

“Y/n…” Mark… calls your name quietly in the quiet lab. “May I please see you. Your nerves are spiking everywhere and you’re making me nervous.”

Instead of you walking forward, it’s Jeno who walks on the side view of the… robot. The robot’s eyes immediately follow. “Who am I?”

“Lee Jeno.”

“No.” Jeno shakes his head. “Who am I… to you?” Looking into the eyes of the robot… Jeno sees the vulnerability swapping over.

“The dork… with a big ego.” The eyes a clear hue, the figure built to resemble and impersonate a human. Skin built from course wear fabric. So how is it, that this thing… remembers who Jeno is.

“Fucking hell?” Jeno being struck by shock steps back and shakes his head. “Fucking hell!” He curses a loud covering his whole head. “What the hell is happening? Am I dreaming a horrible nightmare that I can’t wake up from? Am I even awake?” Jeno’s slap to his face has you walking over to him to stop him. “Are we all synchronized to the same crazy dream?”

“Jeno stop hitting yourself. You won’t wake up, this is reality. Now tell me what’s wrong?” Your eyes widen. “What’s happening?”

Renjun steps forward. “Doctor Na what if-”

“You got married. And married… Jaemin. Na Jaemin.” You turn around when hearing Mark speak. He’s not looking at you, but he’s looking above.

“Yuta shut it down.”

Mark’s head turns in your direction. “Don’t.”

But Yuta being just as shocked and almost sick to his stomach taps on the tablet and Mark’s eyes turn red before they close. .. Giselle audibly lets out a choked breath. “Assuming we all have questions, Doctor Na, I believe you need to give us answers.”

“Where’s the laptop?” Jeno questions. His eyes surprising you when you see that it’s slightly red, with moist tears around.

“I’ll let you know, once I myself figure out what the hell we just witnessed.” Your head turns to the laptop and both you and Jeno leave the room, but you turn to the shocked staff.

“Do not activate it.” You warn pointing out a finger. “The disclosure of what just happened should not leave this lab. 1,2,3,4-” You begin to count all the heads in the room. “There’s 9 of you here. Renjun take down everyone’s names and make sure that everyone leaves. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes.” Renjun answers.

Getting in your office with Jeno already plugging in the ancient laptop, you drag your rolling chair over as you take a seat being beside Jeno. Jeno shifts his chair aside seemingly letting you know that you have to do what you have to do. “This morning you were eager to get the laptop. What made you change your mind?”

“He asked me a question last night, and I couldn’t get it out of my head.” You answer honestly.” You inhale when the laptop screen displays a black locked screen. The only thing on display is the padlock with a rectangular box where you should put in the password.

“What was the question?”

“Jeno… what do you think is happening right now?” You ask, while trying to process what kind of password your father would put in.

Jeno stays silent, and you can already tell it’s something that he also doesn’t like.

“When I was young, I believed my father had something to do with Min-hyung’s disappearance. And before I could even ask him, he died. Now all this is happening and I only have my father to blame. So maybe you were right, there might be some sentimental to this laptop.” And with that, you type in your first attempt of the password. Your name.

Your heart skips a beat when the ‘incorrect’ sign flashes on the screen. You sigh deeply again, your leg getting jittery as you type the last attempt you have. Without thinking again you type out your mothers name… no caps.

You get a fright when hearing a welcoming sound from the laptop. Your eyes enlarge just as you look to Jeno- who’s eyes are also in shock. You give him access to the screen. There’s a looming tension in the air that you and Jeno can feel as he works on the laptop trying to find a key evidence of what we’re doing right now.

Certainly! Here's the rewritten scene, with improvements for pacing, clarity, character development, and emotional depth. I've focused on sharpening the dialogue and making the actions and emotions more immediate and engaging.

“Now.” Jeno cracks his knuckles. “Let’s watch the logs.”

# LOG:1

"March 23, 15:30. Min-hyung here. First log. Big idea." Mark smiles into the camera, his energy bright, too alive, too healthy for what’s coming. He shifts the camera, grinning wide, adjusting it so he’s centered. He’s wearing a lab coat, looking professional—but still somehow goofy, like a kid playing dress-up. Serious but playful. He pats himself down and lets out a smug chuckle. “So, I’ve got this crazy thought. What if we create a man? Not a man-man, but close. I mean—come on, Doctor Lee Taeyong. Don’t you want to live forever? Transfer your consciousness into something that doesn't age, something that doesn't die. Imagine it.”

Lee Jeno being off-camera somewhere in the lab, questions. “You’re saying you wanna make a cyborg?”

“A cyborg?” Your father leans back, glancing at Min-hyung as if he’s never heard anything more ridiculous. “Alright, go on. Explain this cyborg business.”

Min-hyung’s face lights up at the chance to talk. “It’s like this: we’ve got humans, right? And we’ve got machines. But what if we merge the two? A human mind, living in a machine body. I’m calling it the Frankenstein project.”

“The Frankenstein project?” Your father sounds unconvinced, but his curiosity is piqued. He leans forward slightly.

“Exactly. Frankenstein’s monster, man. Cyberpunk meets science. I’m talking human consciousness integrated with machines. A hybrid, like the best parts of human and tech. We could upload memories, simulate thoughts. Imagine the future—it's here, right in front of us.”

“I’ve heard this before, you know.” Your father half-laughs. “You wanna create life. But without the morality to back it up. Go on, then. Where’s the catch?”

Min-hyung shifts, a little giddy. “Here’s the deal, Doc. Forget robots. Forget simple machines. What if we give our creation the power to think, to choose? The human mind, locked into a machine. Immortality, with a twist.”

Your father sighs, rubbing his temples. “And you’re just going to… transfer a human brain into a robot?”

Min-hyung leans in, eyes wide with excitement. “Not just a brain. I’m talking a whole new form of life. It’s like combining mind and body, but the body doesn't die. We don’t have to wait for the future. We can build it now.”

You watch Min-hyung on the screen, his passion pouring out, as your father shakes his head, amused but intrigued. "You’d need to upload human consciousness, not just the thoughts, but the feelings, the impulses, the soul." Your father looks skeptical but intrigued. “And what if it goes wrong?”

Min-hyung’s eyes gleam. “Then we fix it. We make it work.”

A beat. Your father stares at him for a moment. Then laughs, but the laugh’s tinged with something else. A touch of sadness? "All right, Min-hyung. I’ll help. But only because this sounds like one hell of a project."

“I knew I could count on you, Doc,” Min-hyung says, his grin wide. “Now, let’s get to work. Okay end of log.”

# LOG:109

"Yo, hey, hey. Quick log. Doctor Lee asked me to drop by his house with some research. Figured I’d throw in a little personal thing too, though." The video crackles, and Mark appears in frame, adjusting the camera. "It's Saturday, 12:09 p.m. Y/n’s probably studying. You know, I was thinking… about love." Mark pauses, looking awkward but sincere. "Love is… the most important thing, right? I wanna know what it feels like to truly feel it. I don’t know, maybe if I can figure it out, I can code it into the project." He smirks to himself, looking down as if lost in thought for a second before the camera shakes again, focusing back on him.

The video cuts, showing the familiar scene of your old home. Min-hyung is sitting in your living room, papers scattered on the table in front of him. He glances up as you enter, his eyes lighting up like always.

“I couldn’t find what you were looking for, but I brought you these.” You hand him the stack of papers. “Just some theories and ideas I’ve been working on. I think the most important thing in life, the thing that gives us purpose, is love. Cliché, but true. It’s love that connects us to each other, to the world around us. Without it, we’re just going through the motions. Anyway, there’s a lot of psychological stuff here. It’s deep.” You try to brush it off, but Min-hyung just smiles.

“It’s not cliché. You’re smart. Really smart,” he says, and the compliment catches you off guard. You watch how you look at him, your heart still racing.

You reply with a smirk, trying to deflect. “Anyway, you’re a dork. Tell my father I’m having night classes. I won’t be home tonight.”

Min-hyung laughs, picking up his things. “Got it. Night classes, huh? Be safe.” He grabs the camera as he heads out, and before the door shuts, you hear him mutter to himself.

“She’s just… so amazing. So smart. Damn. I just feel like I could conquer the world when I’m around her.”

# LOG:110

Your father appears on screen, looking at the camera with a half-smile. “Testing, testing, 1, 2, 3. Is this on? Good.” He moves to the side, and Min-hyung appears, scribbling notes at his desk and using a compass.

Lee Taeyong speaks directly into the camera now. “July 30. The Frankenstein project is progressing well. Jeno's skills are amazing. Today, he helped perfect the mechanical leg—smooth, lifelike movements. It’s remarkable. If we keep this up, we might actually have something. A prototype by the end of the year? Maybe.” He pauses, looking at Min-hyung’s work. “Still need a volunteer for the human part, though. Min-hyung’s been… adamant to being a donor and recipient.”

“I’ll do it,” Min-hyung interrupts. His tone is serious but playful. “If you need a human donor, I’m your guy. You’re talking about immortality, after all. If anyone’s gonna live forever, it should be me.”

Your father laughs, but there’s something else behind his eyes. “You’re brave, kid. But we’ll see. It’s still a long way off.”

Min-hyung’s smile falters for a second as he looks at the floor. “What if it’s not? But anyway, doc. How did you get hold of the videos, those are personal.”

“It wast updated on my cloud drive? You think you can post your video diaries and not have me take a peek. I couldn’t help myself. It’s some good stuff, and they’re not too long or short.”

Min-hyung dies in the background with embarrassment hiding his face. Lee Taeyong turns around and begins talking, and you can hear the smile on his face.

“I thought you appreciated my daughter to rub off on my good side. I never knew it was this serious. Almost every log you talk about 1 or 2 things about her. You want the machine to experience feelings of love, or is that you?”

Min-hyung with his hand behind his back smiles. “Is that the part where you pretend to listen, or are you actually going to listen to how I feel about your daughter?”

“The floor is yours, I’m sure the viewers also want to know.” Your father toys with the camera.

“Look doc. It’s nothing deep. I just… I have high hopes for this project, especially with how it’s going. I think it’s just crazy how we can actually make something come alive. And along the way, I realised that being alive means… living… loving… feeling. I can’t believe I’m even saying this,” Min-hyung brushes his hair with an awkward smile, before it turns into the sloppy loopy smile he always has when talking about you. “I mean, I know I haven’t spoken to her much, but she’s really smart, and I think she could also be a part of this project.”

“Let me tell you something about her. I once offered her a contract to work here with me, and she turned it down. She believes in personally gaining her spot instead of it being given to her. I’m really proud of her for that.”

Hearing your father’s words…. Unintentionally brings tears to your eyes.

“And seeing as she’s put such high goals for herself, just makes me not want to interrupt that flow. It may look like I’m not interested in her, but really I am so proud of her and her accomplishments… She’s just like her mother, strong. I don’t want to mess her up with my bullshit. Hence, I wouldn’t mind someone as creatively driven and unorthoxed like you, teaching her a thing or two, or even just… being with her.”

Min-hyung’s smile is crazy wild. “You would love me as your son in law wouldn’t you?”

“One hundred percent.”

The logs aren’t that long, they last between 3-5 minutes and for the longer ones they don’t go past 15 minutes. They’re filled with Min-hyung giving exposure to the creation. And when you see how it first comes out, with a body and no hands, you’re marvelled and completely astonished to how it came out. Min-hyung’s feelings for you are kept at bay, but his eyes always light up when seeing you.

“No wonder Mark the robot always seemed to speak highly of you.” Jeno notes at some point… and you feel something crawl up your spine at a weird sick feeling… You feel like after so many years… you might finally get the answer to what happened to Min-hyung. The more you keep watching the logs, the harder it is to pick out where it went wrong. It was always correct.

So why is Mark like this now, why does he think he’s Min-hyung?

Oh yes, because of the last 4 logs. They’re longer and aren’t directed by Min-hyung as usual. It’s your dishevelled father. Beard long and eyes red and puffy. You instantly recall it, as the days when Min-hyung disappeared. In the first 1 hour entry, he speaks of how Min-hyung is no longer alive and how he wants to finish the project for Min-hyung’s sake. You watch him work in silence with the lights dimmed down. He breaks down in tears for a few moments before the video cuts by itself. Signalling that it’s battery low.

The next video starts off without your father introducing anything, instead he displays the robot figure, still in it’s prime. The exo-skeleton structure looks fantastic. Your father doesn’t explain anything as he’s away from the camera- you can hear a tap and bit by bit you see him coming back with samples of synthetic skin…

“The donor’s skin and brain… is ready for use.”

Your eyes enlarge as you watch how your father places over the legs of the machine. As he applies the skin over the legs. The tense atmosphere in which you and Jeno watch the long videos takes a toll on you both… In disbelief of the skin… and the fact that your father made mention of the donor. So far the only donor who signed and accepted to be a donor… was Min-hyung. .. The camera zooms in on Min-hyung’s face, now disfigured, but eerily still there, on the machine. The skin is warped and swollen. Your father’s hands tremble as he pulls back a part of the synthetic flesh, revealing the skull underneath. There’s blood. More than you can take. The pain in his eyes is unmistakable.

The time is 10h45 pm when you and Jeno are done watching all the video diary logs. Your eyes are filled with tears. And you don’t even know about Jeno. From the moment you started watching you never got to see his face. Both of your eyes were hooked on the things that you saw on the laptop. The screen turns pitch black after no signs of activities are made. You can’t even move, you’re just in shock. From the beginning till the end, there’s absolutely nothing to say, the videos are… self-explanatory. Min-hyung was killed… accidentally (?)

And his body is on the project… is on the exo-skeleton of the robot prototype Mark. No… that sounds crazy. But the truth got worse, he was mutilated. And the result of that mutilation is that robot in the lab. Your father, Lee Taeyong… committed a crime. Shakily, your hands hover over the mouse as you go back 2 videos to watch the log all over again.

LOG:569

“December 23. I can’t live with myself. I can’t bear this pain. Min-hyung, if you’re alive, please forgive me. I’m sorry.” Your father sniffs and gets up looking at the project… the dead lifeless skin of Min-hyung’s face on the project. He positions the camera in the corner of the room and goes back on the table… where the dead body is.

You cover your mouth and shake your head watching how your father, carefully peels off the flesh carved onto the bloody skull. It’s a sickening, long ruling process for 30 minutes straight, you watch as Min-Hyung’s face- flesh is bloody and soggy and placed into a dirty lime water bowl. As the video plays on with your blotched tear face father chopping up the body parts, peeling skin, storing bones. Watching a second time, this time you don’t bother hiding your choke of a cry in pure agony not believing that you saw it the first time. Your father is also in tears with each and every step, bloody and just so horrible.

The next video automatically plays.

“December 25. It still needs some work internally… but look at it.” Taking the camera and showing us the corpse machine on the table… The machine of what you know today as Mark… There’s a whole set of appliances beside it, showing all the hard work that underwent to create this project.

After positioning the camera, your father in his dishevelled appearance stands behind the machine. He brings out his laptop and begins typing in some things like a menace. The machine on the table begins to shake violently- before your father gets up and moves to the head….

“Calm down. Shit. The brain is rejecting it’s organs. Come on, come on-” He taps on the screen behind him.

Jeno pauses the whole thing. “Let me try and understand the crazy logic to what we’ve just seen.”

“Jeno, what’s there to understand when we saw just how brutal, my father…” You grate your teeth. “Peeled up a dead young intern… and all this time we’ve been… Jeno.” You gulp and shake your head. "What the hell is happening?" Your eyes blur with tears as you cover your face.

But Jeno still in his own world, doesn’t even hear a word you say. “All this time Min-hyung was alive… here with us. His body buried in that lab and then placed over this machine Mark. If what we’ve seen here is true, then it means Min-hyung was operating unconsciously… hence the real robot's logic creation of Mark. The more he slept underneath that creek water generated from… blood fluids of Min-hyung as well as petroleum fossil fuels and crude oil the more it kept his brain hydrated and clean… loading. Now it makes sense of that flawless skin… skin pasted on the body with the ability to repair itself. Min-hyung was under the impression of being in a coma. Taking him out of the tank, his brain covered within the jelly was able to soak up the jell and merge, synchronize with his unconscious, conscious. Y/n… he’s alive.”

You shake your head, your ears to sore to process anymore. “I need to go home… I can’t stay here.” You weakly get up wiping your tears. "This is all too much. Let me just try to process-"

“So who killed Min-hyung?” A whisper leaves Jeno’s tight throat. “Your father simply retrieved that body and… gave Min-hyung a second chance at life. Who killed him?” Jeno’s finger hesitates to press play but he does.

You don’t want to watch, but your eyes can’t help but look.

“Stabilizing. I don’t think I can do this.” Your father admits and your emotions get high again. He sits down on the chair and types madly into his laptop. He picks up his phone and answers it. “Yes sweety? I won’t be home tonight. Bye.” After cutting the call, he sulks while looking at Min-hyung.

Only God knows what he was thinking in those last minutes.

“Maybe that’s why my father killed himself…” Your phone vibrates getting you out of your thoughts for a second. You pick up your phone without thinking twice. Right now you need to get away from the desk, and Jaemin’s call couldn’t have come at a better time. “Jae… I need you to pick me up.”

“Have you been crying?” Jaemin’s voice immediately softens with concern. “I’ll be there in 30 minutes. I’m closing up the shop.”

You inhale deeply as the dark feeling looms over you again after the call drops. Sitting in silence while staring at the screen. You inhale. “So what do we tell everyone?”

“I don’t know, but they won’t even believe the truth.” Jeno responds after a whole minute. “Should we… speak to him?”

You shake your head. "And say what?" Your face squints as you recall all the moments you had with Mark the robot as Min-hyung. “I can just imagine how confused he is. It makes so much sense now.” Your eyes water… “I wanna go home. I don't think I can talk to him… You can… talk to him.”

“It’s crazy to think we now have the power to switch him on and off, we can program him, change his code, create a new enter personality-”

“But he’s now awake. He knows his name is Min-hyung, do you think it can be easy to create another personality in him? Jeno do you think it's even right to operate him? Jeno he's… alive…” You shake your head and get up, only taking your access card. “I can't deal with this right now. It's too much, let me just take a breath.”

Jeno watches you silently, his gaze following you as you leave the office. Though his eyes are locked on you, his mind spins, trying to make sense of everything.

What was supposed to be a breath of fresh air turns into you waiting outside the building, motionless, lost in thought.

It takes Jaemin’s arrival to snap you out of your haze.

“You’re crying so much.” He wipes your tears, his forehead creased with concern. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

You hold onto his arm as he draws you tightly in his grip, warmly hugging you having such a sad heart… "Please just take me home… I don't think I can go back up there."

"Sure, baby,"

Your departure has Jeno transferring the documents out from the laptop and inserting them onto his drive before he ultimately decides to go to the lab.

To say he’s nervous is an understatement. Especially since the funeral he attended of Min-hyung… his co-worker/intern friend- the one guy who hyped him up throughout all his creations- those images come fresh in his mind. He recalls the ceremony happening without the body. The devastation on Min-hyung's father's face. The sadness looming all over the crowd. His heart becomes heavy with the realization that all this time they've been working on him and trying to develop him, but he's been alive unconsciously. The way that Jeno remembers Min-hyung is so dear. It almost makes him paralyze with fear as he stands out side the door of the lab thinking that indeed Min-hyung's conscious is awake and alive inside of hat machine that they've named Mark… His frantic mind just wants answers. But instead he's just thinking of what led up to that moment… Dr Lee Taeyong literally peeled his flesh off… Min-hyung was found dead… How did all that come to be? How did the prototype Mark full everyone? Mark literally become a fascination for everyone… so it's hard to believe that the gullible lovable robot Mark… is actually… dead.. and his handler Min-hyung is alive. Right now, at the thought of Mark, he'd just really wish that instead of Min-hyung, he'd see Mark.

The crisis at hand should stop the project, because this isn’t just a project, but now it’s a participation of a crime… Jeno inhales and prepares to hear the music… entering into the quiet lab and expecting to see the robot… Mark… being shut down… he isn't even the slightest bit surprised to see the robot's eyes wide open and instantly it's iris snaps to the sound of the door opening up.

“How could you guys leave me…” Those are the first words that Jeno hears from Min-hyung. And he knows it’s Min-hyung. There’s no mistaking it anymore. That voice, the tone… the sadness. "Unbuckle me."

Tight lipped and stiff necked, Jeno wearily walks to… Min-hyung… Mark and begins to loosen the straps over the body. Jeno sees his hands shaking when making contact with the skin… the skin that he watched Dr Lee peel off and place it over. He’s afraid of even looking at the robot… but he can feel the strong gaze on himself.

The robot sits up, holding over his biceps. “It’s cold.”

Jeno removes his lab coat and puts it over the shoulders of… Min-hyung. Jeno gulps and takes a seat on the high stool facing Min-hyung directly. Min-hyung’s gaze remains on it's hand. "So…" Jeno gulps getting a sharp stare. Those are the eyes of an alive soul. Only difference is… it looks generated. Jeno watches how the iris dilute as well as move all over the features of his face. "Are you… Mark-" Jeno gulps when the eyes of the robot squint in… a weird reflection of annoyance. "Min-hyung?" Jeno's back to being stunned and speechless. "But… How?" He doesn't know what to ask or say, he can just… stare.

"What year is it?" Even the tone sounds strangely familiar to the Min-hyung he knew.bJeno states the year and that has Min-hyung doing a double take and frantically being shaken. "W-what?"

"You died in 2043. The year is 2047. 4 years have passed since you went missing."

His head tilts and he looks away. "Went missing?"

"Min-hyung…" Jeno tries not to let his emotions get the better of him as he bites his lips. "What do you last remember?" It’s hard to be content, when the confusion floats in the air like cheap liquor drowning his senses.

The question should be easy, however Min-hyung also finds the difficulty in responding. "I remember Y/n.” Especially since all he can see and recall is your smile and hear your voice. “But something's wrong with my memory. It feels jagged.” His posture seems to relax as his gaze is so strong on the floor- as if spacing out. “She’s so beautiful. Her voice is calming. I don’t know if these are even my memories, but they’re wholesome of her talking to me… confiding in me.”

Jeno recalls Giselle’s words of how her and Karina watched on the feed how you spoke to ‘Mark’ as if he were a real human being. “Are these recent memories?”

“They have to be, because the last time that I think I can remember talking to her was when she graduated in university. I asked her if we could be friends. I've never been that close to her, but in these memories, I think we became close. I don't know, everything is spinning, the memories are all merging with my unconscious memories." Jeno watches as Min-hyung's eyes squander all over probably in his own head trying to understand. But Min-hyung, with all the information flowing through his head and all the analyses being produced all at once, has a hard time trying to understand what’s going on with him.

“Min-hyung. You’re a robot.” Jeno breaks the silence. He can feel the air becoming tense as Min-hyung’s robotic head retracts back as if finding the words shocking. And Jeno continues. “After you died, Doctor Lee Taeyong, did exactly as you asked him too.” Jeno gulps. “He… transferred your body and all the necessities into… this new machine body you have now.”

Min-hyung is in denial and can’t believe it. But… he can’t seem to… feel anything. He realizes that he can’t even breathe. He takes a look at his arm and surely internally his eyes produce information about the arm and the components and the strength and what not. He’s pained but can’t reflect it. He’s shocked and just so… sad. He wants to cry, and he even sees how the statistics of his emotions decrease. It shows the emotion of unhappy. “I guess it worked.” He responds solemnly.

“That should be… this should be good news right?” Jeno blinks, noticing the visible sadness over the new features of Min-hyung.

Min-hyung can only produce a nod to his head.

Jeno bites his lip as he thinks to myself of how he can cheer up a robot. His friend and colleague is back, but it’s a bitter sweet feeling. “You can pick off where you last left off, you can-”

“It shows here that Doctor Lee Taeyong died… suicide. My father Johnny died too. Killed in a gang bang shooting. Where can I pick off when the family I had is dead?”

“Don’t say that,” Jeno feels the heaviness of the words. “I’m here. Y/n is here.”

At the mention of your name Min-hyung looks up. “What good is it if she’s married to Na Jaemin? I feel… isolated. Who’s Mark?”

Jeno’s cheeks are hot, his neck and tongue too. It’s hard communicating with a robot slash human who seems to be aware that they’ve lost everything. “Mark is the name we gave to you- I mean when you were still a humanoid version.”

Min-hyung nods his head. “How are you Jeno?”

The sudden question, has Jeno in a setback as he tries to collect himself. “I’m glad you are alive. I truly am. You were the smarter head between us.”

That has Min-hyung producing a little smile, before a little frown comes on his face. “Does that mean I’m trapped here now? Am I a lab rat?”

Jeno doesn’t know how to respond. You barely gave any clarification on what’s going to happen now? How can he can answer now?

Mark catches on to the microscopic facial expressions. “How is Y/n? May I see her?”

Jeno manages a smile. “Let me first get you some clothes.”

Just hearing how you're the first thing he remembers and how he wonders how you are, brings Jeno back to the first time Min-hyung met you. Of course it was love at first sight. He was on his lunch break and entered a cafe by chance because there was a special. In the cafe, he saw you… and from then on… Min-hyung was hooked. He never said anything to you. He didn’t even know that you were the daughter of Doctor Lee Taeyong. He really fell in love with you. Love at first sight. Seeing you at a specific time every day in the café was something that made him alive and he was breathing all over again.

The main goal of his everyday was to see you, and try to push himself to greet you. Meanwhile you were in your own world and focused on the things you were doing. You never glanced up at him.

Jeno remembers how Min-hyung one day brought him to the café just so that Jeno could see what was so special at that café. Jeno admits that you were eye catching. Instantly when he entered the café, his eyes moved to you. It wasn’t your beauty, but the essence you carried. You were studying and drinking coffee. You looked so ethereal… Jeno would’ve almost pulled a move on you if Min-hyung didn’t mention that he had eyes for you.

‘Sorry boys, she’s taken.’ And that was also the first time they met Jaemin. The café owner. Jaemin had heard the conversation between Min-hyung and Jeno. ‘She’s my girl.’ At the time, you weren’t even his girl, just a frequent customer who he appreciated. However on that day when Min-hyung started to have ogling eyes for you, he couldn’t help but be possessive over you. And so when Jeno and Min-hyung left the café, he shot his shot and approached you.

‘Are you enjoying the coffee?’

‘It’s delicious as usual, I’ll just be here for another hour or so.’

Jaemin nodded his head. ‘So what are you studying, you’re always studying and working so hard?’

You giggled and responded moderately yet friendly. You enjoyed Jaemin’s company a lot and appreciated his attention to you. You just never met Min-hyung yet.

And on a faithful day when you got back home from your afternoon classes, you began making food for yourself only to be interrupted by another person in the house. ‘Oh shot. Who are you? I mean, why are you here?’

‘I live here? Who are you? My father’s intern right?’

Min-hyung was completely shocked that he couldn’t say anything. He stood by the kitchen doorway in utter disbelief being tongue tied like a cat, he even blushed. It wasn’t long before your father entered and introduced Min-hyung to you. From there, Min-hyung’s frequent visits to the café become none-existent, but instead he’d latch himself wherever Doctor Lee Taeyong would go, in hopes and attempts to see you. But as soon as he started, he saw the relationship you had with your father, subtle but mostly non-existent since your father worked a lot and showed little to no mind on what you were doing. You on the other hand seemed to always want to get his attention, hence when you truly began to acknowledge Min-hyung.

‘Will my father be back home any time soon?’ You questioned.

Min-hyung who just came to fetch some things, lingered a bit longer so that he could talk to you. ‘ He did not mention anything, but I’m sure he’ll be back.’

‘Hey, uh Min-hyung, before you go, can I uhm, ask you some questions?’

Min-hyung was flattered but played it cool. ‘Sure, ask away?’ Your questions revolved around what he did, how he got there, and how he approached situations. He motivated you a lot. He was really likable and you liked that. Other times when he’d come over to your house, he’d ask about your projects and you’d show him. There was a fond relationship of learning between the both of you.

His eyes on you were everlasting, he already knew that he wanted you, but with Jaemin’s words lingering in his head, he had to control himself until… ‘So, your boyfriend owns the café?’ He asked once.

You furrowed your eyebrows. ‘I don’t have a boyfriend.’ You didn’t even have a clue who he was talking about. You liked him.

However for Min-hyung, that was a little sign to push and test the limits. ‘You don’t have a boyfriend. Oh… cool.’ While his visits to your house where becoming less and less, he still made efforts to see you. Such as filling out survey’s and projects you had, he assisted in giving insight to projects you were making… He even attended your graduation, where he asked you if you could be his friend.

If you knew what was to come next, he would’ve treaded carefully. Which is why, on the way to your house with Jeno, Min-hyung tries to shake the brutal images he has in his head of a fight that went down between him and… Jaemin. As time passes, his conscious mind’s memories gradually come back.

“Earth to Min-hyung!”

Min-hyung jolts up. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Ah dang, you’re really back. You’re spacing out again.” Jeno chuckles faintly. “Anyway, I wanted to ask you something deep. Personal. Do you… remember what happened before you went missing?”

He did. He does. He can now recall the whole day. The confrontation he had, which lead to… his so called ‘disappearance’. Instead of answering Jeno, he questions, “Could I be left alone with her?”

“Why?”

Min-hyung blinks. “I want to ask her something.”

Jeno doesn’t answer immediately, but he does hum out acknowledging Min-hyung. He looks again at the review mirror feeling nostalgia when looking at his friend. “Is it too soon if I say it’s good to have you back?”

Min-hyung smiles, especially when looking at the street and seeing a visible robot in purple walking down the street. He remembers those prototype machines. Prototype bots who managed the streets at night forbidding any violence. To think now, that he’s one of them has him unsettled, yet slowly succumbing to his new identity. He just can’t wait to see you.

“After you told me everything that happened in the office today… I have to tell you something.”

Jaemin shamefully holds his head down and gulps down. His hands are shaking but he tightly balls them as he prepares to admit the guilt that has been following him.

“I killed Min-hyung.”

There. He lets it all out at once. But your eyes can’t catch it- they don’t want to. You freeze and stare at him, your tears also freezing in shock. “What?”

Jaemin slowly looks up to you- it feels hard admitting it, but he has to. “I married you to get rid of that guilt, because he wanted you. But I wanted you more. I married you to prove that I was deserving. At some point the lines became blurred because I couldn’t live with myself for what I did. I tried to become him but I couldn’t. I hurt you in the process of trying to deal with what I did. I killed Min-hyung because he loved you.”

It’s a mouthful. You don’t know what your ears have just heard. “What?”

“I killed him.” Jaemin’s eyes are staggered on yours. You’re both tear filled and shaking, one in disbelief and shock, the other in relief yet guilt. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to leave him dead, I promised that I was gonna get help but, I didn’t know what to do.”

You choke and hold yourself back looking at Jaemin, goose bumps crawling all over your skin. “Jaemin… you did what?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Jaemin-” You get back and back away. “How could you?”

“I’m sorry-”

“You selfish monster-”

“I’m sorry-”

You struggle to breathe, your shaking body and foggy mind has you bumping into some shelves and some vases fall. You feel stick and you allow yourself to throw up, before you’re tearfilled and puffed face grabs some car keys and you leave the house. Jaemin doesn’t follow you, he falls victims to his tears as finally the truth is out. He cries as the memory of himself and Min-hyung come fresh in his mind. Min-hyung confronted him for lying for being with you. Jaemin offered to take Min-hyung out where they could talk about it. Min-hyung accepted, following him to his work place at night so that Min-hyung could fetch his wallet and bag. It’s when there were by the basement lad with no cameras did Jaemin threaten Min-hyung to leave you alone.

One thing led to another and a fight over you broke out. Jaemin remembers throwing the first punch out of anger when Min-hyung stated that you felt the same for him- the fist fight was fatal when Min-hyung landed one heavy punch right on Jaemin’s face. In anger Jaemin remembers pushing Min-hyung so hard that… he fell… against the desk. At first, Jaemin thought that Min-hyung was knocked out. But when checking the pulse and feeling nothing, he fled the scene. It didn’t help, that at the time, there was a national black out. The building’s surveillance was out, but the security was still there. He helped Jaemin out, he didn’t know that Min-hyung was down in the basement, bleeding out.

It took Doctor Lee Taeyong coming in the basement lab a few days later did he get the shock of his life. No one would believe him if he had no proof of how Min-hyung got there.

It’s scary looking back. Thinking of how your father must’ve felt seeing Min-hyung like that.

It’s past midnight and you’re driving harshly on the roads ignoring the nagging monitored voice in the car system warning you of the speed rate. One place in mind that you have right now for your blurred tears… is the lab.

Opening up the door to the lab, you’re surprised to find Mark… Min-hyung standing. He’s right in front of the pod with… clothes on. A black shirt with black sweatpants. He turns back by the sound of the door, and you watch his eyes show some zeal in seeing you. You’re breathless… you look like a crying swelling mess. A quick glance at your clothes and you see you’re still with your lab coat.

“You’re here.” He quietly confirms. A smile, a nervous one, gets on his face, but it’s mixed with something like fear or worry when looking at you. “Why are you crying?”

Your at a loss of words. You thought you’d find him asleep or even strapped down. You weren’t expecting for him to look… alive. Placing a finger on your face you quickly wipe the tears away and turn around about to leave and run.

“Wait…” His soft voice gets your attention. “Please don’t go.”

You don’t turn back, your face facing the door. You can’t believe it. You can’t believe that this is happening right now. It’s hard to digest what Jaemin confessed, it’s even harder to believe what your father did, but what’s most difficult, is the fact Mark is now Min-hyung. He’s alive. You’re conflicted, but hearing him has you remembering why you came here. You wanted to feel comforted.

“I…” You hear the smooth voice projecting. “I had expectations that you might come."

You feel warmth on your cheeks when hearing his voice. Is that Mark or… Min-hyung? You can’t even hide how weak your knees get by his voice… his presence. Him being alive is just… reassuring for you. You can’t help but think of your father and how he decided to save Min-hyung in the form of a humanoid. You’re thankful to have your father’s work comforting you.

You stiffly smile at that, you turn around, find the strength to take some steps forward. You can hear shoes from his side as well approaching you. You stop by the pod and turn on the machine getting out the statistics report… It doesn’t surprise you anymore when you see a fully complete brain wave merged with the machine components, fully synchronized. Min-hyung has been found in Mark, connected and living again. “You… were expecting me?”

"The probability of you coming in at this time was of an outcome of 1 in 4 chances." You don’t look at him, feeling your heart beating faster when feeling him behind you. His head serving strength for you. “After seeing your husband, he stated that you left. Jeno advised that we come back.”

“Where is he?” Your hands go behind your back as you simply stare at the empty pod, your main focus on the calming sound of Min-hyung’s voice.

“I don’t know,” He whispers. “Why did you run away from your home?”

You shake your head. “I never truly felt at home in a long time… since you disappeared. Since my father died.” Your ears water. “But right now I feel at home.”

Min-hyung manages a smile, stepping closer to you. “I wanted to see you… but I figured you came to see… I think you came to see… ‘Mark’ and if he’s okay. You’re probably wondering if Mark is still ‘alive’ or if I’m even real.”

That has you turning around, and your eyes take in the motion of the figure before you. Your breath is taken away at how a smile rests on his face. “I came to see you.” You admit with tears in your eyes. “I’m so mad, I’m so angry, but with you right now, I feel calmed… I’m sorry Min-hyung. For everything.” You whisper.

“It’s never been your fault.”

You tilt your head, eyes looking over him. “How are you feeling?”

“I can’t feel my heart. I can’t hear it beat. I can’t feel my veins. I can’t feel anything, but somehow I know I’m alive, because as I look at you, I can sense this joy coming over me.” He explains, not once allowing his eyes to look away from you. “How are you?”

You surprisingly snicker at the question, being taken aback by the question. “You really wanna know how I’m feeling?”

He nods his head. “Well, how can I start anything else without knowing if you’re… okay? With me, and everything going on.”

Just looking eyes with Min-hyung just sends so many feelings rushing to you. “I’m content with being able to see you.” You watch how he lifts his hand up and it comes over your face. Just feeling how warm it is, like actual skin has you carefully and gently holding onto his own hand. “

“Can you feel me? Your father did the impossible on me. This is now who I am, this is me. I’m real.” He looks between both your eyes. “I’m alive, just not… breathing.”

“You don’t even have to breathe to be alive. Just seeing you here, real is enough for me.” You carefully find your hand resting on his chest. “Jaemin told me what he did… and thinking of my father’s will to save you, has me in such understanding and even closure. What do you remember last?”

“You… presenting on stage. Introducing me as…” The expression dims down but his eyes are still on you. “Project M47 5. I remember all these hands touching me and experimenting on me.” he looks at his hand on your cheek. “I can also remember, holding your face, touching you… hugging you…” Loving you… He admits in his head.

You gulp, and draw closer. “And what did you think about it?” Because all this time that he’s disappeared, had you feeling empty. But now, you feel something, and you wanna know if he feels it too.

“I liked it,” He answers honestly. “A lot. I still do.” You feel a tingle on your hand when he holds it. “Do you still want to experiment on me?”

“No. I don’t have to, you’re too real.” You shake your head.

“What will you tell the others if we run away?”

“Runaway?” You question with a unconscious smile on your face. “We?”

“I wanna pick up where I left off, and I don’t know if I can do it in this body. Jeno said, if I leave now he won’t say a word. But I don’t want to leave without you…”

Your heart warms up. “For a long time I’ve just thought about your disappearance and how it’s affected me. But seeing you right now… has me…” You blink the tears away when softly, yet surely his generated lightly plumped lips are on yours.

You barely notice the weight of his hand on your face, but the warmth of it settles deep within you. The slight hesitation in the air almost feels like a lifetime, but then—his lips meet yours again. It’s different this time. The kiss is gentle, searching, as if testing whether this connection could be real.

At first, it feels surreal. The softness of his lips is not like the warmth you’re used to. It’s not flesh and blood; it’s something that hums with an almost mechanical precision. There’s no pulse, no rush of warmth that you expect from a human kiss. But somehow… it feels right. The pressure of his lips, the faintest touch of his breath against yours—it’s comforting in a way you never thought possible. It’s not the kiss of a machine, but something much deeper. His lips are synthetic, but they’re tender. His mouth moves with purpose, and the thought of him being alive, not just in form but in heart, fills the space between you.

You pull away slowly, breathless, your heart pounding not from the kiss itself, but from the realization that this is real. He is real. "I think I’m in love with you Min-hyung. I think I’m in love with a robot."

He shifts, his fingers brushing the side of your face, and for a moment, it feels like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you, the smile on his face, the way his eyes flicker from your lips to your eyes, the heat it creates all over your body is insane. “I needed to feel something, otherwise I wouldn’t want to live as a machine. And after that, I felt something.”

The finality of those words settles over you like a blanket, both heavy and warm. The difference between him and every other human fades with every second you spend in his presence. He’s alive in ways that go beyond his body. He’s alive because of the way he looks at you, the way his touch sends sparks through your skin, the way he makes you feel more than you ever thought possible.

“We don’t have to run away Min-hyung. You can live. It may be hard, but I don’t want you to disappear and live in hiding. Now that you’re found, I’m here with you. And I promise, I won’t let go.”

1 year later.

You work in a very prestigious organization were robots, cyborgs and humanoids are modelled and modified. Thousands of them walk on the streets, but none of them make your heart flatter like: Lee Mark.

Lee Mark is the first successful humanoid robot project. Built from the ground up, with thousands of blood, sweat and tears, arose a perfectly made human and machine infused together. Of course his origin still caused a bit buzz, but from him emerged similar prototypes of dying patients turned into cyborgs to further continue their life. Not only was he used as an example, but he made an impact again. Despite not being known as Lee Min-hyung anymore, Lee Mark was surely a favourite in this new futuristic world, proving and showing that anything is possible. The bridge between humans and machines.

So as you walk on the alter yet again in white, with a veil before your eyes and the hazy sight of Mark in a tux, you can’t help but feel so happy. Not only you, but Mark as well, with a composed frame but enlarged and proud eyes, feels that finally after so long he can finally…

breathe.

And that it’s no longer a dreamscape.

--fin--

76 notes · View notes

lucyandthepen · 1 year ago

Text

sweet cream, cold brew | lmh ( m )

something about mark lee keeps you up at night, and you’re pretty sure that it isn’t the lingering smell of espresso on his shirt.

alternatively: mark is shy until he isn’t.

read the second part here!

pairing: nerd!barista!mark x reader verse: college au rating: r ( minors, do not interact! ) warnings&tags: unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), fingering, slightly possessive/jealous dialogue, mark has a thing for tummy bulges because why not, implicitly that also means he has a big dick, a slight???? exhibitionism kink (not actually something that happens, only talked about), johnny exists in this simply to trigger something vaguely feral in mark, reader is a little bit assertive and schemes to get mark's attention, jaehyun is a nosy lil eavesdropper, i think that should be it?? word count: 26.4k

a/n: hello so this was a mess and honestly not a fic i would say showcases my best plot-wise but… what can I say apart from booty wurk mark has me in a chokehold and I needed to release some thoughts and feelings !!! please do not expect too much from the development of the story; i fear it’s quite long and choppy because my ideas were all over the place and i was wringing my hands and brain constantly and i was eager to get to the spicy parts !! this is also not beta’d/proofread, it’s currently almost 1am, and i’ve been writing this on and off for a full week with very few breaks so it honestly felt like a fever dream for me LMAO please forgive any oversights and mistakes; i’ll try to go back on them another day and fix them little by little! finally and …most importantly belated happy birthday, my beloved morkly!

p.s. this will probably be flagged as ‘mature’ by tumblr, which means there’s a high likelihood it won’t appear in tags or searches. please consider reblogging to boost the fic, if you feel so inclined!

You’ve heard tell of how caffeine has inherently addictive properties.

The more of it you have in your lifetime, the more likely you are to experience symptoms of withdrawal whenever you try to have orange juice for breakfast in its stead. It sounds bad, actually, considering most addictive substances are, but you suppose that its benefits somehow outweigh its milder drawbacks. You’re not much of a coffee connoisseur the way some people — see: your best friends, Yeji and Jisu — are, trying one cafe after the other in pursuit of being able to nominate the winning beans of 2023 (an annual heated debate they participate in for no better reason than their own slow and useless entertainment during their six-hour long breaks), but you do know you’ve only ever experienced good things from having a cup every so often: better energy, a more focused approach to mental activities, and the ability to drive through fifty percent of a road trip without needing pop punk music blasting out of your speakers to keep yourself alert.

The three of you are generally particular about the coffee you drink, only in different ways. While your friends have a tendency to demand only the best from any establishment — lest the staff hear fiery commentary about the flatness of the brew or the evident coarseness of the grind — you, on the other hand, are a singular individual of rather simple tastes. All you need to survive long days is a glass of vanilla sweet cream cold brew. No modifications to the sugar level or fancy new milk types are necessary; you’ll drink it as it’s served in a grande cup (or a venti, when things prove particularly grueling).

Of course, you’re strict about other things in the experience of consumption — like where it’s served and, more importantly, who serves it to you.

While Yeji and Jisu have rated the Liberal Arts building’s on-campus Starbucks branch as a five with the strict label of POEO — ‘passable on emergencies only’ — branding the menu as “nothing revolutionary” and criticizing most baristas for subpar brewery, you happen to be extremely drawn to the place. Initially, you may have argued that this has to do with the fact that it’s walking distance from most of your classes, confined to the same general compound on campus, so you can always grab a quick recharger whenever needed, no matter how short the timeframe to do so is. Sometime later on, you may have found yourself asserting that the layout of the cafe, albeit small, is very convenient, considering that every table is situated next to an electrical outlet, so you’re never out of battery (important to other students for their laptops and powerpoint presentations, important to you because you have an unhealthy obsession with passing time on TikTok, scrolling past video after video of ASMR girls clicking their twenty-inch long acrylics with their crazy candyland designs), and this makes you feel at ease.

A month ago, you finally came clean to yourself and, soon after, to your friends, and they came to understand, albeit begrudgingly and with no small amount of amusement, what made this Starbucks unbeatable in your eyes; it had one thing no other coffee shop could lay claim to.

What you know of Mark Lee is accrued from two major sources: long, surreptitious glances in the Modern World History class you share, and irritatingly brief interactions when you place your order from the other side of the counter behind which he stands, long fingers always poised to punch in your order at the speed of light. Sometimes, those encounters get cut even shorter when irate upperclassmen start prattling their orders out before you can even say anything past your own, except even this has its own consolation prize — an apologetic smile at you that seems only for you, although you’re not sure how much of this assumption is true. You’ll just believe it as you feel it.

And what you’ve learned about Mark Lee has funneled down into two key points for you: first, he is single, a fact you were clued into when a group of his friends came to the coffee shop and sat around the table next to you. You hadn’t been eavesdropping; they’d just been pretty loud, but you’d also perked your ears the moment the one everyone seemed to call “Hyuck” — you aren’t sure if it’s his full name or a nickname, and you don’t particularly care — had leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper about having a vague master plan to set Mark up with an old high school friend’s younger sister that he was just waiting to spring on said Mark, busy slaving away on their six impossible orders near the espresso machine.

You don’t really know what became of that plan, nor if anyone had telepathically been on your side to outright call it crazy (someone should have had a better reason than you, anyway) since the next moment, Hyuck’s voice becomes significantly louder when it orders the one named Jisung to collect the completed coffee and snacks waiting for them on the counter. However, you feel safe in the assumption that even if it had happened, no repercussions had followed, seeing as Mark still presently comes and goes from his shifts alone and in no clear hurry to meet any cute girls that are sisters of high school friends of his friends. Or, maybe you’re just ignoring what could be truth, but that’s whatever.

Second, you’ve learned that Mark Lee should not actually be your type — at least, in theory.

Saying you’re out of his league would be a bit juvenile, but if you had only so many words to describe the situation, you’d say so under duress. It isn’t so much that he’s beneath you in any way, but your interests and general social circles run different routes. Yours tend to be more classically patterned after constantly changing trends, and the people you interact with all seem to have similar goals; you like to call it ‘vibe networking,’ which, from experience, involves connecting with both groups and individuals that are equally aware that they will benefit in some way from any resulting acquaintanceship — whether it be by climbing the social ladder a couple of rungs or being able to call in a quick, off-the-charts favor for something very important and/or very exclusive down the road. You and your friends spend a significant amount of time in a year watching your style and image, something quite a lot of kids in the first couple of years of college tend to do, which means that while you don’t particularly like to spend your time following your grade trajectory, you do have quite a lot of pseudo-friends that all seem to offer something entertaining or helpful to you.

Mark, on the contrast, prefers to keep his circle very close to his heart, it seems — that which acts as a receptacle for all his interests. You can tell that he likes to be up to date less with trending movies and more with comic books, a separate beast of a world that’s rather unknown to you. More than once, you’ve overheard him chat with his friends about Spider-man Issue Number Whatever-It-Is or engage in somewhat lively (sometimes rowdy, thanks to the Hyuck fellow) discussions about some webtoon you’ve come to understand is called Solo Leveling, which seems to have to do with monsters and hunters — two things you know next to nothing about. You’ve also never seen Mark holding anything remotely close to a magazine; his hands are always filled with either a freshly opened comic or a beat-up textbook. Maybe once or twice, you’ve seen him on his phone, but when you peeked over (surreptitiously, of course) on those occasions, you were met only with brightly colored panels and a singular word: BAM.

In conclusion — you and Mark Lee live very different lives, likely never truly meant to intersect.

And yet, you want him — not even in a way that speaks only to your curiosity, but in a manner that feels slightly delusional. More than once, you’ve found yourself having to shut your jaw close after realizing you’ve been watching him steam milk with your mouth slightly agape. Maybe it’s his side profile, which gives you a great view of the way his jaw tenses every time he puts whipped cream on someone’s frappuccino. Maybe it’s his eyes, which always seem to twinkle like he’s harboring some special secret every time someone in line asks for his recommendation on how to spice their order up. Maybe it’s his hands, steady and agile, with just the right showing of veins through the skin to tell you they’ve probably got significant strength to them too. Or maybe it’s just his mind — that thing he always manages to show off in class, working faster than lightning even when the rest of you are in your natural eight-in-the-morning stupor.

Whatever the reason for your interest, Mark Lee makes sure the Liberal Arts building’s Starbucks has you as a regular customer.

You’re fully aware that this is the twenty-first century, which is why you could, as Yeji and Jisu have so kindly made known, simply ask him out. Under normal circumstances, you would have.

Unfortunately, in this particular area of your life, separate from all others, you’re something of a traditionalist.

Actually, you just want to know what Mark asking you out would look like. Curiosity has fully gotten the better of you — how can it not, with how he breaks eye contact with you the moment it happens by accident in class, or with how pleasantly and shyly he smiles when you say ‘hey’ to him once you’re about to order? You’d like to see, first-hand, as a recipient of the experience itself, what he would look like taking control of a particular situation like that — something someone like him, so mild-mannered and laid-back, never really seemed to do upfront.

You’d like to think you’ve given him clear signs. There’s a reason you always come in during his shift times, and it’s the same reason for why you have the same damn drink from the menu over and over again despite not even caring too much about coffee in the first place (something he admittedly doesn’t know and probably wouldn’t puzzle out, given how often you’re in that Starbucks, anyway). It’s that you want him to remember you.

Selfishly, it’s that you want him to think just a little bit more about you every single day.

But if he does, Mark has never made it very clearly known; apart from taking your order in his genial customer service demeanor or letting a look of brief recognition pass his face over when you cross paths in the hallways, he’s never really shown heightened inquisitiveness about you. For all your differences, only you seem to actually care.

Frankly, that frustrates you, because if you have to think about him unhealthily, it would only be right for him to do that for your sake too. Still, you’ll shrug that hit on your pride off for as long as you can get his attention one way or another.

All you really need is for your plan to pan out as well as you think — and hope — it will.

The thing is, you’re not even that bad at math. You’ve never really excelled at it, of course, but you wouldn’t go so far as to say you’re in dire need of help from anyone — the kind of help that feels like babysitting, at least.

However, Mark Lee doesn’t know that, and you’re not compelled to make that fact known to him when you notice that he’s leaning on the counter with his elbows, shoulders rolled forward and head bent down. He’s twirling his ballpoint in hand, wrist hovering over a worksheet, and you’re briefly distracted by the rapidly moving shadow underneath it.

His head snaps up when you gently knock on the counter, and the rest of his body follows suit, straightening as he shoves the paper away, one edge crumpling in on itself as it meets resistance in the form of the pastry display glass.

“Hey — hi, _________.” He knows your name, says it easily, and while you’d like to believe it’s because of his unprecedented interest in you, you know that it’s just because you’re always here and always having him write your name on the side of your cup. “Can I get you the usual?”

There’s no particular reason you order what you do; maybe it’s just rooted in the fact that when you first asked Mark for a recommendation, he said that the Vanilla Sweet Cream Cold Brew was pretty good, and you were inclined to believe him (while pointedly ignoring the fact that it was, at the time, a new item all of the baristas were required to push to indecisive, slightly moony-eyed customers such as yourself). Whatever the case, you found the drink generally palatable, and you were also able to score the first of many smiles that fed into your two-semester-long infatuation with him, so it was basically a win-win scenario for all. He even got to do his job by getting some rube (see: you) into trying a new product.

“Hey, Mark.” You’ve long since given up pretending that you don’t know his name and have to check the tag on his cute green apron (why is it cute? You don’t know. It’s the same, standard, Starbucks green, but Mark makes it look homely and natural, somehow). You’ve been here way too many times over the last academic year for a nonchalant, were you talking to me? approach to work, anyway. “That, plus a lemon loaf, if you don’t mind. What’ve you got there?”

His eyes follow the trail of yours over to his wrinkled worksheet. “Oh — no, sorry. It’s nothing.”

“Is it secret?” Your bottom lip juts out, and you see his Adam’s apple bob dangerously, a small telltale sign of minute nervousness before he lets out a short laugh. “Didn’t know we kept stuff from each other.”

You don’t know what makes you say that so naturally. The both of you don’t do much beyond exchanging pleasantries.

“We — uh, well, it’s just a worksheet. For Park Hyosung’s class. College algebra?”

“I’m in Kim Junghwa’s. Can I have a look? I want to know if you’re suffering just as much as I am.”

He pauses, considering your request for a moment, likely wondering if there’s any harm in it before he smooths the paper out and turns it towards you. His handwriting’s a little messy, but his solutions are extremely neat. You see, like, one erasure, max. You also don’t see anything that interests you — except the name written at the top. Still, you can see at a general glance that more than half of his answers are correct; the logic of his organization is way too elegant and his writing’s too sure to be anything else. You whistle low, and his eyebrows shoot up.

“Something wrong?”

“Pretty much the opposite. How is it that you’re doing this without breaking a sweat?”

“Oh, well — it’s not…” He doesn’t even know how to brag. Yet another item in the perpetually growing list of things you find cute about Mark Lee. “I mean, anyone… can?”

“I must not be anyone then.” You meet his quizzical look with a wry smile. “Either you guys are leaps and bounds ahead, or I’m really not going to make it through this semester.”

Another silence passes, just for a fraction of a second — short enough to be passable to others, but long enough for you to wonder if your humor code isn’t up to par with the rest of the world’s — before Mark’s chuckling lowly. His large palm comes down, covering a majority of his answers in the process.

“You’re kidding. I’m sure you’re doing just fine.”

“Mark, look at this face.” You gesture to your evidently dumbfounded, blank expression. “Does this look like the face of someone that’s doing just fine?”

You’re pleased to hear another laugh from him; you don’t know if he really finds you funny or if he’s just the type to be easily amused. You don’t want to know, anyway; assuming is better than actually finding out.

“That bad, huh?” He slides the worksheet away again, like he’s afraid his correct answers are going to offend you into leaving the cafe. Instead, his hands start working on your order, grabbing a cup and scrawling the shorthand of the drink on one of the little boxes. “Ever think about getting a tutor, maybe? If you really feel like you’re drowning, that is.”

“A tutor? I guess that depends. Are you free on weeknights?”

The marker makes a soft screeching sound as he drags it down with too much force, ruining the penmanship of your name. Mark takes a moment to stare at the mistake on the plastic before he looks at you, pointing the rim of the cup towards himself. “Sorry — am I free—?”

“You said I should get a tutor, right?”

“I thought — no, sorry, I was thinking more like one of those department-assigned tutors you can ask the faculty for, or something.”

“Oh. Are you not one of them?” You sigh, albeit a little over dramatically. Thankfully, he doesn’t really cotton onto your acting, too caught up in befuddlement at the turn of the conversation. “That’s a bummer. I was kinda hoping that if I was going to ask for help, I’d get an actual genius. You know — someone like you?”

You can tell by Mark’s expression that he’s torn between denying your compliment again and responding to your actual question; he looks both relieved and miffed when the student behind you clears her throat.

“Sorry, but— you know that there’s a line, right?”

You both apologize, Mark’s much more sincere than your own, and you step aside. His gaze follows you for a moment before it snaps back to the next customer, his voice abandoning that bemused uncertainty it had taken up with you. You don’t really mind; as far as you’re concerned, any dent in his barista persona when he talks to you is a step in the right direction.

You hang around the pick-up area, receipt in hand, watching Mark clear the line before moving to the actual stations near the kitchen area. There’s a concentration on his face that you find all the more attractive; he has a habit of chewing on his bottom lip when he’s trying to focus on getting the drizzle just right inside the cup’s cylinder.

He tends to try his best at everything, you figure. Not an unattractive quality — not by a long shot.

Mark finishes your drink first; the milk’s still only seeping, cloudy, into the coffee when he brings it over. He doesn’t even have to call your queue number, opting to meet your eye — albeit slightly nervously — instead. You reach out to hold the cup, a calculated move that allows you to brush hands against his without him being able to pull back on instinct. He doesn’t, nor does he really seem to want to, but his jaw tightens as a flush creeps along the curve of his ears.

“You really won’t help me?”

Your question’s abrupt, almost a little demanding, even if your voice is sweet. You’re not above asking this much, anyway, even if you technically want him to make the first move. The redness sinks down to his earlobes.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t really say anything,” you tease. The cup’s on the counter now, so he can easily relinquish it to you at this point, but he still hesitates, only one hand slipping out from under the heat of your palm. He uses it to rub the back of his neck, chuckling softly, and you take this as a green light. “What time does your shift end?”

“Five-thirty. You sure you wouldn’t want someone better?”

You pull your cup slowly to yourself, and his hand, still lightly trapped by your own, follows for a few inches before he’s withdrawing, the counter between the two of you forcing the distance. A smile follows the shaking of your head, and you take a small sip of the drink before you respond simply.

“There’s no one better than you.”

Mark is a prompt kind of person; you learn this when, at five-thirty, he comes over to your table, tugging his apron off over his head. Of course, you might attribute that to his overall personality, but the fact that you spend the remaining two hours of his shift casting him glances from the left side of the coffee shop might have also been a contributing factor. The looks you give him aren’t even furtive; they’re deliberately long, so you never miss whenever he looks over to you from time to time.

He doesn’t hold eye contact for very long (he does it well enough when he’s talking to customers, but it’s not like you’re ordering another cold brew from across the room at that point), but you can read snippets of his thoughts through the fleeting gaze exchanges. He’s curious as to why you’re asking for help, now, of all times, when the semester’s more than halfway over. He’s surprised that you asked him, of all people, because he just can’t conceive of a world that isn’t within a television show where this kind of abrupt, overt request makes sense. He’s flattered that you even asked him out of the blue. He’s equal parts anxious and eager to know what’s meant to happen after his shift, once he starts fulfilling your request.

Most of all, he’s unsure if he’s reading you right — if what it feels like you’re doing is something he’s attaching too deep a meaning to. If he’s right in reading your signs.

You don’t really mind it; you like knowing that Mark somehow wears his heart on his sleeve, even if he tries to remain neutral for the sake of appearances. You also bask quietly in the fact that he’s looking at you twice as much as he ever has in the time you’ve loosely known each other. Still, his bubbling confusion and inquisitiveness seem to be interfering with the rest of his work, especially when you notice that he’s been wiping down the surface of a table two down from where you are for more than seven minutes.

In the hopes of easing whatever tension might be in his heart, you offer him a small smile, but that’s only met with his eyes immediately glazing over and inching a couple of centimeters above your forehead, where the story of Starbucks’ origins is drawn out in a faux-manga style. He pretends to find it interesting, as if he hasn’t seen it a million times from coming into this establishment day after day — you know it well enough, and you don’t even have to, considering you don’t work here — and you can’t do anything but hold back your laughter.

A small part of you says you should just give him the affirmative answer to his biggest question, but every other cell in your body says that it’s no fun if he doesn’t ascertain it for himself.

He has his school bag and textbook in tow when he approaches, taking the seat across from you. There’s a steely resolution on his face, like he’s been emotionally preparing himself for such a daunting task, but it eases up the moment you laugh lightly.

“You don’t have to act like I’m going to eat you.”

“I’m still not sure why you’re suddenly asking me to help you,” he admits. He’s also very honest, you note. Again, not an unattractive trait. “I’m not complaining. I just didn’t think you even had an opinion of me.”

“Why’s that?” You’re genuinely surprised. Mark drums his fingers on the front of his textbook, thoughtful — less for the sake of thinking what to say and more for the sake of considering how to say it. It’s clear he wants to avoid calling attention to the fact that before now, you two have had no reason to run the same track, let alone sit together and talk at a coffee shop, as if you’ve always been the best of friends.

“Genuinely just thought I was the guy who gave you your afternoon coffee every day,” he finally settles. Your eyes widen, and another laugh escapes you — a little louder this time, enough to call the attention of a couple of jumpy freshmen nearby.

“Well — let me put it this way.” You lean over slightly, cupping your chin in your palm. “Was I just the girl you made coffee for every day until now?”

There are clear cogs turning in his head; his eyes unfocus slightly as he thinks of the possibilities. His silence suddenly makes you somewhat nervous; your tone had been confident, and you’d only said that to prove a point, to push him in the right direction, but you realize that you hadn’t previously factored in the possibility that he might simply say yes — or, worse, say no just to avoid hurting your feelings.

You watch his lower lip curl in; he uses his tongue to smooth out the skin that’s slightly dried from work fatigue. You would much rather it peeked out, so you could imagine it against your own. His response is mumbled in a lower register, but you catch some key syllables — didn’t… not … stranger — pretty … you?

“Sorry?” You ask patiently, but the fact that he turns red and laughs again — something you realize is not only a trademark of his personality but also downright delicious of him to be doing — is all the answer you need to let the apprehension seep from your shoulders. “I didn’t catch that.”

Mark clears his throat. “No, I… didn’t think of you that way. I mean… you’re my classmate.”

“Sure,” your tone’s breezy, but the somewhat sloppy confirmation of interest in you makes your heart soar. He just needs more of a push. “And we’re basically friends, right?”

“Yeah.” His voice is unsure at first, like he can’t seem to wrap his head around the concept. You can tell that Mark’s notion of friendship is likely based on shared interests, of which you admittedly have none. Technically, if you were his friend, you’d spend less time just telling him the exact same order every single day and more time sitting around a table trying to learn how to play Magic: The Gathering with him. Still, he takes one long look at your grin and suddenly gains confidence in his next words, as if it somehow convinces him that the briefness of your old conversations had been a mutually agreed-upon thing and not the product of social distance between the two of you. “Yeah. We’re friends.”

“Right. Friends help friends, don’t they? I’d definitely feel more comfortable having a friend teach me than some stuffy upperclassman I don’t know.”

You see Mark’s lips move slightly, in such small movements you could have imagined it as breathing if you didn’t care too much (which you do). He mouths, to himself — friends help friends. For some reason, that boosts his conviction even further, and he nods.

“Makes sense. Well — for as long as you don’t mind me, then.”

“Mind? I asked you, so I should be saying that.”

“I’d never mind — I mean, of course I don’t mind.” He’s quick to correct himself, and you have to stop your own hand from reaching out to try to satisfy your curiosity, the desire to know just how hot his cheeks get when he blushes. “More than happy to help, actually.”

“And I’m more than happy to be here.” You beam at him, and he mirrors your smile. You don’t know what it is about the look on his face — the brightness in his eyes, or the slight lift of his eyebrows, maybe — but it gives you the impression that he might be feeling at least a fraction of what you are: the feeling of your heart lifting off a few inches from your rib cage. “Since we’re on the same page, I hope — should we get to it?”

From the moment that Mark opens his textbook to a chapter on inverted parabolas, he assumes a personality you feel you haven’t seen from him before. You realize that you really do know him in only two limited capacities — his classroom persona that seems to really only view himself and the material, focused on the board and the professor’s words (even up until the useless anecdotes) to absorb as much information as possible, and his more genial customer service form, always happy to assist in the trained, easygoing way you’ve come to meet so often.

Right now, he’s a blend of both, yet somehow neither all at once. He’s quick to catch the parabolas you draw, either wrongly or downright poorly. Despite initial hesitation, he always manages to say something; there’s already a pattern to how he does it, from his slightly awkward, “Ah, sorry, actually —” to the way his finger traces over what you’ve written, outlining the right curve. You find his interruptions so endearing that you start drawing them wrong purposefully — not enough for him to realize your schemes in their entirety, but enough to cast you a few amused glances, like he can’t imagine why you’d map out such an absurd graph. You get the feeling he wants to actually laugh at how ridiculous you’re acting, but he can’t tell if you’re seriously struggling or not, so he settles for a smile he thinks he does well in keeping to himself, but that you catch anyway. He’s patient, even when you have to rip out pages from the back of his notebook because of your ‘mistakes,’ like he’s still catering to your request for an extra pump of syrup for your coffee on sleepy days.

But there’s also that side to him that comes out when he suddenly remembers the distance between you that, before today, had felt unlikely to be closed. It peaks at odd moments, like when you’re borrowing his pen because yours is currently holding your slowly unraveling bun up, and your fingers brush against his. It surfaces abruptly when you lean in to watch what he’s drawing until he realizes how close you are, arm lightly grazing his, and his pen freezes, ink blotting on the paper for a second. It’s in those times that you can almost hear his brain churning out questions — like he’s wondering if you’re just oblivious or if you’re doing something on purpose that he can’t quite believe. Like he wants to ask you what’s on your mind, but he just doesn’t know how.

If he asked, you would reply without missing a beat. The answer, after all, is simple (him). But Mark never raises the question, only does something without fully acknowledging what he’s doing — the adjustment of his glasses on the bridge of his nose, the ruffling of his hair as though to shake off his thoughts, the clearing of his throat to normalize his tone before he explains something you’ve just asked about. There’s always that light tinge of pink to his face that makes him look even more endearing, and it fades and returns every so often for the better part of two hours.

By the time he rubs oncoming fatigue out of his eyes, the sun has already set; there are far fewer people around you at this time, and for as much as you like spending time with him and breathing in the scent of his shirt — always a tinge of Downy, barely cutting through the much more overpowering scent of espresso and sugar — your back has begun hurting from your front-heavy posture and determination to have your face as close as rationally possible to Mark’s. Still, you don’t miss out on the fact that the act of him cracking his neck to relieve tension makes your lips curl inward, trying to stifle an inappropriate noise in reaction to the view.

“I feel like I talked your ear off,” he pipes up, sounding a bit sheepish. “Sometimes it’s hard to know when to stop once you’ve gotten started. I’m just hoping I didn’t bore you to death.”

“Meanwhile, I’m here hoping you aren’t sick of my questions already.” You smile, closing your notebook and hanging the clip of your pen on the spiral. Your arms stretch up first, followed by your back, a light twist to relax your posture into normalcy again. Mark’s breathing falls quiet, like he’d been preparing to say something in response but had let it die in the back of his throat instead. You let your eyes drop, expecting to see him looking at you, as he mostly has been — on and off — since his shift ended, but his eyes are far lower than yours, the telltale redness now growing in evident splotches across his cheeks.

The hem of your shirt has ridden up; while there’s nothing outrageous about it, there’s a short expanse of skin that it reveals, for a brief moment. His eyes are slightly glossy, brow furrowed like he’s trying to find a solution to something he can’t fully understand. You’re not even sure about what he could really be looking at, or if there’s something he’s just thinking of that caught his attention while his eyes focused on a rather unfortunate spot. To test your theory, you suck in your stomach slightly alongside an inhale.

It should be objectively funny to watch Mark blink unevenly, left eye going first before his right tries to catch up, but you manage to stifle your laughter — poorly, though, because you end up coughing a little and breaking him out of his strange trance. You avert your eyes quickly enough for him to look vaguely relieved that you hadn’t caught him looking. So he thinks, at least.

“Anyway.” You feel bad that you have to tear his mind away from whatever faraway land it must be trying to burrow a hole in; the dazed expression on his face dims into hastily hidden embarrassment. You don’t want him to feel awkward, so you just busy yourself with packing up, making an unnecessary show of stuffing your notebook back into your bag as if it isn’t half-empty at this point. “I really appreciate you taking the time to help me.”

“Any time.” His first attempt is a little raspy, maybe from overuse of his voice today, so he clears his throat and tries again. A slow smile builds on your lips. “Any time, really. I’m glad that this is actually helping you; you pick things up surprisingly fast.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah. Give it a couple of weeks, and you’ll probably be ready to tackle it on your own again, I’m sure.”

He smiles reassuringly, but all you can think about is how that’s not good. You should pretend to be a little dumber next time, or this will end much too prematurely.

The next five minutes pass in silence; you don’t expect to be knee-deep in conversation anyway since, as much as you try to convince him, you aren’t actually anywhere close to being those kinds of friends yet. There’s an unspoken rule to the give and take of things, where he pauses for you to get an item off the table and push it into your bag before he does the same with his own belongings. Neither of you really intersect paths, save for the moment you both grab your phones and stand at the same time.

His jaw falls open like he’s preparing to say something, then shuts as if he’s better decided against it. You decide to take the initiative to say what you’re assuming he wants to. “Same time, same table?”

“Oh — uh, yeah, for sure.”

You want to ask him to walk out with you. You want to lace your fingers with his, tug him out, and kiss him under the green and white glow of the sign outside. You want to know if kissing his collarbone means you’ll taste a hint of coffee. You think about doing it all somehow, especially since he’s fighting back a slight smile at the promise of tomorrow.

But it just isn’t the right time.

Instead, you place a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. The slow movement of his throat — yet another hard swallow — isn’t lost on you, and his eyes land on where the two of you connect. With a grateful smile, you bid him a soft goodbye, taking your leave first.

You don’t look back — at least, not until you’re fully in the cover of the darkness outside. On the gravel path, just out of reach of the lamplight, you chance one last glance back into the store. Mark is still rooted to the same spot, his backpack slung over one shoulder, staring at the table like he’s dissociating from what just happened — like he can’t believe the last couple of hours.

Your smile grows when you see his own, and his hand comes around to the back of his neck, rubbing it lightly like it gives him small comfort to let him know that it was real.

Baby steps, you remind yourself. You’ve already got one foot in the door, after all.

As the days trickle by, you fall into a more comfortable standing with Mark; there’s a routine to your meetings that seems to eliminate the initial and abrupt awkwardness of that first day. You come into that Starbucks at four, greet Mark, who doesn’t ever have to ask for your order, and spend the next hour and a half slowly sipping on it until the ice has thinned and watered down your drink substantially. In that time, you allow yourself to do whatever you want (as if you’ve ever done otherwise anyway), and what you usually want the most is a good view of him. You therefore use most of the minutes you have on hand to regard him from different angles — from the side when he’s frothing milk, upfront when he turns to leave cups on the pick-up counter, from the back when he’s clearing tables — interspersed with moments of checking your TikTok feed, clearing group chat messages, and sometimes re-curling your bangs with a portable iron from the school’s co-op center, a relatively new purchase you tote around these days. You do essentially anything in between to avoid acting too suspicious while he works.

Sometimes, you catch Mark’s eye too; the more your meetings increase in number over the course of a few weeks, the more deliberately he looks over at you, and the longer it lasts. You feel like you’ve made significant progress when your gazes lock and he smiles slightly, albeit a bit unsurely, instead of turning away like he used to. The other day, he’d even passed by while apologizing for how long you always waited for him — not that you ever minded, something you made a point to clarify with him before he walked away, carrying a couple of chairs from the back room with him to replace rickety ones.

That he’s able to transport them easily, as if he’s lugging a bag of apples from the grocery, does not escape your watchful eye.

What you like the most is that you start to learn more about him in a way that isn’t fueled only by your expectations and, therefore, limited by your imagination. You find out that he’s from a close-knit family with a rather cushy background, and this barista job is just for interest funding and experience, in that exact order. Most of his earnings are funneled into the things he collects, which apparently isn’t limited to comic books and special edition blu-rays with director’s cut but also a rather stupendous amount of PopMart blind box figurines. Apparently, he particularly likes the Skullpanda series even if he hasn’t completed it yet; your last session together had adjourned thirty minutes earlier than usual so that he could catch a pre-rush hour inner circle train to Hongdae, where the flagship store was set to open on that day. He’d promised to show you his pulls (as long as they weren’t embarrassing dupes). You learn that he likes to listen to loud music when he studies to stimulate his mind, and he has a playlist that’s just a jumble of songs from Punk Goes Pop volumes that makes him feel empowered for some absurd reason, like he’s going against the grain. You don’t really get it, but you do like that spiced-up rendition of Ariana Grande’s Problem that he let you listen to once.

Of course, there are things that you find out not through conversation but through continued, closer observation. You notice that he likes to put on chapstick even if his lips aren’t particularly dry, but he does worry on them often, most especially when he’s thinking hard about something. He has a habit of saying honestly… at the start of every other sentence, as if he’s concerned you won’t take his word on anything, even though he’s just talking about how unnaturally hot it was at noon despite it still being spring. He has long eyelashes that you’re equal parts attracted to and jealous of, and he bites the inside of his cheek whenever he wants to pep himself up after grueling shifts. He plays beats you’re not even sure he knows he’s creating against his knee with his fingers, so enthusiastic and consistent in this habit that you want to offer your thigh instead. His shoulders always go first before he laughs, and he does this thing where he raises his hand to cover his mouth at the start of it, which is a shame, because you’d do anything to keep seeing him smile like that — or, better yet, to be the reason for it.

Then there are those things you notice he tries to hide. He always turns his face halfway to the side when he blushes, something he seems to do without fail every time you smile at him. He has to temper the intensity of his grin when you take the time to compliment him on how cool his shirt is, or how nice his hair looks today, or how smart he is, like he doesn’t want you to know how good it makes him feel even if you want him to feel good about it, around you, because of you. Sometimes he denies it for the sake of responding, and his voice always lilts on the first syllable in his refusal to accept what you say, even though he knows you won’t take it for an answer.

And after a couple more careful experiments, you notice that Mark, out of the many things he’s interested in, seems to have a particular thing for your stomach.

You don’t know if it has anything to do with him not really seeing much of it in real life in his own time or if he just has his own kind of fixation on it, but you start to cotton on by the fourth time you meet. An hour of being hunched over a table that’s not at the greatest height in relation to your neck and torso has you stiff, and you’d leaned back in your chair, arms pulling to the air, hoping your spine might feel like realigning if you exerted enough tension pressure that way. Your shirt hadn’t ridden up this time, considering it had been tucked into your jeans, and it was because of this that you’d caught a flicker of something new in his face that you hadn’t seen before.

You could have sworn it looked like disappointment.

Of course, he hides it quickly, as he does with most of his emotional candor, but it’s enough to make you suspicious — enough to make you wonder if Mark is also just keeping something to himself. Or maybe you’re just projecting your own presently secretive nature onto him. Regardless, you think it’s odd that whenever you stand up or stretch, his eyes almost immediately fall to your midriff, like he wants to challenge your clothing into a staring contest before he thinks better of it.

You don’t mind, anyway. He can look as much as he likes. Maybe when the weather’s warmer, you’ll even cater to that interest and wear a crop top. Hopefully, that’ll be the push he needs to act on human instinct and ask you out or, like… bend you over. Maybe.

You’re often plagued with these kinds of thoughts in between the ones you try to keep as family-friendly as possible — now, more so than ever.

Sometimes, it’s easier, especially when you’re caught up in talks with him; despite the fact that he doesn’t seem like much of a conversationalist when it comes to generic matters, when either he or you are enthusiastic about a particular topic, he has a tendency to get carried away. There’s nothing impure about how his eyes light up when you remember to ask him about the movie he saw with his friends over the weekend or the way he hums old Nickelodeon cartoon theme songs under his breath whenever he’s looking for a page in the textbook. It’s more of a situation where you’ll observe something and immediately run with it despite it being an objectively normal action.

Like right now, as you’re watching him turn his pen between his fingers. Now, while he’s shaking his knee in mild impatience, as if he’s trying to will the answer to the worksheets you’ve both been trying to get through for the better part of the day faster. You’d made copies of the problems your professors had assigned and exchanged them under the premise of being able to practice more intensely.

However, whereas Mark is actually focused on solving, you’re just watching him out of the corner of your eye, wondering if he’s ever been told that his fingers are fuck-worthy on a singular, unique level or if it’d feel good for you to ride the thigh he’s currently moving, jeans and all. You consider the feeling of his warm palms on your bare waist as you do it, and you end up wondering if that’s what crosses his mind whenever he sneaks glances at you, too.

You’d know the answer to all those things if he’d fucking ask you out. Maybe you could do it after all. Maybe you should, instead of relying on slowly increasing the probability over such a long period of time. Maybe if you asked nicely, Mark might pull the shades down on the storefront windows and rail you against the glass.

You’re so lost in thought that it genuinely startles you when he plops his textbook over the worksheet, rattling your eraser dangerously close to the edge of the table. You’re still clutching your heart while he rubs his eyes a little too violently.

“Can’t,” he groans, and his neck gives into the weight of his head, allowing it to loll backward. “I feel like the numbers are just melting into each other. I swear, I thought I could read words out of them.”

“Maybe we were a little too ambitious with the double worksheet agenda,” you admit, even though you’ve barely gotten past half of yours and certainly haven’t touched a single item on his. “Should we call it a day for now?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, although he still takes the time to encircle his final answers before clapping his palms to his cheeks (an act that has your mind dangerously close to wandering off inappropriately again) to wake himself up. “Woah. I didn’t even notice how dark it is already. I’d say time flies when you’re having fun, but I’m not too sure about the ‘fun’ part of it…”

You trace his gaze towards the glass; the moon’s already out, surrounded by a smattering of low-light stars. You hadn’t realized how late it had gotten, probably because your mind had been on R-18 mode for most of the afternoon. Also, the days are getting generally shorter, but that fact doesn’t make you feel as embarrassed, at least.

“You got a ride?”

The question once again shocks you out of your small trance, and you turn back to him with wide eyes. “Well — no. Wait, I didn’t know you had a car. Why’d you take the subway, then?”

“Oh — no, sorry, I… don’t.” He looks suddenly sheepish, eyes dropping to the shiny surface of the table for a moment before they snap back up, as if he’s actually actively reminding himself to look at you. “I was wondering if you wanted me to — actually, more than that, are you going home already? Not that you need to stay; it’s not that important, but…”

You try to gloss over the fact that he had just been about to initiate another huge step in the right direction (i.e. offering to walk you home) by beaming at him, maybe a little too widely, if only to mask your disappointment at the sudden shift in conversation. “I have nothing waiting at home for me but a sandwich dinner and Singles Inferno, so hit me with whatever it is.”

“Oh, cool.” His lips turn up, and the corners shake, this show of happiness once again tamped down by his own inexplicable desire to maintain a safe distance. How are you supposed to tell him you’re desperate to bridge that gap without using those exact words? “I came from the flagship store yesterday — the one in Hongdae that I told you about?” He allows the smile to widen slightly when you nod in genuine understanding. “Got the last six boxes of the collection I’ve been trying to finish.”

You whistle appreciatively. “Can I ask you for a loan on my next phone bill? You know, once I’ve upgraded to something pricier.”

“Nah — just itching to complete the set,” he laughs. You wonder if he’s been doing that more often because he knows its crippling effect on you, though you doubt he’s that sly. Again, maybe you’re just projecting too much of your own motivations onto him. “This was probably about two months of saving up combined.”

“No new Iron Man issues to look out for, then?” Your voice is warm even though it takes on a teasing tone; Mark’s hand rubs the back of his neck, and his expression is a little sheepish, but you’re happy that the times he used to go completely quiet, opting only to blush at your attempts to act more familiar with him are pretty much gone now.

“Maybe next month.” You also like that he doesn’t really treat his hobbies as secrets, neither out of shame nor snobbishness. He explains these things to you the same way he does the topics you study — with an air of contentedness, like he’s happy someone listens to him without interrupting. On your end, you have no qualms with listening to his voice for hours, wondering when he’ll stop using it to greet you when you come through the door and when he’ll start saying your name in a way that makes you feel like you’re the only one he sees whenever you’re near. It’s a win-win situation (sort of). “I was actually debating between this collection and a really rare copy of Spi— well, never mind that. I just thought — since you were asking me a bit about blind boxes last time. You know, if you wanted to. With… me.”

As much as he’s become comfortable talking to you about things that don’t involve coffee orders and school, you can’t say that you aren’t doing your fair share of the work in connecting the dots; the demand for your efforts is exponentially higher in moments like this, when you think he’s trying to ask you something but can’t seem to find less-than-eager words to avoid what he thinks might spook you.

Luckily, he augments his fragments with action; reaching into his backpack — which you notice seems to be bulkier than usual — he starts extracting small brown boxes, all with the same design; it seems, for lack of better words, aesthetically gothic, and you reach out to pick one up, turning it over and examining the print on each side with vague interest. Mark starts laying them out on top of each other until there’s a small, somewhat unstable pyramid in front of him, then shifts his attention fully to you, just as you’re putting the box in your hand atop all the rest.

“I’d love to.” You beam as he does, and there’s a wondrous relief in his eyes that tells you he’s glad you manage to catch onto his words — or lack, thereof — surprisingly well. “For as long as you don’t blame me for any bad draws.”

“The contents have already been decided by my own hand — sort of,” he chuckles. “Point is, I would never do that to you. But I won’t lie; I kind of want to rely on your luck a little more.”

“What makes you think I’d have any of that running through my system?”

“Not sure — beginner’s luck, maybe? You just kind of look like one of those kinds of people to me — like… you’re just made of good things.”

You don’t know how to take this compliment; on the one hand, it’s easily one of the sweetest things Mark has ever said to you that doesn’t involve anything with actual sugar content. On the other, you know you’re not as lucky as he makes it sound, considering you’re still striking out on getting past the borderline of friendship with him. All you can do is smile, nodding and making to move closer to him by sliding into the next seat.

It’s hard to ignore the sight of him stiffening; something like surprise mingled with both fear and interest flashes strong across his face, but you don’t do anything to acknowledge the slight change in atmosphere, choosing to settle down comfortably and clap your hands. “So. What are the rules? What can I do, and what can’t I?”

“Uh.” His throat constricts at the right moment, the syllable getting caught and causing him to clear his throat. You know that this is the nearest you’ve ever been to him, the sleeve of your shirt tickling his arm. Upon closer, albeit brief inspection, you note that he’s also rather veiny. That doesn’t do your impurity any favors. “Not… really rules, or anything like that. Just — these are the ones I’ve been looking for. Not that you can really control it, but in case you were curious about that.”

You squint intently at the scaled-down images he points out. There’s one that looks like a penguin caught in an oil spill; another that seems to be in a polar bear costume, dozing; and — “What’s… halo? Halo…bios?”

“It just means marine life,” he answers quickly, like the thought means close to nothing to him to know something that obscure. Whoever said that smart is the new sexy wasn’t joking. “Like… all things that live in the ocean, that kind of thing.”

“And you know this because?”

He pauses, looking thoughtful. “I’m not sure. I guess I must have just learned it when I was curious about what it meant some time ago. Isn’t that how we all learn things?”

You shake your head incredulously, and he smiles a little apologetically. “You never cease to amaze me.” Your nail drums against the silhouette of one with a question mark on it. “What’s this supposed to be? Can you draw your own figurine, or something?”

“No.” He’s clearly amused, but his expression’s still patronizing enough for you to not feel too bad about saying something idiotic. “It’s a secret design — a money drainer, basically. You could buy a full set of this and still not get it. Some people will open hundreds without any luck, so it’s really rare.”

“You don’t want it?”

“I try not to get too caught up in the secret thing,” he admits. “Otherwise…”

“No rare print comic books for the rest of your life, basically?”

He taps his nose, and you both share another laugh. It’s nice, you think, to have come this far — to be someone Mark can share his interests and thoughts with. You may have been stretching the word to its limit when you first punched your way into his social life and called yourself his friend, but it feels more real now, more natural to think about and say. Even if he still sometimes seems to be hyperaware of the gap between the both of you, there’s no denying, at least, that it’s been significantly reduced, and this much is a testament to that.

“Well, leave it up to me. I’ll let all of this beginner’s luck rub off on you,” you announce with overflowing albeit unfounded confidence.

You both decide to open a box each at the same time; Mark suddenly panics and asks you not to unseal the foil bag right away without looking at the card inside first, earning him one slightly alarmed look followed by a burst of laughter at his pained expression when you pretend to rip open the packaging. Comparing pulls, you identify them using the set chart — your luck doesn’t seem to be operating at full capacity yet because you can only offer him the card of one that looks like a floppy pigeon, which he responds to with a slightly apologetic grimace before saying he’s already pulled that thrice in the past. He, on the other hand, is turning the card of the polar bear over in his palm, trying not to make you feel bad for your duplicate pull by slipping it under his textbook when your eyes land on it.

The second round isn’t much better; both of you manage to pull something he’s already added to his collection, and as you’re ripping the seal to your third box, he pauses and watches you. You think it’s because he’s concerned about the obvious shit luck you’ve had thus far and wants to snatch it from you before your negative energy transfigures whatever’s inside into something he doesn’t want, and you’re just about to offer the half-opened package to him before he pushes the one on his end to you.

“No way, Mark.” Your eyes are wide, a palm up to reject it. “If that turns out to be another dupe by my hand, I’m literally going to walk into oncoming traffic.”

He has to control his amusement at your words so that it doesn’t completely shake his voice into incoherence. “I picked all of these while I was there, so if anything, you’re only riding off my bad luck. Besides, this is your first time doing this. I want you to have fun.”

“But,” your voice is pained. “Your money.”

“It’s not a big deal. With how few I need to complete them, I was definitely bound to run into more repeats than new ones.” He taps the front of the textbook — or, at least, the part of it not buried under the figurines and sealing tapes yet. “Probability mathematics.”

“I thought we already ended the study part of the day,” you grumble but concede, putting aside the one you half-opened to tear the top of his. You’re careful when you shake out the foil packaging, making sure to place it upright on the table before extracting the card. Both of your faces fall — yours more than his — when you see it’s a repeat of the polar bear.

“Almost. It would’ve been a pretty lucky pull earlier, so it’s technically not bad,” he tries to reassure you, but you childishly feel like you’ve been the sole source of his disappointment thus far. “Try the last one.”

It’s irrational, but you’re suddenly anxious about it. For some reason, you’re worried that this will topple the carefully constructed ladder you’ve propped up against Mark’s tower of social defense. Even if he’s being genial about your rotten pulls, you don’t know how much of it is just resignation to dismay on his part.

You say a small prayer, then fully rip off the seal; you don’t even take out the packaged figuring anymore. You just shimmy the card out of the box, turning it over when you notice it’s upside down.

For a moment, your shoulders deflate. It’s closest to this pastel purple figurine in the middle of the line-up, its stupid puckered lips almost taunting you. He hadn’t even mentioned it as something he’s looking for, so you almost feel like this has come to a horrible full circle. But then he grabs the box, checks the list, and looks back at your card again. He looks shell-shocked, and you’re not sure if it’s the strong air conditioning directed towards the two of you or if it’s just his hands, but the image he’s holding is shivering slightly.

You look more closely at it, and something just doesn’t feel right. Color palette aside, there are notable differences — different colored lips, a more intricate ear design, and closed eyes. It’s…

“Dream eater,” Mark’s voice is hushed, almost reverent, and very, very close to your ear. “It’s the secret one. You’re… incredible.”

“What are you talking about,” your words are just as raspy; you’re not sure if you’re actually choked up with emotion or something — over a figurine, you have to remind yourself. “You picked all of this. I just ripped open the box.”

The hush that falls over the both of you feels very concrete, weighty on your shoulders. His fingers creep towards the foil packet — the only one he actually opens because there’s no way he’s not keeping it. The shiny purple head gleams under the fluorescent, the glitter around the star and moon designs catching the light as he turns it left to right, like he’s worried it’s a fake. You can tell why people want these things so much; there’s a thrill in you that lingers, makes you feel warm and alert. It’s anticipation, despair, excitement, and triumph all in one sitting.

You’re stroking the smooth curve of the design by the ears lightly when Mark speaks up again and says the most outrageous thing.

“I want you to have it.”

“What?” You actually have to pop your ear canal in front of him with your pinky to make sure he knows how ludicrous he sounds. “This is… you said it was crazy rare.”

“Yeah. And you pulled it, with your magic. That’s like… unimaginable luck. Even more than beginner’s luck.”

“Like I said, I literally just opened the box.”

“No — you have like… the golden touch.”

“Please,” you hiss, a genuine testiness to your voice. “Do not. I was just here for the ride — the experience, and all.”

“Seriously, take it.”

“Absolutely not—”

It’s a chaotic moment of him trying to hand you the figurine and you outright rejecting it, with both your palms working hard to push it back to him. Instead of nudging the plastic back, though, you end up placing the full force of your hands against his fingers.

There’s no actual spark when you touch, but your reactions make it feel like there might as well have been; you even lock eyes in startled unison, like you can’t believe that just happened, before you pull away quickly, Mark drawing the figuring back to his torso while looking away towards the counter, where a lowerclassman is wiping down the stains. You want to scream at your warped reflection in the window. You barely initiate contact with him, but you imagine that if you ever did, you would prefer to not be saying something as abjectly negative as absolutely not while doing so.

Your mind flails in an attempt to mitigate the issue and water down the embarrassment, and clearly he’s struggling to figure it out too, because he pipes up before you can piece your thoughts together.

“No, really.” His tone is a lot milder and, consequently, a lot more persuasive this way. “You should take it. I want you to.”

“It’s not mine. This is your thing — your hobby.”

“That’s why I’m giving it to you. I swear — I want you to keep it.”

“Why?”

He lapses into silence again, but his face is much redder than earlier. His mouth opens in an attempt to say something, but he just manages to uh his way back into a state of quiet, which gives you a chance to speak instead.

“We can… share it,” you suggest. “Shared custody…. ish.”

His eyebrow cocks involuntarily, and his jaw falls again, but all he does in actual response is nod — slowly at first, then with more sureness to the act.

“Yeah. We can share it. I’d… like that.”

You’re glad that the bulk of the awkwardness has fizzled out fairly easily, and when you think about it, this feels like a pretty good course of action; you like that it’s this little link between the two of you now — something you share that no one else can touch.

Mark, you notice, is smiling as well — more to himself than towards you, it seems. His thumb grazes across the face of the figurine, slow across the lips, and you’re once again falling into a pit of nonsense by wondering when he’d do that to you.

“Thanks for staying with me, _________,” he finally says, and your heart jolts and melts all at once. “And for… doing this. For chatting with me. And giving me your luck, and all that. Great way to end the day… with you.”

You say no problem, but you instantly regret it when you realize you could have just said it didn’t have to end just yet.

“__________? Hello? Come back down to Earth?”

“Shut up,” you sigh at the guy seated across you — Seo Youngho, an upperclassman, your Gender Studies classmate, and current project partner, waves in front of your face. You shoo his hand away, which only joins his other one as he throws them in defeat above his head. “Stop moving. Be quiet. Don’t talk.”

“That’s the same thing as shut up and be quiet. What’s up with you?” He demands. “Fifteen minutes ago, you were full of ideas. Now I feel like I’m talking to a wax figure.”

You’d been engrossed in your report for the last hour and a half, and the subject matter is admittedly something you enjoy — the role of gender in Twenty-First Century Korean marketing and advertisement, a title Youngho had taken more than ten minutes to type into the Google Docs header because he was pissed off at how the numbers looked like in the fonts he chose. He’s an enthusiastic classmate and someone you’ve come to be friendly with, not only because he’s genuinely approachable but also because he has fits of nosiness and talkativeness at the strangest moments, so a chunk of your relationship is mostly based on social terrorism on his part. You like him well enough most of the time — save for the last fifteen minutes of this hour.

Because Mark had just come in for his shift fifteen minutes ago, and suddenly Youngho is much too noisy for your taste, and his head is honestly way too big to the point that it gets in the way of your opportunities to see Mark behind the counter. You even resent him for choosing a booth instead of your usual table all of a sudden, because your view of the central barista’s area is much more limited from this angle, especially since the huge espresso machine is in the of your field of vision.

You’re also (currently and abruptly) mad at Youngho because you remember that he’s the reason you’ve had to skip out on a couple of sessions with Mark. Like, it technically isn’t his fault that you have a lot of research to do for the literature review section of the paper, nor is it his fault that this is your final requirement that comprises a whopping forty percent of your grade, but like… you’ll blame him anyway. So you’re much more irritable, and you’ve definitely been missing Mark’s presence. In fact, you kind of just want to shove Youngho’s balloon head away and call Mark over to sit with you, but you’re not that much of an animal to actually do that.

Probably.

There had been inquisitiveness across Mark’s face when he’d come in; his eyes had trailed to the table at which you usually sat, surprised to find two guys hunched over a single phone there instead of the usual you, waiting for him with your eyes bright and your smile wide. You’d like to think it’s because he’s gotten as used to seeing you as you’re used to waiting to see him — like he just expects you to be there.

You hadn’t really known how to call his attention to where you were, especially since Youngho was prattling very matter-of-factly about the academic journal he’d unearthed yesterday and how he thought it would be useful in reshaping the methodology of your paper (whatever). There was a moment in which you briefly considered ordering another cup of coffee just to get in line to talk to him, but your hands were already shaking from the venti you’d had to keep yourself from passing out in front of your partner.

So you’re more than relieved when, half an hour into his shift, Mark finally steps out from behind the huge machine, a mug of water for himself in hand, and turns away from the front of the store to drink it — only for your eyes to lock as he twists his torso in your general direction.

The mug stops just inches from his lips, but you could swear he smiles at you briefly when he recognizes you, so you return the favor. Youngho’s face contorts into abject befuddlement, turning around to see what you’re grinning at.

“Oh, you poor sap,” he snorts, finally letting the puzzle pieces fall into place.

“What?” You’re still distracted even if Mark has taken a gulp of water and is now attending to a gaggle of girls still in the throes of discussing what to order.

“What what? You gonna spend the rest of the day eyefucking Mark Lee from over here? At least let me get a different table.”

“Shut up,” you repeat sullenly, coming back down to his level and finally — albeit reluctantly — meeting his eye (just because Mark isn’t looking your way). “What were you saying about the sample size?”

“That it’s much too large to be feasible, a point we closed twenty fucking minutes ago,” he says pointedly. “Is it a thing for baristas or a thing for smart guys?”

“It’s a thing for Mark Lee,” you sigh, following Youngho’s suit and shutting your laptop close. You’re at least glad he’s not annoyed that you’re delaying work for a crush, or maybe he’s also just equally lazy at this point. “You ever look at someone and think you would give it all up for a chance to hit that?”

“No, because this isn’t a porn movie, and I’m clearly not the main character in whatever’s going on in there.” He jabs at your forehead; you swat his hand away again.

“Well, I would.”

He rolls his eyes. “So do it, dumbass.” He says this so simply, like he can’t imagine why you’d be holding yourself back, which is a valid thing to feel, except it’s not really any of his business.

“Can’t.”

“Because?”

“Because it doesn’t fit into my elegant master plan. Also because I want him to ask me out. I just want that victory.”

“Oh yeah, there it is.” Youngho leans over, wiggling his fingers at your ears like he’s greeting a next-door neighbor. “Hey, delusion. Good to see you. Do you even understand how crazy it is that you’re taking a Gender Studies class while waiting for your dick-in-shining-armor like a damsel in distress?”

“Asshole,” you grumble, violently opening your laptop monitor again. “Get back on Google Drive.”

Thankfully, Youngho complies, and the next two hours pass in relative silence and productivity, with you hammering out a vague references list that he promises to format in your stead so you can ‘spend more time dreaming about Mark Lee between your legs.’ You want to strangle him, but there are far too many people in the cafe for you to get away with it. Also, aforementioned Mark Lee would only be a witness to your criminal record, and while you think there’s something romantic in killing for love, or whatever, you’re not sure it’d make the best impression on him.

“Next week’s my birthday,” Youngho announces as he stands to tug on his jacket.

“Congratulations,” you say wryly, peeking over his bulletin board torso to see Mark tugging off his apron and picking up his school bag. Your heart hammers in your chest as he looks over at you briefly, and something like embarrassment passes over his face before he busies himself with neatly folding the fabric. “Go away.”

“Usually people look uncomfortable for not knowing and then start thinking about what gifts to get the celebrant, but I always felt you were kind of a revolutionary.” He snaps his fingers right in front of your eyes, and you look up at him, a little offended. “I’m having a get-together — and by get-together, I mean it’s gonna be a rager. You should come.”

“When?”

“Next Thursday.”

“Can’t,” you chew on your lip, wondering if Mark is leaving. His movements seem particularly slow, but you wonder if he’s just taking his sweet time because he has nothing better to do. Of course, he would have something better to do if Youngho stopped fucking obscuring you from him and vice versa. “Busy. School… whatever.” Not completely untrue. Most of what you do with Mark has to do with school.

“This moony-eyed thing is just not for you, I fear.”

“Are you going to be here all day?”

“Are you? Why don’t you just fucking ask him out, you lunatic?” You can’t imagine why he sounds so exasperated. It’s not like this is his problem — or his business, for that matter. “Maybe if you did, you could fuck him and move on with your life and be an actual contributor to society’s development.”

“Has anyone ever told you how nosy you are?”

“Constantly.” He brings his palms down on the table, the thud shaking you out of another oncoming stupor. “Think about it. Maybe it’ll make you stop making that stupid face.”

“You’ve got a stupid face,” you mumble, sulking as he pinches your cheek as a goodbye before heading out of the shop.

At least you finally get to see Mark in full, glorious view — and you get to watch him come closer, although his stride is somewhat cautious.

“Hey.” Even his voice sounds unsure — almost like the way he used to sound earlier in your friendship. “I didn’t want to interrupt you and… your friend?”

“Oh. Well, you wouldn’t have been interrupting,” you inform him, completely genuine. “He was spouting a lot of nonsense.”

“You guys seemed pretty close.”

“I guess it’s a proximity thing,” you sigh, and Mark raises his eyebrows slightly in question. “We’re partners.”

“Oh.” The way he draws out the syllable is slow. “That definitely makes sense.”

The silence stretches out between the two of you again, with Mark checking his shoelaces. You almost grab your head; it hadn’t occurred to you until now how damaging missing meetings with him would be to your friendship. You feel like you’re slowly being dragged back to square one, and you want to give him an explanation.

“He’s actually… I haven’t been able to see you because I’ve been working on something with him.” you offer, trying to answer a question he didn’t even ask. “Sorry about that. I swear I’ll be back on track tomorrow.”

“No, no — I completely understand.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Thank you… for telling me, though. I— uh, appreciate that.”

“I’d love to see you tomorrow, though.” You try injecting more pep into your voice. “I’ve really been behind on my algebra. I’ve definitely been drowning without you.”

“Oh, yeah.” A small smile graces his lips, but you can’t tell if the reluctance behind it is from fatigue or something that looks oddly like sadness. “I’m down for tomorrow. Same time, same table, right?”

“Yeah, for sure.”

“Cool. See you, _________.”

You watch him turn on his heel, walking to the front door, and something like fear mingled with desperation clutches your heart. Fuck the traditional route, you think. You don’t know what it is about how he’s acting now, but it’s making you feel like he’s slipping through your fingers. All that hard work — there’s no way you’re letting him go.

“Mark, wait.”

You’re at his side, fingers curled into the sleeve of his jacket before you can figure out exactly what you want to say. You feel as surprised as he looks at your sudden liveliness in action, and his gaze trails from your clenched fist to your face slowly, like he’s trying to memorize this whole position.

Your exhale’s shaky, but even still, you try not to sound overtly self-conscious when you ask, “Do you like Chinese food?”

Something in the furrowing of his brows tells you he can’t seem to see where this conversation is headed, and that slightly bothers him. “I like it well enough. Why?”

“There’s this really good dim sum buffet near my mom’s office. We tried it before — the Xiaolongbao is awesome.”

“Hey, that sounds pretty cool. I love Xiaolongbao. I’ll definitely have to check it out then.”

You want to tear your hair out. “How about — you know, checking it out with me? Tonight? You know… together. With me.” You already fucking said that.

You’ve never seen Mark blink this rapidly; he looks like he’s trying to crunch large numbers in his head. A small part of you actually worries that he’s malfunctioning, but just when you think he’s going to glitch out completely, he clears his throat. It bothers you how uncomfortable he looks. “Tonight? Oh man… it’s my cousin’s birthday tonight. I can’t… reschedule. Well, obviously. Maybe some other… time?”

Your ‘oh, yeah’ is small, and so is the ghost of Mark’s smile. You can’t help but feel like he’s pitying you a little, although he doesn’t seem like the type, but the thought of it alone makes you want to puke. He makes no motion to move, and you think he’s extending this awkward moment out on purpose until you realize you’re still hanging onto him and he has no way of telling you to let go nicely.

Fingers unfurling from his sleeve, you take a careful step back, but when he walks away, it feels like you’ve gone much, much further away.

The worst part is that you can’t even figure out why.

Luckily, the next few times you see Mark, you manage to rebuild a rather shaky bridge back to where you had been. You even manage to strong-arm him into sharing an apple fritter one afternoon, and you know it’s a bit sad to think about it a particular, untrue way, but you can’t help but pattern what you’re doing into some kind of pseudo-date. Pathetic isn’t a word you normally associate yourself with, but you’ve been borderline desperate for progress where there seems to be none, so you take small victories where you can get them.

Unfortunately, you haven’t been able to revisit your stupid dim sum plan; sometimes, he says he has somewhere important to be, but most of the time, it’s actually your fault. No — it’s Youngho’s fault, because he keeps bothering you to finish the project. You’re aware that he can’t do it himself, but since he’s informed of your current plight, he could at least stand to be more sympathetic.

And you hate the way Mark looks every time you splutter out that you have to take a rain check for that reason; it’s not even disappointment, or something, which would be much more understandable. It’s this mysterious kind of faraway look, where his eyes glaze over a bit and he seems suddenly very lost in thought — or completely dissociated. He never strays away from his normal response of “next time, then,” but that ‘next time’ fades into the weekend and into the start of next week, and you have to spend every other evening with an annoying Seo fucking Youngho on a Google Meets call instead of eating soup dumplings loveshot style with Mark Lee.

Thursday night rolls around, and the former performs the most irritating stunt yet: blowing up your phone with so many KakaoTalk messages that it almost buzzes off the table during your session with Mark. Luckily, he seems to have learned a thing or two from his comic books, catching it before it hits the floor.

“You sure you don’t want to answer it?” He asks, gingerly handing the phone to you like he’s afraid it’s going to explode from all the pinging.

“Without the shadow of a doubt,” you sigh, flipping the screen downwards. Buzz.

“It kind of seems important. Or, like… urgent.”

“He’ll live. Unfortunately.”

Mark falls silent, fiddling with the page he’s on. He’s neatly highlighted the formulas on the page with blue ink, and his finger keeps scratching at the slightly wet paper. Buzz.

“Didn’t you say you two were partners?”

“Yes. Also unfortunately.” Youngho is actually a great person, but you kind of hate how Mark’s paying more attention to his texts than to you right now. “What did you get for number ten?” Buzz.

“A hundred and twe— are you really just going to let it keep ringing like that? What if he’s… I don’t know. In trouble? Like, he needs you?”

You smack your phone on its back, hoping that the punishment reaches Youngho because he absolutely is in trouble — only with you. “He’s just making a racket because it’s his birthday and he probably wants a bunch of people to trash his parents’ house, or something.”

“Sounds like fun.” The dubious tone in Mark’s voice indicates that his idea of fun definitely isn’t that. Buzz.

“Not really, but I assume he’ll only pipe down if he manages to get his way.”

“He must really want you there.”

There it is again — that weird, distant expression that makes you feel like he’s trying to free himself from the tethers of the earth. You close your textbook in defeat; it wasn’t even like you got the answer to number ten correct anyway. Buzz.

“He just wants everyone there, I bet. But I probably should show up so he shuts up.”

“Oh — yeah, okay. We’ll call it a day, then?” He’s avoiding your eye as he starts packing his things, which is actually impressive because you have practically nothing but your book to keep in comparison to his pencils and protractor, so you just stare, willing him to look at you.

You want to know what’s going on in his head. You want to know what’s going on in his heart — what he thinks of you, why he seems warm one second then almost like a stranger the next. You want to know if he knows you like him and if him not doing anything even if he knows is a sign that he doesn’t like you back. You want to know if he’d let you kiss him, if he’d kiss you first, if you can meet not because of sweet cream cold brews or algebra but because you just want to be together.

You just don’t know how to ask. For as much as you like him, for as much as you want him, you haven’t figured out the most basic part of this — if you mean anything more than a two hour talk to him at all.

“Mark.” This feels awfully like the dim sum conversation, only somehow ten times more disastrous. “Come with me.”

“Sorry?” The appalled look on his face makes you squirm in your seat.

“I don’t really want to go, but maybe if we go together… we can just hang out a bit and leave once it’s boring… I think it’d be fun,” you explain lamely, deciding at the last second to drop the with you that had originally come with your sentiment.

“I don’t think your… partner will like someone uninvited showing up.”

“I’m inviting you.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

“You’d be, like, my saving grace or something — my excuse to scram. We’ll say we came right from a study session; we only popped in halfway through for the sake of greeting him a happy birthday. Then we can just go. We can say — uh, we’ve got more work to do.” You’re practically begging him at this point, and you don’t even get why. You just don’t want him to leave looking the way he does — confused and a little detached. You want the Mark that had smiled at you while giving you your coffee — the one that had kindly pointed out an arithmetic mistake in the most gentle way possible. You want to open blind boxes with him, whine about your rotten luck, and part ways with his warmth still against your coat sleeve.

You don’t know what comes over you then, but you pluck up the courage and initiative to slip your hand in his. He stiffens a little, but you don’t care; your fingers squeeze his in urging.

Something in his expression breaks — cracks first, then falls away, before he’s nodding, still looking vaguely thoughtful.

“If you think it’ll help you, then… okay.”

The bus ride to Youngho’s neighborhood is uneventful because it’s quiet. You stand close to Mark at all times, but you barely touch, save for the times your knuckles accidentally brush his when you lurch forward slightly as the vehicle comes to a dangerously abrupt stop. He doesn’t ask anything about the party or the company that’ll populate it, which is just as well, because you don’t have a clue.

You know it’s the right house because the door’s wide open and there’s music coming from inside; you can’t make out much more than the deep bass pumping through the concrete, but you’re pretty sure it’s making your heart jump in your chest even more than it already is. There are quite a few people you vaguely recognize on the lawn, and even more that you absolutely don’t; a good number of them glance at you and Mark as you step through the threshold then look away, probably deciding you’re of no real consequence or harm to their moods.

Youngho’s easily spottable because of his massive height; he towers over the rest of his guests, and the red plastic cup in his hand calls even more attention because he’s lifted it over everyone else’s heads. You throw Mark an apologetic glance that he responds to with a short nod before you dive into the crowd alone, trying to weave your way to where you’d last seen Youngho.

“Bro, finally!” Youngho greets you, pretty much shouting over the music. “Where’s the gift? Did you leave it on the table?”

“Happy birthday, Youngho. Do you know how close you were to being blocked?”

“I see you brought mister espresso with you,” he ignores your comment completely, nodding to Mark. When you turn back to see him, you notice he’s squishing his arms closer to his sides, trying to minimize the space he takes up. “So what? Y’all get to hook up already?”

“No. I brought him here because we were in the middle of something and someone,” you stop, offering him a pointed look that’s also ignored. “Wouldn’t stop texting.”

“Cockblock,” the guy next to Youngho, who you now realize has been eavesdropping, singsongs. “Oh, sorry. You looked angry when you stomped through the crowd, so I wanted the juicy details. Name’s Jaehyun.”

You take the hand he offers you briefly, introducing yourself. When you say your name, realization dawns on his face, and he jabs his forefinger at you.

“Oh, dude. You’re that girl — the Starbucks Showstopper.”

“The what?”

“That’s what his friends call you.” He scratches his ear, seemingly racking his brain for more information. “I’m with Mark and a couple of his friends — Lee Donghyuck and Na Jaemin — in College Algebra.”

You completely gloss over the fact that you’ve finally found out the real government identity of the mysterious figure named ‘Hyuck.’ “They… talk about me?”

“From time to time. Not really. Once or twice. Donghyuck only calls you that because Mark apparently keeps blowing them off to hang out with you.”

“How do you know this?”

“I have ears. It’s not hard when they talk like no one’s around.”

You shush Youngho’s exclamation of and you’re saying I’m nosy?, your heart hammering hard in your ears, practically drowning out the music. “What… what else did they talk about?”

“Not sure. Something about not seeing you that often these days. Jaemin teasing Mark about getting dropped now that you don’t need his help anymore. Donghyuck piling on and saying you’ve got a boyfriend.”

“What?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger.” Jaehyun still inches away from you when your voice rises in pitch and decibel. Some people around you start, then move away as well, as if scared you’re going to incinerate them. “They were just teasing him that you probably ditched him after you started dating someone. Your partner in some project, or what.”

“Oh gross.” The realization hits you like a speeding truck. Youngho’s expression is affronted.

“First of all, you bitch. Second of all, as if I would date someone who didn’t even buy me a gift. Or want to come. Or yelled at me after coming. Wow — now that I think about it, you’re terrible, _________.”

“Oh, shit; that someone was you?” The only person that isn’t tense in this conversation is Jaehyun, who laughs point blank at Youngho’s sour face. “I think they were offering to put you into one of their Death Note notebooks. Sucks for you, hotshot.”

“What a smudge on my good name,” Youngho sighs mournfully. “On my special day, too.”

“I desperately need you two to be quiet for one second. I have to — where’s Mark?”

Even when you stand on your tiptoes, you’re not nearly as tall as the two of them; it’s Youngho, with his freakish height, who manages to spot Mark by the bowl of nachos, looking as though he’s trying to decide if they’re safe for consumption. You hardly excuse yourself; actually, all you say is a distracted “later” that dismisses Jaehyun’s cooing that something’s going down and you should clue him into all the mess later as a thank you. Your appreciation of his sudden and somewhat short-lived presence in your life is still up in the air.

Mark’s busy making a sour face at the sip of punch he’d just taken; he only straightens up when you’re right in front of him, putting his cup down next to the nachos. “Hey. Did you get to find… um…”

“That’s not important.” Your hand bunches the fabric of his jacket in a death grip, something he barely has time to register, let alone question, before you’re tugging him through the throng of people. You want somewhere quiet, somewhere private, and you initially consider the lawn, except you know it’s strewn with cups and has stragglers debating whether to go home or not. You can’t risk any of them being expert eavesdroppers like Jaehyun, so you make a beeline for the stairs instead.

“We’re not leaving yet?” He has to shout over the music, but there’s no resistance in his stride; he follows you up and waits patiently, although a little perplexed, as you check the doors on the second floor. Two are locked, one is a bathroom, and the other is a messy, musk aftershave-scented place you can only presume is Youngho’s room. Talking in front of a sink and a toilet doesn’t feel like it’ll be very productive, so you just drag Mark into the bedroom, kicking aside the crumpled shirt on the floor — which you could’ve sworn you’d seen Youngho wear for class yesterday. “_________, what’s going on?”

“Mark Lee,” you burst out, ignoring the fact that his eyes widen slightly at your tone. “What’s your fucking deal?”

You don’t think you’ve ever sworn in front of him before; that much is evident when he continues to gawk silently, unable to find words to respond to your question. Or maybe it’s just the volume and force with which you demand an answer. The problem is that you don’t even know what kind of reply you want. A small part of you nags that this is uncalled for, especially at this level, with you practically caging him into an unknown room. In fact, even now, you’re still embarrassed at your behavior, wondering if you’ve gone too far and stepped over a line between you.

But the source of all your frustrations is, in fact, that line — one so strangely drawn, clear at some points and almost invisible at others. Sometimes, he seems simply content with the barest minimum of friendship: talking to you, helping you, politely laughing at your (terrible) jokes. But there are also times he blushes too hard for it to not mean anything, times that he makes you feel like you could mean a little something more to him too.

Yet, from there, he wavers, stepping back so as not to get entangled in something you don’t understand — like when he grows distant every time you mention Youngho to him. You don’t understand why he would unless he echoed, even just a little, the longing in you. But you also don’t get why he stays and builds more walls around himself, like he’s determined to ignore all the other signs — like he doesn’t want to know if it’s really true and will just accept the assumption that it is. You hate not knowing where you stand with him, and while you could easily ask, you know you don’t want to.

And for a long time, you’ve convinced yourself that it’s because you want to see Mark step out of his comfort zone and initiate something, but the ugly truth is staring at you: it’s simply just that you can’t stand the idea of seeing him come to the conclusion that you can’t be anything more to him than someone he makes a sweet cream cold brew for every so often.

There’s a moment of tense silence between you two, where you’re just staring at each other — him, perplexed, and you, agitated — and the only sound that passes is the faint but unmistakable voice of Youngho going who has the cake cutting knife? from somewhere down below. You try not to get caught up in the fact that Mark still looks cute when he’s dumbfounded.

“Sorry?”

“What,” you repeat pointedly. “Is your deal? Why have you been acting so weirdly around me these days? I thought — I thought we were… getting closer. I thought… we…”

You’ve confirmed it now; you’re the epitome of cowardliness. You can’t even say I thought we liked each other — because you know that you do, but you still can’t honestly, assuredly tell if he does. Maybe you just read too deeply into the smallest things — smiles before he asks for your order, glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking, sharing the dream eater figurine — to fuel your own emotions without really checking the depth of his.

“I thought we were cool,” you reroute your words, and they come out flat and lame. “But just when I think you’re warming up to me, you suddenly pull away. Like… you’re afraid of me. Or you don’t like me. I don’t know.”

“It’s not — I don’t — I’m not afraid of you,” he stumbles over his words, and even in the darkness of this space, you see his face turn bright red, very quickly. His feet shuffle, not because he’s lost his balance but because he seems to want to get rid of a sudden restlessness. “I do like you. We are — we were getting — we’re close. We — we’re friends. You said that, and we are.”

“Is it only because I say we are that you agree?”

“What? No, I—” His hand passes over his face, slowing at the curve of his chin. “I really like being friends with you. I like being around you.”

“Then why do you act so weird these days? Like — you’ll be fine one moment, then you’ll back off, like you suddenly remembered you don’t want to be around me.”

“It’s not like that. I’m — I don’t get…” He takes a deep inhale, recalibrating himself for a moment before his voice comes out again, less strained this time. “I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me.”

“How could I?” There’s something more than confusion coloring your voice; there’s hurt, too, and he looks as surprised as you feel at hearing it. “I wanted to be your friend. I was the one that asked you to hang out. I was the one who wanted you to talk to me, to help me, to go to a goddamn dim sum place with me. Why would I feel uncomfortable? Or are you just using this as some roundabout way to say you feel uncomfortable?”

Mark falls silent, and you don’t know why this speaks volumes all of a sudden. His eyes are trained to the tips of his sneakers, which are rising in soft bumps every few seconds; he’s curling his toes inside them. You feel like you’ve gotten the worst answer possible, and something grows cold in your chest.

“You feel uncomfortable around me.” You rehash, but it’s no longer a question. “You don’t know how to get rid of me.”

“No, it’s not that.”

“You think I’m only using you.”

“No.”

“Then what?” Your voice breaks, no longer out of anger, but a desperate sadness. The moment your eyes feel hot and prickly, you decide you want to end the conversation. It’s embarrassing, you think, for someone like Mark Lee — whom you like, who only ever sees you as a friend — to see you get choked up at a fucking birthday party at someone else’s house.

A beat later, you’re mumbling a half-hearted forget it, and you detest overdramatics, but you hate the idea of being in a room with someone who’ll never return your feelings even more right now; you push past him, already on the thought of calling a cab home instead of taking the bus so that no half-drunk businessmen coming from their company dinners see you crying.

But something warm wraps around your wrist, then closes over your hand, and you’re unable to move, Mark’s palm pressed against the back of yours. When you look back, you notice he’s still not looking at you, but his ears are practically on fire with how red they are, and you feel his fingers tighten slightly, tremble slightly against yours.

“It’s not that. I didn’t ever want you to think — I heard about you two. That you were dating someone. Seo Youngho.”

“What does that matter?” Your words come out a little more bitterly than you expect, and you have to remind yourself to reel it in. “That doesn’t explain your discomfort.”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he repeats, still evidently careful in choosing his words. “Because you wanted to be friends.”

“I don’t understand,” you state bluntly. In the back of your mind, you note that Mark’s grip keeps tightening and loosening, unsure of whether to keep holding on or let go. But there’s something else, too — the soft graze of skin against yours, his thumb gliding over your knuckles.

“That was all you said you wanted to be, right?” He waits for a response, but when you don’t give him one, he lets out a shaky breath and continues. “You kept saying — we were friends. You wanted us to be close like that. I just wanted to respect it, even if…”

“Respect what?”

“That you didn’t want… anything else.”

The music downstairs is a bit tamer now; you hear the door opening and closing every so often, signaling guests leaving here and there, but there are still enough footsteps downstairs for you to know that there’s a crowd Youngho hasn’t gotten rid of and therefore has to attend to. That much is good; you’d get slapped with a homicide charge if he came up here all of a sudden.

“You were jealous.”

Mark’s fingers pinch the bridge of his nose for a moment. “I tried to stop. I don’t have a lot of practice with — well, I didn’t know how to approach the situation. I thought I was still acting normally; I didn’t think… I didn’t want you to feel weird and stop hanging out with me just because… I couldn’t fix it.”

“Your friends are assholes,” you mumble, and he finally meets your eye, equal parts startled and amused. “We aren’t. Weren’t. We never were dating.”

“Even without that, I thought… it was a bit embarrassing. Liking someone like you — someone as pretty as you, as nice as you — I thought it would make you feel weird. Then you’d start avoiding me too. Or, worse, you’d keep doing it just because… you… felt bad for me.”

You don’t know what you find more ridiculous — that you hadn’t seen figured it out or that you could have avoided all of this if you’d just been a little more honest with him too. Mark’s hand starts loosening around yours, a little too much, and you turn your palm and grip his hand before he can escape. He stiffens again, just like earlier, but you now understand better why he does.

“I just wanted to keep hanging out with you as much as I could. I thought… It’d be fine, just spending time with you, and I’d be able to like you for a while, on my own, then…” He looks a little pained. “Then just let you go. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry you couldn’t let go?” You sigh softly, your palm guiding his until they connect, face to face, and you can finally lace your fingers into his. There’s no resistance, but his hand trembles slightly in yours still. “If there’s anything you should be apologizing for, it’s that you ever thought of doing it.”

Something clears in the air, lightens in his expression, and he chuckles, albeit a little shyly still. “It’s because I never thought someone like you would like someone like me.”

“I like you.” And it feels right to say it now, not at all out of the blue, never in fear of an answer he’s already given. “I like you when you smile at me every time you ask for my order. I like that you never get impatient when I’m getting my answers wrong. I like seeing you excited when you talk about a new series you’re looking forward to — something new you really want to collect. When you blush, when you laugh loudly, when you spin your pen in your hand — I like you in all those times.”

“Even when I’m jealous?”

“Especially when you are.” Your free hand comes up to cup his jaw, and you’re reminded of the fact that you’ve wanted to feel the strength of the angle under your palm for ages now. It’s not at all a disappointment, and your heart flutters irregularly in knowing you could’ve done this a long time ago, but it doesn’t matter because you’re doing it now, and fuck if Mark Lee doesn’t look good this close to you. “So be jealous — because now, you know you can be.”

Kissing him is better than you imagined, and you’ve imagined a little too much to be embarrassed at this point; there’s a heat to his lips that matches the one across his face, an upturn to them that makes you smile too. The setting’s not at all an expected one, but you’ll take it, not because it’s dark or because it’s private but because Mark’s in here with you, and you would have kissed him in a brightly lit football field full of people for as long as he’d let you.

You’d like to think he’s flushed for a reason other than shyness when you pull away, even if his laugh is quiet and breathy. In fact, when you murmur not enough, he’s the one that closes the gap this time, offering freely what you ask for with such little eloquence. The natural trepidation in his mouth relaxes, gives way to a curiosity that keeps you locked for so long that you forget you need to breathe, much more intent on finding out if Mark’s tongue tastes as good as you’ve imagined for so long.

It doesn’t; it tastes even better.

It’s still not enough, not by a long shot, but you have to resurface before you pass out like this, and even he looks a little dazed when you pull away — not in a bad way, with a grin on his face that you can only classify as endearingly goofy: slightly lopsided and a little shy, but with an unmistakable air of satisfaction.

“Months,” he mumbles, his lips still dangerously close to yours. Your eyebrows rise in questioning, and he laughs in that infectious way that makes you want to join in without even knowing what the punchline is. “I’ve been thinking of kissing you for months.”

And you do share the laughter this time, not out of amusement but of a happiness that spills without restraint. “But you’re suddenly holding back now?”

“Just letting myself bask in the moment, I guess. Letting it sink in so I remember everything.”

The two of you stand there quietly, still trying to fully parse the progression of events, and a small part of your mind registers that Mark’s thumb is still drawing circles on your skin. It’s also not enough — this touch, this closeness. You know now that he’s been thinking of you for months, and it reminds you that you spent that time dreaming of him too. And you remember you’ve always wanted to be even more familiar with him, and suddenly the desire is overwhelming; he’s right here, and you don’t ever want him out of your grasp again.

“Where are you going?” He’s only curious for the sake of it; there’s no alarm in the question because you keep your fingers tightly woven in his, tugging him along as you walk past him to the door. He’s still staring in wonder after the lock clicks shut. “What’s… happening now?”

“You waited months to kiss me, right?” He nods in response at your question. “I’ve been waiting just as long to have you too.”

His mouth falls open, but he doesn’t manage to say anything; his jaw tightens just as quickly when he feels your free hand trail down his chest, feather-light and asking for a green light. Your index finger stops just above his navel and draws back slowly, but not before you feel the shiver that runs down his torso.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you murmur, giving his hand a little squeeze. “But I just want you to know — I want to. I want you.”

A thoughtfulness settles on his face, and his eyes graze over yours, trying to read your seriousness. You don’t know how honest you look, but your words hold enough truth in them. A silence stretches over the next minute, but to you, it feels like an eternity, and you lose the test of patience somewhat, smiling softly at him.

“You don’t want to?”

“I—” His tongue peeks out, running over his bottom lip. “I do. It’s not that I don’t want to, but…”

“You seem worried.”

A hesitant nod. “I’ve never — well, no, I have, but not — with someone like you.”

“What’s someone like me?” You laugh airily.

“Someone pretty like you — I don’t know. Someone who seems to know exactly what they want. Someone who seems like… they could do better than me.”

“Mark.” You can’t keep the incredulity out of your voice. “I do know exactly what I want. I want you. The rest — I don’t care about. As long as it’s you, I want it.”

He cracks a smile, half of relief, half of disbelief. You don’t miss his hand coming up to press, warm, against your waist. “For real?”

Your fingers curl into the front of his shirt — an anchor to bring you closer, until the tips of your noses are brushing. “For real.”

The third time you kiss is slow, almost careful; there’s lingering worry in the line of his mouth that your lips try to ease until his slightly part under the movements of yours. You feel the tension leave his form in waves — first in his shoulders, then in his arms, until you’re able to press yourself closer and feel the slight give of his frame against your smaller one. He’s radiating an immense amount of body heat that’s pricking your skin and keeping you alert, and you’re hyperaware of the smallest things — the weak tremble in his mouth, the slight roughness of his teeth under your tongue, the ridges of his palate above it.

He tastes nothing like what he smells, you learn. Instead of the air of earthy coffee stuck to clean linen, you inhale a combination of spearmint and mild saltiness that’s made slightly sharper by the lingering splash of alcohol from his accidental sip of punch earlier. You decide then and there that this disparity is important to you; it makes you feel like you’re the only one who can have this experience — that everyone else can know his scent, but now, only you can know what Mark Lee tastes like.

You have to keep your wits about you to avoid this addictive stimulation of your senses; you let go of his hand only to lock your fingers around his neck, and there’s a show of trust in how he lets you lead him backwards, until his knees are hitting the edge of the unmade bed. The kiss breaks as he’s forced to settle on the mattress, and he looks up at you in what can only be described as a quiet kind of awe. He doesn’t complain when you place your hands, heavy, on his shoulders, using his sturdy form to keep you stable as you move to straddle his lap.

“I feel like,” his voice is hoarse as he speaks up. “We should have picked a different location. Someone… could walk in.”

“I locked the door,” you remind him, a light reassurance in your voice. He doesn’t say anything immediately, but it’s clear there are cogs turning in his head, and you think it’s unfair that he’s thinking way too hard about something else that isn’t you, right now, in this position. In a bid to rectify this, your face presses into the side of his neck, breathing in that familiar scent and leaving a light kiss on his skin right after. Your lips mark the moment he swallows hard at the contact. “Besides, would you really be that unhappy if someone did?”

His hands tighten against your waist, prompting you to leave another kiss against his collarbone. “What — what do you mean?”

“You wouldn’t like it if someone — say, Youngho — walked in to see me on your lap like this?”

The silence that follows your words is tense, and you can tell that Mark’s breathing has become shallower. Again, you can feel his throat constricting slightly, and you can’t help but laugh breathily as you nip at his skin, just under his Adam’s apple. He’s surprisingly easy to tease, you realize — quick to turn speechless and prone to hanging onto your words.

To say that you wouldn’t want to use that to your advantage would be a downright lie.

“Tell me,” you urge, your tone deceptively gentle. “You wouldn’t want him to see you kissing me like this? To see me wrapped around you, begging for more, saying your name over and over? You don’t want him to watch you take me — so he knows you’re the only one that can?”

A strangled groan punctuates your words, but it comes from him; his fingers dig hard into your side with barely constructed restraint. “What do you want from me, _________?”

“I want to know if kissing me was the only thing you wanted for months.”

You pull your head away, nudging his chin with the tip of your nose. Another groan escapes him, and his head tilts back slightly, almost like he’s praying. But when his gaze comes down to meet yours at your level again, you see a firm resolution in his eyes that stirs your heart — which takes off the moment he shakes his head, slowly but surely.

“Then,” you whisper. “What do you want from me?”

He doesn’t say so much as shows; he takes from you your breath, steals another kiss that’s now firmer and more openly demanding. Suddenly, his mouth can’t seem to stay still, trapping your lower lip in between his, drawing out your taste until it mixes with his against his teeth. You feel your head growing light again, and you’re pleasantly surprised that it’s suddenly become difficult to keep up with his lips, asking more from you without restraint. A hum of need sounds in the back of his throat, vaguely dissatisfied, and he’s telling you wordlessly that it isn’t enough right before he attaches his lips to the base of your neck, just above your collar. You think he’s just about to return the favor, but a laugh leaves you when you realize he’s taken it a step further, his teeth grazing your skin lightly, soft nips signaling how eager he is to sink his teeth in with only his slowly weakening self-control stopping him from doing it. Mark’s breathing is slightly labored when he pulls his lips away, warm breath fanning over your chest.

“It’s crazy — and stupid,” he croaks out, voice slightly raspy. “But I want it, and I don’t.”

“What do you mean?” Your fingers drag into his hair, combing it upward messily from his nape. He leans in for a quick kiss that’s somewhat misplaced, landing on the corner of your mouth instead of squarely atop it.

“I want them — him to see us. To see me with you, kissing you — fucking you, too. I want everyone to know we’re like this.”

You’ve never heard Mark say anything so forwardly before; a sweet, warm flush builds in your face, pleased at how comfortably he manages to say it — pleased that he’s saying it to you. “Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want him to see you.” There’s a bluntness to his words, but hiding behind them is an undertone of pleading — a serious request. “I don’t want him to see how pretty you look. I don’t want him to see you when you’re bare, or how you look when I’m inside you. I don’t want him to see—”

His voice wavers and dies, and you wonder if he’s embarrassed, but when you read his expression, you see an unyielding longing. A smile tugs at your lips, and your hand comes around to cup his chin, thumb extending upwards to drag his lower lip down.

“You don’t want him to see what’s only yours.”

He swallows hard again, but he doesn’t wait long to nod. Understanding passes between the both of you, silently but completely, and Mark presses his face to your throat, feeling the hum resonate as he places another long, firm kiss there.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, in a way that almost feels like he wants to convince himself of something impossible to believe. He doesn’t even wait for your affirmation, prefers to read it in the way you shiver lightly once his lips travel further down. His kisses trail past the collar of your shirt, and his hands are unabashed in how they seek skin, pushing the fabric upward so he can settle the palms of his hands, warm against your waist. Oddly, they don’t travel upwards; they only brush against the dip, down slightly over the upward rise of your hips, then upwards again, almost soothingly. It’s almost like he wants his mouth to meet them, but he stops halfway, sidetracked by the curve of your breasts.

He barely pulls away, only does for a moment, enough to meet your eyes.

“You’re only mine,” he repeats, his voice softer now. You realize he’s still waiting for some confirmation, and when you do, you’re quick to give it to him — quick to erase any doubt.

“I’m yours,” you affirm in the same tone, in the same careful volume. “Only yours, Mark.”

Whatever else he wanted to ask for, he knows you’ve given assent; that much is clear when he buries his face between your tits, inhaling your scent. You briefly wonder if he might feel just as intoxicated around you as you do around him, if your pleasant dizziness in being this close to him, in tasting and smelling him is something he experiences too, but you don’t get much time to dwell on it the moment you feel his lips part, a slight wetness seeping through the fabric. He’s kissing your chest, teeth grazing just above the cup of your bra, nipping without any real objective other than to feel the pad’s slight resistance to his mouth.

You almost miss what he says as he shifts his head, lips brushing over the curve of your breast — another breathless ‘mine’ that isn’t ever punctuated; his lips still stay parted, mouthing at the cloth, like he’s desperate to feel what’s underneath through it. There’s pressure where his tongue presses flush against the shape of your tit, tightness whenever he chooses to nip, attempting to take the flesh and all that’s between you and him between his teeth.

Not enough, you think, even when a whimper of need bubbles out of you; you want to be closer, your thighs pressing against the sides of his. You’re close in almost every way, but you still inch yourself further forward, enough to feel the taut hardness in his jeans. Your hips settle right there, letting fabric ride against fabric as you center yourself.

No sooner do you press yourself flush against him do you gasp; the light sting sends a jolt up your spine when his teeth close around your nipple through your bra, and when you look down at him, you see the corners of his mouth pulled up in evident satisfaction. He’s quick to atone, his tongue dragging your shirt slightly upwards in his attempt to soothe, and for some reason, the push of fabric and the barely-there feeling of motion leaves you tingling.

“Mark.” Your voice comes out in a whine, but in the haze you’re in, you don’t really have a clear idea of what you’re asking for. All you know is that you want more of him, and for as much as he’s already given you in kisses and words, you aren’t even halfway down the list of everything else you wish you could demand from him. You say the only thing that comes to mind — the only thing that really encompasses what you feel. “Mark, I want you. I want more of you.”

His hands on your waist are replaced by the significant tightness of his arms, locked around your torso; you don’t even have the time to take in your awe at the fact that he can easily carry you, turn you over until you’re on your back, until he’s already eased one knee between your legs.

The way he looks down at you is a mixture of hesitation and desire, but the former’s erased when you reach out for him, murmuring another ‘more’ so you can pull him in. With one palm pressed against the mattress, he lets his free hand graze against your side again, bolder in its movements, and his fingers trace a path up to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh through layers. Your back arches upwards in response, eager for more contact, for touch that’s almost there but not quite, and he smiles when you make a noise of frustration from his fingers tweaking the soft nub of your nipple.

“Mark, please—”

“Would you really let him see you like this?” His thumb’s still idly grazing over your breast, following the rise and fall of its curve. You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice level despite the growing want that threatens to break through it. “Would you really let him watch you… get fucked?”

You shake your head, and his brow furrows.

“I’d let him watch you fuck me,” you correct him, and the confusion in his face gives way to pure satisfaction the moment you make this nuance clear. “It has to be only you.”

His grip tightens briefly against your breast again, and he leans down, pressing a surprisingly chaste and brief kiss to your lips.

“Then I’ll unlock the door next time and give him a show.”

You don’t know if it’s what he says or what he does after — his hands bunching your shirt upward until the hem’s just below your neckline — that makes your breath hitch, but you decide it doesn’t matter when you realize you’d much rather be focusing on the journey his lips take, slick against your stomach as he presses languid kisses down to your navel. His fingers hook into the waistband of your jeans, the weight naturally pulling them down, and you see his muscles tighten for a moment as he stops himself from tugging them off completely.

Mark’s mouth is unparalleled in its attentiveness, seemingly intent on making sure he’s covered every inch of your stomach in warm kisses, but you only realize he’s somehow stalling when he starts the cycle again, his nails digging into the taut elastic of your jeans as though to remind himself to curb his desire.

You take the initiative instead, raising your hips slightly to signal your want, acutely aware of the fact that you brush lightly against his thigh when you do so. His eyes lift first, followed by the rest of his face, and he’s watching you quietly. You might have thought he was unsure of what to do all of a sudden again, but his knee pressing closer, an unmistakable pressure against you, is enough to tell you that he’s only curious to know what else you’ll do.

The second time you grind against his thigh, his hands catch your hips, keeping them aloft just long enough for him to tug the band of your jeans downward; he peels them off you with surprising ease, returning to the same position between your legs, hands still firm on your waist. With that done, he only has the thin garter of your panties left to curl his fingers into, bunching it into his fists when you roll your hips up one more time. You manage a shaky noise when you feel the stark difference — the roughness of the denim against you, the stick and drag of flimsy cloth. Mark lets out a low but unmistakable hiss.

“I can’t believe—” his idea is cut short by the movement of your hips again, and his grip tightens, knuckles pressing into your skin. “Can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“What am I supposed to do,” you breathe out, the sound momentarily getting stuck in your throat. “So that you know it’s real?”

His fingers relax their hold, palms now pressed against your thighs; they travel between your hips and your knees, a soothing and thoughtful motion. “God — I don’t know. I just want — I just want you so badly. Like… I’m going to go crazy if I don’t have you now.”

You lean up, your weight resting on your elbow, and your other hand reaches out; Mark meets you halfway, bending just a little lower to press his cheek against your palm. There’s something intimate, something so giving about the way he turns his face to your fingers, pressing a fluttering kiss just under your thumb. The tips of your fingers trace the shape of his lips, even when they pucker again under your digits.

“Take me,” you murmur quietly. “Right now — from now on, every part of me is all for you.”

His exhale is shaky, but his fingers have a sureness to them; they slip under your thighs, cradling the backs of your knees, and lifting until they’re folded over your chest. You don’t even have the time to wonder if you should feel exposed all of a sudden; his breath warms the inside of your thigh as he presses his lips there — not a kiss, just a touch as he speaks.

“I want to taste you,” he mumbles, partly distracted with the act of inhaling the mild scent off of your skin. “Every inch of you — I want to know just how sweet you are.”

He lets his hold on your thighs relax, letting them fall apart; he busies his hands with your panties instead, hooking a finger into the strip of cloth just covering you. It’s clear you’re both aware that the fabric sticks light to your skin, poorly masking your wetness, and interest mingled with hunger flashes across his face as he pulls it aside.

“You’re so pretty,” he says, sounding like it’s a comment more for himself than anything else. His gaze flickers to you for a moment before it moves back to your pussy. “The prettiest fucking girl in the world.”

The pressure of his thumb between your folds causes you to forget what you wanted to say, and you know Mark had been nervous, but you realize that it doesn’t mean he’s supremely inexperienced by any means; there’s a quiet, understated confidence in the way he rubs slow, thorough circles, moving upward towards your clit. Your face, your neck, your whole torso feels flushed, but you power through the instinct to tilt your head back so that you can keep watching him — the minute changes in his expression, the slowly building strength in his touch.

“I want to taste you,” he repeats, looking up at you. “I want to know what you taste like when you cum against my mouth.”

You’re not sure if you’re gawking because you can hardly believe Mark Lee — your eternally blushing, mild mannered campus crush — had said all those words strung together into such a lewd sentence, but you’re sure as hell not going to deny him. Your hand travels down your torso, and he watches, curious at first, then awestruck when your index and forefinger settle against either side of your folds, pulling them apart in offering.

His eyes end up transfixed on your pussy again, observing how your fingers ease your folds further apart the more he massages his thumb against your slit. His mouth is slightly agape, intent on drinking in the sight, unaware that you’re trying to memorize this view of him too — Mark Lee, touching you, wanting you, eager to take you fully.

“I’ve always wanted to see what it’d look like with your face between my legs,” you say in a hushed tone, but he catches it anyway, briefly looking up at you again. “I’ve always wanted to know what your tongue would feel like against my pussy.”

Your index finger bumps against the tip of his thumb, and he stops its motions, allowing you to move his digit down until the pad of it hovers just in front of your tiny hole. You can see one cheek tucked between his teeth, bitten to muffle the groan you wish you’d heard louder.

“Won’t you show me?”

You think you hear him rasp out a ‘fuck yes’ before he bends down, pressing his half-open mouth against your pussy. The squeal of delight that leaves you is half-strangled as his thumb curls, hooking into your entrance. It starts a shallow, distracted motion, with his attention funneled much more clearly into keeping his tongue working. Flush against your slit, it drags up, and he releases a guttural noise at your taste, lips pursing slightly on the way back down — like he can’t stand not trapping every drop of wetness with his mouth.

The intensity of his tongue, the idle thrusting of his thumb — you’re not sure what you want to focus on more, and the result is you whimpering incoherently at the starkly contrasting combination of the two. Mark moves his mouth like he’s never tasted anything as good in his life; the sounds between your thighs are wet, sloppy — almost embarrassingly so — but you don’t have the presence of mind to dwell on that because Mark Lee is eating you out and that’s really all that you can think of.

The tip of his tongue suddenly flicks upwards; you keen, long and low, when it starts to circle your clit in that same intense, circular movement his thumb had gotten you used to. Your sensitivity skyrockets, and you’re completely unable to control the upward bucking of your hips, but Mark stays supremely unperturbed, his free arm winding under your thigh to keep the both of you steady. Your noises are growing embarrassingly loud, and you realize just how needy you’ve become when you vaguely notice that there’s a pattern in what you’re saying — his name, over and over again.

“Did you do that too?” He asks softly, his words slightly muffled against you. “Say my name, I mean — when you thought of me.”

“God, yes.” Your voice comes out strained, teetering on the edge of slurring. “So many times — every single fucking time.”

“Promise me something.” He lifts his head, and you see a fieriness in his gaze.

You nod — at this rate, whatever he’d ask you to do, you would without question. “Anything.”

His thumb presses in deeper, up to his knuckle and you reflexively tighten around his digit, but he keeps it anchored there, pushing down against your walls. He drinks in your gasp, the widening of your eyes, the way you chew on your lip with a singular kind of contentment on his face.

“Promise me — from now on, you’ll make sure I’m always there to hear it.”

The only kind of assent you’re able to make is a moan as he dives down again, mouth buried in your warmth, his nose pressed tight against your clit. His tongue moves in strong strokes, broad swipes that push your folds apart further, and his thumb, while not moving, increases in pressure to the point that you feel a heaviness adding to the growing pleasure. Your hands fly down, seeking some kind of sense and reason, and you thread your fingers into his hair, grip tightening as your climax builds in stride.

“Mark, I’m—” close, you want to say, embarrassingly so, but the moment he hears his name, his lips attach to your clit, and there’s suddenly so much more pressure as he sucks, almost like he’s desperate to draw out your orgasm. He chooses this of all time to start moving his thumb again, and this time, his movements are anything but slow and idle; they’re filled with the intent to drive you over the edge. “Fuck me, oh my god—”

“I want to,” he murmurs, pausing for just a moment to drag the tip of his tongue around the nub. “God, I want to. Let me see you cum first; let me taste how sweet you are.”

His thumb stops, buries deep into your pussy, and you’re not sure why this, of all things, is what pushes you beyond control; you’re only half-sure you say his name when your orgasm hits, the rest of your consciousness much too clouded by pleasure. He doesn’t stop, revels in the way you squirm under him as he hums low and keeps his tongue working against your clit. His licks become longer, more thorough as you come down from your high, your cries softening into whimpers as his tongue both attempts to clean you up and makes you messier in the process. His arm is still curled around your thigh, keeping you from inching away from him, even if instinct and stimulation are telling you to.

You’re barely lucid when you sit up, and Mark inches back, somewhat startled; you grab the front of his shirt, and the sight of his mouth, slick and glistening from your wetness, only makes you more curious to know what you taste like on him. You find out how tangy it is, how rich the two of you are together on his lips, and you’re able to fully appreciate the skill of the mouth that kisses you deeply, leaving traces of you against your tongue and teeth.

“Please — fuck me.” It’s the only thing you can say at this rate, only half-coherent and still trembling with desire, but Mark doesn’t seem to care that you’re stuttering over such a simple request. His thumb wipes traces of saliva off the corner of your mouth, kisses it clean for good measure, then straightens up, his hands working at his belt. You almost miss the fact that his hands are shaking slightly as he undoes the buckle and tugs it out from the loops.

You want to help — it’s the least you can do, after all, and your fingers push the button of his jeans out through the hole, his hands working in tandem to tug the zipper down. However, your movements falter when you hear a noise from just outside the room — the sound of the doorknob being jangled, the thud of a body gently hitting the door, as though worried it’s stuck. You glance up at Mark, ready to reassure him, but he either hadn’t heard or doesn’t care because he’s too busy stepping out from the pool of denim at his ankles, and you get completely sidetracked by the bulge straining against his boxers.

You almost ignore Youngho’s voice grumbling ‘Jesus Christ, now of all times? from behind the door, but you leverage it instead.

“Should we let him in?” You ask, tone innocent despite the evident deviousness in your words. It pays off, though; Mark’s cock twitches unmistakably under thin fabric, and he actually looks like he’s considering it. “You’re just about to fuck me, after all. Weren’t we going to — what did you say? Put on a show?”

He worries on his bottom lip, like he’s unsure if you’re serious, but in the end, he shakes his head, reaching out to smooth your hair away from your face and ushering you to lay back down. The lips that meet your forehead are gentle, almost apologetic.

“Not now,” he murmurs against your skin. “Right now, you’re all mine.”

You laugh lightly, nodding, and he chuckles too, but the sound of it slowly dies down when your finger hooks into the garter of his boxers. You can feel his breathing hitch as you tug it down, the elastic catching when it meets the shape of his cock, but you don’t make any move to free it just yet — for some reason, you want to see him do it.

“Show me.”

He complies without hesitation, one hand dragging the elastic down over his thighs, the other curling around the base of his length, and your face flushes as satisfaction works through your system at the bare sight of him.

Mark Lee is big — not monstrously so, but enough for you to make a pleased noise as your hand joins his, fingers barely wrapping around his girth. You give his shaft a gentle squeeze, and his exhale stutters, watching you stroke him, long and thorough in your movements. Your palm swipes over the tip, leaking precum, allowing it to slick up your hand enough to keep your movements smooth. You’re fixated on the tension in his lips, the throb of his cock against your palm, and the way his gaze never leaves your face, like a small, amazed part of him still can’t believe what you’re doing, even if you’re both half-naked already.

“I want to suck you off,” you plead, grip tightening slightly. He grits his teeth, stifling another groan, but he shakes his head clearly enough for you to slow your movements in mild surprise.

“Can’t — not now. I need to be in you so badly.” His breathing’s sharp and heavy, like he’s trying to keep himself in check. “You don’t even know — how long I’ve wanted to feel you.”

Your hold relaxes, and you let him maneuver you, his renewed hold on your hips dragging you closer to the edge of the bed. In this position, he can spread your thighs further, and you angle yourself optimally — enough for him to get a full view of your pussy, wet and still aching from your last orgasm.

“You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to know how tight you are,” he continues, and there’s a faraway look in his eyes that makes you think he might be entrenched in fantasy. “How much I would have killed to see you — have you like this. I’m not gonna be able to wait anymore.”

His fingers dig into your sides, thumbs stroking your stomach in a weak pattern. The underside of his shaft presses against your folds, still half obscured by your panties, in a way that’s heavy enough to make you mewl, your hips reacting before your mind can, and he hisses softly as he feels his length glide along your slit before you relax your stance again.

“I can’t wait,” he reiterates, a breaking in his voice that sounds almost tortured. You don’t want him to either, want to see him buried to the hilt inside you, and you raise your hips again in need. “I want you so much it’s driving me crazy.”

“Then take me.”

And you’re not sure if it’s a demand or a plea, but he no longer stops himself; his hand fists his cock a few times, coating the slick of precum along his length before he lines the tip up with your entrance. His other hand’s flush against the inside of your thigh, a light pressure ensuring he always has enough space to fit himself between your legs — enough space to bottom out completely.

Mark’s considerate in his pace — maybe he knows he’s big, or maybe he’s just naturally careful, but he allows you the time to adjust to the stretch. Your nails almost puncture holes into the sheets, your grip so tight you wonder if it’s just to brace yourself or to hang onto the last threads of your sanity. He’s only halfway in, but you’re pushing fullness already, and he stops when his cock meets slight resistance, looking up at you in concern.

“You’re not—?”

“It doesn’t hurt,” you reassure him softly, and it’s true; the adjustment brings about slight discomfort, but it’s almost nothing to you — not compared to how much more you want. “Give me everything; I want all of you inside me.”

He pauses still, trying to read your expression for any lies, but when he can’t find any, he nods, his jaw tensing as he presses both palms against your thighs, keeping you open as much as possible to accommodate him. He doesn’t even stop when you whimper, feeling a tightening twitch in your pussy that also causes him to groan, until inch by inch, you’ve taken him, his hips flush against yours.

He doesn’t move — not yet, his eyes trained to where you’re connected like he’s once again unable to believe what he’s doing. You hear him mumble something to himself that you want to hear too; you squirm slightly, and he hisses through his teeth, looking up at you and finding the questioning in your face. He offers you a small smile, albeit somewhat strained.

“You’re tighter than I thought.”

“You’re bigger than I thought,” you hum, and neither of you is really to blame; the tight fit, the slight breathlessness it leaves you with, is perfect, you think — just what the both of you need. “Did you often think about fucking me?”

“Probably just as often as you’re making it sound like you thought about having me fuck you, I think.”

“Don’t get cocky,” you warn, but there’s no real heat in your voice.

“I won’t. But it makes me feel good — knowing you wanted me just as bad.”

“I still do.” Your gaze is lazy, a little hazy, even if you’re anticipating so much. Even just the feeling of Mark, throbbing inside you, is already slowly building the pleasure in your stomach again; you wonder if you could cum like this, given enough time, given enough patience. “I’m still waiting for you to fuck me. God, Mark— please.”

He chuckles good-naturedly, but even that’s drowned out by the long moan that leaves you once he draws his hips back; your body’s mildly shocked into a new adjustment, feeling a sudden emptiness that’s quickly mitigated by him filling you back up again. The pace is slow, almost torturous, although you know he isn’t doing it to get a rise out of you. He wants to ease you into speed, careful to help you adjust fully; his restraint in his movements is all the more evident on his face, in the furrowing of his brow and the determination in his gaze. Even with that, he can’t help what he says, so intent on controlling everything else he does that he lets his words spill out over your noises.

“Pretty,” he grunts out, and when your walls twitch around him, he accidentally thrusts sharper — just enough for you to whimper a little more loudly, and he has to reel his strength back again. “God, you’re beautiful. I should’ve told you sooner how much I wanted you. All those times I had to imagine you wrapped around me like this, wondering how much tighter you’d get once you came on my cock. All those times you drove me crazy while I was alone, when I could have been in you— I could have found out how good you felt. How pretty you’d look under me. And you’re still even prettier, even better than I ever dreamed.”

There’s an erratic melody of moans under his words, spilling from your mouth, and the fact that he riles himself up enough to increase his speed slightly doesn’t escape you. He’s a little less careful now, seemingly entranced by the view he gets, watching his shaft disappear into you only to come out glistening, and a part of you hates the idea of snapping out of his reverie, but the majority of your thoughts now lean towards wondering how much more you can get him to break free of his own self-imposed restrictions.

“I wanted to ask you so many times.” His eyes snap up, coming back into focus as he takes in the sight of you, flushed, hair tousled, gaze darkened. “Almost every day — I sat there, thinking about how all I could do was go home and fuck myself, frustrated you weren’t doing it for me. I should have taken you home with me right then and there — should have let you watch me touch myself thinking of you, should have let you touch me into cumming on your fingers.”

His breathing staggers as he leans in, eager to see you clearer, to hear your words, slowly becoming airier as they come out. For a moment, his gaze falls, torn between watching him move into you and meeting your eyes, but he ultimately chooses the latter once you speak up again, your tone even more hushed than before — like it’s meant to be a secret between just you and him.

“But there were times I wanted you even more than that, to the point that I almost felt like I couldn’t wait.” His eyes widen slightly, a few precious seconds of wondering if he understands what you mean, right before you confirm what he thinks. “I thought about making a move right then — I should have kissed you. I should have asked you.”

“Asked me what?” His voice is gruff with the effort to keep himself in check despite the fact that it’s clear to the both of you that it won’t last.

Your lazy smile’s illusionary; it hides the triumph swelling in your chest at knowing that he asked exactly what you hoped him to.

“I should have asked you to fuck me in front of everyone there.”

“God,” his eyes squeeze shut, his grip tightening. “Please. I can’t—”

“I should have bent over for you there, begged you to stretch me out right after our session,” you continue, bordering on merciless. “Mark, you don’t know — how badly I wanted to be on your lap, your cock in me, with everyone watching. How much I wanted you to fold me over that table, have people watch you pound me, have them listen to how good you make me feel. No one would ever even wonder; everyone would know I’m yours.”

You pause, allowing his eyes to fly open once again, and there’s a pleading in them that’s begging for release. Your eyes soften along with your voice, but you’re this far gone; you should at least see it through.

“And everyone would know you’re mine too.”

“Fuck,” he growls, and his hips stutter before new resolve fills him, his hips driving into you with the force of a strength you didn’t even know he had in him; your thighs tremble at the intensity, at the renewed impact, and feeling him drive his cock deeper into you has you crying out somewhere between a moan and a sob. “Fuck, _________. If I had known you’d thought about me like that — God.”

It’s your turn to shut your eyes for a while, allowing yourself to focus on his movements, breaching your tightness even faster now. You feel his hands skim up your sides again, fingers digging into the fabric of your bra and pulling them down until your bare tits are cupped in his hands. You shiver as his thumbs pass over your nipples, toying them into firm nubs.

“One day,” he hums out, his voice giving way to a slight hoarseness again. “I’ll do it. I’ll fuck you in front of him — in front of Youngho, in front of everyone. I’ll let them wonder how tight you are, how fucking warm you are, and I’ll let them leave knowing no one can know but me.”

It’ll never happen, you both know, but something about agreeing to something so absurd is what has your body almost shaking in longing, and it’s what causes him to press in deeper, folding your legs closer to your torso. Your hands do what little they can to help, keeping your thighs apart so as not to obstruct his view. You can tell it’s somehow not enough, not really all of what he wants when his brow furrows, and he shifts his weight, pushing into you at a new angle.

The stark difference has you gasping before you can control it. Immediately, Mark stops, and you’re already shaking your head before you even hear him say anything, presuming he’s paused out of concern. But before you can say you’re fine, his hushed voice cuts through the silence.

“Do that again.”

“What?”

“Do it again,” he mumbles, sounding distant. “Breathe in. Suck in your stomach.”

You’re not one to complain at such a simple request, albeit a little odd, so you comply, inhaling enough to tighten your torso. You’re surprised when you feel his cock twitch inside you, and you blow out the air alongside your question. “Mark, what are you—”

“I can see it,” he says in utter disbelief. “When you’re like this, I can — I can see my cock inside you. Just a bit.”

Your eyes follow his gaze, fixed just below your navel. From this angle, without any movement, you can’t see a thing, but you assume he’s not one to abandon fucking you so intently without good reason, so you press your palm against your stomach, just above your pelvis. Nothing really feels significantly out of place — up until the point when Mark draws his hips back again, and you feel the backward slide of his cock.

Your throat tightens, and you don’t really understand the feeling that spreads in you — a unique kind of arousal, knowing how deep he is inside you and how you’re taking all of him in despite the fit, because of the fit. Your hand falls away, allowing Mark’s to take its place, and he exerts just a little more pressure against your stomach in an attempt to get the most out of the experience when he thrusts back in. He groans, feeling the bulge push back up, and he quickly picks up the same pace, renewed in intensity so he can experience the rapid rise and fall he creates under his palm.

The faster he goes, the harder he presses, and you’re not sure if he knows it, but the onslaught of friction is what’s making you whine and squirm even more; you’re trapped, in the best way possible, in his hold, your hands back to clinging to the backs of your knees like a lifeline. Pressure from the outside builds on the slowly growing pressure inside, a knot in your pelvis that’s coiling so tightly you feel like you can’t breathe. If Mark notices how close you are, he doesn’t make it known; he’s busy feeling the outline of his cock against your stomach, and when he looks up at you again, his eyes are hazy.

“I would fuck you every single day, every single hour if I could feel this every time,” he whispers in a way that’s almost reverent. “Let me — I want to keep seeing you like this. I want to feel how deep I am inside you, too. Let me fuck you all the time.”

You nod, and your first attempt to say something is just another choked sob. When you do manage to get something out, it’s broken in tearful stutters. “M-Mark, I’m s— I’m so close… I’m — fuck—”

“Do it.” It’s not a harsh command but an urging made on short breath; through your misty vision, you see tension in Mark’s face and shoulders, like he’s bracing himself for something too. You barely register the ping in the back of your mind, too focused on the way he’s pressing his palm harder on your stomach, the way his hips quicken their pace — he’s close too. “Let me feel you — want to feel you cum all over my cock.”

You inhale, not to speak but to let out a loud whimper; your teeth dig into your lower lip as you try to stifle the moans that threaten to follow, but in the end, you whine out his name. Your thighs threaten to close, trembling as you finally reach your climax, an impossible explosion of pleasure, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut so that you don’t get dizzy from the stars that burst around your vision.

“Fuck.” Mark’s voice is strained, his one hand still firm against your stomach, the other sliding against the inside of your thigh. “You get even tighter — you feel even better when you cum.”

“Mark,” you hiccup, unable to do anything but flutter around him as he pistons harder into you. You don’t even know what you’re asking for when you say ‘please,’ but he somehow seems to, and you trust that your body’s saying something you can’t fully detect in this state, with your mind floating in the aftermath of ecstasy.

“I know,” his tone is soothing in contrast to the intensity of his thrusts. “I’ve got you. Just a little more — where do you want—?”

You blink slowly, his words sinking in at too leisurely a pace; his hips stutter dangerously before you’re able to respond. You barely even do that, your hand gently brushing over the one against your stomach, but he catches onto the meaning quickly enough.

You’ve never heard your name said in such a beautiful way; hearing him moaning it lowly is enough to make you whine again, and that noise is drawn out when he shifts and slips out of you fully. Your brain’s fuzzy, but your senses are at least sharp enough to drink in the perfect sight of him cumming — the way he leans his head back, jaw taut and eyes shut, as he pumps his cock and the heat of his release against your skin, pooling against your stomach once he finally cums. You see a shiver run through him, and then he’s still for a while in this position, the both of you basking in the afterglow of your highs.

You’re still weak and sensitive when Mark finally comes back down, a lucidity you don’t have right now coming back into his gaze. All you can do is smile when he leans in, catching your lips in another kiss — one that’s surprisingly soft and slow in comparison to everything else, but still leaves you breathless when he pulls away.

“Let me clean you up,” he murmurs, and you hum in agreement, your body limp as you watch him move off the bed and pull a handful of tissues from a box on the desk on the opposite wall. Even his hands are gentle when he scoops you up, shifting you until your head can lean against the pillows. They carry a scent you’re not used to, and your nose scrunches, rejecting the change, but that’s quickly overpowered by Mark’s familiar coffee-and-linen one when he presses next to you, careful as he wipes his cum off your stomach and thoroughly cleans between your thighs. From somewhere down below, you still hear hushed voices, and the front door slams shut again. People are still in the middle of leaving, but you know Youngho will likely run out of guests soon, and this makes you feel like the timing’s suddenly become urgent.

“I want to date you properly,” you start, slightly slurred but unmistakably blunt. Mark’s gaze snaps to yours, slightly amused, as he balls the tissues up in his fist. “You never asked me, so I’m asking you.”

He looks perplexed. “I just never thought you wanted me to, so I didn’t try.”

You reach up, locking your fingers into his hair and using your grip to pull him down. Your kiss is a little demanding, with a tinge of excess frustration, and he pulls away laughing lightly.

“Do you still think I don’t want you to?”

Mark hums thoughtfully. “I think you made a lot of things clear tonight. On my end, I was happy enough to be near you.” He smiles down at you, and in the faint light, you can see the flush slowly return to his cheeks. “Having you like this — dating you… there’s no way I’d say no.”

Your shoulders relax, satisfied with his answer, and you beam up at him — an act he easily returns, breathtaking and endearing all at once.

Moments later, you feel his arm wind around your waist; he allows you to lean into his side, his other hand crossing over his lap to stroke your thigh. His face turns, pressing a kiss to your hair, and you feel his lips move, hear the quick rush of a whisper. You tilt your head, eyes slightly wide in questioning. “What was that?”

He shakes his head at first, trying to pass it off as nothing. But when it’s clear your curiosity won’t abate, he chuckles softly, his hand gently cupping your chin so that you can only look at him. His thumb strokes your bottom lip gently, as if trying to coax the same words out of your mouth before he murmurs them to you one more time — and this time, he sounds fully convinced of them.

“You’re all mine.”

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